Tom Keane

Bad Results

The real blame in the crime lab scandal rests with the politicians who slashed budgets and underfunded the court system

Perhaps more than 1,000 violent criminals will be unleashed on the streets of Boston and surrounding communities in the next several weeks. The effect, almost certainly, will be a surge in crime. People will be hurt; some may die. It’s easy to pin the blame on one employee, so-called “rogue chemist” Annie Dookhan. But the real blame reaches far wider. What happened was predictable, a matter of accountability and funding. State politicians — legislators and the governor — gave short shrift to the court system, systematically ignoring problems and cutting budgets so deeply as to create the crisis Massachusetts now faces.

And a crisis it is. Dookhan, a senior state chemist at the state crime lab, allegedly mishandled and falsified an unknown number of drug samples. Over nine years, she was responsible for up to 60,000 samples used in 34,000 criminal cases. Few think that most — or even more than a handful — of the suspects convicted in those cases were actually innocent. But all of the cases are tainted.

And how did Dookhan manage this? Here’s a typical scenario. Police would seize an alleged drug from a suspect and send the sample to the crime lab. A lead — or primary — chemist would test the sample to ensure it was a prohibited substance. If so, the sample would be sent to a secondary chemist who would use a device — a mass spectrometer — to confirm the primary chemist’s conclusion.

On many occasions, however, Dookhan would allegedly forgo the time-intensive primary testing process and make a guess — called “dry labbing” — before sending the substance to the secondary chemist. Most of the time, her guess was accurate, but on some occasions, the mass spectrometer would come up with a different result. When that occurred, Dookham allegedly would take back the sample, doctor it with the drug it was “supposed” to be, and then send it back to the secondary chemist for re-analysis.

What drove her to do this? And why didn’t anyone figure it out?

Before State Police took over the crime lab in July, it was located within the Department of Public Health. The reason for this is uncertain, but since the mission of DPH is public health — things like encephalitis and diabetes — running a crime lab was well outside of both its interest and expertise. The lab, located in Jamaica Plain, was shabby and poorly managed. It was the state’s various district attorneys who most cared about prompt and accurate testing, but all they could do was complain from the outside (which they had been doing for years). Thus, for instance, Dookhan was testing up to 500 samples a month — three or four times as many as her fellow chemists. But the lack of supervision meant alarm bells were never triggered.

Then too, the burden on the crime labs dramatically increased in 2009. That was the year the US Supreme Court concluded, in Melendez-Diaz v. Massachusetts, that chemists physically had to show up in court and testify as to their findings. Before then, a written certification had been enough. Yet despite this new workload, the lab’s budget was cut.

Indeed, underfunding is par for the course when it comes to the court system. Half the job of keeping streets safe is having an effective police force, a task we usually assign to local governments. Because voters hold them accountable, mayors and town managers are determined to make sure their public safety budgets are maintained.

But the other half of public safety comes after the cops make an arrest and DAs, defense attorneys, judges, and jails get involved. Funds for the court system come from the state, but there is no strong constituency advocating for keeping budgets up (voters typically don’t think their legislators have much influence on crime).

And so, as the 2008 recession hit, the crime lab’s budget was slashed, from $15.7 million in fiscal year 2009 to today’s low of $12.1 million. Crime lab employees were expected to do vastly more with vastly less and one of them — at least — cracked.

Budget cuts created desperation. A lack of supervision created opportunity. What Dookhan did was wrong, but so too was the system that made it possible. The money now spent cleaning up this mess will be far greater than any once saved.

This column originally appeared on the Boston Sunday Globe's op-ed page on September 30, 2012.

Occupy, Menino, and getting results

The point of politics, one would think, is to get something done.

It’s an idea apparently lost on the Occupy movement, which began just a year ago with its takeover of New York’s Zuccotti Park and then rapidly spread to cities across the United States. Boston’s own version, located on Dewey Square, began Sept. 30. With clever slogans (“the 99 percent”) and novel tactics (such as the encampments), the media were enthralled. Something big, it seemed, was in the wind. When police arrived on Dec. 10 to move the protesters out, they were greeted by these defiant words: “You can’t evict an idea.”

Or perhaps you can. A year after it began, the Occupy movement is lifeless. Efforts to revive it — one in March and another on its one-year anniversary — were a bust. Occupy’s remnants seem a sad-sack of misfits, longing to find a place in the world, while the public has lost interest. If Occupy is the vanguard of the revolution, the emperor has nothing to fear.

But don’t blame the cops. In part, Occupy went bust because it was oversold and overhyped, more media creation than reality. One is struck by the credulousness with which it was greeted at the time, as if it truly were a mass movement. Yet the number of campers in New York at best was a few thousand. It was far fewer elsewhere.

More importantly, Occupy seemed — almost deliberately — determined to undermine its own effectiveness. One understood that in general it was about the gaps between the rich and the rest, but pinning down specifics was impossible. The early question to the Occupy protesters — what would it take to get you to go home? — had no answer. The movement refused to have an agenda or leaders (around which others could rally) and refused to engage in conventional politics (something the Tea Party did extraordinarily well). It is certainly conceivable that Occupy could have had a major influence on this November’s presidential election. Instead, it’s irrelevant.

One can find an opposite example, perhaps, in local politics, where it looks like once again it’s OK to “eat mor chikin.”

Chick-fil-A, the Bible Belt fast-food chain with clever ads, was the subject of a controversy in July provoked by Boston Mayor Thomas Menino. Following rumors that Chick-fil-A was looking to locate in space near Quincy Market, Menino decried the chain’s support of anti-gay groups and specifically its opposition to same-sex marriage. In a blunt letter to the company, the mayor wrote, “There is no place for discrimination on Boston’s Freedom Trail and no place for your company alongside it.”

Thereupon ensued the kind of tempest that talk-show hosts crave. Other politicians around the country picked up on Menino’s words. Supporters of Chick-fil-A — including former Arkansas governor Mike Huckabee — pushed back hard. Menino was subjected to a torrent of criticism, some of it on free speech grounds (Chick-fil-A should be able to say and do what it wants) and some complaining a city mayor had no business getting involved in such issues. Menino ostensibly was the loser.

Until he won.

Last week, Chick-fil-A caved. In a letter from its director of real estate, the company agreed to stop donating funds to anti-gay groups, saying it “is now taking a much closer look at the organizations it considers helping” and will not be “supporting organizations with political agendas.” Chick-fil-A also modified its own internal code, stressing it will “treat every person with honor, dignity, and respect — regardless of their beliefs, race, creed, sexual orientation, and gender.”

Chick-fil-A’s concessions came in response to negotiations with a Chicago alderman, but there is a clear line from Menino’s original outrage to its changed position. Like Occupy, Menino used soft power — in this case, the bully pulpit that his position gave him — to identify an issue and raise it to national prominence. Unlike Occupy, however, Menino and other politicians made clear what their agenda was and gave the company a way to respond to their concerns.

It’s a striking contrast. Menino saw an opportunity to advance the cause of gay rights, and deftly seized it. The Occupiers had a similar opportunity to advance issues of economic opportunity, and squandered theirs.

This column originally appeared on the Boston Sunday Globe's op-ed page on September 23, 2012.

Brown had a shaky start but finished strong

Perhaps he was just harried from his late afternoon arrival from Washington, but Scott Brown made a weak first impression in last night’s Senate debate: stumbling over words, lacking mastery of the facts, and falling back on sound bites.

But over the course of the hour-long debate, the senator got better and it was challenger Elizabeth Warren who deteriorated. As Brown spoke, she was smirking and making faces a la Al Gore. And once the questioning left economics — clearly Warren’s strong suit — she floundered, falling back on her own rehearsed lines (e.g., I’m not a professional politician) and pointedly avoiding Brown’s often sharp attacks on her high salary and work on asbestos.

The first question was about character, and sure enough, it was Indian heritage time. Warren gave her by-now standard answers: It’s family lore and employers hired me on merit. Fair enough. Still, why didn’t she simply agree to Brown’s request that she release her employment records? Thus the issue — something that should have been just a one-day story — stays alive.

Still, the central concern of voters is jobs. Warren’s fundamental view is that government should boost employment by stepping up spending, and should fund those efforts with higher taxes on the wealthy. Brown doesn’t see public works as a cure, but Warren successfully made his refusal to consider any tax hikes on the rich — even for other programs — his weakest moment.

The remainder of the debate — on women’s rights, energy, military intervention, and college education — seemed the better for Brown. His job was to show he can steer a middle course and he did it well. Warren, on the other hand, came across as the more absolutist — even when she and Brown were in agreement. There was no knock-out punch for either, but plenty of fodder for what are sure to be a slew of new campaign ads.

This column originally appeared on the Boston Globe's op-ed page on September 21, 2012, as part of a three-columnist roundup of reaction to the September 20 Brown-Warren debate.

Conventional wisdom is wrong on conventions

THE CONVENTIONAL wisdom, so to speak, is that political conventions, and in particular this year’s conventions, are pointless. Their original purpose — to figure out who would be the parties’ nominees — has gone by the wayside, thanks to the primary process. They are, runs the critique, an empty show, lacking in drama even as they become ever more complex and expensive (over $136 million this year). The major television networks seem increasingly bored, while the 24-hours news stations appear to prefer their talking heads to the events on the floor.

Even the American public is becoming disenchanted: Viewership this year was down from 2008 and a recent Rasmussen poll found 44 percent think conventions “a waste of time and money.” Pundits and politicians both left and right are looking for wholesale change.

The conventional wisdom is wrong. The conventions might benefit from a few tweaks, but on the whole they worked brilliantly: They were interesting, they dominated the news cycle for two weeks, they had a meaningful impact on the race, and, perhaps most importantly, they were — in an increasingly fragmented world — a welcome moment of national engagement.

The conventions marked the first time in this long election season where each party got to address a coast-to-coast audience — and where that audience could compare and contrast the philosophies and political programs of each side. They also were the first time when politicians were able to speak unexpurgated, without the cuts and edits that usually accompany any televised presentation. Even with fewer viewers this year, an enormous number of folks watched the proceedings: 30.3 million for the Republican convention and (a harbinger?) 35.7 million for the Democratic. But the impact was far greater than that — the conventions dominated the print media and the new media as well.

And despite predictions to the contrary, it looks as if the conventions did matter. The Republicans made an eloquent argument for change, but provided few specifics about what they would do differently. The Democrats begged for more time and, especially in Bill Clinton’s address, effectively dissected GOP attacks against the president. Voters seemed more persuaded by the Democrats. Thus, the Real Clear Politics average of polls now shows a marked shift in the race, from a near tie just a few weeks ago to a solid 3.5 point margin for Obama. Some individual polls show an even wider gap.

Of course, the election still has seven weeks to go and much can happen. Four debates are scheduled, and those face-to-face confrontations could easily change things. So too could current events. Last week’s murder of the US ambassador to Libya may influence the race in ways that are still unknown (for instance, does Joe Biden’s line that “Osama bin Laden is dead, and GM is alive” now look too glib and triumphal, or does Mitt Romney’s lightning-quick jab at the administration smack of over-the-line partisanship?).

But was it worth it? Granted, $136 million is a lot of money — too much, many might think, for merely shifting polls a few points. But the Center for Responsive Politics estimates the entire presidential election will cost $2.5 billion this year (an appalling number, granted, and worth an entirely separate debate). In that context, the national conventions — easily one of the most significant and wide-reaching events of the season — are a relative bargain.

Ever since Robert Putnam’s 2000 book “Bowling Alone,” social observers have fretted about the degree to which American society has become increasingly atomized. Especially with the advent of the Internet, there seem to be ever fewer occasions when citizens are, on a large scale, actively engaged in a single undertaking. The conventions were a true counterpoint to this. Even better, they forced us to think about the direction of the nation and the kind of country we wish to be. No doubt, they could be improved: three days (not the GOP’s originally scheduled four), better speakers, and some real debates (over platforms, for instance) would liven things up. But get rid of them? No way. Those two weeks were good for the soul of America.

This column originally appeared on the Boston Sunday Globe's op-ed page on September 16, 2012.

The Sympathy Vote

A hardscrabble background has become a must-hit note for politicians

Newly married Mitt and Ann Romney “ate a lot of pasta and tuna fish.” Michelle Obama recalled Barack as “the guy whose proudest possession was a coffee table he’d found in a dumpster.” She herself grew up in a household where her father, stricken with multiple sclerosis, would “struggle . . . to simply get out of bed.”

There used to be the stereotype of the starving artist — one had to go through pain and hardship (with preferably a few weeks spent in a psychiatric hospital) to create great art. Now it’s the starving politician. Suffering, it seems (minus the psychiatric issues — see, e.g., Thomas Eagleton), is required for a career in politics.

It’s not just our presidential nominees. Scott Brown has heartbreaking tales of growing up in an abusive and dysfunctional family. Not to be outdone, Elizabeth Warren says she grew up on the “ragged edge of the middle class” where her “mom worked the phones at Sears” while she “was waiting tables at 13.”

Indeed, the last two weeks in Tampa and Charlotte gave us an almost never-ending caterwauling of hardship and tribulation. Mia Love, the mayor of Saratoga Springs, Utah, told conventioneers her parents “immigrated to the United States with $10 in their pocket.” Charlotte, N.C., Mayor Anthony Foxx was “born to a single mom and raised by her and my grandparents.” Nevada Governor Brian Sandoval’s “first job was cleaning sheep pens.” Senator Chuck Schumer remembered his father “pacing the floor, restless about returning to work Monday morning.” South Carolina Representative Tim Scott was a “poor kid growing up in a single-parent household.”

“For a while,” recalled Senator Patty Murray, “we were on food stamps.” Tim Pawlenty, once governor of Minnesota, shared that his mother “died when I was 16, and my dad lost his job not long after that.” House Speaker John Boehner’s family owned a bar. “I worked there growing up, mopping floors, waiting tables.”

The last time I saw this much suffering in one place was when I visited Nashville’s Country Music Hall of Fame.

Part of the reason pols do this, of course, is to make clear that, though they hold lofty and powerful positions, they really can identify with the rest of us. In addition, there is the “isn’t this a great country” narrative that Republicans and Democrats alike feel compelled to mouth. If even nobodies such as them have been able to claw their ways up so that they could eventually appear before throngs of slightly inebriated conventioneers, then so too can you!

All of which makes me worry. How about the rest of us — a majority, I think — who grew up in normal homes with no remarkable privations? Without some authentic experience of misery, is a career in politics now foreclosed?

I imagine a conversation with one of my daughters. “Might you run for office someday?”

“Maybe.”

“OK. You’re cut off.” She starts to protest and I interrupt. “It’s for your own good.”

“But I won’t be able to pay my rent or buy food. I’ll be out on the street and starving.”

Yes!!

On the other hand, WWJD?

Jack Kennedy, that is. Kennedy ran before it became an apparent requirement to have a sob story to achieve electoral success. He was wealthy because his father was wealthy and no one would have bought into any fake tales of economic hardship. In today’s world, could he even have gotten elected? Or perhaps instead, he simply would have stood up in front of the crowds, acknowledged he was rich, and told them to get over it.

This column originally appeared on the Boston Sunday Globe's op-ed page on September 9, 2012.

Innovation Hatched at Harvard

Merrill Lutsky and Erik Schluntz, both 19, start their sophomore years at Harvard this Tuesday. There’s the usual stuff — moving into dorms, registering for classes, seeing friends absent for the summer and, oh yes, running their business.

Lutsky is chief executive officer and Schluntz is chief financial officer (at their age, my title was “paperboy”) of a company they created, PollVaultr. It’s the real deal, not a lemonade stand for late teens but an ambitious effort to transform the way that businesses interact with their customers. PollVaultr has already received $60,000 in start-up financing and is now looking for another round.

And it started as freshman year class project.

The idea grew out of an observation: customer surveys are long, tedious affairs. As a result, few are answered and because of that they don’t tell businesses much. The insight Lutsky and Schluntz had was much the same one Larry Page and Sergey Brin had when they created Google: Make it simple and easy.

And so it is. With PollVaultr, customers take the survey as they check out, rather than answering it later online. The survey contains only four questions, cleanly laid out on a touchscreen. Answering takes 15 seconds and five touches of the screen (one being the “submit” button). It’s fun to do and, because it’s anonymous, no one feels it’s a mere subterfuge to collect personal data (unlike, say, Facebook). The four questions in turn are drawn from a larger pool of questions, and, since participation rates are high, the results start to become statistically meaningful. It’s already up and operating in 13 locations around Cambridge (including the MIT Coop and BerryLine yogurt stores), and plans are to test it in 50 Subway shop locations this fall. One can see PollVaultr catching on everywhere. Riches await!

Or, as with most start-ups, perhaps not. What’s remarkable about PollVaultr is not the idea itself (although I think it a good one), but the circumstances that gave rise to it.

Certainly other college kids have created their own businesses, including Microsoft’s Bill Gates, Google’s founders, and Facebook’s Mark Zuckerberg. In one sense, Lutsky and Schluntz are their progeny. But things are different this time around. Where Zuckerberg left Harvard to pursue his dream, Lutsky and Schluntz follow theirs with its help.

Lutsky and Schluntz came up with their idea at a computer science class. They then participated in a Harvard competition called the Innovation Challenge (or I3, for “imagine — invent — impact”). Now in its fifth year, I3 pairs up students who mentor each other to develop their thoughts into something more tangible. Last school year, 78 teams of students participated; 25 made it to the semifinals, and six — including PollVaultr — received awards. From there, the two set up shop at the Harvard Innovation Labs, a 30,000-square-foot university-sponsored facility that is part incubator and part tutorial. “We try to help students apply the ideas they are learning in the classroom,” says its director, Gordon Jones. And it’s not only PollVaultr; the Innovation Labs houses around 160 student startups. Meanwhile, Lutsky and Schluntz are thinking they may take off spring semester to further grow their business. Far from earning them a disapproving lecture from a dean, that plan is being encouraged.

As it should be. Perhaps our most creative periods as humans occur as young adults. That’s when we have just enough knowledge to understand what’s going on, but not too much experience to fear making a change.

“On the other hand, Ray Kroc was 52 when he first started building McDonalds, so perhaps the real point is — whatever one’s age — that the circumstances that give rise to invention require a culture that encourages creativity and risk-taking. This seems to be something both political parties — embroiled in a foolish debate over “I built this business” — misunderstand. Decent infrastructure (good roads and the like) is, of course, a necessary prerequisite for a healthy economy. On the other hand, the country with the best roads in the world (Germany, or perhaps Japan) doesn’t have the greatest innovation. In thinking about how to foster a dynamic, entrepreneurial economy, Republicans and Democrats could both learn from the experiences of some young Harvard students.

This column originally appeared on the Boston Sunday Globe's op-ed page on September 2, 2012.