newyorker--2020-11-01--Sunday Reading: The Choice in 2020

Sunday Reading: The Choice in 2020

In 2018 , Roger Angell published an urgent call in this magazine to vote .
He had cast his first vote for President , for Franklin Delano Roosevelt , in 1944 , with a mail-in ballot while serving in the Central Pacific as a sergeant in the U.S. Air Force .
In his youth , Angell wrote , he had a conviction that his vote was worth dying for ; nearly seventy-five years later , at the age of ninety-eight , he felt passionately that it was worth living for .
This week , we ’ re bringing you a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
In “ Can Biden 's Center Hold ?
, ” Evan Osnos profiles the former Vice-President as he makes the case for his ability to heal ideological rifts and offers a new vision for a beleaguered country .
Dana Goodyear writes about Kamala Harris ’ s background as a prosecutor and charts her political trajectory .
In “ Donald Trump 's Consistent Unreliability on COVID , and Everything Else , ” Steve Coll examines the consequences of the President ’ s persistent failures during the pandemic .
In “ Is Russian Meddling @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” Joshua Yaffa explores what we know about the impact of Russian election interference and the rise of disinformation .
Finally , New Yorker editors and writers offer a Presidential endorsement for Tuesday .
Taken together , these pieces provide a bracing reminder of the stakes in this year ’ s election .
If you haven ’ t already done so , please vote .
Roger would appreciate it .
After a career built on incremental progress , Joe Biden is promising a Presidency of transformational change .
She has been criticized as @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Can she prove that she ’ s a force for change ?
It is painful to reflect on the tens of thousands of lives that might have been saved if a less reality-challenged President had occupied the White House .
In focussing on the tactics of the aggressors , we overlook our weaknesses as victims .
It would be a relief simply to have a President who doesn ’ t abuse the office as a colossal grift .

In 2018, Roger Angell published an urgent call in this magazine to vote. He had cast his first vote for President, for Franklin Delano Roosevelt, in 1944, with a mail-in ballot while serving in the Central Pacific as a sergeant in the Army Air Forces. In his youth, Angell wrote, he had a conviction that his vote was worth dying for; nearly seventy-five years later, at the age of ninety-eight, he felt passionately that it was worth living for. This week, we’re bringing you a selection of pieces about the 2020 election. In “Can Biden's Center Hold?,” Evan Osnos profiles the former Vice-President as he makes the case for his ability to heal ideological rifts and offers a new vision for a beleaguered country. Dana Goodyear writes about Kamala Harris’s background as a prosecutor and charts her political trajectory. In “Donald Trump's Consistent Unreliability on COVID, and Everything Else,” Steve Coll examines the consequences of the President’s persistent failures during the pandemic. In “Is Russian Meddling as Dangerous as We Think?,” Joshua Yaffa explores what we know about the impact of Russian election interference and the rise of disinformation. Finally, New Yorker editors and writers offer a Presidential endorsement for Tuesday. Taken together, these pieces provide a bracing reminder of the stakes in this year’s election. If you haven’t already done so, please vote. Roger would appreciate it.
— David Remnick
After a career built on incremental progress, Joe Biden is promising a Presidency of transformational change.
Photograph by Andres Serrano for The New Yorker
She has been criticized as a defender of the status quo. Can she prove that she’s a force for change?
It is painful to reflect on the tens of thousands of lives that might have been saved if a less reality-challenged President had occupied the White House.
Illustration by Wenkai Mao
In focussing on the tactics of the aggressors, we overlook our weaknesses as victims.
Illustration by Ben Wiseman
It would be a relief simply to have a President who doesn’t abuse the office as a colossal grift.


newyorker--2020-11-01--Elizabeth Strout Reads William Trevor

Elizabeth Strout Reads William Trevor

Elizabeth Strout joins Deborah Treisman to read and discuss “ Bravado , ” by William Trevor , which appeared in @ @ @ @ @ magazine .
Strout ’ s most recent book , “ Olive , Again , ” @ @ @ @ @ Club pick , was published in 2019 .

Audio available Listen to this story
Download a transcript.
Photograph by Todd Heisler / NYT / Redux
Elizabeth Strout joins Deborah Treisman to read and discuss “Bravado,” by William Trevor, which appeared in a 2007 issue of the magazine. Strout’s most recent book, “Olive, Again,” an Oprah’s Book Club pick, was published in 2019.


newyorker--2020-11-01--The Cryptic Crossword: No. 83

The Cryptic Crossword: No. 83

Some clues have been edited for clarity .
Subscribers can find explanations of the original puzzle ’ s answers in @ @ @

Some clues have been edited for clarity. Subscribers can find explanations of the original puzzle’s answers in our archive.


newyorker--2020-11-01--The Trouble with Election Projections

The Trouble with Election Projections

All this uncertainty has been driving people to horse-race the polls .
Liberals , it seems , pay more attention to polls than conservatives do , and some research suggests that , in 2016 , preëlection polls helped deliver the White House to Donald Trump .
Four years ago this month , much of the press published not only national polls ( which Hillary Clinton led with forty-six per cent of the vote ) but also forecasts of the probability of victory ( “ Hillary Clinton has an 85 % chance to win , ” the Times announced on Election @ @ @ @ @ @ @ some people , confusing the two , to conclude that Clinton was projected to win eighty-five per cent of the vote .
Quite possibly , a number of them , given the seeming inevitability , decided not to vote .
This year , responsible news outlets have been more cautious , but they ’ re also trying to undo an expectation that their own industry has set : that the winner will be known on Election Night .
Newspaper publishers and TV producers have taken pains to explain to their audiences that getting @ @ @ @ @ @ @ longer , this time , and reporters have been warned not to head off for vacation on November 4th .
The most prudent outlets , including the Washington Post , have agreed not to make any predictions—an about-face , since , as Ira Chinoy , of the University of Maryland , has detailed , the press has been predicting the results of Presidential elections for nearly two centuries .
Election predictions are mathematical projections that use polls , early returns , and past election results .
Americans across the country voted on the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 1848 .
That was also the first election reported by the newly formed Associated Press , a “ wire service , ” made possible by the telegraph , which , as a Wisconsin newspaper put it , promised to relieve the public of “ that long suspense which formerly followed elections.
” A Massachusetts newspaper urged readers to cut out and keep the returns , because they ’ d come in handy in 1852 , for those who wanted to make their own projections .
In 1860 , the New York Tribune sold @ @ @ @ @ @ @ containing all the returns back to 1824 , and many papers printed “ score sheets , ” something like baseball scorebooks , which readers could use to figure out who was winning .
In cities , Election Night was like New Year ’ s Eve : crowds gathered outside newspaper offices , where you could learn the results the fastest .
In 1896 , the Tribune announced the winner , William McKinley , by flashing red lights from its building .
( Green would have signalled a victory for William Jennings Bryan .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ needed to open your window , because the Dispatch had arranged for a steamship whistle to blow a “ Succession of Sharp , Short Toots If Returns Favor McKinley .
A Long , Dismal Wail If Returns Favor Bryan.
” In 1916 , William Randolph Hearst ’ s New York American broadcast the results by wireless , boasting , “ Thus , through the clouds , was hurled the news of the night.
” At 11 P.M. , the paper called the election for Charles Evans Hughes ; by morning , it had @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
That same year , the Boston Globe , which pioneered the method of relying on “ key precincts ” to forecast a national result , offered an accurate projection .
In the race to be the first to call an election , CBS found a Polish mathematical savant , Salo Finkelstein , who could make predictions faster than any adding machine .
He made his radio début in 1932 , in the contest between Franklin D. Roosevelt and Herbert Hoover .
In 1952 , CBS television news engaged the services of a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ UNIVAC computer .
That Election Night saw an unexpected outcome : Dwight D. Eisenhower beat Adlai Stevenson in a landslide .
On the air , UNIVAC didn ’ t make that prediction until near midnight .
“ To me the most impressive thing about tonight is again the demonstration that the people of this country are sovereign , that they are unpredictable , ” Edward R. Murrow said .
But UNIVAC had made the right call early on ; CBS had just been too shocked to broadcast it .
In truth , mathematical @ @ @ @ @ @ @ states , or what used to be called “ the doubtful states , ” had made projections so reliable that , in 1955 , Isaac Asimov published a short story about a future in which a very fast computer , the Multivac , selects a representative American to decide the election for the whole country .
No one else votes .
That dystopia has not come to pass .
In 2000 , however , the Bush v. Gore debacle made clear that projecting a winner is not the same as counting ballots .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ egg on our face , ” NBC ’ s Tom Brokaw said the day after the election .
“ We have an omelette.
” Early in the evening , NBC , followed by virtually every other network , had called Florida for Gore and then , later that night , called it for Bush , when all along it had been too close to call .
The networks ’ projections in 2000 relied , in part , on exit polling , which was often flawed and has become an anachronism : it doesn @ @ @ @ @ @ @ vote early , or by mail .
The A.P.
, in the aftermath of the 2016 election , launched a painstakingly scrupulous program called VoteCast , which combines real-time national surveys with data and modelling derived from past elections .
The problem is that there has never been an election like this one .
On November 3rd , if there ’ s a landslide for Joe Biden , that could be clear as early as eleven o ’ clock on the East Coast .
But , if the vote is close , a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ winning , a lead that might be swept away by a “ blue shift.
” Democrats are three times as likely as Republicans to vote by mail .
Ten states don ’ t even begin counting mail-in ballots until Election Day , and eighteen others accept them afterward , as long as they ’ re properly postmarked .
Counting the actual votes might take weeks , Republicans may try to stop it , and Trump could declare an illegitimate victory .
Twitter and Facebook have pledged to add warning labels to any such @ @ @ @ @ @ @ sticking a warning label on a land mine , just before burying it .
Meanwhile , there are two things to do : vote , and wait .
♦

Illustration by João Fazenda
The 2020 Presidential election is likely to smash records. Turnout may well be higher than in any election in the past century. More young people are voting, more people of color are voting, and more people are voting early and by mail. The tallying, too, stands a chance of setting records: in how long it takes for the ballots to be counted, in how widely the results diverge from preëlection predictions, and—if the vote is close—in how fiercely the results are contested in the courts, in the states, in Congress, and in the streets.
All this uncertainty has been driving people to horse-race the polls. Liberals, it seems, pay more attention to polls than conservatives do, and some research suggests that, in 2016, preëlection polls helped deliver the White House to Donald Trump. Four years ago this month, much of the press published not only national polls (which Hillary Clinton led with forty-six per cent of the vote) but also forecasts of the probability of victory (“Hillary Clinton has an 85% chance to win,” the Times announced on Election Day). This may have led some people, confusing the two, to conclude that Clinton was projected to win eighty-five per cent of the vote. Quite possibly, a number of them, given the seeming inevitability, decided not to vote.
This year, responsible news outlets have been more cautious, but they’re also trying to undo an expectation that their own industry has set: that the winner will be known on Election Night. Newspaper publishers and TV producers have taken pains to explain to their audiences that getting the results might take longer, much longer, this time, and reporters have been warned not to head off for vacation on November 4th. The most prudent outlets, including the Washington Post, have agreed not to make any predictions—an about-face, since, as Ira Chinoy, of the University of Maryland, has detailed, the press has been predicting the results of Presidential elections for nearly two centuries.
Election predictions are mathematical projections that use polls, early returns, and past election results. Americans across the country voted on the same day for the first time in 1848. That was also the first election reported by the newly formed Associated Press, a “wire service,” made possible by the telegraph, which, as a Wisconsin newspaper put it, promised to relieve the public of “that long suspense which formerly followed elections.” A Massachusetts newspaper urged readers to cut out and keep the returns, because they’d come in handy in 1852, for those who wanted to make their own projections. In 1860, the New York Tribune sold a “Political Text Book,” containing all the returns back to 1824, and many papers printed “score sheets,” something like baseball scorebooks, which readers could use to figure out who was winning.
In cities, Election Night was like New Year’s Eve: crowds gathered outside newspaper offices, where you could learn the results the fastest. In 1896, the Tribune announced the winner, William McKinley, by flashing red lights from its building. (Green would have signalled a victory for William Jennings Bryan.) In St. Paul, you only needed to open your window, because the Dispatch had arranged for a steamship whistle to blow a “Succession of Sharp, Short Toots If Returns Favor McKinley. A Long, Dismal Wail If Returns Favor Bryan.” In 1916, William Randolph Hearst’s New York American broadcast the results by wireless, boasting, “Thus, through the clouds, was hurled the news of the night.” At 11 P.M., the paper called the election for Charles Evans Hughes; by morning, it had become clear that Woodrow Wilson had won. That same year, the Boston Globe, which pioneered the method of relying on “key precincts” to forecast a national result, offered an accurate projection.
In the race to be the first to call an election, CBS found a Polish mathematical savant, Salo Finkelstein, who could make predictions faster than any adding machine. He made his radio début in 1932, in the contest between Franklin D. Roosevelt and Herbert Hoover. In 1952, CBS television news engaged the services of a “giant electronic brain,” the UNIVAC computer. That Election Night saw an unexpected outcome: Dwight D. Eisenhower beat Adlai Stevenson in a landslide. On the air, UNIVAC didn’t make that prediction until near midnight. “To me the most impressive thing about tonight is again the demonstration that the people of this country are sovereign, that they are unpredictable,” Edward R. Murrow said. But UNIVAC had made the right call early on; CBS had just been too shocked to broadcast it.
In truth, mathematical modelling based on key precincts in swing states, or what used to be called “the doubtful states,” had made projections so reliable that, in 1955, Isaac Asimov published a short story about a future in which a very fast computer, the Multivac, selects a representative American to decide the election for the whole country. No one else votes. That dystopia has not come to pass. In 2000, however, the Bush v. Gore debacle made clear that projecting a winner is not the same as counting ballots. “We don’t just have egg on our face,” NBC’s Tom Brokaw said the day after the election. “We have an omelette.” Early in the evening, NBC, followed by virtually every other network, had called Florida for Gore and then, later that night, called it for Bush, when all along it had been too close to call.
The networks’ projections in 2000 relied, in part, on exit polling, which was often flawed and has become an anachronism: it doesn’t work when so many people vote early, or by mail. The A.P., in the aftermath of the 2016 election, launched a painstakingly scrupulous program called VoteCast, which combines real-time national surveys with data and modelling derived from past elections. The problem is that there has never been an election like this one.
On November 3rd, if there’s a landslide for Joe Biden, that could be clear as early as eleven o’clock on the East Coast. But, if the vote is close, a “red mirage” could show Trump winning, a lead that might be swept away by a “blue shift.” Democrats are three times as likely as Republicans to vote by mail. Ten states don’t even begin counting mail-in ballots until Election Day, and eighteen others accept them afterward, as long as they’re properly postmarked. Counting the actual votes might take weeks, Republicans may try to stop it, and Trump could declare an illegitimate victory. Twitter and Facebook have pledged to add warning labels to any such claim, which is a little like sticking a warning label on a land mine, just before burying it. Meanwhile, there are two things to do: vote, and wait. ♦
Read More About the 2020 Election


newyorker--2020-11-02--How America Can Avoid Dual Cataclysms

How America Can Avoid Dual Cataclysms

Exactly a century later , a new governor , Mike DeWine , took office .
DeWine , a Republican , was Ohio ’ s former attorney general , and , in the early two-thousands , he had been a U.S. senator .
The state ’ s public-health system now consisted of a hundred and thirteen independent programs in eighty-eight counties .
The population was largely older , and there were many smokers ; opioid addiction alone had recently killed tens of thousands of Ohioans .
“ Public health had been ignored for decades , ” DeWine told me .
“ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” Ohio does not require the state ’ s top health official to be a physician : when DeWine took office , in 2019 , the most recent directors had been a lawyer and the former head of the Ohio Turnpike Commission .
DeWine wanted a medical doctor for the cabinet position , one who could both lead a large staff and , he told me , “ communicate to the people of the state of Ohio about health issues in general.
” His top adviser , Ann O ’ Donnell , recommended @ @ @ @ @ @ @ through the Columbus Foundation , one of the country ’ s largest community charitable organizations .
Acton is fifty-four .
In 1990 , during the crack-cocaine epidemic , she interned at Albert Einstein College of Medicine , in the Bronx , where she saw “ rooms full of babies in incubators ” who had contracted diseases in utero and would soon die .
“ It was devastating , ” she told me the other day .
“ I saw how things can spiral.
” Acton left clinical medicine to pursue teaching and philanthropy @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , she worked as a community research and grants officer at the Columbus Foundation .
O ’ Donnell thought that Acton would make a good health director partly because she had heard her mention a “ tough childhood.
” Acton is from the north side of Youngstown , in northeastern Ohio .
Her father , who had worked in a steel mill , and her mother , an artist , divorced when she was three .
Acton and her younger brother Philip lived with their mother , who remarried when Acton was about @ @ @ @ @ @ @ lot .
This deeply unstable period ended with the family spending part of one winter living in a tent , and with Acton , at age twelve , accusing her stepfather of sexual abuse .
O ’ Donnell told me , “ My mother used to talk about suffering : the people who have suffered have something special about them.
” Acton had a steely warmth that made her approachable ; a former Ohio State University professor , she was skilled at explaining complex subjects .
She and her husband , Eric , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Columbus suburb of Bexley , had , between them , six grown children .
“ Her way of seeing , and of operating in the world , is not bureaucratic , ” O ’ Donnell told me , adding that DeWine considers her “ as much an artist as she is a scientist.
” Acton lacked experience in the public spotlight , but O ’ Donnell strongly urged the governor to choose her anyway .
Acton began work on February 26 , 2019 , immediately thinking of Ohio ’ s nearly twelve million @ @ @ @ @ @ @ her swearing-in ceremony , she defended her department ’ s budget before a legislative committee , explaining that part of her duties involved emergency preparedness .
Breaking from her written comments , she told the lawmakers , “ I will be on call , most nights , for as long as you know me , with the worry of these issues.
” Ohio ’ s legislature contains a far-right element , and there is anti-vaccine sentiment in the state .
Acton wanted to create a path for all Ohioans to understand how they @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ How do you build that , as a community ?
” She and I were talking , last week , in Columbus , at the offices of the foundation , which is headquartered at the historic former governor ’ s mansion .
The first time we met , we sat spaced out , on benches , in a leaf-strewn courtyard .
Acton , who is dark-haired and lean , wore a black dress , tights , flats , a trench , and , snug around her ears , a taupe toboggan twinkling @ @ @ @ @ @ @ explained , involves more than the mere absence of disease .
Public health calls upon societal protections , many of which are beyond individuals ’ control : food safety , immunization , the eradication of poisonous lead .
As health director , she had been working on modernizing the state system for nearly a year when she began hearing about a “ weird pneumonia ” afflicting Wuhan , China .
The Arnold Sports Festival and Arnold Classic were scheduled for the first weekend in March .
The annual sporting event—founded by Arnold Schwarzenegger @ @ @ @ @ @ @ more than twenty-two thousand athletes and tens of thousands of spectators , and involves a trade show .
Acton said , “ We had this whole discussion .
Arnold Schwarzenegger ’ s on the phone—so you ’ ve got that voice.
” She and DeWine decided to largely close the event to most spectators .
DeWine told me , “ Everybody thought we were crazy.
” But bringing in thousands of people from eighty countries , for four days , portended “ disaster.
” Observing chaos in the federal response— “ The C.D.C @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and Human Services another ” —Acton had been making other defensive moves .
She had moved up a long-planned tabletop exercise in pandemic control , and deployed health tips online .
Her self-assembled network of advisers included infectious-disease specialists and other experts she had met through her service on the board of the Association of State and Territorial Health Officials , which represents more than a hundred thousand public-health officials .
Her communications director ’ s brother Rajeev Venkayya was a pulmonologist who had focussed on vaccines at the Bill & Melinda Gates @ @ @ @ @ @ @ George W. Bush Administration , developing the nation ’ s influenza-pandemic plan .
( The Trump Administration later dissolved the federal pandemic office ; Joe Biden has said that , if elected , he will restore it . )
Acton also had begun making short public-service videos .
Wearing a white medical coat , she told Ohioans , “ I want you to be prepared.
” DeWine declared a state of emergency on March 9th—when there were only three confirmed COVID-19 cases in Ohio .
He and Acton started holding daily press briefings @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the pressers live , at two o ’ clock .
On March 12th , DeWine became the first governor to announce the closing of K-12 schools ; he and Acton shut down polling stations , effectively rescheduling the Democratic Presidential primary .
Acton told the public , “ The steps we ’ re taking now will absolutely save lives.
” On March 22nd , after imposing one of the nation ’ s earliest stay-at-home orders , she said , “ This is our one shot , in this country.
” As if speaking @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of overreacting , she said , “ I am not afraid .
I am determined.
” The press conferences became appointment viewing in Ohio .
A Times documentary producer watched seven weeks ’ worth of these pressers and turned the material into a six-minute op-doc , “ The Leader We Wish We All Had , ” which declared that “ other leaders should pay attention ” to Acton ’ s effective use of vulnerability , empowerment , and “ brutal honesty.
” One clip showed Acton tearing up when she said , “ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ mountains.
” Acton told me , “ I would look at the camera and I could feel the people on the other side.
” A singer performed an Amy Acton tribute song on YouTube ( “ I trust you completely ” ; “ You look so fine in your long white coat.
” ) The National Bobblehead Hall of Fame and Museum unveiled an Amy Acton figure .
Little girls dressed up like Acton and staged living-room press conferences .
On Facebook , a fan page accrued more than a hundred and thirty @ @ @ @ @ @ @ an NBC affiliate , “ I actually cry pretty much every time I watch her , because she ’ s very inspiring.
” At a presser , Acton , after reading one child ’ s thank-you letter aloud , said that as a public servant it was her “ job to do this for you.
” In a poll , in March , seventy-five per cent of Ohioans said that they approved of DeWine ’ s management of the coronavirus crisis while forty-three per cent approved of the way President Donald Trump had @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Acton .
She , too , had a much higher favorability rating than Trump—sixty-four per cent .
Trump and his allies had set a publicly disparaging tone against health officials , including Dr. Anthony Fauci , the nation ’ s top infectious-disease expert .
On April 18th—a particularly dire moment in the pandemic—the President ’ s son-in-law and senior adviser , Jared Kushner , had bragged to Bob Woodward , “ Trump ’ s now back in charge .
It ’ s not the doctors.
” In Colorado , nearly seventy per cent @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , and some resigned .
In Washington State , one county official had to install a security system after making a simple phone call to remind a quarantining family to stay home : “ Accusations started flying that we were spying , that we had put them under house arrest , ” the official told NPR .
In Nebraska , a former TV meteorologist and mayoral spokesman anonymously sent Adi Pour , head of the Douglas County health department , at least fifteen threatening e-mails , including one that read , “ There @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Courthouse a century and one year ago .
You ’ re next , bitch ” ; in another , he wrote , “ Maybe I will just slit your throat instead .
That will get you to shut the fuck up.
” ( The meteorologist , Ronald Penzkowski , pleaded no contest to third-degree assault and stalking . )
Fauci , after receiving death threats , was assigned a federal security detail .
In June , several physicians , writing in JAMA , called the harassment of health officials “ extraordinary in its @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ danger to the ongoing pandemic response.
” They wrote that the attacks on public-health officials represented a “ misunderstanding of the pandemic ” and “ a general decline in public civility.
” The incivility started with the President : “ The environment deteriorates further when elected leaders attack their own public-health officials.
” An “ Anti Amy Acton ” page appeared on Facebook , containing such posts as “ We will always hate you Abortion Amy !
!
” ( The Ohio health department oversees clinics that perform abortions . )
She @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a “ disgrace.
” In one photo , the marquee at Phil ’ s Lounge & Beer Garden , in Sharonville , said , “ Fuck you DeSwine and Hackton.
” Protesters disrupted Acton ’ s press conferences by chanting outside the statehouse and pressing their faces against the windows .
After Acton , who is Jewish , mentioned hosting a virtual seder , for Passover , protesters showed up at her home , with guns , wearing MAGA caps and carrying “ TRUMP ” flags .
Their signs read “ Dr .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ Work.
” They brought their children .
DeWine told demonstrators , “ I ’ m the elected official ” and “ Come after me.
” Acton was assigned executive protection—a rare measure , for a public-health official—along with a retinue of state troopers .
As pressure mounted for DeWine to fully reopen Ohio , six county-level G.O.P .
chairs jointly wrote to the governor , in early June , saying , “ We are telling you that the damage you are doing economically is translating politically.
” Republicans were “ angry , disappointed @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s “ big-government approach.
” In an editorial , the Columbus Dispatch noted certain lawmakers ’ contributions to a “ toxic hybrid of ignorance , fear , and hatred.
” The state ’ s three largest amusement parks joined a number of other businesses in lawsuits against Acton , demanding that she allow them to reopen .
Republican lawmakers introduced legislation intended to strip her of her emergency powers .
DeWine vowed to veto any such bill , but Acton began to worry that she might be forced to sign health orders that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ harm .
On June 11th , she resigned .
The next afternoon , at the rally , at the Pickaway County fairgrounds , Trump lied that “ tens of thousands ” of people were outside the gates and congratulated attendees for getting in .
He ranted about “ Sleepy Joe , ” “ Crazy Bernie , ” “ Shifty Schiff , ” “ treasonous things , ” the “ plague , ” “ favored nations , ” and “ quadruple ” taxes .
Biden , he said , will offshore your jobs , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , eliminate your private health care , terminate your religious liberty , defund your police , destroy your suburbs .
Fracking , dead birds , widespread blackouts , more fracking : “ You frack till your heart ’ s content !
” A trio of masked nuns in habits and purple vestments stood in the crowd behind him ; one held a Bible aloft , as if administering a blessing or warding off a curse .
Progressives have complained that DeWine , who co-chairs Trump ’ s Ohio campaign , has failed to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ moment .
When I spoke with the governor , on Friday , he told me , “ I know there ’ s people who want me to spend my time blasting Donald Trump ; I ’ m sure there ’ s Trump supporters who think I have not talked enough about the President .
But I ’ ve got to stay focussed.
” Maintaining “ a good relationship with the President of the United States—whoever the President is ” allowed him to govern , he said .
In 2022 , DeWine is expected @ @ @ @ @ @ @ supporters suspect that he will “ be primaried ” next year by a far-right challenger .
The COVID-19 death toll stands at well over five thousand in Ohio and more than two hundred and thirty-one thousand in the United States .
By the end of February , the national toll could reach half a million , according to a recent study by the University of Washington School of Medicine .
DeWine has methodically been placing preparatory phone calls to every public-health team in Ohio .
He still has not found a permanent replacement @ @ @ @ @ @ @ named a new state health director .
She quit within hours of DeWine ’ s hiring announcement , having reportedly decided that the job would pose a risk for her family .
Acton had given no media interviews since leaving government .
She agreed to talk to me because she believes that , as we enter a dire pandemic phase , paired with a potentially tumultuous post-election period , the country needs , in its wellness “ playbook , ” a long-term emotional-survival strategy .
She told me that leaders need to “ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ could lose another two hundred thousand people , just like that.
” As a public-health figure , Acton , a registered Democrat , strove to be apolitical .
She and DeWine worked well together despite their party affiliations .
Acton strongly believes that , should Biden win , he must not leave “ a quiet space ” between now and the Inauguration .
“ We can not wait two and a half months to start leading and messaging ” about unity , she said .

On January 13, 1919, as the third wave of the so-called Spanish-flu pandemic began, the governor of Ohio, James Cox, delivered his inaugural address. Propagandist bulletins from the U.S. Public Health Service had called the virus “a very contagious kind of ‘cold,’ ” but Cox used his speech to note the “appalling” number of fatalities—the United States ultimately lost some six hundred and seventy-five thousand people. The federal government was of little help. Only five of Ohio’s cities employed full-time health officers. “And then when the outbreak was acute outside the municipalities, conditions were even worse,” Cox said, referring to an earlier wave. “In fact, they were well-nigh unspeakable.” Cox urged the “radical reorganization” of Ohio’s more than two thousand separate health jurisdictions and said that the need for “scientific resistance” to public-health emergencies was “second in importance” only to fighting in the First World War.
Exactly a century later, a new governor, Mike DeWine, took office. DeWine, a Republican, was Ohio’s former attorney general, and, in the early two-thousands, he had been a U.S. senator. The state’s public-health system now consisted of a hundred and thirteen independent programs in eighty-eight counties. The population was largely older, and there were many smokers; opioid addiction alone had recently killed tens of thousands of Ohioans. “Public health had been ignored for decades,” DeWine told me. “It was something we took for granted.”
Ohio does not require the state’s top health official to be a physician: when DeWine took office, in 2019, the most recent directors had been a lawyer and the former head of the Ohio Turnpike Commission. DeWine wanted a medical doctor for the cabinet position, one who could both lead a large staff and, he told me, “communicate to the people of the state of Ohio about health issues in general.” His top adviser, Ann O’Donnell, recommended Dr. Amy Acton, whom she knew through the Columbus Foundation, one of the country’s largest community charitable organizations.
Acton is fifty-four. In 1990, during the crack-cocaine epidemic, she interned at Albert Einstein College of Medicine, in the Bronx, where she saw “rooms full of babies in incubators” who had contracted diseases in utero and would soon die. “It was devastating,” she told me the other day. “I saw how things can spiral.” Acton left clinical medicine to pursue teaching and philanthropy; by the time DeWine took office, she worked as a community research and grants officer at the Columbus Foundation.
O’Donnell thought that Acton would make a good health director partly because she had heard her mention a “tough childhood.” Acton is from the north side of Youngstown, in northeastern Ohio. Her father, who had worked in a steel mill, and her mother, an artist, divorced when she was three. Acton and her younger brother Philip lived with their mother, who remarried when Acton was about nine, after having moved around a lot. This deeply unstable period ended with the family spending part of one winter living in a tent, and with Acton, at age twelve, accusing her stepfather of sexual abuse. O’Donnell told me, “My mother used to talk about suffering: the people who have suffered have something special about them.”
Acton had a steely warmth that made her approachable; a former Ohio State University professor, she was skilled at explaining complex subjects. She and her husband, Eric, a schoolteacher and cross-country coach in the Columbus suburb of Bexley, had, between them, six grown children. “Her way of seeing, and of operating in the world, is not bureaucratic,” O’Donnell told me, adding that DeWine considers her “as much an artist as she is a scientist.” Acton lacked experience in the public spotlight, but O’Donnell strongly urged the governor to choose her anyway.
Acton began work on February 26, 2019, immediately thinking of Ohio’s nearly twelve million residents as her patients. Shortly after her swearing-in ceremony, she defended her department’s budget before a legislative committee, explaining that part of her duties involved emergency preparedness. Breaking from her written comments, she told the lawmakers, “I will be on call, most nights, for as long as you know me, with the worry of these issues.”
Ohio’s legislature contains a far-right element, and there is anti-vaccine sentiment in the state. Acton wanted to create a path for all Ohioans to understand how they could flourish, and told me, “How do you build that, as a community?” She and I were talking, last week, in Columbus, at the offices of the foundation, which is headquartered at the historic former governor’s mansion. The first time we met, we sat spaced out, on benches, in a leaf-strewn courtyard. Acton, who is dark-haired and lean, wore a black dress, tights, flats, a trench, and, snug around her ears, a taupe toboggan twinkling with subtle sparkles. Wellness, she explained, involves more than the mere absence of disease. Public health calls upon societal protections, many of which are beyond individuals’ control: food safety, immunization, the eradication of poisonous lead. As health director, she had been working on modernizing the state system for nearly a year when she began hearing about a “weird pneumonia” afflicting Wuhan, China.
Wuhan is the capital of Hubei Province—Ohio’s sister state. Scores of people routinely travel between the two locations, for business and school. Thousands of Chinese students attended Miami University, near Cincinnati. Ohioans had been taking sea cruises, and touring places like the Nile River, Acton told me. By the time the C.D.C. and the White House started having regular press conferences about COVID-19, in February, she suspected that the virus was already seeded in Ohio.
The Arnold Sports Festival and Arnold Classic were scheduled for the first weekend in March. The annual sporting event—founded by Arnold Schwarzenegger, the actor and former California governor—draws more than twenty-two thousand athletes and tens of thousands of spectators, and involves a trade show. Acton said, “We had this whole discussion. Arnold Schwarzenegger’s on the phone—so you’ve got that voice.” She and DeWine decided to largely close the event to most spectators. DeWine told me, “Everybody thought we were crazy.” But bringing in thousands of people from eighty countries, for four days, portended “disaster.”
Observing chaos in the federal response—“The C.D.C. was saying one thing, Health and Human Services another”—Acton had been making other defensive moves. She had moved up a long-planned tabletop exercise in pandemic control, and deployed health tips online. Her self-assembled network of advisers included infectious-disease specialists and other experts she had met through her service on the board of the Association of State and Territorial Health Officials, which represents more than a hundred thousand public-health officials. Her communications director’s brother Rajeev Venkayya was a pulmonologist who had focussed on vaccines at the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation and who had worked in the George W. Bush Administration, developing the nation’s influenza-pandemic plan. (The Trump Administration later dissolved the federal pandemic office; Joe Biden has said that, if elected, he will restore it.) Acton also had begun making short public-service videos. Wearing a white medical coat, she told Ohioans, “I want you to be prepared.”
DeWine declared a state of emergency on March 9th—when there were only three confirmed COVID-19 cases in Ohio. He and Acton started holding daily press briefings. Ohio’s network affiliates carried the pressers live, at two o’clock. On March 12th, DeWine became the first governor to announce the closing of K-12 schools; he and Acton shut down polling stations, effectively rescheduling the Democratic Presidential primary. Acton told the public, “The steps we’re taking now will absolutely save lives.” On March 22nd, after imposing one of the nation’s earliest stay-at-home orders, she said, “This is our one shot, in this country.” As if speaking directly to those who were accusing her of overreacting, she said, “I am not afraid. I am determined.”
Amy Acton’s press conferences became appointment viewing in Ohio. Photo illustration by Julie Renée Jones for The New Yorker; Source photograph by Joshua A. Bickel / Columbus Dispatch / Alamy (briefing)
The press conferences became appointment viewing in Ohio. A Times documentary producer watched seven weeks’ worth of these pressers and turned the material into a six-minute op-doc, “The Leader We Wish We All Had,” which declared that “other leaders should pay attention” to Acton’s effective use of vulnerability, empowerment, and “brutal honesty.” One clip showed Acton tearing up when she said, “People at home: you are moving mountains.” Acton told me, “I would look at the camera and I could feel the people on the other side.”
A singer performed an Amy Acton tribute song on YouTube (“I trust you completely”; “You look so fine in your long white coat.”) The National Bobblehead Hall of Fame and Museum unveiled an Amy Acton figure. Little girls dressed up like Acton and staged living-room press conferences. On Facebook, a fan page accrued more than a hundred and thirty thousand members. An Ohio nurse told an NBC affiliate, “I actually cry pretty much every time I watch her, because she’s very inspiring.” At a presser, Acton, after reading one child’s thank-you letter aloud, said that as a public servant it was her “job to do this for you.” In a poll, in March, seventy-five per cent of Ohioans said that they approved of DeWine’s management of the coronavirus crisis while forty-three per cent approved of the way President Donald Trump had handled it. The poll also included Acton. She, too, had a much higher favorability rating than Trump—sixty-four per cent.
Nationally, DeWine was being praised, along with the governors Charlie Baker, of Massachusetts, and Larry Hogan, of Maryland, as “the rare Republican official who does not automatically fall in step” with Trump. In Ohio, DeWine’s over-all favorability rating was also high. But, by the end of April, with the economy in trouble, some of Ohio’s Republican lawmakers were insisting that he reopen businesses. On April 27th, DeWine announced a phased reopening, for May. The next day, after being assailed by other Republicans, he backed off a plan to require masks at reopened businesses, calling the restriction “offensive to some of our fellow-Ohioans.”
Trump and his allies had set a publicly disparaging tone against health officials, including Dr. Anthony Fauci, the nation’s top infectious-disease expert. On April 18th—a particularly dire moment in the pandemic—the President’s son-in-law and senior adviser, Jared Kushner, had bragged to Bob Woodward, “Trump’s now back in charge. It’s not the doctors.” In Colorado, nearly seventy per cent of local public-health officials reported receiving threats, and some resigned. In Washington State, one county official had to install a security system after making a simple phone call to remind a quarantining family to stay home: “Accusations started flying that we were spying, that we had put them under house arrest,” the official told NPR. In Nebraska, a former TV meteorologist and mayoral spokesman anonymously sent Adi Pour, head of the Douglas County health department, at least fifteen threatening e-mails, including one that read, “There was a lynching outside the Douglas County Courthouse a century and one year ago. You’re next, bitch”; in another, he wrote, “Maybe I will just slit your throat instead. That will get you to shut the fuck up.” (The meteorologist, Ronald Penzkowski, pleaded no contest to third-degree assault and stalking.) Fauci, after receiving death threats, was assigned a federal security detail.
In June, several physicians, writing in JAMA, called the harassment of health officials “extraordinary in its scope and nature,” and a “danger to the ongoing pandemic response.” They wrote that the attacks on public-health officials represented a “misunderstanding of the pandemic” and “a general decline in public civility.” The incivility started with the President: “The environment deteriorates further when elected leaders attack their own public-health officials.”


newyorker--2020-11-01--The Undeniable Sean Connery

The Undeniable Sean Connery

With the passing of Connery , who has died at the age of ninety , we have lost one of the last movie stars—perhaps the very last—who were known and revered for playing themselves .
Not for being themselves ; they made feature films , not documentaries , and , if the money was right , they went through the rigmarole of pretending to be somebody else , with the judicious addition of costumes , footwear , makeup , lines of dialogue , and , in the case of Connery , wigs .
But , as with Clark Gable and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for Connery , no more than facets of the jewel ; behind them , you sensed something hard , immutable , and crystalline that belonged to him alone .
You really believe that the title of “ The Rock ” ( 1996 ) refers to the island of Alcatraz ?
Please .
There ’ s a scene in that film in which Connery—in the role of the only inmate of Alcatraz ever to have escaped—slips his minders and meets with his daughter , whom he barely knows , in a public park .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ and talk , the wail of sirens fills the air , and a fleet of police cars rolls into view .
“ Is this about you ?
” the daughter asks , and he nods .
That ’ s the way it is .
He ’ s not complaining , and we , too , think it only natural that the forces of the state should be mobilized for his sake .
Up comes Nicolas Cage , as an F.B.I .
man , with a ranting rebuke .
“ Whaddya say we cut @ @ @ @ @ @ @ cries , and Connery stands there , keeping his counsel .
We can see him looking at Cage and thinking , “ Why are you trying so hard ?
Can ’ t you be calmer ?
What do you need to prove ?
” Such is the sign of a star .
As he or she holds steady and glows , the orbits of other performers are governed by the gravitational pull .
Even Ed Harris , no soft touch , seems genuinely baffled , in “ The Rock , ” by how @ @ @ @ @ @ @ dismay Connery , let alone to divert him from his course .
The briefest glimpse can be enough to establish who ’ s who ; in “ Rising Sun , ” from 1993 , observe Connery walking down a street with Wesley Snipes , who strolls as casually as he can , and Steve Buscemi , who gabbles and gestures as he goes .
Your eye is drawn helplessly to the big man , and to his famous loping tread—neither rushing nor dawdling but somehow measuring the world at his own purposeful pace @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that made him press ahead like that , or was he mapping out territory that he already owned and ruled ?
He was six feet two but always appeared taller , and no one has ever ducked through doorways with more aplomb .
The notion that he might bump his head was unimaginable , like Cary Grant in jeans .
Too often , you could argue , Connery went through the motions , in films that were unworthy of his talent , but , dear God , just look at the motions .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ finale of “ You Only Live Twice , ” from 1967 , Connery ’ s fifth outing as James Bond .
( Volcano , ninjas , rocket launch , white pussycat : you know the deal . )
Swords are flourished , impaling the foe , and nicely resheathed ; gunshots ring out , causing stuntmen to clutch their chests and fall from a satisfying height ; fireballs bloom at the toss of a grenade .
It ’ s a great party .
But 007 , saddled with the dreary task of saving @ @ @ @ @ @ @ control room , which is sealed .
He spots a secret staircase , at the back of the underground cavern , and heads in that direction under covering fire .
Now watch him ascend the stair—a few leaps , a couple of effortless bounds , wholly unfazed by the conflagration around him .
He takes his time on his hop to the top , and it ’ s his time , and nobody else ’ s .
That level of self-possession , stretching far beyond the languor of mere cool , and carving @ @ @ @ @ @ @ one ’ s own pleasure , is laughably rare , and , when you do come across it , it ’ s as likely to be on the dance floor , or the sports field , as on a movie screen .
The only mover who could have kept up with Connery , inside the volcano , was Ginger Rogers .
In case you ’ ve mislaid your copy of Health and Strength magazine , from March , 1953 , allow me to remind you of one delightful photograph to be found within @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , one foot cocked against the floor .
His right hand covers his left wrist , as if he were checking his own pulse .
He is adorned with underpants , plus a pert stare over his left shoulder , and , by my estimate , two gallons of oil , spread cross the hills and vales of his tremendous person .
A caption reads : “ Tom Connery .
Well-muscled member of the Dunedin Weightlifting Club , Edinburgh.
” You can just about picture him barging into the movie business , though @ @ @ @ @ @ @ keep as a heavy or a hunk .
But nothing more .
One of the provoking themes in Christopher Bray ’ s 2010 biography of Connery , which is much smarter and sharper than most profiles of movie stars , is that of the self-improver .
Beefcake is one thing , but how do you inspect yourself , not merely in the mirror , and balance the raw against the cooked ?
Some folks , left with half an education , are all the hungrier to make up the difference , and the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ account , would quiz more knowledgeable friends , go to a library , and read his way through recommended books— “ enough to know I didn ’ t know enough , ” as he recalled .
Equally transformative , we learn , were his sessions with a Swedish fellow named Yat Malmgren , who , having retired as a dancer , schooled others in the fine art of movement , and in its psychological groundings .
Post-Connery , Malmgren was one of the founders of the Drama Centre , in London , whose @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Hardy .
Dimly , we discern a pattern here : flecks of violence against a background of stillness , all the more ominous for being held so long .
Not that Ian Fleming saw it that way .
“ That fucking truck driver , ” he called Connery , appalled that a low-born Scottish lout should be called upon to incarnate the 007 of the books , with his education at Eton and his all-English bearing .
And what had Connery done to deserve the job ?
He had sung and danced , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a touring production of “ South Pacific.
” In a telling replacement , he had taken a part meant for Jack Palance , in a British TV remake of an American teleplay .
He had made “ Another Time , Another Place ” ( 1958 ) , with Lana Turner , and , it is said , got into a real-life scrap with her unlovely beau , Johnny Stompanato , who was later stabbed to death by Turner ’ s daughter .
None of which aided the movie , or Connery ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Vronsky , opposite Claire Bloom ’ s Anna Karenina , on the BBC .
But still : James Bond ?
There is a case for saying that Bond—all of him , everything we crave and need—is there in the introduction .
With a gun to my head , I would agree to lose the rest of “ Dr No , ” ( 1962 ) , and indeed the remaining twenty-four movies , complete with their resident Bonds , for a chance to stick with the opening scene at Le Cercle , in London @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Note the sequence of images , at the gamblers ’ table .
First , we see a pair of hands , flipping over cards , scooting one or two across the baize , and opening a silver case .
Only then does the camera deign to reveal the man to whom the hands belong .
“ Bond .
James Bond , ” Connery says , with a cigarette in his mouth , already indulging the first of a thousand vices .
And where have we seen this sequence before , with the same @ @ @ @ @ @ @ this .
Hands in closeup , playing not chemin de fer but chess .
And then the face .
Another smoker .
Another tuxedo , not black , like Connery ’ s , but white .
We are in a balmier clime , and that is how we first behold Humphrey Bogart , in “ Casablanca.
” In one respect , Connery was lucky .
He , and 007 , timed their entrance to coincide with one of the most enduring , and least embarrassing , phases in modern style .
If he @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ Goldfinger , ” in 1964 , it was because the car was a recent model , whereas by the time that Daniel Craig drove it , in “ Skyfall , ” in 2012 , it could only be a lovely vintage twist .
And those single-breasted suits with the slim lapels , the white or pale blue shirt , and the black knitted tie : what better armor with which to turn the truck driver into a knight on the town ?
So fabulous a fit , such apparel , that we @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s “ Marnie ” ( 1964 ) , the film that Connery made , if you please , before “ Goldfinger ” and after “ From Russia with Love ” ( 1963 ) .
It took the beady and cruelty-cherishing eye of Hitchcock , of course , to gaze upon Connery ’ s Bond , and to understand what this ravening male of the species might be capable of .
The Bond films were described by one of the producers as “ sadism for the family.
” Hitchcock sent the children out @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is a pathological work of art : at once an exercise in rapture , gorgeously designed , and not a pretty sight .
Connery plays the aptly named Mark Rutland , a publisher who wanted to be a zoologist , and he identifies the heroine , Marnie ( Tippi Hedren ) , whose distinguishing features include kleptomania and a dread of the color red , as a promising specimen .
“ I ’ ve tracked you and caught you , and , by God , I ’ m going to keep you , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ strong reservations that some people have about Connery—doubts that were all too firmly reinforced , later in his career , by remarks that he made about hitting women ( “ It depends entirely on the circumstances , ” he said to Barbara Walters ) —are anticipated , and explored , in Hitchcock ’ s film .
What makes it such uncomfortable viewing is that the incipient nastiness in Mark is woven so tightly into his allure ; try as we might , we can not tease them apart .
There is charm in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Oh , yes , people .
A thoroughly bad lot , ” he remarks .
When Marnie is first interviewed for a post at his family firm , he lounges at one side of the room , watching her with a smile ; he ’ s fairly sure that he ’ s met her before , he suspects her of being a crook , and he ’ s looking forward to the fun that lies in store .
And , damn it , the smile wins .
The revels began , I reckon @ @ @ @ @ @ @ The Man Who Would be King ” ( 1975 ) , a roistering fable , adapted from Rudyard Kipling .
Connery plays a former British Army sergeant , Danny Dravot , who , after venturing with a colleague ( Michael Caine ) , into the distant land of Kafiristan , is mistaken for a god by the local people .
“ Well , they ’ re not that wrong , ” I thought to myself , sitting in the dark , and casting my mind back to the immortal status of Bond , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , seemed to die at the start of a film and to be resurrected afresh .
The irony is that Danny does die , and , what ’ s more , that he goes to his death with good cheer , striding across a rope bridge , over a deep ravine .
Bond had cheated death , so many times , and with such ludicrously narrow squeaks , but who wants to be a cheat—at cards , at love , or at anything else ?
Singing lustily , not squeaking , Danny plunges @ @ @ @

All’s well that ends well, as “Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves” (1991) draws to a close. The entertaining villain has been vanquished. Robin and Maid Marian are about to be joined in holy matrimony. Suddenly, a latecomer rides into the forest glade, interrupts the ceremony, dismounts, and turns to face the camera. It’s King Richard! The audience erupts, in unholy joy. That is what occurred, at any rate, when I first saw the film, and reports from other cinemas confirmed a similar response. And why? Because the new arrival is Richard the Lionheart? Nay, my liege. Because he’s Sean Connery.
With the passing of Connery, who has died at the age of ninety, we have lost one of the last movie stars—perhaps the very last—who were known and revered for playing themselves. Not for being themselves; they made feature films, not documentaries, and, if the money was right, they went through the rigmarole of pretending to be somebody else, with the judicious addition of costumes, footwear, makeup, lines of dialogue, and, in the case of Connery, wigs. But, as with Clark Gable and John Wayne, dramatic characters were, for Connery, no more than facets of the jewel; behind them, you sensed something hard, immutable, and crystalline that belonged to him alone. You really believe that the title of “The Rock” (1996) refers to the island of Alcatraz? Please.
There’s a scene in that film in which Connery—in the role of the only inmate of Alcatraz ever to have escaped—slips his minders and meets with his daughter, whom he barely knows, in a public park. As they sit on a stone bench and talk, the wail of sirens fills the air, and a fleet of police cars rolls into view. “Is this about you?” the daughter asks, and he nods. That’s the way it is. He’s not complaining, and we, too, think it only natural that the forces of the state should be mobilized for his sake. Up comes Nicolas Cage, as an F.B.I. man, with a ranting rebuke. “Whaddya say we cut the chit-chat, A-hole?” he cries, and Connery stands there, keeping his counsel. We can see him looking at Cage and thinking, “Why are you trying so hard? Can’t you be calmer? What do you need to prove?”
Such is the sign of a star. As he or she holds steady and glows, the orbits of other performers are governed by the gravitational pull. Even Ed Harris, no soft touch, seems genuinely baffled, in “The Rock,” by how impossible it is to daunt or to dismay Connery, let alone to divert him from his course. The briefest glimpse can be enough to establish who’s who; in “Rising Sun,” from 1993, observe Connery walking down a street with Wesley Snipes, who strolls as casually as he can, and Steve Buscemi, who gabbles and gestures as he goes. Your eye is drawn helplessly to the big man, and to his famous loping tread—neither rushing nor dawdling but somehow measuring the world at his own purposeful pace. Was it a spirit of adventure that made him press ahead like that, or was he mapping out territory that he already owned and ruled? He was six feet two but always appeared taller, and no one has ever ducked through doorways with more aplomb. The notion that he might bump his head was unimaginable, like Cary Grant in jeans. Too often, you could argue, Connery went through the motions, in films that were unworthy of his talent, but, dear God, just look at the motions.
Look, for instance, at the finale of “You Only Live Twice,” from 1967, Connery’s fifth outing as James Bond. (Volcano, ninjas, rocket launch, white pussycat: you know the deal.) Swords are flourished, impaling the foe, and nicely resheathed; gunshots ring out, causing stuntmen to clutch their chests and fall from a satisfying height; fireballs bloom at the toss of a grenade. It’s a great party. But 007, saddled with the dreary task of saving the planet, needs to reach the control room, which is sealed. He spots a secret staircase, at the back of the underground cavern, and heads in that direction under covering fire. Now watch him ascend the stair—a few leaps, a couple of effortless bounds, wholly unfazed by the conflagration around him. He takes his time on his hop to the top, and it’s his time, and nobody else’s. That level of self-possession, stretching far beyond the languor of mere cool, and carving out a private space and tempo for one’s own pleasure, is laughably rare, and, when you do come across it, it’s as likely to be on the dance floor, or the sports field, as on a movie screen. The only mover who could have kept up with Connery, inside the volcano, was Ginger Rogers.
What was the root of that grace? Well, we know that he was a bonny baby, young Thomas Connery. (Sean was his middle name). “Big Tam,” he used to be called, as a teen-ager. We know that he left school a month before turning fourteen; got a job delivering milk, around Edinburgh, on a horse and cart; joined the Royal Navy and left prematurely with a stomach ulcer; and took a course in—wait for it—French polishing. Cinema’s gain was a huge loss to walnut sideboards everywhere.
In case you’ve mislaid your copy of Health and Strength magazine, from March, 1953, allow me to remind you of one delightful photograph to be found within its pages. A young stud kneels, one foot cocked against the floor. His right hand covers his left wrist, as if he were checking his own pulse. He is adorned with underpants, plus a pert stare over his left shoulder, and, by my estimate, two gallons of oil, spread cross the hills and vales of his tremendous person. A caption reads: “Tom Connery. Well-muscled member of the Dunedin Weightlifting Club, Edinburgh.” You can just about picture him barging into the movie business, though a side door, and earning his keep as a heavy or a hunk. But nothing more.
One of the provoking themes in Christopher Bray’s 2010 biography of Connery, which is much smarter and sharper than most profiles of movie stars, is that of the self-improver. Beefcake is one thing, but how do you inspect yourself, not merely in the mirror, and balance the raw against the cooked? Some folks, left with half an education, are all the hungrier to make up the difference, and the youthful Connery, in Bray’s account, would quiz more knowledgeable friends, go to a library, and read his way through recommended books—“enough to know I didn’t know enough,” as he recalled. Equally transformative, we learn, were his sessions with a Swedish fellow named Yat Malmgren, who, having retired as a dancer, schooled others in the fine art of movement, and in its psychological groundings. Post-Connery, Malmgren was one of the founders of the Drama Centre, in London, whose later pupils include Michael Fassbender and Tom Hardy. Dimly, we discern a pattern here: flecks of violence against a background of stillness, all the more ominous for being held so long.
Not that Ian Fleming saw it that way. “That fucking truck driver,” he called Connery, appalled that a low-born Scottish lout should be called upon to incarnate the 007 of the books, with his education at Eton and his all-English bearing. And what had Connery done to deserve the job? He had sung and danced, poorly, in the back row of a touring production of “South Pacific.” In a telling replacement, he had taken a part meant for Jack Palance, in a British TV remake of an American teleplay. He had made “Another Time, Another Place” (1958), with Lana Turner, and, it is said, got into a real-life scrap with her unlovely beau, Johnny Stompanato, who was later stabbed to death by Turner’s daughter. None of which aided the movie, or Connery’s cause. True, he had been Vronsky, opposite Claire Bloom’s Anna Karenina, on the BBC. But still: James Bond?
There is a case for saying that Bond—all of him, everything we crave and need—is there in the introduction. With a gun to my head, I would agree to lose the rest of “Dr No,” (1962), and indeed the remaining twenty-four movies, complete with their resident Bonds, for a chance to stick with the opening scene at Le Cercle, in London, where the myth is made. Note the sequence of images, at the gamblers’ table. First, we see a pair of hands, flipping over cards, scooting one or two across the baize, and opening a silver case. Only then does the camera deign to reveal the man to whom the hands belong. “Bond. James Bond,” Connery says, with a cigarette in his mouth, already indulging the first of a thousand vices. And where have we seen this sequence before, with the same exquisite visual suspense? You must remember this. Hands in closeup, playing not chemin de fer but chess. And then the face. Another smoker. Another tuxedo, not black, like Connery’s, but white. We are in a balmier clime, and that is how we first behold Humphrey Bogart, in “Casablanca.”


newyorker--2020-11-01--Trump Urges Americans to Wait in Parking Lot for Vaccine And Buses Will Pick Them Up

WASHINGTON ( The Borowitz Report ) —In what his campaign staff touted as his “ November surprise , ” Donald @ @ @ @ @ the American people to wait in a parking lot for a coronavirus vaccine and buses @ @ @ @ @ “ Go to the nearest parking lot , and soon there will be a bus @ @ @ @ @ “ Very , very soon.
” Trump said that , in order to pick up @ @ @ @ @ million Americans from parking lots , he had secretly launched a program called Operation Warp @ @ @ @ @ be shiny , gleaming buses to take you to the vaccine , ” Trump said @ @ @ @ @ Appearing on CNN , Dr. Anthony Fauci took a slightly different tack regarding Trump ’ @ @ @ @ @ the entire population of the United States in buses .
“ There are no damn @ @ @ @ @ .
“ Please , make it stop .
”

WASHINGTON (The Borowitz Report)—In what his campaign staff touted as his “November surprise,” Donald J. Trump on Sunday told the American people to wait in a parking lot for a coronavirus vaccine and buses will pick them up.
“Go to the nearest parking lot, and soon there will be a bus,” he said. “Very, very soon.”
Trump said that, in order to pick up all three hundred and thirty million Americans from parking lots, he had secretly launched a program called Operation Warp Bus.
“There will be shiny, gleaming buses to take you to the vaccine,” Trump said. “Just wait.”
Appearing on CNN, Dr. Anthony Fauci took a slightly different tack regarding Trump’s plan to pick up the entire population of the United States in buses.
“There are no damn buses,” Fauci said. “Please, make it stop.”


newyorker--2020-11-01--“We Don’t Protest”: Borough Park’s Mask-Burning Demonstrators

The man was Heshy Tischler , a local talk-radio host and a candidate for City Council .
Kornbluh had covered Tischler before : in 2017 , when the radio host had launched an earlier bid for City Council ( and lost , having received just four per cent of the vote ) , and more recently , as Tischler had emerged as the leader of a local uprising against government COVID measures .
Lately , Tischler had begun accusing members of the community of being so-called government informants .
The crowd noticed one such man filming their protest ; he @ @ @ @ @ @ @ set upon him and beat him unconscious .
Kornbluh left the scene when the violence began .
There was a chance that it might turn on him next .
When the pandemic hit , in March , the coronavirus eviscerated Haredi communities like the one in Borough Park .
Large families , crowded neighborhoods , and communal life and prayer functioned as preëxisting conditions .
Entire communities across Brooklyn decided , by consensus , to shut themselves down , even as schools and restaurants throughout the city remained open .
But it ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Some Haredi Jews don ’ t watch television , and many keep “ kosher ” phones that filter or block the Internet ; virtual worship isn ’ t possible when electronics are forbidden on holidays .
There were scattered reports of congregations illicitly gathering throughout Brooklyn .
When a prominent Hasidic rabbi in Williamsburg died in late April , the funeral procession drew thousands of mourners .
The ceremony was outdoors and masked , and the N.Y.P.D .
barricaded the streets , but at that point in the pandemic—the number of COVID @ @ @ @ @ @ @ two weeks before—it was perceived as a serious violation .
Mayor Bill de Blasio ordered that the event be broken up and tweeted a “ message to the Jewish community ” that “ the time for warnings has passed.
” Many Jews felt that the tweet was a crude generalization ; the head of the Anti-Defamation League called it “ scapegoating.
” The Orthodox Jewish Public Affairs Council , an organization meant to counter discrimination against the Orthodox Jewish community , pointed out that thousands of New Yorkers had gathered the same day @ @ @ @ @ @ @ do a flyby .
Where had the Mayor been then ?
And what about all the other Jewish communities who were following the rules ?
Kornbluh documented the tensions in Borough Park .
Among the city ’ s political press , he ’ s known as a reporter ’ s reporter—a news junkie who wears a yarmulke and speaks with a Yiddish-inflected British accent .
Kornbluh grew up in London ’ s Stamford Hill , where his father started an emergency medical service .
At a young age , he developed a fascination @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the names of all the Knesset members , ” he said , referring to Israel ’ s parliament .
Kornbluh went to yeshiva but never finished high school .
In 2001 , he moved to Brooklyn , the center of the Hasidic world in the United States , and worked at a kosher deli ; later , he opened a kosher pizza place .
He had eclectic tastes for a member of his community , which tends to be highly insular : he taught himself to write by studying biographies of famous Americans @ @ @ @ @ @ @ started a blog , and began showing up at major city events to write about them .
He covered the Anthony Weiner frenzy and Donald Trump ’ s fateful escalator ride .
At such events , he would often run into Ben Smith , then a reporter at Politico , who is now the Times ’ media columnist .
Smith encouraged Kornbluh to pursue journalism full time .
Kornbluh took the advice , selling off his pizzeria .
In 2015 , he was hired by Jewish Insider , a daily news outlet that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a Jewish angle .
( Two of its recent headlines are “ Twitter CEO Dismisses Ayatollah ’ s Threats to Israel as ‘ Saber-Rattling ’ ” and “ Congressional Dems Urge Biden to Continue Campus Antisemitism Protections.
” ) With his tireless reporting on local and national politics , and on happenings within his own community , Kornbluh became well known to his readers and a rare channel through which they could hold their local elected officials accountable .
He can ask the types of questions that don ’ t typically come up @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Chizhik-Goldschmidt described him in the Forward article as “ the most famous Hasidic journalist in America.
” One of Kornbluh ’ s most distinctive qualities as a journalist is his closeness to the community .
When he covers local news , he is hardly an outsider “ parachuting in ” to get some quotes from a seemingly opaque group of people .
“ Political reporters sometimes don ’ t realize how real the stakes are and don ’ t have to live with them , ” Smith told me .
He added that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ issues in this community , whose divisions mirror the country but where passions are really , really high.
” Borough Park tolerated Kornbluh ’ s feel for the divisions in the community when the subject was politics , less so when he began writing about the pandemic .
In April , during Passover , as most of Borough Park remained on lockdown , Kornbluh began outing rule-breakers .
He tweeted a video of a man exiting a synagogue that should have been closed .
He called in a complaint to a government hotline @ @ @ @ @ @ @ restrictions .
A digital flyer circulated on WhatsApp calling him an informer .
“ I lost some friends , ” Kornbluh told me .
His reporting for Jewish Insider and his posts on social media had been critical of both the restrictions and his neighborhood ’ s response to those restrictions , but only one aspect of his coverage had stuck .
One day in April , a crowd of about a hundred Haredim , noticing Kornbluh walking nearby , chased him down the street , chanting insults .
By June , the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ flattened .
It was no longer just a small group ignoring public-health guidelines .
In Borough Park , the rhythms of life returned to near-normal .
Revellers packed wedding halls .
( Tischler claims to have attended seventeen weddings in one month . )
“ The few who were wearing masks—people looked at them a little funny , ” Yochonon Donn , a resident of the neighborhood and a writer for Mishpacha ( Family ) , a popular Haredi weekly , told me .
The number of new cases stayed relatively low over @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , de Blasio noted an uptick in Borough Park .
He warned of harsh measures if behavior didn ’ t change .
On went the masks .
Then , de Blasio , noting the still-worrying numbers , imposed closures anyway .
People felt lied to , betrayed by the city .
The masks came off .
Governor Andrew Cuomo developed his own plan .
On October 6th , he set up a call with Haredi leaders and urged them to limit their synagogues to half capacity .
Later that day , he announced @ @ @ @ @ @ @ scrapped the fifty-per-cent idea .
The new limit was ten worshippers for each shul , no exceptions .
That night , protesters filled the streets .
The man caught filming it was beaten .
Kornbluh , taking on a more activist role , messaged Tischler urging him to apologize for inciting violence .
But the following evening , at a second demonstration , the vitriol only increased .
Back on the scene , Kornbluh took notes from a distance , watching as the crowd pulsed with energy .
Tischler noticed Kornbluh and shouted @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a pig !
” A group of protesters swarmed Kornbluh and cornered him against a wall .
The police had to rescue him .
Kornbluh said afterward that he had been hit in the head and kicked .
( Tischler has denied this . )
What set the crowd into a frenzy was when Tischler , inches from Kornbluh ’ s face , called the reporter a moser , a Hebrew word for a traitor—a Jew who informs on a Jew .
Tischler had encouraged the rest of the mob to chant it @ @ @ @ @ @ @ moser !
’ ” Some interpretations of religious law , including that of Maimonides , the hugely influential twelfth-century Jewish philosopher , dictate that a moser must be stopped before he informs again—even if it means killing him .
On October 11th , after the first two demonstrations in Borough Park , Tischler was arrested by the N.Y.P.D .
for “ inciting to riot and unlawful imprisonment in connection with an assault of a journalist.
” ( He pleaded not guilty . )
Soon after , a Tischler fan tweeted out Kornbluh ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ roughly two hundred people—mostly Yeshiva-age boys , but a few families with young kids—gathered outside his home at midnight .
( Someone had brought a bullhorn : “ Good morning , Jacob !
We ’ re all waiting for you !
” ) A man in his thirties , who said that his name was Mendel , argued that Kornbluh had become a tool of an oppressive governor by outing Haredi rule-breakers .
“ Do you think that we were so dumb and stupid , that we paid such a heavy price , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , and we wouldn ’ t do everything to protect us ?
” he asked .
“ I prayed on my porch not for one month—four months !
” Now , he said , everyone had antibodies .
( The antibody rate in Borough Park is estimated to be forty-three per cent—below the theoretical threshold for herd immunity . )
Mendel dismissed the new restrictions as theatre .
He ’ d heard rumors that the local testing books were cooked .
Secular , right-wing symbols dominated the event .
MAGA paraphernalia was everywhere @ @ @ @ @ @ @ waved “ Don ’ t Tread on Me ” flags , and Tischler wore a Trump sticker on his chest .
The rhetoric was familiar , too .
One boy told me , “ It ’ s not about corona anymore .
It ’ s about fake news.
” Mendel said , “ When Trump blames the ‘ China Virus , ’ liberals say , ‘ You can ’ t say that , that ’ s racist !
’ But when it comes to us , it ’ s not racist !
” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ demonstrators ’ resistance to public-health measures may be better understood as part of the larger far-right coronavirus denialism , albeit spiced with a set of anxieties particular to the Haredi community .
In the Presidential election , Joe Biden , like many Democrats before him , is likely to win an overwhelming majority of the American Jewish vote .
Polls have long shown that the secular and less observant American Jewish community is distinctly liberal on a range of social , economic , and political issues .
Trump , however , is wildly @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a recent poll of Haredi voters , Trump led Biden by seventy points .
“ What we are seeing is the evangelicalization of Orthodox Judaism—at a time when evangelicalism is more about an idolatrous nationalism than about Jesus Christ , ” Joshua Shanes , a professor of Jewish studies at the College of Charleston , wrote recently in Tablet magazine .
The animating political forces for Haredim are conservative Justices , school choice , “ law and order , ” and opposition to same-sex marriage .
Support for Israel , particularly conservative leaders @ @ @ @ @ @ @ television and Internet access limited in the community , radio is unusually important .
Many Haredim listen to Rush Limbaugh , Sean Hannity , and Ben Shapiro .
Nathaniel Deutsch , the director of the Center for Jewish Studies at the University of California , Santa Cruz , characterizes Hasidic political preferences as those of “ working-class white ethnics ” anywhere else .
In Borough Park , Tischler has become the leader of this movement .
He has posted hundreds of videos on social media , in which you ’ ll find him @ @ @ @ @ @ @ locked playground or harassing local health inspectors .
In each video , he also plugs his weekly radio program , “ The Just Enough Heshy Show , ” where he reflects on topics such as whether he should apologize for calling a young Muslim girl a terrorist ( initially yes ; later no ) , and the intellectual capacity of women ( “ not as smart as men ” ) .
The other day , on the air , he challenged the Mayor to a fight on his deck , “ man to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s not a man .
”

Jacob Kornbluh, a Hasidic journalist, has lived in Borough Park, in southwest Brooklyn, for eighteen years. He has written on local and national politics from the neighborhood—which is home to one of the largest Haredi, or traditional Orthodox, communities in the city—for twelve. “Pre-pandemic, if you walked into any major Jewish event in New York City, you’d undoubtedly see him,” Avital Chizhik-Goldschmidt recently wrote for the Forward, where she is an editor. Last month, mid-pandemic, hundreds of Haredi Jews took to the streets in protest of a new set of coronavirus restrictions on Borough Park. Kornbluh was there to report the story; he watched as the protesters—mostly young men and boys—tossed their masks into a makeshift bonfire in the middle of Thirteenth Avenue. The crowd was densely packed into a single street block, but it would occasionally part ways for one man, a big guy in a wrinkled suit, who commandeered a police megaphone. He spoke with a throaty, Brooklyn drawl, all “W”s and no “R”s. “You are my soldiers!” he bellowed. “We are at war!”
The man was Heshy Tischler, a local talk-radio host and a candidate for City Council. Kornbluh had covered Tischler before: in 2017, when the radio host had launched an earlier bid for City Council (and lost, having received just four per cent of the vote), and more recently, as Tischler had emerged as the leader of a local uprising against government COVID measures. Lately, Tischler had begun accusing members of the community of being so-called government informants. The crowd noticed one such man filming their protest; he tried to run, but the protesters set upon him and beat him unconscious. Kornbluh left the scene when the violence began. There was a chance that it might turn on him next.
When the pandemic hit, in March, the coronavirus eviscerated Haredi communities like the one in Borough Park. Large families, crowded neighborhoods, and communal life and prayer functioned as preëxisting conditions. Entire communities across Brooklyn decided, by consensus, to shut themselves down, even as schools and restaurants throughout the city remained open.
But it’s hard to put faith on pause. Some Haredi Jews don’t watch television, and many keep “kosher” phones that filter or block the Internet; virtual worship isn’t possible when electronics are forbidden on holidays. There were scattered reports of congregations illicitly gathering throughout Brooklyn. When a prominent Hasidic rabbi in Williamsburg died in late April, the funeral procession drew thousands of mourners. The ceremony was outdoors and masked, and the N.Y.P.D. barricaded the streets, but at that point in the pandemic—the number of COVID cases had reached a new peak just two weeks before—it was perceived as a serious violation. Mayor Bill de Blasio ordered that the event be broken up and tweeted a “message to the Jewish community” that “the time for warnings has passed.” Many Jews felt that the tweet was a crude generalization; the head of the Anti-Defamation League called it “scapegoating.” The Orthodox Jewish Public Affairs Council, an organization meant to counter discrimination against the Orthodox Jewish community, pointed out that thousands of New Yorkers had gathered the same day to watch the Blue Angels and Thunderbirds do a flyby. Where had the Mayor been then? And what about all the other Jewish communities who were following the rules?
Kornbluh documented the tensions in Borough Park. Among the city’s political press, he’s known as a reporter’s reporter—a news junkie who wears a yarmulke and speaks with a Yiddish-inflected British accent. Kornbluh grew up in London’s Stamford Hill, where his father started an emergency medical service. At a young age, he developed a fascination with journalism. “I knew probably the names of all the Knesset members,” he said, referring to Israel’s parliament. Kornbluh went to yeshiva but never finished high school. In 2001, he moved to Brooklyn, the center of the Hasidic world in the United States, and worked at a kosher deli; later, he opened a kosher pizza place. He had eclectic tastes for a member of his community, which tends to be highly insular: he taught himself to write by studying biographies of famous Americans; he read the Times. He started a blog, and began showing up at major city events to write about them. He covered the Anthony Weiner frenzy and Donald Trump’s fateful escalator ride. At such events, he would often run into Ben Smith, then a reporter at Politico, who is now the Times’ media columnist. Smith encouraged Kornbluh to pursue journalism full time. Kornbluh took the advice, selling off his pizzeria.
In 2015, he was hired by Jewish Insider, a daily news outlet that reports on political and business news from a Jewish angle. (Two of its recent headlines are “Twitter CEO Dismisses Ayatollah’s Threats to Israel as ‘Saber-Rattling’ ” and “Congressional Dems Urge Biden to Continue Campus Antisemitism Protections.”) With his tireless reporting on local and national politics, and on happenings within his own community, Kornbluh became well known to his readers and a rare channel through which they could hold their local elected officials accountable. He can ask the types of questions that don’t typically come up in a debate or press conference. Chizhik-Goldschmidt described him in the Forward article as “the most famous Hasidic journalist in America.”
One of Kornbluh’s most distinctive qualities as a journalist is his closeness to the community. When he covers local news, he is hardly an outsider “parachuting in” to get some quotes from a seemingly opaque group of people. “Political reporters sometimes don’t realize how real the stakes are and don’t have to live with them,” Smith told me. He added that Kornbluh “is writing about these life-or-death issues in this community, whose divisions mirror the country but where passions are really, really high.”
Borough Park tolerated Kornbluh’s feel for the divisions in the community when the subject was politics, less so when he began writing about the pandemic. In April, during Passover, as most of Borough Park remained on lockdown, Kornbluh began outing rule-breakers. He tweeted a video of a man exiting a synagogue that should have been closed. He called in a complaint to a government hotline about a synagogue that was flouting city restrictions. A digital flyer circulated on WhatsApp calling him an informer. “I lost some friends,” Kornbluh told me. His reporting for Jewish Insider and his posts on social media had been critical of both the restrictions and his neighborhood’s response to those restrictions, but only one aspect of his coverage had stuck. One day in April, a crowd of about a hundred Haredim, noticing Kornbluh walking nearby, chased him down the street, chanting insults.
By June, the weather had warmed and the curve had flattened. It was no longer just a small group ignoring public-health guidelines. In Borough Park, the rhythms of life returned to near-normal. Revellers packed wedding halls. (Tischler claims to have attended seventeen weddings in one month.) “The few who were wearing masks—people looked at them a little funny,” Yochonon Donn, a resident of the neighborhood and a writer for Mishpacha (Family), a popular Haredi weekly, told me. The number of new cases stayed relatively low over the summer, but, in August, de Blasio noted an uptick in Borough Park. He warned of harsh measures if behavior didn’t change. On went the masks. Then, de Blasio, noting the still-worrying numbers, imposed closures anyway. People felt lied to, betrayed by the city. The masks came off. Governor Andrew Cuomo developed his own plan. On October 6th, he set up a call with Haredi leaders and urged them to limit their synagogues to half capacity. Later that day, he announced a plan publicly. He’d scrapped the fifty-per-cent idea. The new limit was ten worshippers for each shul, no exceptions.
That night, protesters filled the streets. The man caught filming it was beaten. Kornbluh, taking on a more activist role, messaged Tischler urging him to apologize for inciting violence. But the following evening, at a second demonstration, the vitriol only increased. Back on the scene, Kornbluh took notes from a distance, watching as the crowd pulsed with energy. Tischler noticed Kornbluh and shouted at him: “You’re a pig!” A group of protesters swarmed Kornbluh and cornered him against a wall. The police had to rescue him.
Kornbluh said afterward that he had been hit in the head and kicked. (Tischler has denied this.) What set the crowd into a frenzy was when Tischler, inches from Kornbluh’s face, called the reporter a moser, a Hebrew word for a traitor—a Jew who informs on a Jew. Tischler had encouraged the rest of the mob to chant it, too: “Everybody scream ‘moser!’ ” Some interpretations of religious law, including that of Maimonides, the hugely influential twelfth-century Jewish philosopher, dictate that a moser must be stopped before he informs again—even if it means killing him.
For most of New York’s Haredi Jews, demonstrating in the street is a rarity. (“We don’t protest,” one of them told me, while protesting.) Counterparts in Israel frequently stage demonstrations—usually in response to things that they perceive as existential threats, such as conscription in the Army—and, more recently, in response to Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s coronavirus restrictions, calling them anti-Semitic. Many of the young men in Borough Park have taken their cues from what they’d seen of Black Lives Matter protests. (“Jewish lives matter!” has become a common refrain.) But videos of looting and violence had circulated on WhatsApp, and Haredi protesters were eager to draw a contrast, to show that their demonstrations were more peaceful and more proper. “We come out to protest something, there’s music playing, we’re not looting, we’re not rioting,” one Haredi protester told me. This was after the counter-protester had been beaten.
On October 11th, after the first two demonstrations in Borough Park, Tischler was arrested by the N.Y.P.D. for “inciting to riot and unlawful imprisonment in connection with an assault of a journalist.” (He pleaded not guilty.) Soon after, a Tischler fan tweeted out Kornbluh’s address, and a mob of roughly two hundred people—mostly Yeshiva-age boys, but a few families with young kids—gathered outside his home at midnight. (Someone had brought a bullhorn: “Good morning, Jacob! We’re all waiting for you!”) A man in his thirties, who said that his name was Mendel, argued that Kornbluh had become a tool of an oppressive governor by outing Haredi rule-breakers. “Do you think that we were so dumb and stupid, that we paid such a heavy price, so many lives taken away from us, and we wouldn’t do everything to protect us?” he asked. “I prayed on my porch not for one month—four months!” Now, he said, everyone had antibodies. (The antibody rate in Borough Park is estimated to be forty-three per cent—below the theoretical threshold for herd immunity.) Mendel dismissed the new restrictions as theatre. He’d heard rumors that the local testing books were cooked.
Secular, right-wing symbols dominated the event. MAGA paraphernalia was everywhere; at a previous demonstration, people waved “Don’t Tread on Me” flags, and Tischler wore a Trump sticker on his chest. The rhetoric was familiar, too. One boy told me, “It’s not about corona anymore. It’s about fake news.” Mendel said, “When Trump blames the ‘China Virus,’ liberals say, ‘You can’t say that, that’s racist!’ But when it comes to us, it’s not racist!” Then he cited Tucker Carlson.