Calling Jack Bauer

There’s a lot of interesting terminology being thrown around about the surviving Boston Marathon bombing suspect who’s in the hospital. First, there’s “terrorist.” I personally don’t have a problem with that one. But then we have heard calls for this guy to be treated as an “enemy combatant,” which would open the door to long detention without trial and certain interrogation techniques.

That one hasn’t gone anywhere, however, and they gave Dzhokhar Tsarnaev a Miranda warning. But now they say that the bombs these two brothers allegedly used were “weapons of mass destruction.” Really?

The crude bombs, packed with nails and ball bearings, were designed to cause maximum injury, and they did. But are they really WMD? Like chemical, biological or nuclear weapons, whose mythical existence in Iraq caused us to go to war? I wonder. But WMD use brings the death penalty.

The surviving brother, like his deceased sibling, is an American citizen. But he’s also of foreign extraction, and he’s said to be a follower of Islam. Were he a white Christian, I’m wondering if we would be discussing him in quite the same terms.

So when they get around to questioning him, does he have information that would tie him to, say, Al Qaeda training abroad? I would guess most of us profess to be opposed to torture – but then we consider all those bombing victims without an arm or a leg today. And then, we think, well, maybe in this case….

Dick Cheney must be smiling inside right now.

Facebook and the Demise of Goodbye

A former colleague and good friend announced plans a few months ago to sell her local home and move to another state in a completely different part of the country. She has many good friends in my area, and amid all the preparations associated with getting the house ready for sale and making moving arrangements, she had to squeeze in time to say goodbye in person to her friends individually, as she had decided not to have a final gathering. 

My turn came, and we had dinner and said our goodbyes. I was fully aware that I would likely never see this individual again in my lifetime. My friend’s new city is not an obvious “bucket-list” place. My wife and I would probably not pick it out for a vacation, and neither of us have any family in that area or any business reason to go there. And as we talk about lifetime, while I have a ways go yet, in the great scheme of things, there’s not all that much of that left.

The modern difference in all this, however, is that my former colleague and I are Facebook friends. I was reluctant to join FB a few years ago, but she was one of the first to welcome me to it when I did. Being part of a younger generation and being who she is, she “shares” (there’s another word whose future I’m worried about) almost everything, and as she writes beautifully and her posts are almost always interesting, she has a large following.

In the old days, when you said goodbye in person in the circumstances described here, that might be it, unless you wanted to rack up phone bills or exchange letters (remember those?). There was goodbye, because there would be physical distance, so it really meant something.

In my friend’s case, she would not be leaving for about a month after our dinner, but she continued to post on FB, and I continued to follow. As there’s a drama king in me, I was moved to say goodbye on FB several more times; I’m a movie buff, and the best ones always seem to have logical endings. Anyway, she finally launched her cross-country road trip to get to her new home, FB posting, of course, all the way, and I and her large group of friends were able to “follow” her. It felt almost like she hadn’t left at all.

As in real (as opposed to virtual) life, there are all kinds of relationships possible on Facebook, and you can control their intensity, both on “input” and “output.” You obviously can control what you write and who sees it, as can your friends. You can “hide” the posts of the most annoying people from your input stream (“news feed”), and there’s even the nuclear option: you can “unfriend” someone.  

But “goodbye,” as some of us used to know it, can just about disappear from your life, if you choose, in our new ultra-connected world -- as perhaps time and distance already have.

Crime and Punishment: The New Normal

It took us more than 10 years to catch up to the top perpetrators of 9/11. It took less than a week to catch up to the perpetrators of the Boston Marathon bombing. Do we need any more proof that a new day has arrived?

It’s largely about cameras. To paraphrase Allen Funt, we should be smiling all the time. Chances are we’re in somebody’s viewfinder or on a screen. Not a pleasant prospect for many of us who prize our privacy – but then there are times when we need those cameras. The FBI reviewed security camera recordings of two suspicious characters in the bombing. They put out press releases with the best shots, and within hours, they had crystal-clear pictures of the suspects, supplied by the public, because everybody has a camera now, either in their smartphones or as compact standalone equipment. Looks like the days of those police artist sketches are numbered. Funny how the suspects in all those sketches seemed to look exactly alike anyway.

The two suspects in the Boston case knew in short order they had nowhere to hide. Their pictures were everywhere. A convenience market security camera caught them in the process of a carjacking. Confrontations with law enforcement followed; one suspect was killed, the other one was captured alive, hiding in a boat in the backyard of a home. The public were on high alert. In the case of Suspect Two, Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, a homeowner noticed blood coming from the boat. A police helicopter with a thermal imaging camera determined that Mr. White Hat was in there, and that he was alive, though wounded. Police finally were able to capture him, and when the news got out, citizens lined the streets wildly applauding every law enforcement vehicle leaving the scene.

But it wasn’t simply about good police work. It couldn’t have been done without cameras, the media – social as well as traditional – and alert citizens. We should borrow one of the hands we’re clapping with, and pat ourselves on the back.

As well as the folks who invented smartphones.

Plain Speaking

It was interesting how long it took authorities to start using a certain word following the Boston Marathon bombings (indeed, I got the impression that “device” was a euphemism for “bomb,” which it took a long time for even the media to use, but that’s another program).

But “terrorism”? It took a really long time for authorities to use that one. It’s almost like I heard them trying to get it out, but not quite able to do it: “T-t-t-t-t-t…”

The FBI agent-in-charge, during a news conference, said the investigation was a criminal investigation, but only a “potential” terrorism investigation, if I heard him right. My question is, if even one person plants bombs that end up killing at least two and injuring well over 100, how is that not terrorism?

The reason, of course, is that the T-word seems to imply foreign, rather than domestic involvement – at least that’s how it has been since 9/11. Authorities don’t want angry mobs running around beating up people named, say, Osama (a not uncommon name in the Arab world). Actually, the use of maiming ball bearings in the explosives seems to imply foreign involvement much more strongly. But of course, home-grown folks can plant bombs, and even use ball bearings. The Internet provides the instruction.

There are other words and phrases that bother me when it comes to this stuff. I think I’d much rather be an honest-to-goodness “suspect” than a “person of interest.” I guess the latter is someone the cops really want to talk to but don’t have to charge. But if CNN tells the world I’m a “person of interest,” everyone’s going to believe I committed the crime anyway.

Terrorism, though,  is what it is. It doesn’t require half a dozen guys from the Middle East to do it. One individual, even with white skin – and a big enough grudge -- is perfectly capable of it.

Peeling the Onion on Guns

The call for gun control and the need for improved school security have been linked since the Newtown, Conn. shooting, but while linked, they are very separate issues in some respects.

While the Congress can’t seem to get its act together on gun control, some states are carrying the ball just fine. The governor of Connecticut has signed one of the toughest gun laws in the nation, requiring background checks for gun buyers, restricting magazine capacity to 10 bullets, and requiring those who currently own weapons with larger magazines to register them by next New Year’s Day. Personally, I would go even further, requiring everyone who buys a gun to be licensed, similar to what’s required of drivers. That would include training and passing some sort of test.

The argument about registration being a precursor to the government’s confiscation of guns is, to me, so bogus and outlandish that it defies description. It will not happen in this country in anyone’s lifetime. Even if such an initiative were launched, the confiscators would have to pry weapons out of millions of sets of cold, dead fingers. It would be Civil War II.

But what about security in schools? The NRA has called for an armed security officer in every school, and I don’t have a problem with that. Many high schools have had “school resource officers” from local police departments for decades – not a radical concept.

And what about teachers or school administrators carrying concealed weapons? Actually, I don’t have a problem with that either, as long as strict background checks were in place. Perhaps there should be a limit on how many teachers or administrators per school would be packing on campus – and that information should be absolutely confidential. True, it could increase a school district’s liability costs, but when the rubber hits the road, if it limits the damage a crazy person could cause at a school, it might be well worth it.

Older men like me often repeat themselves, so I’ll do it here. The Second Amendment is not sacred text, nor is the Constitution itself. That’s why there are things called “amendments,” and even they can be repealed as justices become enlightened.

Gun control is not, in the end, a legislative issue. Someday, for example, alcoholic beverage consumption won’t be a habit, but that will require a cultural sea change. Prohibition, one of the aforementioned amendments, was repealed because it didn’t work. On the other hand, it’s not inconceivable that smoking will virtually disappear in the lifetimes of many of us, because it just isn’t cool anymore. That’s really how the gun problem will be solved, and that will require of us something in short supply these days: patience.

Bait and Switch

There have been disturbing reports surfacing lately about the food supply. Turns out some of what folks thought was beef in the UK was at least partly horsemeat. And that fish they charged you big bucks for might not be what you thought it was.

Look, I am not a foodie fanatic. If it tastes OK, I’ll probably finish it. If I stick a fork in a piece of meat and I don’t hear a whnnny, the packager will likely get away with it, and I’ll never know the difference.

But I should.

Here in California, many of us worry about genetically-modified food. An initiative to require disclosure of such modifications failed. It was a good idea, but there were problems with the measure – I even voted against it because of them. But GMO may be the least of our problems, if they can’t even tell us what it is that we’re putting in our mouths now. Where is Upton Sinclair when we need him?

If it’s part horse instead of all beef, just tell me. If it’s tuna instead of red snapper, let me know. I might surprise you and try it anyway if you make it worth my while. Be honest! Look at how much the organic food people charge for their products. There’s a market for all choices and price points, but nobody will buy your stuff again if it’s revealed later that you lied.

When I was little, I was a picky eater. My mother actually disguised food that I swore up and down I’d never consume, and tell me later that I had just eaten it. I never noticed until it was too late.

But aren’t we all a little old for games?