THE TICKING BOMB SCENARIO

The ticking bomb scenario is the ultimate ends-justifies-means argument. In its purest form, the ticking bomb scenario has two certainties: first, loss of life or horrific tragedy if something is not done to prevent an event that is well defined and imminent, and second, a hostile individual who knows how the event can be prevented. The challenge then is simple: make the hostile individual spill the beans.

In the real world, however, uncertainty is the norm. Pure ticking bomb situations are few and far between, maybe almost nonexistent.

Take the current controversy over the torturing of Al Qaeda prisoners captured by the United States in the War on Terror after 9/11. A rationale being advanced is that the torturing was necessary to prevent further attacks on the United States. But the certainties were lacking. Although many types of events were hypothesized, at least some of them possible, no U.S. official knew of a specific plan or imminent event. Similarly, although several Al Qaeda higher ups were captured, whether they had knowledge of specific plans for future attacks, or an imminent attack, on the United States was unknown.

So the justification for torture, the end justifying the means, was simply possibilities: it was possible that a particular individual had knowledge of some possible evil that was possibly about to be rained down upon the United States. Such a standard becomes very subjective very quickly, and in the hands of some individuals can degenerate into little more than fishing expeditions for elusive tidbits of information.

Some contend that the torture revealed intelligence about actual plots that were then prevented, and that documents exist proving this. It’s a safe bet that if the documents are made public, not everyone will discern such clarity. Moreover, this line of argument ignores the exponential increases in security measures, and the offensive military and police operations, that occurred after 9/11. The reason the actual plots did not go forward may well have been the heightened security environment rather than information produced by torture.

But let’s return to the pure ticking bomb situation. If there were certainty about the looming threat and certainty about some hostile individual having the knowledge to prevent it, would the end automatically justify the means, would torture be permissible to extract that knowledge? For some, maybe even for a sizeable majority, the answer is, “of course.” But for others, another simplistic formula rules: two wrongs don’t make a right. For these individuals, torturing someone for information no matter how imperative the information is not permissible.

Let’s up the anti. What if the ticking bomb is a weapon of mass destruction capable of killing millions? What if we are a few centuries, or maybe just a few decades, down the road, and the ticking bomb is powerful enough to end civilization, to obliterate the planet? What say you then?

Here’s a religious answer, but it’s certainly not an answer with which all religious people would agree. The ultimate goal of humankind is not to perpetuate an earthly kingdom. The ultimate goal is the hereafter. So evil means are not justification to ensure an earthly kingdom. If the choice is between an evil act or the end of civilization, then perhaps the time has come for the Apocalypse.

But let’s return to today’s reality. Most would agree that torture is immoral and illegal. But many might argue for the caveat of “exceptional circumstances.” Okay, but if that is the case, let’s not try to define those exceptional circumstances beforehand, as suggested by some. The many possible exceptional circumstances are just too varied. And what legal standard would be applied? Preponderance of the evidence, beyond a reasonable doubt? No, the judgment should be an after the fact determination. If the direct, undeniable result of the torture were the saving of a life or lives, then that fact goes to the mitigation of a crime.

Does this put a tremendous burden on the potential torturer? Damn right. And that’s where the burden should be. If a Dick Cheney or a Donald Rumsfeld thinks torture is necessary, then they should not be separated from the unpleasantness by layers of bureaucracy and a banal codification of evil. They should be in the room, ideally pouring the water or slapping the head themselves, but at least providing onsite supervision to a willing underling, who also is risking legal jeopardy. And at the subsequent inquiry, the Cheney, the Rumsfeld, and their underlings can argue for mitigation based upon lives saved or tragedy averted. After the fact mitigation is not automatic. The torturers have to convince the judge or jury.

If such an approach effectively removes the torture option, fine. Because ultimately, the torture issue comes to this: we’re the United States of America, and we’re better than that.

DEAD SEA MARATHON

One of Cranky's daughters, with the aid of her husband, recently completed the Dead Sea Marathon in Jordan (That's right, the Middle East. Here is her account).

My last marathon was a year and a half ago, the Marine Corp Marathon in Washington, DC. On April 10, 2009, I went for my thirteenth marathon, which would also be my first outside the United States. I completed all of my prior marathons attempts and four out of six ultra-marathon attempts. On one attempt at a 62-miler, I got lost on the race course in the mountains of Utah and missed a time cut. On a 100-miler attempt, once again in Utah, I ended up with altitude sickness and in the ER after mile 52. Obviously, Utah and I have problems. I have also completed various 20-milers, half-marathons, 10-milers, 10ks, and 5ks.

Let me set the record straight: I am not a fast marathoner. I fall somewhere in the middle of the pack. So why do I keep coming back to the start line? Maybe it’s an addiction to bodily torture, or maybe it’s just the t-shirt. I don’t have a good answer.

Several months ago I signed up for the Dead Sea Marathon in Jordan. My husband Stephen and I currently live in Kuwait, and we figured the marathon would be a good excuse to visit Jordan to see the sites. The marathon itself was point-to-point: the city of Amman to the Dead Sea. Several other distances were also being run: an ultra-marathon, a half-marathon, and a 10k.

The beginning of the trip was great. We were in a hotel adjacent to the Dead Sea, near the finish line. We enjoyed two days of hiking in Petra. We spent another day exploring around the Dead Sea. On day four, our tour driver took us into Amman for a pre-race evening pasta party. Stephen and I spent the evening looking at the other runners and guessing which distance they were running. The ride back to the Dead Sea from the Amman hotel was down a long steep hill. We passed the zero sea level marker and got out to take photos in the dark. As we got closer to the hotel, we began to wonder if this was the actual road I was going to run down for the race itself. I had read on the race website that the course was a downhill steep course, but I never imagined it was that steep.

I was to be picked up at the hotel at 4:00 a.m. and taken to the race’s start in Amman. A few other folks I knew from Kuwait, including a co-worker’s husband, were running other distances. So I figured I would just look for them in the hotel lobby, and we would make sure we all got on the proper bus. My wonderful husband made sure I was up at 3:15 a.m. He was even kind enough to accompany me downstairs to the lobby; however, at approximately 3:50 a.m. we walked into an empty lobby. Where were all the frigging runners? My already nervous stomach started doing extra flip-flops.

Stephen finally spotted a man in running clothes headed downstairs. He followed the man, reappearing moments later to report that a large group of runners was downstairs enjoying breakfast treats. We found some of our friends from Kuwait. Stephen earned some points by being the only family member of all our friends there to escort a runner to the hotel lobby at 0-dark-thirty.

Of course, the bus didn’t leave until 4:15 a.m., but we all managed to find a seat and settle in. About a third of the way into the ride, which was up the same steep road Stephen and I had descended the evening before, I saw in the dim light a disturbing sight across the aisle. A woman had both hands in her running pants and was moving them rapidly. I know about running and chaffing, so I assume she was applying some sort of body glide to her lower regions. Last time I checked, however, this activity only took a few seconds, not half of a 45-minute bus ride!

We arrived at the check-in location a little after 5:00 a.m. A large group of runners appeared to be wandering aimlessly around an elementary school. It was freezing outside, so our group went into the school lobby for warmth and bathrooms. Time started ticking by with no official race personnel in sight. Finally, we begin to notice a group was gathering outside and boarding buses. None of the race officials herding people onto the buses knew anything about checking in. They were just working to quickly place folks onto buses to get them to various starting points. I latched on to a group of runners with a similar bib color as my own, a color that identified us as marathoners. I figured if I boarded a bus with folks wearing blue bibs, then my chances of ended up in the wrong place were slim.

We finally got on a bus. The driver started off, only to turn the corner and stop near a group of runners and cops about two blocks from the school. Fortunately, before we stepped off the bus, one of us realized that we were at the ultra-marathoners’ start. The individual started yelling at the bus driver in both Arabic and English for driving us to the wrong start line. The bus driver shook his head to indicate that if this wasn’t the place we were supposed to be, he had no idea where to take us. Great, so basically after not checking in at the supposed check-in location, we were now lost in Amman, and the clock was ticking to start time! The individual yelling at the bus driver managed to stop his ranting for a moment to jump off the bus and ask for directions. After driving around Amman for another fifteen minutes, the bus driver managed to find the marathon start line. Turns out we were the first marathoner bus to arrive.

Runners quickly took up positions in front of the two port-a-potties to get in that last bathroom break. The port-a-potties were locked. Of course the male runners immediately headed behind a nearby building to empty their bladders. We women tried to figure out what to do. Finally the individual who had yelled at the lost bus driver earlier came to our rescue when he managed to pick the locks of the port-a-potties.

I didn’t have a watch on, but I did know that we had been hanging out at the start line for quite a while and that more buses were still arriving. One bus even tried to pull underneath the start line banner and got stuck, almost managing to pull down the start line! We thought the race started at 6:30 a.m., but the time was approaching 7:00 a.m.. Finally, an official showed up and told us that the start would be in fifteen minutes. In the meantime she wanted us lined up under the start line banner for a group photo. Great, just what I needed to get me psyched for the race!

At this point, those of us experienced with chip-timed races noticed that the start line had no chip mat. So why the heck had we been issued chips to attach to our shoes? If the race wasn’t going to be chip-timed from start to finish, what was the point? One runner commented that the race directors could have cared less if we cheated in starting the race; they just wanted to make sure we didn’t cheat at the finish!

Finally, a little past 7:00 a.m., the race official moved the start banner to the middle of the road. The cops north of the start line seem finally to have stopped car traffic from heading down the supposedly closed road that was the course. At least we thought we wouldn’t have to dodge those crazy drivers! We all ambled over to the start line. I was several feet back and still nervously looking around, waiting for the start. All of a sudden people several places in front of me began running. To avoid getting trampled, I did the same. Where were the 5 minute and 1 minute warnings, or even a “ready-set-go”?!

I started out following my father’s motto: start slow, ease off. About 2 km into the race, I began struggling with kilometer-to-mile conversions. Most of us Americans think in miles. It’s one reason the rest of the world finds us so lovable. I figured out quickly that at least one advantage to a kilometer race is that the markers go by quicker! Wonder why that is? Anyway, at about 2.5 km I realized I was beginning to go down that long steep winding road that we had climbed that morning in the bus. My body was already protesting and I still had over 20 or 30 downhill kilometers to go. I started noticing signs on the road warning drivers about a steep grade and advising trucks to use low gears. Great. A little downhill is one thing, but this was not what I had in mind.

At about this point, a male several paces in front of me took off his shoes. Now I know there are some Kenyans that run barefoot, but this guy was no Kenyan. I stopped thinking about his possible pain; however, when at about 10 km into the race, I felt my right big toe strike the tip of my shoe with such force that I knew the toenail was a goner! Now I have lost toenails before in ultra-races, but never in a marathon. And yes, Dad, I tried to remember heal-toe-heal-toe going downhill, but gosh darn it, that hill was just becoming longer by the minute and my feet weren’t listening to the rest of my body!

At about 12 km the front ultra-runners starting bearing down on me. The front runner flew past in his downhill momentum mode. Yeah, I was a little jealous, but hey, at least I was out there running! Then I just happen to look to my right and saw a white female butt glimmering in the sun. Yes, it is a common site in marathons and ultra-marathons in the United States to see the back of a man or the butt of a squatting woman as they answer a call of nature just off the course. But this was a more conservative area of the world. There were quite a few cars honking and people yelling at that poor woman, who was just trying to empty her downhill-jarred bladder!

Near this point I took off my running jacket and shoved it into my hip pocket. The temperature was rising as we began to drop into the Dead Sea Valley. Small groups of people were gathered every few kilometers. I noticed that one person in a group would yell out something as each runner passed and another person would write something down. It finally dawned on me that they were recording my race number, the running chips apparently being for decoration. And my number in Arabic was something like “phlegm hamza hamza.”

Before the halfway point was the zero sea level marker. But the course would not be leveling out any time soon. The Dead Sea is below sea level, not just a little bit, but a lot, 1,385 feet (422 meters if you’re addicted to the metric system). So there was a lot of downhill left. After the halfway point, I decided I would try to walk at the next water station. I had not yet taken a break, and a short walk would permit me to really drink the water instead of aiming it at my mouth while running, hoping some would go in. As soon as I started walking, however, I encountered jelly legs for the first time in my life. I had never before had the jelly feeling some folks describe in their legs after running long races. So yes, running down a steep grade for 25 km can make your legs feel like jelly. I immediately starting running again, slowly, for fear my jelly legs might collapse if I kept walking.

The course finally started to level out, and the northern edge of the Dead Sea was clearly visible. Signs appeared for Bethany, the Baptismal site where Biblical historians conclude John the Baptist baptized Jesus in the Jordan River. I looked across into the horizon, to the spot where our tour guide had pointed out Jerusalem and Jericho to Stephen and I just the day before. I was thinking how amazing it was for little ol’ me to be looking over some of the most historical and controversial places in human history. And then suddenly my right foot hit something, jarring the already damaged nail on my big toe. So maybe a Higher Power was telling me, yeah, it’s nice to realize where you are, but right now you have to focus on the race and watch where you are going! I looked down to see what my foot had hit and managed to dodge the next metal block just in time. Instead of rubble strips, the Jordanian transportation folks cement these metal blocks in several long rows to get folks to slow down. I spent the next few kilometers watching out for random metal blocks.

After I turned the corner at Bethany and started heading down to the Dead Sea for the last 12 km, a group of mountain bikers appeared on the race course. Now, remember, the road was supposedly closed to all traffic. There were soldiers and cops all long the course to keep cars off the road. Yeah, a few cars made it past, and I heard stories later of runners having to dodge them. But dodging cars was nothing compared to those bikers. They began to ride in and out of the runners, chasing runners down and cutting runners off. The cops and soldiers just stood by and watched. One British runner even complained to a cop that a biker hit him from behind and that he was then attacked by the biker’s group. I couldn’t believe the brush-off attitude the cop had. The British runner kept slowly moving on, mumbling about filling a complaint with the race officials.

As I dodged bikers for those last 10 km, I passed a few of the slow half marathon and 10k walkers. The pain in my quads and feet had become intense. I started watching for Stephen. The race course ran right by our hotel. I had told him that he had to come out of the hotel and walk up the course at least a little way. In other words, he couldn’t just wait in front of the hotel for me to pass. I am proud to say he actually walked up the course about 1 km which was actually about 3 km from the finish. I threw my hip pack to him, happy to be rid of that weight, and we walked together a short distance. He told me the time, and I realized I was actually moving pretty good considering the difficulty of the course.

The last 3 km to the finish was a nice break from the long downhill. Rolling hills made the leg muscles turn over a bit and feel less like jelly. Unfortunately, there was one last steep 10 meters downhill about 200 meters before the finish line. I said not nice things.

I finished in 4 hours, 45 minutes, and can wear my t-shirt proudly. But I don’t think I need to run the Dead Sea Marathon again. The story, however, is not over yet. When Stephen and I got back to Kuwait, we called my folks back home to tell them tales of the race. But my father had one better. While Stephen and I enjoyed Jordan, the old man managed to trip on a sidewalk during his daily shuffle. He landed directly on his jaw, breaking it in three places. Thus, it’s eating through a straw for a bunch of weeks for the guy who got me addicted to these dumb races to begin with. So two lessons of recent events are (1) never sign up for an all downhill marathon and (2) always pick up your feet when running! Oh, and another lesson: never go swimming in the Dead Sea, probably the saltiest body of water on the planet, after extensively chaffing your lower regions by running a marathon.

ENDS JUSTIFY THE MEANS?

The ends justified the means. That is the rationale being advanced by former Vice President Dick Cheney and others for the use of what was in essence torture in those first years of the War on Terror. The nation was vulnerable. Little was known about the identity, intentions, and capabilities of the enemy. Speed in closing the knowledge gap was imperative, so imperative that extraordinary, unpleasant means were necessary. The ends justified the means.

Ironically, it was not so long ago that the United States was on the other side of an ends justified the means rationale. That previous time also involved a war with an odd name. War on Terror, meet the Cold War.

For more than four decades in the Twentieth Century, the United States and the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics were the leading antagonists in a struggle for the future of mankind. The United States was the champion of individual freedoms and private sector capitalism. The USSR was the champion of Communism, an ideology based on the supremacy of the group—the state—in social, cultural, and economic arenas.

In the early decades of this struggle, the advantage seemed to many observes to lie with the USSR. In the economic field, the field that provides the populace with food, clothing, and shelter, the idea of a centrally planned economy impressed those observers as much more efficient than messy, unorganized capitalism. Early Soviet successes in the space race—the first satellite, Sputnik, in orbit in 1957 and the first man in orbit in 1961—were cited as evidence of the superiority of the economic component of the Communist system.

But even many who thought central planning superior to free market capitalism did not jump onboard the Communist bandwagon. A major reason was embodied in a common belief in the anti-Communist world: the ends did not justify the means. If a more efficient economic system required that the freedoms of the individual be curtailed, then a more efficient economic system was not worth the price.

Of course, in the later years of the Cold War, most notably during the Presidency of Ronald Reagan, the efficiency of Communism’s economic component was exposed as a chimera. Central economic planning as attempted in the USSR turned out to be downright inefficient, indeed a failure.

Nevertheless, the belief that the ends do not justify the means was a major rallying concept for those opposed to Communism, particularly in the early years of the Cold War. For some, the belief was probably rooted in religion. For others, the concept was likely an expression of a moral code that ranked individual freedoms high and resisted their curtailment. For still others, the origin might have been no more than a gut reaction, a product of genetic heritage in a nation founded in rebellion against tyranny.

Perhaps the depth of the ends-do-not-justify-means belief in the nation’s soul explains the anguish many citizens feel about an explanation for torture that the ends did indeed justify the means. Or maybe it is the ease, and indeed alacrity, with which the justification was apparently embraced by the Bush Administration. The legal opinions and memoranda released in the last few days give little evidence of a struggle over broad issues of morality, of right and wrong. Instead, the papers are dominated by dry discussions of details, procedures, and alleged safeguards. One reads the material and wonders, did the authors not have any doubts about the end justifying the means?

Put another way, the released material does little more than assume that the end justified the means. Making the subjects of interrogations physically and mentally uncomfortable, even fearful, was the accepted intermediate objective on the path to the next objective, which was meaningful intelligence. The challenge was interpreting treaties, statutes, and precedents in such a way as to reach that intermediate objective of a terrorist willing to talk.

Former Vice President Cheney and his supporters cite yet-to-be released documents describing plots foiled as proof that the ends justified the means. It’s a safe bet that if these documents are released, not everyone will find such clarity. And the troublesome question will remain: did anyone at any point attempt a meaningful examination of whether the ends justified the means, or was that just assumed from the start by all involved, from the Decider on down?

CRANKY NEEDS HIS AU PAIR

Last week, while running, jogging, shuffling, or whatever it is he does at his advanced age, Cranky took a spill. Cranky has been pounding the pavement for forty years, and spills have not been uncommon, maybe three or four a year. In the past, the result was no more than skinned knees and bruised hands. But this time was different. Maybe his reactions are slower, maybe he was just overdue, but this time Cranky’s first point of contact with the ground was his chin.

The event occurred in a neighborhood populated mostly by folks from nations to the south. Perhaps uncertainty about customs in their new home explains why no one rushed to aid an old Gringo in shorts crumpled on the sidewalk. In any case, Cranky eventually pulled himself up and staggered home.

A four-hour visit to the ER determined that Cranky had cracked his jaw in three places. An oral surgeon pronounced that the jaw needed to be wired shut.

So the next day, after blood had stopped flowing and things had stabilized a bit, Cranky was back at the oral surgeon’s. The last thing he remembers is a needle going into his arm.

Well, the procedure was done but Cranky was still out cold. His wife and a nurse got him into the car for the trip home. There, his wife and two neighbors maneuvered him from the car into the house.

At this point, Cranky began to regain consciousness. His first memory is standing in his living room trying to make a desire known to his wife and the two neighbors: “AUF PUFF, AUF PUFF!”

The onlookers were perplexed.

“Upstairs, do you want to go upstairs?”

“Do you want something to drink?”

“I think he wants to lay down.”

But they weren’t comprehending Cranky’s need: “AUF PUFF, AUF PUFF!”

Finally, Cranky attempted graphics. With his hands, he traced an hourglass shape in the air in front of him: “AUF PUFF, AUF PUFF!”

Someone understood: “He wants an au pair!”

Yes, Cranky wanted an au pair to help in his recovery, preferably young and Scandinavian, but really, any nationality would do. Having made his need known, Cranky returned to unconsciousness.

WHAT THE GRAPH IS TELLING US

Specifically, the graph in the previous post shows that since sometime in the 1980s financial assets in the U.S. economy have grown faster than U.S. Gross Domestic Product. The beginning of this faster growth by financial assets coincided with the proliferation of computers. The Information Age is a term often applied to our computer-dependent society, and a variety of sources suggest the 1970-90 time frame as the beginning of the Information Age.

Thus one might conclude that the acceleration in the growth of financial assets over the last 20 years has been due to computers and is a byproduct of the Information Age. How have computers accelerated the growth of financial assets? First, computers facilitated the construction of complex, multi-layered financial products. Where there had once been a one-to-one ratio between a tangible asset--such as a house--and an intangible asset--in the case of the house, the mortgage held by a financial institution--there now could be a one-to-many ratio. The financial institution holding the mortgage could combine it with other mortgages to produce another financial asset, which could be sold to investors or other financial institutions, who could repeat the process. The total amount of financial assets grew faster than the amount of tangible assets supporting them.

The second way computers might have accelerated the growth of financial assets is similar but does not involve such an obvious pyramiding effect. Computers exponentially increased both the ability to create new financial assets and to process existing financial assets. The sheer increase in speed may have resulted in an increase in quantity.

But the graph suggests not just that the accelerated growth of financial assets to 2007 was a byproduct of the Information Age. What has transpired since? A financial debacle. So the graph suggests this causation trail: computers, accelerated growth of financial assets, financial debacle.

In other words, it's all the fault of computers.

WHAT STORY IS THIS GRAPH TELLING?