Plame Game II

Yesterday Judith Miller was thrown in jail for refusing to divulge her source in the Plame Naming. She won't testify to what everyone practically knows already - that Karl Rove is deep throating it around Washington. Though there is real potential for holding the administration administration accountable, there is an underbelly to the Plame case. We could see some real damage done to the "right" to keep confidential sources - only a conventional right currently, not a legal one. Miller's lost court case will very likely have a profound chilling effect on the practice of using confidential sources, whistleblowers, and the like - a practice that, on balance, serves the interests of investigative journalism much more often than it does the powers that be. Miller is posing now as the sacrificial savior of independent journalism, but if we recall, she was perhaps the loudest voice on the Shock and Awe Cheerleading Squad at the Times. When the Times issued an apology for shoddy reporting regarding WMD claims, Miller's reporting was called out specifically.

Today I was in New York City taking a tour around the UN building (before John Bolton lops off the upper fifteen floors, as folks say.) Among other things, I had the pleasure of seeing both the Syrian and Cuban ambassadors address an academically-minded audience. But the headline speakers could not have been more appropriate. First was Joel Simon, Deputy Director of the Committee to Protect Journalists, an international organization advocating for the safety and rights of journalists. Following him was Gail Collins, the Editorial Page Editor for The New York Times. Of course both were very concerned about the state of investigative journalism after the Miller jailing. It seems that Rove hedged his bets with the Plame Naming by holding hostage one of the critical tools of investigative journalism. We trade our queen for theirs ... that is, if the trial goes live...

Unfortunately (and for the administration, conveniently) the entire case will probably be swallowed up by the London bombings this morning. This was yet another reason why it was strange to be walking Manhattan's sidewalks today. Grand Central Station was buzzing with TV cameras and stumping politicians. Another measured weight seemed to have descended onto the shoulders of the people whisking along. Kate and I spent the rest of the afternoon at the Museum of Modern Art looking for some consolation on the Surrealist floors. Andre Breton said that art would be convulsive or it would not be. Well, we finally got our convulsive art form. The coming attractions are splashed all over the newspapers already, and we know that the show will arrive tomorrow or the next or the next. What match are all these silly rights in the face of such an awful spectacle?