"When they become very famous, I think a lot of people thought that they would be very satisfied by their career. But then they aren't satisfied and they suddenly decide they want to be public intellectuals as well. They want to be taken seriously, they want gravitas, they want people to see them as amazing in another field. They feel they're not taken seriously just for being an actress.
"Which is ridiculous to me because I take actresses very seriously. If they're good at their job, I think they're great. But the idea that you would then be standing up in Baghdad trying to solve the Iraqi refugee crisis is completely preposterous. It's a displacement of two million people and I just don't really think that you can sort that out in a job share with making $15 million a movie."
Hyde's chapter on celebrity activism is particularly good. Celebrities actors, musicians tend to react emotionally and inexpertly to complex political and economic problems, drawing attention to them, sure, but, in the process, oversimplifying them. "You know what `raising awareness' is?" Hyde footnotes sarcastically in her book. "Cheaper than `giving money'."
They can also edge out people more committed and more qualified for the job, while undermining the moral seriousness of their message by leading a hypocritically profligate lifestyle. Leonardo DiCaprio, who made an environmental documentary, flies in private jets. Bono, who sits on Ireland's Hunger Task Force which lobbies the government to devote more funds to aid, and who frequently appeals for donations from Ireland's taxpayers, is himself tax-exiled to the Netherlands.
Hyde points out that, according to the Giving USA Foundation's research, the 40-year average for charitable giving is 2.2% of a household's income after tax. This is a relatively stable figure it was 2.2% in 2005, 2.3% in 2006 and 2007. This shows that celebrity advocates don't raise more money for charities; they just raise the same sums in a different way.
Hyde contends that it's now difficult for charities to be noticed without a celebrity spokesperson and, since celebrities tend not to support unglamorous causes like skin diseases or mental illness (they prefer Aids and Africa), she writes, "it's difficult not to conclude that celebrities don't just skew the debate: they monopolise funding that in a less febrile atmosphere might have found its way to a needier cause."
For some reason, US actress Sharon Stone attended the World Economic Forum in 2005 and, after listening to the president of Tanzania talking about how insecticide-treated mosquito nets can guard against malaria, she found herself, out of the blue, eliciting pledges from the audience. "Just stand up!" she cried, "stand up and people will take your name!" Except only a quarter of the $1 million pledged was collected so Unicef had to kick in the shortfall.
And Stone hadn't done her research. In the Wall Street Journal, an economics professor revealed that some African governments distribute nets free through hospitals, which people sell on the black market so they can buy something they want more. A doctor sitting beside the economics professor at the forum had whispered that, although one million children die of malaria every year, two million die of diarrhoea, but he doubted that Sharon Stone would have found that so moving.
"Sharon Stone hails from a crazy Hollywood golden age where every time she opens her mouth something completely ridiculous pops out," Hyde says, with relish. And she's only one type of column-worthy crazy.
"In general, the ones that believe in these bizarre religions or that they are actually saving the world are quite helpful," she says, "because they tend to speak out a lot and have no sense of self-awareness and no sense of how ridiculous it is."
Giant celebrities like Madonna and Tom Cruise go in for recherche, bizarre religions like Kabbalah and Scientology because, Hyde says, they like the exclusivity. "Like having an amazing hair stylist my religion is quite niche and extraordinary.
"They're also religions of personal empowerment. Not necessarily if you're one of the rank and file believers, but if you're Madonna or Tom Cruise, it's about `you can do everything'. You're almost the godhead. Unlike other religions, which tend to emphasise your speck of dust nature in the face of the deity.
"And celebrities who are quite used to being worshipped really don't want to become worshippers. They would rather be personally inspired by a blend of hocus pocus and slightly odd pseudoscience."
So silly are some of the claims made about specially blessed Kabbalah water that it can cure Aids and cancer, that it can neutralise radioactivity from Chernobyl, that it cured Guy Ritchie's verrucas that Hyde advocates legal intervention.
"Celebrity endorsement is nothing more than advertising without regulation," she writes.
"Given that celebrities tend to come out with this stuff during interviews to promote personally enriching projects, perhaps one radical answer would be to treat such outbursts as commercials and subject them to the same censure and legal scrutiny."
There's something more sinister, potentially lethal, about Uma Thurman's praise of gem therapy or Gwyneth Paltrow's claim that "eating biological foods" can halt cancer people believe them.
Hyde points out that celebrities such as Michael J Fox or Lance Armstrong, who have actually battled illnesses, invariably refer people back to their doctors. Kylie Minogue was fastidious about correcting stories that claimed she had undergone "some fringe voodoo treatment" for her breast cancer, "because she realised, worryingly, how influential she was.
"The sad fact is that people do copy celebrities," Hyde says, "and they do also think that perhaps because celebrities are rich and have access to all the best doctors, if they are embracing some kooky treatment then it must be because it works."
Not content with damaging our health, celebrities are also assaulting our democratic rights. When Angelina Jolie-Pitt headed to Namibia to birth baby Shiloh Nouvel by scheduled caesarean, her bodyguard cordoned off roads, assaulted a restaurant owner and used pepper spray. House-to-house searches were conducted in case locals were hiding media. The Namibian government enforced a no-fly zone above the coast where Pitt and Jolie's five-star hotel was, and the Namibian embassy in Pretoria told journalists they needed permission in writing from Pitt and Jolie to get an entry visa. Journalists were deported, their equipment confiscated and one was arrested.
Jolie, one of the "goodwill ambassadors" for the UN, who has "Know your rights" tattooed on the back of her neck, had effectively seized control of Namibia's borders and airspace and, as Phil ya Nangoloh, director of Namibia's National Society for Human Rights observed, brought its democratic status into serious question.
After the birth, Jolie told CNN that Namibians, who obtained independence in 1990, have "just recently learned to govern themselves" and "we need to be there to really support them at that time, to help them to understand better how to govern".
A Namibian farmer told the New Statesman, "The restricting of local and international press, and this pseudo-royal attitude, are the exact opposite of what Namibia needs. People who, for years, tried to build a democratic society can only shake their heads at this."
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Celebrities on charity bandwagon do more harm than good | Stuff.co.nz