Journalist/developer. Interactive editor @frontlinepbs. Builder of @HomicideWatch. Sinophile for fun. Past: @WBUR, @NPR, @NewsHour.
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Zbigniew Brzezinski

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I started off on the wrong foot with Zbigniew Brzezinski, which is why I hope I will sound all the more sincere in saying how much I came to admire him, how great a contribution he made to America and the world, and what a loss his death represents.

I got off on the wrong foot mainly for structural reasons. During the 1976 Jimmy Carter presidential campaign and then in the White House, I was a relatively powerless young speechwriter, and he was the very powerful National Security Advisor to the president. Long before he met Carter in the early 1970s and helped introduce Carter to international leaders, Brzezinski had been a prolific book and magazine author as well as a college professor, and for years had written a regular global-affairs column in Newsweek.

The Newsweek role was a prominent position in those days, and in addition to bolstering his renown as a policy-intellectual it reinforced his own self-image as a writer. This in turn meant, from the underling-speechwriters’ point of view, that not only could he give us instruction (properly) on the content of a speech but also he was full of thoughts about the ideal phrasing. From his perspective, I was some annoying pinko kid-staffer making trouble for him on speeches. From mine, he was a person whose first language was not English.

As I say, the tension was structural. The main amicable bond we had in those days was via tennis. Carter himself was a surprisingly effective if not classically stylish player. His Georgia comrade and initial budget director Bert Lance had a big, booming serve; I was fairly high-up in the ranks of staff tennis players; and Brzezinski had a style of play that to me symbolized his larger approach to life. He tried to put away practically every shot. He hit a winner, or he pasted the ball into the back fence. He went for it, in all ways.

***

The late 1970s were a tough time — for the world, for the United States, for Jimmy Carter, for us all. But as the years after that went on and I observed Brzezinski not as a workplace-superior (nor a tennis-court partner or adversary) but as an analyst of international affairs, I was more and more impressed by his long game, in all senses of the term. He was physically and intellectually active well into his late 80s. He sent the Tweet below, his last, three weeks ago at age 89.

Brzezinski’s last tweet.

And conceptually he increasingly stressed the sustainable, long-strategy goals the U.S. should pursue with China (where he had advised Carter on full normalization), the Middle East (where he had been a central figure in the Camp David accords of 1978), Latin America (he had been part of Carter’s crafting of the controversial but strategically necessary Panama Canal transfer), the Soviet Union and then Russia (he had been a Cold War hard-liner), and in most other parts of the world you could name, naturally including management of the U.S.’s own internal affairs. During the Carter days, Brzezinski had been the architect of an improbable-in-retrospect “global emerging powers” tour, which took us in one exhausting swing to: Poland, Iran, India, Saudi Arabia, Egypt, France, and Belgium. And not long after, another to: Venezuela, Brazil, Nigeria, and Liberia. I think these were originally planned to be one super-long trip. The sweep was representative of the way in which he saw and thought about large, long-term patterns and trends.

He thought big, and he thought wisely. Most “respectable” figures in foreign-policy-land lined up behind the Iraq war. Brent Scowcroft — Brzezinski’s predecessor as National Security Advisor, for Gerald Ford, and then his successor in that same role for the first George Bush — was one exception. Al Gore, who gave a remarkable and prescient anti-war speech a few months before the invasion, was another. And Zbigniew Brzezinski, then in his mid-70s, was a third. After the war, he called it a “historic, strategic, and moral calamity,” and in his case that was not simply wisdom of hindsight.  

He continued to warn against needless hostility toward Iran, and about over-reach in the “war on terror.” A man who had been considered a hawk early in his career became a notable exponent of soft power, of strategic patience, of thinking ten moves ahead. We would be better off if more people had heeded him in recent years, or would study his example now.

***

I am reminded in composing this item that Zbigniew Brzezinski has a difficult-to-type name. Thirty-five years ago I wrote the Atlantic’s first-ever article about personal computing, in which this exact typographical challenge played a role. I said that I had hired a “professional” typist named Darlene to help me with a very long story manuscript:

But five hours after Darlene's arrival, I glanced at the product of her efforts. Stacked in a neat pile next to the typewriter were eight completed pages. This worked out to a typing rate of about six and a half words per minute. In fairness to Darlene, she had come to a near-total halt on first encountering the word “Brzezinski” and never fully regained her stride. Still, at this pace Darlene and I would both be dead—first I'd kill her, then I'd kill myself—before she came close to finishing the piece. Hustling her out the door at the end of the day, with $49 in wages in her pocket and eleven pages of finished manuscript left behind, I trudged downstairs to face the typewriter myself. Twenty-four hours later, I handed the bulky parcel to the Federal Express man and said, "Never again."

Yes, it’s been a while. Then I mentioned the magic of the first macro/keyboard-shortcut key, in a an early word-processing program I was using called The Electric Pencil:

I have not yet stooped to the politician's trick of programming the computer to write standard letters of reply. I have, however, discovered a few other sneaky word-processing feats. Suppose you are writing an article in which an unusual word appears frequently—let us choose “Brzezinski” once again. When writing the draft, you simply type a certain character, say * or + , each time Brzezinski should appear, and then when you're ready to print you signal the computer to insert “Brzezinski” in place of the character.

Zbig — as he was known, and as he chose for his Twitter handle — made the world safer and better, and also livelier and more interesting. I might not have said that 40 years ago, which is why I go out of my way to offer respects and admiration, and sympathies to his family, now.

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chrisamico
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Constitutional Crisis of Comedy

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A few weeks ago, President Donald Trump seemed to have triggered a teensy constitutional crisis when he fired FBI Director James Comey. Among the shifting kaleidoscope of reasons for Comey’s termination was his investigation into Russia’s role in Trump’s election victory. The problem for Trump—which could rise to actual obstruction of justice charges—is that he fired Comey after inviting him to the White House, clearing the room of witnesses, and then allegedly telling him, “I hope you can see your way clear to letting this go, to letting Flynn go.” In case that message didn’t get through, he also allegedly added, “He is a good guy. I hope you can let this go.” (The case for obstruction has since been bolstered by reports of other witnesses and similar incidents.)

The White House of course disputes this account, which Comey has reportedly detailed in careful contemporaneous notes (as FBI agents tend to do). Meanwhile, as New York’s Jonathan Chait has noted, several of Trump’s defenders have argued that while Trump perhaps said these words, he probably didn’t mean them.

Now this is a bit like arguing that when Richard Nixon was caught on tape in 1972 explaining to his chief of staff Bob Haldeman precisely how to obstruct the FBI’s investigation of Watergate, he was just working up material for a guest appearance on Laugh-In. It may be possible. But it’s not probable. (“They [the CIA] should call the FBI in and say that we wish for the country, don’t go any further into this case.” Hilarious!) Somehow, though, “it was only a joke” has become the GOP and Donald Trump’s equivalent of “the dog ate my homework,” a catch-all defense for genuine gaffes and even for potential criminal obstruction of justice.

This is not the first time Trump and his advocates have deployed the “just kidding” defense. At a White House lunch in April, the president asked members of the United Nations, “Does everybody like Nikki?” as his U.N. Ambassador Nikki Haley sat awkwardly next to him. Amid uneasy laughter he added: “Otherwise, she can easily be replaced.” Quel bon mot, Mr. President!

During the campaign, Trump told a crowd of supporters that if Hillary Clinton were to win there would be “nothing you can do, folks.” He then continued: “Although the Second Amendment people, maybe there is, I dunno.” That was apparently also just more mischievous ribaldry from Donald “Lenny Bruce Reincarnated” Trump. Same deal when he asked Russia to hack Hillary’s emails. Then there was also the infamous Access Hollywood tape, in which Trump joked about serially sexually assaulting women—this time that was played off as “locker room banter.” For a man who, as Sen. Al Franken notes “never laughs,” the new president is a monster comedic presence. Add all those punchlines together, and Trump is either the least funny comedian in American history or the most optimistic that he’s just about to break through. Either way, just listen to the Watergate tapes—Trump doesn’t have anything on Richard M. Nixon. That guy was a laugh riot. And don’t even get me started on Josef Stalin.

It’s not just Trump of course. House Majority Leader Kevin McCarthy and Speaker of the House Paul Ryan both claimed last week that they were merely doing stand-up last summer when they shared a laugh in a closed meeting about the possibility that the Russians were buying off the future president of the United States along with a Republican member of Congress. And before he actually assaulted a journalist, Montana Republican congressional hopeful Greg Gianforte advocated attacking them, a comment that his campaign later dismissed as a “joke.”

All of which leads to the question: Perhaps America is not in fact being strangled in the grip of our most serious constitutional crisis in nearly 50 years but merely trapped in a paralyzing comedy crisis? Maybe nothing is serious anymore. Everything is just comedy that happens to not be very funny. The thing is, I could live with the president’s slow-motion deconstruction of this little experiment we call constitutional democracy, but I am going to be pissed if he also breaks comedy. So: Is comedy killing democracy, or is democracy killing comedy? Or maybe it’s a suicide pact.

In her important post-election meditation on jokes and the election, the New Yorker’s Emily Nussbaum located the white nationalist politician Trump, the white nationalist meme Pepe the Frog, and the white nationalist famous for being a famous person Tila Tequila along a new continuum of insult comics in our irony-saturated age. She pointed to TV shows like South Park—along with other opponents of political correctness—that have blurred the line between politics and entertainment, but have also pushed the line of humor and irony so far into the political sphere that nothing might ever be serious or real again. The question for comedians is what does that do to comedy?

“This has been happening forever, not just with politicians but with extremist pundits like Ann Coulter or radio talk show hosts,” Lizz Winstead, co-creator and former head writer of The Daily Show, reminded me. “They would say something reprehensible and when there is a public outcry, they’d cry, ‘It’s a joke.’

“I pay my bills writing and performing jokes,” she continued, “and if my jokes landed the way theirs do, with the frequency they do, I would not have a career.”

I asked Peter Sagal, host of NPR’s Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me, the same question: What does it do to actual comedy writers when everything and nothing is reduced to a joke?

His response, via email, is illuminating and scary-making for those of us who still like jokes:

The problem for people in our business is that just like you need a bass line for a guitar solo, you need something real to make up stuff about. For example, you could make jokes about President Bush being illiterate or reading kids’ books because he wasn’t really illiterate. He was just incurious so we were able to exaggerate that and make jokes. Making jokes about Donald Trump being functionally illiterate isn’t funny because, well, he seems to be functionally illiterate. If nothing the President says or does is “real,” then what do we have to push against?

Jo Miller is executive producer and head writer of Full Frontal With Samantha Bee. She pointed me to a Masha Gessen piece on how demagogues destabilize language as a mechanism for further destabilizing shared reality.

As Miller explained to me over email:

When it comes to jokes, they depend on a shared reality. A joke that is built on an untrue or only partially true premise isn’t funny. Which is why partisan ‘comedy’ isn’t funny. It puts an agenda before truth and is merely tedious.

Think of Fox News’ disastrous attempt at a conservative version of The Daily Show to see how this sort of thing historically has played out in the comedy world (Metacritic score: 13 percent).

In his new special Thank God for Jokes, comedian Mike Birbiglia tackles this same question: How can you even do a joke when everyone is suddenly a comedian?

“Every time there’s an article, about Trump, or Ryan, saying they were just joking, I am bombarded with tweets because the whole new special is about the whole nature of jokes,” he told me. “And I always refer them to one of my rules from the show, which is that no joke should ever end with ‘I’m joking.’ ”

Birbiglia echoed Sagal’s point about needing a “bass line” of truth to make funny jokes. He says this is the core dilemma in comedy right now too. “A setup,” he explained, “is based in truth. And if there is no collective truth, there can be no collective setup. And if there is no collective setup, there’s no collective punchline.” And that, it seems, is how comedy finds itself lying limp and bloodied beyond recognition at the base of Sean Spicer’s podium or how it’s starting to seem as though Donald Trump and Alec Baldwin are slowly morphing into the same indeterminate creature.

What’s more terrifying is how far you must reach to even find a shared notion of what is a real, factual, unironic statement right now. “In a way, that’s why so many of us return to the ‘grab them by the pussy’ tape,” Sagal wrote in an email. “It’s one time when we can be relatively sure that Donald Trump was actually speaking the truth.” He then adds, “Ironically, of course, it’s one time where he himself claims he was just joking.” And it’s yet another time his supporters have chosen to not take his words at face value.

This distortion of language and truth to the point that they have no meaning is also a problem for those of us who work with the law. It has become virtually impossible to be neutral as a legal observer, because now that real things are being so consistently deemed unreal, what any objective person would previously view as neutral facts can also be perceived as bias and “fake news.” Even questions about inaugural numbers or popular vote counts, verifiable truths, are fake. Don’t get me started on actual words in the actual Bill of Rights.

The current dilemma of jokes has a practical impact. Birbiglia is, for instance, scrupulously careful not to talk about politics in his shows, going so far as to not mention the president’s name in his new show because the topic has become so polarizing.

Here’s one revelatory anecdote from the comedian:

So, I have a joke where I say, “The baby is the most powerful passenger on the plane. He whines and we ignore him and he whines and we ignore him, but if we keep ignoring him, eventually he’ll be president.” That’s not a political joke, it’s just a joke about whichever president you feel like has the temperament of a baby. Because I want to flip it on them, and let them name the president. But even leaving it to them to fill it in makes it polarized.

That’s kind of terrifying, right? Even a joke in which the listener writes her own punchline is too polarizing to tell. Sagal tells me a version of the same thing about his attempts to be neutral in the current climate:

I like to say that we at Wait Wait are never part of the game being played on the field between the two teams. … [W]e’re up in the stands watching the game with the audience. … But now I’m thinking that it’s bad when the actual players insist they’re up in the audience too. … They should get back on the field, dammit, and let us watch the game in peace.

Basically, it’s hard to know how to make a joke when the politicians are no longer making sense. “What we can do is make sense of our shared experience of living aboard this unmoored ship piloted by a skeleton crew of charlatans and idiots,” Miller wrote. “When we get that right, people recognize it as truth.”

The whole predicament is something of a punchline in itself: Things that aren’t funny are being written off as jokes, but real jokes that are carefully constructed not to offend at all are now too offensive to tell. Womp womp.

The perfect nihilism of casting that White House conversation with Comey as an after-the-fact joke led a chortling Mike Birbiglia to imagine President Trump setting himself up to do some serious comedy. “So wait, he’s shooing away Pence and Sessions right?” Birbiglia says. “These two guys who are guaranteed to laugh at him … he’s shooing away his whole potential audience because, ‘Hey, I have a private one-on-one joke for my FBI director, and it won’t work unless it’s a one-on-one joke, unless he alone hears it. … And the joke is that I’m going to fire him.’ ”

As Chait wrote, “Nobody would be that committed to a bit.”



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chrisamico
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Bryan Stevenson explains how it feels to grow up black amid Confederate monuments

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“I think we have to increase our shame — and I don't think shame is a bad thing.”

Bryan Stevenson is the founder and executive director of the Equal Justice Initiative. He and his staff have won reversals, relief, or release for more than 115 wrongly convicted prisoners on death row. He’s the author of the powerful book Just Mercy and a winner of the MacArthur “Genius” prize. There are only a few people I’d say this about, but he’s a genuine American hero.

He was also a guest on my podcast recently; it was one of the more remarkable conversations I’ve been privileged to have.

Today I’m posting an excerpt of our discussion that’s particularly relevant amid the renewed debate over New Orleans Mayor Mitch Landrieu trying to tear down Confederate monuments across his city. “These monuments celebrate a fictional, sanitized Confederacy, ignoring the death, ignoring the enslavement, ignoring the terror that it actually stood for,” Landrieu said.

In response, Mississippi state Rep. Karl Oliver wrote that those statues were “erected in the loving memory of our family and fellow Southern Americans,” and if Landrieu, and the lawmakers supporting his plan, want to “destroy historical monuments of OUR HISTORY, they should be LYNCHED!” Oliver later apologized for using the word lynched, but the fight is a reminder that America in 2017 is still deeply, even violently, divided over the legacy of slavery, and those who fought to defend it.

None of this surprises Stevenson. For years, his organization has been documenting and memorializing the actual lynchings that happened in America after slavery was abolished, and is now building a museum that will explore America’s brutal history on race with more honesty. He has thought deeply about the work America resistance to confronting the reality of our past, and the damage that that national act of forgetting — or, worse, of lying — has done to our present.

“We've created the counternarrative that says we have nothing about which we should be ashamed,” says Stevenson. “Our past is romantic and glorious. In my state of Alabama, Jefferson Davis's birthday is a state holiday. Confederate Memorial Day is a state holiday. We don't even have Martin Luther King Day in Alabama. We have Martin Luther King/Robert E. Lee Day. Our two largest high schools are Robert E. Lee High and Jefferson Davis High. They're both 90-some percent African-American. If we don't think it matters, then I think we're just kidding ourselves.”

This transcript has been edited for length and clarity. For our whole discussion — which includes much more on the death penalty, the drug war, the trauma communities go through when the innocent are imprisoned, and more — subscribe to The Ezra Klein Show wherever you get your podcasts, or stream it on SoundCloud.

Ezra Klein

You often say that “the opposite of poverty is not wealth. The opposite of poverty is justice.” What do you mean by that?

Bryan Stevenson

The wealth of the colonies was built on genocide of removing Native Americans from lands that they occupied. We kept their names, but we made them leave. We didn’t really acknowledge the injustice of that because we were persuaded that our economic security and our political development require the acquisition of these lands. It began this way of thinking about wealth that is disconnected from the oppression that is sometimes used to create that wealth. And that habit was reinforced through slavery.

We created great wealth in new territories in the south and the colonies by relying on enslaved people and the labor and the benefits that that created without any real thinking about how that wealth was sustained by abuse and oppression and inequality and injustice.

This idea has emerged in America that wealth is created by people with great talent and great ability. We value wealth. We respect wealth. We admire wealth. We disdain the poor. We blame the poor. We fault the poor for not achieving more economic security.

For me, it's important to redefine what it is we are dealing with when we deal with poverty, and that definition begins with recognizing that the opposite of poverty isn't wealth. The opposite of poverty is justice. If we actually had been just to those communities that we removed from the land, if we had been just to the formally enslaved, if we'd been just to immigrants who came and gave great wealth, we would actually be in a very different place when it comes to dealing with structural poverty.

Ezra Klein

But the idea of what represents justice is deeply contested. When you ask whether descendants of slave owners owe the communities they enslaved anything, you get a lot of disagreement. And there's huge resistance when the definition of justice would require the bearing of shame, much less reparations or some other kind of recompense.

Bryan Stevenson

There are narratives we have that we rely on to feel comfortable with the status quo. I mean, the people who came to this country as settlers didn't think of themselves as inhumane or barbaric or killers or mass murderers. They just didn't see the native people that they forced off their land as fully human. They said those people were savages. They used that narrative of racial difference to justify their comfort. We used that same narrative of racial difference to justify centuries of enslavement.

I actually think the great evil of American slavery wasn't involuntary servitude and forced labor. The true evil of American slavery was the narrative we created to justify it. They made up this ideology of white supremacy that cannot be reconciled with our Constitution, that cannot be reconciled with a commitment to fair and just treatment of all people. They made it up so they could feel comfortable while enslaving other people.

I really believe that narrative was the true evil, and it's the thing that didn't get abolished in 1865. If you read the 13th Amendment, it talks about ending involuntary servitude and forced labor, but it doesn't say anything about the narrative of racial difference, the ideology of white supremacy. Because of that, I've argued that slavery didn't end in 1865; it just evolved. We had decades of terrorism and violence and lynching. The North won the Civil War, but the South won the narrative war. There was no actual accountability. There was no reckoning. There was no acknowledgment that slavery was wrong at some fundamental level.

The failure of that transition means that even today, we're dealing with a narrative of racial difference. My work is aimed at trying to confront the burdens that people of color in this country face, which are heavily organized around presumption of dangerousness and guilt. It doesn't matter how educated you are, it doesn't matter how many degrees you have — you will go places in this country if you're a person of color and you will be presumed dangerous or guilty, and you're going to have to overcome that presumption.

As I get older, I can tell you that that weight starts to feel heavy. You start to feel overwhelmed by constantly having to navigate people's perceptions of you. Even though I'm a practicing lawyer, I still have to overcome that presumption frequently. I just don't think we're going to be free until we do something about these narratives, and that's why they’re the heart of it for me.

Ezra Klein

I want to talk a bit about the way the South won that narrative. When I drive into Virginia, I drive on highways named for Confederate leaders. I drive by buildings named for Confederate leaders. You’ve spoken about the difference between what the United States memorializes in its built environment and what other countries that have had a history of shameful violence and oppression memorialize in their built environments — what does that difference means for our collective consciousness?

Bryan Stevenson

What we do in the memorial spaces says a lot about who we are. The American South is littered with the iconography of the Confederacy. We are celebrating the architects and defenders of slavery. I don't think we understand what that means for our commitment to equality and fairness and justice.

If there were Hitler statutes all over Germany, I couldn't go there. I just couldn't. I would not able to make peace with the nation that was still comfortable with the era of German history where Nazis were responsible for the death of millions of Jewish people in concentration camps. But if you go to Berlin, the Holocaust memorial is extraordinary. You can barely go a hundred feet without seeing a monument that's been placed at the home of a Jewish family that was abducted.

In Rwanda, you are required to hear about the genocide. You can't go to Rwanda and spend a few days without someone talking to you about the damage and despair and the hurt and the pain created by that horror. In the genocide museum there, there are actually human skulls; that's how powerfully people want to express their grief. In South Africa, you are required to see the consequences of apartheid. There are places where camps and prisons have been turned into visiting sites where people can reflect on that legacy.

In this country, we don't talk about slavery. We don't talk about lynching. Worse, we've created the counternarrative that says we have nothing about which we should be ashamed. Our past is romantic and glorious. In my state of Alabama, Jefferson Davis's birthday is a state holiday. Confederate Memorial Day is a state holiday. We don't even have Martin Luther King Day in Alabama. We have Martin Luther King/Robert E. Lee Day.

Our two largest high schools are Robert E. Lee High and Jefferson Davis High. They're both 90-some percent African-American. If we don't think it matters, then I think we're just kidding ourselves. We do think it matters; that's why we have a 9/11 memorial. What we haven't done is understand what we are saying about who we are.

I think we have to increase our shame — and I don't think shame is a bad thing. I worked with people in jails and prisons, and most parole boards will make my clients say, “I am sorry,” before they can get parole. It's a requirement in many states that you have to show remorse, even if you have a perfect prison record, before they will let you out.

We require that because our sense of comfort, our sense of safety, is compromised if we don't think you appreciate the wrongfulness of your criminal act. In faith perspectives, to get to salvation — at least in the Christian tradition — you have to repent. There is no redemption without acknowledgement of sin. It’s not bad to repent. It's cleansing. It's necessary. It's ultimately liberating to acknowledge where we were and where we want to go. We haven't done that collectively.

Ezra Klein

I have several million follow-up questions to ask you here. I want to put a pin in shame because I want us to talk about shame in a couple of minutes. But I want to spend another moment on the built environment.

When I began preparing for this interview and hearing you talk about the way the South looks to you, I thought a lot about a trip I took to Germany a number of years ago. I was there to observe the political convention of the Social Democratic Party. In Germany, you cannot get a more anti-Hitler party than the Social Democrats. They were jailed for their anti-Nazi position. But I remember being there and being at the convention and realizing something was physiologically very wrong in me. I was very upset. I was very anxious. My heart was racing. It took me a minute to figure out what was going on. What was happening was that I was walking through halls hearing German on loudspeakers. For me, being Jewish, that had a very powerful physical effect on me.

What does it feel like to be an African-American man going to Robert E. Lee High School or walking by a Jefferson Davis statue? What is the lived experience of that? I think people can conceptualize why maybe it is abstractly unjust, but what role does it have in your daily life?

Bryan Stevenson

I grew up in the segregated South. My mom was one of these people who could answer any question in the world you asked her even though she didn't go to college, and no one in my family had gone to college. She really valued education. The only time I could remember my mom not asking answering my question is when we would drive pass the public school and I would ask my mom what the word public meant.

She didn't want me to understand that it meant I should be able to go to that school but instead we're going to this little shack called the colored school. There is an accumulated burden when you have to keep dealing with these things, when you are excluded and disfavored, when you are presumed dangerous and guilty.

I grew up in the ’60s and the polio vaccine was being disseminated widely. They wanted to eradicate polio, and they wanted all the children to get polio shots. I remember we didn't have a doctor in our county. They made everybody go to a building where they were supposed to get shots.

Of course, the white kids went to the front door and got their shot first, and the black kids had to wait outside the back door. Finally, when they got to the black kids, the nurses who were administering these shots were tired because it had just taken a long time and they'd run out of lollipops to give the kids to help temper the sting of that needle. By the time they got to the black kids, they were just rough. My sister was in front of me, and they grabbed my sister by the arm and they picked up the needle and they jabbed it into her arm, and she started screaming.

My mother was this amazing kind, loving person. She was a minister of music. She was so gentle. When they grabbed me by the arm, I started screaming for my mother. The nurse was about to put this needle in my arm. Then all of a sudden, I heard all of this glass breaking. My mother had gotten so angry and frustrated. She walked over to a wall. She picked up a tray of beakers and started throwing them against the wall. She was screaming, "It's not right. It's not fair. You made us wait out there; it's not right."

The doctor came in and said, "Call the police." I remember the black ministers coming forward and begging the doctor not to call the police. One of them actually fell to his knees and said, "Please don't call the police. We're sorry. We'll go and get her out of here." It was this performance at trying to preserve the medical care that these black children needed in the face of a protest about how unjustly and unfairly this process was working. When you have to act like that, when you have to live like that, when you have to do that over and over and over again, it weighs on you. It injures you.

Ezra Klein

It seems to me that our politics at the moment, and the rise of this president in particular, is built on a rejection of the idea that we should feel shame. It's built on a desire to not feel that shame — to in fact say that what has been given back is now more than enough, that the class that should be considered aggrieved, that should be considered disrespected, that should be considered in need of sympathy and empathy and understanding has actually changed to rural whites.

The project you're undertaking here feels to me— and I don't mean this in the way I think the term is often used — un-American. Un-American in the sense that America has been a society that is particularly resistant to shame, that believes in the value and forgetting things quickly and moving on from things fast. Do you see the project of trying to rehabilitate shame and its role in American life as something that is counter to our history and culture?

Bryan Stevenson

I agree that we don't have a political culture that rewards those who recognize they've made a mistake. We have a political culture where most of our politicians think that if they stand up and say, “I made a mistake, and I'm sorry," that makes them look weak.

In our personal lives, in our familial lives, we understand the importance of remorse and regret. You show me two people who've been in love for 50 years, I'll show you two people who've learn how to apologize to one another when they hurt each other, when they fall down. That's a stronger union. As I mentioned, in the criminal justice context, we insist on it. We insist on offenders expressing their shame before we trust them again.

I don't have an interest in humiliating people. In fact, one of the reasons why I think we struggle so much with confronting our failures is that we've created such a punitive society. We're so punitive in America that I think most people think if they say, “I'm wrong,” or, “I made a mistake,” that they're going to punished for that. I don't want to punish this country for these decades of abuses. I want to liberate us.

I actually believe in redemption. I believe in recovery. I believe in rehabilitation. That's why I advocate for people on death row and children who committed violent crimes and people who have broken the law. I believe in it for our country too. We cannot get to the reconciliation without the truth. We cannot get there if we don't acknowledge what it is we are struggling to recover from.

Ezra Klein

You made a point earlier in our conversation that I thought was very profound, where you said that because of our history, it doesn't take much for us to create distrust in this country. There are a lot of people we’re talking about whom members of their race took a lot, but it's not like they're doing so well now. There's nothing they feel they have to give. They live in communities rocked by opioids, that have too few jobs, that are in intense distress themselves. Some of these folks might look at that stronger union you talk about and say, “That is union in which I am not stronger.”

Bryan Stevenson

Yeah, I understand the appeal of that analysis. Only one in four Southerners owned enslaved people. The masses benefited from slavery, but they weren't the property owners. They weren't the slave owners. And yet they were the men and women who died on those battlefields. They paid the cost.

That's been true throughout the 20th century. We had a massive movement in this country to build workers' rights and to empower people and to create forces that could better protect workers. That was ultimately undermined, and it continues to be undermined by these politics of fear and anger, where we distract people with the race problem here or the immigration problem there.

That's not to say that there aren't real problems. What I'm saying is that, actually, if you don't give in to that, something better waits for you.

My state of Alabama resisted integration as much as anybody in America. We still do in a lot of ways. Our state constitution still prohibits black and white kids from going to school together. It's in the constitution now in 2017.

It was only in 2004 that the business community began to see how that language was undermining their efforts at recruiting European businesses and others to invest in Alabama. They persuaded the legislature to put on the ballot, in 2004, a referendum that would pull out that language. We can only change the state constitution through a statewide referendum. It was put on the ballot, but with our history of silence, nobody knew how to talk about it, so no one did. What happened in 2004 is that the majority of people in Alabama voted to keep that language in the state constitution. It was put back on the ballot in 2012, and a higher percentage of people voted to keep that language in the state constitution.

Now, the one thing that we are super proud of in the state of Alabama, the one thing that people are really excited by, that they absolutely get objective benefit from, is the success of our college football teams. Alabama and Auburn are some of the most successful college football programs in America, and people would go to those stadiums and they will cheer. The state will go into crisis when one of those teams loses. Neither one of those programs would be successful if we actually implemented the state constitution that we keep voting to ratify.

There is a disconnect. It does not make sense to vote against integration in public schools in 2012 and then go to Bryant Stadium and follow the Alabama football team, which is majority black. That disconnect is part of what I think is at the heart of this issue. It is about the narrative. It is about the cultural habits we have formed. We think we can hold on to segregation and then cheer our largely black football team at the same time and nobody is the worse for it. We're all the worse for it.

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acdha
5 days ago
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Washington, DC
chrisamico
5 days ago
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Boston, MA
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Let's Make Delicious Falafel, Or Else!

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Here was a challenge: my wife had decided to host her staff of 14 in our home for some awful reason. Something to do with a training video and general good-vibe staff retreat benefits. They would need to eat food, of course, and herein lay the challenge: More than half of her staff members consider themselves vegans.…

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chrisamico
9 days ago
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Before Roger Ailes created Fox News, he made Richard Nixon the star of his own show

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Ailes literally created a traveling show starring Nixon. The network he created eliminated the need for campaigns to go to all that effort.

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chrisamico
11 days ago
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Machine Learning

5 Comments and 14 Shares
The pile gets soaked with data and starts to get mushy over time, so it's technically recurrent.
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chrisamico
12 days ago
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5 public comments
tante
11 days ago
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Actual illustration of how current machine learning (and AI systems) work
Oldenburg/Germany
growler
12 days ago
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Всё так
jimwise
12 days ago
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Lol
francisga
12 days ago
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This is actually exactly how Machine Learning works...
Lafayette, LA, USA
alt_text_bot
13 days ago
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The pile gets soaked with data and starts to get mushy over time, so it's technically recurrent.
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