White House Chronicle

News Analysis With a Sense of Humor

Perry Peddling the Mythological Texas

by 3 Comments

The manner of a man’s arriving is not without consequence. Tom Enders, the
German-born and American-educated head of Airbus, the European aircraft
giant, likes to do it by parachute, if it is an open-air event. People
don’t always remember what he says, but they sure remember how he got
there.

Of Texas Gov. Rick Perry, it could be said that he parachuted into the
race for the Republican presidential nomination. The manner of his entry
will be remembered, as it was meant to be.

Perry orchestrated a drum roll of media speculation, leading up to his
announcement. He assessed, contemplated, debated, discussed, examined,
explored and weighed entry. The media followed: might he, should he, would
he?

The drum roll, fed by leaks, grew louder as the declared candidates
traveled to Iowa for a debate and straw poll. Then Perry, with an
announcement in South Carolina, jumped and precision-landed on the parade
in Iowa.

Poor Michele Bachmann, left like a performing dolphin that has had its
fish snatched away. She had won the straw poll, deserved a few hours of
party adulation and had her joy cut by this man, who dropped in from the
West, all swagger and handshakes.

Perry hit the ground campaigning, when she was hoping to savor a victory
moment or two. Those famed southern manners don’t extend into Texas
politics. Ask fellow Texan, Kay Bailey Hutchison. He crushed her in a
Republican primary in Texas.

In Perry’s political lexicon Texas, and things Texan, are at once policy,
ideology and creed. But Perry’s Texas is not all of Texas, with its
alluring geographical and social diversity. It is the Texas of the
caricature — of barbecue, boots, swagger and can-do. It is not the Texas
of artists in Austin, of the symphony in Houston, ballet in Dallas or jazz
in San Antonio.

It is an inauthentic Texas, minted not on the ranches and the oil rigs,
nor the ugly, sprawling, low-income housing that surrounds the bustling
cities – a testament to an increasing chasm between rich and poor. It is
not the place where schools are failing, the prisons are overflowing, and
the execution rate is the highest in the advanced world.

Perry’s projection of Texas, which he sees as a template for the rest of
the United States, is as inauthentic as tumbleweed — an invasive species
from Russia. Perry’s Texas was created in novels, honed in Hollywood and is
part of the myth that Texas and Texans are imbued with qualities denied to
lesser breeds beyond the Lone Star State.

The problem with believing in myth, and elevating it to the the standing
of principle, is that myth is flexible and can be adjusted to reality.
Ergo the early revelation that Perry is happy to disavow difficult things,
like global warming. He says that there is a list of scientists, growing
almost daily, that say global warming is not the result of human activity.
This is cunning. It disavows responsibility without having to deny the
evidence. While the heads of most advanced governments worry about the
impact of greenhouse gases, a President Perry will not have to.

Perry has also laid down his marker as a man of faith, or at least a man
of public piety. He might want to note that the two most publicly
religious presidents of recent times, Jimmy Carter and George W. Bush,
left office in low esteem and are not faring well in the first books of
history. He may want to ponder why the Founding Fathers were so anxious to
separate church and state.

Perry’s political barbecue sauce, such as berating the Federal Reserve,
may be the precursor to a string of tired, old political nonsenses, like
returning to the gold standard; quitting the United Nations; and
abrogating treaties, in the belief that every commitment abroad is an
infringement of sovereignty.

Perry has made a dramatic entry. Now we wait in trepidation; even George
W. Bush’s people are alarmed. Are we to be shown the real Texas, at the
same time proud and flawed, or the synthetic one, doctored for political
effect? — For the Hearst-New York Times Syndicate

Slash Government Spending? Think again

by 3 Comments

From one end of this land to the other, from Anchorage, Alaska, to Key West, Fla., and from Portland, Maine, to Honolulu, you can get a round of applause by stating that the government is too big. Way too big.

But I ask you, in the name of all of those heresies that have proven to be true, is it too big? Maybe we have the government we ordered up, and it is just the size that, subliminally, we want.

The government may be less than efficient, employ too many people at high wages for low output and sometimes be maddeningly illogical. But those things are not a function of size. They are a function of the wrong dynamics in the structure of government, and they won't be cured by clear-cutting the government itself. We need a forester, not a logger.

The fact is that we the people want a lot of government and, whether we like that or not, we keep ordering up more and more. It will be a neat trick to keep it from getting bigger, just because we keep tasking it to do more. Also, we want to be first in all things from space exploration to green energy.

Do we really want the Chinese walking on the Moon, or an Indian spacecraft circling Mars?

Do we really want to buy our green-generating technologies from Norway?

Judson Phillips, founder of the Tea Party Nation, likes to list those government programs that he, with the wisdom of a Renaissance man, finds foolish. But when you add up his examples, even if he were right, they amount to a few billion dollars in a time of trillions.

Mostly, it is programs they do not understand that bring out the conservative axes. I wonder if Phillips would have supported research on the Internet (a crazy idea hardening computers against nuclear attack)?

The big program that is eating our fiscal cake, for anyone to see, is Medicare.  If you are on Medicare, you can list the waste that you are obliged to countenance. We all have stories of unnecessary X-rays, MRIs and multiple blood tests. But is that the only problem?

Suppose we were to cut the cost of Medicare in half?

Wow, that would be saving! Well, we spend between 16 and 17 percent of our gross domestic product on all medicine, including Medicare. In western Europe, that figure is just over 8 percent — some with state systems like Britain, and some with hybrid state and private systems like Germany and Holland.

Maybe, we should overcome our Europhobia and find out how they get the same things for less. If that is too much to swallow, look to Japan: It has excellent medicine for a smaller-yet bite of its GDP.

Social Security, the other great potential budget buster (it hasn't happened yet) is subject to relatively easy fixes. Calculate retirement age on years worked. A college graduate works about 44 years. Extend that.

A carpenter works at least four years longer than a college graduate, but is physically unable to work after age 65. Give him or her credit for the equivalent of time served in the workplace.

Meanwhile, new risks to society demand more government responses — not fewer. Try cybersecurity, ocean pollution, invasive species, illegal immigration, climate change, infrastructure renewal and medical research.

I want to know about new and dangerous mosquitoes carrying tropical diseases that have invaded the United States. I also want bed bugs and stink bugs to be brought under control. And I trust the government has scientists looking into these pesky things.

I also want the government to take diseases like myalgic encephalomyelitis seriously and bring hope to a million suffering Americans, and many millions more around the globe.

We got the government we have because we voted for it piece by piece. Now it is in trouble. When in financial difficulty, cut your expenditures as much as possible — and there are limits here — and then try to get a raise. In government-speak, we call that a tax increase. — For the Hearst-New York Times Syndicate

Murdoch Is Felled by a Disease He Once Cured

by Leave a Comment

In the 1960s, even to an old union man like myself, British newspaper
unions had reached a point at which they were a threat not only to the
newspaper industry, but also to the freedom of the press itself.

It took someone as ruthless and sociopathic as the unions to find a way to
break their hold. That man was Rupert Murdoch and he did it with
outstanding courage, cheek and military-like planning.

In theory, the deal was simple: If the unions would not behave in the
workplace, he, the proprietor, would move the workplace.

In today’s world, this sounds easy. But in those days, trade union rights
were regarded as inviolable. A blow against one union was a blow against
all unions. “Solidarity,” in union speak, was awesome.

Yet Murdoch set out to leave London’s Fleet Street; then the physical home
of nearly all of Britain’s national papers, now the metaphorical home of
British journalism.

In secret Murdoch built the most modern printing plant of its day in
Wapping, the old dock area in the East End of London. He surrounded it with
razor wire and prison-like defenses and secretly recruited new workers
from the areas of Britain with the highest unemployment.

Nothing so bold had ever happened in British industrial relations.

To get the operation rolling, Murdoch made demands of the National
Graphical Association — the most militant of the unions — on
computerization. The union did not want journalists touching computers,
and they wanted no changes in the antiquated machinery that they used.

Strikes were frequent and often unofficial: The workers just downed tools
over almost always imagined grievances. Then they started censoring the
newspapers: They would not print newspapers with editorial material they
disapproved of. Production was said to be “lost.” This euphemism meant
that the newspapers never appeared in some markets.

If a newspaper were to run a story about communist penetration of the
unions, which was rife, the printers censored it. Sometimes they allowed a
blank space to appear, and sometimes the paper had to withdraw the
offending-but-accurate report to get printed at all.

With planning worthy of a great general, Murdoch orchestrated the move to
Wapping and sprung it on the country as a fait accompli in late January
1986. The journalists, who belonged to a less belligerent union, the
National Union of Journalists, were divided. Some “went to Wapping,”
others quit.

All of Murdoch’s titles moved, including the weekly News of the World, The
Sun, a daily, and the venerable Times and Sunday Times. Five thousand
old-line workers were sacked for honoring what the unions said was a
provoked strike.

But the press was saved, and Murdoch saved it. All the newspapers made it
to fight another day.

The unions had become arrogant, thuggish and sociopathic. They did not
care about the principles of a free press, the illogic of their Luddism or
the greater harm to society. Power and money was their thing, and they had
power: power to boss the bosses, power to set the number of workers who
worked each night, and increasingly power to determine what was printed.

Lord Rothermere, one of Britain’s newspaper barons, was once asked, “How
many people does it take to produce The Daily Mail?” His lordship replied,
“About one quarter.”

The featherbedding was awesome. Some delivery drivers got paid by three
newspapers for delivering papers when they were, in fact, working
somewhere else altogether.

So there is a fine irony that the Murdoch’s News Corp. now stands accused
of many of the sins of the unions he disciplined: sociopathic arrogance; a
desire to control the news as well as cover it; and a thuggish corruption
that reached into the highest levels of at least three British
administrations, Thatcher, Blair and Cameron; and has brought low the
world’s largest and most storied police force, the Metropolitan Police,
known as Scotland Yard.

Murdoch’s many newspapers in England accumulated so much power that they
began to dictate the news, orchestrate policy and politicians came live in
awe of the power of the News Corp. apparatus to reveal people’s private
lives, delve into their finances, and have their careers boosted or
blunted by columnists and selective reporting.

Many years ago, before Murdoch established himself in Fleet Street, one of
its legendary characters, Harry Procter, wrote an angry memoir called
“Street of Shame.” Yes, indeed. — For the Hearst-New York Times Syndicate

Chronic Fatigue Syndrome: Misnamed, Misdiagnosed, Misunderstood

by 54 Comments

What's in a name? A great deal, if you suffer from one of the most awful long-term diseases that is widespread: chronic fatigue syndrome.

That name infuriates the patients, maybe 1 million in the United States and 17 million worldwide. It also infuriates the small but dedicated cadre of doctors and researchers who have made the disease and its casualties their concern.

The Centers for Disease Control (CDC) in Atlanta picked the CFS moniker in 1988, although the term myalgic encephalomyelitis (M.E.) is still in use in Europe and elsewhere, and is favored by patients.

The new name fast became despised because “it trivializes the disease and misleads people,” in the words of Leonard Jason, professor of psychology at DePaul University in Chicago. Certainly it brings to mind chronic whiners and everyone's everyday fatigue.

Part of the misleading, as Jason and numerous other medical professionals have claimed, is that the name has allowed governments and psychiatrists, especially in Britain, to sweep a plethora of psychological diagnoses into the tent. This, it is alleged, obscures the central unsolved mystery of CFC and its AIDS-like misery. And it hugely diverts government funding away from serious biomedical research. Jason and his colleagues believe that the most promising lines of investigation — pathogens, including a retrovirus called XMRV — are being under-researched in the process.

Although it has been around for centuries, and variously labeled, the modern concern with the disease dates to a major outbreak at London's Royal Free Hospital in 1955. That outbreak was big enough — nearly 300 — to worry public-health officials.

Its appearance in a cluster at the hospital suggested that it was contagious. Then, as now, there was no treatment and no clue as to the path of the contagion: Was it airborne or food-borne? How about contaminated surfaces? Were bodily fluids involved? Was there a genetic link?

None of those questions have been answered. What is known is that the disease appears in clusters and, more often, in isolated cases. It has spread in families, making it frightening; but the spread is occasional, not automatic.

The next major event to get the attention of health professionals was in Nevada at Incline Village, a resort on Lake Tahoe, in 1985. At over 300 cases, it proved too big to ignore, finally attracting attention from the CDC as well as state public-health authorities.

The CDC sent two young epidemiologists to investigate the outbreak—Gary Holmes and Jon Kaplan. They estimated sufferers at perhaps 20,000 throughout the United States, a majority women of whom were women.

In the same year, a second outbreak occurred in Lyndonville, a farming and manufacturing village in the northwest corner of New York state, with 216 cases out of a population of fewer than 900. Lyndonville only had one doctor, David Bell. He has followed the disease's progress tirelessly, becoming somewhat of a Nelson Mandela in the field.

Over the years, the disease kept on popping up around the country, attracting distinguished researchers in its wake. In 1987, Harvard Medical School professor Dr. Anthony Komaroff published a report about increasingly significant numbers in his Boston practice — the first evidence of what is now a quarter century of his CFS research. Dr. Nancy Klimas, an immunologist and AIDS expert at the University of Miami, found her clinic flooded with sufferers from the new disease and soon found their immune systems showed strange characteristics.

The numbers were clearly overflowing the CDC's estimate, but no one yet realized the extent.

Then entered Jason and his team of researchers at DePaul University. They studied the disease in society from a psychological point of view and found in 1990 that there were about 1 million sufferers in the United States.

They also found that the disease was caused by an unknown pathogen but was not psychological in nature, and that the cure rate was extremely low. Additionally, they and other researchers found that one of the prevailing symptoms was immune system suppression.

For most patients, CFS is a one-way ticket to hell. The affliction is acute and mostly incurable. Horrifically, it takes away even life's littlest pleasures.

According to many interviews and hundreds of e-mails I have received since first covering the disease, sufferers are hit first with symptoms of what seems to be flu. Sometimes there is a short, deceptive remission — sometimes two or three. Then the pattern emerges of collapse after every exertion, especially exercise. Finally, it is full onset: There are no more normal days, only different degrees of weakness, pain and other symptoms. Doctors term the disease relapsing and remitting. That means you might have weeks, months or years of slightly better days, and then stretches — often years, sometimes decades — of almost total helplessness. It is goodbye to the life you have known; to work, to hobbies, to lovers and spouses, to everything short of hope.


Deborah Waroff, a gifted New York author and securities analyst, is typical in the devastation of her life. Before Waroff was a skier, a sailor, a passionate squash and tennis player. Now the aloneness of the disease weighs her down. Very old friends — some from her days at Harvard, a few from childhood, a handful from work — sustain her with telephone calls, when she can answer the phone, and some come by. Nonetheless, the brutal loneliness is always there.

Waroff was first felled at the end of July 1989. Her engagement calendar grew full of forlorn cancellations for dinners, parties and meetings. One day in 1991, a bad headache arrived that lasted three days; after that, it came again and again.

Gradually, with help from a caring doctor, Waroff began to find medications and methods that would allow her to work a few hours a day. Pushing herself with sheer willpower to complete a chore would exaggerate her symptoms — more mixed-up speech, stumbles and almost falls, dizziness, rising fevers. Afterward, she would be immobilized for days.

Then things got worse.

In September 2003, Waroff woke up to find that she was too weak to fill out a simple form — just to renew library books – and fax it. That was the beginning of month after month of near-death incapacity. “I was as weak as you can imagine. I lay on the couch, its high back and sides making me think how much this was like being in a coffin, inert, my consciousness flattened by illness. I was too weak to read and often too weak to watch television. I would turn my back to the screen and let the sound wash over me, not taking it in.”

CFS, like AIDS, suppresses the immune system. Typical symptoms include tremendous fatigue that is unrelieved by sleep, as well as flare-ups of herpes- family diseases (like HHV-6 and Epstein-Barr), swelling of the lymph nodes, muscle ache and other pain, dysphasia (the inability to use the right words) and general cognitive failure, nausea and faintness.


Elisabeth Tova Bailey, once a professional gardener in Maine, was felled by CFS. Unable to leave her bed for more than a year, she filled her days by watching a single snail in a terrarium make its fascinating way though life.

When she was feeling somewhat better, Bailey studied the snail through the wonderful work of the 19th-century naturalists — that special breed of romantics who studied by watching, rather than by dissecting in the lab. The result is the well-reviewed and sweet book, “The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating.”

The most famous person to have CFS, and to have managed in great adversity to be productive, is Laura Hillenbrand who has over time written two incontrovertible bestsellers, “Seabiscuit: An American Legend” and “Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival.”

Hillenbrand's achievement is Herculean. She seldom is able to leave her home in Washington, D.C. In a recent interview, she told the story of how she had to leave her own wedding because she was so sick.

Statistically two-thirds more women are afflicted than men. But I have heard from a lot of men, including a medical doctor and a young man, who was thrown out by his father who accused him of malingering, being lazy and not wanting to work. His plight is terrible, as is the plight of other people who do not have the intellectual capital or financial resources to do anything but suffer in isolation. Insurance companies drop coverage routinely, and many doctors misdiagnose or are influenced by psychiatric arguments.

Recovery, like that of DePaul's Leonard Jason, is rare. If it does not occur within the first two years, it is unlikely to occur at all. Usually only the young and well-supported socially are able to regain a good part of the health they once had.

The beacon of hope in this wasteland of human wreckage is a private institute in Reno, Nev. Affiliated with the University of Nevada, it is called The Whittemore Peterson Institute for Neuro-Immune Disease (WPI). It was founded and funded by Harvey Whittemore and his wife, Annette. Their 33-year-old daughter, Andrea Whittemore Goad, has been a CFS sufferer since she was 11.

The medical establishment has been cool to WPI; and NIH turned down all six research grant applications it made last year. But 1 million very sick Americans are cheering for this frontal attack on CFS, which they prefer to call M.E./CFS in deference to the older, less trivializing name.

While these things are argued, the life in limbo that so many endure is described by Waroff this way: “You know the trouble with this disease? All this time goes by with nothing in it. You don't get a chance to put anything in it. It's just empty time.”

Squabbling Experts, Suffering Patients

As with other investigative science, the search for a cure for chronic fatigue syndrome (CFS) is riddled with controversy, accusations and suspicion. The patient community believes, with seeming unanimity, that the medical institutions have failed them globally – namely America’s Centers for Disease Control (CDC) and the National Institutes of Health (NIH) and Britain’s National Health Service (NHS) They argue that the CDC discredited the disease, following the first big U.S. outbreak by giving it a misleading new name, chronic fatigue syndrome, and then shirking on research.

Among the alleged perfidy, the CDC first under-counted the number of U.S. sufferers at 20,000 and then over-counted them at 4 million. The count is crucial because when it was too low, resources were starved. And once it was set too high, test results became skewed because the CDC was including legions of clinically depressed people and others with psychological ailments, probably none of whom had CFS.

Nowhere is the counting more important than trying to establish whether it is the retrovirus XMRV that is the guilty pathogen in CFS. If the count is wrong and the patient cohort include people who have been misdiagnosed, the studies become a nonsense.

That is partially the case in Britain, where the NHS has been predisposed to treat CFS as a psychological disease and to dismiss studies which find XMRV in patients as contaminated, in particular by mouse DNA, which is present in the air of many laboratories that use mice in tests.

But the privately funded Whittemore Peterson Institute (WPI) in Reno, Nev. claims that they have never used mice and have guarded carefully against this possibility. Among the numerous test methods they used to thwart contamination, they hunted down antibodies to XMRV in patient blood, which cannot possibly have any connection to contamination. As WPI president Annette Whittemore points out, the real lab work includes finding genuine patients and extracting the elusive markers such as XMRV antibodies, making the work conclusive.

A recent article in the distinguished British medical journal, The Lancet, advocated cognitive therapy for CFS, such as improved diet and regular, paced exercise. The Internet lit up with denunciation. The consensus was that this was therapy for people who suffered from depression, not CFS.

The bottom line: This kind of commonsense therapy may help some, says Dr. David Bell, who has had more hands-on experience with CFS patients than any other medical professional, but it is not a cure or a breakthrough. What little is known is that different therapies work temporarily for different people: Deborah Waroff in New York has had some relief with ozone blood therapy; others, like Andrea Whittemore Goad in Reno, with Ampligen, an experimental drug; and still others with various immune-system boosters.

Those and other issues were debated at a NIH-sponsored conference, entitled “State of the Science,” on April 7-8. — Llewellyn King

This article was previously published by RealClearPolitics.

Merkel Finds German Engineering not Good Enough for Nuclear

by 7 Comments

Question: What is Germany most famous for these days? Answer: engineering.

In light of the worldwide respect for German engineering, precision and management, why has Chancellor Angela Merkel taken up arms against her most admired national talents?

For that is what she has done in turning Germany against its nuclear future — a future she endorsed last fall. She has closed seven reactors permanently and has the 10 others set to cease operating sequentially by 2022.

Ostensibly, she has taken this draconian action in light of the Fukushima-Dai-ichi crisis in Japan; but more especially because her conservative-led Christian Democratic Union party and its coalition members have taken a drumming from the Green party in local elections.

Since the Japanese crisis, the German Greens have mobilized large anti-nuclear demonstrations throughout Germany. Indeed, the party was formed immediately after the Three Mile Island accident in Pennsylvania in 1979. Since then it has been a force to be reckoned with in German politics — always there, but sometimes more vocal than others.

To German commentators, Merkel’s about-face speaks of just one thing: opportunism. Fearing the dissolution of her fragile coalition, she gave the Greens what they wanted: complete surrender on the nuclear issue.

While buying a political-life extension, Merkel has cast a shadow over Germany’s future as the economic engine of Europe. Without nuclear, Germany will face severe economic and even environmental challenges ahead.

Merkel says that the nuclear slack will be taken up by boosting its renewable energy sources – wind, solar and hydro — from 17 percent of the mix today to double that. Nuclear has been providing 25 percent of German electricity. It would take about 20,000 windmills alone to replace that.

Also, Merkel says, electricity consumption will be cut by 10 percent.

Quite how any of this will be achieved is uncertain. Already, conservation is a high priority in Germany and alternative energy has been a high priority for years.

Most likely there will be electricity shortages in parts of the country, mostly in the south; there will be more brown coal burned; and Russia will further extend its energy hegemony over Northern and Eastern Europe by upping the amount of gas provided to Germany for electricity production. Another ironic likelihood is that as Germany will have to import more electricity and it will have to do so from countries with a large nuclear base like France.

The three German utilities that own various nuclear plants are in a state of shock, even disbelief. One, Eon, already is talking about billions of euros of compensation for loss of business and capital goods. The others are likely to follow suit. There is likely to be litigation in the German and the European courts.

Early polls show that while the German people do not want nuclear, they also see the Merkel move as political and cynical. One poll found that 70 percent of the electorate found the chancellor’s actions to be opportunistic.

First calculations, not denied by Merkel’s administration, expect electricity prices – already among the highest in Europe – to bound by nearly 20 percent.

The untold damage is to the concept of the invulnerability of German engineering – that something special that has made German cars the gold standard of the world. If Germany does not believe that it can engineer its reactors to levels of safety and manage them with Prussian zeal, then what has happened to the German ethic?

Brown coal — the dirtiest there is, being somewhere between bituminous coal and peat in its makeup — is the default position in German energy. Dirty to burn but plentiful, it may now make a comeback with severe environmental consequences for Germany and its neighbors.

When Merkel talks about alternatives, she is really talking about wind and at thousands more turbines will now have to be added in a country with limited land area for diffuse energy sources.

Although the Germans have been more successful than thought possible with solar, it remains a cold, gray northern country that requires a lot of reliable affordable electricity to keep its place in the global economy. Merkel appears to have put her own future above that of her country. –For the Hearst-New York Times Syndicate

Natural Gas Is not Exactly Environmentally Clean

by Leave a Comment

If you live in the United States — almost anywhere in the U.S. — there may be a gas well coming to a site near you. Even on property you think you own, a gas well may be on its way.

Then there is the problem of how much air and water pollution that neighborhood gas well will bring with it. So far pollution has brought the most public outcry, largely because it is the issue that environmentalists are concerned with.

The new abundance of natural gas is a bonanza, but it is not a free lunch. Gas wells near or in your backyard are dividing communities, particularly in rural areas, and could eventually divide the environmental movement.

For decades natural gas has been the benign fuel without the pollution of coal, the geopolitical ramifications of oil, or the politics of nuclear. In fact, natural gas is almost too good to be true — or it has been until this latest chapter in its history opened. New supplies and new ways of liberating them are tarnishing the image of gas as the best energy available.

Traditionally, drilling for gas was like drilling for oil. A hole went deep into the ground until it penetrated a big cavern of gas with tributaries, which would yield more gas if the rock there was broken up. This rock-breaking was called hydraulic fracturing, and this was accomplished by injecting various liquids including water, chemicals and gas that had seeped to the surface outside of the piping.

Fifty years ago, there were even two experimental programs to use nuclear detonations for fracking gas. That method didn't go forward.

Since then, things have come a long way in the search for more gas and new technologies have evolved. Chief among these are seismic mapping and horizontal drilling. The former gives geologists a very exact picture of what is underground, and the latter makes the collection of it much more efficient.

Horizontal drilling finds the lock and fracking turns the key. Whereas once drillers put down one straw and sucked, now they put down one straw and then send out others horizontally in many directions.

Thus enabled, gas can now be exploited where it was previously unreachable — in shale rock. But to get the rock to give up its harvest, fracking is essential. With it come problems, and gas — if you will — loses its innocence.

Fracking is environmentally contaminating:

a. The fracking agent along with the methane could seep into drinking water and alarm farmers and communities.

b. Methane tends to escape around the well and is a major greenhouse gas.

c. A gas well using fracking demands millions of gallons of water. Many pollutants, like mercury and nitrates, are borne to the surface with the discharged water, which is then held in leach ponds.

This negates the big environmental virtue of gas that it burns with half the carbon dioxide emissions of coal and none of the nitrous oxides. The lunch tab has gone from nearly free to quite pricey.

The problem for the environmental movement is that it has favored natural gas for electricity production over its bete noirs: nuclear and coal.

The problem of an unwanted gas well landing on land you thought you owned is an historical one which recognizes "split estates." This was a concept in law that the land had two values: the surface and the oil and gas contained under the surface.

These two estates could be split and a landowner could sell the rights to the subterranean estate. Historically, many have done so. Now with the value of shale gas rising in 30 or more states, homeowners are finding that grandpa or a previous owner may have tried to capitalize too early by selling the underground rights.

As Amy Mall of the Natural Resources Defense Council told a meeting on fracking in Washington this week, the law's results can be devastating. A family in Wise County, Texas, lost all value in their 10-acre holding when a gas company, which leased the mineral rights from neighbors who had bought them earlier, set up a rig and occupied five acres of land for their operations.

This is part of the back story on the new bonanza of natural gas that is giving so many so much hope for our energy future. The new gas is not your father's gas and while it is a boon, it is not all blessing.  — For the Hearst-New York Times Syndicate

How Fear, Greed Factor into the Price of Gasoline

by 1 Comment

The fate of the Obama presidency hangs not on a birth certificate or the red ink on the federal budget but by the hose nozzle of your local gas station.

Electoral discontent is measured by the price of a gallon of gasoline. Heading past $4 toward $5, that is a lethal trajectory for President Obama.

Enter the demagogues, especially the clown-in-a-business-suit, Donald Trump. Unfettered by the gravity that goes with facts, Trump says that he would fix the oil price — now around $110 a barrel — by facing down the producers, particularly the Organization of the Petroleum Exporting Countries (OPEC). He told an interviewer on television that he would call OPEC and tell them to pump more or face the consequences. The latter, he did not specify. War? Against whom?

In a compelling book by Leah McGrath Goodman, "The Asylum: The Renegades Who Hijacked the World’s Oil Market," the author lays out the ugly fact that often — in fact, more often as not — the price of oil is set not in Vienna at the headquarters of OPEC, but in downtown Manhattan at the New York Mercantile Exchange (NYMEX).

Tens of thousands of future contracts are traded in nanoseconds at the NYMEX, and the price of oil is set. This price affects not only the price that will be paid when these contracts expire and delivery takes place, but also, according to Goodman, the all-important over-the-counter market, where sellers trade more directly with buyers without government oversight.

Goodman contends that there is little oversight of the NYMEX because the agency charged with the role is the weak and ineffectual Commodities Futures Trading Commission (CFTC), where many staff and commissioners are busy burnishing their resumes so they can cash in later as market executives.

The over-the-counter market is not regulated at all because of a pernicious interference from Congress known as the “Enron Loophole.” How did it get into law? It is one of those pieces of special-interest protection that owes its existence to legislative immaculate conception. It was not in the committee version of the bill; it slipped in along the way without parenthood, but is largely believed to be the work of former Sen. Phil Gramm, R-Texas, whose wife, Wendy, was chair of the CFTC.

In classic theory, a market is where a willing buyer and a willing seller strike a price. In the world of traders, it is something else: It is where volatility is rewarded and myths hold sway.

Today there is no actual shortage of crude oil. Supply and demand, according to those who monitor these things, is in balance. But fear stalks the trading floors because fear is good for traders; and fear is a critical part of the oil price.

Wars and rumors of wars are relished in trading pits. They raise the specter of coming shortage and introduce the instability the traders love. During the electricity shortage in California in 2001, traders, particularly at Enron, sought not only to capitalize on fears of shortage, but also to guarantee shortage by taking generating equipment off line.

Of course, reality must eventually catch up with speculation. The production of oil must meet demand and the price will briefly reach real world equilibrium. This happened in 1986, when the price collapsed because Saudi Arabia opened its spigots after the volatility of the 1970s. Many traders were wiped out and speculative billions were lost.

Some oil industry observers believe that the market is trading on a “fear premium” of about $1 per gallon of gasoline, spooked by the uncertainty in the Middle East and traders exploiting that fear.

Good for Obama. Time for the president to engage in a little market manipulation of his own.

The nation has about eight months of supply of crude oil saved in salt domes, in what is called the Strategic Petroleum Reserve. There is more oil available in the Naval Petroleum Reserve, a set-aside of oil in the ground. Obama needs to say that we are going to start using this oil as soon as it can reach the refineries.

He has to go the whole hog — to set the machinery of using our special reserves in motion. That will humble the traders.

However, any new wars in the Middle East, and all bets are off. Poltergeists would stalk lower Manhattan. – For the Hearst-New York Times Syndicate





More White Mischief

by Leave a Comment

From the Romans on, wise men, including American humorist Mark Twain and French humanist Michel de Montaigne, have advised: Don't lie unless you have a good memory. This could be updated for conspiracy theorists this way: Don't spout theories of conspiracy unless you have the mind of an historian. Take note, Donald Trump.

Now back to Aug. 4, 1961 and the birth of Barack Hussein Obama in a faraway place, Kenya Colony in East Africa. It is a part of the British Empire that knows that its days as a playground for the English upper class — and often aristocratic playboys and playgirls – is limited. A year and a half earlier, their life in the sun was challenged and the future revealed when Conservative Prime Minister Harold Macmillan told the South African parliament on Feb. 3 that “winds of change” were blowing through Africa.

The settlers on the famous “White Highlands” of Kenya Colony had survived the scandals of the 1930s and early 1940s, when the lover of a particularly beautiful woman, Lady Diana Broughton, was believed to have been murdered by her husband, Sir John Broughton, 30 years her senior. The murder of Josslyn Hay, the Earl of Erroll, took the cover off the aristocrats cavorting in Happy Valley and the famous Muthaiga Club in the capital, Nairobi.

Back in England, where the dark days of World War II were raging, the fun-in-the-sun frolickers were pilloried as a dissolute lot with servants, booze, drugs and a penchant for wife-swapping.

In the 1950s, the brutal Mau Mau uprising by Kenya's Kikuyu led to a loss of faith in the future in all of colonial Africa, including Southern Rhodesia, another British colony with a small white population. Unlike Kenya, which was governed from London, Southern Rhodesia had a greater degree of self- government and was less a playground for wild exiles.

The tone of life in Kenya was summed up by the title of a book about the colony's most famous murder, “White Mischief,” later a movie. Anyway by the time Obama was born, things in Kenya were getting tense.

So in this environment of racial sensitivity, imagine a white American giving birth to a child fathered by an African. The local newspaper, The East African Standard, would have been aghast. Blimpy club men would have sputtered over their Scotch and sodas and their wives would have spilled their tea and moved forward the hour for their evening cocktails, known as sundowners.

The settlers in Kenya may have lived fast but, as in Southern Rhodesia, no issue was more sensitive than white women and black men. In 1957 there was a celebrated case in Southern Rhodesia of a black man, Patrick Matimba, who, while studying in England, had married a white woman from the Netherlands and took her to live in his homeland. The white Southern Rhodesians were enraged. While there might have been many white men who were coupling with black women, the reverse was not tolerated. It terrified the settlers.

Uncomfortably the Matimbas set up house in the only place that they were allowed to, church property in the farming hamlet of Rusape. When Mrs. Matimba suffered a miscarriage, her husband could not visit her in the local white hospital. Around this time a white widow, Mrs. Fletcher Lowe, who had an affair with her African servant, was imprisoned. I covered both stories and knew the players well.

So to those of us who grew up in colonial Africa, it is inconceivable that Obama's mother gave birth to him in Nairobi and that his step-grandmother watched the birth.

More intriguing is how birthers believe that not one but two birth notices were placed in Honolulu newspapers within nine days of Obama's birth. How could that be done without credit cards; the Internet; or in the probability that outside of the American Embassy, not too many people in Kenya knew anything about Hawaii? After all, Hawaii had only been a state for two years and the people of Kenya had other things on their minds, let alone how to post birth notices across two oceans.

No, Donald Trump. The kind of disinformation pedaled by the birthers had a name in Kenya: white mischief.  – For the Hearst-New York Times Syndicate

 

 

 

 

Obama’s Empty Gasoline Tank

by 2 Comments

There is a piece of doggerel which goes:

They said it couldn’t be done.

So I went right to it — that thing they said

Couldn’t be done.

And I couldn’t do it.

And that is the way it has been with presidents since the 1973 oil crisis. All of them – from Richard Nixon to Barack Obama, who has just joined the club — have wrung their hands and exhorted us to use less oil in general and less foreign oil in particular.

Nixon had his commerce secretary, Peter G. Peterson (he of enormous wealth these days), promise far reaching and revolutionary “initiatives” to tame our thirst for oil. But Nixon was out of office before these palliatives were revealed.

Gerald Ford, caught up in vicious inflation, partly linked to the cost of oil, launched the Energy Research and Development Administration (ERDA), combining the Atomic Energy Commission, the Office of Coal Research and other energy entities in the federal government. ERDA initiated many programs, while politicians invoked the Manhattan Project and the Apollo 11 moon landing. But the search for the Fountain of Eternal Energy failed.

Jimmy Carter wanted not only to solve the energy challenge, but to be seen to be solving it. Ergo, he expanded ERDA into the Department of Energy (DOE) and created a separate Synthetic Fuels Corporation. The latter failed after a short and unhappy life. No oil reached the pumps.

When the price of oil collapsed in the 1980s, so did hopes for many of the alternative energy sources, including ocean thermal gradients and flywheel energy storage.

To its credit, though at great cost, DOE, through its chain of national laboratories, kept searching. The result has been evolutionary improvements in many fields, and some really revolutionary ones in how we find oil and drill for it; these include seismic mapping, new drill bits and horizontal drilling.

These evolutionary developments brought more oil to market and have contributed to the recent improvement in domestic production that Obama likes to point out. It has enabled us to cut our imports slightly, so they now stand at 11 million barrels per day out of consumption of 20 million barrels per day.

Obama wants us to cut those imports by a third. To do this, he has no magic bullet.

In fact, he has no ammunition: solid numbers and research. His speech at Georgetown University was founded more on hearsay than science or economics.

Because he criticized them for taking out leases they have not drilled, the oil industry disliked the oil component of the speech, but thrilled at the emphasis on natural gas. When it comes to leases, the industry hankers not for those it holds, but for the plums that have not been leased for political reasons:  the eastern Gulf of Mexico and Alaska.

Sadly, Obama seemed to have learned the wrong lesson on his recent trip to Brazil because he is brimming with enthusiasm for ethanol. In Brazil, this is made from sugar cane, of which the Brazilians have a lot and cheap labor to farm it. Here, it is made from corn with devastating results on all the food products that come from corn. George W. Bush shoved the country down that slippery slope, and Obama wants to add more lubricant.

Another Obama tool is mandated fuel-economy standards. Problem is the market will start circumventing the regulations. It works like this: If you mandate 40-miles-per-gallon fleet average instead of floods of new small hybrids of the Toyota Prius type, the market will supply small, regular cars and large, luxury hybrids. Better, but not everything the president might want.

Real oil savings come with high prices dictated either by taxes or shortage. Presidents, however, have to placate voters by holding down the price of oil, signaling that it is all right to consume. That leaves presidents — and Obama has just proved it — with that last resort of the impotent in office: exhortation. — For the Hearst-New York Times Syndicate


 

Taylor and Burton: In Love for All of Us

by Leave a Comment

I don't believe I've ever seen two people so in love as Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. I was a young reporter in London when the lovers were staying at the luxurious Dorchester Hotel on Park Lane.

My assignment from one of those notorious British tabloids, where more good journalism than bad actually takes place, was to go up to the hotel and track them down; maybe get an interview; certainly tell the world everything that you could about their accommodations, what they were eating, and when they came and left.

The hotel, as you might expect, skillfully frustrated my efforts and those of my competitors. They guided us to the bar and an endless supply of Champagne — Veuve Clicquot, as I recall.

Meanwhile, the lovers came and went by side doors and back entrances. Day after day, I went to the Dorchester; and day after day, my prey avoided me.

All I really needed was to see them and extract a few words. Even if they'd said, “Go away and stop following us,” it would've been enough.

I can see the piece I would've written even now, “The world's most famous lovers pleaded yesterday for privacy as they sallied forth from their love nest at the posh Dorchester Hotel. … ” One would've noted their clothes; the car they got into; possibly the doorman, for a consideration, would've told me where they were headed.

But alas, no: It was not to be. And then, a miracle.

I was living in the south London suburb of Dulwich, famous for its college, its art gallery and as the birthplace of the novelist Raymond Chandler. A block or two from where my wife and I lived was a pretty decent pub with a good dining room. We often went there for lunch on Sunday. After a dispiriting week of failing to even see the Taylor-Burton duo, I was looking forward to forgetting them over a good lunch and bottle of wine.

I can't remember if we were shown to a table or if we took the table because it was the only remaining one, but we sat down without looking around. And when we did, there they were: Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton at the next table, only feet away.

They were so beautiful. Never do I recall seeing any couple so in love. They glowed. They stared at each other. They talked softly to each other. They smiled and they laughed, oblivious to the room and the two journalists sitting next to them.

My wife, a fine journalist herself, whispered: “Are you going to speak to them or call the office [for a photographer]?”

The mere place where they were lunching — a bit off the beaten track, as it was — would've made an item in the paper; a chat would've produced a career-building, mini-scoop. But there was something about the joy emanating from the next table that stayed my hand and my wife's. We let our opportunity slide away because of the palpable joy coming from the Burton table.

The chase could resume the next day. Maybe we had a second bottle.

Over years, I've always wondered what it was about Taylor, great actress, great beauty, great lover, great humanitarian, that caused her to be more admired by women than men, the way Marilyn Monroe or Ava Gardner were. Conversely it is men who really revered Burton, identified with him.

Maybe that made their love affair our love affair. I, for one, think it was.

Taylor, who has died at age 79, shone even brighter in the firmament than Burton. But together they lit up the world. — For the Hearst-New York Times Syndicate