As I like to do with TV from time to time, since I have never had cable, I have recently been mainlining DVD episodes of The Wire, HBO's late great series about the Baltimore street drug trade. It strikes me with this show, as it often does with wickedly well-done social issue drama, how much better a job alleged fiction does at conveying reality than does alleged journalism. This is not a unique irony; it is true of fiction, poetry and music pretty much wherever you'd care to look, from Norman Mailer's The Naked and the Dead to Percival Everett's novel Erasure to the poems of Yusef Komunyakaa and Lucille Clifton to Grandmaster Flash's proto-hip-hop classic The Message and the millinenial global thread of myths and folk songs. Official news reciters with lapel microphones may do better with the names and dates, but storytellers and troubadours do better at telling the underlying truths.
As does The Wire (pictured above, from season one). In a town like Baltimore, where drug addiction and drug trade rivalries account for most of the city's 300 yearly homicides, coverage by the Baltimore Sun and the what-bleeds-leads local TV news affiliates gives us a blinding stream of seemingly meaningless atrocities, with each news account duly supplying dates, locations, details of death, and the requisite quotes from shell-shocked neighbors and agonized loved ones. The Wire, however, gives us the story: Who ends up on junk and why; Who sells it and why; How the marketing operations (two-for-one days, name-brand reputations, wildfire rumors of potent product on X block on X day) entice strung-out customers to literally line up for sales; How and why certain addicts decide to try to kick and how they succeed or fail or both; How the local drug CEOs handle their mega-million-dollar empires and their tiers of managers and employees with various psych-ops, incentives and intimidations; How the sellers think and the codes they observe; How addicts feel and how they address real life; How cops work in a culture that can include slaving at trying to do an impossible job, showing care or abusive contempt toward citizens, lying about evidence, kicking the crap out of suspects in interrogation rooms, or sabotaging other cops' cases for personal position or perceived self-preservation; How teenaged kids take care of households full of young children, feeding and supervising them and sending them off to school, before leaving for their own day's work at the neighborhood drug operation. Yes, this is television drama. But at its core it is truer than most of what you'll see in the news media about street drugs and the people who use, sell, and police them.
So this is a story that today's frightened commuters and urban professionals, sadly, hardly ever get from journalists. Yes, the Baltimore Sun has, every once in a great while, run a story or a series that gets at some of the actual lives and real human decisions behind the proffered daily circus of the Page One narrative on drugs. But what does it say about corporate news media that they literally make it their business to chronicle the carnage and occasionally profile a dealer while telling us little or nothing about how and why the drug life persists? Meanwhile, David Simon, a former Sun police reporter, decided that someone needed to tell the real drug story. So he took it to HBO – an entertainment network.
Don't get me wrong. I am not deifying the routine parade of TV melodramas and sneering laff fests. But it so happens that in this case the one getting it right on the drug problem is, if you like, the troubadour.
At least somebody is telling the story.