Category: Digital Article

Who knew it would come to this? Who knew Russia’s president would be first publicly ridiculed and now directly challenged by three women from a feminist punk band – Pussy Riot? Who knew Madonna would raise the stakes by becoming embroiled in the fiasco – voicing her support for the band “as an artist, as a human being, [and] as a woman”? Who knew Russian rockers would come to incarnate the growing opposition to perennial Russian strongman, Vladimir Putin?

Along with anti-Kremlin activist Aleksei Navalny – about whom more another time – Pussy Riot’s Maria Alyokhina, Yekaterina Samutsevich, and Nadezhda Tolokonnikova, all women in their twenties, have been the most visible symbol so far of the anti-Putin opposition. For staging a political protest on the alter of Moscow’s main Russian Orthodox cathedral in February – OK, so maybe taking on the government and the church at one and the same time wasn’t the world’s smartest idea – they have been imprisoned since March, charged with hooliganism.

Some of this is funny – including, arguably, Pussy Riot’s original stunt, some of the subsequent courtroom theatrics, and Madonna’s appearance this week on a Moscow stage, in a black bra with “Pussy Riot” stamped on the back. But most of it is not – not funny in the least. Pussy Riot is only the most visible, risible, symbol of an opposition that is growing not only in size, but in the level of its temerity. Since disputed parliamentary elections in December, and Putin’s election, again, as president in March, there have been more or less regular anti-Kremlin protests, some of them involving tens of thousands taking to the streets.

Putin has always been used to getting his way. And likely as not he still will – or at least he will try as hard as he dare, to shut up and shut out those who threaten his power. But times have changed: bully leaders are less likely now to be tolerated, and intrepid followers are more likely now to risk protesting in public.

Notwithstanding his reelection as president of Russia, it’s not been a good year for Putin. Not only does he face unprecedented opposition at home, he faces widespread opprobrium abroad, for defending, at this rate to the death, Syrian dictator, Bashir al-Assad. So far, Putin’s response to all this has been to hunker down and double down. Whether or not this will prove a viable strategy over the long term remains of course to be seen. I, for one, rather doubt it.

Stay tuned – I will be on Putin Patrol on a regular basis..

For years one of the few ways American diplomats had of protesting repression in Myanmar was to continue to call the country by its colonial name, Burma. Now there are signs this may be changing, along with Myanmar itself, which in the last year was transformed from rigid autocracy to fragile, fledging democracy.

To outsiders this seemingly sudden transformation has been a mystery, for on the surface it was initiated from the top down, not the bottom up. Normally, of course, revolutions, or even really rapid evolutions, are instigated by the powerless against the powerful. But, in this case, it appears it was the authorities themselves that took the lead, which makes one wonder, how did that happen, and why?

Even Osnos, writing on the subject in a recent New Yorker (“The Burmese Spring,” August 6, 2012), himself follows the script: “Burma’s opening has so far defied the narrative logic we’ve come to associate with political transformation: there is, as yet, no crowd picking through a ruined palace, no dictator in the dock.” But then, to his credit, Osnos goes on through his own narrative to make clear that change in Burma was not in fact the product of the powerful, of leaders, but rather of the powerless, of followers.

Consider just this:

• For decades Nobel Peace Price winner Aung San Suu Kyi has stood as largely silent witness to the autocracy that strangled her country. Her long years under house arrest underscored rather than undermined her status as symbol.

• In 2007 tens of thousands of monks took to the streets to protest the government. The so-called Saffron Revolution seemed, at the time, to have failed, a victim of the Army’s brutal repression. But it’s clear in retrospect the monks made a difference – their bravery and martyrdom were imprinted on Burma’s collective consciousness.

• More recently citizen activists began to emerge, some businessmen, journalists, and academics, all of whom seized the day together to organize against stasis, and for change.

What’s been happening in Burma is not, in other words, the result of officials waking up one fine morning and saying, “Gee whiz, time for us to do things differently.” Rather it’s the consequence of context – decay and decline – and of at least some followers brave and bold enough to marshal their forces against their leaders.

It’s possible and even probable that at some early point the U. S. State Department will drop its allegiance to “Burma,” and begin to call the country its preferred name, Myanmar. When this does happen it will not be the product of spontaneous combustion, but rather of long years during which plain people slogged on to take on a regime that was repressive in the extreme.

After its defeat in the second World War, Japan’s culture and society underwent fundamental change. But as the 2011 earthquake and tsunami – and the ensuing nuclear calamity – revealed, this change was not sufficient to preclude decision making that was deeply flawed.

In the 1970s and ’80s Japan was an economic powerhouse, rivaled only by the U. S. Since then it suffered slight decline, though compared to most of the rest of the world the Japanese economy remains impressive.

The same cannot be said of the Japanese government, which for decades has suffered from a “parade of prime ministers” – from a continuing circumstance in which no single prime minister has been able to hold on to power long enough to provide a stable and secure government. Japan’s political system is, in other words, fragmented and fractions to the point of dysfunction. (Such dysfunction is not, of course, peculiar to Japan.)

All this became crystal clear in the wake of the nuclear catastrophe in Fukushima, during which, to its credit, the Japanese government did some serious soul searching. Parliament set up the Fukushima Nuclear Accident Independent Investigation Commission, charged with uncovering why the country failed so egregiously to handle the disaster swiftly and sanely. Concluded Kiyoshi Kurokawa, the commission’s chairman, “It was a profoundly man-made disaster – that could and should have been foreseen and prevented.”

Predictably, the commission’s report placed blame on the usual suspects: faulty planning, weak regulation, likely malfeasance, and a breakdown in communications. Unpredictably, Kurokawa reserved his most damning criticism for Japanese culture, which he implied was reminiscent of the traditional authoritarian mindset that characterized Japan during its long (pre World War II) history. In his introduction to the English version of the report, the chairman wrote that the fundamental causes of the disaster were to be found in the “ingrained conventions of Japanese culture; our reflexive obedience; our reluctance to question authority; our devotion to ‘sticking with the “program;’ our groupism; and our insularity,.” In other words, the commission found that the Japanese people were stuck in a rut – stuck in a world in which people in positions of authority controlled the action, while followers conformed, meekly towing the line.

Whether the report – released earlier this month – will have an impact over the long term remains obviously to be seen. But it is clear even now that Japan’s political elite is finally facing what in many other countries has become a familiar 21st century sight: widespread public protest. Tens of thousand of protesters now gather each week in front of the prime minister’s residence, shouting anti-nuclear slogans. It’s conceivable, then, that the crippling public distrust that followed Fukushima will spark the sort of change that Japan has long needed – in which ordinary people actively participate in determining their future.

Are we women really supposed to exult? Are we really expected to grovel in gratitude that a woman who is six months pregnant has been named CEO of what once at least was an iconic American company?

In your dreams! The appointment of Marissa Mayer as chief executive officer of Yahoo could have been a significant moment in the life of women at the top. It could have been a celebration of women in a field – technology – in which generally they’re given short shrift. And it could have been a celebration of motherhood, a rare occasion on which a woman soon to give birth was christened top dog.

But the moment was lost – a rare opportunity wasted. Instead of glorying in the duality of her duties, Mayer downplayed the one at the expense of the other. “I like to stay in the rhythm of things,” she insisted on insisting. And then she added, as ingloriously as unnecessarily, “My maternity leave will be a few weeks long and I’ll work throughout it.”

By rushing to reassure that she would never ever slight her job in favor of her child, Mayer fell into a trap. Curiously it’s an antiquated trap, with which a woman like she should have been familiar. Why feel the need to make like a man? Why not embrace motherhood as distinguished from fatherhood? Men don’t carry and then deliver the baby! Men don’t lactate! Why then did Mayer not seize the day and claim the right to time off from work in the wake of the birth of her child? Why did she conform to the norm – leaders on call 24/7?

Let me put it this way: even if Mayer were bound and determined to return to work immediately after having had her baby, it’s not an example she should have set. She should have kept this information private, rather than making it public. Instead, by announcing out loud that she could do it all and have it all, simultaneously, she made it harder rather than easier for other women leaders, who might just prefer to do things differently.

Who’s in control of whom? Who’s in control of what?

In the main, such questions are asked about governance. For example, who has power and influence on matters of state? And who has power and influence in the workplace? Nearly always leadership and followership are thought of along these narrow lines – either as they apply to government, or to business.

But power and influence are evidenced in near every aspect of everyday life. Take, for example, the experience of shopping. Yes… shopping! Say you want to buy a can of soup, or a pair of pants, or a washing machine. Past and present procedure is you walk into a store, check the item and the price, decide whether or not you want to make a purchase, and either buy or take a hike. But soon such habit will be history. Soon the balance of power between seller and buyer will shift, from the former to the latter.

In the U. S. what we typically see in a store is a set price – a price set by the merchant. What’s about to change – what ‘s already changing – is our capacity to control the price by comparison shopping, on the Internet, with a handheld device. As Doc Searls wrote in a recent article in the Wall Street Journal – “The Customer as a God” (July 21/22) – the newest technologies work on behalf of you, the customer, rather than on behalf of the other guy, the seller.

I write about this not because consumerism per se is so important, but rather because it’s part of that larger phenomenon of such significance. It is, in other words, about the growing control of the previously powerless, in this case buyers, over the previously powerful, in this case sellers.

As Searls correctly reminds, the “move toward individual empowerment is a long, gradual revolution.” But it is, irrevocably, in process – in the marketplace as everywhere else. Today the supply side still reigns. But in another ten years or so, customers will be tantamount to free agents.

The Chronicle of Higher Education recently featured an article on the sudden firing – and equally sudden rehiring – of Theresa Sullivan, president of the University of Virginia. The piece was titled, “UVA’s Painfully Public Lesson in Leadership.”

But the Sullivan saga had nothing to do with leadership – and everything to do with followership. The sequence of events pursuant to the announcement that the governing board had summarily pushed Sullivan from her presidential perch was not initiated by anyone in charge. Rather it was the relentless series of protests from below – by ordinary people without obvious power or authority – that forced the board to eat crow and reverse itself at breakneck speed.

The members of UVA’s governing board failed to appreciate two key contextual components: first, that academic communities are difficult to govern under any circumstances; second, that in the 21st century the likelihood they will take kindly to big decisions made in secret is close to zero.

Whatever Sullivan’s strengths and weaknesses as president, the decision to fire her was abysmal, that is, the process by which the decision was reached was deeply flawed. To all appearances it was hastily reached as opposed to deliberately considered, covert as opposed to overt, and closed as oppose to open. As a result, all hell broke loose. As reported by the Washington Post on June 25, “virtually every conceivable campus constituency” mobilized in Sullivan’s defense, including students, deans, and members of the faculty. Days later, on her way to meet with UVA’s board, Sullivan threaded through a throng of some 2,000 screaming supporters.

There were important issues at stake here, such as what is the role of technology in the way students learn, and at what pace institutions of higher education should create change. But paramount among them is the issue of good governance: what is good governance in higher education at a time when leaders of every stripe are weaker than before and followers are disillusioned and disappointed on the one hand, and entitled and empowered on the other. As Richard Ligon, president of the Association of Governing Boards of Universities and Colleges, put it, boards must understand “that top-down corporate governance doesn’t work in the often frustratingly slow pace of a higher education institutions, even in times like these that seem to mandate prompt responses.”

Higher education has itself been a case in point. Writing in the Chronicle, Jack Stripling points out that there has been “no shortage of presidents who have hit political buzz saws within the past two years,” including those at top schools such as the University of Texas at Austin and the University of Wisconsin at Madison. This makes it all the more important that those who are ultimately responsible for governing these institutions – and I refer here to boards, not to chief executive officers – have what I call “contextual intelligence.” For if they remain ignorant of the academic culture, and of patterns of dominance and deference in the 21st century, they will never be able to do what they are charged with doing – serving the academy wisely and well.

Do you know how dangerous it is to be a whistleblower – downright dangerous? Do you know how important it is that some number of men and women are willing to play the part?
Whistle blowing is at the margin of our collective life. We imagine whistleblowers to be brave but decidedly odd loners, foolishly far out on limb to right some grievous wrong. We imagine right: whistleblowers are followers who refuse to follow. As a result, they are, by definition, poorly positioned to protect themselves against those more highly positioned than they.
Whistle blowing is so risky an undertaking – whistleblowers get used, lose their jobs, get demoted or isolated or marginalized or in some other way penalized for speaking out – that in 1898 Congress passed the Whistleblower Protection Act, which was intended to protect against retaliation anyone who works for the federal government and reports agency misconduct. The act has been effective to only a modest extent – there is, moreover, no private sector equivalent.
There is, however, another federal law, the False Claims Act, which dates back to 1963, and is intended to be invoked by those reporting fraud against the federal government. In rare instances, these claims are successful, in which case whistleblowers benefit from whatever the financial settlement.
Just such a case was recently settled – the largest settlement ever involving a pharmaceutical company. As reported by the New York Times, “Glaxo-SmithKline agreed to plead guilty to criminal charges and pay $3 billion I fines for promoting its best-selling antidepressants for unapproved uses and failing to report safety data about a top diabetes drug.”
To read about this case is to be outraged – outraged at how one of the world’s leading drug companies sacrificed the public interest on the alter of self interest. But it is also to be reminded of the critical role of the whistle blower – in this case, four whistle blowers, employees, all mid level managers – who tipped off the government about Glaxo’s improper practices. To all appearances, this revolting story of corporate greed would not have come out without them – at least not now.
These particular whistleblowers will be rewarded for their efforts. But they are a tiny minority. By and large, for daring to tell the truth, whistleblowers are punished, sometimes severely, which is precisely why they merit fierce protection.

Impossible to go another day without taking note of what’s been happening over the last six months – and now, again, over the last 24 hours – in Russia!
Think of it as the people against Putin. Not all of the people, of course. In fact it’s only a very small minority that has had the temerity to take on the Russian strongman.
But their persistence against all odds, and against Putin’s increasingly heavy-handed attempts to silence them, is as remarkable as it is notable. There’s much more to be said about all this – and I will. For today though, a tip of the hat to followers far from home who refuse to be cowed by the man claiming to be their leader.

The Vatican’s hold on contemporary American Catholics began to weaken on January, 6, 2002, when a headline in the Boston Globe read. “Church Allowed Abuse by Priest for Years.” It was the start of a sex abuse scandal in the Catholic Church from which it has not yet, and likely never will fully recover.
But as it’s turned out, the church’s problems run far deeper and wider than a single scandal. While Pope Benedict XVI made belated efforts to apologize for priestly abuse, it’s becoming clearer by the year that whatever his efforts they were too little too late. It’s becoming similarly clear that his conservative papacy is badly out of touch with its Western constituency. Let me put it this way: when nuns begin publicly to speak out, to claim even a modicum of independence from the Vatican, the church has a crisis of authority.
Two months ago church officials condemned American nuns for what they considered the nuns failure properly to uphold Catholic doctrine. Six weeks of silence followed – that is, six weeks passed before the nuns responded. When they finally did, they did not mince words. In fact they departed dramatically from their traditional image as domesticated and docile. Through their main coordinating organization, the Leadership Conference of Women Religious, the nuns claimed first that the Vatican’s assessment of them was based on a “flawed process” and second, that it consisted of “unsubstantiated accusations.”
Moreover when the Vatican recently chastised Sister Margaret A. Farley for her six-year-old book, Just Love: A Framework for Christian Sexual Ethics, Farley, a reputable scholar who was past president of the Catholic Theological Society of America, vigorously defended both herself and her work, claiming it drew from “present-day scientific, philosophical, theological, and biblical resources.” (Ironically, amusingly, the brouhaha transformed Just Love into a best-seller!)
No surprise that American Catholics are standing firm, defending American nuns against attacks by the Vatican. The days when church officials can expect laity simply to afall into line are over – as, now, are the days when church officials can expect nuns simply to stay mute.

Depending on how you count, Harry Stonecipher was the first to be canned because of Cupid. Stonecipher was 68 at the time (in 2005), married, and chief executive officer of Boeing. What did Stonecipher do that was so bad he was summarily dismissed? He had an affair with a female subordinate.
It was not, swore the board, the affair itself. Rather, said a board representative, it was “the circumstances surrounding the affair, we just thought there were some issues of poor judgment that … impaired [Stonecipher’s] ability to lead going forward.”
Mark Hurd was fired for similar cause (in 2011). He too was married and he too was chief executive officer of one of America’s best known companies, Hewlett Packard. Hurd was ensnared in a relationship with an “adult” movie actress, who ostensibly was hired as hostess at HP client events. In this case too the board denied it dismissed Hurd because of the affair per se. Rather it concluded that Hurd had used HP’s resources inappropriately – and lied in the process.
Nor, despite his best efforts, did the former CEO of Stryker , Stephen MacMillan, fare any better . MacMillan was forced out (in 2012) because the board was unhappy with how he handled his relationship with former flight attendant, a company employee, while he and his wife were getting a divorce. The board made clear MacMillan had “never violated any company policy nor any code of conduct.” Moreover, unlike Stonecipher and Hurd, MacMillan had explicitly sought the permission of the board to pursue his new relationship. To no avail – MacMillan was obliged by Stryker to resign.
What’s going on here? Are board members so straight-laced they cannot conceive of a leader who strays from his marriage? Hardly. What they worry about in new and different ways are the new and different ways personal behavior can become a professional liability. The thought of even one scandalous Facebook post is enough to convert 21st century boards into 17th century puritans.