Saturday, March 16, 2024

Accountability Denied

 (I’m republishing this post from January now it appears that none of Trump’s criminal prosecutions may occur before the election. It has been slightly edited.)

 “Justice too long delayed is justice denied.” — Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

When he wrote those words in his Letter from Birmingham Jail in 1963, King was referring to a very different context from yesterday’s news that all of Trump’s four criminal cases face delays.

In these cases, what is at stake is not whether the defendant will get his measure of justice but whether we the people will get ours.

That’s because the leisurely pace at which the courts are proceeding almost certainly means they will not be able to go to trial until after this November’s election.

And that is unacceptable.

Because if Trump should win that election, this opportunity to adjudicate his role in the Jan. 6th insurrection will never come to be. And our democracy will suffer irreparable harm.

Given that regrettable prospect, I’ve come up with a new truism:

“Accountability too long delayed is accountability denied.” 

HEADLINES:

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Friday, March 15, 2024

Georgia Ruling

Top Story:

“Fani Willis’s Trump prosecution can move forward — if she drops Wade from the case” (Vox) A judge wrote that Willis had a “tremendous lapse in judgment,” but didn’t disqualify her from the case.

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Thursday, March 14, 2024

Pi Day's Origin Story

Happy Pi Day.

“Love Pi Day? You can thank San Francisco for that. The Exploratorium, currently at the Embarcadero along San Francisco’s eastern waterfront, was founded in 1969 by the physicist and professor Frank Oppenheimer, who wanted to create a more hands-on way for children to learn about science. (Oppenheimer was the younger brother of J. Robert Oppenheimer, the “father of the atomic bomb” and the subject of this year’s best picture winner at the Oscars.)” — (Cal Today)

“Pi Day is an annual celebration of the mathematical constant π (pi). Pi Day is observed on March 14 (the 3rd month) since 3, 1, and 4 are the first three significant figures of π, and it was first celebrated in the United States.[2][3] It was founded in 1988 by Larry Shaw, an employee of the San Francisco science museum, the Exploratorium. Celebrations often involve eating pie or holding pi recitation competitions. In 2009, the United States House of Representativessupported the designation of Pi Day.[4] UNESCO's 40th General Conference designated Pi Day as the International Day of Mathematics in November 2019.[5][6] “ —(Wikipedia)

HEADLINES:

  • House Republicans break from Trump on TikTok (Politico)

  • TikTok chief to speak to senators in wake of House vote for bill that could see app banned in US (Guardian)

  • Judge dismisses some charges against Trump in the Georgia 2020 election interference case (AP)

  • Hunter Biden rejects House GOP "carnival side show" invite (Axios)

  • Dozens of casualties in Israeli attack on UN hub (Al Jazeera)

  • ‘Jamming’: How Electronic Warfare Is Reshaping Ukraine’s Battlefields (NYT)

  • Russian President Vladimir Putin gave a wide-ranging interview to state media, days before an election that is certain to keep him in power. He warned the West that Russia was technically ready for nuclear war and that if the US sent troops to Ukraine, it would be considered a significant escalation of the conflict. (Reuters)

  • Native groups sit on a treasure trove of lithium. Now mines threaten their water, culture and wealth (AP)

  • US State Department warns Americans not to travel to Haiti amid gang takeover (Independent)

  • Virginia wildlife staffers are disguising themselves as foxes to care for a cub. The workers are bottle-feeding an orphaned newborn fox while wearing a red, furry, pointed mask. It’s meant to stop the cub from getting too used to humans.(WP)

  • The number of U.S. adults who identify as LGBTQ+ doubled in 12 years, new poll shows (NPR)

  • Whistleblower death compounds bad news for Boeing (WP)

  • This free tool from Anthropic helps you create better prompts for your AI chatbot (ZDNet)

  • Cognition emerges from stealth to launch AI software engineer Devin (VentureBeat)

  • 45-Minute Phone Call To Credit Card Company Goes Great (The Onion)

 

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Wednesday, March 13, 2024

Guilt v. Innocence

Watching the Congressional hearing where former special counsel Robert Hur defended his report on the classified documents case against President Joe Biden was a reminder that more often than not, the Department of Justice gets these things right.

Biden almost certainly broke the law technically by retaining classified reports after leaving the vice-presidency in 2017. But there is no viable evidence that he did so knowingly; in fact it was his staff that packed up the documents, and when he discovered it he promptly returned the material to the government.

This is in sharp contrast, of course, to the case against Donald Trump.

Trump has fought the DoJ at every turn, hiding the documents he took with him after leaving office, obstructing attempts to recover them, lying repeatedly and instructing his lawyers and staff to conspire with him to commit all of these allegedly criminal acts.

These two investigations provide a case study of the difference between guilt beyond a reasonable doubt and the legal equivalent of innocence.

In any event, Hur appears to have handled the Biden case in an even-handed manner, except for describing the president as an elderly man with a poor memory.

That unfortunately is what his report and this hearing will be best remembered for.

HEADLINES:

 

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Tuesday, March 12, 2024

Why Substack?

 Occasionally, a new acquaintance or reader will ask me what I am trying to accomplish by publishing here on Substack every day, 365 days a year. It’s a good question, one I ask myself as well.

This project started during the early days of the Covid-19 pandemic. At that time, like virtually everyone else, I found myself isolated, unable to see friends or relatives, dependent on social media to connect with others.

In my case, the pandemic coincided with several other factors to deepen my sense of isolation. After more than a half-century living in San Francisco, I left the city. And due to a series of serious health incidents, including a stroke, I was forced to retire after a long career in journalism.

During my illnesses, I spent many weeks in medical institutions, including hospitals, skilled nursing facilities, rehab centers and finally an assisted living complex.

Once Covid hit, my isolation became extreme, as I could no longer leave my room to socialize or eat meals with the other residents. I began to wilt like a flower without sunlight or water.

My family saved me. I left that place to move in with my oldest daughter and her family.

And I started writing these short essays every day. (For many years, since 2006, I’d been blogging on a less regular basis.)

During the pandemic, at first I published them on my personal page at Facebook. People responded from all over the world and very soon I hit the limit of 5,000 friends. Given my 55-year career in journalism, many of these Facebook friends asked me for my thoughts not only on Covid but on the news of the day beyond the confusions of the pandemic.

In response, I started sifting through the headlines in various authoritative news sources to provide a kind of virtual news broadcast via the social network. That eventually grew from ten or twenty headlines to forty or fifty and on some days up to ninety stories per day.

But I found Facebook (now called Meta) limiting because it is extremely difficult to include links to the news stories I aggregate, which I want to do so readers can see for themselves why I have chosen those particular stories for inclusion.

Meta also seems to punish people who try to include links, because whenever I used workarounds to make the headlines clickable, my traffic there fell close to zero.

At the urging of readers and friends, I moved my operation here to Substack, which provides the ability to link directly to the sources I cite, plus a subscription option for those who wish to support my work.

So that is my story.

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Monday, March 11, 2024

Peace


Watching the Academy Awards last night, I was happy to see “Oppenheimer” win Best Picture. We live in a perilous time, with the threat of another world war erupting, and it is truly a moment to remember the specific details of our history.

The film captures the deep ambiguities that J. Robert Oppenheimer and his team recognized while they created the first atomic bomb.

Afterward, our society both honored and punished him for his work, which the film reflects accurately.

In personal terms, I remember interviewing Oppenheimer’s brother, Frank, during my years at the Center for Investigative Reporting. We spoke with him at the marvelous interactive science facility he created in San Francisco called The Exploratorium.

Frank told us that his brother had demonstrated the terrible horror that scientists could infect, but that he wanted to demonstrate the great joy and pleasure that science could present as well.

I think Frank succeeded. 

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Sunday, March 10, 2024

By God's Gentle Plan


 A few moments after my mother died, I walked outside of the hospice where she had spent her final weeks. She’d been unconscious for days and we‘d had her removed from life support just a few hours earlier.

When the attendants zipped her body into the black body bag, they left the top open so we could whisper her goodbye one last time.

As I emerged into the fresh air, a strong breeze ruffled the trees overhead. I looked up at the sky. Maybe I got a glimpse of heaven.

My mother lived for 87 years. She passed away on what would have been her own mother’s birthday, October 9th. She had been born in a Scottish village just outside of Glasgow. Her family came to America when her father, a tool and dye man, answered the call from Henry Ford to work in Detroit for the princely sum of five dollars a day.

The breeze kept blowing, the leaves kept rustling and my mind kept racing, going back over what I could recall of my mother’s life. I was 55 at the time she died, so that meant she had been 32 when she had me, a year after my father got home from Europe after the end of World War II.

She’d graduated as the top student from her high school but didn’t go to college. She had married young, pregnant with my older sister, gotten quickly divorced, moved back in with her parents and gone to work for the Ford Motor Company in its office in downtown Detroit.

It was there, some years later, that she met my father, got remarried and had three more children.

As her only son, she doted on me. My sisters had every right to resent the favorable treatment I received, but they didn’t seem to.

My mother and I had been alone with my father when he died from a massive stroke just a few years earlier in Florida. For the three-and-a-half years after that, we became closer than we ever had been.

I’d extend my frequent business trips back east to add a stop and visit her. On these occasions, I’d usually take her out for dinner. She called them our “dates” and giggled at the concept.

But now she was gone and suddenly it felt chilly. It was autumn in Michigan.

Death is part of life, I reminded myself. It doesn’t do to dwell on it too much; the inevitability of death in inescapable — what matters more is how you live while you are here. A series of similar cliches cascaded through my mind as I retreated back into the warmth of the well-heated facility and the company of family.

But one more thought came: It is not so much how much you’re loved; it’s how much you love. I was thinking of my mother. I was missing her.

***

Recently, at a social gathering I met up with a former colleague whose son had died by suicide.

Following his son’s death, this man had written and published a loving tribute that described the young man as a sweet person struggling with life’s challenges. And that his son’s troubles were now over. 

At the party I took him aside and told him how much his writing had moved me. I said that it was the most beautiful love letter I’d ever read. 

His face melted into kindness. We embraced. He thanked me and told me, “Whenever I think of my son now, the only thing I remember is his love.”

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