The latest word is that Elin Woods will file for divorce. If you don't know why, shame! Everyone now knows every last detail of Tiger's infidelities (doesn't that term seem incredibly inadequate in his case?). Does the couple merit such scrutiny? Well, you'd have to say so. After all, even with both a yacht and a marriage called Privacy, every last juicy detail must be revealed. After all, they deserve it--him for winning all those golf tournaments and making all those commercials...and her for being too cute.
And today, in the midst of the deadest news week of the year, coincidentally we learned that Karl Rove, American traitor and Weasel of the Potomac, is also getting unhitched, this time from his second wife. Now, here is a man who has actively thrust himself into the national dialogue on all sorts of issues, particularly marriage--how sacred it is, how fundamental it is to the 'American way' of life, and particularly, who should be barred from taking part in it. Certainly, such an active interest would invite a nice, healthy dialogue on marriage in general--and his, in particular.
But instead, here's what his spokesperson had to say: "There will be no further comment and the family requests that its privacy be respected."
Hmm. The guy who couldn't talk enough about your marriage...suddenly clams up about his own. But I guess some things should remain confidential--unless, of course, it means outing a CIA agent for your own country in order to divert attention from your sorry, should-been indicted ass. I guess Valerie Plame's marriage...her career...really wasn't that sacred.
So, really nothing hypocritical here. At least not for his ilk. And I guess we should respect his wishes.
But I do have to confess I'd love to know who the other woman was.
Or...the other guy.
Or...the other sheep.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Why the FAA?
This holiday, tens of thousands of football fans gather together in outdoor stadia to watch bowl games. Tens of millions clog malls to buy and return holiday gifts. Billions of dollars in food and drink are sold to help celebrate the season. And of course, airports across America are jammed with passengers boarding flights to visit friends and family.
What these events obviously have in common is a joint connection to our holiday culture--no matter ethnic background or religious persuasion, at this time of year we are all 'Americans'. But at the same time, these ceremonies also share a darkly sinister bond. Because each--the flight, the meal, the spree and the game--also create ideal targets for terrorists intent on striking during our most vulnerable, trusting time of year.
That was the lesson of the would-be bomber who attempted to blow a Cleveland-bound flight out of the air. That he failed was temporary good news. But it was soon followed by the predictable laments, led by the President himself, about how the government had failed us. But why?
Think about the kindergartner's picture puzzle, one that shows a horse, a pig, a goat and a pencil. She is asked to choose which one doesn't belong. If you applied that same overlay to the terrorist targets listed above, which would be the outlier? Well, the airplane flight, of course. Because it is the only threat where the federal government is charged with protecting us. In Glenn Beck's world, this should be seen as 'socialized security'--it is government involvement in a private enterprise. Consider: if your purse is checked on the way into the Rose Bowl...or someone is monitoring security cameras in the local mega-mall...or a bad guy is surreptitiously wandering the aisles of the Safeway contaminating your green beans, that is neither the responsibility nor the liability of the federal government.
So why the skies? Why isn't United running that process by itself...and competing with all the other airlines on the basis of who can deliver a safer flight? What worked as a brand identity for Volvo would certainly be at least as compelling for an airline. Why does the President have anything to apologize for?
The FAA took its current form in the late 50's to serve four purposes: test aviation equipment for safety; certify both equipment and pilots; run air traffic; and manage airport facilities, particularly the control towers. Consideration of securing flights didn't come until a decade later, with a spate of airline hijackings. Rather than demanding the airlines secure their own flights, that big government liberal idiot Richard Nixon literally called out the troops. And they remained on the job until a truly world class waster of tax dollars, George W. Bush, vastly expanded the size if not the efficiency of the airline safety apparatus by folding it into the ridiculous monstrosity called Homeland Security.
So, I say destroy the TSA. If secured flights must exist, then let the private enterprises who run those flights bear the cost...just like the mall owners do for their security cops. Because private enterprise always outperforms the government, right? OK, fine, prove it. Presumably, we'd all ride more confidently.
But of course, we know what the airlines and their apologists would say: "there's no way we can afford that--we're going broke the way it is! We'd have to go out of business!"
So be it. What's wrong with the government being responsible for the airlines? We already pay taxes to certify the pilots, test the planes, keep them from crashing into each other, while trying to prevent people from getting on board with explosive chemicals sewn inside their clothing. All in all, seems like the government's doing a better job on its parts than that than the airlines are doing on theirs: keeping track of luggage...providing clean and spacious accommodations...serving a nice, hot meal--how does all that seem to be working out?
I know the knee jerk libertarians will hate this idea. They'll say governments can't run airlines. But of course, they'd have to then explain Singapore Airlines and Air France. Vive le difference.
What these events obviously have in common is a joint connection to our holiday culture--no matter ethnic background or religious persuasion, at this time of year we are all 'Americans'. But at the same time, these ceremonies also share a darkly sinister bond. Because each--the flight, the meal, the spree and the game--also create ideal targets for terrorists intent on striking during our most vulnerable, trusting time of year.
That was the lesson of the would-be bomber who attempted to blow a Cleveland-bound flight out of the air. That he failed was temporary good news. But it was soon followed by the predictable laments, led by the President himself, about how the government had failed us. But why?
Think about the kindergartner's picture puzzle, one that shows a horse, a pig, a goat and a pencil. She is asked to choose which one doesn't belong. If you applied that same overlay to the terrorist targets listed above, which would be the outlier? Well, the airplane flight, of course. Because it is the only threat where the federal government is charged with protecting us. In Glenn Beck's world, this should be seen as 'socialized security'--it is government involvement in a private enterprise. Consider: if your purse is checked on the way into the Rose Bowl...or someone is monitoring security cameras in the local mega-mall...or a bad guy is surreptitiously wandering the aisles of the Safeway contaminating your green beans, that is neither the responsibility nor the liability of the federal government.
So why the skies? Why isn't United running that process by itself...and competing with all the other airlines on the basis of who can deliver a safer flight? What worked as a brand identity for Volvo would certainly be at least as compelling for an airline. Why does the President have anything to apologize for?
The FAA took its current form in the late 50's to serve four purposes: test aviation equipment for safety; certify both equipment and pilots; run air traffic; and manage airport facilities, particularly the control towers. Consideration of securing flights didn't come until a decade later, with a spate of airline hijackings. Rather than demanding the airlines secure their own flights, that big government liberal idiot Richard Nixon literally called out the troops. And they remained on the job until a truly world class waster of tax dollars, George W. Bush, vastly expanded the size if not the efficiency of the airline safety apparatus by folding it into the ridiculous monstrosity called Homeland Security.
So, I say destroy the TSA. If secured flights must exist, then let the private enterprises who run those flights bear the cost...just like the mall owners do for their security cops. Because private enterprise always outperforms the government, right? OK, fine, prove it. Presumably, we'd all ride more confidently.
But of course, we know what the airlines and their apologists would say: "there's no way we can afford that--we're going broke the way it is! We'd have to go out of business!"
So be it. What's wrong with the government being responsible for the airlines? We already pay taxes to certify the pilots, test the planes, keep them from crashing into each other, while trying to prevent people from getting on board with explosive chemicals sewn inside their clothing. All in all, seems like the government's doing a better job on its parts than that than the airlines are doing on theirs: keeping track of luggage...providing clean and spacious accommodations...serving a nice, hot meal--how does all that seem to be working out?
I know the knee jerk libertarians will hate this idea. They'll say governments can't run airlines. But of course, they'd have to then explain Singapore Airlines and Air France. Vive le difference.
Monday, December 21, 2009
A Curious Case of Baseball and Race
There is a long history of the interrelationship between baseball and race--the parallel universe of the Negro Leagues, the Hall of Fame racism of Hall of Famer Ty Cobb, Jackie Robinson's triumph over institutionalized bigotry.
For those of us in the northwest, the gnawing consideration of race has returned with the announcement that the Seattle Mariners have traded for a mercurial African-American outfielder named Milton Bradley. Seattle will be his seventh major league home. And that hopscotch journey in itself is the backdrop for his story. How could a player accomplished enough to have been named an All Star have, as they writers say, 'worn out his welcome' so frequently?
Well, he has 'issues'. You might even say he's a 'problem'. In fact, a 'cancer in the clubhouse'. Yep, that's what everyone knows.
Now, I don't know Milton Bradley, and I have no way of judging either the accuracy or context of the incidents which stick to his reputation like cat hair. But I do believe that if Bradley and his greatest detractor were to sit down together, they would probably stipulate to this description: a proud, private and competitive individual whose actions are characterized by occasional piques of anger. In other words, just like a lot of people. But what gives his profile newsworthiness are the specifics of those temperamental moments. So let's review some:
On the Field: Charged an umpire (and suffered an injury in the process when blocked by his own coach); stripped off his jersey and stormed off the field; after a plastic bottle was thrown at him by a fan, took the bottle and threw it down at the feet of the fan who first tossed it.
As a Teammate: Accused infielder Jeff Kent of being a racist; made people uneasy with his 'sullenness'.
As an Employee: Publicly criticized both a manager (Eric Wedge in Cleveland) and a general manager (Billy Beane in Oakland); argued in the dugout with his most recent manager, Lou Piniella, after Piniella told him to stop throwing his helmet.
As a Threat: Left the dugout to 'confront' a team announcer who had criticized him.
As a Victim: Claimed umpires expanded their strike zones in attempts to call him out; essentially saw the media as the enemy.
Now, we don't know the accuracy or all of the specifics, nor will we ever. However, we can augment this description with a few facts. After the aforementioned confrontation with the umpire, it was the umpire who was suspended for taunting Bradley with language you wouldn't want to hear from your Little Leaguer. In regards to his dispute with Piniella, the manager himself admits that he called Bradley a 'piece of shit', and that Bradley responded to him calmly. And certainly the media have taken full advantage of all opportunities to turn Bradley against himself.
But for kicks, let's compare these transgressions with Piniella, the demon of the dugout:
On the Field: realistically, too many to mention. He's been ejected from more than 70 games. To be fair, his career is three times as long as Bradley's (including manager years), but that's still more than four times as many ejections. But really, it would be a shame to omit mention of the numerous pieces of equipment thrown from dugout onto the field, the bumping of umpires, throwing dirt onto home plate, kicking dirt onto umpires' shoes, kicking his own hat around the infield, and even ripping bases from their moorings and flinging them into the outfield. Bradley has nothing to compete with this body of work.
As a Teammate: No, technically managers aren't teammates, but you're still sharing a clubhouse everyday, so what is said matters. When asked last year why he didn't replace a slumping hitter, he said, 'we really don't have many options'. Over the years, he has regularly called out players for not performing to his standards, and particularly for not being 'men'.
As an Employee: As sure as there is baseball every spring, there will be off-the-record Piniella comments every summer about how the front office is not giving him the players he needs (assuming he's losing a pennant race). And the same histrionics he's brought to dugouts have also characterized closed-door meetings with his own bosses.
As a Threat: He once came to blows with relief pitcher Rob Dibble--the star closer of his own team. As a player, the man who would later demand that Bradley cease throwing a batting helmet once threw one of his own and bounced it off the head of his own manager.
As a Victim: Lou has a temper. He won't deny it. And when he's angry, it's certain that the players, the front office, the umpires, the fans, the media or all of the above are out to get him. And yet, he remains the lovable 'Sweet Lou'.
So, it could well be that the simple conclusion here is that white people and black people who behave similarly are judged differently. OK, well, yawn. Nothing new there. Instead, what makes Milton Bradley most interesting is not the contrast with Piniella, who used to rule the Mariners' clubhouse, but with a new teammate who ostensibly holds the job now--the immortal Ken Griffey, Jr. Like Bradley, he is a black man. But in his case, he has not only overcome any racial victimization, he has elevated himself to a pedestal where the same sins that are held against Bradley, and are laughingly admired in Piniella, are relegated to the memory hole of baseball--if Griffey did it, let's just pretend it never happened:
On the Field: Leading off, let's give Griffey credit--anything he ever did on a major league field could not rise to the level of Piniella or Bradley. So let's move on.
As a Teammate: If you read the mainstream media, you know Griffey as the kind uncle of the clubhouse, always looking for a way to make his teammates looser, happier and better players. But the truth lies here, penned by a college sportswriter in Seattle a couple years after Griffey left town. It is not an opinion piece--it is filled with attributed quotes from people who actually shared those clubhouses with him. One from former teammate Dmitri Young stands out: ""Once Junior got [to Cincinnati], the team broke off into cliques. Then you had guys that basically gave up. (He's) got his accomplishments. But he throws them back in your face. He'd sit there and say, 'How many home runs do you have? How much money do you make?'" Another Reds player, Pokey Reese, added, "Junior's going to be Junior. He's going to do his thing and they are not going to say anything. But it's 25 of us, not one. I know he's Ken Griffey Jr., but someone should have said, 'We're all in this together.'"
As an Employee: Managers and owners knew who ran the teams Griffey played on. When in Seattle, he publicly complained, 'where's my pitching?' As if a star of his caliber had a right to more dollars being spent on a supporting cast more to his liking. (For the record, nine members of the Mariners' pitching staff when he made that statement had successful major league careers). Aside from the impact on the pitchers of his own team, this was a clear message to ownership that they had better perform better. That was not an isolated expectation. In Cincinnati, manager Dusty Baker defended keeping a clearly declining Griffey in the most important spot in the batting order because it was 'a matter of respect' owed for all that Griffey had accomplished. In other words, massaging Griffey's ego was more important than the team's success.
As a Threat: Bradley allegedly left a dugout to 'confront' a broadcaster whose opinion he did not appreciate. We actually don't know his intentions because no confrontation occurred. But Griffey was much clearer on this issue. In Cincinnati, when criticized by team broadcaster Jeff Brantley, Griffey concluded a home run trot around the bases by looking up at the broadcast booth and delivering a throat slash gesture to Brantley. Nice role modeling for all the young fans in the park.
As a Victim: Here's where Griffey really cements his Hall of Fame credentials. Despite a level of blind adoration matched by no other athlete in Seattle history, Griffey sees disrespect behind every door. In order to escape the town, and move to a park where his own personal statistics could be better padded, he concocted a preposterous theory about being closer to his wife and kids in Florida. If so, no one asked why it was that he had moved those beloved wife and kids out a Seattle suburb in the first place. Or how he enforced a provision in his contract which limited the Mariners to deal with only four teams--those in Atlanta, New York, Cincinnati and Houston. Last time anyone checked, none of these locales would allow Griffey to drive home for a nice meal and a couple hugs after a night game. Some fans were understandably upset about this ruse. And Griffey responded thusly, ""The front office, the fans and the media, everybody's ripped me." When that didn't work, he implied that his reason for leaving was a death threat (certainly no small matter) that was months old, and one he hadn't bothered reporting to the police or his own team. To him, the words 'fault' and 'Griffey' should never appear in the same sentence.
An English novelist named Anthony Powell once wrote, "life is full of internal dramas, instantaneous and sensational, played to an audience of one." The actions of Milton Bradley, related by sportswriters across the country, have cast him in the role of villain for the internal dramas that play out in the minds of baseball fans. For many of them, the color his skin confirms Bradley's status.
But those same sportswriters, equally intent on casting the valiant lead, have ignored the same actions in order to promote Ken Griffey, Jr., as an athletic and interpersonal superhero. Consequently, Griffey is now positioned as the one last hope to 'save' Bradley's career--correcting flaws which can only be conquered by the unflawed.
When the Seattle team comes together in spring training, this internal drama will have the chance to be played out in public. Can Griffey remold Bradley in his own image? Among his other predilections, Bradley is known to not suffer fools. Beginning in March, he will have the chance to try again.
For those of us in the northwest, the gnawing consideration of race has returned with the announcement that the Seattle Mariners have traded for a mercurial African-American outfielder named Milton Bradley. Seattle will be his seventh major league home. And that hopscotch journey in itself is the backdrop for his story. How could a player accomplished enough to have been named an All Star have, as they writers say, 'worn out his welcome' so frequently?
Well, he has 'issues'. You might even say he's a 'problem'. In fact, a 'cancer in the clubhouse'. Yep, that's what everyone knows.
Now, I don't know Milton Bradley, and I have no way of judging either the accuracy or context of the incidents which stick to his reputation like cat hair. But I do believe that if Bradley and his greatest detractor were to sit down together, they would probably stipulate to this description: a proud, private and competitive individual whose actions are characterized by occasional piques of anger. In other words, just like a lot of people. But what gives his profile newsworthiness are the specifics of those temperamental moments. So let's review some:
On the Field: Charged an umpire (and suffered an injury in the process when blocked by his own coach); stripped off his jersey and stormed off the field; after a plastic bottle was thrown at him by a fan, took the bottle and threw it down at the feet of the fan who first tossed it.
As a Teammate: Accused infielder Jeff Kent of being a racist; made people uneasy with his 'sullenness'.
As an Employee: Publicly criticized both a manager (Eric Wedge in Cleveland) and a general manager (Billy Beane in Oakland); argued in the dugout with his most recent manager, Lou Piniella, after Piniella told him to stop throwing his helmet.
As a Threat: Left the dugout to 'confront' a team announcer who had criticized him.
As a Victim: Claimed umpires expanded their strike zones in attempts to call him out; essentially saw the media as the enemy.
Now, we don't know the accuracy or all of the specifics, nor will we ever. However, we can augment this description with a few facts. After the aforementioned confrontation with the umpire, it was the umpire who was suspended for taunting Bradley with language you wouldn't want to hear from your Little Leaguer. In regards to his dispute with Piniella, the manager himself admits that he called Bradley a 'piece of shit', and that Bradley responded to him calmly. And certainly the media have taken full advantage of all opportunities to turn Bradley against himself.
But for kicks, let's compare these transgressions with Piniella, the demon of the dugout:
On the Field: realistically, too many to mention. He's been ejected from more than 70 games. To be fair, his career is three times as long as Bradley's (including manager years), but that's still more than four times as many ejections. But really, it would be a shame to omit mention of the numerous pieces of equipment thrown from dugout onto the field, the bumping of umpires, throwing dirt onto home plate, kicking dirt onto umpires' shoes, kicking his own hat around the infield, and even ripping bases from their moorings and flinging them into the outfield. Bradley has nothing to compete with this body of work.
As a Teammate: No, technically managers aren't teammates, but you're still sharing a clubhouse everyday, so what is said matters. When asked last year why he didn't replace a slumping hitter, he said, 'we really don't have many options'. Over the years, he has regularly called out players for not performing to his standards, and particularly for not being 'men'.
As an Employee: As sure as there is baseball every spring, there will be off-the-record Piniella comments every summer about how the front office is not giving him the players he needs (assuming he's losing a pennant race). And the same histrionics he's brought to dugouts have also characterized closed-door meetings with his own bosses.
As a Threat: He once came to blows with relief pitcher Rob Dibble--the star closer of his own team. As a player, the man who would later demand that Bradley cease throwing a batting helmet once threw one of his own and bounced it off the head of his own manager.
As a Victim: Lou has a temper. He won't deny it. And when he's angry, it's certain that the players, the front office, the umpires, the fans, the media or all of the above are out to get him. And yet, he remains the lovable 'Sweet Lou'.
So, it could well be that the simple conclusion here is that white people and black people who behave similarly are judged differently. OK, well, yawn. Nothing new there. Instead, what makes Milton Bradley most interesting is not the contrast with Piniella, who used to rule the Mariners' clubhouse, but with a new teammate who ostensibly holds the job now--the immortal Ken Griffey, Jr. Like Bradley, he is a black man. But in his case, he has not only overcome any racial victimization, he has elevated himself to a pedestal where the same sins that are held against Bradley, and are laughingly admired in Piniella, are relegated to the memory hole of baseball--if Griffey did it, let's just pretend it never happened:
On the Field: Leading off, let's give Griffey credit--anything he ever did on a major league field could not rise to the level of Piniella or Bradley. So let's move on.
As a Teammate: If you read the mainstream media, you know Griffey as the kind uncle of the clubhouse, always looking for a way to make his teammates looser, happier and better players. But the truth lies here, penned by a college sportswriter in Seattle a couple years after Griffey left town. It is not an opinion piece--it is filled with attributed quotes from people who actually shared those clubhouses with him. One from former teammate Dmitri Young stands out: ""Once Junior got [to Cincinnati], the team broke off into cliques. Then you had guys that basically gave up. (He's) got his accomplishments. But he throws them back in your face. He'd sit there and say, 'How many home runs do you have? How much money do you make?'" Another Reds player, Pokey Reese, added, "Junior's going to be Junior. He's going to do his thing and they are not going to say anything. But it's 25 of us, not one. I know he's Ken Griffey Jr., but someone should have said, 'We're all in this together.'"
As an Employee: Managers and owners knew who ran the teams Griffey played on. When in Seattle, he publicly complained, 'where's my pitching?' As if a star of his caliber had a right to more dollars being spent on a supporting cast more to his liking. (For the record, nine members of the Mariners' pitching staff when he made that statement had successful major league careers). Aside from the impact on the pitchers of his own team, this was a clear message to ownership that they had better perform better. That was not an isolated expectation. In Cincinnati, manager Dusty Baker defended keeping a clearly declining Griffey in the most important spot in the batting order because it was 'a matter of respect' owed for all that Griffey had accomplished. In other words, massaging Griffey's ego was more important than the team's success.
As a Threat: Bradley allegedly left a dugout to 'confront' a broadcaster whose opinion he did not appreciate. We actually don't know his intentions because no confrontation occurred. But Griffey was much clearer on this issue. In Cincinnati, when criticized by team broadcaster Jeff Brantley, Griffey concluded a home run trot around the bases by looking up at the broadcast booth and delivering a throat slash gesture to Brantley. Nice role modeling for all the young fans in the park.
As a Victim: Here's where Griffey really cements his Hall of Fame credentials. Despite a level of blind adoration matched by no other athlete in Seattle history, Griffey sees disrespect behind every door. In order to escape the town, and move to a park where his own personal statistics could be better padded, he concocted a preposterous theory about being closer to his wife and kids in Florida. If so, no one asked why it was that he had moved those beloved wife and kids out a Seattle suburb in the first place. Or how he enforced a provision in his contract which limited the Mariners to deal with only four teams--those in Atlanta, New York, Cincinnati and Houston. Last time anyone checked, none of these locales would allow Griffey to drive home for a nice meal and a couple hugs after a night game. Some fans were understandably upset about this ruse. And Griffey responded thusly, ""The front office, the fans and the media, everybody's ripped me." When that didn't work, he implied that his reason for leaving was a death threat (certainly no small matter) that was months old, and one he hadn't bothered reporting to the police or his own team. To him, the words 'fault' and 'Griffey' should never appear in the same sentence.
An English novelist named Anthony Powell once wrote, "life is full of internal dramas, instantaneous and sensational, played to an audience of one." The actions of Milton Bradley, related by sportswriters across the country, have cast him in the role of villain for the internal dramas that play out in the minds of baseball fans. For many of them, the color his skin confirms Bradley's status.
But those same sportswriters, equally intent on casting the valiant lead, have ignored the same actions in order to promote Ken Griffey, Jr., as an athletic and interpersonal superhero. Consequently, Griffey is now positioned as the one last hope to 'save' Bradley's career--correcting flaws which can only be conquered by the unflawed.
When the Seattle team comes together in spring training, this internal drama will have the chance to be played out in public. Can Griffey remold Bradley in his own image? Among his other predilections, Bradley is known to not suffer fools. Beginning in March, he will have the chance to try again.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Knowing and Believing
Here in the closing days of 2009, an adamant punditocracy demands a way to define not just the year, but an entire decade. The New York Times yearns for an appropriate nickname--like The Roaring 20's. Never mind that no one used that descriptor until years later. We need a solution--and we need it now.
At first glance, it would seem that for virtually all of the common historic metrics, during the past ten years not much has changed.
The business narrative spans an indecipherable distance from Enron on the front end to the Wall Street mortgage ruse on the back. Ken Lay to Bernie Madoff. Dust unto dust.
The unchallenged technological narrative of this decade is the Internet. It has infinitely expanded the availability of both knowledge and voice. It is so revolutionary that some think it too complex for its predecessors to grasp. But while it's easy to disparage Time Warner's ill-advised purchase of AOL in the first weeks of 2000...or the similar misstep by Rupert Murdoch assuming he'd control the future just by swallowing MySpace...it's more uncomfortable to blithely dismiss the thousands of newspaper people displaced from their professions. It is ignorant to believe nothing has been lost in the process.
And in the political arena, these last ten years have perpetuated not only the same puppet show--but the same crazed puppeteers pulling the strings. I assert that the singular historical event of this period was not 9/11, but the gathering of a small mob of faux 'ordinary citizens' in a courthouse in West Palm Beach Florida at the end of 2000...screaming and pounding on the glass walls of a room until duly appointed public servants quit their Constitutional duty of recounting ballots cast by their fellow citizens. And that begat modern day Tea Parties too manic for even a Mad Hatter to attend. The same political terrorists of the Republican Party controlled both actions. Their purpose is not to promote an alternate political ideology, but rather simply to obstruct.
Together, all this can support the perception that during a ten year span, nothing has really changed--certainly not for the better. In fact, a stronger case can be made for unquestioned societal regression. Indeed, scratching a little deeper beneath each of these examples, what emerges is a more fundamental and troubling truth. The ancient tug between 'know' and 'believe' has once again swung decisively to the 'believe'--to the detriment of us all.
Here's what I mean.
What Enron's trading operation and Wall Street's 'liar's loans' asserted is that you can, indeed, make something out of nothing. There is no need to provide an asset behind a promise when that promise can so deeply move the inherent greed of man. Yes, the truly rational people knew all along that the tech and housing bubbles would eventually burst. They understood that no one could keep generating the returns of a Madoff, or the profits of an AIG. But those dealing in reality not only constituted a small minority; more importantly, their input was systematically stripped from the mechanisms ostensibly constructed to avoid the consequences. If enough people devoutly believed that fiscal gravity could be defied, well, that was enough.
The technology and communications struggle between 'old media' and new is similarly troubling. For every 100 blogs brought to life (just like this one), another newspaper career is put to death. To some, this is not only acceptable, it's preferable. Why? Because the blogosphere is not 'controlled' by evil media overlords...it doesn't face a permanent and unrelenting deadline...and what's more, its proprietors are probably smarter than those pathetic, Neanderthal ink-stained wretches. But even if all these beliefs were true, a fundamental ingredient is lost in the transition. Because bloggers tell you what they believe; while reporters tell you what they know. At one time, every ambitious cub reporter working a police beat in the middle of the night dreamt of the day when he or she would be granted license to write a column...to leaven all that was known with the sequential conclusion of what should be believed.
On the Internet, that linearity is no longer required. As long as you believe, there is no reason to know.
And as these rivers of opinion flood the wide sea of fact, grotesque life forms evolve and build immunity. Manipulation and cynicism thrive. Once you could see clear from the surface to the bottom. But now the waters are turgid; 'belief' is the cloudy undertow.
Those who 'believed' there were weapons of mass destruction beneath a desert helped lead thousands of our bravest to their deaths. Those who believed the cost of these escapades could be moved 'off the books' drove us to the brink of fiscal ruin. Those convinced that our nation...our needs...and 'our' religion...were inherently superior, hurt America more deeply than overseas adversaries ever could. We've begun to slay ourselves from within. We've seen the cancer--and the cancer is us.
Unfortunately, it is impossible to entirely separate the idea of unsubstantiated 'belief' from the totality of religion. Yes, there are forms of belief--and dangerous ones--without religious component. But religious belief is the most powerful tool against fact. It offers the blessing of devotion: we know, so you need only believe. Because we think, you need only react.
Christians, who once responded uniformly to the call to help others, now also allow for a monstrosity called the 'prosperity gospel': God will reward you with material gifts...if only you will make a down payment through self-appointed ministerial mortgage brokers here on Earth. Spend and you will be saved.
Some rightfully scoff at this. But to many it is belief--a weapon of mass delusion that undermines our culture.
In the end, most frightening of all is evidence of absolute conflation between belief and knowledge. If they can be made one, there is no more place for reason.
A born-again New Zealander named Ray Comfort currently promotes every aspect of his interpretations of biblical truth from a pulpit in Orange County, California. He summarized a lengthy YouTube debate against a non-believing adversary with the following words: "I know what was in the beginning. You don't know. In the beginning God created heaven and Earth. You don't know--I do."
Simple as that. His belief is our reality.
Descartes once declared, "I think, therefore I am". Today, by eschewing evidence, data, science and fact, we are faced with an alternative: "I believe, therefore it is".
To borrow from Comfort's own belief system...and to reflect on what has transpired over the last decade...let me just conclude: God help us.
At first glance, it would seem that for virtually all of the common historic metrics, during the past ten years not much has changed.
The business narrative spans an indecipherable distance from Enron on the front end to the Wall Street mortgage ruse on the back. Ken Lay to Bernie Madoff. Dust unto dust.
The unchallenged technological narrative of this decade is the Internet. It has infinitely expanded the availability of both knowledge and voice. It is so revolutionary that some think it too complex for its predecessors to grasp. But while it's easy to disparage Time Warner's ill-advised purchase of AOL in the first weeks of 2000...or the similar misstep by Rupert Murdoch assuming he'd control the future just by swallowing MySpace...it's more uncomfortable to blithely dismiss the thousands of newspaper people displaced from their professions. It is ignorant to believe nothing has been lost in the process.
And in the political arena, these last ten years have perpetuated not only the same puppet show--but the same crazed puppeteers pulling the strings. I assert that the singular historical event of this period was not 9/11, but the gathering of a small mob of faux 'ordinary citizens' in a courthouse in West Palm Beach Florida at the end of 2000...screaming and pounding on the glass walls of a room until duly appointed public servants quit their Constitutional duty of recounting ballots cast by their fellow citizens. And that begat modern day Tea Parties too manic for even a Mad Hatter to attend. The same political terrorists of the Republican Party controlled both actions. Their purpose is not to promote an alternate political ideology, but rather simply to obstruct.
Together, all this can support the perception that during a ten year span, nothing has really changed--certainly not for the better. In fact, a stronger case can be made for unquestioned societal regression. Indeed, scratching a little deeper beneath each of these examples, what emerges is a more fundamental and troubling truth. The ancient tug between 'know' and 'believe' has once again swung decisively to the 'believe'--to the detriment of us all.
Here's what I mean.
What Enron's trading operation and Wall Street's 'liar's loans' asserted is that you can, indeed, make something out of nothing. There is no need to provide an asset behind a promise when that promise can so deeply move the inherent greed of man. Yes, the truly rational people knew all along that the tech and housing bubbles would eventually burst. They understood that no one could keep generating the returns of a Madoff, or the profits of an AIG. But those dealing in reality not only constituted a small minority; more importantly, their input was systematically stripped from the mechanisms ostensibly constructed to avoid the consequences. If enough people devoutly believed that fiscal gravity could be defied, well, that was enough.
The technology and communications struggle between 'old media' and new is similarly troubling. For every 100 blogs brought to life (just like this one), another newspaper career is put to death. To some, this is not only acceptable, it's preferable. Why? Because the blogosphere is not 'controlled' by evil media overlords...it doesn't face a permanent and unrelenting deadline...and what's more, its proprietors are probably smarter than those pathetic, Neanderthal ink-stained wretches. But even if all these beliefs were true, a fundamental ingredient is lost in the transition. Because bloggers tell you what they believe; while reporters tell you what they know. At one time, every ambitious cub reporter working a police beat in the middle of the night dreamt of the day when he or she would be granted license to write a column...to leaven all that was known with the sequential conclusion of what should be believed.
On the Internet, that linearity is no longer required. As long as you believe, there is no reason to know.
And as these rivers of opinion flood the wide sea of fact, grotesque life forms evolve and build immunity. Manipulation and cynicism thrive. Once you could see clear from the surface to the bottom. But now the waters are turgid; 'belief' is the cloudy undertow.
Those who 'believed' there were weapons of mass destruction beneath a desert helped lead thousands of our bravest to their deaths. Those who believed the cost of these escapades could be moved 'off the books' drove us to the brink of fiscal ruin. Those convinced that our nation...our needs...and 'our' religion...were inherently superior, hurt America more deeply than overseas adversaries ever could. We've begun to slay ourselves from within. We've seen the cancer--and the cancer is us.
Unfortunately, it is impossible to entirely separate the idea of unsubstantiated 'belief' from the totality of religion. Yes, there are forms of belief--and dangerous ones--without religious component. But religious belief is the most powerful tool against fact. It offers the blessing of devotion: we know, so you need only believe. Because we think, you need only react.
Christians, who once responded uniformly to the call to help others, now also allow for a monstrosity called the 'prosperity gospel': God will reward you with material gifts...if only you will make a down payment through self-appointed ministerial mortgage brokers here on Earth. Spend and you will be saved.
Some rightfully scoff at this. But to many it is belief--a weapon of mass delusion that undermines our culture.
In the end, most frightening of all is evidence of absolute conflation between belief and knowledge. If they can be made one, there is no more place for reason.
A born-again New Zealander named Ray Comfort currently promotes every aspect of his interpretations of biblical truth from a pulpit in Orange County, California. He summarized a lengthy YouTube debate against a non-believing adversary with the following words: "I know what was in the beginning. You don't know. In the beginning God created heaven and Earth. You don't know--I do."
Simple as that. His belief is our reality.
Descartes once declared, "I think, therefore I am". Today, by eschewing evidence, data, science and fact, we are faced with an alternative: "I believe, therefore it is".
To borrow from Comfort's own belief system...and to reflect on what has transpired over the last decade...let me just conclude: God help us.
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