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Irish Times
a day ago
- Business
- Irish Times
‘The mask is off in tech. You're getting fired if you speak out'
William Fitzgerald has a lot on his mind. It's on the button of 2pm in Dublin when the WhatsApp call notification appears, making it barely 6am where he is, on the Pacific coast of the United States . What's it like in that part of the world? 'That's a big question,' the Waterford -born founder of The Worker Agency says, answering what was meant to be a light starter question about the weather. 'It's kind of surreal. I lived in Hong Kong when the students [in 2012] protested against the curriculum being changed. I was working for Google at the time, and I attended some of the protests, but I wasn't involved [directly]. Now I'm kind of directly involved in trying to stop what Trump is doing with the support of corporate America.' READ MORE The Irishman isn't exaggerating his current situation. Fitzgerald founded The Worker Agency in 2018. This was shortly after he did the unthinkable for many people in his position: abandoning a 10-year climb up the corporate career ladder in Google and quitting his job in the tech giant's public policy unit. The idea for The Worker Agency, which he describes as an advocacy firm, was born out of Fitzgerald's convictions and the work he did with Google that put him into the orbit of activists around the globe. Providing public relations services to campaign groups and trade unions in the US, the agency began as a one-man operation but now employs 10 people at its offices in Berkeley in the San Francisco Bay Area. 'We help people design their strategies,' Fitzgerald explains, 'and then we help them execute on the tactics, whether that's helping pitch stories, helping to do the social media.' His clients have included everything from racial justice campaigns to workers trying to form a union within Google parent Alphabet , as well as the likes of Radices, a Texas-based non-profit promoting migrant rights. [ Why Donald Trump is only beginning his pursuit of the 'enemy within' Opens in new window ] In the immediate aftermath of Trump's election victory last November, Fitzgerald sat down with The Irish Times for a brief interview on the fringes of the Web Summit in Lisbon. 'Tech is really in bed with the bad stuff,' he said at the time, whether that's defence contracts or surveillance on behalf of US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (Ice). He warned that the next few years could be great for big tech but bleak for almost everyone else if Trump's policies matched his increasingly authoritarian rhetoric. I think actually the formative part of my youth was my mum basically saying: 'Go out and live your best life and do whatever the f*** you want' Some seven months later, it seemed like a good time to sit down with him again, given what has happened in the interim. Whether it's the deployment of the California National Guard to quell protests in Los Angeles, the deportation of people to a prison in El Salvador or the litany of other developments in American public life, the Trump administration's ability to execute its plans has surpassed the expectations of many of its most vocal critics. 'Since I moved to America,' Fitzgerald says, 'it has operated, for better or for worse, as a place where anyone could just say whatever the heck they wanted. It feels to me now like they're trying to turn America into a place like Singapore or somewhere, where, literally, that just doesn't happen any more. Now, I don't know if they're going to be able to do it, but they're definitely trying.' Even in the face of these outrages, the slavishness of the tech barons – not just Elon Musk – to the administration has been notable. It's also novel, given Silicon Valley's previous outwardly liberal gloss that at least ticked the necessary cultural boxes. What changed? 'They stopped pretending,' Fitzgerald says. 'The mask is off. You're getting fired if you speak out. Back in the day, [tech employees] used to be even asking questions [of their employer] in the comments on company chat boards.' In 2025, however, avenues for dissent have been barricaded up and a 'culture of fear' is very much in effect, he says. That sense of precarity has at least something to do with the massive rounds of lay-offs big tech embarked upon a couple of years ago, Fitzgerald explained in Lisbon last November. 'The software engineers making big money in Silicon Valley, they don't know if they're going to wake up tomorrow and they're gone. So, the culture within the companies has also changed.' Little surprise, then, that Fitzgerald says the last six months have been the busiest ever for his firm. 'I have back-to-back calls, meetings', he says, describing what a typical day looks like for him. 'Sometimes, I almost have to do what you do as a reporter, meeting sources, meeting people in tech companies, trying to build relationships.' Berkeley, where Fitzgerald lives with his wife and daughter, has a special place in the history of American dissent. The birthplace of the US Free Speech Movement in the mid-1960s, the city was a hotbed of activism during the period of the Vietnam War and the civil rights movement. That heritage remains a strong part of the culture there. 'A lot of our neighbours came up during that era,' Fitzgerald says. 'There's a lot of people – some would call them boomers – of the older generation who are really annoyed, really sad but really determined […] They're trying to do everything they can to actually not let [Trump] do it.' [ Finn McRedmond: It's no wonder people my age are miserable. Everyone keeps telling them they're totally screwed Opens in new window ] That sense of outrage and the desire to resist is one of the reasons The Worker Agency has been so busy, according to Fitzgerald. 'I'm kind of impressed because people aren't just letting it happen. People are resolute.' 'Resolute' is also an adjective that fits Fitzgerald. His decision to leave Google two years into the first Trump administration was born, to some extent, out of his frustrations with the company. In previous media outings he has described his dismay at the search engine giant's initial unwillingness to make a strong statement about the 45th president's mooted 'Muslim ban'. Although it eventually came out against it, Fitzgerald, who was head of policy communications at the time, has said it was a key turning point in his relationship with the company. Fitzgerald was born in An Sean Phobal in the Gaeltacht area of Waterford. His father, a local insurance man, died when William was four. That left his mother to raise six children on her own. 'It was an interesting journey,' Fitzgerald says. 'In that my dad had done well by buying property in Dublin in the 1980s when it was tough to do that. So, he had put money aside.' That money allowed the six children to go to boarding school. Fitzgerald's sisters went to King's Hospital in Dublin while Fitzgerald went to Clongowes Wood College in Co Kildare. 'Each year, I was in school with the richest boys in Ireland but at home, there was literally nothing.' Surely this must have influenced his activist bent? Only to an extent, suggests Fitzgerald. 'I have five siblings and we're all 100 per cent different. Even at a young age, I was kind of wanting to volunteer and stuff, so I think your surroundings are one part of it.' More important in those years was his mother's parenting style, he says. 'I think actually the formative part of my youth was my mum basically saying: 'Go out and live your best life and do whatever the f*** you want'. Like, we were getting arrested as teenagers and the police were trying to tell her we were juvenile delinquents. She was shouting at the police: 'How dare you!'' But 'no matter what', Fitzgerald says, 'she supported us and loved us' and let her six children find their own light. His siblings have gone on to do 'incredible things', he says, not least his brother Richard, who founded Augustus Media, the brand behind Lovin Dubai and other lifestyle websites in the Middle East. Fitzgerald's work with Google, which he joined while completing a business and politics degree in Trinity College Dublin, brought him around the globe and helped shape his worldview. 'One of the first jobs I had,' he recalls, 'was flying around Asia giving out two-factor security keys to activists. I met my wife. She was one of the free speech activists in Pakistan. It was a place that kind of encouraged me to live and breathe my values in a real way.' The job eventually took him to California, where he says he involved himself in 'Black Lives Matter stuff' and other campaigns. 'My evenings were spent during those 10 years at Google kind of providing free communications services to organisations,' he says. Starting The Worker Agency, the first task was to find some of those groups 'that might be willing to pay for this as a service'. On this side of the pond, the public and political conversation about Trump and big tech has centred mostly on tariffs and the economic fallout. Fitzgerald is realistic about the reasons for that. 'Foreign direct investment is so important to Ireland,' he says, and the tax base's reliance on just a handful of American multinationals is always going to create a cautious atmosphere in Government when it comes to talking about tech. 'I remember when I was at Google, the joke was: 'Oh, if we just sneeze, Enda Kenny will run down.' I do understand how difficult it is.' But tech's Trump-ward turn is going to highlight some glaring contradictions in the Government's positions. One such tension is the Coalition's messaging on Israel and its war in Gaza , which Taoiseach Micheál Martin has described as genocide. Big tech's dealings with Israel and its military are increasingly being criticised and highlighted by current and former workers at the world's most powerful companies, such as Microsoft, where the No Azure for Apartheid campaign is looking to end the group's cloud and AI contracts with the Israeli military. Fitzgerald's former employer, Google, is facing similar pressure. Last December, the New York Times reported that lawyers at the tech giant had warned senior executives in 2021 that its cloud computing services deal with Israel, Project Nimbus, could be 'used for, or linked to, the facilitation of human rights abuses' in the West Bank . The Nimbus issue has been 'a lightning rod for arguments' inside Google since the start of the war in Gaza, the newspaper reported at the time. For its part, the company has denied that its technology is 'directed at highly sensitive, classified or military workloads'. 'It's going to get harder for the kind of Irish mainstream establishment to continue taking nice pictures with these tech executives,' says Fitzgerald. 'It's also things like immigration and the Irish [in the US]. We are impacted by that. I know there are Irish-Americans who are really struggling. I just think it will get harder [for Irish politicians] as you see more stuff happening. And it's still very early in the administration. We're not even a year in.' What the next three years bring is anyone's guess. For Fitzgerald's part, he wants to bring The Worker Agency to Ireland in some capacity. Last week, he incorporated a company called The Worker Agency Ireland Ltd with the Companies Registration Office . Can we expect to see the firm open a Dublin – or Waterford – office in the near future? 'I have a real ambition [to do that],' he says. 'I feel like there are things in Ireland and the European Union that we work on from afar that we'd be much better at if we had a physical presence in Ireland. But will we have a team of three in Dublin in six months? God, I'd love that. But I can't say for sure.' CV Age : 39 Family : Married to Sana, one child (Zaina) and another on the way Lives : Berkeley, California Something you might expect : 'Every year, I find myself both surprised and disappointed when Waterford fall short of winning the All-Ireland hurling final.' Something that might surprise : 'Most days I either swim or surf somewhere around the San Francisco Bay, convincing myself it's warmer than Clonea Beach back in Dungarvan, Co Waterford'
New York Times
2 days ago
- New York Times
Mortimer Matz, a Virtuoso New York P.R. Man, Is Dead at 100
Mortimer Matz, a New York public relations impresario who was credited with introducing the raincoat as an essential fashion accessory so that recently arrested defendants could hide their handcuffs from photographers, and who co-founded a gluttonous annual hot dog eating contest to promote Nathan's of Coney Island, died on Thursday at his home in Manhattan. He was 100. The death was confirmed by his daughter Suzanne Matz. Mr. Matz coupled street smarts, tabloid showmanship and the intellect of an Amherst English literature major to polish the profiles of politicians and other publicity seekers, as well as to advance the causes of corporate clients, protect the names of innocent victims of gossipmongers and salvage the reputations of the guilty. He was not a conspicuous public presence. He had no swanky office suite and no fancy stationery. He was infrequently quoted by name. He preferred, instead, to wield his image-making magic behind the scenes by feeding information to reporters, whose confidence he cultivated over decades through his uncommon candor. His network of informants, combined with his native ingenuity and the equanimity of a former World War II bomber navigator, enabled him to transform potentially embarrassing adversities into small victories, and to elevate accused miscreants into Runyonesque rogues. 'I loved my background role as the go-to guy who knew where the bodies were buried (my clients buried some of them),' Mr. Matz told The Daily News in 2024, 'and parlayed that knowledge as currency to help improve the image of the people I worked for by persuading reporters to give my clients the benefit of the doubt or, better yet in some cases, to disregard them altogether.' Want all of The Times? Subscribe.
News24
2 days ago
- Business
- News24
Tribute to the ‘man with no name'
This past Saturday morning, 21 June, our beloved man with no name, took his last breath and passed away peacefully in his sleep. I was shattered by the news, and I reckoned that this was how Richard 'Dick' Foxton would have preferred to leave us, quietly without a storm or commotion. And that's how he lived his life, calm, composed and always looking for serenity. As a public relations professional, there was no task too big for him. Those who worked with him know that he was a go-getter. He always took the initiative, working hard to achieve his goals even when there were challenges that seemed insurmountable. Foxton Communicating, his company, handled communication of corporate groups – from the mining sector to all sorts of organisations in the private sector, institutions and sports organisations. The customers were vast and multilayered and Dick managed their reputations, disseminating information to shape, influence and maintain a positive public perception. For this, the media space was his playground as he managed both positive and crisis communication. What set him apart from his rivals was that he was rooted in the history and politics of his time, both nationally and internationally, especially the countries he had lived in as a child, grew up and chose to settle in – such as his beloved SA. For example, in a meeting with him held after the Marikana massacre of 2012, when the mining industry was in crisis, in particular the platinum and gold sectors, and the CEOs were still concerned about the future, Dick took the initiative and suggested that government, while addressing other pressing matters, should express full confidence in the abilities of the management of the mining industry in the country to run the mines sustainably. He also pointed out that government should recognise the important contribution that the trade unions make to the running of the mining industry. He concluded: 'Such a statement has many implications for the reputation, status and standing of our country nationally and internationally.' Khulu Mbatha He travelled the eight-decade road from the backwaters of Agra in India to Dar es Salaam in Tanzania, from Kenya to the UK and finally to SA, with aplomb, sometimes a little recklessly, occasionally even bravely, but always with a wry sense of humour. Dick was full of anecdotes, like no other person I've known in my life. He encountered public figures such as His Majesty Sultan Bin Said, Katharine Graham, Don Bradman, Hansie Cronje, Christopher Forbes, David Frost, Harry Oppenheimer, Helen Suzman, Barry Davidson, Stephen Mulholland, Aubrey Sussens, Sir George Martin, Michael Jackson, Nelson Mandela, FW De Klerk, Margaret Thatcher, Archbishop Desmond Tutu, Mother Teresa, Michael Spicer, Gary Player, Thabo Mbeki and Kgalema Motlanthe – politicians, business people, sportspeople and media gurus. His life partner, Professor Thuli Madonsela, once said: 'Richard thrives on bringing people together; and on understanding people and helping them strategically target their messaging.' I will dearly miss the time we spent together over the past decade and a half, and more so the dejeuners we had at restaurants around Johannesburg. He knew all the restaurant managers, the waiters and waitresses, and almost all the patrons of these restaurants by name and had a special seat reserved for him in all these eateries. As a devout Christian, he always started his meal with a prayer. He was well known and liked and he respected all, young and old, black and white. His one-of-a-kind memoir, The Man With No Name, is one of the best accounts of and a window into corporate SA's public relations before and after 1994. As a family man, I will miss the stories he related to me about Melo 3 Grand Pa, Melo 4 Grand Pa and Melo 5 Grand Pa. These were stories about one of his granddaughters who always reminded Dick how old she had become. My heartfelt condolences to his dear life partner, the children, the grandchildren, the whole Foxton and the Madonsela families and his many friends. Rest in peace, my friend. Hamba kahle. Mbatha is an author and a retired diplomat.
Daily Mail
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- Daily Mail
EXCLUSIVE The Basil Zempilas story you won't hear in WA. Plus, turmoil at top glossy mag and Mamamia staff reveal fears of legal disaster: INSIDE MAIL
Harper's bizarre There's nothing that makes us cringe more than reading a glossy mag interview that reads like it was copy-approved by a publicist.
Yahoo
4 days ago
- General
- Yahoo
I became a mom in my 40s. It made me healthier, more creative, and bold enough to launch a business during naptime.
I enrolled to be a foster parent during the pandemic. I am better at my job now because I am a mom. Motherhood also made me braver, and I launched my own business because of it. I became a mom in my 40s, somewhat unexpectedly. I enrolled to be a foster parent during the pandemic, when a massive shortage of homes had thousands of kids in limbo, and my social worker friends were fully panicked. My plan was to be a short-term stop for older kids between placements. But the day after my license was approved, a caseworker called: could I take an infant for three days? He never left. We finalized the adoption a few years ago. And yes, I've had the usual revelations: coffee is a food group, no one can live up to the standard set by Chilli and Bandit (iykyk), and I'll never understand what temperature a toddler should wear a jacket. But the real plot twist? Motherhood didn't just reshape my life — it leveled everything up. Take creativity, for example. I work in public relations, where my job is to come up with wild, original ideas for brands. Pre-kid, I was objectively pretty good at it. But then I met my son, who can turn a stick into a spaceship, a spoon into a villain, and me into a fire-breathing dragon if I'm not paying attention. We invent games, rewrite bedtime stories, and go on elaborate scavenger hunts for lost socks. All that unfiltered, spontaneous play? It's made me better at my job. I develop ideas faster, take more creative risks, and see potential where I used to see limitations. Then there's food. Left to my own devices, I could survive on protein shakes, wine, and anything I could label "charcuterie." But now I'm modeling behavior, and no one wants to raise a kid who thinks pirates don't eat vegetables. So we cook. We meal plan. We garden (badly, but enthusiastically). Our zucchini has a name. I make sure dinner includes at least two colors that didn't come from a pouch. And somewhere along the way, I started to enjoy it. Parenting also turned me into a psychology nerd. I read parenting books like they're juicy thrillers. And all those lessons about emotional regulation, collaborative problem-solving, and the fine art of not losing your cool when someone licks the wall — they translate beautifully to adult relationships, too. I manage friendships, family, and even clients with more grace. But the biggest surprise? Motherhood made me brave. This year, as a solo parent to a young child, I did something that sounds unhinged: I left a stable job and started my own business. No backup plan. No second income. Just a belief that if I could keep a tiny human alive through a pandemic, I could build a company I was proud of — one that reflects my values and works with brands I genuinely love. Would I have done that pre-kid? Probably not. But parenting teaches you how to do hard things while covered in yogurt. After that, filing for an LLC feels manageable. Maybe the most unexpectedly tender part of parenting later in life is that it's made me build a chosen family with intention. Not the "let's grab drinks sometime" kind of friends, but the "text me your kid's shoe size" and "yes, I'll bring lasagna" kind. My bio-family is wonderful, but lives in another state, so here at home we've assembled a patchwork of neighbors, longtime friends, and honorary aunties who rally for playdates, preschool pickups, and emotionally fragile Thursdays. We joke about buying land and starting a commune. It's never felt more joyful. So yes, I'm a slightly older mom. But I'm not quoting "wine o'clock" memes or losing the plot over a juice box. I'm still sharp, still curious, still me, just with more stain remover in my purse. Motherhood didn't shrink my world; it widened it. I take bigger swings now. I care more deeply. I started a business, survived potty training, and convinced a 4-year-old that bok choy is "leafy spaghetti." If my 30-something self met me now, she'd think I was kind of a badass. Also, she'd definitely steal my moisturizer. There's no ideal age to become a parent. But for me, this was the perfect time. I have enough life behind me to have perspective, and enough ahead of me to make it count. I'm not trying to be the coolest mom at the park. I'm just trying to be the one who shows up — curious, committed, and occasionally armed with dinosaur-shaped snacks. Read the original article on Business Insider
