Tuesday, February 12, 2019
Where's this Bezos AMI thing going? (Reup) By Josh Marshall
Sunday, February 10, 2019
Let’s Get Real About Virginia by Josh Marshall
Editor’s Blog – Talking Points Memo / by Josh Marshall / 26min
I confess to being more than a little confused by this piece by Politico cofounder John Harris. Harris started out as a political reporter in Richmond. So it’s about the recent chaos and plunge toward the abyss in Virginia state government and the state Democratic party. As he summarizes it on Twitter, “The good old days in Virginia were bad. These days are worse…”
In other words, Virginia’s current political leaders don’t match up to the virtue and valor of those from the old days.
If you read the actual article, it’s a bit more subtle than this. But not terribly. Or not nearly enough. Harris favorably compares the more buttoned up and genteel Virginia Jim Crow era with that of the Deep South. That has a truth in it as far as it goes. The Jim Crow era was more marked by overt terrorist and state terrorist violence in states like Mississippi, Louisiana and Alabama than in Virginia. The Deep South states also had substantially larger African-American populations. That made both the perceptions and reality of white power inherently more brittle. Thus the machinery of domination was, predictably, more paranoid, brutal and violent. In some ways these differences had roots in the different commodity plantation cultures from the slavery era. But these are hardly distinctions to write home about, to put it mildly.
Here’s one passage …
People outside the state might understandably conclude: Wow, as recently as 35 years ago in the home of the Confederacy the prejudice was so endemic that flagrant racism of the sort depicted in the yearbook was no big deal.
But that assumption isn’t quite right. I grew up in Upstate New York, and I didn’t begin reporting on state politics until the late 1980s. I’m pretty sure, however, that even in 1984 it would have shocked the sensibilities of many in Virginia’s political and business elite to be confronted with a photograph of the state’s governor in an openly racist pose—even if the photo was taken in 1949, 35 years earlier.
Make no mistake: Virginia does indeed have a not-so-distant past steeped in systemic racial discrimination. But as writers like Frank B. Atkinson (who wrote the political history, “The Dynamic Dominion”) make clear, for the most part in the 20th century did not devolve into open racial warfare of the sort that took place in Mississippi, Alabama and other parts of the Deep South, and which later migrated to major cities of the North. The face of discrimination in Virginia—where leaders in the 1950s and beyond engaged in “massive resistance” to avoid integrating the schools after the Supreme Court’s Brown decision—was more typically understated and shrouded in respectability. It came dressed in the well-starched suits of court house lawyers and pols for the Byrd Machine, which dominated state politics for decades, not the gaudy robes of Klansman
I’m not really so sure about this. I’m certainly not apologizing for Northam and Herring. But I think the point is, quite simply, that racism was always at the heart of white Virginia politics and that this scandal is simply a matter of the state Democratic party being whipsawed by the changing attitudes toward race, tolerance and African-American political power over the last thirty-plus years. All Northam and Herring have done is participate in behavior that may have seemed jocular in their time among their peers but now seems clearly racist in ours. (It’s worth noting that Herring’s transgression seems significantly different from Northam’s but the difference isn’t terribly important for this point I’m making.) To the extent we are comparing them to Virginia political leaders of the past, I’m really not sure that can be much of a knock on them since Virginia is literally the birthplace of the North American plantation slavery system, was the literal and spiritual capital of the Confederacy and even today gives symbolic pride of place in its capital to a statues of Confederate leaders, statues which are themselves monuments to white supremacy.
Again, I want to be fair to Harris. He makes some nods to these obvious points. But overall I think he misses or ignores them.
One of the most interesting and revealing points I’ve heard over the past week about this tangle of scandals in Virginia is this: Ralph Northam is the first Virginia governor in a generation who grew up in Virginia. This turns out to be highly significant. Warner, Kaine, McAulliffe, even Bob McDonnell – none of these guys had any connection to an earlier Virginia. For that you have to go all the way back to Jim Gilmore, who was elected in 1997.
Another way to look at it is that Virginia’s Democratic ascendancy, which basically traces to Mark Warner’s governorship, has all been with governors and senators who grew up in the North. That makes sense since the state’s change has been driven in many ways by migration into Northern Virginia. But it also meant that something like what we’ve seen over the last week or more was much less likely to happen. Northam is the first of these men who not only grew up in Virginia but has a family history going back generations. Indeed, his ancestors were slaveholders.
Northam has to answer for himself. But none of his political ancestors are in a position to judge him. To put it mildly.
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Friday, February 8, 2019
Ghosts and Shadows of the South by Josh Marshall
Ghosts and Shadows of the South
Editor’s Blog – Talking Points Memo / by Josh Marshall / 5h
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There are so many threads of this ugly and increasingly bizarre (three scandals at once) set of scandals in the upper ranks of the Virginia state government. But one is the proximity of these two events to the end of Jim Crow in the South. Before delving into this, let me stipulate that by saying there were lots of racist attitudes in the 1980s I’m not saying there aren’t a lot today. I am trying to make a different point. These events happened in the early 1980s. The Civil Rights Act of 1965 was 15 years or so earlier. Brown v Board was almost thirty years earlier. But actual desegregation, even de jure, let alone de facto desegregation was accepted by the courts as a years long process. Basically the de jure end of Jim Crow had only happened maybe 15 years or so earlier. To place ourselves in time, it’s like looking back at the 2004 presidential election day. In other words, just a short time ago.
I’ll give you another example. Back in the 1990s I was reading a political science book about the post-Jim Crow South. One of the questions in that book was how supporters of segregation had remade themselves in an era in which at least de jure segregation and Jim Crow was officially outlawed and at least supposedly socially stigmatized. The big picture as we know was that those people, mostly former Democrats had repackaged themselves as conservative Republicans. But one of the questions in that study was whether they were simply racists or whether they supported something called “racial conservatism.” This was defined as a general belief that the races should remain generally separate, as far as the law would allow, and that traditional racial mores and mores between the races should be preserved. I remember this pretty clearly a quarter century later, even though I’ve never read a lot of academic political science, because “racial conservatism” definitely sounded a lot like racism.
To be fair to the author, whose name I don’t remember, he definitely seemed to think so too. Or at least the subtext of the book did not seem to be defending the concept. The point is that the concept had to be taken seriously in an academic context, even though it was the thinnest repackaging of well … racism. Or to be more clear, it was a fairly thin repackaging of the proposition that ‘Yes, black people are allowed to vote now and laws discriminating against black people won’t stand up in court. But we’ll do everything we can within the law to maintain the current racial hierarchies and that it’s right and sensible that we should do that.’
Let’s jump forward twenty years from the early 80s to 2002 when Trent Lott notoriously praised Strom Thurmond, then still alive and on the verge of retirement, for his explicitly pro-segregationist break away run for President in 1948. That ended Lott’s run as Senate Majority Leader. But at least at first, it didn’t occur to anyone that that was a problem.
At some level it should not remotely surprise us that ten or fifteen after the formal dismantlement of the southern system of apartheid that unreconstructed racist beliefs were still totally pervasive. They’re still widespread of course, in some ways remolded and re-fashioned, in other ways more bold and explicit than they were a decade ago. But the mainstream political dialog in the US has always taken a kind of done and done attitude toward the end of formal apartheid in the United States was or should be basically the end of the story, when that was never going to be the case. African-Americans have much less sense of surprise than white Americans for obvious reasons.
There was never any American equivalent of the South African Truth and Reconciliation Commission, or reshuffling of the balance of property and political power in the South, beyond the vote, and that obviously in an imperfect form. This is obviously a vast topic I have no good answers to. Race, age and a lot of other things place obvious limits on my own perspective. My point here is that to the extent that anyone is surprised that young men or teens in the early 80s were dressing up in blackface or taking a jocular attitude to KKK, that’s a product of at least white America’s collective amnesia and denial about how the Jim Crow system in the South ended and the incompleteness of the process that brought it to an end.
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Thursday, February 7, 2019
Let's be honest about Medicare for All by Josh Marshall
Tuesday, February 5, 2019
Facebook Remade the Internet in Its Hideous Image by Alex Shepherd for the New Republic
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Bloomberg/Getty Images
Facebook Remade the Internet in Its Hideous Image
The social network turned 15 today. The next 15 years look to be even worse.
By ALEX SHEPHARD
February 5, 2019
Fifteen years ago today, Mark Zuckerberg launched Facebook—then known as TheFacebook—out of his Harvard dorm room. It now has more than two and a half billion users across its applications, including Instagram and WhatsApp, and a market capitalization of around $500 billion. By just about any measure, it is one of the most successful and consequential companies ever. But judged against its founder’s own grandiose vision, the company indisputably has failed.
Zuckerberg has long made the case that his company isn’t just about amassing users and monopolizing advertising revenue. Facebook aims to make the world a better, more peaceful place by connecting people who, before the network’s existence, were separated by geographic and identitarian boundaries. “Facebook was not originally created to be a company,” Zuckerberg wrote in a manifesto published on the eve of the company’s going public in February of 2012. “It was built to accomplish a social mission—to make the world more open and connected.”
Facebook is effectively the front page of the internet: One out of every five minutes on the mobile internet is spent on the site. So it has succeeded in connecting much of the world—but often for the worse. Far from freeing people from tyranny and oppression, Facebook has been shown to fuel unrest, violence, and even genocide. The same place you go to wish an uncle happy birthday is, for hostile state and non-state actors, a vital hub for propaganda, misinformation, and recruitment. Whether Facebook survives another 15 years or not, this will be the legacy it has bequeathed to the internet as a whole.
Facebook’s rise was meteoric, even compared to the other “Big Four” companies—Apple, Amazon, Google—to which it is frequently compared. After launching as a Harvard-only social network in February of 2004, it spread rapidly across college campuses before being made available, in September of 2006, to everyone in the United States. By the fall of 2012, it had one billion users; five years later, it crossed the two billion mark.
Initially, Zuckerberg was resistant to advertising on the site, believing that it was intrusive and distracted from the user experience. But after Sheryl Sandberg joined the company from Google in 2008—with the directive to make the company profitable—Facebook embraced extensive user tracking and became one of the most powerful advertising companies in the planet. Its revenue has skyrocketed in the last few years, topping $55 billion in 2018.
At the same time, the company has become so large and complex that it’s possible no one, including Zuckerberg and Sandberg, really understands it. Facebook is a social network, an advertising company, and a data collection hub that relentlessly surveils and profiles its users. It is being utilized by companies wishing to find new customers, as well as governments looking to foil terrorist attacks (and, increasingly, to meddle in the elections and domestic affairs of adversaries). Its advertising business has played a pivotal role in the decimation of the American news media.
A site that was once a place for centralizing social obligations—a mix of an address book and a scrap book, a place to easily share milestones and memories with family and friends—has grown into a world unto itself that plays a pivotal, and often damaging, role in democracies and dictatorships alike. It has been seized on by hatemongers across the world, who use it to spread misinformation and messages of ethnic division with frightening speed, facilitating murders in India and genocide in Myanmar.
Facebook did not invent propaganda or misinformation; mass media has been used to spread hate and violence for as long as mass media has existed. It’s possible, perhaps even likely, that many of the malicious acts that are blamed on Facebook would have happened without it, but the social network has nevertheless been a kind of inadvertent pathfinder, a company so convinced of its public utility that it was, until it was too late, blind to its numerous adverse effects. But Facebook has made it easier to unleash these negative forces and to harness the internet for horrific acts, and it will take more than an apology tour to undo the damage.
Facebook will change dramatically over the next 15 years. The rise of deepfakes is already making the problem of fake news—the real kind, not the Trumpian insult—seem quaint. How will augmented reality be used for evil? We can only imagine. But it requires little imagination to see that Facebook is ill-equipped to handle these future threats, given its utter failure to address myriad crises ranging from its handling of user data to its spread of misinformation that may have compromised elections in the U.S., Germany, and elsewhere.
That makes this a pivotal moment not just in Facebook’s history, but America’s—if not the world’s. No company has emerged to challenge Facebook’s supremacy, as it continues to corral users and make record profits. It will require collective action, then, to force the company to change, so that the next 15 years of the internet don’t look like the Facebook-dominated internet of today, or worse. Governments, most importantly the U.S. and EU, have the power to diminish the company’s extreme influence on society, with the laws that tie its hands or even break it up. Facebook’s users have a different sort of power: They can relegate the network to obscurity simply by logging off.
Neither action, alas, would solve the underlying problem. If, by 2034, Facebook has become the next MySpace, we can only wonder what horrors “the next Facebook” has in store for us.
Alex Shephard is a staff writer at The New Republic.
@alex_shephard