********************************
D) The New York Times/The Ethicist: Recycling for profit [Conseils sur l'éthique et la déontologie. Cette semaine : Un jeune parent a profité d'un opération de recyclage pour se servir. / Retour sur la question du manteau de fourrure hérité.]
http://www.nytimes.com/2004/04/11/magazine/11ETHICIST.html
THE ETHICIST
Recycling for Profit
By RANDY COHEN

Published: April 11, 2004

Q:
A 17-year-old relative participated in a school ecology-club event in which people dropped off computers, cellphones and TV's to be recycled. Afterward, he brought home a box full of these things, as did some other volunteers. Later, I discovered that he sold some of the stuff. I think this is a major ethical breach; he disagrees. What do you think? J.P., Kalamazoo, Mich.

A:
If the purpose of the event was merely to dispose of these gizmos safely, then your relative did no wrong by selling what would have been thrown away. Abandoned property is just that, abandoned, and he has as much right to it as anyone. But he did have an obligation not to mislead either the ecology club or the people who schlepped their old computers to the recycling fete.

He would have done better to tell the club that some of these discarded devices could be sold and the money put back into its worthy program. What's more, both he and the club should have made it clear to donors where their discarded electronics would end up, whether safely dumped at a disposal site, turned into cash for the club or converted to inventory for your relative's mercantile activities -- even if that meant driving away people reluctant to contribute to a 17-year-old stranger's entrepreneurial ambitions.

-*-*-*-*-
The ethicist revisits fur: A woman opposed to wearing fur inherited a fur coat from her husband's great-aunt and asked if it was ethical to wear it and, if not, what she should do with it. I replied that wearing even an old fur announces that doing so is acceptable. Seeking ways to use the coat that did not send a pro-fur message, I asked readers for suggestions.

This request generated an unusually high number of responses, more than 500 as of this writing. The most frequent idea by far was to make that old fur into a teddy bear -- a collectible, a fond memento of the great-aunt, a toy kids love. Several Web sites list seamstresses who perform these coat-to-bear conversions professionally. This seems to meet my standard for fur reuse -- utility without propaganda -- but does convey an odd message to the child cuddling that former coat (and former mink). Perhaps that's why I'm uneasy: this smacks too much of taxidermy. My objection may be aesthetic, not moral, but I can't help wondering what materials these hobbyists would use to construct a baby doll.

The next most popular idea was to give old fur coats to the homeless, an altruistic act to be sure. However, if wearing fur endorses its use, then even the poor should not wear these coats. There is no shortage of wool or down or Thinsulate coats that can be donated. What's more, there is something redolent of crumbs-from-the-rich-man's-table in dressing legions of the desperately poor in ermine coats. (Although it may well deglamorize fur to distribute it to poor folks.)

Surprisingly, such gifts are acceptable to PETA: the organization has itself sent fur coats to earthquake victims in Iran and refugees in Afghanistan. Those who are put off by the thought of a war victim huddled in my imaginary Aunt Minna's fox stole may be comforted to know that PETA also uses old fur coats in educational displays and for animal bedding. This last use is vigorously employed by the Humane Society of the United States, which sends old furs to licensed wildlife rescuers, who make nesting materials out of them for orphaned and injured animals.

Other oft-submitted suggestions: donate that old fur to a local theater company; make it into a pillow or throw; give it to a science teacher for static-electricity lab work.

^RETURN TO TOP^

********************************
2) Slate/Shopping: Which vodka is the best? [Quelle est la meilleure vodka ?]
http://slate.msn.com/id/2106004/
Hit Me With Your Best Shot: Which vodka is the best?
By Alex Abramovich
Posted Thursday, Sept. 2, 2004, at 3:48 AM PT

According to the Bureau of Tobacco and Firearms—which sets the rules for spirits sold in the United States—vodka is defined as a neutral spirit "without distinctive character, aroma, taste or color." In theory, then, one brand of vodka should taste like every other, and the phrase "premium vodka" would be something of an oxymoron. In fact, vodka's neutral taste does account for much of its appeal: It mixes equally well with tonic water and tomato juice, and it can be as crisp and corporate as James Bond's vodka martinis or as trashy as the "swamp waters" my local bartender mixes (made of vodka and Mountain Dew). Vodka suits any occasion, goes with any food, and (if you believe certain advertisements) gives you less of a hangover than any other liquor. It's no wonder that in America, vodka outsells gin, rum, and tequila, as well as scotch, bourbon, and Canadian whiskey.

But if all vodkas tasted alike, there'd be no reason to favor a $30 bottle of Armadale over a $12 magnum of Fleischmann's. In fact, all vodkas are not alike. Vodka can be distilled in a good many ways, from a great many substances, including wheat, rye, beets, corn, potatoes, and sugar cane. (In Russia, the Yukos oil conglomerate recently made headlines for marketing a vodka distilled from hemp seeds.) As a result, each brand has a distinct smell, flavor, aftertaste, and burn (i.e., the burning sensation vodka creates as it goes down your gullet). The grain-based vodkas, which are the most popular, tend to be smooth and can even taste fruity. Vegetable-based vodkas are often (and often unfairly) dismissed as being harsh and medicinal.

So, your basic bottle of Smirnoff is fine for mixed drinks, but you wouldn't want to drink shots of it. Conversely, top-shelf brands such as Armadale and Jewel of Russia are too good—and too expensive—to mix with anything but ice and/or tonic water and are best drunk straight and straight from the freezer. Because most people mix their vodka with tonic, soda, vermouth, or juice, few drinkers I polled could tell me why exactly they preferred Grey Goose over Chopin or Stoli over Absolut. Does it really matter which brand you buy? I recently invited 11 friends over to find out.

Procedure

In Eastern Europe, people tend to drink vodka straight, draining each ice-cold shot glass in a single gulp. Each shot is immediately followed by a zakuska—the Russian word for bite-sized snacks that are said to bring out the flavor of the vodka you've just sampled (and buffer your stomach for the next shot). To transplant this method to my Astoria apartment, I drove out to the Russian enclave in Brighton Beach, Brooklyn, and loaded up on pickles, blintzes, smoked fish, black bread, caviar, and other drinker's delicacies.

As for the 11 vodkas I bought, I limited myself to easily obtainable premium brands and avoided the obscure boutique labels most suburban liquor stores wouldn't carry. A few vodkas were recommended by friends in the know, others by bartenders who should have known better. Because the best American brands—like Tito's—can be impossible to find, the test was limited to imported vodkas. Because the most expensive vodka we sampled cost less than $35, price wasn't one of our considerations. And to keep the playing field level, no flavored vodkas were sampled.

I served each vodka chilled, in a small frosted shot glass. (Given that each taster had to try each of the 11 vodkas, I tended to pour half-shots.) The labels were covered until everyone on the panel had had a chance to comment on the smell, flavor, burn, and aftertaste of the brand they'd just tried. I recorded their comments, tallied up the votes, and then revealed the final verdict. We rated each vodka on a scale of one to five shot glasses. At the end of the judging, we put the most popular brands through an intense lightning round. Two days later, I'd gotten over a very substantial hangover and set about compiling the results.

-*-*-*-
First-Round Results: From Worst to Best

****
Cîroc
$27.99 for 750 milliliters; 80 proof
French; distilled from grapes

The hoity-toity accent circumflex reveals Cîroc's nationality, and a smartly tapered purplish bottle hints at the spirit's source—grapes grown in the Gaillac and Cognac regions of southwest France. Grape-based vodkas are something of a novelty, and Cîroc, which was introduced in 2002, has positioned itself as a clear alternative to its wheat-based competitors, running clever advertisements that urged drinkers to "go against the grain." But is Cîroc's taste distinctive enough to win us over? As it happens, the panel did pick up on this vodka's "viney, stemmy aftertaste," as well as "hints of orange and anise." And most of us agreed that the shots "went down smoothly" with "very little burn" and "a clean, crisp finish." In the end, though, we concluded that Cîroc was too distinct for its own good—that it was "a grappa, or eau de vie, trying to pass itself off as a vodka."

Final Verdict: We voted 9-2 to disqualify Cîroc from the proceedings.
Grade: None

****
Türi
$28.99 for 1 liter; 80 proof
Estonian; distilled from rye

According to bartenders I've talked to, Türi has built up a good reputation since it was first introduced in 2002. And yet, the panel was unanimous in its condemnation: The vodka's industrial-strength bouquet reminded one drinker of "burning tires." As for its taste, the panelists declared it "sticky-sweet," "thick," and "gluelike." "I wouldn't use it to fuel my lawn mower," one taster said, bringing the discussion to an end.

Final Verdict: The responses ranged from "a blighted presence" to "Next!"
Grade: One Shot Glass

****
Absolut
$22.99 for 750 milliliters; 80 proof
Swedish; distilled from wheat

Absolut's advertising campaign is as ubiquitous as Coca-Cola's, and its packaging, which is based on an antique Swedish medicine bottle, is every bit as iconic. It's hardly surprising that 40 percent of the imported vodka bought by Americans is Absolut brand. Still, the recent explosion of premium vodkas—of the brands we tested, only Absolut, Stolichnaya, and Ketel One were around a decade ago—has resulted in something of a fragmented market and weakened Absolut's stranglehold. Will Absolut retain its grip on the public imagination and hold its own against relative newcomers like Grey Goose and Armadale? Or will it lose its top-shelf billing and move to the back of American liquor cabinets? The answer depends, to a large extent, on whether Absolut's popularity is a function of its advertising campaign or its qualities (or lack thereof) as a vodka. Unfortunately, Absolut suffered from comparison to the premium vodkas we sampled: Panel members noted its "piercing, antiseptic quality," "too-dry taste," "medium burn," and "unremarkable finish" and agreed that midshelf vodkas (again, we only tested premium brands) represented a much better value.

Final Verdict: "Absolut is fine for mixing, but if you're drinking shots, drink something else."
Grade: Two Shot Glasses

****
Belvedere
$32.99 for 750 milliliters; 80 proof
Polish; distilled from rye

Belvedere, which made its American debut in 1996, is imported by the same Minneapolis company that brings us Chopin (see below); the two vodkas also come in identical frosted bottles (which are quite lovely). But, according to our blind taste test, Belvedere "doesn't hold a candle" to its potato-based cousin. While a few tasters praised its "smooth creaminess" and detected "a pleasing vanilla taste," most noted that it had "less flavor" and "less burn" than other vodkas we tried and found the aftertaste to be "harsh," "bitter," and "hard to swallow."

Final Verdict: "The bottle is lovely, but the vodka itself leaves a lot to be desired."
Grade: Two Shot Glasses and a Chaser

****
Stolichnaya*
$22.99 for 750 milliliters; 80 proof
Russian; distilled from wheat

Americans began drinking this "genuine Russian vodka" in 1972, when Pepsi brokered a multimillion dollar trade deal to import it from the USSR. Since then, Stoli's become a sentimental favorite; even today, it's one of the few Russian consumer products to make its way into American homes. The bottle is still a sterling example of Soviet kitsch. The taste is as biting and distinct as ever. Our panel split over its merits; some found Stoli to be "less blunt" than Absolut, praised its "interesting attack" and "potency," and noticed "hints of charcoal" in its flavor. (I found out later that Stoli is filtered through quartz, cloth, and Siberian birch charcoal.) Others noted a "foul, industrial aftertaste" and screwed up their faces.

Final Verdict: While agreeing that the Stoli bottle "is a classic," about half of the panel concluded that the vodka itself was "another midshelf spirit masquerading as a premium brand" and attributed its continued popularity to "snob appeal." Unable to reach an agreement, we decided that whether you liked Stoli was largely a dela vkusa—which is to say, in Russian, a matter of taste.
Grade: Three Shot Glasses

*Note: In Russia, Stoli's full name is pronounced Stolichnaya, not Stolichnaya.

****
Grey Goose
$29.99 for 750 milliliters; 80 proof
French; distilled from wheat, rye, and barley

Made in Cognac but owned by the American Bacardi Corp., Grey Goose was introduced in the United States in 1997 and has since won a great many industry awards. We were underwhelmed: Grey Goose is sweet and smoky, with hints of anise and citrus in the finish, but it all adds up to only a sort of smooth, uninteresting neutrality. And so, while the more generous half of our panel praised Grey Goose's "long, silky aftertaste" and "pleasing burn," detractors found it "bland," "spineless," and "vaguely medicinal." In the end, seven tasters agreed that the vodka's softness and subtlety made it a solid, if unremarkable, choice. Four found it to be too unremarkable and lacking the bite or character they expected from a self-described "ultra-premium" spirit.

Final Verdict: "Leaves a bit too much to the imagination."
Grade: Three Shot Glasses

****
Ketel One
$22.99 for 750 milliliters; 80 proof
Holland; distilled from wheat

Ketel One has been available in America since 1990. But in Holland the brand's been a family concern for 300 years, and the family in question—the Nolets—prides itself on its pedigree. "Ketel" refers to the small, copper-pot stills this vodka is distilled in. (There's an illustration of one on the bottle itself.) The first and last thirds of each batch are automatically discarded as likely to be harsh and weak. The panel found the results of this "center-batch method" to be "creamy," "exceptionally smooth," and "a little sweet," with hints of vanilla and orange. But two tasters felt that Ketel One's lingering aftertaste tended to obscure its initially pleasant flavor, and three more eventually came around to their point of view.

Final Verdict: "The vodka Absolut wishes it was."
Grade: Three Shot Glasses and a Chaser

****
Zyr
$32 for 750 milliliters; 80 proof
Russian; distilled from wheat and rye

Zyr, which was introduced in October 2002, is the youngest vodka we tasted but one of the best. Manufactured near Moscow by a young American entrepreneur named David Katz, Zyr is dry and zesty, with a distinct floral bouquet, a full-bodied burn, and a surprisingly light, sweet aftertaste. Eight panelists found it to be a "firm," "assertive" vodka, well-suited "to serious drinking." Two found the burn to be a bit overwhelming and preferred some of the lighter brands we tried, such as Armadale or Chopin. One spilled his shot three times before tasting it and so abstained from the judging.

Final Verdict: "We like this young upstart—there's hope for Russian vodka, yet!"
Grade: Three Shot Glasses and a Chaser

Lightning Round Results:

Jewel of Russia Classic
$34.99 for 1 liter; 80 proof
Russian; distilled from wheat and rye

Though none of us had heard of this vodka before the tasting, Jewel of Russia was far and away the best of the Russian bunch. Introduced in 2001, it comes in a stately, square-shaped bottle with red wax seals—the whole package looks heavy and handsome, and what's inside doesn't disappoint. The panel praised Jewel of Russia's "waspy, authoritative taste," recognized it immediately as "a high-end version of Russian vodka," and found it to be "cleaner and smoother than Stoli." "It's smooth and delicious, and it tastes expensive," one taster said. "It's cloying," another countered, "it wants to be liked." We decided to drink one last, tiebreaking shot.

Final Verdict: Following the tiebreaker, the yeas carried the day, and the nays skulked off to smoke cigarettes.
Grade: Four Shot Glasses

****
Armadale
$33.99 for 750 milliliters; 80 proof
Scottish; distilled from wheat and barley

Not long after its 2002 introduction, this unlikely contender—a Scottish vodka—started receiving shout-outs in Jay-Z's lyrics. Shortly thereafter, Jay-Z and his Roc-a-Fella partners, Damon Dash and Kareem "Biggs" Burke, bought the rights to the brand itself. They picked wisely: Our panel found Armadale to be "a low-talking, come-hither vodka" with "a sexy, implied bite and just enough smoke to win you over." One taster dissented, calling the vodka "a little too polished for its own good, almost corporate-tasting," and thereby denied Armadale the top standing. Still, it finished a close second and comes highly recommended.

Final Verdict: "The Smart Water of vodkas—fantastic!"
Grade: Four Shot Glasses and a Chaser

****
Chopin
$29.99 for 750 milliliters; 80 proof
Polish; distilled from potatoes

Potato vodkas have never been as well-received as their grain-based competitors, but Chopin—which appeared on the American market in 1997—should go a long way toward changing their lowbrow reputation. It's the smoothest vodka we tried, with a slight oiliness (specific to potato vodkas) that cut beautifully against the briny funk of black caviar and held its own against the thickest black bread I'd been able to find. We found Chopin itself to be "slightly sweet" and "well-rounded" with "perhaps a hint of apple." Chopin also had a "medium-length, pleasing burn," but "very little aftertaste—it's remarkably clean." To top it off, Chopin's tall frosted bottle was the prettiest we'd seen.

Final Verdict: Following a second round of shots, the panel unanimously called Chopin "far and away the best vodka we tried."
Grade: Five Shot Glasses

Alex Abramovich is writing a history of rock 'n' roll. He lives in Astoria, Queens.

^RETURN TO TOP^

********************************
3) The New York Times/Consumed: Yellow fever [Le bracelet de la fondation de Lance Armstrong est devenu un bijou à la mode]
http://www.nytimes.com/2004/08/29/magazine/29CONSUMED.html
CONSUMED: Yellow Fever
By ROB WALKER

Published: August 29, 2004

Live Strong Bracelet

Alliances between corporations and nonprofits for the benefit of this or that cause are hardly a rarity these days. In fact, U.S. companies now sink about $1 billion a year into partnerships with do-gooder organizations, about 10 times what they spent a decade ago, according to David Hessekiel of the Cause Marketing Forum. Some of these efforts are successful; some aren't. But rarely does one manage to do what the Live Strong yellow bracelet has done, which is spark a consumer craze.

The bracelet -- a round hunk of synthetic silicon rubber stamped with the phrase ''Live Strong'' -- started selling in May at Niketown outlets, as well as at Foot Locker stores and various independent retailers. It cost $1, and proceeds were sent to the Lance Armstrong Foundation, the nonprofit charitable organization associated with the champion cyclist, who is a famous cancer survivor. ''Live Strong'' is the foundation's motto; yellow, among other things, echoes the color of the lead rider's jersey in the Tour de France. Nike underwrote the production and distribution of the entire first run of five million, meaning that 100 percent of the proceeds, plus another $1 million Nike threw in, went straight to the foundation.

Sales were brisk from the start but really took off when the Tour de France got under way this summer. Armstrong wore the wristband, and so did his whole team, including mechanics; as the tour wore on, competitors and even officials starting wearing it. As Armstrong cruised to his record-setting sixth consecutive Tour de France victory, celebrities started wearing them, and suddenly the bracelets were everywhere -- a charitable must-have. John Kerry even wore one while making his acceptance speech at the Democratic nomination. The original five million bracelets sold out; four million more have been made and sold, and another two million are on the way. And perhaps inevitably, a secondary market popped up on eBay. ''These are the summer's hardest item to get!!!!!!!!'' one seller announced, without making any mention of, say, passing along a cut to charity.

While the motives of eBay profiteers got some attention, the more interesting question is what motivated the people who bought from them -- paying $8, $10 or more. Obviously anyone who was particularly keen on supporting the Lance Armstrong Foundation but couldn't find a bracelet could have simply sent a dollar (or $10) directly to the organization itself. But just as obviously, that would leave the buyer without wearable proof of his or her good will. Apparently a visual symbol of concern can take on a value completely independent from whatever it was the buyer was supposed to be concerned about in the first place. As one Consumed reader asks: Is this philanthropy posing as style, or vice versa?

The answer is that it's both. The foundation almost certainly did not anticipate the demand, which seems to have come about through a kind of harmonic convergence of factors. Because the bracelets are often worn in tribute to or in support of an individual known to the wearer, there's a personal dimension. And because the bracelets are bright yellow, they attract attention. This has drawn comparisons to red AIDS-awareness ribbons, but the difference is that there's nothing even vaguely controversial or political or even provocative about a visible declaration of concern about cancer.

Perhaps more crucial, the item is associated not just with a cause but also with a heroic athlete at the peak of his popularity. ''His story,'' Hessekiel notes, ''is unique in the world.'' Even the most hardened cynic on the subject of contemporary celebrity worship would have to agree. ''This ties into some very deep-seated emotions that the American public has,'' Hessekiel continues. ''There is a desire to have something to believe in.'' The wristband offers an array of ways to satisfy that need, from the intensely personal to the blatantly public, and that's what made it a champion of the good-will game. Look around the Internet, Hessekiel suggests, and you'll find all manner of items you can buy to support various causes. ''If this was a bracelet done by an obscure organization, and didn't have the celebrity attached that created this buzz,'' he says, ''we wouldn't be talking about it.''

^RETURN TO TOP^

********************************
4) Salon/AP: Via cell, help's on the way for bad dates [Les opérateurs de téléphone mobile proposent un service pour vous permettre de quitter une soirée barbante.]

http://www.salon.com/mwt/wire/2004/08/08/cell/

Via cell, help's on the way for bad dates

Aug. 8, 2004 | The peak time for dates from hell in New York City is Friday at 8 p.m. -- judging by the cell phone calls delivering emergency excuses to bolt.

Truth is, they're fake "rescue" calls -- now being offered by two cell phone providers, Cingular Wireless and Virgin Mobile USA. In an era of Internet-set dates, it's just customer service -- a hip way to wiggle out of an uncomfortable encounter.

The rescue calls are a way to use the phone as a lifestyle accessory, Virgin Mobile spokeswoman Sarah Koening said.

For both Cingular and Virgin Mobile, the prerecorded messages are created at a high-tech central command in California's Silicon Valley. There, five people with doctorates in linguistics dream up excuses for folks to repeat before suddenly dropping a date gone sour.

Dan Enthoven, director of marketing for BeVocal, the California company that designs complex voice-driven software for the telecom market, said the number of rescue calls go up on weekends, especially Fridays at about 8 p.m. BeVocal's two rescue-call clients in North America, Cingular and Virgin Mobile, generate at least 10,000 calls a month, he said.

With both Cingular's Escape-A-Date and Virgin Mobile's Rescue Ring service, a customer can arrange to be called at a set time, using the cell keypad.

When the cell rings, one of Cingular's eight "emergency" messages says: "Hey, this is your Escape-A-Date call. If you're looking for an excuse, I got it. Just repeat after me, and you'll be on your way! 'Not again! Why does that always happen to you? ... All right, I'll be right there.' Now tell 'em that your roommate got locked out, and you have to go let them in. Good luck!"

And bingo, the bad date is history.

The rescue-call service is part of a Cingular package that costs $4.99 a month. Virgin Mobile offers its Rescue Ring at 25 cents per use, plus the price of the call.

^RETURN TO TOP^

********************************
5) BBC News: Ice-cream firm agrees fat pay-out [Un fabricant US de crème glacée prétendue allégée dédommage les clients victimes du fait qu'elle était plus grasse qu'annoncée... sous forme de glace gratuite.]
http://news.bbc.co.uk/go/pr/fr/-/1/hi/business/3150556.stm
Ice-cream firm agrees fat pay-out

A US ice-cream firm has settled a lawsuit brought by weight-watching customers - by giving them extra ice-cream. Florida-based DeConna had been hit by a class-action court case, after complaints that its famous Big Daddy brand was not as low-fat as its advertising had claimed. Although marketed towards the health-conscious consumer, Big Daddy has three times as many calories as some labelling claimed, the plaintiffs argued.

But in a $1m settlement of the two-year-old case, the firm has offered angry customers two scoops of ice-cream for every one they purchased. Anyone who bought Big Daddy ice cream between 1995 and 2001 can take part in the hand-out, even if they did not have the foresight to save their receipts for the past eight years.

Business is booming

The case is a minor one within the heavyweight context of US corporate lawsuits, but it illustrates the growing power of the consumer. US firms are particularly vulnerable to class-action legal cases, which bundle together hundreds of thousands of claims into complaints that can sometimes be worth many billions of dollars. Some 10,000 class-action suits are filed every year in the US, mainly against companies.

It is big business for lawyers: one online service, Classactionamerica.com, operated by law firm Kahn Gauthier, claims to have settled cases totalling more than $46bn. And the food business - currently under threat over allegations that it is responsible for obesity - is seen as one of the main areas of future litigation growth.

^RETURN TO TOP^

********************************
6) The Economist: Anti-social behaviour [La GB met en oeuvre une nouvelle arme contre l'incivilité (très d'actualité, d'après ce que j'ai vu à Londres.]

http://www.economist.com/displaystory.cfm?story_id
=S%27%298H%28P%21%23%2B%21P%214%0A&CFID=34337405&CFTOKEN=
5605da1-1a315607-f744-4b03-a8d1-0040c225ee90

Anti-social behaviour: The war on incivility
Jul 22nd 2004

Britain's latest crime worry is anti-social behaviour. It's hard to define—and even harder to police

ARE those uncouth teenagers hanging around on the street corner just going through a difficult phase, or are they chipping away at the foundations of decent society? The tendency these days is to think the worst. “Our country faces two major threats”, says Frank Field, a Labour MP and a veteran crusader against anti-social behaviour. “One comes from international terrorism, the other from neighbourhood terrorists.”

A decade ago, people worried about tangible crimes like burglary and car theft. As figures released on July 22nd showed, those are now in remission. But the overall level of anxiety appears not to have diminished at all. In the kind of psychological shift that unnerves governments, public worries now focus sharply on petty incivilities like vandalism, loud music and public loutishness.

The need to crack down on such annoyances was the main theme of two speeches this week by Tony Blair, the prime minister, and David Blunkett, the home secretary. It was also the chief spur to plans to put 12,000 more police on the streets in the next four years, along with 20,000 extra community-support officers.

The war against anti-social behaviour may have been formally declared this week, but it has been heating up for the past few years. The state's arsenal starts, softly, with “acceptable behaviour contracts”, first introduced in 1999, in which tearaways promise to calm down. Should they fail to do so, they are liable to be slapped with an “anti-social behaviour order” (ASBO)—a list of prohibitions, issued by a magistrate, which may prevent them doing uncivil things, hanging out with known troublemakers, or even visiting their favourite stomping grounds. A petty tyrant who steps out of line is liable to spend up to six months in prison.

Such remedies are draconian, particularly given that vandalism—the most measurable kind of anti-social behaviour—has been declining since 1995 (see chart). Even coppers are surprised. “I never thought I would live in a country where the police would have these powers,” says Stuart Chapman, a chief superintendent from the South Yorkshire force.

The powers are also virtually unique. Other countries fret about youthful misdeeds, but mostly because they are thought to lead on to more serious stuff. In America, the fear about teenagers hanging around the streets is that they will get sucked into gangs. There, as in much of continental Europe, a distinction is drawn between minor indiscretions, which are dealt with through informal negotiation or community sanctions, and criminal offences, which lead to custodial sentences.

Britain's innovation is to have criminalised behaviour that is not necessarily an offence in law. To obtain an ASBO, local authorities and the police do not have to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that an offence has been committed. They only have to establish, on the balance of probabilities, that the local lout is making other people's lives difficult. That is fairly easy, which explains why, of the 2,497 orders sought before the end of March 2004, only 42 were refused. But while civil standards of proof apply to the issuing of ASBOs, criminal sanctions can be applied to those who break them. And they can be handed out for anything, from egging houses to dealing in drugs. Kate Hammond, a specialist prosecutor in Manchester, says, mildly: “It's quite a large stick.”

For local authorities, the new laws are a blessing. They now have a weapon against troublesome tenants—even the ones who live in private accommodation, who were formerly difficult to reach. They can disperse groups of youths and drunks from traditional trouble-spots, some of which now proudly display signs declaring them areas free of anti-social behaviour. Some authorities have made more use of ASBOs than others—about a third of the national total comes from Greater Manchester, for example. But pressure from voters and the government means that local authorities are likely to level up, not down.

Oddly, though, not everyone is happy. Some point out that ASBOs are likely to put more young people in prison, or into the care of the already struggling probation service. The number of under-21s in the slammer rose by 69% between 1992 and 2003; the trend reversed last year, but a few breached ASBOs would soon change that.

And even those in the front line worry that they have unleashed a monster. Council staff report an increasing number of calls about crying babies and children playing football in the street—petty annoyances that used to be dealt with by a quiet word, but which they are now expected to do something about. As Jan Wilson, the leader of Sheffield City Council, says, “this thing seems to be gaining a momentum of its own.”

^RETURN TO TOP^

********************************
7) The Borowitz Report: Bush to declare war on English language [Satire : Bush tente d'assurer sa victoire en incluant la langue anglaise dans l'Axe du mal.]
http://www.borowitzreport.com/archive_rpt.asp?rec=946

BUSH TO DECLARE WAR ON ENGLISH LANGUAGE

Native Tongue Would Replace N. Korea in Axis of Evil

A just-released text of President George W. Bush’s acceptance speech at the Republican National Convention reveals that Mr. Bush intends to announce his boldest initiative to date, declaring war on the English language.

According to the text of the speech, advance copies of which were made available to reporters today, Mr. Bush will give the English language an official slot in the Axis of Evil, replacing North Korea.

While Mr. Bush’s relations with the English language have been hostile in the past, few had expected him to declare war on America’s native tongue.

But according to Republican insiders, an official declaration of war against the English language could give Mr. Bush a decided edge over his Democratic rival, Sen. John Kerry (D-Mass.), who, unlike the president, speaks English fluently.

“If Kerry starts speaking English during the debates, he could be seen as a traitor,” one Bush strategist said. “On the other hand, there’s practically no danger of the president accidentally slipping into English.”

Political science professor Trevor Bilson of the University of Minnesota said that Mr. Bush’s declaration of war against the English language should not come as a surprise: “Mr. Bush has been conducting a covert campaign against the English language for decades now.”

But Dr. Bilson believes that shifting the nation’s focus from the war on terror to a war on grammar may be Mr. Bush’s shrewdest political move ever.

“The president recently said that he doubts we can win the war on terror,” Dr. Bilson said. “But whenever Mr. Bush does battle with the English language, the English language loses.”

^RETURN TO TOP^