The above This American Life piece on how Apple products are manufactured in Shenzhen, China, floored me, for the following reasons:
- Mike Daisey, the storyteller to whom the bulk of the episode is dedicated, performs a piece of theatrical alchemy that’s absolutely amazing. He doesn’t justtell us about the bizarre, often awful working conditions under which our electronic devices are made, he places us there, mentally and emotionally. He makes the truly alien understandable, and gives us the ability to truly empathize with people we can barely imagine. That’s not only great storytelling — it also provides us with an intimate understanding his subject of a sort that journalism is often unable to provide, despite the fact that “intimate understanding” is so often the point of journalism.
- Other shows — most other shows on NPR, even — would be content to broadcast Daisey’s story and leave it at that. But when the story is over, Ira Glass does something remarkable — he fact-checks it. The result? Most of it’s true, but a few details are unverifiable or were, perhaps, isolated incidents. But yes, the thrust of Mike’s story checks out. And finally,
- Other shows would be content to say, “Hey, isn’t this horrifying?” and leave it at that. Instead, Glass goes on to interview a range of writers and activists, and gets a range of opinions on the issue — notably, Nicholas Kristof points out that factories like these contribute enormously to ending poverty in third-world countries. Finally, Glass notes in the close of the show that the entire episode you just heard was produced entirely on Apple computers. Which is to acknowledge, tacitly, how difficult and complex this problem is, because, after all, if it weren’t for the amazing yet troubling Apple products that brought you this program, you wouldn’t know how troubling nearly every piece of electronics you own is.
All of which is to say that the synthesis of storytelling and journalism that This American Life has developed and recently perfected is totally unique in American media, and immensely effective. I can’t think of another outlet that combines the intimate, empathetic aspects of storytelling with the rigorous chops of journalism, and to such great effect. Ira Glass and his contributors have been doing some amazing, historic work.
All of which is to say, go listen to this with the lights off.
Supplemental materials: Here’s what Apple’s done in response to this piece. It’s pretty good, but they still have a long ways to go. And Mike Daisey is a fascinating performer who I’m currently fascinated with. Here’s his account of how he adapted the piece from his live stage show; here’s a comprehensive list of his work; and here’s an unbelievable video of eighty-seven Christian protesters walking out of one of his shows because he said “fuck.” And here’s his unbelievable followup to that incident.
A number of his monologues are available, ironically, in the iTunes store.
For Reals!
when did we forget that government is not a for-profit enterprise?
It’s sometimes hard to believe that New England was 80% deforested by European settlers in the 17th through 19th centuries.
sometimes we are looking at porn, but usually we’ve just fallen into a wikipedia vortex. just holler if you want to know where the Stony Brook is buried in JP or the location of Adams Sq station.
click through for the rest of the comic
Walk off the Earth and Sarah Blackwood perform a cover of Gotye’s “Somebody that I used to know” using five people on one guitar. And it is awesome.
The Greatest Paper Map of the United States You’ll Ever See
According to independent cartographers I spoke with, the big mapmaking corporations of the world employ type-positioning software, placing their map labels (names of cities, rivers, etc.) according to an algorithm.
By contrast, David Imus worked alone on his map seven days a week for two full years. Nearly 6,000 hours in total. It would be prohibitively expensive just to outsource that much work. But Imus—a 35-year veteran of cartography who’s designed every kind of map for every kind of client—did it all by himself. He used a computer (not a pencil and paper), but absolutely nothing was left to computer-assisted happenstance. Imus spent eons tweaking label positions. Slaving over font types, kerning, letter thicknesses. Scrutinizing levels of blackness. It’s the kind of personal cartographic touch you might only find these days on the hand-illustrated ski-trail maps available at posh mountain resorts.