Posthumous Tweets, Postmortal Updates: Voicing the Dead in Writing Assignments

A recent blog post in The Guardian, “Why Death is Not the End of Your Social Media Life,” describes how “social media is…bridging the gap between the living and the dead” through digital services such as LivesOn and DeadSoci.al. The former—with its mildly witty tagline “when your heart stops beating, you’ll keep tweeting”—builds a profile of you based on your tweets, who you’re following, who’s following you, and so forth. After you have exhaled for the last time, the Twitter app LivesOn takes over where you left off and keeps “you” tweeting from across mortality’s threshold. DeadSoci.al, a “free social media tool,” takes a slightly different approach by allowing the user to craft her or his own “digital legacy,” which links to Facebook, Twitter, and LinkedIn and would be deployed upon notification (and presumably verification) that one has died.

As someone whose research centers on matters of death and the dead in early modern English drama and whose pedagogy is aimed at strengthening and expanding written and oral communication skills across a range of media—not to mention, someone who’s more than a bit fidgety over the inevitability of her own expiration—I am intrigued by this technology and its applications. While I don’t see myself creating a posthumous social media “me,” my immersion in my subject matter has my mind abuzz with all sorts of imaginings. Will my FB newsfeed someday include others’ posthumous updates? And just what might such updates say: “It’s your birthday, live it up” “I know who’s going to win the election,” “Dante was right?” Will my own updates be “liked” by assorted dead people in the future? Part of the fascination with these new tools, of course, comes from the creepiness that surrounds them—one reader comments that this turn in social media is “pretty creepy,” while another ventures, “this definitely has a certain weird appeal.” Of course it does because the dead don’t remain entirely dead. We don’t let them. They’re part of our individual and collective psyches.

At the same time that we try to shield ourselves from the dead by limiting our contact with corpses (we have created hospitals, hospice centers, and funeral homes to take care of what our forebears routinely did), and by dieting and exercising our way towards death-at-least-a-little-deferred, we remain pretty drawn to them. The popularity of forensic television dramas such as CSI, films such as the Twilight Saga, and exhibitions like Gunther von Hagens’ Body Worlds series underscore our simultaneous revulsion and fascination with death and the dead. LivesOn and DeadSoci.al extend this connection—that is, the connection between the living and the dead, which cultures have sought via the creation of Purgatory, the belief in the visions of sages and clairvoyants, the establishment of philanthropic endowments, et al. In our seemingly endless quest to maintain communication between the living and the dead, the world of social media—which draws together at least half the world’s population—is a logical addition to this constellation. These latest forays in social media also speak directly to our fear of annihilation and our indignation over the cessation of personal identity.

I’ve been giving thought, as well, to the classroom and how the idea of tweeting or updating posthumously might be used in writing assignments. Admittedly, nothing has really crystallized yet, but I find myself returning to an example set by the Royal Shakespeare Company’s Twitter-driven 2010 production of Romeo and Juliet, titled Such Tweet Sorrow. Taking place in real-time over the space of five weeks, six principal characters (Romeo, Juliet, the Nurse, Friar Lawrence, Mercutio, and Tybalt) tweeted improvised lines, which were supplemented by characters’ tweets on current social and political events, and tweets from the actors reflecting on their roles and responding to audience tweets. What if Hamlet took to Twitter or Facebook? How might his meditations on death read in 140 characters? What could we learn from rephrasing or supplementing these vast thoughts within such tight parameters? What sorts of photos would he post on FB and who would some of his FB friends be? Imagine Hamlet Sr. tweeting from Purgatory or Gertrude’s closet, Polonius continuing to insist himself from behind the arras and from his plight as “supper,” Ophelia updating her status as she floats away or as Hamlet and Laertes come to blows in her grave? How might the study of early modern beliefs about death and the dead be enhanced by role-playing through social media and what would these classroom tweets and updates reveal about our own thoughts on the subject? By directly weaving their voices into the play, exchanging tweets, and sharing insights and questions coming out of these tweets on a course blog, students could produce a rich conversation from which to draw their own questions towards a thesis statement for their papers. As I continue to play with the shape and learning outcomes of this assignment, I’ll let myself be guided by the idea that it should stir the students’ sense of investment in their writing. This, plus the belief that their voices can productively comingle with language that is often thought of as arcane and closed off to postmodern ears, eyes, and mouths.

Publicly Sponsored Hate Speech

I hadn’t intended to write another post about the virulent hatred of fat, fatness, and fat people that is currently shaping our culture. My previous post on the topic led to some interesting and intense conversation, but there are many other topics to discuss and many other dangerous political trends to analyze. Besides, this is a communications blog.

But when I came across this astonishing campaign image on the subway recently, I realized that it deserves its own post.

"Cut the Junk" NYC Campaign

“Cut the Junk” NYC Campaign

[Read more...]

Post-Plagiarism?

We tell our students “don’t plagiarize,” “cite your sources,” “attribute.” Often it is easier just to scare them. “You will fail the assignment” or “You will fail the class.” If we are feeling particularly threatening, we include the college or university honesty code and imply that they could be kicked out of school for plagiarism. I’ve never known a disciplinary committee to actually follow through with the policy, but we are supposed to report incidents, anyway.

If we have the time in a semester, then we get to the underlying reasons for proper attribution. Crediting other people’s academic work. Listing your sources so your readers can find out more. Building the network of research on which the academy is founded.

But part of the reason that we as academics cite our sources is the morality of it. We give credit, not because of legalities, nor threats, nor the larger picture, but because it is the right thing to do. Perhaps our students don’t feel that deeper moral imperative to credit sources, but it gets more difficult when highly visible media personalities see no problem with plagiarizing.

When a high-profile cable news reporter or a famous academic gets caught plagiarizing, they insist that it was a mistake and not plagiarism, are forgiven, and generally see no negative effects.

Recently, however, questions of copyright and plagiarism came into conflict in a more popular culture arena. The major players in this recent example are Glee–FOX’s television show about a high school glee club–and Jonathan Coulton–a singer-songwriter and geek-culture icon.

The entire premise of Glee is that a high school choir performs new arrangements of musical theatre and popular music–often drastically rearranged in order to fit the four-part harmonies of teenage show choirs.

However, in this case, the “new” arrangement was (allegedly) lifted directly from Jonathan Coulton’s own drastic rearrangement. When Coulton covered Sir Mix-a-Lot’s pop/hip-hop “Baby Got Back” in 2005, Coulton explained that “in the proud tradition of many white Americans who came before me I hereby steal and white-ify this thick and juicy piece of black culture.”

Another White American (not Jonathan Coulton) who whitified black culture

Another White American (not Jonathan Coulton) who whitified black culture

Of course, given Coulton’s self-conscious and irony-dripping view of the history of jazz, rock and roll, disco, hip-hop, etc., he did not actually “steal” Sir Mix-a-Lot’s song, but paid for a license to cover and record the song. In his version, Coulton wrote an entirely new tune using traditional bluegrass instrumentation. In effect, Coulton’s song is using Sir Mix-a-Lot’s lyrics and phrasing, but the music is Coulton’s. Nonetheless, Coulton still paid for the rights to record Sir Mix-a-Lot’s song.

Enter FOX and Glee.

They used a cover of “Baby Got Back” that sounds exactly like Coulton’s. Even to the extent that a character named Adam sings the lyric referring to himself as “Jonny C.”

Paul Lemere at the music tech blog, Music Machinery, even wrote a script to alternate between the “two” versions of the cover. The resulting remix sounds like it has an unbroken backing track. Which might imply that the instrumentation actually is Coulton’s performance.

Coulton was never contacted by FOX or Glee about using his version of “Baby Got Back.” After Coulton’s legions of tech-savvy fans stirred up Twitter over the lack of attribution, FOX officially responded. According to Coulton, FOX told him: “they’re within their legal rights to do this, and that I should be happy for the exposure (even though they do not credit me, and have not even publicly acknowledged that it’s my version – so you know, it’s kind of SECRET exposure).”

Shhhh! SECRET exposure!

Shhhh! SECRET exposure! [photo by left-hand]

 Even that bastion of free marketplace commercialism, Forbes, reported on the Coulton-Glee debacle. Forbes blogger Michele Catalano writes, “Coulton may not have any legal recourse here, but there is an ethical question at issue that FOX must answer.” It is an ethical question that Glee has avoided before.

While Coulton is still supposedly investigating his legal options, he did find some ethical restitution. Coulton released a “cover” of Glee‘s cover of his version of Sir Mix-a-Lot’s “Baby Got Back.” He called the song, “Baby Got Back (in the style of Glee)”, which was just renaming his original version. People who bought this file were buying the exact same file that he released in 2005, just renamed. This “cover” was then sold on iTunes, Google Play, and Amazon, with proceeds going to Save the Music and It Gets Better, two charities that deal with social issues raised on Glee.

The month after airing a short segment on the Coulton-Glee kerfuffle, NPR’s On the Media dedicated an entire show to the problem of contemporary plagiarism. Included in this episode is an interview with Kenneth Goldsmith, who teaches a class at Princeton and requires his students to download a paper from a paper-mill and defend it in class. Drawing on the ready-mades of Duchamp and remix culture, Goldsmith argues that creativity is not in the originality of text. In a roundabout way, Goldsmith is emphasizing process over content.

A Duchamp ready-made. Where attribution is headed?

A Duchamp ready-made. Where attribution is headed?

Which brings me back to our students. How do we instill the ethics of citation and attribution, when the real world doesn’t seem to care about such paltry details? When even our own Academic Integrity policies in practice are not enforced? Besides, punishment of plagiarism doesn’t get to the root cause. I’ve tried to create “plagiarism-proof” assignments. Write from a character’s perspective. Analyze a specific school performance of a play, rather than the script. Keep logs of your own rehearsals. And yet, somehow, students find ways to copy without attribution.

I don’t want to give up, but I find myself less and less likely to bring these issues to the department, knowing that they will not do anything. Instead, I end up asking students to rewrite assignments (which only teaches them to copy ideas rather than easily searchable words) or giving the assignment an F (which doesn’t really teach anything, since it is usually end of the semester assignments where I catch this).

Are we approaching a post-plagiarism society?

Paper-writing Machine of the Future? [Photo by Plus903]

Paper-writing Machine of the Future? [Photo by Plus903]

Be Interested?

A few weeks ago, at the SUNY Council on Writing Conference, I heard Richard E. Miller give a fascinating keynote called “Who’s this for?: Audience in the Classroom without Walls.” What I found most exciting about his remarks was his description of an assignment he gave a creative nonfiction class: Be Interested. My understanding of what this means is that Miller  asked his students to “produce a research project that others would read willingly.” My first reaction was of the “I want to steal that assignment” variety.  But as I thought more about the prompt, I began to wonder if a student would be as excited as I was. Miller mentioned that he had students who grappled with questions like “How do you become interested in anything?” and struggled with finding a way to experience curiosity in a moment when information is “superabundant.”

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The more I toyed with this kind of assignment, the more I found myself wondering more about what I’d actually be asking students to do, what it actually means to genuinely be interested in something, and what that might look like in writing. A cursory glance at the OED shows that the word “interest” is defined using terms like “concern,” “curiosity,” and “sympathy.” But, interestingly, one definition also lists “to share in something.”

The idea of “sharing” seems central to composing, at least to me. But, often, I think it is this component–that of engaging and collaborating with an audience outside of the “teacher”–that I think might be lacking for many students (and here I’m thinking specifically of the freshmen I work with). To return to Miller’s prompt–I suppose the “assignment” is really to be interested and to be interesting. And, I also suppose that in an environment where students are perpetually in some kind of rubric quest, this probably feels very very scary.

But, on the flip side, this kind of opportunity is one that we should hope students encounter more and more. As Gardner Campbell points out:

We might begin with a curriculum that brings students into creative, challenging contact with the history and dreams of the digital age, perhaps in a first-year experience that asks them to reflect critically on their own digital lives as well as begin to shape and share their own digital creations, both intramurally and publicly. Research into the neurobiology of learning, building on decades of educational research, has shown that students learn deeply when they are asked to narrate their learning, curate their creations within the learning environment, and share what they have curated with a wide and, when appropriate, a public audience. As students understand that they are not simply completing an assignment at a professor’s behest, but in fact beginning their life’s work, they will necessarily become more engaged and produce more authentic work reflective of their own growing interests.

This excerpt is from part 4 of Gardner Campbell’s excellent series of posts on “The Road to Digital Citizenship,” this one subtitled, “Fluency, Curriculum, Development.” Campbell connects student investment in their own work with developing a pedagogy that allows for rigorous reflection on what it means to live a digital life. Campbell also makes the important connection between “sharing” and “publicness,” an important link where the truly interesting might occur through the kinds of conversation digital compositions enable.

Asking students to approach this kind of inquiry marks an important shift in the definition of what it means to write an “academic essay.” I wonder if what is actually happening is a return to Montaigne’s sense of the essay as a “series of attempts,” or Francis Bacon’s “dispersed meditations.” By encouraging students to “be interested” and “curate their creations,” the usual chore of the “paper” becomes more of an experiment in invention or “making.”

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It is no coincidence that “Composition as Explanation,” Gertrude Stein’s sonic exploration of what it means to “create a composition,” employs the verb “to make” as one of its central repeated words. For example: “This makes the thing we are looking at very different and this makes what those who describe it make of it, it makes a composition, it confuses, it shows, it is, it looks, it likes it as it is, and this makes what is seen as it is seen.” This work is also the first time that Stein refers to her sense of a “continuous present” which was crucial to how she thought of her own process.

steintokEducation writer Audrey Watters lists “The Maker Movement” as one of the “Top Ed-Tech Trends of 2012″ and describes the importance of this kind of pedagogical approach as, “we need more learning by making, through projects and inquiry and hands-on experimentation.” When we actually ask students to physically invent something, to take objects and turn them into something that did not exist ten minutes earlier, this is a very different kind of learning from writing a 3-5 page paper. It marks a return to the kind of “learning by doing” that John Dewey advocated for–“Give the pupils something to do, not something to learn; and the doing is of such a nature as to demand thinking; learning naturally results.” In other words, when we are engaged in the act of “making” or “doing,” that is when real learning occurs, and that is also when I think the sensation of “being interested” is rediscovered.

In many ways this post feels like its own experiment in what Stein might describe as “beginning again and again is a natural thing…”–I wanted to think about this idea of “being interested,” which consequently was so interesting to me that only now have I realized what the connection is to my own recent experiences in the classroom. Meechal recently wrote about one of my latest forays into technology in the classroom, one that I am still processing. When given the chance to use the MaKey MaKey with my 2 composition 2 sections (thanks to Mikhail & BLSCI), I jumped at the chance, trusting a gut feeling that “making” something physically might teach us something about what happens when we “make” academic essays.

Picture1In small groups, the students were given MaKey MaKeys, a number of different materials that conducted electricity, and access to a laptop and told to “make” and “invent.” As a teacher, what was interesting to me was to watch the groups’ progress–many began by seeming a little confused, admittedly not knowing what to “invent,” and feeling at a loss for ideas (or “interest”). But, I also got to watch each group work collaboratively and experientially and ultimate discover the spectrum of things they  might do.

And, after the class session, students blogged about what they experienced through “making.” A few sample responses:

  • “If we just looked at the surface of today’s session, we would see that we were just playing around with the Makey Makey and doing things that are totally unrelated to our English class. However, if we think more deeply, we will see many similarities, especially with the process of writing. At first, we need some ideas to invent something amazing with Makey Makey; if not, we will just be playing and there will not be any creation. It is like writing our essays; we need a specific thesis to write a good essay based on the thesis.”
  • “Making something with the Makey Makeys very musch resembled the writing process. In class on Monday we were supposed to “outline” our plans and ideas for what we wanted to make today in class. An outline plays an important role in essay writing so that the writer has their thoughts and ideas organized and ready to be written down and explained. Each invention also required several “revisions” and “rewrites” in order for it to reach its “final draft” stage. I know that my group changed plans, inventions, and strategies a few times throughout the class period.”
  • “For a good portion of our time we were bouncing back and forth between these questions and sitting there thinking about what we should do. I felt frustrated at the fact that with all these tools we were just stuck, it was like our creativity was at a standstill. However after revisiting the objectives of using the Makey Makey and playing around with it, things made a turn for the better. With developing a greater understanding and applying that understanding to ideas we had, we were able to center on one idea and go with it…Relating to writing, when have that moment where you know the message you want to communicate and gather all your information; everything comes together and flows. Centralizing your idea and making attempts towards it can assist in your creativity. Whether is be the next groundbreaking IT program or your final paper, the initial beginning may prove to be the most difficult; but after you overcome that, you will have your masterpiece.”

More on Mettā

Last week, Sarah contributed a review of a NY Times op-ed by Barbara L. Fredrickson on the Buddhist practice of Mettā (Loving-Kindness) and its physiological benefits on your vagal tone, “a subconscious process that controls [your] heart rate.”  The post was especially interesting to me as a four-year practitioner of Vipassana meditation and Mettā.  To say these practices have been hugely beneficial for me would be an understatement, and certainly I feel their interpersonal, mental, and physical effects.  When I am actively practicing I am less prone to anger or irritation, my mind is sharper, my muscles are less tense, and I don’t take things as personally.  That research might point to a tangible connection between “physical health” and “mental well-being” validates my own experience.  However, as Sarah also points out, Fredrickson takes a leap when she suggests that electronic devices might “take a toll” on our “biological capacity to connect.”  Here, Fredrickson doesn’t have data to back her up but is alluding to potential results of research in process.

Actually, I don’t doubt that there are biological (and not just social) effects of the widespread use of electronic devices — anything we do with our minds and bodies also transforms our minds and bodies in ways big and small.  So my dubiousness about Fredrickson’s assertion differs a bit from Sarah’s.  Here’s the thing: I don’t know how useful such research questions are.  First, they restate what we already know — in other words they prove the obvious (there’s a mind-body connection!) — as so many scientific studies these days seem to do.  Second, they take as a given (rather than as something to be analyzed) that the spiritual is a pristine realm within us that must be protected from the other parts of ourselves.

The notion that something can “take a toll” on our capacity to connect assumes this capacity is ideal and autonomous rather than ever shifting and embedded within the context of a differentiated and power-laden social world and multi-faceted personal life.  Life is a complex process of loss and gain.  As modes of communication change, so do our skills and physiologies.  Humans are social beings by our very definition; I think it’s impossible for us to lose our biological ability to connect.  It’s a different thing to recognize that we can make choices about how we want to connect, how we want to develop our capacities to communicate, and how we can do that in a manner that prioritizes social justice.  Because that’s the other thing we humans have going for us: we’re conscious beings.

Also, context matters.  To put it anecdotally: earlier this year I was texting on the elevator at Hunter College and a professor made a comment to her student – in a slightly derogatory tone — about how “people’s elevator behavior” would be good to study.  I guess I seemed like one of those folks who had lost my capacity for human connection.  In reality I had just finished teaching and was reaching out to a friend who was in the midst of a painful medical procedure and was feeling really down.  So maybe I’m not such a lost soul after all?

If being an anthropology doctoral student has taught me anything, it is the value of asking research questions that get at the lived realities and nuances of social life and moving beyond polarizing discourses of good/bad and hurt/protect.  In this case, it might mean asking how our minds, bodies, and relationships change with different modes of communication — for different groups of people in a diversity of social/economic/geographic settings — and with what effects.

On Fake Blood and Inspiration

“Officially my favorite thing ever,” my friend and fellow Communication Fellow told me last week over spring break, “is that this — ‘Anaphylaxis, Wound and Burn Care, Remote Medicine’ — sounds like fun to you.”

She was referring to the title of a photo album that depicted me and twenty-three other freelance journalists administering dummy EpiPens, tying compression bandages, and pretending to be battered patients in varying stages of responsiveness.

It is true that I spent much of last week covered in fake blood spatter and was generally delighted by that fact. This will be no great surprise to anyone familiar with my enthusiasm for getting my hands dirty, whether camping or splashing through Indonesian rice fields on a remote reporting assignment. (My brother-in-law once remarked that I always seem to be inordinately happy when I am homeless.) Is it any wonder, then, that I couldn’t imagine a better way to spend my spring break than learning how to patch up a sucking chest wound alongside some of the most talented and intrepid freelance photographers, writers, and video journalists working today?

Learning how to perform chest decompression with a needle on real live ribs at RISC training in the Bronx.

A little background: I was part of the latest Reporters Instructed in Saving Colleagues (RISC) training class, a free first aid certification for journalists who work in conflict zones and other sensitive parts of the world. It was created by Sebastian Junger after the death of his “Restrepo” co-director Tim Hetherington in 2011. Hetherington, a renowned photojournalist, was hit by shrapnel from a mortar blast in Libya and bled out on the way to the hospital — a death that might have been avoided if someone had just known how to stop the bleeding. RISC was born from that need.

We trainees were fortunate enough to see an advance screening of “Which Way Is the Front Line From Here? The Life and Time of Tim Hetherington” after training wrapped on Friday, the final day of the four-day course. The documentary is a devastatingly personal piece of work from Junger, who was one of Hetherington’s closest friends. Never has a film been watched with more rapt attention than by the journalists in that particular room after the week we had just shared in Tim’s memory, setting splints, laughing over beers and swapping stories from Beirut or Jakarta or Kabul.

Afterward, the Bronx Documentary Center, which hosted the training, opened to the public for a show. Each of us was given an opportunity to screen some of our work. I watched as my new friends stood, one by one, and presented photo essays and videos from the Arab Spring, from earthquake-ravaged Haiti and from drug war-torn Mexico. Much of it was work I recognized. I just hadn’t previously connected these iconic images with the cheerful people who’d been joking around with me over mole enchiladas at lunch every day.

It was absolutely humbling. But I have also never been more motivated to get to work.

This past week has reminded me of the importance of finding inspiration in the work that we do — especially when part of our job is to inspire others. I wouldn’t be nearly as effective as a coach or mentor to my journalism students if I wasn’t also an enthusiastic practitioner myself of the very skills I am teaching them. The fact is, I’m an absolute nerd for journalism. I love it. I believe in the power of storytelling, whether through words, images or sounds, and I have seen it effect change in the world.

I am lucky to be in a line of work where many of the people whose work I most admire are incredibly accessible to me and to other aspiring or up-and-coming journalists. So much of passion and motivation comes from believing things are possible. When a flesh-and-blood person in front of you shows you that your dream is attainable, a fire is lit.

If I can help my students believe any of it’s possible, then I’ve done my job.

House of Pessimism

Those numbers about the abysmal approval rating of the U.S. Congress really bug me.  I don’t enjoy reading that Congress is less popular than cockroaches and traffic jams, that 85% of Americans view Congress in a negative light.  Sure, Americans have their reasons, and apparently those reasons are widespread and cut across party lines.  But the idea that that percentage of people have that degree of pessimism toward the representative democratic institution seems to me sad and possibly even worrisome.  Because where is the hope going to come from to reform Congress, so that we can all start trusting it again?

I was thinking about this while watching the Netflix series House of Cards, which plays directly into our national pessimism and distrust toward Congress.  It’s as if the show sets out to confirm every cliché about government corruption.  The main character is Frank Underwood (Kevin Spacey), the House majority whip, whose single-minded ambition is to increase his personal power and influence.  I gather the show’s producers think we’re comfortable with the “truth” of his intentions—and they’re probably right.  Self-interest and power seem more like “honest” or “real” motivations to us than beliefs or principles or ideas, which, as everyone knows, are really just masks for self-interest and power.  The Machiavelli-Darwin-Nietzsche-Foucault skeptical lineage has a lot of prestige and persuasive force right now.  So, culturally speaking, we’re comfortable with a Frank Underwood-type in Congress.  He’s duplicitous, greedy, partly purchased by a giant corporation, just the kind of person we’d expect in D.C.  The show doesn’t even bother to challenge Frank’s cynical worldview by tossing in a noble-minded innocent or principled outsider.  House of Cards does nothing to dissuade us from American’s ever-firmer belief that Congress is worth nothing more than our contempt.

I couldn’t help comparing it to another film about government corruption, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington.  What’s interesting is not just the similarities—D.C. as corrupt cesspool—and the differences—Mr. Smith has a space for innocence, principle, hope, reform—but the differences between the cultural moments of 1939 and 2013.  Basically, when Mr. Smith was released, there was still a kind of dignity attached to the legislative branch, a dignity that some Senators felt was under attack.  Here’s what Wikipedia says this Senator Alben Barkley had to say about Mr. Smith:

It is known that Alben W. Barkley, a Democrat and the Senate Majority Leader, called the film “silly and stupid”, and said it “makes the Senate look like a bunch of crooks.”  He also remarked that the film was “a grotesque distortion” of the Senate, “as grotesque as anything ever seen! Imagine the Vice President of the United States winking at a pretty girl in the gallery in order to encourage a filibuster!” Barkley thought the film “…showed the Senate as the biggest aggregation of nincompoops on record!”

As easy as it is to laugh at Barkley’s response, the surprising thing to me is his concern for the dignity of the institution, that the Senate is something worth defending, because it’s nationally and possibly intrinsically important and valuable.

It’s hard to imagine this kind of dignity and respect returning to Congress, especially after Watergate.  But maybe that’s what needs to happen in order for us to watch something like House of Cards and not just be affirmed in our pessimism, resigned to the reductive belief that power and self-interest is all there is.

What the Internet Means and Some Speculations on Why Our Media Culture Tends to Value Aggressive Rhetoric

I want to respond briefly to this really aggressive book review by Evgeny Morozov on Steven Johnson’s Future Perfect: The Case for Progress. The ideas are pretty interesting but my thinking about it concerns its rhetoric, and about why there’s so little room for nuance and qualification and subtlety in a lot of the journalism I read and watch. Here’s Morozov’s summary of Johnson’s book:

Johnson is grappling with the thorny question of what the Internet means. His conclusion, alas, is not very original: the history of the Internet tells us that decentralization is preferable to centralization. And, to quote Steve Jobs, “It just works!” Thus, early Internet protocols were built on the principle of packet switching, whereby the content to be transmitted is broken into packets, which are sent separately from each other and reassembled upon receipt. No centralized authority was needed: the packets could travel through a myriad of different routes independently of each other. The likes of Google and Wikipedia also thrive on decentralization; Google, for example, ranks sites for relevance by studying how sites link to each other. Google’s relevance index, then, emerges out of individual decisions by millions of site-owners; it is not centrally planned.

So for Johnson, the internal logic of the Internet is decentralization, and given the success of things like Google search and Wikipedia, this logic ought to be applied to social, political, and institutional problems: “When a need arises in society that goes unmet our first impulse should be to build a peer network to solve that problem.”

The obvious objection from someone like Morozov, writing for the center-left New Republic, is that Johnson is advocating for a kind of libertarianism, a flattening of institutional hierarchies. But Johnson happens to be on Morozov’s side politically. Johnson wants to preserve big government but have them think in “in newer, Internet-friendlier ways—to have them acknowledge that crowds and networks can be smarter than individuals.”

So what’s Morozov’s angle? It’s that Johnson is blind to the powers of hierarchy, central planning, and expert decision-making. Once he’s formed this axe he begins grinding it against example after example. Johnson cites NYC’s 3-1-1 hotline as a model of decentralization. Morozov replies, 3-1-1 was actually a move to centralize all the 400 different city hotlines. Etc. Etc.

It’s not that Morozov doesn’t have fair objections. It’s that he doesn’t really allow a fair showing of Johnson’s ideas. They’re smothered out by Morozov’s ideological objections. (Turns out Morozov has a book with the subtitle “The Folly of Technological Solutionism,” which makes me wonder about the New Republic’s editorial staff and the point of bringing together two diametrically opposed views such as Morozov-Johnson, other than to be sensationalistic and provocative and sell magazines. OK, so that’s probably it.) The idea of reforming the NEA based on a model like Kickstarter might find many objections. But its implications are at least new (new to me) and worth considering in detail. Wouldn’t a more just and sympathetic review say something nuanced like, Yes, there are good examples of institutions that might benefit from the decentralized logic of the Internet, but there are also examples of institutions that should continue to be hierarchical, and that the important debate is around which institutions could benefit from being structured like the Internet and which would not?

But who would want to read such a nuanced, sympathetic, basically reasonable and decent review? Is the reason that more often than not a lot of the journalism I read and watch tends toward the scathing, toward the “take-down” (a) because it sells? (b) because in a media-glutted context only the most rhetorically barbaric will be read/watched? (c) because if you want your piece to be picked up by the aggregating sites and reach a mass audience it can’t be “soft” but must be fiercely opinionated? (d) because of the general drift of media culture away from “objectivity” and toward “opinion” as evidenced by the rise of MSNBC and FOX News? (e) because essentially reasonable, non-rabid shows like The News Hour are extremely boring in themselves, but become bone-crushingly boring when placed in the context of our entertainment culture? (f) because writing broadsides and absenting from your thought nuance and subtlety is essential to the culture of journalism, has been since its origins and will continue to be?

In the Midst of Fierce Debate, Some Voices Worth Listening To

The gun control debate is raging these days, and it’s hard to avoid.  If the NRA and its celebrity proponents are vociferously citing the Second Amendment and claiming the problem can’t be addressed through legislation, those calling for gun control make the point that banning assault weapons is one (practical and immediate) facet of a solution.  I think this is a crucial topic for discussion, but I can’t help but feel that politicians on all sides have exploited the real pain and tragedy experienced by families to advance their positions.  For an issue that’s so complicated, the discourse has largely been crude and has evaded the broader reality of U.S. violence, both here — in neighborhoods where children live in chronic fear — and abroad – in regions where children have died by our military strikes.

This weekend, I happened to tune into WNYC just as This American Life was starting, and I listened to the first of two episodes focusing on Harper High School in the West Englewood region of Chicago.  Last year 29 students were shot and eight of them died. This portrait of a school whose students are contending with both gun violence and “aggressive police behavior” on a daily basis is illuminating and something, I think, worth listening to in the din.  It orients us to the deeper question of how can we keep all children safe and value all children’s lives.

You can find it here.

Visual Puns

If you’ve ever been curious about Joyce’s Finnegan’s Wake, or if you’ve read some of it and found it impossible, or if you just like trippy Youtube clips, this video can help.  It’s a visualization of Wake page 439, and it does a pretty good job of translating the text’s puns and portmanteau words into a visual collage and dissolving imagery.  The video project seems to me like a limit case of trying to match images to language, to move literature from the page to the screen, raising questions about translation and interpretation along the way.  Plus, it features the voice of Joseph Gordon-Levitt.  I’m assuming that’s better than James Franco.