member of the Gardner Foundation. Colleague of Perry Gardner.
“People aren’t reading the whole story, he says,” Church went on. “They’re just seeing what the blogs and wire services pick up.”
“I hope that’s not true.”
“Some are, some aren’t.” Church stroked the sides of his chin. “I understand it, Jon. It goes with the territory. Any foundation that’s as large and influential as they are is going to be the subject of controversy from time to time. And considering all the good they do, they’re naturally going to be defensive. That’s business, and this is journalism.”
“Okay.”
“What I like about your stories is they
don’t
take a point of view. You’re writing about people. These larger issues are background. Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with letting people know a little about how philanthropies operate. How charitable foundations invest their money. I’d like to see a third story.”
“Good. I would, too.”
Church looked out toward the State Department building rising above the university offices and a parking garage. “You know, Jon, there was a man I used to know called Arthur Caswell. A great reporter who once worked for British intelligence in Africa.” He absently tugged at his shirt sleeve. “One of his pet theories was that over the past several decades, the West—America in particular—has become overwhelmed by what he called moral laziness. He characterized it as an epidemic that worsened proportionally as the world’s problems worsened. He had this idea about active endorsement versus passive endorsement, and how we’ve increasingly come to passively endorse some very terrible things. He’d give the example of what happened at the end of World War II—the fire-bombings and the nuclear annihilation of Japanese cities, which killed tens of thousands of civilians—as active endorsement.”
“We endorsed them in the context of the war.”
“Yes. We even rationalized that they had a moral purpose.”
“Preventing millions of additional deaths, supposedly, had the war continued,” Jon said.
“Yes, supposedly. More recently, we have accepted that tens of thousands of civilians died in Iraq in the course of our war there.”
“That’s active endorsement.”
“Yes. Passive endorsement is different: Knowing an atrocity is occurring and making no effort to stop it, even if we have the capacity and the resources to do so. Or, worse, not bothering to think about it. Keeping our concerns narrow and close to home. Eyes closed.”
“Like Rwanda? Or Darfur?”
“Among many other examples, yes. This kind of endorsement, of course, has no moral purpose. Caswell used to say that as problems worsen, particularly in the developing world, we will become increasingly lazy in our response, as a kind of deflective mechanism. Otherwise, we would become too overwhelmed.”
Jon shrugged an acknowledgment. “Kind of makes sense.”
“Your stories are telling people things about a part of the world they know very little about. About countries they’ve never even heard of. Places that ninety-nine percent of them will never visit. I think that’s good, Jon. Let’s keep telling them things they don’t know. Maybe open some people’s eyes a little.”
Church turned to Jon, then. He was frowning. “So, anyway, what’s the snag?”
“Pardon?”
“You said you hit a snag.”
“Oh. My source disappeared.”
“Your brother.”
Jon nodded. Roger was the only person he had told about his anonymous sources—and only after some coercion; it was the only way the magazine would run his stories. He had revealed two of them, the only two he had: Big Gulp, a telephone source who lived in Silicon Valley and sometimes called Jon from pay phones outside 7-Elevens, and his brother.
“Disappeared how?”
“He was supposed to call yesterday.”
“And? …”
Jon showed the palms of his hands. “He didn’t. He was going to give me something.”
“ ‘New
“People aren’t reading the whole story, he says,” Church went on. “They’re just seeing what the blogs and wire services pick up.”
“I hope that’s not true.”
“Some are, some aren’t.” Church stroked the sides of his chin. “I understand it, Jon. It goes with the territory. Any foundation that’s as large and influential as they are is going to be the subject of controversy from time to time. And considering all the good they do, they’re naturally going to be defensive. That’s business, and this is journalism.”
“Okay.”
“What I like about your stories is they
don’t
take a point of view. You’re writing about people. These larger issues are background. Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with letting people know a little about how philanthropies operate. How charitable foundations invest their money. I’d like to see a third story.”
“Good. I would, too.”
Church looked out toward the State Department building rising above the university offices and a parking garage. “You know, Jon, there was a man I used to know called Arthur Caswell. A great reporter who once worked for British intelligence in Africa.” He absently tugged at his shirt sleeve. “One of his pet theories was that over the past several decades, the West—America in particular—has become overwhelmed by what he called moral laziness. He characterized it as an epidemic that worsened proportionally as the world’s problems worsened. He had this idea about active endorsement versus passive endorsement, and how we’ve increasingly come to passively endorse some very terrible things. He’d give the example of what happened at the end of World War II—the fire-bombings and the nuclear annihilation of Japanese cities, which killed tens of thousands of civilians—as active endorsement.”
“We endorsed them in the context of the war.”
“Yes. We even rationalized that they had a moral purpose.”
“Preventing millions of additional deaths, supposedly, had the war continued,” Jon said.
“Yes, supposedly. More recently, we have accepted that tens of thousands of civilians died in Iraq in the course of our war there.”
“That’s active endorsement.”
“Yes. Passive endorsement is different: Knowing an atrocity is occurring and making no effort to stop it, even if we have the capacity and the resources to do so. Or, worse, not bothering to think about it. Keeping our concerns narrow and close to home. Eyes closed.”
“Like Rwanda? Or Darfur?”
“Among many other examples, yes. This kind of endorsement, of course, has no moral purpose. Caswell used to say that as problems worsen, particularly in the developing world, we will become increasingly lazy in our response, as a kind of deflective mechanism. Otherwise, we would become too overwhelmed.”
Jon shrugged an acknowledgment. “Kind of makes sense.”
“Your stories are telling people things about a part of the world they know very little about. About countries they’ve never even heard of. Places that ninety-nine percent of them will never visit. I think that’s good, Jon. Let’s keep telling them things they don’t know. Maybe open some people’s eyes a little.”
Church turned to Jon, then. He was frowning. “So, anyway, what’s the snag?”
“Pardon?”
“You said you hit a snag.”
“Oh. My source disappeared.”
“Your brother.”
Jon nodded. Roger was the only person he had told about his anonymous sources—and only after some coercion; it was the only way the magazine would run his stories. He had revealed two of them, the only two he had: Big Gulp, a telephone source who lived in Silicon Valley and sometimes called Jon from pay phones outside 7-Elevens, and his brother.
“Disappeared how?”
“He was supposed to call yesterday.”
“And? …”
Jon showed the palms of his hands. “He didn’t. He was going to give me something.”
“ ‘New
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