For Once, a Good Day

Yesterday was a trifecta for those of us who live in Indiana and care about public policy.

Two separate federal judges enjoined major parts of two of the most shameful acts passed by the most recent Indiana General Assembly–the immigration bill and the anti-abortion bill. (The latter not only defunded Planned Parenthood, but also required doctors to give women medically inaccurate information. Both provisions were enjoined.) The ideologues who “serve” in the Indiana legislature had been repeatedly advised that both measures had serious constitutional infirmities, but hey–why let a little thing like the constitution get in the way of serious pandering and outright nuttiness?

If the issuance of those injunctions wasn’t satisfying enough, late last night New York State passed a bill authorizing same-sex marriage, and Governor Cuomo came to the floor to sign it.

There was a lot to relish about that victory for fundamental fairness and basic civil rights.

The New York legislature is controlled by Republicans, but the majority party did not block the vote, and four Republican votes provided the margin of victory. The Governor was one of the bill’s strongest supporters. Michael Bloomberg, Mayor of New York City, hailed the bill’s passage. And New York’s authorization doubled the number of Americans who now live in a state where same-sex marriage is legal.

A few minutes after the bill passed the New York Senate, the Empire State Building “went Rainbow”–the building was bathed in rainbow lights that had been purchased for the city’s Pride Parade that, in a happy coincidence, was scheduled for today.

Granted, yesterday was only one day, but it was a welcome recess from the pettiness, stupidity, anti-intellectualism and bigotry that have characterized our civic and political life for far too long. I don’t know about you, but I plan to savor it.

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Teachable Moments

Sometimes, a gaffe or disclosure that is unimportant in and of itself will nevertheless offer us a useful insight. There were two examples in this morning’s news.

The first was a glaring grammatical error in the morning Star editorial about–of all subjects–education.  The paragraph in which it occurred read “Bennett needs public buy-in to ensure that the new operators, whoever they are, have the best chance to succeed. And that buy-in is more likely to occur if parents, teachers and community leaders think that they’re concerns were taken into account before an outside operator was hired to run one or more of their local schools.”

“They’re” should obviously been “their.” Oops! Perhaps Gannett’s decision to cut copy and proofreading personnel was a bit too hasty?

The second was a brief report in the IBJ of an exchange between Greg Ballard and Amos Brown. During a discussion on his radio program, Amos asked the Mayor whether he had ever met with the head of the NAACP. Ballard replied that, while he had not had a face-to-face meeting with “him,” he had been at a breakfast meeting with “him.” The problem, of course, is that the head of the NAACP is a woman.

This could, of course, be shrugged off as a simple case of “mis-speaking.” But I think it is a particularly vivid example of Ballard’s most unfortunate flaw: an inability to admit–evidently even to himself–what he doesn’t know, or hasn’t done, and a corresponding need to try bluffing his way through.

When Ballard was campaigning, it was painfully obvious he knew very little about urban policy and governance. Having spent much of the preceding 25 years in the Marines, he also didn’t know a lot about what had been happening in Indianapolis. Those gaps wouldn’t necessarily make him a bad mayor; lots of people go into positions unprepared, recognize their deficits, and work to correct them. Understanding what you don’t understand is the beginning of wisdom. Those who ultimately succeed despite lacking the requisite knowledge or skills are those who are willing to say “I don’t know” when they don’t.

Those who fail, try to bluff their way through.

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Do You See What I See?

Apparently not.

Our local Pride Festival has come and gone, but the annual culture war over it goes on. And on.

I never cease to be amazed at the descriptions of our Pride Parade emanating from the “family values” folks. Our local American Family organization sent out an email alert a couple of days before the parade, asking recipients to pray for the grievously damaged souls who participate in the debauched and immoral displays involved, and attaching photos from prior ‘exhibitions.”

I’m not a “family values” person—at least, not in the sense that phrase is typically meant—and I guess I proved it at Pride, because my husband and I took our youngest two grandchildren to the Parade. They had a great time.

The Indianapolis parade began seven years ago, with—to the best of my recollection—the same number of floats: seven. This year, there were 125. For the first year, and several years thereafter, there were small groups of protestors with signs urging participants to “Repent” and “Choose Jesus” (and the ubiquitous “Adam and Eve, Not Adam and Steve.”), but this year, if they were there, I didn’t see them, although it is possible that they were obscured by the crowd, which gets bigger every year.

So what sorts of inappropriate and sordid behavior did my grandchildren—ages 7 and 9—see?

Several political candidates and officeholders participated, as did local firefighters and police officers. (The police had announced their official participation, only to have authorization to do so yanked by the Mayor in the wake of the AFA email blast, but several participated anyway, on their own time.)

I counted at least four churches. There were dykes on bikes, our local PFlag Chapter and another one that had come all the way from Dayton, Ohio. There were radio stations, hairstyling studios and automobile agencies–plus gay marching bands, a couple of floats featuring local drag artists, and floats entered by a number of GLBT organizations—ranging from the Indiana Youth Group to the GLBT staff and faculty members from Indiana University Purdue University Indianapolis, where I teach.

The raciest float I saw was one featuring a bunch of well-muscled men in fairly skimpy bathing suits, dancing. The suits were pretty tight, but I’ve seen tighter at the local swimming pool.

Most of the people who participated in the parade threw candy, rainbow leis or multicolored strings of beads as they passed. (The candy was the least healthy part of the celebration—I finally had to call a halt before sugar comas set in.)

It is interesting to consider why the parade I saw—and felt perfectly comfortable sharing with my grandchildren—is so different from the parade viewed by our local “God Squad.” I guess it’s true that most of us see what we expect to see—that we view reality through our individual worldviews and social attitudes.

I feel sorry for those who insist on looking for the underside of everything—those who are intent upon seeing smut where there is none.

They miss all the fun.

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Losing the News, Part 2

The response to yesterday’s announcement of more layoffs at the Star has been significant, and almost uniformly mournful. Comments on Facebook, responses to posts on this and other blogs, and on the Star’s own site have generally reflected the fact that communities all over the country are in the process of losing something valuable, and that these latest cuts are simply one more step toward the inevitable loss of news geared to the general public.

At risk of sounding like the old person I am, I remember growing up in an environment where local papers focused on (largely local) government, along with local crime and information about area schools, public improvements and the like. Pretty much everyone read the paper. The reporting wasn’t necessarily great or insightful, but it had usually been fact-checked and proof-read. Those of us who needed more depth in areas of interest supplemented that basic news source with more specialized publications, but even when we disputed the accuracy of this or that report in the newspaper, we all shared that “baseline.”  Newspapers provided a common starting point for further inquiry and conversation. The demise of a common source of information may well be one reason why Americans increasingly inhabit different realities.

Even more consequential, I think, has been the loss of investigation and context, as the remaining reporters are increasingly required to produce more stories more quickly. For the past several years, observers have bemoaned the transformation of reporting into stenography. Instead of simply reporting that official A said X and official B denied that X was true, reporters used to investigate the matter at issue, and tell readers who was telling the truth and who wasn’t.

Let me use a couple of local examples to show how important that last step is.

In our local Mayoral campaign, Mayor Ballard says that crime in Indianapolis is down. His challenger, Melina Kennedy, says it isn’t. How many of us are in a position to access crime statistics, ascertain the credibility of the source, and decide who is correct?

When the Ballard Administration negotiated a fifty-year agreement allowing ACS to manage the city’s parking meters, the agreement passed the City-County Council by a single vote. Ryan Vaughn, the Council President, voted for the deal; had he recused himself, it wouldn’t have passed. Vaughn is a lawyer with Barnes Thornburg, the firm that represents ACS. The Star dutifully reported the accusations by several people that this vote was improper–that Vaughn had a conflict of interest and should not have voted on the matter. And it dutifully reported Vaughn’s (convoluted) “explanation” of why there was no conflict. That was it. No analysis; no checking with the Supreme Court Disciplinary Commission or ethics experts from the local law school. Just “he said, she said.”

For that matter, Indianapolis citizens would have benefited from actual reporting on the terms of the contract, the relationships between ACS and local political figures, and its performance elsewhere. We would have benefited from knowing how many other municipalities manage their own parking and how many don’t, and how the income realized differs under the two scenarios.

The press used to give us that sort of information. It allowed us to draw our own conclusions, to make informed decisions about public policy, and decide which politicians to support. It hasn’t performed that service for quite a while, and things clearly aren’t going to get better any time soon.

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Will the Last Reporter Please Turn Out the Lights?

The title of this post is the title of the textbook I plan to use in the fall, in my class on Media and Public Affairs. Unfortunately, the message it conveys–traditional media is dying–gets truer every day.

Yesterday, the Indianapolis Star announced that 60 employees were being let go. This is in addition to prior downsizing that has already resulted in a newspaper hardly worth the name.

Of course, the Star is not alone; its parent company, Gannett, has cut jobs across the board (while awarding its CEO a bonus of 1.25 million and doubling his salary just last March).

Without going into my usual rant about corporate ownership of the media, and the huge, unnecessary debt acquired during those acquisitions, let me simply share a personal anecdote that illustrates what’s wrong with trying to “save” newspapers by cutting staff.

A couple of weeks ago, I went online, and finally stopped my subscription to the Star. Someone from the sales office called, and offered me a discounted price if I would continue my subscription (clearly, they need to be able to show advertisers numbers–they’d probably have given it to me free if I’d asked). I said thanks but no thanks, at which point the salesperson asked why I was discontinuing the paper after so many years. I explained that I no longer found much worth reading in it–the paper was thinner every day, the proportion of actual news to “human interest” and “how to” stories was unacceptably low, and coverage of local and state government had become totally inadequate. With respect to national news, by the time the Star ran the few items that still made it into the paper, I’d already heard or seen them.

In short, there is no longer any “there” there.

Cutting staff will simply exacerbate this vicious downward cycle, and hasten the day that the newspaper simply ceases publication. When that day comes, I am pained to admit that there will be little of value left to lose.

The bigger question is: what will take its place? How can we rejuvenate journalism? There are more and more outlets–web sites, blogs, cable TV, radio–offering various kinds of information of widely varying quality, but there is on balance more noise, more celebrity gossip, more emphasis on sex and scandal, and less and less actual news. The question–to which we seemingly have no answer–is “who will watch local, state and national governments? Who will tell us the things we truly need to know if we are to be informed citizens?

What will happen when the last reporter turns out the lights?

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