>Is it time to try to *understand* what happened in June
>and July? Or should we wait at least 6 months?
>
>Alberto Monteiro
Well, there seems to be a strong belief that half-formed client-class
creatures like you and me should not expect to *understand* what
happened. That's for patrons only. My understanding is second hand
and possibly inaccurate, as I am simply summarizing what was
explained to me on a private members-only list on which were
discussed the events on the secret private members-only Brin list
that led to the Brin's departure from the open public Brin list...
When I entered the club's lounge there was a bright fire burning in
the fireplace. Stinky cheese and decanters of cheap brandy stood on
the sideboard. A seated woman was speaking from the shadows--I never
did see her face.
"If I recall correctly," she said "there was a faction of listees who
felt that Brin was being overbearing and insulting and felt he had
the right to do so simply because he was an author. From what I
read, it seemed that Brin only got nasty after he had been accused of
things he felt he hadn't done, and accused in
rather nasty ways. I can't remember the specifics. But I'm sure
someone will fill them in."
One of the other members, who had been reading a rather technical
paper about Lamarckian selection of neurons, cleared his throat. We
all looked at him. But rather than speaking he got up, got himself a
glass of brandy, and then sat back down.
He leaned back in his comfortable and highly-stuffed pseudo-leather
chair, as the fire danced off in the corner. He took a large sip of
brandy. "How it began?" He said. "The basic context was that a
separate Brin-L list had been set up for veterans. It was to be a
separate, walled-off discussion list to discuss a very particular
subject. Let me stress that we had not gotten fed up with all the
other people on the Brin-L list. On that list a minor disagreement
between Brin and one or two of the regulars came up--I cannot even
remember what it was. That means that it was almost certainly
something completely and utterly trivial."
"But then how," I asked, "did the situation then explode?"
He pulled out a pipe and knocked it against the coffee table. "It was
the way the 'regulars' responded," he said. "They got into a pattern
where they would spend hundreds or thousands of words painstakingly
dissecting each of Brin's posts to try to disprove them."
"But he's the author," I said. "Authors on lists devoted to their
work should be treated with respect. First of all, they're somewhat
touched in the head--holy fools--or they wouldn't be successful
authors. Second, their degree of investment in their own work is
overwhelmingly great--they, psychologically, cannot distance
themselves from it. And, third, their presence on the list--even if
they do say false and inflammatory things--is nevertheless to be
welcomed, for they bless the list with their presence."
He puffed on his pipe. "But the regulars didn't see it that way," he
responded. He got up and refilled his brandy glass from the decanter.
"With every sentence of Brin's subject to close scrutiny, Brin found
himself caught in a war that he could never win: he simply didn't
have enough time to respond to all their points and continue to lead
his regular life."
I was astonished. "Didn't Brin have his supporters? Didn't anyone
tell them to cool it? Didn't anyone plead with them to cut the Author
some slack?" I asked.
Someone else facing the fire, sitting with his back to us, broke in.
"You have to realize that most people's inclination when faced with a
flame war of any kind is to stay out of it. I know that I disagreed
with what the anti-Brinners would say. But I had a life, and did not
want to spend time writing a thoughtful, considered email that would
then be subject to the same form of destructive dissection and
criticism."
"And then?"
The first man spoke again. "Too many people who just wanted to start
something, and too many people with chips on their shoulder. It all
spilled over onto the public list, where people didn't have a clue.
And once it was clear that a substantial number of people on the list
did not want Brin there in the role of an author whose opinions were
to be deferred to in some way, he decided that it was time to go." He
threw another log on the fire with the tongs. He stared into the fire
for a long time. Was that I tear I saw in his eye? He threw his
brandy glass into the fire. It shattered, and the flames were
refracted through the shards of glass
The discussion went on in low voices for perhaps an hour. Then a
clear, vibrant voice suddenly transformed what had been a hushed,
depressed tone: "What total noodges!" The speaker was an
expensively-dressed woman in a mask, who was standing near and
warming her hands by the fire. "To throw away the honor of having
your favorite author on your very own mailing list!" Her tone was one
of wonder and cynical amusement.
We all laughed in an ominous yet strangely [censored] manner. The
discussion went off on an another tangent...
Brad DeLong
