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An article in the Huffington Post points to an interesting and very readable publication in the journal Political Behavior: When Corrections Fail: The persistence of political misperceptions by Brendan Nyhan and Jason Reifler. It’s also the subject of a good article in the Boston Globe.

Appropriately, Nyhan and Reifler begin with the timeless maxim of Mark Twain

It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.

The article documents not just the resistence of people to information that contradicts their established views but to their views being strengthened — in a “backfire effect”. Joe Keohane, writing in the Globe, likens the effect to that of a weak antibiotic, and notes the gloomy indications for democracy.

It’s easy to suck one’s teeth about the stupidity of people who are impervious to doubt and to revising their views, so it was salutory to see in Keohane’s report that this phenomenon is not confined merely to the uninformed. Even some of the best informed, those who are 90% right on factual matters, can be absolutely resistant to correction (i.e., changing their views) on the 10% on which they are wrong.

So much for

When the facts change, I change my mind — What do you do Sir?

– J. M. Keynes when accused of being inconsistent in his views.

The New York Times and Andrew Sullivan report the death of a cartoonist I’d never heard of, John Michael Callahan, but whose work seemed familiar from The New Yorker. His hilariously mordant voice mail greeting was

“This is John, I’m a little too depressed to take your call today, please leave your message at the gunshot.”

His website is here.

I haven’t had a favourite cartoonist for a long time. Larson was the only one whose books I bought. His cartoon of the grim reaper getting snarled at on the sidewalk

Hey, watch the elbows buddy

could have been Callahan’s.

BBC Radio 4′s Book of the week, Red Dust Road by Jackie Kay, is a delight on many levels. (Independent review here; see also the Amazon reviews).

I would like to buy an unabridged audio book but so far I can find only the hardback on Amazon, but I’m here to tell you, as a friend mine used to say (and probably still does), that it’s worth looking out for and, even better, listening to.

Kay hadn’t registered on my radar at all until I accidentally heard the 1st episode of her reading an abridged version of this, her latest book, and was compelled to listen to the rest. She had an arresting and interesting voice, one of those voices that you want to listen to. My affection for the softer female cadences of Scotland is renewed now and then. How often we say

It’s good to see you again!

when sometimes it is as much of a pleasure to hear you again.

The book is the story of Kay’s search for her genetic parents. Her father was a Nigerian who studied in Aberdeen and her mother was a Scottish nurse. She was adopted and brought up in Glasgow.

It’s an altogether different book from Barack Obama’s Dreams From My Father, which I couldn’t help recalling. Obama was always connected to a part of his family; only his father’s side was a mystery. Kay’s journey is into the unknown.

She’s a joy to listen to. Her recall of Nigerian speech, overlain with her Scottish tones, is glorious and heart warming — bound to tickle any who can hear in their memories the African cadences she recaptures. In places, she’s hilarious, as when concluding that her father

is barking mad!

after he spends two hours praying for her when he meets her. Touchingly however, she spots her toes on his bare feet during his prayerful pirouetting around her hotel room. Her father rejects her and keeps her existence secret from the rest of his family.

Years later there are some more jolts of recognition: a half-brother who shares her laugh, her forehead and more, and who melts her heart by immediately accepting her and acknowledging her as a sister. Her excitement at being greeted as a sister is palpable.

It was a wonderful, charming story, the telling of which could not have been bettered.  Highly recommended. I’ve found someone I’d like to hear more of. Meanwhile, I’m going out to buy the book.

Television Upstaged

That British television has copied the successes and excesses of American TV for a long time is so well known as to be hardly worth commenting on. BUT… I had an interesting new experience this evening: watching a news story on Twitter and TV simultaneously. Twitter won handily.

The story concerned the police surrounding a recently released convict, Raoul Moat, who had shot 3 people, killing one. He’d given them the slip for over a week and now… cue continuous TV coverage… was surrounded.

I saw it first as breaking news on the BBC web site, with no details.

BBC News TV (a sorry domestic version of the international channel) had a journalist, John Sopel, in the street in Rothbury reporting live from just around the corner from the “hostage situation” as he called it at one point (Mr.Moat was pointing a gun at himself).

A camera was poked at a distressed woman whose mother was trapped in her home owing to a police marksman deciding to station himself there. Sopel must have asked her the same lame questions 6 times. Did I imagine him asking if the police marksman was armed? It was all so inane, breatheless and repetitious, it was just embarrassing, cringemaking TV.

I fired up Twitter and searched on Moat.

Almost immediately a link on Google maps to the stakeout location appeared.Google could go where the TV cameras could’t — not live, of course, but still

Moat was supposedly surrounded by 45 policemen, for each of whom it was said there were 17 journalists. I’d like to think it was an exaggeration; they were certainly there in force, with all the paraphenalia of their trade. Nevertheless, the TV coverage quickly seemed risible alongside Twitter’s cascade of new information, humour and comment.

Ludicrously, Paul Gascgoigne, also known as Gazza, a washed-up, publicity-seeking footballer turned up with a beer and chicken, a mobile phone and some clothes for Mr.Moat, whom he claimed to know (police were said to have dismissed this; Gascgoine’s agent was said to be speechless in Majorca).

It was on Twitter at once, followed by a torrent of jokes. Gazza hadn’t appeared on TV by the time I stopped watching — it was just too stupid to bear. Twitter provides something better than an OFF switch! — instant public mockery. I knew it was possible but I hadn’t seen it happening before.

I went away for a half an hour and when I came back Mr. Sopel was rehearsing yet again, for the umpteenth time, how the journalists had all been told to stand behind some tape (big clue that something was about to happen!).

Twitter meanwhile had moved on the completely surreal detail that Moat was suspected of having stolen

the only ripe tomato!

from someone’s greenhouse last night. You just couldn’t make it up.

Many ripe tweets, such as

Moat is holed up in an open sewer, which will be nice practice if he ever has to be interviewed by The Sun

This is perfectly true but is unsayable on television, by a BBC journalist anyway.

Why didn’t the police type Raoul Moat into Google Maps in the first place?

Moat story not bizarre enough yet. Until he’s found hiding out in the Attorney General’s Apt, Ireland is still undisputed GUBU champ of the world

(GUBU explained)

A single tomato? You’d think it was a slow news day!

Manchester City have officially bid £45m for Raoul Moat tonight. They’ve no idea who he is but they’ve heard everyone’s after him.

And now just as I was about to pack it in for the night..

Shots fired

Moat is alive and has been captured!

Update: It turns out Moat killed himself.

Finally. Marylebone’s oldest pub re-opens. I will drink to this.