When the Watergate scandal captured America's attention in the early nineteen seventies, I was in fifth grade. I remember hearing "Watergate" everywhere and knowing that it was something bad, but not understanding anything about it. Someone asked our teacher, Miss Bender, what Watergate was, and she told us it had something to do with phones. That explanation didn't really clarify things for me then, although now I realize that she was talking about the phones in the DNC office being bugged. Last week Henry and I watched All the President's Men, the Robert Redford/Dustin Hoffman 1976 movie that told the story of Woodward and Bernstein, the two young Washington Post journalists who blew the Watergate story wide open, and I have a little better grasp of the events.
It was fascinating to see how much technology has changed things since the nineteen seventies: the way we gather information, the way we communicate, the whole purpose of news reporting. Early in the investigation, after several men had been arrested for burglary in the DNC office, Woodward and Bernstein were collecting names, trying to figure out who people were, what they did, how they might be connected to each other. While I watched them make phone calls, frantically trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together, I thought how much easier their task would have been if they had Google search. If they could have done searches on the names they had, they would have found out quickly the relationships these people had to Nixon administration personnel like John Dean and Chuck Colson.
In another scene, Dustin Hoffman had flown to Florida to speak with an attorney. Even though he had called ahead and made arrangements to meet with the attorney, he was left sitting in the waiting room all day while the receptionist made excuses about why the attorney couldn't see him. Finally, at the end of the day, the receptionist told him he'd have to come back tomorrow. Frustrated, Hoffman left the office. Seconds later, the phone rang, and the audience could hear what was clearly Hoffman's voice instructing the receptionist to come to another office to pick something up. When she left, Hoffman snuck in to meet with the attorney. And how much easier would all of that have been if Hoffman had had a cell phone and hadn't had to track down a phone booth?
The newsroom scenes themselves were fascinating. There were no computers on desks--only typewriters. And while there were a few women reporters in the newsroom, a meeting showing the newspaper's editors hashing out which stories would be told on what page included no women at all. I'm wondering if there are any major newspaper editorial staffs today that have no women among their editors.
It struck me how journalism itself has changed in my lifetime. Woodward and Bernstein were committed to exposing the truth--for the benefit of the nation. As they worked together, they frequently reminded each other to make sure that the conclusions they were drawing were based on the facts. They were constantly verifying their sources, making sure that what they reported was fair. But they were committed to telling the story, even when their lives were threatened and no one else even believed they had a story worth telling.
Today, journalists (with a few exceptions) aren't interested in exposing the truth; rather, they want to create the truth. There's an agenda, and only those facts that support the agenda are told. Sometimes the facts are twisted a little if they don't further the agenda. If a story doesn't promote the truth that journalists are creating, they don't tell it. An interesting example: The media ridicules the "birthers," those who are taking the issue of the president's citizenship to court, demanding to see a valid birth certificate. How ridiculous! Of course the president is a legal citizen, they say. And yet, where's the valid birth certificate? If only there were a Woodward and Bernstein team out there on this story now.
In her column last week, Peggy Noonan wrote about how, as a culture, we are losing our privacy, largely because of all the new technologies that make information about anyone available to anyone. She points out that unlike the past, today there is no place to hide:
If you, complicated little pirate that you are, find yourself caught in the middle of a big messy scandal in America right now, you can't go to another continent to hide out or ride out the storm. Earlier generations did exactly that, but you can't, because you've been on the front page of every website, the lead on every newscast. You'll be spotted in South Africa and Googled in Gdansk. Two hundred years ago, or even 100, when you got yourself in a big fat bit of trouble in Paris, you could run to the docks and take the first ship to America, arrive unknown, and start over. You changed your name, or didn't even bother. It would be years before anyone caught up with you.
She's right. And in theory, it should be much harder to commit a Watergate crime--or to engage in scandalous behavior for that matter-- today than it was back in 1972. And yet how long did it take journalists--and even then it was the National Inquirer-- to reveal that John Edwards was having an affair that resulted in the birth of his illegitimate child? It may be impossible to hide in the twenty-first century, but I get the feeling that today's journalists just aren't looking.
5/26/10
5/19/10
I Hate to Do This
To the friends who read and sometimes comment on my blog: You will notice that while I'm still accepting comments (and do leave them, please), they will no longer be published until I approve them. Unfortunately I've had some unwelcome commenters who for reasons unknown to me have selected my blog as a place to leave links to porn sites in some Asian language (Japanese, perhaps?) At any rate, I'm hoping that adding that extra step for commenters will put a stop to this grossness, and maybe soon I can remove the restriction. I do welcome comments from most of you, though, so please continue to leave them.
My Sister's Keeper
For the second time, I'm reading Jodi Picoult's My Sister's Keeper. The first time I read it for pleasure--one of those bestsellers I picked up to read on vacation. This time, I'm reading it for my book group. It isn't classic fiction, by any means. Some of the story elements seem unnecessary and a little silly (the relationship between Campbell and Julia; the fact that Julia has a lesbian sister who plays no real role in the story but meets the obligatory " at least one homosexual character per novel" requirement for fiction writers today), and the teenage characters in the story, Anna especially, seem to think far too deeply to be believable. The novel definitely has the qualities that make it fit among today's popular bestsellers--which can be a good or bad thing, depending on your perspective. But it's a compelling story, addressing some important ethical issues. And it's interesting to me personally because the story revolves around a character with leukemia, which is the disease that my first husband died from.
At the beginning of the novel, Anna, age 13, has filed a lawsuit against her parents, seeking medical emancipation. Although she has never really been sick herself she has spent a lot of time in hospitals undergoing tests and enduring surgeries, shots, and transfusions. Anna, a product of preimplantation genetic diagnosis, was conceived to be a donor for her sister Kate, who has suffered from leukemia since she was a toddler. As the story begins, Kate is facing renal failure and death, and Anna, tired of being used for "spare parts," decides she doesn't want to give Kate the kidney that will save her life. The novel traces the events surrounding the crisis through the eyes of several characters: Sara and Brian, the parents; Jesse, the oldest of the three children; Kate; and Anna.
All kinds of questions arise: Is it ethical to "bioengineer" a child to be a donor for another? Should a person of any age be forced to provide blood, marrow, organs to keep someone else alive? Is it justifiable for a mother to neglect her other children for the sake of one who is seriously--perhaps terminally--ill? How hard should we fight to stave off the inevitable--death?
It was an interesting juxtaposition the morning that I began reading this novel. I was reading while eating breakfast, and I decided to read Spurgeon's selection in Morning and Evening for that day before I began reading the novel. He was discussing the sin of idolatry, pointing out that today's golden calf is often children, and having favorites can be a source of great sin. The Lord is grieved when parents dote on their children "beyond measure." And here is a story of what happens when a parent makes an idol of a child--probably not what Picoult had in mind, and yet this is clearly the case in this novel.
This is a story of idolatry and its results: Sara, the mother and wife, has sacrificed her marriage and her other two children's well-being to the idol of Kate and keeping Kate alive at any cost. And in that quest, Sara, like many today, has no notion of children as a gift from God, something to be received with gratitude. Anna is a product of geneticists who have combined sperm and egg so that she hasn't been born a child with a unique personality and set of gifts; rather, she is a simply a donor, and her value lies in her ability to keep Kate alive with the spare parts she can provide. Anna worships the idol of identity and personal value, so much so that she is willing to let her sister die rather than provide a healthy kidney that will keep her alive.
I can't help but think of an incident from my own life when my own family was fighting this terrible enemy of leukemia. Jon had been in an all-out battle for over a year. He had endured one of the harshest chemotherapy treatments available for about six months, only to relapse. He underwent a bone marrow transplant; his donor was his sister. It was one of the most horrible days I can remember when we sat in the doctor's office in Ann Arbor, learning that the transplant had failed, and the leukemia was back. What were our options at this point? The doctor looked at Jon and said that he could try further chemo treatments, but it was doubtful they would work. And then he said, "I know you're a Christian, and I just want to remind you that for us Christians, there are worse things than dying." And we understood what he was saying, and we had to agree.
This is a novel where the worst thing is dying. There is no hope in this situation, and the characters can see only bad and worse in their efforts to stave off the worst. And that's why there can be no happy ending (it's certainly a surprise ending--but by no means happy) for My Sister's Keeper, which depicts a world without God and ethical choices that fall into only three categories: bad, worse, and worst.
At the beginning of the novel, Anna, age 13, has filed a lawsuit against her parents, seeking medical emancipation. Although she has never really been sick herself she has spent a lot of time in hospitals undergoing tests and enduring surgeries, shots, and transfusions. Anna, a product of preimplantation genetic diagnosis, was conceived to be a donor for her sister Kate, who has suffered from leukemia since she was a toddler. As the story begins, Kate is facing renal failure and death, and Anna, tired of being used for "spare parts," decides she doesn't want to give Kate the kidney that will save her life. The novel traces the events surrounding the crisis through the eyes of several characters: Sara and Brian, the parents; Jesse, the oldest of the three children; Kate; and Anna.
All kinds of questions arise: Is it ethical to "bioengineer" a child to be a donor for another? Should a person of any age be forced to provide blood, marrow, organs to keep someone else alive? Is it justifiable for a mother to neglect her other children for the sake of one who is seriously--perhaps terminally--ill? How hard should we fight to stave off the inevitable--death?
It was an interesting juxtaposition the morning that I began reading this novel. I was reading while eating breakfast, and I decided to read Spurgeon's selection in Morning and Evening for that day before I began reading the novel. He was discussing the sin of idolatry, pointing out that today's golden calf is often children, and having favorites can be a source of great sin. The Lord is grieved when parents dote on their children "beyond measure." And here is a story of what happens when a parent makes an idol of a child--probably not what Picoult had in mind, and yet this is clearly the case in this novel.
This is a story of idolatry and its results: Sara, the mother and wife, has sacrificed her marriage and her other two children's well-being to the idol of Kate and keeping Kate alive at any cost. And in that quest, Sara, like many today, has no notion of children as a gift from God, something to be received with gratitude. Anna is a product of geneticists who have combined sperm and egg so that she hasn't been born a child with a unique personality and set of gifts; rather, she is a simply a donor, and her value lies in her ability to keep Kate alive with the spare parts she can provide. Anna worships the idol of identity and personal value, so much so that she is willing to let her sister die rather than provide a healthy kidney that will keep her alive.
I can't help but think of an incident from my own life when my own family was fighting this terrible enemy of leukemia. Jon had been in an all-out battle for over a year. He had endured one of the harshest chemotherapy treatments available for about six months, only to relapse. He underwent a bone marrow transplant; his donor was his sister. It was one of the most horrible days I can remember when we sat in the doctor's office in Ann Arbor, learning that the transplant had failed, and the leukemia was back. What were our options at this point? The doctor looked at Jon and said that he could try further chemo treatments, but it was doubtful they would work. And then he said, "I know you're a Christian, and I just want to remind you that for us Christians, there are worse things than dying." And we understood what he was saying, and we had to agree.
This is a novel where the worst thing is dying. There is no hope in this situation, and the characters can see only bad and worse in their efforts to stave off the worst. And that's why there can be no happy ending (it's certainly a surprise ending--but by no means happy) for My Sister's Keeper, which depicts a world without God and ethical choices that fall into only three categories: bad, worse, and worst.
5/5/10
Prompt Generator
I was checking out a list of great resources for writers, and I found a couple of links to Web sites with writing prompts. Both of the sites that are included in the list are aimed toward student writing assignments, and I especially like this one, which generates somewhat random suggestions for things to write about until you find one that you like. (Homeschooling parents--this is your curriculum resource tip of the week, by the way.) So since I really don't have anything particular that I feel I need to write about at the moment, I used the prompt generator and came up with this: "If I were the president of the USA, this is what I would do." Here's my response.
If I were the president of the United States, I would recognize, after a year and a half in office, that I was incredibly under-qualified and inexperienced and was doing a miserable job. I would pay attention to the numerous polls being conducted that show my approval ratings below fifty percent and recognize that my employers--the American people--were dissatisfied with my job performance. I would want to do better and I would start working to improve.
I'd remind myself of all the promises I made during my campaign and acknowledge that many were uninformed and many impossible to fulfill and that I'd simply made them to get votes with no intention of following through. I'd apologize to the American people, and especially my supporters, for being so reckless in making promises that I either never intended to keep or suspected would be impossible to keep.
I'd set aside my own self-serving agenda and put America's best interests first. I'd study history to see which president's policies had worked in the past to strengthen the economy and to make America militarily strong. I'd start with Ronald Reagan.
I'd quit appointing friends, novices, and flatterers to advisory posts and start appointing experts, people with proven success in the fields they were appointed to. I might not always like what they had to say, but I'd respect their judgment and seriously consider implementing their proposals because I'd realize that, after all, they are the experts, not me.
I'd put to rest for once and for all the issue of my citizenship. I'd produce a birth certificate that proves I'm an American citizen. Or, alternatively, I'd admit that I wasn't actually an American citizen and resign from the presidency.
I'd stop smoking to set an example for America's youth.
I'd find someone to coach me so that I could conduct myself in the office of president with more dignity, respecting protocol and tradition where necessary. I'd learn better public speaking skills and get rid of the teleprompter. I'd start using proper grammar when I spoke publicly.
I'd stop wasting energy blaming others for America's problems and own the responsibility and trust that was placed in me by the voters.
I'd stop coddling dictators and tyrants and start dealing reasonably with America's longstanding allies.
You know what? All of this would be a pride-sucking, humiliating exercise in admitting that I am wrong and that the voters who elected me made a horrific mistake that we're all going to have to live with for four years at least. So I think that if I were the president of the United States, I would just resign.
If I were the president of the United States, I would recognize, after a year and a half in office, that I was incredibly under-qualified and inexperienced and was doing a miserable job. I would pay attention to the numerous polls being conducted that show my approval ratings below fifty percent and recognize that my employers--the American people--were dissatisfied with my job performance. I would want to do better and I would start working to improve.
I'd remind myself of all the promises I made during my campaign and acknowledge that many were uninformed and many impossible to fulfill and that I'd simply made them to get votes with no intention of following through. I'd apologize to the American people, and especially my supporters, for being so reckless in making promises that I either never intended to keep or suspected would be impossible to keep.
I'd set aside my own self-serving agenda and put America's best interests first. I'd study history to see which president's policies had worked in the past to strengthen the economy and to make America militarily strong. I'd start with Ronald Reagan.
I'd quit appointing friends, novices, and flatterers to advisory posts and start appointing experts, people with proven success in the fields they were appointed to. I might not always like what they had to say, but I'd respect their judgment and seriously consider implementing their proposals because I'd realize that, after all, they are the experts, not me.
I'd put to rest for once and for all the issue of my citizenship. I'd produce a birth certificate that proves I'm an American citizen. Or, alternatively, I'd admit that I wasn't actually an American citizen and resign from the presidency.
I'd stop smoking to set an example for America's youth.
I'd find someone to coach me so that I could conduct myself in the office of president with more dignity, respecting protocol and tradition where necessary. I'd learn better public speaking skills and get rid of the teleprompter. I'd start using proper grammar when I spoke publicly.
I'd stop wasting energy blaming others for America's problems and own the responsibility and trust that was placed in me by the voters.
I'd stop coddling dictators and tyrants and start dealing reasonably with America's longstanding allies.
You know what? All of this would be a pride-sucking, humiliating exercise in admitting that I am wrong and that the voters who elected me made a horrific mistake that we're all going to have to live with for four years at least. So I think that if I were the president of the United States, I would just resign.
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