It's interesting when a blog I read follows up on things that I found worthy enough to blog about. Though they're not responding to me directly (maybe someday they will?), it's nice to know that I had my finger on the pulse of the blogosphere, at least for a moment.
Example #1: Citizen Journalism vs. "Tragi-porn" Megan Garber's CJR response to Paul Carr's piece about Fort Hood. I wrote about both Carr and Garber yesterday
Example #2 (I'm especially proud of this one): Study: Only 0.027 Percent of Iranians Use Twitter Also by Garber (she and I seem to blog alike). Apparently (as the headline would imply) a new study shows that a tiny portion of Iranians actually use Twitter, thus rendering their "Twitter Revolution" not so much. I said this so many times while it was happening.
Man, if only I were a famous blogger, people would be scrambling to write insightful takedowns of me this very instant.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Sunday, November 8, 2009
On Human Nature and Fort Hood
(By definition) it's impossible to tell the complete story of a crisis during its "breaking news" phase. In the days since the Fort Hood tragedy, I think the media has done a fairly adequate job of providing details, context, and analysis of the event. But it's two pieces about the specific kind of incompleteness of those first few hours of coverage that have me thinking about human nature today.
The first piece came only a few hours after the event took place and the coverage began from CJR's Megan Garber. She noted Shepard Smith's refusal to say the shooter's name on air during an interview with Kay Bailey Hutchinson because "the name tells us a lot, does it not, senator?"
That name, of course, is Nidal Malik Hasan, and the "a lot" Smith was referring to was his (presumed, but not known at the time) Muslim faith, and by extension, his (presumed, but still unknown) connection to Muslim extremists.
Garber's post scolded Smith for jumping to the conclusion he then censored himself for drawing, and readers then scolded Garber in the comments section for failing to see the obvious relevance of the shooter's Muslim-sounding name. Lost among the rhetorical back-and-forth of the argument were the actual facts of the story, which at the time were few and far between. In their desire to expediently pass judgment on the story, both sides had jumped to conclusions, even as they accused each other of doing so.
I think this is a defense mechanism people in our society have developed to avoid having to react to events on a human level. Rather than simply feel angry or sad or scared and then wait for the whole story to materialize, everyone involved -- from Smith to Garber to the flood of commenters she incited -- had already come to a conclusion that fit their own political views, thus shielding themselves from the trauma of having to process it as it happened. Was it a religiously motivated killing, as many on the right have begun to proclaim (and denounce)? Or was it a case of Hasan's own mental instability (possibly PTSD), as many on the left have been speculating? It's (still) too early to say with certainty that one or the other (or both or neither) is true. Unfortunately, it seems like human nature to want an answer (even the wrong one, even one you've created in your own mind) fast, instead of the answer eventually.
That brings me to piece number 2, posted to TechCrunch yesterday by Paul Carr. In it he describes the first word on the attacks, which came (predictably) from Twitter, specifically, the account of one Tearah Moore. Carr lists a series of her posts about the tragedy, many of them containing information later to be proven false (for example, the false statement that the shooter was dead), and others containing information entirely inappropriate for the moment (for example, a link to a cell phone picture of a guy Moore claims was "shot in the balls").
Carr uses this information to build an eloquent takedown of Twitter's viability for citizen journalism (and really, the whole 140 character, constant documentation aesthetic). It's really an excellent piece. If you haven't clicked the link yet, I highly recommend that you do.
In the end, it seems to me that Twitter (and even, more broadly, social media and "citizen journalism") have become another defense mechanism, another way to keep from being helpless in times of crisis. Instead of being overwhelmed by a situation, people have begun to react by thinking, "this is important, I need to document this." On the one hand, this gives people a sense of purpose. It allows us to, rather than watching helplessly as protests erupt in Iran, feel like we have a mechanism to do something about it. But at the same time, it takes away our humanity. It allows us to stay detached and post ever more ridiculous things in the name of "getting the truth out," while at the same time never having to get too personally involved.
The first piece came only a few hours after the event took place and the coverage began from CJR's Megan Garber. She noted Shepard Smith's refusal to say the shooter's name on air during an interview with Kay Bailey Hutchinson because "the name tells us a lot, does it not, senator?"
That name, of course, is Nidal Malik Hasan, and the "a lot" Smith was referring to was his (presumed, but not known at the time) Muslim faith, and by extension, his (presumed, but still unknown) connection to Muslim extremists.
Garber's post scolded Smith for jumping to the conclusion he then censored himself for drawing, and readers then scolded Garber in the comments section for failing to see the obvious relevance of the shooter's Muslim-sounding name. Lost among the rhetorical back-and-forth of the argument were the actual facts of the story, which at the time were few and far between. In their desire to expediently pass judgment on the story, both sides had jumped to conclusions, even as they accused each other of doing so.
I think this is a defense mechanism people in our society have developed to avoid having to react to events on a human level. Rather than simply feel angry or sad or scared and then wait for the whole story to materialize, everyone involved -- from Smith to Garber to the flood of commenters she incited -- had already come to a conclusion that fit their own political views, thus shielding themselves from the trauma of having to process it as it happened. Was it a religiously motivated killing, as many on the right have begun to proclaim (and denounce)? Or was it a case of Hasan's own mental instability (possibly PTSD), as many on the left have been speculating? It's (still) too early to say with certainty that one or the other (or both or neither) is true. Unfortunately, it seems like human nature to want an answer (even the wrong one, even one you've created in your own mind) fast, instead of the answer eventually.
That brings me to piece number 2, posted to TechCrunch yesterday by Paul Carr. In it he describes the first word on the attacks, which came (predictably) from Twitter, specifically, the account of one Tearah Moore. Carr lists a series of her posts about the tragedy, many of them containing information later to be proven false (for example, the false statement that the shooter was dead), and others containing information entirely inappropriate for the moment (for example, a link to a cell phone picture of a guy Moore claims was "shot in the balls").
Carr uses this information to build an eloquent takedown of Twitter's viability for citizen journalism (and really, the whole 140 character, constant documentation aesthetic). It's really an excellent piece. If you haven't clicked the link yet, I highly recommend that you do.
In the end, it seems to me that Twitter (and even, more broadly, social media and "citizen journalism") have become another defense mechanism, another way to keep from being helpless in times of crisis. Instead of being overwhelmed by a situation, people have begun to react by thinking, "this is important, I need to document this." On the one hand, this gives people a sense of purpose. It allows us to, rather than watching helplessly as protests erupt in Iran, feel like we have a mechanism to do something about it. But at the same time, it takes away our humanity. It allows us to stay detached and post ever more ridiculous things in the name of "getting the truth out," while at the same time never having to get too personally involved.
Monday, November 2, 2009
The Most Reasonable Opposition to Cape Wind I've Ever Heard
From Projo's newsblog: Tribes seek to halt proposed Cape Cod wind farm
The Wampanoag Indians (otherwise known as the only reason the Pilgrims survived their first winter in Plymouth) need an unobstructed view of the sunrise over the ocean for certain religious rituals, which would be impossible if the Cape Wind project were constructed.
These are the only people whose opposition based on view-obstruction is legitimate. Unfortunately, the fact that the only ones with legitimate objections to the project are native people seems a surefire indicator that the project is finally on its way to construction.
Also, I know the #1 rule of the Internet is (in all caps) NEVER READ THE COMMENTS, but I'm amazed at the level of cynical racism otherwise liberal-minded Rhode Islanders seem to be capable of.
The Wampanoag Indians (otherwise known as the only reason the Pilgrims survived their first winter in Plymouth) need an unobstructed view of the sunrise over the ocean for certain religious rituals, which would be impossible if the Cape Wind project were constructed.
These are the only people whose opposition based on view-obstruction is legitimate. Unfortunately, the fact that the only ones with legitimate objections to the project are native people seems a surefire indicator that the project is finally on its way to construction.
Also, I know the #1 rule of the Internet is (in all caps) NEVER READ THE COMMENTS, but I'm amazed at the level of cynical racism otherwise liberal-minded Rhode Islanders seem to be capable of.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
This (Not) Just In ...
Fox News isn't news. I'm confident that at this point even those who agree with it's point of view wouldn't argue that it has one. But the recent attention brought to this fact by the Obama administration has given new life to an old story, and led to (at least) two impressive late-night explanations of just why the "News" in "Fox News" should always have those scare-quotes around it. I'm sure these have been all over this crazy blogosphere by now, but what can I say? I work for a living.
Video #1, in which Jon Stewart uses Fox's own words against them to point out the "perpetual revulsion machine:"
Video #2, in which Rachel Maddow explains the difference between expressing and opinion in opposition to the government and actively organizing an oppositional movement:
Stewart's argument is weakened by the fact that he neglects to differentiate between the political organizing of Fox and the (obvious) bias of MSNBC. Maddow's argument is weakened by her (contractual?) inability to speak as frankly about her network's biases as Stewart is.
Taken as a cohesive argument, however, the two segments demonstrate that Fox News is (by its own admission) not news, and that (while they don't define what they actually are) "political opposition" is the thing they most closely resemble.
Video #1, in which Jon Stewart uses Fox's own words against them to point out the "perpetual revulsion machine:"
| The Daily Show With Jon Stewart | Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c | |||
| For Fox Sake! | ||||
| ||||
Video #2, in which Rachel Maddow explains the difference between expressing and opinion in opposition to the government and actively organizing an oppositional movement:
Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy
Stewart's argument is weakened by the fact that he neglects to differentiate between the political organizing of Fox and the (obvious) bias of MSNBC. Maddow's argument is weakened by her (contractual?) inability to speak as frankly about her network's biases as Stewart is.
Taken as a cohesive argument, however, the two segments demonstrate that Fox News is (by its own admission) not news, and that (while they don't define what they actually are) "political opposition" is the thing they most closely resemble.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
About Modernism:
I like to look at both historical and political arguments in the context of the artistic era in which they took place. Though, perhaps that's backwards, since artistic movements are generally viewed as a product of the socio-political context in which they developed. In any case, I've always had a lot of thoughts about modernism and postmodernism, and last night's Daily Show prompted me to explore them a little bit here.
That was Steven Levitt espousing a particularly modernist view of climate change: Specifically that it can be solved by applying human technology, the very thing that is fueling it. The problem with these solutions, of course, is that they represent a quick fix, rather than a lasting (dare I say sustainable?) one.
Levitt himself admits this fact: "It's a Band-Aid," he says. "You gotta be realistic about it. You put this up, it buys you time. If the worst things of climate predictions are still coming true, then it gives us 50 years to have more technological solutions."
This is, of course, the gospel of modernism: Science will make everything better! Technology can solve all our problems! Progress is inevitable (and desirable)! But somewhere between the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and the disgraced resignation of Richard Nixon, the (naive) optimism of modernist thinking eroded away to nothing, and was replaced by the far more holistic (albeit haphazard) approach of postmodernism.
We know now (or rather, many people believe now) that science and technology are not infallible, and, in fact, often aren't even desirable options, which is why Levitt's approach intrigued me so much.
For the record, I'm not opposed to a technological solution to one or more of the problems posed by climate change. Like Jon Stewart, I'd love to see us try to implement some of them. My problem comes from Levitt's insistence (or at least implication) that his suggestions are objectively better ones "when you strip away the moralism."
What's a better solution to climate change? A temporary solution that will buy us 50 years to come up with another temporary solution? Or a long-term solution that will take 50 years to implement but will prevent us from ever having to face this problem again?
Arguments can be made for either set of solutions. I'd favor a combination of the two: artificially cool the ice caps (somehow) and in the meantime work on changing our collective lifestyle so that someday we won't have to artificially cool them anymore.
By putting all of his eggs in the "technological solutions" basket, Levitt ignores the lessons of the modernist era: Namely, technology isn't always the answer and we can't always make the world work for us.
| The Daily Show With Jon Stewart | Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c | |||
| Steven Levitt | ||||
| ||||
That was Steven Levitt espousing a particularly modernist view of climate change: Specifically that it can be solved by applying human technology, the very thing that is fueling it. The problem with these solutions, of course, is that they represent a quick fix, rather than a lasting (dare I say sustainable?) one.
Levitt himself admits this fact: "It's a Band-Aid," he says. "You gotta be realistic about it. You put this up, it buys you time. If the worst things of climate predictions are still coming true, then it gives us 50 years to have more technological solutions."
This is, of course, the gospel of modernism: Science will make everything better! Technology can solve all our problems! Progress is inevitable (and desirable)! But somewhere between the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and the disgraced resignation of Richard Nixon, the (naive) optimism of modernist thinking eroded away to nothing, and was replaced by the far more holistic (albeit haphazard) approach of postmodernism.
We know now (or rather, many people believe now) that science and technology are not infallible, and, in fact, often aren't even desirable options, which is why Levitt's approach intrigued me so much.
For the record, I'm not opposed to a technological solution to one or more of the problems posed by climate change. Like Jon Stewart, I'd love to see us try to implement some of them. My problem comes from Levitt's insistence (or at least implication) that his suggestions are objectively better ones "when you strip away the moralism."
What's a better solution to climate change? A temporary solution that will buy us 50 years to come up with another temporary solution? Or a long-term solution that will take 50 years to implement but will prevent us from ever having to face this problem again?
Arguments can be made for either set of solutions. I'd favor a combination of the two: artificially cool the ice caps (somehow) and in the meantime work on changing our collective lifestyle so that someday we won't have to artificially cool them anymore.
By putting all of his eggs in the "technological solutions" basket, Levitt ignores the lessons of the modernist era: Namely, technology isn't always the answer and we can't always make the world work for us.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
More Good News on the Writing Front
I managed (quite easily, actually) to talk my way into a guest-blogging gig for the official blog of the Episcopal Diocese of Rhode Island. I'll be posting semi-regularly about youth in the diocese, starting with my first post, which I wrote yesterday and got up on the site this morning.
In somewhat related news, the Pope is trying to lure conservative Anglicans to Catholicism. A bit cynical on the part of His Holiness, don't you think? I mean, doesn't a strategy like this essentially amount to saying, "Come join us, we'll keep the gays and the women in their place." It's fine if that's going to be the dogma, but should you really use it as a selling point? A more powerful selling point than the whole, "Lord and Savior" thing?
Also, and completely unrelated, the New York Times announced it would be cutting 100 newsroom jobs. The toughest part of carving a career for myself in journalism, it seems increasingly likely, won't be finding places to publish, but rather places that will pay me for doing it. Malcolm Gladwell believes I should be a specialist. I would submit that generalism is a specialty nowadays.
In somewhat related news, the Pope is trying to lure conservative Anglicans to Catholicism. A bit cynical on the part of His Holiness, don't you think? I mean, doesn't a strategy like this essentially amount to saying, "Come join us, we'll keep the gays and the women in their place." It's fine if that's going to be the dogma, but should you really use it as a selling point? A more powerful selling point than the whole, "Lord and Savior" thing?
Also, and completely unrelated, the New York Times announced it would be cutting 100 newsroom jobs. The toughest part of carving a career for myself in journalism, it seems increasingly likely, won't be finding places to publish, but rather places that will pay me for doing it. Malcolm Gladwell believes I should be a specialist. I would submit that generalism is a specialty nowadays.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Nice Use of Video by The Boston Globe
This whole concept, from story, to video, to subject matter, to tone, reminds me of the multimedia work done by my former professor Michael Scully, who currently teaches at Roger Williams University in my home state of Rhode Island (a double connection!).
The use of music, the sped-up montage, and the selective (read sparse) use of quotes give it a real nice aesthetic. Does it tell the story by itself? Certainly not, but it works very nicely as a complement to the text article and the multimedia story page.
The only problems I have are: 1) Why isn't there a more explicit connection (i.e. besides a link) between the story and its multimedia component? And 2) Why is The Globe giving this away for free? They're on the right track by letting me (and GC:PVD, the blog I found it on) embed it, but why doesn't the video come with an ad? And why doesn't the multimedia page include its own (video or graphic interstitial) ads? There are so many things in multimedia journalism that could be monetized and aren't. Which is stupid considering how expensive good journalism like this can be.
The use of music, the sped-up montage, and the selective (read sparse) use of quotes give it a real nice aesthetic. Does it tell the story by itself? Certainly not, but it works very nicely as a complement to the text article and the multimedia story page.
The only problems I have are: 1) Why isn't there a more explicit connection (i.e. besides a link) between the story and its multimedia component? And 2) Why is The Globe giving this away for free? They're on the right track by letting me (and GC:PVD, the blog I found it on) embed it, but why doesn't the video come with an ad? And why doesn't the multimedia page include its own (video or graphic interstitial) ads? There are so many things in multimedia journalism that could be monetized and aren't. Which is stupid considering how expensive good journalism like this can be.
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