Elon Musk is speaking to investors who could partner with him on a bid for Twitter, sources close to the matter told The Post.
A new plan that includes partners could be announced within days, those sources said.
One possibility, the sources said: teaming with private-equity firm Silver Lake Partners, which was planning to co-invest with him in 2018 when he was considering taking Tesla private.
Silver Lake’s Co-CEO Egon Durban is a Twitter board member and led Musk’s deal team during the 2018 failed effort to take Tesla private, sources said. Silver Lake declined to comment.
Whether Musk would present Twitter with an entirely new offer — perhaps raising his current bid — or whether new partners would simply go in on a purchase with him isn’t clear. A Musk spokesperson declined to comment.
But that pill may not stop other entities or people from acquiring their own shares of up to 15% of the company. Those owners could partner with Musk to force a sale, make changes in the executive ranks or push for other overhauls of the company.
Twitter hasn’t yet filed its shareholder rights plan with the SEC, though it announced the poison pill in a statement. The SEC filing will give more details on whether it prevents like-minded investors from teaming to buy a greater than 15% stake.
“This is not over,” a source close to the situation said.
Musk has announced he presently owns 9.1% of Twitter. He offered Thursday to buy Twitter for $54.20 a share. Shares last traded at $45.08 each, as there is skepticism that he will succeed with his current take-it-or-leave-it proposal.
Saudi Arabian investor Prince Alwaleed bin Talal said on Thursday that, as one of the major shareholders in Twitter, he rejected the proposed takeover bid.
Meanwhile, Twitter may have options besides just saying no.
Private-equity firm Thoma Bravo told Twitter it is studying the possibility of making a rival offer for the company, Bloomberg and Reuters reported on Friday, citing sources familiar. This comes after The Post reported exclusively Thursday that Thoma Bravo was considering a Twitter bid.
Today in 1969, MC5 demonstrated how not to protest a department store’s failure to sell your albums: Take out an Ann Arbor newspaper ad that says “F— Hudsons” (without the dashes).
Not only did Hudsons not change its mind, Elektra Records dropped MC5.
Detective Kenneth Hutchinson of a California police department had the number one single today in 1977:
Most have now heard of Elon Musk’s offer to buy Twitter, and a lot of people in the liberal media are freaking out that he would (gasp) restore free speech on the platform, which confirms that its current purpose is to suppress and censor information it does not want you to know.
It is worth knowing who owns Twitter and who it is that determines who and what can be heard, who it is that determines what is “disinformation” that dare not be uttered in the public square.
Twitter is not a bunch of tech hippies in Silicon Valley serving your best interests – it is the richest and most powerful Wall Street oligarchs deciding what you can know.
To wit:
Twitter is how the mainstream media, corporations, politicians, and governments communicate with the general public – less than one million tune in to CNN, but tens of millions see their tweets on smartphones
It seems odd that our most important national conversations are limited to 280 characters, but that is why I don’t tweet.
In 2020, Twitter cancelled thousands of voices that its owners did not want us to hear – it suppressed information that contradicted media narratives on covid, the riots in our cities, political campaigns, and the elections themselves.
Twitter’s most blatant act of partisan activism occurred in October, when it shut down the New York Post account and prohibited any discussions of the Hunter Biden laptop unless they concurred it was Russian disinformation.
When the media later admitted the authenticity of the laptop and its contents, a survey of Biden voters (half of whom had not heard of it) showed that 15% of them would have voted differently had they known it was real. Mission accomplished.
Its stock price rose from $25 in February of 2020 to $75 in February of 2021– censorship was very profitable for Twitter’s Wall Street owners, and they lobbied the administration they installed to make their truth-arbiter status a permanent fixture of the regulatory state.
Since then, facts have escaped its firewall through alternative media and its central narrative themes of 2020 were discredited; Twitter stock fell to $34 in February of 2022. Free speech is bad for business on Wall Street.
Facebook followed Twitter’s censorship lead (or vice versa, who knows?) in 2020, and its stock price surged from $156 to $376 and it too lobbied its new administration for regulations that would secure its truth-arbiter status.
Zuckerberg took things a step farther – in addition to silencing undesirable (to him) views, he invested half a billion dollars into the private management of 2020 voting itself through his 503c foundation the Center for Tech and Civic Life.
The distribution of CTCL funds was finally disclosed in 2021 in its IRS Form 900 filing, and its allocations to states and cities debunks its claim of noble neutrality.
Georgia and North Carolina are two southern states of similar population and demographic make-up. Zuckerberg “invested” $7 million in NC and $45 million in Georgia – $9 per vote cast. Mission accomplished.
As 18 states began looking into the propriety and legality of Zuckerberg’s drop-boxes and ballot harvesting operations, alienated subscribers left FB and the stock price tumbled to under $200 in February of this year. Transparency is also bad for business on Wall Street.
Elon Musk is not known to be a partisan one way or another; his only statement on the matter in recent years is, “I am not a conservative” and he is registered as an independent. Presidential job approval among independents has dropped 49 pts in the last year and is currently 26% and leaking oil.
The blue-check media’s talking points this week are quite remarkable – free speech and transparency are existential threats to democracy, they tell us. Musk must be stopped, they feverishly plead.
We should be mindful of who “they” are – the six giant corporations who own 90% of the media outlets, the Wall Street oligarchs who own Twitter and Facebook, and the office holders who dutifully read their scripts
If that is what democracy has come to, then bring on the free speech and transparency that threaten it – that would be a good thing. The owners of Twitter will probably not sell it to Musk, but major acquisitions take all sorts of twists and turns so time will tell.
I do know, however, what other media figures think Musk’s influence on Twitter will be. They think it will be bad — very bad, bad! How none of them see what a self-own this is is beyond me. After spending the last six years practically turgid with joy as other unaccountable billionaires tweaked the speech landscape in their favor, they’re suddenly howling over the mere rumor that a less censorious fat cat might get to sit in one of the big chairs. O the inhumanity!
A few of the more prominent Musk critics are claiming merely to be upset at the prospect of wealthy individuals controlling speech. As more than one person has pointed out, this is a bizarre thing to be worrying about all of the sudden, since it’s been the absolute reality in America for a while. …
Probably the funniest effort along those lines was this passage:
We need regulation… to prevent rich people from controlling our channels of communication.
That was Ellen Pao, former CEO of Reddit, railing against Musk in the pages of… the Washington Post! A newspaper owned by Jeff Bezos complaining about rich people controlling “channels of communication” just might be the never-released punchline of Monty Python’s classic “Funniest Joke in the World” skit.
Many detractors went the Pao route, suddenly getting religion about concentrated wealth having control over the public discourse. In a world that had not yet gone completely nuts, that is probably where the outrage campaign would have ended, since the oligarchical control issue could at least be a legitimate one, if printed in a newspaper not owned by Jeff Bezos.
However, they didn’t stop there. Media figures everywhere are openly complaining that they dislike the Musk move because they’re terrified he will censor people less. Bullet-headed neoconservative fussbudget Max Boot was among the most emphatic in expressing his fear of a less-censored world:
I am frightened by the impact on society and politics if Elon Musk acquires Twitter. He seems to believe that on social media anything goes. For democracy to survive, we need more content moderation, not less.
In every newsroom I’ve ever been around, there’s always one sad hack who’s hated by other reporters but hangs on to a job because he whispers things to management and is good at writing pro-war editorials or fawning profiles of Ari Fleischer or Idi Amin or other such distasteful media tasks. Even thatperson would never have been willing to publicly say something as gross as, “For democracy to survive, it needs more censorship”! A professional journalist who opposed free speech was not long ago considered a logical impossibility, because the whole idea of a free press depended upon the absolute right to be an unpopular pain in the ass.
Things are different now, of course, because the bulk of journalists no longer see themselves as outsiders who challenge official pieties, but rather as people who live inside the rope-lines and defend those pieties. I’m guessing this latest news is arousing special horror because the current version of Twitter is the professional journalist’s idea of Utopia: a place where Donald Trump doesn’t exist, everyone with unorthodox thoughts is warning-labeled (“age-restricted” content seems to be a popular recent scam), and the Current Thing is constantly hyped to the moronic max. The site used to be fun, funny, and a great tool for exchanging information. Now it feels like what the world would be if the eight most vile people in Brooklyn were put in charge of all human life, a giant, hyper-pretentious Thought-Starbucks.
My blue-checked friends in media worked very hard to create this thriving intellectual paradise, so of course they’re devastated to imagine that a single rich person could even try to walk in and upend the project. Couldn’t Musk just leave Twitter in the hands of responsible, speech-protecting shareholders like Saudi Prince Alwaleed bin Talal? …
Even though it hasn’t happened yet, why wait to start comparing Musk’s Twitter takeover to the Fourth Reich? Journalism professor Jeff Jarvis of CUNY certainly thinks it isn’t too soon:
Today on Twitter feels like the last evening in a Berlin nightclub at the twilight of Weimar Germany.
The most incredible reaction in my mind came not from a journalist per se, but former labor secretary Robert Reich. His Guardian piece, “Elon Musk’s vision for the internet is dangerous nonsense,” is a marvel of pretzel-logic, an example of what can happen to a smart person who thinks he’s in Plato’s cave when he’s actually up his own backside. The opening reads:
The Russian people know little about Putin’s war on Ukraine because Putin has blocked their access to the truth, substituting propaganda and lies.
Years ago, pundits assumed the internet would open a new era of democracy, giving everyone access to the truth. But dictators like Putin and demagogues like Trump have demonstrated how naive that assumption was.
Reich goes on to argue… well, he doesn’t actually argue, he just makes a series of statements that don’t logically follow one another, before dismounting into a remarkable conclusion:
Musk says he wants to “free” the internet. But what he really aims to do is make it even less accountable than it is now… dominated by the richest and most powerful people in the world, who wouldn’t be accountable to anyone for facts, truth, science or the common good.
That’s Musk’s dream. And Trump’s. And Putin’s. And the dream of every dictator, strongman, demagogue and modern-day robber baron on Earth. For the rest of us, it would be a brave new nightmare.
Reich starts by talking about how Vladimir Putin is cracking down using overt censorship, progresses to talking about how making the Internet less “accountable” is bad, then ends by saying Musk is like Putin, and Trump, and every evildoer on earth, again before Musk has even done anything at all. He may be trying to say that Musk could use algorithms to silently push reality in the direction he favors, but this is the exact opposite of Vladimir Putin passing laws outlawing certain kinds of speech. Any attempt to argue that dictators are also speech libertarians is automatically ridiculous.
More to the point, where has all this outrage about private control over speech been previously? I don’t remember people like Reich and Jarvis, or Parker Molloy, or Scott Dworkin, or Timothy O’Brien at Bloomberg (“Elon Musk’s Twitter Investment Could Be Bad News for Free Speech”), bemoaning the vast power over speech held by people like Sergei Brin, Larry Page, or even Jack Dorsey once upon a time. That’s because the Bluenoses in media and a handful of hand-wringers on the Hill successfully paper-trained all those other Silicon Valley heavyweights, convincing them to join on with their great speech-squelching project.
It’s become increasingly clear over the last six years that these people want it both ways. They don’t want to break up the surveillance capitalism model, or come up with a transparent, consistent, legalistic, fair framework for dealing with troublesome online speech. No, they actually want tech companies to remain giant black-box monopolies with opaque moderation systems, so they can direct the speech-policing power of those companies to desired political ends.
When someone like Reich says, “Billionaires like Musk have shown time and again they consider themselves above the law. And to a large extent, they are,” he’s talking about an authoritarian framework that already exists in the speech world, just with different billionaires at the helm. What’s got him cheesed off isn’t the concept of privatized civil liberties — we’re already there — but the idea that one particular billionaire might not be on board with the kinds of arbitrary corporate decisions Reich likes, like removing Trump (“necessary to protect American democracy,” he says).
When I first started to cover the content-moderation phenomenon back in 2018, I was repeatedly told by colleagues that I was worrying over trivialities, that there couldn’t possibly be any negative fallout to coordinated backroom deals to de-platform the likes of Alex Jones, or to the Senate demanding Facebook, Twitter, and Google start zapping more “Russian disinformation” accounts. Even when I pointed out that it wasn’t just right-wingers and Russians vanishing, but also Palestinian activists and police brutality sites and a growing number of small independent news outlets, most of my colleagues didn’t care. Because they were so sure they’d never be targeted, the credentialed media were mostly all for the most aggressive possible conception of “content moderation.”
It was beyond obvious that self-described progressives would eventually regret hounding people like Mark Zuckerberg to start getting into the editorial business, and that pushing Silicon Valley to take a bigger interest in controlling speech was flirting with disaster. Of course they would someday wake up to find these companies owned by people less sympathetic to their niche political snobbery, and be horrified, and wish they’d never urged virtually unregulated tech oligopolies to start meddling in the speech soup.
Now, here we are. To all those people who are flipping out and shuddering over the possibilities (CNBC: “If he owns the whole place…? The Orange man is probably going to be back!”), remember that you didn’t mind when other unaccountable tycoons started down this road. You cheered it on, in fact, and backlash from someone with different political opinions and real money was 100% predictable. This is the system you asked for. Buy the ticket, take the ride, you goofs!
I read a Facebook comment (which now I can’t find) that said he didn’t care what Musk’s politics are or how he would run Twitter if his bid is successful; the reaction from lefties was worth it. Collateral damage or creative destruction, if you will. That’s how I feel.
The New York Times has re-discovered the religious right. In a front-page story, we learn the awful truth that there is a “right-wing political movement powered by divine purpose, whose adherents find spiritual sustenance in political action.” They sing hymns; they pray; they burn candles. They import “their worship of God, with all its intensity, emotion and ambitions, to their political life.” Quite a few support Trump and also protest “against Covid restrictions,” among other unspeakable acts.
Once, long ago, I ventured into this dark territory, not armored by the shield of New York Times-style contempt for the deplorables, but like Marlowe heading up river into the Heart of Darkness. It was a hard-won lesson.
In February 1949, a forty-year-old farmwife in rural Wisconsin had a vision of the Virgin Mary appearing in her bedroom. Mrs. Mary Ann Van Hoof kept this secret for a while, but Mary reappeared to her in her garden in May, and then starting making more frequent visits. Word got around, crowds gathered, and on August 15, 1950, some 100,000 people made their way to the Van Hoof farm near Necedah (Na-SEE-dah), Wisconsin.
Mrs. Van Hoof, the daughter of a spiritualist seer, had rocky relations with the local Catholic Church and the Diocese of La Crosse, but she was tenacious. Defying an official ban, she presented herself as a faithful Catholic and turned her farm into a shrine, the “Queen of the Holy Rosary, Mediatrix of Peace Shrine.” The shrine in turn became a place for pilgrimages, especially on “anniversary days” of Mary Ann’s original six Marian visitations. Some of the pilgrims stayed and eventually grew into a local presence of many hundreds of “Shrine people.”
I know about this because in the late 1970s I spent nearly a year among the Shrine people doing field research for my anthropology dissertation, Quoting Heaven. It was a heavy lift — nearly a thousand pages of trying to make sense of a tormented and fractious community in conflict with its neighbors, itself and, as they saw, the whole wide world.
Necedah, as it happens, lies about one hundred miles west of Appleton, Wisconsin, which was Senator Joe McCarthy’s hometown, and the region between was McCarthy’s turf. On February 9, 1950, McCarthy gave his famous speech to the Republican Women’s Club of Wheeling, West Virginia, in which he asserted, “The State Department is infested with communists. I have here in my hand a list of 205 — a list of names that were made known to the secretary of state as being members of the Communist Party and who nevertheless are still working and shaping policy in the State Department.” Or something like that. There was no recording or transcript.
McCarthy, who was Catholic, had hit a rich vein. Populist Catholic anti-communism was an emerging force in American life. I never saw any direct evidence of a link between Mary Ann Van Hoof and Joe McCarthy. But after his death in 1957 and his interment in Appleton — attended by Robert F. Kennedy — Joe began to make spectral visits to Mary Ann, as one of the figures she called the Celestials.
Bobby Kennedy was a staffer on McCarthy’s committee. Really.
This made a good deal of sense. The Blessed Virgin Mary had sent numerous urgent messages through Mary Ann about the dangers of communist infiltration of the American government. A key principle of good communication is redundancy. Sending the same or very similar messages through Mary Ann and Joe improved the chances that Americans would listen.
I confess that I never found either of these figures admirable. Despite some recent efforts to rehabilitate McCarthy’s reputation, he remains in the eyes of most Americans a grandstanding bully who often just made things up. I realize that in the age of the 1619 Project, those are not necessarily disqualifications. But in McCarthy’s case, they were character flaws not redeemed by devotion to the cause of social justice. When it comes to Mrs. Van Hoof, she came across to me as devious, manipulative, ignorant and heedless of the harm she frequently inflicted on her followers. But apart from that, a breath of fresh air.
Some of Mary Ann’s Messages and Revelations, gathered in two thick volumes by the late 1970s, put her either beyond the fringe or way ahead of her time. Her worries over Soviet infiltration of the US government have long since been substantiated by scholars such as John Earl Haynes and Harvey Klehr, who decrypted the Verona files; Allen Weinstein who unpacked the KGB’s WWII-era penetration of the US; and M. Stanton Evans, who further tracked down Stalin’s Secret Agents. Her warnings that urban blacks would tear loose in city and town-destroying riots came some 60 years before the death of George Floyd in police custody in Minneapolis set off exactly those conflagrations.
Even her predictions that we would be visited by beings from beyond the earth who would arrive in flying saucers is gaining traction from no less than the director of national intelligence, albeit we are now instructed to call them Unidentified Aerial Phenomena, UAPs, rather than UFOs. Mary Ann’s dire warnings that the Catholic Church would fall into the hands of the “enemy,” I leave for others to evaluate. But her general assessment of American society as sinking into a combination of moral license and authoritarian rule is looking better by the day.
It was a test of my anthropological sangfroid to devote years of my life to a serious examination of beliefs that I found preposterous. It would have been one thing had I followed through on my original plan to go to highland New Guinea, where it would be relatively easy to accommodate local beliefs that had never confronted Western rational thought. But the Shrine people were mostly college-educated Midwesterners, many of them from professional backgrounds. They could carry on extended conversations at least as well as the average East Coast secular humanist. Yet they were willing to attest to the presence of witches in their community; they claimed personal experience with miraculous events; and they invested profound moral authority in Mrs. Van Hoof, who seemed to me to have the IQ of a tree stump.
One thing that caught my attention was the fluidity of the community. Apart from a few stalwarts, Shrine people came and went, and when I interviewed those on their way out, they were plain in their assessment that Mary Ann was a fraud. Most stayed about three years, but there was continuous turnover as pilgrims transformed into the next cohort of Shrine people. I discovered that ardent belief sat side by side with ardent doubt. Professing the utmost credence in the Shrine was never without an undercoat of skepticism. But for a while, people were ready to suppress the skepticism in their pursuit of some deeper meaning.
And the center of that deeper meaning was disenchantment with American life. They were unhappy with their churches, the schools their children attended, the laws the government imposed on them and the careers they had forged. Necedah was a way out — but only temporarily. Most of them would re-engage after sojourning on what Shrine people called “The Island.”
That term deserves an explanation. The Shrine was not on an island, but in a scrub forest between the Wisconsin River and a minor tributary, the Yellow River. The Virgin Mary, however, had promised to put a dome of protection over this land when the Great Chastisement — a nuclear war — would be unleashed. When that happened, the inhabitants of the Island, Shrine people, would be the only survivors. Even before the Great Chastisement, leaving the Island was perilous. The ordinary world of village America, represented by the town of Necedah on the other side of the Yellow River, would be, alas, left to its fate.
Long ago I declined a couple of opportunities to turn my account of the Shrine people into a book, and I’ve seldom referred to them in writing. I fear it would be too easy or too tempting to reduce them to caricatures. They believed silly things; they sacrificed years of their lives and those of their families for an unworthy cause. Generally, I didn’t like them, though I forged some friendships which it would have been hard not to betray in telling the story.
The Shrine community had hidden dissenters, and even satellite counter-shrines. Rumors told of disaffected members killed in “hunting accidents.” I was able to watch an actual trial in which an older woman was convicted of witchcraft and thereupon ostracized in a community she could not leave. I mention it now because I assume almost everyone involved is long gone, through the Shrine itself still exists and has its own website. I haven’t been back in more than forty years.
The New York Times allows that “the Christian right has been intertwined with American conservatism for decades.” What’s different now, say reporters Elizabeth Dias and Ruth Graham, is that worship once “largely reserved for church” has moved into political life. That doesn’t fit with what I saw. The Shrine people, exiled from the Catholic Church, formed a separate entity under the interesting rubric “For My God and My Country, Incorporated.” What was “incorporated” was not just a state-recognized non-profit, but a sense of the unity of religion and civic life.
I argued back in the day that offbeat religious movements could be seen as leading indicators of important social changes. In effect, they explored the latent possibilities in American democracy and a free society, putting things together in unorthodox ways. But that willingness to venture outside the lines is, in fact, one of the perennial features of our national life, going all the way back to the Pilgrims’ and the Puritans’ “errand in the wilderness.” Usually these ventures, however they started — Mormons, Seventh Day Adventists, California communes — either become mainstream or send their participants onward to a more settled life elsewhere.
The New York Times’s report focuses mainly on an event in a Phoenix parking lot, but brings in other examples from Michigan, San Diego and Canton, Ohio. The point is that this “re-awakening” is not a local phenomenon, but a national movement. It will not, like the Shrine people, be sheltering in place on “The Island.” It means to send its message out, rather than prompt people to pilgrimage in.
So perhaps in that sense the New York Times is on to something. In a very Times-like way, however, the writers worry about “media-savvy opportunists and those touting disinformation” that are participating in this movement. “Disinformation,” of course, means any political opinion the Times disagrees with, and disinformation joins hands and sings “Waymaker” and other hymns with “conspiracy theories.”
In other words, the Times has spied the arrival of a new form of activism which dangerously combines belief in God with a sense among citizens of “authority over government.” I’d say that combination is as old as America. And while it can sometimes take strange turns, such as a detour into the scrublands of central Wisconsin, it generally turns out pretty well for us.
A former boss of mine was a huge fan of the Rolling Stones. His wife was a huge fan of the Beatles. The two bands crossed paths today in 1963 at the Crawdaddy Club in Richmond, England.
The number one British single today in 1966:
Today in 1971, the Illinois Crime Commission released its list of “drug-oriented records” …
You’d think given the culture of corruption in Illinois that the commission would have better and more local priorities. On the other hand, the commission probably was made up of third and fourth cousins twice removed of Richard Daley and other Flatland politicians, so, whatever, man.