Below is the last in a short series of posts about my experiences in Riyadh during the Gulf War. As I noted in previous entries, my assignments during the war took me to Baghdad, Amman, Damascus, Dharan, and Kuwait City, but I spent most of the war (about three months) in the Hyatt Hotel in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia.
Today's post focuses on a talented young reporter named Katie Couric...
Part IV: Katie and Me
At the height of the Gulf War, the Today Show took several stories about the conflict for each of its major news blocks, and I often got the chance to do a live report on the information I’d gathered from Central Command’s daily briefing and from my sources in Riyadh for either the 7:00 a.m. or 8:00 a.m. news.
I hated it. Not the reporting – which I really enjoyed – but the live shots. There was something about talking to a round piece of glass that made me extremely uncomfortable.
This was not a problem for our Pentagon reporter, Katie Couric. Katie – actually, I think they were still calling her “Katherine” on the air at that point – was new to the network, and the news division had assigned her to back-up the regular Pentagon correspondent, Fred Francis, who was off covering the war in the field. And as we all soon discovered, Katie was a natural.
Most mornings the show would ask one of us to do a live shot for the 7:00 o’clock news block and the other to do one for the 8:00. But Katie and I would be on the phone to each other hours earlier, comparing notes. She would always quiz me about what I’d learned at the briefing, and I’d ask her what she was hearing at the Pentagon. It was all very collegial, but it didn’t take too long for me to realize that Katie had no compunction about using my material in her live-shot if she went on the air before me. And – equally sneaky – I would listen to her live shots and hear about important Pentagon developments that she’d somehow forgotten to brief me about on our morning call.
But you had to love her. She was a charmer, and she was just so damn good on the air.
One morning I said to her, “Katie, you’ve got to tell me. How do you communicate so naturally and confidently on your live shots?”
She said, “It’s easy. I just look at the camera and imagine I’m talking to my family back home.”
Right.
Well… I’m here to tell you: it’s not as easy as it looks.
Postscript:
I lost touch with Katie when I left NBC News, and she has, of course, moved on to great things at CBS. But I do remember answering a solicitation on the popular TV news gossip site, TVNewser, back in September of 2008 that said, “Katie Couric Wants to Know: ‘What Would You Ask Sarah Palin?’” Under the pen name “Letsgetreal,” I wrote, “If I were Katie, I'd say: ‘Governor, we live in a complicated world. And it's clear you lead a very busy life. So how do you get your information about what's going on? What do you read, and watch, and listen to? What have you read recently that has informed or influenced your views on the direction America is taking?’" I don’t know if my suggested question ever made it to Katie’s desk, but I was delighted when she used a similar question in her interview with Palin later that week. Katie's Palin interviews were a political game-changer, and she received numerous awards for them. All well-deserved.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Friday, February 26, 2010
Field Notes of a Hotel Warrior, Part III
This is the third in a series of posts about my experiences as NBC's "Man in Riyadh" during the Gulf War. As I noted in the first post, my assignments during the war took me to Baghdad, Amman, Damascus, Dharan, and Kuwait City, but I spent most of the war (about three months) in the Hyatt Hotel in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia.
Today's post deals with communications strategy, something I thought very little about when I was a journalist, but which I've thought about a lot in the second half of my working life...
Part III: Bovine Scatology
General Schwarzkopf is well remembered for the strategic and tactical brilliance he demonstrated as the military commander of Coalition forces during the Gulf War, but his skills as a communications strategist are not as widely known. I can tell you from first-hand experience: he was a first-class communicator.
I don’t remember the exact dates, but sometime before the commencement of ground operations against Iraqi forces in Kuwait there were a number of air and sea operations that made news. One of these was a firefight in a town called Khafji, just over the Iraqi border in Saudi Arabia. As I remember the sequence of events, Coalition troops who had taken up positions in the town were ambushed by Iraqi troops in a cross-border raid, but the Iraqi advances were then reversed when Coalition forces counter-attacked and re-took the town. It was the first real ground battle of the war, and the casualties included a number of US and Saudi soldiers. With the whole world watching developments in the Middle East, it was big news, and the US military command in Riyadh scheduled a press briefing with General Schwarzkopf for the following day.
At about the same time as the Battle of Khafji, a Coalition air assault on an Iraqi oil storage facility had succeeded in destroying a strategic target, but had also, inadvertently, created an oil spill that was fouling a several-square-mile patch of the Persian Gulf. An American newspaper had picked up the oil spill story and claimed that the US Navy had been asked to help manage the spill but had refused. Khafji would certainly be Topic A at the press briefing, but the oil spill story would probably also get a mention.
The night before the General’s press conference, I got a phone call in my hotel room from Schwarzkopf’s press attaché, Ron Wildermuth.
“The General would be very grateful if you would ask a specific question at tomorrow’s briefing,” Wildermuth said.
“Whoa, Ron…” I said, “You know I can’t ask a planted question…”
“I know, I know,” Wildermuth said, “But the General would really appreciate it if you would ask this question.”
I didn’t like the sound of this, but I also figured that it was important to stay in the General’s good graces. I suggested a compromise.
“Well, if I ask the General’s question, will I get a chance to ask a question of my own?”
“No way,” Wildermuth said. “Nobody gets a second question at a Schwarzkopf briefing.”
“Then I can’t do it,” I said.
About ten minutes later I was getting ready for bed when the phone rang again. It was Captain Wildermuth.
“OK,” he said. “You get your second question.”
I had to figure that he’d tried and failed to get some other stooge to do the General’s bidding, which made me feel even more like a sell-out for agreeing to this scheme. But, I told myself, at least I’d get to ask my own question as a follow-up.
“So what does the General want me to ask?”
“He’d like you to ask him whether the US Navy refused a request to help with the oil spill,” Wildermuth said.
“OK,” I said. “That’s a legitimate question. I’m sure somebody would have asked it anyway, but I’ll make sure the General gets a chance to put it on the record.”
At the press conference the next day, General Schwarzkopf put on his standard, impressive performance. He added new details to what had previously been reported about the Battle of Khafji, and he brought the press corps up to date on the air war.
“I’ve got time for a few questions,” he said, and pointed to me.
“General,” I said, “As you know, there have been media reports that the US Navy refused a request to assist with cleanup of an oil spill that took place recently in the Gulf. Would you care to comment?”
Schwarzkopf looked at me as if I were either incredibly stupid or possibly insane. Then he rocked back on his heels and said, “That’s the most ridiculous piece of bovine scatology I’ve ever heard in my life!” He’d found a PG way of saying “bullshit,” and he got a good laugh from the press and his fellow officers. He then went on to correct the record of events in the Gulf, and moved on to other questions.
I thought about our brief exchange afterwards and I realized that I’d been just a small piece in a neat little bit of military communications strategy. Schwarzkopf was angry about a report that criticized – and in his view, misrepresented – the actions of a naval vessel under his command, and he wanted to correct the record. He knew that most, maybe all of the questions he’d be asked at the briefing would be about Khafji – the big story of the day – but he wanted to make sure that he made his point about the Navy and the oil spill.
So he got his press attaché to find a stooge (me) to ask a question about the incident so he would be sure to get his answer on the record. But then he must have thought, “What if I answer the question but they don’t put my answer on the news?” At which point – and this was the “genius” part – he came up with a clever soundbite he knew we couldn’t resist.
The result? All three networks used the “bovine scatology” clip that night, and CNN played it on the hour for most of the day.
I’ve learned a lot about communications strategy in the second half of my working life, and I’ve often used this Schwarzkopf story as a “teachable moment” in media training seminars. I summarize it this way: the General had a communications goal (set the record straight on a piece of battlefield misinformation), and he devised a strategy (use the Khafji press conference as a platform to reach a wide audience), and specific tactics (find a stooge, develop a compelling message, etc.) to achieve his goal. And in this case, everything went to plan. In military terms: mission accomplished.
I could only admire the General’s skills, even if I ended up playing the stooge in his communications strategy. And oh yes, I did get my second question. All these years later, I can’t remember what it was. But I do remember that it never made the news.
Postscript:
General Schwarzkopf's press officer, Captain Ron Wildermuth, retired from the Navy shortly after the Gulf War after 23 years of distinguished service. I located him in Carson, California, where he's now the Manager of Public and Government Affairs for the West Basin Municipal Water District, and shared a draft of this post. "Boy does this bring back memories," he wrote. Mission accomplished, Ron.
Today's post deals with communications strategy, something I thought very little about when I was a journalist, but which I've thought about a lot in the second half of my working life...
Part III: Bovine Scatology
General Schwarzkopf is well remembered for the strategic and tactical brilliance he demonstrated as the military commander of Coalition forces during the Gulf War, but his skills as a communications strategist are not as widely known. I can tell you from first-hand experience: he was a first-class communicator.
I don’t remember the exact dates, but sometime before the commencement of ground operations against Iraqi forces in Kuwait there were a number of air and sea operations that made news. One of these was a firefight in a town called Khafji, just over the Iraqi border in Saudi Arabia. As I remember the sequence of events, Coalition troops who had taken up positions in the town were ambushed by Iraqi troops in a cross-border raid, but the Iraqi advances were then reversed when Coalition forces counter-attacked and re-took the town. It was the first real ground battle of the war, and the casualties included a number of US and Saudi soldiers. With the whole world watching developments in the Middle East, it was big news, and the US military command in Riyadh scheduled a press briefing with General Schwarzkopf for the following day.
At about the same time as the Battle of Khafji, a Coalition air assault on an Iraqi oil storage facility had succeeded in destroying a strategic target, but had also, inadvertently, created an oil spill that was fouling a several-square-mile patch of the Persian Gulf. An American newspaper had picked up the oil spill story and claimed that the US Navy had been asked to help manage the spill but had refused. Khafji would certainly be Topic A at the press briefing, but the oil spill story would probably also get a mention.
The night before the General’s press conference, I got a phone call in my hotel room from Schwarzkopf’s press attaché, Ron Wildermuth.
“The General would be very grateful if you would ask a specific question at tomorrow’s briefing,” Wildermuth said.
“Whoa, Ron…” I said, “You know I can’t ask a planted question…”
“I know, I know,” Wildermuth said, “But the General would really appreciate it if you would ask this question.”
I didn’t like the sound of this, but I also figured that it was important to stay in the General’s good graces. I suggested a compromise.
“Well, if I ask the General’s question, will I get a chance to ask a question of my own?”
“No way,” Wildermuth said. “Nobody gets a second question at a Schwarzkopf briefing.”
“Then I can’t do it,” I said.
About ten minutes later I was getting ready for bed when the phone rang again. It was Captain Wildermuth.
“OK,” he said. “You get your second question.”
I had to figure that he’d tried and failed to get some other stooge to do the General’s bidding, which made me feel even more like a sell-out for agreeing to this scheme. But, I told myself, at least I’d get to ask my own question as a follow-up.
“So what does the General want me to ask?”
“He’d like you to ask him whether the US Navy refused a request to help with the oil spill,” Wildermuth said.
“OK,” I said. “That’s a legitimate question. I’m sure somebody would have asked it anyway, but I’ll make sure the General gets a chance to put it on the record.”
At the press conference the next day, General Schwarzkopf put on his standard, impressive performance. He added new details to what had previously been reported about the Battle of Khafji, and he brought the press corps up to date on the air war.
“I’ve got time for a few questions,” he said, and pointed to me.
“General,” I said, “As you know, there have been media reports that the US Navy refused a request to assist with cleanup of an oil spill that took place recently in the Gulf. Would you care to comment?”
Schwarzkopf looked at me as if I were either incredibly stupid or possibly insane. Then he rocked back on his heels and said, “That’s the most ridiculous piece of bovine scatology I’ve ever heard in my life!” He’d found a PG way of saying “bullshit,” and he got a good laugh from the press and his fellow officers. He then went on to correct the record of events in the Gulf, and moved on to other questions.
I thought about our brief exchange afterwards and I realized that I’d been just a small piece in a neat little bit of military communications strategy. Schwarzkopf was angry about a report that criticized – and in his view, misrepresented – the actions of a naval vessel under his command, and he wanted to correct the record. He knew that most, maybe all of the questions he’d be asked at the briefing would be about Khafji – the big story of the day – but he wanted to make sure that he made his point about the Navy and the oil spill.
So he got his press attaché to find a stooge (me) to ask a question about the incident so he would be sure to get his answer on the record. But then he must have thought, “What if I answer the question but they don’t put my answer on the news?” At which point – and this was the “genius” part – he came up with a clever soundbite he knew we couldn’t resist.
The result? All three networks used the “bovine scatology” clip that night, and CNN played it on the hour for most of the day.
I’ve learned a lot about communications strategy in the second half of my working life, and I’ve often used this Schwarzkopf story as a “teachable moment” in media training seminars. I summarize it this way: the General had a communications goal (set the record straight on a piece of battlefield misinformation), and he devised a strategy (use the Khafji press conference as a platform to reach a wide audience), and specific tactics (find a stooge, develop a compelling message, etc.) to achieve his goal. And in this case, everything went to plan. In military terms: mission accomplished.
I could only admire the General’s skills, even if I ended up playing the stooge in his communications strategy. And oh yes, I did get my second question. All these years later, I can’t remember what it was. But I do remember that it never made the news.
Postscript:
General Schwarzkopf's press officer, Captain Ron Wildermuth, retired from the Navy shortly after the Gulf War after 23 years of distinguished service. I located him in Carson, California, where he's now the Manager of Public and Government Affairs for the West Basin Municipal Water District, and shared a draft of this post. "Boy does this bring back memories," he wrote. Mission accomplished, Ron.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Field Notes of a Hotel Warrior, Part II
Yesterday I began a series of posts on my experiences as a journalist during the Gulf War. As I noted then, my assignments during the war took me to Baghdad, Amman, Damascus, Dharan, and Kuwait City, but I spent most of the war (about three months) in the Hyatt Hotel in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia.
Today's post deals with the impact of round-the-clock television news coverage on war reporting...
Part II: Fighting CNN's War
After the air war began, the US military created a daily briefing for the press. I’m guessing that they modeled their briefing plans on the “5 o'clock Follies” in Vietnam, but the Gulf War was a different kind of conflict, taking place in a different media environment, and the Vietnam model didn’t work. This was war in the age of satellite television, waged under the watchful eye of CNN and its non-stop, 24/7 news cycle.
All of which created serious problems for the military briefers. Day after day they appeared at the podium with “battle summaries” of yesterday’s news, then got hammered with questions about fresh battlefield developments they knew nothing about – developments that had been reported moments earlier on CNN. As a reporter, I was embarrassed for these guys. And the General in charge, I soon learned, was furious.
One evening, during the early days of the air war, I got a call in my hotel room shortly after 11 p.m. from Captain Wildermuth, General Schwarzkopf’s press liaison. He asked me if I could round up three or four other reporters and proceed to Central Command’s headquarters across the street (“the bunker”) for a meeting at midnight with the General.
I made some quick phone calls, and a half hour later, four colleagues and I were escorted to the military’s underground headquarters. Schwarzkopf entered the room at exactly midnight and he had steam coming out of his ears.
“You guys are beating up on my guy every day in the briefing room and I want to know what we need to do to put a stop to it,” the General said.
“The problem,” we explained, “is that the briefers are showing up with old news. We’re asking them about stuff we’re seeing on CNN and they don’t seem to have a clue…”
“Well, it’s making us look bad, and I’m not about to have the US military looking bad on American television. I want to know how we can fix this.”
“How about having a senior level officer come directly from the War Room to the briefing room?” we suggested. “That way we’d know that the information was accurate and up-to-date…”
“Done,” Schwarzkopf said. “Ron, I want this fixed by tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, Sir,” the Captain said, as Schwarzkopf left the room.
It was like a scene out of The King and I. “So let it be done!” Yul Brenner commanded. And it was.
The next morning we were briefed by Schwarzkopf’s Deputy of Operations, Marine Corps General Richard “Butch” Neal, who, as promised, came to the hotel directly from the War Room. Butch did a terrific job, that day and for weeks to come. And to his credit, he always tried to give us at least one piece of news that we hadn’t seen yet on CNN.
Postscript:
The daily briefings made Butch Neal a star. In an interview with Northeastern University’s alumni magazine in 2004 he said, “I didn’t understand the magnitude of the exposure at the time. I remember my wife saying to me, ‘You can’t realize what it’s like – you’re on every TV station all the time, every radio all the time’.” Butch got more than his fifteen minutes of fame. But in my opinion, he deserved it.
Today's post deals with the impact of round-the-clock television news coverage on war reporting...
Part II: Fighting CNN's War
After the air war began, the US military created a daily briefing for the press. I’m guessing that they modeled their briefing plans on the “5 o'clock Follies” in Vietnam, but the Gulf War was a different kind of conflict, taking place in a different media environment, and the Vietnam model didn’t work. This was war in the age of satellite television, waged under the watchful eye of CNN and its non-stop, 24/7 news cycle.
All of which created serious problems for the military briefers. Day after day they appeared at the podium with “battle summaries” of yesterday’s news, then got hammered with questions about fresh battlefield developments they knew nothing about – developments that had been reported moments earlier on CNN. As a reporter, I was embarrassed for these guys. And the General in charge, I soon learned, was furious.
One evening, during the early days of the air war, I got a call in my hotel room shortly after 11 p.m. from Captain Wildermuth, General Schwarzkopf’s press liaison. He asked me if I could round up three or four other reporters and proceed to Central Command’s headquarters across the street (“the bunker”) for a meeting at midnight with the General.
I made some quick phone calls, and a half hour later, four colleagues and I were escorted to the military’s underground headquarters. Schwarzkopf entered the room at exactly midnight and he had steam coming out of his ears.
“You guys are beating up on my guy every day in the briefing room and I want to know what we need to do to put a stop to it,” the General said.
“The problem,” we explained, “is that the briefers are showing up with old news. We’re asking them about stuff we’re seeing on CNN and they don’t seem to have a clue…”
“Well, it’s making us look bad, and I’m not about to have the US military looking bad on American television. I want to know how we can fix this.”
“How about having a senior level officer come directly from the War Room to the briefing room?” we suggested. “That way we’d know that the information was accurate and up-to-date…”
“Done,” Schwarzkopf said. “Ron, I want this fixed by tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, Sir,” the Captain said, as Schwarzkopf left the room.
It was like a scene out of The King and I. “So let it be done!” Yul Brenner commanded. And it was.
The next morning we were briefed by Schwarzkopf’s Deputy of Operations, Marine Corps General Richard “Butch” Neal, who, as promised, came to the hotel directly from the War Room. Butch did a terrific job, that day and for weeks to come. And to his credit, he always tried to give us at least one piece of news that we hadn’t seen yet on CNN.
Postscript:
The daily briefings made Butch Neal a star. In an interview with Northeastern University’s alumni magazine in 2004 he said, “I didn’t understand the magnitude of the exposure at the time. I remember my wife saying to me, ‘You can’t realize what it’s like – you’re on every TV station all the time, every radio all the time’.” Butch got more than his fifteen minutes of fame. But in my opinion, he deserved it.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Field Notes of a Hotel Warrior, Part I
Over the next few days I plan to post some of my recollections of the Gulf War. My assignments during the war took me to Baghdad, Amman, Damascus, Dharan, and Kuwait City, but I spent most of the war (about three months) in the Hyatt Hotel in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia.
So here's the Gulf War, as I remember it...
Part I: “Call Me Skip”
The Coalition ground offensive against Iraq’s occupying army in Kuwait began nineteen years ago this week. It was a beautifully planned and brilliantly executed military operation, and I was privileged to watch most of it from a second-row folding chair in a conference room in the Hyatt Hotel in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia.
A fellow journalist called us “hotel warriors,” which seemed apt until the first Scud missiles landed in Riyadh and we had to suit up in our chemical protection outfits and drive around the city looking for bomb damage. Still, Riyadh wasn’t the front line for either the ground war or the air war. The front lines were, respectively, in neighboring Kuwait, where US-led coalition forces were pushing the Iraqis out of the country, and in Iraq itself, where US planes were bombing strategic targets and “lighting up Baghdad” on CNN.
But Riyadh was the headquarters for Central Command, where the coalition’s Commander-in-Chief, US Army General Norman Schwarzkopf, oversaw every aspect of the war’s design and prosecution. And it was an exciting place to be in February of ’91… and not least because it gave reporters a chance to see the war from the “C-in-C’s” (sounds like “sinks”) point of view.
Many reporters who covered the Gulf War faulted the US military for its tight restrictions on war coverage and its "selectivity" when it came to releasing information to the public, and some of their criticisms were certainly legitimate. But I personally felt that I had great access to the military brass in Riyadh and that they were, for the most part, responsive to my questions and requests for information.
I think that was partly a result of a fortunate incident that took place in early January, when the coalition initiated the air campaign that preceded the ground offensive in Kuwait. The war had been months in the planning at that point, but despite repeated requests, Schwarzkopf had given no interviews and held no press conferences. We were told that the C-in-C was “busy planning the war” and didn’t have time to speak to the press.
I was pleased, then, to finally hear from the General’s press officer, Captain Ron Wildermuth, that General Schwarzkopf would be available to do a series of round-robin interviews with the American TV networks for our Sunday morning public affairs shows. He was also planning to give his first press conference the following day, Ron said, in time for our Monday morning programs.
Shortly after the call, representatives from ABC, CBS, and CNN joined me in a meeting in the Hyatt conference room to draw straws to determine the order of the interviews. We won. Schwarzkopf would speak first to Garrick Utley, who was then the host of Meet the Press.
Because NBC was first in the rotation, we were given responsibility for the technical arrangements. On the designated Sunday morning, we created a makeshift “set” in a hotel function room, and laid the cable we needed to connect with our satellite uplink. The General, we were told, would arrive on set at about 6:00 pm, a half hour before broadcast time (Riyadh is eight hours ahead of New York), so we could set our lights and mike levels.
Surprise. Schwarzkopf showed up at 5:00 pm instead of 6:00.
“Ron, I hope I haven’t gotten things confused here, but we don’t go on the air for another ninety minutes. We were expecting you and the General in an hour.”
“I know,” Wildermuth said. “It’s a security issue. The General’s staff decided it was wise to bring him over early, rather than when he was expected to arrive.”
Which was fine by me. As our camera crew set up our equipment, I had an hour to sit and chat with the C-in-C, one-on-one.
I asked Schwarzkopf every question I could think of about developments in the air war and his plans for the ground campaign. He parried most of my questions diplomatically, but he did give me some new insights that I was able to pass along to NBC headquarters in New York.
But we also talked about personal stuff. Schwarzkopf was based in Florida, which was headquarters for the military division responsible for the Middle East, and I had recently spent three years as a producer in NBC’s Miami bureau, so we swapped Florida stories. I’d also covered the civil wars in El Salvador and Nicaragua, which was another point of common interest.
At about 6:15, our NBC cameraman interrupted us and said it was time for the General to take his position on the set. As I escorted him to his chair, I said, “General, I wonder if you could do me a favor. If you call on me at tomorrow’s press conference, I wonder if you could call me ‘Skip.’ It was my childhood nickname, and I know my mother back in Pennsylvania will be watching the Today Show and it will make her very proud.”
“Sure,” he said. “I’ll remember that…”
The Meet the Press interview went off without a hitch, and the General gave his first press conference, as scheduled, early the next afternoon. It was a big show. Colin Powell and Dick Cheney had flown in from DC for the event, with most of the top American and Saudi military brass flanking the podium. And General Schwarzkopf made a comprehensive presentation, complete with maps and videos and detailed “bomb damage assessments.”
When he was finished, he said, “OK, I have time for a few questions.” I raised my hand and the General pointed his index finger at me.
“Skip?”
I asked my question, got an answer, and NBC used the exchange on the Today Show. And yes, my mother and my father, back in Allentown were very pleased.
But the most interesting thing about this story is what happened in the weeks after that first press briefing. I found that I was almost always called on first at press conferences, no matter who was briefing. I was like the Helen Thomas of Riyadh. It confused me at first, but then I figured out that the military brass who had attended that first press conference all assumed that because the C-in-C had called on me by name – and a nickname at that – I must be a personal friend of the General’s.
I think my press corps colleagues got the same impression. I always got my favorite seat in the briefing room. Second row left, on the aisle.
Weeks later, I remember, a CNN producer came up to me and said, “Hey, I gotta ask you. You know, at every press conference, these military guys call on you first, and they all seem to know your name. Did you, like, cover the Pentagon or something?”
I took a moment to think about my answer.
“No,” I said. “I’ve just been working my sources.”
So here's the Gulf War, as I remember it...
Part I: “Call Me Skip”
The Coalition ground offensive against Iraq’s occupying army in Kuwait began nineteen years ago this week. It was a beautifully planned and brilliantly executed military operation, and I was privileged to watch most of it from a second-row folding chair in a conference room in the Hyatt Hotel in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia.
A fellow journalist called us “hotel warriors,” which seemed apt until the first Scud missiles landed in Riyadh and we had to suit up in our chemical protection outfits and drive around the city looking for bomb damage. Still, Riyadh wasn’t the front line for either the ground war or the air war. The front lines were, respectively, in neighboring Kuwait, where US-led coalition forces were pushing the Iraqis out of the country, and in Iraq itself, where US planes were bombing strategic targets and “lighting up Baghdad” on CNN.
But Riyadh was the headquarters for Central Command, where the coalition’s Commander-in-Chief, US Army General Norman Schwarzkopf, oversaw every aspect of the war’s design and prosecution. And it was an exciting place to be in February of ’91… and not least because it gave reporters a chance to see the war from the “C-in-C’s” (sounds like “sinks”) point of view.
Many reporters who covered the Gulf War faulted the US military for its tight restrictions on war coverage and its "selectivity" when it came to releasing information to the public, and some of their criticisms were certainly legitimate. But I personally felt that I had great access to the military brass in Riyadh and that they were, for the most part, responsive to my questions and requests for information.
I think that was partly a result of a fortunate incident that took place in early January, when the coalition initiated the air campaign that preceded the ground offensive in Kuwait. The war had been months in the planning at that point, but despite repeated requests, Schwarzkopf had given no interviews and held no press conferences. We were told that the C-in-C was “busy planning the war” and didn’t have time to speak to the press.
I was pleased, then, to finally hear from the General’s press officer, Captain Ron Wildermuth, that General Schwarzkopf would be available to do a series of round-robin interviews with the American TV networks for our Sunday morning public affairs shows. He was also planning to give his first press conference the following day, Ron said, in time for our Monday morning programs.
Shortly after the call, representatives from ABC, CBS, and CNN joined me in a meeting in the Hyatt conference room to draw straws to determine the order of the interviews. We won. Schwarzkopf would speak first to Garrick Utley, who was then the host of Meet the Press.
Because NBC was first in the rotation, we were given responsibility for the technical arrangements. On the designated Sunday morning, we created a makeshift “set” in a hotel function room, and laid the cable we needed to connect with our satellite uplink. The General, we were told, would arrive on set at about 6:00 pm, a half hour before broadcast time (Riyadh is eight hours ahead of New York), so we could set our lights and mike levels.
Surprise. Schwarzkopf showed up at 5:00 pm instead of 6:00.
“Ron, I hope I haven’t gotten things confused here, but we don’t go on the air for another ninety minutes. We were expecting you and the General in an hour.”
“I know,” Wildermuth said. “It’s a security issue. The General’s staff decided it was wise to bring him over early, rather than when he was expected to arrive.”
Which was fine by me. As our camera crew set up our equipment, I had an hour to sit and chat with the C-in-C, one-on-one.
I asked Schwarzkopf every question I could think of about developments in the air war and his plans for the ground campaign. He parried most of my questions diplomatically, but he did give me some new insights that I was able to pass along to NBC headquarters in New York.
But we also talked about personal stuff. Schwarzkopf was based in Florida, which was headquarters for the military division responsible for the Middle East, and I had recently spent three years as a producer in NBC’s Miami bureau, so we swapped Florida stories. I’d also covered the civil wars in El Salvador and Nicaragua, which was another point of common interest.
At about 6:15, our NBC cameraman interrupted us and said it was time for the General to take his position on the set. As I escorted him to his chair, I said, “General, I wonder if you could do me a favor. If you call on me at tomorrow’s press conference, I wonder if you could call me ‘Skip.’ It was my childhood nickname, and I know my mother back in Pennsylvania will be watching the Today Show and it will make her very proud.”
“Sure,” he said. “I’ll remember that…”
The Meet the Press interview went off without a hitch, and the General gave his first press conference, as scheduled, early the next afternoon. It was a big show. Colin Powell and Dick Cheney had flown in from DC for the event, with most of the top American and Saudi military brass flanking the podium. And General Schwarzkopf made a comprehensive presentation, complete with maps and videos and detailed “bomb damage assessments.”
When he was finished, he said, “OK, I have time for a few questions.” I raised my hand and the General pointed his index finger at me.
“Skip?”
I asked my question, got an answer, and NBC used the exchange on the Today Show. And yes, my mother and my father, back in Allentown were very pleased.
But the most interesting thing about this story is what happened in the weeks after that first press briefing. I found that I was almost always called on first at press conferences, no matter who was briefing. I was like the Helen Thomas of Riyadh. It confused me at first, but then I figured out that the military brass who had attended that first press conference all assumed that because the C-in-C had called on me by name – and a nickname at that – I must be a personal friend of the General’s.
I think my press corps colleagues got the same impression. I always got my favorite seat in the briefing room. Second row left, on the aisle.
Weeks later, I remember, a CNN producer came up to me and said, “Hey, I gotta ask you. You know, at every press conference, these military guys call on you first, and they all seem to know your name. Did you, like, cover the Pentagon or something?”
I took a moment to think about my answer.
“No,” I said. “I’ve just been working my sources.”
Sunday, February 21, 2010
The Bolt-hole Dilemma
We've been enjoying the Winter Olympics. The skating, the downhill, the half-pipe -- all great. And we've also enjoyed the commercials, especially the ones for Vancouver and British Columbia. What a beautiful place! -- and, I'm thinking, maybe the perfect bolt-hole.
Merriam-Webster defines a bolt-hole as "a place of escape or refuge" (think of a hole in a fence or a hedge that a rabbit can bolt through when it's being chased). I first heard the term back in the '80s when I was covering "the troubles" in Northern Ireland. A Protestant businessman I met in Belfast told me that he loved his country, but that he was saving up for a "bolt-hole back in London" in case things got really bad.
Well, nowadays we've got troubles of our own here in the States, and I'm guessing that for more than a few Americans, a bolt-hole like Vancouver is looking better and better. Lauding Canada's virtues in a recent New York Times piece, columnist Timothy Egan wrote, "Their murder rate is just a third that of the United States. They have universal health care... And when our financial system caused the world economy to tank because of reckless deregulation, Canada's banks were steady as they go, boring and mostly health." Egan called Vancouver, "Manhattan with mountains."
"Boring and mostly healthy" probably sounds pretty good to a lot of people down in the real Manhattan, where the US economy is struggling to dig itself out of the Great Recession. And if you still don't think our economic problems are serious, Don Peck's cover story in this month's Atlantic will have you Googling Canadian real estate agents faster than you can say Vancouver. In "The Recession's Long Shadow," Peck, the magazine's deputy managing editor, assesses the long-term impact of what many economists predict will be prolonged and widespread unemployment in the US. After laying out the grim statistics ("The unemployment rate hit 10 percent in October, and there are good reasons to believe that by 2011, 2012 and even 2014, it will have declined only a little"), Peck writes:
"All of these figures understate the magnitude of the jobs crisis. The broadest measure of unemployment and underemployment (which includes people who want to work but have stopped actively searching for a job, along with those who want full-time jobs but can find only part-time work) reached 17.4 percent in October, which appears to be the highest figure since the 1930s."
Peck then cites a recent survey showing that 44 percent of American families have experienced a job loss, a reduction in hours, or a pay cut in the past year. "If it persists much longer," Peck concludes, "this era of high joblessness... is likely to warp our politics, our culture, and the character of our society for years."
If Peck's story depresses you, don't open today's New York Times. Reporter Peter Goodman begins his front page, above-the-fold story, "Despite Signs of Recovery, Chronic Joblessness Rises," by declaring that "Even as the American economy shows tentative signs of a rebound, the human toll of the recession continues to mount, with millions of Americans remaining out of work, out of savings and nearing the end of their unemployment benefits." Maurice Emsellem, a policy director for the National Employment Law Project, told Goodman that "The system was ill prepared for the reality of long-term unemployment... Now, you add a severe recession and you have created a crisis of historic proportions."
Up in boring and mostly healthy Canada, unemployment, though up compared with pre-recession levels, has actually declined for four of the past six months. The national unemployment level stands at 8.3 percent -- unacceptably high, yes, but still about 1.7 percent below the US figure. And for those of you keeping a bolt-hole list, unemployment in British Columbia is at 8.1 percent, slightly below the Canadian national average.
Setting economics aside, Canada also looks good to Americans who are depressed about our hyper-partisan, paralyzed and dysfunctional political system. I'll save my comments about politics for a later post, but in the interim I highly recommend David Barstow's chilling report on right wing groups affiliated with the Tea Party movement in last Tuesday's Times ("Tea Party Lights Fuse for Rebellion on Right"). If groups like Arm in Arm, which "aims to organize neighborhoods for possible civil strife by stockpiling food and survival gear, and forming armed neighborhood groups," and Oath Keepers, which "recruits military and law enforcement officials who are asked to disobey orders the group deems unconstitutional" continue to grow, a lot more Americans will be shopping for bolt-holes in the near future.
But as attractive as a "bolt-hole strategy" might be, it doesn't feel quite right. The United States is a great country, with a long and proud history as a beacon of liberty and opportunity for the rest of the world. You don't have to be a cry-on-cue, right wing television personality to love this place: it's blessed with breath-taking natural beauty and it's full of decent, hard-working, honest, kind, and generous people. It really is a tough place to turn your back on.
And despite its current struggles, it's important to remember that the United States has been an engine of progress for the entire global economy for almost a century. Which means that the failure of the American economy isn't just bad for America; it's bad for the whole world. "We are the indispensable nation," former Secretary of State Madeleine Albright once said. Or as an Australian friend of mine put it: "The world needs a strong America."
Which begs the question: who will keep America strong and great if -- when the going gets tough -- the tough "get going" to Canada, the Caribbean, Australia and New Zealand?
Is it right to stay and fight, or is it smarter to know when to pack and go?
It's a world-class, bolt-hole dilemma.
Merriam-Webster defines a bolt-hole as "a place of escape or refuge" (think of a hole in a fence or a hedge that a rabbit can bolt through when it's being chased). I first heard the term back in the '80s when I was covering "the troubles" in Northern Ireland. A Protestant businessman I met in Belfast told me that he loved his country, but that he was saving up for a "bolt-hole back in London" in case things got really bad.
Well, nowadays we've got troubles of our own here in the States, and I'm guessing that for more than a few Americans, a bolt-hole like Vancouver is looking better and better. Lauding Canada's virtues in a recent New York Times piece, columnist Timothy Egan wrote, "Their murder rate is just a third that of the United States. They have universal health care... And when our financial system caused the world economy to tank because of reckless deregulation, Canada's banks were steady as they go, boring and mostly health." Egan called Vancouver, "Manhattan with mountains."
"Boring and mostly healthy" probably sounds pretty good to a lot of people down in the real Manhattan, where the US economy is struggling to dig itself out of the Great Recession. And if you still don't think our economic problems are serious, Don Peck's cover story in this month's Atlantic will have you Googling Canadian real estate agents faster than you can say Vancouver. In "The Recession's Long Shadow," Peck, the magazine's deputy managing editor, assesses the long-term impact of what many economists predict will be prolonged and widespread unemployment in the US. After laying out the grim statistics ("The unemployment rate hit 10 percent in October, and there are good reasons to believe that by 2011, 2012 and even 2014, it will have declined only a little"), Peck writes:
"All of these figures understate the magnitude of the jobs crisis. The broadest measure of unemployment and underemployment (which includes people who want to work but have stopped actively searching for a job, along with those who want full-time jobs but can find only part-time work) reached 17.4 percent in October, which appears to be the highest figure since the 1930s."
Peck then cites a recent survey showing that 44 percent of American families have experienced a job loss, a reduction in hours, or a pay cut in the past year. "If it persists much longer," Peck concludes, "this era of high joblessness... is likely to warp our politics, our culture, and the character of our society for years."
If Peck's story depresses you, don't open today's New York Times. Reporter Peter Goodman begins his front page, above-the-fold story, "Despite Signs of Recovery, Chronic Joblessness Rises," by declaring that "Even as the American economy shows tentative signs of a rebound, the human toll of the recession continues to mount, with millions of Americans remaining out of work, out of savings and nearing the end of their unemployment benefits." Maurice Emsellem, a policy director for the National Employment Law Project, told Goodman that "The system was ill prepared for the reality of long-term unemployment... Now, you add a severe recession and you have created a crisis of historic proportions."
Up in boring and mostly healthy Canada, unemployment, though up compared with pre-recession levels, has actually declined for four of the past six months. The national unemployment level stands at 8.3 percent -- unacceptably high, yes, but still about 1.7 percent below the US figure. And for those of you keeping a bolt-hole list, unemployment in British Columbia is at 8.1 percent, slightly below the Canadian national average.
Setting economics aside, Canada also looks good to Americans who are depressed about our hyper-partisan, paralyzed and dysfunctional political system. I'll save my comments about politics for a later post, but in the interim I highly recommend David Barstow's chilling report on right wing groups affiliated with the Tea Party movement in last Tuesday's Times ("Tea Party Lights Fuse for Rebellion on Right"). If groups like Arm in Arm, which "aims to organize neighborhoods for possible civil strife by stockpiling food and survival gear, and forming armed neighborhood groups," and Oath Keepers, which "recruits military and law enforcement officials who are asked to disobey orders the group deems unconstitutional" continue to grow, a lot more Americans will be shopping for bolt-holes in the near future.
But as attractive as a "bolt-hole strategy" might be, it doesn't feel quite right. The United States is a great country, with a long and proud history as a beacon of liberty and opportunity for the rest of the world. You don't have to be a cry-on-cue, right wing television personality to love this place: it's blessed with breath-taking natural beauty and it's full of decent, hard-working, honest, kind, and generous people. It really is a tough place to turn your back on.
And despite its current struggles, it's important to remember that the United States has been an engine of progress for the entire global economy for almost a century. Which means that the failure of the American economy isn't just bad for America; it's bad for the whole world. "We are the indispensable nation," former Secretary of State Madeleine Albright once said. Or as an Australian friend of mine put it: "The world needs a strong America."
Which begs the question: who will keep America strong and great if -- when the going gets tough -- the tough "get going" to Canada, the Caribbean, Australia and New Zealand?
Is it right to stay and fight, or is it smarter to know when to pack and go?
It's a world-class, bolt-hole dilemma.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Doing the Right Thing
Imagine if Yoshi Inaba, Toyota's North American Chairman and CEO, had said the following when he first learned of the throttle problem with Toyota vehicles:
"It has come to our attention that there is a problem with the accelerator pedals on some of our vehicles, and as a result, we have launched a comprehensive investigation to determine the exact cause. Once the cause has been determined, we will take all necessary steps to correct the problem -- in every affected vehicle -- as quickly as possible. At Toyota, the safety of our customers, and the driving public, are, and will remain, our top priorities."
And what if the folks at Toyota had followed up their initial statement with regular updates on their investigation, public safety advisories, and prompt recall notices to their customers? I'm guessing that we'd all think more highly of the Toyota brand then we do today.
Here's another hypothetical. Suppose the International Luge Federation, the Vancouver Organizing Committee and the International Olympic Committee had put out a joint statement on Saturday morning that read as follows:
"All of us who are involved with the Olympic games mourn the death of Nodar Kumaritashvilli, who was killed yesterday in a practice run on the luge track. We extend our sincerest condolences to his family and to his Georgian teammates. The organizers of these games have spent years preparing these facilities, and safety has always been our top priority. But yesterday's accident demonstrates that there were structural problems with the luge track that were not anticipated by its designers, and which must be addressed urgently. No athlete should be forced to risk his life for an Olympic medal. We are therefore suspending the luge competition pending a complete review of the course and we will not resume competition until structural repairs have been made to the track to assure its safety. We apologize to the athletes from around the world who have spent years training for this event. And we join with the entire Olympic community in mourning Nodar Kumaritashvilli's tragic death."
Instead of the above, the International Luge Federation and the Vancouver Organizing Committee put out a statement that blamed the victim for his own death. "There was no indication that the accident was caused by deficiencies in the track," they said, even as hundreds of millions of television viewers around the world were watching repeated video clips of Kumaritashvilli flying off the luge track and slamming head first into a steel beam.
How could Toyota and the Olympic organizers have bungled their crisis communications so badly? How could they have failed to anticipate the potential damage to their reputations by failing to do what they surely knew was the right thing?
Based on my experience as a counselor to a wide variety of companies and institutions in trouble, I think there are several things that frequently get in the way of "doing the right thing" in a crisis.
The first thing is money. Pushing the OFF button on a car assembly line or issuing a massive product recall -- to use the Toyota example -- can cost millions of dollars, and all of it comes straight from the bottom line. So a CEO looking to put customers first and profits second will almost always get an argument from his Chief Financial Officer. And that argument will usually be accompanied by a spreadsheet detailing exactly how much the corporate mea culpa will cost.
The second naysayer in the boardroom will probably be the General Counsel. He or she will point out that any statement that contains an apology or an acknowledgement of responsibility will open the company or institution to lawsuits by victims, who will use the company's own statements as evidence of culpability. And again, these lawsuits will be costly.
But at that point, the Senior Vice President for Communications will likely weigh in with a counter-argument. He or she will point out that the damage to the company's or institution's reputation could be even more costly, and more difficult to recover from, than all of the above. And in the end, he or she will argue, the money saved on product recalls and lawsuits won't matter much if customers turn against the company and refuse to buy its products. (Or, in the case of the Vancouver Olympics, if viewers decide to tune out the Winter Games in disgust and watch old movies and sitcoms instead).
You would think that the reputation argument would be compelling, but in my experience, the Chairman or the CEO doesn't always take the PR person's advice. Why? I think the main reason is that the costs associated with things like recalls and lawsuits are more readily quantifiable than the cost of a lost reputation. Recall figures can be printed on a spreadsheet. Reputation costs are more hypothetical.
Writer James Surowiecki noted in a New Yorker piece on crisis communications in 2005 that "Many companies have basic assumptions about public relations that can hurt them during a crisis. They tend, as people do, to stonewall and deny." After all, the boss might argue, maybe the worst won't happen? Maybe we can sweep this problem under the carpet, or fix it before anyone notices? Or, who knows, maybe the Tiger Woods scandal will push the story to the back pages?
In circumstances like these I've often made the case to people in leadership positions that the crisis at hand actually presents them with a unique opportunity -- maybe a once in a lifetime opportunity -- to demonstrate both their personal character and their company's values. Handled well, I suggest, a crisis can provide a Churchillian moment -- a "finest hour" -- for individuals who grasp the opportunity to lead. (It can also, of course, help save the company).
And how does a smart leader handle a crisis well? My advice is simple. Play it by the book. Acknowledge the problem, apologize for your mistakes, and take responsibility for making things right. In other words, politely thank your CFO and your General Counsel for their advice... and then do the right thing.
"It has come to our attention that there is a problem with the accelerator pedals on some of our vehicles, and as a result, we have launched a comprehensive investigation to determine the exact cause. Once the cause has been determined, we will take all necessary steps to correct the problem -- in every affected vehicle -- as quickly as possible. At Toyota, the safety of our customers, and the driving public, are, and will remain, our top priorities."
And what if the folks at Toyota had followed up their initial statement with regular updates on their investigation, public safety advisories, and prompt recall notices to their customers? I'm guessing that we'd all think more highly of the Toyota brand then we do today.
Here's another hypothetical. Suppose the International Luge Federation, the Vancouver Organizing Committee and the International Olympic Committee had put out a joint statement on Saturday morning that read as follows:
"All of us who are involved with the Olympic games mourn the death of Nodar Kumaritashvilli, who was killed yesterday in a practice run on the luge track. We extend our sincerest condolences to his family and to his Georgian teammates. The organizers of these games have spent years preparing these facilities, and safety has always been our top priority. But yesterday's accident demonstrates that there were structural problems with the luge track that were not anticipated by its designers, and which must be addressed urgently. No athlete should be forced to risk his life for an Olympic medal. We are therefore suspending the luge competition pending a complete review of the course and we will not resume competition until structural repairs have been made to the track to assure its safety. We apologize to the athletes from around the world who have spent years training for this event. And we join with the entire Olympic community in mourning Nodar Kumaritashvilli's tragic death."
Instead of the above, the International Luge Federation and the Vancouver Organizing Committee put out a statement that blamed the victim for his own death. "There was no indication that the accident was caused by deficiencies in the track," they said, even as hundreds of millions of television viewers around the world were watching repeated video clips of Kumaritashvilli flying off the luge track and slamming head first into a steel beam.
How could Toyota and the Olympic organizers have bungled their crisis communications so badly? How could they have failed to anticipate the potential damage to their reputations by failing to do what they surely knew was the right thing?
Based on my experience as a counselor to a wide variety of companies and institutions in trouble, I think there are several things that frequently get in the way of "doing the right thing" in a crisis.
The first thing is money. Pushing the OFF button on a car assembly line or issuing a massive product recall -- to use the Toyota example -- can cost millions of dollars, and all of it comes straight from the bottom line. So a CEO looking to put customers first and profits second will almost always get an argument from his Chief Financial Officer. And that argument will usually be accompanied by a spreadsheet detailing exactly how much the corporate mea culpa will cost.
The second naysayer in the boardroom will probably be the General Counsel. He or she will point out that any statement that contains an apology or an acknowledgement of responsibility will open the company or institution to lawsuits by victims, who will use the company's own statements as evidence of culpability. And again, these lawsuits will be costly.
But at that point, the Senior Vice President for Communications will likely weigh in with a counter-argument. He or she will point out that the damage to the company's or institution's reputation could be even more costly, and more difficult to recover from, than all of the above. And in the end, he or she will argue, the money saved on product recalls and lawsuits won't matter much if customers turn against the company and refuse to buy its products. (Or, in the case of the Vancouver Olympics, if viewers decide to tune out the Winter Games in disgust and watch old movies and sitcoms instead).
You would think that the reputation argument would be compelling, but in my experience, the Chairman or the CEO doesn't always take the PR person's advice. Why? I think the main reason is that the costs associated with things like recalls and lawsuits are more readily quantifiable than the cost of a lost reputation. Recall figures can be printed on a spreadsheet. Reputation costs are more hypothetical.
Writer James Surowiecki noted in a New Yorker piece on crisis communications in 2005 that "Many companies have basic assumptions about public relations that can hurt them during a crisis. They tend, as people do, to stonewall and deny." After all, the boss might argue, maybe the worst won't happen? Maybe we can sweep this problem under the carpet, or fix it before anyone notices? Or, who knows, maybe the Tiger Woods scandal will push the story to the back pages?
In circumstances like these I've often made the case to people in leadership positions that the crisis at hand actually presents them with a unique opportunity -- maybe a once in a lifetime opportunity -- to demonstrate both their personal character and their company's values. Handled well, I suggest, a crisis can provide a Churchillian moment -- a "finest hour" -- for individuals who grasp the opportunity to lead. (It can also, of course, help save the company).
And how does a smart leader handle a crisis well? My advice is simple. Play it by the book. Acknowledge the problem, apologize for your mistakes, and take responsibility for making things right. In other words, politely thank your CFO and your General Counsel for their advice... and then do the right thing.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Shootout in the Faculty Lounge
We lived in Geneva for a few years and for an even longer period in the U.K., and I can tell you the question we were asked most often by the Swiss and the Brits: "What is it with you Americans and guns?" (Well, maybe it was the second most asked question, after, "Yea, but why did you elect him a second time?").
I never came up with a good answer to the gun question. "It's part of our frontier history," sounded pretty lame in the 21st Century, and arcane discussions of the Second Amendment always begged the obvious question: "If it's a matter of laws, why don't you just change them?"
So I can only imagine what people around the world were thinking as they read the news that a Harvard-educated biologist allegedly took a pistol into the chemistry department building at the University of Alabama yesterday afternoon and shot six of her colleagues, killing three and seriously wounding the others. "Really, what is it with you Americans and guns?"
Readers will recall that the New York Giants star receiver, Plaxico Burress spent this season in jail instead of on the football field after he shot himself in the leg with an illegal firearm he'd carried into a Manhattan nightclub. (There are currently seven National Football League players up on various weapons charges). And basketball is just as bad. Who can forget Gilbert Arenas and Javaris Crittenton, the two players who pulled guns on each other in the Washington Wizards locker room earlier this year?
But a biology professor taking out her fellow dons because they denied her tenure? Surely even the staunchest defenders of the "right to bear arms" will have to agree that things have really, finally gone too far.
I realize that gun regulation has been discussed and debated to death (so to speak) here in America, but for the benefit of our friends in Europe, here's why I think (some) Americans are dead set against gun control.
First, guns are "signifiers" in the culture wars that have divided America for the past forty years. In many parts of this country, young people grow up with guns and around guns, and figure that those who don't share that experience probably "aren't from around here." In fact, they're probably from the East or West coasts, support gay marriage, a woman's right to have an abortion, and government programs to help the poor, the elderly and the disadvantaged. How a person feels about guns will probably tell you how he or she feels about all of those things. So political support for the "right to bear arms" is most likely, at least in part, a reaction by so-called Middle Americans against the "liberal elites who think they know best." Call this the Culture Wars hypothesis.
And then there is race. The theory here is that guns represent personal power and protection in a threatening world. For blacks who see themselves as powerless compared to whites, guns are an "equalizer." And for whites who feel threatened by black violence, guns provide at least a feeling of security against personal victimization.
After the Los Angeles riots in the early '90s, New York Times reporter Timothy Egan wrote, "Californians are buying firearms at the highest rate since the state began keeping records 20 years ago, and other states are reporting similar surges in gun sales." Egan continued:
"In large part, the rush to buy guns in California can be attributed to one of the more frightening messages to come out of the two days of arson, looting and violence in South-Central Los Angeles. That message, that fear, is that the police might not be able to defend people during an outbreak of civil unrest."
I don't think attitudes have changed much since the LA riots. Police statistics show that gun ownership actually increases a person's chance of becoming a gun victim, but apparently people who fear racial unrest aren't especially interested in statistics.
Neither America's culture wars nor fears of a race war explains yesterday's shooting in Alabama. But the shear ubiquity of guns in America as a result of our reluctance to control firearms has resulted in more guns in more homes (and in more cars, pockets, purses and gym lockers) than ever before. And that, in turn, has increased the likelihood that lethal weapons will be used to solve everyday problems, like arguments over a parking space, a barking dog... or even a dispute over academic tenure.
I never came up with a good answer to the gun question. "It's part of our frontier history," sounded pretty lame in the 21st Century, and arcane discussions of the Second Amendment always begged the obvious question: "If it's a matter of laws, why don't you just change them?"
So I can only imagine what people around the world were thinking as they read the news that a Harvard-educated biologist allegedly took a pistol into the chemistry department building at the University of Alabama yesterday afternoon and shot six of her colleagues, killing three and seriously wounding the others. "Really, what is it with you Americans and guns?"
Readers will recall that the New York Giants star receiver, Plaxico Burress spent this season in jail instead of on the football field after he shot himself in the leg with an illegal firearm he'd carried into a Manhattan nightclub. (There are currently seven National Football League players up on various weapons charges). And basketball is just as bad. Who can forget Gilbert Arenas and Javaris Crittenton, the two players who pulled guns on each other in the Washington Wizards locker room earlier this year?
But a biology professor taking out her fellow dons because they denied her tenure? Surely even the staunchest defenders of the "right to bear arms" will have to agree that things have really, finally gone too far.
I realize that gun regulation has been discussed and debated to death (so to speak) here in America, but for the benefit of our friends in Europe, here's why I think (some) Americans are dead set against gun control.
First, guns are "signifiers" in the culture wars that have divided America for the past forty years. In many parts of this country, young people grow up with guns and around guns, and figure that those who don't share that experience probably "aren't from around here." In fact, they're probably from the East or West coasts, support gay marriage, a woman's right to have an abortion, and government programs to help the poor, the elderly and the disadvantaged. How a person feels about guns will probably tell you how he or she feels about all of those things. So political support for the "right to bear arms" is most likely, at least in part, a reaction by so-called Middle Americans against the "liberal elites who think they know best." Call this the Culture Wars hypothesis.
And then there is race. The theory here is that guns represent personal power and protection in a threatening world. For blacks who see themselves as powerless compared to whites, guns are an "equalizer." And for whites who feel threatened by black violence, guns provide at least a feeling of security against personal victimization.
After the Los Angeles riots in the early '90s, New York Times reporter Timothy Egan wrote, "Californians are buying firearms at the highest rate since the state began keeping records 20 years ago, and other states are reporting similar surges in gun sales." Egan continued:
"In large part, the rush to buy guns in California can be attributed to one of the more frightening messages to come out of the two days of arson, looting and violence in South-Central Los Angeles. That message, that fear, is that the police might not be able to defend people during an outbreak of civil unrest."
I don't think attitudes have changed much since the LA riots. Police statistics show that gun ownership actually increases a person's chance of becoming a gun victim, but apparently people who fear racial unrest aren't especially interested in statistics.
Neither America's culture wars nor fears of a race war explains yesterday's shooting in Alabama. But the shear ubiquity of guns in America as a result of our reluctance to control firearms has resulted in more guns in more homes (and in more cars, pockets, purses and gym lockers) than ever before. And that, in turn, has increased the likelihood that lethal weapons will be used to solve everyday problems, like arguments over a parking space, a barking dog... or even a dispute over academic tenure.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Nelson and Me
Twenty years ago today I was sitting in a hotel suite in Cape Town, South Africa watching a television monitor as Nelson Mandela walked through the gates of Victor Verster Prison. After 27 years, he was finally a free man.
I'd been privileged to serve as NBC's Africa Bureau Chief for two years at that point, and I'd spent a great deal of that time planning for this moment. Mandela and his wife, Winnie, waved to the crowds, Tom Brokaw's voice narrated over the pictures, and I could see that we were feeding a clean satellite image back to the States. For me, it was thrilling to share even a small part of this historic moment.
Mandela's release had grown more likely when F.W. de Klerk replaced P.W. Botha as South Africa's president in 1989. De Klerk was instrumental in helping persuade the ruling white minority to finally abandon the oppressive apartheid system, and just months into his term as president, it became clear that the release of South Africa's most famous political prisoner was on the cards. By late '89, journalists from every major news organization in the world were working their South African contacts to try to land what all of us knew would be a huge "get" -- the first interview with Nelson Mandela after his release.
As NBC's representative in Johannesburg, I tried to look up every person who might have influence with Mandela to lobby for a world-exclusive interview for our anchorman, Tom Brokaw. I met with old friends of Mandela's in Soweto, I flew down to Cape Town to buy lunch for Mandela's former lawyer, I met with African National Congress leaders in exile in Zimbabwe. Some said they would try to help, but no one promised anything.
By the morning of Mandela's release it appeared that no one had the inside track on the first interview. The former prisoner was surrounded by ANC handlers as he was whisked from Victor Verster to Cape Town's City Hall. No one could get near him. As he concluded a speech to thousands of supporters from the City Hall balcony, word came down from the ANC that Mr. Mandela would be repairing to Bishop's Court, the residence of Archbishop Desmond Tutu outside Cape Town, for the night, and that the media would have a chance to take pictures of the Mandelas in the gardens behind the residence the following morning. And no, there would be no "exclusives."
We wrapped up our coverage late that night, and I was back in our makeshift hotel office early the next morning to take in the video feed from Bishop's Court. As planned, Nelson and Winnie strolled arm-in-arm among the flowers as photographers, at a safe distance, got pictures for their morning programs and newspapers. NBC's Martin Fletcher narrated a nice piece for the Today Show and we fed Martin's story and extra video to New York in plenty of time for the 7 a.m. news.
Shortly after the satellite feed, the NBC crew returned from Bishop's Court and I thanked them for their good work and debriefed them on the event. After they'd described everything in detail, I thought to ask, "Was anyone still there when you guys left?"
"Most everyone had gone," our cameraman said. "The only reporters still there that I can remember were the ABC guy and his producer."
"Wait -- Ted Koppel and Roone Arledge??"
"Yea, Koppel and Arledge."
"Get the car," I said. "We're going back."
We made it back to Bishop's Court in record time and there, sure enough, sitting on a bench under a tree outside the front entrance were Ted Koppel, Roone Arledge and an ABC video crew. If they'd managed to set up an exclusive Mandela interview, it hadn't happened yet. We pulled our gear out of the trunk and camped out under a nearby tree. We figured that if ABC did have something in the works, we were going to make a case for equal time.
Soon after we took up our position, Jesse Jackson, who had flown in from the States to meet Mandela, arrived in a motorcade and was escorted into the residence. Moments later, John Allen, Bishop Tutu's press secretary, came out to tell us that, for security reasons, he would like us to all set up in one place. We were asked to relocate to the ABC tree. We passed an agreeable afternoon talking shop and sports with Ted and Roone, but none of us got a camera anywhere near Nelson Mandela.
But I did get lucky.
During the scramble to get pictures of Jesse Jackson emerging from Bishop's Court, I managed to slip into a side entrance of the residence. I followed the sound of laughter and crowd noise down an empty hallway until I came to the door of a large reception room. I opened it and found myself in the middle of a raucous ANC Mandela freedom celebration.
The first face I spotted was Walter Sisulu's. Like Mandela, Sisulu was a legendary ANC freedom fighter, and he had spent years in prison on Robben Island with Mandela in the '60s, '70s and '80s. I had interviewed Sisulu four months earlier when he had been released from prison and he waved to me as I entered the room.
"Mr. Sisulu, it's very nice to see you again. This must be a great day for you..."
"It's just wonderful!" he said. "We're all so happy... Have you met Nelson yet?"
"Well, no, I..."
Sisulu waved over my shoulder. "Madiba, come over here. Here's a friend from American television..." I turned and saw a smiling Nelson Mandela walking toward me. As he reached out to shake my hand I thought to myself, I might be the first journalist to speak with Nelson Mandela after his release from prison... and I don't have a video crew, or a tape recorder or even a happy-snap camera to record the moment.
Two decades later, I can't remember much of the substance of our conversation, but I do remember asking Mr. Mandela if he would consider doing an interview that evening with our anchorman, Tom Brokaw. He'd been advised against doing any exclusive interviews, he told me, but he would be happy to speak with Mr. Brokaw tomorrow in Soweto, where the ANC was planning to schedule a series of round-robin interviews in the back yard of his family home.
The next afternoon I found myself with Brokaw, Dan Rather and Ted Koppel on a dusty road behind the Mandela home in Soweto as each anchor waited his turn for a 20-minute interview. I remember that all three networks led their evening news shows that night with highlights of their anchors' conversations with Nelson Mandela.
And no one, it turned out, got an exclusive.
I'd been privileged to serve as NBC's Africa Bureau Chief for two years at that point, and I'd spent a great deal of that time planning for this moment. Mandela and his wife, Winnie, waved to the crowds, Tom Brokaw's voice narrated over the pictures, and I could see that we were feeding a clean satellite image back to the States. For me, it was thrilling to share even a small part of this historic moment.
Mandela's release had grown more likely when F.W. de Klerk replaced P.W. Botha as South Africa's president in 1989. De Klerk was instrumental in helping persuade the ruling white minority to finally abandon the oppressive apartheid system, and just months into his term as president, it became clear that the release of South Africa's most famous political prisoner was on the cards. By late '89, journalists from every major news organization in the world were working their South African contacts to try to land what all of us knew would be a huge "get" -- the first interview with Nelson Mandela after his release.
As NBC's representative in Johannesburg, I tried to look up every person who might have influence with Mandela to lobby for a world-exclusive interview for our anchorman, Tom Brokaw. I met with old friends of Mandela's in Soweto, I flew down to Cape Town to buy lunch for Mandela's former lawyer, I met with African National Congress leaders in exile in Zimbabwe. Some said they would try to help, but no one promised anything.
By the morning of Mandela's release it appeared that no one had the inside track on the first interview. The former prisoner was surrounded by ANC handlers as he was whisked from Victor Verster to Cape Town's City Hall. No one could get near him. As he concluded a speech to thousands of supporters from the City Hall balcony, word came down from the ANC that Mr. Mandela would be repairing to Bishop's Court, the residence of Archbishop Desmond Tutu outside Cape Town, for the night, and that the media would have a chance to take pictures of the Mandelas in the gardens behind the residence the following morning. And no, there would be no "exclusives."
We wrapped up our coverage late that night, and I was back in our makeshift hotel office early the next morning to take in the video feed from Bishop's Court. As planned, Nelson and Winnie strolled arm-in-arm among the flowers as photographers, at a safe distance, got pictures for their morning programs and newspapers. NBC's Martin Fletcher narrated a nice piece for the Today Show and we fed Martin's story and extra video to New York in plenty of time for the 7 a.m. news.
Shortly after the satellite feed, the NBC crew returned from Bishop's Court and I thanked them for their good work and debriefed them on the event. After they'd described everything in detail, I thought to ask, "Was anyone still there when you guys left?"
"Most everyone had gone," our cameraman said. "The only reporters still there that I can remember were the ABC guy and his producer."
"Wait -- Ted Koppel and Roone Arledge??"
"Yea, Koppel and Arledge."
"Get the car," I said. "We're going back."
We made it back to Bishop's Court in record time and there, sure enough, sitting on a bench under a tree outside the front entrance were Ted Koppel, Roone Arledge and an ABC video crew. If they'd managed to set up an exclusive Mandela interview, it hadn't happened yet. We pulled our gear out of the trunk and camped out under a nearby tree. We figured that if ABC did have something in the works, we were going to make a case for equal time.
Soon after we took up our position, Jesse Jackson, who had flown in from the States to meet Mandela, arrived in a motorcade and was escorted into the residence. Moments later, John Allen, Bishop Tutu's press secretary, came out to tell us that, for security reasons, he would like us to all set up in one place. We were asked to relocate to the ABC tree. We passed an agreeable afternoon talking shop and sports with Ted and Roone, but none of us got a camera anywhere near Nelson Mandela.
But I did get lucky.
During the scramble to get pictures of Jesse Jackson emerging from Bishop's Court, I managed to slip into a side entrance of the residence. I followed the sound of laughter and crowd noise down an empty hallway until I came to the door of a large reception room. I opened it and found myself in the middle of a raucous ANC Mandela freedom celebration.
The first face I spotted was Walter Sisulu's. Like Mandela, Sisulu was a legendary ANC freedom fighter, and he had spent years in prison on Robben Island with Mandela in the '60s, '70s and '80s. I had interviewed Sisulu four months earlier when he had been released from prison and he waved to me as I entered the room.
"Mr. Sisulu, it's very nice to see you again. This must be a great day for you..."
"It's just wonderful!" he said. "We're all so happy... Have you met Nelson yet?"
"Well, no, I..."
Sisulu waved over my shoulder. "Madiba, come over here. Here's a friend from American television..." I turned and saw a smiling Nelson Mandela walking toward me. As he reached out to shake my hand I thought to myself, I might be the first journalist to speak with Nelson Mandela after his release from prison... and I don't have a video crew, or a tape recorder or even a happy-snap camera to record the moment.
Two decades later, I can't remember much of the substance of our conversation, but I do remember asking Mr. Mandela if he would consider doing an interview that evening with our anchorman, Tom Brokaw. He'd been advised against doing any exclusive interviews, he told me, but he would be happy to speak with Mr. Brokaw tomorrow in Soweto, where the ANC was planning to schedule a series of round-robin interviews in the back yard of his family home.
The next afternoon I found myself with Brokaw, Dan Rather and Ted Koppel on a dusty road behind the Mandela home in Soweto as each anchor waited his turn for a 20-minute interview. I remember that all three networks led their evening news shows that night with highlights of their anchors' conversations with Nelson Mandela.
And no one, it turned out, got an exclusive.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Channeling Broadway Joe
Kickoff to Super Bowl XLIV is less than two hours away, so this will be a short post. And it will be about football, so readers who aren't football fans can skip down to more substantial fare about Haiti or the virtues of a liberal arts education. See you tomorrow!
Back to the game...
The Colts are favored today and it's easy to see why. Their quarterback, Peyton Manning, is the best in the business, and possibly one of the best quarterbacks in pro football history. He's a great passer and a team leader; but what he does best, I think, is read defenses. Sometimes it may take him half the game to figure out exactly what an opposing defense is up to, but by the fourth quarter, Manning usually owns the field.
The Colts have lots of die-hard fans, but the New Orleans Saints are probably the emotional favorites tonight. They've never made it to the Super Bowl, and they carry the hopes and dreams of the Katrina-ravaged Gulf Coast on their broad backs.
The Saints' quarterback, Drew Brees, has gotten less attention in the run-up to the big game because of the huge focus on Manning. But a Times profile of Brees on Friday showed the younger, shorter quarterback to be Manning's equal in one of the key qualities of all successful athletes: competitiveness. When he's not on the football field, Greg Bishop wrote, Brees plays almost every sport you can think of, and he plays to win. "Brees wants to win at bowling, at board games, at bow fishing. He wants to win not for humanity, or for New Orleans, or for his foundation. He wants to win because he is an athlete, and that's what athletes do."
I can't remember a year when Super Bowl analysts haven't brought up the legendary victory of Joe Namath and the Jets in Super Bowl III (which football fans know was actually the first AFL - NFL national championship to ever be called a "Super Bowl," but that's irrelevant), so why stop now? As all sports fans know, Namath, young and cocky, led his underdog Jets to victory over the awesome and fearsome Baltimore Colts in 1969, a win that ranked with Cassius Clay's (Mohamed Ali's) heavyweight boxing victory over Sonny Liston five years earlier as one of the greatest upsets in sports history.
What many people forget is that the Colts actually did a pretty good job of shutting down Namath's passing attack that day. He completed only 17 or 28 for 206 yards and no touchdowns. In fact, he's the only quarterback ever to be chosen as the game's MVP without having completed a touchdown pass. And if you look at the stats, as you can tell I've done for this post, the Jets and Colts were pretty even in almost every category (passing yardage, rushing yardage, completions, sacks, etc.). The Jets won decisively, however, because on that day they had, far and away, a more competitive attitude. Their brash young quarterback said he was going to lead his team to victory, and he did.
Years later, long after Super Bowl III, I was working in NBC's Miami Bureau when another phenomenal young quarterback made his NFL debut. The Dolphins' Dan Marino had a rifle-shot throwing arm and some fleet receivers, and he managed to break most of the league's passing records in his rookie year. Nightly News didn't do many sports stories, but they agreed to take a profile piece on young Marino. Our video crew filmed Marino in action from the sidelines -- great fun -- and I got to interview him and his brilliant coach, Don Shula.
But the interview I remember most fondly from that story was the one we did with Joe Namath, living comfortably in retirement in a condo in Fort Lauderdale. Joe -- and his wife -- could not have been more gracious and hospitable. The focus of our story was on the new kid, not the legend, but Joe didn't seem even slightly put out. He told us he'd watched almost every Dolphins game that season and he was generous in his praise for Marino's talents.
After we'd wrapped up the interview and were packing our gear to leave, I asked Joe if I could ask a big favor. "Do you think I could try on your Super Bowl ring?"
"Sure," he said, with his 1000 megawatt Namath smile. I can report that Joe's ring was big, and heavy, and loose on my finger. And that it felt... great.
Almost game time. Gotta go. My prediction? An upset victory by the Saints. I'm going with my heart.
Back to the game...
The Colts are favored today and it's easy to see why. Their quarterback, Peyton Manning, is the best in the business, and possibly one of the best quarterbacks in pro football history. He's a great passer and a team leader; but what he does best, I think, is read defenses. Sometimes it may take him half the game to figure out exactly what an opposing defense is up to, but by the fourth quarter, Manning usually owns the field.
The Colts have lots of die-hard fans, but the New Orleans Saints are probably the emotional favorites tonight. They've never made it to the Super Bowl, and they carry the hopes and dreams of the Katrina-ravaged Gulf Coast on their broad backs.
The Saints' quarterback, Drew Brees, has gotten less attention in the run-up to the big game because of the huge focus on Manning. But a Times profile of Brees on Friday showed the younger, shorter quarterback to be Manning's equal in one of the key qualities of all successful athletes: competitiveness. When he's not on the football field, Greg Bishop wrote, Brees plays almost every sport you can think of, and he plays to win. "Brees wants to win at bowling, at board games, at bow fishing. He wants to win not for humanity, or for New Orleans, or for his foundation. He wants to win because he is an athlete, and that's what athletes do."
I can't remember a year when Super Bowl analysts haven't brought up the legendary victory of Joe Namath and the Jets in Super Bowl III (which football fans know was actually the first AFL - NFL national championship to ever be called a "Super Bowl," but that's irrelevant), so why stop now? As all sports fans know, Namath, young and cocky, led his underdog Jets to victory over the awesome and fearsome Baltimore Colts in 1969, a win that ranked with Cassius Clay's (Mohamed Ali's) heavyweight boxing victory over Sonny Liston five years earlier as one of the greatest upsets in sports history.
What many people forget is that the Colts actually did a pretty good job of shutting down Namath's passing attack that day. He completed only 17 or 28 for 206 yards and no touchdowns. In fact, he's the only quarterback ever to be chosen as the game's MVP without having completed a touchdown pass. And if you look at the stats, as you can tell I've done for this post, the Jets and Colts were pretty even in almost every category (passing yardage, rushing yardage, completions, sacks, etc.). The Jets won decisively, however, because on that day they had, far and away, a more competitive attitude. Their brash young quarterback said he was going to lead his team to victory, and he did.
Years later, long after Super Bowl III, I was working in NBC's Miami Bureau when another phenomenal young quarterback made his NFL debut. The Dolphins' Dan Marino had a rifle-shot throwing arm and some fleet receivers, and he managed to break most of the league's passing records in his rookie year. Nightly News didn't do many sports stories, but they agreed to take a profile piece on young Marino. Our video crew filmed Marino in action from the sidelines -- great fun -- and I got to interview him and his brilliant coach, Don Shula.
But the interview I remember most fondly from that story was the one we did with Joe Namath, living comfortably in retirement in a condo in Fort Lauderdale. Joe -- and his wife -- could not have been more gracious and hospitable. The focus of our story was on the new kid, not the legend, but Joe didn't seem even slightly put out. He told us he'd watched almost every Dolphins game that season and he was generous in his praise for Marino's talents.
After we'd wrapped up the interview and were packing our gear to leave, I asked Joe if I could ask a big favor. "Do you think I could try on your Super Bowl ring?"
"Sure," he said, with his 1000 megawatt Namath smile. I can report that Joe's ring was big, and heavy, and loose on my finger. And that it felt... great.
Almost game time. Gotta go. My prediction? An upset victory by the Saints. I'm going with my heart.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Parental Love
Anthropologists fuss about terms like "human nature," because a lot of behavior isn't innately "human," it's cultural. In some societies fathers rule the roost, and in others, it's the mother. Both probably believe that their family structures reflect "human nature," but they're really expressions of normative behavior, passed along from generation to generation.
But there are some things that seem to be universal, or at least come close, and one of them is an innate desire on the part of adults, especially mothers, to nurture and protect their young children. This is normative behavior throughout most of the animal kingdom, in fact, because the production of viable offspring is the name of the game in the world of natural selection. Whether we're CEOs, starting pitchers for the Red Sox or pump jockeys at the local Mobil station, we all share the same biological imperative: to produce a new generation and to help them survive long enough to produce another new generation.
But for humans like us, feeding, training, and protecting our offspring is expensive, demanding, and sometimes unrewarding work. So somewhere in our evolutionary history, we developed an emotional component to stimulate, and then sustain this important behavior: parental love.
In this context, it's heart-breaking to hear the latest news from Haiti. If you've been following developments there, you know that ten Americans are currently being detained on suspicion of "child trafficking" and are due to appear today in a Haitian court to answer the charges. At first, news sources reported that the Americans were attempting to transport 33 Haitian orphans across the border to the Dominican Republic, where they would be safely housed until adoptions could be arranged in the US.
As the story evolved, we learned that many of the children were not orphans at all, but had been given up for adoption by parents who simply couldn't afford to take care of them. The reporters who tracked down these parents might have expected them to say, "We were tricked -- we didn't mean to give up our children." But instead, they found mothers and fathers who said, "We signed the papers because we felt our children could have a better life anywhere but here."
This is a case of abject poverty so severe that parents feel the best thing they can do for their children is give them away -- a level of desperation that few of us, in more comfortable circumstances, can even imagine. It violates every assumption we might have about parental love.
Some people hearing these stories might say, "Well, if these parents love their children so much, why don't they give them their own food?" And some parents probably do exactly that. But in biological terms, this might not be the best solution to the problem. Just as parents on airplanes are advised to put on their own oxygen masks first in the event of an emergency ("You can't help your child if you're unconscious"), so desperately poor parents might conclude that starving themselves is not, in the end, the best thing they can do for their children.
In Haiti, sadly, it appears that the best thing some of these poor parents can do is give their children to others who can better care for their needs. Parental love, that powerful, deeply-rooted human emotion, may be a luxury these desperate parents simply can't afford.
But there are some things that seem to be universal, or at least come close, and one of them is an innate desire on the part of adults, especially mothers, to nurture and protect their young children. This is normative behavior throughout most of the animal kingdom, in fact, because the production of viable offspring is the name of the game in the world of natural selection. Whether we're CEOs, starting pitchers for the Red Sox or pump jockeys at the local Mobil station, we all share the same biological imperative: to produce a new generation and to help them survive long enough to produce another new generation.
But for humans like us, feeding, training, and protecting our offspring is expensive, demanding, and sometimes unrewarding work. So somewhere in our evolutionary history, we developed an emotional component to stimulate, and then sustain this important behavior: parental love.
In this context, it's heart-breaking to hear the latest news from Haiti. If you've been following developments there, you know that ten Americans are currently being detained on suspicion of "child trafficking" and are due to appear today in a Haitian court to answer the charges. At first, news sources reported that the Americans were attempting to transport 33 Haitian orphans across the border to the Dominican Republic, where they would be safely housed until adoptions could be arranged in the US.
As the story evolved, we learned that many of the children were not orphans at all, but had been given up for adoption by parents who simply couldn't afford to take care of them. The reporters who tracked down these parents might have expected them to say, "We were tricked -- we didn't mean to give up our children." But instead, they found mothers and fathers who said, "We signed the papers because we felt our children could have a better life anywhere but here."
This is a case of abject poverty so severe that parents feel the best thing they can do for their children is give them away -- a level of desperation that few of us, in more comfortable circumstances, can even imagine. It violates every assumption we might have about parental love.
Some people hearing these stories might say, "Well, if these parents love their children so much, why don't they give them their own food?" And some parents probably do exactly that. But in biological terms, this might not be the best solution to the problem. Just as parents on airplanes are advised to put on their own oxygen masks first in the event of an emergency ("You can't help your child if you're unconscious"), so desperately poor parents might conclude that starving themselves is not, in the end, the best thing they can do for their children.
In Haiti, sadly, it appears that the best thing some of these poor parents can do is give their children to others who can better care for their needs. Parental love, that powerful, deeply-rooted human emotion, may be a luxury these desperate parents simply can't afford.
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