I was on a road trip with my parents touring potential colleges when news broke on NPR that O.J. Simpson’s wife, Nicole Brown Simpson, and waiter Ron Goldman had been found dead from multiple stab wounds outside Nicole’s home in Brentwood, California. Five days later, O.J. Simpson, who died last week at age 76, was arrested and charged with the murders.
It was weird being a new journalism student at a time when such an infamous trial was unfolding, along with nonstop news coverage — still a relatively new thing at that point. Then there was the endless lampooning taking place on late-night talk shows (anyone remember David Letterman’s group of men dressed up as judge Lance Ito, performing dance routines under the name, “The Dancing Itos?”) and sketch comedy shows like “Saturday Night Live” (Norm MacDonald’s barrage of O.J. jokes on the Weekend Update segment of the show eventually got him fired).
The case also introduced us to D-list celebrities like Kato Kaelin. I can’t help but think the O.J. trial helped create, or at least further open, the career path of being kind of famous for nothing other than being kind of famous.
The trial started in November of my freshman year, and ended in October of my sophomore year. Eleven months is a loooong time, especially when you’re 18/19. I was carrying a lunch tray through my dorm’s cafeteria when the “not guilty” verdict was announced over radio coverage that was piped through the cafeteria sound system (the mere fact that someone had decided to put that on instead of blaring 1990s grunge spoke to the weight of the moment). I stood there, holding my tray, as the verdict was read, then shook my head, and went to sit down to eat.
That Saturday, MacDonald began Weekend Update with the line, “Well, it’s official, murder is now legal in the state of California.”
Fellow SNL cast member Chris Rock, playing his character Nat X, had perhaps the best observation about the whole thing when he quipped, “Black people are too happy and white people are too mad,” then saying he had yet to receive “my O.J. Prize” in his mailbox.
When we discussed the trial in my journalism courses, most of us agreed that this wasn’t about race but domestic violence and celebrity, or even one’s social class. Simpson was a famous athlete, actor and TV football analyst. If he were just another guy, he wouldn’t have the means to hire the legal “dream team” that turned the whole thing into enough of a circus for “beyond a reasonable doubt” to get very blurry.
On top of that, Simpson had rarely identified with Black cultural causes the way other Black men and women who had attained such a platform did. In fact, he had actively avoided it. As rapper Jay-Z would famously put it much later, “I’m not Black, I’m O.J.”
But, even in the 1990s, perception had a way of overcoming reality. Simpson’s legal team made the trial about race, assisted by the fact that, in many cases, Black defendants are treated unfairly by the criminal justice system (and further aided by the Los Angeles Police Department’s history of racism and police brutality).
Simpson’s acquittal kept him free, but appearing as an accused killer in the news every day for nearly a year had forever ruined his life. Unable to go back to a Hollywood movie set or an NFL sideline, he participated in weird, hidden-camera prank videos (attempting to sell his infamous white Ford Bronco in one such situation) and other publicity stunts.
Then, he decided to participate in an armed robbery to get some of his sports memorabilia back, and went to jail for 11 years. Ultimately, he was felled by prostate cancer.
O.J. Simpson’s trial was a precursor to what we see today in every arena of public attention and discourse, only it happens much faster now. Sides are taken on everything, and lives can be propelled to great heights one moment and ruined within 24 hours. Perception often serves in place of reality, and we rarely have the time or inclination to really look at something with the attention it deserves, while giving undue attention to much less important things.
One thing I’m certain of is that, had the slayings of Nicole Brown Simpson and Ron Goldman occurred today, the whole thing would’ve been captured on a door bell camera or some other surveillance system, and it probably wouldn’t take 11 months to determine what was what. But I’m equally certain that people would be just as divided, if not more so, and probably not along racial lines, but political differences.
Ben Fields is the opinion editor. He can be reached at ben.fields @hdmediallc.com
To millions of Americans who gulp down daily spoonfuls of yogurt, the dairy product’s health benefits are a no-brainer. Until now, though, yogurt manufacturers have been unable to make even basic claims about the healthfulness of their products.
On March 1, the Food and Drug Administration finally announced that food makers can make a “qualified” (i.e., limited) claim that regularly eating yogurt can reduce the risk of Type 2 diabetes. It took the agency five years to arrive at a conclusion that has been common sense for decades.
Unfortunately, this is not the first time the FDA has flubbed basic health messaging.
The agency needs to do better and give consumers the information they need to live a healthy lifestyle. It’s not rocket science that yogurt is a healthful food (in moderation) and may prevent chronic health issues. As University of Toronto nutritional scientist Thomas Wolever noted in 2017, “High yogurt intake is associated with a reduced risk of type 2 diabetes.”
A team of Japanese scientists analyzing the glucose metabolism of daily yogurt eaters in the journal Nutrients came to a similar conclusion the following year. A roundup of five randomized clinical trials in the United States, France, Spain, Iran and Canada found that yogurt keeps glucose levels at bay.
It’s become common knowledge that yogurt is a healthful food. Still, consumers have been left to browse peer-reviewed academic journals and health magazine advice columns for more information.
In 2018, Danone North America petitioned the FDA to end this madness and allow for marketing that yogurt may reduce the risk of Type 2 diabetes. The company — which manufactures major yogurt brands including Dannon, Activia, Wallaby Organic and Silk — submitted a thoroughly researched, 100-plus page petition backing up this qualified claim. The risk-averse FDA hemmed and hawed, insisting on more evidence.
The FDA finally got what it was looking for more than five years after Danone’s petition. Given the studies and meta-analyses that had already been published at the time of the petition, the FDA could have approved the messaging and reserved the right to change its mind if new, contradictory evidence came to light.
Consumers would have been in a better place to make informed decisions about their health. Too often, regulators value near-absolute certainty over pragmatism and flexibility.
This was not the FDA’s first foray into botched health messaging. In 2015, the agency sent a warning letter to the snack manufacturer KIND to cease marketing its products as healthful.
The agency argued that KIND’s Fruit & Nut and “Plus” Dark Chocolate bars are too high in saturated fat to be considered “healthy.” The FDA did not dispute KIND’s claims that its products are a significant source of fiber, protein and antioxidants, but neglected a holistic view to focus solely on fat content.
In 2016, the FDA partially reversed course and allowed KIND to market its products as “healthy and tasty,” but only in the context of its “corporate philosophy,” rather than any specific claim about their healthfulness.
These perplexing caveats only confuse consumers, rather than provide clarity on health claims.
Instead of endlessly hedging over health claims, the FDA should green-light messaging if a company can show basic, peer-reviewed evidence backing up its claims. The FDA can reverse course later, but only after firm evidence shows no or negative health benefits. Flexibility, rather than fear, is critical to helping consumers make informed choices about the foods they buy.
It is time for the FDA to end the culture of bad science.
David Williams is the president of the Taxpayers Protection Alliance. He wrote this for InsideSources.com.
In the latest round of nonstop TV ads between Republican West Virginia gubernatorial candidates Patrick Morrisey, Moore Capito and Chris Miller (candidate and Secretary of State Mac Warner seems to be sitting the whole thing out), the last of those three is trying to break out as a “businessman” candidate.
Miller, who runs the family business empire of auto dealerships, says this makes him like Donald Trump, and then goes on to assert that he, like Trump, is a political outsider.
That last claim is hilariously false. Miller is the son of Rep. Carol Miller, R-W.Va., who served in the state Legislature for several years before heading to D.C. Her father, Ralph Devine, served as a Republican congressman representing Ohio for more than 20 years. It doesn’t get much more “inside” than that. In a way, Miller’s entire run for governor seems like another attempt to inherit the family business.
Now, he’s hardly alone. Capito is the son of Sen. Shelley Moore Capito, R-W.Va., and the grandson of late West Virginia governor Arch Moore, who ended up going to prison after pleading guilty to felony corruption charges. Morrisey has been attorney general since 2012, and is wrapping up his third term — even though he vowed to serve only two. Warner comes from a political family, as well. These are all insiders.
So, brushing that aside, would West Virginia be well-served by someone who promises to run government like a business?
Well, Gov. Jim Justice, who touted his sense for business, has held the state’s highest office for eight years, and his businesses and finances appear to be collapsing. Justice’s net worth was once pegged at around $1.3 billion. At present, he’s buried beneath a mountain of debts, unpaid taxes, legal settlements, fines, fees and just about any other form of financial penalty one could name, totaling hundreds of millions of dollars at least.
His business sense has led to tax cuts for the wealthy that appear to be blowing holes in state revenue, and his absentee-governing style has compounded emergencies in education, health care and the foster care system, to name a few.
No wonder Miller skipped Justice and presented himself as a businessman “like Trump.” Although Trump’s multiple bankruptcies, business failures, cons and current slate of criminal charges don’t inspire confidence, either.
All of that aside, the problem with a “businessman” candidate is that government operations are not a business. Cutting costs in government usually means cutting services for people who need them or slashing departments so they can no longer adequately do their jobs, which typically end up being fairly vital.
Sure, there might be bloat, waste or inefficiencies. So far, few self-identified businessmen in positions of political power have been able to do much about it, instead running years of flat budgets that overwhelm and burn out employees and departments that are not paid well and short on resources.
It would be great if a “businessman” could improve government operation and raise revenue that could be invested back into the system so that vital departments could flourish. Too often, though, a promise to run government like a business is just words without meaning or understanding.