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SPANAUg~t
1992
Temperatures
are rising in America, and no wonder. It's
the summer of a presidential election year. Last month the Democrats held their nominating convention in New York City and, with a lot of fanfare, emotion, and celebration, officially made Arkansas Governor candidate. This month the Republicans
Bill Clinton their will go through the
same exercise in Houston, Texas, and will, I boldly predict, choose President George Bush again as their nominee. As long as I'm making forecasts, here is another: Among election stories we will be seeing in coming weeks will be a few bemoaning the high cost of running for President and other public offices in the United States. In our own look at the subject this month, Herbert E. Alexander reports that the total spent on behalf of all candidates in the presidential campaign of 1988 was a whopping $500 million. No wonder that legislators continually are seeking ways to limit political contributions and spending. But each time restrictions have been legislated, Alexander says, politicians have "devised new methods of raising money." Almost everyone agrees that elections are too expensive and that further campaign-financing reforms are needed. But that is not to say-as some critics will assert in the extreme-that the U.S. presidency is up for sale to the highest bidder. Were that the case, 1992 would have been the year to confirm it. Voter dissatisfaction with "politics as usual" has been as intense this year as at any time in American history. When billionaire businessman Ross Perot put himself up as an alternative tQ the Democratic and Republican candidates-and said he was willing to spend as much of his estimated $3,000 million fortune as it would take to win-he attracted a lot of interest and support. His call for change, and his assertion that he possessed the no-nonsense action style to govern America effectively, struck a responsive chord. In early June, a poll showed that 37 percent of the public at that time was prepared to vote for him. But then his popularity started to wane, and in mid-July he announced he would not be a candidate after all. What happened?
For one thing, the press began apply-
ing to Perot the same microscope of rigorous examination that it had been using all along on the other major candidates. No big scandals were exposed, just some questions raised about past actions, judgments, and statements. Perot expressed irritation with all this attention. At the same time the public began demanding to know more specifics about his ideas and programs.
The
Texas businessman either had not formulated them, or he refused to divulge them. While he managed to shake things up for a while, he also managed to show that money and a superficial message are notenough to win the key to the WhiteHouse. Ed Rollins, a veteran political organizer who had signed on to manage Perot's campaign but whose advice was largely ignored, concluded: "So maybe the [political] process works, maybe the ordeal you have to go through does work."
-S.F.D.
2
Government That Means Business
8
Playing to the Flame Blown Away
12 Film Talk
16
An Interview
Airstream Odyssey
With Paul Mazursky by Lesley Frowick
22 A Meeting of Poetic Minds
by P. Lal
28 On the Lighter Side 29 Celebrating Crafts
33
Refurbishing the Body
by Shannon Brownlee
37 Collector Extraordinary
40
Mansaram's New York
41
Financing Presidential Campaigns
44
It's Me!
by Herbert E. Alexander
by William Safire
46 Focus On ...
Front cover: In Kerala American avant-garde theater writer-director-actor Lee Breuer was profoundly impressed by the richness of traditional performing arts being kept alive by artists such as Guru Ammannur Madhava Chakyar (above, performing Koodiyattam) and G. Venu (below, with Breuer). See page 8. Publisher, Stephen F. Dachi; Editor, Guy E. Olson
Krishan Gabrani; Senior Editor, Aruna Dasgupta; Copy Editors, A. VeIikata Narayana, Snigdha Goswami; Editorial Assistants, Rocque Fernandes, Rashmi Goe1; Photo Editor, Avinash Pasricha; Art Director, Nand Katyal; Associate Art Director, Kanti Roy; Artist, Hemant Bhatnagar; Production Assistant, Sanjay Pokhriyal; Circulation Manager, D.P. Sharma; Photographic Services: USIS Photographic Services Unit; Research Services: USIS Documentation Services, American Center Library, New Delhi. Managing
Editor,
Photographs: Front cover-G. Ravi, Natana Kairali Research & Performing Centre. 2courtesy Housing Authority of Louisville. 8-G. Ravi. 9 top & bottom left-G. Venu; bottom right-G. Ravi. II top-Georgina Bedrosian 1990;bottom-Am non BenNomis; both courtesy Mabou Mines. 12-Walt Disney Productions. 13top-Museum of Modern Art, New York; bottom-20th Century Fox. 29-31--<:ourtesy American Craft Museum, New York; 32 top--<:ollection Grace Borgenicht Brandt. 37 bottom, 38-39-Avinash Pasricha. 46 top-U.S. Navy Photo by Howard Johnson. 47 top--<:ourtesy Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, D.C.; center-R.K. Sharma. Published by the United States Information Service, American Center, 24 Kasturba Gandhi Marg, New Delhi 110001 (phone: 3316841), on behalf of the American
Embassy,
New Delhi. Printed at Thomson
Press (India) Limited,
Faridabad,
Haryana. The opinions expressed in this magazine do not necessarily reflect the views or policies of the U.S. Government. Use of SPAN articles in other publications is encouraged. except when copyrighted. For permission write to the Editor. Price of magazine, one year's subscription (12 issues) Rs. 60; single copy, Rs. 6.
In a successful bid to save money without eliminating vital services, American state and local governments have not only opened their doors to private enterprise, but also have adopted a more entrepreneurial and decentralized style of functioning.
I
1990,a n company called Ace-Federal Reporters Inc., made a bid to the U.S. Federal Energy Regulatory Commission for the privilege of transcribing its hearings. For eight years, Ace had made whopping profits selling transcripts to the hundreds of law firms that argued before the commission. When the contract was rebid, three of Ace's competitors offered to perform the service free. But Ace went them one better: It offered to pay the commission $1.25 million. The commission turned down the offer. Officials explained that they couldn't just keep the money. They would have had to turn it over to the United States Treasury, and they would have had to hire a clerk to set up an account and monitor the contract. To the commission, Ace's unexpected offer was seen not as a source of revenue but as a major headache. Ace sued. "I never thought I'd seethe day that I'd have to sue the government to force them to take money," Ace's lawyer mused. While this is a particularly glaring example, similar stories unfold every day of the year. Traditional budget systems encourage public managers to spend money, not to earn itand they happily oblige. Does it have to be this way? Consider Orlando, Florida, which organizes much of its work under "enterprise funds"agencies that have to generate their own revenues. Last year, Orlando collected $100 million in taxes, but $130 million in profits and fees. Over the past decade, thanks to its enterprise funds and public authorities, Orlando has been able to build nearly $2,500 million in facilities-an expanded airport, a new basketball arena, wastewater treatment plants-with virtually no subsidies from local taxpayers. Orlando's crowning achievement is a new City Hall, which the city built without dipping into general revenues. Mayor Bill Frederick asked developers to compete for contracts, in exchange for the right to build two office towers next door. Rents from the towers will payoff the city's bonds within 15 years, and Orlando will get 20 percent of net rental proceeds from the officebuildings (over a set income level), plus 20 percent of the proceeds from any sale or refinancing. After 75 years, the entire development will revert to city ownership. By then, Orlando officials estimate, they will have collected $700 million from Unable to function effectively because of government regulations, the Housing Authority of Louisville created an entrepreneurial subsidiary, Louisville Housing Services, which has built and sold condominiums (of the kind shown on the facing page) to public housing residents.
rents and the development will be worth $3,000 million. The contrast between Orlando and the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission illustrates a historic change now coursing through all levels of American government: A shift from the rigid, wasteful, centralized bureaucracies of the industrial era to the more flexible, entrepreneurial, decentralized governments needed to succeed in today's world. This shift, under way for more than a decade, has been brought into sharp relief by the fiscal crisis now crippling America's governments. As the 1990s dawned, every government in America seemed to hit the wall at once. State governments struggled to close their largest deficits in history-totaling well over $30,000 million. Cities like New York struggled with billion-dollar deficits. The federal deficit ballooned toward $400,000 million-roughly the equivalent, in inflation-adjusted d011ars, of the entire federal budget in 1965. The average family of four pays $3,000 in federal taxes every year just to pay interest on this debt-before it gets a penny of government. The most frightening aspect of this fiscal meltdown is that it will continue, even after the recession ends. Only part of the problem is declining revenues. A significant portion is built-in spending increases, particularly in [the health insurance program] Medicaid (where spending is doubling every four years), prisons and corrections (where state spending nearly quadrupled in the 1980s), and education. This unprecedented, ongoing fiscal crisis has created a sudden urgency to do more with less. Politicians who three years ago paid no attention to management issues are now desperate for ways to save money without eliminating vital services. I have worked with governors as different as Lawton Chiles, the Democrat from Florida, and William F. Weld, the Republican from Massachusetts, to change their budget systems, their Civil Service systems, and the other antiquated practices that bind their bureaucracies. Mayors, city managers, and legislators have also joined the effort to explore ways to reinvent their governments. Even the presidential candidates have picked up the theme. Governor Bill Clinton, who has made government restructuring a top priority in Arkansas, has made fundamental reform of the public sector one of his central campaign themes. (A¡ bit of truth in advertising: I have done some speech writing for Clinton on this subject.) Bob Kerrey, the Democratic Senator from Nebraska, proposed merging several federal departments and cutting domestic, non-entitlement spending by 25 percent. James P. Pinkerton, counselor to the Bush campaign, is urging the President to campaign on such issues as new performance standards for government employees, "educational perestroika," and reform of welfare systems to empower the poor. The question all these leaders are asking boils down to this: How can we get more for less from our governments? The voters vehemently oppose most tax increases, but they also oppose many service cuts. They want government to do more in
areas from health care to education to environmental protection. Last fall's election results captured the paradox perfectly: Pennsylvanians elected a United States Senator, Harris Wofford, who promised universal health care, while their neighbors in New Jersey turned out scores of Democrats who had supported Governor Jim Florio's tax increase. Voters don't want more government, as Democrats have traditionally offered. But they don't want less government either. They want better government-and less expensive government. They are frustrated with slow, unresponsive, inefficient bureaucracies that soak up ever more tax dollars and deliver ever poorer services. Without articulating it in so many words, the American people are demanding governments that are less bureaucratic and more entrepreneurial. During the industrial era, public institutions were set up much like businesses: Large, centralized bureaucracies, with elaborate rules and regulations and hierarchical chains of command. But in today's world of economic flux, fierce global competition, and sophisticated information and communications technologies, such institutions are dinosaurs. To be effective in these times, institutions (public or private) must be flexible, adaptable, and innovative. They must search constantly for new ways to improve services and heighten productivity. The concept of the "entrepreneur" was developed almost 200 years ago by the French economist J.B. Say. "The entrepreneur shifts economic resources out of an area of lower and into an area of higher productivity and greater yield," Say wrote. This definition applies equally well to the private and public sectors. When I say we need "entrepreneurial government," I mean public institutions that habitually use their resources in new ways to heighten their productivity and effectiveness. How do we get such institutions? My coauthor, Ted Gaebler, and I spent the last five years trying to answer that question. We have visited public entrepreneurial institutions from coast to coast-school districts, local governments, public housing authorities, state agencies, even parts of the Pentagon. We have asked a simple question: What makes them different? Or, what have they changed that drives their employees to act so differently? In answer, we have come up with a series of principles that define entrepreneurial government. For example, while bureaucratic governments concentrate virtually all their attention on spending money, entrepreneurial governments like Orlando's also concentrate on earning money. The other principles include the following:
Catalytic Government Traditional governments use their tax dollars primarily to create bureaucracies that deliver services-public schools, public transit systems, public welfare departments. Caught between rising service demands and falling revenues, entrepreneurial governments increasingly act as catalysts-leveraging privatesector actions to solve problems. They steer more than they
row, to borrow a phrase from ÂŁ.S. Savas, a professor of management at New York's Baruch College. Take the case of St. Paul, Minnesota. Fifteen years ago, St. Paul was a down-at-the-heels, Frost Belt city that appeared to be dying. Its population had fallen below Depression levels. Retail volume in its central business district had dropped precipitously. George Latimer, elected mayor in 1976, knew he would never have the tax dollars he needed to solve St. Paul's problems. So he set out to "leverage the resources of the city""combining them with the much more prodigious resources of the private sector." Latimer started with the downtown, the most visible symbol of St. Paul's decline. He found a private developer to be the city's partner, nailed down one of the first Federal Urban Development Action Grants and built a passive solar hotel, two high-rise office towers, a glass-enclosed park, and a three-level enclosed shopping mall. He and his deputy mayor, Dick Broeker, dreamed up the idea of a private development bank,
hile bureaucratic governments
concentrate
virtually all their attention on spending money, entrepreneurial concentrate
governments
also
on earning money.
capitalized with foundation money, to galvanize investment in Lowertown, the worst downtown area. Using its own capital as seed money, the development bank triggered $350 million in new investments in its first decade-leveraging its own money by 30 or 40 to one. By 1988, Lowertown was generating nearly five times the property taxes it had ten years before. Latimer created a second corporation to develop America's first major hot-water-heating system for a downtown area, a third to develop affordable housing. He used voluntary organizations to operate recycling programs, to perform energy¡ audits, and even to manage a park. He turned garbage collection and the city's Youth Services Bureau over to the private sector. He used millions of dollars worth of volunteers' time in the city's parks, recreation centers, libraries, and health centers. And he created more partnerships with foundations than any city before or since. By constantly forging solutions outside the public sector, Latimer increased his government's impact while trimming its staff by 12 percent, keeping budget growth below the rate of inflation, and reducing the city's debt. Though St. Paul has been hit hard by the current recession, Latimer managed until he left office in 1990 to give voters precisely what they wanted: A government that did more but spent less.
Community-owned
Government
As they shift into a more catalytic mode, entrepreneurial governments push control of many services out of the bureaucracy and into the community. Traditional public programs empower bureaucrats and professionals, giving police, doctors, teachers, and social workers all the control, while the people they are serving have none. Doing this undermines the confidence and competence of citizens and communities. This creates dependency. It should come as no surprise that welfare dependency, alcohol dependency, and drug dependency are among the nation's most severe problems. Entrepreneurial public organizations empower families and communities to solve their own problems. They encourage the tenants of public housing to manage their own developmentsas the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) does. They give parents a genuine say in how their children's schools are run-as New Haven, Connecticut, and Chicago, Illinois, do. They help welfare mothers become their children's first teachers, as the Home Instruction Program for Preschool Youngsters does in Arkansas. It is simple common sense: Families and communities are more committed, more caring, and more creative than professional service bureaucracies. They are also a lot cheaper. Consider what happened when the AIDS epidemic filled San Francisco General Hospital. Gay organizations in the city put together a network of volunteers, local clinics, and hospices that helped get AIDS patients out of the hospital by providing care in the community. San Francisco's average cost of AIDS treatment soon dropped substantially. The idea spread to other cities. In some, the new support groups even began helping AIDS patients do battle with Medicaid and welfare bureaucracies. In this way, the gay community built a far more effective, intimate method of caring for its members than any public institution could.
Competitive Government In traditional governments, monopoly is the American way. The assumption is that each neighborhood should have one school, each city should have one police force, each region should have one organization driving its buses and operating its commuter trains. When costs have to be cut, we eliminate anything that smacks of duplication-assuming that consolidation will save money. Yet we know from painful experience that monopoly in the private sector often encourages inefficiency and inhibits change. It is an enduring paradox of American ideology that we attack private monopolies so fervently but embrace public monopolies so warmly. Phoenix, Arizona, has wed competition between its Department of Public Works and private companies to cut its garbage collection costs in half. Milwaukee, Wisconsin, has used competition between private health maintenance organizations to lower the cost of insuring its employees. And in East Harlem in New York City, Community School District 4 has used com-
petition between public schools to prod each school to improve. In the mid-I970s, the district ranked last among New York's 32 districts in reading scores. Attendance rates were abysmal. Out of sheer desperation, the district began creating alternative schools. When the new schools worked, more were created. In 1983, district officials decided to let parents choose not only among alternative schools, but also among all its junior highs. Every spring, parents of children entering junior high submit their first, second, and third choices. The result is a kind of scorecard. Directors and teachers pay close attention to the rankings, and district leaders close schools that are not attracting enough students-letting other teachers with exciting ideas create new schools to replace the foundering ones. "Now that we absolutely have to attract youngsters, we have to really take a long, hard look at ourselves and determine-are we good enough?" says Edward Rodriguez, a junior-high principal. "Are we going to be competitive enough? We replaced the idea that we're going to be here forever with the idea that we are here with a purpose, and that purpose has to be maximized. The level of performance has to increase." Just as important as competition is the ownership students and teachers feel for their schools. Rather than being assigned to a school and offered a one-size-fits-all education, they are allowed to choose the style of education they prefer. They can choose traditional schools or open classrooms; schools with mentor programs or reading institutes for those below grade level; photography programs or computer programs. In 1974, only 15 percent of District 4 students read at grade level; by 1988,64 percent did. In 1973, only a handful of District 4 graduates were admitted to New York's elite public high schools, like¡Bronx Science. By 1987,319 were-and 36 more went to selective private schools. All told, more than a quarter of District 4's graduates earned places in selective high schools-schools that were virtually off limits 15 years before.
Mission-driven
Government
Public housing is one of the most centralized, bureaucratic, dysfunctional systems in America. HUD controls virtually everything a local housing authority does. "The HUD office we have here is almost obsessed with this book of regulations they've got," says Andrea S. Duncan, executive director of the Housing Authority of Louisville, Kentucky. "If you deviate from that by the slightest bit, they've got to write you up. If a specification says the screw should be three-fourths of an inch long, and the contractor puts in half-inch screws, they want them all taken out and changed." Duncan and her colleagues figured out a way around HUD rules. They created a nonprofit subsidiary, Louisville Housing Services, which can do things the Housing Authority can't dream of. It can develop new housing. It can run a scholarship program for children in public housing. It can even spend money on awards dinners for Housing Authority employees. Louisville Housing Services' first big project was the sale of a
100-unit complex to public housing residents. Its second was construction of 36 new units, which it sold to more public housing residents. It borrowed the money (using the income from the first 100 mortgages as a partial subsidy), built new condominiums in just five months and sold them for $32,000 to $36,000. Meanwhile, simple rehab projects with HUD money take years to complete. The punch line? For years, Louisville Housing Services had no employees. It was run by a half-time consultant, who contracted with private firms or hired housing authority employees in their off hours when he needed something done. The same pattern is evident in hundreds of other organizations. Public officials who are frustrated by their huge, ruledriven bureaucracies simply go offshore, creating smaller, more entrepreneurial organizations. Those organizations are driven not by their rules, but by their missions. They get rid of most of their rules and dissolve most of their budget line items. They define their fundamental missions, then develop budget systems and rules that free their employees to pursue those goals.
Results-oriented Government Traditional public institutions focus almost exclusively on inputs, like line items. They finance schools based on how many children enroll; welfare based on how many poor people are eligible; police departments based on police estimates of manpower needed to fight crime. They pay little attention to outcomes-to results. It doesn't matter how well the children do in one school versus another, how many poor people get off welfare into stable jobs, how much the crime rate falls or how secure the public feels. In fact, schools, welfare departments, and police departments typically get more money when they fail: When children do poorly, welfare rolls swell, or the crime rate rises. Entrepreneurial governments seek to change these incentives. They measure outcomes and reward success. To see the full power of performance measurement, one has only to visit Sunnyvale, California, a city of 120,000 in the heart of the Silicon Valley. Sunnyvale's managers measure the quantity, quality, and cost of every service they deliver. Because the city council has this information, it no longer votes on line items: It votes on service levels. It does not tell the Department of Public Works: "We want to spend $1 million reconstructing highway A, $500,000 repairing roads B, C, and D, and $250,000 filling potholes throughout the city." Instead it defines the results it wants-80 percent of deteriorated road surfaces brought up to excellent condition, or 90 percent customer satisfaction with the parks, or 75 percent of job trainees placed in jobs. If a unit exceeds its objectives, its manager is eligible for a bonus of up to ten percent of salary. The new service level then becomes the expected target for the next year, thus ratcheting up performance, year after year. This system generates tremendous productivity. Between
1985 and 1990, Sunnyvale's average cost per unit of service went down 20 percent, after factoring out inflation. In 1990, when it compared its own costs to those of similar cities, Sunnyvale found that it used 35 to 45 percent fewer people to deliver most services. Its employees were paid more, but its operating budget was still near the low end of comparable cities, and its per capita taxes were lower than those of any comparable city in its sample.
Customer-driven Government When practical, the best way to tie spending to results is to give the resources directly to the customers-the intended recipients of the service in question-and let them choose a provider, based on information about quality and price. This forces providers Gob training vendors, child care centers, landlords) to compete to offer the best deal to their customers. It also gives the customers a choice of services. Putting resources directly in customers' hands is hardly a radical idea. Vouchers and cash grants have been around for decades. Food stamps are vouchers. Our largest housing subsidy-the mortgage interest tax deduction-is the equivalent of a voucher. Pell grants, the primary form offederal aid to college students, are like vouchers: Their recipients can use them at any accredited college or technical school. Nothing better illustrates the differences between a system that finances customers and one that finances institutions than the G.!. Bill, passed by the U.S. Congress after World War II to send veterans to college. Congress didn't set up G.I. colleges; it let every G.!. pick an accredited university, college, or technical school and offered to pay for it. With this act, Congress turned millions of battle-scarred young men into the educated backbone of a 30-year economic boom. It was perhaps the most successful social program in American history. In health care, Congress took the more traditional route. It built veterans hospitals, and it assigned G.!.s to specific hospitals. The G.!. Bill let customers choose their institution, hence promoting competition; the veterans hospital system assigned customers to institutions that could take them for granted because they were monopolies.
Sixty years ago, centralized institutions were indispensable. Information technologies were primitive, communication between locations was slow, and the public work force was relatively uneducated. In order to gather information and dispense orders efficiently, there was little alternative but to bring all public health employees together in one hospital, all public works employees together in one organization, all bank regulators together in one or two huge institutions. There was plenty of time for information to flow up the chain of command and decisions to flow back down. But today information is virtually limitless, communication between remote locations is instantaneous, many public employees are well educated, and conditions change with blinding speed.
There is no time to wait for information to go up the chain of command and decisions to come down. Today things work better if those laboring in public organizations-schools, public housing developments, parks, training programs-have the authority to make many of their own decisions. Consider the experience of General W.L. (Bill) Creech, who managed the Tactical Air Command (TAC) from 1978 through 1984. When Creech took over, nearly half of the command's 3,800 planes could not fly on any given day because of mechanical problems. The number of training sorties flown by TAC pilots had dropped almost eight percent a year for nearly a decade. Pilots who felt they needed 25 hours of flying time a month to stay combat-ready were getting 15 or less. For every 100,000 hours flown, seven planes were crashing-many because of faulty maintenance. Pilots, mechanics, and technicians were leaving TAC in droves. "The U.S. military was coming apart," Creech later confided. Creech believed TAC's biggest problem was the Pentagon's passion for centralization and standardization-of maintenance, parts, planning, scheduling. Every single repair call had to go through the centralized maintenance shop, called Job Control, a process that slowed maintenance to a crawl. Moving one F-15 part through the supply system, Inc. magazine reported, "required 243 entries on 13 forms, involving 22 people and 16 man-hours for administration and record keeping." Creech decided the cure was radical decentralization. He took the mechanics and airplanes out of the central pool and assigned them to squadrons-the 24-pilot teams, each with its own name, symbol, and fierce loyalties, that had entered American folklore during World War II. He gave control over maintenance and sortie schedules to each squadron. And he decentralized the supply operation, so spare parts were available right on the flight lines. "It was not long before a strong comradery grew up between pilots and their crew chiefs," according to Inc. "And pretty soon one squadron was working overtime to beat the other squadrons, on everythingfrom pilot performance to quality of maintenance." When Creech left TAC, 85 percent of its planes were rated mission-capable, up from 58 percent when he arrived. TAC could launch double the number of sorties it could when Creech arrived. The elapsed time between the order of a part and its deliveryhad dropped from 90 minutes to II. The crash rate had dropped from one every 13,000flying hours to one every 50,000. TAC accomplished all of this with no more money, no more people, and a work force with less experience than the one in place through the years of decline. Asked the secret of his success, Creech replied: "What was it primarily? We think it was organization. We think it was decentralization. We think it was getting authority down to the lowest level."
Market -oriented Government An American setting out to buy a home in 1930 would have saved up 50 percent of the purchase price for a down payment
and applied to his local bank for a five-year mortgage. That was how banks did business. During the New Deal (a social and economic program launched in 1933), the Federal Housing Administration pioneered a new form of mortgage, which required only 20 percent down and let the borrower repay over 20, and later 30, years. Other government corporations created a secondary market, so banks could resell these new loans, and the banking industry converted. Today 30-year mortgages with 20 percent down payments are taken for granted, because the federal government changed the marketplace. In pushing banks to offer a new form of mortgage, the federal government was restructuring the marketplace to fulfill a public purpose. This is a powerful and economical way for governments to accomplish their goals. By finding the incentives that can leverage millions of private decisions, government can often accomplish far more than it can by financing administrative programs. Think of the way some states have handled litter from bottles and cans. Rather than creating elaborate and expensive recycling programs, they have simply required buyers to pay a five-cent deposit on each bottle or can-to be refunded when the bottle or can is returned. Anyone who lives in a state with a "bottle bill" can see the dramatic difference it makes-less broken glass in the parks, less litter on the streets, less garbage in the landfills. A market-oriented approach, under which fees, or "green taxes," are attached to pollution, is fast gaining ground among environmentalists. The idea is twofold: To force producers and consumers to pay the full social costs of their activities, and to give them financial incentives to switch to substances that do less environmental damage. The 1990 Clean Air Act included a major proposal to control acid rain, called-"emissions trading," that offers the perfect example. Designed by the Bush Administration, it acts like a pollution fee, creating financial incentives for coal-burning power plants to switch to cleaner fuels or better scrubbers. As the industrial era dawned, in the early decades of this century, Americans reinvented their governments. Because the U.S. economy and society have once again experienced profound and wrenching changes, Americans have begun to do so again. The task is not ideological. It is not about making government smaller, or weaker. The task is to make government stronger, by making it work again. We desperately need government in the 1990s.We don't need more government; we need better government. To be more precise, we need better governance. Governance is the act of collectively solving our problems. Government is the instrument we use. The instrument is outdated, and it is time to remake it. 0 About the Author: David Osborne is a consultant to governors, senators, mayors, and city council leaders. A former journalist, he is also the author of Laboratoriesof Democracyand StateTechnologyPrograms:
A PreliminaryAnalysisof LessonsLearned.
Planng to the FlaDle A leading exponent of the American avant-garde went to Kerala to study puppetry and found an answer to an artist's most vexing question: What am I doing? without a little royal South India has patronage." Critics aslured the avant-garde sume we're "trying to since the 1960s. That be successful," which Karnataka has been means to "restate" the inspiration for the their own particular "new" music of Terry critical ideology-or, Reilly and Philip Glass "to do good work," is a matter of public which means "good" record. But the inspias defined by a New ration of Kerala's York Times or a BackKathakali on Polish Subhadra Nangiar and Nirmala Paniker perform Nangiar Koothu, a traditional dancestage (a performing theater director Jerzy theater form, at a workshop at Kerala's Natana Kairali Research and Performing Centre. Grotowski and Italian arts weekly)-which means "good busicritic Eugenio Barba is a bit less publicized-perhaps because ness." Ifasked off the record, most artists the first question of the creator: "What I respect would tell you, "I don't know Grotowski tended to mystify his sources a am I doing?" what I'm doing. I just do it." bit and Barba went on to absorb virtually In the West it is the exceedingly rare a whole world of "theatrical anthroactor, writer, director, or designer who But ask Guru Ammannur Madhava Chakyar what he is doing and the answer pology" into his work. knows what he or she "is doing." When, is simple. Guru Madhava Chakyar would Thanks to a research grant funded by in the first millennium after Christ, the say, "I'm praying"-not "praying for a the Indo-U.S. Subcommission on Educaclassical world died it took this secret with tion and Culture and the U.S. Informait into the grave. And when it was, in a hit," just "praying." And if one is the least, tion Agency, my opportunity to study in sense, revived in the Renaissance, it was, bit skeptical about his answer one need Kerala has shown me that Kathakali is in a manner of speaking, only the only observe him take his bath and go to only the tip of the proverbial iceberg-or, "corpus" or "corpse" that was exthe temple in Irinjalakuda where he perto choose a more appropriate East Asian humed-the "soul" remaining buried forms in the traditional theater for image, only a peep into the lotus of a with the revels of Dionysius and the cult Koodiyattam on the temple grounds. The performing tradition that extends back night I watched him through a hole in of Orpheus. into the prehistory of Dravidian ritual The answer of the Western artist today a wall and through the spaces between the columns (one can't go in unless one worship. And most importantly, it is a to the question "What are you doing?" runs the gamut from the pragmatic "I'm is Hindu), not a soul was there, which living tradition. trying to make a living" to the mainmattered not a bit to him. For, in the The ritual performance of Mudiyettu stream "I'm entertaining people." From words of Sri Venu of the Natana Kairali might be a fit subject for the anthro''I'm building a career" to the so-called Research and Performing Centre, whose pological PhD, and the classical Sanskrit theater Koodiyattam might serve dedicated ''I'm trying to say something life is dedicated to keeping Koodiyattam new." A Shakespeare in a moment of and other south Indian performing genres as a useful analogue to a study of Aestruth might have let slip, ''I'm trying to alive: "Guruji doesn't require an audichylus for the theater historian. But curry favor with James-a writer just ence. He plays to the flame." In fact, he for the working Western artist, the thecan't make it in 17th-century London does literally that, for the "flame" is the ater of Kerala provides the answer to
Above: A scene Fom the glove-puppet play, "Pavakarhakali." Right: Guru Ammannur Madhava Chakyar as Bali in "Balivadham." Top: Two characters[rom the string puppet play, "Nool Pavakoothu."
ni/avilakku-the oil wick lamp of bell metal that burns downstage center during performances and "is," rather than "represents," the presence of God in the temple accepting the "offering" of a performance, which, if successful, becomes boon and benediction for the community at large. As ancient as it is-perhaps more than 2,000 years old-as a regional form of classical Sanskrit theater, Koodiyattam is but the crown and culmination of a tradition of religious performances kept alive through oral transmission. Its roots were part of Dravidian culture before the Aryan invasion of the subcontinent. My original intent was to study two traditional forms of puppetry-the glove puppet performance "Pavakathakali" and the shadow puppet theater "Tolpavakoothu." But thanks to Sri Venu and his brother Ravi I was introduced to a wide variety of performing genres, public and private, and an extraordinary series of temple performances that were, in sum, a paradigm of the historical genesis of theater. Through them I was able to perceive a probable course for the development of drama from the pure ritual of the family puja, which included trance, oracular exposition, and the drawing of the ka/am, through the ritual performances of Teyyam and those associated with the Bhairavi Kolam of Bhadrakali, to the crossover from ceremony to performance in the ritual dance dramas of Mudiyettu and Tirayattam, to the fully realized classical theater ofKoodiyattam, and culminating with a rare chance to observe Guru Madhava Chakyar's performance of "Balivadham" from Bhasa's masterpiece Abhishekam. This is the story of the birth of theater. It is not in a library or a museum. It is alive. It is "happening" in some village around Trichur, or Cochin, or Trivandrum virtually every night save for the monsoon season. And it is undoubtedly a parallel phenomenon to the birth of theater in ancient Greece, which also, from the ceremonies of its polytheistic sects and virtually sacred texts of Homer, grew into the religious service
we call drama. Twenty-five years ago when I lived in Greece I was wandering around the Theater of Dionysius on the side of the Acropolis and happened to stumble over the altar. At the time I wondered what an altar was doing center stage in a theater. Now I know. Now I wonder where the altar is in Lincoln Center. But I guess I know that too. It's in the accounting office and it's called the box office take. I asked Sri Venu to discuss with Guru Madhava Chakyar why Koodiyattam and not Kathakali is the critical link in the lineage of dramatic representation, their externals at first glance appearing to be so similar-the makeup, the mudras. The answer was not so simple. In a nutshell it is because Koodiyattam is theater and Kathakali is dance. The Guru is sincerely worried about a trend that finds Kathakali trained performers teaching Koodiyattam. Our Western equivalent would have Russian-emigre ballet star Mikhail Barishnikov over at the Actor's Studio in New York, running improvisations. In the words of a mentor of the Natana Kairali of Irinjalakuda, "When the actor elaborates a situation as an improvisation he will have to depend on a highly stylized and abstract language of the body. But his involvement with the situation touches the imagination of the spectator. This expression of emotion is traditionally called satvikabhinaya. Even though the rough outline of how to emote is given in the acting manuals, the final expression of minute details is the actor's own. The accompanists, especially the drummers, follow the actor. The control of the rhythmic variation and the duration of the acting 'beats' are also under the actor's control. This gives a freedom to feel and depict emotions. "Kathakali is basically a dance drama. The performer depends on someone else's voice. The text or songs are set to ragas and talas over a rhythm. Therefore the dancer follows. He is 'led' and there is no freedom to act. In Koodiyattam, when the actor himself is reciting the text in a tone suited to portray the emotion, the entire movement of the body, especially the hands, eyes, and the face, will portray
the emotions of his voice. There will be unity and there will be truth." According to Sri Venu, the Ammannur tradition of Koodiyattam has been enriched by research into acting based on Bharata's Natyasastra conducted by the great Bhagavatar Kunjunni Tampuran of the Kodungallore royal family who taught the Guru the relationship of breathing and emotions and who has choreographed the death scene of Bali in "Balivadham." A relationship was established between breathing based on'swaras or musical notes and rasas, emotions or sentiments. Sri Venu is, at present, preparing a volume on Tampuran's acting techniques known as "Swara Vayu," which is due for publication in 1994. What is a play? Well, the climax of a play is where God appears "incarnate." You can see that in Teyyam. What is a denouement? It's where the "incarnate" God gives his oracles to the sponsoring families and villagers and blesses the babies. What is a play's development-its story? It is the sequence prior to the incarnation where a priest or "actor" tells the history, exploits, and miracles of the God who is soon to appear in Koodiyattam-the Kuttu. What is aesthetics? With the help of the Natyasastra, the great treatise on dramaturgy in Sanskrit written by the sage Bharata not long after Aristotle wrote his Poetics, we understand that aesthetic is the "correct" style of worship, the perfect rendering of rites and ceremonies that, according to the Rig Veda, guarantees a God's pleasure and the avoidance of his wrath. What is a set? A holy environment drawn with powder on the ground to invoke the living spirit, which resides within it for the course of a performance-a kalam. What is singing, drumming ... what is dance? The way God talks. The way God walks. What is acting? Well, there are two styles of acting, one, classical and rhetorical-and that is a sermon in which the history of a deity is recounted and the lessons of his life and works taught. The other is the "method" school, if you will, once Freud was added, but still essentially what it was thousands of years ago-trance. What is Kerala for an artist? Revelation. D
BlownAway Lee Breuer, one of America's most influential avant-garde theater personalities, was born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, in 1937. He studied at the University of California at Los Angeles and at San Francisco State University. He has taught at Yale, Harvard, and New York universities, and has lectured at many others. "For more than 30 years I have written, directed, produced, acted, and taught theater, music, dance, and performance in North America, Europe, and Japan," he says. "I have worked with performers as conceptually diverse as Bunraku puppeteers, Pentecostal preachers, Senegalese talking drummers, Brazilian Capoeira dancers, computer animators, and minimalist sculptors and composers as well as writers as diverse as Samuel Beckett and Michael McClure." Almost every thing Breuer does is innovative and experimental. For instance, in his staging of King Lear, the king was played by a woman. B. Beaver Animation, written and directed by Breuer and staged at the Public Theater in New York City in 1990, is one of a trilogy, the others being Red Horse Animation and Shaggy Dog Animation, that humorously portrays animals struggling with human problems. The punfilled title character, a portly beaver, employs the lost art of "damnation" to protect his family from such natural calamities as snowstorms and icebergs. Among Breuer's other works are Gospel at Colonus. a critically acclaimed musical adaptation of Sophocles's Oedipus
at Colonus, and A Prelude to Death in Venice, about a large puppet that is plagued by the neuroses and obsessions of the modern world. Critic Michael Feingold, writing in the Village Voice, said that in A Prelude, Breuer has created "some of the richest language ever heard onstage in this country-not rich in the sense of conventional poetry, decorated in careful old images and trips to the dictionary for two-dollar words, but rich in its awareness of the living language that we speak, its flexibility, its multiple meanings and unconscious intents." Breuer has his own theater troupe in New York, Mabou Mines, which originally was part of the La Mama Experimental Theater Club. New York Times critic Mel Gussow has called Mabou "one of our most valuable experimental companies." Breuer says he came to India this past spring to study performance because he does not believe that American theater should follow the European tradition exclusively. "Classical narrative performance, like the Peking Opera and the Kathakali, along with African musical narrative forms, are, I believe, the keys to new performance in the New World." In Kerala, where he studied puppetry, he says "I was blown away" by the rich treasure trove of traditional theatrical forms that he encountered. "You can't believe how brilliant this stuff is. This is the oldest theater in the world, with direct links to 200 B.C. They use original text virtually contemporary with Aristotle's Poetics." Breuer says he hopes to persuade American theater groups and university drama departments to sponsor an American tour of ritual and classical Indian drama. "This stuff should be seen," he says. In the meantime, he has written a work based on the puppet technique that he studied here and in Indonesia on his grant program. It will be produced in New York City this October by Mabou Mines. True to the innovative spirit that characterizes his work, Breuer says that instead of using the puppet-show music of either Indonesia (gamelan) or India (drumming and singing), he will incorporate-with the help of composer Bob TelsonCaribbean style drumming and vocalizing. The puppet show will be only one part of a six-hour long work in progress, Warrior Ant, that Breuer hopes to premiere in its entirety in Los Angeles in 1994. 0
Above: Frederick Neumann (foreground) plays the title role in Lee Breuer's B. Beaver Animation and is supported by (left to right) Gregory Mehrten, Clove Galilee. David Neumann, Terry 0 'Reilly, Honora Fergusson, and Ruth Maleczech. Right: Lee Breuer, as a young man.
During a recent seminar at the American Film Institute's Center for Advanced Film and Television Studies in Los Angeles, student filmmakers interviewed Paul Mazursky, the director of such acclaimed films as An Unmarried Woman, Moscow on the Hudson, and Enemies, a Love Story. Mazursky told the students how he chooses stories, revealed his strategy for getting "such wonderful performances" out of his cast (including a dog), and explained how he "changes hats" from writer to director to actor. Above: Nick Nolte and Mike the dog in Down and Out in Beverly Hills, one of Mazursky's most successfulfilms. Facing page: Mazursky's
talent for crafting affectionate portrayals of people in turmoil is evident in An Unmarried Woman. Above, he discusses a scene with Jill
Clayburgh who plays the title role of a woman whose husband leaves her. Below, Clayburgh and Alan Bates, who portrays her new lover.
Esalen Institute with four or five men and women, and it said, "new type of therapy." I went to Esalen with my wife, and sort of tried to fake it a little bit. But it was interesting. While we were shooting Tempest, this Russian guy, Vladmir, was telling me stories, and one day he told me a story about some Russians in a philharmonic group who arrived in Minneapolis, and they went to a department store and one of them tried to defect. That's how I got the idea for Moscow on the Hudson. Enemies, a Love Story is based on a novel by Isaac Bashevis Singer. That's the first time I've done something based on a book. You used to be a nightclub comic. I used to be a comic in New York in the 1950s. I had a partner, and for a while we were called Igor and H. I was Igor. I eventually gave that up. I was an actor, and I was directing plays and teaching. I was a writer; I was a lot of weird things. Eventually, I ended up in Hollywood. I started writing for comedian Danny Kaye, and I almost gave up acting. After four years I got tired of it and started writing scripts. I wrote I Love You, Alice B. Toklas, which I was supposed to direct. I ended up just writing and producing it, and after that.... It's been downhill ever since. In some ways, who knows? No, I like what I'm doing a lot. The main thing that happens when you do it for a long time is, well, I'm a little less anxious. I like what I'm doing. If the public likes it, good. If they don't, I suffer a little bit, but that's it. That's all you can do. I don't think filmmakers can worry about having commercial hits. I think that's the disease of our time. I don't blame anybody for doing it, but I think it's very hard to overcome. You have to operate from some inner passion. There are some people around-Spike Lee of Do the Right Thing and Steven Soderbergh of sex, lies and videotape-there are some young people who are doing good things. So it's not hopeless.
QUESTION: All of your films are informed by a strong sense of social irony. Do you choose stories that allow you this? PAUL MAZURSKY: I never think of myself as a social commentator. I think finding a story is the most difficult thing. I guess if there's one thing that I always have, it's humor. You can call it irony, but irony in the commercial cinema is dangerous. I'm just a storyteller. Some of my stories have been things that happened to me or to people I knew, or sometimes I get an idea from a magazine. For Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice, I remember, I'd seen an article in Time magazine, and in it Fritz Perls, who's a Gestalt therapist, was sitting in a hot tub up at the
In Down and Out in Beverly Hills, you were the producer and director. How were you able to do both? Well, except for Bob & Carol and Alex in Wonderland, I've been the producer of all my pictures. Some producers are producers because they find the script and develop it, and get a director to do it. Since I brought my own scripts, I didn't need someone to say, I'll be your producer. I've had line producers who take care of the budgets. I've gone to a studio and said, "You want to do the script?" They say, "Yeah." They give me the money, so I'm the producer. I'd like some insight into how you work with your actors, because you got such wonderful performances out of Robin
Williams in Moscow on the Hudson and Jill Clayburgh in An Unmarried Woman. Well, thank you. I am an actor. I studied acting with all the Stanislavsky method people in New York at that time-[such as] Lee Strasberg-and then I taught acting for a while, then I directed some theater, so I have a very strong-let's say organic-basis for working with actors. Before I get to rehearsal, I have a plan. Now, it's tricky; you can't always get the actors to follow your plan. They just won't. You pray they'll pick up the eyeglasses so the camera can move in on the glasses, but the actors say, "I just can't do that. It's not real." So you say, "The hell with it." You have to throw it out. And slowly, somewhere in the second week, it starts to take form. Somewhere near the last few days, I can usually see the performance. But I don't want to see it all before we shoot. But each actor presents different problems. If you cast wrong, you're in hell. If you cast well, you're a very good director. I think casting is 90 percent. How important is it for a director to have a little fiefdom people to call upon?
That's your life's Those fingers. It's what you're stuck they bring things it deeper.
blood. That face, those eyes, that mouth. not you anymore, it's not the script. That's with. Or grateful for. And when it works, to it you never saw, because they make
Talking about acting, how many takes do you take? What do you do between takes?
I eat. Well, I tend to shoot less and less. I do about three or four takes. Sometimes, the actor has a problem and you have to do it more, or a technical thing happens. I find that the first take is often wonderful, and the mistakes that actors say they made are not real. It comes out of a desire for perfection that I don't know exists in this universe. And sometimes I do a lot of takes because an actor insists. It's tricky. Sometimes a scene that starts out being about passion, love, and death becomes, Can you get the damn smoke right? That's what the scene becomes: Smoke. You don't care anymore if the actors are good. Is the smoke O.K.? Yeah? Let's go.
of
The main thing you get in a fiefdom is security. But you've got to be careful that it's not flattery. I like to be challenged. It's fun. What do you do when the actor is great in the audition, and then in the first scene, he'sflat?
Well, it's a good question. I would say it's happened to me a couple oftimes. You have a casting director. You put actors on tape sometimes; I don't do screen tests very often. I do with young people, like with Tempest, with Molly Ringwald. In casting Enemies, I knew Angelica Huston's work, I met with her, I never auditioned her. With Margaret Sophie Stein, a Polish actress, she read for me, and she was brilliant. Lena Olin I'd seen in The Unbearable Lightness of Being. I went to London to meet with her, and after two hours, I just felt she was the one, and I cast her. I was looking for a kind of wildness, a sort of something that's not so verbal, but just odd and curious and very sexual and slightly disturbed. In Harry and Tonto, Chief Dan George-the old [American] Indian-I cast because I saw him in Little Big Man. I didn't meet him until the day we shot. I was really nervous about a lot of the parts, because I'd never had a chance to rehearse them. I said, "O.K., we're going to do the first scene, I'm sure you know the lines. We'll do a rehearsal in the jail cell." "Oh, I don't know those words," he said. I had to print giant cue cards, so I was positive it was going to bomb. He was great. I think he did what Marlon Brando sometimes does. The pause?
Yeah, Art Carney would say to him, "Uh, what are you in for, Chief?" "Well, uh ...." The card would be there, the camera's there, "Well, uh, my horse did this thing ...." Let's face it, the actor is your hero once the script is finished.
Is there a process you go through to change hats from writer to director?
No, because for me it's a very natural process. A screenplay is a blueprint for the house that you eventually see. It is not the house. I only put in description because I want the studio executive, who I hope will give me the money, to understand it. I just write the dialogue and the name of the location. The writing is the first step. Then there's the casting; then there's the work that everybody else does with it. It's not you alone. But the script is a personal sense of when you think it's right. And a lot of scripts that eve read over the years I think have been overwritten. They're trying so hard to make you see what you could only see if you saw it. I do this sometimes: "So and so, not unlike Jack Nicholson ...." I'll put in the '1ame, because I want them to understand it. I've never gotten Jack. He was supposed to play the bum in Down and Out originally. I was going to play opposite him. Then he had to do The Two Jakes, but it worked out good, I think. I have a question about Mike the dog in Down and Out. Did you write his action in advance, or did you cast the dog and then¡ say to the trainer, O.K., show me what this dog can do?
Well, Mike the dog is one of my best friends. He is. The trainer, Clint, came in with this Mike the dog. And I knew right away that Clint was different, because he talked to the dog as if it were his friend. "Mikey, do you want to show Paul that?" And Mikey would go, "mm-hmm," and he would do it. He did all this stuff, and I fell in love with the dog. And then-this is the truth now-I met with Clint the way I'd meet with an actor or an actress, and discussed the motivation for Mike's stuff. He made me do it. So I would say, "Well, when they rescue the bum and put him down in the chaise lounge, I want the dog to go crazy." And he'd say, "Yeah, but when they pull him. out, he wouldn't lick him right away." I said, "Why not?" And he'd
say, "Mikey just wouldn't do that." Mike the dog went to the Deauville [in France] film festival with me, and we flew on the same plane, first class. I'm there with my wife and kids, and I've got Down and Out in Beverly Hills there, so I'm the star of the festival. And they give me the worst room I have ever seen. I mean, a tiny, junk room. So I call down and say, ''I'm not going to stay in this room." They say, "What room?" I say, "234." "No, no, that's the dog's room." So I go up to 434, and I see the dog in a huge suite, lying in the bed. And I say, "Mike, you're out." That's a true story. Maybe you could discuss what you saw as a central idea in Down and Out in Beverly Hills. I don't sit down and say, My central idea is ... .The central idea of Down and Out probably was, what happens when a homeless person starts to live in the house of very wealthy, square, uppermiddle-class people who are all confused, who are all missing something. And he in some fashion changes their lives. So yo.u don't usually discover the central idea until after you've written the script? Well, I'm not sure. Blume in Love was about a man who was desperately in love with his ex-wife. That's all I knew. I did not know the whole plot. Enemies, a Love Story is about a man-they all happen to be survivors of the Holocaust-who ends up being married to three women at the same time. It's a moral dilemma, it's an ethical dilemma, and there's humor in it. But Isaac Bashevis Singer did that. I didn't have to think about what it's about. Harry and Tonto is about what happens when you're thrown out of the home where you've lived for 34 years and you're confronted with old age. It's very sad, that's all it's about. Next Stop, Greenwich Village is a memoir of those seminal moments in anyone's life when you're seeing the world for the first time as a young adult. Everyone writes a book about that or makes a movie about it, or they should. Bob & Carol was about sexual freedom. I always felt the middle class was not able to handle that, really, and I still believe they aren't, even 20 years later. They think they.are but I don't think they are. I think they're still consumed with guilt. So I sort of know the theme. You have collaborated with other writers. Do you prefer writing alone? I have no preference. I prefer what works. I think writing is the most difficult thing, shooting is the most pleasurable. Shooting---except for certain problems, like anxiety about the weather-shooting is a high. And when you finish, it's a high. It's your picture. You and the editor. The hell with them all. But then it gets more difficult. Writing itself has a wonderful freedom because you can do anything you want. But when you get stuck, you wish you had somebody. Now, I have sometimes called in people I've collaborated with and shown them my script and asked for help. See, we need more of that, I think.
What kind of actor are you? Are you an actor who needs a lot of rehearsal? That's a good question. I have a very good part in Enemies. It's one scene, and one scene is always hard to do. I need a good director---everyone does. How do you choose your parts in your own movies? What made you play Richard Dreyfuss's mother in Moon Over Parador? Well, that was ... you want to talk to my psychiatrist? Judith Malina was supposed to play the part, a wonderful actress from the Living Theatre. The agent made a mistake, and she was in Berlin directing an opera. I tried to get Zoe Caldwell [and] a couple of other actresses. I couldn't get them. So I went to Dreyfuss and said, "I don't know what to do. I think I could do it." And Richard says, "Let me hear, let me hear." So I sort of did the part with him, and he says, "I think it would be great." So I went to Albert Wolsky, the costumer-he's been with me for 20 years-I said, "Albert, how long would it take you to make me a dress?" So he says, "I can make you a dress in a couple of days, but the shoes will be very difficult." Do you feel that we- Third World filmmakers and cinematographers-are expected to come into the industry and make only our own films? Are you expected to make only your own films? I think it would be a tragic mistake to make only your own films, but I think the thing that is great about Spike Lee is that he is the first guy to really make films about those realities of black American life that most people don't know about. So you're into a very complicated thing now. You have to do whatever it is you connect with. But I'm curious about what the industry expects us to do. The industry is harsh, tough, and cruel. Look, I've been turned down so many times, and I used to take it very personally and figure, well, they hate me. They turn everybody down. They want to make money. They're not interested in art too much. You only need one yes, even if you get 49 noes. So if you have the passion to make something and you get the one yes, often you have to compromise. Instead of making it for five million dollars, you do it for a million. Only your passion will carry you through. You're not dealing with people who are¡ supposed to be patrons of art. They're businessmen. They care about money. They're not all villains. But they want a movie that'll make money. Enemies was turned down by everybody. I made the Disney studio $60 million with Down and Out, and they wouldn't give me nine million to make Enemies. They just didn't believe it would make money. Then one studio executive read it and said, "I'll give you the money." You won't be helped if you carry too much paranoia around with you. It isn't really paranoia, but it's always us against them, in the sense that how do you convince them to give you the money? Yes, it is more difficult because the record proves it. So you've got to get past that. It has been more difficult but your time is coming. The time will come. 0
Airstream
Odyssey
The author-photographer (above) spent three months driving across America. She tells us how she did it, and shows us some of the things she saw. The first time I remember seeing an Airstream-,-"the Cadillac of travel trailers"was during the summer of 1971. We were on home leave from Paris (my father, a diplomat, was posted to the U.S. Embassy there) and the shiny silver-colored car caught my eye and my imagination as we made our way along the seemingly eternal American highways toward Indiana. Although not yet into my teens, I had been dreaming of driving cross-country and seeing America. Living abroad had made me keen to see and get to know my country. Years later, when it was time for me to strike out on my own, I landed in New York City to begin my career as a photographer. I liked the work, but it wasn't something I was passionate about. And New York got just too depressing after a while. So I began plotting my "escape." I decided to rent a trailer and drive myself and my few worldly belongings from one coast of the United States to the other. Since I planned to record the adventures of each
day on film, I would sell pictures to sustain myself. As I focused on the logistics of the trip, I had a flashback to that summer of 1971 and the image of that shiny, silver trailer came to mind. I didn't know the make of the trailer, much less whether it was still manufactured. A few days later at a party I talked about my dream of
Lesley Frowick's grandparents in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, pose with pride in front of the travel trailer their granddaughter towed across America. Frowick chose the southern route because many of her relatives live in the South.
leaving New York in an aluminum-skinned trailer to discover America. A guest said that the trailer I was referring to was called an Airstream. The next day I dashed to a library and found a colorful paperback on Airstream trailers. I learned of their history (first designed and built by Wally Byam in 1939), of Airstream conventions, and most important the address of Airstream manufacturers in Ohio. After contacting the company and the Airstream Club (also called The Wally Byam Caravan Club International), I finally located a dealer in New Jersey who had my dream machine, a 1967 eight-meter Airstream trailer. I also purchased an essential ingredient-a tow vehicle. I chose Chevrolet-the heartbeat of America, as their advertisements put it. Up until that point in my life, I had never owned a car. I had a stove, a refrigerator, a double sink, and even a bathtub installed in the trailer. I carefully planned out my itinerary from New York to
During her cross-country journey, Frowick took some 4,000 photographs. Her subjects rangedfrom America's natural wonders such as Monument Valley in Arizona (above) to a JunJair in Winchester, Virginia.
San Francisco Bay, making sure to schedule stops at as many of the well-known monuments and sites of America as three months would allow. I chose the southern route, partially because some of my family members live in several southern states but also because there aren't many hills that way. My 21,OOO-kilometer odyssey took me through Washington, D.C., Florida, Louisiana, New Orleans, Texas, New Mexico, Colorado, Nevada, and California. During most of those three months, a few friends and family members joined me along the way. There were three weeks, however, that I drove alone. In Airstreamer terminology I was "a freewheeling full-timer." I had many great experiences. Some of the most memorable were simple things such as sipping freshly squeezed juice out of a silver goblet with a fresh gardenia floating inside .at a plantation outside of Baton Rouge, Louisiana. In fact, my fondest memories are of the time I spent with the family that owns the two-century-
Above: A window display in New Orleans, Louisiana. Left: Dunes 8.25 meters below sea level in Death Valley, California. Below, left to right: A small rural town in Texas; New Orleans during its rare quiet hours; and an Adobe church in Taos Pueblo, New Mexico.
Facingpage: The Virgin River in Utah. Above: A cowboy lassoes the Airstream at a ranch in New Mexico. Right: Texas-size cowboy boots in San Antonio.
old plantation. An extraordinary experience was hiking into the Grand Canyon from the north rim. A thunderstorm blew in and I took refuge in a little cave that I happened upon. I spent the next hour listening in awe to the tremendous crackling of thunder echoing throughout the canyon. After the danger was over I continued hiking and did not cross paths with a human being for six hours. I took more than 4,000
photographs during my odyssey. They will form part of the book that I hope to write about my adventure one day. Considering that I traveled so many thousands of kilometers and through so many cities, I think I was extremely lucky to have had only positive experiences-barring one flat tireand to have kept to my itinerary. At the end of it all, when I pulled up at the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, I had the satisfaction of knowing that I had been successful in what I had set out to do-discover my beautiful country. And I learned that with a lot of perseverance, dreams can come true. 0
A Meeting of Poetic Minds Indian poet, writer, teacher, publisher, and calligrapher P. Lal and American poet, writer, and former teacher Donald Hall had a lot to discuss when they met in Calcutta-not
surprising
considering the commonality of their interests. Hall and his wife, poet Jane Kenyon, visited several cities in India late last year for a series of poetry seminars, readings, and lectures sponsored by the U.S. Information Service.
I had known of Donald Andrew Hall, Jr., long before I met him. Which teacher of English language and literature hasn't profited from his incomparably well-written manual of English style, Writing Well? I know he wouldn't approve of a superlative shabash like that-"advertising brouhaha," he'd say, and so to be eschewed. But sorry, Donald Sahib, that's what your brilliant (again!) book is, along, in my opinion, with another not-so-well-known American how-to-do-it, Gilbert Highet's The Art afTeaching. I came across Writing Well in 1974, a year after its publication, when I was visiting professor for an academic year at Ohio University in Athens, Ohio. The 1970s were a great decade in American academia: Full classes, students passionately in love with ideas qua ideas, handsome handouts to guest speakers, and dingdong discussions on every conceivable subject from the oil fields of Alaska to the war fields of Vietnam. Hall was teaching then at the University of Michigan, and he put into that marvelous (one more time!) book his student
experiences as style-seeker at Harvard, Oxford, and Stanford, and his fruitful years of English literature guruship at the University of Michigan. He left the University in 1975 in order to devote himself to writing at his family's farm in New Hampshire. I was so bowled over by Writing Well that I decided. to write him a fan letter with a request that he deign to grant me a brief darshan. Other pressing matters intervened; the planned bridge was not spanned. I forget: There was another, a karmic connection of sorts. In 1963, in a select Swarthmore College (Pennsylvania) sorority meet, I gave a talk on the "pure act" in Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha, the novel that James Laughlin of New Directions published, never realizing it would become the Hippie Bible of the 1960s. Present among the lily-delicate intellectual ladies was a young visiting poet, tall and ravishingly goodlooking Mark Strand, then relatively unknown, now the talk of the town. I liked the poems he read; he liked my "presentation"; he gifted me a copy of a fine anthology, published
that year, called The Modern Poets: An American-British Anthology, edited by John Malcolm Brinnin of the University of Connecticut and Bill Read of Boston University. He inscribed it: "A pure act from Mark Strand to P. Lal." You couldn't, in 1963, find a better introduction to contemporary Albion-Yankee verse than that volume-and a "pure act" it certainly was, for Mark Strand wasn't even represented in it. Strand was conspicuous by absence; Hall, on page 141, by presence. Here is Donald Hall's poem:
from Whitman to Frost. Scratch an American deep enough, and you'll find, behind all that false hair on his chest, a dream of Eden. So, when Donald Hall turned up along with his wife Jane Kenyon, in my study in Lake Gardens [in Calcutta] last November, I simply had to tell him how, three decades ago, Mark Strand had admired the "purity" of Hall's poetry. "Yes," Hall said, "he's that way himself." I produce a clipping of a Mark Strand poem that appeared in The Nation in 1963. A favorite poem of mine, I have lovingly preserved it in the inscribed copy of The Modern Poets. It is titled "The Mailman." It has 97 words-17 of two syllables each, one of three, and 79 of one sound each. Strand is a master of monosyllabic meaning. I read out the poem.
The Sleeping Giant (A Hill, So Named, in Hamden, Connecticut)
The whole day long, under the walking sun That poised an eye on me from its high floor, Holding my toy beside the clapboard house I looked for him, the summer I was four. I was afraid the waking arm would break From the loose earth and rub against his eyes A fist of trees, and the whole country tremble In the exultant labor of his rise; Then he with giant steps in the small streets Would stagger, cutting off the sky, to seize The roofs from house and home because we had Covered his shape with dirt and planted trees; And then kneel down and rip with fingernails A trench to pour the enemy Atlantic Into our basin, and the water rush, With the streets full and all the voices frantic. That was the summer I expected him. Later the high and watchful sun instead Walked low behind the house, and school began, And winter pulled a sheet over his head. The Modern Poets: An American-British Anthology. published by McGraw-Hill Book Company. Inc. Copyright Š 1985 by Donald Hall. From
I asked Strand a question I throw at every American poet I visit or who visits me: "Who are the good ones, the young ones, writing today?" Among the first three he listed was Donald Hall (the others were Anne Sexton and May Swenson). "Look for his simplicity," he advised. "It isn't as simple as it looks." I can see what he meant, for "The Sleeping Giant" has a fine excess-the accent being on "fine." It takes perceptive, exact, and essence-concerned sensibility to come up with a sharply honed, fluid image of winter pulling a white sheet of snow over the sleeping head of a fairy-tale Connecticut hill. Americans build skyscrape red cities, but pastoral yearnings haunt them,
It is midnight. He comes up the walk and knocks at the door. I rush to greet him. He stands there weeping, shaking a letter at me. He tells me it contains terrible personal news. He falls to his knees. "Forgive me! Forgive me!" he pleads. I ask him inside. He wipes his eyes. His dark blue suit is like an inkstain on my crimspn couch. Helpless, nervous, small, He curls up like a ball and sleeps while I compose more letters to myself in the same vein: "You shall live by inflicting pain. You shall forgive." Copyright Š 1963 by Mark Strand. Reprinted by permission of Mark Strand.
That morning Donald Hall becomes for me a marvelous mailman, for he brings, unlike Strand's spectral Hermes, what all mailmen should always bring: A message of goodwill from across many seas and continents. He looks at me and says, "You know who sends you greetings? Jas." Jas? But of course. J.L. That's James Laughlin. I go back 35 years. A letter from James Laughlin, president of Intercultural Publications, Inc., New York, says: "If all goes well, I hope to
arrive in Calcutta, from Madras, on the afternoon of Tuesday, February 12th, 1957. I suppose I will be staying at the Great Northern [sic] Hotel ... and I shall get in touch with you, hoping to find you in the city." Get in touch he did, this handsome six-feet-two, a softspoken WASP, a parfait Boston Brahmin, heir to the largesse of Laughlin and Bethlehem Steel Corporation, who turned his energies and affluence to the promotion of avant-garde literature in America, by establishing the publishing firm of New Directions. I am 28, teaching for four years in the English Department of St. Xavier's College in Calcutta. Inexperienced in the ways of limousines, I turn up at the Great Eastern Hotel on my newly purchased Italian scooter to bring him to my apartment for tea. He wants to discuss a contract for publishing a volume of classical Sanskrit plays transcreated by me. He runs his eyes on my plebian vehicle. "You'll chauffeur me, I guess," he says. We scoot down Chowringhee southward, a demented duo, penurious professor and publisher-patron. Next month I get a contract and a letter from him clo The Ford Foundation in Rangoon, thanking me for my "kind hospitality"-a simple cup of Darjeeling tea!-"and the thrilling ride on the Lambretta." Signed: "Jas." Ten years ago, on the 67th birthday of Jas, a 300-page special issue of Conjunctions was brought out, "A Festschrift in honor of James Laughlin, Publisher of New Directions." The roll call of contributors has everyone who matters in literary America. Including, naturally, Donald Hall: "When I was 14 I discovered New Directions' Poet of the Month series. I do not remember if! registered the irony of the name; the bookshelves of my parents' house were filled with Books of the Month-J.P. Marquand and Kenneth Roberts rather than John Berryman, Yvor Winters, and Carl Rakosi. I delighted in my difference, and James Laughlin fed my difference." I ask, "Why is it that most Americans, especially sensitive ones, are so fond of celebrating 'difference'?" "Well," he replies, "we are a contrary people. We pretend to be the same, democratic you see, but we pursue different ways. Despite standardization and homogenization, Americans dislike and distrust uniformity. You see it in the poets: No two American poets wt:ite in the same style." I ask, "What then is American about American poetry, assuming there is such a thing?" "Oh, many things. Experimentation, sometimes to perverse lengths. The attempt to discover a new verse line, what Allen Ginsberg calls the American iamb as distinct from the British. The struggle to achieve emotional and linguistic simplicity." My wife is in tete-a-tete with Jane Kenyon over a
cup of coffee and sandesh. Jane is recommending a new generation of American women poets, among them some very exciting young black voices. Experimentation. "New" verse beat. Lucidity. These are the virtues of Jane Kenyon's poetry as well. Take this poem by her: It appeared in The New Yorker in February 1990 and is reprinted in her latest volume of verse, Let Evening Come, from Graywolf Press.
It wakes when I wake, walks when I walk, turns back when I turn back, beating me to the door. It spoils my food and steals my sleep, and mocks me, saying, "Where is your God now?" And so, like a widow, I lie down after supper. If I lie down or sit up it's all the same: the days and nights bear me along. To strangers I must seem alive. Spring comes, summer;
"Now Where?"' Š 1990 by Jane Kenyon. Reprinted from Let E\'ening Come with the permission of Graywolf Press, St. Paul. Minnesota.
"Spring comes, summer; Icool, clear weather; heat, rain .... " 1 think Donald Hall left out one cardinal merit of American poetry: Freshness, springtime youthfulness, the perennial excitement of open-ended discovering. Youth is wasted on the young; and Americans are often blind to the precious vitality that pulses through their life and literature. But it shows, it shows. I recommended three young poetsRupam Baoni, in her late teens; Amreeta Syam, in her early twenties; and Arnab Guha, in his mid-twenties-from the eastern region to the seminar on poetry conducted by Donald Hall in Bhubaneswar. They returned starry-eyed, flushed with enthusiasm generated by the visiting husband-and-wife team.¡ They brought back glowing reports of a poetry-reading session in which Donald and Jane more than participated. By their infectious explication of image, tone, and texture, they fostered a desire to write more and write better. I said to myself: Yes, indeed. That's the least one could expect from the begetter of Writing Well who compelled my admiration 20 years ago, and inspires young ones today. Style is one Ivy League human artifact that never goes out of fashion. 0 About the Author: P. Lal, founder-director of Writers Workshop, Calcutta, is a poet and writer. An honorary professor of English at the University of Calcutta and at St. Xavier's College, he has lectured on Indian literature in more than 100 American colleges and universities.
The Making ofaPoet In his 17 years as a professor of English at the University of Michigan and as the author of books on English, Donald Hall has perhaps played a subtle role in the making of many a young poet and writer. In this interview with a young Indian poet, he discusses how he developed his craft.
SUDEEP SEN: Your beginnings first: How did you initially start writing? I believe Edgar Allan Poe was your idol, later to be replaced by TS. Eliot and Hilda Doolittle, and others. DONALD HALL: I really did begin by loving Poe but that was rather a brief romance. I like spooky things, scary things, and that's how I started with Poe. But then I loved the sound that poetry made, and through a series of accidents, including a textbook in high school where I found some modern poets whom I loved, like Hilda Doolittle and T.S. Eliot. But then I was fickle and fell in love with poet after poet after poet, and probably imitated them all, and learned, I hope from all of them. Sen: During your college days you were amidst what seems like a galaxy of great poets such as John Ashbery, Robert Bly, Adrienne Rich, to name a few. Can you describe your experiences and memories with them? Hall: Oh, it was a wonderful time. We didn't know how lucky we were, but we had some sense of it. The first time I took an English writing course-a creative writing course-there was Frank O'Hara, the poet, sitting there. Robert Bly became my best friend, we both worked together on the undergraduate magazine. John Ashbery was there, so was Kenneth Koch. Adrienne Rich and I dated; we went out on a double date with Robert Bly and another girl. Adrienne and I became great friends later on, not when we were dating. But it is amazing in retrospect, after all these years, 40 and more, to think we were all there together and learning from each other. You know around the same time W.S. Merwin and Galway Kinnell were together down at Princeton University. There were a lot of us at that time. Now, we didn't all love each other, some of us didn't like each other. We were rivals with each other, and we were friends. But we talked poetry day and night. There were bookstores where we would gather when a new book would come out, or a new issue of a magazine with, say, a new poem by Robert Lowell; we would get together and talk it out. We were just trying to discover things together, and we were very fortunate.
Sen: You were, I suppose, fortunate to be in association with distinguished "elders," as you refer to them-Robert Frost, Archibald MacLeish, Richard Eberhart. Did they influence you in any way? Hall: Many of them did. I knew TS. Eliot, I knew Ezra Pound, Dylan Thomas. r interviewed some of them for The Paris Review. Richard Eberhart lived in Cambridge, Archibald MacLeish was my teacher. Now all of these were poets whom I had read before I met them, and whom I kept on reading. Sen: Something like the way you have been for me. Hall: Right, yes. I learned from reading them and from admiring them a 19t. They did not give me great hints or anything like that. They did not give me technical advice, maybe MacLeish did as my teacher, but not that much. What r learned from them was their example, their persistence, their endurance. I discovered the life devoted to the art. I learned it would not be easy for one thing, but I also learned that it was possible to survive, to prevail, and therefore they made standards for me that I could try and live up to. Sen: How did the founders of American poetry, such as W.H. Auden, Marianne Moore, Hilda Doolittle, shape and affect the growth of poetry in that continent? Hall: Walt Whitman and Emily Dickinson were the founders back in the 19th century. It takes a long time for a new country like the United States to make its own literature. And in the beginning, there were these eccentrics and I think very great poets-Whitman and Dickinson, in particular. Then there was the generation of people beginning with Robert Frost, going on to T S. Eliot and Ezra Pound, some of whom had to live abroad. Frost had to go to England to get himself established as a poet. They did the groundwork for establishing American literature as a separate national literature, something that was not a colonial literature. Our generation did not look to London for approval. They were
the ones who went to Europe, and yes, also the ones who stayed at home like Marianne Moore, a wonderful poet. All of the poets traveled, but Moore, William Carlos Williams, Wallace Stevens stayed home. By the time my generation, born 40-50 years later, came along, we did not even have to think about going abroad for our certificate of merit. American literature was there and we wanted to be part of it. The founders gave us courage and allowed us to believe that if we worked hard enough we could do it, and that we were lucky enough to be a part of that American literature, not English literature, which is something different. SeD: Tell us about the growth of your own work-the
graph of your writing career in terms of language, craft, content, and innovation. Hall: Well, I'll try. Let me begin at the age of 17. I had written before then, but at 17 I discovered writing in metrical form, writing in stanzas and rhyme, doing what Frost and Auden were doing with many of their poems. These are all important figures, of course. Moving away from free verse that I had written when I was younger, for ten years I worked within metrical form and stanzaic poetry. I became obsessed with it. When I was in Oxford, I did my BLitt on prosody because that was my passion-prosody, metrics, and the study of English metrics. Then in my late twenties I began to feel that I had for myself exhausted that vein. I don't feel that there was anything lacking potentially in metrical poetry, but I had painted myself into a corner and I had to thrash about in order to get out. I moved out by making different sounds, by learning afresh and tentatively writing some poems. I avoided iambics but counted syllables and thereby began working in a kind of free verse. I discovered a sense of freedom and liberty that was exciting and energizing, but that went entirely with the notion that the end of the poem was to resolve itself as an aesthetic whole. I say liberty, but not liberty from form; I had to improvise my own form. I wanted to make a formal conclusiveness, but I did not know how I was going to do it until I had done it each time. I worked in that method. I think my poems had certain characteristics in common for a good many years, but again I seemed to myself to have exhausted that method and notion. There was in content a lot of dreamy material, a lot of surrealistic imagery in this poetry in terms of sound. There were a lot of long vowels. A little bit of that is in "Moon Clock," which is a later poem also, but I can have throwbacks from time to time. Then later I found a long line, which I partly got from Whitman, that could include more of the world in a poem like "Kicking the Leaves" and in many of my subsequent poems, the line is a little more relaxed in its free verse, uses a lot of internal pause, it uses a lot of the world, it tries to bring together the historical past and present with some implication of the future. That's enough description from me. It's really for other people to say more than me. SeD: You have taught
literature and creative writing in the United States. The latter is almost never taught in India. Could you tell us how creative writing is actually taught? How do you
really teach poetry or writing a novel?
Hall: One thing that people ask is whether
you can teach somebody to be a poet. The answer is no; you cannot do that. But someone who has ability with language to begin with, and a great deal of desire to work on it, can be helped. I think at most of the writing programs the best writers are helped by each other rather than by their teachers. I never taught in a program that concentrated on creative writing, that is I never taught in a school that gave a degree in creative writing, but when I was at the University of Michigan, I taught some courses to ten or 12 persons who were talented to begin with. They were not admitted to the class unless they had some ability. Then we would work up a workshop where we criticized each other, students criticized each other mostly, and they really became very adept critically. They began to see troubles with their own poetry because they could see troubles with other people's poetry. I would be there to guide and suggest standards. I think it was helpful. SeD: And from there I suppose
many writers would want to send their work to various magazines and journals, and to publishing houses. You've been on both sides of the fence, as a contributor and as an editor-as a staff member of the Harvard Advocate, the poetry editor of the Paris Review, and an editorial consultant for both Wesleyan University Press and Harper & Row. What sorts of things does an editor look for especially when he or she is reviewing unsolicited work? Hall: The new sound, the new voice, the voice that probably does not sound like anybody else. Probably because of writing programs, there are many people who write quite competently but sound like each other, and you look for that voice, that originality of dicti.on, that innovation of diction that makes its own clarity, its own straight speech. There is no way you can tell somebody that this is what you have to do to be accepted. You have to be good, that's all you can say. To be good and preferably not good in the way that other people are good, but in your own way. Mainly, as an editor I'm looking for that thing that stands out in freshness, intensity, and clarity of vision. SeD: Have you read much Indian literature and especially contemporary fiction and poetry? Is Indian poetry popular in the United States? Hall: I haven't read a great deal but I am going to now. I'm fascinated by my visit here. I have met many poets and am taking with me lots of books on Indian poetry. Very few Indian poets are really well known in the United States, not even somebody like Dom Moraes, who used to have a large reputation in England. I suppose only Vikram Seth is well known. I like a few of the other younger Indian poets who have recently published internationally. D About the Interviewer: Sudeep Sen, whose book of poems, The Lunar Visitations, has been published in the United States and India, is the New Delhi-based assistant editor of Boulevard: Journal of Contemporary Writing (published in New York).
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hand ...craft has transcended its traditional role and meaning. The term must now be defined in the context of a society that focuses on greater efficiency by technological achievement. Craft, which by its very nature represents a unity of hand and spirit, reaffirms the human element in daily life. Amid mass production the craft experience can impart greater meaning to individual expression. " The American Craft Museum celebrates this experience. As the premier showcase for the American Craft Council-its parent organization-the museum has been preeminent in its field ever since it was founded in 1956. Initially its collections were kept in a modest, cramped home near the Museum ofM odem Art. In 1987 the craft museum got much-needed breathing room for its collections when it sold its prime property to a developer in exchange for 1,660 square meters in the proposed office tower plus funds for improvements. The new premises-four times the space of its previous home-has allowed the museum to display its valuable collection with elegance. The museum's collection illustrates the diversity, plurality, and the variety of styles and approaches of today's craft artisans. The items include ceramics, jewelry, and woodwork. The American Craft Museum, in the words of Smith, "honors the vitality found in current American craft." 0 Africa (detail); Julia Hill; 1985; silk crepe de chine (resist-painted); 381 x 114 cm.
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Three Worms Trying to Cross the Jagged Edge; Stephen Madsen; birch plywood, maple, plastic (constructed); 166 x 86 x 57 cm.
Fox and Lizard Table; Judy Kensley McKie; 1985; birch, paint, glass (laminated, carved, painted); 76 x 132 x 51 cm.
Above: The museum's grand curved-staircase atrium forms the only flamboyant gesture in an understated interior.
Ewer #1 (above); John Gill; 1985; stoneware (hand built); 34 x 46 x 10 em.
Bowl; Bennett Bean; 1985; white earthenware (thrown, glazed, painted, applied gold leaf); 18 x 34 em.
Choker #59; Mary Lee Hu; 1980; fine and sterling silver (twined, constructed); 22 x 19 x 4 em.
Refurbishing the Body Nature does it effortlessly, piecing together a complete person injust nine months, but medical science has taken far longer to devise replacement parts for the human body. In recent years, however, scientists have combined the invention of novel materials, particularly plastics, with a new understanding of human physiology to produce a trove of highly sophisticated spare parts. Indeed, bioengineers predict that in the not-too-distant future an artificial component will be able to take the place of almost any portion of human anatomy, with the exception of the brain.
Electronically controlled arm
Around the world, more than three million people live with artificial parts, and in the United States alone, 223,000 pacemakers, 197,000 hips, 73,000 knees, and 26,000 finger and toe joints are implanted every year. While none of these prostheses works quite as well as its natural counterpart, things are improving rapidly. Sometime in the 21st century, robotic limbs will move under the control of nerves, much like real muscles and tendons. Within the next decade, in fact, artificial livers and lungs are likely to be used to replace diseased tissue, and bioengineers fully expect they will have perfected pros-
thetic joints and bones that will actually function more smoothly than the ligaments and cartilage they replace. One of the first artificial body parts on record was worn by 16th-century astronomer Tycho Brahe, who sported a metal nose after losing his in a duel. After another duel, when Luke Skywalker lost his hand to Darth Vader's laser sword, robotic surgeons easily fitted him with a lifelike bionic replacement. Though today's body parts have not achieved the sophistication of those in The Empire Strikes Back, they far surpass Brahe's crude prosthesis. The Seattle foot, for example, which was
named for the city where it was developed, is so nimble that it allows the wearer to run, ski, and even play tennis. The foot's secret is a plastic keel embedded along its length that stores and releases mechanical energy much as muscles and tendons do. * The next generation of devices will combine living tissue with man-made materials, an amalgam that, something like a lizard's tail, will grow and regenerate. Artificial hips, for example, will one day be coated with compounds that stimulate new bone to grow and insinuate into the prosthesis. The only drawback to the current hip is that the steel hip shank can work free of the femur, a problem that will be solved by stimulating new bone growth. At the University of Texas, chemist Richard Lagow heads a group experimenting with shanks made of powdered hydroxyapatite, the principal constituent of real bone. When baked at high temperature, the substance forms a porous shank that encourages blood vessels and bone cells to invade, eventually bonding living bone to the prosthesis. Dentists have been implanting hydroxyapatite teeth since 1985, and in 1990 clinical trials began using hydroxyapatite to substitute for parts of the spine.
Silicone finger joints Cochlear (inner ear) implant
lens implants
Silicone ear
Artificial tendons
Total elbow replacement
A partial list of the nearly five dozen artificial body parts now available in the United States. Joints (finger, knee, elbow, hip, wrist, ankle) Joints can be reinforced or completely replaced with a combination of plastics, ceramics, and metal alloys. Tendons Made of Gore-Texfibers, artificial tendons can be anchored to bones. Legs Wearers can play sports with new, lightweight artificial legs. Feet Originally developed for Vietnam veterans, modern artificial feet are designed to have the flex and spring of a real foot. Pacemakers Embedded in the chest. pacemakers stimulate weak hearts to beat with electric impulses.
Arms By tensing various muscles in the upper arm, the wearer can electronically control an artificial arm and hand, which are agile enough to pick up a champagne glass. Silicone ear and nose Specially colored to match the wearer's skin, a false ear or nose is permanently anchored in place.
Heart 75.000 one of valves
valves Americans receive the seven types of every year.
Ocnlar orbits Much of the tissue around the eye socket can be rebuilt with silicone.
Cochlear implant This electronic device, placed in the inner ear, allows some profoundly deaf people to hear sirens, bells, and changes in tone.
Ocular lenses Plastic replacement for the human lens after a cataract has been removed.
Tooth implants False teeth made of hydroxyapatite, the main ingredient of bone, are anchored to the jaw.
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While effective spare parts already exist for many pieces of the skeleton, including joints and the ligaments that attach to them, there is currently nothing that can take the place of skin. More than a mere wrapping for the body, the skin is a highly complex organ made up of three layers of different kinds of specialized cells, and doctors who treat patients with extensive burns have longed for a skin substitute. They should have one soon. Researchers at a number of institutions are now racing to perfect their own versions of synthetic skin. At the University of California at San Diego, Dr. John Hansbrough, a burn specialist, has developed skin made from two types of human skin cells, called fibroblasts and keratinocytes. Enough skin to cover a man can be grown from a few cells, on a biodegradable polymer mesh, in about three weeks. The first trials of Hansbrough's skin will use cells from a healthy donor, possibly making it necessary for the burn patient to receive antirejection drugs to prevent the artificial skin from being destroyed by the immune system. Eventually, however, researchers hope to genetically engineer donor cells to remove the molecules on their surface that signal the patient's immune system to attack. By creating skin cells that lack these molecular signals, says Hansbrough, "anyone could be a universal skin donor by the end of the decade." A similar approach may soon yield other artificial organs, including blood vessels, pancreases, lungs, and livers. Over the past decade, molecular biologists have discovered dozens of proteins, called growth factors, that
Artificial hip Artificial skin
Skin Cultured from human skin cells, a sheet of new skin big enough to cover a man can be grown in three weeks.
Urinary tracts An artificial sphincter made of plastic gives life lI'earer control over fhe bladder.
Blood Half as fhick as real blood, fhe artificial sniff is used fO supply oxygen to certain tissues during operalions fa unclog blood vessels.
Nerve chips Embedded in the stump of a limb, fhis microchip lI'ill pick up impulses from nerve fibers leading from fhe brain and transmit them to an external computer that controls an artificial limb. Organoids Organs, such as fhe liver or pancreas, as lI'ell as blood vessels will be grown from human cells on a spongelike polymer scaffold and fhen implanted.
Cartilage Like organoids. human cartilage cells can be grown in the lab and will one day take the place of a lost ear, or parts of joints. Lungs Placed in a blood vessel, a plastic device that exchanges oxygen with blood can handle 50 percent of the lungs' work for afew days. Eyes A light-sensifive device with elecfrodes leading fO fhe brain will crudely simulale vision. Bone Artificial bones will stimulate fhe growth of real bone to take their place.
By far the most tantalizing of the bionic parts bioengineers have imagined is a robotic limb or organ wired directly to the brain. stimulate the growth of cells and prod them into changing their form and function. Young liver cells, for instance, can be made to mature and produce enzymes necessary for that organ's proper functioning. Growth factors have made possible a wide variety of new cell cultures, and two groups of researchers, one at the u.s. National Institutes of Health in Bethesda, Maryland, and the other in Boston, Massachusetts, are capitalizing on this newly acquired skill to build artificial organs. The team in Boston hopes to bring an artificial liver to clinical trials within the decade. Robert Langer, a biochemical engineer at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, and Dr. Joseph Vacanti, head of the livertransplant unit at Boston's Children's Hospital, lead a team that has created an "organoid," as these artificial organs are called, by seeding liver cells onto a spongelike plastic, or polymer. This novel material, which is now being used for sutures that dissolve, supplies the cells with a flexible, sturdy, yet temporary scaffolding. The team has implanted the artificial liver into rats, where blood vessels penetrate the burgeoning organ. The liver cells organize into a structure similar to a proper liver and begin producing liver proteins within a couple of weeks. Implanting an organoid in a human patient will require a few more steps. Growth factors will soon be added to the polymer to spur the liver cells into growing and maturing. An organoid, seeded with cells from a living donor, will then be stitched into the abdomen, allowing the diseased organ to continue functioning as best it can until the new organoid is fully grown and the polymer scaffold has dissolved. The entire process, from donor operation to implanting the seeded scaffold, should take just a few days. "After four years in the lab," says Vacanti, "we feel the problems we have with this are solvable, and we can bring this to the bedside in the next few years." A similar approach will make possible the transplantation of other body parts. Langer and his colleagues believe that an artificial pancreas is possible, for example, and they are in the process of perfecting a system for growing cartilage, the tough, flexible tissue that allows joints to work smoothly and gives stiffness to the ears, noses, and esophagus. The polymer can provide a structure to create cartilage in almost any shape. The most tantalizing of the bionic parts bioengineers have imagined is a robotic limb or organ wired directly to the brain. Though such prostheses will not be ready until well into the next century, researchers are already search-
ing for ways to link living nerves to electronic devices. One such neural prosthesis, called the cochlear implant, couples an external microphone with internal electrodes, turning noises into electronic signals that stimulate the auditory nerve. At the National Institutes of Health, a project to build an artificial eye is under way. By hooking leads from a small light-sensing device to the optic nerve, researchers hope to electronically stimulate the visual centers of the brain in a way that mimics, in crude form, the signals the brain receives from the retina. The first such prosthesis could help blind people read.
Nerves of Silicon Even more ambitious is a project under way at Stanford University in California, to create a computer chip capable of communicating nerve impulses to an external computer that controls a robotic limb. Greg Kovacs, a medical student who also has a doctorate in engineering, heads a team developing a "nerve chip," an implantable silicon microchip that serves as a connection between nerves and computer. In its current form, the chip has been placed in a rat's hind limb, where a nerve was severed. Nerve fibers regrew toward the rat's foot through microscopic holes in the nerve chip, "like string beans through chicken wire," says Kovacs. The fibers, which never regenerate fully into the foot, stay fixed in place in their holes in the chip, so that microelectrodes next to each of the holes can pick up electrical impulses running from the brain along the nerve fibers. Eventually, the nerve chip will transmit and receive signals from an external microcomputer that governs a robotic limb, such as a hand. First, however, Kovacs and his colleagues must find methods to keep the nerve chip from malfunctioning in the body, an environment inhospitable to electronic gadgets. They will then attempt to implant a nerve chip that can send electronic signals to an external computer, which will process nerve impulses from the brain running toward the hand as well as signals from the hand that indicate the position of its various parts, providing sensory feedback for the wearer. Finally, radio signals from the computer will direct the hand's movements. The computer must be capable of "learning" how to interpret the electronic impulses coursing through the thousands of nerve fibers leading toward the hand, a capacity Kovacs is confident will be possible in time. "You shouldn't need to know how the whole nervous system works to communicate with it," he says, as long as computer programs can be developed that permit the computer to be trained to do what the brain commands. If such research succeeds, it may one day be possible to retrofit a human being in less time than it takes nature to create one. 0 About the Author: Shannon Brownlee is a senior editor with U.S. News & World Report.
merica's Library of Congress has the world's largest collection of books, periodicals, manuscripts, and related information items such as phonograph records and audio and video tapes. To amass such a collection, it has built a vast acquisition network, including several overseas offices. One of the oldest is the New Delhi office, which will mark its 30th anniversary in September with ~eminars, talks, a celebration at the American Center, and a special exhibition at the International Federation of Library Associations' annual conference, which is to be held at New Delhi's Taj Palace Hotel from August 30 through September 6. James H. Billington, the Librarian of Congress and a world-renowned scholar on Russia, is to participate in several events. The New Delhi field office is part of the Library of Congress's Special Foreign Acquisitions Programs. The origin of these programs goes back to the 1950s when a group of academics and scholars expressed dissatisfaction with the paucity of non-European research materials available in American libraries. They saw a solution to the problem in, among all places, the U.S. government's agricultural commodity sales program for developing nations, commonly known as the PL-480 program (for Public Law 83480). Each country paid for agricultural commodities in its local currency, and under PL-480 requirements the United States had to spend those funds locally. Why not, reasoned the scholars, use some of the money to purchase books, journals, and newspapers in countries whose publications were not well represented in the libraries of America? This would serve two purposes: Promote study of these cultures in the United States and stimulate publishing trades in these countries. Says Arvind Kumar, director of India's National Book Trust, the Library of Congress's collection efforts "not only built up a formidable collection of Indian books in the United States, better than any in India, but also encouraged publishing in certain areas and languages .... " The first Special Foreign Acquisitions
Clockwise from above: The New Delhi field office maintains card catalog files on every item it collects-and rejects; packs books in boxes for shipping to the United States; and acquires a wide variety of periodicals in numerous languages. Field Director Lygia M. Ballantyne confers with cataloging coordinator K. Subramaniyan.
Programs offices were inaugurated in 1962 in Egypt, India, and Pakistan. Each office was headed by an American field director and staffed by local personnel. In subsequent years offices were established in Brazil, Indone,sia, Israel, and Yugoslavia. The Library of Congress has since closed its field offices in the last two countries. The New Delhi office is housed in two three-story buildings adjacent to eaQh other in a posh shopping area in the southern part of the capital city. Lygia M. Ballantyne is the field director, and Alice L. Kniskern is her deputy. They oversee a staff of 66 local personnel as well as six field representatives in neighboring countries and one each in Bangalore, Bhopal, Calcutta, and Trivandrum. The varied and demanding responsibilities associated with the office require highly skilled personnel. "Nowhere has the Library of Congress been more successful at finding the needed talents than in New Delhi," says Ballantyne, who has also served in Brazil and Haiti for the Library of Congress. "Top grade people are drawn to Delhi from all over India, the rest of South Asia, and from more distant areas of Asia as well." Upon entering the New Delhi office, one finds rows and rows of freshly painted steel shelves filled with books, platoons of neatly aligned wooden card
catalog racks, series of computer terminals where busy fingers pluck furiously at their keyboards, and large-packing cartons being sealed tight with texts and other materials. It quickly becomes apparent that organizing a wide diversity of information materials into coherent packets for easy access by library users and researchers is an arduous and scientific process. "I am truly amazed at the vast volume of published material that comes out of India every year," Ballantyne says. "I did not expect such an intense level of publishing here. We not only cover India, but the New Delhi office's jurisdiction extends to neighboring countries such as Bangladesh, Bhutan, Burma, Maldives,_ Nepal, and Sri Lanka. In addition to these countries, cataloging is also done for materials from Cambodia, Laos, Mongolia, and Thailand." Kniskern says that New Delhi sends materials not only to the Library of Congress in Washington but also to academic libraries and other institutions under a special cooperative program. "The programs are designed to distribute publications to a group of American research libraries in support of their area studies interests as well as to bring material to the
Library of Congress," she says. More than 30 libraries in the United States and Canada are directly involved with the New Delhi office. All kinds of published formats are acquired and cataloged-books, newspapers, serials, ephemeral materials, maps, posters, and audio and video cassettes. The field office collects materials in every language and script that can be foundsome 145 languages and 26 scripts at last count-and is aided in this task by a network of dealers responsible for particular territories and languages. Staffers from the Delhi office and field representatives regularly make acquisition trips. Efforts are under way to find published materials in the hill dialects of Himachal Pradesh and Uttar Pradesh and in Syriac written in Malayalam script from Kerala. Lately, there has been a special interest in ephemeral literature such as pamphlets by activist organizations and political parties, materials from small presses, and, to a much lesser extent, privately published matter. For instance, during the Indian parliamentary election campaigns of 1989 and 1991, the field office collected literature and audio and video tapes from all major political parties and sent them
to the Library of Congress and 15 academic libraries that responded to an offer for them. The Library of Congress representative in Kathmandu went even further. During elections in Nepal, he had photos taken of election posters, banners, wall paintings, and other memorabilia for the Library. The statistics on collecting are staggering. More than 16 million pieces have been acquired since 1962. In fiscal year 1991 alone, 88,000 pieces were acquired for the Library of Congress and 242,000 pieces for participating libraries. Since 1984,80,000 book records have been entered on floppy disks and transmitted to Washington, where they are merged in the Library of Congress's database. The New Delhi office has a large-scale microform operation, a system for reproducing printed matter on film in a much reduced size. Since 1966, some 1,787,500 feet [545,000 meters] of microfilm have been produced, 113,600 feet [34,600 meters] alone in 1991. Microfilm comes in rolls or cartridges. Even greater reduction is achieved with microfiche, four-by-sixinch [10-by-15-centimeter] film cards, each of which can hold up to 98 pages of text. Since 1978 the Delhi office has produced 177,290 fiche, including 18,93.1 fiche last year alone. One more statistical example: From 1968 to May of 1992 the office had filmed 26,388,556 pages of newspapers and gazettes. This capacity to reduce lengthy materials alleviates several problems in connection with storing and maintaining publications and documents and with supplying to other libraries materials for which multiple copies cannot be acquired. "Our microform facilities are one of the most advanced amongst all the overseas offices," says Kniskern, who previously worked in the Library's overseas division in Washington and is now in her second tour in New Delhi. "Also we offer a microfiche edition to the copyright holder in return for permission to copy the publication. Since most titles that are microformatted are unpriced mimeographed reports or books printed on newsprint, this provides the publishing institution with an easily stored, more
permanent record of their work." Delhi and the other overseas offices also facilitate the exchange of professional, technical, and bibliographical information. Bibliographical information not only accompanies the publications sent to the Library of Congress and libraries participating in each program, but it is made available to other libraries through worldwide distribution of the Accessions Lists, published monthly by each field office for various countries and regions. These lists enable researchers and librarians to identify specific publications from the area and also to determine their probable location in the American library system. Participating institutions are committed to lending publications received from the program under terms of the National Interlibrary Loan Code of 1968. The code is essentially an agreement that says libraries will lend to each other on a quid pro quo basis. New Delhi and the other overseas offices also participate in an extensive exchange program. The Library of Congress in Wa.shington sends to the field books from its surplus collections (American and other imprints). "We prepare lists of books according to subject and offer them to South Asian libraries and institutions in exchange for their own materials," Ballantyne says. One of the long-term beneficiaries of the exchange program is the eminent historian, Ainslie T. Embree, professor emeritus at Columbia University. "I remember the days when you were lucky indeed if you found a new book in the library published in India," he says. "In the 1950s, I would go back and forth' from Columbia to the New York Public Library, hoping that I would find what I wanted. This semester when I wanted to find what had been published on human rights in India, I went to [the Columbia University Library], and there, thanks to the Library of Congress, I got my list." Embree, who served as a cultural affairs officer in the late 1970s at the U.S. Information Service in New Delhi, concludes: "I do not know of any cultural program that has been more worthwhile than this." 0
MANSARAM'S NEW YORK P. Mansaram calls himself an artist, photographer, xerographer, and collage maker. He combined all of these talents in producing the exhibit, "New York-New York," comprising 32 photo-lasergraphs that recently were displayed in the Piramal Gallery of Bombay's National Centre for the Performing Arts. "In photo-lasergraphy," explained Mansaram, "all you do is take color pictures and then alter the colors, giving them different shades, textures, visual dimensions, and perspectives with the help of a color laser copier. This blend of aesthetics and technology is an art form with its own style and interpretation." Mansaram, born in Mount Abu, Rajasthan, and a resident of Burlington, Ontario, Canada, is fascinated by New York and has visited the city several times. "New York has a special magic," he says. "A lifetime may appear too short to experience it all. It is overpowering. Here one cannot think rationally and in a linear way as one normally does." Mansaram feels that adding colors to his original images of the city helped him "get across the feeling of New York." Despite having set down new roots in North America, the 55year-old multimedia artist feels he has "never really left India because I have taken it along with me." And he comes back each year to capture a bit more ofIndia with his camera-his third eye. -Shoma A. Chatterji
P. Mansaram (left) brings new color and perspective to familiar New York scenes.
Financing Presidential Campaigns Running for President in America is an expensive proposition-one that is governed by numerous regulations concerning contributions and expenditures.¡ "The presidency of the United States," wrote John Quincy Adams in 1828, "was an office neither to be sought nor declined. To pay money for securing it, directly or indirectly, was in my opinion incorrect in principle." Despite the lofty sentiment expressed by Adams-the sixth President of the United States and the son of the second President---eandidates in every election since George Washington first assumed the office in 1789 have spent money to secure the presidency. In the early years political funds were spent primarily for printing costs. Much of the presidential campaigning took
place in newspapers and pamphlets subsidized by political factions favoring one or another candidate. In time candidates adopted other means of spreading campaign messages, including campaign biographies, buttons and banners, and personally taking railroad tours and participating in other events on the campaign trail. Radio was first used in the 1924 campaign, and in 1952 television emerged as a primary means of communicating with voters. As the size and population of the United States expanded and the means of campaigning for office developed, the costs of campaigning grew correspondingly. In 1860 Abraham Lincoln's
winning general election campaign reportedly cost about $100,000, and his opponent Stephen Douglas's campaign about $50,000. One hundred years later John Kennedy's campaign spent about $9.7 million to defeat Richard Nixon, whose campaign cost about $10.1 million. In the seven presidential campaigns held since 1960, expenditures have continued to increase. Campaigns have become technologically more sophisticated and thus more expensive. In the 1988 general election campaign, the fourth in which public funds were provided, Republican George Bush had about $93.7 million spent on his behalf, including a public grant of$46.1 million. Democratic Party candidate Michael Dukakis had about $106.5 million spent on his behalf, also including a public grant of $46.1 million. The 1988 campaign represented the first time in the 20th century that the Republicans were outspent by the Democrats. Also, 1988 was the first time in 20 years that the presidency was an open seat, one in which no incumbent was running; hence there were high costs as well in the campaigns for the nomination in both major parties. The total cost of electing a President in 1988 was about $500 million. That sum includes not only the $200.2 million spent on behalf of the two major political party candidates in the general election, but it also includes funds spent by all the candidates who sought their parties' nominations, by the nominating conventions of the parties, and by third party and independent campaigns. The costs of electing a President represented less than onefifth of the nation's $2,700 million total political campaign bill in the 1987-88 election cycle. The remaining funds were spent to nominate and elect candidates for Congress ($457 million), to nominate and elect hundreds of thousands of state and local officials ($905 million), and to pay the costs of state and local ballot issue campaigns and administrative, fund-raising and other expenses of party and nonparty political committees. The $2,700 million political bill needs to be put into perspective. In 1988 governments at all levels in the United States-national, state, county, and municipal-spent a total of $1.9 million million in taxpayer money. The $2,700 million spent on election campaigns, whose outcomes determine how such enormous sums of tax money are spent, amounts to a mere fraction of one percent of the total amount of government spending. And it is about the same amount as the nation's two leading commercial advertisers-Procter & Gamble and Philip Morris-spent to proclaim the utility of their products.
In the earliest presidential campaigns, collections from candidates and assessments upon officeholders were sufficient to pay the necessary costs. But as campaign costs increased, other funding sources had to be found. Andrew Jackson, first elected President in 1828, generally is credited with bringing in the "spoils system," rewarding with
favors and government jobs those who had contributed to his campaign. With the end of the Civil War in 1865, corporations and individuals who had amassed fortunes from American industry began to pay a major share of presidential campaign costs. Those sources increased in importance when the U.S. Congress passed the Civil Service Reform Act of 1883, which prohibited officers and employees of the United States from seeking or receiving political contributions from each other. The Hatch Act of 1939 extended the restrictions on political activity that the 1883 act imposed on civil service employees, excluding only about 4,000 top policymakers in the executive branch of the U.S. government.
After the turn of the century, concern over the influence of corporations in the federal election process led to enactment of a number of campaign finance regulations. The first federal prohibition of corporate contributions was enacted in 1907. Forty years later that ban was extended permanently to labor unions. The first federal campaign fund disclosure law was passed in 1910. In 1911 the law was amended to require primary, convention, and preelection financial statements of all candidates for federal office and to limit the amounts that could be spent by candidates for the House of Representatives and the Senate. A subsequent court decision, however, severely diminished the impact of the law. In 1925 the Federal Corrupt Practices Act codified and revised federal campaign finance legislation, though without substantial change. It remained the basic campaign finance law until 1972. Each time restrictive laws were passed, politicians devised new methods of raising money. As ncted, when the assessment of government employees was prohibited, attention swung to corporate contributions. When they in turn were barred, candidates and parties sought gifts from wealthy individuals, including many corporate stockholders and officers. When the size of contributions to political committees was limited by the Hatch Act of 1940 in an attempt to restrict the influence of wealthy individuals, parties and politicians found other ways of raising funds, including fund-raising dinners and other events, and the establishment of political¡ action committees. Candidates also have sought small contributions. In 1964 Republican presidential candidate Barry Goldwater used mass mail solicitations to raise a substantial portion of his campaign funds. Since then several presidential candidates have used that method with good results, notably Democrat Eugene McCarthy and independent candidate George Wallace in 1968, Democratic nominee George McGovern in 1972, and Ronald Reagan in his 1976, 1980, and 1984 prenomination (primary elections) campaigns. In the 1970s a new wave of political reform arose at both the federal and state levels. At the federal level the results of those reform efforts-and of subsequent attempts to ease the burdens
"When I ask, 'How much money do we have?' Albert, I mean, as an example, could we buy you the presidency of the United States?"
the laws imposed on candidates and committees-are embodied in the Federal Election Campaign Act (FECA) of 1971, the Revenue Act of 1971, and the FECA Amendments of 1974, 1976, and 1979.
The laws provide for optional public matching funds for qualified candidates in the prenomination period in presidential campaigns. To qualify for the matching funds, candidates seeking their parties' presidential nominations must raise $5,000 in private, individual contributions of $250 or less in each of at least 20 states. The federal government matches each contribution to qualified candidates up to $250, although the subsidies may not exceed half the prenomination campaign spending limit, which was $23.1 million in 1988. The federal government also provides public funds to pay the costs of the national nominating conventions of the two major political parties. In 1988 each of the parties received a grant of about $9.2 million. Minor parties are eligible for a partial convention subsidy if their candidates received more than five percent of the vote in the previous presidential election. In the general election, major party presidential candidates are eligible to receive public treasury grants to fund their campaigns. As noted, those grants amounted to $46.1 million each in 1988. Provisions also are made for partial public funding of qualified minor party and new party candidates. The public funds provided in presidential campaigns are intended to help supply, or to supply completely, the money serious candidates need to present themselves and their
ideas to the electorate. They also are meant to diminish or eliminate the need for money from wealthy donors and interest groups. In a campaign's early stages, public funding is intended to make the nominating process more competitive and to encourage candidates to broaden their bases of support by seeking out large numbers of relatively small contributions. Candidates do so in a variety of ways, including direct mail appeals; fund-raising events, such as receptions and dinners; and one-on-one solicitation of donations by volunteer fund-raisers. The feasibility of public financing in the last four presidential campaigns has depended on the taxpayers' willingness to earmark a small portion of their tax liabilities-$1 for individuals and $2 for married persons filing jointly-for the Presidential Election Campaign Fund by using the federal income tax checkoff on their tax forms. Until now, the system has provided enough money to cover the public funds certified to presidential prenomination and general election candidates and to the major parties for their national nominating conventions. However, the $1 federal income tax checkoff has not been increased since its enactment in the Revenue Act of 1971, despite the fact that the value of the U.S. dollar is about a third of what it was then. In addition, support for the checkoff by taxpayers has declined. According to the Federal Election Commission, there has been a 30 percent decrease in taxpayer support for the checkoff since 1980, when checkoff participation was at an alltime high. Declining participation rates are causing cash flow shortfalls that may result in a prorated reduction from full funding this year.
The 1970s reform laws also imposed contribution and expenditure limits on all federal ele<;:tion campaigns, but the U.S. Supreme Court subsequently ruled that spending limits are permissible only in publicly financed campaigns, currently only presidential campaigns. Individuals may contribute no more than $1,000 per candidate per election, and multicandidate committees may contribute no more than $5,000 per candidate per election. General election candidates who accept public funding, however, may not accept private contributions to further their campaigns, although they may accept private contributions, up to the limits specified, to help them defray the costs of complying with the election laws. The contribution and expenditure limits are intended to control large donations, with their potential for corruption; to minimize financial disparities among candidates; and to reduce opportunities for abuse. Individuals and groups, however, may make unlimited independent expenditures in presidential and other federal election campaigns-that is, they may spend unlimited amounts on communications advocating the election or defeat of any candidate-as long as the spending takes place without consultation or coordination with any candidate's campaign committee. Substantial sums were spent indepen-
dently in the 1980 presidential prenomination and general election campaigns, leading some campaign participants to challenge the legality and constitutionality of such spending. A Supreme Court ruling, handed down after the 1984 general election, found in favor of those making independent expenditures. Groups and individuals spent $14.3 million independently to advocate the election or defeat of presidential candidates in 1988. Individuals and groups also may contribute to political party committees at various levels. Those committees in turn may spend money on behalf of their parties' presidential tickets. In 1988 Republican and Democratic Party committees spent considerable amounts of "soft money" in support of their presidential tickets for such local party activities as voter registration and turnout drives. Other notable sources of presidential campaign-related spending were labor organizations, which mainly favored the Dukakis-Bentsen ticket by publishing favorable communications and conducting voter registration and turnout drives of their own. Thus, even though public funding and the related expenditure limits are intended to control presidential campaign spending, there are still numerous legal ways in which substantial private funds may be spent to attempt to influence the general election outcome. Finally, federal election law requires full and timely disclosure of campaign receipts and expenditures. The disclosure provisions are meant to help voters make informed choices among candidates and to make it possible for the Federal Election Commission to monitor compliance with the campaign finance laws.
The fundamental problem facing those who would design a system of campaign finance regulation for American election campaigns is how to protect the integrity of the election process and yet respect the rights of free speech and free association guaranteed by the First Amendment to the United States Constitution. The regulatory system put in place in the 1970s represents an enormously ambitious effort to achieve that balance. But the effort has not always been successful. The regulations have been unable to control presidential general election campaign spending, and the erosion of the value of the dollar-not indexed for inflation-has reduced campaign income since the contribution limits and the tax checkoff amounts have remained the same while campaign spending has been permitted to escalate. But like American democracy itself, the current system of regulating presidential campaign financing is an experiment that will no doubt continue to be modified in the years to come. 0 About the Author: Herbert E. Alexander is director of the Citizens' Research Foundation and professor of political science at the University of Southern California.
It's Me! by WILLIAM SAFIRE
In an article about personal bankruptcy, a New York Times business writer quoted F. Scott Fitzgerald as having remarked to Ernest Hemingway, "The rich are different than you and I." "You have people to look this up," writes Miriam Hurewitz of Westport, Connecticut. "Did Fitzgerald really say it that way? Different than you and I? My students of copy editing at New York University would be interested in your reply." My students of researching would pick up a copy of the Harper Book of American Quotations, or the Oxford Dictionary of Quotations (Fitzgerald's version is not in Bartlett's or Bergen Evans's books of quotations; that's strange), and find it excerpted from Fitzgerald's story "The Rich Boy," published posthumously in his 1960 collection, Babylon Revisited: "Let me tell you about the very rich. They are different from you and me." (The Crack-Up [a potpourri of essays, letters, notes, and critical appreciations of Fitzgerald's work by well-known writers] records Ernest Hemingway's snappy if shallow rejoinder-"Yes, they have more money"-but rarely do we read Fitzgerald's explanation of how the very rich are different: "They possess and enjoy early, and it does something to them, makes them soft where we are hard, and cynical where we are trustful, in a way that, unless you were born rich, it is very difficult to understand. ") The point is that Fitzgerald wrote "from you and me," which was misrecollected as "than you and I"; why the I? Let's not get drawn into the different from/than/to controversy (from is preferable but not solely correct), because the subject today is what follows than. Purists-people who defend the ramparts after their honorable position has been outflanked and overwhelmed-want to From The New York Times Magazine. The New York Times Company.
Copyright
Reprinted
Š
1992
by permission.
by
follow than with I. Never "than me." Nobody doubts that the objective me should follow a preposition; between you and me, not even the most outdated pedant can get away with between you and 1. The question: Is than to be treated as a preposition or as a conjunction? If it's a preposition, like in, on, by, or to, its function is to form a phrase that will serve as a modifier of a noun or verb; if it is a conjunction, like and, but, or because, its purpose is to connect words or groups of words. Let's cut to the chase: If you treat than as a preposition, you'll say "than me"; if you treat it as a conjunction, you'll say "than I." To test the waters of usage on this locution, I slipped a controversial usage into an otherwise mild-mannered political column placing myself on the side of what President Bush came to call a "hostile horde." I referred to a report by a New York Times colleague who, I asserted, "is far more evenhanded than me." The first call was from the shoe-leather pundit Rowland Evans: "I was shocked, shocked to read your piece about the Middle East," he said, shocked. "Never have I disagreed with you so completely. To follow the comparative conjunction than with me? For shame." This note from Bernard Kalb, now a fellow at the Freedom Forum Media Studies Center at Columbia University: "Me? I! Why? Gotcha, Bernie." "Are you starting to objectify yourself?" asks A. Posner of East Lansing, Michigan. Melissa Weissberg, a
writing tutor at Yale, wonders, "Was this solecism meant simply to demonstrate-graphically-the collapse of grammatical standards?" Rabbi Jonathan Gerard of Dover, New Hampshire, wishes me a happy new year with "Shouldn't it be 'far more evenhanded than I [am]'?" Robert Hay of Wilmette, Illinois, adds: "I have always considered the word than a conjunction, but you apparently have the backing of Aferriam- Webster's NiMh New Collegiate Dictionary when you follow than with the objective case. Maybe you're wiser than me (than I am)." I haven't had so much mail since I wondered where "the wind .that shakes the barley" comes from. (That file is all in one closet; I'll get to it one of these days, when I need the closet for an overcoat.) The Gotcha! Gang was out in force; the tone of the "than me" correspondence is expressed by "You, of all people" and "I cannot tell you with what dismay .... " The only support for the me came in a clip sent in by Jeanne Schonberg of New York; she spotted this statement by Lady Antonia Fraser, the historian and wife of the playwright Harold Pinter, who was curious about being identified as a writer while Michael Holroyd, the biographer, was labeled an author. Said Lady Antonia: "I was baffled but intrigued. What does writer mean? Will Michael Holroyd get to be a writer in three years' time? He's three years younger than me." I'm with you, Lady Antonia; you write better than him. (I mean, of course, "than he does,:' but 1 do not write than he, because I treat than as a preposition, taking him, her, them, and me rather than he, she, they, and 1.) Lady Antonia and 1 are writers; we have an ear attuned to native speech; we can tell when the tide has turned, the conjunction has prepositionated and the writing must follow the speaking. If not us, whom? (Make that "If not us, who?" But not "If not we" anything.) Why is "than me" better than "than I"? Not only does it sound less strained to
native speakers, but also it saves the reader or hearer from having to figure out the unstated verb: "Who is more evenhanded than I [am]." (The I is required only when it affects the meaning of the sentence: "She knows him better than I" means that she knows him better than I know him. "She knows him better than me" means that she knows him better than she knows me.) Even Shakespeare came down on the side of using than as a preposition. In Julius Caesar, the conspirator Cassius describes the Roman leader to Casca as "A man no mightier than thyself, or me." These days the objective case is beating out the nominative in other areas as well. Purists are the only ones who say, "It is I," although I is technically correct as the predicate nominative (a noun or pronoun that ~ollows a linking verb like is). The stuffy-sounding "It is I" has been replaced by the breezier "It's me," and who is to resist breeziness? Not me. Consider the most famous murder confession. In the early accounts, the fable went this way: "Who killed Cock Robin? 'I,' said the Sparrow, 'With my bow and arrow, I killed Cock Robin.''' In a modern courtroom, would the defendant Sparrow have said, "I"? Of course not; he would have said: "Me. I killed Cock Robin." Today's judges would not accept any confession made in the nominative case. Let me tell you about the very grammatical. They are different from you and me. They get their habits ingrained early, and it does something to them, makes them rigid where we are flexible, and cynical of usage where we are trustful, in a way that, unless you were exposed at an early age to a severe English teacher, it is very difficult to understand. D About the Author: William Safire, one of America's most popular columnists, won the Pulitzer Prize for commentary in 1978. Apart from his twice-weekly syndicated political column (which appears in more than 300 papers), he writes the widely-read weekly column, "On Language," in The New York Times Magazine. He has also authored several books, including I Stand Corrected: More on Language and Take My Word for It.
FOCUS
USS Blue Ridge, the flagship of the U.S Seventh Fleet, dropped anchor in Madras on July 13 for a four-day goodwill visit. While in port, the ship's crew organized workshops for Indian Navy personnel on hull corrosion prevention and other general shipboard maintenance procedures. They also participated in various community service activities, including "Project Handclasp," under which they presented sewing machine kits to a
CREDITABLE GUARANTEES The Export-Import (Exlm) Bank of the United States has agreed to provide a $692 million financing guarantee for Air India's planned purchase of four Boeing 747-400 jets. The financing agreement is the bank's largest authorization for India, and raises its total commitment in India to $1,200 million. Exlm Bank Chairman John Macomber, who signed the agreement July 15 in Washington, D.C., along with Air India Chairman Y.C. Deveshwar, said the bank's dealings with India have increased "dramatically" in the recent past-from just $125 million two years ago to more than $1,000 million now. Of even greater significance, he noted, is the fact that an equal amount of business is currently "in the pipeline." Macomber credited recent
political, economic, and social changes in India with having paved the way for "a great boon for trade between our two countries." Lalit Mansingh, the Indian
school for the handicapped and toys and other gifts to an orphanage in the city. Vice Admiral Timothy W. Wright, the Seventh Fleet Commander, held a reception for Indian Navy personnel aboard the Blue Ridge. The ship's band, "Far East Edition," gave a jazz performance. The Commander-in-Chief of the Eastern Naval Command received the American naval officers on board INS Magar.
charge d'affaires in Washington, said that in terms of relations between India and the United States the present is "one of the best periods ever....Nothing is more symbolic
of that than our relationship with the Exlm Bank." Air India Chairman Deveshwar noted that the planned purchase of "new generation" Boeing jets will help the company modernize its fleet. According to literature distributed at the signing ceremony, the financing agreement provides for Exlm Bank's guarantee of $600 million in loans from an international syndication of 26 banks led by Citibank, North America, and ANZ Grindlays, London. On July 24, Exlm Bank approved two $50 million loan packages covering exports of U.S. goods and services to India. One package covers money lent from the Bank of New York to the Industrial Credit and Investment Corporation of India and the other from Chemical Bank in New York to the Industrial Development Bank of India.
THE GOLDEN The University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia, famous for its undergraduate and graduate programs in Indian and other South Asian studies, has set up a new center for research on contemporary India at its School of Arts and Sciences. The Center for Advanced Study of India, inaugurated on July 3 by then Indian Ambassador to the United States Abid Hussain, will support and encourage collaborative and interdisciplinary work between the university and Indian schol-
ars. Speaking at the inaugural ceremony, Francine Frankel, the center's director and professor of political science, said, "We see the new center as establishing an institutional structure for forging links between Americans and Indians across fields and professions, and we expect it to become a hub of national and international research." The Indian Ministry of External Affairs and the Ford Foundation each have contributed $50,000 toward the center.
The All India Institute of Medical Sciences (AIIMS), New Delhi, will receive a Rs. 17.7 million grant for collaborative research on leukemia-blood cancer-from the U.S. National Institutes of Health (NIH) and the U.S. Public Health Service. Under the five-year project, scientists in the two countries will exchange information and attempt to improve existing techniques for the diagnosis and treatment of leukemia, which is one of the major killers of children in India and the United States. The project will also gather epidemiological information that may provide insights into the possible role of genetic and environmental factors in leukemia's development. The principal investigator in the study is Dr. Manorama Bhargava, additional professor of hematology at AIIMS. The U.S. collaborator is Dr. Ian T. Magrath of NIH's National Cancer Institute This is the sixth bilateral research project being conducted at AIIMS under the Indo-U.S. Science and Technology agreement. Above, US. Embassy Charge d'Affaires Kenneth Brill presents the first check of Rs. 425 million to Bhargava as AIIMS Director Santosh K. Kacker looks on.
AGE OF SCULPTURE Beginning November 1, the Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, a national museum of Asian art at the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, D.C., will organize an ambitious ii-month exGoddess Tara; hibition of Sri Lankan art. 7th-8th century A.D.; silver. The show, entitled "The Golden Age of Sculpture from Sri Lanka," will comprise 52 masterpieces of bronze, gilt bronze, and gold. These works include some of the major achievements of ancient Sri Lankan art-Buddhist works from the second through 12th centuries and Hindu pieces from the 11th and 12th centuries. Sri Lankan art has long been viewed in terms of its relationship to the Buddhist and Hindu art produced in south India. However, material presented in this show provides evidence of a distinct Sri Lankan aesthetic. Theworksof art, about one-third of them discovered during the past 30 years, are on loan from the national museums of Sri Lanka.
Sangeeta Re"ddy is well known in the art circles of Denver, Colorado. She has held numerous exhibitions at the city's popular Alpha Gallery over the past six years. Reddy was in New Delhi earlier this year to mount her first show at Srishti Art Gallery at the Maurya Sheraton Hotel. The exhi-
bition was inaugurated by David Massey, renowned photographer for House & Garden magazine. "I am thrilled at the response to my Delhi show," Reddy said, adding, "I hope to return more often to India and exhibit my work around the country." A native of Hyderabad, Reddy studied at the city's Jawaharlal Nehru Technological University before she migrated to the United States after her marriage to an Indian accountant living in Denver. "It was not an easy transition, to shift from my family in Hyderabad and start life afresh in a new country," Reddy said. "It took me a while to get used to the new life in America. But once I did, I knew where my interests lay-to pursue my passion for art." She joined the Rocky Mountain College of Art and Design where she won numerous awards at the college's annual student shows. -Lekha
J. Shankar
WORLD TRADE FAIR INTERNATIONAL EXHIBITION AND CONFERENCE ON FOREIGN COLLABORATIONS, INDUSTRIAL AND BUSINESS OPPORTUNITIES 1ST TO 10TH JANUARY,
1993.
HYDERABAD - INDIA
First World Trade Fair in India covering the whole range of industry and business. Expected to be the largest event ever to be held in India with th-e support and full co-operation of the Government, Financial Institutions, Chambers of Commerce, Trade and Professional Associations. Based on the past experience, the business activity at the Fair is expected to be around Rs 3,000 Million (US $ 100 million). To support business activity, facilities and services of international standards will be provided. Special incentives will be given to Small Scale Industries for fruitful Extensive media pubilicity is being participation. given to the Fair through Press, Radio and Television in India and abroad.
The World Trade Fair would comprise distinct and specialised International Exhibitions and Seminars at the largest exhibition complex spread over 7,00,000 Sq.Mtrs. (180 acres) covering thrust areas Engineering, Electronics & Telecommunications, Chemicals & Pharmaceuticals, Petrochemicals & Plastics, Textiles, Food-Agro Products & Packaging, Con"truction & Building, Hospitals & Health Care, Tourism and Miscellaneous Industries.
Nearly 1000 international experts will make presentations exploring the technological, industrial and busi nessopportun ities in the internation(J Iseminars on the thrust areasJoreign collaborators and trade delegations would make presentations and have "Oneto-One" meetings with their Indian counterparts.
The largest number of exhibitors and delegates rom India and abroad will be exposed to latest products, services, technologies and catalogues. Around 200,000 Foreign and Indian business visitors in addition to one million general visitors expected at the Fair. To secure maximum foreign participation from financial and technological collaborators and NRls, delegations from India will visit North America, Europe, Japan, South East Asia, Australia and the Gulf Countries.
The World NRI Conference will be held from 11 th to 13th January 1993. Around 2,000 NRls and their associations from allover the world are expected to participate for exploring technological and financial collaboration opportunities.
For further details
I
please contact.
The Convenor, World Trade Fair, Network ConsultoncyServices, POBox No 1065,Hyderobad-500 029,INDIA Tel: 237315, 235312, 241993, 241642 Telex: 0425-6075 MeA IN Fax. 091-0842-845228
Video Film on the World Trade Fair available for Rs. 100/". •
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