Let Me Tell You About Oakland

Oakland.  This is my city.  Really.  I own a home here.  I pay my property taxes here.  I have come to see the parts of my life spent in Tampa and South Florida as just “training wheels” for this city.  In a lot of ways, it’s where I’ve been practicing to live.  It is, culturally, my city.  There’s no doubt about it.  In the East Bay, people just do everything harder.  If Detroit and San Francisco had a lovechild, it’d come out like Oakland, and it’d be every bit the angry, ignored punk that Oakland is.

We have, of course, recently made news over our Occupy Oakland commune, which I have gladly supported for a mixture of reasons.  The latest headline is the shooting which happened near a BART station entrance just outside the camp.  The police investigation will, ultimately, get to the how and why of it, and hopefully it will yield a suspect.  I’m not interested in having the speculative back-and-forth about Occupy Oakland’s role in the shooting.  It wouldn’t surprise me if both the shooter and the victim had spent a few nights in the camp, though.  More on that in a second.

What I really want to impress, however, is how this is the sad normalcy for Oakland.  The shooting was homicide #101 for the year.  If you do the math, that’s nearly 10 homicides per month (we’ve fallen behind the average in November).  I had hoped to use a Crimespotting map to show you the year’s homicides, but it looks like their system has a hard time mapping a whole year.  Instead, I’d like to show you the map of homicides, aggravated assaults, and narcotics arrests for September 2011.  I added narcotics not because I have a moral objection to drugs but because, like it or not, the illicit drug trade does tend to provide a geographic anchor for other forms of crime, both as a function of the trade “defending its turf” and as a function of the desperation and out-of-control behavior that drug abuse and addiction bring with them.  Just for the heck of it, I cooked up this map for San Francisco for the same month.  Kindly note that I actually had to add violent robberies to the map just to put enough red dots on the map to show the geographic overlap easy.  The difference in violence between Oakland and San Francisco is enough that I added more crimes to San Francisco’s map just to help show the point.

You might also rightly note that violent crime in Oakland seems to not geographically cluster in Oakland like it does in San Francisco.  You’d be right.  Note that narcotics in Oakland don’t really geographically cluster, either.  Rather, drug crime and violent crime in Oakland are basically kept in check in the Temescal district, the Rockridge district and various affluent areas in the hills outlying.  The rest of Oakland, however, has been, essentially, ceded.  It’s a nice, even distribution of dope and violence, mostly in the slightly denser regions of the city.  East and West Oakland get it worst, but essentially, outside of Temescal, Rockridge and the hills, it’s everywhere.  This is very, very different from San Francisco, where there’s a hub of trouble…the typical “bad part of town.”

This underscores the experience of most Oaklanders I know.  For the record, I live in the San Pablo/Golden Gate district, not quite in “Oakland proper” but not quite in Rockridge or Temescal.  You might consider it a “frontier” zone into the more peaceful and affluent areas.  Since moving here in March, there have been three reported shootings in my immediate neighborhood, including one brutal homicide.  The neighborhood association email list is frequently used for discussion of local gunfire.  Every week, one of us directly sees a violent crime of some form.  Extended conversations have taken place regarding how to take action on our rash of burglary, which the Oakland Police Department are powerless to handle.  We all know which parts of which blocks are the rough ones, and 50 yards is often all that separates your peaceful home from a violent one.  We’ve even considered trying to pay for private security patrols.  There is a single emotional current that underscores the mix of paranoia and dejection I see in my neighbors — deep down, we all sincerely believe that nobody is capable of keeping our streets safe.

Keep in mind that I am describing the experiences of people living in a residential neighborhood in a relatively peaceful part of the city.  I’m not describing life in the more universally working class areas of West and East Oakland.  I’m also getting to enjoy this reportage from the vantage point of being pretty white and pretty privileged.  I recently heard, at a City Council meeting, that young African American men in Oakland have chance of meeting a violent death comparable to a US soldier on tour in Afghanistan.  Any conversation about race in Oakland can’t fit inside a blog post, but I still want to acknowledge the reality and drive home the point that I am, in fact, speaking from a much nicer position than a lot of people in Oakland.

This brings around my ultimate feelings about the recent shooting.  That someone was shot and killed in downtown draws no shock from me.  It’s tragic.  They’re all tragic.  There was a homicide in East Oakland that same week, and that was tragic, too.  The only thing that seems to make it feel noteworthy is that it didn’t happen a little closer to the 19th St BART station, because that’s a bit more of a hotspot for dealing and violence.  And, at that, only a bit.

If the victim and shooter were both found to have made use of the facilities at the Occupy Oakland camp, I also wouldn’t be surprised.  Why?  My experience, having visited the camp several times, is that a strong nucleus of the camp’s community is comprised of the city’s homeless.  Occupy Oakland is offering them something better than the lives they were living…there’s hot food, a bit of a home for yourself, and a chance to participate in a democracy.  So, they cling to it rather than to ongoing homelessness or the city’s taxed shelter system.  With the homeless come the social problems surrounding homelessness, and drug abuse and violence are definitely on that list.  The camp is a permeable community…people come and go from it all the time.  The question of violence among the city’s marginalized, particularly when there’s no strong geographic trends in our violent crime, was just one of time.

At best, you can call this a result of Occupy Oakland and not the fault of Occupy Oakland.  The fact is that this crime would have been considered second-rate news otherwise.  Like I said…few can name the other murder victim from that week.  How about the 100 who died already this year?  But, finally, the background noise of crime in Oakland is happening somewhere where we all have to talk about it.

This, ultimately, is why I continue my support for Occupy Oakland.  I have no illusions that the commune in downtown will somehow cause an important national revolution.  I am not even sure the Occupy movement is a vehicle for action, though it is certainly a vehicle for bringing light to grievances.  I don’t really even know that anything can be done at the city level to address the core complaints of the Occupy movement.  I’m no longer an earnest twenty-something, and I am not going to quickly buy big ideas about changing the world.

Occupy Oakland is doing something important in Oakland anyway.  It’s being a powerful irritant.  Oakland is a city with very long-lived and deep-seated social problems.  We have a city government with no good ideas about how to improve the city, so they instead turn to the old saw of courting industry to move in and “make jobs” (which hostages them to private interests).  We have a mayor who, like many mayors before, can’t pick a direction and take it.  Our redevelopment efforts drank the mid-2000s Kool-Aid and promptly died in the financial crash, making our downtown eerily empty and filled with a background static of crime and homelessness.  We have a police department who have so thoroughly alienated the public that they are seen a necessary evil…like a bully you bribe for protection.  Worst of all, though, is that Oakland carries with it a spirit of desperation…of wanting to hold on and hope…that creates a culture of deferring our real problems.  As long as the homelessness and crime stays scattered enough that it can be put out-of-mind for another day/week/year, then maybe, this time, business as usual will work.

This is where Occupy Oakland has created the biggest irritation.  They have, simply by existing, forced a public conversation about Oakland’s problems, including the institutional tendency to kick the can down the road.  Because of the homeless population in the camp, attempts at dispersing it, unless completely brutal, will only be a temporary measure that will, at best, move the camp to some nearby location.  Occupy Oakland has likewise demonstrated its ability to execute a significant public action if it wants to and thus shows the risks of angering the Oakland public.  This makes brutal police tactics a very costly thing, and I believe this makes the camp incredibly difficult to move.    Because the city chose to lead with a violent police action, Occupy Oakland no longer trusts the city (and why should they), making any potential negotiation nearly impossible.

This, ultimately, makes it difficult to just sweep everything on the rug and get back to business as usual.  I have no doubt that the camp is hurting the incomes of a number of businesses downtown, which is pushing them to demand the city council take action against the camp.  The city council has a genie that’s very difficult to put back in its bottle, and while this plays out, everyone in Oakland, from those who blame the camp to those who support the came, has something to complain about.  What they’re all complaining about is, essentially, the same thing– that our city is too weak to deal with the problems that make Occupy Oakland manifest in the first place, and nobody knows how to fix it.  As long as the camps exist, they require that we, as a city, address our real problems.

Ultimately, this is why I have supported Occupy Oakland, mostly through material donations and through volunteering a little bit of my time.  It’s not to advance broad economic justice (though that’s important to me).  It’s because I live in Oakland, I see the problems with Oakland, and I demand that they be considered as real problems and not just something to defer while the city council lures in some jobs with a tax break.  We can’t just consider our unemployment, homelessness, and crime to be things that are fixed by some gentrification downtown (even if this has been the pet project of multiple administrations).  Oakland has a 16% unemployment rate.  Bringing in some commercial real estate deals doesn’t fix that.  It also doesn’t fix the police’s estrangement from the community, the crime problem, or the racial animosities that simmer beneath the surface.

And, for the record, I don’t personally have amazing solutions to this problem.  I live in a representative democracy, where we hire people to solve the problems.  What I want is that my hired officials actually admit the real problem and lead the public process to addressing it.  Occupy Oakland’s existence keeps the chips on the table.  That’s why I want it there.

Police beatdown or peaceful community growth, nobody does it like the East Bay.  All in.

Inheriting Plunder

“When plunder becomes a way of life for a group of men living together in society, they create for themselves in the course of time a legal system that authorizes it and a moral code that glorifies it.”

–Frederic Bastiat

During my Christmas visit to my family, this quote came up in conversation.  The member of my family in question identifies as having a particularly conservative political perspective, but I must confess that I have never heard a coherent point of view from him, and most of his arguments seem motivated by a general and non-specific hatred of government and by anger for all those he has personally declared to be lazy.  This, of course, makes direct conversation with him difficult and is a motivating reason why I’m writing about it here, on my blog, where there is time and space to form my thoughts.  In due course of the conversation, I simply thanked him to not try to talk about politics with me again.

Having lofted out this Bastiat quote, he in short order declared that people who draw unemployment benefits beyond some arbitrary period of time (I think he said “three weeks”) are plunderers.  From a relative point of view, I suppose it’s an argument which one could make.  Unemployment benefits are paid out by the government, and the government does collect funds by force, and so you could, in a roundabout way, make the argument that the unemployed are living on the spoils collected by government thugs.  Of course, from this particular person’s point of view, it works this way– work makes value, but theft is generally easier, especially if it can be done without direct confrontation of one’s quarry.  Of course, the lazy don’t want to work and want to keep collecting their plunder, so over time, politicians seeking power learn how to offer the lazy people their plunder, and so form a society which enables and glorifies them.  Collectively, these parasites have formed the American welfare society and continue to steal from honest and hard-working productive members of society through the efforts of left-wing politicians.

The amazing thing here is that there is one thing I do agree with him over– there are lazy people in this world who don’t live from the sweat of their brows, and those people are parasites and they should be thrown out on their asses so that they have to work like the rest of us.  It’s just that, in the general continuum of parasites, someone who’s been long laid off doesn’t really rouse my attention.  I’m concerned with real plunderers.

Who are they?  The ownership class.  They’re those who do not work for their money but have instead live on the capital they have amassed.  They’re the landlords, the speculators, the heirs, and the investors.  They have absolutely had the power to structure a society to glorify their behavior, and they have, for they not only lead attractive lives but they are seen as right to do so.  They have even succeeded in inculcating a morality which glorifies them to the point that most people don’t even know how to speak about their lives with moral clarity.  We say they live on the profits of their investments and owned capital, and this sounds quite reasonable; however, it’s a platitude that hides the reality of the situation.  What they live on is plunder, and it’s a plunder that morality and the state defends.

Conventional capital-labor relationships make this perfectly clear.  You hire someone to make you widgets.  You sell the widgets for $X, you pay the laborer $Y, such that Y < X, and then you keep $X-Y for yourself as profit.  Of course, in a real modern widget-making business, you get someone to do the selling for you.  The goal of an owner is to, ultimately, maximize profit and minimize unwanted involvement in getting that profit.  This reaches its ultimate point in a corporation, where the owners of the company do little more than vote for people to hire the people who hire and manage the other laborers.  Ultimately, this means that owning a share of profits means getting money for, effectively, not doing anything.  But where does this money come from?  Well, barring artificial shortage (such as those produced via regulation or monopoly), the price of a good reflects the value of the labor used to produce it.  Goods that can be produced more cheaply, will, because consumers want to maximize utility/price ratios.  So, a good that costs $X had, from a consumer’s perspective, $X worth of labor in it.  Since the laborers were paid $Y instead, however, they have not received full compensation for their production of the product.  That skim off the top is the province of the owner(s), which they receive for doing as little as possible (and often nothing at all).  Anyone who works knows this is true and tries not to think about it.  The only reason it is accepted is because those who work don’t have the means to do otherwise, and the major arguments workers give themselves are part of a mythology of the social necessity of their work.  The latter is a plea to oneself to ignore the fact that, from the perspective of owners, virtually all workers are replaceable.

The system itself is self-feeding.  The primary argument why investors are needed is because they have the means to take risks on paying for labor which isn’t economically valuable.  Yet the primary reason this is so is because the majority of wealth is collected in the hands of relatively few people, to the point that no endeavor of any consequence can happen without the involvement of the ownership class in some fashion or another.  Once they are involved, they claim a cut of the equity of that endeavor, thus ensuring the continued concentration of that wealth, thus making their participation in society necessary.

Plunder and its inheritors, though, continue down to even smaller things in life, like the plot of land my family owns.  Land doesn’t just appear out of nowhere.  My parents bought their house from someone, who was the tail of a long chain of prior owners.  The first in that chain bought the land from the local government (the city or the county, depending on incorporation lines).  Those local governments formed as the native peoples of Florida were wiped out and deported and Europeans moved in.  In America, virtually all land was the province of one group of native people or another, and prior generations were quite happy to treat them as pests, wipe them out, and make the land suitable for re-use.  And since then, this land has been resold to others over and over and over again.  My family lives on a plot of plunder.  If you own land, you own plunder.

And that is, for better or for worse, the reality.  The heritage of America is one of plunder.  Our land was plundered from nations of people who already lived here, and they were “dealt with” so that we could bring in our own capitalistic society, one which begins with a plundering class exploiting the laboring masses and which effortlessly perpetuates itself.  Plunder is inevitable in our society, and a lazy few live well on that plunder.  And, frankly, I’m at least a little guilty myself.  I’ve owned stocks since I was eight years old, and I may well sell my portfolio to buy a house.  And like most Americans, that’s important to me…my little slice of plunder is also my ticket to having a patch of society that’s mine.

That’s the reality of plunder.

TED Talks and Revolution

Out in the wilds of Facebook, a friend directed my attention to this article on Salon.com which presents a perspective on TED from the inside.  Given my audience, I don’t need to spend much time on explaining TED.  Pretty much anyone who uses the Internet and thinks of him/herself as “smart” has seen at least one TED talk at some point.  In fact, they’re such a staple of the Internet that they were recently lampooned by stuffwhitepeoplelike.com.  I am, of course, no exception to the rule.  I’ve seen quite a few of them, and while I have generally enjoyed most of the ones I have seen, somewhere around the 5th TED talk I watched, I felt like I was seeing a pattern in the presentations.  I confess, however, that it was a pattern I couldn’t put a serious critique to until I read the Salon article.  Now that I have, I definitely have lost a lot of the zeal I felt I had left for these talks.  They’re still interesting little bite-sized ideas, but it’s probably very much worth it to back up for a second and really look at TED for what it is.

I think the first thing that really bothered me about TED was TED itself.  After watching a few talks with my wife, we became very curious about the conference.  I work as a designer-of-gadgets and she works in cultural politics, and we started to wonder if maybe this was the sort of conference we could attend.  Of course, we were quickly surprised to discover the staggering cost to attend the conference, which really is small potatoes compared to the fact that admission is by invitation only.  Of course, those not able to acquire an invitation can attend a satellite conference at a steep but somewhat reduced price.  I certainly understand the need for people putting on a conference to cover their costs and to attract their core audience (since conferences are all about networking), and so I do understand TED’s admission policy and price, but I also think it’s fair to stop and ask what this policy says about the people who are considered a good fit for TED attendance and what it says about TED.  Its primary target audience are what the Salon article appropriately calls “creative elites,” and TED is an opportunity for this class of people to talk to themselves about how they want to revolutionize the world.  If you’re not sufficiently in the TED elite, your money’s still good to them, and if you’re not part of that elite and don’t have TED-level money, then your place is consuming the talks TED publishes online.  While that’s very generous of them to do so, I think it’s also fair to say that it’s still pretty elitist.  I also don’t have a problem with a little elitism, but let’s not mix it with the aesthetics of openness, democracy, or the individual.  TED wants to be about those things, but it repeats a system that is not.

This, too, is forgivable.  I’m a pretty morally generous person sometimes.  The next valid question is really about the general message of TED talks.  I do certainly believe that every person who has stood up to give a TED talk has been out to promote an optimistic and humanistic view of our near-term future.  In the TED world, we question, invent, innovate, and design a more perfect tomorrow.  I’m pretty sympathetic to that whole “World’s Fair mythos,” and its message of optimism and individual creativity struck me at an early age and produced a lifelong fascination with computers.  There remains, though, two major questions on my mind.  The first question is, and the easier one to discuss is this: What if a new, big innovation isn’t what we need? The second one is this: Can the TED creative elite recognize how the system which made them elites may have contributed to the injustices they seem interested in correcting?

The first question I see as the easier one to frame and the easier one to discuss, which is why I brought it up first.  It’s a valid question to raise because it strikes at the core of what TED is out to do.  Is this a conference about changing the world, or is it instead for the creative elite to produce an echo chamber for their values?  The reason why this is particularly valid to ask is because making the world a better place requires a “best tool for the job” mentality, and it’s not always the case that the best tool for the job is the most technologically advanced one.  The world is still a very large, diverse, and often self-contradictory place, and this alone means that the solution to a serious regional or global issue is often not one solution at all but rather a mix of tools and social structures which must be tailored to fit well within the material and cultural landscape in question.  Given my background, I can think of no recent project which expresses the clash between the TED values of “innovation will set us free” and the experience of those combating social ills on the ground than One Laptop Per Child (OLPC), so I’m going to use it as an example here.  Please keep in mind that I do know OPLC has developed since its first major publicity campaign and distribution push, and it will no doubt continue to improve its technology and its foreign relations and achieve some flavor of its goal, but I still feel the example is illustrative.

A couple of years ago, OLPC went on one of its “give one to get one” campaigns, timing it with the holiday season.  It led to a number of conversations I had with boosters of the project where I noticed that the conversations were not about the OLPC project, its technology, or its aims, but about a set of values that went behind them.  At the time, I was designing a smart phone for Motorola, and between working on issues from optimizing battery life under long-lived network conditions and sorting out how the Navajo deal with daylight saving time, I was learning to conceive of my project as a physical artifact that will really exist in the world…something that someone might call 911 on.  As a product engineer, I began wondering about the OLPC XO-1 (their first laptop model) as a physical artifact that people would use, and how this would relate to the goal of giving an education to those who might otherwise go without.  Would the children least likely to receive an education actually get and keep a laptop?  How could it be assured that a parent might not take it away from the child in need (perhaps a daughter) and give it to a child less in need (perhaps a son)?  What if the region in question becomes unstable, and some militia steals the laptops from the children because they’re a sign of American influence?  Can the laptop deliver meaningful education without the support of a school, which will have to purchase the means to service the laptops?  Would developing more libraries and schools, which have a significantly reduced cost per child, actually create more of the necessary society-changing education?  I didn’t honestly expect answers to these questions.  They’re very, very hard questions to answer.  I certainly don’t have answers to these questions.  In many cases, I don’t even know how to begin answering such a question.  What surprised me, however, was not the lack of answers to these questions but how hard it was to get others to recognize these questions as good ones to ask.

And, in fact, they are.  They’re good enough to be part of a college curriculum in the social context of technology.  When they’re asked, the initial goals and first steps of OLPC don’t shine as well as one might think.  I certainly won’t say it fails, but I would say that it shows problems with the initial ideals.  Asking these questions, however, among my cohorts…let’s say we’re the creative bourgeoisie…did not lead to a discussion about the issues they raise or a conversation about the XO-1 as a physical artifact.  Instead, the conversation would generally drift into a conversation about a set of values that the XO-1 represented– self-education, independent thinking, pulling oneself up from one’s bootstraps, and enabling an otherwise lost genius who will change the world.  They’re exciting and comforting ideas, and some flavor of them have been at play among anyone in the creative bourgeoisie or creative elite, but choosing a project because it feels good and reflects your values, without thorough thought about its viability to achieve its goal or the possibility of more successful alternatives, is not an optimal way to change the world.

And, at some level, that’s what TED is about– creative elites cloistering themselves to network and give self-congratulatory talks about the power of their values to change the world.  Selected talks are shared online to encourage a perpetuation of these values.  It’s not a wholly bad thing to get people fired up about innovation and the human spirit, but it also has the power to promote inefficient solutions to serious social issues simply because TED is not about the rather boring, tireless, and eternal effort to make a dent in social issues.  TED is about quick-fire world of ideas, and ideas rise, fall, and become world-known based largely on their ability to resonate with TED-values.  This is a good thing and a bad thing, but I think the “bad” side of it needs acknowledgment, especially when you consider that an idea popular in the TED community will have very low friction to implementation.  From the Salon article:

And in an impressive show of the networking pizzazz of the “TED community” as well. After awarding Jamie Oliver (“The Naked Chef”) the annual $100,000 TED prize this year, TEDsters leapt into action after Oliver delivered his wish onstage that every American child be taught to cook healthy foods. One audience member offered to donate trucks to repurpose as mobile cooking labs. Another volunteered to introduce Oliver to his friend Sen. Tom Harkin, D-Iowa, who sits on the Senate’s Agriculture Committee.

These are powerful and connected people.  They are a Get Stuff Done Elite.  If change can only come on things that connect with their values, then a huge opportunity for real change could easily be squandered for simply not being fashionable enough.

The second question actually follows from my coverage of the first.  The people invited to TED are, by and large, a certain cream of the crop in our current world.  As should follow from the example of how easily such a community can run to the aid of an idea they admire, they have been the beneficiaries of the status quo.  Upton Sinclair famously stated that it is very difficult to get a person to understand something if his or her paycheck depends on not understanding it, and indeed this has a great deal to do with the blindness that privilege delivers.  Privilege is maintained only through contribution in the system which grants it, and it takes a rather broad vision to see beyond one’s own condition.  I actually wouldn’t begrudge anyone invited to TED for not being crystal clear on the rest of the world’s experience.  They’re people, with jobs and families, and their attention is limited.  The question is whether or not this causes TED to become a forum suitable for social change if what must change is the system that gave rise to those TED community members in the first place.  Does TED challenge the injustices of the status quo or ignore them?  Some passages from the Salon article seem to give an interesting picture of this:

According to a study by Northeastern University’s Center for Labor Studies, unemployment for those in the top income bracket was at 3 percent in the fourth quarter of 2009 — nearly full employment. This may or may not help explain why after a year in which the economy shed almost 8 million jobs, there were no talks at TED this year that focused on employment, on bailouts or on corporations or politically connected financial institutions as impediments to reform or innovation.


A Google employee, after giving a mouthwatering demonstration of the various remarkable functionalities of the new Google phone, asked the audience, “So maybe what the world needs now is — more smart phones?” It wasn’t a rhetorical question. This year Google donated 2,000 phones to all conference attendees, a huge marketing coup any way you slice it, putting these phones in the hands of the chattering, creative classes.

True, it takes more than two incidents to talk about broad trends within a community, but when you consider that employment is on the minds of most Americans these days, it does seem a very curious omission, and while smartphones might likely be a second revolution once they become as ubiquitous globally as cellphones are now, I think it’s fair to question the motives of someone from a company backing a major mobile platform asserting that the world needs more smartphones.  This can be of critical importance in the question of the power for TED to change the world, because if the people invited to TED are, in fact, the beneficiaries of an inherently unjust system, then their efforts may be able to fight the symptoms of injustice but won’t see its cause.

This, finally, brings me about to the fascinating contradiction of our age, and it also brings me around to why I am not openly condemning TED.  The author of the Salon piece has been invited to speak on behalf of the Yes Men, a group who are internationally famous for using pranks to expose what they see as large-scale institutional social injustice.  Their experience at TED shows a pattern– when speaking about a system that perpetuates our modern problems, the audience is silent.  But when discussing the pranks of the Yes Men and the desire to produce a new army of culture jammers, the TED audience is amused and rapt.  The reason for this is clear.  First off, the Yes Men are really funny.  Epic pranks.  Everyone loves a good prank.  Secondly, it’s because their model of protest comports with TED values– it focuses on individuals acting in creative and innovative ways to do something amusing to shake up the way people think about the world.  Most importantly, it’s non-threatening, because it’s just performance art and you can always look away.  And so, the result is that the talk was successful once it wasn’t a downer or strictly about the problems of the world.

Even more interesting is that, afterwards, “the secret radicals” of the audience were ready to help launch the project.  It’s a fascinating question to ask why, at a conference dedicated to spreading ideas that change the world, anyone would have to be a radical in secret.  The other thing that brings to light, though, is the curious paradox of our era– it takes the participation of an elite to make real progress, even when it comes to progress in leveling the playing field.  The Salon article closes by suggesting that this is, ultimately, the power of TED– elite though it is, it’s a place where an anti-capitalist provocateur can give a sales pitch to a number of other people and network.  Perhaps, and it’s a good step, but the question I would ask in return is if it’s really that great of a thing.  I’m a pragmatist, so I’m glad to see the Yes Men getting more attention and more connections, but is it really a good thing that it takes a sales pitch that comports with the values of an elite group to recognize that perhaps it would be a good thing for a more fair set of rules to dictate society?