Rot Never Sleeps

Newspapers all over the country are in trouble. In our slavish desire for speed, we consume news via social media. Not because it's more in-depth or more accurate, but because it's faster.

It's also unvetted. Unconsidered. Full of errors. And reliant on questionable sources. But yes, it is faster.

Playing the dragging-my-heels Luddite while the rest of the world rockets off into supersonic cyberspace is an act fraught with futility. I am not going to change a thing. The world is going to do what the world is going to do.

Sigh.

Along with internal combustion engines, record stores, grilling with charcoal, movie theaters and book stores, newspapers face a questionable future. Those that haven't already merged or consolidated are being devoured by what I like to refer to as vulture capitalists.

Like the Chicago Tribune, currently being ingested by Alden Global Capital.

Armed with vast reserves of cash, funds like Alden swoop in, buy a controlling interest and proceed to dismantle its target like car thieves in a chop shop. They sell off the components with the expectation the ala carte sale will generate more revenue than a bundled one.

It its wake are the employees—usually left unemployed with little in the way of severance or pensions. 

I'm no businessman, but I believe had the Tribune not gone public and consequently made itself vulnerable to this parasite, it would have survived. It was a formidable newspaper with a devoted readership.

Not so long ago, it would take me a morning and a good part of the afternoon to plow through the Sunday edition. It was stuffed with local and international news of every stripe, reported by a robust network of bureaus and correspondents stationed all over the world.

Music, art, film, books, sports, politics, transportation, business and any kind of conceivable feature all received similar attention. It was the world at your fingertips, strained through a now-irrelevant filter of fact-checking and confirmation.

An old saw of journalism went “If your mother says she loves you, check it out.” You know—like it was going to be on Fox News or social media or something. Newspapers like the Tribune were a gathering place, a shared link between people. They provided a sense of community.

In their place is a hopelessly fragmented media landscape playing to impossibly divergent interests. We have retreated into hyper-demographic social media bubbles which insist anyone who doesn't fit the profile is not to be trusted.

To many of you I'm just a tiresome old man bemoaning the loss of another cultural touchstone. But I'm thinking it's highly probable I'm correct about the coarse and merciless future we're building, and what role this event plays in it. 

So. John Kass, Dahleen Glanton, Heidi Stevens, Mary Schmich and Eric Zorn are gone. Alden Global Capital has paid them to go away. On the surface? A dent in a local newspaper's appeal. But taking the longer view, it is another step forward in our inevitable construction of the Tower of Babel.

It is so very, very sad. But at least Alden Global Capital will get rich(er). 

And isn't that we're all about?

Eric Zorn

There's no evidence Chicago Tribune columnist Eric Zorn ever worked for the Illinois Department of Weights and Measures, which is a bit ironic because Zorn's writing is both weighty and measured. 

His is the clear-eyed voice of reason in a time where the beating of the partisan drum is what typically passes for fact-based thought.

I finish his pieces feeling they should be mandatory reading for Democrat and Republican alike.

He has powerfully advocated for ranked choice voting, answered the critics who oppose the repeal of Illinois' ludicrous flat tax and landed a solid body blow to Trump's somnambulant response to the Coronavirus and the misanthropes who refuse to don a face mask amidst a pandemic.

Unlike the blog you're reading now, Zorn refrains from name-calling and profanity, perhaps enjoying the advantage of writing for a newspaper expected to observe a certain level of decorum.

Whether he's writing from rage or anger or merely possesses a different point of view, he calmly and purposefully builds his argument and arrives at conclusions that don't routinely skew to one side of the aisle or the other.

But they always make sense. They always add up. And sometimes, they even provoke the admission that yes, my party/candidate/agenda doesn't always provide the best answer.

Sadly, paper media is an endangered species. The Tribune itself is now owned by Alden Global Capital, a concern Vanity Fair lovingly described as “The hedge fund vampire that bleeds newspapers dry.”

Ask yourself: what's a newspaper compared to some Wall Street fuck becoming wealthier?

Point being, read Eric Zorn and “Change of Subject” while you can. As we should all understand so very, very well by now, nothing is promised.

Building Up the Bears?

It was Alexander Pope who said “Hope springs eternal in the human breast.”

I would add the coverage of the Chicago Bears in the Chicago Tribune's sports section.

However fine a newspaper it may be, the happy talk following two narrow victories over cellar-dwelling opponents (one in the midst of an eight-game losing streak and the other starting a third-string quarterback making his NFL debut) smacks of public relations-speak and not clear-eyed, objective journalism.

Judging by the content, you would have thought the Bears had shut-out the Baltimore Ravens and San Francisco 49ers—on the road. The reality is the Bears squeaked by the New York Giants and Detroit Lions by a cumulative margin of nine points.

Yes, the Bears completed several forward passes, which was certainly novel. And some even gained double-digit yardage, another novelty. What's more, a number of possessions lasted more than three downs, which qualifies as a veritable epiphany.

But contrary to the Tribune's coverage, in the end it was the same old Bears; struggling against what were (on paper) inferior opponents.

And to think all fans were worried about in September was finding a reliable field goal kicker.

The 2019 Bears have many problems. Beyond playing a first-place schedule and surrendering the ability to sneak up on people as they did last year, problem number-one is their brittle offensive line, further decimated by the loss of Kyle Long.

An offensive line is the core of any team's offense. When they're stout and impenetrable, they make a quarterback look like Brett Farve and a running back resemble Barry Sanders. 

Quarterbacks have time to survey the field and decide on the best option for a pass. Running backs have wide open lanes enabling them to break off five, six yards at a crack. After three quarters of this, an opponent's defensive line shows signs of fatigue.

A great offensive line provides options. Got a lead you want to protect or an opposing offense you want to keep off the field? Go ahead. Run that ball. Need to strike fast and reclaim the lead late? Done.

Sadly, the Bears don't have either of these options. The proof is in the fact they're among the league leaders in three-and-outs. They can't sustain their running game or their passing game.

However talented the Bears defense is, they're on the field for more snaps than three-quarters of their NFL colleagues. As a consequence, they tire and give up points. And if there's a team in the NFL that can't afford to fall behind, its the 2019 Chicago Bears.

Once again, the Bears can't run and they can't pass, largely because of their deficient O-line. Mitch Trubisky's development has been further retarded by this line, leading to a torrent of bitter and hostile criticism.

And lacking draft capital, April won't be an answer any time soon.

But you'd never know it reading recent dispatches in the Tribune. Nope. The Bears have rediscovered their mojo. They have their groove back. Fire up Club Dub. All of this after beating the New York Giants and Detroit Lions.

Whew. It's a little much.

The Bears face the distracted Dallas Cowboys tonight, a team with serious internal issues. They could conceivably get lucky and catch the Cowboys by surprise, giving them a 7 – 6 record and sending the Bears' public relations staff at the Tribune into overdrive.

But with remaining games against the Green Bay Packers, Kansas City Chiefs and Minnesota Vikings (the first and last on the road), things don't look so good. Not with a tough schedule and a weak line and no obvious solutions on the horizon.

Like their 2007 counterparts, the 2019 Bears are the morning after a celebration. And there's no hiding the fact these Bears don't look so good in the light of day.

It'll be curious to see when the Tribune acknowledges it.

Ja'quan Swopes and Dahleen Glanton

Dahleen Glanton is a columnist for the Chicago Tribune. She advocates, often quite effectively, for people of color.

But Michael Jordan reportedly missed shots. LCD Soundsystem released middling albums. And we the people elected Donald Trump as president.

Like the bumper sticker says, shit happens. So it's only natural that Ms. Glanton occasionally knocks out a clunker of a column.

Early on the morning of August 13^th, five teens descended on a rural home near the Illinois-Wisconsin border. They arrived there in a stolen Lexus, and were intent on adding to their bounty.

The home-owner, a seventy-five year-old man, awoke to find the teens in his driveway, attempting to steal his car. He called the police to report a crime in progress.

What happened next is unclear. Did the teens, aware they were in an isolated area, assume they had time to steal the car before the police could respond, ignoring the old man in the process?

After one of them approached the property-owner with a knife, the elderly man discharged his gun, fatally wounding the would-be assailant.

Heightening the drama is the fact that the old man was white and the miscreants were black.

While I abhor guns and gun violence and the industry trade group that works so very, very hard to sustain it, I wasn't overly upset by the news. It struck me mostly as a case of live by the sword, die by the sword.

Ms. Glanton saw it differently, and committed her feelings to print.

She was outraged not only by the death of fourteen-year-old Ja'quan Swopes and the felony murder charges brought against Swopes' accomplices, but by the public reaction to Swopes' death.

After voicing her concerns, Glanton reported her inbox was overflowing with the most-extreme opinions our society could generate. She railed at references to Swopes as a 'thug'.

Apparently, it was a surprise to Glanton that people weren't publicly flagellating themselves in the aftermath of his death.

I also e-mailed Glanton, but her e-mail account had been shut-down for “maintenance.”

I wanted to tell her that yes, the law that permitted authorities to charge the four remaining thieves with felony murder ought to be revisited.

But I also wanted to tell her that Ja'quan Swopes is not Emmet Till, and that the two should never, ever be confused.

Swopes was not the victim of racial hatred—he was the victim of his own stupidity. If there's anything to lament, it's that Swopes considered stealing cars a worthwhile and risk-free endeavor.

Again, I hold nothing but contempt and derision for our gun culture and its enablers. I feel similarly towards crooks—be they in the White House or an old man's driveway at one A.M.

Like many teenagers, Swopes wanted to taste forbidden fruit. He wanted a glimpse of life on the other side.

Needless to say, he got it.

So no. My heart does not bleed for Swopes. If that makes me a racist, fine. But know this: I would feel no differently if his skin were white. Or brown.

My heart bleeds for the truly innocent. Those killed at work. At school. At church. Or while passing a summer evening doing nothing more inflammatory than sitting on their front porch.

Ms. Glanton, let's advocate for the innocent and rail against the guilty. You seem (at least temporarily) to have confused the two.

The Black Heart of Republicanism

I loathe Donald Trump. Despite being seventy-two years-old, he is best described as our middle-schooler in charge.

Trump's towering immaturity reveals itself in the issuing of puerile nicknames to the delight of his equally-puerile supporters. Or claiming he was misquoted by the fake news media as he walks back another incendiary statement. Or denies saying it altogether.

Emotionally and intellectually, Donald Trump is a little boy.

So it goes when you're born into wealth and know nothing but privilege. So it goes when you get a pass from the expectations and demands of adulthood. So it goes when those around you consider that wealth an adequate substitute for maturity.

Not surprisingly, the qualities that inform his White House have trickled down to the rank and file, like the fifth-grader who sees a classmate pick his nose and wipe the result on the shirt in front of him and is helpless to try it himself.

But as the estimable Eric Zorn pointed out in Friday's Chicago Tribune, there are Republican office-holders who act remarkably grown-up. Who comprehend the scope and purpose of their position and seek to fulfill it. 

Holding up Illinois' own petulant billionaire (governor Bruce Rauner) in a highly-effective compare and contrast piece, Zorn illustrates the divergent paths he and another Republican governor, Massachusetts' Charlie Baker, took after their respective elections.

To quote Zorn “Rauner chose to go down...a confrontational path. His strategy was to browbeat and insult “corrupt” Democratic legislative leaders into passing items on his highly ideological 44-point pro-business agenda, and, when that failed, to wait until they blinked during a 736-day budget stalemate.”

Baker chose consensus-building. Give and take. Choosing his battles, instead of reflexively fighting all of them. A recent endorsement in the Lowell, MA. Sun said of Baker “Differences of opinion crop up all the time. (But) there is an attitude of respect and collegiality among lawmakers that says adults are at work and we'll get this done.”

You know, just like in Washington DC.

While Rauner's re-election campaign is on the verge of becoming a blood bath (he trails Democratic challenger J.D. Prtizker by sixteen points), Baker enjoys an astounding forty-point advantage over his Democratic challenger.

So everything's great, right? Bipartisan leadership is leading the way and setting an example. Effective and necessary legislation is getting passed. Aisles are being crossed. Partisan gridlock is a memory.

What could go wrong?

In a word—Republicans.

While only ten percent of Democrats hold a negative opinion of Baker, twenty-percent of Republicans do. Right-wing nut jobs (er, organizations) are upset with Baker because he has criticized Donald Trump—and worse. Like supporting the Affordable Care Act and stronger gun control legislation.

And what kind of asshole does that?

A Republican-In-Name-Only. That's who.

So despite the fact that the Republican Baker is successfully leading a historically Democratic state and has consolidated bipartisan support behind him (shining a very positive light on Republicans in the process), party taste-makers consider him a failure. They are furious, to the point where they're urging voters to um, intercourse him on Tuesday.

Yeah.

This is the odorous black heart of Republicanism. The one that doesn't play well with others. The one that doesn't want to cooperate. The one whose core belief seems to be it's my way or the highway. Like their string-pullers at the NRA, Republicans will brook no compromise. Tolerate no free thought. The party line is all.

Or else.

Never mind that Rauner's force-fed electorate is resoundingly rejecting him, or that Baker's newly-unified one is embracing him. It's a mirage. A glitch. Kindly move on.

Three-hundred thirty-two years ago, Sir Isaac Newton formulated his Third Law of Motion, which posited that for every motion there was an equal and opposite one.

Two-thousand years before that, Greek storyteller Aesop told of a struggle between the sun and the wind. Each wanted to prove it was the greater force.

To settle their dispute, they selected a man walking along a road in a coat. Whomever could remove the man's coat would be judged the more-powerful entity.

The wind went first. It summoned its fury and tore at the man and his coat. It howled and it railed and it tried to pry the coat from the man with everything it could muster.

But the harder it tried, the tighter the man drew his coat around him.

Exhausted, the wind stopped and allowed the sun its turn.

The sun gently warmed the air, eventually coaxing the man to remove his coat.

Thus it was proven the sun was the stronger force.

Translated, this means we need grown-ups in Washington DC—not middle-school bullies who feel Lord of the Flies is a how-to manual of governance.

If you give the tiniest fuck about democracy, vote Democratic November 6.