On Nelson Mandela
Back in the 1970s and 80s, when I made regular trips to the ABC News bureau in South Africa, it was for only one reason: to be in position to cover the war that seemed inevitable, once black South Africans moved en masse from protest to violence to end white minority rule. There was no question in anyone’s mind that the nation would go down that path. Many expected that the swimming pools of white South Africans would run red with blood.
But the blood never flowed, and that was thanks, even more than you might realize, to Nelson Mandela. Almost singlehandedly, with a spirit of both practicality and forgiveness, Mandela overcame the natural urges of most of his compatriots to punish the whites who had long oppressed them. Like Abraham Lincoln at the end of our own Civil War, he said, We’ve won what we wanted,let’s just move on.
South Africa did move on. Sadly though, not to match the dreams of its first black leaders. A few years ago I returned to shoot a documentary about the successes and failures of black majority rule and the report card wasn’t good: the schools in predominately black areas still stink, the housing still stinks, the healthcare for poorer South Africans still stinks, the economy for anyone below the ranks of the middle class still stinks. To carry the comparison to its linguistic end, we spent time in a shanty town of a quarter-million people which I could describe with a thousand words, but a single fact will do: there was one concrete outhouse— not a very pleasant thing itself— for every 106 people in the township. Not quite what Nelson Mandela hoped for years earlier, when he was set free.
I learned the most about the character and integrity of Mandela from a man named Ahmed Khatrada, who sometimes was Mandela’s cellmate on Robben Island, off Cape Town. All the time they were in prison there— Mandela for 18 of his 27 years of punishment for “high treason,” Khatrada for more than 20— they found ways as prisoners always do to communicate in violation of the rules. And what they talked or wrote about was the South Africa of their dreams, a multi-racial democracy of equal opportunity. Khatrada told me they never got down to the nuts and bolts of who would govern if it ever happened— nobody talkedabout Nelson Mandela as a future president of the country, it was too remote— but on secreted scraps of paper, they literally drafted their versions of a new South African constitution, incorporating those principles.
They managed that because Mandela and all the others initially spent seven days a week at hard labor, whether hot or cold, rainy or dry, digging lime from a quarry on the island. But it was never exported; it was only used to solidify roads on the island itself. And when there was no more need for lime, they had to dig it anyway, shovel it into wheelbarrows, then push them across the sandysurface of the quarry to dump the load at the other end and go back for more. And they managed, through an ingenious deceit, to meet surreptitiously in small groups. One man at a time, they’d go to a guard and say, “I gotta piss.” The guard, hot and bored himself, would direct the prisoner to a cave in the wall of the quarry and tell him, “Don’t take too long.” Well, three or four at a time would play this trick, each with a separate guard, until they could sneak maybe ten minutes together in the cave. And that’s where they’d dream their dreams, and Nelson Mandela would crusade for the principle of equality for all.
Where that later became important was in the transition to black rule, when many of his partners wanted to take revenge. Mandela fought them with two arguments. One was, the white man knows how to run this country and we don’t. The other? That when they’d talked, back in those smelly caves, about all men being treated the same, it wasn’t just all black men, it was all men, black and brown and white. Although most of the nation’s new leaders had been put behind bars or pushed into exile by the apartheid regime, Mandela convinced them to accept reconciliation over revenge. Which really meant— and here’s the strongest proof of the man’s pragmatic side— reconciliation over war.
By the way, Robben Island — which simply means Seal Island in Dutch — is tantalizingly close to Cape Town, almost as close as Alcatraz is to San Francisco. But the political prisoners there might as well have been on the South Pole. For a long time they were allowed no news, no books, no leisure, and 40-minute no-contact family visits every six months. They didn’t know in 1969 that man landed on the moon until three months later. They didn’t know in 1976 that there had been an uprising and massacre in Soweto — something like 600 died, which really was the beginning of the revolution — until new prisoners arrived from the site of the uprising. And maybe the most alarming fact of their imprisonment: Ahmed Khatrada told me that in all those long years there, he never— never— laid eyes on a child.
It is against that background that Mandela and his colleagues nevertheless gave their nation the remarkable gift of peaceful reconciliation. No, Nelson Mandela didn’t create a utopia for his brothers, but he did set an example that hopefully will persist, long after he’s gone and far beyond the borders of South Africa.
The Ugly Truth of Tragedy
If you dig down into the recent wall-to-wall news coverage of the disaster in the Philippines— and you don’t have to dig very deep— you’ll find lots of Americans complaining that they’ve been horrified at the graphic images of victims dead and dying on television, in print, and online. Some ask, do we really need to see all this?
My answer is yes, absolutely. You’re better off if we don’t protect you from reality. In fact I think it would be even better if you could not just see it, but touch it, smell it, have a cry amidst the ruins. I’ve done that many places, and guess what: the blameless victims who are actually suffering in the shambles of the storm are even more horrified than you are… they have no remote control in their hands to just turn it all off. Exposing the American people to the despair of other people’s lives— whether shattered by man-made war or natural disaster— is a constructive trend. It makes us all smarter, for the times when we help decide on the policies of our own nation.
But it’s up to the media to put that reality in front of you. Which it didn’t used to do. I’ll never forget a terrible earthquake I covered for ABC News years ago in the Apennine Mountains of southern Italy. Dozens of towns and villages had collapsed; the death toll was in the thousands. On Day One, a camera crew and I stumbled into a town where a church had crumbled during evening Mass and crushed a hundred people. While recording the horrors all around us, a white helicopter appeared over a hill and came in to land. The first man to emerge was the Pope, the then-brand-new Pope John Paul II.
One his way into the rubble that had been a church, he stopped four men carrying a body covered by a sheet. He lifted the sheet and kissed the temple of this bloody, mangled corpse. Right in front of us.
That night, needless to say, the Pope’s kiss was the heart of my story. It said so much about the Pope, about the earthquake, about the victims, about Italy. But as we were completing our transmission from Naples, a producer in New York, on the other end of the phone, asked me, “Have you got something we can use to cover the shot of the Pope kissing the dead guy?” After all, World News Tonight came on at dinnertime.
It is a struggle that continues to this day. Do we show the audience what life really looks like? Or do we protect them from the ugly reality? From most of the wars and disasters I’ve covered, the sad answer used to be the latter. But in the wake of Iraq and Afghanistan and the World Trade Center and Hurricane Katrina, things finally are changing.
In movies, too. There’s a tormenting scene in the current movie 12 Years a Slave in which the title character is forced to lash a female slave who is tied to a stake, then when he can do no more, the sadistic slave owner takes over. Other films might show three, four, maybe five strikes of the whip, then relieve the audience of its suffering. But not in this film: an unrelenting total (according to a reviewer who counted) of 55 bloody cuts. We don’t need to be relieved; we need to be reminded, so that next time we’re thinking of hurting someone, we might think twice.
Likewise, the opening scenes of the invasion of Normandy in Saving Private Ryan went on… and on… and on… bombarding theater audiences with the bloody agony of the Americans who stormed the beach. Unlike typical fare on the big screen, it lasted long enough to make us squirm in our seats. It was the grisly horror of war… which lasted even longer, of course, for the men in the real battle. Something we need to understand when war is in our nation’s sights.
So when you see this stuff, be uncomfortable. It only hurts for a moment. It might stick with you forever. That’s a good thing.
On Thanksgiving Day
Excuse me for raining on the parade, but really, do we have to do our shopping on Thanksgiving Day itself… or more to the point, do the poor people who work at the growing number of stores that plan to open before the last Thanksgiving burp is heard across the land really have to leave their dinner tables and family flocks and football games and go stand instead behind a cash register so the rest of us can get a jumpstart on our Christmas shopping? REALLY, is any of this necessary?
No it’s not. But thanks to the executives who came up with this whole anti-holiday anti-family idea a few years ago, the legendary Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade is no longer the only parade in town. In any town, for that matter. More and more of them are getting in on the pathetic parade of stores opening their doors on Thanksgiving, which makes the lives of their employees subordinate to the lines on their ledgers.
The other day, three more chains not only announced plans to open this Thanksgiving Day itself, but to be open even longer than last time: Target, Walmart, and Toys“R”Us. Add them to a list that includes Best Buy, J.C. Penney, Staples, Sears, Kohl’s, Old Navy, Gap, even Macy’s, as if one parade a day isn’t enough. And Kmart? They’re not even waiting for the turkey to roast; they’ll open their doors at 6 o’clock Thanksgiving morning!
Goodbye Norman Rockwell, hello Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
Just for the fun of it, let’s look up the actual meaning of “holiday.” At risk of reinforcing the impression that I’m pretty old-fashioned about all this, I consulted a good ol’ hard-cover dictionary, Merriam Webster’s, and here’s the first definition it offers: “A day on which one is exempt from work.” You got a problem with that? These stores seem to.
Sure, there is still plenty of work that has to be done on holidays, work that is critical to our society— and to our daily survival— jobs that require people to work 24-hours-a-day, 365-days-a-week: in utilities, healthcare, communication, transportation, public safety… to say nothing of national security where hundreds of thousands of Americans are serving overseas, sometimes in dangerous places, and couldn’t spend the holiday with their loved ones if they tried to. Even hotels and restaurants serve an irreplaceable need on holidays, especially for thankful Americans who could no sooner roast their own turkey as raise one.
But is it really critical that mom can buy a necktie on Thanksgiving evening so the kids have something to give dad for Christmas? Here’s a news flash: whatever ties Macy’s has on display on Thanksgiving— or Penney’s or Target or Kohl’s or any other— will still be there the day after. Here’s another news flash: most dads probably don’t even wear ties any more, so what’s the point?!?
In the interest of journalism that’s fair and balanced, I acknowledge that there are arguments in favor of being open on a holiday: extra pay for the workers, someplace to go for those who don’t otherwise have anyplace to be, and for the customers themselves, as if this justifies it, yet another shopping day. And, oh yes,there’s that bottom line for a retail industry still unsure of its place in our long term plans.
But I’m not playing into their strategy. To the contrary, I’m going to play my own small part to shrink their bottom line: to the extent that I can stay out of these heathen-like stores, I’ll try instead to patronize places like Costco and Nordstrom, the ones that treat their employees with respect, which in this case means, respect for their holidays, their families, their personal lives.
And if you’re one of the millions of Americans who actually want to get out and shop before the holiday has drawn to a close, you’ll get over it. Every store in America will still be there for you… the day after Thanksgiving. The neckties, and the Mutant Turtles, will be there too.
What You Need To Know About War
Syria spreading chemicals? Iran building nukes? No matter; we are weary of war. It costs too much money, too much sanity, too many limbs, too many lives. While different Americans have different goals when we go to war, it takes its toll on all of us: conservatives and liberals, whites and minorities, young and old, the devout and the atheist.
We are weary because in wars we’ve waged in the last half-century, we weren’t always stronger when we finally pulled out, we were weaker. Sometimes, so was the nation inwhich we fought. There are still wars we can win, or at least strengthen our security. But we’re too weary any more to take the chance even if eventually, in places like Syria or Iran, we ought to; it’s the price of our power.
What’s somewhat odd about this is, most of us only deal secondhand with the dreadful deaths and devastating disabilities of soldiers who have fought so hard and seen so much. The blood they spilled was far from home. We weren’t shaken by the explosions. Or deafened by the gunfire. Or sickened by the carnage.
In battlefields like Iraq, the picture’s different. With double-digit death tolls almost daily, many are numb to warfare in their own neighborhoods. Citizens in Afghanistan are accustomed to combat in their own cities. Now, in Syria, people are plummeting down the same sad path. These are the ones who should be weary of war, evenmore than us.
But when death and destruction become the norm, human nature kicks in. I’ll never forget a day during the Iranian revolution when a camera crew and I ran for our lives into an alley after a tank started shooting at us, and when we sprang, gasping, onto the next street, we landed in a thriving open marketplace, only a block from the tank’s deadly cannon-fire. As if these people’s world wasn’t turning upside down. But life goes on.
During the troubles in Belfast, Northern Ireland, another crew and I literally dived into an alleyway to escape Molotov cocktails and rubber bullets flying in every direction and almost tripped over little kids playing their version of cowboys and Indians… the cowboys were the Catholics, the Indians the Protestants. As if deadly warfare between two sects of Christianity was only a game. But victims adapt.
Maybe my most vivid encounter with people inured to bloodshed saturating their societies was one day in Beirut: a crew and I wanted a safe viewpoint to videotape the battle for a gorge overlooking the airport; during the civil war there, anti-government militias loved to lob shells at the airport, forcing it to close and compelling travelers to rely on ferries from Cyprus to get in and out of Lebanon.
We liked the back deck of a house overlooking the gorge. But with a battle also raging on our route to the house, we had to zigzag through the line of fire, then we sank to our bellies at the base of the front door, and knocked hard.
A womananswered. With a face full of makeup, her hair in curlers, and wearing high heels. There we were, machine-gun fire off the front of her house and rocket fire off the back, and she’s all done up like she’s heading for a fancy-dress ball. She let us use her deck, and after the crew crawled out back to record the battle, I started talking with this woman, saying something like, “Pretty bad out there today, isn’t it?,” to which she replied almost blandly, “No, we’re used to it. Some days it’s a lot worse.”
She wasn’t weary of war. She was anesthetized. Detached. Deadened.
Sometimes the world’s most powerful nation still ought to fight for a better world. What it costs us doesn’t come close to what it costs the people we’re helping. We could be worse off than just weary.
Who Do You Trust?
Should we trust Iran? God no. For almost 35 years, their leaders have stood for everything we oppose. Everything we’ve stood for, they’ve opposed. Their enemies are our closest allies. Our enemies are their bedmates.
But does that prove that even now, when Iran’s new president Hassan Rouhani puts on a happy face and preaches peaceful co-existence, he’s lying? God no, again. If our distrust of everything Iranian persists as an inflexible kneejerk reaction, we will miss the chance for genuine detente… if it really comes.
Make no mistake, we let our guard down at our potential peril. Iran historically has sought to be the leader in its region, and leadership in that part of the world is measured by muscle and force; that’s why Saddam Hussein continued the charade that he had weapons of mass destruction when in truth, he didn’t. So the suspicion that Iran’s objective with its nuclear program is to produce weapons, not just electricity, isn’t so absurd. Not just so they’ll have something to target toward Israel, but also something to point at important American allies in the Arab world like Saudi Arabia, Bahrain, and the United Arab Emirates, all just across the water from Iran. And something for Iran to share with its friends, like Hezbollah and Syria, who’d love to hold a nuclear weapon in their hands.
So maybe Rouhani’s gestures are a ruse, meant merely to lull the United States and the whole Western world into a false sense of security. We sit together at a table and talk, while back in Iran they’re feverishly finishing their first nuclear bomb.
But what if they’re not? What if Rouhani is for real? Let me tell you a story.
Back in 1979, it was clear to those of us reporting from the revolution in Iran that the vast majority of Iranians wanted to get rid of their longtime ruler, the Shah. His importation of western culture, seen as decadent, was unwelcome. His secret police force, called Savak, was brutal. So when Ayatollah Khomeini became the most likely successor, almost everyone, representing a wide spectrum of Iranian society, jumped on his bandwagon. Countless citizens told us they didn’t care much for Khomeini and didn’t want a religious republic, but if the ayatollah was their best bet to upend the Shah’s reviled regime, they were on board.
But then the Islamic fanatics grabbed the brass ring, winning control of both the political and military arms of government. And thus was born The Islamic Republic of Iran. That didn’t erase the wide spectrum of secular aspirations among the population, but it pushed most of them underground.
Until 2005, when a liberal political movement came up for air. They lost, and the nutcase Mahmoud Ahmadinejad became president. Four years later, the pro-democracy “Green Movement” made a bigger splash. It was crushed too, but a popular desire for a less radical government didn’t go away. Which leads to the election this year of Hassan Rouhani.
Compared to his opponents in the presidential race, Rouhani spoke the language of moderation. That’s a relative term in a place like Iran— especially since the Supreme Leader has to bless you or you don’t get the chance to speak at all. But just as Yasser Arafat eventually seemed moderate in comparison to the leaders of nihilistic Palestinian movements like Hezbollah and Hamas, Rouhani seems moderate in comparison to Ahmadinejad. And there’s a parallel here: although he wasn’t any good at it, Arafat became a negotiating partner with the United States and even with Israel. Is it out of the question that Hassan Rouhani could be the same?
The real point is, there is a precedent for moderation in Iran. It’s not beyond the scope of possibility that President Rouhani personifies it today. Ronald Reagan famously said about dealing with the Soviet Union during the Cold War, “Trust, but verify.” Now, with the opportunity to diminish dangers in a fiery part of our world, “Talk, but verify” seems a good place to start.
So Vladimir Putin seems to have scored one. He grabbed the brass ring on Syria. But does he have Syria’s best interests in mind? Not likely. He’s Russia’s President, and his foreign policy is about one thing and one thing only: thumbing his nose at the United States of America.
That’s why, even though it cost him a prestigious Moscow summit earlier this month with President Obama, Putin gave NSA leaker Edward Snowden asylum. And it’s why he put a hold on the adoption of Russian orphans by American families. Because thumbing his nose at us is now the very foundation of Putin’s foreign policy.
And that’s the irony, because it’s not really “foreign” policy at all. It’s quite domestic, aimed no further than the Russian audience. For years now, Putin has shot at almost everything American (Russian-American cooperation at the International Space Station is the one notable exception). And plenty of Russians eat it up!
Why? Because Putin is appealing to their nationalism. It is a strong current in Russia, the people’s pride in their nation’s power and culture and history, whether it’s a history of empire or innovation. A few years ago, I reported a program about politics in Russia, and countless citizens told me how they yearned for the good ol’ days when the Soviet Union spoke and the world trembled. They want that proud and powerful feeling back. Now, whenever Putin throws a punch at us, they feel they’re that much closer.
The fear of some in Russia, though, is that nurturing nationalism in the young citizens of this long-strong, long-suffering, long-proud nation will end up with chillingly similar undercurrents to the nationalism that Hitler stirred up in Germans before World War II. There already are signs of it.
For part of the program we produced, we followed a youth group fiercely faithful to, and cultivated by, the president. It claims up to a hundred thousand members and has an ideology inseparable from Putin’s. They call themselves “Nashi,” which in Russian means “Our side,” “Our team,” or just, “Ours.”
Nashi does the president’s bidding in ways large and small. Like strengthening morality and patriotism in Russian life. But, with unsettling parallels to what I used to see covering the Soviet Union, it’s their brand of morality. And their brand of patriotism. And patriotism doesn’t just mean supporting the rules in Russia; it means enforcing them with paramilitary-like patrols. Sometimes forcefully. Sometimes violently.
Putin has taken Russians on a U-turn from their brief blossoming of democratic rights when the Soviet Union collapsed. Now, they live again with many of the undemocratic boundaries— in speech, in elections, in media— that they knew under the Soviet banner. But many are remarkably docile about it.
I asked one of the last dissidents in the lower house of Russia’s parliament, the Duma, how Russians could let Putin get away with that. His answer spoke volumes: “Russians, after the Soviet era ended, had problems: the economy fell down, incomes fell down, corruption grew up, many things were terrible. And the name for that was ‘democracy’.” Since that interview, the dissident lawmaker’s own political party has been disqualified.
The thing is, according to a major pollster I met with in Moscow, the majority of Russians might welcome a return to Soviet times. Because Putin helps them remember the glory days when their country mattered. And the way he does it is by reminding them how bad those days of democracy were. And by taking on the biggest superpower: us.
We shouldn’t be surprised. During the Cold War, the goal of Soviet foreign policy was supremacy over the United States (as ours was supremacy over them). Today, of course, the shell that was the heart of the Soviet Union can’t be supreme; it just doesn’t have the skin any more. So the best they can do is be the spoiler. To stymie the United States in its goals, even if they can’t stop us.
Which helps explain Syria. And Snowden. And everything in the cold relationship today between the United States and Russia.
On the Violence in Eqypt
I saw it as a reporter while covering the revolution in Iran. I saw it when I covered the“troubles” in Northern Ireland. I saw it while covering the war for majority rule in Zimbabwe. I saw it time after time when reporting on the long-running Israeli-Palestinian conflict. And now, I see it in Egypt. And after Thursday’s carnage, this might be the worst.
In each of those other conflicts, peace-loving people, who in a different environment would just go to work and raise their kids and enjoy a day off, were radicalized by repression and ruthlessness. Which is bound to be escalating now in Egypt. Millions of religious citizens, despite the warnings of extremists, had bought into the positive potential of the democratic process. Are they likely to support it if it’s put on the table again? Not so much, not when they’ve seen it ferociously dissembled by the generals because real elections didn’t lead the country where they wanted it to go. Which made the Islamists less powerful, but in keeping with the law of unintended consequences, more popular.
I’m not just theorizing here. In Iran in the late 1970s, the majority of people reviled the Shah and combined their energies to force him out. Countless Iranians told me they didn’t want the ayatollahs who replaced him; they only got on that Islamic bandwagon because it was their best bet. But look at them today. Either radicalized, or marginalized.
In Northern Ireland, my measure of most people over the years I went there was that whether Catholic or Protestant, they wanted the violence to end so that some day they could safely hoist a beer at the pub. But as citizens on both sides continued to die from bullets and bombs, many of these ordinary people themselves became radicalized, and eventually provided money, safe houses, and moral support to terrorists— allegedly fighting for their side— who they once would have condemned. Look at them today; it’s not clear yet whether everyone subscribes to a peace, or just a truce.
In Zimbabwe, I spent time in the bush with Robert Mugabe back when he was the popular leader of one of two rebel armies fighting to overturn white minority rule. Strange as it sounds today, he was a good guy then. But he and his supporters became radicalized after they prevailed, partly by pushback from white ranchers and bankers who worked to undermine the new order. Look at dictator Mugabe, and the poor citizens of his pathetic nation, today.
On both sides of the decades-long divide between Israelis and Palestinians, political intransigence— and the perception on each side that that they are terrorized by the other side— has radicalized people who once believed there was a chance for peace, but now opt for division over détente.
Which brings us back to Egypt. I’ve spent enough time there, and have had enough friends there, to know that many of those who back the Muslim Brotherhood are not, on the face of it, bad people. They are not the Taliban. They are not al Qaeda. What they stand for is an Islamic umbrella over the morals of the nation. To us that doesn’t sound like such a good thing, but to them it merely means counteracting Western decadence and deceit. Think about the likes of Lindsay Lohan and Bernie Madoff and maybe they’re not all wrong.
But they were wrong for the generals, not only for aspiring to a more Islamically-oriented society, but for making a mess of Egypt’s overstressed and frighteningly fragile economy. So the generals renounced restraint, tossed them out, and told soldiers to shoot to kill. And look what they got: chaos in the streets, hundreds of deaths, an economy approaching disaster with nothing to turn it around, and maybe most destructively, millions of citizens who could have been stalwarts for a stable society but now are likely to do what they can to overturn it. Arguably, the generals have radicalized more Egyptians who will drop out of the democratic political process and support, if not actually join, the extremists who would overthrow everything Western.
The Muslim Brotherhood might have been bad but the bedlam that’s replaced it could end up being worse. Worse for our ally Israel. Worse for us. Worse for democracy. Worst of all, not a thing we can do about it.
EAS+Y Does It
I don’t blanch when a store packs my purchases in plastic bags, I’m not fond of organic food, I’ve been known to slip spent batteries into the trash, I even want to drill for oil in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. In short, I’m not a tree-hugger. Nor an avid environmentalist.
But still, when I see others doing something for the good of our environment that I’m not doing myself, I’m grateful, because if I am not going to personally practice environmentalism and sustainability, I figure it’s lucky that others are.
That’s what made a presentation by a bunch of do-gooders that I recently attended where I live so thought-provoking. Because they weren’t just do-gooders doing good things for us. Rather, they were teaching us to do good things for ourselves.
This grass-roots do-gooders’ group is called EAS+Y, which stands for Evergreen’s Alliance for Sustainability + You. And at least in our Colorado county if not beyond, it’s the only coordinated community consortium stimulating sustainability. For example, a local realtor and his wife have visited every third grade classroom in the mountains to preach the no-plastic-bag gospel… and maybe convince the kids to shame their parents into using less wasteful alternatives. EAS+Y has gotten our town’s biggest public venue to contractually require every renter— for everything from weddings to fundraisers— to use plant-based plates and cups and utensils in place of petroleum-based. That’s called “zero-waste.” And it helps the renters find the supplies they need.
In sync with this crusade for sustainability, the local Rotary Club promotes solutions for safely disposing of hard-to-recycle electronics and toxic batteries; a local supermarket gets responsibly rid of outdated prescription drugs, which otherwise can pollute our water. There’s even a tree maintenance company that donates a chipper during the Christmas season so that people’s trees end up as compost rather than more waste for the landfill. The grass roots have taken hold.
And it doesn’t stop there. Calling sustainability “the new frontier,” the president of EAS+Y says they’re now trying to figure out how far the grass roots can spread to tackle big-picture challenges like climate change, energy, water. Because in the spirit of Neil Armstrong’s first words on the moon, everything begins with one small step.
The next small step is elsewhere in the county. A commissioner tells me that he’s counting on EAS+Y to provide energy and expertise to seed similar grass-roots groups throughout the county. Already, county government is getting on the bandwagon: solar panels for government facilities, energy-saving light bulbs in buildings and parking lots, automatic irrigation systems for parks, better gas mileage for county vehicles.
The step after that? A message to businesses that sustainability isn’t incompatible with development. Because it all comes down to responsible choices. Which is in everyone’s interest. Especially if it’s virtually cost-free.
Proof of the pudding? An announcement by the MillerCoors brewery in Golden, Colorado, that they no longer send any waste— no cardboard, no glass, no metal, no plastics, no grains— to the dump. Everything— every ounce— is rechanneled. Recycled. Reused.
Back in early June, a survey cited my state as the fifth best in the nation for “clean-tech,” the very best not on either coast. If the idea of EAS+Y and the model of MillerCoors spreads, we can be the best in clean communities too. I’d endorse that. Whether I lead the way, or not.
A Special Class of Hero
We all too often forget who the real heroes are. Even when we see them right before our eyes in places like Moore, Oklahoma, and Newtown, Connecticut. We see them, but somehow don’t call them what they are: heroes. Probably because they’re just common folks, like the rest of us. Heroes, after all, are supposed to be bigger than life. Yet some of the heroes in places like Moore and Newtown look like they could live next door. Because in effect, they do. They are teachers. Teachers, who became heroes in Moore, and Newtown, and many other places where children have been defenseless.
And that’s a problem, because in our celebrity-centric society, the wrong people are treated like heroes and the right ones aren’t. Ask some average Americans who their heroes are— as I have— and you’ll get answers that make me cringe. They’ll describe sports stars— who only throw a good ball or swing a good bat— as their heroes. Or movie stars— who only put on costumes and makeup and play an heroic role— they are idolized as heroes too.
It’s bizarre. What’s worse, it cheapens the word. Heroism, by my definition, means you take a risk, you sacrifice your security, to help someone else. Not to line your pockets. Not to entertain an impressionable public. But to change a life. Sometimes to save one.
When we see soldiers fighting for our flag overseas, when we see police confronting criminals at home, when we see common citizens rushing into harm’s way to help people caught in the wrong place at the wrong time— a bombing at a marathon, a tornado in Oklahoma— that’s when we really see heroes.
But teachers— a special class of hero— are still generally unsung. Overlooked. Oh, we have taken note of their courage, and of the lives they’ve saved. But do we actually think to ourselves, “You know, these people are the real heroes here?” No, often we don’t.
Yet in Oklahoma during the tornado, and in Connecticut during the rampage, teachers showed the courage and kept the carnage from being even worse. How many stories have you read now about teachers laying on top of their students while the tornado took its toxic twists across their city? Children there are alive today because of them. Who can forget the principal and the teachers during the massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary who faced down the gunman, and died doing it? Children there are alive today too, because of them.
I’ll never forget a story about a teacher I know who, if not literally heroic, deserved a medal. On the morning of September 11, 2001, after the second tower in New York got hit, her husband told her she might as well stay home because none of the parents would even think of sending their children to school after what hadhappened. But she went, just in case her husband was wrong. And was he ever! Every single student showed up. Every single parent had left it to the teacher to explain the terror on that dreadful day. And, every other teacher in theschool was there too, doing the same thing.
I won’t be surprised if some Americans, whose kneejerk opinion about teachers is to paint them all with a broad bad brush, keep blaming them for the substandard performance of many American students, as if negligent parents and shrinking budgets and violent media don’t bear some of the blame. I’ll be disappointed, but not surprised.
True, some teachers are better than others. But I wish that after watching acts of heroism by schoolteachers who aren’t paid to be heroic, more Americans would stop and realize, it is consistent with why they go into that business in the first place. They like children. They work to help children. They try to improve children’s lives. And when a threat presents itself, they even save children’s lives. Sometimes at the risk, even the cost, of their own.
Faith & Friendship at the Center of a Storm
You can read all the news reports you like, and watch more on TV. But they won’t help you look inside the soul of a catastrophe like the tornado in Oklahoma. So I’m going to try. Because if there is one common thread to natural disasters I have covered across the country and around the world, it is that volunteers come out of the woodwork, and victims support one another, and those who’ve lost everything say they haven’t… because they still have their lives.
One of those calamities was Hurricane Katrina. A cameraman and I got there before the winds stoppedhowling, and didn’t leave until the smell of death was nearly gone. One thing you have to understand about Moore, Oklahoma, just like New Orleans and Biloxi, Mississippi after Katrina: “the smell of death” is not just a cliché.
In Biloxi we tailed a search team. Firefighters who’d driven all night to get there from South Carolina. And a search-and-rescue dog unit from Ohio. The search is guided by that smell of death. Anyone in the business recognizes it. Except the dogs. They don’t smell death. They smell human hair. When they’re young pups, they’re taught by their trainers to play hide and seek. What the trainers hide is hair. So when the dogs go out on a mission, they are sniffing for the smell of hair. On a body, alive or dead. Even after Moore turned from a rescue operation to just recovery, those dogs were smelling for hair.
And it’s not a matter of sweeping their way down city streets. It’s all unbroken piles of rubble. So they’re climbing over rubble that rests on the ground, but not necessarily the ground it occupied before the storm. Roofs and walls and porches fly away with the wind to new positions. Sometimes far from where they had been.
We came across one couple in Biloxi who looked almost catatonic. Although mostly collapsed, a house stood squarely on their property. But it wasn’t their house. Theirs had blown into a million pieces. Someone else’s landed in a heap where theirs had stood.
We came across another woman, sitting on a concrete wall that had defined her driveway. Her house was gone too. This was a full week after the hurricane and she really had no reason to be there. But she said she also had no reason to leave. Where people go when everything they own is gone, I just don’t know. Neither do they.
Yet in both Biloxi and New Orleans, almost everyone I talked to spoke with gratitude if not hope. Like people we’ve seen in Moore, they were thankful for their very lives, thankful that their families survived. One woman even joked, “I had too damned much stuff anyway. Now it’s down to what’s important.”
What’s important to some is religion. In New Orleans on a Sunday, we found some people from a poor black church. They had dug up folding chairs and were singing like it was the happiest day of their lives. The minister was right out of central casting for a Southern holy-roller preacher. He didn’t just look like Little Richard; he even sounded like him. And when he told this crowd that had just lost everything they owned that their faith would get them through, they said Hallelujah. Because faith was one of the last things they had left.
Faith, and friendship. A chain restaurant called The Waffle House reopened in Biloxi the day we got there. I don’t know how, because power was out and after four days, all the food had spoiled. But somehow they got eggs and white bread, and electrical generators, then gathered all the staff they could locate, and opened theirdoors for three hours to anyone who found out about it.
The place was frantic with activity. The cameraman and I found seats at the counter, and I happened to be watching a young heavy-set black man turning eggs on the griddle as fast as he could. Suddenly an older waitress, white, came along and just put her arms around him and gave him a long hug. And when his face turned so I could see it, tears were streaming down his cheeks. And hers. Who knows what they lost? But there they were, working. Cooking for us.
Natural disasters bring out the worst of Mother Nature. But the best of the human spirit. You can bet it’s all happening in Moore, Oklahoma, right now.
Syria, the U.S. & Russia
You might be right to wonder, what’s the big deal? The United States and Russia announced (on May 7th) that they are going to work together to try to end the fierce civil war in Syria, which threatens to destabilize the whole region… as if it’s otherwise a wellspring of stability. And as if these two world powers can succeed in the wake of nothing but failures so far. Well, the one thing we can count on is, if we don’t get in the game, we can’t possibly come out with a winner.
The U.S.-Russia plan? It’s hardly novel. The goal is to convene an international conference with the combatants themselves at the table. So if you say “Good luck” in a cynical tone, you might be right. First, because one side or another is likely to refuse to sit at a table and talk with its mortal enemies— and remember, one of the big obstacles is that there are more than just two sides in this war. Second, because if there’s one thing to which no one in Syria has proved responsive, at least to this point, it’s diplomacy.
But this is a big deal anyway, because in this poker game on a global scale, the chips are being bet on a bigger battlefield than Syria. They fall on the fragile and sometimes hostile relationship between the brokers themselves: the U.S. (which half-heartedly supports Syria’s rebels), and Russia (which unsmilingly supports Syria’s President Assad).
If you’ve been paying attention, you know that our friendship these days is just one matchstick warmer than it was in the days of the Cold War. We accuse each other of everything from disrespect to malfeasance to brutality to espionage. They say we’re “Russophobic;” we say they’re “anti-American.”
Maybe we’re both right. But that’s why the outreach is so important. And well-conceived. Because for a change, American foreign policy isn’t premised primarily on providing incentives that we’d want if we were in our counterparts’ shoes; we keep trying that approach and it rarely works. This time, although still in the interest of American national security, it is premised on what the counterpart wants which is, in Russia’s case, respect.
I’ve covered news on that side of the world over a span of 35 years — both when Russia was the hammerhead of the Soviet Empire and since it became independent. Back in the day, when the Soviets spoke, the world trembled. They liked that. They called it respect. What President Putin and his populace want today, even crave, is a place again on the world stage. Respect. Don’t forget, they still have a nuclear arsenal, and some alliances we’d like to alter. They want to be taken seriously once again. They are nationalists; they believe they deserve it.
I’ve seen signs of that when covering a wide spectrum of stories there in just the past few years, from thugs breaking heads to support Putin’s aggressive pro-Russia presidency, to teens promoting the adoption of abandoned orphans to keep them in Russian hands, to the Russian space program, which has an honorable heritage and, ever since the latter part of the Cold War, a record of cooperation with ours. Although such stories are vastly different in theme, they’re all about nationalism.
Maybe something will come of this new joint effort to finally get the combatants in Syria to talk about ending the war. Maybe not. But at least if the U.S. and Russia follow through on their intent to work together diplomatically on a big issue for the first time in a long time, then there will be benefits, even if ultimately they’re not felt in Syria. Maybe Russia will see the value of a global partnership between two great powers, rather than reflexively and nationalistically opposing much of what we set out to do to build a better world, or at least to avert a worse one.
Then again, since it’s still a game of poker, maybe not.
I have two grown sons. They hardly, if ever, try to influence their father’s political opinions. But they don’t have to. Not only because on most issues we happen to think pretty much alike anyway (to my never-ending delight), but because the simple fact that I have two childrenalready shapes my politics more than anything else on earth. What I want for them more than anything else is a good, long, happy, healthy life.
So when it comes to issues as diverse as war and peace, and access to health care, and guns, energy, education, Social Security, and everything else, my thoughts and ambitions, first and foremost, are for my children. Then after that, for everyone else’s.
And I’m not alone. It seems that some powerful politicians, although subject to strong influence by everyone from lobbyists to donors to their political parties to (lest we forget) their constituencies, are even more strongly influenced by one factor nothing else can trump: their children.
Which might help explain why the nation is shifting faster than it usually does on a controversy of moral, political, and social significance: gay marriage. The most recent political leader to do a 180 on this is Ohio Senator Rob Portman. He has long opposed major gay rights proposals but thoughtfully concluded, and announced in mid-March, that gay people aren’t such bad people after all and deserve the same rights as everyone else. His impetus? One of his own grown sons, who revealed to his father two years ago that he is gay.
It was a reminder of another major politician, also otherwise aligned with the political right, who decided and publicly announced— back in fact when he was only a heartbeat from the presidency, and his Republican party was more stridently opposed to any kind of gay rights agenda than it seems to be today— that his own lesbian daughter’s loves and lifestyle aren’t something to condemn but rather something to support: former Vice President Dick Cheney.
To be bluntly honest, I myself don’t understand how one man can be romantically attracted to another, nor one woman to another.It’s just not how I’m wired. But what I do understand, partly because two of my cousins as well as several friends’ children are great people and oh, by the way, gay, is that whether or not I understand doesn’t matter. What does matter is that this is how they feel and this is how they’re wired— just like Senator Portman’s son, just like former Vice President Cheney’s daughter.
If I do what I can to protect and support my own children when it comes to everything from healthcare to war, then I ought to do what I can for everyone else’s too. And so should the politicians who stillstand in the way of equality for Americans who are gay. These politicians, and their supporters, will tell you that their moral code is what matters, or their religion, or perhaps the old standby that gay marriage destroys the sanctity of marriage between a man and a woman.
Well, I’ll tell you what: I have a moral code too, and if it is founded on a single principle, it is that all men are created equal. I didn’t write that, our Founding Fathers did, and today, if not in 1776, it means that all men ought to have equal opportunity. Anyway, if gay Americans eventually win the legal right to wed in every state in the union, it won’t put a dent in the sanctity of my marriage, which is at almost 40 years and counting. In fact the only change it will bring about is that gay relatives and friends… and yes, the gay children of politicians too… will have the same rights as the rest of us.
On The Death Penalty
I live in Colorado, and our legislature is considering legislation to repeal the state’s death penalty. There are many compelling arguments to repeal it: it is inhumane, it is inequitably applied, it doesn’t deter murderers, it is outlawed in a growing number of states, it leaves Colorado in a league with distastefully barbarous nations like Iran and North Korea, and maybe most appalling, it has surely led innocent people to their deaths in other states if not in Colorado. The praiseworthy “Innocence Projects” across the country have freed so many wrongly-convicted citizens, that fatal flaw with capital punishment cannot be ignored.
But I’m for it anyway. I want killers to be killed, and if the state has to do it, fine. Because like virtually every issue on which we all have to take our stand, I put the pros and cons on a scale. When I do, the justice of death for murderers still outweighs everything else.
Justice? Yes, that’s what I believe it is, and I hope if my state’s legislature passes a bill to repeal the death penalty, the governor will veto it. When I read storiesabout this controversy and see the smiling face of the longest-serving man on Colorado’s Death Row, multiple murderer Nathan Dunlap— smiling in a police lineup— I want to puke. Why should this piece of scum live to take another breath, let alone break into another sickeninggrin, when the four people he killed at a Chuck E. Cheese restaurant in Aurora, Colorado, twenty years ago never had the chance to breathe again, or smile again, or make drawn-out appeals for their lives or say their goodbyes or anything else. Dunlap was their one-man judge and jury. He deserves the fate he sealed for them.
So let’s review the arguments against the death penalty. Inhumane? If you need a simple rebuttal, how about “An eye for an eye.” Inequitably applied? The U.S. Supreme Court has weighed in on that, in the past even suspending legal executions until more equitable sentencing laws were established. Not a deterrent? Neither is a life sentence behind bars, so what’s the difference?! Outlawed in other states? So is marijuana. Capital punishment makes us no better than places like Iran? Wrong; what separates us from others with capital punishment is a guaranteed and exhaustive, some even say excessive, process of appeals. As for the fact that mistakes are still made, I can only say that I won’t support a policy if I’m not willing to take the risk that some day I’ll be the victim of such a horrible mistake myself.
Back in 1976, another piece of scum named Gary Gilmore shot and killed two men in Utah during robberies on two consecutive nights. One was a clerk at a gas station, the other a motel manager. For several months I covered the case for ABC News. The story was notable not only because Gilmore told the court he wanted to die and therefore didn’t want death penalty opponents to save his sorry soul, but also because ultimately he became the first American to be legally executed after a Supreme Court moratorium on capital punishment.
But while all the same arguments against executions were made then as are made today, oneargument on the other side trumped them all: both of Gilmore’s victims had widows— victims themselves— and in a tragic coincidence, each had a toddler with another baby on the way. And what both of those widows told me was, they wanted Gilmore to die.
He died alright, shot by a firing squad, a form of execution he was allowed to choose. And not before he got to choose his last meal, and hug a few relatives who spent his final night with him in a holding cell— even dancing with a cousin who brought a boom box. It was disgusting. The men he shot had none of that.
That’s how I came to my own beliefs about capital punishment. If it was good enough for the widows, it was good enough for me. And good enough for society. The killer was gone forever. Good riddance to Gilmore. And Nathan Dunlap. And others just like them.
My Rocky Mountain High
I live in Colorado. When I first moved here from Paris more than 25 years ago as the correspondent here for a new ABC News “Rocky Mountain Bureau,” I was invited to speak to a gathering of civic leaders at what’s called The City Club, and the topic they asked me to address was, “How do we overcome Denver’s image as a Cow Town?” After all, I’d been roaming the world for many years, and represented a television network based in New York City; surely I’d have some indispensible big-city wisdom to impart.
I didn’t. Instead, I told the assembled civic leaders to be careful what they wished for. Because if they wanted to be a sort of New York of the Great Plains, they’d have to take what comes with it: traffic, crime, higher costs, epic discourtesies. Worse than what Denver already had. Who was it, the comedian Rodney Dangerfield who said, “I don’t get no respect?” Denver felt the same way, and didn’t like it. I hope I changed some minds.
Well, now, as a longtime Coloradoan, I find myself torn between being miffed that sometimes we still get no respect, and being glad we don’t. And I’m talking about the weather.
Read the nation’s newspapers, listen to network newscasts. Get a few inches of snow in the northeast, or even mere hailstones in southern California, and The Weather Channel dispatches its crisis team to stand in the heart of the blizzard and tell us it might be the apocalypse. And by the way, complain about your own work if you like, but these Weather Channel reporters’ whole job is to jump on airplanes to the worst weather in the country. I used to jump on airplanes to the world’s worst wars, but I think I had it better than they did because at least the sun usually was shining warm on our backs when snipers took their shots.
But I digress. We have to get about a foot of snow here in the Rockies— heavy, wet, unshovelable snow— to get more than an honorable mention in the national media. Why? Well, maybe it’s because we’re expected to get smothered by snow. I mean, why would anyone live in Colorado if they didn’t welcome winter weather? So what that only a reported 7% of Coloradoans snowboard or ski and the rest don’t really relish snowfall any more than the snowbirds who’ve moved to Miami.
Or maybe no one notices when we’re buried by a blizzard because from the main media centers in America (read: New York City), we are just a blip on the map. Like the famous New Yorker Magazine cover decades ago by an artist named Saul Steinberg that showed Manhattan in the foreground, then looked west across the Hudson River to a great expanse— the rest of America— where a few pimples represented other cities (not including Denver), then came the Pacific Ocean. I have it hanging in my own home as a reminder of why, a few years after I got here, I stayed in Colorado rather than move, at ABC’s behest, to New York.
But a little respect wouldn’t hurt, would it? After all, we have to shovel just as much as, and maybe more than, anyone at our latitude. Sometimes our streets are impassable too, sometimes we lose power, sometimes our schools stay closed. Hey, America, look at us, would you?!
Then again, if they did, maybe more Americans fed up with winter where they are would figure it’s better here where at least they can go to the mountains and actually play in the snow. And then that 7% might swell to 17%, and where would Colorado be then?!
Okay, fine, ignore us. We’ll survive.
Air Over Syria
Let’s get one thing straight: no matter how ugly the war has turned in Syria, few if any Americans want to put our soldiers’ boots on the ground there. In fact, in the wake of Iraq and Afghanistan, it’s hard to imagine who those few Americans would even be. President Obama must understand that.
But let’s get something else straight: as citizens of the most powerful and, arguably, the richest nation on earth, it’s painful to just sit back and watch so many people die, and so many homes destroyed, and so many refugees suffer. It’s equally painful to see militant Islamists redoubling their own power and influence in the revolution, which ultimately might make Syria even more hostile to the U.S. and its interests than it was before. President Obama must understand this, too.
So here’s the thing: we don’t have to just sit back and be as passive as we’ve been. Beyond underwriting the rebels’ training and diplomatically recognizing their coalition, President Obama can directly influence the outcome of their battle, not to mention save some lives… without putting boots on the ground at all.
It’s called air power. It’s something else the President ought to understand because he used it in Libya— Gaddafi’s aircraft were neutralized and his regime was neutered. Long before that, we used it in Bosnia. American casualties were minimized, while American air power changed the course of the war.
To be realistic about America’s place in the world, we can’t do it alone. But we rarely if ever do. For the Gulf War, President George H.W. Bush assembled a coalition through the United Nations to give us cover. For Libya, President Obama enlisted NATO. I don’t care how we justify an incursion from the air; I just care that we do. Because if we don’t, Assad’s air force will continue to decimate entire civilian neighborhoods simply to kill the rebels who use them as safe havens. Some now say it’s genocide and if genocide isn’t worth our attention, nothing is.
Is there a guarantee of success? Of course not. Anyone who used to have blind faith in the inevitable triumph of air power learned otherwise after the Shock and Awe of Iraq. But anyone who can’t see what good it could do in Syria— basically grounding Syrian aircraft and creating more of an even battlefield— isn’t paying attention to what we demonstrably can achieve. Would there be American casualties? Maybe. But most likely not many, because without question, we have superiority. Russia still acts in the Soviet tradition, never giving allies like Syria anything better than second and sometimes third generation weapons and aircraft. Against the rebels, Syria’s military is stronger. Against American air power, it would be no match.
Of course, Americans might be war-weary enough to be wary of an humanitarian intervention. But there’s another reason to get involved, and that is to get in the game. In the old days, leaders of Third World countries had to choose between the Soviet Union, and us. These days, it’s between extreme Islamism, and us. There are many things we don’t yet know about Syria: who’s going to prevail, and if it’s the rebels, who will they ultimately befriend? But one thing we do know is, the more nations controlled by Islamic extremists, the more threats we and our allies are likely to face.
The other thing we know is, if Assad wins, it won’t matter that we flew in to defeat him; in his mind, we already are the devil incarnate. But if the rebels win, it will matter a lot that the United States finally took decisive action, albeit late, on their behalf. We will be the superpower that helped save their revolution, and save their lives. They still might not love us, but they might not hate us so much.
President Obama ought to get off his stick and get some planes in the air over Syria.
If you measure all forms of democracy by the standards of our democracy, of course they’ll most likely fall short. But more important, you’ll fall short yourself, because democracy in some parts of the world doesn’t look anything like ours. Which is why it’s so hard, but so important, to understand what’s going on in Egypt. You would shortchange the democratic ideal if you simply write off Egypt’s effort as a failure.
Why does it even matter? Because the Middle East is still a powder keg— and maybe it always will be— and Egypt is the most important Arab nation in the world. It fields the biggest army, has the most people, and not just incidentally, gets the most money from the United States. Moreover, hard though it might be to accept, in some ways it is still an American ally; Egypt helped us bring a truce in Gaza, and so far at least, helps us by honoring its treaty with Israel.
But here’s the kicker: yes, for all the chaos, Egypt is still a democracy. A messy one to be sure… and that’s on a good day. But when you see and hear about dictatorial government edicts and angry street responses and violent police retaliation, consider the alternative, the kind of no-holds-barred battles I’ve covered everywhere from Iran and Afghanistan to Zimbabwe and Mozambique. When you think about it, that “alternative” is exactly what we’re seeing these days in Syria.
Think of what you’re watching in Egypt as the production of a Hollywood film. The difference is, the moviemakers in Hollywood do countless “takes” on the set ‘til they get it right. Egypt can’t do that. One reason is, they don’t have the luxury of a closed set; the whole world gets to watch. Another is, they’ve never made this movie before.
So when it comes to the elected President, Mohamed Morsi, he’s been on a learning curve since the day he took office. With no role models in his part of the world, he still doesn’t seem to understand the difference between a plural democracy like ours, and a winner-take-all democracy like, say, Iraq’s. His efforts to soften his blunders, if inept, seem genuine. Credit where credit is due: he has tried.
But democracy is more about the people than the President, and beginning with the revolutionagainst Hosni Mubarak two years ago, the people of Egypt have had a taste of something they’d never tasted before. It’s like what I saw in Communist Poland a quarter century ago, when a limited democratic revolution called “Solidarity” was slapped down, but people everywhere told me, We’ve tasted it and we won’t forget. They didn’t. And eventually they were free.
So, the demonstrations against everything from closed constitutional assemblies to death sentences for soccer rioters are an extension of the first heady days in Cairo’s Tahrir Square, where the forces of Egypt’s revolution coalesced. The difference between the bloody outcomes there and the peaceful air of almost all American protests arguably is only a matter of degrees. In both nations, it is a picture of people who believe that in a democracy, open, even angry protest againsttheir government is an intrinsic right.
The President of Egypt still has a lot of lessons to learn… if the military is disposed to give him more time for his painful education. The people of Egypt have some lessons to learn too… if the government is disposed to let them vent their rage and everyone eventually learns that no blood need be shed to have one’s voice heard. But it’s all part of the passage to democracy. In the context of “be careful what you hope for,” it’s probably better than the alternative.
Clear As a Bell
Fifty years ago, there was a Broadway play, followed by a Hollywood film, called “Bells Are Ringing.” It was about a lonely woman who works for an answering service, lonely until she falls for the voice of a client who calls in.
Well, my bells started ringing last month, and I’m anything but lonely. To the contrary, I did just one shift ringing bells for The Salvation Army in front of a supermarket not far from my home. And although seeing friends shouldn’t be the motive for that kind of public service, spend a couple of hours in front of your local supermarket and you’ll see half the people you know. Which is kind of nice.
However, my motive was different. I knew that helping fill a Salvation Army bucket would be worth doing. At every natural disaster I ever covered in this country, The Salvation Army was there, not only to help people who’d just been burned or blown or flooded out of their homes, but to help the first responders who appeared, no matter what the hour or what the day.
But back to the bells. They were still ringing in my head when I finished my shift. And drove home. And went to bed. And they were still ringing the morning after. Which brings me to a list of things you should be aware of, if you ever stand in front of the supermarket yourself to ring a bell and raise money for The Salvation Army.
• When you start your shift, dress like a screaming blizzard is heading your way. Even if it’s not, it’ll feel that cold by the time you’re through.
• Try to mask your shock when you’re standing there like Frosty the Snowman and some teenager walks by in a t-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops. Remember, their blood runs different than ours.
• Don’t waste time trying to figure out whether to face in or face out. The whole goal here is to engage everyone who’s passing you. So circle like the beacon in a lighthouse. Some donors are more likely to stop and give going in, before they’re laden with shopping bags. Some are more likely to stop and give going out, when they’re nice and warm after a shopping spree inside.
• Stare down the kids. Sometimes parents will bring them up without being prompted, to teach them to be charitable. Sometimes the kids will be the first to make the move, so they can stuff a coin or a bill through the slot. Either way, it teaches kids to be generous with their good fortune. The world’s going to need that.
• Stare down the adults too. Guilt is an amazing thing.
• Some of the people who tell you going in, “I’ll get you going out,” do. But don’t be surprised when others, if they can dodge and weave past you by doing a hard turn after walking out the door, don’t.
• Keep count. Not of the amount of money, but the number of donors. You’ll like what you learn: far more walk up, than walk past.
• Just for entertainment, watch how many cars breeze right past the “Stop” sign in front of the supermarket. If I were a traffic cop, I’d station myself next to a supermarket, issue my quota of citations in the first hour, then go inside and buy a donut and take the rest of the day off.
• Just for protection, have the name handy of a good therapist for carpal-tunnel syndrome. Preferably one who also serves donuts.
• When your shift is over, turn on your iPod, your smartphone, your radio, your stereo, or whatever else you use to listen to music, and play it until you go to bed. If you don’t, then instead of your favorite song ringing through your head all night, it’ll be the bells.
I want to raise a question, and it’s about an issue that is far more important than the fiscal cliff, or gun control, or violence in Syria. The topic? Tipping. The question? Don’t you get tired of people who harken back to “the good old days?”
So do I. But maybe this will be an exception. Because the good old days I want to talk about are the ones when you were expected to tip for exactly two kinds of service: someone at a restaurant who served you a meal, and in the era before an unsung hero (to whom I shall be eternally grateful) put suitcases on wheels, someone at an airport or a hotel who lugged your luggage so you didn’t have to. Okay, maybe you can add in taxi drivers, although in my experience, as often as not I’ve wanted to ask for half my money back as compensation for the sheer terror of the ride. And as long as we’re already expanding the list, hotel maids. Traditionally poorly paid, they deserve a little extra just for the drudgery of their work, changing someone else’s smelly sheets and wiping up someone else’s yucky bathroom.
Yet those hotel maids often are ignored. While with less justification, there are tip jars on just about every sales counter in America. Stroll into Starbucks to drop four bucks on a caramel something-iatto and you’re expected to drop an extra greenback into the tip jar. Or how about the counter at the convenience store? Buy a bag of chips and if you’re not a cheapskate, you’ll deposit the spare change from the cashier into the tip jar. For the cashier.
And how about the driver on a tour bus, the outfitter on a river raft, the attendant at a parking lot?! They don’t exactly hold out a can with TIPS inscribed on it, but they might as well, for the look you’ll get if you don’t slip a bill into their palms.
Then last month, as the holiday season came on, I got nice little Christmas cards from my newspaper deliverer, my postal carrier, and my trash collector. Now, let me be clear: in terms of daily life, there’s little I appreciate more than having my newspaper waiting when I get up, my letters in the box when I stop for them (although when it comes to the bills, not so much!), and my garbage gone by the time I get home at the end of the day. And in each of those cases, I am blessed with 5-star service, as if each provider subscribes to the postal creed of swift service despite snow, rain, heat, or gloom of night.
But here’s a question: isn’t just about everyone I’ve written about here pretty much paid a livable wage already, commensurate with the skills required for the job? Well, maybe not restaurant servers or suitcase carriers; state law here in Colorado and, so far as I know, all across America, says they don’t have to be paid the standard minimum wage, since there always has been an assumption that they earn their money in tips. But aside from that….
And here’s another: what’s the meaning of a tip, anyway? Extra pay for the underpaid? NO. It is a reward for superior service. Believe me, I wouldn’t want to deliver the daily paper when every copy has to be in place by 6 a.m., which is the newspaper’s promise to its residential customers. But while I appreciate my carrier’s incredible allegiance to the alarm clock, that promise is part of the job description and therefore, by definition, not extraordinary. To say nothing of the clerk at the convenience store who is supposed to sell me that bag of chips the same way whether there’s the chance of a tip or not. Although I wonder, what would it look like if the clerk knew no tip was coming?!
The reality is, in some jobs— no matter how well or how poorly people are paid— there is little difference between superior and inferior service. Which means, by leaving a tip, we’re merely rewarding the barista at Starbucks— or the convenience store clerk, the taxi driver, the car wash attendant, the hairdresser, the letter carrier— for doing the job he or she has been hired to do. They’re not hired to do a better job for a tip; they’re hired to do the best job they can do, tip or no tip. One might argue, maybe they should even put a few bucks in our pockets for patronizing their business and keeping them employed.
Now for the sake of disclosure, let me be honest: I’m not the curmudgeon you must imagine I am; I tip darned near everyone. All I’m saying is, I shouldn’t, because the list of people on the receiving end has grown, way beyond the tip’s original purpose.
Next thing you know, even though they’re paid to perform at a high level, we’ll be expected to tip pilots for smooth flights, quarterbacks for touchdown passes, and journalists for good op-ed columns. Come to think of it, maybe that’s worth discussing.
Arguing Over Connecticut
How can we talk about the shootings in Connecticut— or Aurora or Columbine or Virginia Tech or an Oregon shopping mall or anywhere else— without getting into an argument?
If you’re pro-gun control and you tell someone that most of the mass murders in America have been carried out with legally-purchased guns and that therefore we’d be a lot better off if they weren’t so easy to get, as likely as not they’ll argue back that there are cities and states with strict gun control laws that suffer higher rates of violent crime than those that don’t. And that anyway, guns don’t kill people, people kill people. And that the Second Amendment is a constitutional right and don’t mess with my rights.
On the other hand, if you’re pro-gun ownership and you tell someone we’d be a lot better off if more of us had guns because maybe then, before some nut case can kill a dozen people at a theater in Aurora or more than two dozen at a school in Connecticut, someone packing heat will kill him first, they’ll probably argue back that guns are the problem, not the solution, and point to Great Britain where guns are relatively rare, and so are murders by firearm. And that anyway, when it comes to gun laws, there’s a difference between a pistol or a shotgun in a hunter’s hands, and an assault weapon or a semi-automatic with high capacity ammo clips in a cold-blooded killer’s. And that the Second Amendment was written to enable militias, not mass murderers.
But then, if you’re pro-gun, you’ll argue in response that we have a need, as well as a right, to defend ourselves in our homes, our stores, our theaters, our schools. And that it’s absurd to argue that we should take guns away from law-abiding citizens, because then only the criminals will have guns. To which, if you’re anti-gun, you’ll argue in rebuttal that we have an equally important need, and right, to be safe from guns. And that there’s something absurd about an argument that says more guns would lead to less violence.
You might even argue on the pro-gun side that if deranged madmen like the Connecticut killer didn’t have guns, he might have stabbed the kids with a knife, attacked them with a hatchet, beaten them with a club, blown them up with a bomb. If you’re anti-gun, you’ll turn to the madman in China who, the very same day in a very chilling coincidence, attacked 22 schoolchildren with a knife, which injured all of them, but didn’t kill any.
Do you see where we’re going with this? Nowhere. Politicians and pundits are filling our pages and airwaves and computer screens with arguments for and against gun control. And calling for better mental illness detection. Yet we’re going nowhere. We can move on to video games, to TV and movies, to the prominence guns get in the news media. Arguably, all of these glorify violence and diminish regard for life and feed ideas to the next potential killer. Yet debates about their role in America’s culture of violence go in the same direction as debates about guns. How do we decide what’s good and what’s not?! Who has the right to decide? It all leads nowhere.
Which leaves us with two choices: avoid the ugly argument by continuing to avoid the subject. Or have it, seek some middle ground, and maybe find a way out. Stripped to the basics, the choice is to do nothing, which ensures the status quo, or do something, which might change it. Which makes more sense?
I have been in the Gaza Strip. Many times. The place feels like a prison. Because with the main gates in and out of Gaza long slammed shut, with openings only into Egypt’s Sinai Desert, its citizens feel almost totally confined. Measured in square miles, Gaza is smaller than Denver. Sure, Denver’s a great city (and trust me, Gaza’s not), but imagine being confined all your life to just the city of Denver. With only one road out. Which means even most of the suburbs are out of reach. And even that one road’s not always open. And the airport has been destroyed. And by the way, from time to time your neighbors attack you. Welcome to the Gaza Strip.
So it’s not hard to understand why Palestinians in Gaza hate Israel. But here’s what you hear less about: Israelis feel imprisoned too. Oh, they live a much sweeter life, thanks to their hard-fought transformation of an inhospitable sliver of land into a culturally sophisticated, agriculturally rich, commercially high-tech, and politically democratic society. But still, with neighbors like Lebanon, Syria, Jordan, and Egypt, not to mention Gaza and the Palestinian West Bank, Israelis too are confined to the walls that define their nation. And by the way, from time to time, whether it’s an assault on a public marketplace or rockets from Gaza, their neighbors attack them. Welcome to Israel.
That’s the paradox in the heart of the Middle East. Each side lives in confinement and fear. Each side blames the other. Each says the other side fired the opening shot. Each says it’s only defending itself against a brutal enemy.
The fact is, it’s hard to say who fired first. Did the current conflict begin when Palestinians with Hamas shot rockets into Israel? Or when Israeli airstrikes killed a top Hamas military commander? Or, should we go all the way back almost 65 years to the creation of Israel? I once did a story there in which, basically, I asked Israelis about their animosity toward Palestinians, and Palestinians about their animosity toward Israelis. The Israelis said it was because when Israel was founded, Palestinians fled rather than live beside Jews. The Palestinians said it was because when Israel was formed, Jews pushed them from their homes. Welcome to the history of the Middle East.
Actually, there is some truth in both versions. But here’s the thing: the people I deliberately targeted for those interviews were all young, not yet born when Israel was. So the stories they told me— with both bitterness and conviction— were stories passed down from their fathers. And their fathers’ fathers. And in my trips to the region clear up to last year, those stories didn’t change. It’s not true of everyone, but many on each side were born to blame the other side. And to hate the other side. Welcome to the Middle East, today.
We can argue about the sins of each side. It seems that Israel is publicly censured because it has superior firepower and is killing a lot more Palestinians than the Palestinians are killing Israelis. But having covered several wars in that part of the world, that is the nature of the beast: the stronger side inflicts more casualties and the weaker side inflicts fewer. When it’s the U.S. that’s at war, would you want it any other way?
Meantime, the fighters from Hamas largely avoid censure, even though their rockets don’t discriminate between military and civilian targets; they seem satisfied to hit whatever they can hit, while Israel is trying to target its enemy’s military infrastructure. Yes, there has been collateral damage, too much of it, but that too is the sad but realistic nature of war. Especially when military targets are camouflaged in civilian settings. Shame on Hamas. However, media offices in Gaza aren’t military targets; if Israeli strikes are meant to suppress news reports from the inside, shame on Israel.
I have sympathy for civilians on both sides. But I’ve seen each from the inside. Israeli warriors want to preserve a democratic society. Palestinian warriors want to destroy one. Each side sins. Both sides lose. Welcome to the Middle East.
When I’m sick, I want the world’s best health care as much as anybody. But I wasn’t real optimistic that I’d get it a couple of weeks ago when, on my way to shoot a television documentary, I suffered a significant amount of internal bleeding aboard an overnight flight. Collapsing twice after we landed from massive blood loss, evidently I almost died.
That’s why I’m ecstatic to report that my fears of inferior care were ill-founded. In fact I’m ecstatic to be around to report anything at all. But I am, and here’s one of the reasons why: an expensive and innovative (Israeli-designed) tool I had to swallow called the PillCam. 36 hours after launching on a fantastic journey through the length and depths of my digestive system, collecting almost 60,000 diagnostic images inside me to pinpoint the source of my bleeding, the PillCam successfully completed its mission.
The thing is, this 21st Century marvel wasn’t at the internationally-famous Mayo Clinic, or the vaunted Cedars-Sinai in Los Angeles, or the top-rated New York Presbyterian. No, it was at the big, battle-tested, National Health Service trauma center in Belfast, Northern Ireland called Royal Victoria Hospital, which I knew from covering the warfare in Northern Ireland in the 70s and 80s for ABC News.
Frankly, that’s why I had felt so low about what I faced. The Royal Vic was for victims of external bombings, not internal bleeding. What’s worse, I was being thrust into the hands of the cash-strapped budget-dependent National Health Service, and I would be hospitalized in the long-war-torn city of Belfast. I’ll admit, I was scared.
It wasn’t a perfect experience. I felt lost in the chaos of the emergency room. I had bloodlines spring leaks where they were inserted in my arms. I heard fellow patients around me screaming all night. And while recovering, I was presented with a couple of plates of food I wouldn’t pay for at a restaurant. But you know what? It’s a hospital. As a veteran of a few other life-threatening traumas, I’ve suffered the same at institutions in the U.S.
More important, just as I have in American hospitals, I had the high-tech procedures I needed when I needed them. Two angiograms, two endoscopies, CT scans, x-rays, a colonoscopy, and that tiny alien capsule that traveled through me, the PillCam. Some argue that in a universal healthcare system (which critics would call a euphemism for “socialized medicine”), you’ll only get urgent care if you have urgent needs. Well, about ten years ago when my back collapsed and I was reduced to crawling around my house with screaming pain until I could have some vertebrae fused, I’d say the need was pretty urgent. But it took a week-and-a-half to get me into surgery. That was in suburban Denver.
The bottom line is, maybe it’s socialized medicine but the doctors and nurses and procedures and protocols were first rate; they saved my life. I have pre-existing conditions, which disqualify me for most insurance at home. Here? Except for personal medical histories to help treat me, no one even asked. In fact, the bureaucracy is so minimal and the priorities so different, no one ever even asked to see an ID card to prove who I am, let alone a credit card to prove my ability to pay!
And the cost? The “emergency” parts— the ambulance, the ER, the transfusions— came with no charge. The rest? Since I only went to Belfast to shoot a television news segment and don’t pay taxes and thus am not insured, I’ll pay alright, but since the model for hospital revenue isn’t based on market-driven, sometimes price-gouging profit centers, I won’t pay through the nose. If you think it’s no different in the U.S., you’re not paying attention. Market-driven healthcare systems certainly provide the best… but a big downside is cost.
And here’s the biggest difference between the two healthcare systems: the one in the U.K. is open for everybody. Residents don’t have to assess and agonize over the cost because they don’t have insurance. If they need medical care at any level, they just go. As I did. And get fixed. As I am.
And guess what: anyone who doesn’t like their universal healthcare system and wants something more can have it, through private insurance, if they’re willing and able to pay for it. Just like us. Socialized medicine? It’s not perfect, but then, neither is ours. This system saved my life. That’s good enough for me.
Fame and Fortune
Whether you like him or not, President Obama really nailed it at a dinner with veterans from the war in Iraq. He said, “In a culture that celebrates fame and fortune, yours are not necessarily household names.” He went on to call the vets what they are: “patriots who served in our name.” The next day in The Denver Post, my daily newspaper, that story was right where it belonged, on Page 2.
But then, as if to prove the President’s point about our culture, Page 4 carried the day’s obituaries. And who got star billing? Davy Jones, the “heartthrob” singer of The Monkees. I guess he was good at what he did— NBC News showed 35-year-old video of teen girls swooning at his feet— but he wasn’t the best to ever do it and what he did wasn’t really very important. He was an entertainer, that’s all. Yet Davy Jones had the fame and fortune that our culture celebrates. On the other hand, the patriots at dinner with President Obama don’t. You can bet that when any of them dies, they won’t rate Davy’s 19-column-inch obit in The Post. Or a whole story on NBC News. They probably won’t even rate a mention at any daily news outlet in America.
It is a reminder, once again, of misplaced priorities. How many times during the Denver Broncos’ enriching run to the playoffs did we hear fans calling Tim Tebow their “hero?” God only knows how many pages of the newspaper or minutes on TV will some day be devoted to his demise! And how many of us watch Hollywood performers on the big screen and subconsciously attribute the “heroism” of their roles to the stars themselves? Trust me, from John Wayne to Harrison Ford, they are actors, not heroes. Their most amazing on-screen feats, in fact, usually are done by doubles. I take nothing away from the men and women who win fame and fortune with their special talents by giving us something to cheer or laugh or cry about, but given the demands of their trade, they risk little and sacrifice nothing. When we refer to mighty but mortal idols as heroes, we do ourselves, not to mention our language, a disservice.
So, who are the real heroes? How about firemen who rush into burning buildings to save lives. Police who run into blind alleys to catch criminals. Volunteers who fly into disaster zones to mitigate suffering. Teachers who show up in ghettos to uplift children. Doctors who labor in sick rooms to conquer disease. And yes, soldiers who face gunfire to defeat the enemy. Heroes are people who risk something precious, even sacrifice something irreplaceable, to help someone else.
How each of us felt about the war in Iraq or feels about the one in Afghanistan— how every soldier feels about the wars they are sent to fight— is immaterial. They lay their lives on the line. They wage war for their country. They do what they pledged to do when they put on the uniform. They obey the order of their Commander-In-Chief.
Soldiers go to the hellhole because that’s their job. Those are the heroes. Wouldn’t it be nice if our culture would celebrate their heroism more than screen and sports stars’ fame and fortune?
We’re at no loss for confidence from presidential candidates about how good things will be if they win. But I’ll tell you in a moment why they’ve all got it wrong.
First, the Republicans, the ones who’ve managed to stay in the race? They promise us that if elected, they will trash whatever Barack Obama has done and put America back on the path to prosperity.
For his part, President Obama has the same playbook but a different strategy: he will build on what he already has done to keep America on the path back to prosperity.
Good luck to both sides. If there’s one thing on which we all can agree, it is that we like prosperity, and want as much as we can get. But you know what? No matter who wins in November, it won’t primarily be his policies that get us there. And here’s the proof: while our economy went south under the policies of the last Republican president, we didn’t see an eye-popping U-turn to the north under the policies of the incumbent Democrat. Some would translate that to read, a pox on both their houses.
Yet America will recover, or continue its recovery (depending on who you talk to). But it won’t be because of our ability to manufacture hard goods any more; sure, what we do build we now build well and if you include petroleum, we are still the biggest producer of goods and services in the world. Otherwise though, although a little more manufacturing is coming back to our shores from overseas, by and large, it’s still cheaper to build things elsewhere.
Rather, we will find prosperity because of an intangible quality I’ve always had trouble getting my head around…until now. It’s called innovation. Inventiveness. Entrepreneurial brainpower. But what I’ve never gotten my head around was, how do those uniquely superior American qualities translate to prosperity? What good does it do us to imagine great things if we aren’t actually turning them into something solid?
And then I read this headline: “App Economy has created 466,000 jobs.” That’s the “app economy” as in “Angry Birds,” “Facebook,” “CNN.com,” apps that give you the world via the smartphone, the tablet, and the social media. The online piece under the headline— reporting a study by TechNet, a think tank for high-tech corporations— likened the “App Economy” to “a 21st Century construction sector.” That’s when the little light went off in my head: we still build things, but we don’t buy them off the shelf any more at the mall and, standing alone, we don’t even hold them in our hands.
No, what we do today to stay at the apex of global commerce is innovate, then turn those innovations, however physically intangible, into something that people can actually use. And if you doubt that, consider this: today there are something like a million apps out there in the marketplace, and every day the number grows. Lest you think they’re mostly games that fling birds into buildings, think again: according to TechNet’s report, “Every major consumer-facing company… discovered that they need an app to be the public face of the business.” In other words, “app” employment is the construction sector for the 21st Century because apps have become the front door we walk through to do business.
Oh, our next president— and all the politicians down the pyramid— will claim credit for our prosperous future. But truth be known, they don’t have nearly so much to do with it as they used to. And that’s a good thing. We don’t have to depend on dysfunctional elected officials to find prosperity; we only have to depend on ourselves.
Republican Representative Mike Coffman, of Colorado, is my Congressman. It was never my choice, because he and I don’t sit on the same side of the political aisle. But that doesn’t have to mean I can’t respect him. I always have. Not only has he been one of the harder-working public officials representing me— both during his days in Colorado state government and now in Washington— but more than once he put his political career aside and put on a uniform to do his duty in Iraq.
But the other day, I heard Coffman on the radio, and my respect went down the drain. He was talking about President Obama’s stated wish to take more time to evaluate the proposed Keystone pipeline, which would carry Canadian crude oil to U.S. refineries by running across several American states. Coffman supports the pipeline. But some of America’s leading environmentalists don’t. It scares them.
Now, let me make something clear: like Coffman, I’m for Keystone. I’ve been several times on Alaska’s North Slope, where the decades-old, 800-mile long Trans Alaska Pipeline begins. Seeing its success, I have confidence that a Keystone pipeline— especially by being built in this day and age— would be not only in our oil-dependent nation’s best interest, but safe.
But apparently, according to Congressman Coffman, anyone who doesn’t see it that way isn’t a patriot. He was talking about Obama and the pipeline, and the political implications of the President’s hesitation about it, and said, “The problem is, he loves being in office much more than he loves this country.”
So apparently if you don’t agree with Coffman’s policy on the Keystone pipeline— or, by extension, with his take on tax policy, abortion policy, education policy, foreign policy, or any other policy— you don’t love America. At least not if you’re President Obama, who simply has different policy priorities than Coffman. Of course this censures every other American who isn’t on Coffman’s side too. Including me, and pretty much every constituent who ever voted against him. Congressman, you can go do you-know-what to yourself.
How dare this elected representative impugn the patriotism of Americans simply because they aren’t in sync with his ideology! Like the ones who generated this controversy over Keystone. Although I’m not on their side, environmentalists who oppose the pipeline oppose it precisely because they do love their country, and fear it will be fouled by a pipeline stretching from the Canadian border almost to Mexico.
This isn’t the first time in recent memory that the patriotism of well-meaning Americans has been questioned. Remember the run-up to the ill-fated war in Iraq? Many Americans didn’t buy into the connection President Bush claimed between Saddam Hussein and 9/11, to which the President basically said, “If you’re not with us, you’re against us.” Bush was playing the game Coffman’s playing now, labeling citizens who don’t believe in his policy as traitors. As if only one side on the political spectrum has a clue about what’s best for America. As if only one side has a hammerlock on patriotism.
Patriotism is about respect, love, and support for our nation. What myopic political animals like Mike Coffman don’t get is that some of us can respect, love, and support our nation without respecting, loving, or supporting him!
Putin and Russia
If you weren’t in awe when you read about the anti-Putin demonstrations all across Russia, let me tell you a story.
Last time I shot a television program about politics in Russia, only a couple of years ago, the camera crew and I happened upon a public demonstration across the street from the Moscow headquarters of United Russia, Vladimir Putin’s political party. There were about 20 men standing silently in a straight line along the sidewalk. They were holding signs protesting a decision in their town, not far from the capital, to build a United Russia office building on an empty plot of land where they had parked for years when they headed to their factory jobs next door.
To be sure, in the dark days of the Soviet Union, I saw KGB thugs assault and arrest dissenters for simply stepping across a chain to lay a flower at the foot of a statue. (They also pulled the camera off my cameraman’s shoulder and threw it on the ground. Thankfully, heavy snow cushioned the impact and the tape survived, airing across the U.S. that night on ABC.)
In contrast, the men I saw across from Putin’s party headquarters weren’t hauled away and arrested. Russia had come that far. But when the protest leader saw that one of his comrades had backed halfway off the sidewalk and had his heels on the grass, he shouted a stern warning to everyone to keep their feet strictly on the sidewalk. They were still burdened with memories when simply stepping on the grass could be called “destruction of public property” and used a pretext for imprisonment.
Now, tens of thousands are openly defying Mr. Putin. And no wonder. As one of his opponents put it to me in Moscow, Putin has “squeezed the life out of Russian democracy.” While roughly fifty political parties were born in the 1990’s when the Soviet Empire crumbled, Putin disqualified one after another and whittled them down to about half-a-dozen, all friendly to his government. While there were popular elections for governors and senators in the new Russia, Putin pulled off a u-turn and today they are appointed by the president. While free speech blossomed in those early days, news organizations that aired dissent were shut down. Basically, the liberties for which people had yearned for decades didn’t last for a single generation.
While it would be foolhardy to predict the outcome of these new nationwide protests— more are planned for Christmas Eve— here is a hint: Russia will not necessarily turn to American-style democracy. One reason is obvious. At a certain point Putin will have to decide: is he like Mubarak in Egypt, willing to throw himself on his sword to preserve the peace, or like Assad in Syria, willing to take off the gloves to preserve his power. That verdict isn’t in but never forget: Putin’s roots are in the KGB.
But a second reason is more revealing of Russian history and the Russian people. On my trip two years ago, I interviewed a member of the Duma, Russia’s lower house of parliament. He was in one of the last surviving opposition parties (although since we met, his party has been disqualified along with the others). One of my questions was, how has Putin gotten away with dispossessing people of the democracy they had craved for so long?
His answer was, “Russians in the ‘90s had major problems: the economy fell down, incomes fell down, corruption grew up, many things were terrible. And the name for that was ‘democracy’.” From their experience, their definition of democracy is different from ours.
The third reason we can’t predict Russia’s political future is the immediate past. Yes, Putin’s party showed up with the most votes. But whose horse came in second? The Communists.
For a variety of reasons, the United States needs to partner with Russia. But any future partnership may be no better than it’s been.
• Error of opinion may be tolerated where reason is left free to combat it. — Thomas Jefferson
• If liberty means anything at all, it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear. — George Orwell
• We report. You decide. –– Fox News
Apparently Herman Cain’s fall isn’t Herman Cain’s fault. It’s the media’s. That’s what one supporter meant after Cain “suspended” his presidential campaign, telling a reporter for Politico, “This is your fault;” it was Politico that first reported accusations of sexual harassment against the candidate. And it’s what another supporter meant when she angrily told reporters at Cain’s suddenly defunct Iowa headquarters, “You guys know what you’ve been doing,” and then defined the media the way so many Americans do: “The very good are often the target of the very evil.”
So, we— journalists— are “the very evil.” But it’s no surprise; I could have predicted it. In fact it’s been predictable ever since the Greek poet Sophocles wrote almost 2,500 years ago, “None love the messenger who brings bad tidings.”
Of course the media’s critics will cite news stories they like— analysis, polls, gossip— until they’re blue in the face. Just listen to Rush Limbaugh. But give them news they don’t like and they call it a lie.
Who knows? Maybe all four women who accused Cain— including the two who had worked for Cain and got a year’s severance after the alleged harassment— are lying through their teeth. And maybe Atlanta businesswoman Ginger White is lying about a 13-year extramarital affair with Mr. Cain. Maybe his documented middle-of-the-night calls and text messages are a lie too.
Look, I don’t know what Cain did or didn’t do in his private life. His behavior isn’t the point. The media’s behavior is. So what I wonder is, what exactly do the media’s critics want?
Cain’s supporter in Iowa, the one who thinks the media is “evil,” has an answer: “You’re supposed to have facts when you report something.” You’re right, lady, so here’s some news: four different women charged Cain with harassment; that’s a fact. Another charged him with an extramarital sexual relationship; that’s another fact.
I’ll bet she— and millions more of the media’s fuming critics— didn’t complain when the media reported the fact, presented by President George W. Bush, that Saddam Hussein had weapons of mass destruction. Nor did they likely complain that to its lasting disgrace, the media subsequently failed to dig deep enough to discredit the President. That one cost us a lot more than the presidential candidacy of the former CEO of a pizza chain.
The media is far from perfect. In fact it is deeply flawed, particularly in this relatively new era of 24-hour access to the news, which in too many cases has pushed news organizations to place more value on being first than on being right. But personally I resent the implication that we’re not just flawed, but evil.
In my own career as a reporter around the world I have been kicked and beaten, shelled and shot at, and chased by gangs with machetes. I’ve slept on Saudi sands crawling with scorpions and in caves under attack in Lebanon. I’ve been arrested everywhere from Communist Poland to Afghanistan. And gotten the runs in countries many Americans couldn’t even find on a map. Why? To report the news… which the media’s critics gobble up just as fast as everyone else. If that’s someone’s idea of evil, they’ve gotta get a life.
My own response to critics of stories like Herman Cain’s has long been, “The media can’t make you look silly, or stupid, or corrupt, without your help.” But that wouldn’t dissuade those supporters who said after Cain’s departure from the presidential race that they still stand by him. Why? Because according to one, “I believe in him.” And from another: “It’s because he is a Christian.” Gosh, I can’t argue with those facts!
Since I’ve covered news stories in Libya half-a-dozen times or more, and interviewed the late Colonel Moammar Gaddafi on several of those visits, I was asked by a television station to talk about him on the day he was caught and killed. And when the reporter asked, “What’s next for Libya?”, my answer was, “If I sit here and actually tell you what’s next for Libya, kick me out of the room.”
No doubt, plenty of experts will authoritatively tell us anyway. But here’s why they shouldn’t: no one knows. And if you don’t believe that, consider this: at the beginning of this year, you could have asked that question, “What’s next?”, to the leaders of the very nations where rebellions rose up— Gaddafi in Libya, Mubarak of Egypt, Assad in Syria, Ben Ali in Tunisia, Saleh of Yemen— and they themselves didn’t have a clue….even though each one had eyes and ears on every street corner of his country.
So we can only guess about what’s next, and we can only base those guesses on our experience. Mine, covering many nations rent by revolution, is that a whole spectrum of opinions and ideologies bands together to fight a common foe; the Arab adage is, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” But that bond sometimes doesn’t last beyond the last rifle shot. One thing we know about Libya is, some of the rebels who fought shoulder-to-shoulder were guys who, before the revolution, wouldn’t have sat at the same table together.
History also shows that when so many have waited so long for a place at the table, they’ll push everyone else out of the way to get a chair. Such conflicts can torment a nation.
What’s more, those who speak now for Libya liberally use the word “democracy.” However, that means different things to different factions. For some, it means American-style freedoms of everything from speech to religion to opportunity. But for others, democracy means too much freedom— the freedom to upset moral and cultural norms that have stood them well for millennia.
But I also can cite encouraging signs that date back to my times in Libya. I never went there without meeting someone who told me, “Oh, I have a brother living in the United States,” or “My son is going to college in your country.” There is not the kind of intellectual vacuum in Libya that I’ve seen in less sophisticated countries like Afghanistan, Sudan, Yemen, a vacuum that can enable the radical forces of terror to gain a dominant hold on power. Quite simply, Libya has an educated and comfortable middle class— not by our standards, but a middle class of merchants and technicians— whose lives have gotten better these past few decades and they know it wasn’t thanks only to the force of Allah.
If I see a problem, now that the rebellious factions in Libya must actually govern, it is that Gaddafi gave them no foundation to start. That’s because for forty years, Libya was a one-man show with Gaddafi at the top of everything: government, military, business, oil. Under his leadership, there was no individual initiative. Not even individual sports; everything had to be a team endeavor, everything had to be in the collective.
That’s one reason he stayed in power so long: he didn’t permit the organization of any kind of civic group that might grow into organized opposition. Libyans didn’t have the equivalent of our chambers of commerce, or PTAs, or even Girl Scouts. Every decision about people’s lives emanated from the top. The new Libya is born without a skeleton to build on. That’s worrisome. On the other hand, the new Libya is born without a legacy anyone would dare to emulate. That’s encouraging.