By Al Giordano
Nostalgia is a particularly Bostonian pastime, and now almost anyone who ever set foot in that city over the past half-decade has another trigger for melancholy. The Boston Phoenix is dead, boys and girls. Weep for your little town. It will never be as good as it was without that scrappy weekly newspaper that was undervalued in life and now is lionized from the tomb. Boston’s greatest – often its only – motor of culture has now gone the way of the brontosaur.
I am one of its orphans, one of hundreds who entered the doors of the weekly Phoenix as literary rug rats and wannabe writers and came out – after the hard pounding that took place every seven days inside its furnace – as steely men and women of letters. Its long roster of alumni includes the film critics Janet Maslin and David Denby, and many, many other journalists and authors who have shaped American culture and politics.
The Phoenix wasn’t merely the newspaper where I worked in my thirties. It was the place that gave me the time, space and freedom to evolve into who I would become for the rest of my life.
From the moment I landed in Massachusetts at the age of 17, that thick wad of newsprint was something I reached for weekly to find out what was going on, especially with music, but also with politics.
By my early twenties, as I was organizing the anti-nuclear movement, the Phoenix newsroom was ally and booster of our efforts, the go-to place to send manila envelopes of damaging information about our evil adversaries.
In my late twenties, then-editor Richard Gaines took my first published piece – an anonymous submission about the dedication of a park in Lowell, Massachusetts, to its native son Jack Kerouac. I had sent it to him with only the byline “S.J. Santino.” Its references to bemushroomed hallucinations and smoking pot with the bard’s daughter would not have been the best PR for the statewide anti-nuclear referendum I’d launched for that year’s ballot. Gaines gave it a big spread on the cover of the paper’s Arts section, and soon after he published some my first stories under my real name, including one that nobody else wanted to touch, about my friend Barbara Curzi, then a federal political prisoner. When the leadership at the Valley Advocate newspaper in Western Massachusetts, where I lived, saw my byline in the mighty Phoenix, they snatched me up and gave me a staff job in Springfield. I spent four years there cutting my teeth and at war with the dirty politicians who’d been entrenched in the region’s halls of power for thirty years.
One of the inspirations for my salad days in Springfield, and for my weekly assault on the Hampden County Courthouse, was attorney Harvey Silverglate’s “Freedom Watch” column in the Phoenix. In his own requiem for the publication where he wrote for more than four decades, the great civil libertarian wrote:
“I began my long-running Freedom Watch column in the early 1970s, covering all manner of injustices committed by cops, prosecutors and judges. I considered myself an antidote to reporters too cozy with a power structure they saw more as good news source than good reporting target. Before long, a lawyer told me that he was walking in a courthouse corridor in Boston one morning and peered through an open door of a judge's office and found the judge reading one of my columns. Back then the traditional press was too gentle on prosecutors and judges, and the Phoenix was the outlier, a voice in the wilderness crying out against unfairness and injustice. I realized then that lawyers were right when they told me that my coverage of their cases had consequences…
“My beat at the Phoenix allowed me to combine my two loves – law and journalism. Because I was a practicing trial lawyer, and because my fields of specialization were criminal defense and constitutional law, my legal work put me in touch with endless cases and controversies about which to write. It was a perfect symbiosis, and it resolved my inner conflict over having gone into law rather than journalism.”
I was not a barrister like Silverglate. With 27 arrests under my belt at the tender age of 28, I was more outlaw than lawyer, but I had dabbled in pro se law: I’d acted as my own attorney in court, and at times I’d filled the role of jailhouse lawyer, poring over dusty textbooks in the legally mandated prison libraries and helping my fellow inmates file their appeals. My inner conflict mirrored Harvey’s in a way: It drove me into journalism instead of staying the course as a community organizer. Silverglate’s example suggested to me that one could do two things at once, that I could use my pen as an organizing tool. The rest may or may not be history, but it’s my story, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.
Once I had begun to make waves at the Advocate, Richard Gaines called me up one afternoon and offered me the job I’d always coveted, political reporter for the Phoenix. It was a dream come true: the paramount gig for a politics and organizing junkie in the northeastern United States, with opportunities to change policy and history. The very next day, though, Richard was fired, it was apparently a messy divorce, and my dream deferred.
Some years later, the Advocate brought in a tightly buttoned corporate mercenary to take over the publisher’s tasks from the owners, and she set about daily making my life miserable. I was saved when the Phoenix was looking for a political reporter again. I applied for the job and headed to Boston for interviews – calling in sick to work – with then-editor Peter Kadzis, news editor Dan Kennedy and publisher Stephen Mindich. The hiring process lasted weeks, and shortly before the second Phoenix interview the Advocate sought to restructure my contract to pay me less money for more work (something that was unheard of back then but would soon happen to media workers everywhere). I defiantly declined and made a deal with its new corporate raider: “I’ll leave quietly in thirty days as long as you embargo that information for the next month.” I figured it could hurt my chances to land at the Phoenix if the folks there heard I’d just been canned by a lesser publication. Then I added, “Oh, and pay my $400 tab at the Green Street Café with free ads. You do that,” I told her, “and I won’t denounce you for the soulless douchebag that you are.”
After the second interview in Boston, I knew that my hiring at the Phoenix was imminent. After years of organizing, one knows when he’s made the sale. On the drive home to Western Massachusetts I wept with joy and relief. I still remember the Tom Verlaine soundtrack on the tape deck during that drive up Interstate 90, back into the mountains. My life was about to change profoundly.
When the Advocate witch learned I had landed on my feet at the Phoenix, she was livid. “Why didn’t you tell me they were interviewing you? Why didn't you give us a chance to make a better offer?"
I had never wanted to work at a daily newspaper and have never sent a resume to any. The demands to fill the daily “news hole” whether or not there is news being made had, by the 1990s, had already turned dailies to mush.
As a community organizer, a good part of my work had been seducing and manipulating daily news reporters. Richie Davis, a great reporter for the solid small-town newspaper Greenfield Recorder used to wince when I’d barge into his newsroom. “No!” he’d declare. “I can see your little fingers trying to enter my brain and type through me!” I had made a study of the demands of the reporter’s job – to publish every day, despite whether there was a story – and had appointed myself as their prep chef, creating my version of the news for them. Organizing had turned me into a kind of a remote-control newspaperman, and I had some fantastic coaches – Charles F. McCarthy, Abbie Hoffman, Leslie Desmond, Bruce Berman, Richard Asinof, Wes Blixt, among others.
My success at manipulating daily newspapers had stripped from me any sense of myth or magic that dailies had so carefully cultivated among the reading public. I liked reporters but felt badly for them: Their mothers thought they were powerful, but they were really slaves to the daily deadline, which more often than not denied them the time to ponder or think about a story before having to put their name on it. Spared from the popular illusion that anyone could be Woodward and Bernstein if he could just get to a big-enough daily, I pointed my ambition elsewhere: The Phoenix job, for me, was the pinnacle, top of the heap. It was all I had aspired to be, and I was about to get my greatest wish.
Be careful what you wish for: My plan, that summer of 1993, was to enter the Boston Phoenix at full swashbuckling gale force and take the state capital by storm. After all, my complaints about management aside, I’d been able to do whatever I wanted at the Advocate. I had one of those rare and valued editors who considered it her job to let me be me. (That editor, Kitty Axelson, protected me from her superiors as best as she could and never took it personally when I fought for a controversial story.)
Having published just a few freelance pieces for larger publications – the Washington Post, the American Journalism Review, and the Phoenix in 1988 and ’89 – I started at the Phoenix not knowing that there was a difference between “copy editing” and “story editing.” I had been story edited at the Advocate but not copy edited. (I’m still a bit amazed the Phoenix took me on: I didn’t know what a copy editor was, but there I was, in the job interview, barking arrogantly to owner Stephen Mindich, “I smoke marijuana medicinally! If that’s a problem don’t hire me!”)
Copy editors were the heart and soul of the Phoenix experience, and I’ve long since thought that separating the two kinds of editing was at the core of the paper’s genius. Let me explain: A story editor checks your facts and challenges you on them, and you debate with him or her and fuss over the content and substance of your story. A copy editor is another species altogether. The copy editor pounds your typing into literature. The typical copy editor could give a crap about your political or cultural opinions or whom (“whom” is a word I learned from copy editors) they may offend. Copy editors just want to make your words beautiful, and have them be proper English.
My first weeks at the Phoenix were hell. I’d gone from being the big fish reporter in the small pond of Springfield and Western Massachusetts to a mere guppy in the shark-infested waters of a top-ten media market. In Springfield, I had my own office, and the Advocate’s receptionist, Patti Thompson, considered it her favorite part of the job to help me topple the local courthouse regime – her sons were harassed every day by the city police. At the Phoenix, I was just another employee in a vast sea of cubicles. I had come to Boston with a list of corrupt, greedy and reactionary state politicians I planned to take down, just as I had with a district attorney, a county sheriff, and other ham-and-eggers out in Hooterville. Some of those guys ended up in jail, and they deserved every minute spent there for having ruined the lives of so many decent but poor people. And I thought I could repeat the same show in Boston. In one of our first shouting matches, Phoenix editor Peter Kadzis yelled: “Do you think that is all that journalism is? Taking people down?” We eventually reached a happy medium. “You do what I ask you to do for the next year,” Kadzis told me, “and after that you can do whatever you want.” I accepted the challenge and bunkered down for a longer haul.
What Kadzis and the other Phoenicians understood about me that I did not then know about myself – and they knew it because they had been through the same thing with so many other writers before me – was that while I may have been “strong with the force” in terms of the moral imperative of crusading journalism to make justice where the rest of society’s institutions would not, I had never had the chance to develop the craft of my work as a writer. Journalism as literature is what the Phoenix taught. That has never been taught in any university’s journalism school, or at least not taught well.
There, at the Phoenix offices at 126 Brookline Avenue, in the shadow of Fenway Park, I went back to school for the first time ever. I struggled to learn the difference between a pronoun and a preposition. I banged my head on the desk until I figured out what a “nut graph” was: the sentence or paragraph early in the story, but after the “lede,” that explains to readers why they should care about the matter. Some of this I still don’t fully understand – I am a “results” person, not a “process” person. But at some point at that desk I began to love writing as much as I love music, and I began to see the keypad as another musical instrument that I could tame and master.
While I wrote for the paper in the news section, I remained its consumer on the music side. Brett Milano, Matt Ashare, Ted Drozdowski, and Carly Carioli, a scrawny little guy who entered the building with hair down to his ass and sporting a “NAPALM DEATH” T-shirt, were the music writers who would introduce me to the thriving Boston music scene, featuring the likes of the late Mark Sandman of Morphine (“When they find a cure for the pain,” he sang, “that’s when I’ll put my drugs away”) and Joan Wasser, the sizzling, time-and-space-cutting electric violinist of the Dambuilders (now better known as Joan As Police Woman). I spent my nights at The Middle East and other clubs getting to know these talents and falling in love with their music.
I met an artist, Lydia Eccles, on one of those nights in the basement of The Middle East. She opened my world to critical theory and Situationist praxis, and involved me clandestinely in an insane “Unabomber for President” write-in campaign (the fugitive mail bomber’s 30,000-word manifesto had just been published in the New York Times and Washington Post). My collaborations with Eccles ushered me through other passages from the passive nihilism of career to the active nihilism of, well, something else that would make who I am today. I eventually fell out of love with staff journalism, but since a video tells a million words, perhaps this archived moment with my Stratocaster from 1996, produced by Eccles and recently digitalized from VHS tape, captures my mood toward the end of my Phoenix tenure better than my own memory could:
Three years after getting the job I’d always wanted, three years of being paid better than I’d ever been paid and of being treated well by my employer, what was I so angry about? The job of a journalist had changed. The carpet had been moved out from under us – this was a national trend, and would soon become an international one.
Newspapers had been the glue holding a community or city together: People of different economic, racial and other groups all read the same stuff every day. Americans talked with one another maybe not in daily life, but we did through the newspaper.
At some point in the late twentieth century, “market research” became king of the newsroom: Polls and focus groups came into vogue in commercial media, which began to target only some of those people, the ones with expendable cash. Advertisers stopped caring about reaching people who couldn’t afford their products. Newspapers and other media outlets began tailoring their product to upper-income readers and viewers, and the rest of the city or community could pound sand, because advertisers began placing their ads not on the basis of overall circulation but on reaching that higher-spending minority.
And so newspapers became high-class hookers for that kind of reader. And that changed the content of newspapers and destroyed their role as the assembly hall of democracy.
The Phoenix had always been a newspaper that primarily served younger people, who had become bored with the conservative mores of daily newspapers. It was part of a national trend in the US that became known as “alternative newsweeklies,” and those papers eventually started a trade association. But when advertisers wanted to reach only those youngsters who had more money to spend, the “alterna-weeklies” had to adopt to the dominant commercial media model, meaning that certain themes would bring them the readers that advertisers wanted.
This meant great opportunities for the “alternative” market. The daily newspapers –with vestiges of conservative, easily offended readers and still having to show strong total readership, couldn’t use the word “fuck” or talk about gay rights or marijuana in any meaningful way. But when the alterna-weeklies turned to market research and realized that gay male households had twice the spending power as hetero households, and four times that of lesbian households – this in a country where men earned twice as much as women for the same work – the concerns of gay men became paramount. I was happy to do my part in the championing of this bona fide civil rights cause, and it became the wedge through which a lot of unrecognized, less-talked-about freedoms could also come through the door. But my editors seemed far more interested in my stories on gay rights or marijuana legalization than those about mandatory-minimum prison sentences for those convicted on drug laws or extending rent-control laws for poor and working people. (The late, great Phoenix managing editor Clif Garboden was a glorious exception: He fought tirelessly for the underdog stories in editorial meetings.) It meant nothing to most of my superiors that then-speaker of the Massachusetts State House – a good man named Charlie Flaherty – was championing an end to mandatory-minimum sentences (something that today many states have started doing because it makes economic sense). If the Boston Globe was targeting Flaherty over mere misdemeanors of the sort that most reporters were also guilty of (things like accepting a free dinner from a source), I could defend him from time to time, but could I please do another story on the new pro-gay mayor instead?
From inside the media, I began to develop a critique of the commercial model of media. The political beat was mine, but seeing it up close was making me lose interest in the beat. Democracy as we knew it was already dead. Elections barely mattered any more. Something else was afoot.
And this is what I mean by “be careful what you wish for.” I had never wanted to be anything else than the political reporter for the Phoenix. That job gave me unfettered access to the halls of state power to be able to move the chains forward on all that I cared about. One of those things was, and remains, ending the drug war.
The Phoenix let me do front-page spreads on that topic, one calling for the legalization of marijuana, another telling the anti-tobacco Nazis to “Butt Out.” One day I scheduled an interview with then-governor William Weld, who had been US Attorney in Boston and years prior had weathered a scandal in which an embittered ex-colleague had accused him, the prosecutor, of having smoked pot. I grilled Weld for about ninety minutes, asking him, as a liberal Republican who supported abortion and gay rights, how he could not take a similar libertarian position on the drug war.
After that encounter, Weld walked down the hallway to his weekly meeting with the legislative leadership, and in front of the others he griped to Senate Republican leader Brian Lees, “You told me to meet with Giordano. He just came into my office all coked up telling me I should legalize drugs!”
Speaker of the House Charlie Flaherty interrupted: “Governor, don’t be ridiculous. Cocaine would be a sedative for Giordano!” Everybody laughed – I know this because most of the people in that meeting called me after it happened to tell me about it. That was the kind of institutional pull that came with the Phoenix political reporter job.
But when Flaherty announced his sudden retirement under a swirl of media speculation about “ethics investigations,” the bill to end mandatory minimums died with his political career. That was a “teaching moment” for me. And there were two more that year: One was called the Internet, and the other was named Patti Smith.
The Phoenix’s restaurant critic, Mark Zanger, an old friend of some of my late mentors – including Andrew Kopkind, who had died too young in my first months at Phoenix – invited me to lunch one day to talk with me about “the Internet.” He offered me a night gig moonlighting for the Delphi Internet Service, then the fourth-largest online provider on the earth. The experience was new and crazy, and best of all, I knew that thanks to this new technology soon I’d be able to do my work from anywhere, maybe even Mexico, where I’d been some years prior and to where I dreamed often of returning.
Of all my Phoenix experiences, it was when Patti Smith invited me on the bus for eleven days with her band, on tour with Bob Dylan, that something shifted in me. Watching Patti up close, I got the idea that it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks; a person can do whatever he or she wants to, and an artist’s work isn’t to become a commercial success but to develop a body of work that tells a deeper story over a lifetime. When my tour diary hit the front page of the Phoenix, its business manager Barry Morris told me it had been the biggest selling issue in the paper’s history. Some said that my time on that tour bus turned me into a prima donna overnight. I said I had become the ruler of my world. And I came to see that as the best thing that could happen to me, or to anyone.
When I told Kadzis I was leaving the newspaper, he asked, “What will you do now?”
“I’ll return to New York – the scene of the crime of what went wrong with the media – max out my credit card, live off that for as long as I can, and start a revolution against the media. And if that doesn’t work out, I suppose I can always move to Mexico…”
In the days after the paper’s closing last month, an email from the Phoenix’s owner Stephen Mindich made me weep with the same intensity with which I wept when he gave me, twenty years ago, the job I had always wanted:
“And Al – and you should know, it is because with the Phoenix gone now, there will be one less place from which special journalists like you can emerge – you are one of the best.”
Maybe I’m one of the best, or maybe not. I just do what I do, largely because the Phoenix taught me who I was, and it made me a better writer. To think that it no longer exists hurts more than I have words to tell. But the great burden that it shouldered – engine of culture! – falls upon those of us who can still do it, and those yet to come.
My journey with the Phoenix began with a story on Jack Kerouac from his hometown. Let me please borrow from him when I say:
“So in América, when the sun goes down and I sit on the old broken-down river pier watching the long long skies… and nobody, nobody, knows what’s going to happen to anybody besides the forlorn rags of growing old, I think of the Boston Phoenix, I even think of the Old Boston Phoenix, the father we never found, I think of the Boston Phoenix.”
I left the Phoenix in June of 1996, but never stopped being part of the Phoenix family. Four years later, when I was living in Mexico and narco-bankers sued me in the New York courts, the Phoenix crusaded in my defense.
Last month we learned that The Phoenix isn’t here anymore to defend the next person who needs it.
That’s our job now.
By Al Giordano
1996, by Jackie Bayne. 2012, by Laura García.
Fifteen years ago I began answering the same question a lot. “Why did you leave the United States?”
“I didn’t leave the United States,” I’d reply. “The United States left me.”
Since Tuesday night I’ve been pinching myself. Has all this really happened? Community organizing – a forgotten, scorned art by the time I left – is practiced by hundreds of thousands now in the US. Majorities of blacks, Latinos (dios mío, even Cubans!), Asians, gays, lesbians, Jews, Muslims, Catholics, youths, and evolved whites worked together in the trenches – in various states you legalized same sex marriage and marijuana, and you ended California’s “three strikes and you’re out” law – and you reelected the only president in US history to pull troops out of a war it started and who made health care a right.
You did it at an hour of great crisis and hardship for my hometown and the entire mid-Atlantic, and you still got the job done. And you lit up the Empire State building blue so that even those still without power could see the news.
By now I’m probably too spoiled by my life as it is to ever go back there permanently. But I feel more of a bond to my native land today than I’ve felt since we took different paths so many years ago. And your path has brought you more than a little bit back toward me. Welcome back, America. And keep comin’ a little bit closer, one step at a time.
By Al Giordano
Four years ago, I intensively covered the 2008 presidential elections in the United States, from the first caucuses and primaries through the final result.
This year, not so much, and since it became clear that the Republican nominee would be former Massachusetts governor Mitt Romney, not at all. Since then, I've not wavered once from my view that President Barack Obama will be reelected tomorrow. And today, after carefully examining the polling, early voting and field organization numbers state-by-state, and daily interviews in recent weeks with people on the ground in the "swing states" (in order of Electoral Votes: Florida, Ohio, North Carolina, Virginia, Colorado, Nevada, Iowa) and also the "faux-swing states" (those states that many in the media try to convince you are still up for grabs: Pennsylvania, Michigan, Wisconsin, Minnesota, New Hampshire), The Field projects Obama to win tommorow with 318 Electoral Votes to 220 for Romney.
This projection does not differ all that much from those generated by aggregating polling numbers and weighting them, with the exception that I'm projecting North Carolina for Obama while projecting a Romney win in Florida. (Caveat Emptor: Florida is the only state I've projected incorrectly twice in the last two presidential elections, and so it won't suprise me if I'm wrong about it, but I'll explain my logic here.)
When statistical models state that a candidate has a 75 percent chance to win a state, that means that one of four times the other candidate will win. Yet one of the frustrations of working strictly off polling data is that until recent cycles there wasn't anywhere near as much polling being done by as many polling organizations. Therefore, "polls" lack a depth of historic memory.
What are the factors that have made polls differ with the final result before?
The most important is field organization. An example of that came in 2004 when the southern Appalachian region of Ohio saw higher turnout among Evangelical voters than expected: Karl Rove, working under radar with the Christian Right, in effect, "expanded the electorate" for the George W. Bush campaign, and that had not been picked up by the pollsters who had projected an edge for John Kerry. In the 2008 Democratic primaries, the Obama campaign's more advanced field organization trumped the Hillary Clinton campaign and those of other rivals in multiple states, and delivered an encore performance in the general election.
It is astonishing to this observer that the Romney campaign, with the unlimited resources of a billionnaire candidate and that of other Forbes list Goliaths unleashed by the US Supreme Court's "Citizens United" decision, did not construct its own field organization and instead left Get Out The Vote efforts to the Republican National Committee. One would think Romney would have at least tried to mimic the advances in micro-targeting and intensive training of field organizers that were key to Obama's 2008 victory.
And yet I'm not surprised. I've known Mitt Romney up close since 1994 when he waged his first campaign, an unsuccessful one, against the late US Senator Ted Kennedy and I reported the battle for The Boston Phoenix. Willard Mitt Romney is a strange bird. He reminded me then of the fictional character Biff Howard Tannen from the 1985 motion picture Back to the Future: a dimwitted high school bully who made other kids do his homework for him (a Washington Post story earlier this year that looked at Romney's time in an elite prep school only confirmed that preconception, disclosing that Mitt had been an actual bully who wrestled another boy to the ground to forcibly cut his hair).
I reported a story, in '94, about how Romney, as Bishop of the Mormon church, tried to bully a young mother out of having an abortion while he was running for office in the Bay State as a supposed backer of a woman's right to choose. And I also reported how the Kennedy campaign completely overwhelmed Romney at the polls through a superior field organization that had been decades in the making. But not even that caused Romney to correct his mistake; not in the 2008 presidential primaries and not in those of 2012, when he utilized his larger bank account, and that of other billionnaires supposedly acting "independently," to squash one rival after another: Michelle Bachman, Rick Perry, Herman Cain, Jon Huntsman, Newt Gingrich, Rick Santorum... none of those politicians had built even a half-decent field organization and thus were crushed, one at a time, by Romney's financial advantage. Romney, the governor's son, has always had a smirk on his face that suggested that he and he alone knew that it was his destiny to become president of the United States, and that his money would buy it for him.
From the beginning of 2012 it was clear to me that the Obama campaign had executed a plan to surpass even it's historic 2008 field organization. The only open question was whether it would find enough volunteers to carry it to fruition. By early summer, when filing reports to the Federal Elections Commission revealed that Obama was easily surpassing his 2008 small donor numbers, and such a high percentage of these people were first-time donors, it was clear to me that even if half of his 2008 volunteers had moved on to other things, there would be plenty of fresh replacement power to replenish the phone bankers, door to door canvassers and data entry wizards who are the foundation of Obama's campaign. In recent weeks that has become tangibly evident. There are more troops on the ground today than he had four years ago. In the language of the architect of the most recent Super Bowl victor, New York Giants coach Tom Coughlin, they are "finishing" strong.
Another factor that can cause results to be different than what polls predict is that of voter and ballot suppression. One need only remember the debacle of Bush's Supreme Court-ordered "victory" in Florida in 2000 to cite a fresh example. The incidents, in 2012, of malicious anti-democracy efforts to sabotage a fair election in swing states are most extreme in Florida and Ohio, and they are targeted most precisely against African-American and young voters. (Ohio Secretary of State John Hunstead's one-man campaign to suppress the vote is on a scale not seen since before Southern racist "poll tests" were prohibited by the 1964 Civil Rights Act and the 1965 Voting Rights Act, and, worse, he keeps getting slapped down by the Courts and just goes out and disobeys the court orders anyway.)
The aggregate polling data from Ohio gives Romney a one-in-seven chance to overcome Obama's lead there. Add to that Obama's clear advantage in field organization and the vote will not be close enough for these suppression techniques to carry the day. The Obama campaign also has 2,500 lawyers on the ground in Ohio to push back strongly on these efforts. The best Hunstead can possibly accomplish is to delay the full counting of the votes for days after Tuesday, but the result will still end up as an Obama victory in the Buckeye State. (I know there are also people sincerely concerned about vote theft by machines which are made by a company that has interlocking relationships with companies related to Tagg Romney, the candidate's son. Let's simply say that the national public unrest that would be unleashed if Ohio alone changes the Electoral College victor with outlier results is not a Pandora's Box that even Romney would want to open. But if anything truly bizarre like that occurs, head to this page for Civil Resistance training and a plan.)
Florida, according to the aggregate of polls, is the closest of the swing states, with Romney having a 6-to-5 chance of winning and Obama at 5-to-6 underdog odds. Florida Governor Rick Scott and Republicans in the legislature severely curtailed early voting (limiting it to 96 hours in only eight days, compared to 120 hours in 14 days back in 2008) and the lines have been so long that many waited for hours and were still unable to cast a ballot. So while in a fair fight, Obama's field organization would likely be able to overcome a modest disadvantage in the polls, Florida is not right now a fair contest. The vote is being stolen again as it was in 2000. And it's likely to be close enough where that really makes the difference.
Interestingly, the conditions in North Carolina for a fair and free election are among the most exemplary in the nation. A Democratic governor has determined the majority in every local election board and from Asheville to Greenville this year's cycle has been meticulously free of voter suppression. More than 2.7 million North Carolinians have voted early, and that's 4.4 percent more than did four years ago. Among African-Americans, it's 7 percent higher. Romney recently made a desperate email plea for out-of-state volunteers to head to North Carolina whereas the Obama campaign locked in its troops on the ground well in advance, leaving nothing to improvisation. Some of my friends in New York have been part of the phone bank in Fort Greene, Brooklyn, that for weeks has been hammering at key North Carolina precincts with persuasion and Get Out The Vote calls. The phone bank's coordinator, Jordan Thomas, is one of the unsung heroes of this election cycle. Not only that, he's got me pinned down with a commitment to buy a round for all his volunteers when I visit New York next month. Now, that's organizing.
The aggregate polling data gives Obama only a one-in-four statistical likelihood of winning the state. But one out of four is not bad odds if you have a clear advantage in being able to get out the vote. The aggregate of polls, according to Nate Silver, has Romney ahead by 1.9 percent. Field organization superiority has overcome that narrow a lead before. (In 2008, the polling organizations SurveyUSA, Mason-Dixon, Rasmussen and Zogby all had McCain beating Obama in North Carolina in their final pre-election polls. How did Obama overcome that to win? Superior field organization.)
Beyond field organization and voter suppression tactics (or outright fraud), what else has historically been a factor in shifting the results? One is that sometimes the motiviation and enthusiasm of voters for one candidate overrun those of the rival candidate. Early voting numbers in North Carolina give an advantage to Obama there on those measuring sticks.
Another is the national media narrative and the intangible thing called "momentum." It is also in the media's nature to create the belief that a contest is "going down to the wire" because when people don't panic they don't watch or click or read the product of news organizations as much. We all saw that happen after the first presidential debate in a cycle that, until that night, had been impressively free of Chicken Little clucking. The media was determined to declare Romney the "winner" of that debate before its first word had been spoken, because prior to then most of the nation believed Obama would win reelection. The panic and teeth-gnashing in the days after the debate should be embarassing today to those who engaged in it. If you were one of those people, think hard about how the media led your emotions around by the nose ring the next time it tries to do that. I watched that debate and thought that Obama had done what he needed to do, and did not see it as a game changer. Weeks later, nobody is really pedaling the snake oil that it somehow was.
Post-tropical storm Sandy came and destroyed many things. One of them was Romney's last chance to build a new media narrative that might give him momentum. Instead it gave Obama a photo op and kind words from the Republican governor of New Jersey and an endorsement from the Republican mayor of New York.
All of that, as electoral factor, is over now.
All that is left is field: The side that gets its voters to the polls or successfully suppresses opposing votes will be the victor on Tuesday. To understand what will happen, those are the only two things to watch. And they are both factors that you and I can still influence.
A friend of mine asked me if I would be willing to place a wager on my North Carolina projection. Of course I will. And since I work for myself, there will be no "public editor" to undercut me in these final hours of the 2012 campaign, as so unfairly the New York Times did to Nate Silver the other day only because he had said he would put his money where his projections are.
Well, that's the commercial media for ya. His projections based on hard numbers are undercutting the media narrative that this thing is still so close you can't turn off your TV or Internet screen and go turn out some voters instead. And I think his map is essentially correct, with the exception of North Carolina... because I believe in field. And that means I believe that you and I can always make a difference in history, not by being spectators, but by rolling up our sleeves and making a few more calls until every last vote is made real.
By Al Giordano
Another big march – really, at least 52 marches throughout the country – will occur on Sunday in Mexico City. It will be the second by the nascent “YoSoy132” (“I Am 132”) mobilization by students who oppose the commercial media’s imposition of a presidential candidate in the upcoming July 1 election. Authentic journalist Isadora Bonilla has reported about the march plans on Narco News, and one need only read the guidelines for the march (I've translated them to English, here) to see that this is different and more disciplined than previous protests in Mexico and in many parts of the world.
The guidelines for Sunday are clear and instructive:
All who attend the march pledge to:
• Attend on Sunday, June 10, 2012 in the Zocalo without any partisan political displays. The recommendation is to dress in black.
• Not engage in any prosletism in favor of any candidate or party. This means not wearing the colors associated with political parties, images that allude to the candidates, cheers for any of their names, etcetera.
• March PEACEFULLY and on the indicated route.
• Remain in only one lane of traffic so as to not impede the travel of vehicles.
• Respect all who attend the march, pedestrians and vehicles along its path, irregardless of their political inclinations. There will be some guides during the march solely to indicate what that means, but we trust in your civility and if we act according to these guidelines everything should happen exactly as it is planned.
• Do not respond to any provocations by infiltrating groups nor occur in acts of vandalism or violence, such as taking down, damaging or destroying campaign signs. We must not damage any public services.
• Do not bring your voter ID of the Federal Elections Institute nor expensive objects of value that could be robbed or a target of provocations.
• Expose vandals and people who occur in acts of violence. If this occurs we suggest stopping the march and sitting down with arms crossed around the violent person, filming and taking photographs. This is how we will expose the aggressor.
• Deliver any person who conducts acts of vandalism or violence to the authorities.
• Inform the people of the truth about candidate Enrique Peña Nieto: his errors, goof-ups, evil governing, inexperience, ignorance, etcetera.
• Inform about the dishonest news by media companies bought by the PRI party (like Televisa) that have edited or ommitted relevant information that would expose the true face of Peña Nieto.
• In the event that any of these cited agreements are violated, retreat from the march.
Thos are the instructions that appear on the March's Facebook page and, now, for the first time elsewhere on the Internet.
It struck me, reading the guidelines, that it has been decades since I have seen any march of this size include a pledge by participants with that much discipline and awareness that the march is about influencing public opinion (in other words, not about "us" but about everyone). It reminds more of the guidelines from the victorious struggles of Ghandi to win independence from colonial rule in India, the civil rights movement of the 50s and 60s and the anti-nuclear movement of the 70s. Impressive that they came up with these in less than a month!
And I thought, “what if some of the bigger protests of more recent years - I’m looking at you, “Occupy Wall Street” and at the “anti-globilization” summit protests post-Seattle 1999 - had, when they began, agreed on such clear guidelines?” I conclude that they would have won more concrete results, just like the aforementioned and more disciplined movements that won big nonviolent battles decades before them.
Yet these guidelines were not developed or imposed by aging veteran organizers: the universities of Mexico have a population of youths from 17 to 22 years-old with post-graduate students mostly in their twenties. We have already reported on the May 30 assembly by more than 6,000 students from 150 universities where these and other agreements were reached; on the seriousness and outwardly looking tone of the students who were more interested in getting to work on changing public opinion in their country than in building an “identity politics” activist niche for themselves.
The truth is that “Occupy Wall Street” – although covered in the media as a “youth movement” – was dominated by people already in their 30s, as were the post-Seattle milieu of protests that preceded and influenced it (those folks are now in their 40s and older). Those protests quickly became more about the “occupy” than about “Wall Street” and devolved into a navel-gazing series of ever-smaller “assemblies” that largely neglected to consider what they wanted to achieve other than proving to themselves that they were supposedly doing “something new.” Nine months later, they have little in concrete gains to show for it, still.
The teens and twenty-somethings of Mexico are the country's most media-and-Internet-savvy generation of university students yet. They have followed the protests of recent years, seen what worked and what did not, and seem wary of the kind of “self-referential protest” that has risen and fallen both in their country and in other lands without tangible victories.
During a meeting yesterday, June 6, of one of the YoSoy132 commissions, some participants would seek to debate points of political ideology or opinion over side issues. They were routinely met with a response of “we are not here to debate those things; the last meeting took six hours and we have to get this done in two hours today.” They are goal and task oriented. They want to get the job done. And they have clear consensus on their two major goals. The first is to stop the imposition of presidential candidate Enrique Peña Nieto and the return of his authoritarian PRI (Institutional Revolutionary Party) that governed Mexico from 1929-2000. The second is to end the domination of two television networks and a very few other media on the nation’s permitted political discourse: to end the media’s tyrannical power to manipulate society.
As with the Egyptian movement that ended, in 2011, the thirty-year rule of the dictator Hosni Mubarak, YoSoy132 is so horizontal that a frustrated media still can’t identify a single charismatic leader of either movement to rise up and then chop down to strip the movement of credibility. In place of that, already, less than a month into YoSoy132’s birth, are 150 autonomous cell groups nationwide that have agreed only on the goals and to obtain them nonviolently “without aggression,” plus 15 work commissions – many of them replicated in other geographic regions beyond the nation’s capital – who impress with their speed and coherence at coming to agreements and banging out a new movement’s strategies and tactics on multiple fronts simultaneously.
Perhaps this is a positive consequence of the rise of online social networks (this writer has penned plenty already on their negative consequences): Most of these youths already feel like they’ve had their Warholian “15 minutes of fame” (or, at least, created their own among the people that matter to them) and don’t appear to see their participation in this movement as a “career move” or an audition for media celebrity status. They seem more certain of who they are and are definitely more sure of what they want. That is, to save their country from the imposition of a past and still present authoritarian regime, and to end the media spectacle through which such impositions happen.
Their goal is, in their own words, “authentic democracy.” In the Authentic Journalism renaissance of the past fifteen years a lot of spectators already in power - including those who traffic in "alternative media" - did not like our use of the “A-word.” It made the inauthentic uncomfortable. Today, the youths of Mexico have adopted “authentic” as their banner. And to this observer, they seem authentic in exactly the way that we have sought to redefine media and journalism. Narco News will be there Sunday reporting on the mass marches. But the more important coverage we will continue to offer is that which goes behind the media events, that documents, coldly and rationally, how people are organizing themselves and others, and how they develop winning strategies and tactics. Authentic journalism doesn’t stop at writing down or filming human events yesterday and today: It looks forward to the next steps, and how the lessons of today can be applied tomorrow. These are the lessons that people all over the world can learn from to end their own tyrannies. And today Mexico is one grand laboratory in tackling the major obstacle to authentic change: the undemocratic power of the media, and the utter impossibility of authentic democracy until that power is collapsed.
Stay tuned. (And readers of The Field can find more info by regularly checking our flagship Narco News.) As always, you will be there with us every step of the way.
By Al Giordano
There comes a moment in a political forecaster’s journey when the thing he’s good at analyzing just ceases to hold enough interest for him to go through the motions. Such it is, at least for today, on the eve of the Republican primaries in Arizona (Mitt Romney will win as he did in Nevada; the demographics are even older and more religiously oriented toward him) and Michigan (four polls taken on Sunday have the contest between Romney and Rick Santorum with neither candidate showing momentum nor a lead outside the margin of error). They’re both awful candidates and worse human beings in their own special ways. It's impossible to care about either of them.
If I have to swing for the fences and pick one I’d say that Democrats and Independents who want to prolong the GOP primaries longer to further weaken the eventual nominee, if they’re smart, will head to the polls tomorrow, hold their noses, and cast a vote for Santorum if only to keep the this train wreck of a contest flipping down the rails into the next set of primaries and caucuses. Every time there’s a candidates’ debate the general election public ends up with a lower opinion of all of them. The motto for Spring 2012 ought to be: Keep dopes alive!
And here’s a memo to the Supreme Court, who thought its decisions paving the way for mega-millionaire SuperPacs would help the rich consolidate political power: Can you guys say “unintended consequences?” What has precisely kept the richest candidate in the race from closing the deal on his nomination is that other rich guys are allowed to play like never before to keep their pet candidates, Santorum and Newt Gingrich, alive and in the hunt long after when, in previous years, they’d likely already be out of it or about to be. Negative ads on each of them are dominating the airwaves in every primary and caucus state, and this is great news for those who favor President Obama’s reelection: A circular fratricide among the elites. What’s not to love about that? Or about the fact that Romney has to defend, with his millions, his home state, where unlike the Creedence Clearwater Revival song, he really was “a governor’s son.”
Since I believe in the basic intelligence of human nature, I’ll pick Rick in a photo finish, thanks to savvy crossover voters who want to keep seeing 'em collide. Perhaps a Field Hand or two will want to get out there and make me right.
But even if Santorum implodes from his recent missteps (a lackluster debate last week and the vetting of his previous attacks on rock and roll, the supposed vehicle by which Satan, according to him, is wrecking America), we still have Newt (lots more fun than Rick), and his big-money backers to pick up where Santorum leaves off, who can pop back up skewer Romney for a few more rounds.
The happiest person with this entire scenario has to be Michele Obama, because nothing in the Republican contest is making her husband nervous enough to crave a cigarette. And this is the proof of how much the opposing party hates Barack Obama: They're denying him even a reasonable explanation for coming home from the Oval Office emanating the sweet scent of tobacco. "Sorry, Honey, it's just that I'm so nervous about this campaign," just isn't going to fly - not yet, at least - in the Obama household. C'mon guys! Give the guy a contest at least so he can enjoy a frickin' cigarette.
So, while we're waiting for the walking dead to become interesting, let me talk with you about what really does excite me: Community Organizing. We saw a lot of that in the 2008 primaries but this year’s won’t uncloak (although it’s happening intensely in preparation) until the general election campaign starts for real.
I’d like to share with Field Hands the text of my remarks the other day at the first Nonviolence Training session of the Mexican movement against the war on drugs, something we’ve been reporting heavily for the past 11 months on Narco News: Nothing Is Ever Won Without Organizing.
Here is a brief excerpt and then you can choose, if you like, to click to read the whole thing (translated from the original Spanish):
"I will speak about organization, based on my own experiences as a community organizer and a journalist. The first thing you should know is this: All organizing begins with the telling of a story.
"When we listen carefully to somebody’s story, we learn what motivates him, what she is passionate about. When we listen and learn from this story, we can then organize that person to do things that help us get what we want, by helping him and her get what they want, too. Listening is the first skill and duty of a community organizer. Before we can get somebody to do something, we have to learn what he and she want, which is usually different than what we presumed they wanted.
"My story began at a workshop very much like this one. I was 17. It was an eight-hour nonviolence training session for people who wanted to participate in an occupation of a construction site in the Northeastern United States where a nuclear power plant was being built in a town called Seabrook…"
I’ll dedicate these remarks to all community organizers everywhere. You may not be getting the media attention that these clowns on the ballot tomorrow are receiving, but it’s your work, and not theirs, that keeps changing the world over and over and over again…
By Al Giordano
While tea leaves point to a likely Florida primary victory for Republican presidential candidate Mitt Romney tonight, the former Massachusetts governor will emerge only marginally ahead in the delegate count with 46 of the 50 states yet to cast a vote.
But the costs of this victory to Romney go far beyond the $17 million in attack ads he and his Super PACs deployed to stop – now for the second time in a young campaign – the rise of rival Newt Gingrich. Hell hath no wrath like a Gingrich scorched. The former House Speaker is the Keith Richards of US politics: no matter what debauchery he passes through he never dies. Newt is the zombie candidate. Burn him, bomb him, poison him, hack him into a thousand pieces and he quickly reassembles and gets back up again, madder than before and coming right back at ya'.
The story out of Florida isn't Romney's win (and if, as some late polls suggest, it ends up thinner than double digits, even that will be questioned). It is that Romney has failed, again, to eliminate his nemesis. But that’s not even the worst that happened to Mitt in Florida. Ten days ago, general election polls showed him in a tie with President Barack Obama in this must-win swing state. Then Romney had to debate Gingrich and the other candidates and make bold statements to prove his fealty to the far right GOP base that are far outside of mainstream public opinion, especially the views of independent swing voters. The new general election numbers in Florida are Obama 49 percent to 41 for Romney; a dramatic turnabout for the president in a matter of days. (All the Republican candidates have been wounded for the general election by their adventures in pander-to-the-base wingnuttery, the poll also shows: Obama 50, Paul 36; Obama 50, Santorum 35; Obama 52, Gingrich 35.) The survey was taken January 25 to 27 and has a 2.6 margin of error.
This, without the Obama campaign spending a cent on advertising in Florida: Given, his State of the Union address clearly boosted the president’s popularity there and nationwide with those independent swing voters who decide elections. And his campaign has cleverly used each primary and caucus so far to reignite the trained community organizers of his field organization, state by state, that took him to the White House four years ago. One Field Hand reports “huge turnout” at the events this week opening Obama campaign headquarters throughout the Sunshine State. And the Republican candidates’ own statements and behavior has frightened even Democrats who, only weeks ago, were angry and disillusioned with their president enough to say so publicly. Today, many of those same people have gone from declarations of "I'm not voting" to posting “I’ve got his back” messages to their social network pages.
So while the Field projects Romney to win tonight’s Florida primary, it’s clear that the real winner of the contest is Barack Obama. Romney’s victory came at a cost that will haunt him for months to come as Zombie Gingrich keeps rising from the tomb.
We’ve now watched three Republican primary and one caucus vote. And each time the pundits of the press corps have declared those contests to have been deciders of the nomination. Not so fast, kids! The Unbearable Lightness of Romney will continue to make him victim to the whims of a fickle Republican electorate that remains unhappy with its crop of candidates. Each time one of them seems to gather steam – Santorum in Iowa, Romney in New Hampshire, Gingrich in South Carolina – the momentum turns against that guy in the next contest. The moment somebody looks like the virtual nominee, buyer’s remorse sets in and the tables turn anew.
What’s more is that relatively few delegates will be at stake in the coming weeks, most of them in caucus states (Nevada, Colorado, Minnesota and Maine between February 4 and 11), giving Ron Paul a chance to emerge here or there as an underdog winner on more libertarian friendly ground, and giving Gingrich the breathing room he needs to regroup and assemble the minimal resources to come back and fight again. Gingrich will pick a state to reenter sprinting. Will it be Arizona on February 28? (Romney is expected to handily win Michigan, where his father was once governor, on that same date.) Or will it be Super Tuesday on March 6, where some states – Massachusetts, Vermont and Virginia (where only Romney and Paul are on the ballot) – give home field advantage to Romney, but others – Georgia, Tennessee, perhaps Oklahoma – will be friendlier to Gingrich? And the big one on Super Tuesday – Ohio – will be set up by the media as probably the most telling battleground that day, which is still five weeks away. A week after that Gingrich gets to play in Alabama and Mississippi, and the back-and-forth ping pong game of victories and defeats between the two leading Republican candidates will keep going, perhaps all the way to a brokered convention. At least that’s what the party establishment fears.
In the end, nothing is decided by Florida. Not until November, anyway…