I remember reading about this when they still thought that Goma had been some random cabbie. I never did get around to watching the interviews though.
I did read Kewney's blog on the incident though:
What would you feel, if while you were sitting in that rather chilly reception area, you suddenly saw yourself not sitting in reception, but live, on TV? "A bit surprised?"
There were several surprising things about my interview. We'll ignore the fact that I wasn't giving it, and had not given it. We'll even gloss over the fact that, judging by my performance, English wasn't my first language, and that I didn't seem to know much about Apple Computer, online music, or the Beatles. People have accused me of all those things, at various stages of my career.
But let's admit it: of all the things you can say about me, one word that really has to be deleted from the list is this one: "Black." We're talking biometrics, here. We're talking about "twins separated at birth, only their mother could tell them apart"... NOT!
I'm not black. I'm not black on a startling scale; I'm fair-haired, blue-eyed, prominent-nosed, and with the sort of pale skin that makes my dermatologist wince each time I complain about an itchy mole. I'm a walking candidate for chronic sunburn damage. I'm really, really not black.
He goes on to explain the confusion of the aftermath, etc. As it turns out, if I'm not mistaken, Guy and Guy eventually exchanged e-mails, or some such, and became amicable aquantences. Kewney was the first to adamantly deny that Goma was, or ever had been, a cabbie. Of course, the media wouldn't listen.
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I did read Kewney's blog on the incident though:
What would you feel, if while you were sitting in that rather chilly reception area, you suddenly saw yourself not sitting in reception, but live, on TV? "A bit surprised?"
There were several surprising things about my interview. We'll ignore the fact that I wasn't giving it, and had not given it. We'll even gloss over the fact that, judging by my performance, English wasn't my first language, and that I didn't seem to know much about Apple Computer, online music, or the Beatles. People have accused me of all those things, at various stages of my career.
But let's admit it: of all the things you can say about me, one word that really has to be deleted from the list is this one: "Black." We're talking biometrics, here. We're talking about "twins separated at birth, only their mother could tell them apart"... NOT!
I'm not black. I'm not black on a startling scale; I'm fair-haired, blue-eyed, prominent-nosed, and with the sort of pale skin that makes my dermatologist wince each time I complain about an itchy mole. I'm a walking candidate for chronic sunburn damage. I'm really, really not black.
He goes on to explain the confusion of the aftermath, etc. As it turns out, if I'm not mistaken, Guy and Guy eventually exchanged e-mails, or some such, and became amicable aquantences. Kewney was the first to adamantly deny that Goma was, or ever had been, a cabbie. Of course, the media wouldn't listen.