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Investigative Reporting
Investigative reporting is a variety of journalism that uncovers facts that official sources refuse to disclose, or purposefully cover up to protect reputations, folly, and the illusion that governments work primarily for average citizens. Though many "media" "outlets" claim to practice this type of reporting through a variety of different methods, the hallmark of these great stories -- which represent the very reason most blue-blooded journalists go into the business in the first place -- is the official response.
This week's story in the New York Times about the CIA making payments to the allegedly corrupt brother of Afghan Puppet-in-Chief Hamid Karzai drew such a response from the administration of President Barack Obama. It should be noted that members of this administration takes pains to share with anyone who will stick a camera near them that they are the most transparent administration in history.
"Robert Gibbs, the White House spokesman, declined to comment on Mr. Karzai’s financial relationship with the C.I.A., referring questions to the spy agency."
Perhaps The New York Times should've taken a lesson from Lawrence Lessig, and withheld disclosing this information until they thought about what type of a response they could get from the government.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
General Interest Review 00009
The Public Option
The public option (or 'so-called public option' in New York Timespeak) is a provision being kicked around by Congresspeople in the midst of the current debate over health care reform that would create a government-mandated health insurance entity. The idea is to introduce another stakeholder into the health insurance market that will offer competitive rates, and can provide health insurance for people that don't have it under the current system. Implicit in the new entity's creation is that the government would also require people to have health insurance, or they would pay a penalty. This option, however, would still not guarantee that everyone could get coverage when they need it. The only way to do this would be to set up a single payer system, in which private insurance is done away with and everyone receives access to health care provided by the government.
That option -- more public than the so-called public option -- has scarcely been mentioned throughout the debate, except as an example of an idea that shows how far to the center Democrats have come.
During the debate so far, Republicans have withdrawn their support completely from any bill that includes a public option. The Senate Democrats as a whole previously did not support a public option, but Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid turned on the more conservative wing of his party and said this week that a public option would be included in final legislation.
Understanding why this provision -- which would improve the health care system dramatically while basically keeping the current framework intact (and, again, is not all that radical, or anything close to what the best-functioning health care systems in the world offer) -- is not supported resoundingly requires an understanding of what many term 'the ways of Washington.' That is to say, practical ideas that can be defended with logic are immaterial. The idea that a health care system should work does not have political support, even though a vast majority of the country indicates their desire for change. What is so often not stated among countless hours of videotape spent debating health care is that the health insurance industry is not considered in this sample of the country. The industry is an amorphous force in this case, wholly dependent to pass legislation but never mentioned in debate. Much like the will of the country.
And the economy in general. Key to the provision's detractors are the arguments that the public option would drive the insurance industry toward the brink. But Blue Cross/Blue Shield is not a mom and pop shop. It is a multibillion dollar corporation with a huge impetus to keep things as they are. What these opponents rail against is competition in an industry that profits from untold sums of waste every year. But it is essential, we are told, that this industry survives, because it is a linchpin of the economy. In this alternate universe dictated by the ways of Washington, the people serve the interests of businesses instead of the businesses serving people. What the detractors are generally for -- a robust marketplace that leads to general well-being -- is not a part of the debate. The industry does not support change, so there cannot be change.
In this debate, the industry -- through interest groups and the pharmaceutical industry -- have said they are working for change. But the deals cut by the Obama administration have not led to support from any Republicans. Even Senator Olympia Snowe, who claimed she was strongly considering supporting the bill, withdrew once the public option was introduced. It is a sure sign that support can be twisted a number of ways, and that the subtle difference between "not oppose" and "support" is glaring here.
When the bill is passed, health costs are still likely to be out of control. And, still, Europe's system will be better. So, perhaps, the industry will get what it wants anyway. Looking back in a legacy interview at the end of his presidency, Barack Obama will likely chalk one more up to the ways of Washington -- the result scarcely conceived by the well-intentioned, the idea made to look foolish for an attempt to meddle in an effectively propagated illusion -- that government, on the most basic level of the need for medical care to stay alive and participate in society -- serves the people it purports to sustain.
The public option (or 'so-called public option' in New York Timespeak) is a provision being kicked around by Congresspeople in the midst of the current debate over health care reform that would create a government-mandated health insurance entity. The idea is to introduce another stakeholder into the health insurance market that will offer competitive rates, and can provide health insurance for people that don't have it under the current system. Implicit in the new entity's creation is that the government would also require people to have health insurance, or they would pay a penalty. This option, however, would still not guarantee that everyone could get coverage when they need it. The only way to do this would be to set up a single payer system, in which private insurance is done away with and everyone receives access to health care provided by the government.
That option -- more public than the so-called public option -- has scarcely been mentioned throughout the debate, except as an example of an idea that shows how far to the center Democrats have come.
During the debate so far, Republicans have withdrawn their support completely from any bill that includes a public option. The Senate Democrats as a whole previously did not support a public option, but Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid turned on the more conservative wing of his party and said this week that a public option would be included in final legislation.
Understanding why this provision -- which would improve the health care system dramatically while basically keeping the current framework intact (and, again, is not all that radical, or anything close to what the best-functioning health care systems in the world offer) -- is not supported resoundingly requires an understanding of what many term 'the ways of Washington.' That is to say, practical ideas that can be defended with logic are immaterial. The idea that a health care system should work does not have political support, even though a vast majority of the country indicates their desire for change. What is so often not stated among countless hours of videotape spent debating health care is that the health insurance industry is not considered in this sample of the country. The industry is an amorphous force in this case, wholly dependent to pass legislation but never mentioned in debate. Much like the will of the country.
And the economy in general. Key to the provision's detractors are the arguments that the public option would drive the insurance industry toward the brink. But Blue Cross/Blue Shield is not a mom and pop shop. It is a multibillion dollar corporation with a huge impetus to keep things as they are. What these opponents rail against is competition in an industry that profits from untold sums of waste every year. But it is essential, we are told, that this industry survives, because it is a linchpin of the economy. In this alternate universe dictated by the ways of Washington, the people serve the interests of businesses instead of the businesses serving people. What the detractors are generally for -- a robust marketplace that leads to general well-being -- is not a part of the debate. The industry does not support change, so there cannot be change.
In this debate, the industry -- through interest groups and the pharmaceutical industry -- have said they are working for change. But the deals cut by the Obama administration have not led to support from any Republicans. Even Senator Olympia Snowe, who claimed she was strongly considering supporting the bill, withdrew once the public option was introduced. It is a sure sign that support can be twisted a number of ways, and that the subtle difference between "not oppose" and "support" is glaring here.
When the bill is passed, health costs are still likely to be out of control. And, still, Europe's system will be better. So, perhaps, the industry will get what it wants anyway. Looking back in a legacy interview at the end of his presidency, Barack Obama will likely chalk one more up to the ways of Washington -- the result scarcely conceived by the well-intentioned, the idea made to look foolish for an attempt to meddle in an effectively propagated illusion -- that government, on the most basic level of the need for medical care to stay alive and participate in society -- serves the people it purports to sustain.
Monday, October 26, 2009
General Interest Review 00008
Symphony No. 8 in C minor, "Stalingrad"
Russian composer Dmitri Shostakovich's eighth symphony was premiered in 1943. It is a challenging work. The symphony begins with a 25-minute section that never moves beyond a crawl. Beginning at the end of the second movement, the work takes a dynamic turn that eventually leads to showy bombast. A bridge-like fourth movement gives way to a slow and somber ending.
As with everything in Shostakovich's career at this period, the cat-and-mouse game with the Stalinist-era censors colors many interpretations of the piece, especially the first movement. The censors let the piece stand despite its rich expression, rangy meandering and the decidedly thinking-man's feel present throughout. It's not hard to picture a little smirk and and a rise of the bushy eyebrows above the frames of those inimical round glasses as this one was performed freely. He must've figured he got away with it. The only thing the censors turned out not to like was the broad canvas that left things open for personal interpretation. They appended the Stalingrad subtitle to fit the piece as a remembrance of the war dead at that battle with the Nazis.
World War II, which was then taking place inside Russia, also figures heavily into many interepretations. The bombastic section is thought to take place on the battlefield, with the finale perhaps expressing resurgence, exhausted survival, or a grief-stricken farewell.
Shostakovich's music and biography are so closely associated by scholars that it remains difficult to forget all of this background noise and allow a reaction to emerge from within. If Shostakovich's only mission was to rail against censors, then why didn't he write political treatises under a pen name? The first movement is supposed to be an expression of only oppression, but it causes me to feel free of the small, nagging worries of life. The third movement mimics the battlefield, but by the end it makes me want to dance.
From the front row of the Boston Symphony Orchestra a couple years back, the huge dynamic range of the piece was the most obvious feature. The volume of the loudest sections were more tenacious than classical music has always seemed to be able to handle, while the quieter sections were as gentle as all those pieces that were made to shift the mind toward water lilies. The conductor at the performance was a sturdy man, but needed to be helped onto the podium. Once he arrived, the piece thrust him to life. He sang along audibly to some of the most lyrical sections, cued the horns lovingly, precisely counted in the violas to begin the third movement. Even his posture perked up. When the ovation was over, he looked tired, and hunched over a little more as he walked to exit the stage.
Russian composer Dmitri Shostakovich's eighth symphony was premiered in 1943. It is a challenging work. The symphony begins with a 25-minute section that never moves beyond a crawl. Beginning at the end of the second movement, the work takes a dynamic turn that eventually leads to showy bombast. A bridge-like fourth movement gives way to a slow and somber ending.
As with everything in Shostakovich's career at this period, the cat-and-mouse game with the Stalinist-era censors colors many interpretations of the piece, especially the first movement. The censors let the piece stand despite its rich expression, rangy meandering and the decidedly thinking-man's feel present throughout. It's not hard to picture a little smirk and and a rise of the bushy eyebrows above the frames of those inimical round glasses as this one was performed freely. He must've figured he got away with it. The only thing the censors turned out not to like was the broad canvas that left things open for personal interpretation. They appended the Stalingrad subtitle to fit the piece as a remembrance of the war dead at that battle with the Nazis.
World War II, which was then taking place inside Russia, also figures heavily into many interepretations. The bombastic section is thought to take place on the battlefield, with the finale perhaps expressing resurgence, exhausted survival, or a grief-stricken farewell.
Shostakovich's music and biography are so closely associated by scholars that it remains difficult to forget all of this background noise and allow a reaction to emerge from within. If Shostakovich's only mission was to rail against censors, then why didn't he write political treatises under a pen name? The first movement is supposed to be an expression of only oppression, but it causes me to feel free of the small, nagging worries of life. The third movement mimics the battlefield, but by the end it makes me want to dance.
From the front row of the Boston Symphony Orchestra a couple years back, the huge dynamic range of the piece was the most obvious feature. The volume of the loudest sections were more tenacious than classical music has always seemed to be able to handle, while the quieter sections were as gentle as all those pieces that were made to shift the mind toward water lilies. The conductor at the performance was a sturdy man, but needed to be helped onto the podium. Once he arrived, the piece thrust him to life. He sang along audibly to some of the most lyrical sections, cued the horns lovingly, precisely counted in the violas to begin the third movement. Even his posture perked up. When the ovation was over, he looked tired, and hunched over a little more as he walked to exit the stage.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
General Interest Review 00007
The Trees They Do Grow High
"The Trees They Do Grow High" is an English folk ballad that first appeared in the 1700s. With the folk music resurgence in the 60s the song was reawakened, and is now available widely mainly because of recordings by Joan Baez and Martin Carthy.
The song is a genuine example of why English ballads cast such a long, ominous shadow on people who are willing to give them some attention. In the lyrics and aching movement of the melody is conveyed the simultaneous pull of longing and powerlessness that takes up so much of a life lived in a culture that oppresses personal liberty. The ballad is told from the point of view of a 24-year-old girl married off by her father to a 14-year-old boy. She frets about how young he is, expressing anger at her father, who has "married me to a boy who is too young." Her father retorts, in the next verse, that the boy is of noble blood, revealing the true reason for the match. In the refrain she states that "He's young but he's daily growing," showing in a burst of lyrical brilliance that she has submitted some form of resignation that her own life is out of her control. From there, it is suggested that she made amends by taking him as a lover, only to see him go off to battle and die.
Like the refrain, the story is delivered in a taut poetic narrative, that asks the listener to interpret the lines, and, at the same time, feel fully the emotions the narrator lays bare. With each listen it is possible to come away on the side of a different character -- whether it be the narrator and the way her life has been pre-ordained for her, the father and his hope that his daughter will be looked after, or the boy himself, who probably has little idea of the weight of any of this at 14.
So often stories from the times of kings and courts are about the rise or fall (or rise and fall) of ambitious people. They are the epic tails of people who either tried to define their own age (Henry VIII, Elizabeth I) or deviate from the norms of that era with revolutionary abandon (Napoleon, any period character Mel Gibson has played). This story reminds us that a faceless woman possessed of little courage can tell us just as much about history as anyone who was so lucky as to have been written about in a book.
"The Trees They Do Grow High" is an English folk ballad that first appeared in the 1700s. With the folk music resurgence in the 60s the song was reawakened, and is now available widely mainly because of recordings by Joan Baez and Martin Carthy.
The song is a genuine example of why English ballads cast such a long, ominous shadow on people who are willing to give them some attention. In the lyrics and aching movement of the melody is conveyed the simultaneous pull of longing and powerlessness that takes up so much of a life lived in a culture that oppresses personal liberty. The ballad is told from the point of view of a 24-year-old girl married off by her father to a 14-year-old boy. She frets about how young he is, expressing anger at her father, who has "married me to a boy who is too young." Her father retorts, in the next verse, that the boy is of noble blood, revealing the true reason for the match. In the refrain she states that "He's young but he's daily growing," showing in a burst of lyrical brilliance that she has submitted some form of resignation that her own life is out of her control. From there, it is suggested that she made amends by taking him as a lover, only to see him go off to battle and die.
Like the refrain, the story is delivered in a taut poetic narrative, that asks the listener to interpret the lines, and, at the same time, feel fully the emotions the narrator lays bare. With each listen it is possible to come away on the side of a different character -- whether it be the narrator and the way her life has been pre-ordained for her, the father and his hope that his daughter will be looked after, or the boy himself, who probably has little idea of the weight of any of this at 14.
So often stories from the times of kings and courts are about the rise or fall (or rise and fall) of ambitious people. They are the epic tails of people who either tried to define their own age (Henry VIII, Elizabeth I) or deviate from the norms of that era with revolutionary abandon (Napoleon, any period character Mel Gibson has played). This story reminds us that a faceless woman possessed of little courage can tell us just as much about history as anyone who was so lucky as to have been written about in a book.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
General Interest Review 00006
Predator Drones
Predator Drones are small military aircraft with the capability to fire missiles. They are unique in that they do not require a pilot to operate. Instead they can be flown remotely from a faraway location via satellite. Effectively, this takes the human equation out of warfare for the side that has drones. For the receiving end, people are still highly at risk of casualty and subjected to death should the drone's missile, known unrepentantly as the Hellfire, connect with them. Currently the United States is the only country using drones. The U.S. military acknowledges using drones in Afghanistan and Iraq, and has used them in Yemen and the Balkan region of Eastern Europe in the past. Reports recently have all but confirmed that the CIA is using the drones in the remote, tribal areas of Pakistan where the Taliban is hiding. Reports have also been slipping out that they drones are also in use in Somalia, both to protect cargo ships from attacks by pirates and against Al Shabbab, the al Qaida-linked militant arm in Somalia.
Though leaders are likely to never acknowledge it, the drones drive another stake into the heart of the official U.S. policy that says it won't have anything to do with assassinations. This seems to be the product of a lessening of degree over history. The CIA has been accused on a number of occasions of aiding assassination plots in other countries. though it has never admitted to it. Now, with a clear, ill-defined enemy (that is, any terrorist organization that can be linked to al Qaida), the rules apparently need not be followed, and the plans are laid out for the public under the guise that the program is top secret. While it doesn't help enemies, this chastens the program against criticism from outside the government.
The end goal is to rid the world of the heads of these terrorists organizations that can be located, and hope that no others flourish in their wake. But the drones set up the conditions for new terrorists to flourish in their wake. One of the most high profile drone attacks against a supposed Usama bin Laden hideout, during the Clinton administration, killed civillians. A drone attack in October, 2006, against a religious school in Pakistan, also killed civillians. When missiles are fired into a place where people are located, civillians will die. Thinking that their family, friends (and they themselves, if they happen to survive) will not be radicalized by such an event, flies in the face of most logic, not to mention human nature. The U.S. is hoping for a reasoned, humane response to an assault that is unreasonable when looked at from both sides and grotesque (not to mention terrorist, considering the indiscriminate nature and assault on personal liberty).
For those interested in divorcing themselves from reality and considering the matter on a military strategic level, using the drones in Pakistan -- where al Qaida number 2 Ayman al Zawahiri and Pakistan Taliban leader Baitullah Mehsud were targeted (Mehsud was killed) -- even flies in the face of sound planning. To allow the drones into Pakistan, the U.S. had to let the government there pick most of the targets. This effectively takes the U.S. out of the part of the process which is the whole point of the process. To kill someone, you must identify who you are going to kill. Maybe the sought after Taliban are common enemies of the Pakistani government and the CIA right now, but what happens when Pakistan becomes impatient that their targets aren't being executed? That's anyone's guess -- because the program isn't even officially acknowledged.
On either level, and especially with the program's expansion to Somalia rumored over the past week, the playing field envisioned currently seems to be an idealistic one -- where there is no American or Pakistani military suffering, and where targets are dispatched that will fully disrupt the terrorist network in Southwest Asia. But because there is no accountability, and no way to know what the exact rubric is for the targets being selected, the future looks a lot murkier. (In fact, it is already murky. Mehsud alone took more than a dozen tries to execute. How many civillians died in the process is not known. They did not die, according to the CIA, because the program does not exist). Right now, the alleged high value of the targets justifies the use of the drones. But it's not hard to see a future where the use of the drones justifies the high value of the targets.
Predator Drones are small military aircraft with the capability to fire missiles. They are unique in that they do not require a pilot to operate. Instead they can be flown remotely from a faraway location via satellite. Effectively, this takes the human equation out of warfare for the side that has drones. For the receiving end, people are still highly at risk of casualty and subjected to death should the drone's missile, known unrepentantly as the Hellfire, connect with them. Currently the United States is the only country using drones. The U.S. military acknowledges using drones in Afghanistan and Iraq, and has used them in Yemen and the Balkan region of Eastern Europe in the past. Reports recently have all but confirmed that the CIA is using the drones in the remote, tribal areas of Pakistan where the Taliban is hiding. Reports have also been slipping out that they drones are also in use in Somalia, both to protect cargo ships from attacks by pirates and against Al Shabbab, the al Qaida-linked militant arm in Somalia.
Though leaders are likely to never acknowledge it, the drones drive another stake into the heart of the official U.S. policy that says it won't have anything to do with assassinations. This seems to be the product of a lessening of degree over history. The CIA has been accused on a number of occasions of aiding assassination plots in other countries. though it has never admitted to it. Now, with a clear, ill-defined enemy (that is, any terrorist organization that can be linked to al Qaida), the rules apparently need not be followed, and the plans are laid out for the public under the guise that the program is top secret. While it doesn't help enemies, this chastens the program against criticism from outside the government.
The end goal is to rid the world of the heads of these terrorists organizations that can be located, and hope that no others flourish in their wake. But the drones set up the conditions for new terrorists to flourish in their wake. One of the most high profile drone attacks against a supposed Usama bin Laden hideout, during the Clinton administration, killed civillians. A drone attack in October, 2006, against a religious school in Pakistan, also killed civillians. When missiles are fired into a place where people are located, civillians will die. Thinking that their family, friends (and they themselves, if they happen to survive) will not be radicalized by such an event, flies in the face of most logic, not to mention human nature. The U.S. is hoping for a reasoned, humane response to an assault that is unreasonable when looked at from both sides and grotesque (not to mention terrorist, considering the indiscriminate nature and assault on personal liberty).
For those interested in divorcing themselves from reality and considering the matter on a military strategic level, using the drones in Pakistan -- where al Qaida number 2 Ayman al Zawahiri and Pakistan Taliban leader Baitullah Mehsud were targeted (Mehsud was killed) -- even flies in the face of sound planning. To allow the drones into Pakistan, the U.S. had to let the government there pick most of the targets. This effectively takes the U.S. out of the part of the process which is the whole point of the process. To kill someone, you must identify who you are going to kill. Maybe the sought after Taliban are common enemies of the Pakistani government and the CIA right now, but what happens when Pakistan becomes impatient that their targets aren't being executed? That's anyone's guess -- because the program isn't even officially acknowledged.
On either level, and especially with the program's expansion to Somalia rumored over the past week, the playing field envisioned currently seems to be an idealistic one -- where there is no American or Pakistani military suffering, and where targets are dispatched that will fully disrupt the terrorist network in Southwest Asia. But because there is no accountability, and no way to know what the exact rubric is for the targets being selected, the future looks a lot murkier. (In fact, it is already murky. Mehsud alone took more than a dozen tries to execute. How many civillians died in the process is not known. They did not die, according to the CIA, because the program does not exist). Right now, the alleged high value of the targets justifies the use of the drones. But it's not hard to see a future where the use of the drones justifies the high value of the targets.
Friday, October 23, 2009
General Interest Review 00005
Where The Wild Things Are (film)
Where The Wild Things Are (film) is the cinematic expansion of Maurice Sendak's 1960s children's book. The book has all of ten lines, a score of pages and a fairly simple plot. Kids throws tantrum. Kid gets punished. Kid entertains himself while in room being punished. Kid's punishment ends.
The movie winds that bare chicken bone of a plot around a Max who has to shoulder more than he can bare at his age. His mother is single and sort of ignores him, and his sister's friends pick on him without her stepping in to call them bullies. Max gets all bent out of shape one night and runs away from home, at which point his imagination takes him to the titular locale. Instead of conquering the wild things like he does in the book, he lies to them and gets appointed king. From that point, the movie divorces itself from the book completely, spinning an allegorical yarn about human interaction, being sort of a loner, the selfish tendencies of interpersonal behavior and their effects on others, building sweet forts, and sleeping together in a big, furry pile.
The web of relationships Max conjures up for the wild things in his head points to his own life at with a temperamental alpha at the center capable of bringing his buds to his knees when he decides he wants to be upset. But along for the ride are a host of other teetering personalities that points this movie's genre away from the kid set.
Which makes for an interesting time in itself. On a base reading of the plot, we'd see Max represented in the alpha character, making sense of a situation where he has to temper personalities beyond his control, learning the lessons of it, and going home. But on a broader level the plot arc is really about relationships at any age. When do we let our own interest and selfishness fall away and heed the appeal of the better side of our conscience to let people be what they are? When is it time to call a spade a spade and think you can make things right and when is it time to just go home? Obviously there are no clear cut answers to this in life, and the movie treads lightly on making a concrete statement about how to deal with a screwed up entanglement of people. But watching the plot unfold through the McSweeney's-era archetypes will at least call to mind enough real life situations to keep things relevant.
And the cinematography and costumes are boss.
Where The Wild Things Are (film) is the cinematic expansion of Maurice Sendak's 1960s children's book. The book has all of ten lines, a score of pages and a fairly simple plot. Kids throws tantrum. Kid gets punished. Kid entertains himself while in room being punished. Kid's punishment ends.
The movie winds that bare chicken bone of a plot around a Max who has to shoulder more than he can bare at his age. His mother is single and sort of ignores him, and his sister's friends pick on him without her stepping in to call them bullies. Max gets all bent out of shape one night and runs away from home, at which point his imagination takes him to the titular locale. Instead of conquering the wild things like he does in the book, he lies to them and gets appointed king. From that point, the movie divorces itself from the book completely, spinning an allegorical yarn about human interaction, being sort of a loner, the selfish tendencies of interpersonal behavior and their effects on others, building sweet forts, and sleeping together in a big, furry pile.
The web of relationships Max conjures up for the wild things in his head points to his own life at with a temperamental alpha at the center capable of bringing his buds to his knees when he decides he wants to be upset. But along for the ride are a host of other teetering personalities that points this movie's genre away from the kid set.
Which makes for an interesting time in itself. On a base reading of the plot, we'd see Max represented in the alpha character, making sense of a situation where he has to temper personalities beyond his control, learning the lessons of it, and going home. But on a broader level the plot arc is really about relationships at any age. When do we let our own interest and selfishness fall away and heed the appeal of the better side of our conscience to let people be what they are? When is it time to call a spade a spade and think you can make things right and when is it time to just go home? Obviously there are no clear cut answers to this in life, and the movie treads lightly on making a concrete statement about how to deal with a screwed up entanglement of people. But watching the plot unfold through the McSweeney's-era archetypes will at least call to mind enough real life situations to keep things relevant.
And the cinematography and costumes are boss.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
General Interest Review 00004
Against Transparency
Against Transparency is an essay by Harvard professor Lawrence Lessig appearing in the October 21, 2009, issue of the The New Republic. Lessig argues that the newly expanded availability of government data on the Internet-- specifically campaign contributions -- merely enables and reinforces cynicism about government. The intended goal, he says, should be to move beyond cynicism to actual government reform. He refers primarily to a project that will map campaign contributions distributed to members of Congress from special interests and corporations directly to votes that these parties would want to influence. Lessig argues that the gray area between the act of contributing to a campaign and allowing that money to influence the vote is too indecipherable to show in data without explanation.
He even goes so far as to suggest that the cynicism yoked to the overwhelming amount of corruption the data appears to reveal creates a "tyranny of transparency." That is to say, because the public will automatically link a vote that aligns with a campaign contribution to the campaign contribution no matter the truth of the Congressperson's motivation, cynicism will burden the public's view of the political process to the point of...well, he never really posits where it might take us. The idea is that if data releasers think about the effect their product will have, they can re-tool it to have a more positive effect on the public process of making laws and governing in general.
Lessig's consideration is crucial in the current media environment. The transparency that President Obama has promised has allowed full access to the location of his dates, the movement of his dog, and, this week, his devotion to his daughters' sports teams. Despite all this transparency, the New York Times still had to do a bit of digging this summer to discover the White House had inked a deal with former La. Rep. Billy Tauzin and the major pharmaceutical companies to hold back that industry's losses in the upcoming health care bill in exchange for support. That is to say, if the White House wants to suppress information, the age of transparency can suddenly become opaque. Simultaneously, a wave of corruption convictions have gripped Congress across party lines, lining up the makings for a repeat of the Nixon-era disillusionment (if we even ever really got over that one...). Lessig's worry about public cynicism reigning over are clearly based in reality.
But like the gray area between a campaign contribution and a vote, the gray area between the release of public data and the public's view of said data is equally vast. Much more vast than Lessig is willing to admit. Lessig is an academic, operating in the world of the abstract and theoretical. The data releasers he is discussing are involved in mundane work not vested with the creativity and intellectual rigor Lessig puts in, but it concerns collecting and organizing data -- not figuring out the story behind that data. The idea that a new system is required to release this data is laughable. This country has had a mechanism for releasing key government data and, shockingly, the story behind it, for some time now. This mechanism is often broadly referred to as the press, or the media.
It is true that the facts reported in the press often lead to public cynicism. Virtually all media outlets that pursue the types of stories that rely on documents and government data are accused of being too negative or trying to blow up a story that isn't there to gain viewers or readers. Journalists are forced to pursue documents because information is not readily provided to them about topics like corruption and conflict of interest. It would seem reasonable for Lessig or his colleagues to suggest that the new vehicles to release data take an approach geared more toward spotlighting positive developments as well as negative ones. But that, too, would require reading between the lines of the volumes of data. The data could also be organized in a way that does not directly connect campaign contributions and votes -- but then what is the point of releasing the data in the first place? The public interest becomes far lower if the data doesn't show anything interesting in the end.
The dilemma presented is not one of how to present information, but how that information is viewed. Since newspapers are dying and migrating to the Internet, the Internet generation assumes that the media can be remade on their principles. Organization of voluminous information, open and free access, and clearly focused intentions, and, ultimately, utility, will produce the best product, they say.
But to find the truth amongst all that data requires a willingness to wade into the sludge of human interaction and, occasionally, get caught up in the deceit, self-interest, and general gamesmanship that results when trying to publicize unethical or illegal actions by a person. This job has often been called reporting. It is undertaken by this press. The innovations of the digital revolution are a welcome help in this job, but ultimately represent no replacement for a capable fact finder that is willing to talk to actual human beings with a stake in the outcome in the course of doing their job.
Against Transparency is an essay by Harvard professor Lawrence Lessig appearing in the October 21, 2009, issue of the The New Republic. Lessig argues that the newly expanded availability of government data on the Internet-- specifically campaign contributions -- merely enables and reinforces cynicism about government. The intended goal, he says, should be to move beyond cynicism to actual government reform. He refers primarily to a project that will map campaign contributions distributed to members of Congress from special interests and corporations directly to votes that these parties would want to influence. Lessig argues that the gray area between the act of contributing to a campaign and allowing that money to influence the vote is too indecipherable to show in data without explanation.
He even goes so far as to suggest that the cynicism yoked to the overwhelming amount of corruption the data appears to reveal creates a "tyranny of transparency." That is to say, because the public will automatically link a vote that aligns with a campaign contribution to the campaign contribution no matter the truth of the Congressperson's motivation, cynicism will burden the public's view of the political process to the point of...well, he never really posits where it might take us. The idea is that if data releasers think about the effect their product will have, they can re-tool it to have a more positive effect on the public process of making laws and governing in general.
Lessig's consideration is crucial in the current media environment. The transparency that President Obama has promised has allowed full access to the location of his dates, the movement of his dog, and, this week, his devotion to his daughters' sports teams. Despite all this transparency, the New York Times still had to do a bit of digging this summer to discover the White House had inked a deal with former La. Rep. Billy Tauzin and the major pharmaceutical companies to hold back that industry's losses in the upcoming health care bill in exchange for support. That is to say, if the White House wants to suppress information, the age of transparency can suddenly become opaque. Simultaneously, a wave of corruption convictions have gripped Congress across party lines, lining up the makings for a repeat of the Nixon-era disillusionment (if we even ever really got over that one...). Lessig's worry about public cynicism reigning over are clearly based in reality.
But like the gray area between a campaign contribution and a vote, the gray area between the release of public data and the public's view of said data is equally vast. Much more vast than Lessig is willing to admit. Lessig is an academic, operating in the world of the abstract and theoretical. The data releasers he is discussing are involved in mundane work not vested with the creativity and intellectual rigor Lessig puts in, but it concerns collecting and organizing data -- not figuring out the story behind that data. The idea that a new system is required to release this data is laughable. This country has had a mechanism for releasing key government data and, shockingly, the story behind it, for some time now. This mechanism is often broadly referred to as the press, or the media.
It is true that the facts reported in the press often lead to public cynicism. Virtually all media outlets that pursue the types of stories that rely on documents and government data are accused of being too negative or trying to blow up a story that isn't there to gain viewers or readers. Journalists are forced to pursue documents because information is not readily provided to them about topics like corruption and conflict of interest. It would seem reasonable for Lessig or his colleagues to suggest that the new vehicles to release data take an approach geared more toward spotlighting positive developments as well as negative ones. But that, too, would require reading between the lines of the volumes of data. The data could also be organized in a way that does not directly connect campaign contributions and votes -- but then what is the point of releasing the data in the first place? The public interest becomes far lower if the data doesn't show anything interesting in the end.
The dilemma presented is not one of how to present information, but how that information is viewed. Since newspapers are dying and migrating to the Internet, the Internet generation assumes that the media can be remade on their principles. Organization of voluminous information, open and free access, and clearly focused intentions, and, ultimately, utility, will produce the best product, they say.
But to find the truth amongst all that data requires a willingness to wade into the sludge of human interaction and, occasionally, get caught up in the deceit, self-interest, and general gamesmanship that results when trying to publicize unethical or illegal actions by a person. This job has often been called reporting. It is undertaken by this press. The innovations of the digital revolution are a welcome help in this job, but ultimately represent no replacement for a capable fact finder that is willing to talk to actual human beings with a stake in the outcome in the course of doing their job.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Generaly Interest Review 00003
Second Lines
Second Lines are a variety of parade originating in the historically black neighborhoods of New Orleans. They often roll on Sunday afternoons (after church and, if possible, before the Saints game), and are striking for the amount of fun they bring with some very limited resources. This ain't Mardi Gras by any stretch of the imagination. The total parade is usually one float, a brass band, and a gaggle of people dressed up in their finest dancing like absolutely everyone is watching. Second Lines originate through organizations known as Social Aid and Pleasure Clubs. Back when, people in black communities formed the clubs so they could pool their resources to ensure a proper burial for all. That's where the popular New Orleans jazz funeral came from. Now 'days, the clubs host parades through the neighborhood on a given Sunday. The idea, ostensibly, is to celebrate themselves. But no one thinks too hard. The members of the club dress in matching suits and march in front of the brass band, fully getting down throughout and literally stepping out for their club. The name second line refers to the onlookers, who in this case actually walk with the parade and, of course, get the heck down. Since the parades are so small, the street talk has just left the second line as the name of the parade, but actually you're not going to a second line...you're going to second line a parade.
Grammar matters little when you're in the thick of it. The drums and tuba are in lockstep driving the parade onward, and all that's really left to do when the horns kick in is, well, get down. The author went to check one out yesterday, intending on standing as it passed due to dreary conditions. As the parade was upon, he couldn't help but get swept up and walk with the thing for a little less than a mile. The closest comparison to what it feels like to be in the middle is any large dance number from a musical where normal people are moved to join in the song. People run up on porches to show off their moves, dance in unison, and make sure they are with drink. And the matching suits. And the whole neighborhood comes out.
It's really hard to overstate how these simple, fairly small parades breathe life into some of the roughest streets in our fine country. They bring a color to the streets that isn't seen now like it was in the days of yore. The economic troubles in these areas are probably unmatched, but organizers know they need this to somehow keep the city from fully getting away from them. Sure, New Orleans kids have always been all about picking up a horn. But what do they have to look forward to if they haven't got anywhere to play it on Sunday. And to thnk about this as ingrained culture makes it even wilder. It's expected that it'll happen here. Sure as the buck moth catepillars will fall out of the tree every spring.
As the author was walking home from yesterday's parade he encountered another non-native of the area. They talked about how second lines are what church should be. On Sunday afternoon, everyone forgets their problems, dances together on the street, and makes a big old commotion. Just for the heck of it.
Second Lines are a variety of parade originating in the historically black neighborhoods of New Orleans. They often roll on Sunday afternoons (after church and, if possible, before the Saints game), and are striking for the amount of fun they bring with some very limited resources. This ain't Mardi Gras by any stretch of the imagination. The total parade is usually one float, a brass band, and a gaggle of people dressed up in their finest dancing like absolutely everyone is watching. Second Lines originate through organizations known as Social Aid and Pleasure Clubs. Back when, people in black communities formed the clubs so they could pool their resources to ensure a proper burial for all. That's where the popular New Orleans jazz funeral came from. Now 'days, the clubs host parades through the neighborhood on a given Sunday. The idea, ostensibly, is to celebrate themselves. But no one thinks too hard. The members of the club dress in matching suits and march in front of the brass band, fully getting down throughout and literally stepping out for their club. The name second line refers to the onlookers, who in this case actually walk with the parade and, of course, get the heck down. Since the parades are so small, the street talk has just left the second line as the name of the parade, but actually you're not going to a second line...you're going to second line a parade.
Grammar matters little when you're in the thick of it. The drums and tuba are in lockstep driving the parade onward, and all that's really left to do when the horns kick in is, well, get down. The author went to check one out yesterday, intending on standing as it passed due to dreary conditions. As the parade was upon, he couldn't help but get swept up and walk with the thing for a little less than a mile. The closest comparison to what it feels like to be in the middle is any large dance number from a musical where normal people are moved to join in the song. People run up on porches to show off their moves, dance in unison, and make sure they are with drink. And the matching suits. And the whole neighborhood comes out.
It's really hard to overstate how these simple, fairly small parades breathe life into some of the roughest streets in our fine country. They bring a color to the streets that isn't seen now like it was in the days of yore. The economic troubles in these areas are probably unmatched, but organizers know they need this to somehow keep the city from fully getting away from them. Sure, New Orleans kids have always been all about picking up a horn. But what do they have to look forward to if they haven't got anywhere to play it on Sunday. And to thnk about this as ingrained culture makes it even wilder. It's expected that it'll happen here. Sure as the buck moth catepillars will fall out of the tree every spring.
As the author was walking home from yesterday's parade he encountered another non-native of the area. They talked about how second lines are what church should be. On Sunday afternoon, everyone forgets their problems, dances together on the street, and makes a big old commotion. Just for the heck of it.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
General Interest Review 00002
Rio de Janeiro
Rio de Janeiro is a city in South America's pre-eminent natural-resource-and-poor-people-flush megacountry, Brazil. The International Olympic Committee voted this week to let the city host the Summer Olympic Games there in 2016, a mere seven years from now. South America has never hosted an Olympic Games. Coincidentally, Rio de Janeiro will also host the football/soccer World Cup in 2014 -- a notably larger event to anyone inhabiting the area nether regions outside the Universe-balancing axis of the United States of America.
Rio, as it is known in party travel vernacular, is a provocative choice to host the Olympics, just as Beijing, China, was a unique choice for the 2008 Games. Largely known for Carnival (also known as Mardi Gras without the residual racism) and that slightly ominous Christ Redeemer statue, Rio has also entered the cultural canon by way of the reductionist (to tears, because it's so brilliant) "City of God" of earlier this decade. Portrayed in that film (and in this week's New Yorker magazine), is the reality on the ground. A huge swath of the city's poorest areas overtaken in crippling fashion by crime, gangs, and the drug trade. These portraits do not only expose life in Rio, they expose the desperation many slums face throughout the world. Rio is not the first city with these problems to host the Olympics. The 1980 Games were hosted by Los Angeles. Though an American city of the First World, LA faces the same types of issues in its poor neighborhoods.
Casual media consumers will note that the final decision to award the Olympic Games to Rio were was the result of endless internal politicking and, perhaps, the sympathy for a continent that is home to a vast swath of the world's people but has never hosted an Olympics. But what will emerge from that back room process is a look at a country and its cultural center that are still in the midst of its growing pains. Brazil is not yet China -- kicking around regional counterparts and pulling the puppet strings of the U.S. But crucially for the Olympics, it is also not EuroAmerica. In fact, it was once an outpost and colonized portion of EuroAmerica -- unlike any other city to host the games before.
After centuries of bending to pressure from the North Americans and Europeans even after they stopped directly controlling the place, and struggling to fill the power vacuum with anyone respectable in the meantime, the gracious Centers of the Universe have bestowed one of their own jewels of relevance onto the former outer provinces in the form of the Olympics. While it's unlikely that Brazil will be eager to throw any of their gang leaders, or even poor people (d.b.a. the vast majority of the population) into the direct glare of the limelight, the mere fact that the Olympics are willing to pack up their things and move the show to a city that was previously a mere pawn on the chess board of world supremacy is a step that reflects the increasingly crowded world stage. Fittingly, at the close of the 2012 Olympics the flag will pass from London -- home of the crown that once sought the prize of outright global dominance and all that was supposedly civilized -- to Rio. The message: There's finally more about the place to nail down than exotic Ipanemans.
Rio de Janeiro is a city in South America's pre-eminent natural-resource-and-poor-people-flush megacountry, Brazil. The International Olympic Committee voted this week to let the city host the Summer Olympic Games there in 2016, a mere seven years from now. South America has never hosted an Olympic Games. Coincidentally, Rio de Janeiro will also host the football/soccer World Cup in 2014 -- a notably larger event to anyone inhabiting the area nether regions outside the Universe-balancing axis of the United States of America.
Rio, as it is known in party travel vernacular, is a provocative choice to host the Olympics, just as Beijing, China, was a unique choice for the 2008 Games. Largely known for Carnival (also known as Mardi Gras without the residual racism) and that slightly ominous Christ Redeemer statue, Rio has also entered the cultural canon by way of the reductionist (to tears, because it's so brilliant) "City of God" of earlier this decade. Portrayed in that film (and in this week's New Yorker magazine), is the reality on the ground. A huge swath of the city's poorest areas overtaken in crippling fashion by crime, gangs, and the drug trade. These portraits do not only expose life in Rio, they expose the desperation many slums face throughout the world. Rio is not the first city with these problems to host the Olympics. The 1980 Games were hosted by Los Angeles. Though an American city of the First World, LA faces the same types of issues in its poor neighborhoods.
Casual media consumers will note that the final decision to award the Olympic Games to Rio were was the result of endless internal politicking and, perhaps, the sympathy for a continent that is home to a vast swath of the world's people but has never hosted an Olympics. But what will emerge from that back room process is a look at a country and its cultural center that are still in the midst of its growing pains. Brazil is not yet China -- kicking around regional counterparts and pulling the puppet strings of the U.S. But crucially for the Olympics, it is also not EuroAmerica. In fact, it was once an outpost and colonized portion of EuroAmerica -- unlike any other city to host the games before.
After centuries of bending to pressure from the North Americans and Europeans even after they stopped directly controlling the place, and struggling to fill the power vacuum with anyone respectable in the meantime, the gracious Centers of the Universe have bestowed one of their own jewels of relevance onto the former outer provinces in the form of the Olympics. While it's unlikely that Brazil will be eager to throw any of their gang leaders, or even poor people (d.b.a. the vast majority of the population) into the direct glare of the limelight, the mere fact that the Olympics are willing to pack up their things and move the show to a city that was previously a mere pawn on the chess board of world supremacy is a step that reflects the increasingly crowded world stage. Fittingly, at the close of the 2012 Olympics the flag will pass from London -- home of the crown that once sought the prize of outright global dominance and all that was supposedly civilized -- to Rio. The message: There's finally more about the place to nail down than exotic Ipanemans.
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