The failed (United) States – contd.

From this morning’s New York Times.

Faced with Washington’s march toward a default, the world has reacted mostly with disbelief that the reigning superpower could fall into such dysfunction, worry over global suffering to come and frustration that American lawmakers could let the problem reach this point.

A common question crossing continents remains quite simple: The Americans aren’t really that unreasonable and self-destructive, are they?

“It just goes to show that it’s not only Greece that has irresponsible and shortsighted politicians,” said Ioanna Kalavryti, 34, a teacher in Athens. “We’ve been held hostage by our reckless politicians, and the interests they serve, for more than three years now. I guess our American friends are getting a taste of the same medicine.”

For countries that have had their own experiences with financial crises — often followed by American dictates about the need to be more responsible — the brinkmanship in the United States has produced an especially caustic mix of bewilderment, offense and more than a little eagerness to scold.

Many people in countries like Greece, Argentina, Mexico and Russia still have searing memories of defaults and their lasting effects, including lost power. Especially galling for those who endured crises of their own is the fact that the United States remains sheltered: a default could well hurt weaker countries more than the United States, which has the advantage of the dollar’s being used as a global currency.

I suppose you could say it’s just another example of American exceptionalism.

Do You Know Who I Am?

Lovely blog post by Paul Krugman.

Basically, having a fancy named chair and maybe some prizes entitles you to a hearing — no more. It’s a great buzzing hive of commentary out there, so nobody can read everything that someone says; but if a famous intellectual makes a pronouncement, he both should and does get a listen much more easily than someone without the preexisting reputation.

But academic credentials are neither a necessary nor a sufficient condition for having your ideas taken seriously. If a famous professor repeatedly says stupid things, then tries to claim he never said them, there’s no rule against calling him a mendacious idiot — and no special qualifications required to make that pronouncement other than doing your own homework.

Conversely, if someone without formal credentials consistently makes trenchant, insightful observations, he or she has earned the right to be taken seriously, regardless of background.

One of the great things about the blogosphere is that it has made it possible for a number of people meeting that second condition to gain an audience. I don’t care whether they’re PhDs, professors, or just some guy with a blog — it’s the work that matters.

Meanwhile, we didn’t need blogs to know that many great and famous intellectuals are, in fact, fools.

Reminds me of a famous story about Sir Thomas Beecham who, travelling in a first-class railway carriage, lit a big cigar. A grande-dame, seated opposite, told him to extinguish it. Beecham, equally grandly, ignored her. The dialogue then went like this:

Lady (exasperated): “Do you know who I am?
Beecham: “No”.
Lady: I am one of the Director’s wives”.
Beecham: “Madam, I don’t care if you are the Director’s only wife, I shall continue to enjoy my cigar”.

Can Twitter still be special after floating on Wall Street?

My take on the Twitter IPO — in the Observer‘s Tech Monthly.

Despite Facebook’s size and reach, and its much-vaunted role in the short-lived Arab spring, there are reasons for thinking that Twitter may be the more important service for the future of the public sphere – that is, the space in which democracies conduct public discussion. The fact that Twitter has fewer users and that they might not be demographically representative might, paradoxically, make them more influential in shaping opinion for the simple reason that they are more likely than the average Joe to express or articulate political views.

And there is some evidence to suggest that tweeted sentiment on some ideological issues actually tracks more rigorous methods of opinion polling.

In a less abstruse way, Twitter has already shown itself to be a useful conduit for circumventing legal or governmental censorship. In the UK, for example, it provided the means for circumventing the intricate web of legal injunctions and super-injunctions which had kept the Trafigura case out of the public domain.

When WikiLeaks was deprived of DNS services during the “Cablegate” controversy – which had the effect of making the site unfindable for a time – Twitter provided the channel by which information on the current URL was disseminated until normal service was restored.

To date, the owners of Twitter have been alert to the sensitive role that their system plays in our information ecosystem. They seem to have been slightly better, for example, than some other online providers at pushing back on government demands for personal information about their users.

Corporate cant

Waitrose1

Waitrose2

These nauseating posters greeted me this afternoon on arriving at Waitrose to do some shopping. What really grates is the saccharine misrepresentation, which is a bit like a visual version of those really annoying female Classic FM disc jockeys.

It’s not ‘my’ bloody Waitrose. It’s Waitrose’s bloody Waitrose. And inside the place has been transformed into a kind of aircraft hangar while the ceiling has been removed to facilitate the installation of the so-called ‘improvements’.

Which ‘improvements’ were not commissioned to make life easier for me, by the way, but to increase the store’s turnover per square foot.

Nailing the Google mindset

I’m reading The Circle, Dave Eggers’s terrific new novel. The blurb describes it thus:

Set in an undefined future time, The Circle is the story of Mae Holland, a young woman hired to work for the world’s most powerful internet company. Run out of a sprawling California campus, the Circle has subsumed all the tech companies we know of now, linking users’ personal emails, social media, banking, and purchasing with their universal operating system, resulting in one online identity and a new age of civility and transparency.

Everything about the fictional company, as described by Eggers, screams “Google”. But in an interview on McSweeney’s he denies that it’s modelled on any particular company:

Q: Is this book about Google or Facebook or any particular company?

No, no. The book takes place after a company called the Circle has subsumed all the big tech companies around today. The Circle has streamlined search and social media into one system and that’s enabled it to grow very quickly in size and power.

Q: The campus described is so vivid. People will assume you’ve been to all the Silicon Valley tech campuses, especially Google.

There was a point where I thought I should tour some of the tech campuses, but because I wanted this book to be free of any real-life corollaries, I decided not to. I’ve never been to Google, or Facebook or Twitter or any other internet campus, actually. I didn’t interview any employees of any of these companies, either, and didn’t read any books about them. I didn’t want to be influenced by any one extant company or any actual people. But I’ve been living in the Bay Area for most of the last twenty years, so I’ve been very close to it all for a long time.

Well, if he hasn’t been to Google, then he’s clearly a fantastically intuitive writer because he seems to me to have nailed the creepy zeitgeist that pervades these tech companies. As in this passage:

Mae knew that she never wanted to work – never wanted to be – anywhere else. Her hometown, and the rest of California, the rest of America, seemed like some chaotic mess in the developing world. Outside the walls of the Circle, all was noise and struggle. But here, all had been perfected. The best people had made the best systems and the best systems had reaped funds, unlimited funds, that made possible this, the best place to work. And it was natural that it was so, Mae thought. Who else but utopians could make utopia?

Spot on. This is IMHO a terrific, bitingly satirical, perceptive novel — though not everybody agrees with me about that.

Telling it like it is: Andrew Wylie on publishing

Laura Bennett has a lovely interview with the celebrated literary agent, Andrew Wylie, in the new Republic. It contains some memorable quotes.
For example:

“The biggest single problem since 1980 has been that the publishing industry has been led by the nose by the retail sector. The industry analyses its strategies as though it were Procter & Gamble. It’s Hermes. It selling to a bunch of effete, educated snobs who read. Not very many people read. Most of them drag their knuckles around and quarrel and make money. We’re selling books. Is a tiny little business. It doesn’t have to be Walmartized.”

And I particularly liked this exchange:

Q: you grew up with a father who worked in publishing. Was there a disdain for mass-market fiction in your house?

A: Not really. I think what I wanted to know was: Is it possible to have a good business? The image I had was, if you represented writers were good, they and you were doomed to a life of poverty and madness and alcoholism and suicide. Dying spider plants and grimy windows on the Lower East Side. On the other side of my family, there were bankers. So I wanted to put the two together.

Q: how did you put the two together?
A: What I thought was: if I have to read James Mitchener, Danielle steel, Tom Clancy, I’m toast. Fuck it. This is about making money. I know where the money is. It’s on Wall Street. I’m not going to sit around reading this drivel in order to get paid less than a clerk at Barclays. That’s just stupid. So if I want to be interested in what I read, is there a business? Answer: yes, there is.

And the way to make it a business, I figured out, was: One, if you’re going to represent the best, you must represent a preponderance of the best. You’ve got to be very aggressive about representing the right people. Two, it has to be international and seamless.

Stranger than fiction: the Umbrella Man and the assassination of JFK

Over at our research project I’ve been brooding on the conspiracy theories surrounding what happened to Building 7 in 9/11, and then fell to thinking about frame 313 of the famous Zapruder film of the assassination of JFK (which, at least until the advent of YouTube must have been the most-watched home movie in history). Here’s how Ron Rosenbaum, writing in the Smithsonian Magazine, summarises the key sequence in the film:

As the motorcade approaches, we see JFK’s car emerge from behind a sign that had been temporarily blocking the view. Suddenly, we see JFK clutch his throat. Jackie leans over to attend to him. An instant later, in Frame 313, it looks like a lightning bolt strikes JFK’s head. We see it blown up and thrown back. Jackie frantically crawls over the rear seat of the open car and climbs onto its rear deck grasping at something that has been described as a piece of her husband’s shattered skull. If Frame 313 is the forensic peak of the Zapruder film, this sight is the almost-unbearable emotional heart of it.

Rewind to Frame 313: The visceral impression that the blast came from in front of JFK and blew his head backward is powerful. There have been arguments that this is a kind of optical illusion—the most convincing to me being that JFK had been hit from behind after the previous frame, 312, slamming his chin forward to his chest, and his head was rebounding backward in Frame 313.

And it would be so much easier to dismiss the impression of a frontal shot as an illusion, because otherwise you’d have to doubt the conclusion of the Warren Commission that Lee Harvey Oswald, who was positioned behind the president, was the lone gunman.

But it would be a dozen years before most of the world would see Frame 313.

What brought Building 7 to mind was the parallel with the critical frames in the Zapruder film: any lay observer of the Building 7 collapse would probably conclude that it must have been an example of controlled demolition; and I guess that most lay observers of that awful moment in the Zapruder film would conclude that the shot must have come from the front rather than from the rear — and therefore that there must have been more than one gunman.

And here we come to one possible explanation for why some conspiracy theories can be so compelling: it is that non-conspiratorial explanations seem so implausible or far-fetched that the most rational approach is to reject them. And at this point I came on this intriguing short film by Errol Morris, the documentary-maker who won an Oscar for The Fog of War, his film about Robert MacNamara and the Vietnam War. Morris was the guy (I think) who first noticed that just as the motorcade reached the point where the President was shot, there was a man standing under a black umbrella (this on a brilliantly sunny morning), and this observation led to some pretty arcane conspiracy theories. But I will let him tell the story in his own words.

The JFK assassination is probably the most inquired-into killing in history. But intensity of re-examination can have various results. As John Updike observed in the New Yorker of December 9, 1967 when reviewing some of that re-examination,

“We wonder whether a genuine mystery is being concealed here or whether any similar scrutiny of a minute section of time and space would yield similar strangenesses – gaps, inconsistencies, warps, and bubbles in the surface of circumstance. Perhaps, as with the elements of matter, investigation passes a threshold of common sense and enters a sub-atomic realm where laws are mocked, where a person is how the life-span of beta particles and the transparency of neutrinos, and where a rough kind of averaging out must substitute for the absolute truth. The truth about those seconds in Dallas is especially elusive; the search for it seems to demonstrate how perilously empiricism verges on magic.”

Or, as Errol Morris puts it in the film:

“If you put any event under a microscope you will find a complete dimension of completely weird, incredible things going on. It’s as if there’s the macro level of historical research with things sort of obeying natural laws, the usual things happen, unusual things don’t happen. And then there’s this other level where everything is really weird.”

I like his concluding riff:

“What it means is if you have any fact which you think is really sinister, right, is really obviously a fact which can only point to some really sinister underpinning, forget it, man. Because you can never on your own think of all the non-sinister, perfectly valid explanations.”

It’s also worth noting that in 1976, after frame 313 was finally shown on US TV, the House of Representatives set up a special inquiry to re-examine the assassinations of JFK and Martin Luther King. In relation to the Kennedy assassination, the House Select Committee on Assassinations concluded that there was a second gunman on the grassy knoll in Dallas and that JFK was therefore killed by a conspiracy. But that conclusion was largely based on acoustic evidence which was later challenged and discredited.

An interesting factoid: the part of the Guardian office in London where the investigative reporters’s desks are clustered is sometimes irreverently referred to as “the grassy knoll”.

Canarios: John Williams

Many years ago I worked (on the New Statesman) with John Williams’s mother. One day a lovely, long-haired boy appeared in the office with a present for his Mum. It was the first time I’d ever laid eyes on the lad, who was already prodigiously successful, earning more money than he knew what to do with. (He once tried to buy his mother a Range Rover, despite the fact that she didn’t drive.) Yesterday, I came on this video on YouTube which shows him exactly as I remember him. And playing one of my favourite pieces too.