The Statist Agenda of Playhouse Disney

Playhouse Disney is a block of programming targeted at preschool age children. It contains such programs as Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, Handy Manny, Imagination Movers, and Special Agent Oso. It is hosted between programs by two monkey puppets named Ooh and Aah. Given the dangerous undertones of these programs, perhaps the monkeys should be named Marx and Engels.

Look at the animated program Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, for instance. Whenever Mickey and his friends are trying to go somewhere or do something, a big thug named Pete is always there to literally put up roadblocks (and tollbooths or ticket stands). Pete will demand some type of resource, like coins or beans, to let Mickey’s gang pass or otherwise engage in the activity that they want.

Mickey and his friends always dutifully fork over the dough, even if they have to go back and spend half the program scrounging up the requested resources. They never ask Pete on what authority he can charge the tax or fee or what it will be used for. The lesson to our young future taxpayers is clear: If some authoritative-sounding thug demands money, unthinkingly surrender it.

Or what about Special Agent Oso? In this animated program, children engaged in their normal daily lives and playtimes encounter problems, such as not knowing how to build a sandcastle or make frozen juice pops. An intrusive electronic surveillance system, which includes eavesdropping ladybugs, spots the children’s dilemma and transmit’s the information, via satellite, to some secret agency that dispatches Special Agent Oso to help them out.

The lessons to children here are equally clear: Being under constant covert surveillance is just fine. You will be watched only by benevolent caretakers rather than cynical bureaucrats. If something happens, a response will come not from jackbooted thugs but from cuddly panda bear agents voiced by Sean Astin.

Now, I don’t want my kids growing up warped. That’s why every Saturday morning, instead of Playhouse Disney, I plunk my three-year-old son down inches in front of the TV for another round of Red Dawn and Braveheart. I’ve never been quite so proud as the first time he chased the mailman with a fixed bayonet, screaming “Freedom!”