The “Old” vs. “New” Media Debate

Jay Rosen does his best at mediating it. First, the things that “disaffected newsroom ‘traditionalists'” get right:

You cannot cut your way to the future. The term “content” is a barbarism that bit by bit devalues what journalists do. Pure aggregation is parasitic on original reporting. Untended, online comment sections have become sewers, protectorates for the deranged, depraved and deluded. That we have fewer eyes on power, fewer journalists at the capital or city hall watching what goes on, almost guarantees that there will be more corruption. Bloggers and citizen journalists cannot fill the gap.

I agree, unless we can find an economic model that can build up blogs’ staffs so they can begin to hire reporters. Then we may be onto something. That’s one of our long term goals here at the Dish –  but we can only get there if you become a member and help. The subscribe button – hint, hint – is at the top right hand corner of the page.  But the “traditionalists” get a lot of things wrong, too:

Listening to demand is smart journalism, so is giving people what they have no way to demand because they don’t know about it yet. If you are good at one, the other goes better. “Do what you do best and link to the rest” isn’t a slogan, it’s your only hope for comprehensive coverage. … In the aggregate, the users know more than you do about most things. They are in many more places than you can be. They also help distribute your stuff. Therefore talking with them is basic to your job.

The latter seems under-valued to me – and partly because of comments sections’ signal to noise ratio. Hence our decision to spend a great deal of time and attention on our email in-tray, and to integrate your knowledge of the world into the Dish’s content.

Happy Meals, Ctd

Timothy Noah and Vaughan Bell recently debated the “emotional labor” of food service. Sarah Jaffe believes women have it worst since they’re expected not only to smile, but flirt and tease:

I spent years as a waitress—in high school, then college, then as a struggling freelance writer—in that time I received pats on the ass, scribbled phone numbers in lieu of tips, and many, many personal questions I’d have preferred not to answer. Requiring feigned intimacy on the part of the worker allows the customer to ignore normal boundaries and pretend that a smile is an invitation to cross. Like the Pret workers, one of my bosses hired secret shoppers to make sure that servers went the extra mile; we were downgraded for not thanking our customers by the names we mispronounced off their credit cards. Not only our tips—which were our livelihoods, seeing as we only made $2.13 an hour, the legal minimum for tipped restaurant workers that hasn’t changed in 22 years—but our jobs were at stake if we didn’t smile hard enough.

A reader adds:

I read this about an hour after my performance review at work.

Included in the review is an anonymous survey of my co-workers.

I scored 100% “excellent” or “good” in the category of “Courteous.”

“Well,” I said to my boss, “I’m glad to see I’m not rude to people!”

“You’d be surprised,” he said.

Now, I am a university technology analyst. I have near zero customer interaction in the regular course of business. There are times when I want to scream epithets at my co-workers for their demands, expectations, and requests. But I have this notion that “well served” is how I want people to feel when working with me, and that this is likely highly correlated with my future employment and success here. So I keep the epithets to myself.

Is this really all that much to ask at the sandwich shop?

I don’t really see why not. And, as all fans of Fawlty Towers know, you can always go to Britain if you want freedom from the oppression of being nice to customers:

Hitch And Sully: Is Religion Fossilized Philosophy?

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The night’s discussion between me and Hitchens several years’ back (see here for context) continues:

H: One can’t be neutral about religion. One can’t just say it’s wrong — one has to say it’s a wicked thing to desire. I mean, why would anyone want it to be true that one was subject to permanent round-the-clock supervision, surveillance, and possibly even intervention, all of one’s waking and sleeping life? And one couldn’t escape it by dying.

It’s worse than any kind of totalitarianism; it means you’re absolutely held as property, that you have no autonomy, that you throw yourself permanently on the mercy of somebody. That is the description of the servile condition; that’s why both Islam and Christianity were both perfectly adapted, and still are in many ways, to feudalism or absolute monarchy, which of course is one of feudalism’s counterparts.

A: But the kind of Christianity that Jefferson espoused—

H: He had no Christianity.

A: Well, he constructed his own Bible.

H: Yes, but only by snipping out, or razoring out, every single supernatural or immoral claim. It left him with, as you know, a very slender volume. And even that he didn’t dare to publish. And I think that if he had been in a position where he did dare to publish – and this is after his retirement from public life – if he felt free to say what he freely thought, I’m confident that he would’ve been at the least, or most, a deist. No more than. Certainly not a subscriber to any one monotheism. And in his braver moments, I think it’s very clear from his correspondence and his reflections that he’d had the experience of being an unbeliever and had not been able to forget it.

A: But a lot of people of faith have had that experience.

H: Of unbelief? Of course. There’s a famous prayer, “Lord, I believe, help thou my unbelief.” It’s an old paradox, in this case a Christian one.

A: There’s also this, that if you strip religion of dogma, i.e. its big empirical truth claims…If one understands mystery to be the core of it — in other words that one is worshipping something one cannot understand, which requires a certain letting go of it — its best expression is something like ritual. Wordless. Then it’s reconciliation to immortality.

H: Then you end up where Simon Blackburn — a professor of philosophy at Cambridge, author of a very good recent study of Plato. He puts it: religion is fossilized philosophy, it’s philosophy with the questioning left out. It’s something that becomes instated and no longer subjected to any further philosophical inquiry. Well, why would that be, from any point of view, a desirable thing?

A: No, because philosophy doesn’t help you live.

H: It’s the only thing that helps one live.

The reflection on why — well, philosophy’s three main reflections or questions are 1) why are we here , 2) what would be justice? and 3) what, if we can answer those two questions, would be a just city or just republic? One can be a philosopher and maintain that those are imponderables…

A: And may also say that discussing them and understanding them does not make it easier to live.

H: By no means, but it’s not supposed to be.

A: No, it’s not supposed to be, its goal is its own sake.

H: Religion’s is to make it easy.

A: Religion is the practical impulse, it is how do we live, how do we get through the day knowing that we could die tomorrow, knowing that we are mortally—

H: But how does the belief that Jesus was born of a virgin help you to do that?

A: That particular belief may not.

H: I would say cannot. It obscures the view of the question. It negates questioning because it depends upon certainty and upon acceptance of unbelievable evidence with no reasoning. It’s a corruption of the whole idea of having a mental process or an inquiring mind.

A: No, it’s a recognition that at some point there are some things that are beyond our understanding and an acceptance of that. And there is a content to that acceptance that can vary from faith to faith.

H: Well now you remind me of what Dr. Johnson said to somebody, I forget who it was, who said, “well I’m willing to admit the existence of the external world,” and Johnson said, “Well you’d better!” For someone to say, “yes, I accept that there are some things that can’t be known or accept that some things are impossible to know” — yeah, well they should! What choice do they have? The choice they have offered by religion is not to accept, and to say, “No, actually, we know. We know there was a creation moment. We know why it was, we know what was intended by it. We know that its reigning deity knows what we should eat, how we should mutilate our genitalia…”

A: It can be. But there are differences in degree and kind in religious experience. The kind of thing you’re talking about I would understand as a fundamentalist version of religion. But I absolutely refuse to believe that is the only form of religion imaginable, or the only form of religion that actually exists, or the only form of Christianity that exists.

To be continued.

(Photo: Manganese oxide dendrites on a limestone bedding plane from Solnhofen, Germany. Via Wiki).

400 – 175 For Marriage Equality In Britain

Parliament Set To Vote On The Government's Contentious Gay Marriage Bill

That was the lop-sided majority in the House of Commons today. The debate allowed for a free vote, meaning no partisan pressure or whip. How civilized – not to turn a question of conscience and prudence into a wedge electoral issue as Karl Rove cynically did in 2004. And it was a largely civil affair that went on for five hours:

Sir Tony Baldry, Tory MP for Banbury, and also Second Church Estates Commissioner, spoke respectfully against the bill. “I am confident that we are all created in the image of God, whether we be straight, gay, bisexual or transsexual. We’re all equally worthy in God’s sight, and equally loved by God, and I’m also sure that we are, and should be, equally welcome at God’s table. But equalness does not always equate with being the same.”

Some speeches were deeply personal. Mike Freer, Tory MP for Finchley and Golders Green, said entering his civil partnership had been the proudest day of his life: “It was our way of saying to my friends and my family, ‘This is who I love, this is who I am, this is who I wish to spend the rest of my life with’.” But he wanted the right to marry, too. “I’m not asking for special treatment. I’m asking for equal treatment.”

Notice the vital presence of openly gay Tory MPs. The bill now goes to the House of Lords, where it will face some resistance – but the fact that the margin was so decisive in the House and that all three party leaders back the measure – means that the UK remains poised to join the many countries and states that allow gay people full and equal citizenship. One Tory MP, Margot James, raised the specter of the US GOP in a warning against Conservative MPs who were opposed:

“I believe my party should never flinch from the requirement that we must continue this progression, otherwise we may end up like the Republican party who lost an election last year that they could have won were it not for their socially conservative agenda.”

It got personal at times:

Stephen Timms, the shadow employment minister, was interrupted by his Labour colleague Lyn Brown when he said that the bill would undermine the central basis for marriage – raising children. Brown, 52, said: “[He] was at my wedding and I was not young when I got married. It was highly unlikely that I was going to be able to, after all that time, procreate. Is he telling me that my marriage is less valid than anybody else’s?”

Timms said: “No, I certainly am not and I was delighted to attend [her] wedding…Children are the reason marriage has always been so important. If it was purely about a loving relationship between two people then it would have been much less important than it has actually been.”

The Tories disappointingly split – with a narrow margin against the bill:

The result meant that the prime minister, who won the support of an estimated 126 Conservative MPs, failed to win over half of his 303 MPs.

Cameron seems to have screwed up the politics of this:

A promised statement by the prime minister was hurriedly recorded for television cameras late on Tuesday afternoon four hours after Maria Miller, the equalities minister, had opened the debate.

One reformer said: “The prime minister couldn’t even be bothered to turn up in the chamber. That is so fucking rude. This will have a corrosive effect. The politics around this have been so bad.” … Tory modernisers were horrified by the speeches by opponents of reform. One minister said: “Yes we can confidently say that the Tory party is divided – and divided right down the middle on this one. And with the help of four or five speeches we have been taken back more than 50 years to the horrors of the 1950s.”

Well, as George Will recently pointed out, those who still harbor the attitudes of the 1950s are literally dying. And this was a momentous day. In the 1950s they were still injecting one of the greatest English minds of all time, Alan Turing, with hormones to cure him of himself. Now, gay Brits will soon have the fundamental non-negotiable right to marry the person they love; and if that person is an American, even live together in the UK. One day, maybe America, where this whole question was kick-started, will catch up. And so will the GOP.

Sully And Hitch After Dark: God And Coffee

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A while back – by which I mean several years ago now – I thought it would be a cool idea to do some post-prandial chats with some of my favorite people. It occurred to me that the best conversations I ever heard in Washington never happened on television or radio. They were always way off the record. But they might occur, I suspected, if we just attached microphones to ourselves, had a bottle of wine or two and just riffed. And who else to start with but Hitch? Alas, the audio was not good enough, we had one big microphone in Christopher’s cavernous dining room, and so our long early morning conversation about God and Iraq and death never got further than my iTunes album.

Until I came across it the other day, realized I had an intern and asked him to transcribe it. It was more coherent than I recall. And I wasn’t as demolished by Hitch’s brain as thoroughly as it felt at the time. Or maybe I’m deluding myself. But see for yourself. I’m going to publish it in manageable excerpts or long posts over the next couple of weeks, before we find a permanent place for it on the Dish. If you want to read it all at once, I’d wait for the full transcript. But for those who prefer reading in shorter, bloggier clips, here’s the first part.

A: That is some strong coffee.

H: You prefer weaker?

A: No, no, I should have some wine as well, or else I’ll be all jacked up.

H: Of course! What color would you like?

A: I’ll have some of this, if this is okay, I’ll just get a glass.

H: Sure.

A: My dissertation, basically, was about [Oakeshott’s] theory of practice. And there were hints and guesses in his early work and his very later work that he viewed religion as a part of practical life—it was philosophy which was the beyond, but religion was actually a way of living in the world.

H: Yes.

A: It was a way of overcoming the “deadliness of doing,” as he put it, and it enables you to have some sublime acquiescence to it. So I read for my dissertation everything he’d ever written. And my fifth chapter I hadn’t written when I went to see him, because I wanted the fifth chapter to be on religion. And this is why this conference is so exciting to me [I was about to attend a conference on Oakeshott’s thought], because almost everything — a lot of what they’ve discovered since he died—is about religion. He just didn’t publish it.

H: Oh, I’d be very interested to know about this.

A: But the reason you reminded me of him was because I said to him—it’s a very difficult subject to bring up with somebody—I said, “you seem to talk of Christianity as one of the critical elements of Western civilization.” He was a big fan of Augustine, hugely interested in and influenced by Augustine. And he said, “Well, my problem with Christianity has always been salvation. After all, who would want to be saved?”

H: Well, that’s very much like [Gotthold Ephraim] Lessing.

A: Right. Yes, exactly.

H: It’s also like being of the devil’s party, all of these things. I mean, what puts one off is the thought that it could be true, which I think is, in a way, the final condemnation of religion. When people contemplate its victory, they can’t stand it; it’s much better as a private consolation or faith against the material world and its misery.

A: That is what Oakeshott’s understanding is.

H: It’s also what Daniel Dennett is effectively saying, is that it has its utility and can’t possibly die out, let alone be repressed. But that the real, the actual claims it makes as a church are not just false but sinister, really.

A: I think that what [Oakeshott] would say, and what I would say, is that what’s sinister is the deployment of dogma as certainty. If one takes Lessing and Oakeshott’s view of Christianity, which is ultimately that God is unknowable—

H: Then don’t pretend to know.

A: Then we cannot know. Or, what we can know, we will hold with a certain humility and provisionality. I mean, one can know, for example, that the Gospels exist and that they represented a human being whose life can be either honored or dishonored.

H: But the further implication of this is that if you admit or concede or even claim that it’s unknowable, then the first group to be eliminated from the argument are those who claim to know.

A: Yes.

H: Because they must be wrong.

A: Yes.

H: Well, that lets off quite a lot of people at the first floor of the argument, long before the elevator has started moving upwards, or downwards. Those who say they know, and can say they know it well enough, what God wants you to eat or whom he wants you to sleep with — they must be wrong.

A: That is proof itself that they are wrong.

H: Yes. As well as being impossibly arrogant, coming in the disguise of modesty, humility, simplicity. “Ah, I’m just a humble person doing God’s work.” No, excuse me, you must be either humble or doing God’s work. You can’t know what God’s work would be, don’t try your modesty on me. And once one’s made that elimination, then everything else becomes more or less simple. My problem only begins there.

A: But it’s still a religion.

H: Or maybe a faith or a cult.

A: Yeah, faith.

H: But my problem begins only when that’s out of the argument and we agree that’s nonsense.

A: That is nonsense.

To be continued …

The View From Your Window Contest: Winner #139

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Before we get to the results, this week is a good opportunity to tell new readers about The View From Your Window Game, a brilliant little site created by a Dish reader, Llewellyn Hinkes, that lets you guess the location of contest windows from our archive. To play, you simply zoom in on a global grid square by square until you select the square containing the location of the city. Just check it out to see what I mean. It’s really simple and elegant (and addictive). The VFYW Game has been updated since it was first released a few years ago, so check it out even if you’ve already seen it before. Llewellyn is going to allow us to update the site with every single contest window in the archive, including the current window being contested, so the game will have a permanent place in our weekly results. On to this week’s results:

The architecture, the red sandstone, the deciduous woods on the lower slopes, the snow on the ground: my guess would be somewhere in the southwestern quarter of Mitteleuropa, possibly the Vosges hills of Alsace or the Black Forest in Germany. A very broad-brush guess, I know.

Another:

That picture reminds me of Sweden, as I was just there in December. Dark, dark, dark.

Another:

Easy, pretty sure it’s overlooking the law school in the old city of Salzburg, Austria.  That’s probably the monk’s mountain behind it.

Another:

This looks very much like a view of the old stables/garage area at the Biltmore House in Asheville, North Carolina.  But  you wouldn’t use something so many tourists had been to, would you? So it must be the back side of Downton Abbey.

Another:

Having just visited Vermont for a ski trip, this very much resembles the rolling, forested hills that line both sides of Route 4 as you approach the Killington Mountain Ski Resoirt. I suspect it may be somewhere in either Woodstock or Bridgewater, as you traverse the snaking Ottaquechee River. The felled trees in the background also suggest that this is the same part of Vermont that experienced substantial damage in August of 2011 from Hurricane Irene, which resulted in major flooding in that area of the state.  Nonetheless, Woodstock, VT is my guess.

Another:

Roncesvalles, Navarre, Spain? A blind guess, based on a blurry, possibly fictional image I have in my head from visiting years ago. It’s an incredibly dull town that happens to be historically and religiously notable. If I had to guess, I’d say that the photo is taken from the huge, soulless hostel building in the centre of the town.

Another:

Vaslui, Romania? To commemorate St. Stephen’s victory over the Ottoman Empire in 1475??

Another:

I’ve been reading your blog since the dawn of man (seriously, since it dawned on this man Sullivan to write a blog) and I have written you on numerous occasions. I have never submitted a VFYW guess. I do not have the patience to do more than guess a hemisphere. (Funny though, I did submit a VFYW photo which you made a contest a couple years ago… Casablanca.)

Well, today I saw that and thought, Ifrane, Morocco!  I lived in Germany for many years and it looked like that, but then I remembered a trip last year to Ifrane, which looks like a little French town of chalets. I thought, “I wouldn’t put it past them to do something so mean.” Well, I googled-earthed it and spent 60 long miserable minutes trying to figure it out. I can’t find anything that looks like that building. I give up. I have no patience. So I’m sticking with freaking Ifrane, Morocco.

The reader is going to kick himself when he sees the correct answer:

Clervaux, Luxembourg? I am from Luxembourg and this picture could have been taken in the north of the country, where there are many small but picturesque villages in narrow dales. Architecture and neatness would fit as well.

Getting close. Another:

That’s obviously Bavaria.  We were kicking ourselves for not at least throwing out a guess on the Vietnam window.  We both thought it was Vietnam but couldn’t get anywhere on city so we gave up.  Never again!  In all seriousness, I have no idea where this is (and I don’t think my husband does either …).

The photo is indeed from Germany. Another:

Long time reader, first-time contestant who just subscribed (congrats on the new model.)  I am not one of your readers who ever does the Google map search thing. The only reason I was moved to enter this time is because the View was so evocative of the visit I made to the Dachau concentration camp site about 30 years ago.

On a much brighter note:

The VFYW this week is definitely European.  It looks like the sun has just risen and given the time the photo was taken, that would mean it’s somewhere in Northern Europe.  I’m going with Northern Germany.  No idea where, but I’ll say somewhere near Lubeck.

Now that I’ve answered, I have a request.  I turn 40 today and to balance the side effects of turning the big 4-0 I’ve created a list of 40 mini challenges to accomplish this year – emphasis on the word “mini” –seeing as I’m a mother of toddler twin boys, work part time, have a husband and two big dogs. In other words I have no real free time to take on lots of new and literally challenging adventures.

One of my forty “challenges” is to get the city right in one of the VFYW contests this year.  (And to go along with the forty motif I’ve paid a subscription of $40 to The Dish.)  I’ve actually got the house/street number right twice in the past (Budapest and Cork), but thought aiming to get that specific in future might be a bit unrealistic.  So I’m asking if at some point over the next year you could have a couple of easy contests – ones where us normal people can stand a chance of getting it right, ones for people who can’t spend their whole weekend googling images and map, ones for people with lives outside the internet.  Because if you don’t have an easy one then I won’t be able to achieve my challenge and that would just be very disappointing….

Thanks! (40 times over)

No need for this reader to wait for an easier contest; she wins this week. No one guessed the exact city – Sinzig, Germany – and her guess of Lubeck was the closest German city to Sinzig. From the reader who submitted the photo:

In case anyone gets close on this one, here are the details.  The photo was taken at Schloss Ahrenthal, a castle which has been converted into a business conference center.  It’s about 3 km south of town on the L82, a road for which there is no StreetView – not that that would help, because Streetview from that narrow highway would probably only see the facing wall of the courtyard. Anyway, the view is from the third window from the right on the second floor, from the room called “Wolf”.  All the rooms are named after forest creatures and birds. The view below is pretty much from the opposite angle:

06-02 Exterieur

I was there as faculty for a training my firm gives new hires.  (Nice gig!)  This is the second time you’ve used a picture of mine taken when I was on a business trip; the first one was the back of the Orlando conference center at sunrise.  I guess I’ll keep them coming!

Please do.

(Archive)

How To Create Actual Change

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LQbM4bb6Zpk

After watching How To Survive A Plague, Josh Barro identifies why ACT UP was so successful:

ACT UP activists weren’t just angry about national apathy and inaction on AIDS; they also had specific demands and constructive ideas about how the government and drug companies could do better. Unlike a lot of protest movements, once they got to the stage where the targets of their protests said, “I’m listening. What do you want me to do?” they had concrete answers.

A few things you see ACT UP demanding (and getting) in the movie are: hospital policies that don’t discriminate against AIDS patients; more funding for AIDS research; lower prices for AZT, the first effective anti-AIDS drug; a faster drug approval process, recognizing that 10 years of effectiveness trials didn’t serve the interests of people on the verge of death; and allowing HIV- positive people not enrolled in drug trials to take experimental drugs at their own risk, the so-called parallel track.

Yes, but this somewhat distorts one of the key nuances and virtues of the movie (my review here).

There were two sides to ACT-UP: the drama-laden, spectacle-creating, brilliant rage-filled actions against an indifferent government versus the pragmatic, step-by-step laser-sharp emphasis on actually creating change in the ways Josh describes. The latter group became Treatment Action Group or TAG. The film exposes these rifts – rather subtly (which makes it much more interesting than agit-prop. At the time I feared the over-the-top dramatics could undercut our message; in retrospect, not so much – especially since those protests and the expression of that anger helped keep people alive. But it was the meticulous grasp of the science, the trial process, the FDA and the NIH that really helped accelerate the process and organize it. That was done by often maligned young white males – like Harrington and Staley and Gonzales – and it made a real difference.

What we sometimes forget, however, is that there never was some miracle drug the government had that was somehow being withheld. There never was a chance to launch a Manhattan Project against a retrovirus that had not even been identified when so many started to die. No one had ever stopped a retrovirus in human history before – and HIV remains the only one. This meant really hard research, using fast-accelerating technology to bring about a revolution in treatment and quality of life.

In retrospect, as the film demonstrates, the first wave of anger was totally unjustified and completely pointless. The science simply wasn’t there – and science takes time. The second wave of anger combined with relentless engagement with the drug companies and FDA was what made a difference. Yes; make a stink. But also: be ready to take yes for an answer, to leave grudges behind, to focus almost manically on the prize and do your best to ignore everything else. Not easy. But by some strange alchemy – and the courage that comes out of terror – it was accomplished. Or else that last sentence would never have been written and this blog would not exist.

The New Dish: Your Thoughts

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Yes. My brother also kindly pointed that out to me on the phone yesterday. A reader writes:

Congratulations on the new site! Clean, simple, requisite beagle presence – everything the Internet should be. I have to say I’m shocked at how unusual it is not to see any ads or large blocks of white-space from ad-blocking software! It feels a bit weird, like the site is too perfectly formed. My brain is just so used to tuning out extraneous garbage. It certainly was worth the subscription! Thanks for all your hard work!

As another puts it, “Your site is a perfect visual equivalent to your brand of conservatism: clean, straightforward, and keeping the best of the old without the clutter.” Another asks:

Remember when you had a darker background? Can we have that as an option again?

The new Dish has an echo of that old color. To see it, just highlight any of blog’s text. And for a fun effect, press Command-A (or Ctrl-A on PCs). It’s back to 2001! Another reader notes the faster page-load speed:

Congratulations!  Love the new space!  As this is the site I refresh most frequently, not having it suck my browser resources to load ads and busy cross-promotional sidebars is more than worth whatever it was I paid.

Another:

A mobile optimized site! Can it really be?? This alone is worth the subscription price.

Another adds, “Finally, I can read you on Android!” Another:

Among my favorite new features is your kick-ass search.  I’ve been looking for this post about Lem Billings for ages, and searching on Google had always been fruitless.  Found it using your new search engine in a few seconds (“jfk gay” was my query; was always struck by that passage you quoted by his friend Lem Billings and your little homily to friendship at the end).

Another:

The baying beagle representing the ‘I’ in Dish is wonderful.  The beagle has long been the Dish’s mascot, but intended or not, I can’t think of an animal more suited to represent Andrew than one howling at the moon.  Is he gobsmacked by the rehashing of a flight from Texas to Alaska?  Ranting about circumcision? Prickling at a perceived slight elsewhere in the blogosphere?  Singing along to the PSBs?  Perhaps he just needs a few ginger snaps.

About that seemingly spartan masthead.  I have an idea to kill a few birds with one stone.  You have the space in that masthead (or perhaps prominently atop the sidebar) to embed the week’s VFYW contest.  Just slap the window view up there with a link.  This would make it a much easier post to return to in case we wish to research it in multiple sessions, and as you’ve already decided the answer to the contest would be a coercion tactic to sign up members, it would make for a subtle subscription drive as well.  I can’t help but think that the weekly window view teasing me in the corner will bring me back for another round of futile sleuthing.

A great idea; we will probably give the window contest a permanent presence in the sidebar. But I love all that white space on top. Looks like freedom to my eyes. Alas, the ginger snaps disappeared with the gluten-free regimen. I only liked the Nabisco version and they’re never gonna be gluten-free. Now for the criticisms:

Were you not wearing your glasses when you proofed the design!? Turn down the font size! It looks like one of my father’s ebooks.

I think we got an equal amount of emails asking us to increase the type-font. We’ll revisit it after our eyes get used to the new, spacier design. Another:

I like the new look and I think, god, I can only pray, that my iPad crashes on the site were caused by the Javascript stubs on the ads. I have to give it a workout, but I hope they were the problem of my crashes. But as a retired IT project manager, congrats on what appears to be a successful migration. I’ve done several of these things and your last minute frenzy is typical. You can imagine what it would take to bring a whole company of several thousand people over to a new system. Glad I was able to contribute to a subscription to make this happen.

The new site and mobile versions have had a variety of glitches since Monday morning, but things have gone smoothly for the most part. Chas, Chris and the Tinypass team have been working all day to answer your questions and troubleshoot any difficulties. You can reach them at support@andrewsullivan.com. One technical issue we are on top of:

My office network blocks access to your new site because it is tagged as a social networking site.  I imagine others may have similar problems with corporate networks that block access to social networks. I don’t know how that tagging is determined, but I had the same problem when you were first hosted at the Beast.

We are already in process of correcting this. Another reader:

There should be an “email the Dish about this post” link at the bottom of each post, alongside the Twitter and Facebook buttons. I’ve emailed you only a couple times, but here’s what I’ve gone through each time: copy the post URL, scroll around until finding the “email Andrew” link, paste the URL into the email window … That’s pretty inconvenient, and frustrating in its petty way. I’m sure other readers have experienced this small frustration.

We initially left off an email button in order to cut down on clutter and page-load speed, but many readers have suggested bringing it back, so we will. Very soon. More constructive criticism from a reader:

Congratulations on getting it up and running! As a web developer, believe me when I say I understand what a Herculean task that can be, regardless of how prepared you are. Anyway, new site looks different and will take some getting used to, but I did want to suggest that you increase the contrast between the post and the background space, and that you add some noise to your page header/masthead. Right now the whole page comes off as way too white. It looks more like an 8th grade book report than a professional web publication. Some borders or texturing might help too.

Signing in was easy and straightforward, hopefully your other subscribers have the same experience. And whoever your artist is, the new graphics are fantastic – especially the cartoon versions of Chris and Patrick. Happy to see them out from behind the curtain!

Our cartoonist is the brilliant Terry Colon, whose work we are going to feature in an upcoming post soon. Another reader:

Just subscribed today. I hope that a lot of people were like me and waiting to see the makeup and look of the new site (which is great), and you’ll get a raft of money coming in this week. Just wanted to say that I never pay for or subscribe to any sites like this, ever – until yours. Unprecedented behavior on my part. Thanks for helping me surprise myself.

A reader who subscribed on January 2nd:

Do you not understand that many readers will want to donate a small amount RIGHT NOW when they read something that they particularly like? Where is the option to do so? You’re apparently still caught up in old-media payment models, where subscribers pay for a set amount of access time. This is fine, but many people will ALSO want to vote with their wallets for stuff they like. So far, that’s just not possible on the new Dish, and so you’re leaving money on the table.

We are trying to stay away from the tip jar model, but the Dish is currently developing a gifting option through Tinypass where you will be able to buy subscriptions for friends and family. We are hoping to launch it soon. Another writes:

I’ll admit, I was hesitant to join the club. I’m a generally frugal college student mindful of a budget and was initially planning on consuming my daily Dish the way I’ve always done once the meter hit: my trusty Google Reader. But that plan went out the window this morning.

Browsing through the Dish’s feed on my Google Reader, I saw that the favicon had changed to the WordPress “W” (maybe someone should get on that…). I was curious to see what the new site looked like, so I hopped over to dish.andrewsullivan.com and knew what I had to do. It was time to subscribe.

Clean lines, good typography, no ads, snappy response for an initial build, focus on the words and visuals – this is what an online experience is meant to be. You know how drinking a Coke from a glass bottle just tastes better? Sometimes I think that blogs are meant to be consumed the same way: in their original environment. I normally use an app like Reeder to read my RSS feeds, but who knows now… things can change.

One of my favorite things about The Dish is its community, carefully led by its awesome team. I’ve always been really interested in different ways of defining a community. You can have communities of place, where people are brought together by where they live, work or visit. There are also communities of interest, which are collections of people knitted together by similar interests or passions. One of my favorites is the idea of a community of memory, where the people have not only a shared history, but a shared sense of what they want to see in the future. The Dish is all of these, through and through.

I’ve been part of this “community” for years now. When I first got interested in politics, volunteering for a young senator from Illinois before I could vote, I voraciously read anything that was worth reading. As I’ve grown, the Dish has been a constant as I try to pull my dreams of a brighter future to present. Part of the reason why I subscribed was that I wanted to take a more active role in trying to shape the Dish’s conversation on how to do that (and have a little fun, too).

So take my $21, my current age. Ideally, that number will climb upwards as I continue to be part of the Dish community in the years to come. So here’s to more reasoned debate, links from reddit, beautiful videos and lively conversation.

You can join the Dish now by clicking the red subscribe button in the upper-right corner of the blog. The next few days are crucial to convert some of you fence-sitters to supporters, since the seven free read-ons are running out for some. If that’s you, you’ve been kinda busted already as a Dishhead. Please help us keep you part of this community.

(Photos provided by readers)

Will Netflix Originals Pay Off? Ctd

Tim Wu thinks that that House Of Cards “a typical product of our current golden age of television—dark, expertly directed and acted, and about five times better than the average Hollywood film”:

An Internet firm like Netflix producing first-rate content takes us across a psychological line. If Netflix succeeds as a producer, other companies will follow and start taking market share. Maybe Amazon will go beyond its tentative investments and throw a hundred million at a different A-list series, or maybe Hulu will expand its ambitions for original content, or maybe the next great show will come from someone with a YouTube channel. When that happens, the baton passes, and empire falls—and we will see the first fundamental change in the home-entertainment paradigm in decades.

How Yglesias understands Netflix’s investment in the series:

The thing is, House of Cards isn’t a gimmick to lure in new Netflix subscribers. After all, the people who are most interested in the show likely already have a Netflix subscription or know someone who does. What’s more, while I liked the show enough to watch 12 episodes over the course of two days, it’s not nearly good enough to be a reason all its own to become a Netflix subscriber. The show, then, is a sunk investment that Netflix is making in the hope that it will prop up its new brand identity and gain experience.

Earlier Dish on Netflix’s experiment here.

Nostra Maxima Culpa

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[Re-posted from earlier today.]

Alex Gibney’s new documentary on the child-rape epidemic in the Catholic Church that raged for decades (and maybe centuries), Mea Maxima Culpa, debuted tonight on HBO. I’ve watched it twice. It is both an inspiring testament to faith and truth – as well as a devastating indictment of pride, power, and lies. The former come from four boys who attended St John’s School for the Deaf in Milwaukee in the 1970s. The latter comes from the Vatican and everyone in its power structure then and ever since. It really is a story about how the real church finally stood up to a hierarchy that has betrayed us and committed crimes of such gravity and magnitude they beggar belief.

The story begins as long ago as 1974 when four boys put fliers on the windshields of the cars in the parking lot of the church run by the man who raped them. They simply said “Wanted” with the priest’s name (the more explicit flyer in the video above came later). Instead of being listened to, the kids were disciplined. Eventually, in Murphy’s psychiatric record, Gibney finds Father Lawrence Murphy confessing to raping over 200 boys over a long period of time. He raped them in their dorm rooms; he raped them in the confessional, using the small window as a glory hole and granting absolution based on rape or masturbation. The detail I cannot quite recover from is that he picked out for abuse those deaf boys who had parents who could not use sign language – so that even if the boys had the courage to say what had happened to them, their parents would not understand. It’s things like that that simply chill you, haunt you, force you to confront the pre-meditated, profound assault on human souls that the Catholic Church, from the Pope on down, enabled, perpetuated, and lied about for so long – and still hasn’t been held fully accountable for.

And what this documentary proves beyond any reasonable doubt (like Gibney’s examination of the Bush-Cheney administration’s decision to torture prisoners in “Taxi To The Dark Side”) is that all of it was known throughout the hierarchy for decades. There is even a network of Church-operated “psychiatric” clinics for serial child rapists that don’t use traditional psychotherapy or report criminals to the cops or sequester the rapists from the public (let alone defrock them). These clinics simply enforce spiritual discipline and then recycle the priests to rape more children. We know from public documents that as far back as the 1940s, pedophile priests were showing up at these centers. Father Gerald Fitzgerald founded the order. And he was not yet corrupted by the Vatican’s insistence that no scandal ever become public and no priest sacrificed for the sake of mere children. As early as 1947, he is writing letters to his superiors about the problem:

“I myself would be inclined to favor laicization for any priest, upon objective evidence, for tampering with the virtue of the young, my argument being, from this point onward the charity to the Mystical Body should take precedence over charity to the individual, […] Moreover, in practice, real conversions will be found to be extremely rare […] Hence, leaving them on duty or wandering from diocese to diocese is contributing to scandal or at least to the approximate danger of scandal.”

Or in 1957, this letter to his Bishop:

“We are amazed to find how often a man who would be behind bars if he were not a priest is entrusted with the cura animarum (guardian of souls).”

The systematic rape of children was then obviously not a function of some kind of major cultural shift in the 1960s and 1970s, although that era might have sent a permissive signal to the global network of child rapists the Vatican was already hiding and enabling. It has been a core problem with the “celibate” priesthood in the US for decades, and every single bishop and every single Pope knew it. Fitzgerald personally met with Pope Paul VI to try and get him to act. Yes, the good folks in the church tried to do something as early as the 1950s and were stopped in their tracks … by the Vatican. The number of souls violated by child-rape in the coming decades would not have happened if all the Popes since Paul VI had acted with more moral sense than most maximum security murderers. (Even the worst prisoners regard child-rapists as the lowest of the low. Popes? Not so much). We’re not talking about priests who are drunks, or priests who fall in love, or break their vows in fallible, victimless ways; we’re talking here about priests committing one of the most heinous felonies imaginable: the systematic rape of children using the authority of the Church as cover.

John Paul II emphatically cannot be somehow removed from this picture. He personally protected one of the worst offenders, Marcial Maciel, who was a serial rapist, drug trafficker, bigamist and rapist of his own son. In fact, John Paul II elevated Maciel to the highest honors of the church – backed by the theocon wing of the American church, from Richard John Neuhaus to Bill Bennett and Mary Ann Glendon. They all adamantly denied that Maciel was anything but a living saint – and he was never prosecuted, merely allowed a gentle retirement from running his order, The Legion of Christ, which continues.

Joseph Ratzinger, when he was Archbishop of Munich, personally signed off on sending a priest to therapy, after that priest had raped several children, never notified the police, never told the parents of the children at the parish the priest was then assigned to, and because of this negligence, was, in my view, complicit in the rape of several more children before the priest was finally caught, arrested and sent to jail. Let me repeat that: the current Pope enabled and abetted the rape of children – and his only way out was to blame a lower official, who subsequently said he’d been pressured. More than that, no one else in the church knows more about this long record of child-rape than Ratzinger. From 2001 onwards, all cases of child rape or abuse were ordered to be sent to his personal office, the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith. And all of it had to be kept completely hidden from the outside world. In the words of Hans Kung, Ratzinger’s former modernizing ally in the Second Vatican Council,

Ratzinger himself, in a letter on “grave sexual crimes” addressed to all the bishops under the date of 18 May, 2001, warned the bishops, under threat of ecclesiastical punishment, to observe “papal secrecy” in such cases.

He knew everything – and had the goods on every Cardinal, in whose dioceses thousands of complaints had been filed. And one wonders why it was a surprise he was elected Pope. When you’re the J Edgar Hoover of the Vatican, who is going to challenge you?

If those of us are asked why we still believe in the salvation of Christ in the Catholic community, in the midst of all this, we do not have a good answer. All we can say is that we are, in some ways, trying to live in a parallel church, finding those many, many good priests who have been unfairly tarred by the pedophile brush, and living by one simple moral standard that the Pope himself does not agree with and has not done: if you find out someone is raping children, you call the cops.

But, for me, the most powerful moments in the documentary come from one simple fact. The four primary victims are deaf. They are grown men now and when they express themselves on film, they do so with sign and sounds of anguish and grief. One of the victims, now dead, sat down in front of a video camera and laboriously recounted every single act of abuse Father Murphy committed against him. He knew he was dying, and wanted to leave a record of the crimes and the corruption. Then in the most riveting raw footage of the film, he goes to confront the mass-rapist, whose crimes were by then beyond the statute of limitations. He finds him in the backyard. He signs and yells as coherently as a deaf person can; the priest seems utterly unmoved, telling the man he serially raped that “That’s all over now.” And disappears into his modest house, with a deaf-house-cleaner who had previously worked at St John’s. In the Catholic Church, mass rapists get retirement homes with maids. She confronts the rape victim. She keeps asking him: “Are you a Catholic?” He keeps replying that this has nothing to do with Catholicism and everything to do with rape. She just comes back at him with rapid-fire repetitions of “Are you a Catholic?” “Are you a Catholic?” “Are you a Catholic?

It’s a good question.

I can hear my devout Irish grandmother – who also worked as a cleaning lady for priests, scrubbing her floors day after day till they looked like glass – asking the same question whenever I questioned ecclesiastical authority. It’s a question that simply tells you: do not disobey a priest; do not malign a priest; do not question a priest. And it is that deference, that lingering, profound subservience to the priestly office that also allowed this to happen. Where, after all, were the nuns at St John’s School? Did they seriously not know what was going on? Where were the parents of the deaf boys, when they warned them about Father Murphy as early as 1974? Where are we now as a church if we vaunt one of the biggest enablers of child-rape, John Paul II, to the status of sainthood without a thorough investigation of these matters?

For me, Jesus must always be with the victims. He is the victim. When a priest rapes a child, Jesus is raped. When an archbishop covers up the crime, Jesus is raped. When successive Popes are told of the problem and assign total secrecy to it and fail to prevent future abuse of children, Jesus is raped. And there is a particularly appropriate ending to the tale of Father Murphy: faced with the possibility of a church trial for a canon law crime which has no statute of limitations – abusing the sacrament of reconciliation by raping children as absolution, he appealed to Pope Benedict XVI himself. And this Pope granted him a reprieve because of failing health. We have the documents to prove all this. Many argue – and it is undeniable – that this Pope has done more than any predecessor to investigate the horror. But he did so only as the abuse stories began to break into the open and his first response was to blame the media. This quote is from 2002 when Ratzinger was head of the CDF:

In the church, priests are also sinners. But I am personally convinced that the constant presence in the press of the sins of Catholic priests, especially in the United States, is a planned campaign, as the percentage of these offenses among priests is not higher than in other categories, and perhaps it is even lower. In the United States, there is constant news on this topic, but less than one percent of priests are guilty of acts of this type. The constant presence of these news items does not correspond to the objectivity of the information or to the statistical objectivity of the facts. Therefore, one comes to the conclusion that it is intentional, manipulated, that there is a desire to discredit the church.

Again, you notice one thing: his first priority then and now was to protect the institution, not protect the children. This is not an old story either. Just last week, the former Cardinal of Los Angeles, Roger Mahony, was stripped of his duties for enabling and abetting the rapes of countless children. This was proven by key documents finally pried out of the church’s hands by a legal case. What we need access to is the entire Vatican archive of priestly sex abuse of children. But perhaps, case by case, we will begin to understand better the nexus of authority and accountability that made this global conspiracy to hide and abet rapists so durable and so horrifying.

There was a slogan in the years of AIDS. It was Silence = Death. What is unforgettable about this documentary is that the loudest voices come from the most vulnerable of all – deaf children who are now deaf adults. The loudest voices were those who could not speak. If I have hope for my church – and I sincerely believe Jesus will never finally abandon us, however corrupt and sinful we become – it is because of this fact. The power of the powerless is what helped stop this mass violation of the souls of children. The change came not from the top, which remains foully corrupted, but from the very margins of the margins: the consciences and courage of those who could not hear evil until it was upon them, but who were surrounded by it. And spoke up. As children. And, then, as adults.

When will the rest of us do the same? When will we Catholics insist in the prosecution of this Pope and this hierarchy for what can only be called – given its duration and gravity and sheer scale – a crime against humanity. When will we lose the deference to a clerical elite that has become its own self-perpetuating clique of sexual dysfunction, that has lost even the most basic moral authority, that even now refuses to hold itself to account.

What, one wonders, would Jesus do? My answer to that ultimately unanswerable question is simple: listen to the survivors. Even those who can only speak in silence and sign:

So the last shall be first, and the first last: for many be called, but few chosen.