newyorker--2020-01-22--“Ass-Backwards” and (So Far) Witness-Free, Trump’s Senate Impeachment Trial Begins

It was only a couple hours into the first day of arguments in the Senate impeachment trial of Donald John Trump when Adam Schiff , the lead House manager prosecuting the case , summed up the day ’ s proceedings .
The Senate ’ s proposed process for the trial , he said , was simply “ ass-backwards , ” requiring the House to present its case before considering whether to call witnesses and demand White House documents that Trump has been withholding .
Schiff ’ s edgy remark caused a jolt in the chamber .
Senators who had been @ @ @ @ @ @ @ legal pads suddenly looked up .
But it turns out that you can swear like that on the Senate floor .
Schiff wasn ’ t even the first person to use the phrase , although David Vitter , the former senator from Louisiana , got in trouble back in 2008 when he did , and he had the remark stricken from the official record .
Whether or not it was appropriate , in a stodgy institution that does not even allow reporters to wear denim in its hallowed chamber , Schiff ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ point .
But after many hours of debate on Tuesday afternoon and evening , the Republican rules proposed by Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell were set to prevail , in a party-line vote , as Schiff knew they would .
Backwards it will be .
A trial may not be a trial without any testimony , but that is how the Senate will proceed with this one .
“ Have you ever heard of a trial that doesn ’ t have evidence ?
That doesn ’ t have witnesses ?
” Zoe Lofgren @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , asked .
The first day of the Senate trial did not definitively answer those questions , which , under McConnell ’ s rules , will simply be deferred until sometime next week , at which time there may or may not be four Republicans who choose to join with Democrats and call for the blocked Trump Administration witnesses to testify .
But Day One was not significant because McConnell managed to win on the rules .
He had the votes , and everyone knew he would win .
Tuesday was a remarkable @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was what the lawyers for Trump finally had to say about the case .
Ever since the Trump impeachment inquiry began , in September , the White House has declined to offer a formal defense , if one excludes all-caps tweets from the accused .
But refusing to participate is no longer an option now that the Senate trial is actually happening .
Trump ’ s lawyers not only showed up but very much showed their hands , offering a defense of Trump that was very much like the President himself : loud @ @ @ @ @ @ @ hominem , factually challenged , and often not even bothering to have a tenuous connection to the case at all .
When the White House counsel Pat Cipollone and Trump ’ s personal attorney , Jay Sekulow , addressed the Senate , the volume went up in the chamber ; the tone changed .
As we watched from the press gallery , it was as if we had become the audience in an entirely different play .
Why should there be no witnesses or documents produced in the trial ?
Listening to Cipollone @ @ @ @ @ @ @ tell .
They barely used the word “ Ukraine ” or even bothered to talk much about Trump ’ s “ perfect ” phone call with the Ukrainian President , Volodymyr Zelensky , for that matter .
They mentioned the Mueller investigation—repeatedly—though that is not a subject of the impeachment articles .
They made false claims , including that Republicans had been excluded from the depositions in the House “ basement ” that were taken by the House Intelligence Committee .
Cipollone attacked Schiff by name , in personal terms , within a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the trial , which was striking , if not entirely surprising , given that Cipollone is representing Trump , whose campaign is currently marketing on its Web site thirty-four-dollar T-shirts mocking Schiff as a “ Pencil-Neck.
” The House managers came prepared on Tuesday with digital slides and graphics .
They listed witnesses they ’ d like to call , such as the former Trump national-security adviser John Bolton , who called the Ukraine scheme a “ drug deal , ” and documents they ’ d like to subpoena .
They presented video @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that they played twice , in which he argued that the Constitution gives him the right to do whatever he wants .
But Trump ’ s legal team did not bother with anything like that .
Cipollone and Sekulow had no video clips , no slides .
They did not have to .
They had the votes .

It was only a couple hours into the first day of arguments in the Senate impeachment trial of Donald John Trump when Adam Schiff, the lead House manager prosecuting the case, summed up the day’s proceedings. The Senate’s proposed process for the trial, he said, was simply “ass-backwards,” requiring the House to present its case before considering whether to call witnesses and demand White House documents that Trump has been withholding.
Schiff’s edgy remark caused a jolt in the chamber. Senators who had been nodding off or staring down at their legal pads suddenly looked up. But it turns out that you can swear like that on the Senate floor. Schiff wasn’t even the first person to use the phrase, although David Vitter, the former senator from Louisiana, got in trouble back in 2008 when he did, and he had the remark stricken from the official record. Whether or not it was appropriate, in a stodgy institution that does not even allow reporters to wear denim in its hallowed chamber, Schiff’s remark certainly was incisive and to the point.
But after many hours of debate on Tuesday afternoon and evening, the Republican rules proposed by Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell finally prevailed, in a party-line vote, as Schiff knew they would. Backwards it will be. A trial may not be a trial without any testimony, but that is how the Senate will proceed with this one. “Have you ever heard of a trial that doesn’t have evidence? That doesn’t have witnesses?” Zoe Lofgren, another one of the House managers, asked.
The first day of the Senate trial did not definitively answer those questions, which, under McConnell’s rules, will simply be deferred until sometime next week, at which time there may or may not be four Republicans who choose to join with Democrats and call for the blocked Trump Administration witnesses to testify. But Day 1 was not significant because McConnell managed to win on the rules. He had the votes, and everyone knew he would win. Tuesday was a remarkable day nonetheless, and the real news was what the lawyers for Trump finally had to say about the case.
Ever since the Trump impeachment inquiry began, in September, the White House has declined to offer a formal defense, if one excludes all-caps tweets from the accused. But refusing to participate is no longer an option now that the Senate trial is actually happening. Trump’s lawyers not only showed up but very much showed their hands, offering a defense of Trump that was very much like the President himself: loud, intemperate, personally nasty, ad hominem, factually challenged, and often not even bothering to have a tenuous connection to the case at all. When the White House counsel Pat Cipollone and Trump’s personal attorney, Jay Sekulow, addressed the Senate, the volume went up in the chamber; the tone changed. As we watched from the press gallery, it was as if we had become the audience in an entirely different play. Why should there be no witnesses or documents produced in the trial? Listening to Cipollone and Sekulow, it was hard to tell.
They barely used the word “Ukraine” or even bothered to talk much about Trump’s “perfect” phone call with the Ukrainian President, Volodymyr Zelensky, for that matter. They mentioned the Mueller investigation—repeatedly—though that is not a subject of the impeachment articles. They made false claims, including that Republicans had been excluded from the depositions in the House “basement” that were taken by the House Intelligence Committee. Cipollone attacked Schiff by name, in personal terms, within a minute of beginning his first remarks at the trial, which was striking, if not entirely surprising, given that Cipollone is representing Trump, whose campaign is currently marketing on its Web site thirty-four-dollar T-shirts mocking Schiff as a “Pencil-Neck.”
The House managers came prepared on Tuesday with digital slides and graphics. They listed witnesses they’d like to call, such as the former Trump national-security adviser John Bolton, who called the Ukraine scheme a “drug deal,” and documents they’d like to subpoena. They presented video clips, including one of President Trump that they played twice, in which he argued that the Constitution gives him the right to do whatever he wants. But Trump’s legal team did not bother with anything like that. Cipollone and Sekulow had no video clips, no slides. They did not have to. They had the votes.
What was it like in the Senate chamber turned courtroom on the first day of a trial whose outcome we all presume to know in advance? The senators, whether you call them the judges or the jury, looked like they will have a hard time making it through the ordeal. Within an hour or so, they were fidgeting in their seats. There was yawning, and the Washington Post claimed that Jim Risch, of Idaho, was the first senator to be caught snoozing. On the Republican side, Tim Scott, of South Carolina, and Ben Sasse, of Nebraska, smiled and laughed as they passed notes back and forth. Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer slumped over in his seat, although Mitch McConnell, just across the aisle from him, mostly sat up straight as an arrow. He was practically unmoving, a statue. Only once did I see the faint hint of a smile. How did he do it? Was he counting to a million?
There were many note-takers. On the Democratic side, Bob Casey, of Pennsylvania, started scribbling minutes into the trial and kept at it. On the Republican side, Marco Rubio was one of the few who appeared to be reading through the large binder of trial briefs that had been placed on each senator’s desk; he spent hours flipping through pages and writing down notes. Later in the afternoon, right across from Rubio, his fellow Presidential candidate of 2016, Ted Cruz, of Texas, pulled out a yellow highlighter and started reading, too.
But the note-taker I couldn’t stop looking at, the most assiduous one of all, was Susan Collins, of Maine. Collins, in a trim navy-blue suit and a silver necklace that glimmered in the room, which was filled with men in gray suits, sat next to Lisa Murkowski, of Alaska, in the row right behind McConnell. They are two of the only swing votes in the chamber, votes that are probably irrelevant when it comes to the ultimate outcome of the trial, given that no one believes that there are twenty Republicans, or anything like that number, who would vote to convict the President. But Collins and Murkowski matter a lot more when it comes to the question of what kind of a trial the Senate will conduct, given that the rules require only a simple majority of senators to determine the procedures. Collins and three other Republicans can hold up the whole thing if they want to. They can force witnesses to be called, and they can set the hours for the sessions.
On Tuesday afternoon, reporters learned that Collins had already flexed her muscle with McConnell, complaining about the plans he released on Monday evening to force House managers to present their case in twenty-four hours, compressed into just two days—raising the spectre of bleary-eyed senators sleeping through presentations in the dark of the night. After Collins objected, McConnell revised the proposed rules and gave each side three days, rather than two, to present arguments.
It wasn’t much of a concession, but it appeared to be enough to wrangle Collins and any other wavering Republicans back in line, at least for now. By late afternoon on Tuesday, Schumer’s first amendment, to compel documents that the White House has withheld, failed on a party-line 53–47 vote. Nearly a dozen other 53–47 votes followed, until almost 2 a.m., as Schumer offered amendment after amendment, designed to put senators on the record as refusing to subpoena individual witnesses and documents. “I knew it was coming, but hearing every single Republican vote against evidence was a gut punch,” Chris Murphy, a Democrat from Connecticut, tweeted, during the short break after the first vote, when he was allowed out of the chamber and brief access to his phone.
Collins, having voted with McConnell, returned to the chamber after that first vote and resumed her unflappable note-taking. Eventually, after midnight, she voted with the Democrats on a single one of Schumer’s procedural motions, his tenth, to give senators more time to file responses to motions. Her office released a statement saying that, later in the trial, after the arguments, she would probably vote in favor of additional witnesses and testimony. Back in 1999, when Bill Clinton was on trial in the only other Presidential impeachment trial of our lifetimes, Collins was one of just five Republican Senators to break with their party and vote to acquit Clinton. Today, she is the only one of those five Republicans who remains in the Senate. Will she buck her party once again? On Day 1 of Trump’s trial, I learned only that Susan Collins was diligent and attentive and right-handed. I have no idea how she will vote.
This piece was updated to include details about votes that occurred early Wednesday morning.


newyorker--2020-01-22--How to Debunk Trump’s False Claims About the Economy

Just hours before Donald Trump ’ s impeachment trial got going in earnest on Tuesday , he spoke at the annual World Economic Forum , in Davos , Switzerland , and boasted about the state of the U.S. economy .
The speech was obviously an effort to change the subject from impeachment , but it also prefigured the two-track electoral strategy that Trump is likely to pursue after the impeachment trial is done .
For the members of his base and other ardent Republicans , he will offer the same strongman platform that he offered in 2016 : nativism , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Democrats and the media .
For less committed voters , the Trump campaign will serve up a more traditional incumbent message : “ Things are going well .
Why risk it all by electing my radical opponents ?
” The first task of the Democratic candidate , whoever it is , will be to point out the manifest dangers of giving a figure like Trump four more years in office .
That shouldn ’ t be too hard .
But the Democrat will also need an economic counter-narrative that directly addresses the points @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that isn ’ t very hard either , but it will involve debunking his claims and pointing out that it is he who has engaged in radical and damaging policies , the costs of which the country will be bearing for decades .
Let ’ s look at some of the points he made : Even allowing for Trump ’ s tendency to exaggerate , this is a ridiculous claim .
The truth is that he has presided over a modest pickup in G.D.P .
growth , but he has signally failed to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ economy ’ s growth rate to four per cent .
Between the summer of 2009 , when the Great Recession ended , and January , 2017 , when Trump took office , the economy had been growing at an annual rate of about 2.2 per cent .
Since the start of 2017 , the growth rate has risen to about 2.6 per cent .
But between 1947 and 1973 , G.D.P .
growth averaged more than four per cent , and , from 1997 through 2000 , it was close to 4.5 per @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a couple of quarters in 2014 , and also a quarter each in 2009 and 2011 , when the growth rate was four per cent or higher .
Under Trump , the quarterly growth rate hasn ’ t risen above 3.5 per cent .
In the third quarter of last year , the most recent period for which we have data , it was 2.1 per cent .
Actually , Trump inherited an unemployment rate that was already low : 4.1 per cent in January , 2017 .
Since then , the rate @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , taking it down to 3.5 per cent , which is the lowest rate since the late sixties .
But Trump doesn ’ t deserve much credit .
If you look at a chart of the jobless rate since the start of 2010 , it has fallen continuously .
If anything , job growth has slowed a little since Trump took office .
According to the nonfarm payroll figures from the Labor Department , about a million more jobs were created in the final three years of the Obama Administration than in the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ That isn ’ t particularly surprising , given the length of the recovery , but it undercuts Trump ’ s claims .
Here , again , Trump is claiming credit for a trend that pre-dated him .
After having fallen for almost a decade , median household income—the income of the household in the very middle of the income distribution—finally started rising again in 2015 , under Obama , and the pickup has continued during this Administration .
Rather than any policy changes , the buoyant jobs market has been the driving factor @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , workers are hard to find , so employers are forced to offer higher wages and longer hours .
That allows middle-class families to earn modestly higher incomes .
Make no mistake , though—the biggest winners during the past three years have been the rich rather than the middle class .
As usual , Trump boasted about the stock market , which is hitting new record highs .
He didn ’ t mention that the wealthiest ten per cent of households own more than ninety per cent of all stocks and mutual funds @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , which he championed , was massively slanted toward corporations and the rich .
According to the nonpartisan Tax Policy Center , middle-income households enjoyed a tax cut of about nine hundred and thirty dollars , whereas households in the top one per cent saw a cut of more than fifty-thousand dollars .
Trump wasn ’ t lying here .
The 2017 tax bill cut the corporate income-tax rate from thirty-five per cent to twenty-one per cent , and it also contained a huge giveaway for the proprietors of “ pass-through ” businesses @ @ @ @ @ @ @ corporate income tax , report income via their owners ’ individual tax returns .
The key point , which Trump failed to mention , is that there is still no sign of the surge in capital spending and wages that the White House claimed the tax cut would generate .
Rather than investing in new offices and equipment , many corporations took the money they saved and spent it on stock buybacks—thus boosting the net worth of their C.E.O.s and stockholders .
Workers got very little , and future taxpayers got landed with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was financed by issuing debt , which has risen by about $ 2.9 trillion since Trump took office .
If you combine all this , what you get is a giant scam—one that some of the C.E.O.s and Wall Street titans assembled in Davos could probably appreciate .
After presenting himself as a populist who would confront a “ rigged ” economic system , Trump has governed as a plutocrat , showering additional riches on his fellow-members of the one per cent and offering nickels and dimes to the masses .
He ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ; during his speech , he used the word “ worker ” or “ workers ” fifteen times , and he claimed to have pioneered a “ whole new approach centered entirely on the wellbeing of the American worker.
” It isn ’ t difficult to provide the facts and figures to debunk Trump ’ s claims .
What is needed is a Democratic candidate who can pull them all together and get the message across in language that ordinary people can understand .
But that is the subject for another column .

Just hours before Donald Trump’s impeachment trial got going in earnest on Tuesday, he spoke at the annual World Economic Forum, in Davos, Switzerland, and boasted about the state of the U.S. economy. The speech was obviously an effort to change the subject from impeachment, but it also prefigured the two-track electoral strategy that Trump is likely to pursue after the impeachment trial is done. For the members of his base and other ardent Republicans, he will offer the same strongman platform that he offered in 2016: nativism, protectionism, and slashing attacks on the Democrats and the media. For less committed voters, the Trump campaign will serve up a more traditional incumbent message: “Things are going well. Why risk it all by electing my radical opponents?”
The first task of the Democratic candidate, whoever it is, will be to point out the manifest dangers of giving a figure like Trump four more years in office. That shouldn’t be too hard. But the Democrat will also need an economic counter-narrative that directly addresses the points Trump made in Davos. Actually, that isn’t very hard either, but it will involve debunking his claims and pointing out that it is he who has engaged in radical and damaging policies, the costs of which the country will be bearing for decades. Let’s look at some of the points he made:
When I spoke at this forum two years ago, I told you that we had launched the great American comeback. Today, I’m proud to declare that the United States is in the midst of an economic boom the likes of which the world has never seen before.
Even allowing for Trump’s tendency to exaggerate, this is a ridiculous claim. The truth is that he has presided over a modest pickup in G.D.P. growth, but he has signally failed to fulfill his campaign goal of raising the economy’s growth rate to four per cent.
Between the summer of 2009, when the Great Recession ended, and January, 2017, when Trump took office, the economy had been growing at an annual rate of about 2.2 per cent. Since the start of 2017, the growth rate has risen to about 2.6 per cent. But between 1947 and 1973, G.D.P. growth averaged more than four per cent, and, from 1997 through 2000, it was close to 4.5 per cent.
More recently, there were a couple of quarters in 2014, and also a quarter each in 2009 and 2011, when the growth rate was four per cent or higher. Under Trump, the quarterly growth rate hasn’t risen above 3.5 per cent. In the third quarter of last year, the most recent period for which we have data, it was 2.1 per cent.
The average unemployment rate for my administration is the lowest for any U.S. President in recorded history. We started off with a reasonably high rate.
Actually, Trump inherited an unemployment rate that was already low: 4.7 per cent in January, 2017. Since then, the rate has fallen an additional 1.2 percentage points, taking it down to 3.5 per cent, which is the lowest rate since the late sixties. But Trump doesn’t deserve much credit. If you look at a chart of the jobless rate since the start of 2010, it has fallen continuously. If anything, job growth has slowed a little since Trump took office. According to the nonfarm payroll figures from the Labor Department, about a million more jobs were created in the final three years of the Obama Administration than in the first three years of this Administration. That isn’t particularly surprising, given the length of the recovery, but it undercuts Trump’s claims.
This is a blue collar boom. . . . Real median household income is at the highest level ever recorded. The American dream is back, bigger, better and stronger than ever before. No one is benefiting more than America’s middle class.
Here, again, Trump is claiming credit for a trend that pre-dated him. After having fallen for almost a decade, median household income—the income of the household in the very middle of the income distribution—finally started rising again in 2015, under Obama, and the pickup has continued during this Administration. Rather than any policy changes, the buoyant jobs market has been the driving factor. When the unemployment rate is low, workers are hard to find, so employers are forced to offer higher wages and longer hours. That allows middle-class families to earn modestly higher incomes.
Make no mistake, though—the biggest winners during the past three years have been the rich rather than the middle class. As usual, Trump boasted about the stock market, which is hitting new record highs. He didn’t mention that the wealthiest ten per cent of households own more than ninety per cent of all stocks and mutual funds, or that the 2017 tax cut, which he championed, was massively slanted toward corporations and the rich. According to the nonpartisan Tax Policy Center, middle-income households enjoyed a tax cut of about nine hundred and thirty dollars, whereas households in the top one per cent saw a cut of more than fifty-thousand dollars.
We lowered our business tax from the highest in the developed world down to one that’s not only competitive, but one of the lower taxes.
Trump wasn’t lying here. The 2017 tax bill cut the corporate income-tax rate from thirty-five per cent to twenty-one per cent, and it also contained a huge giveaway for the proprietors of “pass-through” businesses, which, rather than pay the corporate income tax, report income via their owners’ individual tax returns. The key point, which Trump failed to mention, is that there is still no sign of the surge in capital spending and wages that the White House claimed the tax cut would generate. Rather than investing in new offices and equipment, many corporations took the money they saved and spent it on stock buybacks—thus boosting the net worth of their C.E.O.s and stockholders. Workers got very little, and future taxpayers got landed with a huge bill. The tax cut was financed by issuing debt, which has risen by about $2.9 trillion since Trump took office.
If you combine all this, what you get is a giant scam—one that some of the C.E.O.s and Wall Street titans assembled in Davos could probably appreciate. After presenting himself as a populist who would confront a “rigged” economic system, Trump has governed as a plutocrat, showering additional riches on his fellow-members of the one per cent and offering nickels and dimes to the masses. He’s still trying to pull the con; during his speech, he used the word “worker” or “workers” fifteen times, and he claimed to have pioneered a “whole new approach centered entirely on the wellbeing of the American worker.” It isn’t difficult to provide the facts and figures to debunk Trump’s claims. What is needed is a Democratic candidate who can pull them all together and get the message across in language that ordinary people can understand. But that is the subject for another column.
A previous version of this article misstated the unemployment rate in January, 2017, and its subsequent decline.


newyorker--2020-01-23--Six Birthday Gifts Your Man Will Love, but Is Too Afraid to Ask for

I know what you ’ re thinking : “ The moon and the stars ?
!
” And though that would be an unforgettable gift—albeit tedious to wrap—no , I do not mean the final frontier .
What your beau really wants is a little breathing room , some “ me ” time .
What will he do with that time , you ask ?
Well , seeing as he already spends five minutes of his commute home from work just sitting in his car , staring into the distance , thinking about horses , my guess is he ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Look , I get it .
He ’ s not the best storyteller in town .
Does he forget key details ?
Yes .
Does he remember them three minutes later and then try to backtrack , only to make things even more confusing ?
Every time .
But would he appreciate the effort of you at least trying to follow the ups and downs of managing the only Lids hat superstore in a forty-three-mile radius ?
Yes—yes , he would .
I know it ’ s frustrating that he prefers the old-school @ @ @ @ @ @ @ pace of one episode per week , but you have to understand—he needs this kind of stability in his life right now .
If you had listened when he talked about his day , you would know that the hat business is no cakewalk .
Measuring head sizes , embroidering Instagram handles on beanies , and returning correct change are just a few of the duties that demand every last iota of his concentration .
And , on top of all that , he now also has to worry that you ’ re @ @ @ @ @ @ @ episodes ahead in “ Gilmore Girls.
” How very Rory of you .
Come to one of his band ’ s gigs .
He ’ s been in the band since before you two got together , and you still haven ’ t made it to a show .
Not cool .
Trust me , I understand that a Baha Men cover band isn ’ t exactly everyone ’ s—or , quite frankly , anyone ’ s—cup of tea .
And , sure , the fact that they play exclusively at a bar @ @ @ @ @ @ @ very alluring , either .
But , hey , that ’ s your tambourine-playing man up there !
So , pick a Monday night ( also not helping their case ) , get a little drunk , and round up a few friends to help show your budding rock star some love .
Who knows ?
You might accidentally have some fun , too .
Well , this should not come as a surprise .
He feels unsupported , unimportant , and honestly unsure about how to move forward .
But please do @ @ @ @ @ @ @ or admitting defeat .
Rather , it ’ s him acknowledging that there is room for improvement , and that ’ s what he wants , above all else .
Above his band , above his TV dramedies , above his hats—he wants his life with you .
And , although going to a stranger with your personal problems might seem weird at first , I ’ m sure you ’ ll quickly find comfort in an unbiased viewpoint .
His co-workers will also thank you , as they ’ ll finally be @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Hand-feed him oats before you ride him naked through a field like a horse .
Now , this one should come as a surprise , as he never previously mentioned anything even remotely close to this in the bedroom .
But what can I say ?
You ’ ve landed yourself a hundred-per-cent , no-doubt-about-it , bona-fide freak .
So , strap on those spurs , grab the cowboy hat that he got you for your anniversary ( makes more sense now , doesn ’ t it ? )
, and take your @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a birthday that he will certainly never forget .

Space.
I know what you’re thinking: “The moon and the stars?!” And though that would be an unforgettable gift—albeit tedious to wrap—no, I do not mean the final frontier. What your beau really wants is a little breathing room, some “me” time.
What will he do with that time, you ask? Well, seeing as he already spends five minutes of his commute home from work just sitting in his car, staring into the distance, thinking about horses, my guess is he’ll probably do more of that.
Listen when he tells work stories.
Look, I get it. He’s not the best storyteller in town. Does he forget key details? Yes. Does he remember them three minutes later and then try to backtrack, only to make things even more confusing? Every time. But would he appreciate the effort of you at least trying to follow the ups and downs of managing the only Lids hat superstore in a forty-three-mile radius? Yes—yes, he would.
Stop watching ahead on Netflix!
I know it’s frustrating that he prefers the old-school method of watching shows, at a pace of one episode per week, but you have to understand—he needs this kind of stability in his life right now.
If you had listened when he talked about his day, you would know that the hat business is no cakewalk. Measuring head sizes, embroidering Instagram handles on beanies, and returning correct change are just a few of the duties that demand every last iota of his concentration. And, on top of all that, he now also has to worry that you’re at home on the couch, five episodes ahead in “Gilmore Girls.” How very Rory of you.
Come to one of his band’s gigs.
He’s been in the band since before you two got together, and you still haven’t made it to a show. Not cool.
Trust me, I understand that a Baha Men cover band isn’t exactly everyone’s—or, quite frankly, anyone’s—cup of tea. And, sure, the fact that they play exclusively at a bar nicknamed the Tetanus Hotbed isn’t very alluring, either. But, hey, that’s your tambourine-playing man up there! So, pick a Monday night (also not helping their case), get a little drunk, and round up a few friends to help show your budding rock star some love. Who knows? You might accidentally have some fun, too.
Couples therapy.
Well, this should not come as a surprise. He feels unsupported, unimportant, and honestly unsure about how to move forward. But please do not interpret this as him wanting out or admitting defeat. Rather, it’s him acknowledging that there is room for improvement, and that’s what he wants, above all else. Above his band, above his TV dramedies, above his hats—he wants his life with you.
And, although going to a stranger with your personal problems might seem weird at first, I’m sure you’ll quickly find comfort in an unbiased viewpoint. His co-workers will also thank you, as they’ll finally be able to eat lunch in peace.
Hand-feed him oats before you ride him naked through a field like a horse.
Now, this one should come as a surprise, as he never previously mentioned anything even remotely close to this in the bedroom. But what can I say? You’ve landed yourself a hundred-per-cent, no-doubt-about-it, bona-fide freak.
So, strap on those spurs, grab the cowboy hat that he got you for your anniversary (makes more sense now, doesn’t it?), and take your horse to the Old Town Road for a birthday that he will certainly never forget.


newyorker--2020-01-23--“Making Montgomery Clift” Is a Fascinating Study of the Ethics of Biography

The documentary “ Making Montgomery Clift ” begins with shots of archives—boxes and boxes of old letters and photos—and a voice-over saying , “ This isn ’ t really a story about a man .
It ’ s about what his life was allowed to mean.
” That isn ’ t aggrandizement ; the movie really isn ’ t about the four-time Oscar-nominated actor Montgomery Clift , at least not in the way you might expect .
The voice belongs to his youngest nephew , Robert Clift , who was not yet born when the actor died , in 1966 @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Hillary Demmon .
The popular image of Monty is one of gay tragedy—that he was a self-hating , love-starved closet case who drowned himself in liquor and solitude .
( He died of a heart attack , at the age of forty-five , but a colleague called it “ the longest suicide in Hollywood history.
” ) Robert takes a closer look at his uncle ’ s legacy , finding friends—including Jack Larson , who played Jimmy Olsen on the TV show “ Adventures of Superman ” —who attest to his joy and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to the public , but he appears to have had fulfilling love affairs with both men and women .
Maybe he wasn ’ t so tortured after all ?
It ’ s an intriguing idea , but the documentary takes a sharp turn toward a more niche subject : the ethics of biography .
In the seventies , two books appeared about Clift—one a pop-Freudian scandal sheet , by Robert LaGuardia , and the other a more respectful portrait , by Patricia Bosworth , who had the coöperation of Monty ’ s brother @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Brooks Clift .
Bosworth became the “ de-facto family historian , ” Robert says .
But , as the filmmakers discover , Brooks ultimately felt betrayed by Bosworth and begged her to make changes in later printings .
Her research archives reveal that she may have unfairly suggested that Monty was arrested for picking up a young boy , rather than a grown man—playing into a homophobic trope .
Why get into sentence-by-sentence analysis of a forty-two-year-old biography ?
Partly because the filmmakers have a trove of material to draw on .
Brooks @ @ @ @ @ @ @ recorded his phone conversations—with Bosworth , with Monty , and even with his wife , the journalist Eleanor Clift , during their divorce .
Anyone versed in Janet Malcolm ’ s trenchant observations about journalists and their subjects will recognize the uneasy dynamic between Brooks and Bosworth .
Of course , family members can be just as agenda-driven as biographers ( often more so ) , and Robert Clift has his own emotional stake in his uncle ’ s legacy .
But the film asks pointed questions about how even small extrapolations can @ @ @ @ @ @ @ loved than loving , ” as Bosworth infers from an anecdote ?
—and about our reductive understanding of the pre-Stonewall era .
I first saw “ Making Montgomery Clift ” last summer , at the Provincetown International Film Festival , and was rapt .
So I was surprised to see , months later , that it had been quietly released on demand .
One wonders whether a more conventional film—one that upheld the image of gay self-loathing—might have had wider distribution .
But the documentary is fascinating on its own peculiar terms , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Hollywood history .
In the end , it ’ s a good portrait of Montgomery Clift as well .
At one point , we hear Monty on a phone call with a journalist , who seems to imply that he leads a “ murky life.
” “ That sounds so fucking dismal , I must say , ” Monty replies .
“ I can ’ t say I am just melancholy or I am just sad or I am just anything .
”

The documentary “Making Montgomery Clift” begins with shots of archives—boxes and boxes of old letters and photos—and a voice-over saying, “This isn’t really a story about a man. It’s about what his life was allowed to mean.” That isn’t aggrandizement; the movie really isn’t about the four-time Oscar-nominated actor Montgomery Clift, at least not in the way you might expect. The voice belongs to his youngest nephew, Robert Clift, who was not yet born when the actor died, in 1966, and who made the film with Hillary Demmon. The popular image of Monty is one of gay tragedy—that he was a self-hating, love-starved closet case who drowned himself in liquor and solitude. (He died of a heart attack, at the age of forty-five, but a colleague called it “the longest suicide in Hollywood history.”) Robert takes a closer look at his uncle’s legacy, finding friends—including Jack Larson, who played Jimmy Olsen on the TV show “Adventures of Superman”—who attest to his joy and humor. He may have been closeted to the public, but he appears to have had fulfilling love affairs with both men and women. Maybe he wasn’t so tortured after all?
It’s an intriguing idea, but the documentary takes a sharp turn toward a more niche subject: the ethics of biography. In the seventies, two books appeared about Clift—one a pop-Freudian scandal sheet, by Robert LaGuardia, and the other a more respectful portrait, by Patricia Bosworth, who had the coöperation of Monty’s brother (and Robert’s father) Brooks Clift. Bosworth became the “de-facto family historian,” Robert says. But, as the filmmakers discover, Brooks ultimately felt betrayed by Bosworth and begged her to make changes in later printings. Her research archives reveal that she may have unfairly suggested that Monty was arrested for picking up a young boy, rather than a grown man—playing into a homophobic trope.
Why get into sentence-by-sentence analysis of a forty-two-year-old biography? Partly because the filmmakers have a trove of material to draw on. Brooks, who died in 1986, compulsively recorded his phone conversations—with Bosworth, with Monty, and even with his wife, the journalist Eleanor Clift, during their divorce. Anyone versed in Janet Malcolm’s trenchant observations about journalists and their subjects will recognize the uneasy dynamic between Brooks and Bosworth. Of course, family members can be just as agenda-driven as biographers (often more so), and Robert Clift has his own emotional stake in his uncle’s legacy. But the film asks pointed questions about how even small extrapolations can have distorting effects—was Monty really “more loved than loving,” as Bosworth infers from an anecdote?—and about our reductive understanding of the pre-Stonewall era.
I first saw “Making Montgomery Clift” last summer, at the Provincetown International Film Festival, and was rapt. So I was surprised to see, months later, that it had been quietly released on demand. One wonders whether a more conventional film—one that upheld the image of gay self-loathing—might have had wider distribution. But the documentary is fascinating on its own peculiar terms, especially for anyone who loves or writes Hollywood history. In the end, it’s a good portrait of Montgomery Clift as well. At one point, we hear Monty on a phone call with a journalist, who seems to imply that he leads a “murky life.” “That sounds so fucking dismal, I must say,” Monty replies. “I can’t say I am just melancholy or I am just sad or I am just anything.”


newyorker--2020-01-23--Adam Schiff’s Moment at the Senate Impeachment Trial of Donald Trump

Leaving the Senate chamber on Wednesday afternoon for a short break , the Washington Post reporter Paul Kane called over to his colleague Dana Milbank , a Post columnist .
“ Got milk !
Got milk !
” Kane said .
“ We got milk !
” Tom Cotton , a Republican of Arkansas , was the first verified sighting of a senator actually drinking a glass of milk on the Senate floor during this once-in-a-generation impeachment trial of a President .
Until the trial ’ s opening , the day before , the milk had been the stuff of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ senators , confined to sit silently in their seats for the entire weeks-long proceedings , deprived of electronics and food , could drink it on the floor , along with water—and only water—but no one seemed to be really sure that it was true .
Now , two afternoons and one very late-night session into the trial of Donald John Trump , it was confirmed .
Soon , Richard Burr , a Republican of North Carolina , was also spotted downing a glass .
The Wall Street Journal wrote a blog post about @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Cotton ’ s spokesperson confirmed that the white liquid was , in fact , milk .
In truth , the whole Senate looked like it needed a restorative glass .
Even late on Wednesday afternoon , the senators still seemed as though they were recovering from the trial ’ s marathon opening day , which was not technically an all-nighter but close to a Senate version of one .
As the House managers began to methodically lay out their case against President Trump , there was a general hangover quality to Wednesday ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ tone of the trial ’ s first day , which culminated in a 1 A.M. admonishment from the otherwise silent Chief Justice John Roberts , who rebuked both sides for “ using language that is not conducive to civil discourse.
” By the time the trial reconvened , eleven hours later , the Senate chaplain was opening the session with a prayer for “ civility ” and bromides about how “ words have consequences.
” The partisan discord had been the predictable by-product of a partisan House impeachment followed by a partisan set @ @ @ @ @ @ @ adopted , along a strictly party-line vote , as the trial ’ s first official business .
After midnight , Jerry Nadler , the chairman of the House Judiciary Committee and one of the seven House managers prosecuting the trial , had given a strident and even angry speech .
He accused Senate Republicans—every single one of them—of participating in a “ coverup ” by refusing to demand that Trump produce witnesses and documents that he has been withholding .
His speech triggered an almost shouting response from Trump ’ s lawyers .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ were dismayed by the tone of Nadler ’ s late-night attack .
“ It was so insulting and outrageous , ” John Cornyn , a Republican from Texas , told reporters on Wednesday , before the trial started up again .
“ It was a shock to all of us.
” It wasn ’ t just Cornyn .
“ I took it as very offensive .
As one who is listening attentively and working hard to get to a fair process , I was offended , ” Alaska ’ s Lisa Murkowski , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a potential swing vote , said .
The Democrats seemed to be listening , and the tone struck by Nadler and his House colleagues was notably different on Wednesday , when they began to lay out their case to the Senate .
Under the Republican rules for the trial , they will have twenty-four hours in the span of three days to present that case , and then the Trump legal team will have three days to respond .
When , soon after 1 P.M. , Adam Schiff , the lead House manager @ @ @ @ @ @ @ outline the House ’ s indictment of Trump , he did not apologize exactly for Nadler ’ s heated words or for his own scathing characterization of the trial as an “ ass-backwards ” exercise .
But he profusely thanked the senators for their late-night session and attentiveness , lavished praise on the Senate as a deliberative body , and launched into the kind of elevated peroration about the Founders that senators love .
Later in the day , Nadler praised the senators for their “ temperate listening ” in the course of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ thank you , ” he said .
A couple hours later , his House colleague Hakeem Jeffries made sure that the point was made to the prickly senators .
“ I thank you once again for your indulgence and for your courtesy , ” he said .
More substantively , Schiff offered a sweeping survey of the case that leaned hard into themes designed to resonate with national-security-minded Republicans .
He reminded them that the allegations involve the President ’ s withholding of nearly four hundred million dollars in congressionally-appropriated security aid to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ launch politically motivated investigations that would help Trump .
He spoke of the debunked Russian conspiracy theory “ being promulgated by the President of the United States ” and of the damage that the whole scandal has done to America ’ s international standing .
He quoted the Republican icon Ronald Reagan and warned that Trump risked empowering autocrats around the world by undercutting American democracy at home .
“ Russia is not a threat—I don ’ t need to tell you—to Eastern Europe alone , ” Schiff reminded the senators .
As @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the Senate chamber to Mitt Romney , the Utah Republican who just a few years ago had been the Party ’ s Presidential nominee and had warned that Russia was the greatest geopolitical foe facing the United States .
Romney had lost that race , of course , and is now the junior senator from Utah and one of the few Republicans who might be considering voting to convict Trump .
Schiff ’ s pitch seemed aimed almost directly at Romney .
In all likelihood , though , there are few , if @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for , and few senators who can actually be persuaded by the many , many hours of evidence and argument that they will be forced to sit through in the next few days .
“ This is [ as ] predictable as the end of a Hallmark movie , ” Representative Mark Meadows , a Republican of North Carolina and a designated Trump-spinner , told reporters during one of the trial ’ s breaks .
His statement was cynical but also probably true .
Still , the House managers made a polished , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ dramatizing their case with an attention-grabbing presentation ( designed to keep the senators awake , perhaps ? )
that included video clips from Trump himself ; his acting chief of staff , Mick Mulvaney ; and many of the key witnesses from the House ’ s televised impeachment proceedings .
It was a sort of greatest hits of the Trump-Ukraine scandal , a primer for senators—from Trump ’ s “ do us a favor though ” demand for investigations , in his July 25th phone call with Ukraine ’ s President , to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ it ” press conference , in which he appeared to confirm that Trump had held up the military aid as a quid pro quo for the investigations .
To anyone who had followed the House impeachment proceedings , it wasn ’ t new , but it was frequently eloquent , appalling , and dramatic to hear the alarming facts of the case laid out all over again .
As Schiff—a silver-tongued former prosecutor , whose talent for speechifying has been revealed to a national audience in the past few months—pointed out , this @ @ @ @ @ @ @ representative of the whole Trump era , when “ so much of the last three years has been a combination of shock , and yet no surprise.
” Even if Schiff was not convincing any senators , the Democrats ’ uninterrupted day of speaking on the Senate floor , unrebutted by any Republican , seemed to make the President predictably furious .
Although he was travelling back from a short trip to Davos , Switzerland , to bask in the applause of the global financial élite , Trump easily surpassed his previous single-day @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Presidency , sending out a stream of more than a hundred and thirty tweets and retweets—the vast majority of them complaints about his impeachment and the Senate trial .
At one point , Trump passed along a tweet from Rand Paul , the Republican senator from Kentucky , who claimed that “ the more we hear from Adam Schiff , the more the GOP is getting unified against this partisan charade !
” “ True !
” Trump tweeted .
For a President who often has a problem with the facts , he @ @ @ @ @ @ @ all it takes is four Republican senators to prove him wrong , four Republicans to vote for witnesses and breach the information blockade that has made Trump perhaps the most successful stonewaller in Presidential history .
If he was so confident , why was he tweeting so much ?

Leaving the Senate chamber on Wednesday afternoon for a short break, the Washington Post reporter Paul Kane called over to his colleague Dana Milbank, a Post columnist. “Got milk! Got milk!” Kane said. “We got milk!” Tom Cotton, a Republican of Arkansas, was the first verified sighting of a senator actually drinking a glass of milk on the Senate floor during this once-in-a-generation impeachment trial of a President. Until the trial’s opening, the day before, the milk had been the stuff of congressional legend. It was rumored that senators, confined to sit silently in their seats for the entire weeks-long proceedings, deprived of electronics and food, could drink it on the floor, along with water—and only water—but no one seemed to be really sure that it was true.
Now, two afternoons and one very late-night session into the trial of Donald John Trump, it was confirmed. Soon, Richard Burr, a Republican of North Carolina, was also spotted downing a glass. The Wall Street Journal wrote a blog post about it. There were excited tweets. Cotton’s spokesperson confirmed that the white liquid was, in fact, milk. In truth, the whole Senate looked like it needed a restorative glass. Even late on Wednesday afternoon, the senators still seemed as though they were recovering from the trial’s marathon opening day, which was not technically an all-nighter but close to a Senate version of one.
As the House managers began to methodically lay out their case against President Trump, there was a general hangover quality to Wednesday’s proceedings—a hangover from the sharply partisan tone of the trial’s first day, which culminated in a 1 A.M. admonishment from the otherwise silent Chief Justice John Roberts, who rebuked both sides for “using language that is not conducive to civil discourse.” By the time the trial reconvened, eleven hours later, the Senate chaplain was opening the session with a prayer for “civility” and bromides about how “words have consequences.”
The partisan discord had been the predictable by-product of a partisan House impeachment followed by a partisan set of trial rules, which the Senate adopted, along a strictly party-line vote, as the trial’s first official business. After midnight, Jerry Nadler, the chairman of the House Judiciary Committee and one of the seven House managers prosecuting the trial, had given a strident and even angry speech. He accused Senate Republicans—every single one of them—of participating in a “coverup” by refusing to demand that Trump produce witnesses and documents that he has been withholding. His speech triggered an almost shouting response from Trump’s lawyers. Ignoring that, Republicans insisted that they were dismayed by the tone of Nadler’s late-night attack. “It was so insulting and outrageous,” John Cornyn, a Republican from Texas, told reporters on Wednesday, before the trial started up again. “It was a shock to all of us.” It wasn’t just Cornyn. “I took it as very offensive. As one who is listening attentively and working hard to get to a fair process, I was offended,” Alaska’s Lisa Murkowski, one of the few Republicans who is a potential swing vote, said.
The Democrats seemed to be listening, and the tone struck by Nadler and his House colleagues was notably different on Wednesday, when they began to lay out their case to the Senate. Under the Republican rules for the trial, they will have twenty-four hours in the span of three days to present that case, and then the Trump legal team will have three days to respond. When, soon after 1 P.M., Adam Schiff, the lead House manager, took the floor and began to outline the House’s indictment of Trump, he did not apologize exactly for Nadler’s heated words or for his own scathing characterization of the trial as an “ass-backwards” exercise. But he profusely thanked the senators for their late-night session and attentiveness, lavished praise on the Senate as a deliberative body, and launched into the kind of elevated peroration about the Founders that senators love. Later in the day, Nadler praised the senators for their “temperate listening” in the course of many long hours. “Truly, thank you,” he said. A couple hours later, his House colleague Hakeem Jeffries made sure that the point was made to the prickly senators. “I thank you once again for your indulgence and for your courtesy,” he said.
More substantively, Schiff offered a sweeping survey of the case that leaned hard into themes designed to resonate with national-security-minded Republicans. He reminded them that the allegations involve the President’s withholding of nearly four hundred million dollars in congressionally-appropriated security aid to Ukraine in order to induce Kyiv to launch politically motivated investigations that would help Trump. He spoke of the debunked Russian conspiracy theory “being promulgated by the President of the United States” and of the damage that the whole scandal has done to America’s international standing. He quoted the Republican icon Ronald Reagan and warned that Trump risked empowering autocrats around the world by undercutting American democracy at home. “Russia is not a threat—I don’t need to tell you—to Eastern Europe alone,” Schiff reminded the senators.
As he said it, I looked across the Senate chamber to Mitt Romney, the Utah Republican who just a few years ago had been the Party’s Presidential nominee and had warned that Russia was the greatest geopolitical foe facing the United States. Romney had lost that race, of course, and is now the junior senator from Utah and one of the few Republicans who might be considering voting to convict Trump. Schiff’s pitch seemed aimed almost directly at Romney. In all likelihood, though, there are few, if any, votes that are not accounted for, and few senators who can actually be persuaded by the many, many hours of evidence and argument that they will be forced to sit through in the next few days. “This is [as] predictable as the end of a Hallmark movie,” Representative Mark Meadows, a Republican of North Carolina and a designated Trump-spinner, told reporters during one of the trial’s breaks. His statement was cynical but also probably true.
Still, the House managers made a polished, impassioned stab at convincing their audience, dramatizing their case with an attention-grabbing presentation (designed to keep the senators awake, perhaps?) that included video clips from Trump himself; his acting chief of staff, Mick Mulvaney; and many of the key witnesses from the House’s televised impeachment proceedings. It was a sort of greatest hits of the Trump-Ukraine scandal, a primer for senators—from Trump’s “do us a favor though” demand for investigations, in his July 25th phone call with Ukraine’s President, to Mulvaney’s famous “get over it” press conference, in which he appeared to confirm that Trump had held up the military aid as a quid pro quo for the investigations. To anyone who had followed the House impeachment proceedings, it wasn’t new, but it was frequently eloquent, appalling, and dramatic to hear the alarming facts of the case laid out all over again. As Schiff—a silver-tongued former prosecutor, whose talent for speechifying has been revealed to a national audience in the past few months—pointed out, this makes the impeachment case itself a perfect representative of the whole Trump era, when “so much of the last three years has been a combination of shock, and yet no surprise.”
Even if Schiff was not convincing any senators, the Democrats’ uninterrupted day of speaking on the Senate floor, unrebutted by any Republican, seemed to make the President predictably furious. Although he was travelling back from a short trip to Davos, Switzerland, to bask in the applause of the global financial élite, Trump easily surpassed his previous single-day record of frenetic social-media activity during his Presidency, sending out a stream of more than a hundred and thirty tweets and retweets—the vast majority of them complaints about his impeachment and the Senate trial. At one point, Trump passed along a tweet from Rand Paul, the Republican senator from Kentucky, who claimed that “the more we hear from Adam Schiff, the more the GOP is getting unified against this partisan charade!” “True!” Trump tweeted. For a President who often has a problem with the facts, he might even have been right. But all it takes is four Republican senators to prove him wrong, four Republicans to vote for witnesses and breach the information blockade that has made Trump perhaps the most successful stonewaller in Presidential history. If he was so confident, why was he tweeting so much?


newyorker--2020-01-22--The Urgent But Stilted “Les Misérables”

The Urgent But Stilted “Les Misérables”

There ’ s a canny point of view built into Ladj Ly ’ s first feature , “ Les Misérables , ” which opened in New York last Friday ( and is one of the five Oscar nominees for Best International Feature ) .
It ’ s a police story , with a difference .
Damien Bonnard plays Stéphane , a police officer newly transferred from the provinces of France to a suburb of Paris called Montfermeil , which is home to many people of color , largely of African ( both North African and sub-Saharan African ) descent .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ assigned to a patrol alongside a black officer named Gwada ( Djibril Zonga ) and led by another officer , Chris ( Alexis Manenti ) , who ’ s also white .
Their precinct captain ( Jeanne Balibar ) sends mixed messages , telling Stéphane that Chris is something of a cowboy in the streets—but that she tolerates no “ inappropriate behavior.
” “ Les Misérables ” —borrowing the title for today ’ s poor people of Montfermeil from Victor Hugo ’ s novel because he wrote it in that very town—tells a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ entirely from Stéphane ’ s point of view , showing its residents on their own , mainly in brief informational scenes that fill in plot points .
It ’ s also a movie in which the elaborate setup isn ’ t merely indispensable to a discussion of the movie ; it ’ s the very point—there ’ s very little psychology to the movie , very little personality bestowed upon its characters .
Rather , the film proceeds like a virtual documentary , with the specifics of the plot providing factual discoveries from @ @ @ @ @ @ @ whose point of view stands in for that of a useful abstraction , the average white French person .
That sense of discovery , of step-by-step unfolding of events in which the viewer is identified with an implicated participant who is also ignorant of the circumstances in which he ’ s forced to take action , is a dramatic doubling of the baseline conditions of French political and media life .
It ’ s that shrewdly confrontational positioning that gives the film its immediacy , its passionate and diagnostic power—and one of the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is the behavior of the police itself .
Inappropriate behavior , Stéphane discovers , is exactly what Chris delivers from the moment that the three cops begin their patrol in and around housing projects in Montfermeil .
Chris is a loose cannon : he refers to people he ’ s arrested as his “ clients ” ; he harasses a fifteen-year-old girl at a bus stop with explicitly sexual threats and smashes the cell phone of her friend who ’ s recording him ; he threatens to falsely accuse an ex-convict who ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ terrorists ; he casually menaces residents with his power to inflict violence with impunity ; and he leverages his power to benefit from petty bribery .
When Stéphane—whom Chris nicknames Pento , a brand of hair cream , because of his naturally greasy hair ( and that ’ s what he ’ s called throughout the film ) —challenges Chris ’ s behavior , Chris responds by calling him a newbie with no standing and claims that only by such tough methods can the police gain the “ respect ” of the community @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the case : the officers are feared , hated , and seen as the front lines of an occupation force .
Then comes a chance to do good : a lion cub has been stolen from a newly installed travelling circus ; the proprietors , a tough group of Roma men , saw a black kid steal it and are threatening vigilante justice if the cub isn ’ t found and returned .
Chris knows to track social media for a teen-age boast ; he finds an image of the cub , held @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Issa Perica ) , and the trio trawl playgrounds and sandlots in search of him .
But when they find Issa , he flees , and his large group of friends help him get away and resist the cops ’ pursuit .
In the resulting clamor , with the neighborhood kids—called the “ microbes ” by Chris—throwing rocks and debris at the police and the handcuffed Issa trying to flee again , one of the cops seriously injures him .
The incident has been recorded by a child nicknamed Buzz ( Al-Hassan Ly @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , and the three cops , both fearing the possibility of a riot and fearing for their own reputations , conduct an extralegal chase of that kid .
The pursuit is double—an effort to get the kid ( or , at least , his camera ’ s memory card ) and an effort to conceal or dissemble Issa ’ s injuries .
The quest takes the three policemen on frantic rounds through the neighborhood and brings to the fore a varied group of characters , including the town ’ s mayor ( Steve @ @ @ @ @ @ @ power plays are cynical and apolitical ; members of the Muslim Brotherhood , who play the role of mentors to young men , proselytizers , and vigilantes ; Salah ( Almamy Kanouté ) , the now devout ex-convict , who owns a kebab restaurant called Ali Boumaye , which is an unofficial seat of power and dispute resolution ; and a drug dealer ( Nizar Ben Fatma ) who has an interest in keeping the neighborhood passive in order to keep the police away and his business thriving .
In Ly ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ he depicts women largely as mothers , at home , struggling to keep their children outside the grasp of the police and their families on stable footing .
( One very brief but memorable scene shows women of African descent gathered in a “ tontine , ” a private lending club . )
“ Les Misérables ” depicts the residents of Montfermeil as living under an oppressive regime that treats them with brazen disrespect—and shows the practical effects , a mass-incarceration revolving door between prison and the streets , and also the emotional @ @ @ @ @ @ @ just one incident in order to boil over into violence .
The actions and attitudes of one abusive and contemptuous cop , namely , Chris , poison the actions of the trio—including of Gwada , who is himself of African descent and works hard to maintain civil and compassionate relations with the people of Montfermeil—and leads to an injury , compounded by a coverup , that threatens to turn to public protest or to a riot .
A series of riots provides the movie with its historical context ( one that ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in the course of the action ) —one that took place in 2005 , throughout France , after two adolescents , Zyed Benna and Bouna Traoré , from the Paris suburb of Clichy-sous-Bois , hid in an unmarked electrical substation when fleeing the police and were electrocuted .
Three weeks of rage , in which government buildings and cars were burned and three people were killed , led to a state of emergency and thousands of arrests ; it also led to more stringent anti-immigration measures .
( The police were ultimately cleared @ @ @ @ @ @ @ premise of the adult characters in “ Les Misérables ” —Montfermeil residents and police officers alike—is that the danger that would result from unleashing the community ’ s anger is greater than the damage to the community from having its anger remain unacknowledged , its oppression unredressed .
The drama of “ Les Misérables ” is essentially a report—the story of Stéphane ’ s discovery of hateful abuse in a system in which he believes , his discovery of unaddressed frustration and overlooked anger among France ’ s nonwhite residents , and his @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , and significantly , responsible for that frustration and anger .
On the other hand , by constructing the movie with a sense of quasi-factual discovery , Ly keeps Stéphane ’ s principles and concerns on the surface—Stéphane takes great risks to attempt to keep the peace and make the best of a bad situation , but what he knows and understands from his previous terms of police work is kept as rigorously outside the movie as any sense of conflicting principles that Gwada endures , or the lives and thoughts of Montfermeil @ @ @ @ @ @ @ police .
( The few scenes of private life that the movie shows are merely anecdotal . )
Though Ly sketches characters whose actions the movie follows , he doesn ’ t develop them .
The people of Montfermeil are no less blank slates adorned with dramatically salient traits than are the police officers .
Ly grew up in Montfermeil , and his intimate knowledge of its social and physical terrain provides the movie with its urgent substance .
Yet that substance is oddly shorn of history and culture ; its merely plot-driven @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s merely functional direction , to flatten “ Les Misérables ” into the undistinguished style of conventionally apolitical and socially indifferent conventional crime dramas .
For that matter , it plays conceptually like a détournement of such ordinary movies for a pressing political purpose .
Its display , for the edification of white French people , of the abuses in which they ’ re obliviously complicit and the righteous anger that they arouse unawares is itself a psychological masterstroke .
The film ’ s carefully constructed point of view only stands for @ @ @ @ @ @ @ construction that isolates crucial phenomena and shows them to be both distinct and urgent .
That analytical isolation comes at an artistic price .
The response of Montfermeil ’ s oppressed and outraged young people arises in a sequence of intense drama that has the feeling of both a liberation and an apocalypse .
It ’ s hectic , painful , thrilling , and symbolic—even if merely symbolic .
Strangely , its symbolic power reflects back throughout the entire film to suggest what ’ s been missing .

There’s a canny point of view built into Ladj Ly’s first feature, “Les Misérables,” which opened in New York last Friday (and is one of the five Oscar nominees for Best International Feature). It’s a police story, with a difference. Damien Bonnard plays Stéphane, a police officer newly transferred from the provinces of France to a suburb of Paris called Montfermeil, which is home to many people of color, largely of African (both North African and sub-Saharan African) descent. Stéphane is white; he’s assigned to a patrol alongside a black officer named Gwada (Djibril Zonga) and led by another officer, Chris (Alexis Manenti), who’s also white. Their precinct captain (Jeanne Balibar) sends mixed messages, telling Stéphane that Chris is something of a cowboy in the streets—but that she tolerates no “inappropriate behavior.”
“Les Misérables”—borrowing the title for today’s poor people of Montfermeil from Victor Hugo’s novel because he wrote it in that very town—tells a complex story, and tells it almost entirely from Stéphane’s point of view, showing its residents on their own, mainly in brief informational scenes that fill in plot points. It’s also a movie in which the elaborate setup isn’t merely indispensable to a discussion of the movie; it’s the very point—there’s very little psychology to the movie, very little personality bestowed upon its characters. Rather, the film proceeds like a virtual documentary, with the specifics of the plot providing factual discoveries from the perspective of a white officer, whose point of view stands in for that of a useful abstraction, the average white French person. That sense of discovery, of step-by-step unfolding of events in which the viewer is identified with an implicated participant who is also ignorant of the circumstances in which he’s forced to take action, is a dramatic doubling of the baseline conditions of French political and media life. It’s that shrewdly confrontational positioning that gives the film its immediacy, its passionate and diagnostic power—and one of the many quasi-documentary elements that the movie depicts is the behavior of the police itself.
Inappropriate behavior, Stéphane discovers, is exactly what Chris delivers from the moment that the three cops begin their patrol in and around housing projects in Montfermeil. Chris is a loose cannon: he refers to people he’s arrested as his “clients”; he harasses a fifteen-year-old girl at a bus stop with explicitly sexual threats and smashes the cell phone of her friend who’s recording him; he threatens to falsely accuse an ex-convict who’s an observant Muslim of collaborating with terrorists; he casually menaces residents with his power to inflict violence with impunity; and he leverages his power to benefit from petty bribery. When Stéphane—whom Chris nicknames Pento, a brand of hair cream, because of his naturally greasy hair (and that’s what he’s called throughout the film)—challenges Chris’s behavior, Chris responds by calling him a newbie with no standing and claims that only by such tough methods can the police gain the “respect” of the community. Of course, the opposite is the case: the officers are feared, hated, and seen as the front lines of an occupation force.
Then comes a chance to do good: a lion cub has been stolen from a newly installed travelling circus; the proprietors, a tough group of Roma men, saw a black kid steal it and are threatening vigilante justice if the cub isn’t found and returned. Chris knows to track social media for a teen-age boast; he finds an image of the cub, held by a local teen named Issa (Issa Perica), and the trio trawl playgrounds and sandlots in search of him. But when they find Issa, he flees, and his large group of friends help him get away and resist the cops’ pursuit. In the resulting clamor, with the neighborhood kids—called the “microbes” by Chris—throwing rocks and debris at the police and the handcuffed Issa trying to flee again, one of the cops seriously injures him. The incident has been recorded by a child nicknamed Buzz (Al-Hassan Ly), who flies a drone camera, and the three cops, both fearing the possibility of a riot and fearing for their own reputations, conduct an extralegal chase of that kid.
The pursuit is double—an effort to get the kid (or, at least, his camera’s memory card) and an effort to conceal or dissemble Issa’s injuries. The quest takes the three policemen on frantic rounds through the neighborhood and brings to the fore a varied group of characters, including the town’s mayor (Steve Tientcheu), a black man whose power plays are cynical and apolitical; members of the Muslim Brotherhood, who play the role of mentors to young men, proselytizers, and vigilantes; Salah (Almamy Kanouté), the now devout ex-convict, who owns a kebab restaurant called Ali Boumaye, which is an unofficial seat of power and dispute resolution; and a drug dealer (Nizar Ben Fatma) who has an interest in keeping the neighborhood passive in order to keep the police away and his business thriving. In Ly’s depiction, the community is gender-divided; he depicts women largely as mothers, at home, struggling to keep their children outside the grasp of the police and their families on stable footing. (One very brief but memorable scene shows women of African descent gathered in a “tontine,” a private lending club.)
“Les Misérables” depicts the residents of Montfermeil as living under an oppressive regime that treats them with brazen disrespect—and shows the practical effects, a mass-incarceration revolving door between prison and the streets, and also the emotional effects, a simmering rage that awaits just one incident in order to boil over into violence. The actions and attitudes of one abusive and contemptuous cop, namely, Chris, poison the actions of the trio—including of Gwada, who is himself of African descent and works hard to maintain civil and compassionate relations with the people of Montfermeil—and leads to an injury, compounded by a coverup, that threatens to turn to public protest or to a riot.
A series of riots provides the movie with its historical context (one that’s expressly referred to, by Stéphane, in the course of the action)—one that took place in 2005, throughout France, after two adolescents, Zyed Benna and Bouna Traoré, from the Paris suburb of Clichy-sous-Bois, hid in an unmarked electrical substation when fleeing the police and were electrocuted. Three weeks of rage, in which government buildings and cars were burned and three people were killed, led to a state of emergency and thousands of arrests; it also led to more stringent anti-immigration measures. (The police were ultimately cleared of any wrongdoing.) The underlying premise of the adult characters in “Les Misérables”—Montfermeil residents and police officers alike—is that the danger that would result from unleashing the community’s anger is greater than the damage to the community from having its anger remain unacknowledged, its oppression unredressed.
The drama of “Les Misérables” is essentially a report—the story of Stéphane’s discovery of hateful abuse in a system in which he believes, his discovery of unaddressed frustration and overlooked anger among France’s nonwhite residents, and his recognition that his own work is partly, and significantly, responsible for that frustration and anger. On the other hand, by constructing the movie with a sense of quasi-factual discovery, Ly keeps Stéphane’s principles and concerns on the surface—Stéphane takes great risks to attempt to keep the peace and make the best of a bad situation, but what he knows and understands from his previous terms of police work is kept as rigorously outside the movie as any sense of conflicting principles that Gwada endures, or the lives and thoughts of Montfermeil’s residents outside the purview of police. (The few scenes of private life that the movie shows are merely anecdotal.) Though Ly sketches characters whose actions the movie follows, he doesn’t develop them. The people of Montfermeil are no less blank slates adorned with dramatically salient traits than are the police officers.
Ly grew up in Montfermeil, and his intimate knowledge of its social and physical terrain provides the movie with its urgent substance. Yet that substance is oddly shorn of history and culture; its merely plot-driven depictions of its residents converges with Ly’s merely functional direction, to flatten “Les Misérables” into the undistinguished style of conventionally apolitical and socially indifferent conventional crime dramas. For that matter, it plays conceptually like a détournement of such ordinary movies for a pressing political purpose. Its display, for the edification of white French people, of the abuses in which they’re obliviously complicit and the righteous anger that they arouse unawares is itself a psychological masterstroke. The film’s carefully constructed point of view only stands for realism; it’s a laboratory-like construction that isolates crucial phenomena and shows them to be both distinct and urgent. That analytical isolation comes at an artistic price. The response of Montfermeil’s oppressed and outraged young people arises in a sequence of intense drama that has the feeling of both a liberation and an apocalypse. It’s hectic, painful, thrilling, and symbolic—even if merely symbolic. Strangely, its symbolic power reflects back throughout the entire film to suggest what’s been missing.


newyorker--2020-01-22--How an Iowa Farmer Used the Campaign-Stop Economy to Push Climate Action on 2020 Democrats

One afternoon in November , between a rally in Des Moines and a town hall in Knoxville , Joe Biden toured Coyote Run Farm , in Lacona , Iowa .
Biden and his team arrived in two S.U.V.s .
Jill Biden , the former Second Lady , was with him , as were Tom Vilsack , the former Secretary of Agriculture and Iowa governor , and Christie Vilsack , his wife .
The Vilsacks , to some modest fanfare , had endorsed Biden that morning .
Their host at Coyote Run was Matt Russell , the co-owner of the farm @ @ @ @ @ @ @ acres of rolling hills near White Breast Creek .
As they walked the grounds , about twenty reporters who ’ d R.S.V.P.
’ d to an e-mail invitation from the Biden campaign trudged around them , photographers and camera operators shooting film , reporters jotting random notes , everyone but Russell stepping carefully to avoid the cow manure .
A farmer , a campaign , and the press—as cliché as it comes in Iowa .
The group stopped to look over a red barn on the property , a little ways down from @ @ @ @ @ @ @ old ’ s the barn ?
” Biden asked Russell .
Small talk .
But it was the question Russell was waiting for .
He had an answer ready .
There , in front of a former Vice-President , Second Lady , and the most powerful political couple in the state of Iowa , he delivered an entire speech .
Russell is an advocate of a set of buzzy , climate-conscious farming practices collectively known , in certain circles , as regenerative agriculture , which holds the promise of drastically reducing the carbon @ @ @ @ @ @ @ pulling some carbon out of the atmosphere .
Russell wants the government to start paying farmers to implement these practices , and for farmers to start thinking of environmental services as one more commodity that they can cultivate .
The barn was his barn , but also his metaphor .
“ There are five draft-horse stalls in this barn , ” he said , and gestured inside , where one of his dogs was nimbly jumping up onto bales of hay .
“ In the mid-thirties , the previous owners were betting that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ harnesses .
And we know the future of agriculture in the thirties was tractors and hybrids and petrochemicals .
And we ’ re at that exact same moment.
” Russell is a fifth-generation Iowa farmer , but , like his father before him , farming life is something he left and returned to as an adult .
After graduating from high school , he considered becoming a Catholic priest but ended up in agricultural policy instead .
He worked for many years at Drake University ’ s Agricultural Law Center , and as @ @ @ @ @ @ @ during the Obama Administration .
He now works as the executive director of Iowa Interfaith Power & Light , an affiliate of the national faith-based nonprofit that advocates for action on climate change .
Russell and his husband , Patrick Standley , bought Coyote Run fifteen years ago .
Standley was a zookeeper .
He took care of the big cats—Siberian tigers , African lions , snow leopards—at the Blank Park Zoo , in Des Moines , until 2006 , when he quit to manage Coyote Run full time .
“ We ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ family , ” Russell , who is forty-nine , told me earlier this month , when I stopped by the farm again .
“ One farm income and one non-farm income .
That ’ s absolutely normative.
” Coyote Run doesn ’ t look like what you ’ d expect when you think of an Iowa farm .
There ’ s the rolling hills , plus trees , a couple of ponds , and no corn or soybeans on site .
Russell and Standley used to raise cattle , and chickens , and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ down to mostly just the cows now , along with various efforts to implement regenerative practices like cover crops , rotational grazing , and managing unproductive land so it returns to prairie or wetland .
They sell their produce to restaurants and beef to families in the area .
When I arrived , Russell had just come back from some morning meetings in Des Moines .
He had me wait in his kitchen while he changed out of his “ city pants.
” The house , like the farm , is a work @ @ @ @ @ @ @ exposed beams .
On the stove was a chocolate-chip-cookie bar that Standley had baked .
The windows above it looked out over the pale winter fields .
This past year , in addition to Biden , Beto O ’ Rourke and Kamala Harris made campaign stops at Coyote Run .
According to Russell , more than half a dozen other 2020 candidates or their campaigns—Elizabeth Warren , Pete Buttigieg , Jay Inslee , Tom Steyer , Kirsten Gillibrand , Andrew Yang , Cory Booker , Amy Klobuchar , Tim Ryan—have called to talk @ @ @ @ @ @ @ sudden interest in Coyote Run was borne of the peculiar economy created by the Iowa caucus process : the supply of candidates on the ground , the public ’ s demand to see them at campaign stops , the exchange rates of local and national issues .
These past twelve months , candidates who wanted to discuss the acute effects of climate change could survey the flood damage that racked the state last spring .
If they wanted to talk about renewable energy , they could tour one of the state ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ wanted to talk about farming and climate change , they could call Russell .
“ A lot of people think that the Iowa caucuses happen in February , ” Russell said .
“ But the most interesting , the most important things are happening leading up to that .
The night of the caucuses is big for the candidates , right ?
But if you ’ re doing any work on the caucus cycle , it ’ s all happening ahead of that time.
” Russell wears glasses and , with the patient @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the terms “ creation ” and “ the environment ” interchangeably .
A year ago , his friend Robert Leonard , a radio journalist from nearby Knoxville , offered to help him write an op-ed about regenerative agriculture .
In February , they published a piece in the Kansas City Star that got some attention from agriculture blogs .
A month later , the Times accepted a piece from them that ran under the headline “ What Democrats Need to Know to Win in Rural America.
” Paying farmers to keep carbon in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ pieces .
Soon after , Russell and Leonard heard from O ’ Rourke , the former Texas congressman .
“ Beto was the first to really run with it , ” Russell said .
“ He called me and Bob , and we had an hour-long sitdown in Des Moines .
It was me and Bob and two staffers , and he just picked our brains.
” The next day , Russell said , “ he came out and he had revised his climate plan .
He said , ‘ I ’ m @ @ @ @ @ @ @ been talking to farmers , and I ’ m making these changes.
’ One of the things he said is we have to pay farmers for environmental services , particularly climate change .
”

Matt Russell promotes regenerative agriculture as a means to reduce carbon emissions, and he hopes to push the government to help farmers put it into practice.
One afternoon in November, between a rally in Des Moines and a town hall in Knoxville, Joe Biden toured Coyote Run Farm, in Lacona, Iowa. Biden and his team arrived in two S.U.V.s. Jill Biden, the former Second Lady, was with him, as were Tom Vilsack, the former Secretary of Agriculture and Iowa governor, and Christie Vilsack, his wife. The Vilsacks, to some modest fanfare, had endorsed Biden that morning. Their host at Coyote Run was Matt Russell, the co-owner of the farm, which occupies a hundred and ten acres of rolling hills near White Breast Creek. As they walked the grounds, about twenty reporters who’d R.S.V.P.’d to an e-mail invitation from the Biden campaign trudged around them, photographers and camera operators shooting film, reporters jotting random notes, everyone but Russell stepping carefully to avoid the cow manure. A farmer, a campaign, and the press—as cliché as it comes in Iowa. The group stopped to look over a red barn on the property, a little ways down from the main farm house. “How old’s the barn?” Biden asked Russell. Small talk. But it was the question Russell was waiting for. He had an answer ready. There, in front of a former Vice-President, Second Lady, and the most powerful political couple in the state of Iowa, he delivered an entire speech.
Russell is an advocate of a set of buzzy, climate-conscious farming practices collectively known, in certain circles, as regenerative agriculture, which holds the promise of drastically reducing the carbon emissions produced by farming, and even pulling some carbon out of the atmosphere. Russell wants the government to start paying farmers to implement these practices, and for farmers to start thinking of environmental services as one more commodity that they can cultivate. The barn was his barn, but also his metaphor. “There are five draft-horse stalls in this barn,” he said, and gestured inside, where one of his dogs was nimbly jumping up onto bales of hay. “In the mid-thirties, the previous owners were betting that the future of agriculture was horses and harnesses. And we know the future of agriculture in the thirties was tractors and hybrids and petrochemicals. And we’re at that exact same moment.”
Russell is a fifth-generation Iowa farmer, but, like his father before him, farming life is something he left and returned to as an adult. After graduating from high school, he considered becoming a Catholic priest but ended up in agricultural policy instead. He worked for many years at Drake University’s Agricultural Law Center, and as an adviser to the Department of Agriculture during the Obama Administration. He now works as the executive director of Iowa Interfaith Power & Light, an affiliate of the national faith-based nonprofit that advocates for action on climate change. Russell and his husband, Patrick Standley, bought Coyote Run fifteen years ago. Standley was a zookeeper. He took care of the big cats—Siberian tigers, African lions, snow leopards—at the Blank Park Zoo, in Des Moines, until 2006, when he quit to manage Coyote Run full time. “We’re really typical of the American farm family,” Russell, who is forty-nine, told me earlier this month, when I stopped by the farm again. “One farm income and one non-farm income. That’s absolutely normative.”
Coyote Run doesn’t look like what you’d expect when you think of an Iowa farm. There’s the rolling hills, plus trees, a couple of ponds, and no corn or soybeans on site. Russell and Standley used to raise cattle, and chickens, and some vegetables, but it’s down to mostly just the cows now, along with various efforts to implement regenerative practices like cover crops, rotational grazing, and managing unproductive land so it returns to prairie or wetland. They sell their produce to restaurants and beef to families in the area. When I arrived, Russell had just come back from some morning meetings in Des Moines. He had me wait in his kitchen while he changed out of his “city pants.” The house, like the farm, is a work in progress, with unfinished walls and exposed beams. On the stove was a chocolate-chip-cookie bar that Standley had baked. The windows above it looked out over the pale winter fields.
This past year, in addition to Biden, Beto O’Rourke and Kamala Harris made campaign stops at Coyote Run. According to Russell, more than half a dozen other 2020 candidates or their campaigns—Elizabeth Warren, Pete Buttigieg, Jay Inslee, Tom Steyer, Kirsten Gillibrand, Andrew Yang, Cory Booker, Amy Klobuchar, Tim Ryan—have called to talk about agriculture and climate change. The sudden interest in Coyote Run was borne of the peculiar economy created by the Iowa caucus process: the supply of candidates on the ground, the public’s demand to see them at campaign stops, the exchange rates of local and national issues. These past twelve months, candidates who wanted to discuss the acute effects of climate change could survey the flood damage that racked the state last spring. If they wanted to talk about renewable energy, they could tour one of the state’s many wind farms. And if they wanted to talk about farming and climate change, they could call Russell. “A lot of people think that the Iowa caucuses happen in February,” Russell said. “But the most interesting, the most important things are happening leading up to that. The night of the caucuses is big for the candidates, right? But if you’re doing any work on the caucus cycle, it’s all happening ahead of that time.”
Russell wears glasses and, with the patient bearing of a would-be clergyman, uses the terms “creation” and “the environment” interchangeably. A year ago, his friend Robert Leonard, a radio journalist from nearby Knoxville, offered to help him write an op-ed about regenerative agriculture. In February, they published a piece in the Kansas City Star that got some attention from agriculture blogs. A month later, the Times accepted a piece from them that ran under the headline “What Democrats Need to Know to Win in Rural America.” Paying farmers to keep carbon in the ground was a topic of both pieces. Soon after, Russell and Leonard heard from O’Rourke, the former Texas congressman. “Beto was the first to really run with it,” Russell said. “He called me and Bob, and we had an hour-long sitdown in Des Moines. It was me and Bob and two staffers, and he just picked our brains.” The next day, Russell said, “he came out and he had revised his climate plan. He said, ‘I’m in Iowa, and I’ve been talking to farmers, and I’m making these changes.’ One of the things he said is we have to pay farmers for environmental services, particularly climate change.”
After O’Rourke, other campaigns started reaching out. Some candidates already knew about regenerative agriculture. Tom Steyer and his wife, Kat Taylor, own a ranch in California where they employ regenerative practices. Tim Ryan, the Ohio congressman, who dropped out of the race in October, became interested in regenerative farming a few years ago, when he was thinking a lot about food and nutrition. But others were coming to it fresh. “I never made a call to a candidate,” Russell said. “They all called us.” By May, Russell had been invited to Washington to testify before the House Subcommittee on the Climate Crisis. References to regenerative practices or decarbonizing farming now appear in the climate or rural America plans of all the leading Democratic candidates, and the idea of paying farmers for environmental services has come up at all but one of the seven Democratic debates. At the Democratic debate in Des Moines earlier this month, facing off against several opponents who have signed on to the tenets of the Green New Deal, Biden made the case for the merits of his own climate plans. “One of the ways to do it is with farmers here in Iowa,” he said. “Making them the first group in the world to get to net-zero emissions by paying them for planting and absorbing carbon in their fields.” This was Russell’s argument, if slightly bungled.
Russell and Leonard had used the media to reach the campaigns, and then, through the campaigns, they started reaching the media. Russell heard from reporters from the U.K., France, the Netherlands, and Japan. CNN, Mother Jones, and Politico called him up. In some ways, though, it was more difficult to communicate their message to the media than the candidates. Both Russell and Leonard remember the press’s reaction to O’Rourke’s visit to Coyote Run. “I’m waiting for them to ask a question,” Leonard told me. “ ‘Tell us more about carbon sequestration.’ ‘Tell us more about fighting climate change.’ And it’s, like, nothing, nothing, nothing.” The Associated Press report from O’Rourke’s visit to Coyote Run ran under the headline “O’Rourke Campaigns with Wife, Looks to Boost Female Support.” After Biden’s visit, I wrote a short piece that focussed more on the questions that were asked about his past struggles to overcome a childhood stutter than about the farm itself.