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July 22, 2002 | The Nation

In the Magazine

July 22, 2002

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Christopher Hitchens and Bruce Shapiro on death penalty politics, John Nichols on right-wing court-packing and Herman Schwartz on how the Supreme Court is blowing a huge hole in the wall between church and state.

Letters



Debating September 11


David Corn's May 30, 2002, "Capital Games" article,



Paul Wellstone & the Greens

Northfield, Minn.

I was shocked to open my Nation and read the ill-informed and
superficial June 17 "Beat the Devil" column, "The Future Wellstone
Deserves," by Alexander Cockburn, who isn't generally ill-informed or
superficial.

To begin, there is no one--no one--in Washington more efficient than
Wellstone in supporting green issues. Why is there no drilling in ANWR
today? The answer: Paul Wellstone. As a freshman senator on the Energy
Committee he made a scathing attack on the Johnston-Wallop bill, put
forth by chairman Bennett Johnston on behalf of the oil companies. Of
course, Wellstone didn't win many of his points against the powerful
Johnston then, but he stood firm on ANWR and won that one, and that
victory has given us a dozen years of no drilling.

As for healthcare, it is simply not true that he has abandoned support
of single-payer health. But insurance is not the only health issue:
Wellstone has worked for several years to gain parity for mental health
insurance, and this year the Wellstone-Domenici bill finally passed in
the Senate; and what about his success on the domestic violence bill? As
for campaign reform, Wellstone is working on Clean Money-Clean Elections
Bills, which promise reform far better than the swiss-cheese bans on
soft money.

As for the statement about "some timid Greens...backstabbing McGaa": If
Cockburn were in Minnesota, he'd realize that no backstabbing is
necessary; McGaa is already self-destructing with progressives.

SY SCHUSTER


Sequim, Wash.

"The suggestion that progressive politics will now stand or fall in
sync with Wellstone's future is offensive," says Alexander Cockburn, who
apparently has not realized that the principal sequitur of the election
is control of the Senate. If the Democrats lose a single seat, control
will pass to the Republicans. George W. Bush could, as he has promised,
appoint Supreme Court Justices in the image of Clarence Thomas or
Antonin Scalia. Progressive politics would have to cope with a
reactionary Court for the next quarter-century. Like Cockburn, I have
differences with Wellstone and every other Senate Democrat. Unlike
Cockburn, I realize the price we would all pay for handing the Senate to
the GOP.

D.C. MOORE


Bentonville, Ark.

Yes, Minnesota Greens may mess up Paul Wellstone's chances for
re-election and end up electing a Republican in his place. But Wellstone
needs to realize something--he's clinging to a party that doesn't
represent the same things he does. Jim Jeffords jumped ship, and
Wellstone can do the same. Why not ask the Minnesota Greens if he can
join them and if Ed McGaa would graciously step aside and let him run as
their candidate? Let's abandon the Democratic Party the same way they've
abandoned us and stand behind a party that cares about the things that
matter most in our lives.

TROY JUZELER


Kelso, Wash.

Our warmongering Administration appears to have both barrels aimed at
Paul Wellstone, a senator who stands up with the courage of his
convictions. Why don't we dig into our wallets and send our $5, $10 or
$50 to Wellstone's campaign and give him and the Administration of
sleaze an overwhelming message that we're not going to take it
anymore?

LOLA VESTAL


Keene, NH

On my desk I had a check for $50 for the Wellstone Senate campaign.
Then I read Alexander Cockburn's column, and I ripped it up. Wellstone
may be a liberal, but unlike Abourezk, Metzenbaum and Feingold, he's no
fighting liberal! No one wants to see the Senate go Republican,
but perhaps we in New Hampshire can send Jeanne Shaheen. She has never
advertised herself as the savior of the left, but if in one stroke she
can get rid of the troglodyte Bob Smith and prevent the possibility of a
"Senator Sununu" her value to the left will far exceed Wellstone's.

FRANK MORIARTY


Tempe, Ariz.

Like Cockburn, I'm disappointed that Wellstone didn't stay firm in his
commitment to a single-payer national health program, but as a
Congressional contender once told me: "The only way you can be sure a
candidate agrees with you on every issue is to run yourself." As a
result of Cockburn's column I'm sending Wellstone another
contribution.

GAIL GIANASI NATALE


Manchester, NJ

So, Alexander Cockburn thinks that Minnesota voters should deny
Senator Wellstone a third term because he isn't perfect. Well, who is?
Senator Feingold, of whom Cockburn seems to approve, voted to confirm
Ashcroft as Attorney General! In 2000, while I voted Green for President
and Representative, I voted for Jon Corzine, a Democrat, for senator.
Perhaps he isn't perfect either, but if I and others in New Jersey
hadn't done that, we might now have a Republican Senate and twins of
Rehnquist, Scalia and Thomas on the Supreme Court.

DANIEL D. SCHECHTER


Minneapolis

The future Paul Wellstone deserves is to retire after two terms, as he
promised Minnesotans when he first ran for office. In 1996 Wellstone
voted for the Defense of Marriage Act, nullifying the chance for
same-gender couples to have their marriages (or civil ceremonies)
recognized by the federal government. Wellstone boasts of his advocacy
for working families. But his voting record indicates that he is not
willing to give legal recognition to working families headed by
same-gender couples.

JOHN R. YOAKAM


Lynnwood, Wash.

Senator Wellstone says, "I am a civil rights senator." If and when
Wellstone takes a more honest and humane stance on US foreign
policy--i.e., even Iraqi and Palestinian civilians have civil rights,
and Israel does not deserve full support for its inhumane
policies--I might believe some of the rest of his rhetoric. Until then,
I will believe he is for civil rights for some (in this country) but not
others (not in this country, particularly if Arab).

MARY ELYNNE TAPPERO


Salem, Ore.

Alexander Cockburn didn't point out Wellstone's greatest failing: a
no-show as the Congressional Black Caucus needed just one senator to
challenge the Florida "election" results. How progressive is it to
ignore the voting rights of African-Americans, much less stand silent as
this coup went forward?

MICHAEL DONNELLY


Minneapolis

I find it odd how cannibalistic some in the progressive left can be.
Before Alexander Cockburn was so quick to highlight Wellstone's
"failures" he should have read John Nichols's May 27 Nation
article, which accurately highlighted Wellstone's role as one of the
few true fighters against the regressive legislation continually
proposed by the Bush White House. And there is nothing "supposed" about
the irresponsibility of Minnesota Greens in this race. It's one thing to
vote for Ralph Nader over Al Gore but entirely another to say a Green is
needed in Wellstone's Senate race. Cockburn and those like him need to
end the cannibalism. If the left can't come together behind Wellstone,
one of our strongest leaders, then maybe we do deserve to be
marginalized. Minnesota Greens should remember that, as Winona LaDuke
said, Paul Wellstone is your friend.

KATIE CONNOLLY

Editorials

The country is riven and ailing, with a guns-plus-butter nuttiness in
some of its governing echelons and the sort of lapsed logic implicit in
the collapse of trust in money-center capitalism, which has been an
undergirding theory of a good deal of the work that many people do. The
tallest buildings, real profit centers, fall, as "wogs" and "ragheads"
defy us, perhaps comparably to how the "gooks" in Vietnam did (from
whose example Osama bin Laden may have learned that we could be
defeated). But that was on foreign soil, and we believed that we had
pulled our punches and beaten ourselves, and so remained triumphalist
for the remainder of the twentieth century, as we had been practically
since Reconstruction.

Now we're not so sure. For the first time since the War of 1812 we have
been damaged in continental America by foreigners, having made other
people hate us, though we had never needed to pay attention to such
matters before. Proxies could fight the malcontents for us in places
like Central America, and the Japanese and Germans, would-be conquerors,
had not felt much real animus, becoming close, amicable allies after the
war. Our first World War II hero, Colin Kelly, three days after Pearl
Harbor, flew his B-17 bomber (as media myth had it) in kamikaze fashion
to hit a Japanese cruiser, before the Japanese made a practice of it. To
give your life for your country, like Nathan Hale, is an ideal that's
since evaporated.

Obese individually and as a nation, and trying to stall the aging
process, we talk instead of cars and taxes, sports and movies, cancer
and entitlements, but with a half-unmentioned inkling too of what more
ominously may be in store--a premonition that our righteous confidence
might have served us just a bit too well. We never agonized a lot about
killing off the Indians, or our slaving history either, once that was
over, or being the only nuclear power ever to incinerate multitudes of
people. We've hardly seemed to notice when free enterprise segues into
simple greed, because our religious beginnings countenanced rapacity, as
long as you tithed. Settling the seaboard in official belts of piety,
whether Puritan, Anglican, Quaker or Dutch Reformed (only the frontier
tended to be atheistic), we seized land and water with abandon, joined
by Catholics, Lutherans, Methodists and what have you, westward ho. Each
group encouraged its rich men to creep like a camel through the eye of
the needle, and political freedoms were gradually canted away from the
pure ballot box toward influence-buying.

We swallowed all of that because the New World dream envisioned
everybody working hard and getting fairly rich, except when undertows of
doubt pervaded our prosperity, as in the 1930s and 1960s; or now when,
feeling gridlocked, we wonder if we haven't gone too far and used the
whole place up. We seem to need some kind of condom invented just for
greed--a latex sac where spasms of that particular vice can be
ejaculated, captured and contained. Like lust, it's not going to go
away. Nor will Monopoly games do the trick, any more than pornographic
videos erase impulses that might result in harm. The old phrase patrons
of prostitutes used to use--"getting your ashes hauled"--said it pretty
well, and if we could persuade people to think of greed, as well, that
way and expel its destructiveness perhaps into a computer screen,
trapping the piggishness in cyberspace might save a bit of Earth. The
greediest guys would not be satisfied, but greed might be looked on as
slightly outré.

Some vertigo or "near death" experience of global warming may be
required to trip the necessary degree of alarm. The droughts and water
wars, a polar meltdown and pelagic crisis--too much saltwater and
insufficient fresh. In the meantime, dried-up high plains agriculture
and Sunbelt golf greens in the Republicans' heartlands will help because
African famines are never enough. We need a surge of altruism, artesian
decency. The oddity of greed nowadays is that it is so often solo--in
the service of one ego--not ducal or kingly, as the apparatus of an
unjust state. Overweening possession, such as McMansions and so on, will
be loony in the century we are entering upon--ecologically,
economically, morally, commonsensically. But how will we realize this,
short of disastrous procrastination? Hurricanes and centrifugal violence
on the home front, not to mention angry Arabs flying into the World
Trade Center? That astounded us: both the anger and the technological
savvy. These camel-herding primitives whom we had manipulated, fleeced,
romanticized and patronized for generations, while pumping out their oil
and bottling them up in monarchies and emirates that we cultivated and
maintained, while jeering at them with casual racism in the meantime,
when we thought of it, for not having democracies like ours. To discover
that satellite TV, the Internet and some subversive preaching should
suddenly provide them access to divergent opinions disconcerts if it
doesn't frighten us, as does their willingness to counterpose
rudimentary suicide missions to the helicopter gunships and F-16s we
provide the Israelis. "Don't they value life?"

They won't be the last. The Vietcong were as culturally different from
the Palestinians as we are and yet succeeded in winning a country for
themselves, at a tremendous but bearable cost, which the Palestinians
will also undoubtedly do. Self-sacrifice can be a match for weaponry,
not because the Americans or Israelis value Asian or Arab life--at key
junctures and for essentially racist reasons they have not--but because
of the value they place on their own citizenry. As many as fifty
Vietnamese lives were lost for every American's, but that was not a high
enough ratio for us, even though, unlike some Israelis, we don't ascribe
to ourselves a biblical imprimatur. So we let them have their land, and
the domino calamities that had been famously predicted did not result.

To equate our own revolution with anybody else's is quite offensive to
us. Mostly, in fact, we prefer to forget that we had a revolutionary
past and kicked thousands of wealthy Tories into Canada, seizing their
property. We were slow to condemn apartheid in South Africa, having
scarcely finished abolishing our own at the time, and have been slow in
general to support self-governance in the warmer climates or to
acknowledge suffering among people whose skins are beiger than ours. And
if our income per capita is sixty or eighty times theirs, that doesn't
strike us as strange. We are a bootstrap country, after all. They should
pay us heed. And the whole United Nations is "a cesspool," according to
a recent New York City mayor.

But primitive notions like those of Ed Koch invite a primitive response.
And box-cutters in the hands of Taliban fundamentalists are not our main
problem. We have gratuitously destroyed so much of nature that the
Taliban's smashing up of Buddhist statues, as comparative vandalism,
will someday seem quite minuscule. We have also denatured our own
nominal religions: that is, taken the bite of authenticity out of
Christianity, for instance. Our real problem, I think, is a centrifugal
disorientation and disbelief. There is a cost to cynicism (as in our
previous activities in Afghanistan), and the systematic demonizing of
communitarianism during the cold war made it harder afterward for us to
reject as perverse the double-talking profiteering implicit in phenomena
like Enron, when we had thought that anything was better than collective
regulation and planning.

But ceasing to believe in revolutionary democracy--whether of the
secular or Christian (or Emersonian) variety--has proven costly. A
decent regard for the welfare of other people, in international as well
as local life, is going to be more than just a matter of private virtue.
In a shrinking world it may be a survival tool. Fanaticism doesn't carry
as far unless catastrophic economic conditions lurk in the background,
as we learned in the case of Germany between the two world wars but
then, when non-Caucasians were involved, forgot. Our foreign aid budget,
once the cold war ended, collapsed into spectacular stinginess, and our
sole response to September 11 has been police work. This can probably
erase Al Qaeda--which became after its instant victory that one morning
quite superfluous anyway--but not the knowledge of our vulnerability to
any handful of smart and angry plotters in this technological age. We
might see an explosion of those.

Our national self-absorption (in which the focus seems more on trying to
stay young than helping the young) may give capitalism a bad name.
Simple hedonism and materialism was not the point of crossing the ocean.
Our revolution was better than that. It was to paint the world anew.

POP-ing the Bankers

SEC chairman Harvey Pitt lurches from lapdog to bulldog, threatening
CEOs with jail time if their corporate reports mislead. George Bush
demands "top floor" accountability. Republican leaders in the House
muscle their own caucus members into passing a sham prescription drug
benefit.

The run-up to the fall elections has begun. Barely a month ago, White
House political guru Karl Rove was telling Republicans they could retain
control of Congress by waving the flag, celebrating the recovery and
promoting an ill-defined "compassion agenda." Now, with the dollar and
the stock market sinking, the recovery looking shaky and Vice President
Cheney back in hiding as investigations widen into accounting deceptions
at his former company, Halliburton, Republicans are getting nervous.

Americans don't want the war on terrorism turned to partisan purpose,
pollster Stan Greenberg informed a Campaign for America's Future press
briefing, "and they want this election to be about their own pressing
concerns"--the soaring price of healthcare, educating their children,
paying for college, decent jobs with good benefits and whether they can
afford to retire now that their 401(k) has become a 201(k).

At such a moment, progressive reforms are not only good policy but good
politics. Add a real prescription drug provision to Medicare. Get
serious about cracking down on HMOs. Invest in teachers, schools and
after-school care and help with college tuition; pay for it by closing
down offshore tax havens and making billionaires pay what they did
before George W. Bush cut their taxes. Raise the minimum wage and curb
excessive executive pay packages. Protect workers' pensions and
prosecute corrupt corporate executives. Save Social Security from
privatization's benefit cuts. Stop fast-track trade authority and demand
trade accords that strengthen rather than diminish worker, farmer and
environmental protections. Make polluters pay for cleaning up their
toxic wastes instead of sending the bill to taxpayers and slowing the
cleanup.

The popularity of these reforms has led Republicans to add political
cross-dressing to the Rove strategy: Hug a tree, hang a CEO, don't say
the word "privatization." Whether they can get away with this is
unclear. It's a bit like putting pearl earrings on a sow. It's an
all-too-real prospect, however, at a time when Democrats control the
Senate but fast track passes easily, when Senator Ted Kennedy still has
trouble getting fellow Democrats to sign on for a rewrite of Bush's
fundamentally flawed tax plan, and when Democratic Leadership
Council-addled "money Democrats" blur the differences between the
parties.

If Democrats hope to win in 2002, they will have to do it the
old-fashioned way--by running as Democrats. And labor, community, civil
rights, women's and environmental groups will have to give them a push
in the right direction--just as they did with the successful effort to
keep the GOP from enacting a permanent repeal of the estate tax. Rove
and his army of strategists are masters at filling the narrow cracks
between the GOP and "kinder, gentler" Democrats. Only by opening a
significant divide between themselves and the GOP can the Democrats
emerge as the alternative that Rove and his minions fear--and that the
voters are ready to embrace.

Saving the worst for last, on the final day of the term the Supreme
Court issued 5-to-4 rulings on school vouchers and drug testing that
blow a huge hole in the wall of church-state separation and shrivel the
privacy rights of students.

Since 1996 Ohio has provided tuition aid for Cleveland grade school
students to attend private schools, special city or suburban public
schools and individual tutoring classes. In the 1999-2000 school year,
96 percent of the students in this program went to religious schools.
Nevertheless, the Supreme Court approved the voucher system (Zelman
v. Simmons-Harris
). Writing for the Court, Chief Justice William
Rehnquist noted that the tuition aid went initially to the parents, who
then endorsed the check over to the school. Because the parents could
have chosen one of the public school programs, the "incidental
advancement of a religious mission," wrote Rehnquist, is not
attributable "to the government, whose role ends with the disbursement
of benefits."

On its face, this is nonsense. The "achievement of a religious mission"
is directly attributable to the state, which actually pays the funds to
the religious institution; the parent is only a conduit who directs
where the money will go. The declared purpose of these schools is
religious indoctrination of students. The curriculums include prayer,
and all subjects are taught in a religious framework. Providing the
tuition money that makes it possible for these schools to enroll their
students puts the government squarely in the business of achieving a
religious mission.

Formally, the program was neutral, but in practice it was not. The
amount of aid was too little for nonreligious private schools but more
than enough for the low-cost religious schools, where the program paid
for the full tuition. The overwhelming proportion of this money thus had
to go to religious schools, which, of course, the Ohio legislature had
to know. Moreover, if formal neutrality is the test, a program will pass
muster even if all the money and students go to religious schools, so
long as it has some secular purpose. Since such a purpose can always be
produced, the door is wide open for massive state support of
fundamentally religious activity.

The focus on choice ignores the point of the Establishment Clause of the
Constitution. That clause is not designed to promote a choice between
religious and nonreligious institutions, nor is there any right to such
choice at state expense. The intent of the Establishment Clause is to
avoid spending taxpayer money in a way that promotes religion and thus
encourages sectarian rivalry. We had a great deal of such strife before
1787, and the clause was adopted to prevent this. Also, as Jefferson
explained, no one should be "compelled to...support any religious
worship, place, or ministry whatsoever...[even a] teacher of his own
religious persuasion"; Madison, the father of the Bill of Rights, shared
those sentiments.

The decision will probably not result in many more voucher programs.
There is a lack of state money for education and strong allegiance to
public schools; studies by the government and other organizations do not
support the claim that voucher programs substantially improve academic
achievement. The decision will, however, produce many bitter religious
fights. As soon as the decision came down, state and federal legislators
introduced voucher legislation. There will also be conflicts over other
programs, including challenges by religious groups to the more stringent
provisions on church-state separation in state constitutions.

The Court's drug testing decision is also more important for what it
portends than for its immediate result. In 1989 the Vernonia, Oregon,
school district instituted a drug testing program for student athletes.
In 1995 the Court approved the program but stressed the special
circumstances of the case: Vernonia had a serious drug problem in which
athletes were the leaders of the drug culture; missed football plays and
serious sports accidents had been attributed to drug abuse. The Court
cautioned, however, "against the assumption that suspicionless drug
testing will readily pass Constitutional muster in other contexts."

That caution disappeared, however, when the Tecumseh, Oklahoma, school
district found drugs on the campus, heard students talk about drug use
and decided to test all middle and high school students who wanted to
participate in competitive extracurricular school activities. Lindsay
Earls, a member of the choir, the marching band, the Academic Team and
the National Honor Society objected but, after winning in appeals court,
lost in the Supreme Court (Board of Education of Independent School
District No. 92 of Pottawatomie County v. Earls
).

Writing for the majority, Justice Clarence Thomas ignored all the
special circumstances of the Vernonia case and dismissed the absence of
a demonstrated problem of drug abuse as unimportant. Because (1)
students have a reduced expectation of privacy, (2) the intrusion is
"negligible," (3) the sanction (exclusion from extracurricular
activities) is minor and (4) drug abuse is a bad thing, the program is
acceptable. Any effort to link drug abuse to choir singing, the marching
band or the Academic Team would have been ludicrous, and Thomas didn't
even try. On his reasoning, as long as the sanctions are minor, all
students may be subjected to drug testing because the other factors he
mentioned always exist.

Although the decision is far-reaching, its immediate impact is likely to
be modest. Few schools routinely test even their athletes, and
widespread testing is expensive. The decision underscores once again,
however, that for the Supreme Court, the rights of young people are
shredded when they walk through the schoolhouse gates.

It was bad enough that the Bush Administration co-opted the Children's
Defense Fund slogan "Leave No Child Behind." Then the most famous former
board member of CDF, Hillary Rodham Clinton, apparently decided to leave
children behind in her rush to the political center, endorsing a bill
that contained some of the worst elements of the Bush welfare reform
plan.

Fortunately, Hillary's Senate colleagues decided to take a courageous
stand. To the surprise and relief of advocates, the Senate produced a
bipartisan welfare reform bill that is more progressive than the current
law in almost every way.

The Senate bill, which emerged from the Finance Committee and soon goes
to the floor, repudiates the White House vision of welfare reform. But
the final version is still up in the air, and the politics of welfare
reform are fickle, as evidenced by Hillary's unexpectedly harsh
position. Whether we have a welfare reform law aimed at simply ending
welfare or a sincere effort to help families get out of poverty will be
decided in the days to come.

The House of Representatives and the White House wanted to double the
hours of work--paid and unpaid--for poor single mothers, effectively
ending their chances of getting better jobs through education and
training. They wanted to do away with exemptions from this workload for
mothers with small children and other significant barriers to
employment, and make it even harder for them to obtain access during
"work hours" to drug treatment, domestic violence counseling and other
services that might help people become more employable--not to mention
lead more tolerable lives. (The bill Hillary signed onto also contained
these provisions.) They wanted to keep the ban on Medicaid for many
legal immigrants. And, despite all the emphasis on work, they added next
to nothing for childcare, stranding single mothers with young children
in an impossible situation.

The Senate has taken a much more responsible approach: rejecting the
increase in work hours, expanding education and training, and restoring
benefits for legal immigrants. The Senate bill, however, has a few major
flaws. One of the biggest is the $5.5 billion proposed for childcare
funding, which will not even cover the cost of maintaining existing
services.

The final bill will likely increase those funds (twenty-five Democrats,
including Hillary Clinton, are on the record as supporting more money
for childcare). The bigger problem is that the quality of available care
is so inferior as to be developmentally damaging and, in some cases,
outright dangerous for poor children. Two toddlers died when they were
forgotten in a hot van all day at a daycare center used by
welfare-reform clients in Memphis. More commonly, children find
themselves strapped into car seats, attended only by blaring television
sets, or simply left to roam the streets. The trade-off of more mothers
in the work force for more bad care leaves kids the losers.

If policy-makers are serious about ending the cycle of poverty, they
will look closely at the price children are paying for welfare "reforms"
that focus relentlessly on pushing more poor mothers into low-wage work.
A study by researchers at Columbia, Stanford, Yale and the University of
California reports that mothers who have moved from welfare to work
spend four hours less each day with their preschool children, read to
and talk with their children less, suffer twice the rate of clinical
depression as the rest of the population and cut meals to make ends
meet.

"You go through so much because of these people," says Swan Moore, a
welfare client and member of Community Voices Heard, an advocacy group
in New York City. Moore was one of 200 low-income women who took a bus
ride to Washington in May to protest outside Hillary Clinton's home when
she signed the welfare reform bill written by Evan Bayh, head of the
Democratic Leadership Council. The women threw waffles on Clinton's
lawn, urging her to stop "waffling"--saying she supported poor women and
children, then signed punitive legislation.

"I just wish politicians would meet with people and talk to us and stop
trying to hop on some political bandwagon," says Moore. "How can you
make laws for people you know nothing about?"

Shortly after the protest, Clinton joined Ted Kennedy in a statement of
progressive principles on welfare reform. But her waffling shows just
how tenuous support for the poor can be. The question now is: Will
Senate Democrats stick to their guns and fight for welfare reform that
makes a positive difference? Watch what happens in the floor debate,
particularly on issues of childcare and the five-year lifetime limit on
assistance, which currently applies even to people working in low-paying
jobs, who receive income supplements as low as $50 a month.

There is a real chance for progressive legislation to reach the
President's desk, now that the Senate bill has marshaled bipartisan
support. The welfare bill came out of the most conservative committee in
the Senate. Democrats have the votes to make it even better on the
floor.

The world has changed since the Clinton White House ended welfare as we
knew it in 1996. No one is arguing for a return to the old system.
Instead, advocates are pushing for a few provisions to allow poor women
with children to earn a living and do right by their kids. The Senate
bill contains the seeds of hope for that vision. Rather than risking a
veto, the White House may try to delay until the bill dies. That would
mean a one-year extension of the current law--but a year from now there
will be even less money available for progressive programs.

It's now or never. As the 1996 welfare reform law comes up for
reauthorization, Congress and the President have a historic opportunity
to change the future for children who live below the poverty line--16
percent of all kids, and 30 percent of African-American children. That's
a lot of people to leave behind.

Columns

scheer

Vice President Dick Cheney has spent most of the past year in hiding, ostensibly from terrorists, but increasingly it seems obvious that it is Congress, the Securities and Exchange Commission, th

scheer

For President Bush to pretend to be shocked that some of the nation's top executives deal from a stacked deck is akin to a madam feigning surprise that sexual favors have been sold in her establi

They pledge allegiance to the thought
That every politician ought
To take a stand that's foursquare for the Lord.
They think if they say, "God is great!
Don't separate him from the state!"
Election is the blessing he'll afford.

Music

When the New York City Board of Education called on public schools to
bring back the Pledge of Allegiance in the wake of 9/11, my daughter, a
freshman at Stuyvesant High, thought her big chance to protest had
finally come. Have you thought about what you'll say if you have to
justify not reciting it? I asked. "Sure," she replied. "I'll say,
there's such a thing as the First Amendment, you know--separation of
church and state? I mean, under God? Duh!" Judge Alfred Goodwin
of the Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit, meet my Sophie, future
president of the ACLU if the punk-rock-guitarist plan doesn't work out.

Virtually every politician in the country has issued a press release
deploring Judge Goodwin's ruling that the words "under God" constituted
a coercive endorsement of religion. "Ridiculous!" said the President.
Tom Daschle led the Senate in a stampede to condemn the ruling 99 to 0,
after they recited the pledge together. The Times editorial
expressed the standard liberal line, mingling world-weariness and fear:
"under God" is a trivial matter, so why arouse the wrath of the mad
Christians? You can turn that argument around though--if it's so
trivial, why not do the right, constitutional thing? Let the
nonbelieving babies have their First Amendment bottle! The very fact
that the vast majority of Americans believe in God counts against
inserting expressions of religious faith into civic exercises for
kids--civil liberties are all about protecting unpopular minorities from
being steamrollered by the majority. The history of "under God" is not
very edifying or even very long: It was added to the original
pledge--written in 1892 by Francis Bellamy, a socialist--by Congress in
1954 as a means "to deny the atheistic and materialistic concept of
communism." If that was the purpose, it worked. The new Evil Ones,
however, have no quarrel with being "under God"; it's the "liberty and
justice for all" they disapprove of. If we really want to drive them
nuts, we should change "under God" to "with equality between men and
women." Or better yet, retire the pledge as an exercise in groupthink
unbefitting a free people.

Something tells me we haven't seen the last classroom invocation of the
divine umbrella--Judge Goodwin has already stayed his own ruling--but
even if the decision is upheld, it's unfortunately the least significant
in a number of recent rulings about education. The Supreme Court
decision upholding the Cleveland school voucher program is a real,
nonsymbolic triumph for organized religion, which stands to reap
millions of dollars in public funds, taken directly from the budgets of
the weakest school systems. Theoretically, your tax dollars can now
support the indoctrination of every crackpot religious idea from
creationism to stoning, with extra credit for attending rallies against
legal abortion and for the retention of "Judea" and "Samaria" as God's
gift to the Jewish people. What happened to e pluribus unum?
(Interestingly, as David Greenberg notes in Slate, e pluribus
unum
was replaced as the national motto in 1956 by... In God We
Trust!) And what about that pesky First Amendment? Writing for the 5-4
majority, Chief Justice Rehnquist argues that separation of church and
state is preserved because it is the parent, not the state, who actually
turns the voucher over to the religious school. By the same logic, why
not a health system in which patients get vouchers good for surgery or a
ticket to Lourdes?

The same day brought the Court's decision upholding random drug testing
of students who want to take part in after-school activities. Now
there's a great idea--take the kids who could really use something
productive to do with their afternoons, kids who, whatever mischief
they're up to, actually want to run track or sing in the chorus or work
on the yearbook, and don't let them do it! God forbid some 16-year-old
pothead should get a part in the drama club production of Arsenic and
Old Lace
. The harm of the ruling isn't just that kids who do drugs
will now have yet more time on their hands and yet more reason to bond
with their fellow slackers, it's that everyone gets a lesson in
collective humiliation and authoritarianism--stoned or straight, the
principal can make you pee in a cup. Consider too that one-third of
schools now offer abstinence-only sex education, in which kids are told
that contraception doesn't work and having sex before marriage is likely
to be fatal--if the kids don't go to parochial school, apparently,
parochial school comes to them.

The prize for the worst school-related decision, though, has to go to
the panel of New York State appeals court judges that reversed Justice
Leland DeGrasse's brave and noble ruling invalidating the state's school
funding formula, which gives less money per child to New York City
schools despite the fact that city schools have disproportionate numbers
of poor and non-English-speaking children. According to Justice Alfred
Lerner, author of the court's majority opinion, the state is required to
provide its young only the equivalent of a middle-school
education--enough for them to sit on a jury, vote and hold down a menial
job. Anything more is optional and can be distributed at will. (Why not
let kids drop out after eighth grade, you may ask? Well, then they'd
miss abstinence classes and drug tests and reciting the Pledge of
Allegiance!) The world needs workers at the lowest levels, the judge
observes, so let the black and Hispanic kids of New York City be the
hewers of wood and drawers of water and flippers of burgers. Somebody's
got to do it--and it's a safe bet it won't be the judges' children.

Maybe the critical legal theorists are right and the law is merely a
form of words into which can be poured whatever meaning the ruling class
wants it to have. It's hard to understand in any other way the court's
willful misunderstandings of the actual conditions of city public
schools, so that they could respond to plaintiff's evidence of schools
with decades-old outmoded science textbooks by harrumphing that there's
nothing wrong with libraries full of "classics."

Minority Report

The essential case for the abolition of capital punishment has long been complete, whether it is argued as an overdue penal reform, as a shield against the arbitrary and the irreparable or as part of the case against "big government."

Articles

Last week, while Bush spoke to Wall Street about corporate malfeasance, he was beset by questions about the timing of his sale of stock twelve years ago while he served as a director of Harken En

Guerrilla Radio, published by NationBooks, is the remarkable story of B92, a Belgrade radio station founded in 1989 by a group of young idealists who simply wanted to "play rock 'n'

Politicians and courts are taking their cues from growing public
opposition.

Packing the judiciary with right-wingers like Priscilla Owen.

The attacks hardened the resolve of immigrant bashers and anti-Semites.

Books & the Arts

Book

A half-century ago T.H. Marshall, British Labour Party social theorist,
offered a progressive, developmental theory for understanding the
history of what we have come to call citizenship. Taking the experience
of Englishmen to define the superior path, he postulated a hierarchy of
citizenships: civil rights, political rights and social rights. The last of these became the
category in which twentieth-century Europeans have understood claims on
the state to health, welfare, education and protection from avoidable
risk. They conceived of these citizenships as stages in an upward climb
toward an ever better democracy.

Marshall's schema looked only at European men. Feminists have pointed
out that women did not achieve citizenship in this order. In fact, women
often won some social rights--for example, protective legislation and
"welfare"--before achieving political ones such as the right to vote.
And women's individual civil rights were often overwhelmed and even
suppressed by legally imposed family obligations and moral sanctions.
(For example, a century ago courts generally interpreted the law of
marriage to mean that women were legally obligated to provide housework,
childcare and sexual services to husbands.) Equally problematic were
Marshall's obliviousness to British imperialism and what it meant for
Third World populations, including the fact that he conceived of the
British as civilizers rather than exploiters, and his apparent ignorance
of the conditions of second-class citizenship for racial/ethnic
subordinates within nation-states. In short, his historical hierarchy
was highly ideological.

But no one has yet done what Alice Kessler-Harris has in her newest
book, In Pursuit of Equity, reaching beyond Marshall and his
critics to suggest a new concept, economic citizenship. In this history
of how women have been treated in employment, tax and welfare policy,
Kessler-Harris--arguably the leading historian of women's labor in the
United States--synthesizes several decades of feminist analysis to
produce a holistic conception of what full citizenship for women might
entail. In lucid prose with vivid (and sometimes comic) illustrations of
the snarled thinking that results from conceiving of women as
dependents--rather than equal in heading families--she offers a vision
of how we can move toward greater democracy. In the process, she also
shows us what we are up against. Her book illustrates brilliantly how
assumptions about appropriate gender roles are built into all aspects of
policy.

She aims to resolve what is perhaps the central contradiction for
policy-makers and policy scholars who care about sex equality: the
contradiction between, on the one hand, valuing the unpaid caring work
still overwhelmingly performed by women and, on the other hand, enabling
women to achieve equality in wage labor and political power. Today, for
example, although all feminists oppose the punitive new requirements of
the policy that replaced Aid to Families with Dependent Children,
repealed in 1996, they are divided about what would constitute the right
kind of welfare system. Some find it appropriate that all adults,
including parents of young children, should be employed, assuming they
can get a living wage and good childcare. Others, often called
maternalists, believe a parent should have the right to choose full-time
parenting for young or particularly needy children. Behind this difference lie two different visions of
sex equality--one that emphasizes equal treatment of the sexes and individual rights
and responsibilities, another that seeks to make unpaid caring labor,
notably for the very young, the old and the ill, as honorable and valued
as waged labor.

Kessler-Harris would resolve this contradiction through a labor-centered
view of citizenship, a notion of economic citizenship based on equity,
or fairness, in the valuation of socially worthy labor. Previously, the
policy proposal closest to this principle of equity was "comparable
worth." Second-wave feminists saw that the Equal Pay Act of 1963 and
Title VII of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 had failed to equalize male
and female wages. Because the labor force is so segregated, and female
jobs are so consistently undervalued, equal pay alone cannot produce
justice to women (or men of color). The comparable-worth strategy called
for equal wages for work of comparable expertise and value, even when
the jobs differed. For example, consider the wage gap between truck
drivers and childcare workers. Truck drivers earned much more even than
registered nurses, whose training and responsibility was so much
greater. The women's movement's challenge to inequality in jobs took off
in 1979, when Eleanor Holmes Norton, then head of the Equal Employment
Opportunity Commission, called for evaluations of job skills to remedy
women's low wages. But her successor, Clarence Thomas, refused to
consider comparable-worth claims. Although some substantial victories
were achieved in state and union battles--for example, the American
Federation of State, County and Municipal Employees (AFSCME) won wage
increases averaging 32 percent and back pay retroactive to 1979 for
Washington State employees, 35,000 of whom shared a $482 million
settlement--the comparable-worth campaigns faded in the 1980s.

But even had the comparable-worth strategy been adopted, it could not
have recognized the hours spent in caring for children, parents,
disabled relatives and friends, not to mention the work of volunteering
in underfunded schools, cooking for homeless shelters, running kids'
basketball teams. Kessler-Harris is arguing for a citizenship that
respects unpaid as well as paid labor.

She has worked out the arguments in this book systematically over many
years. Several years ago, an article of hers with the deceptively simple
title "Where Are All the Organized Women Workers?" enlarged the
understanding of gendered "interests" from an exclusive focus on women
to take in men as well. She demonstrated that so long as men dominate,
aspirations understood and characterized as class interests often
express gender interests equally strongly. She uncovered how unions
often operated as men's clubs, built around forms of male bonding that
excluded women, primarily unconsciously but often consciously, too. In
this new book she extends her analysis of men's gendered interests to
reveal how labor unionists' inability to stop defending the privileges
of masculinity have held back labor's achievements. One vivid example
was unions' opposition to state-funded welfare programs and
health-and-safety regulation, stemming from anxiety that they would
deprive workers of their manly independence. Of course, unionist
resistance to state control over workplace and work-centered programs
also derived from a defense of workers' control. But this vision of
workplace democracy was inextricably masculinist, and workingmen's
understanding of their dignity rested on distinguishing themselves from
women.

In A Woman's Wage, Kessler-Harris showed that both Marxist and
neoclassical economics were mistaken in their joint assumption that the
wage was somehow a consistent, transparent token of the capital/labor
relation. By contrast, wage rates, wage systems, indeed the whole labor
market were constructed by gender interests and ideology as well as by
supply and demand or surplus value or the actual cost of subsistence. A
wonderful example from her new book: The Hawthorne experiments of the
late 1920s have been interpreted to show that women workers were more
tractable than men. In one study, a group of women workers adapted more
cooperatively and quickly to a speedup than did a group of male workers.
In seeking to explain this behavior, investigators examined the women's
home lives and even their menstrual cycles, while paying no particular
attention to the fact that the collective rather than individual wage
structure imposed on them was such that higher productivity could only
increase their total wages, while the men's piece-rate wage structure
offered no such guarantee--in fact, the men had reason to expect that
the piece rate would be lowered if they speeded up. We see here not a
"natural" gendered difference arising informally from culture and
socialization, but female and male workers responding rationally to a
gendered system imposed by employers.

In Pursuit of Equity argues that no one can enjoy civil and
political rights without social and economic citizenship. Marshall's
alleged gradual expansion of civil and political rights not only
excluded many others but actually strengthened women's exclusion from
citizenship. One fundamental premise of democratic capitalism--free
labor--was never fully extended to all women, whose labor was often
coercively regulated, not only by husbands but by the state.
Kessler-Harris shows how free labor developed in tandem with the "family
wage" ideal, that is, that husbands/fathers should earn for the entire
family and that women's destiny was domestic unpaid labor. The correlate
was that men "naturally" sought economic and social independence while
women "naturally" sought dependence. Ironically, most feminists of the
nineteenth century went along with this dichotomy and tried to root
women's citizenship in their essential family services rather than in
the free-labor definition of independence. That is, they argued for
rights on the basis of women's spiritual and material work in unpaid
caretaking labor.

The book demonstrates particularly effectively how the dominant modern
gender system--the family-wage norm--made it difficult for women to
become full citizens. In one closely documented section, Kessler-Harris
exposes the condescending and defensive assumptions of those who drafted
the Old Age Insurance program (which later became Social Security). The
drafters agreed, for example, that the widow of a covered man with young
children should be able to receive three-quarters of his pension until
she remarried or the children reached 18. A widow without children
lacked any rights to her husband's pension. But if this pension was her
husband's by right, as the designers insisted, then why were his heirs
not entitled to all of it as with all other parts of his property? If
the widow remarried, she would not have to give up the bank account or
house or car he had left her--why should she give up a Social Security
pension? One Social Security drafter argued that retaining such an
annuity after remarriage would make widows "a prize for the fellow that
has looked for it," assuming that women are entirely passive in marriage
decisions! The drafters were all convinced that "once a woman was no
longer dependent on the earnings of a particular male (dead or
alive)...his support for her should cease." In other words, his status
as breadwinner should continue even after his death. The drafters
rejected the idea of granting all widows of covered men an equal stipend
or one based on the number of children. It was important for her
benefits to be calibrated to his earnings so as to feed "the illusion
that families deprived of a father or husband would nevertheless
conceive him...as a continuing provider." "Why should you pay the widow
less than the individual himself gets if unmarried?" Because "she can
look after herself better than he can." Imagining women as less capable
of handling money than men, the designers removed the option of a
lump-sum benefit to widows, requiring them, unlike men, to receive
monthly stipends. To avoid "deathbed marriages," they allowed a widow to
collect only if she had been married and living with her husband for at
least a year before he died.

The concern with male status was reflected particularly comically in
discussions about the age at which a wife could start to receive her
share of her husband's benefits. Some argued for an earlier "retirement"
age for women because if both men and women were eligible at 65, this
would mean that men with younger wives--a common phenomenon--might not
get their full pension for a number of years after they retired. But
others argued that since men who married much younger women were more
likely to be those who had married more than once, granting women an
earlier retirement date might reward these men over single-marriage
retirees.

Several decades ago economist Heidi Hartmann pointed out that patriarchy
was as much a system of power and hierarchy among men as a male-female
relation, and Kessler-Harris confirms that insight. For example, the
entire debate about whether married couples should be able to report
separate incomes for IRS purposes concerned the inequalities this would
create between men with employed wives and men with nonemployed wives.
Fairness to women was not a prominent concern. The fact that employed
women's old-age insurance benefits were restricted according to their
marital status while men's weren't "did not seem like sex discrimination
[to the Social Security designers] but rather like equity to men."

At the core of In Pursuit of Equity is the understanding that
what is "fair" is historically changing. The problem we face today is
not that men deliberately built policies to subordinate women but that
when our basic economic policies were established, men and women alike
tended to see male breadwinning and female domesticity as "fair." That
standard is far, far from reality today. One result is a double standard
in which supposedly ideal family life, requiring a full-time mother, is
a privilege of wives of high-earning husbands.

In the United States, the resultant damage is worse than in Europe,
because here many fundamental aspects of citizenship flow from the labor
market. "Independence" today is generally defined as earning one's
living through wages, despite the fact that the resulting dependence on
employers leaves workers as vulnerable, if not more vulnerable, than
dependence on government stipends. Social rights vital for survival,
such as medical insurance, retirement pensions and workers'
compensation, typically derive from employment in this country, in
contrast to most developed countries, which provide such help as a
matter of right to all citizens or residents. This is one way in which
American wage workers, as Kessler-Harris says, were "in a different
relationship to the constitution than those who did care-giving work."
As a result the development of democratic capitalism, even the growth of
working-class power in some ways failed to strengthen women's economic
citizenship, even weakened it. Indeed, she shows how victories against
sex discrimination in the labor force in the 1960s inadvertently
confirmed the assumption that all women could and should work for wages,
thereby contributing to the repeal of welfare without creating the
conditions that would make it possible for poor women to support
themselves through employment.

This gendered citizenship became more visible and more obnoxious to
women as wage-earning became the female norm and as "alternative
families" gained political clout. For example, if every individual was
entitled to an old-age pension and unemployment compensation, we
wouldn't have to struggle about the inheritance rights of gay partners
or stay-at-home parents' need for support. Even today, banning sex
discrimination is difficult because it is difficult to get agreement on
what constitutes discrimination. In a few cases division among feminists
has held back the struggle. Kessler-Harris ends the book with a brief
reprise of EEOC v. Sears, Roebuck & Co., a 1980s marker of
this division and a case in which she herself played a significant role.
Sears admitted that very few women held any of its well-paying
commission sales jobs but argued that women were not interested in these
jobs because the positions were competitive, pressured, demanding.
Another historian of women testified for Sears against the women
plaintiffs, using her expertise to argue that women's primary attachment
to unpaid domestic labor led them to want only jobs which did not
conflict with it. Her arguments illustrated vividly the continuing
influence of this emphasis on male/female difference, not necessarily as
"natural" or essential but nevertheless beyond the appropriate scope of
legal remedy. Sears won the case.

There is one pervasive absence in Kessler-Harris's book--race--and the
omission weakens the argument substantially. Her understanding of how
the family-wage ideal works would have to be substantially complicated
if she made African-American women more central, for they were rarely
able to adopt a male breadwinner/female housewife family model and often
rejected it, developing a culture that expects and honors women's
employment more than white culture. Mexican-American women's experience
did not fit the family-wage model either, despite their reputation as
traditional, because so many have participated in agricultural and
domestic wage labor throughout their lives in the United States. Equally
problematic to the argument, prosperous white women who accepted the
family-wage model often didn't do unpaid domestic labor because they
hired poor immigrants and women of color to do it for low wages. These
different histories must affect how we envisage a policy that recognizes
labor outside the wage system, and they need to be explored.

One aspect of Kessler-Harris's economic citizenship concept is being
expressed today by progressive feminists trying to influence the
reauthorization of Temporary Assistance for Needy Families (TANF), the
program for poor children and their parents that succeeded AFDC. We are
pushing a House bill that would recognize college education and
childcare as work under the new welfare work requirements. This book is
a sustained argument for that kind of approach and should help it become
part of the policy discussion. It probably won't win. Some will call it
unrealistic. But today's policies are already wildly unrealistic, if
realism has anything to do with actual life. If we don't begin now to
outline the programs that could actually create full citizenship for
women, we will never get there.

Film

In Steven Spielberg's latest picture, a skinheaded psychic named Agatha
keeps challenging Tom Cruise with the words, "Can you see?" The
question answers itself: Cruise sees in Minority Report, but not
well enough. He must learn to recognize his ocular limitations--a task
he accomplishes by enduring chase scenes, double-crosses, confrontations at gunpoint and a few jocularly
nauseating trials, conducted in Spielberg's bucket-of-bugs, Indiana
Jones
style.

In Jacques Audiard's new picture, by contrast, Emmanuelle Devos can't
hear, and she knows it from the start. The first shot in Read My
Lips
is an image of her tucking a hearing aid behind one ear, then
concealing it with her hair. Her first lines, spoken while answering the
phone in a nerve-jangling office, include the words, "I didn't hear. Can
you repeat that?" Her task in the movie--accomplished through acts of
larceny and hostage-taking--is to learn how much power she might have,
despite her aural limitations.

Ineluctable modalities of the filmable! We are discussing not only sight
and sound but also America and France, plot and character, man and
woman, innocence and experience. Film culture needs both sides; so if I
tell you that I'd gladly watch Read My Lips several times but
will be content with one viewing of Minority Report, please don't
take it to mean that Minority Report shouldn't be seen at all. On
the contrary: To miss it would be like bypassing one of those grand and
macabre curiosities that lie just off the tourist's route--like visiting
Madrid, for example, without troubling to descend the marbled stair to
the crypt of the Escorial. In the monumental edifice of Minority
Report
, as in that palatial tomb, you may encounter something madly
idiosyncratic, yet absolutely characteristic of its culture. It's just
not much of a pleasure; whereas Read My Lips is so much fun, it
could be retitled Curl My Toes.

But, to begin with Spielberg:

After last summer's release of A.I.: Artificial Intelligence, all
true filmoids were eager to know what nightmare he might next sweat out
in public. Under the influence of Stanley Kubrick, under the pretense of
selling us entertainment, Spielberg had made a nakedly confessional
movie about abandonment, disillusionment and the corruptions of show
business. Past a certain point, of course, the picture was a misshapen
wreck; but that was because A.I. struggled so desperately to
escape itself and concoct a happy ending. The harder it strained, the
more compelling, and horrifying, it became. I felt that Spielberg had at
last tapped into emotions he'd located not in his audience but in
himself. Could he maintain that connection, now that he'd established
it? That was the question hanging over Minority Report.

The answer is now before us, in the only futuristic, metaphysical
thriller I can think of that takes the violation of civil liberties as
its theme and the abuse of children as its obsession. These twin facets
of Minority Report come together, improbably but unforgettably,
in the figures of oracles known as Pre-Cogs. They lie in a bottom-lit,
Y-shaped pool somewhere in Washington, DC, in the year 2054: three
damaged orphans who are adult in form but fetal in situation, since they
are kept floating in an amniotic fluid of high narcotic content. Their
fate (you can't really call it a job) is to remain forever in that stage
of childhood where every shadow in the bedroom conceals a monster.
Unfortunately, the monsters are real: They are the murderers who will
strike in the near future, and whose crimes the psychics not only
foresee but experience. You might think someone would take pity on the
Pre-Cogs and release them from these visions, at which they convulse in
pain and horror. Instead, for the public benefit, a police agency called
the Department of Pre-Crime maintains these creatures in a permanent
state of terror.

We come to the theme of civil liberties, which must have required some
precognition on Spielberg's part, since Minority Report went into
production well before John Ashcroft declared due process to be an
unaffordable luxury. It is the movie's conceit (borrowed from the
writings of Philip K. Dick) that the police may someday arrest people
pre-emptively, for crimes they would have committed had they been left
on the loose. As chief of the Pre-Crime unit, Tom Cruise sees no problem
with this practice, either legally or philosophically--which is why he
is half-blind. He doesn't yet understand that the rights he takes away
from others may also be taken from him.

But I'm making it sound as if Minority Report constructs an
argument, when it actually contrives a delirium. A sane movie would have
been content to give Cruise a reason for arresting pre-criminals. For
example, he could have been blinded by the pain of losing a son. That,
in fact, is how the plot accounts for Cruise's keen efficiency; but it
isn't enough of an explanation for Spielberg, who goes on to embed a
second rationale in the mise en scène. Every setting, prop
and gesture shows us that Cruise does this job because it excites him.

He's in his brush-cut mode in Minority Report. He rockets around
Washington, rappels onto the pre-crime scene, dives at the last second
between the would-be killer and the not-quite-victim--and that's just
the conventional part of his work. The real thrill comes from
interpreting the Pre-Cogs' visions, which he does in front of a
wraparound computer screen while a stereo pipes in the Unfinished
Symphony
. Waving his hands against the music's rhythm, making
digital images slide around at will, he looks like a cross between an
orchestra conductor and a film editor, working at some Avid console of
the future.

So childhood pain in Minority Report bleeds into fear of crime,
which blossoms into a fantasy of omnipotence--and this fantasy in turn
sows further pain, in the form of little stabs to the eye. In the year
2054, government bureaus and advertising agencies alike scan your retina
wherever you go, blinding you with lasers a hundred times a day to track
your whereabouts, your spending, your preferences in clothing from the
Gap. What does it matter if Cruise comes to see the dangerous fallacy of
pre-crime? Human freedom has already vanished from his world, in the
blink of an eye.

I hope it's clear from this summary that Minority Report not only
represents another of Spielberg's Major Statements but also continues
his risky new practice of self-expression--risky because his feelings
remain unresolved, and also because he allows them to be Major. A
solemnity pervades the movie, making itself felt most tellingly at
moments of incidental humor. Spielberg has never been a rollicking
filmmaker--the human activities that least interest him are laughter and
sex--but in the past he's known how to raise a chuckle, and he's known
when to do it. In Minority Report, though, clumsy throwaway gags
keep interrupting the action, as if Spielberg had lost his sense of how
to play with the audience. Slapstick assaults upon a family at the
dinner table, or Olympian sneers at bickering couples, do nothing to
leaven Minority Report. The movie's ponderousness is relieved
only by Samantha Morton's uncanny portrayal of the psychic Agatha and by
Lois Smith's turn as Dr. Hineman, the researcher who ought to have
healed the Pre-Cogs but instead turned them into tools of the police.
When Cruise goes to visit Smith at her greenhouse hideaway, the colors
of Brutalist architecture briefly give way to those of nature, and the
pace of the acting triples. Speaking her lines over and around Cruise,
Smith plays her role in the manner of Vladimir Horowitz dashing off an
étude.

"Who is the strongest Pre-Cog?" Cruise wants to know. Smith smiles
indulgently at the blind man. "Why, the woman, dear." This claim of
female superiority has the charm of gallantry; it's Spielberg's gift to
the actress. But as it's developed in the rest of the movie, the notion
(like far too much of Minority Report) lacks the flourish that
gallantry requires. I offer sincere congratulations to Spielberg for at
least two-thirds of this picture; but now I think it's time to leave
Minority Report and consider a movie about a real woman.

Her name is Carla. She works for a real estate development company,
where she's treated like part of the office equipment. As embodied by
Emmanuelle Devos, Carla has an apology for a hairdo and a choked-off
complaint for a lower lip. When she's casually insulted--her paperwork
ruined by the spill from a coffee cup, her skirt stained suggestively
under the rump--Carla falls apart so completely that her boss offers to
let her hire an assistant. "Trainees are cheap," he explains, as if that
would make her feel better. She hires one anyway and comes up with the
man of her dreams: Paul (Vincent Cassel), a greasy, long-haired,
leather-jacketed, muttering ex-con, who assures her (while his eyes scan
for the exit) that sure, he's worked with, uhm, spreadsheets. Plenty of
them.

One of the pleasures of Read My Lips--a pleasure that isn't
available in Minority Report--is the way the movie invites you to
see into these characters, who always amount to more than their
functions in the plot. Early on, for example, when Carla and Paul are
just getting to know each other, you see how they might be bound by a
common lack of decorum. "What were you in jail for?" Carla asks bluntly,
violating rule number one for dealing with ex-cons. Paul answers her,
then asks in turn, "So you're deaf? I mean, really deaf? Like, you can't
hear?" Although she tells him to shut up, Carla doesn't hesitate to play
along when he asks her to read someone's lips. He likes her willingness
to trespass on others. She likes the muscle he provides.

Although Carla's alliance with Paul develops uneasily, it's not without
humor. (No false notes here; Audiard always gets the tone right.) But
even though the bumps and jolts of the plot are intriguing--and far more
numerous than those in Minority Report--what's perhaps most
engaging in Read My Lips is the evocation of Carla's reality. The
images are often incomplete, oddly framed, out of focus, unsteady,
surprisingly closeup, bathed in shadow, richly colored, dreamily slow.
This is the subjective vision of human eyes, not the objective gaze of
the camera--and Carla sees it all the more vividly because the world of
sound is closed.

I like the sensuousness of Read My Lips and the nuance of its
portrait of a woman. I like the sense of possibility in the characters,
the interplay between Devos and Cassel, the mundane realism of the plot
(which asks you to believe only that the real estate business isn't
entirely clean, and that large sums of cash sometimes flow through
bars). I even like the happy ending. Although Spielberg's picture is the
one titled Minority Report--an ironic name for a Tom Cruise
blockbuster, as its maker surely knows--Read My Lips files the
story that's too infrequently heard.

Book

Much as I hate to, I'm going to start by talking about the damn money.
I'm only doing it because almost everyone else is.

It's not just the author profiles and publishing-trade columns, but
seemingly every other review of The Emperor of Ocean Park that
mentions, way before stuff like plot or characters, the $4.2 million
Knopf paid Yale Law professor Stephen L. Carter for this first novel and
another to come. Most, if not all, of these pieces seem incredulous that
an academic-of-color could reap the kind of dough-re-mi for thriller
writing that the John Grishams and Tom Clancys could command. Pundits of
both colors--or of what Carter's novel continually refers to as "the
darker nation" and "the paler nation"--sound pleasantly surprised that
an African-American male could earn some pop-cultural buzz by being paid
millions of dollars for doing something that doesn't require a ball or a
microphone.

I'm guessing Carter has the grace to be appreciative about all this. But
I'm also guessing that the author of Reflections of an Affirmative
Action Baby
is equipped with inner radar delicate enough to pick up
faint signals of condescension (or worse) beneath all this hype. Sifting
through the reviews so far, especially those taking Carter to the
woodshed, one detects glimmers of doubt as to whether the book or the
author deserves all that money and attention. No matter that Carter,
Yale Law's first tenured African-American professor, has established his
credentials as a legal scholar and public intellectual, having published
seven nonfiction books whose subjects include values (Integrity,
Civility), faith in public life (The Culture of Disbelief, God's Name in Vain) and, of course, race
(Reflections...). Black people have been through enough job
interviews to recognize the skeptically arched eyebrows in key precincts
of Book-Chat Nation over Carter's big score. The eyebrows ask: Is the
book worth all this fuss--and all that damn money?

The short answer is yes, though we'll get to the longer, more
complicated answer in a few clicks. First I want to address the other
recurring motif in the reviews so far: a belief that the novel's primary
value--if not the only legitimate reason for all that money--comes in
the way it foregrounds privileged reaches of African-American society.
As if Dorothy West, John A. Williams, Nella Larsen, George S. Schuyler,
John Oliver Killens, Charles W. Chesnutt, Lawrence Otis Graham and E.
Franklin Frazier, the Veblen-esque sociologist-satirist who wrote
Black Bourgeoisie
, had never been born, much less ever bothered
writing books. To these weary eyes, such incredulity over class issues
reflects nothing more than the same-as-it-ever-was manner in which
novels by African-Americans are waved toward the sociocultural
checkpoint before they can compete for artistic consideration. And since
it's being marketed as a legal thriller/whodunit, The Emperor of
Ocean Park
has the added burden of being stigmatized as a genre
piece. Hence the carping in some reviews over Emperor, whose
closing kickers spring merrily like tripwires.

Hello. It's melodrama. There are a lot of smart people who agree
with Raymond Chandler, who confessed to a friend in 1945 that he chose
to write melodrama "because when I looked around me it was the only kind
of writing that was relatively honest." Also as Chandler and other smart
people drawn to genre have repeatedly proved, it's possible to hang
lyricism, social observation, even political ideas on melodrama's broad
shoulders so long as you don't forget to play by the rules of the genre.
One more thing: Melodrama, when played at top speed, often can be
transformed into something very close to satire or, at least,
sophisticated farce.

The Emperor of Ocean Park doesn't move quite fast enough for
that, which may be its biggest problem. Still, it is sophisticated
entertainment; witty, elegantly written (way better than Grisham or
Clancy, OK?), conceptually outrageous in a genteel way and flush with
conflicting ideas unleashed in the stick-and-move fashion of a
freewheeling sparring match. The surprise isn't that Carter can write
fiction. It's his showmanship in mixing up the car chases, chess
strategies, red herrings and gun battles with such dark, rueful
observations as this:

I suddenly understand the passion of the many black nationalists of the
sixties who opposed affirmative action, warning that it would strip the
community of the best among its potential leaders, sending them off to
the most prestigious colleges, and turning them into... well, into young
corporate apparatchiks in Brooks Brothers suits, desperate for the favor
of powerful white capitalists.... And the nationalists were right. I am
the few. My wife is the few. My sister is the few. My students are the
few. These kids pressing business cards on my brother-in-law are the
few. And the world is such a bright, angry red.... I stand very still,
letting the redness wash over me, wallowing in it the way a man who has
nearly died of thirst might wallow in the shower, absorbing it through
every pore, feeling the very cells of my body swell with it, and sensing
a near-electric charge in the air, a portent, a symbol of a coming
storm, and reliving and reviling in this frozen, furious instant every
apple I have ever polished for everybody white who could help me get
ahead.

This passionately skeptical, somewhat self-loathing voice belongs to
Talcott Garland, who also answers to the names "Tal" and "Misha." (This
multiplicity of names is one of the little jokes that Carter threatens
to run into the ground.) A law professor at an unnamed Ivy League
university, Talcott is one of four children of Oliver Garland, a
conservative judge appointed by Nixon to the US Court of Appeals, who
might have served on the Supreme Court if his nomination hadn't been
derailed because he was seen hanging around the federal courthouse with
a college roommate named Jack Ziegler, a former CIA agent and a sinister
presence skulking in the dark alleys of American power.

As the novel begins, Tal's father, whom Time once dubbed the
"emperor of Ocean Park" because of his family's impressive digs in the
Oak Bluffs section of Martha's Vineyard, has been found dead in his
study. Tal is, at best, indulgent to older sister Mariah's suspicions
that their father met with foul play. Still, Tal suspects something's
afoot when, at the judge's funeral, Ziegler pulls him aside to ask the
whereabouts of some "arrangements" that the judge stashed away
somewhere. Knowing "Uncle Jack" all too well, Tal suspects that these
"arrangements" don't exactly fall into customary categories of
post-mortem details. By the time bogus FBI agents try to scare him into
telling what little he knows and the Episcopal priest who conducts the
funeral is tortured and murdered, Tal's paranoia has kicked into third
gear.

All of which Tal needs like root canal. Things are rough at the law
school with various and sundry colleagues intruding their personal
dramas onto his own. One of them, it turns out, is in competition with
Tal's stunning wife, Kimmer, short for "Kimberly," for potential
appointment to a federal judgeship. Kimmer frets and fusses about the
appointment, oblivious to her husband's concerns for their safety from
whatever or whoever is stalking them. She barely notices the shadow
stalkers, traveling long distances from home to make rain for her
high-toned law firm. Tal suspects Kimmer is having an affair, but can
barely keep her close by long enough to probe for concrete evidence. He
concedes being flummoxed in general by the nature of women, seeking
respite from such mysteries in "the simple rejuvenating pleasure of
chess." Indeed, the conundrums of chess, a game where, as in life, white
always gets the first move over black, play a metaphoric role in the
mystery, complete with missing pawns from the judge's own set and a
strategic gambit labeled "Excelsior."

A few words about Tal: He's the hero of the story, but he's not an easy
man to admire. Readers so far think he's at best an unjustly beleaguered
nerd or at worst an embittered brat, as self-absorbed as the mercenary
students, career women and secular humanists he slaps with his words. He
behaves badly at times, never more so than in a memorably chilling set
piece in which he bullies and humiliates one of his students, "an
unfortunate young man whose sin is to inform us all that the cases I
expect my students to master are irrelevant, because the rich guys
always win.... His elbow is on the chair, his other fist is tucked under
his chin, and I read in his posture insolence, challenge, perhaps even
the unsubtle racism of the supposedly liberal white student who cannot
quite bring himself to believe that his black professor could know more
than he.... I catch myself thinking, I could break him." And he
does, adding to the rapidly expanding ledger tabulating his
self-disgust.

On the other hand, he loves his young son Bentley in a way that
frightens him, especially when he visualizes a future in which Kimmer
drifts out of his life with son in tow. He volunteers in a soup kitchen,
partly as penance for his transgressions, partly to turn down the noises
his own inner radar makes and submit to Christian values. He also yearns
for a grounded sense of family, though relations with his aforementioned
sister are strained and his brother Addison--the one Tal believes Dad
liked best--is a commitment-phobic radio personality who keeps slipping
from sight to avoid close scrutiny. (He has his reasons.) And there was
a younger sister, Abby, something of a family renegade, who died in a
car accident. "When Abby died," Tal recalls, "my father went a little
nuts, and then he got better." It's the book's most pithy line. Don't,
for a minute, forget it.

Carter is very good at evoking the wonderlands of American life, whether
the Vineyard, Aspen or Washington's "Gold Coast" enclave of wealthy,
powerful African-Americans. He's even better at describing the
machinations and intrigue in law school faculty offices--which shouldn't
be a surprise, though Carter's extended disclaimer (pages 655-57) begs
readers not to confuse Tal's spiky, tempestuous professional life with
his own. Still, from what readers know of Carter's ideas about religion,
ethics, politics and manners, it's not too much of a stretch to see Tal
asserting his creator's right to probe, confound and, whenever possible,
shatter conventional ideological boundaries.

At one point, Tal has a reverie about one of his father's standard
speeches to white conservatives, pointing to the overlap of their
opinions on such issues as school vouchers, abortion and gay rights with
those of the African-American mainstream. "Conservatives are the last
people who can afford to be racist. Because the future of conservatism
is black America!
" Quickly, Tal's mind makes a countermove. "Because
there were a few little details the Judge always left out. Like the fact
that it was conservatives who fought against just about every civil
rights law ever proposed. Like the fact that many of the wealthy men who
paid for his expensive speeches would not have him in their clubs....
The Judge was surely right to insist that the time has come for black
Americans to stop trusting white liberals, who are far more comfortable
telling us what we need than asking us what we want, but he never did
come up with a particularly persuasive reason for us to start trusting
white conservatives instead."

For fans of the well-made thriller, these and other digressions may seem
like patches of glue. But for those who think the plot is, as with the
rest of the book, somewhat overstuffed with data, false leads, sudden
frowns and black-and-blue contrivances, Tal's asides come across like
flares of random, cheeky insight. As the quote above suggests, neither
left nor right is spared Tal's withering assessment, though if I were
keeping score, the liberal humanists get it in the teeth far more than
those with more spirit-based devotions explaining their identities.

Readers have become accustomed to books written by African-Americans to
come down hard on a sociopolitical point. Mystery lovers want airtight
solutions. The Emperor of Ocean Park fulfills neither
expectation. And that, as much as anything, earns both its money and its
respect. Novels of ideas, in whose company Emperor surely belongs
if I read my Mary McCarthy right, are supposed to be exactly that: About
many ideas and not just one. Someone, maybe the author of Anna
Karenina
, once suggested that fiction should rouse questions, not
answer them. Once again, the defense calls Raymond Chandler to the
stand: "It is no easy trick to keep your characters and your story
operating on a level which is understandable to the semi-literate public
and at the same time give them some intellectual and artistic overtones,
which the public does not seek or demand or in effect recognize, but
which somehow subconsciously it accepts and likes."

The Emperor of Ocean Park is no Farewell, My Lovely. But
Carter is on to something. And he may someday deliver what Chandler
does, along with a hearty serving of something non-Chandler-esque. What
that something may be is hinted in a few lines close to the novel's very
end:

"That truth, even moral truth, exists I have no doubt, for I am no
relativist; but we weak, fallen humans will never perceive it except
imperfectly, a faintly glowing presence toward which we creep through
the mists of reason, tradition, and faith."

Your move, Tom Clancy.

Book

One of the most persistent myths in the culture wars today is that
social science has proven "media violence" to cause adverse effects. The
debate is over; the evidence is overwhelming, researchers, pundits and
politicians frequently proclaim. Anyone who denies it might as well be
arguing that the earth is flat.

Jonathan Freedman, professor of psychology at the University of Toronto,
has been saying for almost twenty years that it just isn't so. He is not
alone in his opinion, but as a psychologist trained in experimental
research, he is probably the most knowledgeable and qualified to express
it. His new book, Media Violence and Its Effect on Aggression,
surveys all of the empirical studies and experiments in this field, and
finds that the majority do not support the hypothesis that violent
content in TV and movies has a causal relationship to real violence in
society. The book is required reading for anyone who wishes to
understand this issue.

I should say at the outset that unlike Freedman, I doubt whether
quantitative sociological or psychological experiments--useful as they
are in many areas--can tell us much about the effects of something as
broad and vague in concept as "media violence." As a group of scholars
put it recently in a case involving censorship of violent video games:

In a field as inherently complex and multi-faceted as human aggression,
it is questionable whether quantitative studies of media effects can
really provide a holistic or adequately nuanced description of the
process by which some individuals become more aggressive than others.

Indeed, since "media violence" encompasses everything from cartoons,
sports and news to horror movies, westerns, war documentaries and some
of the greatest works of film art, it baffles me how researchers think
that generalizations about "effects" can be made based on experiments
using just one or a few examples of violent action.

Freedman, by contrast, believes that the experimental method is capable
of measuring media effects. This may explain why he is so indignant
about the widespread misrepresentations and distortions of the research
data.

He explains in his preface that he became interested in this area by
happenstance, and was surprised when he began reading the research to
find that its results were quite the opposite of what is usually
asserted. He began speaking and writing on the subject. In 1999 he was
approached by the Motion Picture Association of America (MPAA) and asked
to do a comprehensive review of all the research. He had not previously
received organizational support and, as he says, "was a little nervous
because I knew there was a danger that my work would be tainted by a
connection with the MPAA." He agreed only after making it clear that the
MPAA "would have no input into the review, would see it only after it
was complete, and except for editorial suggestions, would be forbidden
to alter what I wrote. Of course," he says,

they asked me to do the review, rather than someone else, because they
knew my position and assumed or at least hoped that I would come to the
same conclusion after a more comprehensive review. But there was no quid
pro quo. Although I was nervous about being tainted, I am confident that
I was not. In any case, the conclusions of this review are not different
from those of my earlier review or those I expressed in papers and talks
between 1984 and 1999.

The book proceeds meticulously to examine the approximately 200 studies
and experiments that Freedman was able to find after an exhaustive
search. (He suggests that the exaggerated numbers one often
hears--1,000, 3,500 or simply "thousands" of studies--probably derive
from a statement made by psychologist John Murray in the early 1980s
when the National Institute of Mental Health sponsored a review of the
media violence research. Murray said that there were about 2,500
publications of all kinds that were relevant to the review. This is far
different, of course, from the number of empirical experiments and
studies.)

Freedman begins with laboratory experiments, of which he found
eighty-seven. Many commentators have noted the artificiality of these
experiments, in which snippets of a violent film or TV show are shown to
one group of viewers (sometimes children, sometimes adolescents or
adults), while a control group is shown a nonviolent clip. Then their
level of "aggression" is observed--or rather, something that the
experimenters consider a proxy for aggression, such as children hitting
a Bobo doll (an inflatable plastic clown), delivering a "white noise"
blast or--amazingly--answering yes when asked whether they would pop a
balloon if given the opportunity.

As Freedman and others have pointed out, these laboratory proxies for
aggression are not the real thing, and aggressive play is very different
from real-world violent or destructive behavior. He comments:

Quite a few studies with children defined aggression as hitting or
kicking a Bobo doll or some other equivalent toy.... As anyone who has
owned one knows, Bobo dolls are designed to be hit. When you hit a Bobo
doll, it falls down and then bounces back up. You are supposed to hit it
and it is supposed to fall down and then bounce back up. There is little
reason to have a Bobo doll if you do not hit it. Calling punching a Bobo
doll aggressive is like calling kicking a football aggressive. Bobos are
meant to be punched; footballs are meant to be kicked. No harm is
intended and none is done.... It is difficult to understand why anyone
would think this is a measure of aggression.

Freedman notes other serious problems with the design of lab experiments
to test media effects. When positive results are found, they may be due
simply to the arousal effect of high-action entertainment, or to a
desire to do what the subjects think the experimenter wants. He points
out that experimenters generally haven't made efforts to assure that the
violent and nonviolent clips that they show are equivalent in other
respects. That is, if the nonviolent clip is less arousing, then any
difference in "aggression" afterward is probably due to arousal, not
imitation. Freedman's favorite example is an experiment in which one
group of subjects saw a bloody prizefight, while the control group was
shown a soporific film about canal boats.

But the most striking point is that even given the questionable validity
of lab experiments in measuring real-world media effects, the majority
of experiments have not had positive results. After detailed analysis of
the numbers that the researchers reported, Freedman summarizes:
Thirty-seven percent of the experiments supported the hypothesis that
media violence causes real-world violence or aggression, 22 percent had
mixed results and 41 percent did not support the hypothesis. After he
factored out experiments using "the most doubtful measures of
aggression" (popping balloons and so forth), only 28 percent of the
results were supportive, 16 percent were mixed and 55 percent were
nonsupportive of the "causal hypothesis."

For field experiments--designed to more closely approximate real-world
conditions--the percentage of negative results was higher: "Only three
of the ten studies obtained even slightly supportive results, and two of
those used inappropriate statistics while the third did not have a
measure of behavior." Freedman comments that even this weak showing
"gives a more favorable picture than is justified," for "several of the
studies that failed to find effects actually consisted of many separate
studies." Counting the results of these separate studies, "three field
experiments found some support, and twenty did not."

Now, the whole point of the scientific method is that experiments can be
replicated, and if the hypothesis is correct, they will produce the same
result. A minority of positive results are meaningless if they don't
show up consistently. As Freedman exhaustively shows, believers in the
causal hypothesis have badly misrepresented the overall results of both
lab and field experiments.

They have also ignored clearly nonsupportive results, or twisted them to
suit their purposes. Freedman describes one field experiment with
numerous measures of aggression, all of which failed to support the
causal hypothesis. Not satisfied with these results, the researchers
"conducted a complex internal analysis" by dividing the children into
"initially high in aggression" and "initially low in aggression"
categories. The initially low-aggression group became somewhat more
aggressive, no matter which programs they watched, while the initially
high-aggression group became somewhat less aggressive, no matter which
programs they watched. But the children who were categorized as
initially high in aggression and were shown violent programs "decreased
less in aggressiveness" than initially high-aggression children who
watched neutral programs. The researchers seized upon this one highly
massaged and obscure finding to claim that their results supported the
causal hypothesis.

Freedman examines other types of studies: surveys that compare cities or
countries before and after introduction of television; experiments
attempting to assess whether media violence causes "desensitization";
longitudinal studies that measure correlations between aggressiveness
and preference for violent television over time. No matter what the type
of study or experiment, the results overall are negative. Contrary to
popular belief, there is no scientific support for the notion that media
violence causes adverse effects.

Why, then, have not only researchers and politicians but major
professional associations like the American Academy of Pediatrics and
the American Medical Association repeatedly announced that thousands of
studies have established adverse effects of media violence? One reason
was suggested to me recently by a pediatrician active in the AAP. The
organization's guidelines argue for scientific support for policy
statements. This puts the AAP in a serious bind when, as is the case
with media violence, its leaders have a strong opinion on the subject.
It's tempting then to accept and repeat assertions about the data from
leading researchers in the field--even when it is distorted or
erroneous--and that's what the professional associations have done.

Another factor was candidly suggested by Dr. Edward Hill, chair of the
AMA board, at a panel discussion held by the Freedom Forum in New York
City last year. The AMA had "political reasons," Dr. Hill said, for
signing on to a recent statement by professional organizations asserting
that science shows media violence to be harmful. The AMA is "sometimes
used by the politicians," he explained. "We try to balance that because
we try to use them also."

Because Jonathan Freedman believes the scientific method is capable of
measuring the impact of media violence, the fact that it hasn't done so
is to him strong evidence that adverse effects don't exist. I'm not so
sure. I don't think we need science to know from observation that media
messages over time can have a powerful impact--in combination with many
other factors in a person's life. Some violent entertainment probably
does increase aggression for some viewers, though for as many or perhaps
more, the effect may be relaxing or cathartic.

If the media do have strong effects, why does it matter whether the
scientific research has been misrepresented? In part, it's precisely
because those effects vary. Even psychologists who believe that the
scientific method is relevant to this issue acknowledge that style and
context count. Some feel cartoons that make violence amusing have the
worst effects; others focus on stories in which the hero is rewarded for
using violence, even if defensively.

But equally important, the continuing claims that media violence has
proven adverse effects enables politicians to obscure known causes of
violence, such as poverty and poor education, which they seem largely
unwilling to address. Meanwhile, they distract the public with periodic
displays of sanctimonious indignation at the entertainment industry, and
predictable, largely symbolic demands for industry "self-regulation."
The result is political paralysis, and an educational structure that
actually does little to help youngsters cope with the onslaught of mass
media that surround them.