Saturday, July 30, 2022

Puzzle Piece

"Don’t get me wrong, I’m not an unhappy person. Quite the contrary. I just know there’s a hole in my life and I’ve got to fill it.” -- Ben Whittaker (Robert De Niro in ‘The Intern’)

______

One editor I respect who looked over my draft memoir back when I was writing it told me maybe it should be called "Slices" or “Slivers,” because my entire professional life seemed to have occurred haphazardly. It was hard for him to see any real patterns to it.

Of course, the same could be said for my profession — journalism — over the course of my career. This hasn’t exactly been our golden age.

But I’m probably not the only person who has tried to make sense his or her life only to discover that something seems to be missing, like it’s just been one big game of happenstance.

Why this matters to me at present is not so much the past, however you view it, but the next piece of life, whatever that may be. Meanwhile, perhaps ironically, it looks like I’m finally going to be reunited with my voluminous files this weekend — boxes and boxes of journals, letters, photos and clippings, which is sure to make the unresolved past that much more vivid, regardless of what I want. 

I’ll sift through my old stuff, of course, and maybe something will catch my eye. Something I can give away or offer up for somebody. But what I really hope to find is a clue as to how to live forward, and how to avoid the moves that have left a hole to fill.

It’s not that I have a bad life; I have a good life, all things considered. But there’s still a missing piece.

Just like with Ben Whittaker in the story. He tried something new.

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Friday, July 29, 2022

Joe's Good Day

At last embattled President Joe Biden is getting some good news. Sen. Joe Manchin has delivered him a big enough victory on climate, taxes and health care to salvage his main agenda at the 11th hour before this fall’s midterms.

Below are a ton of clips analyzing that deal.

Meanwhile, the economy seems to be stubbornly resisting tipping into a recession; the Fed is attacking inflation; unemployment is down, and the new Manchin deal should help stimulate a recovery.

On the foreign affairs front, Biden has met with Xi to calm tensions over Taiwan, offered a bold deal to free basketball star Griner from a Russian jail, and continues to put the squeeze on Russia in Ukraine.

Maybe due to all this, Democrats’ chances of maintaining control of the Senate are rising, to 53%, according to polling site 538.

But perhaps most significantly, Donald Trump’s support is finally eroding among Republicans. Fox is increasingly ignoring his speeches and some GOP candidates are getting bolder about speaking out against the demagogue.

As Trump’s fortunes wane, Biden’s should rise.

Incumbents always have an advantage in elections, so should he decide to run in 2024, Biden may have inside track, despite his low approval figures, concerns about his age, and the generally rebellious post-Covid mood of the country.

Until a more engaging leader emerges (Liz Cheney?), it’s doubtful either major party has a strong enough alternative at this time to unseat Biden, IMHO. Oh, there’s a new third party emerging with failed candidates like Andrew Yang, Christine Whitman, etc., but those efforts rarely gain much traction.

So I’ll leave discussion of that prospect for another day.

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Thursday, July 28, 2022

Afghan Conversation 38: Child Marriages

This is the most recent in a series of conversations I have been having over the past year with an Afghan friend about life under the Taliban. I am protecting his identity for his safety.

Dear David:

Child marriages are widespread in Afghanistan. For example, my mother married at thirteen and my sister at sixteen. Approximately 57 percent of girls in our country are married before the age of 16, according to the United Nations. The main causes of child marriages are the lack of prohibition in Islamic Law, endemic poverty, and outright sexism. 

Most Muslims here do not consider child marriages as a crime because they believe they are following in the footsteps of the prophet Mohammad, who married a girl named Aiesha when she was 6 years old and had sex with her when she was 9 years old.  (Sahih Al Bokhari, Hadith 5158). In addition, Ali, the first Imam of the Shia branch of Islam, married a girl named Fatima when she was 10 years old (Hawza). No one can find any references in Islamic law banning child marriages. 

Afghan culture has always favored men, giving them complete authority over women. In Helmand, where I grew up, when a father selects a husband for her daughter, it is rare that he asks for her permission. Most girls do not dare to oppose their father’s choice. Afghans believe a man can take a wife for his son whenever he wants and give away his daughter to a husband whenever he wants. 

Some Afghans prefer to give their daughter to a wealthy husband when she is a child rather than waiting for an ordinary husband when she is mature. Some families sell their daughters to acquire food and clothes for the rest of the family. The practice of selling child brides, or at least arranging the marriages of prepubescent girls to older men, has been commonplace for a long time. 

Women have always been vulnerable in Afghanistan, but now the situation is intolerable. The extremely weak economy combined with the draconian rule of the Taliban work against women’s rights and violate their freedoms. 

As Amnesty International reports, "Since they took control of the country in August 2021, the Taliban have violated women’s and girls’ rights to education, work, and free movement; decimated the system of protection and support for those fleeing domestic violence; detained women and girls for minor violations of discriminatory rules; and contributed to a surge in the rates of child, early and forced marriage in Afghanistan."

Most of the educated women I know here have a dream to leave the country by any means, but for almost every one of them, I fear that that will be impossible.

(Note to readers: I continue to publish this correspondence with my friend in the hope that the plight of the Afghan people will get greater attention in the U.S. and Europe. It was the decision by the U.S. to withdraw its forces from the country in August 2021 that led to the Taliban takeover.)

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Wednesday, July 27, 2022

The Rat, the Robot & Me

The Bay Area may be the only place in America that has escaped the heatwave that has most people sweltering. It’s actually been cold around here, with heavy fogs until Tuesday afternoon when it cleared for a bit.

On a lazy afternoon, I watched a fat rat slither along the fence outside my window — not a welcome sight. But then I was diverted by the small robot that cleans our house.

It slipped into my room through the open door and navigated around my one chair, the desk, the coffee table, the bed and all over the one small rug.

I have a very simple room and a fairly simple lifestyle. Perhaps the only remarkable thing about me is that I sort through the news headlines every day and share them with a lot of people.

Plus I tell stories.

Nothing in the news attracted me today enough to devote an essay to, although Liz Cheney running for President is a juicy topic. But I’m in a dreamy mood after having talked with a few friends. I can usually tell I that like a person the moment I meet them. 

Friends are my nourishment and the antidote to the loneliness of writing. I’ve published over 5,000 of these little online essays since 2006. I’ve also written a book answering questions about my life through Storyworth. It has 51 chapters and was in response to a request from my daughter. 

51 questions is a pretty lengthy interview in journalism or life— you might try it sometime. But the key to good interviews is simply listening to a person’s answers — in each of them you can find a lead to the next question.

Because of that, and considering it’s an entire life we’re talking about here, 51 isn’t so many questions after all. If each question covered a year, I’d still have 24 more to go. But one thing I almost never write about is my love life, real or imagined.

Maybe I’ll do that one day. It’s sure to be better than the rat, the robot, and the weather, plus it’s both hot and cold. 

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Tuesday, July 26, 2022

Nobody Answers

Riding the commuter train along the eastern edge of San Francisco Bay on Sunday night was sort of like watching a play where the actors come and go to the tune of clicking rails, clanging bells, doors opening and closing, a muffled voice uttering indistinct instructions, the squeal of brakes, murmured conversations and the unsteady drumbeat of my beating heart.

Maybe I feel my heart at times like that because I’m afraid it’s going to seize up for the last time, somewhere out there along the tracks, far from home.

Then again, what would it really matter, where that happened should it happen? We are all going to die somewhere and sometime.

The best you can hope for is that someone is with you at the end. Someone who cares.

But back to my story. Starting out before sunset at the bottom of the line, in San Jose, only a few stragglers entered the train to begin our journey north. The first thing you notice is the diversity of the travelers — race, gender, age, shape, dress and manner.

Most people travel alone, a few as couples or small groups, the occasional larger group like a sports team or a cluster of tourists clutching their bags.

An old black man with few teeth, sitting in a wheelchair, somehow gets on at one point and starts talking loudly, asking for someone to help him. Various younger people come to his aid. This makes me happy. 

It appears that he wants two things — a match for his cigarettes and for someone to alert him when he arrives at his station.

A younger Indian-American man assures him he’ll call out the station, while a younger black man explains to him there is no smoking allowed on Bart.

He nods at both of them and seems satisfied.

When we get to his station, the Indian-American man tells him he’s arrived and the younger black man pushes him off. 

Two girls with rosy cheeks, college students, get on with backpacks and travel bags. It’s the airport station.

Other travelers onboard as well.

The sun has long since set to the west and passIng lights twinkle in the night to the sound of click, click, click as we go on and on.

I begin to nod off, comfortably in my seat, though I know I shouldn’t. I’ve got an obsession to never go to sleep on my back or sitting up with my hands crossed in my lap.

I think that would make me look like a corpse. You know what sucks? Meeting someone special who doesn’t think you’re special too. Love unrequited. That sucks.

No problem with dying on this night, however, because we soon reach the downtown bustle of Oakland and then Berkeley, where most of the airport travelers de-train.

As we proceed northward into the night, I uncross my hands and shake myself awake.

This definitely won’t be the night that I die of a heart attack.

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TODAY’s LYRICS:

“When I Call Your Name”

Vince Gill

I rushed home from work like I always do
I spent my whole day just thinking of you
When I walked through the front door my whole like was changed
Cause nobody answered when I called your name

A note on the table that told me goodbye
It said you'd grown weary of living a lie
Your love has ended but mine still remains
But nobody answers when I call your name

Oh the lonely sound of my voice calling
Is driving me insane
And just like rain the tears keep falling
Nobody answers when I call your name

Oh the lonely sound of my voice calling
Is driving me insane
And just like rain the tears keep falling
Nobody answers when I call your name

Oh nobody answers when I call your name 

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Monday, July 25, 2022

Raising Dreamers

 


In America, many parents advise their children to focus on a career by a certain age (12ish), and some kids respond well to that advice. If I had to guess, the major predictor of a man's eventual career choice is what his father did. 

But other boys rebel. 

With women, the path may be less direct, if only because most girls have not grown up with career women as Moms And most women's lives become infinitely more complicated simply by birthing children, which alters everything.

I'm not really sure about Dads' influence on girls' choices, or Moms' on boys'.

But then again, I am old. It is hard to remember that the world I grew up and into has crumbled, shattered and split up into a world where only a handful of men and women my age still hold positions of influence.

And they need to retire IMHO.

Now the main role models for kids are those in their 30s, 40s and 50s, parents or not.

By contrast, I am part of the collection of those old curiosities -- grandparents -- whom children can't really make sense of. We tell them jokes.

But oddly I also am the Dad of three young adults still in their 20s. None of them is even remotely interested in my career -- journalism -- and I congratulate them for that.

Somewhere along the line, raising children the best as I could, I may have mentioned art as a career. I'm not sure why I would have done that and I'm quite sure no one listened. Art is not really a career; it is about dreaming, imagining something else than this -- what we are stuck with.

It's about risks and being outside, looking in, even if there is no "inside," not really.

As I aged, I purposely stopped giving career advice. People deserve to make their choices, free from the influence of their parents.

But they need never stop dreaming.

***

The painting above is unnamed. It is by Julia Matthiessen Weir and will appear in an art gallery in San Francisco soon.

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Trump's Decline

 Though it is on hiatus for a bit, the Congressional Jan.6th committee has already had the most important impact we could have hoped for, which is the erosion —however slight — of support for Donald Trump among the Republican Party base.

The indications of Trump’s decline are everywhere. His fundraising is off, crowds at his speeches sometimes boo him, and rivals are lining up to challenge him for the 2024 GOP nomination. The polls show support for him waning.

The leader of the effort to rid us of Trump is not a Democrat but Rep. Liz Cheney, Republican of Wyoming. It appears she has sacrificed her own political career in the process, which should firmly establish her as a heroic figure in American history.

Meanwhile, serious legal problems for Trump continue in New York and Georgia. Although he may escape going to jail as those cases proceed to trial, or settlement, or whatever, his reputation inevitably will be further damaged.

Demagogues rarely go down without a fight. So we can expect Trump to keep posturing and threatening to destroy anyone who angers him, and he won’t be gone until he is really gone, but bullies eventually succumb to their own excesses. 

That’s why I am cautiously optimistic that one fine day we will be rid of him for good. Then we will have to deal with the copy-cats, who have already appeared by the dozens.

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Sunday, July 24, 2022

Origin Story (Salon)

 (Note: An earlier version of this column first appeared a year ago on my personal blog & on Facebook.)

By the 1990s, David Talbot had been a successful editor at Mother Jones and the San Francisco Examiner, where he ran the popular Sunday magazine, but he had a bigger dream -- to start his own publication.

I'd talked with him about this for several years until finally in 1995 he got his chance. Richard Gingras, then an executive at Apple, staked him with a small pot of money and with that, David gave notice at the Examiner in order to carry out his dream.

There wasn't very much funding at all but Talbot  convinced three colleagues -- editors Gary Kamiya and Andrew Ross and designer Mignon Khargie -- to give up their steady jobs and join him in his quest.

The group was rounded out by publisher David Zweig, bringing the staff to five and they settled pro-bono into an architect's office down on the waterfront.

At Talbot's invitation, I joined them too, not on the creative side but on the business side. That made sense because I was just coming off a stint as EVP of KQED, the large public broadcasting company in Northern California, and I knew my way around the world of corporate media.

While the Salon journalists developed an editorial plan, I helped Zweig establish a business plan, which proved to be a challenge. The content would be free, since this was the web, so we had to find advertising, sponsorship or subscription models for revenue. 

But first and foremost, the team needed operating funds, so I set about meeting with potential investors in San Francisco bars with a Mac laptop furnished by Gingras. It was loaded with a prototype of the magazine.

While I was able to convince a few small investors to kick in $25,000 each, I also told an old friend, New York Times tech reporter John Markoff, about what Talbot & crew were up to.

Meanwhile, we were able to identify two potential major investors -- investment banker Bill Hambrecht and Adobe co-founder John Warnock. The project became real when they both agreed to get involved, which was at least as much because they shared the magazine's progressive political vision as the hope they would recoup their multi-million dollar investments. 

When Markoff's article appeared, and the magazine launched, it proved to be an instant sensation, and ever since, through many ups and downs it has persisted, though it has never actually turned much in the way of a profit.

Profits aside, the reason Salon mattered is it was the first site featuring high quality original content, proving that traditional journalism could compete with the free-for-all that characterized the early Web. (Microsoft launched a similar magazine-style site called Slate the following year.)

After Salon launched, I left to join HotWired, where I could return to practicing journalism. But then I rejoined Salon a few years later as investigative editor and Washington bureau chief during its heyday of the Clinton impeachment drama.

Over the 25 years since Salon launched, several people have mistakenly referred to me as one of the founders. I was more like what in basketball is known as the Sixth Man during that launch period in the fall of 1995. 

A whole slew of other talented people would soon join the team. But last year as I was cleaning out my apartment I discovered a relic from the earliest days of Salon. It was what must have been one of its first phone directories, a plain piece of paper with the staff's phone extensions in the architect's office down by the Bay.

On it were six names -- one Gary, one Andrew, one Mignon and three Davids -- Talbot, Zweig and Weir. 

Oh, and there was also a printer called Gingras, but that is another story...

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