Like all mothers confronting errant, defiant children, Earth is punishing us. And the worst is yet to come.
Here in southern New Mexico, we've gone more than 100 days without rain. The winds came earlier, blew harder and are hanging around longer than any year in memory of most locals.
"Our respiratory systems weren't made to breathe dirt," a doctor friend said the other day when gusts over 40 mph called off our tennis session.
"Wait till 'monsoon season,'" I replied. "We're going to get a 200-year-rain and it'll wash everything, including us, down the arroyo to the Rio Grande." I was only half-joking.
Five years ago we had a "100-year rain." Lots of flood damage. The next year we had another, worse rain. We spent $20,000 repairing the damage to our own house and grounds.
Yet Nature is treating us kindly in comparison with other parts of the world. An epic wave of deadly tornadoes in the central United States. Wildfires in New Mexico, Texas, California and Oklahoma. Massive flooding in the Mississippi River valley, in Australia, in New Zealand, China and Pakistan.
Extreme weather. "Freak" weather? No: it's exactly what all the climate science models predicted: a proliferation of extreme weather events. Climate chaos. The third law of thermodynamics -- entropy -- on steroids.
We're killing the food in the oceans. We're melting the polar ice caps. Grain harvests have failed in Russia, China, Australia and Texas. Farmers in the midwest can't plant grain because their flood-ravaged fields are too wet. This in a world where a fifth of the population already couldn't afford adequate nutrition.
Just a run of bad luck? No, all these bad things are happening because greenhouse gas emissions increased by a record amount last year, to the highest carbon output in history, according to the International Energy Agency. The planet has already warmed by one degree celsius; if it warms by more than another degree, scientists say it will be difficult to sustain human life on most of the globe. Coastal cities, islands, perhaps even entire small countries will be submerged. Massive human migrations will take place. "It is becoming extremely challenging to remain below 2 degrees," Faith Birol, chief economist for the IEA, told the Guardian UK. "The prospect is getting bleaker. That is what the numbers say."
Bill McKibben, one of the first prophets of climate change, says the killer second degree of warming is "already in the pipeline." The year of record carbon emissions just ended, heaped on the emissions in the years immediately preceding it, means that warming energy temporarily stored in the oceans soon will escape to warm the entire envelope of life-sustaining atmosphere around the planet.
This is happening much faster than even the most dire climate change scenarios predicted.
Our government, our political leaders, and particularly our most profitable corporations, have sneered at climate change. In fact, the planet-raping profiteers have financed a massive fog of pseudoscientific nonsense to persuade us that we can adapt to whatever is happening.
Somebody build an Ark. Quickly.
"Don't tell Momma I'm a journalist; say I play the piano in a whorehouse."
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Sunday, May 29, 2011
When It was Roland Garros by a Midwest Riverside
Each time I play tennis lately, as I did this morning and do every day that weather and an aging body permit me, I think of the man who gave me the love of the game.
I never knew his name. He'd be in his 90s now, if he's still alive.
It was a long, long time ago, on the public courts in a river town in the midwest. Two kids about 12 -- my best friend and I -- were batting a ball around, trying to do the few basic things they'd been taught about the game.
We hadn't seen him approach, weren't aware he'd been watching, for however long. Long enough to make some observations.
"You've got to change your grip on the backhand," he said. "Somebody told us to hold it this way," I replied, showing the shake-hands forehand grip we'd been taught. "Someone" was a recreation department summer employee, who coached softball and baseball mostly, but occasionally dropped by the tennis courts because his tasks also included organizing the annual city tournament for junior players.
"That's the standard forehand grip," our new acquaintance said. Then he moved our hands the quarter-turn for a proper backhand stroke. "With this grip you can hit the ball flat for a backhand drive, brush up for topspin, or open the face for slice. The way you've been doing it, all you can hit is slice -- floating slice, at that. Hard to control. Give it a try."
For an hour he tossed balls to us -- forehand, backhand; forehand, backhand. After the first half hour, we were comfortable with the grip change, using the bevels on the handle as a tactile guide.
"Come here often?" he asked when we broke for water. "Almost every day in the summer," we said. "OK, " he said, "tomorrow we'll work on the serve."
That was the day I fell in love with tennis. The sound of the ball coming off the strings when he demonstrated serving technique thrilled me to the bone. The serve came naturally to me, and with the tips he gave me on positioning my feet, "lifting" the toss high to get full extension, and snapping my wrist, it became a weapon. Sometimes, when I really popped one on the sweet spot, I imagined I heard that same awesome "thwack" I heard when he served.
He was, in the parlance of the day, a "tennis bum." Kramer, Gonzales, Sedgwick, Vines -- these were the guys who competed for championships. They were "amateurs," there was no professional tennis, but they took money under the table. Sometimes, when a player or two were needed to fill out a draw, the tournament officials would tap into the pool of tennis bums who followed the tour, hoping for a chance. The bums would hustle matches for money with the pretty good local yokels, tanking the first set and then offering to double the bet for a "chance to get even." Sometimes racquet manufacturers would give them day work teaching at clinics at tournament venues. It was barely a living -- thumbing was the usual transportation between tournament sites. He was good, but not good enough to play the tour regularly, and he knew it. "Some day," he told us, "I hope to find a rich widow who will support me in the manner to which I want to become accustomed."
For two weeks, he drilled us, taught us, gave us tips for competition. ("If you play a guy with a big serve you can't return, don't move back, move up inside the baseline. Way, way up. You might block back a few lucky ones. More than likely, the big hitter will get upset by the dare, start over-hitting, and start double faulting. You'll be inside his head then. He'll be putty in your hands.")
One day he simply didn't turn up at the courts. He had moved on to the next tournament venue, looking for suckers to hustle.
But he'd given us the game. By summer's end our play had improved so much that the recreation guy ordered us to "play up" into an older group for the city tournament because we were too good for our peers. My friend Mel upset the No. 4 seed, 6-4. 6-4. I drew the No. 1 seed, but I only lost by a single break in each set. "Toughest serve I've faced in a long time," he told me at the net after the match. "Where'd you learn it?"
"Oh," I said, as cavalierly as a 12-year-old can be, "a friend who plays the tour taught me."
I like to think he found that rich widow. What he gave me was priceless: a lifetime of exercise, friendships and fun.
I never knew his name. He'd be in his 90s now, if he's still alive.
It was a long, long time ago, on the public courts in a river town in the midwest. Two kids about 12 -- my best friend and I -- were batting a ball around, trying to do the few basic things they'd been taught about the game.
We hadn't seen him approach, weren't aware he'd been watching, for however long. Long enough to make some observations.
"You've got to change your grip on the backhand," he said. "Somebody told us to hold it this way," I replied, showing the shake-hands forehand grip we'd been taught. "Someone" was a recreation department summer employee, who coached softball and baseball mostly, but occasionally dropped by the tennis courts because his tasks also included organizing the annual city tournament for junior players.
"That's the standard forehand grip," our new acquaintance said. Then he moved our hands the quarter-turn for a proper backhand stroke. "With this grip you can hit the ball flat for a backhand drive, brush up for topspin, or open the face for slice. The way you've been doing it, all you can hit is slice -- floating slice, at that. Hard to control. Give it a try."
For an hour he tossed balls to us -- forehand, backhand; forehand, backhand. After the first half hour, we were comfortable with the grip change, using the bevels on the handle as a tactile guide.
"Come here often?" he asked when we broke for water. "Almost every day in the summer," we said. "OK, " he said, "tomorrow we'll work on the serve."
That was the day I fell in love with tennis. The sound of the ball coming off the strings when he demonstrated serving technique thrilled me to the bone. The serve came naturally to me, and with the tips he gave me on positioning my feet, "lifting" the toss high to get full extension, and snapping my wrist, it became a weapon. Sometimes, when I really popped one on the sweet spot, I imagined I heard that same awesome "thwack" I heard when he served.
He was, in the parlance of the day, a "tennis bum." Kramer, Gonzales, Sedgwick, Vines -- these were the guys who competed for championships. They were "amateurs," there was no professional tennis, but they took money under the table. Sometimes, when a player or two were needed to fill out a draw, the tournament officials would tap into the pool of tennis bums who followed the tour, hoping for a chance. The bums would hustle matches for money with the pretty good local yokels, tanking the first set and then offering to double the bet for a "chance to get even." Sometimes racquet manufacturers would give them day work teaching at clinics at tournament venues. It was barely a living -- thumbing was the usual transportation between tournament sites. He was good, but not good enough to play the tour regularly, and he knew it. "Some day," he told us, "I hope to find a rich widow who will support me in the manner to which I want to become accustomed."
For two weeks, he drilled us, taught us, gave us tips for competition. ("If you play a guy with a big serve you can't return, don't move back, move up inside the baseline. Way, way up. You might block back a few lucky ones. More than likely, the big hitter will get upset by the dare, start over-hitting, and start double faulting. You'll be inside his head then. He'll be putty in your hands.")
One day he simply didn't turn up at the courts. He had moved on to the next tournament venue, looking for suckers to hustle.
But he'd given us the game. By summer's end our play had improved so much that the recreation guy ordered us to "play up" into an older group for the city tournament because we were too good for our peers. My friend Mel upset the No. 4 seed, 6-4. 6-4. I drew the No. 1 seed, but I only lost by a single break in each set. "Toughest serve I've faced in a long time," he told me at the net after the match. "Where'd you learn it?"
"Oh," I said, as cavalierly as a 12-year-old can be, "a friend who plays the tour taught me."
I like to think he found that rich widow. What he gave me was priceless: a lifetime of exercise, friendships and fun.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
The Very, Very Inner Workings of the American Left
The revolutionary council met Saturday for only the third time this year. Hiding in a crowd, we spoke in code.
We'll be meeting again in July, this time under cover of culture. An opera, perhaps, or concert.
To guard against inadvertently leaking keys to our code, I will simply summarize our most recent meeting:
--The country continues to decline at an accelerating rate.
-- Peaceful solutions seem increasingly unlikely.
-- The next step will be to take to the streets. Even with MLK, Ghandi-style protests, there will be violence. We formed a slogan committee. What's the antidote to "Real Men Love Jesus"? Perhaps the creators of the Landover Baptist website will come up with something. Some of us will go to jail, like the Black Panthers and the Freedom Riders.
-- Green tea and boutique beer do not mix well.
--SKG (not his real initials, of course) wasn't really eager to go to jail. "I still have songs to write, a mortgage to pay," he said. CKG (not her real initials) gently chided him: "The drop of rain maketh a hole in the stone, not by violence, but by oft falling." He seemed chagrined, but then musicians always look chagrined.
--Bobby Dee (not his real name) was ready to man the barricades. "How can we take up arms," he asked, "if the NRA has all the guns?" We named a procurement committee to find our where terrorists, who don't usually belong to the NRA, get their weapons. "Now that we've killed bin Laden," Mary Dee wondered aloud, "are there any terrorists left? Armed ones, I mean." We referred the question to the etymology committee.
--"Massive non-violent protests (which of course will be met with violence by those being protested against) have to be tried before we consider taking up arms," counseled Tinkler Tee (not his real name). "Besides, it's a lot cheaper." "Nonsense!" roared Little Lulu (not her real name). "Read your Che." Tinkler appeared chagrined; but then, aging revolutionaries always look chagrined.
-- "Can Obama be re-elected?" Bobby asked. Consensus: Probably. Unless the Republicans manage somehow to find a candidate who does not immediately self-immolate. "Well, then," Bobby continued, "is it not possible that Obama will transform himself into the President we thought we elected in 2008?" We dismantled the procurement committee and formed a committee to investigate Obama's election prospects and the possibility of his transforming himself into the President we thought we had elected in 2008. (Tinkler Tee thought from the outset that the procurement committee was not aptly named. "It's suggestive," he complained).
--"Who got my green chile cheeseburger?" Bobby Dee asked. "SKG has traces of green chile in his mustache," Tinkler Tee observed. Accusations were hurled. The house had no porter. The enchiladas were overbaked. The waiter demanded a bigger tip. Chaos ensued.
--But then Mary Dee spoke up over the cacophony: "The Rive Gauche in July?" Glasses clinked. "The Rive Gauche!" we cried as one.
Chris Hedges to the contrary notwithstanding, the American Left is alive and well.
We'll be meeting again in July, this time under cover of culture. An opera, perhaps, or concert.
To guard against inadvertently leaking keys to our code, I will simply summarize our most recent meeting:
--The country continues to decline at an accelerating rate.
-- Peaceful solutions seem increasingly unlikely.
-- The next step will be to take to the streets. Even with MLK, Ghandi-style protests, there will be violence. We formed a slogan committee. What's the antidote to "Real Men Love Jesus"? Perhaps the creators of the Landover Baptist website will come up with something. Some of us will go to jail, like the Black Panthers and the Freedom Riders.
-- Green tea and boutique beer do not mix well.
--SKG (not his real initials, of course) wasn't really eager to go to jail. "I still have songs to write, a mortgage to pay," he said. CKG (not her real initials) gently chided him: "The drop of rain maketh a hole in the stone, not by violence, but by oft falling." He seemed chagrined, but then musicians always look chagrined.
--Bobby Dee (not his real name) was ready to man the barricades. "How can we take up arms," he asked, "if the NRA has all the guns?" We named a procurement committee to find our where terrorists, who don't usually belong to the NRA, get their weapons. "Now that we've killed bin Laden," Mary Dee wondered aloud, "are there any terrorists left? Armed ones, I mean." We referred the question to the etymology committee.
--"Massive non-violent protests (which of course will be met with violence by those being protested against) have to be tried before we consider taking up arms," counseled Tinkler Tee (not his real name). "Besides, it's a lot cheaper." "Nonsense!" roared Little Lulu (not her real name). "Read your Che." Tinkler appeared chagrined; but then, aging revolutionaries always look chagrined.
-- "Can Obama be re-elected?" Bobby asked. Consensus: Probably. Unless the Republicans manage somehow to find a candidate who does not immediately self-immolate. "Well, then," Bobby continued, "is it not possible that Obama will transform himself into the President we thought we elected in 2008?" We dismantled the procurement committee and formed a committee to investigate Obama's election prospects and the possibility of his transforming himself into the President we thought we had elected in 2008. (Tinkler Tee thought from the outset that the procurement committee was not aptly named. "It's suggestive," he complained).
--"Who got my green chile cheeseburger?" Bobby Dee asked. "SKG has traces of green chile in his mustache," Tinkler Tee observed. Accusations were hurled. The house had no porter. The enchiladas were overbaked. The waiter demanded a bigger tip. Chaos ensued.
--But then Mary Dee spoke up over the cacophony: "The Rive Gauche in July?" Glasses clinked. "The Rive Gauche!" we cried as one.
Chris Hedges to the contrary notwithstanding, the American Left is alive and well.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Brave Little Bird in a Big, Unfriendly Desert
Brandy and I have a new feathered friend. Perhaps "acquaintance" is a better word.
Brandy, our six-month-old boxer-shepherd puppy, is in training to be a responsible canine citizen in natural places (I can't say "the wild" because, thanks to The Worst Congressman in History [see previous post] there is no "wild" in southern New Mexico).
Sometimes, on our way to a favorite piece of desert, we stop at a flat, open space on the desert fringe to play a game of "fetch."
That's where I first spotted our new friend, a desert burrowing owl, standing guard over its nest. Typical of the species, this one is surprisingly bold and approachable. Standing stock still, it allowed me to get within four feet without flinching.
I threw the ball farther and farther away from its burrow so that Brandy wouldn't catch sight or scent of it and give chase. While not listed as threatened or endangered in New Mexico, as it is in several other states, the burrowing owl is considered a "species of concern." That means further biological research and field study are needed to resolve their conservation status, or they are considered sensitive, rare, or declining. I watched a pet kill an owl once; I don't want Brandy to be tempted to do the same.
On a recent visit Brandy crossed the invisible line between him and the owl; it took flight, soaring 20 or 30 meters away from the burrow. Brandy began to give chase, but I called him back. As soon as we backed away the bird returned to the vicinity of its burrow, scolding us with loud "chuck-chick" calls. It stood as tall as it could on its long legs, making itself look bigger than its actual size (8 or 9 inches tall).
I admire the owl's pluck and courage. It'll stand up to any predator, warning it away with "chucks" and sometimes screeches, but if the enemy crosses the invisible line it'll take flight and try to lure the predator as far as possible from the nest.
Even where it's not listed, the burrowing owl population is declining, largely because of people. We're encroaching on and destroying its habitat. At first I thought it odd that our owl had chosen our "fetch field" for its home, opting for a flat, open space rather than the deeper, more heavily vegetated desert.
Moments later I had my answer: a pick-up truck passed by on the nearby road, with two off-road machines in its bed. The ATV people are all over the deep desert, cutting roads where there weren't any, savaging the habitat of countless desert dwellers including the burrowing owl, its food, and its predators. Equal-opportunity habitat-destroyers.
Big contributors to the campaign funds of The Worst Congressman in History, whose name is Steve Pearce and who seems to hate every living thing except his fellow Republicans, especially the very, very rich ones in the extraction industries. Drill, drill, drill. Destroy, destroy, destroy.
I looked back at the burrowing owl, standing tall again and chucking at Brandy to stay away. Be safe, little bird, I thought. Be bold and plucky and courageous. I'm glad you can't understand how heavily the deck is stacked against you.
Brandy, our six-month-old boxer-shepherd puppy, is in training to be a responsible canine citizen in natural places (I can't say "the wild" because, thanks to The Worst Congressman in History [see previous post] there is no "wild" in southern New Mexico).
Sometimes, on our way to a favorite piece of desert, we stop at a flat, open space on the desert fringe to play a game of "fetch."
That's where I first spotted our new friend, a desert burrowing owl, standing guard over its nest. Typical of the species, this one is surprisingly bold and approachable. Standing stock still, it allowed me to get within four feet without flinching.
I threw the ball farther and farther away from its burrow so that Brandy wouldn't catch sight or scent of it and give chase. While not listed as threatened or endangered in New Mexico, as it is in several other states, the burrowing owl is considered a "species of concern." That means further biological research and field study are needed to resolve their conservation status, or they are considered sensitive, rare, or declining. I watched a pet kill an owl once; I don't want Brandy to be tempted to do the same.
On a recent visit Brandy crossed the invisible line between him and the owl; it took flight, soaring 20 or 30 meters away from the burrow. Brandy began to give chase, but I called him back. As soon as we backed away the bird returned to the vicinity of its burrow, scolding us with loud "chuck-chick" calls. It stood as tall as it could on its long legs, making itself look bigger than its actual size (8 or 9 inches tall).
I admire the owl's pluck and courage. It'll stand up to any predator, warning it away with "chucks" and sometimes screeches, but if the enemy crosses the invisible line it'll take flight and try to lure the predator as far as possible from the nest.
Even where it's not listed, the burrowing owl population is declining, largely because of people. We're encroaching on and destroying its habitat. At first I thought it odd that our owl had chosen our "fetch field" for its home, opting for a flat, open space rather than the deeper, more heavily vegetated desert.
Moments later I had my answer: a pick-up truck passed by on the nearby road, with two off-road machines in its bed. The ATV people are all over the deep desert, cutting roads where there weren't any, savaging the habitat of countless desert dwellers including the burrowing owl, its food, and its predators. Equal-opportunity habitat-destroyers.
Big contributors to the campaign funds of The Worst Congressman in History, whose name is Steve Pearce and who seems to hate every living thing except his fellow Republicans, especially the very, very rich ones in the extraction industries. Drill, drill, drill. Destroy, destroy, destroy.
I looked back at the burrowing owl, standing tall again and chucking at Brandy to stay away. Be safe, little bird, I thought. Be bold and plucky and courageous. I'm glad you can't understand how heavily the deck is stacked against you.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
When If Ever Will We Say Enough is Enough?
The latest round of Labor Department statistics contains no surprise, although in countries with informed, sane populations they would incite riots and revolution: worker wages are stagnant, corporate profits have soared and CEO pay is at record levels.
Ho-hum. Whazzup with Lindsey, Brad and Jennifer?
You're paying more than $4 a gallon for fuel to drive to work (where your paycheck is the same as last year but buys less) while the company that sells you gas increased its profits 42% or more in the most recent quarter.
You pay 20 per cent or more income tax on your stagnant wages. Exxon, the most profitable company in the history of money, paid 3.6%. Chevron, whose profits rose nearly 50% last quarter, paid 5.6% income tax on its obscene profits.
But, hey, if companies make money, that creates jobs, right?
Wrong: energy company profits do not go back to communities to create more jobs, they don't get invested in improved equipment and exploration. They go into dividends and stock buy-backs; the companies have a cash on hand reserve of nearly $100 million. Their CEOs average $15 million a year in salary; two companies pay their chief honchos more than $100 million a year.
We subsidize these companies with taxpayer money to the tune of more than $4 billion a year. Divert these funds into subsidies for renewable green energy and you solve our national energy problems in jig time.
Our military is the biggest petroleum consumer in the world. If we waged peace rather than war, we wouldn't need to award no-bid contracts for Air Force fuel to BP, whose massive drilling disaster virtually killed the Gulf of Mexico and drove its hard-working fisherman into bankruptcy.
The Koch brothers alone make $13 million a day in energy profits. Thirteen million dirty dollars a day! They buy pols like Scott Walker and Rand Paul out of petty cash. They drop $30 million alone on anti-environment causes -- support for air pollution, water contamination and public land devastation. They have funded more than 300 think-tank papers seeking to destroy Social Security. They invested millions more in the current campaign to destroy workers' unions. Real philanthropists, Chuck and David. They think unemployment benefits are a sop to the lazy.
Did you ever wonder why the richest nation on earth "can't afford" to make sure that every citizen receives decent basic health care? Because the five most profitable private health insurers -- United Health Care,. WellPoint, Cigna, Aetna and Humana -- have formed secret committees that meet regularly and spend freely on lobbying, strategies, political blackmail and fake grassroots organizations called "Astroturfs" to repeal even Obama's Milquetoast efforts at health care reform. While you're sending out resumes in a vain quest for jobs at half the salary of the one USA, Inc. shipped out to Sri Lanka, the insurers are spending millions per day to see to it that Grandma loses her Medicare.
Hey, now, who's gonna be on Dancing With the Stars? The Voice? Man oh man, Has America Ever Got Talent.
See millions of people shove their heads into the sand. You know what happens when they're bent over like that.
Ho-hum. Whazzup with Lindsey, Brad and Jennifer?
You're paying more than $4 a gallon for fuel to drive to work (where your paycheck is the same as last year but buys less) while the company that sells you gas increased its profits 42% or more in the most recent quarter.
You pay 20 per cent or more income tax on your stagnant wages. Exxon, the most profitable company in the history of money, paid 3.6%. Chevron, whose profits rose nearly 50% last quarter, paid 5.6% income tax on its obscene profits.
But, hey, if companies make money, that creates jobs, right?
Wrong: energy company profits do not go back to communities to create more jobs, they don't get invested in improved equipment and exploration. They go into dividends and stock buy-backs; the companies have a cash on hand reserve of nearly $100 million. Their CEOs average $15 million a year in salary; two companies pay their chief honchos more than $100 million a year.
We subsidize these companies with taxpayer money to the tune of more than $4 billion a year. Divert these funds into subsidies for renewable green energy and you solve our national energy problems in jig time.
Our military is the biggest petroleum consumer in the world. If we waged peace rather than war, we wouldn't need to award no-bid contracts for Air Force fuel to BP, whose massive drilling disaster virtually killed the Gulf of Mexico and drove its hard-working fisherman into bankruptcy.
The Koch brothers alone make $13 million a day in energy profits. Thirteen million dirty dollars a day! They buy pols like Scott Walker and Rand Paul out of petty cash. They drop $30 million alone on anti-environment causes -- support for air pollution, water contamination and public land devastation. They have funded more than 300 think-tank papers seeking to destroy Social Security. They invested millions more in the current campaign to destroy workers' unions. Real philanthropists, Chuck and David. They think unemployment benefits are a sop to the lazy.
Did you ever wonder why the richest nation on earth "can't afford" to make sure that every citizen receives decent basic health care? Because the five most profitable private health insurers -- United Health Care,. WellPoint, Cigna, Aetna and Humana -- have formed secret committees that meet regularly and spend freely on lobbying, strategies, political blackmail and fake grassroots organizations called "Astroturfs" to repeal even Obama's Milquetoast efforts at health care reform. While you're sending out resumes in a vain quest for jobs at half the salary of the one USA, Inc. shipped out to Sri Lanka, the insurers are spending millions per day to see to it that Grandma loses her Medicare.
Hey, now, who's gonna be on Dancing With the Stars? The Voice? Man oh man, Has America Ever Got Talent.
See millions of people shove their heads into the sand. You know what happens when they're bent over like that.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
The Scheme Worked; the Reports Failed
The volunteer public relations arm of the military-industrial complex simply cannot control its compulsion to "justify" this country's crimes.
The assassination of Osama bin Laden turned the compulsion into a frenzy. Once, when real journalists worked in the mainstream media, they guarded rigorously against jumping to conclusions on major stories like this one.
Not so today. Our use of drones for illegal acts of war in Pakistan has turned countless numbers of Arabs against us and drawn fierce criticism here and abroad. And so, when word first trickled out that Bin Laden was dead, Fox Fiction immediately asserted that he had been killed "a week ago" in a drone attack that killed 28 civilians in Pakistan. John King of CNN and others rushed to the assumption that a drone attack had killed the al Qaeda leader. "Proof" that drones are good despite the criticism.
Worse still was the media's ex post facto sanctioning of Bush era torture of detainees. The critical piece of information that led to finding bin Laden came out in "harsh interrogation" (the United States media's official euphemism for torture) of detainees in Gitmo and black holes abroad -- or so said Fox's O'Reilly, David Martin of CBS, Jonathen Karl of ABC, the Los Angeles Times, the Washington Post and NBC.
In fact, said the White House counter-terrorism chief John Brennan, bits and pieces of information acquired over nine years was meticulously assembled into a plausible narrative by analysts, and pursued on the ground by CIA agents using traditional gumshoe techniques. In fact, the two prisoners who underwent the worst and most extensive torture never "broke:" it was their continuing denials about the bin Laden courier that made his captors suspicious that they were lying.
The media rushed to repeat government disclosures about the raid without bothering to inquire about the obvious red flags. The quick burial at sea was a buried factoid in the early accounts. Nobody asked why until the following day, when CNN put out a brief based on its query to the Pentagon. The media reported as cold fact that Osama "resisted" capture. But in those reports he was also said to be unarmed. If he was unarmed, how, then, did he "resist?" Nobody asked. Brennan at one point amplified on bin Laden's "resistence" by saying he didn't know if the al Qaeda leader "got off any rounds." The media unquestioningly armed him in their ensuing accounts. By yesterday, they had disarmed him again. Did nobody ever hear of follow-up questions?
There's the matter of the helicopters. Mechanical failure of 'copters doomed Jimmy Carter's ill-fated attempt to rescue hostages in Iran years ago. Curiously, one of the choppers in this raid also failed. Fortunately, the helicopter malfunction on the Bin Laden mission cost no U.S. lives and did not sabotage the mission.
But nobody asked what kind of helicopter this was. There were vague explanations that the machine "wouldn't start" when the commandos prepared to leave. Who made the machine? Are failures -- to start, or to function properly in high temperatures, or when widgets shake loose -- endemic to this machine? If so, why was it trusted on so critical a mission? Who makes the things? Is the maker being held to account for whatever might be wrong with the things?
These and other questions should have been raised instantly by reporters and editors. But the propagandists who are represented by their media employers as "journalists" didn't ask them
The very legality of such an operation under international law is another obvious question. In the UK, the Guardian bothered to raise it, and investigate it. The body of evidence suggests that it was not legal. Having painted ourselves into a policy corner where we had no allies we could trust in Pakistan, we had to risk acting illegally to preserve the required secrecy of the mission.
The end justifies the means. Just one of the many ethical fallacies that make a mockery of our professed dedication to "the rule of law."
Even in success, we are morally bankrupt. But our sources of "news" will never tell us that.
USA! USA! (Do I hear an echo? It sounds something like "Deutschland uber alles.")
The assassination of Osama bin Laden turned the compulsion into a frenzy. Once, when real journalists worked in the mainstream media, they guarded rigorously against jumping to conclusions on major stories like this one.
Not so today. Our use of drones for illegal acts of war in Pakistan has turned countless numbers of Arabs against us and drawn fierce criticism here and abroad. And so, when word first trickled out that Bin Laden was dead, Fox Fiction immediately asserted that he had been killed "a week ago" in a drone attack that killed 28 civilians in Pakistan. John King of CNN and others rushed to the assumption that a drone attack had killed the al Qaeda leader. "Proof" that drones are good despite the criticism.
Worse still was the media's ex post facto sanctioning of Bush era torture of detainees. The critical piece of information that led to finding bin Laden came out in "harsh interrogation" (the United States media's official euphemism for torture) of detainees in Gitmo and black holes abroad -- or so said Fox's O'Reilly, David Martin of CBS, Jonathen Karl of ABC, the Los Angeles Times, the Washington Post and NBC.
In fact, said the White House counter-terrorism chief John Brennan, bits and pieces of information acquired over nine years was meticulously assembled into a plausible narrative by analysts, and pursued on the ground by CIA agents using traditional gumshoe techniques. In fact, the two prisoners who underwent the worst and most extensive torture never "broke:" it was their continuing denials about the bin Laden courier that made his captors suspicious that they were lying.
The media rushed to repeat government disclosures about the raid without bothering to inquire about the obvious red flags. The quick burial at sea was a buried factoid in the early accounts. Nobody asked why until the following day, when CNN put out a brief based on its query to the Pentagon. The media reported as cold fact that Osama "resisted" capture. But in those reports he was also said to be unarmed. If he was unarmed, how, then, did he "resist?" Nobody asked. Brennan at one point amplified on bin Laden's "resistence" by saying he didn't know if the al Qaeda leader "got off any rounds." The media unquestioningly armed him in their ensuing accounts. By yesterday, they had disarmed him again. Did nobody ever hear of follow-up questions?
There's the matter of the helicopters. Mechanical failure of 'copters doomed Jimmy Carter's ill-fated attempt to rescue hostages in Iran years ago. Curiously, one of the choppers in this raid also failed. Fortunately, the helicopter malfunction on the Bin Laden mission cost no U.S. lives and did not sabotage the mission.
But nobody asked what kind of helicopter this was. There were vague explanations that the machine "wouldn't start" when the commandos prepared to leave. Who made the machine? Are failures -- to start, or to function properly in high temperatures, or when widgets shake loose -- endemic to this machine? If so, why was it trusted on so critical a mission? Who makes the things? Is the maker being held to account for whatever might be wrong with the things?
These and other questions should have been raised instantly by reporters and editors. But the propagandists who are represented by their media employers as "journalists" didn't ask them
The very legality of such an operation under international law is another obvious question. In the UK, the Guardian bothered to raise it, and investigate it. The body of evidence suggests that it was not legal. Having painted ourselves into a policy corner where we had no allies we could trust in Pakistan, we had to risk acting illegally to preserve the required secrecy of the mission.
The end justifies the means. Just one of the many ethical fallacies that make a mockery of our professed dedication to "the rule of law."
Even in success, we are morally bankrupt. But our sources of "news" will never tell us that.
USA! USA! (Do I hear an echo? It sounds something like "Deutschland uber alles.")
Monday, May 2, 2011
After bin Laden, What Will Change? Not Much.
Watching the crowds outside the White House last night an image flashed through my mind of the victorious warlord of eld prancing on horseback around the square with the the severed head of the slain enemy leader impaled on his pike to the huzzahs of his minions.
How desperately we cling to the myth of American exceptionalism! President Obama fed the frenzy:
But tonight, we are once again reminded that America can do whatever we
set our mind to. That is the story of our history, whether it’s the pursuit of
prosperity for our people, or the struggle for equality for all our citizens; our
commitment to stand up for our values broad, and our sacrifices to make the world
a safer place. . .
Well . . . the Bin Laden mission may turn out to be as critical to this President's re-election campaign as the original 9/11 attack was to the re-election of George Bush. So perhaps his flag-waving bovine excrement can be shrugged off, if not forgiven.
This is not to make light of the work of those who planned and executed so flawlessly what was essentially an act of police work: the killing of a most-wanted criminal. In all likelihood, this act of police work could have been accomplished ten years ao, when the sympathies of the entire world (including Muslim leaders) were with us, and the pooling of intelligence and resources through multinational cooperation might even have yielded a living Osama bin Laden to try and presumably convict under cover of law.
But Bush, an instrument of the corporate militarism that runs this country, and not a very intelligent one at that, had to have his war. Eight years to the day after he put on his sojer suit and paraded across the deck of an aircraft carrier to declare "Mission Accomplished," another American President actually accomplished a mission. A difficult, complex and terribly important one, to be sure.
But after more than 7,000 American deaths, tens of thousands of American casualties, hundreds of thousands of Iraqi, Afghani and Pakistani civilian deaths; after spending ourselves into an enormous deficit waging unnecessary wars and starting new ones; after squandering the empathy of the world and creating new hostilities, are we really entitled to wave flags and chant "USA! USA!" because we finally brought Osama bin Laden to justice?
Did we put as much planning over the last nine months into what would follow a successful mission to apprehend or kill Bin Laden (at least one news agency says the goal never was apprehension)? Will we end our present wars quickly and be less hawkish about starting new ones? At home will we repeal the unconscionable so-called Patriot Act, restore civil liberties, stop spying on American citizens and turn full attention to meeting the basic needs of the American people?
The organization for which Bin Laden was but the financier and figurehead still exists. Its recruiting of terrorists and their dedication and fanaticism have been fueled by the wrongful American foreign policy of the last decade. Those who have studied al Qaeda most closely are certain that retaliatory terrorist acts are inevitable now that Bin Laden has become a "martyr."
The need for vigilance will give our elected officials and the vast military machine plenty of cover to continue wars, spying, torture and whatever else they need to further the policies that degrade us as a nation.
What will change now that we've offed the bad guy? Very little, I fear.
But Barrack Obama's political future looks a lot brighter than it did 48 hours ago.
How desperately we cling to the myth of American exceptionalism! President Obama fed the frenzy:
But tonight, we are once again reminded that America can do whatever we
set our mind to. That is the story of our history, whether it’s the pursuit of
prosperity for our people, or the struggle for equality for all our citizens; our
commitment to stand up for our values broad, and our sacrifices to make the world
a safer place. . .
Well . . . the Bin Laden mission may turn out to be as critical to this President's re-election campaign as the original 9/11 attack was to the re-election of George Bush. So perhaps his flag-waving bovine excrement can be shrugged off, if not forgiven.
This is not to make light of the work of those who planned and executed so flawlessly what was essentially an act of police work: the killing of a most-wanted criminal. In all likelihood, this act of police work could have been accomplished ten years ao, when the sympathies of the entire world (including Muslim leaders) were with us, and the pooling of intelligence and resources through multinational cooperation might even have yielded a living Osama bin Laden to try and presumably convict under cover of law.
But Bush, an instrument of the corporate militarism that runs this country, and not a very intelligent one at that, had to have his war. Eight years to the day after he put on his sojer suit and paraded across the deck of an aircraft carrier to declare "Mission Accomplished," another American President actually accomplished a mission. A difficult, complex and terribly important one, to be sure.
But after more than 7,000 American deaths, tens of thousands of American casualties, hundreds of thousands of Iraqi, Afghani and Pakistani civilian deaths; after spending ourselves into an enormous deficit waging unnecessary wars and starting new ones; after squandering the empathy of the world and creating new hostilities, are we really entitled to wave flags and chant "USA! USA!" because we finally brought Osama bin Laden to justice?
Did we put as much planning over the last nine months into what would follow a successful mission to apprehend or kill Bin Laden (at least one news agency says the goal never was apprehension)? Will we end our present wars quickly and be less hawkish about starting new ones? At home will we repeal the unconscionable so-called Patriot Act, restore civil liberties, stop spying on American citizens and turn full attention to meeting the basic needs of the American people?
The organization for which Bin Laden was but the financier and figurehead still exists. Its recruiting of terrorists and their dedication and fanaticism have been fueled by the wrongful American foreign policy of the last decade. Those who have studied al Qaeda most closely are certain that retaliatory terrorist acts are inevitable now that Bin Laden has become a "martyr."
The need for vigilance will give our elected officials and the vast military machine plenty of cover to continue wars, spying, torture and whatever else they need to further the policies that degrade us as a nation.
What will change now that we've offed the bad guy? Very little, I fear.
But Barrack Obama's political future looks a lot brighter than it did 48 hours ago.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
A Steep Plunge into Stygian Slime
The "slippery slope" is one of our more tired and threadbare metaphors but it remains apt when applied to the Obama-Bush war machinery.
Take our fourth-front, third war in Libya: it was sold to us (all of our wars are cleverly marketed, like Super Bowl commercials) as a safe-distance, no-boots-on-the-ground humanitarian intervention.
But now, oops!, we have killed Col. Gaddaffi's youngest son and three grandchildren, innocent kids no matter their bloodlines, in an attack on one of the dictator's homes.
Despite the clever commercials, our image in the world has plunged down a slippery slope from humanitarians to child-killers.
The most recent victims are simply more prominent than countless others in our wars. The sad fact is that we can only estimate the number of innocent kids we have slain in Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan and, now, Libya.
What kind of people are we to look the other way while trillions of our tax dollars are spent in the willy-nilly slaughter of innocent children?
What kind of hypocrites are we who elect sociopathically dereistic politicians to our legislatures, intent upon paying the costs of these wars by condemning American citizens to suffer without health care, food, jobs or basic necessities of life?
What kind of heritage of barbarism, savagery, ignorance and self-deceit do we fashion for our own children, who will inherit our debt and the hatred and contempt with which we are viewed elsewhere in the world?
How many wars will they have to fight because of that hatred and contempt? How many of them will bleed and die for an ignoble cause?
What further debasement will we reap for having sown our seeds of destruction by remote control, death by robot, massacre by drones?
Is there no end to this madness?
Have we plunged so far down that cliche'd slope that not just present, but also future generations of Americans are condemned to wallow forever in the Stygian slime of militarism, war and the stench of the death of innocents?
When, oh when, did we give away the nation forged in revolution and defined by the likes of Madison, Jefferson, Washington and Adams?
Perhaps only another revolution can reclaim it. Or, worse, perhaps it is lost beyond reclamation.
Take our fourth-front, third war in Libya: it was sold to us (all of our wars are cleverly marketed, like Super Bowl commercials) as a safe-distance, no-boots-on-the-ground humanitarian intervention.
But now, oops!, we have killed Col. Gaddaffi's youngest son and three grandchildren, innocent kids no matter their bloodlines, in an attack on one of the dictator's homes.
Despite the clever commercials, our image in the world has plunged down a slippery slope from humanitarians to child-killers.
The most recent victims are simply more prominent than countless others in our wars. The sad fact is that we can only estimate the number of innocent kids we have slain in Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan and, now, Libya.
What kind of people are we to look the other way while trillions of our tax dollars are spent in the willy-nilly slaughter of innocent children?
What kind of hypocrites are we who elect sociopathically dereistic politicians to our legislatures, intent upon paying the costs of these wars by condemning American citizens to suffer without health care, food, jobs or basic necessities of life?
What kind of heritage of barbarism, savagery, ignorance and self-deceit do we fashion for our own children, who will inherit our debt and the hatred and contempt with which we are viewed elsewhere in the world?
How many wars will they have to fight because of that hatred and contempt? How many of them will bleed and die for an ignoble cause?
What further debasement will we reap for having sown our seeds of destruction by remote control, death by robot, massacre by drones?
Is there no end to this madness?
Have we plunged so far down that cliche'd slope that not just present, but also future generations of Americans are condemned to wallow forever in the Stygian slime of militarism, war and the stench of the death of innocents?
When, oh when, did we give away the nation forged in revolution and defined by the likes of Madison, Jefferson, Washington and Adams?
Perhaps only another revolution can reclaim it. Or, worse, perhaps it is lost beyond reclamation.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
"Worst Congressman in History" Contest
Because I miss Keith Olbermann's "worst person in the world" segments I have decided to launch a contest called "worst congressman in history."
I nominate my very own Stevan Pearce (R-NM) for the honor.
Big oil and gas loves Stevie, who made his own personal fortune selling equipment to the exploiters and profiteers of our natural resources. It loves him to the tune of nearly $2 million in campaign contributions.
Now guess why he wants to pollute the largest underground water table in one of the nation's dryest states by allowing natural gas drilling at a fragile grassland called Otero Mesa.
Big ranching loves Stevie to the tune of nearly $1 million.
Now guess why he wants to remove protection for the Mexican gray wolf packs re-introduced to Arizona and New Mexico public lands after being hunted to virtual extinction. Stevie thinks it's peachy keen that Catron County ranchers in western New Mexico shoot, poison and trap the animals -- all illegally.
Single-issue kooks -- birthers, Tea Partiers, abortion doctor-haters, Christofascists, racists, anti-immigration and small-government ranters -- love Stevie to the tune of $1.6 million.
Now guess why he supports every whacko anti-abortion bill, border fence plan, theocratic insult to the Constitution and quit-regulating-corporations bill that's introduced by his fellow crackpots in the House.
Mining and off-road vehicle makers, sellers and users love Stevie to the tune of nearly half a million bucks.
Now guess why he wants to end all regulations on the use of public lands so that they can be savaged, pillaged, polluted and despoiled by . . . .mining operations and off-road vehicles!
Stevie has voted for every congressional action that has diminished the national quality of life, fed the nation's insane and debt-causing wars, trampled on individual liberty, violated human rights, enriched corporations at the expense of ordinary people and generally set the nation back a hundred years in terms of human progress.
He has voted against every piece of legislation that would help people of modest means, protect the environment and the health and safety of the citizenship and enhance the quality of life for those who weren't born on third base thinking they hit a triple.
Stevie is the Perfect Republican, selflessly dedicated to making the richest one per cent of Americans still richer, while cutting off the means to existence for millions of less fortunate citizens.
And so, readers, there is your challenge: nominate, if you can, a better candidate for "worst congressman in history."
I nominate my very own Stevan Pearce (R-NM) for the honor.
Big oil and gas loves Stevie, who made his own personal fortune selling equipment to the exploiters and profiteers of our natural resources. It loves him to the tune of nearly $2 million in campaign contributions.
Now guess why he wants to pollute the largest underground water table in one of the nation's dryest states by allowing natural gas drilling at a fragile grassland called Otero Mesa.
Big ranching loves Stevie to the tune of nearly $1 million.
Now guess why he wants to remove protection for the Mexican gray wolf packs re-introduced to Arizona and New Mexico public lands after being hunted to virtual extinction. Stevie thinks it's peachy keen that Catron County ranchers in western New Mexico shoot, poison and trap the animals -- all illegally.
Single-issue kooks -- birthers, Tea Partiers, abortion doctor-haters, Christofascists, racists, anti-immigration and small-government ranters -- love Stevie to the tune of $1.6 million.
Now guess why he supports every whacko anti-abortion bill, border fence plan, theocratic insult to the Constitution and quit-regulating-corporations bill that's introduced by his fellow crackpots in the House.
Mining and off-road vehicle makers, sellers and users love Stevie to the tune of nearly half a million bucks.
Now guess why he wants to end all regulations on the use of public lands so that they can be savaged, pillaged, polluted and despoiled by . . . .mining operations and off-road vehicles!
Stevie has voted for every congressional action that has diminished the national quality of life, fed the nation's insane and debt-causing wars, trampled on individual liberty, violated human rights, enriched corporations at the expense of ordinary people and generally set the nation back a hundred years in terms of human progress.
He has voted against every piece of legislation that would help people of modest means, protect the environment and the health and safety of the citizenship and enhance the quality of life for those who weren't born on third base thinking they hit a triple.
Stevie is the Perfect Republican, selflessly dedicated to making the richest one per cent of Americans still richer, while cutting off the means to existence for millions of less fortunate citizens.
And so, readers, there is your challenge: nominate, if you can, a better candidate for "worst congressman in history."
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Abroad in the Great American Jungle
A recent cross country trip dished up depressing visual evidence of our nation's physical decay and moral depravity, capped by the news that the government was transferring Bradley Manning to Leavenworth federal prison in Kansas.
His initiation, according to a released inmate who went through it himself, will be three weeks of continuous gang rape. Since we weren't told the details of his transfer, it's possible this new humiliation of an innocent man has already begun.
"Free Now" (the alias of another recently released Leavenworth inmate) wrote: "Bottom line is you're going to be sucking c*** or getting plugged in the seat, unless you fight. Anytime someone tries to punk you, you fight, unless he happens to be a gang member. In that case you need permission from the leader of his set to fight him."
His military captors know full well what Manning faces; may, I suspect, have secretly arranged for it with one of the seven prison gangs known to operate in -- and actually run -- Leavenworth.
And, yes, Manning is Constitutionally an innocent man: he has not been tried, his guilt has not been proved in a court of law, he is as innocent as you or your pastor.
Our national state of denial will enable millions of Americans to ignore these truths, as they ignore so many others. In town after town I saw signs of pride in our military and the unending wars they wage. Nowhere did I see regret for the slaughter of innocent civilians, for documented atrocities, or for the massive national debt these wars have created. I did see signs and hear people condemning immigrants, the poor, the uneducated and the sick for causing our national indebtedness by needing assistance to survive.
In town after town I saw a Wal-Mart, but in what once was the business district were boarded-up buildings where the American Dreams of small businessmen went up in smoke.
Once when I paid a restaurant cashier, I jokingly told her to keep my three cents change and "give it to the governor next time you see him." She replied: "If enough people did that, maybe he'd fix the roads." The roads in this "blue" state were indeed in terrible condition; when I drove them ten years ago they were safe and well-maintained.
America's infrastructure is rotting while we squander tax dollars fighting insane wars and supporting inhumane dictatorships because they're friendly to our vast military machine. Government funds creating jobs to bring the infrastructure into the 21st Century would help solve our massive unemployment problem, and bring down the deficit, as any number of Nobel Prize-winning economists have told us over and over again.
But that would spoil Wall Street's free ride on the backs of the struggling millions of ordinary Americans.
Our national sense of denial won't allow us to face these unpleasant truths. We're up to our clavicles in "news" about the royal wedding. We pay no attention to the screams of an innocent man being gang-raped in a federal prison.
It's the new American Way.
Frankly, my dear, it sucks.
His initiation, according to a released inmate who went through it himself, will be three weeks of continuous gang rape. Since we weren't told the details of his transfer, it's possible this new humiliation of an innocent man has already begun.
"Free Now" (the alias of another recently released Leavenworth inmate) wrote: "Bottom line is you're going to be sucking c*** or getting plugged in the seat, unless you fight. Anytime someone tries to punk you, you fight, unless he happens to be a gang member. In that case you need permission from the leader of his set to fight him."
His military captors know full well what Manning faces; may, I suspect, have secretly arranged for it with one of the seven prison gangs known to operate in -- and actually run -- Leavenworth.
And, yes, Manning is Constitutionally an innocent man: he has not been tried, his guilt has not been proved in a court of law, he is as innocent as you or your pastor.
Our national state of denial will enable millions of Americans to ignore these truths, as they ignore so many others. In town after town I saw signs of pride in our military and the unending wars they wage. Nowhere did I see regret for the slaughter of innocent civilians, for documented atrocities, or for the massive national debt these wars have created. I did see signs and hear people condemning immigrants, the poor, the uneducated and the sick for causing our national indebtedness by needing assistance to survive.
In town after town I saw a Wal-Mart, but in what once was the business district were boarded-up buildings where the American Dreams of small businessmen went up in smoke.
Once when I paid a restaurant cashier, I jokingly told her to keep my three cents change and "give it to the governor next time you see him." She replied: "If enough people did that, maybe he'd fix the roads." The roads in this "blue" state were indeed in terrible condition; when I drove them ten years ago they were safe and well-maintained.
America's infrastructure is rotting while we squander tax dollars fighting insane wars and supporting inhumane dictatorships because they're friendly to our vast military machine. Government funds creating jobs to bring the infrastructure into the 21st Century would help solve our massive unemployment problem, and bring down the deficit, as any number of Nobel Prize-winning economists have told us over and over again.
But that would spoil Wall Street's free ride on the backs of the struggling millions of ordinary Americans.
Our national sense of denial won't allow us to face these unpleasant truths. We're up to our clavicles in "news" about the royal wedding. We pay no attention to the screams of an innocent man being gang-raped in a federal prison.
It's the new American Way.
Frankly, my dear, it sucks.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Another Very Special Pulitzer Prize
Medicine's loss was journalism's gain.
Paige St. John would have been a great doctor or veterinarian. But somewhere during her studies at Southern Illinois University in Edwardsville she veered into what was then the nation's smallest accredited J-school and the die was cast.
Today, she holds the 2011 Pulitzer Prize for investigative journalism, for a two-year-long investigation into fraud, failure and misfeasance in the Florida insurance industry, particularly in the field of home insurance against hurricanes.
We were on the road when the news broke last week. "Paige Wins Pulitzer!!!" said the text message from our son, John -- Paige's husband.
For the second consecutive year, Lois and I -- particularly Lois -- walked step by step in the shadow of a Pulitzer Prize winner on the trail of corporate corruption and greed. Lois was Dan Gilbert's "journalism stepmom" in pursuit of the oil and gas royalty scandal in Virginia that won the 2010 prize for public service.
We first met Paige when John's then wife-to-be visited us in Pennsylvania. She could transform a walk in the woods with the dogs into a series of enlightening mini-lectures on the flora and fauna to be observed around us. She exuded compassion for all things great and small. She might have succeeded in any number of careers, including music and science and medicine, but her commitment to journalism was total.
As a skeptic about the future of the craft -- megacorporate ownership already was diluting the quality of journalism across the land -- I feared for her future and John's. Our son, too, was still then an award-winning journalist who had been a finalist in the Pulitzer judging.
Having shepherded more than one Pulitzer Prize-winning effort ourselves, Lois and I knew the cost -- not just time and money but emotional toll, internal stress, political pressures, libel fears. As American media came under increasing pressure for profit rather than quality journalism, fewer and fewer information purveyors were willing to pay the price.
The Sarasota, FL, Herald-Tribune, where Paige landed in 2008, is one of the few surviving practitioners of that kind of old-fashioned journalism. None of her editors blinked when the project stretched on and on beyond the six months originally envisioned. None expressed purse-string concerns when the pursuit of the story took Paige to Monaco and Bermuda, where the really high rollers of re-insurance fraud frolicked. No editor panicked when the writing, editing, illustrating, re-checking and publishing of the reportage stretched over a full year. Nobody at the paper backed down when regulators, politicians and powerful corporate lawyers tried to block publication and smear Paige.
State Sen. Mike Bennett, a Bradenton Republican and member of the Banking and Insurance Committee, wrote:
Paige, you are one of the few that continues to uncover details and one of the few that the newspaper industry continues to support and finance.
Thank you from all consumers in the State of Florida.
Kurt Luedtke, probably the only man ever to win both a Pulitzer Prize in journalism and an Oscar from the film industry, and a subscriber to the Herald-Tribune, had made essentially the same point in an e-mail to the editor shortly before the Pulitzer was announced. He wrote that "enterprise and investigative reporting all over the place is diminished because of money problems, and the lack of it is, I think, a real problem for all things civic and maybe democracy itself.
"That said, here is the Sarasota Herald-Tribune, with resources which must be as threatened as anybody's, consistently turning out work that's damn good, and greatly relevant to its market, and well-written and well-presented to boot. And not easy stuff, either: I think about the insurance series as an example of difficult, time-consuming work which badly needed doing. . . If there were a big, fancy prize for quality work over, say, a five year period, you'd win it."
Paige told an interviewer that her husband was her first and best mentor in the art of investigative reporting, which he once taught at the University of Michigan. John responded that now the tables are turned. "She knows much more than I do. I could be her student."
So, I might add, could the entire Washington press corps. But that's another story. Maybe there's a Pulitzer in it for someone.
Paige St. John would have been a great doctor or veterinarian. But somewhere during her studies at Southern Illinois University in Edwardsville she veered into what was then the nation's smallest accredited J-school and the die was cast.
Today, she holds the 2011 Pulitzer Prize for investigative journalism, for a two-year-long investigation into fraud, failure and misfeasance in the Florida insurance industry, particularly in the field of home insurance against hurricanes.
We were on the road when the news broke last week. "Paige Wins Pulitzer!!!" said the text message from our son, John -- Paige's husband.
For the second consecutive year, Lois and I -- particularly Lois -- walked step by step in the shadow of a Pulitzer Prize winner on the trail of corporate corruption and greed. Lois was Dan Gilbert's "journalism stepmom" in pursuit of the oil and gas royalty scandal in Virginia that won the 2010 prize for public service.
We first met Paige when John's then wife-to-be visited us in Pennsylvania. She could transform a walk in the woods with the dogs into a series of enlightening mini-lectures on the flora and fauna to be observed around us. She exuded compassion for all things great and small. She might have succeeded in any number of careers, including music and science and medicine, but her commitment to journalism was total.
As a skeptic about the future of the craft -- megacorporate ownership already was diluting the quality of journalism across the land -- I feared for her future and John's. Our son, too, was still then an award-winning journalist who had been a finalist in the Pulitzer judging.
Having shepherded more than one Pulitzer Prize-winning effort ourselves, Lois and I knew the cost -- not just time and money but emotional toll, internal stress, political pressures, libel fears. As American media came under increasing pressure for profit rather than quality journalism, fewer and fewer information purveyors were willing to pay the price.
The Sarasota, FL, Herald-Tribune, where Paige landed in 2008, is one of the few surviving practitioners of that kind of old-fashioned journalism. None of her editors blinked when the project stretched on and on beyond the six months originally envisioned. None expressed purse-string concerns when the pursuit of the story took Paige to Monaco and Bermuda, where the really high rollers of re-insurance fraud frolicked. No editor panicked when the writing, editing, illustrating, re-checking and publishing of the reportage stretched over a full year. Nobody at the paper backed down when regulators, politicians and powerful corporate lawyers tried to block publication and smear Paige.
State Sen. Mike Bennett, a Bradenton Republican and member of the Banking and Insurance Committee, wrote:
Paige, you are one of the few that continues to uncover details and one of the few that the newspaper industry continues to support and finance.
Thank you from all consumers in the State of Florida.
Kurt Luedtke, probably the only man ever to win both a Pulitzer Prize in journalism and an Oscar from the film industry, and a subscriber to the Herald-Tribune, had made essentially the same point in an e-mail to the editor shortly before the Pulitzer was announced. He wrote that "enterprise and investigative reporting all over the place is diminished because of money problems, and the lack of it is, I think, a real problem for all things civic and maybe democracy itself.
"That said, here is the Sarasota Herald-Tribune, with resources which must be as threatened as anybody's, consistently turning out work that's damn good, and greatly relevant to its market, and well-written and well-presented to boot. And not easy stuff, either: I think about the insurance series as an example of difficult, time-consuming work which badly needed doing. . . If there were a big, fancy prize for quality work over, say, a five year period, you'd win it."
Paige told an interviewer that her husband was her first and best mentor in the art of investigative reporting, which he once taught at the University of Michigan. John responded that now the tables are turned. "She knows much more than I do. I could be her student."
So, I might add, could the entire Washington press corps. But that's another story. Maybe there's a Pulitzer in it for someone.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Nice Music: Overture to a Sell-Out
The Old Gray Lady was positively ecstatic. "President Obama, Reinvigorated," she trilled in the headline on her editorial.
"For months, the original President Obama had disappeared behind mushy compromises and dimly seen principles," the New York Times editorial said. "But on Wednesday, he used his budget speech to clearly distance himself from Republican plans to heap tax benefits on the rich while casting adrift the nation’s poor, elderly and unemployed."
Please forgive the Pianist for failing to share the Lady's enthusiasm. Perhaps it's his accursed memory for familiar old tunes. Heckuvva speech, Barry. Fluid, firm, articulate, smooth, reassuring -- all the right notes.
Just like the campaign rhetoric on health care. "Insure every American." Except that we took universal single payer off the table before there even was a table. Except that we sold out to the pharmaceutical industry before there was even a plan. Except that every time the Republican minority shouted "Boo!" we gave away more benefits for the sick, the aged and the poor. Good speeches, though.
Just like the campaign speeches on the economy. Grand populist phrasing, bold pledges to "main street" -- and a total sell-out to Wall Street.
Just like the campaign speeches on war, on torture, on working people -- a moving, soaring hymn to our better angels. Except that we still torture shamelessly, have added a third war to our agenda and refused to stand shoulder to shoulder with the brave unionists of Wisconsin.
And now we're expected to believe that Dr. Kidglove will actually stand up to the Tea Pot House of Representatives on the phony issue of the Deficit Bogeyman and the Battle of the Budget ?
Good speech. Remindful of the exchange in the bleachers of old Tiger stadium when Norm Cash played first base in Detroit and hit the occasional home run. Norm swung at a fastball and missed by a foot. "Goof riffle," said one patriot. "He leads the league in good riffles," said his companion.
Don't mind the cynics, Barry. It was a good speech.
Of course we've heard this tune before. We have learned that it is but an overture, a stringing together of pleasant, hummable platitudes that won't be borne out when the curtain rises and the real action begins.
You could call it, "Prelude to the Cave-In."
He has said the pretty words -- with a few glaring hedges if you listened closely. Even the Old Gray Lady sort of noticed. "His plan relies on about two parts spending cuts to one part tax increases," its editorialist said. "It should have been closer to 50-50, broadening the sacrifice."
Sacrifice? How about reining in the war machine? Old Gray Lady? Old Gray? Hey, the war machine? Are you still there, Old Gray editorialist ?
Oh, never mind.
From yesteryear's presidential debates comes the distant sound of another pretender to be president, chiding his debate opponent.
"There you go again!"
"For months, the original President Obama had disappeared behind mushy compromises and dimly seen principles," the New York Times editorial said. "But on Wednesday, he used his budget speech to clearly distance himself from Republican plans to heap tax benefits on the rich while casting adrift the nation’s poor, elderly and unemployed."
Please forgive the Pianist for failing to share the Lady's enthusiasm. Perhaps it's his accursed memory for familiar old tunes. Heckuvva speech, Barry. Fluid, firm, articulate, smooth, reassuring -- all the right notes.
Just like the campaign rhetoric on health care. "Insure every American." Except that we took universal single payer off the table before there even was a table. Except that we sold out to the pharmaceutical industry before there was even a plan. Except that every time the Republican minority shouted "Boo!" we gave away more benefits for the sick, the aged and the poor. Good speeches, though.
Just like the campaign speeches on the economy. Grand populist phrasing, bold pledges to "main street" -- and a total sell-out to Wall Street.
Just like the campaign speeches on war, on torture, on working people -- a moving, soaring hymn to our better angels. Except that we still torture shamelessly, have added a third war to our agenda and refused to stand shoulder to shoulder with the brave unionists of Wisconsin.
And now we're expected to believe that Dr. Kidglove will actually stand up to the Tea Pot House of Representatives on the phony issue of the Deficit Bogeyman and the Battle of the Budget ?
Good speech. Remindful of the exchange in the bleachers of old Tiger stadium when Norm Cash played first base in Detroit and hit the occasional home run. Norm swung at a fastball and missed by a foot. "Goof riffle," said one patriot. "He leads the league in good riffles," said his companion.
Don't mind the cynics, Barry. It was a good speech.
Of course we've heard this tune before. We have learned that it is but an overture, a stringing together of pleasant, hummable platitudes that won't be borne out when the curtain rises and the real action begins.
You could call it, "Prelude to the Cave-In."
He has said the pretty words -- with a few glaring hedges if you listened closely. Even the Old Gray Lady sort of noticed. "His plan relies on about two parts spending cuts to one part tax increases," its editorialist said. "It should have been closer to 50-50, broadening the sacrifice."
Sacrifice? How about reining in the war machine? Old Gray Lady? Old Gray? Hey, the war machine? Are you still there, Old Gray editorialist ?
Oh, never mind.
From yesteryear's presidential debates comes the distant sound of another pretender to be president, chiding his debate opponent.
"There you go again!"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)