One of the world’s most deplorable (and unfortunately, untried) war criminals, former Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara, died in the early hours of the morning today, aged 93 years.  McNamara’s New York Times’ obituary names him “the most influential defense secretary of the 20th century,” a fitting epithet for a man who was in many ways the proto-Rumsfeld, an apparently cold-blooded technocrat brought to Washington by John F. Kennedy.  McNamara’s talent - systems analysis - birthed the tactical rationale for General Curtis “Bombs Away” LeMay’s firebombing of 67 Japanese cities during World War II.

McNamara: LeMay was focused on only one thing: target destruction. Most Air Force Generals can tell you how many planes they had, how many tons of bombs they dropped, or whatever the hell it was.

But, he was the only person that I knew in the senior command of the Air Force who focused solely on the loss of his crews per unit of target destruction. I was on the island of Guam in his command in March of 1945. In that single night, we burned to death 100,000 Japanese civilians in Tokyo: men, women, and children.

Errol Morris: Were you aware this was going to happen?

McNamara: Well, I was part of a mechanism that in a sense recommended it. I analyzed bombing operations, and how to make them more efficient. i.e. Not more efficient in the sense of killing more, but more efficient in weakening the adversary.

I wrote one report analyzing the efficiency of the B—29 operations. The B—29 could get above the fighter aircraft and above the air defense, so the loss rate would be much less. The problem was the accuracy was also much less.

Now I don’t want to suggest that it was my report that led to, I’ll call it, the firebombing. It isn’t that I’m trying to absolve myself of blame. I don’t want to suggest that it was I who put in LeMay’s mind that his operations were totally inefficient and had to be drastically changed. But, anyhow, that’s what he did. He took the B—29s down to 5,000 feet and he decided to bomb with firebombs.

…

50 square miles of Tokyo were burned. Tokyo was a wooden city, and when we dropped these firebombs, it just burned it.

Errol Morris: The choice of incendiary bombs, where did that come from?

McNamara: I think the issue is not so much incendiary bombs. I think the issue is: in order to win a war should you kill 100,000 people in one night, by firebombing or any other way? LeMay’s answer would be clearly “Yes.”

“McNamara, do you mean to say that instead of killing 100,000, burning to death 100,000 Japanese civilians in that one night, we should have burned to death a lesser number or none? And then had our soldiers cross the beaches in Tokyo and been slaughtered in the tens of thousands? Is that what you’re proposing? Is that moral? Is that wise?”

Why was it necessary to drop the nuclear bomb if LeMay was burning up Japan? And he went on from Tokyo to firebomb other cities. 58% of Yokohama. Yokohama is roughly the size of Cleveland. 58% of Cleveland destroyed. Tokyo is roughly the size of New York. 51% percent of New York destroyed. 99% of the equivalent of Chattanooga, which was Toyama. 40% of the equivalent of Los Angeles, which was Nagoya. This was all done before the dropping of the nuclear bomb, which by the way was dropped by LeMay’s command.

Proportionality should be a guideline in war. Killing 50% to 90% of the people of 67 Japanese cities and then bombing them with two nuclear bombs is not proportional, in the minds of some people, to the objectives we were trying to achieve.

I don’t fault Truman for dropping the nuclear bomb. The U.S.—Japanese War was one of the most brutal wars in all of human history - kamikaze pilots, suicide, unbelievable. What one can criticize is that the human race prior to that time - and today - has not really grappled with what are, I’ll call it, “the rules of war.” Was there a rule then that said you shouldn’t bomb, shouldn’t kill, shouldn’t burn to death 100,000 civilians in one night?

LeMay said, “If we’d lost the war, we’d all have been prosecuted as war criminals.” And I think he’s right. He, and I’d say I, were behaving as war criminals. LeMay recognized that what he was doing would be thought immoral if his side had lost. But what makes it immoral if you lose and not immoral if you win?

- The Fog of War (2003)

McNamara posing “But what makes it immoral if you lose and not immoral if you win?” to his audience creates an excellent opportunity to frame his involvement in the Vietnam War from the his own perspective.  If McNamara’s collaboration in the firebombing of Japan is excusable because the United States won World War II (and, given McNamara never faced charges as a war criminal, we must assume this is the international consensus), then what are we to make of his role in the millions of deaths concomitant with Vietnam?  If McNamara isn’t a war criminal because the United States won World War II, then isn’t Operation Rolling Thunder enough by itself to condemn McNamara as a consequence of America’s defeat in Vietnam?

The answer, of course, is that morality does not depend on, and cannot be dictated by, success or failure, and that McNamara engaged in criminal activity in both wars.  One must conclude that, on some level, McNamara realized this.  Thus, in 2003 we were treated to the self-serving, contrived mea culpa that is The Fog of War: Eleven Lessons from the Life of Robert S. McNamara.  It seems fitting that, on the occasion of the man’s death, we revisit the film.

++++++

Half-truths and obfuscations, the remaining smoke from an artillery barrage of twisted statistics fired in self-defense, shroud the Facts, those tiny riflemen of Truth, from the observers’ eyes.  These observers strain to discern the Forces of Truth through the choking smog, catching ghost-like glimpses of limbs and outlines of figures, but never focusing on a single identifiable form.  Perhaps their eyes are slightly out of focus, struggling to see through a bit of accumulated tear-water, present either from the irritating gas of the broken artillery shells, the effect of an eighty-five year old man’s crocodile tears, or from the wisps of somber, sober music floating in the atmosphere, unsettling in their disturbing beauty.

This is The Fog of War, an aptly-named movie, the title taken as such from the military term for the ambiguity that descends upon a battlefield, the uncertainty about self and enemy, about Good and Evil, the kind of mist where men lose their moral bearings and become unmoored, free radicals in a dubious ethical soup.  Robert McNamara comes across as steadfast in his portrayal of himself as a capable military leader who became lost in the thick of the fog of war in Vietnam, and who bears little of the responsibility for his actions during his tenure as Secretary of Defense.  To borrow a line from A.A. Milne’s Winnie the Pooh, if McNamara believes what he says in the film, he “must still be missing in the mist.”  That is, if there was any fog, smoke, or mist in McNamara’s Washington to begin with.

Throughout the documentary there are precious few interruptions by the interviewer.  It is quite clear from the presentation that this film is McNamara’s story; where he takes the story is his prerogative, shaped by his goals for telling it.  McNamara makes this practice quite clear, at one point remarking that his personal policy has always been to “never answer the question that is asked of you -  answer the question you wish had been asked of you.”

Equally telling is McNamara’s answer to a gentle probing by the interviewer on the subject of his reputation while Secretary of Defense as an arrogant technocrat who wouldn’t ever admit to being wrong.  McNamara responds (in the original 1960s interview cited by the interviewer) that while he’s certainly been wrong on occasion, that “I’m not going to tell you when I’m wrong.”

Nor does he.  As a documentary the plot is simply McNamara’s life story, encountered in a series of “lessons” which give the overall structure to the film.  Culled from the interviews, these lessons help the viewer navigate the story McNamara tells, though many of them are so vague as to seemingly contradict both one another and McNamara’s message, such as “Rationality will not save us.” “Get the data,” and “Belief and seeing are both often wrong.”

One particular portion of the film which proves problematic for McNamara is the subject of the firebombing of Tokyo during the Second World War.  McNamara was a member of Statistical Control, a portion of the then-US Army’s Air Force which analyzed mountains of data in an attempt to both increase tactical efficiency and reduce casualties.  While with Statistical Control, McNamara wrote a report stating that the high-altitude bombing of Japan by B-29s was grossly inefficient, despite the bombers being designed to operate from that altitude to evade anti-aircraft fire.  General Curtis LeMay, who McNamara characterized as “focused solely on loss of crews per unit of target destruction,” subsequently ordered the low-altitude firebombing of Tokyo, likely based adjusting the ratio of casualties incurred to damage inflicted by firebombs on a wooden city.  McNamara states he “doesn’t want to suggest” it was his report which lead to the firebombing (although it was certainly the type of statistical research LeMay would have devoured), but this statement comes off more as false modesty than wishing to distance himself from the atrocities.

McNamara, who participated in the post-bombing debrief, related a story about a bomber captain angry over a lost wingman.  The captain was upset that the bombers had been ordered to fly so low when they could operate from high altitude.  LeMay responded to the captain by stating,  “You lost your wingman, but we destroyed Tokyo.” While McNamara does not take responsibility for this destruction, he states that, had the United States lost WWII to Japan, he and LeMay would have been prosecuted for “acting as war criminals.”  He also raised a question, “What makes it immoral if you lose, but not if you win?”  Unfortunately, he seems to view himself as exempted from needing an answer because most Americans likely viewed the action, as McNamara himself seems to, as a necessary evil.  Of engaging in necessary evil McNamara later states “recognize you will have to engage in evil - but minimize it.”

This unrepentant attitude toward over the firebombing of Tokyo mirrors McNamara’s attitude on Vietnam.  Much of it he simply won’t discuss, though it was the defining moment of his life and his career.  What he does say is largely geared toward blame-avoidance.  On the subject of the use of Agent Orange, Mcnamara states “Let’s look at the law - which chemicals are acceptable in a time of war and which are not?,” which best illustrates McNamara’s devotion to the quantifiable, or the the letter of the law over the overriding spirit of it.  When asked whose responsibility the war was, he simply throws President Johnson under the bus by claiming ultimate responsibility rests with the President, and engages in a “counter-factual”, supposin’ that, had Kennedy lived, the war likely would not have been continued.  He also points out less than 50% of casualties occurred on his watch, though he does not mention that it was also on his watch that the United States’ involvement in Vietnam, for good or ill, was cemented.  Finally, when asked why he did not speak out against the war after being fired by Johnson for difference of opinion, McNamara simply would not engage the subject, “You don’t know how inflammatory my words can appear,” he said, adding “I’d rather be damned if I don’t [than damned if I do].”

In terms of the film as a piece of cinematic work, few documentaries will match this one in visual or oral power.  Of particular note, and meriting particular praise, is the technique of utilizing computer-enhanced photo montages in sequence with music to lend fluidity and near-action to the still media.  No mere licensing of the patented “Ken Burns pan-and-scan,” the camera seemingly moves through some of the images as if zooming in or moving within the photograph, a technique both mildly disconcerting and fascinating to watch.  This process also acts as an interesting foil to the use of archival footage throughout the film.  As mentioned, the Philip Glass soundtrack is a shifting tone of grey-ish atmosphere, a translucent, but not transparent, layer hovering over the film, perpetuating the half-lit murkiness.  It would be quite worthwhile to listen to merely as a composition in its own right.

Rating this film is difficult.  Viewed solely as a film, The Fog of War is an outstanding piece of work.  The skilled splicing of archival footage, contemporary interview with McNamara, still photographs, and the brooding score creates a captivating, powerful film well worth the 2004 Oscar for Best Documentary and the many other awards showered upon it.

However, as a piece of self-serving, legacy-attuned propaganda, I was quite disappointed.  When McNamara refuses to discuss his inaction after his firing as Secretary of Defense, and when he adheres to an observation of the letter of the law, rather than the spirit of it, the fog of war begins to swirl into the audience, to creep into the lungs and respiratory tracts, impeding breathing and inhibiting clear judgment.  This is a man portraying himself as a participant on a battlefield, choked with smoke and dust and hung with clouds of blood, while the truth is that his position as Secretary of Defense offered him one of the best vantage points in the world, one which should have allowed him to see down through the fog to the situation on the ground in Vietnam.  If there is a lesson to be learned by McNamara’s use of the fog of war analogy, it is that McNamara himself either lacked the sight to see through the fog, or that his ability to judge the situation based on what he saw was insufficient to the task at hand.  In either case, McNamara failed.  This movie is an attempt to obscure that fact, and to consign it to a foggy battlefield on another continent nearly half a century ago.  By all means, watch this movie.  But when you do, use your eyes to see clearly the riflemen in the trees, concealed by the fog.

The recent ban of trans fatty acids (commonly known as “trans fat”) by the City of New York is such a mockery of the American public and our system of government that it would require more space than I have available to address each flaw in the collective judgment of the New York City Board of Health.

The health effects of a quantitative intake of trans fat aren’t really debatable - once one considers the fact that until as recently as the early 1990s trans fat wasn’t viewed as a significant threat to the physical well-being of the ever-consuming public - but that really isn’t the issue I care to raise. If sufficient evidence indicates that trans fat is dangerous when consumed in significant quantities, I can understand a need to inform the public about the detrimental effects of a diet rich in trans fat. What I don’t agree with is the need to ban the consumption of it entirely.

What concerns me most, what annoyingly chafes my libertarian (please note the lowercase “L”) sensibilities, is that any government, no matter if it is city, state, or federal, feels it has the authority to legislate what may justifiably be consumed as food by the consenting populace. What we eat, beyond the questions of pesticides on produce and the handling of actual foodstuffs prior to the purchase by the consumer, should be matter of personal choice. With the exception for ensuring the general public is not poisoned by unsanitary conditions at the processing plants or during shipment, the essential freedoms engendered by the Bill of Rights should allow Americans the choice - whether ill-advised or not - the food they eat.

One can raise several questions which take into account various aspects where this freedom may be dangerous to the consumer, and naturally such situations require attention and appropriate action.

Nutritional education is essential and should be started at an early age. Schools have become the easiest way to disseminate such information, just as most schools now handle the sexual and drug-awareness education of children, matters once reserved to the attention (or inattention) of parents. While there is a dietary education system already in place for much of the country, the effectiveness of that program is certainly open to debate, especially as the rates of dietary-related disease continue to rise. I submit that this is a failure of the system as it stands and not an opening for the encroachment of the government into the civil liberties of Americans in regard to their food consumption. If an American citizen chooses a diet rich in fast food and other products of questionable nutritional value, it should merely be the duty of the government to inform that individual in advance, through prior education and requiring the posting of nutritional information by food purveyors, of the danger to their health posed by such activity.

Of course, there are children to consider, particularly children of parents incapable of providing them with proper nourishment. Unfortunately, with or without the trans fat legislation, this will always be the case until: a) an application and approval process is established for an official license to have children (which might not be such a bad idea after all), and b) a proper oversight and enforcement agency is developed to ensure all parents provide their children with the proper level of nutrition. The likelihood of either of these suggestions coming to fruition is of course minuscule at best.

I am amused when individuals develop a sense of self-righteousness about the “poison” in the food their children are exposed to and yet who would not stop to consider much of the mental poison that permeates our culture. In reality, which is more dangerous to the development of a child - the harmful ingredients in certain foods, or the glamorization of a life of crime, violence, abuse of women, and illicit drug use through certain types of popular music or motion pictures? As a parent, which would you rather give your child, a Krispy Kreme doughnut or the latest 50 Cent album? Which product is more dangerous? Which should be more strictly regulated?

As a matter of legality, we cannot ban 50 Cent and his cronies from making and selling albums because their rights to do so are protected under the First Amendment. They are using their freedom of speech to make an “artistic” statement in the form of music (although the musicality is considered open to debate by some). We can control, to an extent, the distribution of these products through a ratings system, but a complete ban on the expression of such “artists” would never hold up in court.

I suggest, then, that any company or individual involved in activity that would be endangered or altered by this trans fat ban file suit against the City of New York for a violation of their First Amendment rights. Common consensus is that culinarians - the bakers, butchers, chefs, and restaurateurs who provide us with the (edible) products of their self-expression - are artists of a certain degree. To infringe upon the artistic expression of an individual or group of individuals would constitute an unlawful suspension of such rights, particularly as it applies to the restaurant sector of the industry.

Why not parallel the regulation of the food and beverage industry with the “regulation” of the motion picture and music industries by developing a ratings scheme for food stuffs, restaurants, and bakeries? If that seems a daunting suggestion, I suggest that the enforcement of the trans fat ban hardly is an easy one, either.

A ratings system would not only allow the food providers the latitude to use whatever foodstuffs they required (with subsequent effect on their rating), but would create several niche business opportunities for restaurateurs interested in filling the demand for healthy eateries. A top rating in a variety of categories would be a selling point for chefs and restaurant owners, much as high scores in crash tests are for automobile manufacturers. The roll-out of such a ratings system would also be an opportunity for organizations like the FDA and American Heart Association to educate the public on their intake of the food available to them.

In the end it comes down to how much we care to allow the government to influence our lives. Do we tolerate regulations and legislation that provide a safety net for individuals incapable of fending for themselves, despite the restriction they create in the lives of the rest of the citizenry? Is there a certain level of food safety that we as a society need to ensure is met by all food providers, just as we require emissions and safety regulation for vehicles?

At what point do we draw the line, or do we continually allow the government the latitude to decide what is best for us, collectively, with no respect for our greater rights as individuals? When do we say that the needs of a group outweigh the rights of each individual?

Like it or not, this is about more than just food. This is another battleground in the struggle with the government for control over your body and your personal freedom.

As part of my one-day weekend I went out to a bar called The Golden Tee with some co-workers last night. It was sort of a goodwill gesture - most of my personal expression at work is taken up by my quick temper. So it’s nice to occasionally demonstrate that I am more than just a skilled automaton with a volcano bubbling just beneath the surface.

At any rate, it’s been a while since I’ve been out to a California bar. Last weekend I went to a few bars in Chicago, and since they were fresh in my memory, I was in for a good comparison opportunity.

I don’t know if it’s just because I’m getting older, but it seems like the music in bars is getting louder (not to mention crappier, but this isn’t the issue at hand). Thumping bass lines and way-to-high highs make it near-impossible to talk, which is slightly less than half the point of going to a bar. I couldn’t hear myself talking last night, much less the other guys I was out with. One of the bars I went to last weekend was a bit too loud, as well. If we’re going to do music in the establishment, I can understand playing it at sufficient volume so that it’s an active flavor in the personality of the place. But stifling conversation because everyone is hoarse from hollering at one another is stepping way over a line.

Most bars are dark, which I like. What I like better are bars that are dark during the day. Last Sunday, Jo and I went out with our friend Tim to a little bar in the neighborhood. It was blastedly sunny (and meltingly hot) outside, but once we were tucked in the little nook in the back of the bar next to the keg cooler door, it was nice. The place had sort of a rathskeller-y feel, complete with altbier, few customers, tall tables and stools, and a Cubs game and the Indy race (volume low) on the TVs. We had a great afternoon.

Last night the bar was nice and dark, but that was wasted by the TVs flashing annoying bar games, the new-fangled digital jukebox strobing along with the hip-hop beats, and the garishly-lit billiards area. Sadly, this is more the formula these days than the exception.

The biggest difference, however, was one you can’t quite put a finger on - the smoke in the air. In Chicago you can still smoke in a bar. Out in California, you can’t smoke anywhere - in a restaurant, in a barber shop, in a bar, in church - period. Doesn’t matter if you own the place or are just stopping in for a tipple, the decision has been made for you.

Before I get any further, let me preface my statements by admitting I smoke. Or rather, I used to. I quit exactly six months ago today, cold turkey, after years and years of smoking. Haven’t had a puff since. Thought about it, but didn’t. There are days I miss the cancer sticks, but quitting was a necessity for a number of reasons.

That said, it really bothers me when I can’t see some of the air I’m breathing in a bar. For a state with such horrible air pollution as a whole, you’d think a little bar-room smoking would be a drop in the bucket. Apparently the California State Legislature thought differently. After all, preventing people from smoking is a nobler task than ensuring the children of the state are actually educated through high school.

I’ll admit walking out of a bar and not smelling like an ashtray is appealing, especially since I’ve gotten the smoke smell out of my clothes and skin. That I have to run a gauntlet of all the banished smokers standing right outside the bar door is an ironic twist, but I can go home and right to bed without worrying about having to wash off the stale smoke stench.

I still hate the smoking ban, though. I have friends who smoke, and it’s annoying to have to work conversations around them going out to have a tobacco snack every twenty minutes. I’d much rather suck up a little secondhand smoke and enjoy an uninterrupted night with them than watch them make the parade out to the parking lot like we did in high school.

It’s a question of basic liberty, I think. One can argue that to allow smoking in an establishment violates the rights of those who don’t wish to breathe in the smoke. But what about the rights of the smokers to engage in a perfectly legal activity? Who protects their rights? And furthermore, what about the rights of the property owner? If they want to allow people to smoke, shouldn’t that be their decision?

Any time you get Government involved in an issue best decided by good sense and simple economics, someone’s rights go down the tubes. In this case, everyone’s rights go down the tubes. The business owner should be free to decide if smoking will be permitted in the establishment. It’s part of the overall feel of the place, for one thing, and if he’s willing to sacrifice some traffic because certain folks don’t want to go into a smoky restaurant, that’s his decision.

The same goes for the smoker. If the smoker goes to an establishment not allowing smoking, he’s not free to light up anyway. He made a decision to go inside, he has to accept the sacrifice and walk outside to light up. It works in the opposite fashion for the non-smoker. No moaning about it should be allowed from either party - patronize the place you prefer, and don’t mess it up for the other guy. Just suck it up. I’ll even mail concerned individuals a straw, free of charge.

Now, can we do something about that awful racket people are delusionally calling music?

Notes

I’m unfortunately going to be out in the field for nine days starting at six o’clock tomorrow morning, so my next update is scheduled for Wednesday the 14th of June. I know, I can’t believe it’s June already, either.

Tomorrow I have 180 days left in the Marine Corps, including weekends and holidays.

We’re all aware of Volvo’s safety record for passenger cars, but the Swedes hold themselves to the same standard for their busses as well. Check out this video, particularly the “elk test.”

My first column in the Winona Daily News was published today, and it’s available on-line here. Ironically, it’s about blogging.

I occasionally peruse, sometimes to my great peril, the website of my hometown newspaper, the aptly-named Winona Daily News. When I do so, I will invariably check out the Opinion section, a decision that puts me at great personal risk due to my pharmaceutically-regulated high blood pressure.

Cruising the Op/Ed section tonight, I came across a piece by Donna Strumski going by the title “‘Kids’ need a dose of common sense.”

My friend Mike says I love to grouse at length about things that annoy me, and I accept this frank evaluation without complaint - he’s right, after all. I had the misfortune to read Ms. Strumski’s column shortly before I planned to turn in for the night. Instead of blowing it off and crawling in bed to get some much-needed rest, I’ve spent the better part of an hour writing the response below.

‘Regarding Ms. Strumski’s assertion that the complete scope of Generation Y’s self-sufficiency can be distilled into the program “Fifteen” - actually, the title of the show is “Jamie’s Kitchen” and “Fifteen” is the name of Chef Oliver’s restaurant - I question the use of a “reality” television show as empirical evidence in such an anthropological conversation, unless, of course, one is making a judgment about the people who watch them. It seems to me that the “reality” of these programs is about on par with the “reality” to be found watching a World Wrestling Entertainment event. That is, I would no more presume to come to a conclusion of Greco-Roman wrestling based on a few viewings of WWE “matches” than I would base a judgment regarding an entire generation’s work ethic on the events portrayed in a television show designed to showcase conflict and attrition in a quest exclusively for entertainment.

The use of the Internet as a diary is another issue entirely. If one is to question the validity of sites such as MySpace, LiveJournal, or Friendster, the more pertinent issue might be the alarming use of such sites by underage users, or, worse yet, the to opportunity for sexual predators to use the sites as a means in interact with and troll for vulnerable teens.

Addressing the issue Ms. Strumski presents, however, examination of the motivation behind those who blog presents a genuine cross-section of impetuses. Some folks choose to blog about issues, events, or causes in the hope of stimulating conversation or awareness of their principal subject. Others choose to write about the daily grind of their lives, a sort of tribute to the universality of the human experience. Given the ability to speak a second language, one could feasibly read about the life of an individual in a foreign country and come away with a sense of commonality with his fellow man, and greater feeling of attachment to humanity.

There are also those who blog primarily about their feelings be they up or down. The motivations behind this are numerous. It is easier for some people to communicate in writing what they cannot in speech. Still others use their blog as an outlet for their emotions, even discussing them freely, because blogging preserves a certain amount of anonymity. Security settings and filters allow them to screen their readers, and many of the more popular blogs, such as LiveJournal, allow for private posting, which is viewable only to the journal holder. If one chooses to post something publicly, they are ipso facto violating their own privacy, and are likely doing so for a specific reason. After all, there are those folks who crave attention and feed off the drama they create, basking in their own narcissism and self-importance. Unfortunate though it may be, there will never be a piece of legislation which frees us from the junior high and high school antics of a significant portion of the population. We can, however, elect to ignore them.

In the end, it doesn’t matter if an individual posts extremely personal information about themselves on the Internet. The way the Internet works, as long as one pays “rent” for their online acreage (i.e., hosting fees), or fulfills the requirements of the community-type blogs (paying for a subscription or allowing advertising on your page), they are largely free to express themselves in any manner they see fit. Should that person choose to post something of a confidential nature, only to have their cover blown, they have only themselves to blame. Equally so, no one is forced to read any blog at all, and doing so is a tacit acceptance of the consequences. Literally, the rule is this: If you don’t want to find trouble, don’t go looking for it.’

I’ve sent a copy of the above response to the Daily News, though I don’t know if they’ll print it or not.

In addition to being annoyed with the entire premise of her column, I was offended by the useage of the word “gypsy” in her by-line. The word “gypsy” is an intransitive verb which describes the manner of living the life of a “Gypsy” (capital G), a member of the Roma ethnic group. If Ms. Strumanski is indeed Romani, I would suggest she capitalize the G to denote her status, or, better yet, use the actual name of the ethnic group and explain what it means. If she isn’t Romani, perhaps she could refrain from causing confusion and butchering the language, instead using “nomad” or “itinerant” to designate her apparent vagrancy.

And finally…

I will be out in the field until sometime Friday afternoon or evening, so there will be no update again until the customary weekend post. Hope you have a good rest of the week.

The post you’re about to read is partially inspired by my extremely slow Interweb connection tonight. It seems like even the big dogs are having problems - Blogger, Wikipedia, ESPN, Google - and it’s only a shade of what’s to come in three months.

If you haven’t heard about the seemingly imminent changes to the Internet (basically, the end of network neutrality), it’s not only a very real and imposing problem, but it is upon us like a wave looming over Laird Hamilton. Tim Wu, via Slate.com offers a good overview of the matter at hand and how it pertains to the individual Internet user.

Basically it boils down to profiteering (which seems to be the status quo among megacorps these days). AT&T, Verizon, BellSouth, and Comcast (just to name a few) all believe that they are somehow being taken to the cleaners by not dividing the Internet, currently free and open, into price-defined tiers of access. Whereas today this blog can be accessed as quickly as Amazon.com or Google, on the Internet of Tomorrow advocated by the telecoms I would have to pay a substantial fee in order to enjoy the same access as large corporations willing to cough up extra dough to continue doing business as usual.

On the Internet of Today, anyone, for better or worse, can be the next mouse that roars.

On the Internet of Tomorrow, your circle of influence equals your purchasing power.

What exactly is at stake? More than you might think.

What the telecoms don’t seem to understand is that the Internet operates on a much more fragile premise than anyone is willing to admit. The main gripe seems to be centered in the realm of online purchasing, be it from iTunes, Ebay, Amazon, or Google. The telecoms would have us believe they’re getting hosed because companies and customers are using their network as a medium to transact business. Never mind that both parties already pay the telecoms for their Internet connection, the telecoms demand the ability to regulate how effectively and efficiently that business can be conducted.

The problem is, the network is only a means to an end and derives any value it holds from the basic agreement that all three parties (consumer, network provider, and business) are essential to the equation. Take away the consumer, and the business has significantly less need for the network provider. Block access to a business and the consumer finds another way to contact it. More on the bad logic of a tiered Internet is located via this link to an article by James Surowiecki of the New Yorker.

If the telecoms aren’t dissuaded by the wrath of the American people which would surely follow the implementation of such a scheme, they should take into account subversive American ingenuity. With the advent of faster and more reliable Wi-Fi networks, AT&T and the rest of the sorry telecom lot shouldn’t be surprised if pirate and guerrilla networks spring up to cut Big Business out of the picture completely. As the Soviets found out in Afghanistan in the Eighties, and as the Bush Administration is finding out in Iraq today, it’s hard to crush an enemy that’s smaller and quicker to adjust than you are.

Luckily, one other sector of Big Business that just might have the pull to put the kibosh to any designs the telecoms have on the Internet is starting to wake up and smell the impending manure-storm. That’s right, the financial sector.

If you’re concerned about significant change to the principal of network neutrality, find out more about the issue at SavetheInternet.com, and then sign their petition.

Briefly

I don’t often read The Huffington Post, but I’ve been perusing it a bit more this week than normal. In doing so, I came across an article by Paul Rieckhoff detailing his new book, Chasing Ghosts, which hit shelves yesterday. I’ve never ready anything Rieckhoff has written before, but after finishing his blurb, I’m inclined to go check out the book.

So far, it seems to be the most accurate record of what deploying to Iraq is like. Eat the donuts at the airfield, hop on the plane with your rifle, and the next thing you know, you’re in the Third World with nothing but your wits, your will to survive, and (hopefully) several cartons of cigarettes to use alternately as currency and ritualistic self-centering props. I took six cartons when I left.