Archive | March 2012

Mike Daisey: How the metaphor has shifted

Mike Daisey: How the metaphor has shifted

As far as I know, Spalding Gray, Eric Bogosian, John Leguizamo, Laurie Anderson, you name it– NEVER had to address, with such nationwide scrutiny, the question of truth in storytelling like Mike Daisey has this last week.

And this is not an issue that’s going to go away anytime soon. The cat’s out of the bag. This is about more than Daisey’s most famous work. This is about all his work, and the work of all who labor in the industry of theater.

In his now-infamous monologue “The Agony and the Ecstasy of Steve Jobs” (TATESJ), he makes reference to a phenomena wherein the course of human events is irrevocably altered by a “metaphor shift.” As Daisey puts it, “If you control the metaphor through which people see the world, then you control the world itself.”

Now the act of storytelling is finding itself in undergoing a metaphor-shift of its own. Mike Daisey (with the unwitting but necessary help of Ira Glass) has single-handedly changed how we will sit in a theatre and listen to a story (a tradition that pretty much pre-dates Apple and everything else).

Many recent commentators (myself included) have been making references to the “unspoken contracts” between writers and readers, composers and listeners, monologuists and audiences, and, at the puritanical apex, journalists and Truth; because, by definition, a journalist’s only audience is “Truth”– which is all well and good for those who adhere to the notion that a story is only valid if it is triple-checked for accuracy against an unyielding standard of objective reality. But for the rest of us, anything beneath the “journalist” rubric has always seemed to mean, “I like the truth, I prefer the truth, but if I don’t get the truth, a well-told lie will do the trick. Just don’t tell me that it’s going to be a lie beforehand. Wait till after. If ever.”

But want to see the new metaphor at work? Just watch the first minute-and-a-half of this video, which captures Daisey in a monologue called “The Last Cargo Cult.”

This is only one of his over-a-dozen monologues. He’s performed it many times before “TATESJ.” I assume he wanted to perform it many times in the future.

But watch the video. In the first 90 seconds, you will feel just how much the metaphor has shifted, under Daisey’s feet, under Bogosian and Anderson and Leguizamo’s feet– no one is exempt, now and forever.

Click play with the following thoughts in mind:
1) Mike Daisey has now been revealed as someone who will lie in monologues about personal observations; and,
2) One of the This American Life accusations that everyone remembers: Mike Daisey lied when he said the guards at Foxconn carried guns. Keep that in mind as Daisey recounts the weapons the pilots carry in this story. Then scoop your jaw off the floor as he touches on an audience’s relation to the “Truth.”

Listen to that audience. They seem so… credulous. A more innocent time.

Is there any monologue Mike, or anyone, can do now that won’t be somehow compromised by the new metaphor that we now find ourselves in?

Storytellers, stay tuned.


New Daisey monologue gives insight into “TATESJ”s development and ensuing scandal

Click here for audio.

Ok, anyone who is still interested in this (and interested in storytelling in general) should check out Daisey’s latest hourlong monologue, delivered (as all his monologues, at least at their genesis) extemporaneously in front of a live audience, at Georgetown U on Monday.

It is apologetic, yes, but also passionate and edifying. It really does anatomize how Daisey, through the purest intentions a monologuist can muster, eventually found himself a pariah in the national consciousness.

One gets the image of a lone sailor, captaining the ship of his story on a year-long voyage, having to make constant, subtle modifications on his vessel as he navigates the rising choppy waters of our modern-day news cycles before crashing into the unyielding Moby Dick of Ira Glass.

But the rub is this, which is something I emphasized in my earlier blog entry and which this new monologue fails to address: the 12-year-old worker anecdote.

In the speech at Georgetown, you’ll hear him passionately (and, to my ears, convincingly) defend his meeting a 13-year-old worker at the gates of Foxconn. His director/wife recollects him saying she was 14, but Daisey says he remembers 13.


But: in the monologue he performed hundreds of times all over the country, on the TAL cutting that was broadcast originally, and in the transcript (still available) on his website and performed by me at A Red Orchid Theatre, he clearly and dramatically states, “I met workers who were 14 years old, I met workers who were 13 years old, I met workers who were 12.”


This, to me, however small it appears on paper, is the quintessential blind spot of the whole affair.

To say he met a worker who was twelve is not only, by his own admission, completely untrue, but was, more importantly, completely unnecessary to make his larger point about underage workers.

Thirteen, I think we can all agree, is underage. Plenty underage.

To then say “twelve” is not just to lie in the service of “a greater truth.”

What is was in the service of is… well…

Of course, I don’t know. But in the forthcoming “full accounting” he references again in this speech, I hope he addresses it.

Not because I’m trying to trap him in a “lie”– he has suffered, and surely will suffer, enough for those kind of transgressions.

But a thorough examination into why he thought it necessary to include that particular lie might bring some closure to the question of the theater-performer/theater-audience construct that has so fascinated me since the beginning of this story, and how “L’affaire Daisey” may just be a tipping point into a radical re-thinking of how much artistic leeway storytellers will be allowed from here on out.

Has the traditional freedom-from-facts paradigm afforded by the theater gotten so persuasive and seductive that it can now compel a performer like Daisey to lie… just because he can?

Storytellers, stay tuned.

Clash of the Storytelling Titans

I performed Mike Daisey’s “The Agony and the Ecstasy of Steve Jobs” in a staged reading at A Red Orchid Theatre over two Mondays in March of 2012, shortly after the piece was made available for royalty-free public performance, and shortly before This American Life revealed certain details of the story to be false. I’ll start with this:

“There is nothing in this controversy that contests the facts in my work about the nature of Chinese manufacturing. Nothing. I think we all know if there was, Ira would have brought it up.” — Mike Daisey

He ain’t lying.

Daisey did go to China, in 2010, when many were not going there. There was a story in China that Daisey thought wasn’t being given a full hearing, in any medium, and he used the biggest tool in his arsenal (and the oldest tool there is) to spread that story: the first-person account, told to a room with people in it, listening.

That’s what he does. He’s been doing it for over 10 years. He’s very, very good at it.

But the problem was this: because he zealously craved attention to that story, and because he’d spent the last decade in a bubble of performance art creating compelling personal narratives for adoring audiences, he pathologically assumed that it was okay to tell tens of thousands of people that he had witnessed certain things first-hand, things which he only knew to be true second-hand.

That was wrong.

I don’t care how “sophisticated” you think your audience is. Telling people “I met workers who were 12 years-old” is not a metaphor. You, Mike Daisey, told me (and I, subsequently, told two Chicago audiences) that you met a 12-year-old worker in China. No one who saw either of our shows heard those words and thought “perhaps that’s not true.”

You and I know better: the fact that people heard that and believed it to be true, in a theater as in life, is the juice that drives the point home.

But that’s not a “use” of the performer-audience relationship; it’s an abuse. And it’s an abuse that an audience in a theater only forgives in ignorance; as soon as a narrator is found to be unreliable, the larger points of a story always suffer.

This is what you were referring to when you told Ira that telling people the whole truth about your experiences in China would “ruin everything.”

And now we find that, in a way, yes, it has. For every person who is engaged with the nuances of this controversy, there are perhaps thousands for whom the only takeaway is “Mike Daisey = Liar.” That’s just the way it is in the soundbite world, admittedly a world far away from the place where people will sit for two hours straight and listen to one person tell his story.

But let’s get a hold of ourselves. Should we really be discussing “the abuse of the performer-audience relationship” in the same breath as the real, tangible abuse of Chinese factory workers? Shouldn’t This American Life feel just a little bit silly devoting a solid hour, full of probing research and revealing details, to both of these abuses equally?

The brief piece on Marketplace could have been followed up with a footnote on the TAL website, and perhaps an audio insertion at the top of the original piece, and everybody would have been happy.

But to drag Daisey into a studio and grill him for four hours about what he did actually see and what he didn’t– it’s called “burying the lede.” For apparently hell hath no fury like a public-radio storyteller scorned, especially when he’s got the huge, sanctimonious club of “journalistic ethics” at his side.

Ira tells us that when Daisey told TAL (quite reasonably but perhaps now could be seen as duplicitous) that he didn’t know how to get in touch with the translator he worked with in China, Ira says “We should have killed the story right there.”

Really? And not go to the trouble of google-ing the words “Cathy Translator Shenzhen,” and calling the first number that came up, as Marketplace’s Rob Schmitz successfully did?

Perhaps it would be more accurate to say hell hath no fury like a public-radio storyteller scooped.

But even still– Cathy Lee (actually Li Guifen) was only one observer to the events Mike Daisey describes. Mike Daisey was another. Yet in the follow-up piece on TAL so many of Daisey’s assertions were seemingly shot down using no more evidence than the very un-journalistic practice of “he said/she said.” Over and over in the piece, Mike said something happened, and they would play tape of Cathy saying it didn’t happen.

The conclusion: Mike lied.

No mention was made of the mitigating factors, such as Cathy’s reliance on business interests as her primary source of income. Barely any credence given to the two-year gap between event and recollection. And holy cow, you know how long people in China can go to prison if they agitate for labor reforms? That’s right, the correct answer is years.

While Cathy certainly sounds open and honest and unconcerned with her personal involvement in the whole matter, it certainly seems, for those operating under the unbending cause of “pure journalism,” irresponsible to accuse Daisey of untruths using the testimony of only one other (perhaps comprimised) witness.

But even if one takes the translator at her word, and even if everything Glass/Schmitz asserts to be a lie is in fact a lie– total it all up and it comes to a very small fraction of Daisey’s overall piece (the original script of which you can still download at Daisey’s site; don’t go looking for the original TAL audio, as it is no longer available).

Draw a line through all the “horrifying” (Ira’s word) stuff: look for instances where Daisey prefaces his details of worker abuse and physical trauma with the words “I saw”; strikethrough those two words immediately. Cross out the bit about the guards carrying guns. Take out any references to Starbucks. Shave off about half of the number of factories and people Daisey visited. The guy with the claw for a hand probably didn’t call the iPad “magic.” No cameras in the factory dorm rooms (just everywhere else). And let’s go ahead and change “12-year-old” to, say, “16-year-old.” (But guess what! You can leave that part in about Mike wearing a Hawaiian shirt! Because Schmitz, with the kind of straight face that surely only the hardest journalism can muster, assures us that at least THAT much is true).

Make all the corrections necessary to Daisey’s show that This American Life requires, and I think, at the end, you’ll find no need to re-sharpen your pencil.

Even if you’d been following this story closely, unless you’d seen or read the show you’d never guess that almost half the show’s two-hour running time actually has nothing to do with China at all, concerning itself instead with Steve Jobs’ history with Apple. And those sections are some of the funniest things you’ve heard since Sedaris.

Speaking of which: Where’s the expose on “Santaland Diaries?” Was that not also one man’s recollections of the sordid underbelly of a major corporation? Quick, Ira, google “Macy’s” stat!

All this to say: Daisey was taken down for being a faulty storyteller, not for being a faulty journalist. Something he never claimed to be and something he really wasn’t even presented as during his original appearance on “This American Life.”

His piece on the show was not read to a microphone in a studio. He performed it as he’d always performed it, in front of a live audience, who do not, as a matter of habit and taste, come to the theater expecting straight journalism. I’d argue those listening to the piece on the radio, because of the format it was presented in, were under the same assumption.

They were listening to a man tell a story. Just as they, two months later, listened to Ira Glass tell a different story. But while Daisey’s piece holds an entire multinational corporation’s feet to the fire, Glass’ piece was only concerned with lighting the fire under Mike Daisey.

And, in the end, as always, we will all hear what we want to hear.

I look forward to Daisey’s next piece with great interest. He says he will “be making a full accounting… shining a light through the monologue and telling the story of its origins, construction, and details.” Sounds most compelling– a story about a story, told by one of our master storytellers. And I may perform “TATESJ” again someday. After all, no one in MY audience ever believed for a second that I had personally seen the things I described. Still worked like gangbusters.

The Shenzhen Powerpoint Presentations (plus audience interruption) – YouTube

Scene from A Red Orchid’s “The Agony and the Ecstasy of Steve Jobs”