Extra! Extra!

A number of voices call for the legal prosecution of Julian Assange. The permissibility of prosecution on the charge of Espionage hinges at least in part on the question, Is he a journalist? The answer matters because journalistic status summons the Freedom of the Press argument--possibly in addition to other professional protections--and it heightens the claim to Freedom of Speech. Of course, even if he is a journalist, these protections could be turned away in the name of national security or some other interest.

The matter of whether Assange is a journalist of course denotes the larger question, What is journalism? New media and what's called Citizen Journalism force us to re-evaluate the word. We have taken the definition for granted because our immediate, albeit vague, assumptions seemed to provide us clues, if not the answer: Journalism involves print written by reporters employed by businesses whose job it is to sell news and advertising; furthermore, to state slightly less explicit assumptions, reporters are professionals employed by institutions with the authority to confer job titles, thereby defining a class of people with privileges and protections beyond those of Citizen X. To many minds, no longer are these assumptions clear.

But without a traditional institution behind Assange, his status as a journalist is immediately cast in to doubt in other minds; I would image that to these people, his claim to be a journalist is as legitimate a one as a woman’s to be a homemaker. Which is to say, it isn’t, really.

Dystopia

A few thoughts on George Orwell's 1984:

During the "2 Minutes Hate" citizens of Oceania are prompted to scream, spit, and hurl insults as the words and face of The Party's enemy, Emmanuel Goldstein, play on the telescreen. If they were attending a town hall meeting, they would be the ones shouting people down.

I especially like the part in which orthodoxy is described as unthinking. Only orthodox views can be expressed in a sound byte. Anything else would require elaboration, arguments, and examples.

Other things I like:
(1) How Winston is captivated by purposelessness.
(2) How sex was, for Winston and Julia, at first a political act. Then emotions enter into it. That it became emotional, that Winston and Julia soon felt a sort of allegiance to each other--an allegiance only broken through extreme torture--was, I gather, the inevitable infusion of humanity, according to Orwell.

Who Done It?

The Long Goodbye by Raymond Chandler: I read this late December, early January. It was OK. The social commentary surprised me, that it was in there and so biting.

The Real Thing

Discussions about movies (The Matrix, Dark City), a story on the radio about philosophy classes, and advertisements depicting people out in the world being entertained by their hand-held devices: Simulated reality, the idea keeps surfacing.

To some, physical presence is a precondition of authentic experience; dreaming of a walk through the Louvre is not the same as flying to Paris and visiting the Louvre. But to others, being hooked up to a dream machine and spending life in a coma would be no less "real" than a life lived awake and in the world.

If my whole life was spent dreaming and I never knew it, then I would have no regrets, and I believe as a person thinking myself to be physically present here and now that a dreamed life is as real as this. But if I lived 60 years in a dream, on waking I would be confronted with deciding whether the previous 60 years were a waste or a perfectly well-lived life. In my case, I imagine I would be heartbroken that my body had not been present one moment. Why? I wonder if for people who privilege physical presence, long distance relationships are more difficult, TV and films less satisfying, death more tragic. Probably not, huh?