May 12, 2003

THE NEW YORK TIMES TRADES MERITOCRACY FOR DIVERSITY AND GETS ITS ASS BIT

Yale Kramer

Front page news: “A staff reporter for The New York Times committed frequent acts of journalistic fraud while covering significant news events in recent months, an investigation by Times journalists has found. The widespread fabrication and plagiarism represent a profound betrayal of trust and a low point in the 152-year history of the newspaper.” Not quite, the low point is soon to be reached—the cover-up of those really responsible for the debacle of Jayson Blair’s four year career on the Times.

From the front page, the story goes on for two whole pages and then another two whole pages of evidence of his wrong-doing covering the last three years, nailing Blair in 39 instances of fraud, plagiarism, and concocting the truth. Gosh, you’d have to go back to Watergate for this kind of coverage. It’s as though with this coverage the Times editors want to drive a stake through the heart of this monstrous event to be rid of it forever. Not bloody likely.

Jayson Blair is a liar, a cheat, an impostor, fraud, con man, and thief. But the Times, afraid of appearing racist—Blair is black—reaches for its stock social worker brand of psychobabble and refers to him as a “troubled young man veering toward professional self-destruction.” But it is because The New York Times is so “compassionate” and race-conscious, and confused in its thinking about whether it is running a newspaper or a social work agency whose aim is to rectify social injustice, that this man’s career (if he ever had one aside from all the affirmative action promotions he’s received) is doomed. If he had been white, he would have been fired for his sloppiness, carelessness, and incorrigibility after a three or four month trial period, and told to go and shape up. No great harm would have been done to a great newspaper, to its readers, and to the stories of the people Blair covered. And he would have learned better or gone into some other trade.

The story in today’s Times was written by five people and researched by two more. They tell a story that is noteworthy for its circumspection and constraint. You have the feeling that the story has been heavily edited and does not speak in a full throated way. What is there may be the truth but, you feel, not the whole truth.

The most astonishing thing about the story is not that Blair turned out to be a con man and plagiarist, that happens occasionally, even in the best of journalistic institutions, but the denial of the reality of this man’s sociopathy as demonstrated by the chronicity of his errant behavior. Time after time his sloppiness, carelessness, absences, running up company expenses at the bar around the corner, breaches of confidentiality, racking up parking tickets on company cars—but most of all his error making—was noted by all the editors he worked for. And they all tried to whip him into shape in one way or another—advice, lectures, warnings—to no avail. His reaction on one occasion suggests he was well aware of his special position as a protégé of senior editors: “Mr. Blair's e-mail from that time demonstrate how he expressed penitence to Mr. Landman, then vented to another editor about how he had ‘held my nose’ while writing the apology. Meanwhile, after a disagreement with a third editor, Patrick LaForge, who tracks corrections for the metropolitan desk, he threatened to take up the issue ‘with the people who hired me — and they all have executive or managing editor in their titles.’”

Many mid-level editors tried to warn senior editors about Blair but all such warnings were shunted aside. In fact denial at the highest levels of the newspaper continue. In Sunday’s article “Pinch” Sulzberger says that “there will be no newsroom search for scapegoats. ‘The person who did this is Jayson Blair,’ he said. ‘Let's not begin to demonize our executives — either the desk editors or the executive editor or, dare I say, the publisher.’" That’s Mr. Sulzberger’s way of disavowing his responsibility and the responsibility of Howell Raines and Gerald Boyd in all of this. And of dismissing any criticism of their policy of devaluing merit and overvaluing diversity as first journalistic principles.

Throughout the article, over and over again, its authors hint that Gerald Boyd, managing editor and second-highest-ranking newsroom executive, and his boss, Howell Raines, executive editor, protected Blair from being fired and even promoted him.

“In January 2001, Mr. Blair was promoted to full-time reporter with the consensus of a recruiting committee of roughly half a dozen people headed by Gerald M. Boyd, then a deputy managing editor, and the approval of Mr. Lelyveld [then executive editor].

“Mr. Landman said last week that he had been against the recommendation — that he ‘wasn't asked so much as told’ about Mr. Blair's promotion. But he also emphasized that he did not protest the move.

“The publisher and the executive editor, he said, had made clear the company's commitment to diversity — ‘and properly so,’ he said. [He’d better if he wants to go on working there.] In addition, he said, Mr. Blair seemed to be making the mistakes of a beginner [after two years] and was still demonstrating great promise….Mr. Boyd…said last week that the decision to advance Mr. Blair had not been based on race. Indeed, plenty of young white reporters have been swiftly promoted through the ranks. [But not with the problematic record that Blair had created.]

" ‘To say now that his promotion was about diversity in my view doesn't begin to capture what was going on,’ said Mr. Boyd, who is himself African-American. ‘He was a young, promising reporter who had done a job that warranted promotion.’" [There is nothing in the article that would have substantiated that view among the editors who knew Blair. In fact, three months later, Blair’s declining performance—more errors and clashes with more editors—prompted Landman to write that the newspaper had to “stop Blair from writing for the Times.”]

Raines and Boyd were deaf to such entreaties. In fact they next assigned Blair to the National Desk under James Roberts. Both editors, Raines and Boyd, said the seeming improvement in Mr. Blair's accuracy last summer demonstrated that he was ready to help cover a complicated, high-profile assignment. [The Washington Sniper Case.] But they did not tell Mr. Roberts or his deputies about the concerns that had been raised about Mr. Blair's reporting. “ ‘That discussion did not happen,’ Mr. Raines said, adding that he had seen no need for such a discussion because Mr. Blair's performance had improved, and because ‘we do not stigmatize people for seeking help.’” [How about stigmatizing them for incorrigibility?]

With Blair it turned out to be little stories, little problems; big stories, big problems. As soon as he began his reporting on the sniper case he began catching flak from the United States Attorney and the FBI about his inaccuracies. But Raines and Boyd decided to keep from Roberts Blair’s problematical journalism. “Mr. Roberts and Mr. Fox said in interviews last week that the statements would have raised far more serious concerns in their minds had they been aware of Mr. Blair's history of inaccuracy. Both editors also said they had never asked Mr. Blair to identify his sources in the article.

" ‘I can't imagine accepting unnamed sources from him as the basis of a story had we known what was going on,’ Mr. Fox said. ‘If somebody had said, “Watch out for this guy,” I would have questioned everything that he did. I can't even imagine being comfortable with going with the story at all, if I had known that the metro editors flat out didn't trust him.’

“Mr. Raines and Mr. Boyd, who knew more of Mr. Blair's history, also did not ask him to identify his sources. The two editors said that given what they knew then, there was no need. There was no inkling, Mr. Raines said, that the newspaper was dealing with ‘a pathological pattern of misrepresentation, fabricating and deceiving.’

“Mr. Raines said he saw no reason at that point to alert Mr. Roberts to Mr. Blair's earlier troubles. Rather, in keeping with his practice of complimenting what he considered exemplary work, Mr. Raines sent Mr. Blair a note of praise for his ‘great shoe-leather reporting.’” [Gasp. In Alcoholics Anonymous they call this enabling.]

“It was not until January, Mr. Roberts recalled, that he was warned about Mr. Blair's record of inaccuracy. He said Mr. Landman quietly told him that Mr. Blair was prone to error and needed to be watched. Mr. Roberts added that he did not pass the warning on to his deputies.

“By then, however, those deputies had already formed their own assessments of Mr. Blair's work. They said they considered him a sloppy writer who was often difficult to track down and at times even elusive about his whereabouts.”

Blair’s deceitful practices continued protected by the senior editors until April 29 when he was accused of plagiarism by The San Antonio Express-News. Then and only then did it begin to dawn that Blair was a liar and a fraud.

Up to this moment Howell Raines, Gerald Boyd and Arthur Sulzberger, Jr. refuse to accept the responsibility for this scandal. They do not see that their policy of affirmative action—what they call diversity—results in the degradation of journalistic values by having differing standards for blacks and whites. Their denial of the reality of Blair’s incorrigibility, their refusal to consult others and heed the warnings of others because of their own ideological needs is the basic reason for the Blair Scandal. If they had not continued to protect Blair in the service of their foolish and arrogant aim of making the world over in their own image, The New York Times and the world would have been better off.

But apparently the executive cover-up will remain in place and these destructive policies will continue to degrade the quality of one of America’s great journalistic institutions.

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May 06, 2003

HORSEFEATHERS GOES TO THE MOVIES: TWO WINNERS

May 5, 2003

Yale Kramer

Sorry, no great explosions, no tortuous car chases, or bone crushing body blows, no heists, soft-core pornography, sad, charming poets dying slowly of AIDS, or extra terrestrials. Just birds and words. But what birds and words.

BIRDS

The first film, “Winged Migration,” is the story of those races of birds that must fly north every Spring to the Arctic Circle and south every Fall to warmer climes (in the northern hemisphere and the reverse in the southern hemisphere). They must do this in order to survive and procreate. There is really nothing technical or scientific that is added by way of explanation in the film except for the names of the species of birds that are shown. This is really not a film about natural science at all—only about the beauty and power of nature.

We are given a glimpse into the cruel, remorseless life cycles of these migratory birds who must fly thousands of miles twice each year in order to go on flying thousands of miles twice each year. I suppose in between these migrations there is time for family life and some cavorting, and we are shown some of these scenes as well. But the power of the film comes from the depictions of the relentless and impartial forces of nature at work in these migrations.

Awe-inspiring, I suppose, is the word that best conveys the impact of this film. First there is the beauty and strangeness of each of the dozens of species shown. The way they look and walk and fly, take-off and land, communicate with each other, nurture their young and die. The uniqueness and variation is stunning.

Then there is the breathtaking photography. The innumerable shots of the birds in flight, from above, below, from outer space, from every conceivable compass point and over every kind of terrain. And at the other extreme, the incredible ultra close-ups of feeding baby birds and hatching chicks and courtship rituals. One can hardly do anything but gape in wonder.

Then there are the compelling shots of glaciers breaking off, the wrath of ocean storms in winter, the frightening power of landslides after a blizzard making us feel quite small and weak.

And finally there is the awesome technique involved with the making of this film. The pictures make it seem as though you are one of the birds flying alongside your bird comrades. In one shot it’s as though you were flying on the back of one of the birds. Apparently these shots were taken by many different teams of pilots and photographers hanging out of gliders, balloons, and ultra-light aircraft to create these mind-boggling scenes. While you are watching the movie you are totally unaware of the intervening presences of those who are bringing us these scenes, but afterward we realize what heros these people are and we take some pride in the fact that they were able to face and defy nature.

The net effect of this powerful movie is to give one a little perspective about where we fit in the ultimate scheme of things. See it, but see it in a movie theatre rather than on a TV screen.

WORDS

Then there is “Spellbound.” This one is the story of 8 kids from all over the United States who are headed to Washington D.C. to participate in the annual National Spelling Bee. They come from families of all classes and varieties of backgrounds. They, families and kids, are all yearning for the title of champion speller of the U.S.

Of course what makes this movie so good is that it’s not about spelling at all, but about people, the kids and their families. How they go about preparing for this big moment in their lives, what winning means to them, and how they take defeat and triumph.

It’s always interesting to see a variety of individuals respond to the same stimulus, but this situation is even more fun because the film shows the family environments of the kids, what their teachers say about them, and what part their parents have played in their lives.

The film is low-keyed, but enjoyable from start to finish and full of touching and funny moments. And there isn’t a single bird to be seen in the whole movie.

These two films are a perfect double feature. The first gives you some tragic perspective about your place in the universe—we are an insignificant grain of sand in the pitiless workings of nature. We are a blink in time and tears for us will be washed into the vast oceans over which fly millions of heedless creatures.

The second brings us back to the comedic warmth and comfortable follies of our human nature. It shows us what silly, pathetic, lovable creatures we are—that some of us are led to migrate annually to Washington. D.C. in order to reach for the American Dream. Let’s all huddle together and laugh and cry.

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May 05, 2003

PSYCHOBABBLE ALERT

       They're back! The psychobabblers are out in full force now that Saddam's regime is gone. The same Dr. Jerrold Post who warned against the dangers of inflaming Saddam's "narcissistic rage" by deploying military force in place of words, is now explaining why Saddam behaved so cruelly and built such big palaces.
        The NYTimes, having fought our efforts to militarily depose Saddam, now feels it necessary to explain to us that he's not a "madman". Instead, the experts, like Dr. Post, tell us he's a "malignant narcissist". That's a more "scientific" term than "madman" and allows them to opine about his difficult childhood, his depressed mother, his abusive step-father, blah, blah, blah. What cant! In attempting to demonstrate their "deeper" understanding they fail to recognize how thoroughly they discredit themselves. Horsefeathers will take 'madman' over 'malignant narcissist' anytime. An earlier Horsefeathers piece on psychoanalyzing Saddam remains particularly relevant:
PSYCHOANALYZING SADDAM

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May 04, 2003

A TRIBUTE TO HEROS

        Yesterday afternoon at Yankee Stadium had the feel of countless summer days as the sun warmed the cheering crowd. My thoughts drifted back to World War II as the West Point band played the National Anthem. The 7th inning stretch was marked by Kate Smith's recording of God Bless America. Many in the crowd gave full throated accompaniment. Bob Shepherd the ageless voice of the public address system, advised us to say a silent prayer "for all those men and women in the military currently overseas and those who have sacrificed their lives in Afghanistan and in Operation Iraqi Freedom to preserve our way of life". The crowd seemed unusually subdued and respectful during these moments, unlike in pre-9/11 times when the National Anthem seemed an unwelcome intrusion to many who kept their hats on and chattered away until the game began. Perhaps they momentarily thought hard about those youngsters who never got the chance to enjoy such afternoons, those who have died in wars to preserve our freedoms--including the freedom to enjoy our great national pastime. When I returned from the ball park and switched on my computer, the following tribute--both personal and universal--- was in my emailbox. It is by a friend of Horsefeathers, Ruth King.

IN GRATEFUL MEMORY OF PRIVATE 1ST CLASS HAROLD H. KING A.S. NO. 32922362
WHO DIED IN THE SERVICE OF HIS COUNTRY IN THE EUROPEAN AREA JULY 10,1944

HE STANDS IN THE UNBROKEN LINE OF PATRIOTS WHO HAVE DARED TO DIE THAT FREEDOM MIGHT LIVE AND GROW AND INCREASE ITS BLESSINGS. FREEDOM LIVES AND THROUGH IT HE LIVES- IN A WAY THAT HUMBLES THE UNDERTAKINGS OF MOST MEN.
FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT
PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

        This message from the President was received several weeks after his family was notified of Harold’s death. While they were observing the Jewish period of mourning for Harold, the news came that George, his older brother had also died in the Normandy invasion only days and a few miles apart.
        The brothers were from Bayonne, New Jersey, a working class community whose residents were Jewish, Polish, Irish and Italian Americans. There were no ethnic enclaves, but even the schools were not melting pots, and most kids adhered to their parents’ admonition to “stick to your own kind.”
        When they enlisted in 1942 George was a tall, strapping, handsome young man of twenty three hoping to go into law enforcement. Harold, at eighteen, a slight young man, had just graduated from high school and entertained hopes of becoming a dentist. They were rather slim hopes, since his father was a house painter who never really recovered from the 1929 depression. George was accepted immediately, but Harold was rendered 4F by a pilonidal cyst, which he had surgically repaired, assuring his anxious family that the army would pay for his college.
Both adored their thirteen year old brother whom they called "the kid." They let him steer their jalopies while sitting in their laps; they taught him to ride a bike and catch a ball; and they teased him endlessly, often messing his well coiffed pompadour and playfully elbowing him.
        After completing basic training in Fort Dix, New Jersey, Harold was sent for combat training in Maryland and George went to Kentucky where he was trained for the military police.
        On his first leave at home, George married his high school sweetheart and the next time the family saw him was many months later on a train taking German prisoners to a detention camp. The train stopped for half an hour in Bayonne, and the family exchanged waves and thrown kisses. Shortly after this George requested and got permission to leave the military police and join regular infantry. Within months he was sent overseas. After one short leave, in 1943, Harold was sent to England for additional combat training.
        Throughout the nation families with relatives in the service exhibited flags in the windows. Occasionally these flags had a gold star in the center for those who had perished in action. Families relied on censored army mail and radio broadcasts on the war by Gabriel Heater and H.V. Kaltenborn.
        Harold wrote reassuring notes to his parents and sent pictures holding rifles, eating at mess with buddies, and riding military vehicles. "Don't worry about me too much. We'll be home soon. We get to see a lot of movie stars (the names of the performers were crossed out by army censors who feared that information would reveal their whereabouts) and I wish Ann Miller could come." To “the kid” he wrote “take care of my car and when I get home I’ll teach you to drive.”
        George sent cursory notes to his family, but to his pregnant young bride he wrote romantic letters. "Thank you for that picture of yourself in the pretty dress. When the war is over, I'll blow it up and make a million copies and we'll paper all the walls in our house with it."
        When the news came that both brothers had been killed in action, there were no intrusive reporters; no cameras and recorders; no perky telecasters to ask vapid questions; only unendurable grief. Neighbors from every corner of Bayonne came every day to stand a respectful vigil outside of the home. They placed flags and flowers and sweets and messages of condolence on the steps. At the conclusion of the seven days of mourning they moved on, many to face losses of their own.
        The house remained dark and draped in unbearable gloom, two flags with gold stars in the front window. When the war was finally over, there were no celebrations in the shrouded home. No radio. No laughter. In 1946 their mother brought their caskets home from France, and George and Harold rest in a family plot in Staten Island next to their parents who wore pain and regret to their dying days.
        I look at their pictures now, as American families are confronting their losses. I would not choose to tell them that the nation they died liberating is a sullen, ungrateful and dubious ally. I would not tell them that movie stars no longer entertain troops; that even those actors and directors who have made movies commemorating their sacrifice, do not have the decency to thank American soldiers fighting today.
        I would tell them that George’s son is a handsome, healthy and successful grandfather of five. I also think they would like to know that "the kid" grew up to be a fine man who remembers them with love and pride and never doubts the justice of America’s cause.
        I would tell them that the country they so proudly served remains the most benevolent democracy on earth- better than ever; that America honors their memory and sacrifice; that there are still young people who go to fight and dare to die for freedom, and families who accept the risk and sacrifice that is the collateral damage of all wars.
------Ruth S. King

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May 01, 2003

CO-WINNERS OF THE PUNISH FRANCE COMPETITION ARE...

Deb, who wrote:

        Tell Jacques Chirac that we'll open the bidding for the rebuilding efforts to French companies just as soon as he, Jacques Chirac, finishes hand-writing a personal apology to the families of each and every victim of Saddam's torture over the last 12 years.
That ought to keep him busy until he dies.

        And while we're at it, we should purposely misspell his name in any and all correspondence and references to Jack Chiraq

And Francis, who wrote:

        I believe the prescription that best fits le maladie Francaise has already been written by comic genius Terry Gilliam of Monty Python fame:

1. Fart in their general direction;
2. Wave your private parts at their aunties.
This is easier for New Yorkers than for others, of course.

        Regrettably, relatives of Horsefeathers' proprietors are not eligible for the prize, however the impartial judges wish to acknowledge the following entry by Rita Kramer:

        Make them read every modern French philosopher from Jean Paul Sartre to Jacques Lacan--no skipping pages allowed. Tell them there will be an exam. The lowest scorers will have to go on reading them over until they get it right.

        The winners are invited to submit, at their convenience, any essay they wish to write on a topic of their choosing.
Thanks to all contributors. In a better world, all the suggested punishments would be swiftly carried out.

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