Quantcast

Articles | The Nation

News and Features

Attempts to organize are squelched by a flying column of
unionbusters.

I received the news of paleontologist and popular science writer Stephen
Jay Gould's death, at age 60, in the week I was reading Jonathan Marks's
new book on genetics, human evolution and the politics of science. My
friends and I discussed our shock--Gould had famously "beat" cancer some
years back--and shared charming and ridiculous Gould information, like his
funny-voice contributions to The Simpsons. Postings on leftist
listservs noted that Gould's fulsome New York Times obituary,
which rattled on about his "controversial" theory of punctuated
equilibrium, his SoHo loft and love of baseball, neglected to mention
his extensive antiracist writing and many other radical activities,
including working with the Science for the People group. Rhoda and Mark
Berenson wrote in to commend his strong support for the release of their
daughter Lori, the young American leftist sympathizer long imprisoned as
a "terrorist" in Peru.

With Gould gone, the landscape of progressive English-language popular
science writing is much impoverished. In particular, in an era in which
silly, and most frequently racist and sexist "it's all in our genes"
narratives have become--alas!--purely commonsensical in the mass media,
if not in the academy, we have lost a stalwart and articulate
evolutionary biologist who wrote prolifically against sociobiology's
reductionist framings of human experience. But molecular anthropologist
Jonathan Marks, with his broad history-of-science background, his
take-no-prisoners stance on scientific stupidity and overreaching, and
his hilarious Groucho Marx delivery, can help to fill that void.

What It Means to Be 98% Chimpanzee addresses precisely that
question--the issue of human/higher primate connections--and all its
existential and political entailments. Marks reframes the old C.P. Snow
"two cultures" debate, on the gulf between the sciences and the
humanities, in a new and interesting way. Rather than blaming the
general public for its scientific ignorance--which I must confess is my
own knee-jerk tendency--Marks turns the lens around. He indicts
scientists, and particularly his own confrères in genetics, for
their long history of toadying to elite interests: "Where human lives,
welfare, and rights are concerned, genetics has historically provided
excuses for those who wish to make other people's lives miserable, to
justify their subjugation, or to curry favor with the wealthy and
powerful by scapegoating the poor and voiceless." Marks's conclusion is
that genetics "is therefore now obliged to endure considerably higher
levels of scrutiny than other, more benign and less corruptible, kinds
of scientific pronouncements might."

And scrutinize he does. First, Marks provides us with an accessible
history of the linked Western efforts, since the seventeenth century, to
comprehend the natures of nonhuman higher primates, and to develop
biological taxonomy, both before and since the rise of evolutionary
theory. With word-pictures and actual illustrations of explorers' and
others' accounts of "Pongoes," "Baboones, Monkies, and Apes," he makes
vivid for us the ways in which "the apes, by virtue of straddling a
symbolic boundary, are highly subject to the projections of the
scientist from the very outset of modern science." Not the least of
Marks's virtues are his deft along-the-way explanations, as for instance
the key physiological differences between monkeys and apes (the latter
are "large-bodied, tailless, flexible-shouldered, slow-maturing"). Only
last week, I found myself hectoring a hapless video-store worker about
the absurd conjunction, in the store's display case, of an orangutan
(ape) stuffed animal with a Monkey Business movie poster. Now I
can just hand out 98% Chimpanzee.

The "projection" problem, according to Marks, is far more inherent to
biological taxonomy than heretofore realized. He offers amusing
lightning sketches of scientists past and present, from the
eighteenth-century catfight between Buffon and Linnaeus over whether
intrahuman variation could be categorized biologically--the latter
eventually acknowledging Buffon "by naming a foul-smelling plant after
him"--to paleobiologist George Gaylord Simpson's two-martini lunches in
his 1980s Arizona retirement as he declaimed against contemporary
genetic reductionists. These humanized history-of-science narratives
allow Marks to make clear the uncertainties and arbitrariness of "hard"
science categorizations. While "every biology student knows that humans
are mammals," because human females nurse their young, Marks notes that
"it is not obviously the case that breast-feeding is the key feature any
more than having a single bone in the lower jaw (which all
Mammalia, and only Mammalia, have)." He uses historian
Londa Schiebinger's work to show us how Linnaeus, who had been operating
with Aristotle's four-legged "Quadrupedia" label, switched to
Mammalia because he was active in the contemporary movement
against upper-class women sending their infants out to wet nurses: "He
was saying that women are designed to nurse their own children, that it
is right, and that it is what your family should do."

Political apprehensions, as we know, were woven just as deeply into
scientists' evolving modes of categorizing
intrahuman--"racial"--variation. Here Marks tells some familiar stories
in new ways. Many know, for example, about racist University of
Pennsylvania anthropologist Carleton Coon's last-ditch claims, in the
early 1960s, that "the length of time a subspecies has been in the
sapiens state" determines "the levels of civilization attained by some
of its populations." But Marks offers us as well a fascinating sense of
the times. We see, for example, Sherwood Washburn, the Harvard Yankee of
later Man the Hunter fame, and Ashley Montagu, the debonair English
anthropologist redbaited out of the academy and onto What's My
Line
appearances, ending up "on the same side, working to purge
anthropology once and for all of the classificatory fallacy that had
blinded it since the time of Linnaeus.... Coon died...an embittered and
largely forgotten figure, done in, he supposed, by the forces of
political correctness, and more darkly (he allowed in personal
correspondence) by a conspiracy of communists and Jews as well."

The importance of cultural constructions, and their irreducibility to
biological functions, have been hoary apothegms in anthropology
classrooms for a half-century. Awareness of the susceptibility of
scientific practice to the politics of reputation has been with us since
the Kuhnian 1960s. Ethnographic, historical and journalistic work on
bench science from the 1980s forward has focused on the political
framing of, and politicized language use in, hard science research and
on the power of corporate and state funding to determine research
directions and even findings. But Marks takes the "cultural construction
of science" line much further than even most progressive critics of the
contemporary idiocies of sociobiologists--although he does get off some
lovely lines, like "sociobiology, which studies the biological roots of
human behavior, whether or not they exist." He takes the critique home
to his specialty, evolutionary molecular genetics, and demonstrates the
multifarious ways that recent claims about human nature and evolution,
based on DNA evidence, have been misframed, are irrelevant or often
simply stupid.

That we "are" 98 percent chimpanzee, says Marks, is a profound
misframing. First, our biological closeness to the great apes "was known
to Linnaeus without the aid of molecular genetics." "So what's new? Just
the number." Then he points out that the meaning of phylogenetic
closeness depends upon the standpoint from which it is viewed: "From the
standpoint of a daffodil, humans and chimpanzees aren't even 99.4%
identical, they're 100% identical. The only difference between them is
that the chimpanzee would probably be the one eating the daffodil."
Then, the diagnostic genetic dissimilarities between chimpanzees and
humans do not cause the observed differences between them, and are
therefore irrelevant to discussions of the "meaning" of our genetic
ties:

When we compare their DNA, we are not comparing their genes for
bipedalism, or hairlessness, or braininess, or rapid body growth during
adolescence.... We're comparing other genes, other DNA regions, which
have either cryptic biochemical functions, or, often, no known function
at all. It's the old "bait and switch." The genes we study are not
really the genes we are interested in.

Thus all of the wild claims about our "chimp" nature, which have ranged
over the past forty years from male-dominant hunter (early 1960s) to
hippie artist and lover (late 1960s through 1970s) to consummate
competitor (Gordon Gekko 1980s) are entirely politically constructed.
And, Marks adds, in considering the "demonic male" interpretation of
chimp competition as like that of Athens and Sparta, they are simply
argument by analogy: "Maybe a chimpanzee is sort of like a Greek
city-state. Maybe an aphid is like Microsoft. Maybe a kangaroo is like
Gone With the Wind. Maybe a gopher is like a microwave oven."
Just plain dumb.

Using this set of insights, Marks eviscerates a wide array of
contemporary "hi-tech folk wisdom about heredity" claims, from the
"successes" of both the Human Genome and Human Genome Diversity Projects
to the "Caucasian" Kennewick Man, the "genetic" athletic superiority of
black Americans, the genetics of Jewish priesthood and the existence of
a "gay gene." He is particularly trenchant against the Great Ape
Project's use of human/ape genetic similarities to argue for "human
rights" for apes, frequently to the detriment of the impoverished
African and Southeast Asian residents of ape homelands: "Apes should be
conserved and treated with compassion, but to blur the line between them
and us is an unscientific rhetorical device.... our concern for them
can't come at the expense of our concern for human misery and make us
numb to it."

There is much more in 98% Chimpanzee, a real treasure trove of
thoughtful, progressive scientific thought. But I do have a quibble.
While Marks takes an uncompromising equal rights stance when it comes to
female versus male biology, he doesn't delve anywhere near as deeply
into the insanities of contemporary "hi-tech folk wisdom" about
sex--like the "rape is genetic" claims of a few years back--as he does
about race. And they are legion, and just as politically consequential.
Nevertheless, this is an important and refreshing book, the first
claimant to replace the magisterial and out-of-print Not in Our
Genes
, and a fitting monument to Stephen Jay Gould's passing. Now
tell me the one again about the duck with lips.

If the Bush Administration has its way, Iraq will be the first test of its new doctrine of pre-emption. To adopt such a destabilizing strategy is profoundly contrary to our interests and endangers our security.

Price-fixing fines behind them, the firms are close to achieving a
monopoly.

The journalist I.F. Stone used to joke that the government issues so
much information every day, it can't help but let the truth slip out
every once in a while. The Bush Administration's recent report on global
warming is a classic example. Though far from perfect, it contains some
crucial but awkward truths that neither George W. Bush nor his
environmentalist critics want to confront. Which may explain why the
Administration has sought to bury the report, while critics have
misrepresented its most ominous conclusion.

U.S. Climate Action Report 2002 made headlines because it
contradicted so much of what the Administration has said about global
warming. Not only is global warming real, according to the report, but
its consequences--heat waves, water shortages, rising sea levels, loss
of beaches and marshes, more frequent and violent weather--will be
punishing for Americans. The report's biggest surprise was its admission
that human activities, especially the burning of oil and other fossil
fuels, are the primary cause of climate change. Of course, the rest of
the world has known since 1995 that human actions have "a discernible
impact" on the global climate, to quote a landmark report by the United
Nations Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change. But the White House
has resisted this conclusion. After all, if burning fossil fuels is to
blame for global warming, it makes sense to burn less of them. To a
lifelong oilman like Bush, who continues to rely on his former industry
colleagues for campaign contributions as well as senior staff, such a
view is nothing less than heresy.

No wonder, then, that Bush and his high command have virtually
repudiated the report. Although their staffs helped write it, both EPA
Administrator Christine Todd Whitman and Energy Secretary Spencer
Abraham claimed they were unaware of the report until the New York
Times
disclosed its existence on June 3. Bush himself dismissed it
as a mere product of "the bureaucracy," that oft-vilified bogyman of
right-wing ideology. But he could equally have blamed his own father.
The only reason U.S. Climate Action Report 2002 was compiled in
the first place is that George Bush the First signed a global warming
treaty at the 1992 Earth Summit that obligates the United States to
periodically furnish such reports to the UN (one more reason, it seems,
to despise treaties). But somebody in the Administration must have seen
trouble coming, because the report could not have been released with
less fanfare: It was simply posted on the EPA's website, three unguided
links in from the homepage. If you weren't looking for it, you'd never
find it.

The Administration has been hammered for issuing a report that on one
hand admits that global warming threatens catastrophe but on the other
maintains there is no need to reduce consumption of fossil fuels. The
report squares this circle by arguing that global warming has now become
inevitable, so we should focus less on preventing it than on adapting to
it. To deal with water scarcity, for example, the report advocates
building more dams and raising the price of water to encourage
conservation. Critics see such recommendations as proof that the
Administration is doing nothing about global warming. Unfortunately,
it's not that simple.

The worst thing about the new global warming report is that it is
absolutely correct about a fundamental but often unmentioned aspect of
the problem: the lag effect. Most greenhouse gases remain in the
atmosphere for approximately 100 years. The upshot of this undeniable
chemical fact is that no matter what remedial steps are taken today,
humanity is doomed to experience however much global warming the past
100 years of human activities will generate. That does not mean we
should make matters worse by continuing to burn fossil fuels, as Bush
foolishly urges; our children and grandchildren deserve better than
that. It does mean, however, that we as a civilization must not only
shift to green energy sources immediately but also begin planning how we
will adapt to a world that is bound to be a hotter, drier, more
disaster-punctuated place in the twenty-first century.

Many environmentalists know it is too late to prevent global warming;
the best we can do is minimize its scope. They don't like to admit this
truth, because they fear it will discourage people from making, and
demanding, the personal and institutional changes needed to reduce
greenhouse gas emissions. There is that risk. But a truth does not
disappear simply because it is inconvenient. Besides, a green energy
future would mean more, not less, economic well-being for most
Americans, while also increasing our chances of avoiding the most
extreme global warming scenarios. Sometimes the truth hurts. But
avoiding it will hurt even more.

Would it be too early to sense a sudden, uncovenanted shift against the corporate ethic, if ethic is the word? I can barely turn the page of a newspaper or magazine without striking across either some damaging admission, or at least some damage-control statement, from the boardroom classes.

Although car chases are formulaic, they needn't be standard issue. One
of the many substantial pleasures that The Bourne Identity offers
is a thoughtful car chase, a loving car chase, in which the characters
truly care about their conduct amid prolonged automotive mayhem. It
doesn't hurt, of course, that the scene is Paris. The streets there are barely wide enough for a single fleeing vehicle--which means that Jason Bourne may as well use the sidewalk when he needs an extra lane. Once the pedestrians dive out
of the way, he gets to skid through every degree of turn except
ninety--Descartes never laid his grid over this city--until the route
ends at a set of stairs. They're very picturesque; and considering what
his car's undercarriage was already like, they can't do much harm.

By the time the car fully resumes the horizontal, some of the pursuing
motorcycle cops have managed to pull up. "Turn your head," Jason warns
his passenger, Marie Kreutz, in a surprisingly gentle tone. She was
guzzling booze straight from the bottle even before this ride; he'd
rather not worsen her alarm by letting her watch the next maneuver. But
we see it, as one cop after another is shaken off and the car hurtles
onto a highway. At last--a chance to make time! The camera drops to
within an inch of the macadam so that our brains, too, can get a good
rattle, as Jason and Marie's car seems to race straight out of the
screen. Then, almost without transition, it's shooting through more
non-Cartesian turns, off a ramp, past the spot where the last motorcycle
cop makes his rendezvous with a passing truck, to come to a very
temporary version of rest.

How should a car chase end? If the sequence is standard issue, the
filmmaker will require a fireball, or a roll downhill and then a
fireball, followed perhaps by the sight of the good guys speeding away.
But in The Bourne Identity, director Doug Liman has been witty
enough to conclude the sequence by having Jason pull into a parking
garage. From this, we may learn that the hero is a fundamentally
conventional person, despite what he's been doing for the past five
minutes. But this is only part of what we learn--because Liman is also
clever enough to make the real action start when the motor stops.

All but vibrating from what they've been through, Marie and Jason sit in
the car in silence, each glancing awkwardly toward the other and then
looking away. The camera, static at last, takes them both in at once.
Time stretches; they squirm. Someone is going to have to say something
pretty soon--and the words, when they come, will have the shy banality
of a postcoital stab at conversation, when the two people have scarcely
met and are wondering what the hell they've just done.

For me, this was the moment when The Bourne Identity revealed its
true nature, as a study of those people in their 20s who can't yet put
up with workaday life. Liman has looked at such characters before, in
Swingers and Go. Those movies were about using
recreational drugs, selling recreational drugs, selling over-the-counter
medicines that you claim are recreational drugs, losing yourself in
music, losing yourself in lap dancing, losing your sense that this cute
thing before you might not be an ideal companion when you get to be 70.
Jobs in these movies count for little or nothing; friendships mean the
world, though they're always breaking apart. If you can recognize these
attitudes, and if you're familiar with the behavior through which
they're expressed nowadays, you will understand Jason Bourne and Marie
Kreutz. They're typical Doug Liman characters, who just happen to live
in a spy thriller.

Now, since The Bourne Identity is adapted from a Robert Ludlum
novel and was written for the screen by two people other than the
director, you might doubt the wisdom of ascribing all the above to
Liman. But look at the casting. In the title role, Liman has Matt Damon,
who carries over from Good Will Hunting his persona of the
regular working stiff--an unpretentious guy who must nevertheless come
to grips with a great power he's been given. In Good Will
Hunting
, the gift was mathematical genius, which somehow was shut up
behind Damon's sloping brow and wary, squinting eyes. In The Bourne
Identity
, in which he plays a CIA assassin suffering from amnesia,
Damon is puzzled to hear himself speak many languages, and to find that
his arms and legs demolish anyone who threatens him. Different skills;
same aura of being troubled, but decent and game. When Jason Bourne
refuses to hold on to a gun--something that he does more than once in
the picture--Damon infuses the gesture with the gut-level morality of a
Catholic boy from South Boston.

Paired with Damon, in the role of Marie, is Franka Potente, the young
German actress who is best known for Run Lola Run. She, too, has
retained her persona from the earlier film, so that she brings to Marie
a convincing impression of having enjoyed quite a few good times over
the past years, many of which she can't remember. Her basic facial
expression is something between a scowl and a sneer--the sign, you'd
think, of a feral sexuality that bores her, because it encounters no
worthy challengers and yet prevents her from concentrating on anything
else. No wonder she runs--or drifts in this case, playing someone who
has done nothing since high school except wander about. When first seen
in The Bourne Identity, Potente is at the American Embassy in
Zurich, making a pain of herself by demanding a visa to which she is
most likely not entitled. When first approached by Damon, Potente
establishes her baseline attitude toward people by snapping "What are
you looking at?" Her Marie isn't a bad person, you
understand--she's just been bad news for any man she's hung around. Now,
though, she's met the right guy in Jason Bourne, meaning someone who can
be bad news for her.

I think it's worthwhile to compare these characters with those played by
Chris Rock and Anthony Hopkins in Bad Company, a routine
bomb-in-a-suitcase thriller, whose main function is to help audiences
kill time till the release of Men in Black 2. Hopkins plays the
self-controlled CIA agent, who is so white he's English. Rock plays
(guess what?) the street-smart, fast-talking black guy, who must be put
into the field at once, or else the world will end. There's an
underground trade in nuclear weapons, you see, which Hopkins can foil
only with the aid of someone who looks exactly like Rock.

And there's the essential problem of Bad Company. The mere
appearance of Chris Rock is supposedly enough; the assignment requires
no one to act like him. In any decent movie of this sort--48
Hours
, say, or Trading Places--the white character will fail
in his task, except for the wiles the black character can lend him. But
in Bad Company, Rock exists solely to be educated. A very smart
man who has made nothing of his abilities--the reasons for which failure
are left disturbingly vague--his character must be trained to wear a
suit, sip Bordeaux and rise at dawn. These traits, according to the
movie, are proper to a white man; and Rock will help defeat terrorism by
adopting them. As an interim goal for the character, this is bad enough.
What's worse is the final justification for rubbing some white onto
Rock: to make him a fit husband.

Bad Company was produced by Jerry Bruckheimer, directed by Joel
Schumacher and written, so far as I can tell, by the welfare policy
officials of the Bush Administration. Heartless in theme and faceless in
style, it is so many thousands of feet of off-the-shelf filmmaking,
through which you sift, disconsolate, in search of a single live moment.
There is one: the scene in which Rock tells off a CIA supervisor. Of
course, this, too, is part of the formula; but when Rock lets loose his
falsetto indignation, the world's shams all wash away in the torrent.
You feel clean and free, listening to Rock's outrage. I wonder what he'd
say in private about this movie.

Maybe he'd say The Bourne Identity has more soul than all of Joel
Schumacher's films put together. I think soulfulness has to do with
acknowledging the reserves of personality in someone who might at first
seem a mere type--or acknowledging, for that matter, the personality in
a movie that appears generic. It's about individual but strict judgments
of right and wrong; and, always, it's about the exuberance of talent.
This last point is the one that makes The Bourne Identity into
Liman's movie. His direction is a performance in its own right,
combining the logic and flair of a first-rate bop solo. He attends to
the small, naturalistic gestures--the way Jason pauses to brush snow off
his sleeve, or Marie shields her mouth to hide a smile. He pushes the
cinematography to extremes, using low levels of light from very few
sources, to give you a sense of intimacy with the characters' flesh. He
continually thinks up ways to keep the action fresh. Sometimes his
tricks are unobtrusive, as when he makes a shot shallower than you'd
expect, and so more arresting. Sometimes he's expressive, as when Bourne
teeters on a rickety fire escape, and the camera peers down at his peril
while swinging overhead. And sometimes he's flat-out wild. In the midst
of a fight scene, Liman tosses in a point-of-view shot, about half a
second long, to show you what the bad guy sees as he flies over a desk,
upside down. If my schedule of screenings and deadlines had been more
merciful, I would now compare Liman's direction with that of the master,
John Woo, in his new Windtalkers. But I wasn't able to see
Windtalkers by press time; and, on reflection, I'm glad I didn't.
The Bourne Identity deserves to be enjoyed for its own sake.

If you're interested in the plot, you can enjoy that, too. I've left it
till last, since that's what Liman does. In one of his cheekiest
gestures, he lets the movie's McGuffin go unexplained. But as a public
service, I will give you this much detail: The Bourne Identity
assumes that the CIA's activities are an endless chain of cover-ups,
with each new calamity needing to be hidden in turn. That's why the
agency needs unlimited power.

Bad Company? Right.

What would the world look like if women had full human rights? If girls
went to school and young women went to college in places where now they
are used as household drudges and married off at 11 or 12? If women
could go out for the whole range of jobs, could own the land they work,
inherit property on equal terms with men? If they could control their
own sexuality and fertility and give birth safely? If they had recourse
against traffickers, honor killers, wife beaters? If they had as much
say and as much power as men at every level of decision-making, from the
household to the legislature? If John Ashcroft has his way, we may never
find out. After twenty years of stalling by Jesse Helms, the Senate
Foreign Relations Committee in early June held hearings on the
Convention for the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against
Women (CEDAW), an international treaty ratified by 169 nations.
(President Carter signed CEDAW in 1980, but the Senate blocked it.)
George W. Bush originally indicated that he would sign it--that was when
he was sending Laura onto the airwaves to blast the Taliban--but under
the influence of Ashcroft, he's since been hedging. Naturally, the
religious right has been working the phones: According to one e-mail
that came across my screen, the operator who answers the White House
comment line assumed the writer was calling to oppose CEDAW, so heavily
were the calls running against it. The reasons? CEDAW would license
abortion, promote homosexuality and teen sex and destroy The Family. In
2000, Helms called it "a terrible treaty negotiated by radical feminists
with the intent of enshrining their anti-family agenda into
international law."

How radical can CEDAW be, you may ask, given that it's been ratified by
Pakistan, Jordan and Myanmar? Genderquake is hardly around the corner.
Still, across the globe women have been able to use it to improve their
access to education and healthcare as well as their legal status. In
Japan, on the basis of a CEDAW violation, women sued their employers for
wage discrimination and failure to promote; the Tanzanian High Court
cited CEDAW in a decision to overturn a ban on clan land inheritance for
women. Given the dire situation of women worldwide, it is outrageous to
see US policy in the grip of Falwell, James Dobson and Ralph Nader's
good friend Phyllis Schlafly. Like the Vatican, which uses its UN
observer status to make common cause with Islamic fundamentalist
governments on behalf of fetus and family, on CEDAW the Bush
Administration risks allying itself with Somalia, Qatar and Syria to
promote the religious right agenda on issues of sexuality. In the same
way, at the recent UN General Assembly Special Session on the
Child--where the United States opposed providing girls with sex
education beyond "just say no," even though in much of the Third World
the typical "girl" is likely to be married with children--the Bush
Administration allied itself with Libya, Sudan and evil axis member
Iran. Some clash of civilizations.

Given this season's spate of popular books about mean girls and inhumane
women, it might seem starry-eyed to suppose that more equality for women
would have a positive general social effect. Where women are healthy and
well educated and self-determined, you can bet that men are too, but the
situation of women is not only a barometer of a society's general level
of equality and decency--improving women's status is key to solving many
of the world's most serious problems. Consider the AIDS epidemic now
ravaging much of the Third World: Where women cannot negotiate safe sex,
or protect themselves from rape, or expect fidelity from their male
partners, where young girls are sought out by older HIV-positive men
looking for tractable sex partners, where prostitution flourishes under
the most degraded conditions and where women are beaten or even murdered
when their HIV-positive status becomes known, what hope is there of
containing the virus? Under these circumstances, "just say no" is worse
than useless: In Thailand, being married is the single biggest predictor
of a woman's testing positive. As long as women are illiterate, poor and
powerless, AIDS will continue to ravage men, women and children.

Or consider hunger. Worldwide, women do most of the farming but own only
2 percent of the land. In many areas where tribal rules govern
inheritance, they cannot own or inherit land and are thrown off it
should their husband die. Yet a study by the Food and Agriculture
Organization shows that women spend more time on productive activities,
and according to the International Center for Research on Women, women
spend more of their earnings on their children than men do. Recognizing
and maximizing women's key economic role would have a host of
benefits--it would lessen hunger, improve women's and children's
well-being, improve women's status in the family, lower fertility.

And then there's war and peace. I don't think it's an accident that
Islamic fundamentalism flourishes in the parts of the world where women
are most oppressed--indeed, maintaining and deepening women's
subjugation, the violent rejection of everything female, is one of its
major themes. (Remember Mohammed Atta's weird funeral instructions?) At
the same time, the denial of education, employment and rights to women
fuels the social conditions of backwardness, provincialism and poverty
that sustain religious fanaticism.

If women's rights were acknowledged as the key to human progress that
they are, we would look at all these large issues of global politics and
economics very differently. Would the US government have been able to
spend a billion dollars backing the fundamentalist warlords who raped
and abducted women and threw acid at their unveiled faces while
"fighting communism" and destroying Afghanistan? At the recently
concluded loya jirga, which featured numerous current and former
warlords as delegates, a woman delegate stood up and denounced former
President Burhanuddin Rabbani as a violent marauder. For a moment, you
could see that, as the saying goes, another world is possible.

Nixon thought so; Otis Chandler doesn't. Maybe it depends on where you
stand.

The camera pans across the room
To see what she has made:
An omelette or a spring bouquet
Or just an inside trade.


GOULD & SCIENCE FOR THE PEOPLE

Cambridge, Mass.

In his excellent June 17 piece on Stephen Jay Gould, John Nichols
mentions the Science for the People movement and our involvement in it,
and by implication incorrectly places Steve and me in leading roles.
Neither Steve nor I was a founder of Science for the People, nor were we
in any sense leading actors in it. True, we did each write an occasional
piece for the Science for the People Magazine and were members of
SftP study groups--for example, the Sociobiology Study Group--and we
each appeared at some SftP public functions and press conferences and
helped write some of its public statements. We were, however, much less
responsible and active in the movement than many others who devoted
immense amounts of time and energy to it and who kept it going for so
many years.

It is important to understand the nature of the Science for the People
movement. It came out of the anti-elitist, anti-authoritarian movement
of the 1960s and was committed to participatory democracy and lack of
central organization. Like many others, Steve and I separately became
adherents of the movement precisely because of its anti-elitism and
participatory nature, as well as for its political orientation. We all
struggled very hard to prevent those outside it from picturing it
falsely and conventionally as being composed of leading persons and
their allies. If, despite everyone's best efforts, there were some
people who from time to time were forced into leading roles, Steve and I
were never among them.

RICHARD LEWONTIN



TOUGH LOVE FOR ISRAEL

Philadelphia; New York City

Liza Featherstone in "The Mideast War Breaks Out on Campus" [June 17]
mentions a number of Jewish groups critical of Israeli policy in the
occupied territories, including Rabbinical Students for a Just Peace,
the group of 108 students from seven rabbinical seminaries (not only the
Jewish Theological Seminary, as indicated in the article) who recently
sent a letter asking American Jewish leaders to recognize the suffering
of the Palestinians and to support the creation of a viable Palestinian
state.

As two of the organizers of this letter, we wish to clarify that our
goal is both, as Featherstone indicates, to be "outspoken critics of
Israeli policy" and to support Israel's right to a secure existence
within its pre-1967 borders. Discussion of the Israeli-Palestinian
conflict generally suffers from a lack of nuance. Both pro-Israel and
pro-Palestine activists routinely vilify the other and ignore the
mistakes and abuses committed by those they support.

As future rabbis who have spent significant time living in Israel, we
speak out of deep love for Israel and concern for Israel's continued
security. We are committed to creating a Zionist, pro-Israel voice
willing to criticize Israeli policy, out of a desire to guarantee
Palestinians the right to live in dignity in their own state, and to
insure the security of Israel. Our views may appear radical within the
context of an American Jewish community that offers unqualified support
for the Israeli government, but they are in no way inconsistent with the
mainstream Israeli political debate, which has always allowed for a
greater range of opinion than does the US pro-Israel community.

SHOSHANA LEIS GROSS
JILL JACOBS



DO WHAT MEN DO: HAVE IT ALL

Havertown, Pa.

I agree with Katha Pollitt that being childless can be as voluntary a
choice for women as for men ["Subject to Debate," May 13] and that we
sometimes make choices "unconsciously" by giving a goal a low priority
and then getting to the point where it is no longer achievable. But I'd
like to make one point: Successful, high-achieving women might consider
the "marriage strategy" of successful, high-achieving men. If you want a
fulfilling marriage and a high-powered career, choose a spouse
who is willing to put your career ahead of theirs--someone who loves you
enough to "hitch their wagon to your star."

Men have always felt free to marry for love and emotional support and to
choose women younger, poorer and less educated than themselves. Women
could broaden their "eligibility pool" in a similar way.

JOHN F. BRADLEY



RAWA IN THE USA & AFGHANISTAN

Baltimore

We applaud Jan Goodwin's "An Uneasy Peace" [April 29] on the perilous
situation for Afghan women and the crucial need for basic security.
However, we were dismayed by her characterization of the Afghan women's
organization RAWA as having "garnered considerably more publicity in the
United States than it has credibility in its own country." Both sides of
this comparison are oversimplified and dangerously misleading.

RAWA (www.rawa.org), an indigenous organization founded in 1977, has
indeed become better known in recent years, but not only in the United
States, and not for superficial reasons (as Goodwin suggests by setting
"publicity" against "credibility"). Rather, RAWA's website (since 1997)
and its dogged work for humanitarian relief, underground education and
documenting fundamentalist atrocities have broadened its international
exposure.

Goodwin's statement also implies that RAWA lacks credibility in
Afghanistan. Certainly, jihadis, Taliban and other extremists will say
RAWA members are whores and communists, because they oppose RAWA's goals
(e.g., secular democratic government) and very existence. Among Afghan
refugees, however, RAWA is said by many to be one of the few
organizations that keeps its promises and is respected because it is
Afghan and has remained active in Afghanistan across two decades of
conflict. People in both Afghanistan and Pakistan speak highly of its
schools, orphanages, hospital, income-generating projects and views.
However, many inside Afghanistan do not know when they have benefited
from RAWA's help, since threats and persecution have made it impossibly
dangerous for RAWA to take credit for much of its work.

This is indeed a pivotal moment for human rights in Afghanistan,
including women's rights. It would therefore be a grave mistake to
misrepresent a major force advancing these goals: RAWA is,
unfortunately, the only independent, pro-democracy, humanitarian and
political women's grassroots organization in Afghanistan.

As a factual correction, while Sima Samar is a former member of RAWA,
she was not among the founders.

ALICIA LUCKSTED
ANNE E. BRODSKY


GOODWIN REPLIES

New York City

Concerning RAWA's credibility, I was surprised that Anne Brodsky, who
was handling press and helping to host the RAWA representative during
her tour of the United States last fall, failed to disclose that
connection.

Western feminists may be able to identify with what RAWA has to say, but
as I mentioned in my article, the group lacks credibility and acceptance
in its own country. Part of its marginalization has to do with its
inability to make alliances with other Afghan organizations of any
stripe. RAWA is also not the only humanitarian and political women's
organization in Afghanistan, and to suggest so is to insult the many
Afghan women who have risked their lives to work in these arenas through
twenty-three years of conflict. Sima Samar was indeed a founding member
of RAWA but since breaking with the organization some years ago has been
disavowed by them.

JAN GOODWIN



A GEORGE OF A DIFFERENT COLOR

Phoenix

Thank you, thank you, thank you! Senator McGovern's "Questions for Mr. Bush" [April 22] speaks to my heart.
Bravo! We do have fascist madmen in the White House, and phrases like
"Axis of Evil" and "War on Terrorism" are going to be the end of us. I
am relieved that there are still intelligent men in the world working
for the good.

SEÁN McGILL


Melrose Park, Pa.

I voted for George McGovern in 1972, but I cannot agree with some of
the views in his editorial. He wonders if the Bush Administration's
bunker mentality suffers from paranoia, if the Bush team has become
obsessed with terrorism and if terrorism may replace Communism "as the
second great hobgoblin of our age." These questions reflect a deep
skepticism about the severity of the threat from Al Qaeda, a skepticism
shared by many writers for The Nation and close to denial in its
pervasiveness. Millions of other Americans, however, realized soon after
September 11 that our immense infrastructure is vulnerable precisely
because it is so large and diverse. Dams, bridges, tunnels, 103 nuclear
reactors, airports--all these and more must now be guarded against
mega-terrorism.

Senator Ted Kennedy has co-sponsored funding for measures against
bioterrorism, while Senators Tom Harkin, Carl Levin and Paul Sarbanes
have chaired major hearings. Gary Hart chaired a commission two years
ago that warned of attacks such as September 11. These former colleagues
of Senator McGovern appear to believe that the terrorist threat is not a
hobgoblin, but all too real.

MARK SACHAROFF


Catonsville, Md.

George McGovern was my hero when he ran for the presidency, oh so many
years ago. A more decent and capable man would be hard to imagine. The
weakness in his bid may, in fact, have been his honesty and
kindness--commodities not in much demand in a system that worships money
and power. McGovern argues for the nexus of poverty, oppression and
violence. He is far too generous in giving the Bush team the benefit of
the doubt that they will learn on the job and improve policies. I
started with Truman, and in my lifetime the presidency has never been
occupied by a smaller figure.

J. RUSSELL TYLDESLEY


St. Paul

I so wish George McGovern were our President right now.

JAMES LINDBECK



CLOSE, BUT NO CIGAR

Tucson

If Fidel Castro rises to George W. Bush's challenge to hold "a real
election" and "to count [the] votes" ["In Fact...," June 10], will Bush
also challenge him to figure out a way to take office even if the people
don't elect him?

GRETCHEN NIELSEN

Never did I expect to feel sorrow and pity for the Catholic Church, yet I confess that I do.

To hear Texas populist Jim Hightower and U.S. Rep. Jesse Jackson Jr. tell it, one of them should be running for president in 2004. Trouble is that each one says the other guy would be the best candidate.

Hightower and Jackson have been star speakers on the Rolling Thunder Down Home Democracy Tour, which rolled into Chicago last weekend. The Chicago event -- the second on a national tour that began in Hightower's hometown of Austin -- drew 5,000 people for workshops of food, agriculture and democracy issues, speeches by the likes of Studs Terkel and Patch Adams, and music from artists such as Grammy Award winning singer Erykah Badu.

At this county fair of the left, where progressives played TrueMajority carnival games ("Knock-a-Nuke/Build-a-School") and downed Organic Valley toasted cheese sandwiches and Ben & Jerry's ice cream, talk of a two-years-off presidential race ranked surprisingly high on the agenda. For the most part, supporters of the 2000 campaigns of Democrat Al Gore and Green Ralph Nader put old arguments behind them and focused on the task of beating Republican George Bush in 2004. While Gore and the predictable crowd of Democratic insiders are already hustling for the next nomination, however, there was no consensus about the identity of the best standard bearer for progressives? There was talk about U.S. Rep. Dennis Kucinich, D-Ohio, the chair of the Congressional Progressive Caucus who has won high marks for his challenges to the Bush administration on military issues.

Why are villagers in the Aceh province of Indonesia--or their lawyers--worrying about contributions from Exxon Mobil to George W. Bush and the Republicans?<...

On May 14, 2002, the first wave of Internet file-sharing died.

Outgoing US Sen. Phil Gramm, R-Texas, was furious when the Senate failed this week to enact his pet project: permanent repeal of the federal estate tax.

"This will be a campaign issue," grumbled Gramm, who decided not to seek reelection as it became clear that his ties to Enron and other crumbling energy concerns were no longer a political asset.

Despite his lame-duck status, Gramm still likes to offer political advice, especially when it comes to lowering taxes for wealthy campaign contributors. And he is not alone. White House political strategist Karl Rove -- who is paid with taxpayer dollars to run George W. Bush's continuous campaign -- told business owners after the vote: "Don't look at it as a defeat. This is a war, and we need to make an ongoing commitment to winning the effort to repeal the death tax."

Just-released inmates with infectious diseases need continuous treatment.

Affirmative action, while generally a good and necessary thing, has
always been more complicated than its supporters admit. It inspires a
backlash; it often promotes people who are underprepared for their
assigned tasks; and it attaches a stigma to those who do succeed on
their own, often with a crushing psychological burden. Yet another
problem is how easily it can be manipulated for nefarious purposes.

Women and minorities have been agitating for greater representation in a
largely white, male media structure for decades, making their case by
the numbers. According to a recent study published by Fairness &
Accuracy In Reporting (FAIR), women made up just 15 percent of sources
appearing on the three major network news programs in 2001, while 92
percent of all US sources for whom race was determinable were white.

Conservatives, meanwhile, have also made a case for greater media
representation. They've done so by redefining the terms of debate. While
most pundits and nearly half the "experts" employed by the media are
quite conservative by any reasonable or historical measure of the term,
that's not good enough. They are demanding more. Bernard Goldberg, Nat
Hentoff and Reed Irvine are hardly the only conservatives who say they
deserve greater representation. Many news producers and editorial page
editors apparently concur.

The media's response to the traditional affirmative-action
constituencies and the well-funded propaganda offensive by the
conservatives has been to capitulate to both sides at once. Hence the
rise of the female and/or minority conservative pundit, often
unqualified by any traditional standard and frequently close to the line
in terms of sanity but with job security the rest of us can only
imagine.

When MSNBC began operations in the summer of 1996 and hired eighteen
regular pundits--of whom I was one--the most recognizable type among the
mostly unknown cast were the blonde and black fire-breathing
right-wingers. Laura Ingraham, Ann Coulter, Jennifer Grossman, Niger
Innes, Deroy Murdoch, Brian Jones, Joseph Perkins, Betsy Hart (a
brunette, but still...); the list goes on and on. At the time, I used to
joke that the producers might wish to inquire about the politics of the
black/blonde daughter of Quincy Jones and Peggy Lipton. If she liked Star Wars
and tax cuts for the rich, they should offer her a lifetime contract.

It didn't matter to the network executives at the time that women and
minorities in real life were far more liberal than most television
people, and their gimmick was, in that regard, deceptive. These pundits
gave the new network some "pop" in the larger media--or so it was
believed. In fact, most of those named above have faded back into the
proverbial woodwork. But not all. Laura Ingraham now wears her leopard
miniskirts on radio and is apparently a political fashion consultant to
CNN's Reliable Sources. (On Al Gore's Florida speech: "His
perspiration was, I mean...it was quite unpleasant." On the state of the
nightly news: "I think one of the worst things that's happened to news
is this sort of open-collared shirt, no tie, you know, do you take the
jacket off? That whole, you know, undress thing on television...")

Coulter, meanwhile, well... it's complicated. On the one hand, she is
the television babe to end all television babes--bright blonde locks,
legs that never end and skirts so short as to make Sharon Stone distrust
her Basic Instincts. On the other hand, she is clearly the victim of an
undiagnosed case of political Tourette's syndrome. How else to explain
incidents like the time she attacked a disabled Vietnam vet on the air
by screaming, "People like you caused us to lose that war"? Or when she
termed Bill Clinton a "pervert, liar and a felon" and a "criminal"? Or
Hillary Clinton "pond scum" and "white trash"? Or the late Pamela
Harriman a "whore"? Coulter also wrote a book during the impeachment
crisis that appeared to suggest the assassination of Bill Clinton. She
was, also, as the Boston Globe reported, credibly accused of
plagiarizing from a colleague at Human Events for her book.

By the time she finally got herself fired from MSNBC, Coulter was a
star. (No man, or ugly woman for that matter, would have lasted remotely
as long.) She found herself celebrated by the likes of John Kennedy Jr.,
who gave her a column in George, as well as bookers for talk
shows with hosts like Wolf Blitzer, Larry King, Geraldo and Bill Maher,
and quoted by ABC's George Will with the same deference usually reserved
for Edmund Burke or James Madison.

Lately Coulter has gotten herself in the news again by calling for the
wholesale slaughter of Arabs, the murder of Norm Mineta and the use of
mob violence against liberals and Muslims. Perhaps she's kidding, but
it's hard to know. We have, too, another book-length screed,
Slander, this one bearing the imprimatur of Crown Publishers. As
with her entire career in the punditocracy, it is a black mark on the
soul of everyone associated with it. Here is Coulter's characterization
of a New York Times editorial criticizing John Ashcroft: "Ew
yuck, he's icky." She worries about "liberals rounding up right-wingers
and putting them on trial." One could go on, and on, and on.

What's scary is that Coulter is hardly alone. Look at the
free-associating reveries Peggy Noonan manages to publish every week in
the Wall Street Journal, or the lunacies that right-wing lesbian
Norah Vincent pours forth on the LA Times Op-Ed page--as if
self-consciously seeking to fill the space mercifully vacated by that
nutty nineties icon Camille Paglia. Check out Alan Keyes on MSNBC and
tell me, seriously, that the man has ever made what Bobbie Gentry called
"a lick of sense" in his life. I'm not saying that women and minorities
don't have the right to be as idiotic as white men. But be careful what
you wish for and smart about how you pursue it. Liberals and
conservatives both got their affirmative action. Guess who won?

Politics were never far from anyone's mind at this year's fifty-fifth
Cannes International Film Festival, which unfolded in a France still
reeling from the shock of far-right candidate Jean-Marie Le Pen's
victory over Socialist Prime Minister Lionel Jospin during the first
round of presidential elections in April. Over 30 percent of Cannes residents (including a substantial number of its elderly poodle lovers) gave their vote to Le Pen in the election's second round. Few among the 34,000 industry types, stars, publicists and journalists from ninety-three countries who annually
invade this quiet seaside retirement community may have noticed the
offices of Le Pen's party, the Front National, a mere block away from
the congested, glittering Palais des Festivals. But the shadow of
Europe's rightward shift did make itself felt obscurely.

Le Pen's cultural program (less abstract art, more nature paintings)
contained little mention of cinema. But it's doubtful that this
resolutely cosmopolite media spectacle, with its requisite scandal--this
time, bad boy French director Gaspard Noë's
Irréversible, a skillful but ultimately sophomoric
meditation on time and violence, in which the beautiful Monica Bellucci
is forcibly sodomized for about nine minutes--fits Le Pen's definition
of a wholesome art "that respects our national identity and the values
of our civilization."

In fact, the idea of a film festival in the south of France was first
conceived in 1939 as an alternative to Venice, then under the sway of
Mussolini. (Eerily enough in these unstable times, the current
organizers included a selection of films that had been slated for
competition at that first Cannes festival, an event annulled by the
outbreak of war.) And the twenty-two films in competition this year, as
well as the hundreds of others screening in parallel sections and in two
simultaneous independent festivals, the Directors' Fortnight and
Critics' Week, offered a heteroclite and truly global definition of
cinema. In a single afternoon, one might take in nonagenarian Portuguese
auteur Manoel de Oliveira's latest recondite opus or a crowd-pleasing
sex farce by French director Catherine Breillat, beside films by fresh
or unknown talents from Thailand, Chad and Tajikistan.

The festival's top honor, the Palme d'Or, went to Roman Polanski's
The Pianist, a cumbersome and uneven but oddly fascinating work
of memory. Polanski, the son of Polish Jews living in France who
returned home two years before the onset of World War II, drew upon
childhood recollections of a shattered Krakow for this adaptation of the
memoir by Wladyslaw Szpilman, a Jewish pianist (played by Adrien Brody)
who survived the Warsaw ghetto and spent the rest of the war in hiding.
What begins as a very conventional Holocaust drama gathers strength from
an accumulation of detail drawn from the ghetto's microhistory, and then
shifts registers into a horror film, as it follows Szpilman's solitary
transformation into a hirsute and famished specter.

At the film's press conference, someone asked Polanski if his hero's
voyeurism and enforced passivity--Szpilman witnesses the Warsaw ghetto
uprising from the window of his apartment hideout--reflected his own
choice of filmmaking as a profession. "That's one of those questions
you'd need to ask my psychiatrist, if I had one," the director quipped
acerbically. No one asked line producer Lew Rywin (who also worked on
Schindler's List and Aimée & Jaguar) why
big-budget Holocaust features seem inevitably to highlight stories of
Germans saving Jewish lives, and thus to flout the grain of history.

Less hullabaloo surrounded documentarian Frederick Wiseman's brilliant
fiction debut, The Last Letter, a one-hour feature screening
out-of-competition. Filmed in rich black-and-white, Catherine Samie, an
actress from the Comédie Française, performs a text drawn
from Russian author Vasily Grossman's novel, Life and Fate--a
chapter consisting of the last letter that a Russian Jewish doctor in
German-occupied Ukraine writes to her son, who is behind the frontlines
in safety. Visuals reminiscent of German Expressionist film--the
actress's physiognomy and the shadows surrounding her figure--combine
with the pure power of language to conjure up the lost world of the
ghetto (the poor patients who pay her with potatoes, the neighbor in an
elegant linen suit, wearing his yellow star like a camellia). Using
these subtle and minimalist means, Wiseman's film builds to an
emotionally devastating conclusion.

But that's Cannes, where the purest cinematic pleasures coexist beside a
rare degree of hype and glamour. Where else would a jury including
surrealists (president David Lynch and fellow director Raoul Ruiz) and
powerful babes (actresses Sharon Stone and Michelle Yeoh) assemble to
judge the fate of world cinema? They gave this year's critical favorite,
Finnish director Aki Kaurismäki's The Man Without a Past,
the Grand Jury Prize, while its star, Kati Outinen, took the award for
Best Actress. A tender and whimsical portrait of a man who, having lost
his memory after a beating by street thugs, finds himself reborn into a
world of homeless people living in industrial containers by an abandoned
Helsinki port, The Man Without a Past seemed to distill Europe's
hope for redemption from a turbulent past and uncertain present with
lyricism, gentleness and beauty.

In the Official Selection, refugees and genocides were everywhere: from
the boat filled with survivors of the Shoah heading toward the shores of
Palestine in 1948 during the mesmerizing opensequences of Kedma,
Israeli director Amos Gitaï's alternately moving and unwieldy
existential drama about the first days of Israel's founding amid the
confusion of war between British, Arab and Jewish forces; to the hordes
of Armenians fleeing Turkish forces in Atom Egoyan's Ararat, an
overly intellectualized evocation of Turkey's 1915 extermination of its
Armenian population (which came complete with a condemnation by that
government); to the Kurds massed along the boundary between Iraq and
Iran in Bahman Ghobadi's Songs from My Mother's Country, a letter
from an ongoing genocide; to the largely unseen immigrants heading
secretly north across the border in Chantal Akerman's From the Other
Side
, a bracingly experimental (if ill-paced) documentary
exploration of the frontier between the United States and Mexico.

Iranian master Abbas Kiarostami provided a triumph of minimalist style
in Ten, a film shot in digital, in which a divorced woman driving
hectically through the streets of Teheran picks up a series of
passengers--including an elderly peasant, a prostitute and her own young
son--whose conversations illuminate her own condition in Iranian
society. At the film's emotional climax, she stops her car to talk, and
we suddenly feel the losses that have propelled her relentless forward
motion. In an Official Selection routinely dominated by male directors,
Ten was one of a mere handful of films to address women's
experience.

It was a good year for gallows humor and dark comedies. Nebraskan
satirist Alexander Payne's About Schmidt (an adaptation of the
novel by Louis Begley) was notable both for its mordant wit and for Jack
Nicholson's restrained performance as a retired insurance executive
suddenly confronted with the meaninglessness of existence. A far wackier
vision of America emerged from Michael Moore's Bowling for
Columbine
, the first documentary to screen in competition at Cannes
in forty-six years, which received a special prize from the jury. At
times hilarious and biting, Moore's film ropes together the 1999 high
school shootings in Colorado, the Oklahoma City bombing and an incident
that occurred near Moore's hometown of Flint, Michigan, where one
6-year-old shot another, to raise the question, Why is gun violence
endemic in America? Officials of the Lockheed Corporation, members of
the Michigan Militia and Timothy McVeigh's brother James (a gun-toting
tofu farmer) weigh in with their suggestions. There are a few surprises
(a sheriff, for example, who thinks workfare should be abolished), but
as an interviewer Moore is overly fond of the rhetorical question, and
his film founders when it encapsulates the history of American foreign
policy as a unique series of bloody coups and massacres. (Even the
liberal French daily Libération took issue with Moore's
anti-Americanism, which it deemed too much in the spirit of France
today.) And so we're left to wonder, is it something in our water or in
our DNA?

Alas, even a cursory glimpse at the festival's other selections showed
violence to be far from an American exception. There was Brazilian
director Fernando Meirelles's fast-paced favela epic, City of
God
, in which trigger-happy children devastate the slums of Rio. And
there was Palestinian filmmaker Elia Suleiman's Divine
Intervention
, a comedy set (miraculously) on the West Bank and in
the town of Nazareth, where he was born. Playing E.S., a figure like
himself, Suleiman melds Buster Keaton's melancholy and Jacques Tati's
precision into a film whose plot revolves around a father's death and
Palestinian lovers who meet at a checkpoint between Ramallah and
Jerusalem. But this slim story is merely a thread upon which to hang a
series of inane gags--a discarded apricot pit that blows up a tank, a
Santa Claus stabbed by a knife--that poetically encapsulate the
absurdity, paralysis and rage-filled fantasies underpinning contemporary
Palestinian life. Suleiman finished his script two years ago, just
before the West Bank exploded. Though he considers himself a pacifist,
at least a few of the dreams of his character have since become
realities. During the festival's closing ceremony, in which winners
evoked a variety of political causes--from the plight of Belgian actors
to that of the people of Mexico--Suleiman (whose film took the Jury
Prize) made a short speech noteworthy for its absence of polemic. He
thanked his French producer.

Two offerings from different parts of the globe suggested that the best
course for artists is to steer clear of politics. Italian auteur Marco
Bellocchio's My Mother's Smile is a psychological thriller about
a middle-aged painter, an atheist and a leftist, who suddenly realizes
with horror that his deceased mother is being considered for
canonization. ("Wouldn't it be useful for our son's future career to
have a saint for a grandmother?" his estranged wife asks him, with what
certainly appears to be an excess of calculation.) The film seemed a
visionary nightmare, from a member of the generation of '68, about the
state of contemporary Italian society.

And from Korea, Im Kwon-taek's Chihwaseon provided a lusty and
inspired portrait of the legendary painter Ohwon Jang Seung-Ub, who
sprang from common roots to dominate nineteenth-century Korean art.
Ohwon (who apparently incorporated the worst qualities of both Van Gogh
and Pollock) was never sober for a day, and kept a constantly changing
series of mistresses filling his cups; he negotiated the intricacies of
chaotic Chosun Dynasty politics with the proverbial delicacy of a bull
in a china shop; yet his precise and remarkably vivid scrolls and
screens filled with fog-covered mountains, wild beasts and flowers
seemed to surge forth endlessly from some hidden well of creation. The
66-year-old Im (who shared the directing prize with American
Wunderkind Paul Thomas Anderson for his Punch-Drunk Love)
is perhaps the most prolific filmmaker on the planet, with some
ninety-eight features to his credit, including dozens of studio genre
pictures from his salad days as a hack, before his conversion to high
culture. "In art," he said in an interview, "there is no completion, but
only the interminable struggle toward it."

The Pentagon's recent decision to limit anthrax vaccine shots to those
at high risk does not address the fundamental objection to the shots,
which is the lack of informed consent. The military maintains that it is
not required to seek informed consent for the vaccine because it is
currently approved by the Food and Drug Administration, and it continues
to court-martial personnel who refuse the vaccine. These servicemembers
contend that the vaccine is unsafe and that the military is not using it
in the prescribed manner.

The Pentagon announced its controversial plan to forcibly inoculate all
2.4 million troops against anthrax in 1997. Almost immediately, military
members began to protest, based in part on the revelation that
approximately 300,000 servicemembers had been given experimental drugs
without their knowledge in the Gulf War. Both during and after the Gulf
War, many military personnel experienced systemic medical problems,
which are often collectively termed Gulf War Syndrome. Seven years after
the Gulf War, the military finally admitted that it had used
experimental drugs on its personnel without their consent, and that
these drugs could be factors in the medical problems.

The FDA approved the current anthrax vaccine in 1970 primarily for
agricultural workers, but not for routine immunization on large
populations. Originally approved for a six-shot, eighteen-month
protocol, the vaccine is intended to treat cutaneous (through the skin)
anthrax, but has never been tested for inhalation anthrax, which is the
most deadly form and the most likely to occur in a combat situation.
Despite the military's assertions that very few adverse reactions have
been reported from the vaccine, the General Accounting Office found that
the Pentagon has been negligent in tracking such reactions. In fact,
many military personnel have reported adverse reactions. In 2000 the GAO
surveyed the National Guard and reserve forces given the vaccine, and 85
percent reported some reactions, with 23.8 percent reported to be
systemic. Additionally, the GAO reports that the long-term effects of
the anthrax vaccine have never been studied. In 1994 one of the Army's
top biological researchers wrote that "the current vaccine against
anthrax is unsatisfactory."

In 1996 the manufacturer BioPort submitted an application to the FDA to
amend the original anthrax vaccine license to include treatment of
inhalation anthrax as an approved use, as well as an approved reduction
in the vaccination schedule. FDA regulations specify that should an
organization desire a license change for a previously approved drug or a
modified dosing schedule, the drug essentially reverts to experimental
status. Due to a vaccine shortage, the military does not require that
personnel complete the six-shot protocol, and in some cases it has
prescribed that only two of the six required shots are necessary. So
under the current law, the military, in using the anthrax vaccine as a
prophylactic against inhalation anthrax, is basically using an
experimental drug on its own people without their consent.

In light of the Gulf War experimental drug abuses, the Pentagon's
circumvention of FDA regulations with anthrax vaccine is very
unsettling. Even after the anthrax scare post-9/11, we cannot simply
ignore the system of checks and balances for experimental drugs. In
volunteering for service, military members sacrifice much for their
country. Just as they are expected to conform to the rules of their
superiors, the Pentagon should be expected to obey the laws of the
land.

We are all fascinated by the lives of the powerful and famous, and in
the last part of the twentieth century Andrei Sakharov became one of
Russia's most famous. He burst onto the world stage in the summer of
1968, and seemingly overnight he went from the high-clearance obscurity
of thermonuclear

weapons to world fame. His essay advocating "convergence" of capitalism
and socialism, which was smuggled to the West, was extraordinary. It did
not matter that its contents were naïve and sophomoric (he
envisioned a world government by the year 2000). Its author was the
"father" of the Soviet H-bomb, someone who understood that life and
civilization could be incinerated in an hour's time and as such
commanded instant respect. Moreover, he was a member of the elite, whose
views were "profoundly socialist" and who abhorred the "egotistical
ideas of private ownership and the glorification of capital." But there
were deeply heretical undertones in his thinking. He insisted that the
Soviet Union needed economic and political reforms, and if necessary a
multiparty system, even though he did not regard the latter as an
essential step "or even less, a panacea for all ills."

This was, of course, the time of the Prague Spring, when the peoples of
the Communist part of Europe followed with sympathy and apprehension
Prague's reformist Communist leaders taking Czechoslovakia down the path
of democratization. A nascent democratic movement had emerged in Russia
in the mid-1960s as well, spreading through large sections of the
intelligentsia. "What so many of us...had dreamed of seemed to be
finally coming to pass in Czechoslovakia," Sakharov said later. "Even
from afar, we were caught up in all the excitement and hopes and
enthusiasm of the catchwords: 'Prague spring' and 'socialism with a
human face.'"

All hopes were squelched on August 21, 1968, when Russian tanks entered
Czechoslovakia and arrested the reformers. It was also a fateful moment
for Sakharov: His essay had transformed him into the leading personality
of a small dissident movement. The regime ended his career at the secret
weapons lab in Turkmenistan but allowed him to work at the Institute of
Physics in Moscow. After a decade of defending dissidents, he was
arrested in 1980 and exiled to the closed city of Gorky (now Nizhni
Novgorod), where he was force-fed when he attempted a hunger strike. The
dramatic struggle between a lone individual and a mighty totalitarian
state ended with an astounding concession by the state: On December 16,
1986, the new Soviet leader, Mikhail Gorbachev, personally invited
Sakharov to return to Moscow and "go back to your patriotic work." It
was an act of contrition that also enhanced Gorbachev's reputation in
the West.

In this first English-language biography of Sakharov, Richard Lourie
offers a beautifully written and engaging account of the physicist's
life. Lourie is a distinguished author and a leading translator of
Russian literature. He also translated Sakharov's own Memoirs,
which they had discussed at length. Lourie has had extended help from
Elena Bonner, Sakharov's second wife, and the portrait of their marriage
is one of the most insightful aspects of the book. But writing a
biography of so complex a figure as Sakharov is more difficult than it
may seem, in part because his life was the stuff of which myths are
made. It had two distinct phases.

In the first he eagerly served the state and performed his great
bomb-making accomplishments. It was a period of Stalinist terror and
appalling privations in which Sakharov accepted everything with
"cheerful fatalism." Like Voltaire's Dr. Pangloss, he clung to his
belief that everything Stalin did was for the best, that creating the
most destructive weapons mankind had known was his patriotic duty, that
"the Soviet state represented a breakthrough into the future." Even the
repugnant KGB system of informing seemed to him a normal fact of life,
an "ordinary link in the network of surveillance that enveloped the
whole country." When the dictator died in 1953, Sakharov was deeply
moved. "I am under the influence of a great man's death," he wrote to
his wife. "I am thinking of his humanity."

The second period--one of political activism, open dissent and real
sacrifices by Sahkarov--has been meticulously documented in the press.
Needless to say, he was lionized in the Western press and awarded a
Nobel Peace Prize. Yet his impact on the events that led to the collapse
of the Soviet Union remains unclear. As a leading actor in the dissident
movement, he seemed from the beginning a tragic figure who most fully
reflected its strengths and weaknesses. Sakharov not only lacked
charisma, as Andrei Amalrik said, but he also rejected the leadership
role bestowed upon him by the dissidents. Sakharov, Amalrik says in
Notes of a Revolutionary, wanted to be "a solitary monk under a
leaky umbrella whose voice in the defense of the oppressed would be
heard because of his moral prestige."

It is difficult to explain the almost complete break between these two
periods. It coincides roughly with the publication of his controversial
essay, "Reflections on Progress, Co-Existence, and Intellectual
Freedom," and the death of his first wife. What made him do his U-turn,
or, in Professor Philip Morrison's apt image, what made him go "from a
Teller to an Oppenheimer"?

We can only speculate what went on in Sakharov's head. His explanation
seems incomplete. He said he confronted a "moral dilemma" at the time of
the 1955 H-bomb test because his calculations of death by fallout over
the generations made it clear that the total numbers were staggering. He
was also appalled by the ecological consequences and began advocating a
ban on nuclear testing.

An incident at a banquet to honor a successful test may have had a
greater impact on Sakharov. His toast at the banquet--"May all our
devices explode as successfully as today's, but always over test sites
and never over cities"--was immediately countered by Air Marshal
Mitrofan Nedelin, who wanted to put the scientist in his place by
telling a crude story:

"An old man wearing only a shirt was praying before an icon: 'Guide me,
harden me. Guide me, harden me.' His wife who was lying on the stove
said: 'Just pray to be hard, old man, I'll take care of the guiding.'"
"And so," said the air marshal, "let's drink to getting hard."

Sakharov felt "lashed by a whip." An exceedingly proud man, he was
humiliated before his colleagues. He drained his glass and never said
another word for the rest of the evening. He was, he said later, shocked
into a realization that he and his colleagues had created a terrible
weapon whose uses "lie entirely outside our control."

After the first successful test, in 1953, Sakharov's self-confidence was
at a peak. Still "outwardly modest," inwardly he was "actually quite the
opposite." The director of the atomic weapons program, physicist Igor
Kurchatov, had called him "the savior of Russia!" He had replaced Igor
Tamm, his mentor, as scientific head of the hydrogen bomb project. He
alone had written a report on his conception of the next generation of
nuclear weapons and delivery systems; he attended a Politburo meeting
that approved it. To outsiders he seemed able to walk on water. He
enjoyed every privilege the state could bestow. He had the attribute of
highest importance: a high-frequency phone, a direct line to all
leaders. He was made a Hero of Socialist Labor, the nation's highest
honor (for the first of three times). He was elected to full membership
in the Soviet Academy of Sciences, bypassing the usual period of
candidacy (Tamm's had lasted twenty years in an election before he
became a full member).

Yet, as Yuli Khariton, the director of the secret weapons lab, put it,
Sakharov's immense self-confidence was both his strength and his
failing. Sakharov "felt his own strength and could not imagine anyone
understanding better than he." When others found the solution to a
problem he was unable to solve, Sakharov would set about with
"exceptional energy" to search for the flaws in it. Not finding them, he
was forced to admit that the solution was correct.

If the 1955 test was the turning point in his thinking, it was reflected
only in his interest in and advocacy of a ban on nuclear testing.
Clearly he had little understanding of the politics of nuclear weapons
or the domestic political pressures that Nikita Khrushchev was facing.

Ignoring his pleas, Khrushchev insisted that the largest Soviet bomb
ever be tested so it would coincide with the Communist Party Congress
(and the expulsion of Stalin's body from the Lenin Mausoleum in Red
Square). Having been overruled and slavishly following orders, Sakharov
proposed that not one bomb but two be tested at the same time. This
would provide sufficient information to eliminate the need for further
testing for a long time. Even more bizarre was his grandiose proposal
for a giant, atomic-powered torpedo with a 100-megaton charge that could
inflict enormous casualties on enemy ports. A Russian admiral Sakharov
tried to consult would not give him the time of day. As a military man,
the admiral believed in "open battle" and was disgusted and outraged by
the idea of merciless mass slaughter.

By 1957 the Russians had sent Sputnik into orbit and the competition for
the control of outer space became a top priority. In the 1960s the space
program was allocated the largest chunk of the research budget. Sakharov
and other bomb-makers were shunted aside. This may be one of the reasons
for Sakharov's foray into political theory, though Lourie does not
explore it. But Sakharov is a hard man to assess. For example, his role
in enabling Russia to detonate its first hydrogen bomb just nine months
after the Americans is indisputable, but his accomplishments as a
physicist must await final judgment. So far, none of his peers have
placed him in the pantheon of top Russian physicists. None doubted his
talent, but the common judgment may have been summed up by Lev Landau,
the Nobel Prize-winning physicist, who called him "outstanding" and
said: "While I would not consider him a genuine theoretical physicist,
he is rather a 'constructive genius.'" Tamm, another Nobel Prize winner,
was more generous. Sakharov's tragedy, Tamm said, was "that he had to
sacrifice his great passion--elementary-particle physics--first to
create an atomic and hydrogen bomb," then sacrifice it a second time in
the struggle for social justice.

It's even harder to assess him as a man. I first met him in the hospital
of the Academy of Sciences in 1967, where he was a patient. I was
visiting another patient, the writer Nikolai Erdman, who took me "to say
hello" to Sakharov, who was recovering from a hernia operation. First
impressions often gel into lasting images. I have subsequently written
dozens of stories about him, and I never had any doubt that he was a
rare good man who was prepared to oppose evil. As an absent-minded and
eccentric professor, he was unassuming and humble. Yet his benevolent
smile somehow demanded respect. He was born into a family that belonged
to that section of nineteenth-century intelligentsia that believed it
their duty to fight Russia's backwardness and authoritarianism. There
was a sense of entitlement about him, something that must have come
about from special considerations and privileges that had been extended
to him over the years. Following the publication of his controversial
essay, he was banned from military projects but accepted the position
offered him at the Physics Institute, working under Tamm. He accepted.
Neither side had entirely given up on the other. What if Sakharov came
up with a new discovery? At the time, neither science nor politics had
much meaning for Sakharov, who was grieving for his late wife and
looking after his 12-year-old son, Dima.

Sakharov was still a unique figure, both admired and envied. His
unanimous election to the Soviet Academy of Sciences was without
precedent for two reasons: Not only had he not completed his doctorate
(he was a candidate of science), but his work was so classified that
more than 99 percent of those who voted for him had no idea why he was
honored. Academic Vasily Yemelyanov, who headed the Soviet atomic energy
commission in the 1950s, told me in an interview how Khrushchev had
asked him to insure Sakharov's election without revealing his role in
the H-bomb project. Yemelyanov replied that that was impossible. People
are going to ask questions. After all, Sakharov, 32 at the time, was a
molokosos (baby). "You tell them that he had done a great service
to the state but you are not at liberty to reveal what it is,"
Yemelyanov quoted Khrushchev as saying.

Sakharov was still viewed as salvageable when two prominent dissidents
were incarcerated in psychiatric institutions: Gen. Pyotr Grigorenko and
biologist Zhores Medvedev, twin brother of Marxist historian Roy
Medvedev, a friend of Sakharov's who distributed his original 1968 essay
in samizdat form. Roy Medvedev's book about Stalin, Let
History Judge
, which Sakharov read in samizdat, played a
major role in his developing politics. As Soviet policy hardened under
Leonid Brezhnev, open dissent turned into a concerted opposition to a
return to Stalinism. Sakharov created an international incident in 1970
when he appeared at an international symposium held in Moscow and
announced that he was collecting signatures in defense of Medvedev, who
was under psychiatric detention. A week later he protested directly to
Brezhnev. Medvedev was freed in mid-June, but Grigorenko remained
incarcerated for four years.

A void of ostracism, however, began to form around Sakharov. He had
crossed over to the other side. This became irrevocable when he met his
second wife, Elena Bonner, a die-hard political dissident.

Ironically, Sakharov was finally happy, being married to a woman he
loved and who shared his ideas. Like God's fool from the Russian
tradition, he was regularly challenging the lies on which the system was
constructed yet not ending up in jail, because God's fool was the only
person who could speak the truth to czars. The authorities, unwilling to
lash out at Sakharov himself, instead targeted Bonner's children. Bonner
herself was reviled in the press. Sakharov fought back--hunger strikes
were his ultimate weapon. The state had considerable success in
radicalizing his image and making it appear that the human rights
movement was used by Sakharov to obtain exit visas for his family and
friends.

Lourie presents a compelling account of Sakharov's personal odyssey,
going behind the glossy picture we painted and repainted over the years.
If there is a serious shortcoming here it is that Bonner's role has
been, perhaps inadvertently, minimized. The book leaves the reader with
a sense of disappointment that this genuinely great man did not have a
more lasting effect. But we'd be remiss to forget the electrifying
impact on Russia of his return from internal exile in 1986. Even more
significant was his decades-long struggle to keep alive the best
traditions of the Russian intelligentsia. Like his beloved Pushkin, he
will remain loved because--in the poet's words--"I've struck the chords
of kindness/and sung freedom's praise in this cruel age,/calling for
mercy to be shown the fallen."

If a definition of news is something that hasn't happened before,
readers of the New York Times may be excused for wondering why
the paper featured a front-page story on June 8 on the travails of a
Senate candidate from Oregon who spends hours a day cold-calling rich
strangers to ask them to contribute to his campaign. There's nothing new
about the terrible, time-consuming need for candidates to curry favor
with the donor class; readers may recall Caleb Rossiter's first-person
account of the numbing effects of fundraising for his 1998 Congressional
campaign.

The real news story is in Arizona and Maine, where Clean Elections laws
provide public funding for candidates who avoid fat-cat donors. In those
states more than 300 candidates for everything from governor to state
assembly are proving their political worth not by the size of their
campaign war chests but by their ability to attract the requisite number
of $5 contributors to qualify for public money. Participation rates have
nearly doubled compared with 2000, when Clean Elections systems had
their first run. In Arizona more than 80 percent of the statewide
candidates are participating in Clean Elections--including seven of
eight major candidates for governor and nearly half the legislature
contenders. In Maine two gubernatorial candidates, a Republican and a
Green Independent, have been certified for Clean Elections funding,
along with 206 so far of 375 candidates for the state legislature.

In the past few years the determined organizing of dozens of state
coalitions, led by Public Campaign in Washington, has chipped away at
the belief that we'll never get the special-interest money out of
politics. Adding new force to that effort, Senator John McCain, the
country's most prominent campaign reform advocate, recently announced
his support for his home state's Clean Elections system. In ads paid for
by the Arizona Clean Elections Institute, McCain says: "Clean Elections
works well to overcome the influence of special interests. It gives
Arizonans the power to create good government. Keep supporting Clean
Elections."

McCain's move has a significant local context: Right-wingers and
business interests are trying to undermine his state's pioneering
system. Clint Bolick has set up a state satellite of his conservative
Institute for Justice to go after public financing in the courts, and
former GOP Congressman and gubernatorial candidate Matt Salmon is
attacking Clean Elections as "welfare for politicians" and promising to
get rid of it if he's elected this fall. Activists tied to GOP
fundraisers have floated the idea of a ballot repeal initiative if they
can't get rid of Clean Elections by other means.

Outside Arizona McCain's announcement should end the notion that
Republicans can't stomach public financing. In fact, there is a clear
trend toward greater acceptance among GOP leaders, who are beginning to
understand the rank and file's revulsion at big money's corrupting
power. In recent years, Republican businessmen in Maine, veteran
legislators in Vermont, a sitting governor in Massachusetts (along with
the state party) and a slew of former elected officials from around the
country have expressed their support for public financing, along with a
host of politicians in those three states and Arizona. Now that McCain
has thrown his clout behind the cause, let's hope others will follow.