2012 calendar shaping up nicely...

  • fitness challenge with Schneides (do I have the balls?)
  • Hawaii and San Francisco business engagements
  • NYC and Dartmouth (Tuck School of Business) business engagements
  • golf in Arizona
  • Sunday bike rides with one of my best friends since Fort Leavenworth
  • last CGFM test (State and Local)
  • BigData conference(s)
  • spring break with SJB with 3 college visits culminating in Key West, FL
  • Pinehurst Golf Alumni Academy
  • VEMBA Conference at SAP Americas
  • 25th high school reunion(s)
  • Museum benefactor event with close friends
  • Lots of beach time
  • RB offsites
  • War College in July 12
  • golf/whisky/literature week with USNA 85 culminating with Navy/Notre Dame season opener 1 Sept in Dublin, Ireland
  • that's all I have for now

1942: An English Thanksgiving

A delightful piece of history worth remembering.  And to my British and American comrades in arms currently in battle in Afghanistan and Iraq, I wish you the happiest and uneventful of Thanksgivings, and look forward to your safe return.

An English Thanksgiving, 1942

By THOMAS FLEMING

With Americans in uniform serving all over the world today, the idea of them celebrating Thanksgiving abroad does not strike anyone as unusual. With Americans locked in a world war in 1942, it certainly was.

The hundreds of thousands of U.S. troops fighting the Axis powers in North Africa, the South Pacific and Europe celebrated the first global Thanksgiving as best they could, in the steel bulkheads of a warship's mess or the canvas of a jungle tent. England—teeming with American soldiers and sailors and airmen, ready to defend our ally against a possible German invasion and beginning preparations for an assault on Nazi-conquered Europe—was another matter.

In those dark days, Americans took special pleasure in displaying their homegrown holiday to the Mother Country. The English were dubious at first but slowly realized they were being invited to share in something very special.

Helping to win them over was an extraordinary act of generosity very much in keeping with the spirit of the holiday. Merchant ships had carried tons of frozen turkey across the submarine-infested Atlantic for the big day. Then the Yanks announced they would donate all of it to the thousands of British war wounded in hospitals. Instead they would dine on roast pork and eat plum pudding for desert, alas without the standard rum sauce. "The quartermaster failed to deliver the rum," a newsman reported.

Americans also took advantage of their holiday abroad to walk in the footsteps of the Pilgrims who created the first Thanksgiving in the New England wilderness in 1621. One officer sat in the pew once occupied by the legendary Miles Standish, the Pilgrim's military leader, in the small parish church at Chorley, in the county of Lancashire. The Chorley town hall flew an American flag on Thanksgiving Day—the first time in their long history that the citizens had ever honored the flag of another nation.

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Getty Images

U.S. Army Cpl. Heinz Arnold warms up the pipes in London's Westminster Abbey.

The Lord Mayor of Boston, in Lincolnshire, invited 100 American servicemen to be his guests for a modest wartime dinner. Afterward, a senior officer laid a wreath on a memorial to five pre-Revolutionary War royal governors who had been born in the historic city. An American private laid another wreath in the cold dark cells where some Pilgrims were confined in 1607 while trying to escape to religious freedom in Holland.

Even more thrilling to those with a sense of history was a visit to Southhampton, where a U.S. Army detachment stood at attention before the pier where the old freighter, Mayflower, was fitted out for her trans-Atlantic voyage. At Plymouth they visited the quay from which the Pilgrims boarded. Not far away, the Archbishop of Canterbury conducted a service in the ruins of St. Andrew's Church, where some of the Mayflower's passengers prayed before they began their 3,000-mile voyage. Virginia-born Lady Astor was on hand for these ceremonies, calling Americans "my compatriots" and joking with a Southerner from Georgia, Private Billy Harrison, about their superiority to "damn Yankees" from New York.

The most dramatic ceremony was in London's Westminster Abbey, where English kings and queens have been crowned for centuries. No British government had ever permitted any ritual on its altar except the prescribed devotions of the Church of England. But on Nov. 26, 1942, they made an exception for their American cousins.

No orders were issued to guarantee a large audience. There was only a brief announcement in the newspapers. But when the Abbey's doors opened, 3,000 uniformed men and women poured down the aisles. In 10 minutes there was not a single empty seat and crowds were standing in the side aisles. One reporter said there was a veritable "hedge of khaki" around the tomb of Britain's unknown soldier of World War I.

Cpl. Heinz Arnold of Patchogue, N.Y., played "Onward Christian Soldiers" on the mighty coronation organ. With stately strides, Sgt. Francis Bohannan of Philadelphia advanced up the center aisle carrying a huge American flag. Behind him came three chaplains, the dean of the Abbey, and a Who's Who of top American admirals, generals and diplomats. On the high altar, other soldiers draped an even larger American flag.

Their faces "plainly reflected what lay in their heart," one reporter noted, as the visitors sang "America the Beautiful" and "Lead On O King Eternal." The U.S. ambassador to Britain, John G. Winant, read a brief message from President Franklin D. Roosevelt: "It is a good thing to give thanks unto the Lord. Across the uncertain ways of space and time our hearts echo those words." The Dean of Westminster and one of the Abbey's chaplains also spoke. "God has dealt mercifully and bountifully with us," the chaplain said. "True, we have had our difficulties . . . but all of these trials have made us stronger to do the great tasks which have fallen to us."

Throughout Britain, the first global Thanksgiving gave men and women from the New World and the Old World a much-needed feeling of spiritual solidarity. Let us hope that today's overseas service men and women can have a similar impact on a troubled and divided world. Happy Thanksgiving—and our nation's sincerest thanks— to them all, wherever they may be deployed.

Mr. Fleming is a former president of the Society of American Historians. This article was adapted from his ebook, "An American Feast: Six Memorable Thanksgivings," just out from New Word City.

And the Fair Land

Every year since 1961 on the day before Thanksgiving the Wall Street Journal has published this editorial written by the legendary Vermont Royster. It is a clear-eyed, crystalline expression of optimism about the U.S. and the belief in liberty upon which it was founded. 

And the Fair Land

Any one whose labors take him into the far reaches of the country, as ours lately have done, is bound to mark how the years have made the land grow fruitful.

This is indeed a big country, a rich country, in a way no array of figures can measure and so in a way past belief of those who have not seen it. Even those who journey through its Northeastern complex, into the Southern lands, across the central plains and to its Western slopes can only glimpse a measure of the bounty of America.

And a traveler cannot but be struck on his journey by the thought that this country, one day, can be even greater. America, though many know it not, is one of the great underdeveloped countries of the world; what it reaches for exceeds by far what it has grasped.

So the visitor returns thankful for much of what he has seen, and, in spite of everything, an optimist about what his country might be. Yet the visitor, if he is to make an honest report, must also note the air of unease that hangs everywhere.

For the traveler, as travelers have been always, is as much questioned as questioning. And for all the abundance he sees, he finds the questions put to him ask where men may repair for succor from the troubles that beset them.

His countrymen cannot forget the savage face of war. Too often they have been asked to fight in strange and distant places, for no clear purpose they could see and for no accomplishment they can measure. Their spirits are not quieted by the thought that the good and pleasant bounty that surrounds them can be destroyed in an instant by a single bomb. Yet they find no escape, for their survival and comfort now depend on unpredictable strangers in far-off corners of the globe.

How can they turn from melancholy when at home they see young arrayed against old, black against white, neighbor against neighbor, so that they stand in peril of social discord. Or not despair when they see that the cities and countryside are in need of repair, yet find themselves threatened by scarcities of the resources that sustain their way of life. Or when, in the face of these challenges, they turn for leadership to men in high places—only to find those men as frail as any others.

So sometimes the traveler is asked whence will come their succor. What is to preserve their abundance, or even their civility? How can they pass on to their children a nation as strong and free as the one they inherited from their forefathers? How is their country to endure these cruel storms that beset it from without and from within?

Of course the stranger cannot quiet their spirits. For it is true that everywhere men turn their eyes today much of the world has a truly wild and savage hue. No man, if he be truthful, can say that the specter of war is banished. Nor can he say that when men or communities are put upon their own resources they are sure of solace; nor be sure that men of diverse kinds and diverse views can live peaceably together in a time of troubles.

But we can all remind ourselves that the richness of this country was not born in the resources of the earth, though they be plentiful, but in the men that took its measure. For that reminder is everywhere—in the cities, towns, farms, roads, factories, homes, hospitals, schools that spread everywhere over that wilderness.

We can remind ourselves that for all our social discord we yet remain the longest enduring society of free men governing themselves without benefit of kings or dictators. Being so, we are the marvel and the mystery of the world, for that enduring liberty is no less a blessing than the abundance of the earth.

And we might remind ourselves also, that if those men setting out from Delftshaven had been daunted by the troubles they saw around them, then we could not this autumn be thankful for a fair land.

Congressional gerrymandering: why the subpar committee failed

…and I stand my colorful admonition last night.

“Voters proclaim they hate the hyperpartisanship in Congress—congressional job approval hovers near 10%—yet the same voters regularly reward that hyper-partisanship by re-electing those responsible for it, while occasionally tossing out those who dare to cross party lines to seek compromise.” Redistricting is the culprit – it’s segregated voters “into colonies that are safe for Republicans or safe for Democrats, creating a big incentive for lawmakers to stay on a partisan track.”

Partisanship Set Deficit Panel on Path to Failure

Is there any political price to be paid for failure?

That's the question confronting Washington in the wake of the collapse of the congressional supercommittee that was supposed to come up with $1.2 trillion in deficit cuts by this week. Congress now has failed not once but twice this year to perform its most basic task of adequately managing the budget.

There are many reasons for the partisanship that produces this dysfunction, but the most basic one is this: Voters have yet to show that they will punish lawmakers for failing to come together to get something done.

To the contrary, the rewards today tend to go to politicians who remain intransigent, while the pain is meted out to those who attempt to compromise with the other party. Members of Congress are only human, and they respond logically to the incentives and rewards they see before them.

Until that changes, dysfunction is likely to persist. Voters proclaim they hate the hyperpartisanship in Congress—congressional job approval hovers near 10%—yet the same voters regularly reward that hyper-partisanship by re-electing those responsible for it, while occasionally tossing out those who dare to cross party lines to seek compromise. What is the incentive for lawmakers to break the pattern?

The explanation for this seemingly counterintuitive dynamic starts with how Congress is put together in the first place—that is, the process by which congressional districts are drawn up, a ritual now under way anew all around the country. Every 10 years, after the Census, state legislatures redraw their state's allotment of the 435 districts in the House of Representatives, thereby composing the political DNA of Congress.

Thanks to computerized tracking of voters block-by-block, this process of redistricting has become an ever more precise exercise in drawing up partisan districts in which voters are segregated into colonies that are safe for Republicans or safe for Democrats, creating a big incentive for lawmakers to stay on a partisan track. In a sense, political leaders now choose their voters rather than the other way around, says J. Gerald Hebert of the nonpartisan Campaign Legal Center.

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Associated Press

Rep. Jeb Hensarling, left, and Sen. Patty Murray, center, are co-chairs of the congressional supercommittee tasked with finding $1.2 trillion in deficit cuts by this week. Partisanship is one reason the panel is expected to fail.

If you want to know how effectively this system works to create safely partisan districts, look at the state of California. In the last four election cycles, California, with its 53 House districts that are up for re-election every two years, has held 212 elections for House seats. In all those elections, there has been exactly one case in which a seat changed party hands.

That means the Democratic and Republican parties held onto their seats 99.5% of the time. Usually the same representative was simply re-elected, while other times faces changed but party affiliation remained the same. In one case, a California lawmaker was sent to jail for taking bribes, but his party held the seat anyway.

As that suggests, House members increasingly are elected not by appealing to a cross-section of voters, but rather by appealing to a carefully selected group of voters from their own party. Then, the way to stay in office is to cater to partisans at the base of your own party, rather than by angering those partisans by attempting to compromise with the other side.

So while control of the House has changed hands twice in the last six years, that's because a small subset of House seats—perhaps 15% of the 435—are truly competitive swing districts that move between the parties. In the majority of districts, members live on by staying safely in their partisan foxholes, voting the party line and never risking engagement with the other side.

The lawmakers who try to compromise with the other side anger the partisan base on which they depend—and, perhaps more important these days, tempt outside ideological groups of the left or right to swoop and fund a primary challenger. California voters tried to break this chain last year by passing a referendum that sets up a citizen's commission to take the redistricting task away from state lawmakers, and other states are attempting similar moves or pushing the task to the courts, but the fate and effectiveness of those efforts remain uncertain.

But that's only the House, some will say, and doesn't explain a similar hyper-partisanship in the Senate. But increasingly the House is the breeding ground for senators; indeed, four of the six senators who served alongside six House members on the deficit super-committee had served previously in the House.

Senators from both parties will tell you that the partisan ethos of the House now permeates the Senate, where it is only aggravated by filibuster rules that mean 60 votes rather than a simple majority of 51 is required to get anything meaningful done. And the threat of outside groups mounting primary challenges to those who violate party orthodoxy is even more acute in the Senate.

Obviously, some voters want their leaders to stick hard to partisan principles, though a majority claim to want compromise. As long as the system and its voters reward the former and punish the latter, however, nobody should be surprised at the outcome.

Write to Gerald F. Seib at jerry.seib@wsj.com

Why the Super Committee Failed

By JEB HENSARLING

All now know that the Joint Select Committee on Deficit Reduction has failed to reach an agreement. While there will still be $1.2 trillion of spending cuts as guaranteed under the Budget Control Act, we regrettably missed a historic opportunity to lift the burden of debt and help spur economic growth and job creation. Americans deserve an explanation.

President Obama summed up our debt crisis best when he told Republican members of the House in January 2010 that "The major driver of our long-term liabilities . . . is Medicare and Medicaid and our health-care spending." A few months later, however, Mr. Obama and his party's leaders in Congress added trillions of dollars in new health-care spending to the government's balance sheet.

Democrats on the committee made it clear that the new spending called for in the president's health law was off the table. Still, committee Republicans offered to negotiate a plan on the other two health-care entitlements—Medicare and Medicaid—based upon the reforms included in the budget the House passed earlier this year.

The Medicare reforms would make no changes for those in or near retirement. Beginning in 2022, beneficiaries would be guaranteed a choice of Medicare-approved private health coverage options and guaranteed a premium-support payment to help pay for the plan they choose.

Democrats rejected this approach but assured us on numerous occasions they would offer a "structural" or "architectural" Medicare reform plan of their own. While I do not question their good faith effort to do so, they never did.

Republicans on the committee also offered to negotiate a plan based on the bipartisan "Protect Medicare Act" authored by Alice Rivlin, one of President Bill Clinton's budget directors, and Pete Domenici, a former Republican senator from New Mexico. Rivlin-Domenici offered financial support to seniors to purchase quality, affordable health coverage in Medicare-approved plans. These seniors would be able to choose from a list of Medicare-guaranteed coverage options, similar to the House budget's approach—except that Rivlin-Domenici would continue to include a traditional Medicare fee-for-service plan among the options.

This approach was also rejected by committee Democrats.

The Congressional Budget Office, the Medicare trustees, and the Government Accountability Office have each repeatedly said that our health-care entitlements are unsustainable. Committee Democrats offered modest adjustments to these programs, but they were far from sufficient to meet the challenge. And even their modest changes were made contingent upon a minimum of $1 trillion in higher taxes—a move sure to stifle job creation during the worst economy in recent memory.

Even if Republicans agreed to every tax increase desired by the president, our national debt would continue to grow uncontrollably. Controlling spending is therefore a crucial challenge. The other is economic growth and job creation, which would produce the necessary revenue to fund our priorities.

In the midst of persistent 9% unemployment, the committee could have enacted fundamental tax reform to simplify the tax code, help create jobs, and bring in over time the higher revenues that come with economic growth. Republicans put such a plan on the table—and even agreed to $250 billion in new revenue by eliminating or limiting most of the deductions, credits, loopholes and tax expenditures mainly enjoyed by higher-income Americans. We offered this to avoid the even larger tax increases already written into current law that will intensify the pain Americans are feeling during these difficult economic times.

Republicans were willing to agree to additional tax revenue, but only in the context of fundamental pro-growth tax reform that would broaden the base, lower rates, and maintain current levels of progressivity. This is the approach to tax reform used by recent bipartisan deficit reduction efforts such as the Bowles-Simpson fiscal commission and the Rivlin-Domenici plan.

The Democrats said no. They were unwilling to agree to anything less than $1 trillion in tax hikes—and unwilling to offer any structural reforms to put our health-care entitlements on a permanently sustainable basis.

Getty Images

Congress goes home for the holiday.

Unfortunately, the committee's challenge was made more difficult by President Obama. Since the committee was formed, he has demanded more stimulus spending and issued a veto threat against any proposed committee solution to the spending problem that was not coupled with a massive tax increase.

Despite the president's disappointing lack of leadership, I believe my co-chair, Sen. Patty Murray, and every Democrat acted with honor and integrity and negotiated in good faith to the end. It was, of course, difficult to negotiate with six Democrats who, as Democratic committee member Jim Clyburn said on Nov. 13, "never coalesced around a plan" themselves. But I believe this failure was not due to lack of effort or commitment.

Ultimately, the committee did not succeed because we could not bridge the gap between two dramatically competing visions of the role government should play in a free society, the proper purpose and design of the social safety net, and the fundamentals of job creation and economic growth.

A great opportunity has been missed, but America's fate will not be sealed by the failure of a temporary congressional committee. Spending cuts will begin anyway in 2013, but in a manner many of us, including our secretary of defense, believe could fundamentally harm our national security. I am committed to ensuring that full deficit reduction is realized, but Congress must work to achieve these savings in a more sensible manner that does not make us less safe.

As Winston Churchill said, "Americans can always be trusted to do the right thing, once all other possibilities have been exhausted." Despite my disappointment with the committee's setback, I remain confident that we will yet again prove Churchill right.

Mr. Hensarling, a Republican congressman from Texas, was co-chair of the Joint Select Committee on Deficit Reduction.

32 Rules of Thanksgiving Touch Football - WSJ.com

The 32 Rules of Thanksgiving Touch Football

Thanksgiving is Thursday and there's no avoiding it—make the drive, eat the turkey, pass the cranberry goo, and try not to say something you regret. If you can survive until dessert without crying at the table or sticking a fork in someone's arm, you're home free—just inhale the pecan pie, hit the couch, and pass out watching the NFL.

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New Line/Everett Collection

The rules of touch football could have saved the "Wedding Crashers" from a great deal of pain.

But for the love of Lombardi, go outside and play some Thanksgiving touch football. It's a perfect opportunity for family bonding, or at least calorie-burning. Unless you're in a fraternity or live inside a Tommy Hilfiger commercial, you probably play touch football only once a year, and Thanksgiving is that day.

Here are the official rules of Thanksgiving Family Touch Football:

1. If you have a healthy relationship with your family and speak to them all the time, you're playing touch. If you see your family only once a year, it's tackle.

2. Find a nice patch of grass. It doesn't have to be big. You don't need a regulation 100 yards. Half the people in your family, if they ran 100 yards, they'd wind up in the hospital for a month.

3. The game must be played before dinner. Nobody wants to play football after Thanksgiving. Nobody wants to wear pants after Thanksgiving.

4. All family on the field! Everyone plays. Mom, Dad, Grandpa, Grandma, Cousin Jake, and Regis the one-eyed Jack Russell terrier. Don't laugh. Regis is the best receiver you've got.

5. The following things are prohibited from Thanksgiving touch football: spikes, eye black, sticky gloves, Jets jerseys, running with a martini glass and a lit cigar, Norv Turner.

6. A Nerf ball is okay but you should own a leather football. A leather football is one of the things every home must have, like a dishwasher and a bourbon distillery in the garage.

7. No footballs with wings or propellers or tails or streamers. Here's a good rule: If the football would make Dick Butkus throw up, don't use it.

8. It's two-hand touch. One-hand touch is for lazy people who buy turkey sandwiches out of vending machines.

9. Two completions is a first down. Not as simple as it sounds—just ask the 2011 Indianapolis Colts.

10. No taunting, cursing or back-handed compliments. That's what Thanksgiving dinner is for.

11. Unless you live in California, Hawaii or Florida or some fancy place like that, the ground is probably going to be squishy with cold mud, and someone in your family is going to fall down face-first and ruin his or her Thanksgiving outfit. This is not cause for alarm. This is the highlight of the game.

12. It's okay to play with kids but don't baby them. Just because your 7-year-old niece is playing quarterback doesn't mean you can't intercept her screen pass and run it back for a touchdown. She's got to learn sometime not to throw into triple coverage.

13. The count is five "Mississippi." And it's a full four syllables—not a rushed "MISS-IPPI" and knocking grandpa to the ground.

14. But if you are old enough to have grandchildren, and you sack the quarterback, and do an elaborate sack dance, you will be worshipped forever.

15. Keep the Tebowing to a minimum. The fad is already old.

16. No, you don't get to be "permanent QB." Not if you want anybody to like you.

17. No show-off football lingo. No screaming "trips left" or "zone blitz." Uncle Dale doesn't want to play the "nickel package." He wants to get this stupid game over with, have a vodka and stand in the kitchen eating stuffing with his hands.

18. But there's always one control freak who wants to diagram elaborate plays. Just listen to whatever they say, and forget it immediately.

19. There are only two plays you need for touch football: "Everybody Go Out" and "Everybody Go Deep."

20. No, that running play never works. Ever.

21. Don't throw the ball too hard. This is the mistake a lot of touch football QBs make. They see an opening, and they chuck it 99 mph like John Elway, and peg Aunt Frances in the neck.

22. A little pass interference never hurt anyone. Don't be a wimp.

23. If you throw six interceptions in a row, let someone else play quarterback, or sign with the Washington Redskins.

24. Three-minute halftime. Don't kill the momentum. Anything longer, and aging muscles seize up. Remember: if Daddy sits, Daddy is d-o-n-e.

25. If you're playing on a city street, please don't dent the blue Honda, or I will find you.

26. If you're a random guest at Thanksgiving, it's your job to be good at touch football. Lie and say you "played a little" at Alabama and pray you don't completely embarrass yourself.

27. If you find yourself surrounded by middle-aged men in blue jeans and a quarterback who keeps getting picked off, you're not with your family. You've accidentally walked into a Brett Favre Wrangler spot.

28. Punting is okay, but it's hard. You know that weird fact about how hippopotamuses kill more people than lions or tigers? Well, punts are the hippopotamuses of touch football. Botched punts break more windows and hit more cars than any other play in the game. You can look it up. Be careful.

29. Goes without saying, but if it snows, it's a classic.

30. Take it easy. You don't want any injuries that can't be treated with a bag of frozen peas.

31. If you win your game and stand undefeated, please let LSU know you're available to play in the BCS championship.

32. When you think about it, there's really only one rule for Thanksgiving touch football: Take your shoes off before going in the house, or Mom is going to kill you.

Larry Summers: We have to do better on inequality - FT.com

We have to do better on inequality

The principal problem facing the US and Europe for the next few years is an output shortfall caused by a lack of demand. Nothing would increase the incomes of all citizens – poor, middle-class and rich – as much as an increase in demand and associated increases in incomes, living standards and confidence in institutions and the future.

It would, however, be a serious mistake to suppose that our problems are only cyclical or amenable to macroeconomic solution. Just as the evolution from an agricultural to an industrial economy has far-reaching implications for almost all institutions, so too does the evolution from an industrial to a knowledge economy. Trends that pre-date the Great Recession will be with us long after any recovery.

The most important of these is the strong shift in the market reward for a small minority of citizens relative to the rewards available to most citizens. According to a recent Congressional Budget Office study, the incomes of the top 1 per cent of the US population, after adjusting for inflation, rose by 275 per cent from 1979 to 2007. At the same time, the income for the middle class grew by only 40 per cent. Even this dismal figure overstates the case of typical Americans, as the number unable to find work or who have abandoned the search has risen. In 1965, only 1 in 20 men between 25 and 54 was not working; by the end of this decade it will probably be 1 in 6, even if the full cyclical recovery is achieved.

Those who remain serene in the face of these trends or favour policies that would disproportionately cut taxes at the high end assert that snapshot inequality is acceptable as long as there is social mobility within lifetimes and across generations. The reality is that there is too little of both. Inequality in lifetime incomes is only marginally smaller than inequality in a single year. According to the best available information, intergenerational mobility in the US is now poor by global standards and probably for the first time no longer improving. Take just one statistic: the share of US college students that comes from families in the lowest quartile has fallen over the last generation while that from the richest has increased.

Why has the top 1 per cent of the population done so well relative to the rest? The answer probably lies substantially in changing technology and globalisation. When George Eastman revolutionised photography, he did very well and, because he needed a large number of Americans to carry out his vision, the city of Rochester had a thriving middle class for two generations. By contrast, when Steve Jobs revolutionised personal computing, he and the shareholders in Apple (who are spread all over the world) did very well but a much smaller benefit flowed to middle-class American workers both because production was outsourced and because the production of computers and software was not terribly labour intensive.

There is no question that this will be more important to the politics of the industrialised world than its response to a market system that distributes rewards increasingly inequitably. To date the debate has been distressingly polarised.

On one side it is framed in zero-sum terms and the disappointing lack of income growth for middle-class workers is blamed on the success of the wealthy. Those with this view should ask themselves whether it would be better if the US had more entrepreneurs like those who founded Apple, Google, Microsoft and Facebook, or fewer. Each contributed significantly to rising inequality but it bears emphasising that companies with a single owner, such as a private equity firm, pay successful CEOs more than public companies do. Where great fortunes are earned by providing great products or services that benefit large numbers of people, they should not be denigrated.

At the same time, those who are quick to label any expression of concern about rising inequality as misplaced or a product of class warfare are even further off base. The extent of the change in income distribution is such that it is no longer true that the overall growth rate of the economy is the principal determinant of middle-class income growth – how the growth pie is distributed is at least as important. That most of the increase in inequality reflects gains for those at the very top at the expense of everyone else further belies the idea that simply strengthening the economy will reduce inequality.

Indeed, focusing on American competitiveness could exacerbate inequality, if that means corporate tax cuts or the protection of intellectual property for the benefit of companies that are not primarily producing in the US.

What then is the right response to rising inequality? There are too few good ideas in current political discourse and the development of better ones is crucial. Here are three.

First, government must be careful that it does not facilitate increases in inequality by rewarding the wealthy with special concessions. Where governments dispose of assets or allocate licences, there is a compelling case for more use of auctions to which all have access. Where government provides insurance implicitly or explicitly, premiums must be set as much as possible on a market basis rather than in consultation with the affected industry. A general posture for government of standing up for capitalism rather than particular well-connected capitalists would also serve to mitigate inequality.

Second, there is scope for pro-fairness, pro-growth tax reform. When there are more and more great fortunes being created and the government is in larger and larger deficit, it is hardly a time for the estate tax to be eviscerated. With smaller families and ever more bifurcation in the investment opportunities open to those with wealth, there is a real risk that the old notion of “shirtsleeves to shirtsleeves in three generations” will become obsolete, and those with wealth will endow dynasties.

Third, the public sector must insure that there is greater equity in areas of the most fundamental importance. It will always be the case in a market economy that some will have mansions, art and the ability to travel in lavish fashion. What is more troubling is that the ability of the children of middle-class families to attend college has been seriously compromised by increasing tuition fees and sharp cutbacks at public universities and colleges.

At the same time, in many parts of the country a gap has opened between the quality of the private school education offered to the children of the rich and the public school educations enjoyed by everyone else. Most alarming is the near doubling over the last generation in the gap between the life expectancy of the affluent and the ordinary.

Neither the politics of polarisation nor those of noblesse oblige will serve to protect the interests of the middle class in the post-industrial economy. We will have to find ways to do better.

The writer is Charles W. Eliot university professor at Harvard, and a former US Treasury secretary (1999-2001) and director of the National Economic Council (2009-2010)

Biography of George F Kennan - FT.com

No doubt the thought of a suitable Christmas gift has been giving many of you sleepless nights. Never fear! Kennan's biography by John Lewis Gaddis in hardcover will suffice nicely.  A glowing review in this weekend's Financial Times below.

George F Kennan

George F Kennan

Messenger: George Kennan at a 1966 Senate committee hearing in which he advised against escalation of the Vietnam war

George Kennan is a rare example of a diplomat who changed history through the power of his ideas and the clarity of his writing. In February 1946, Kennan, the number two at the US embassy in Moscow, sent a “long telegram” to his superiors in Washington DC. At a time when many Americans still regarded the Soviet Union as an ally, Kennan explained, in limpid prose, why there could never be a normal peacetime relationship with the USSR.

With the US government groping for an explanation of Stalin’s apparently baffling actions, the impact of the long telegram was enormous. But Kennan did much more than simply strip the Truman administration of its remaining illusions about the USSR. As John Lewis Gaddis, his biographer, puts it, Kennan “opened up a way out: a path between the appeasement that had failed to prevent World War II and the alternative of a third world war”. That path was a policy that Kennan later called “containment” – patiently blocking Soviet expansionism, in the expectation that the internal weaknesses of the USSR would eventually lead to the regime’s defeat. The collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, more than 40 years after Kennan first laid out the strategy for the cold war, served as a retrospective vindication of his ideas and prophetic powers.

I was lucky enough to meet both Kennan and his biographer in 1987, two years before the fall of the Berlin wall. Gaddis, who was teaching a graduate seminar on cold war history at Princeton University, persuaded Kennan – by then, a living legend – to spend a couple of hours with some awestruck students. Afterwards, Gaddis explained that he was writing Kennan’s biography, but that the two men had a tacit agreement that the book would not appear until after Kennan’s death. It was a long wait. The great man died in 2005, at the age of 101. Two years before his death, Kennan had said apologetically: “Poor John Gaddis has seen his undertaking being put off for years while he waits for me to make way for it.”

Gaddis’s “undertaking” is, however, well worth the wait. George F Kennan: An American Life works brilliantly as a piece of intellectual history, and as a biography of a fascinating and complex man. Fortunately, both Gaddis and Kennan write beautifully. Long quotations from Kennan’s work light up the book. This is his description of meeting Stalin in 1945: “In manner – with us, at least – he was simple, quiet, unassuming. There was no striving for effect. His words were few. They generally sounded reasonable and sensible; indeed they often were. An unforewarned visitor would never have guessed what depths of calculation, ambition, love of power, jealousy, cruelty and sly vindictiveness lurked behind this unpretentious façade.”

One potential problem for a biographer is that by the mid-1950s, Kennan’s period at the centre of power had come to an end. He left the State Department after clashing with John Foster Dulles, Eisenhower’s secretary of state, whom Kennan regarded as reckless. Gaddis probably devotes slightly too much space to Kennan’s wilderness years. Thankfully, however, Kennan was an interesting enough thinker – and a peculiar enough man – to more than maintain the reader’s interest.

After his retirement from active diplomacy, Kennan spent much of the rest of his life as a bitter critic of US foreign policy and of American culture in general. Although some regard him as the first cold warrior, Kennan himself became an opponent of the Vietnam war and a passionate advocate of nuclear disarmament. Later, after the end of the cold war, Kennan fiercely criticised the policy of enlarging Nato to take in the countries that had once belonged to the Warsaw Pact, arguing that this was needlessly provocative towards Russia.

Gaddis, who is the foremost American historian of the cold war, has the intellectual confidence to disagree with his hero’s judgments. He argues that, in the closing years of the cold war, Ronald Reagan was brilliantly and successfully faithful to the containment strategy that Kennan had once devised. But Kennan himself did not see it that way. He was a fierce critic of the Reagan administration, which he regarded as “ignorant, unintelligent, complacent and arrogant”.

Gaddis clearly has much more sympathy with Reagan’s policy than with Kennan’s critique. Indeed it is one of the strengths of his book that while the author is a huge admirer of Kennan, he does not attempt to disguise or excuse his failings. Kennan was a reserved and scholarly man who found himself increasingly disgusted with what he saw as the decadence of modern America – and the west in general. At times he even seemed to despair of democracy itself. In 1976, he predicted gloomily: “I think this country is destined to succumb to failures which cannot be other than tragic and enormous in their scope.” Part of him seemed to believe that modern America deserved to fail. In the same interview, he remarked: “I can see very little merit in organising ourselves to defend from the Russians the porno shops in central Washington.” Gaddis comments tartly: “This and much else in the interview was self-indulgent nonsense.”

Kennan’s weaknesses were, however, the flip-side of his strengths. He maintained an upright morality and unfeigned belief in public service that did not chime particularly well with the Washington of Nixon or Clinton. He was also deeply versed in European literature – with his writing unselfconsciously scattered with quotations from Dostoevsky, Chekhov, Donne, Gibbon and many more.

Alongside the rants about pornography and the moral frailties of the west, Kennan continued to be capable of brilliant insights long after he had retired from the practice of diplomacy. Testifying before the Senate about his opposition to the Vietnam war, he skewered one of the more persistent and pernicious ideas in US foreign policy – the notion that American “credibility” depends on pursuing any conflict, however mistaken, until victory has been achieved. As Kennan put it, with his customary elegance: “There is more respect to be won in the opinion of this world by a resolute and courageous liquidation of unsound positions than by the most stubborn pursuit of extravagant or unpromising objectives.”

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the modern makers of foreign policy were able to think and write as clearly as that?

Gideon Rachman is the FT’s chief international affairs commentator

George F.Kennan: An American Life, by John Lewis Gaddis, Penguin Press, RRP£30, 800 pages

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The Other 1%

Thanks for the kind words of appreciation this Veteran's Day.  In return, might I implore you to read and share this article with those who have never served?  

The Other 1%

"I felt as alien here as I was in Iraq," the 32-year-old recalls of his return to his native Utah. At home, he says, it was impossible to tell we were a nation at war. He couldn't discuss it with pals "without sounding like a Martian," because they had no idea what the war in Iraq was like. The conversation would bog down, stall and then move on to other topics.

Lemons has moved on too, although his lingering PTSD and upcoming 14th operation on his feet, which were crushed during a fall in Najaf, are reminders of what separates him from most Americans. "The gap between the military and everybody else is getting worse because people don't know--and don't want to know--what you've been through," he says. "There are no bond drives. There are no tax hikes. There are no food drives or rubber drives ... It's hard not to think of my war as a bizarre camping trip that no one else went on."

As the nation prepares to welcome home some 45,000 troops from Iraq, most Americans have little or nothing in common with their experiences or the lives of the 1.4 million men and women in uniform. The past decade of war by volunteer soldiers, sailors, airmen and Marines has acted like a centrifuge, separating the nation's military from its citizens. Most Americans have not served in uniform, no longer have a parent who did and are unlikely to encourage their children to enlist.

Never has the U.S. public been so separate, so removed, so isolated from the people it pays to protect it.

Every day, U.S. troops fight and work on all seven continents, but in most ways the nation has moved on to new challenges: the economy and a looming presidential campaign in which the wars bump along at the bottom of a list of public concerns topped by jobs, debt, taxes and health care. Over the past generation, the world's lone superpower has created--and grown accustomed to--a permanent military caste, increasingly disconnected from U.S. society, waging decade-long wars in its name, no longer representative of or drawn from the citizenry as a whole. Think of the U.S. military as the Other 1%--some 2.4 million troops have fought in and around Afghanistan and Iraq since 9/11, exactly 1% of the 240 million Americans over 18. The U.S. Constitution calls on the people to provide for the common defense. But there is very little that is common about the way we defend ourselves in the 21st century.

The isolation will be plain to see as those U.S. troops in Iraq stream home before the year's end. Most will return not to 50 states but to two: North Carolina, home to the 82nd Airborne Division, and Texas, home to Killeen's Fort Hood and El Paso's Fort Bliss. There, many of them will live "on post," or in military-centric towns, where contact with the rest of us is rare. "As we continue to concentrate ourselves in fewer and fewer bases, as we become more secluded by way of a volunteer service, where fewer and fewer Americans have either served or know someone who's served," says Army Secretary John McHugh, "there is a sense of alienation that I don't think is positive."

Thanking our troops for their service has become almost reflexive in the U.S., in part because of memories of Vietnam. Uniformed soldiers striding through airports are offered outstretched hands and words of gratitude; their tabs for sandwiches or beers are often picked up by strangers before the GIs have asked for the bill. But the sentiment reflects the problem: the public has scant idea of just how much the military has given since 9/11 beyond a vague sense that some 6,300 have died.

"We love the troops, and you know why we love the troops?" asks Jack Jacobs, a retired Army colonel. "Because we don't have to be the troops." He recalls growing up in New York City in the years after World War II. "Everybody in my neighborhood had someone who was in uniform," says Jacobs, who won the Medal of Honor in Vietnam. "But today, you'd have to knock on something like 150 doors in most neighborhoods before you find a household where someone is serving."

Rebecca Townsend, an Army National Guard spouse who counsels troubled military families outside Fort Campbell, Ky., sees "lots of evidence of this huge disconnect" between troops and everyone else. She was floored when professional acquaintances praised President Obama's recent decision to bring the troops home from Iraq. "They said it was awesome that there would be no more war," she recalls. "It was very disheartening to learn that they had no idea we are still fighting in Afghanistan."

How Did We Get Here?

Being an Army apart isn't a problem for the Pentagon; it has become part of the sales pitch. The U.S. military boasts of the ways in which it is better than society as a whole. And by many measures, it is right. If you remove those who are unlikely to serve because they are too fat or too criminal or are in college, only 15% of Americans ages 17 to 24 are eligible to sign up. "Today's military is more educated and has a higher aptitude than the general population," a Pentagon recruiting report notes. "Its ranks are filled with extraordinarily well-qualified and committed professionals." Soldiers and sailors are more highly paid, more likely to be married and more conservative politically than the nation as a whole. "From the first day of training you're constantly reminded that you signed on the dotted line because you want to be better," Army vet Matt Gallagher, who served in Iraq, says. "A lot of guys feel they're part of a warrior caste, separate and distinct from society."

Consider the numbers: the Army, which accounts for 40% of the nation's active-duty force, has moved largely to the Sun Belt over the past generation. It is now concentrated in Georgia, Kentucky, North Carolina, Texas and Washington State. The degree of isolation doesn't lessen much when you add the Navy and Air Force: thanks mostly to consolidations arising from base closings, 10 states are home to 70% of all Americans in uniform. The U.S. military has abandoned New England and the Midwest; more active-duty troops--some 13,000--are stationed in tiny Washington, D.C., than in Connecticut, Indiana, Massachusetts, Minnesota, Michigan, New Jersey, Ohio, Pennsylvania or Wisconsin. Recruiters have followed suit: Alabama has 10 Army Reserve Office Training Corps programs serving a state with fewer than 5 million people. Greater Los Angeles, with 12 million people, has only four. The Chicago region--population 9 million--has three.

"Propensity to serve is most pronounced in the South and the Mountain West and in rural areas and small towns nationwide," observed former Defense Secretary Robert Gates last month. "The percentage of the force from the Northeast, the West Coast and major cities continues to decline." Partly as a result, the job of putting on the uniform has become an almost tribal one: a growing share of active-duty troops has a sibling or had a parent in uniform; close to 100,000 troops are married to another service member. The number of cadets at the U.S. Military Academy who have a parent who also attended West Point has grown by 50% in the past generation. "It's a family business, and it's a very tough time to be in the family business," says Dave Barno, a retired Army lieutenant general who commanded all allied troops in Afghanistan in 2003--04 and has two sons in the Army. "As my kids deploy around the world, they're running into their playmates from when they were growing up, at Fort Leavenworth and Fort Lewis, in Kandahar and Jalalabad," he says. "Their classmates as kids on military bases are the people they're fighting with."

The separation is enforced by a garrison culture that goes back generations but has deepened in recent years as a result of the nation's decision to close unneeded military posts and pay service members more. Many troops and their families live on such megabases and have no need to leave: they shop at on-base commissaries, have their babies at on-base hospitals and send their kids to on-base schools. They're younger and fitter than the nation's civilian population as a whole and are largely immune to the economic insecurities plaguing so many other Americans. Barno calls military life on post a "golden cocoon" that insulates troops from the rest of us. "There's a different flavor when you're living outside the gates," he says. Out there, "when you go to church, everyone isn't 25 to 35 with short haircuts, with big biceps--you see people who are infirm or aged, facing other challenges in their lives, and so you get a different sense of life."

Even the sensitive matter of pay and benefits separates the troops from the rest of the nation. Though many Americans may assume the military is underpaid, the numbers tell a different story. Since 9/11, compensation has increased dramatically for those in uniform, with Congress heaping pay raises atop even those requested by Pentagon leaders year after year. Military compensation per service member has jumped from $56,738 in 1998 to $85,581 last year. It's a raise--on top of inflation--of 20%. Other benefits have jumped even higher: housing allowances (up 188%), bonuses (up 56%), retirement funding (up 24%). "You don't want a military that feels alienated, separated and martyred," says military historian Richard Kohn of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. "That's one reason pay and benefits have been rising so dramatically."

A MORE DANGEROUS DIVIDE

On close inspection, it is clear that we're not only outsourcing our security to a smaller group of citizens; we're outsourcing some of it to noncitizens. Since 9/11, 70,000 foreigners have won American citizenship by joining the U.S. military; right now, about 16,000 noncitizens are on active duty, hoping it will earn them citizenship. U.S. officials expect that 9,000 more--roughly two Army brigades' worth--will sign up each year. The outsourcing of our common defense is even more pronounced when you calculate that for every soldier in Afghanistan, there is roughly one private contractor, working at taxpayer expense, providing meals and doing other chores.

Gates raised the issue of a military-civilian divide in a speech at Duke University last year and returned to it last month at West Point. On his final Afghan tour as Defense Secretary in June, Gates said a sergeant reported that "he and others had signed up because the military--in his case, the Marines--had a set of standards and values that is better than that of the civilian sector." Gates then noted that an Army exhibit displayed along a Pentagon corridor declares that the service embraces values--loyalty, respect and honor among them--that "distinguish American Soldiers from American society." Gates told the West Point cadets that "it is rather peculiar to suggest that attributes such as integrity, respect and courage are not valued in the United States of America writ large ... It is off-putting to hear, albeit anecdotally, comments that suggest that [the] military is to some degree separate and even superior from the society, the country, it is sworn to protect ... There is a risk over time of developing a cadre of military leaders that politically, culturally and geographically have less and less in common with the majority of the people they have sworn to defend," Gates said. "Getting this relationship on a sound footing is so important because a civil-military divide can expose itself in an ugly way, especially during a protracted and frustrating war effort."

In his speeches, Gates did not mention a related fact of military life: the force is more conservative than the nation as a whole. A Pew survey of 712 post-9/11 veterans revealed last month that the political leanings of people in uniform are nearly the mirror opposite of the public they serve. The survey found that 36% of veterans describe themselves as Republicans, while 21% say they are Democrats. In the public at large, those numbers are nearly reversed: 34% of the public identifies as Democratic, while 23% identifies as Republican. The curve bends more to the right as rank increases: a 2009 survey by Heidi Urben, an active-duty officer and graduate student at Georgetown University, found that 60% of 4,000 Army officers self-identified as Republicans, whereas only 18% said they were Democrats.

On the one hand, this shift has been under way for years. From 1976 to 1996, the share of senior military officers identifying as Republican jumped from one-third to two-thirds, while the share claiming to be independent fell from 46% to 22%. Senior military officers who described themselves as liberal fell from 16% in 1976 to 3% in 1996. Urben's survey found that younger officers leaving the Army were far more likely to identify themselves as Democrats than those opting to stay. All this takes the nation onto perilous ground, not because the military tilts Republican or Democrat but because it needs to be seen as straight-shooting and nonpartisan. That perception has been fading. When Obama weighed sending reinforcements to Afghanistan in 2009, senior military officials painted him into a corner with leaks--and premature public pronouncements--arguing that significantly more troops than some in the White House favored were needed to get the job done. The maneuver worked: Obama wound up agreeing to send 30,000 troops--but only if they began coming home 18 months later. In order to hold the military to this deal, his aides then leaked details of a behind-the-scenes conversation in which the generals could be heard agreeing to Obama's 18-month timetable. It was not the finest hour for civilian control of the military.

But the generals had the last word. When Obama announced the beginning of the Afghanistan pullout in June, White House aides told reporters that the announced pace of the withdrawal had been among the options presented to the President by his generals. But within the week, the top U.S. commander in Afghanistan testified in public that Obama's pullout schedule "is a more aggressive option than that which was presented" by the military to the White House. When Senator Lindsey Graham asked Marine General John Allen if Obama's final decision was presented in any form by the Pentagon, the four-star general replied, "It was not."

The Afghanistan episode reveals how frayed trust between the civilian and military worlds has become. Instead of arguing its position quietly behind closed doors, the Pentagon executed a pincer movement on the White House to get its way on the size of the Afghan surge. And when the pullout announcement neared, the White House confected the illusion of a Pentagon blessing on the timetable where none existed. "There will be more cases like this because the relationship is getting rockier with the major domestic and international challenges we face," says Michael Desch, a political scientist and military scholar at Notre Dame. "That's troubling in a democracy."

And then there are the individual costs of an army apart. A pair of Air Force researchers suggests the divide may be behind the suicide epidemic now plaguing the U.S. military. The burdens placed on a tiny slice of Americans during long and increasingly unpopular wars "have consequences that may include the creation of a constellation of social, cultural, and political conditions which conspire to elevate the rate of suicide in the Army and Marine Corps," write George Mastroianni and Wilbur Scott, behavioral experts at the Air Force Academy. "The public seemingly has little patience for anyone wishing to disturb the comfortable arrangement that now exists between society and the military, an arrangement facilitated by the lack of honest, thoughtful, and open dialogue," they say in the latest issue of Parameters, the Army's professional journal.

Restoring the Common Defense

Of course, some of the gap between the military and its patrons would evaporate if different kinds of people joined up. "The all-volunteer force," says retired Army major general Dennis Laich, "is a mercenary military made up of poor kids and patriots from the third and fourth socioeconomic quintiles of our country. The first socioeconomic quintile is AWOL, but that's where the real decisionmakers and policymakers of the country come from." Military scholars like Eliot Cohen of the Johns Hopkins School of Advanced International Studies agree with Laich that it would be good for the nation if more graduates of elite colleges signed up for military service. But Cohen adds that it might not be good for the military. "They're not necessarily the kind of people who fit very easily into the cultures of the services," Cohen says. "They're outliers, more headstrong, and they may be more likely to be skeptical."

The problem is even more noticeable on Capitol Hill, where the share of veterans among lawmakers has fallen from 77% in the late 1970s to 22% now. The dramatic lack of knowledge and experience among the Pentagon's overseers means the military gets more and more of what it wants. Representative Howard "Buck" McKeon, the California Republican who heads the House Armed Services Committee, never served in uniform--an unthinkable arrangement just a few decades ago. McKeon was stumped in September when asked in public if the military's "tooth-to-tail" ratio--the share of trigger pullers as part of the entire force--had budged from its historic 10% level. "What is tooth to tail?" the chairman responded. "Congress cuts the military slack because of their lack of experience," UNC's Kohn says. "They don't have a sense of the institutions and the culture, so they're less likely to exercise insightful or determined oversight."

And in the press? Experience there is virtually unheard of, even after a decade of war. That ticks off military families--and serves to deepen their isolation from the culture. Ann Burger, whose Army-officer husband Joseph is on his second Afghan tour, relies on his e-mails for news of what's happening in Kabul. The Taliban "blew up a bus last week and killed 17 people, and I didn't know anything about it because it wasn't on the news," she says from her home outside Fort Lewis, Wash. She blames the media for moving on and notes that military families still hunger for battlefield coverage. "It makes me think that nobody cares," she says. "They're putting on things like the Kardashians getting divorced--it's on the news constantly--but we have soldiers over there dying, and you don't hear about it."

All these examples get to the heart of the matter: the real danger is that a military's strength ebbs the further away it gets from the society that sponsors and nurtures it. As fewer of its leaders have military experience, the U.S. is taking a very real risk that the people ordering the military around have less and less idea about how to use it wisely. Navy Captain Don Inbody was at 5th Fleet headquarters in Bahrain in January 2002, when he says the staff there got a look at the plans to invade Iraq. "There was a whole bunch of senior officers in the room, and we kind of looked at it, and my distinct recollection is a uniform sucking in of air." Inbody, now a political science professor at Texas State University, says there was no postwar planning evident. "We were thinking, If you want us to beat the Iraqi army, we can do that with one hand tied behind our back. But there was nothing after that," he remembers. "It signaled to me that U.S. political elites didn't view the military so much as part of the greater American society as their own private army."

Under the Constitution, only Congress can declare war. But the U.S. has put troops in harm's way hundreds of times since 1941, the last time Congress approved such a resolution. And the rest of us--so long as our kin aren't imperiled--have gone along. "There is a sense that popular influence over how the military gets used has waned significantly," says Andrew Bacevich, a retired Army colonel now teaching history at Boston University (and who lost his only son, Andrew Bacevich Jr., in 2007 in Iraq). "In a sense, the military has become Washington's military and not the nation's military ... If Americans felt a greater sense of ownership for the military," he adds, "then maybe Washington wouldn't get away with starting unnecessary wars and then waging them incompetently."

Would a return to the draft help? It certainly would bind the American public more closely to its troops and would perhaps induce a deeper sense of service in more of its citizens. It would surely reduce the number of military conflicts and shorten those the nation elected to fight. But it would also create a less capable, less well trained, less professional force; the nation would be less confident in its ability to project power overseas and protect its interests once forces arrived. In any case, the public and military hate the idea. In last month's Pew poll, 68% of veterans and 74% of the public opposed its return. "The nation is better served by an all-volunteer force," Army General Martin Dempsey (whose three children have served in the Army) said at his July confirmation hearing to serve as Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. He wants "to find ways to preserve it in an era of fiscal constraint rather than move at this point to a draft." But he added that "we need other options for the nation when we enter into conflict that can escalate and that can take longer than we thought."

Can the nation reconnect to its military? Alex Lemons, who will soon be attending graduate school at Reed College in Portland, Ore., hopes so. The onetime scout sniper believes the gap between the guardians and the guarded is itself a threat to our national security. "The military is ultimately a reflection of our culture--or what we would like to believe about our culture," he says. "But when the burden of fighting wars involves only 1% of our citizens and their families, it's not good for them--or the country."

Malcolm Gladwell: Steve Jobs’s Real Genius : The New Yorker

Annals of Technology

The Tweaker

The real genius of Steve Jobs.

by November 14, 2011

Jobs

Jobs’s sensibility was more editorial than inventive. “I’ll know it when I see it,” he said.

Not long after Steve Jobs got married, in 1991, he moved with his wife to a nineteen-thirties, Cotswolds-style house in old Palo Alto. Jobs always found it difficult to furnish the places where he lived. His previous house had only a mattress, a table, and chairs. He needed things to be perfect, and it took time to figure out what perfect was. This time, he had a wife and family in tow, but it made little difference. “We spoke about furniture in theory for eight years,” his wife, Laurene Powell, tells Walter Isaacson, in “Steve Jobs,” Isaacson’s enthralling new biography of the Apple founder. “We spent a lot of time asking ourselves, ‘What is the purpose of a sofa?’ ”

It was the choice of a washing machine, however, that proved most vexing. European washing machines, Jobs discovered, used less detergent and less water than their American counterparts, and were easier on the clothes. But they took twice as long to complete a washing cycle. What should the family do? As Jobs explained, “We spent some time in our family talking about what’s the trade-off we want to make. We ended up talking a lot about design, but also about the values of our family. Did we care most about getting our wash done in an hour versus an hour and a half? Or did we care most about our clothes feeling really soft and lasting longer? Did we care about using a quarter of the water? We spent about two weeks talking about this every night at the dinner table.”

Steve Jobs, Isaacson’s biography makes clear, was a complicated and exhausting man. “There are parts of his life and personality that are extremely messy, and that’s the truth,” Powell tells Isaacson. “You shouldn’t whitewash it.” Isaacson, to his credit, does not. He talks to everyone in Jobs’s career, meticulously recording conversations and encounters dating back twenty and thirty years. Jobs, we learn, was a bully. “He had the uncanny capacity to know exactly what your weak point is, know what will make you feel small, to make you cringe,” a friend of his tells Isaacson. Jobs gets his girlfriend pregnant, and then denies that the child is his. He parks in handicapped spaces. He screams at subordinates. He cries like a small child when he does not get his way. He gets stopped for driving a hundred miles an hour, honks angrily at the officer for taking too long to write up the ticket, and then resumes his journey at a hundred miles an hour. He sits in a restaurant and sends his food back three times. He arrives at his hotel suite in New York for press interviews and decides, at 10 P.M., that the piano needs to be repositioned, the strawberries are inadequate, and the flowers are all wrong: he wanted calla lilies. (When his public-relations assistant returns, at midnight, with the right flowers, he tells her that her suit is “disgusting.”) “Machines and robots were painted and repainted as he compulsively revised his color scheme,” Isaacson writes, of the factory Jobs built, after founding NeXT, in the late nineteen-eighties. “The walls were museum white, as they had been at the Macintosh factory, and there were $20,000 black leather chairs and a custom-made staircase. . . . He insisted that the machinery on the 165-foot assembly line be configured to move the circuit boards from right to left as they got built, so that the process would look better to visitors who watched from the viewing gallery.”

Isaacson begins with Jobs’s humble origins in Silicon Valley, the early triumph at Apple, and the humiliating ouster from the firm he created. He then charts the even greater triumphs at Pixar and at a resurgent Apple, when Jobs returns, in the late nineteen-nineties, and our natural expectation is that Jobs will emerge wiser and gentler from his tumultuous journey. He never does. In the hospital at the end of his life, he runs through sixty-seven nurses before he finds three he likes. “At one point, the pulmonologist tried to put a mask over his face when he was deeply sedated,” Isaacson writes:


Jobs ripped it off and mumbled that he hated the design and refused to wear it. Though barely able to speak, he ordered them to bring five different options for the mask and he would pick a design he liked. . . . He also hated the oxygen monitor they put on his finger. He told them it was ugly and too complex.

One of the great puzzles of the industrial revolution is why it began in England. Why not France, or Germany? Many reasons have been offered. Britain had plentiful supplies of coal, for instance. It had a good patent system in place. It had relatively high labor costs, which encouraged the search for labor-saving innovations. In an article published earlier this year, however, the economists Ralf Meisenzahl and Joel Mokyr focus on a different explanation: the role of Britain’s human-capital advantage—in particular, on a group they call “tweakers.” They believe that Britain dominated the industrial revolution because it had a far larger population of skilled engineers and artisans than its competitors: resourceful and creative men who took the signature inventions of the industrial age and tweaked them—refined and perfected them, and made them work.

In 1779, Samuel Crompton, a retiring genius from Lancashire, invented the spinning mule, which made possible the mechanization of cotton manufacture. Yet England’s real advantage was that it had Henry Stones, of Horwich, who added metal rollers to the mule; and James Hargreaves, of Tottington, who figured out how to smooth the acceleration and deceleration of the spinning wheel; and William Kelly, of Glasgow, who worked out how to add water power to the draw stroke; and John Kennedy, of Manchester, who adapted the wheel to turn out fine counts; and, finally, Richard Roberts, also of Manchester, a master of precision machine tooling—and the tweaker’s tweaker. He created the “automatic” spinning mule: an exacting, high-speed, reliable rethinking of Crompton’s original creation. Such men, the economists argue, provided the “micro inventions necessary to make macro inventions highly productive and remunerative.”

Was Steve Jobs a Samuel Crompton or was he a Richard Roberts? In the eulogies that followed Jobs’s death, last month, he was repeatedly referred to as a large-scale visionary and inventor. But Isaacson’s biography suggests that he was much more of a tweaker. He borrowed the characteristic features of the Macintosh—the mouse and the icons on the screen—from the engineers at Xerox PARC, after his famous visit there, in 1979. The first portable digital music players came out in 1996. Apple introduced the iPod, in 2001, because Jobs looked at the existing music players on the market and concluded that they “truly sucked.” Smart phones started coming out in the nineteen-nineties. Jobs introduced the iPhone in 2007, more than a decade later, because, Isaacson writes, “he had noticed something odd about the cell phones on the market: They all stank, just like portable music players used to.” The idea for the iPad came from an engineer at Microsoft, who was married to a friend of the Jobs family, and who invited Jobs to his fiftieth-birthday party. As Jobs tells Isaacson:


This guy badgered me about how Microsoft was going to completely change the world with this tablet PC software and eliminate all notebook computers, and Apple ought to license his Microsoft software. But he was doing the device all wrong. It had a stylus. As soon as you have a stylus, you’re dead. This dinner was like the tenth time he talked to me about it, and I was so sick of it that I came home and said, “Fuck this, let’s show him what a tablet can really be.”

Even within Apple, Jobs was known for taking credit for others’ ideas. Jonathan Ive, the designer behind the iMac, the iPod, and the iPhone, tells Isaacson, “He will go through a process of looking at my ideas and say, ‘That’s no good. That’s not very good. I like that one.’ And later I will be sitting in the audience and he will be talking about it as if it was his idea.”

Jobs’s sensibility was editorial, not inventive. His gift lay in taking what was in front of him—the tablet with stylus—and ruthlessly refining it. After looking at the first commercials for the iPad, he tracked down the copywriter, James Vincent, and told him, “Your commercials suck.”


“Well, what do you want?” Vincent shot back. “You’ve not been able to tell me what you want.”
“I don’t know,” Jobs said. “You have to bring me something new. Nothing you’ve shown me is even close.”
Vincent argued back and suddenly Jobs went ballistic. “He just started screaming at me,” Vincent recalled. Vincent could be volatile himself, and the volleys escalated.
When Vincent shouted, “You’ve got to tell me what you want,” Jobs shot back, “You’ve got to show me some stuff, and I’ll know it when I see it.”

I’ll know it when I see it. That was Jobs’s credo, and until he saw it his perfectionism kept him on edge. He looked at the title bars—the headers that run across the top of windows and documents—that his team of software developers had designed for the original Macintosh and decided he didn’t like them. He forced the developers to do another version, and then another, about twenty iterations in all, insisting on one tiny tweak after another, and when the developers protested that they had better things to do he shouted, “Can you imagine looking at that every day? It’s not just a little thing. It’s something we have to do right.”

The famous Apple “Think Different” campaign came from Jobs’s advertising team at TBWA\Chiat\Day. But it was Jobs who agonized over the slogan until it was right:


They debated the grammatical issue: If “different” was supposed to modify the verb “think,” it should be an adverb, as in “think differently.” But Jobs insisted that he wanted “different” to be used as a noun, as in “think victory” or “think beauty.” Also, it echoed colloquial use, as in “think big.” Jobs later explained, “We discussed whether it was correct before we ran it. It’s grammatical, if you think about what we’re trying to say. It’s not think the same, it’s think different. Think a little different, think a lot different, think different. ‘Think differently’ wouldn’t hit the meaning for me.”

The point of Meisenzahl and Mokyr’s argument is that this sort of tweaking is essential to progress. James Watt invented the modern steam engine, doubling the efficiency of the engines that had come before. But when the tweakers took over the efficiency of the steam engine swiftly quadrupled. Samuel Crompton was responsible for what Meisenzahl and Mokyr call “arguably the most productive invention” of the industrial revolution. But the key moment, in the history of the mule, came a few years later, when there was a strike of cotton workers. The mill owners were looking for a way to replace the workers with unskilled labor, and needed an automatic mule, which did not need to be controlled by the spinner. Who solved the problem? Not Crompton, an unambitious man who regretted only that public interest would not leave him to his seclusion, so that he might “earn undisturbed the fruits of his ingenuity and perseverance.” It was the tweaker’s tweaker, Richard Roberts, who saved the day, producing a prototype, in 1825, and then an even better solution in 1830. Before long, the number of spindles on a typical mule jumped from four hundred to a thousand. The visionary starts with a clean sheet of paper, and re-imagines the world. The tweaker inherits things as they are, and has to push and pull them toward some more nearly perfect solution. That is not a lesser task.

Jobs’s friend Larry Ellison, the founder of Oracle, had a private jet, and he designed its interior with a great deal of care. One day, Jobs decided that he wanted a private jet, too. He studied what Ellison had done. Then he set about to reproduce his friend’s design in its entirety—the same jet, the same reconfiguration, the same doors between the cabins. Actually, not in its entirety. Ellison’s jet “had a door between cabins with an open button and a close button,” Isaacson writes. “Jobs insisted that his have a single button that toggled. He didn’t like the polished stainless steel of the buttons, so he had them replaced with brushed metal ones.” Having hired Ellison’s designer, “pretty soon he was driving her crazy.” Of course he was. The great accomplishment of Jobs’s life is how effectively he put his idiosyncrasies—his petulance, his narcissism, and his rudeness—in the service of perfection. “I look at his airplane and mine,” Ellison says, “and everything he changed was better.”

The angriest Isaacson ever saw Steve Jobs was when the wave of Android phones appeared, running the operating system developed by Google. Jobs saw the Android handsets, with their touchscreens and their icons, as a copy of the iPhone. He decided to sue. As he tells Isaacson:


Our lawsuit is saying, “Google, you fucking ripped off the iPhone, wholesale ripped us off.” Grand theft. I will spend my last dying breath if I need to, and I will spend every penny of Apple’s $40 billion in the bank, to right this wrong. I’m going to destroy Android, because it’s a stolen product. I’m willing to go to thermonuclear war on this. They are scared to death, because they know they are guilty. Outside of Search, Google’s products—Android, Google Docs—are shit.

In the nineteen-eighties, Jobs reacted the same way when Microsoft came out with Windows. It used the same graphical user interface—icons and mouse—as the Macintosh. Jobs was outraged and summoned Gates from Seattle to Apple’s Silicon Valley headquarters. “They met in Jobs’s conference room, where Gates found himself surrounded by ten Apple employees who were eager to watch their boss assail him,” Isaacson writes. “Jobs didn’t disappoint his troops. ‘You’re ripping us off!’ he shouted. ‘I trusted you, and now you’re stealing from us!’ ”

Gates looked back at Jobs calmly. Everyone knew where the windows and the icons came from. “Well, Steve,” Gates responded. “I think there’s more than one way of looking at it. I think it’s more like we both had this rich neighbor named Xerox and I broke into his house to steal the TV set and found out that you had already stolen it.”

Jobs was someone who took other people’s ideas and changed them. But he did not like it when the same thing was done to him. In his mind, what he did was special. Jobs persuaded the head of Pepsi-Cola, John Sculley, to join Apple as C.E.O., in 1983, by asking him, “Do you want to spend the rest of your life selling sugared water, or do you want a chance to change the world?” When Jobs approached Isaacson to write his biography, Isaacson first thought (“half jokingly”) that Jobs had noticed that his two previous books were on Benjamin Franklin and Albert Einstein, and that he “saw himself as the natural successor in that sequence.” The architecture of Apple software was always closed. Jobs did not want the iPhone and the iPod and the iPad to be opened up and fiddled with, because in his eyes they were perfect. The greatest tweaker of his generation did not care to be tweaked.

Perhaps this is why Bill Gates—of all Jobs’s contemporaries—gave him fits. Gates resisted the romance of perfectionism. Time and again, Isaacson repeatedly asks Jobs about Gates and Jobs cannot resist the gratuitous dig. “Bill is basically unimaginative,” Jobs tells Isaacson, “and has never invented anything, which I think is why he’s more comfortable now in philanthropy than technology. He just shamelessly ripped off other people’s ideas.”

After close to six hundred pages, the reader will recognize this as vintage Jobs: equal parts insightful, vicious, and delusional. It’s true that Gates is now more interested in trying to eradicate malaria than in overseeing the next iteration of Word. But this is not evidence of a lack of imagination. Philanthropy on the scale that Gates practices it represents imagination at its grandest. In contrast, Jobs’s vision, brilliant and perfect as it was, was narrow. He was a tweaker to the last, endlessly refining the same territory he had claimed as a young man.

As his life wound down, and cancer claimed his body, his great passion was designing Apple’s new, three-million-square-foot headquarters, in Cupertino. Jobs threw himself into the details. “Over and over he would come up with new concepts, sometimes entirely new shapes, and make them restart and provide more alternatives,” Isaacson writes. He was obsessed with glass, expanding on what he learned from the big panes in the Apple retail stores. “There would not be a straight piece of glass in the building,” Isaacson writes. “All would be curved and seamlessly joined. . . . The planned center courtyard was eight hundred feet across (more than three typical city blocks, or almost the length of three football fields), and he showed it to me with overlays indicating how it could surround St. Peter’s Square in Rome.” The architects wanted the windows to open. Jobs said no. He “had never liked the idea of people being able to open things. ‘That would just allow people to screw things up.’ ” 

ILLUSTRATION: André Carrilho

Really enjoy Gladwell's writings.