CURIOUSER AND CURIOUSER

Fans of the classic Victorian fairy tale, "Alice in Wonderland," will recognize the words in this blog title. They were spoken by Alice, the little girl who fell through the looking glass into a strange new world where nothing was as she had known it before.

Before the events in Iran began to unfold, Twitter was already something of a social phenomenon. Network news types, celebrities and politicians were giving out their twitter "handles" like free yardsticks at the state fair. Business types were racking their brains trying to figure out how to sell on Twitter without looking like they were trying to sell on Twitter. Analysts were trying to determine whether Twitter was just another high-tech fad, or a game-changing milestone in the 21st century world of online communication.

Others still may be struggling with that question, but for me it's a done deal. Twitter is a game-changer. The election-cum-revolution in Iran has proven it beyond the shadow of a doubt.

Last Saturday, I spent virtually the entire day on Twitter tracking events in Iran. Brave Iranian students were finding all kinds of ways to circumvent the blocks and controls imposed by their government in order to get messages out about what was happening on the streets of Tehran. Minute by minute, we read about which Tehran neighborhoods were safe and which were under government control. We knew where protesters were gathering, and what time they planned to meet. When key protest leaders didn't get home when they were supposed to, we knew about it. We saw cell-phone video of courageous kids marching peacefully for democracy, and the plainclothes thugs known as "baseeji" beating them until the blood ran.

The amazing thing about all of this is that virtually no first-hand news was available on the mainstream media. MSNBC has virtually no news programming on weekends (apparently they didn't get the memo about news being a 24/7 business). CNN and FOXNews, along with other world media, had been prohibited by the Iranian government from shooting video or reporting from the streets. Their hands were tied, and their correspondents were muzzled.

So CNN and FOX covered the drama on Twitter. They ran the grainy, terrifying video clips we were getting in Tweets from all over Iran. They quoted messages from people like @persiankiwi, @change_in_Iran, and @oxfordgirl. They read official statements from Moussavi's Facebook page, which became a primary source for "official" information about the protests.

Think about it. While the mainstream media were completely disabled, it was Twitter and Facebook that gave us front-row seats to a revolution.

Even more amazing, we weren't just observers. At the request of Iranian students, we turned our Twitter avatars green to show our support (see photo below right). Tweeps in the U.S. set up proxies (I've only a vague idea of what that means) to help protesters continue getting their messages out. We retweeted important messages "outing" government agents posing as students and posting misinformation. We spread the word about their courage and the brutality of their fundamentalist oppressors.

Lying on my couch on Saturday night in Woodbury, Minnesota, with a heating pad wrapped around my sore arm (my diagnosis: bursitis) and my Macbook in my lap, I felt as if I were part of the fundamental change sweeping through the streets of Iran. I remembered the seizure of the U.S. embassy in Tehran thirty years ago, and the anguish of watching 52 American citizens seized and held by Islamic revolutionaries for 444 days while our nation watched, helpless and frustrated.

When I recalled those events of the past, I realized that I had a stake in Iran's future. A whole new generation of Iranians was seeking to undo the mistakes of the past and replace theocracy with democracy. Even if we continue to disagree on key foreign policy issues, it would be great progress to see a more moderate Iran governed by people who see themselves as part of the world community. By supporting young Iranian freedom-fighters via Twitter and Facebook, thousands of Americans welcomed them into that world community.

Twitter asks the question, "What are you doing now?" Now we know what Twitter is doing--it's changing the world. Really. Literally. Changing the world. Wow.

LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION!

I traveled to rural Kansas recently to provide media training for a new client's key staffers.  As I loaded all my equipment into my suitcase, I remembered the first time I did a media training session about 15 years ago.  

We had a huge broadcast-quality Sony video camera that weighed at least 15 lbs; if I had tried to put it in my suitcase, there wouldn't have been enough room left to hold a toothbrush.  It came in its own heavy-duty carrying case. A second shoulder-strapped bag held spare batteries and sound equipment. A third tote, this one made of canvas, held the tripod, which was heavy enough that it took two hands to lift it.  

Video production is very different now.  My camera is so small that it fits comfortably in my hand.  I packed it, as well as the batteries and wireless mike equipment, in my carry-on. The tripod is light enough to carry under my arm and still handle my purse and briefcase.

Part of the training process is taping interviews, then playing them back so we can critique each performance.  No more messing with heavy TV monitors and long two-headed cables; now we just plug the camera into my Macbook Air and watch the interviews onscreen.  

In my journey from techno-dinosaur to social media whiz, video is the next milestone.  I have yet to dip my toe in YouTube waters, but I will--and soon, because in this high-tech world we live in, video is vital.  To paraphrase the Haines underwear commercial, "It ain't real until the video says it's real."

REMEMBERING NORMANDY

Today is the 65th anniversary of the Allied invasion of Normandy and the beginning of the end of World War II.  As I watch the commemorations on MSNBC, I recall my visit to Normandy in October, 1994, with my son Pat, who is, like me, a lover of history.  The beaches, the cliffs, the cemetery--as the cameras move from scene to scene, I remember the two of us there, moving from place to place in respectful silence, asking our questions in hushed voices to avoid disturbing the profound quiet of the spot.

The guide explains how the Allied armies set up to receive the liberating soldiers and their equipment as they landed.  Military engineers designed and built floating docks that would enable the troops to move vehicles and heavy equipment from the landing craft to the beach in the brutally stormy seas.  It was the latest technology in wartime logistical engineering.

Our tour group is full of D-Day veterans, many of whom are back in Normandy for the first time since June, 1944.  That was one of the things we had hoped for when we booked with a tour group instead of traveling on our own.  The vets, now mostly in their late sixties and early seventies, are a little reticent to share their stories at first, but after two or three days and evenings with us, they become more comfortable and begin to reminisce.  They don't go into detail, but give us a general sense of where they were, what they remember, how they felt.

We are deeply moved when we realize how vivid the memories are for these brave men. We watch the wives' eyes moisten as they listen. The women realize, as all women must when they marry veterans, how miraculous it is that the men they love are standing next to them instead of lying buried in the quiet peace of this memorial garden. They think of the husbands and fathers, brothers and sons who were lost in the name of freedom, and how their own lives were changed forever by those losses.

I look at my own son, who is 25 on this day in 1994, and feel profound gratitude that he has not been called to serve and die for his country. Pat's dad was a veteran of the Korean conflict, and active in the American Legion.  He gave our son a profound respect for those who serve, and a lifelong interest in America's proud military history.  

As I watch Pat interact with these D-Day veterans, standing among the thousands of white markers in the American cemetery at Omaha beach, I am deeply moved and filled with pride--pride in the selfless American boys who set the world free on that day, and pride in my son, whose heart and soul are so visibly touched by their sacrifice.