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Misinformation has always been a problem, but the combination of widespread social media as well as a loose definition of what can be seen as factual truth in recent times has lead to a veritable explosion in misinformation over the course of the past few years. The problem is so dire that in a lot of cases websites are made specifically because of the fact that this is the sort of thing that could potentially end up allowing misinformation to spread more easily, and this is a problem that might just have been addressed by a new machine learning tool.

This machine learning tool was developed by researchers at UCL, Berkeley and Cornell will be able to detect domain registration data and use this to ascertain whether the URL is legitimate or if it has been made specifically to legitimize a certain piece of information that people might be trying to spread around. A couple of other factors also come into play here. For example, if the identity of the person that registered the domain is private, this might be a sign that the site is not legitimate. The timing of the domain registration matters to. If it was done around the time a major news event broke out, such as the recent US presidential election, this is also a negative sign.

With all of that having been said and out of the way, it is important to note that this new machine learning tool has a pretty impressive success rate of about 92%, which is the proportion of fake domains it was able to discover. Being able to tell whether or not a news source is legitimate or whether it is direct propaganda is useful because of the fact that it can help reduce the likelihood that people might just end up taking the misinformation seriously.

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This New Machine Learning Tool Might Stop Misinformation - Digital Information World

More than anything campaign-related, it was news out of Hawaii that tempered my mood in Octobers waning days. My sister Maya called, saying the doctors didnt think Toot [Obamas grandmother] would last much longer, perhaps no more than a week. She was now confined to a rented hospital bed in the living room of her apartment, under the care of a hospice nurse and on palliative drugs. Although she had startled my sister with a sudden burst of lucidity the previous evening, asking for the latest campaign news along with a glass of wine and a cigarette, she was now slipping in and out of consciousness.

And so, 12 days before the election, I made a 36-hour trip to Honolulu to say goodbye. Maya was waiting for me when I arrived at Toots apartment; I saw that she had been sitting on the couch with a couple of shoeboxes of old photographs and letters. I thought you might want to take some back with you, she said. I picked up a few photos from the coffee table. My grandparents and my eight-year-old mother, laughing in a grassy field at Yosemite. Me at the age of four or five, riding on Grampss shoulders as waves splashed around us. The four of us with Maya, still a toddler, smiling in front of a Christmas tree.

Taking the chair beside the bed, I held my grandmothers hand in mine. Her body had wasted away and her breathing was labored. Every so often, shed be shaken by a violent, metallic cough that sounded like a grinding of gears. A few times, she murmured softly, although the words, if any, escaped me.

What dreams might she be having? I wondered if shed been able to look back and take stock, or whether shed consider that too much of an indulgence. I wanted to think that she did look back; that shed reveled in the memory of a long-ago lover or a perfect, sunlit day in her youth when shed experienced a bit of good fortune and the world had revealed itself to be big and full of promise.

I thought back to a conversation Id had with her when I was in high school, around the time that her chronic back problems began making it difficult for her to walk for long stretches.

The thing about getting old, Bar, Toot had told me, is that youre the same person inside. I remember her eyes studying me through her thick bifocals, as if to make sure I was paying attention. Youre trapped in this doggone contraption that starts falling apart. But its still you. You understand?

I did now.

For the next hour or so, I sat talking to Maya about her work and her family, all the while stroking Toots dry, bony hand. But eventually the room felt too crowded with memories colliding, merging, refracting, like images in a kaleidoscope and I told Maya I wanted to take a quick walk outside. After consulting with Gibbs [communications director Robert Gibbs] and my Secret Service detail, it was agreed that the press pool downstairs would not be informed, and I took the elevator to the basement level and went out through the garage, turning left down the narrow street that ran behind my grandparents apartment building.

The street had barely changed in 35 years. I passed the rear of a small Shinto temple and community center, then rows of wooden homes broken up by the occasional three-story concrete apartment building. I had bounced my first basketball a gift from my father when I was 10 years old down this street, dribbling the length of the uneven sidewalk on my way to and from the courts at the nearby elementary school. Toot used to say that she always knew when I was coming home for dinner because she could hear that darn ball bouncing from 10 stories up. I had run down this street to the supermarket to buy her cigarettes, motivated by her promise that I could buy a candy bar with the change if I was back in 10 minutes. Later, when I was 15, Id walk this same street home from a shift at my first job, scooping ice-cream at the Baskin-Robbins around the corner, Toot laughing heartily when I grumbled to her about my paltry paycheck.

Another time. Another life. Modest and without consequence to the rest of the world. But one that had given me love. Once Toot was gone, there would be no one left who remembered that life, or remembered me in it.

I heard a stampede of feet behind me; the press pool had somehow gotten wind of my unscheduled excursion and were gathering on the sidewalk across the street, cameramen jostling to set up their shots, reporters with microphones looking at me awkwardly, clearly conflicted about shouting a question. They were decent about it, really just doing their jobs, and anyway I had barely traveled four blocks. I gave the press a quick wave and turned around to go back to the garage. There was no point in going farther, I realized; what I was looking for was no longer there.

I left Hawaii and went back to work. Eight days later, on the eve of the election, Maya called to say Toot had died. It was my last day of campaigning. We were scheduled to be in North Carolina that evening, before flying to Virginia for our final event. Before heading to the venue, Axe [chief campaign strategist David Axelrod] asked me gently if I needed help writing a topper to my usual campaign remarks, to briefly acknowledge my grandmothers death. I thanked him and said no. I knew what I wanted to say.

It was a beautiful night, cool with a light rain. Standing on the outdoor stage, after the music and cheers and chants had died down, I spent a few minutes telling the crowd about Toot how shed grown up during the Depression and worked on an assembly line while Gramps was away in the war, what she had meant to our family, what she might mean to them.

She was one of those quiet heroes that we have all across America, I said. Theyre not famous. Their names arent in the newspapers. But each and every day they work hard. They look after their families. They sacrifice for their children and their grandchildren. They arent seeking the limelight all they try to do is just do the right thing.

And in this crowd, there are a lot of quiet heroes like that mothers and fathers, grandparents, who have worked hard and sacrificed all their lives. And the satisfaction that they get is seeing that their children and maybe their grandchildren or their great-grandchildren live a better life than they did.

Thats what Americas about. Thats what were fighting for.

It was as good a closing argument for the campaign as I felt that I could give.

***

If youre the candidate, Election Day brings a surprising stillness. There are no more rallies or town halls. TV and radio ads no longer matter; newscasts have nothing of substance to report. Campaign offices empty as staff and volunteers hit the streets to help turn out voters. Across the country millions of strangers step behind a black curtain to register their policy preferences and private instincts, as some mysterious collective alchemy determines the countrys fate and your own. The realization is obvious but also profound: its out of your hands now. Pretty much all you can do is wait.

Plouffe [campaign manager David Plouffe] and Axe were driven crazy by the helplessness, passing hours on their BlackBerrys scrounging for field reports, rumors, bad weather anything that might be taken as a data point. I took the opposite tack, giving myself over to uncertainty as one might lie back and float over a wave. I did start the morning by calling into a round of drive-time radio shows, mostly at Black stations, reminding people to get out and vote. Around 7.30, Michelle and I cast our votes at the Beulah Shoesmith elementary school, a few blocks from our home in Hyde Park, bringing Malia and Sasha with us and sending them on to school after that.

I then made a quick trip to Indianapolis to visit a field office and shake hands with voters. Later, I played basketball (a superstition Reggie [personal aide Reggie Love] and I had developed after we played the morning of the Iowa caucus but failed to play the day of the New Hampshire primary) with Michelles brother Craig, some old buddies and a handful of my friends sons who were fast and strong enough to keep us all working hard. It was a competitive game, filled with the usual good-natured trash talk, although I noticed an absence of hard fouls. This was per Craigs orders, I learned later, since he knew his sister would hold him accountable if I came home with a black eye.

Gibbs, meanwhile, was tracking news from the battleground states, reporting that turnout appeared to be shattering records across the country, creating problems in some polling places as voters waited four or five hours to cast their ballots. Broadcasts from the scenes, Gibbs said, showed people more jubilant than frustrated, with seniors in lawn chairs and volunteers passing out refreshments as if they were all at a neighborhood block party.

I spent the rest of the afternoon at home, puttering around uselessly while Michelle and the girls got their hair done. Alone in my study, I made a point of editing the drafts of both my victory and concession speeches. Around 8pm, Axe called to say that the networks had called Pennsylvania in our favor, and Marvin [trip director Marvin Nicholson] said we should start heading to the downtown hotel where wed be watching the returns before moving over to the public gathering at Grant Park.

Outside the front gate of our house, the number of Secret Service agents and vehicles seemed to have doubled over the past few hours. The head of my detail, Jeff Gilbert, shook my hand and pulled me into a brief embrace. It was unseasonably warm for Chicago at that time of year, almost in the mid-60s, and as we drove down Lake Shore Drive, Michelle and I were quiet, staring out the window at Lake Michigan, listening to the girls horsing around in the back seat. Suddenly Malia turned to me and asked, Daddy, did you win?

I think so, sweetie.

And were supposed to be going to the big party to celebrate?

Thats right. Why do you ask?

Well, it doesnt seem like that many people might be coming to the party, cause there are no cars on the road.

I laughed, realizing my daughter was right; save for our motorcade, the six lanes in both directions were completely empty.

Security had changed at the hotel as well, with armed Swat teams deployed in the stairwells. Our family and closest friends were already in the suite, everyone smiling, kids racing around the room, and yet the atmosphere was still strangely muted, as if the reality of what was about to happen hadnt yet settled in their minds. My mother-in-law, in particular, made no pretense of being relaxed; through the din, I noticed her sitting on the couch, her eyes fixed on the television, her expression one of disbelief. I tried to imagine what she must be thinking, having grown up just a few miles away during a time when there were still many Chicago neighborhoods that Blacks could not even safely enter; a time when office work was out of reach for most Blacks, and her father, unable to get a union card from white-controlled trade unions, had been forced to make do as an itinerant tradesman; a time when the thought of a Black US president would have seemed as far-fetched as a pig taking flight.

I took a seat next to her on the couch. You OK? I asked.

Marian shrugged and kept staring at the television. She said, This is kind of too much.

I know. I took her hand and squeezed it, the two of us sitting in companionable silence for a few minutes. Then suddenly a shot of my face flashed up on the TV screen and ABC News announced that I would be the 44th president of the United States.

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The room erupted. Shouts could be heard up and down the hall. Michelle and I kissed, and she pulled back gently to give me the once-over as she laughed and shook her head. Reggie and Marvin rushed in to give everyone big bear hugs. Soon Plouffe, Axe and Gibbs walked in, and I indulged them for several minutes as they rattled off state-by-state results before telling them what I knew to be true that as much as anything Id done, it was their skill, hard work, insight, tenacity, loyalty and heart, along with the commitment of the entire team, that had made this moment possible.

The rest of the night is mostly a blur to me now. I remember John McCains phone call, which was as gracious as his concession speech. He emphasized how proud America should be of the history that had been made and pledged to help me succeed. There were congratulatory calls from President Bush and several foreign leaders, and a conversation with Harry Reid and Nancy Pelosi, both of whose caucuses had had very good nights. I remember meeting Joe Bidens 91-year-old mother, who took pleasure in telling me how shed scolded Joe for even considering not being on the ticket.

More than 200,000 people had gathered in Grant Park that night, the stage facing Chicagos glittering skyline. I can see in my mind even now some of the faces looking up as I walked onstage, men and women and children of every race, some wealthy, some poor, some famous and some not, some smiling ecstatically, others openly weeping. Ive reread lines from my speech that night and heard accounts from staff and friends of what it felt like to be there.

But I worry that my memories of that night, like so much else thats happened these past 12 years, are shaded by the images that Ive seen, the footage of our family walking across the stage, the photographs of the crowds and lights and magnificent backdrops. As beautiful as they are, they dont always match the lived experience. In fact, my favorite photograph from that night isnt of Grant Park at all. Rather its one I received many years later as a gift, a photograph of the Lincoln Memorial, taken as I was giving my speech in Chicago. It shows a small gathering of people on the stairs, their faces obscured by the darkness, and behind them the giant figure shining brightly, his marble face craggy, his eyes slightly downcast. Theyre listening to the radio, I am told, quietly contemplating who we are as a people and the arc of this thing we call democracy.

This is an extract from A Promised Land by Barack Obama, published by Penguin Random House on 17 November at 35. To order a copy for 29.75, go to guardianbookshop.com.

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Barack Obama on the moment he won the presidency exclusive extract - The Guardian

Obama does endure repeated disillusionment, but then recovers and rises above it. He may vent that the American people dont really care about the environment enough to seriously inconvenience themselves, but when hes done venting, he refuses to behave as if he thought people were all bad. Part of what youre sensing here are times when I make decisions to be gracious, when I assume the best in people, not because Im naive but because this is how I choose to operate in the world, Obama recently told Jeffrey Goldberg. Sometimes your way of being is more important than your way of thinking. Its possible to observe selfishness in others yet refuse to play by their rules. Its possible to say to yourself, This is a potentially corrupting situation, but I choose to resist that corruption.

We all have to decide where to situate ourselves in the world, and again and again Obama situates himself with the idealists. On foreign trips, he makes it a point to have meetings with college students. He doesnt really think Russian human-rights activists have many prospects in the Putin era, yet he still holds a big public meeting with them. Throughout his presidency he was slow to intervene abroad, even when innocent lives were at stake, but he still stood with his foreign-policy adviser, Samantha Power. She evoked my own youthful idealism, the part of me still untouched by cynicism, cold calculation, or caution dressed up as wisdom.

Perhaps there is something distinctly African American about this posture. African Americans are among the most mistreated people in America, but they are also, as survey after survey shows, the most optimistic people in America. Poor Black people are even more optimistic than wealthy Black people. One sees an almost willful decision to simply refuse to be ground down by circumstances, an insistence on seeing a brighter day ahead and observing the present from the vantage point of a better future.

The spirit of the blues, the great writer Albert Murray once observed, moves in the opposite direction from ashes and sackcloth, self-pity, self-hatred, and suicide. As a matter of fact the dirtiest, meanest, and most low-down blues are not only not depressing, they function like an instantaneous aphrodisiac! You cant always choose your life, Murray argued, but you can choose your style. The blues idiom starts not by obscuring or denying the existence of the ugly dimensions of human nature, but by making an affirmative and hence exemplary and heroic response. When you sing the blues you become the humanizer of the chaos.

Imani Perry: Racism is terrible. Blackness is not.

Once upon a time, scientists emphasized our selfish genes, arguing that life was a bloody battle for survival, red in tooth and claw. But recently the evidence has swung wildly the other way. The neuroscientist Matthew Lieberman wrote a book, Social, that describes how human beings are wired to connect and cooperate. The Buddhist monk Matthieu Ricard wrote a book, Altruism, showing that when hard times come, sharing is more common than pillaging, and cooperation is more common than indifference. And The Penguin and the Leviathan: How Cooperation Triumphs Over Self-Interest, by the Harvard law professor Yochai Benkler, is a summary of the many research studies that show that most people are basically good, not bad. In any given experiment, Benkler observes, 30 percent of the participants behave selfishly, but roughly half of the participants behave cooperatively, in predictable and systematic ways. Many people behave altruistically even when others are mean, and even when it comes at personal cost. In practically no human society examined under controlled conditions, Benkler concludes, have the majority of people consistently behaved selfishly.

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The Tattered Idealism of Barack Obama - The Atlantic

Even when the President-elect shakes off Donald Trump's sulking shadow next year, he will face a harrowing political environment. By his January inauguration, the current explosion in Covid-19 infections will have left a trail of death and sickness in a nation worn down by nearly a year of pandemic-induced deprivations. And unless Democrats win two Georgia run-off elections, Biden will face a Republican-majority Senate led by Sen. Mitch McConnell, who is as immovable as the marble blocks of Washington's memorials.Democrats have been shocked to see their majority shrink in the House of Representatives, meaning Speaker Nancy Pelosi will not always get her way. Progressive dreams that Biden would enjoy a Franklin Roosevelt-style first 100 days of radical social legislation are dead. Remember talk of packing the Supreme Court, the Green New Deal and new state-run health care? Forget that. The delicate new balance on Capitol Hill means the next two years will likely unfold as a war of attrition, with both parties maneuvering ahead of mid-term congressional elections that are usually cruel to first-term presidents.But it is not all bleak for Biden. Though he will take office during America's darkest hour for decades, the prospect of several Covid-19 vaccines could begin to restore light to American life by mid-2021. A bright summer and an economic rebound may lend his presidency significant momentum. And Washington's divides which mirror a nation at war with itself have offered clarity: Biden won the Democratic nomination and the White House because he is not a radical and is driven by instincts to unify rather than divide. A president who can bridge differences and broker modest bipartisan wins for instance in helping workers who lost jobs in the pandemic might win widespread approval.

The last four presidencies pulsated with impeachments, partisan fury, terror attacks, wars, economic crises, whiplash change and historic firsts. Long buried passions and prejudices are burning thanks to Trump's inflammatory term. Even before the pandemic, America was exhausted by an incessant fight between factions with vastly different visions of the country it should be.

A quiet presidency that does little more than restore a semblance of normality isn't what Biden has in mind. But a time-out from history sounds pretty good right now.

'A complete ass'

At last some gossip

Vladimir Putin: White House reporters used to take delight in decoding the body language when Obama met the Russian leader. His book notes similarities between the former KGB man and political barons in his adopted city of Chicago. Putin was "like a ward boss, except with nukes and a UN Security Council veto," Obama writes. For people like him: "life was a zero-sum game; you might do business with those outside your tribe, but in the end, you couldn't trust them."

Benjamin Netanyahu: Obama had a difficult relationship with the Israeli Prime Minister who has found Trump much more to his liking. "Netanyahu could be charming, or at least solicitous," Obama writes. "But his vision of himself as the chief defender of the Jewish people against calamity allowed him to justify almost anything that would keep him in power."

Hu Jintao: The former President found China's ex-leader tough going. Obama complains one encounter was a "sleepy affair" and that his attempts to lighten the mood during their interminable meetings usually drew a "blank stare." Obama was far more impressed with China's then-Premier Wen Jiabao.

Angela Merkel: Obama gazed into the German Chancellor's eyes, which he recalled as "big and bright blue" and "could be touched by turns with frustration, amusement, or hints of sorrow." He found Merkel analytical and confirmed reports she was initially skeptical of his oratory. "I took no offense, figuring that as a German leader, an aversion to possible demagoguery was probably a healthy thing."

Nicolas Sarkozy: The former French leader, described as "a figure out of a Toulouse-Lautrec painting," couldn't have been more different from his German counterpart, Obama writes. Sarkozy was "all emotional outbursts and overblown rhetoric," and though often exasperating, Obama also found him amusing and appreciated his "boldness, charm and manic energy." The book praises both Sarkozy and Merkel for their support of American values.

David Cameron: Obama got on well with the Eton-educated former British Prime Minister, whom he described as having an impressive command of issues, despite disapproving of Cameron's Tory philosophy of deficit reduction and budget cuts. The privileged PM had "the breezy confidence of someone who'd never been pressed too hard by life," he notes.

'We're going to have an orderly transfer from this administration to the next one'

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Obama's insights on Merkel, Putin and other leaders in his new book - CNN

Former President Barack Obama at a campaign rally in Miami for then Democratic presidential candidate Joe Biden the day before Election Day. In his new memoir, A Promised Land, Obama focuses on his first term in the White House. Lynne Sladky/AP hide caption

Former President Barack Obama at a campaign rally in Miami for then Democratic presidential candidate Joe Biden the day before Election Day. In his new memoir, A Promised Land, Obama focuses on his first term in the White House.

Former President Barack Obama talks with NPR's Michel Martin about his time in office, President Trump's pandemic response, the 2020 election and what he thinks President-elect Joe Biden says about the United States right now.

In Obama's new memoir, A Promised Land, he writes about his first term in the White House.

Read NPR's full interview with Obama here.

In participating regions, you'll also hear a local news segment that will help you make sense of what's going on in your community.

Email us at considerthis@npr.org.

This episode was produced by Connor Donevan, Lee Hale and Brianna Scott. It was edited by Sami Yenigun with help from Wynne Davis. Our executive producer is Cara Tallo.

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Former President Obama Talks About What Joe Biden's Win Means For The US : Consider This from NPR - NPR