In the 1979 film Norma Rae, Sally Field plays a textile worker who struggles to unionize her mill against substantial odds. (Flickr/ Shavawn Marie)
At the present moment of Democratic ascendancy and bitter economic tidings, one might expect organized labor to be riding higher in power and esteem than it has in many decades. But fair political winds, rising unemployment, and populist rage have yet to coalesce into action that levels the tilted playing field between corporations and unions. The most popular explanation is that unions don't pack the political punch they once did, and the numbers don't lie. Back in 1975, about 22.2 million Americans belonged to a union. More than three decades later, the number has tumbled to 15.6 million.
Bosnia-Herzegovina spent much of the 1990s at the top of the world's newscasts, as a savage three-sided war between Serbs, Croats, and Bosniak Muslims ravaged the country.
But over the last 12 years, the good news in Bosnia is that there has been almost nothing newsworthy. The 1996 Dayton Peace Agreement that ended the conflict has lasted more than a decade and withstood some perilous moments that had the potential to spark new violence -- including the NATO bombing of Serbia in 1999 and a declaration of independence by Kosovo in 2008.
In the offices of arts and theater administrators, acclaimed monologist Mike Daisey is not a popular man these days. His latest performance piece, How Theater Failed America, is a sharp poke in the eye to the current theater establishment -- questioning its priorities and critiquing the insidious influence of naked corporatization on U.S. theater.
Speaking at a simple desk under the lights, Daisey wipes away buckets of sweat as he argues that the regional stages in most American cities have become "machines that make theater." The need to recoup huge capital outlays for impressive -- even gaudy -- new buildings compel artistic directors to flee from innovative works into the cozy embrace of "risk averse" and "bullet proof" programming.
Historians in the Czech Republic recently made a discovery that has rocked the literary world: Renowned author Milan Kundera, at the age of 20, went to the Czechoslovak secret police and denounced a man who was spying for Western intelligence services.
The incident easily could have been the germ of a Kundera novel. The spy, Miroslav Dvoracek, asked a woman to keep a suitcase for him on a day in mid-March, 1950. She told another friend about it. That friend told Kundera, who apparently went straight to the secret police. They dutifully wrote it up (as secret police are wont to do) and then arrested Dvoracek, who escaped the death penalty but spent almost 14 years in some of the toughest prisons and camps in communist Czechoslovakia.