If it doesn’t have a feed

If it doesn’t have a feed it isn’t a podcast,” Dave Winer wrote and then defined further. This is what I thought at first he meant:

  • No feed? You won’t know something has been published until you go looking for it. The new publication sits stewing in its electron suit, wanting to go out, hoping a new friend calls, but nobody’s got the phone number. We have to walk up to each door every day and knock.
  • On the open web, information can be loaded almost instantly into multiple locations, in multiple formats, for use by new audiences, automatically. No feeds, and that grinds to a halt. No feeds, and you’ve lost the open web. You’re reduced to posting and reposting things by hand. You might as well do math without multiplying. Go ahead, calculate 2 to the tenth power by adding a whole lot of 2s together. Life’s too short, your hair is turning gray, and the ice caps are melting all around us.
  • No feeds? Then you lose access to some new information or rely on a company to gather it for you. They’ll charge for the service or sell your soul as data. Maybe both. Smile and pretend you like the deal.
  • No feeds? The aforementioned company will help choose the information for you. They’ll decide who belongs in your affinity group. You’ll never meet certain people, never learn from them, never get a little friendly pushback on your worst ideas, because you’ll never hear their voices. You won’t know certain interesting folks exist.
  • No feeds? Not really! Those same companies are probably using feeds left, right, and center. They’re just not letting you play in the same sandbox that they enjoy.
  • No feeds? A beautiful tool is made clumsy, a window is painted shut, a grocer refuses to stock spices. The world is made smaller.
  • No feeds? Then somebody clever is making a good living, you can bet.

Corrections and additions welcome.

Art in the last hour of restorative human possibility

Trying to understand a difficult sentence about the chances we humans might have of not completely destroying ourselves, a difficult sentence uttered by Gabriel García Márquez in the final paragraph of his 1982 Nobel Lecture, I wrote two new versions.

First, let me say that I can’t evaluate the original in Spanish with any skill:

Ante esta realidad sobrecogedora que a través de todo el tiempo humano debió de parecer una utopía, los inventores de fábulas que todo lo creemos nos sentimos con el derecho de creer que todavía no es demasiado tarde para emprender la creación de la utopía contraria. 

Here is the difficult English translation I encountered first:

Faced with this terrifying reality that throughout all of human time must have seemed a fantasy, the inventors of fables we all believe feel we have the right to believe that it still isn’t too late to undertake the creation of the contrary utopia.

I first tried to understand that sentence by translating it into a more detailed English sentence:

Faced with this terrifying reality, which throughout all of human time must have seemed no more than an unlikely fantasy, we who for all cultures and in all times have invented the transforming fables our fellow humans come eventually to believe in and live by, we writers and artists and other visionaries feel we have the right and duty to believe that now is not too late to undertake the literal creation of a contrary utopia.

And then into a simpler English sentence:

Faced with this terrifying reality, which throughout all of human time must have seemed only a fantasy, we the inventors of transforming stories still have the right and duty to believe that now is not too late to undertake the literal creation of a contrary utopia.

There are tasks for every trade and craft and walk of life as we get to this work. But, the Nobel Laureate suggests, the work in these last minutes of this last hour of restorative human possibility must in part be done by our heart- and mind-transforming artists and writers.

From the Nobel site, here is the full final paragraph of Gabriel García Márquez’s lecture:

Un día como el de hoy, mi maestro William Faulkner dijo en este lugar: “Me niego a admitir el fin del hombre”. No me sentiría digno de ocupar este sitio que fue suyo si no tuviera la conciencia plena de que por primera vez desde los orígenes de la humanidad, el desastre colosal que él se negaba a admitir hace 32 años es ahora nada más que una simple posibilidad científica. Ante esta realidad sobrecogedora que a través de todo el tiempo humano debió de parecer una utopía, los inventores de fábulas que todo lo creemos nos sentimos con el derecho de creer que todavía no es demasiado tarde para emprender la creación de la utopía contraria. Una nueva y arrasadora utopía de la vida, donde nadie pueda decidir por otros hasta la forma de morir, donde de veras sea cierto el amor y sea posible la felicidad, y donde las estirpes condenadas a cien años de soledad tengan por fin y para siempre una segunda oportunidad sobre la tierra.

Photo–Boston Globe, no photographer listed.

Powerless: not good enough

I feel powerless, I admit. But that’s not good enough.

I know I’m not alone in feeling powerless. I assume that when half of my country’s citizens don’t vote, it’s partially because huge numbers of them also feel powerless. Well, that’s not good enough either.

People I respect feel powerless. I can tell from their hallway conversation and their social media posts. I get it, I’m there too, but it’s not good enough. I keep telling myself that.

Journalists who have run out of ideas sound like they feel powerless too. They reach for something stirring to say, but it comes across fuzzy and kind of hopeless, like the ending of this column* by Scott Martelle that is largely about addressing climate change through innovation, changes in consumer behavior, and voting:

And as voters, we don’t put enough pressure on politicians to use the power of government to move markets away from products that are killing us in favor of those that might keep the world habitable for humans for a longer period of time. In the end, we know what we’re doing to ourselves, yet we do it anyway.

The column’s last sentence sounds pretty hopeless. The second-to-last sounds pretty fuzzy–not much better than saying, “Hey, y’all, we better do something!”

Doing something isn’t good enough because something is too vague, too weak, too powerless. Changing consumer behavior isn’t good enough either–we have been changing but not fast enough, not far enough. Voting, yes, but for who and for what? Too fuzzy to be enough of an answer. We need to use more potent words than words like do something. We need some particular ideas, some actual knowledge, not just ideas about climate change but, with the same urgency, ideas about activism. How it really works.

So: are there any lessons to be gained from history? Are there patterns visible in activism of the past? What are the most potent stories whose lessons still apply?

For example:

Rosa Parks didn’t just sit down on the bus that day. She had a plan that she worked up ahead of time with allies. They considered their options; they practiced; they worked out how things might go. They looked at what kind of court case might go their way. They were a team and in it for the long haul. They knew something about getting into the news and staying there, making things embarrassing for politicians and corporate leaders. Parks and her colleagues knew that they faced specific people and institutions, specific historical circumstances. They didn’t imagine that they were living in a cartoon. It was a real place with particular structures that they could study and adapt to and challenge.

What Rosa Parks did changed the country. What Rosa Parks did was so far from do something that we can hardly overstate it. Knowing the true story of Rosa Parks helps explain why feeling powerless is understandable but not good enough. Why do something is a failure of knowledge and imagination. Why voting isn’t a wise enough conception of active citizenship. Why the country needs to get serious and look into the toolkit of activism.

*”Carbon emissions are up. Don’t blame Trump, this is on all of us,” January 2019 column, LA Times.

 

Hungry for candor and respect

Concerning climate change, Christopher Lydon believes people have a “hunger for clarity on a street corner, and candor about the pickle we’re in.” That need has recently been satisfied “warmly, humanly,” he says, by Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez.*

This hunger “had to be there all along,” Lydon suggests. Surely that must be true. Daniel Schrag replies that President Obama’s team was afraid of speaking directly and candidly about climate change. At times I thought the Obama administration’s approach was to say to the American people, roughly, “Leave it to us, we’ve got this,” when in those early months there were millions of us who wanted a way to pitch in.

In his first year in the White House Obama could have asked that a hundred protestors stand round-the-clock watch at the offices of each reform-resistant member of Congress and we would have gladly done it. But he closed his campaign website, containing all the news and come-to-meeting tools that might have shown people day by day how to keep the pressure on in Washington. He and his team decided more or less to go it alone, leaving millions of citizens out of the people’s business. Next, Congress was intentionally hobbled by his opponents, and in terms of legislation Obama was usually defeated.

So Lydon is correct that the hunger for candor is probably always there. People know when they are ignored or condescended to; they know what it feels like to be treated with candor and respect. Recently Kurt Bardella put it this way:

The American people don’t want a string of facts that have been repeatedly proven to be false. They don’t want to be lectured. What they want is for their political figures to respond to the challenges of our time with empathy, authenticity and candor. They want to hear their elected representatives talk about these issues with the same vocabulary that they talk about them around their kitchen table or in their living rooms. That’s what Ocasio-Cortez did so well.

The half of the population that never votes probably intuits what the statistics of Gilens and Page imply: that the general public gets what it wants in Washington occasionally, yes: when what they want happens to align with what the economic elites already want. That’s a pretty good reason for the country’s widespread alienation.

Gilens and Page spot the alienation; Lydon, Schrag, and Bardella identify the hunger. Ocasio-Cortez  knows it’s there, too. She has the spine and some of the rhetoric we’ll need going forward. If we’re fortunate, new presidential candidates will also hear the urgency, find language that speaks honorably, respectfully, to the people, and follow in her steps.

*Radio Open Source, Is the Green New Deal For Real?, January 2019, 25:10 and forward.

Green new deal: making it real

“Is the Green New Deal For Real?” Radio Open Source‘s January 2019 episode that asks question in worthy detail.

But about 19:16 minutes in, Christopher Lydon’s second guest, Naomi Oreskes, describes, almost in passing, the integrated toolkit we’re going to need to have a chance to get there. Taking a lesson from the fight against cigarettes, she says:

That is a good example of the combined power of science and political movements, because we got tobacco control in this country through both. Without the science, we would not have known that tobacco use was so dangerous, so deadly. But the science alone was not enough. It also required political movements, legal action, grass roots movements to ban smoking in public places, things like that. So I think we have the same situation with climate change. The science is crucial, remains crucial for explaining to people what is happening and how we know that all of this is related to fossil fuel use. That message continues to be essential, but it has to be linked, as [@BillMcKibben] said [earlier in the episode], to political mobilization, to political education, and to political action.

Used one at a time, the tools of activism are useless, she implies.

My own shorthand for the toolkit includes these categories of tools: bodies of knowledge, empowering attitudes, diverse and appropriate skills, sets of information and communication tools, affiliations and the skills to make, sustain, and extend them, all in the context of fairly healthy civic institutions.

Knowledge, attitudes, skills, tools, affiliations, and healthy institutions. Without the full toolkit, citizens are easy for the powerful to brush aside. Simple as that.

And that’s why Naomi Oreskes is right to say that we’re going to be needing good science linked to political movements, legal action, grass roots affiliations, political education, and more, to have a chance.

Voting is necessary but not sufficient. Oreskes has named a good portion of the toolkit we’ll be needing, oh, later today and then ongoing for years to come.

It’s still out there. A fully functioning internet.

It’s still out there. A fully functioning internet.

Taking up an old-fashioned hobby “helped restore my faith in the possibilities and the basic humanity of the internet,” writes @FManjoo. Being a hobbyist “helped me find a saner, friendlier corner of the internet,” a place of “collaboration, persistence and shared ingenuity…a way to supercharge my training.”

This served as “a reminder that the internet’s most effective trick is connecting disparate individuals into a coherent whole.” Serving as a space where “the online social structure around any hobby” forms and “the collective builds on itself.”

Newcomers “pick up the basics — but by creating new markets for content and equipment, and connecting every hobbyist who has discovered something new to an audience eager to learn every trick, it heightens the experience for people at every level.”

Because their topic fails to attract trolls and bots who intentionally flood the zone with chaos, the internet’s creative mechanism still works within the hobby’s confines.

Within that zone, the internet “opens up a whole new world.”

The academic way

Most academics don’t imagine themselves operating as publishers of their insights day by day in the ongoing give and take of society, of politics.

We academics usually don’t value the chance of speaking directly to a wide audience. We usually don’t feel the need for non-academic forms of media. We put the power of our understanding on hold or out of reach of people who need it. Most of us do and say this:

“I will teach this powerful idea to my 19-year-old students and maybe in a decade one of them will use it in the world.”

And we will not, for the most part, empower students to practice using powerful ideas in the world during the university years.