newyorker--2020-07-27--American Tragedy and Comedy, Streaming on YouTube

Our species can not make sense of warnings .
In January , when reports of the coronavirus in Wuhan began to appear on the front page of the Times , we in New York grimaced and flipped past .
Even as northern Italy succumbed , Milan ’ s Fashion Week rattled along .
Something was happening to someone else , again .
In retrospect , the confused feeling of early March in New York was like the sickening pause that heralds the arrival of a tsunami , the water receding before the wave crashes down .
Now that we have @ @ @ @ @ @ @ we try to persuade the rest of the country to look at us , to listen , to learn from our mistakes , and we get silence , or worse , in return .
If the progression of the unchecked virus doesn ’ t scare the anti-maskers and the politicians who cynically enable them , it ’ s unlikely that watching “ The Line , ” a new play by Jessica Blank and Erik Jensen about New York City health-care workers battling COVID-19 , will do much to advance the cause .
Still @ @ @ @ @ @ @ heartrending hour ; maybe dramatized truth can slip through a window when the doors of reason have been slammed .
Directed by Blank , and produced and presented by the Public , “ The Line ” is streaming on YouTube through September 1st , and , in a welcome effort at accessibility , is also available with Spanish subtitles , in closed captioning and sign language , and with audio description for the visually impaired .
So far , more than twenty-eight thousand people have watched the play , likely a far larger @ @ @ @ @ @ @ accommodated over the course of a run .
If there is an understandable appetite for escapism these days , there is clearly also a hunger for works that try to parse our baffling shared reality .
Blank and Jensen practice a documentary style of play-making , which involves interviewing the real people they depict , who are generally caught in the teeth of tragedy .
Their previous work includes “ The Exonerated , ” about inmates freed from death row , and “ Coal Country , ” which opened at the Public in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a West Virginia mining community that ’ s reeling from a deadly explosion .
The characters in “ The Line ” include Oscar ( John Ortiz ) , a gregarious E.M.T .
from Queens ; Ed ( Jamey Sheridan ) , a gruff , streetwise paramedic ; and Sharon ( Lorraine Toussaint ) , a nurse who is fiercely protective of the geriatric patients she cares for .
David ( Santino Fontana ) , a Long Islander , became a nurse after training as an actor ; Dwight ( Nicholas Pinnock ) , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the profession after finding that he had no head for business .
Vikram ( Arjun Gupta ) , an emergency-room doctor who treats some of the city ’ s poorest patients , is coolly analytical—he catches the virus early and reports to work the moment he has recovered—while Jennifer ( Alison Pill ) , an outspoken first-year intern in Brooklyn , seethes with fury at her hospital ’ s failure to adequately prepare for COVID , and its attempts to cover up its negligence .
Each actor narrates his or her character ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of a computer or a phone , as if chatting from home with an interviewer ; the clips are intercut so that a collective narrative arc traces the arrival and the spread of the virus .
What emerges is a communal experience of horror , told with stark specificity : the non-stop emergency calls , the intubations , the lack of P.P.E.
, the stunned families , and , everywhere , the fear , the death , the grief .
Sharon , who nearly died from the virus herself , says , “ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ find out that half my population is gone.
” The performers are , to a person , subtle , vivid , and direct ; their voices amplify one another , and , as they do , a bigger picture of the city clicks into focus .
These people know their town better than anyone ; they have seen that who you are , and where and how you live , can make all the difference when it comes to survival .
“ We caught one aspect of it on a video , ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s lethal racism and the killing of George Floyd .
“ But with medicine there is no video.
” Early in the crisis , workers like these were branded , by the Mayor , and in the popular imagination , as health-care “ heroes.
” One of the messages to be taken from these testimonials is the obfuscating inadequacy of such titles .
“ Now we ’ re heroes ?
What the fuck do you think we were doing before all of this ?
” David says—and he ’ s the sweet one @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ is a word we use in the face of fear , and it separates us from each other , ” Ed says .
“ Same thing after 9/11.
” Ed ’ s preferred term is a “ chain ” or a “ line , ” which includes the postal workers and the grocery clerks , the cleaners , the security guards , the food deliverers , and everyone else who , at great personal risk , has kept the city afloat .
We lucky ones owe them our health .
Guaranteeing theirs @ @ @ @ @ @ @ debt .
Catching stuff on video is at the heart of the comedian Hannibal Buress ’ s terrific new special , “ Miami Nights.
” Buress recorded the show in front of a live audience last summer , and released it for free on YouTube in early July .
Buress , who may still be best known as the guy whose joke about the rape accusations against Bill Cosby turned the popular tide , is “ medium famous , ” a status that he discusses without rancor .
Comedy nerds know him from @ @ @ @ @ @ @ on Adult Swim ; millennials know him as Ilana Glazer ’ s boyfriend on “ Broad City.
” Twice a year , he says , he ’ s asked to host a game show .
( “ THE PROPHECY WILL BE FULFILLED , BUT THE TIME IS NOT NOW , ” he booms in a mike-enhanced God voice , as cheesy apocalyptic flames engulf the screen that forms the back wall of the stage .
“ I WILL CONTINUE ON MY PATH TOWARD THE COUNTRY PLAYING MID- TO LARGE-SIZE VENUES AND OCCASIONALLY POPPING @ @ @ @ @ @ @ He looks great , with a charming bit of belly , in a snug gray T-shirt that makes him seem younger , at thirty-seven , than he used to when he wore button-downs and blazers onstage .
A lot of comedy specials sag onscreen without the energy from an audience to boost the room , but Buress ’ s is perfect for home viewing .
Tightly directed by Kristian Mercado , the show is highly visual , with the vast screen providing effects and illustration for Buress ’ s bits .
It ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ I ’ ve seen of Internet brain , the way we think in links and GIFs and memes .
“ I hate the fact that you can just Google how much somebody ’ s house costs , ” he says .
“ And I hate the fact that I don ’ t have the self-control to not do that while I ’ m in somebody ’ s house.
” Buress has always had a goofy streak , and some of his silliest riffs are pure candy .
There ’ s a bit on @ @ @ @ @ @ @ various custom automobiles , and Buress has fun messing around with the mike , spinning out a scenario in which a throat-cancer survivor with an Auto-Tuned voice box delivers a hauntingly mellifluous anti-smoking P.S.A .
to schoolkids .
But mortality is also on his mind .
He talks about quitting drinking , about his asthma , and about death .
“ I want my own way of dying , ” he says .
It ’ s a joke about ego , but the unspoken subtext—about the precise way in which a Black man @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in the air , to be picked up in the story that the act has been building toward , which takes up the last twenty minutes of the hour-long show .
In 2018 , Buress made the news after he was arrested for disorderly conduct during a boozy night in Miami .
What distinguished the episode was his ingenious decision ( if , given his state of mind , it can be called that ) to speak directly into the cop ’ s body camera .
He plays us the footage .
There @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , stooping to get his angle : “ Hey , what ’ s up , it ’ s me , Hannibal Buress .
This cop ’ s stupid as fuck.
” Without hitting the notes too hard , Buress takes us through the rest of his Miami night , ending with a twist that lands , especially now , as sublime catharsis .
The encounter could have ended tragically .
Instead , Buress turned it into comedy .
A knife ’ s edge separates one from the other , and it ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ More on the Coronavirus • To protect American lives and revive the economy , Donald Trump and Jared Kushner should listen to Anthony Fauci rather than trash him .
• We should look to students to conceive of appropriate school-reopening plans .
It is not too late to ask what they really want .
• A pregnant pediatrician on what children need during the crisis .
• Trump is helping tycoons who have donated to his reëlection campaign exploit the pandemic to maximize profits .
• Meet the high-finance mogul in charge of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is likely to reshape architecture .
What kinds of space are we willing to live and work in now ?

Our species cannot make sense of warnings. In January, when reports of the coronavirus in Wuhan began to appear on the front page of the Times, we in New York grimaced and flipped past. Even as northern Italy succumbed, Milan’s Fashion Week rattled along. Something was happening to someone else, again. In retrospect, the confused feeling of early March in New York was like the sickening pause that heralds the arrival of a tsunami, the water receding before the wave crashes down. Now that we have been spat out onto drier land, we try to persuade the rest of the country to look at us, to listen, to learn from our mistakes, and we get silence, or worse, in return.
If the progression of the unchecked virus doesn’t scare the anti-maskers and the politicians who cynically enable them, it’s unlikely that watching “The Line,” a new play by Jessica Blank and Erik Jensen about New York City health-care workers battling COVID-19, will do much to advance the cause. Still, it makes for an urgent, heartrending hour; maybe dramatized truth can slip through a window when the doors of reason have been slammed. Directed by Blank, and produced and presented by the Public, “The Line” is streaming on YouTube through September 1st, and, in a welcome effort at accessibility, is also available with Spanish subtitles, in closed captioning and sign language, and with audio description for the visually impaired. So far, more than twenty-eight thousand people have watched the play, likely a far larger audience than the physical theatre could have accommodated over the course of a run. If there is an understandable appetite for escapism these days, there is clearly also a hunger for works that try to parse our baffling shared reality.
Blank and Jensen practice a documentary style of play-making, which involves interviewing the real people they depict, who are generally caught in the teeth of tragedy. Their previous work includes “The Exonerated,” about inmates freed from death row, and “Coal Country,” which opened at the Public in early March and focusses on members of a West Virginia mining community that’s reeling from a deadly explosion. The characters in “The Line” include Oscar (John Ortiz), a gregarious E.M.T. from Queens; Ed (Jamey Sheridan), a gruff, streetwise paramedic; and Sharon (Lorraine Toussaint), a nurse who is fiercely protective of the geriatric patients she cares for. David (Santino Fontana), a Long Islander, became a nurse after training as an actor; Dwight (Nicholas Pinnock), an immigrant from Trinidad, came to the profession after finding that he had no head for business. Vikram (Arjun Gupta), an emergency-room doctor who treats some of the city’s poorest patients, is coolly analytical—he catches the virus early and reports to work the moment he has recovered—while Jennifer (Alison Pill), an outspoken first-year intern in Brooklyn, seethes with fury at her hospital’s failure to adequately prepare for COVID, and its attempts to cover up its negligence.
Each actor narrates his or her character’s story, looking into the camera of a computer or a phone, as if chatting from home with an interviewer; the clips are intercut so that a collective narrative arc traces the arrival and the spread of the virus. What emerges is a communal experience of horror, told with stark specificity: the non-stop emergency calls, the intubations, the lack of P.P.E., the stunned families, and, everywhere, the fear, the death, the grief. Sharon, who nearly died from the virus herself, says, “Then I come back to work and find out that half my population is gone.” The performers are, to a person, subtle, vivid, and direct; their voices amplify one another, and, as they do, a bigger picture of the city clicks into focus. These people know their town better than anyone; they have seen that who you are, and where and how you live, can make all the difference when it comes to survival. “We caught one aspect of it on a video,” Vikram says, referring to America’s lethal racism and the killing of George Floyd. “But with medicine there is no video.”
Early in the crisis, workers like these were branded, by the Mayor, and in the popular imagination, as health-care “heroes.” One of the messages to be taken from these testimonials is the obfuscating inadequacy of such titles. “Now we’re heroes? What the fuck do you think we were doing before all of this?” David says—and he’s the sweet one of the bunch. “ ‘Hero’ is a word we use in the face of fear, and it separates us from each other,” Ed says. “Same thing after 9/11.” Ed’s preferred term is a “chain” or a “line,” which includes the postal workers and the grocery clerks, the cleaners, the security guards, the food deliverers, and everyone else who, at great personal risk, has kept the city afloat. We lucky ones owe them our health. Guaranteeing theirs is the only way to repay the debt.
Catching stuff on video is at the heart of the comedian Hannibal Buress’s terrific new special, “Miami Nights.” Buress recorded the show in front of a live audience last summer, and released it for free on YouTube in early July. Buress, who may still be best known as the guy whose joke about the rape accusations against Bill Cosby turned the popular tide, is “medium famous,” a status that he discusses without rancor. Comedy nerds know him from “The Eric Andre Show,” on Adult Swim; millennials know him as Ilana Glazer’s boyfriend on “Broad City.” Twice a year, he says, he’s asked to host a game show. (“THE PROPHECY WILL BE FULFILLED, BUT THE TIME IS NOT NOW,” he booms in a mike-enhanced God voice, as cheesy apocalyptic flames engulf the screen that forms the back wall of the stage. “I WILL CONTINUE ON MY PATH TOWARD THE COUNTRY PLAYING MID- TO LARGE-SIZE VENUES AND OCCASIONALLY POPPING UP IN BIG-BUDGET WHITE COMEDY.”) He looks great, with a charming bit of belly, in a snug gray T-shirt that makes him seem younger, at thirty-seven, than he used to when he wore button-downs and blazers onstage.
A lot of comedy specials sag onscreen without the energy from an audience to boost the room, but Buress’s is perfect for home viewing. Tightly directed by Kristian Mercado, the show is highly visual, with the vast screen providing effects and illustration for Buress’s bits. It’s one of the better onstage representations I’ve seen of Internet brain, the way we think in links and GIFs and memes. “I hate the fact that you can just Google how much somebody’s house costs,” he says. “And I hate the fact that I don’t have the self-control to not do that while I’m in somebody’s house.” Buress has always had a goofy streak, and some of his silliest riffs are pure candy. There’s a bit on the rapper 2 Chainz begging God for various custom automobiles, and Buress has fun messing around with the mike, spinning out a scenario in which a throat-cancer survivor with an Auto-Tuned voice box delivers a hauntingly mellifluous anti-smoking P.S.A. to schoolkids.
But mortality is also on his mind. He talks about quitting drinking, about his asthma, and about death. “I want my own way of dying,” he says. It’s a joke about ego, but the unspoken subtext—about the precise way in which a Black man in America does not want to die—hangs in the air, to be picked up in the story that the act has been building toward, which takes up the last twenty minutes of the hour-long show. In 2018, Buress made the news after he was arrested for disorderly conduct during a boozy night in Miami. What distinguished the episode was his ingenious decision (if, given his state of mind, it can be called that) to speak directly into the cop’s body camera. He plays us the footage. There he is, as amiable as ever, stooping to get his angle: “Hey, what’s up, it’s me, Hannibal Buress. This cop’s stupid as fuck.” Without hitting the notes too hard, Buress takes us through the rest of his Miami night, ending with a twist that lands, especially now, as sublime catharsis. The encounter could have ended tragically. Instead, Buress turned it into comedy. A knife’s edge separates one from the other, and it’s getting thinner all the time. ♦
More on the Coronavirus


newyorker--2020-07-27--Small Talk in the Black Death

Small Talk in the Black Death

—Good morrow , neighbor .
How are you holding up in your thatched cottage ?
— “ Holding up ” ?
What is the meaning of that ?
—I mean , how are you faring in this arduous time of the Black Death ?
—Oh .
That is an interesting way to say it .
—I just invented the expression .
Do you like it ?
— ( Trying it out ) “ How are you holding up ?
” Yes , it is harmonious to the ear !
—Should we use it each time we speak during this plague @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
It is most congenial .
—But what if we tire of the expression , and of answering to it , after a few hundred uses ?
Should we devise an alternative ?
—How about “ I hope this salutation finds you well ” ?
—Very good .
Although .
.
.
is anyone truly “ well ” during a plague ?
—You are correct .
No one except , perhaps , those who possess a remote castle by the White Cliffs of Dover .
—What if we add “ or as well @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ?
—Yes .
And if the salutation is rendered on a Friday or a Monday , and some mention of the end of the week that is about to take place or has just occurred is expected , one may add “ whatever an ‘ end of the week ’ is these days.
” —Because the days are so like one another that the end of the week is hardly distinct from the middle of the week .
—It is as if time , that phenomenon we measure so precisely by the shadow @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the town square , has ceased to mean anything .
—I know .
This barley season has felt like four rye seasons .
—When I feel a craving for mead but it is too early in the eve , I say to my wife , in jest , “ Well , the shadow is angling downward on a dial somewhere.
” —I make the same jest when I am desirous of ale but I have not yet plowed my field for the required sixteen hours !
—After a discussion of time such as @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the other body has seen any good morality plays lately .
—I certainly have .
At times I have feasted on three morality plays in succession .
My children have a saying for it : “ morality plays and idleness.
” —And I thought I would be using this time to learn to read .
—I , too .
Instead , I have attempted the new recipes for gruel that the town crier has shouted .
When I prepare a gruel that is especially pleasing to the eye , I ask Garrick the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ tapestry , which I then unfurl outside my thatched cottage so that others may admire it .
I am innocent of the sin of pride , because I am not depicted in the tapestry myself—only the gruel .
—I have seen and liked your gruel tapestries .
—I did not know you liked them .
You have never indicated so .
—Have I not ?
I am sorry .
I like them .
—Just .
.
.
all of them , really .
—Rouse me from my slumber when it is the thirteen-fifties @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of all kings to rule over us during the Black Death , we are cursed with Edward the Third .
—I would take Edward the Second right now .
—All right , who are you , and what have you done with Ælwyn the Plowman ?
—Ha !
As if what I said does not accord with my character , and therefore , despite all appearances , I must not be Ælwyn the Plowman but instead someone who has disposed of his body and assumed his likeness .
A most amusing jest .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ that , as leeches may cure the plague when applied to the skin , healers should also put them inside the body ?
—He must have a secret investment in leech-gathering .
That is the only explanation .
—Well , I will let you go back inside your thatched cottage .
—So , next week , same shadow angle on the sundial ?
—Uh .
.
.
I am busy next week .
But we shall find a shadow angle soon .
—You , too .
Whatever “ out there ” means these @ @ @

—Good morrow, neighbor. How are you holding up in your thatched cottage?
—“Holding up”? What is the meaning of that?
—I mean, how are you faring in this arduous time of the Black Death?
—Oh. That is an interesting way to say it.
—I just invented the expression. Do you like it?
—(Trying it out) “How are you holding up?” Yes, it is harmonious to the ear!
—Should we use it each time we speak during this plague?
—I do not see why not. It is most congenial.
—But what if we tire of the expression, and of answering to it, after a few hundred uses? Should we devise an alternative?
—How about “I hope this salutation finds you well”?
—Very good. Although . . . is anyone truly “well” during a plague?
—You are correct. No one except, perhaps, those who possess a remote castle by the White Cliffs of Dover.
—What if we add “or as well as anyone can be these days”?
—Yes. And if the salutation is rendered on a Friday or a Monday, and some mention of the end of the week that is about to take place or has just occurred is expected, one may add “whatever an ‘end of the week’ is these days.”
—Because the days are so like one another that the end of the week is hardly distinct from the middle of the week.
—It is as if time, that phenomenon we measure so precisely by the shadow of the sun on a dial in the town square, has ceased to mean anything.
—I know. This barley season has felt like four rye seasons.
—When I feel a craving for mead but it is too early in the eve, I say to my wife, in jest, “Well, the shadow is angling downward on a dial somewhere.”
—I make the same jest when I am desirous of ale but I have not yet plowed my field for the required sixteen hours!
—After a discussion of time such as this, a body can ask if the other body has seen any good morality plays lately.
—I certainly have. At times I have feasted on three morality plays in succession. My children have a saying for it: “morality plays and idleness.”
—And I thought I would be using this time to learn to read.
—I, too. Instead, I have attempted the new recipes for gruel that the town crier has shouted. When I prepare a gruel that is especially pleasing to the eye, I ask Garrick the Weaver to capture its essence in a tapestry, which I then unfurl outside my thatched cottage so that others may admire it. I am innocent of the sin of pride, because I am not depicted in the tapestry myself—only the gruel.
—I have seen and liked your gruel tapestries.
—I did not know you liked them. You have never indicated so.
—Have I not? I am sorry. I like them.
—Which ones?
—Just . . . all of them, really.
(A silence.)
—Fie on 1348.
—And we thought 1347 was bad.
—Strange times.
—Rouse me from my slumber when it is the thirteen-fifties.
—I am in disbelief that, of all kings to rule over us during the Black Death, we are cursed with Edward the Third.
—I would take Edward the Second right now.
—All right, who are you, and what have you done with Ælwyn the Plowman?
—Ha! As if what I said does not accord with my character, and therefore, despite all appearances, I must not be Ælwyn the Plowman but instead someone who has disposed of his body and assumed his likeness. A most amusing jest.
—I just invented it.
—Did you hear Edward the Third said that, as leeches may cure the plague when applied to the skin, healers should also put them inside the body?
—He must have a secret investment in leech-gathering. That is the only explanation.
(Another silence.)
—Well, I will let you go back inside your thatched cottage.
—So, next week, same shadow angle on the sundial?
—Uh . . . I am busy next week. But we shall find a shadow angle soon.
—Stay hale out there.
—You, too. Whatever “out there” means these days. ♦


newyorker--2020-07-27--Briefly Noted Book Reviews

Briefly Noted Book Reviews

Must I Go , by Yiyun Li ( Random House ) .
Lilia , a woman in a retirement home who believes that she lacks a “ porous heart , ” recalls a love affair with a man whose posthumous journals have recently been published .
She never told him that he was the father of her first child , Lucy , who killed herself .
When the home offers a memoir-writing class , Lilia , reflexively cynical about her fellow-residents , is scornful , but she independently starts work on a personal history for Lucy ’ s daughter , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ account suggests the places where Lilia ’ s hardness readily cedes to something tender .
“ People will say all sorts of things about those who ’ ve committed suicide , ” she writes .
“ But , Katherine , your mom was a brave woman.
” Empire of Wild , by Cherie Dimaline ( William Morrow ) .
In the small Ontario town where this novel is set , indigenous inhabitants are constantly pressured to sell their ancestral lands for natural-resource development , as the rougarou , a mythical beast of folk @ @ @ @ @ @ @ wolf—stalks the streets .
Joan , the book ’ s sharp narrator , whose family has lived there for generations , suspects the rougarou ’ s dangerous influence when , eleven months after her husband disappears , she finds him preaching in a revival tent and unable to recognize her .
As she struggles to reclaim him , she follows the revivalists through mining and indigenous communities in Canada , unknowingly tracing the path of a proposed oil pipeline , which is connected in strange , dark ways to her husband ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ( Farrar , Straus & Giroux ) .
This wide-ranging history of our “ cultural obsession ” with character as a moral quality notes how often public figures are denounced for not possessing it .
But what , exactly , does it mean to say that a politician , for example , has “ failed the character test ” ?
Drawing on ancient philosophy , Victorian educational tracts , Shakespeare ’ s plays , and Freud , Garber shows how slippery the concept can be .
Is character fixed and intrinsic , she @ @ @ @ @ @ @ being “ formed , ” as the Victorians believed ?
Answers remain elusive in this thought-provoking work , but , as Garber writes , one thing about character becomes clear : “ We may not agree on what it is , but we know when it is lacking.
” The Vapors , by David Hill ( Farrar , Straus & Giroux ) .
Hot Springs , Arkansas , was once a casino hub that rivalled Las Vegas , despite a state law criminalizing gambling .
As this history shows , from 1870 until @ @ @ @ @ @ @ with the connivance of the police and lawmakers .
The narrative focusses on three figures : a New York gangster who consolidated the city ’ s gambling industry ; his protégé , a local boy who becomes gambling boss ; and the author ’ s grandmother , an impoverished pill addict .
Bribes , kickbacks , campaign contributions , ballot stuffing , and intimidation steered the profit to those in power , but the casinos also enjoyed genuine popular support , something that leads Hill to a consideration of what makes an enterprise @ @

Must I Go, by Yiyun Li (Random House). Lilia, a woman in a retirement home who believes that she lacks a “porous heart,” recalls a love affair with a man whose posthumous journals have recently been published. She never told him that he was the father of her first child, Lucy, who killed herself. When the home offers a memoir-writing class, Lilia, reflexively cynical about her fellow-residents, is scornful, but she independently starts work on a personal history for Lucy’s daughter, Katherine, her favorite grandchild. The account suggests the places where Lilia’s hardness readily cedes to something tender. “People will say all sorts of things about those who’ve committed suicide,” she writes. “But, Katherine, your mom was a brave woman.”
Empire of Wild, by Cherie Dimaline (William Morrow). In the small Ontario town where this novel is set, indigenous inhabitants are constantly pressured to sell their ancestral lands for natural-resource development, as the rougarou, a mythical beast of folk legend—part man, part dog, part wolf—stalks the streets. Joan, the book’s sharp narrator, whose family has lived there for generations, suspects the rougarou’s dangerous influence when, eleven months after her husband disappears, she finds him preaching in a revival tent and unable to recognize her. As she struggles to reclaim him, she follows the revivalists through mining and indigenous communities in Canada, unknowingly tracing the path of a proposed oil pipeline, which is connected in strange, dark ways to her husband’s story.
Character, by Marjorie Garber (Farrar, Straus & Giroux). This wide-ranging history of our “cultural obsession” with character as a moral quality notes how often public figures are denounced for not possessing it. But what, exactly, does it mean to say that a politician, for example, has “failed the character test”? Drawing on ancient philosophy, Victorian educational tracts, Shakespeare’s plays, and Freud, Garber shows how slippery the concept can be. Is character fixed and intrinsic, she asks, or is it capable of being “formed,” as the Victorians believed? Answers remain elusive in this thought-provoking work, but, as Garber writes, one thing about character becomes clear: “We may not agree on what it is, but we know when it is lacking.”
The Vapors, by David Hill (Farrar, Straus & Giroux). Hot Springs, Arkansas, was once a casino hub that rivalled Las Vegas, despite a state law criminalizing gambling. As this history shows, from 1870 until 1967 businessmen openly disregarded the law, with the connivance of the police and lawmakers. The narrative focusses on three figures: a New York gangster who consolidated the city’s gambling industry; his protégé, a local boy who becomes gambling boss; and the author’s grandmother, an impoverished pill addict. Bribes, kickbacks, campaign contributions, ballot stuffing, and intimidation steered the profit to those in power, but the casinos also enjoyed genuine popular support, something that leads Hill to a consideration of what makes an enterprise legitimate.


newyorker--2020-07-27--With a reading list ranging from W. E. B. Du Bois to Kendrick Lamar, a remote class teaches Philadel

With a reading list ranging from W. E. B. Du Bois to Kendrick Lamar, a remote class teaches Philadelphia teens how to express their frustration with society—including, in some cases, their schools, writes Tyler Foggatt.

Bartley Jeannoute teaches sixth-grade humanities at the Abington Friends School , a private Quaker institution in the North Philadelphia suburb of Jenkintown .
When schools closed for the pandemic , in March , he was teaching via Zoom within days .
“ It was pretty easy for us to pivot to distance learning , ” he said , because of his school ’ s resources .
“ Meanwhile , kids in the public schools were just at home , getting no interaction from their teachers , for almost a month.
” Before joining Abington Friends , last year , Jeannoute @ @ @ @ @ @ @ private institution .
A decade earlier , he attended Seton Hall Prep , a Catholic boys ’ high school in New Jersey , where he was one of two dozen Black students in a class of around two hundred .
He got good grades , but he grew frustrated with the curriculum of all-white authors .
“ I felt like I was reading other people ’ s literature , other people ’ s theology , other people ’ s history , ” he said .
“ I was looking for something that spoke @ @ @ @ @ @ @ second-to-last chapter of the book that we never got to.
” When he asked his teachers about incorporating more Black voices , the school sent a letter to his mother .
His teachers had noted a “ radical shift ” in his behavior , describing him as “ hostile ” and “ aggressive.
” After that , Jeannoute stayed quiet in class .
But the world is a little different now .
This summer , Jeannoute is teaching a free course for inner-city high schoolers called Protest Writing .
It is hosted by @ @ @ @ @ @ @ The reading list ranges from W. E. B .
Du Bois to Nikole Hannah-Jones and Kendrick Lamar , and the class culminates in the students writing their own pieces .
The other day , after eight students had shown up for class over Zoom , Jeannoute shared his screen , so that they could view a political cartoon .
The drawing , titled “ The American Dream Game , ” showed two boys—one white and one Black—taking different paths to get to the end of the same board game .
The white kid @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , while the Black kid ’ s was three times as long , winding through such obstacles as “ Segregation : Lose 25 Turns.
” Federico , a sophomore in a green shirt , raised his hand .
“ White people tend to judge African-Americans , saying ‘ They ’ re slow ’ or something like that , when in reality they just have a lot more things to overcome in order to reach that American dream , ” he said .
Zion Perry , a junior who wore her hair in braids @ @ @ @ @ @ @ people are so comfortable in what they have or where they are that , if they see a person of color in the same position as them , then they think that they both got to that place in the same way.
” Jeannoute asked the class , “ How do you think that this board might look if , instead of a Black man , this was a Black woman ?
” A sophomore named Felix , whose Webcam was positioned so that only the top half of his face was visible @ @ @ @ @ @ @ even twistier .
He said that he had heard Black women talk about the disrespect that they get from various groups , including Black men .
“ It must be really hard if you feel like even the people inside of your own race don ’ t respect you , ” he said .
“ I like what Felix said a lot , ” Perry said .
She described some of the difficulties of being a Black woman : “ When we ’ re passionate or loud about something , we ’ re @ @ @ @ @ @ @ try to conform to societal standards we ’ re whitewashed .
” On to homework .
The students had been asked to read a piece in the Times about how two schools—one private and one public—had adjusted to remote learning .
They talked about the failings of their own public schools .
Perry , who goes to the Academy of the New Church , a private school in the affluent suburb of Bryn Athyn , said that her school had done a bad job transitioning to remote learning , too .
“ It @ @ @ @ @ @ @ about you , ” she said , explaining that her teachers hadn ’ t seemed to care whether she fell behind on her work .
This past June , she began posting on Instagram about experiencing racism at her school .
She also wrote about it for Jeannoute ’ s class .
In a two-page poem titled “ The Masked Prisoner , ” she compares the school ’ s instructors to prison guards ( “ They were terrible overseers and their titles were ‘ teachers ’ / I was taught Latin and European @ @ @ @ @ @ @ one ” ) and describes how they seemed to favor some students over others ( “ ‘ The victims ’ that were always seen as nice / And kind and so sweet and ‘ oh so pretty ’ and white ” ) .
A spokesperson for the Academy of the New Church responded , in a statement , “ We support all our students , alumni , and families in courageously speaking out about the hurt they experienced while attending our schools and we thank them for sharing input on how to make @ @ @ @ @ @ @ parents plan to enroll her in a new school this fall .
In her poem , she writes , “ COVID came around and the killer saved my life.
” ♦

Bartley Jeannoute teaches sixth-grade humanities at the Abington Friends School, a private Quaker institution in the North Philadelphia suburb of Jenkintown. When schools closed for the pandemic, in March, he was teaching via Zoom within days. “It was pretty easy for us to pivot to distance learning,” he said, because of his school’s resources. “Meanwhile, kids in the public schools were just at home, getting no interaction from their teachers, for almost a month.”
Before joining Abington Friends, last year, Jeannoute taught at the Philadelphia School, another private institution. A decade earlier, he attended Seton Hall Prep, a Catholic boys’ high school in New Jersey, where he was one of two dozen Black students in a class of around two hundred. He got good grades, but he grew frustrated with the curriculum of all-white authors. “I felt like I was reading other people’s literature, other people’s theology, other people’s history,” he said. “I was looking for something that spoke more to my experience—it was like the second-to-last chapter of the book that we never got to.” When he asked his teachers about incorporating more Black voices, the school sent a letter to his mother. His teachers had noted a “radical shift” in his behavior, describing him as “hostile” and “aggressive.” After that, Jeannoute stayed quiet in class.
But the world is a little different now. This summer, Jeannoute is teaching a free course for inner-city high schoolers called Protest Writing. It is hosted by Mighty Writers, a local nonprofit. The reading list ranges from W. E. B. Du Bois to Nikole Hannah-Jones and Kendrick Lamar, and the class culminates in the students writing their own pieces. The other day, after eight students had shown up for class over Zoom, Jeannoute shared his screen, so that they could view a political cartoon. The drawing, titled “The American Dream Game,” showed two boys—one white and one Black—taking different paths to get to the end of the same board game. The white kid’s path was straight and short, while the Black kid’s was three times as long, winding through such obstacles as “Segregation: Lose 25 Turns.”
Federico, a sophomore in a green shirt, raised his hand. “White people tend to judge African-Americans, saying ‘They’re slow’ or something like that, when in reality they just have a lot more things to overcome in order to reach that American dream,” he said.
Zion Perry, a junior who wore her hair in braids, chimed in: “Some white people are so comfortable in what they have or where they are that, if they see a person of color in the same position as them, then they think that they both got to that place in the same way.”
Jeannoute asked the class, “How do you think that this board might look if, instead of a Black man, this was a Black woman?” A sophomore named Felix, whose Webcam was positioned so that only the top half of his face was visible, guessed that the path would look even twistier. He said that he had heard Black women talk about the disrespect that they get from various groups, including Black men. “It must be really hard if you feel like even the people inside of your own race don’t respect you,” he said.
“I like what Felix said a lot,” Perry said. She described some of the difficulties of being a Black woman: “When we’re passionate or loud about something, we’re seen as ghetto. But when we try to conform to societal standards we’re whitewashed. ”
On to homework. The students had been asked to read a piece in the Times about how two schools—one private and one public—had adjusted to remote learning. They talked about the failings of their own public schools. Perry, who goes to the Academy of the New Church, a private school in the affluent suburb of Bryn Athyn, said that her school had done a bad job transitioning to remote learning, too. “It really showed you how they actually felt about you,” she said, explaining that her teachers hadn’t seemed to care whether she fell behind on her work.
This past June, she began posting on Instagram about experiencing racism at her school. She also wrote about it for Jeannoute’s class. In a two-page poem titled “The Masked Prisoner,” she compares the school’s instructors to prison guards (“They were terrible overseers and their titles were ‘teachers’ / I was taught Latin and European, and even how to be like one”) and describes how they seemed to favor some students over others (“ ‘The victims’ that were always seen as nice / And kind and so sweet and ‘oh so pretty’ and white”). A spokesperson for the Academy of the New Church responded, in a statement, “We support all our students, alumni, and families in courageously speaking out about the hurt they experienced while attending our schools and we thank them for sharing input on how to make our schools better.”
Perry’s parents plan to enroll her in a new school this fall. In her poem, she writes, “COVID came around and the killer saved my life.” ♦


newyorker--2020-07-27--Daily Harvest, a Trendy Jolly Green Giant for the Direct-to-Consumer Era

Pizza delivery is surging , mac-and-cheese consumption is up , and fast food is getting by with a little help from a friend in the White House .
What ’ s a lowly vegetable to do ?
If it ’ s smart : get frozen by Daily Harvest , a Jolly Green Giant for the direct-to-consumer era .
The company , which is based in Manhattan , sells on-trend concoctions of greens and beans—kelp “ pad Thai ” ( $ 8.99 ) , chickpea “ cookie dough ” ( $ 7.99 ) —that offer the benefits of the produce aisle @ @ @ @ @ @ @ lining up , wiping down , and , as the case may be , breaking down .
“ Every ingredient is frozen on the farm within twenty-four hours of harvest , ” Rachel Drori , the founder and C.E.O.
, said the other day , via videoconference from Long Island .
She wore a pink T-shirt and had an unfussy ponytail ; behind her was an unmade bed .
There is no evidence that COVID-19 is transmitted through food , but , “ if you ’ re as neurotic as I am , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ security , ” Drori said .
“ I haven ’ t been to a grocery store in four weeks.
” Though most of Daily Harvest ’ s two hundred employees have been working from home since March 12th , when Drori temporarily closed the company ’ s Flatiron headquarters , increased demand—seventy per cent more new customers than anticipated—meant that a critical part of the business could not flag : taste-testing potential new products .
“ Vegetables are hard , ” Drori said .
“ You have to know what to do to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” Ashley Lonsdale , Daily Harvest ’ s head chef , in Brooklyn , joined the videoconference to pick apart a couple of meals in development .
“ This is a fresh production sample , ” said Lonsdale , who wore a black shirt , had a halo of brown curls , and was seated in a blond-wood kitchen .
“ It ’ s a bowl created for customers looking for low-sugar breakfast options.
” Price : $ 5.99 .
Ingredients : chia seeds , riced cauliflower , and maca , a Peruvian @ @ @ @ @ @ @ vanilla , and coconut cream .
“ Let me go to the kitchen and grab my chia , ” Drori said , as her image jumbled .
Shouts of “ Mom !
” followed .
Usually , the company invites customers into the office for taste tests ; for now , two toddlers would do .
“ But I need you to be helpful , O.K .
?
” Drori said .
Little heads nodded .
Lonsdale scooped up a spoonful .
“ I ’ m getting more vanilla flavor than our last @ @ @ @ @ @ @ she said .
“ Salt , vanilla , and fat make this really great , magical taste , ” Lonsdale said , “ like a salty cookie ” —or the opposite of cold cauliflower .
“ Should the figs be cut up smaller ?
” Drori asked .
To one of the testers : “ No , you can not steal a fig.
” Her husband entered the shot and set down another bowl : avocado , maca , chocolate , cherries , and oats .
“ It ’ s scorching hot and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ burn my face , because I ’ m not patient , ” Drori said .
“ Make sure it ’ s stirred , ” Lonsdale said .
“ Get the chocolate distributed.
” Drori sampled it .
“ Do you think it ’ s too sweet ?
” she asked .
“ Do you think people want that much chocolate for breakfast ?
” Yet what was breakfast , these days , but a construct ?
They discussed how the marketing team could position the dish ( “ energizing , ” “ anti-inflammatory @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ) and which customers to target ( those who positively reviewed cacao-avocado smoothies ) .
Drori ’ s image jumbled again , and she was back in the bedroom .
“ Ashley , two thumbs up from the kids , ” she said .
“ They were fighting over the cherries .
I had to leave .
I was , like , ‘ I ’ m out.
’ ” Daily Harvest has explored other ways to make vegetables more palatable .
In April , to promote a new line of flat “ breads @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the company enlisted one of its customers , Neil Patrick Harris , to host a vegetable-themed bingo night on YouTube—a few winners received flatbreads , as did City Harvest , a nonprofit—and sent him a shiny raffle drum filled with inscribed Ping-Pong balls .
“ This says ‘ reishi , ’ ” Harris said , turning over one of the balls .
“ I ’ m going to guess that it ’ s a Latin root vegetable.
” ( It ’ s a mushroom . )
“ We wanted to create a good @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
“ You go on any site right now , it ’ s just doom and gloom.
” But even the most magic of mushrooms can ’ t solve everything .
“ There ’ s somebody in my house who ’ s sick—not with COVID—but I had to run to the pharmacy , ” Drori said .
“ I had to suit up and I was so stressed out.
” ♦

Pizza delivery is surging, mac-and-cheese consumption is up, and fast food is getting by with a little help from a friend in the White House. What’s a lowly vegetable to do? If it’s smart: get frozen by Daily Harvest, a Jolly Green Giant for the direct-to-consumer era. The company, which is based in Manhattan, sells on-trend concoctions of greens and beans—kelp “pad Thai” ($8.99), chickpea “cookie dough” ($7.99)—that offer the benefits of the produce aisle without the ordeal of masking up, lining up, wiping down, and, as the case may be, breaking down. “Every ingredient is frozen on the farm within twenty-four hours of harvest,” Rachel Drori, the founder and C.E.O., said the other day, via videoconference from Long Island. She wore a pink T-shirt and had an unfussy ponytail; behind her was an unmade bed. There is no evidence that COVID-19 is transmitted through food, but, “if you’re as neurotic as I am, there’s an extra layer of security,” Drori said. “I haven’t been to a grocery store in four weeks.”
Though most of Daily Harvest’s two hundred employees have been working from home since March 12th, when Drori temporarily closed the company’s Flatiron headquarters, increased demand—seventy per cent more new customers than anticipated—meant that a critical part of the business could not flag: taste-testing potential new products. “Vegetables are hard,” Drori said. “You have to know what to do to make them, like, really amazing.”
Ashley Lonsdale, Daily Harvest’s head chef, in Brooklyn, joined the videoconference to pick apart a couple of meals in development. “This is a fresh production sample,” said Lonsdale, who wore a black shirt, had a halo of brown curls, and was seated in a blond-wood kitchen. “It’s a bowl created for customers looking for low-sugar breakfast options.” Price: $5.99. Ingredients: chia seeds, riced cauliflower, and maca, a Peruvian root. Also: mission fig, vanilla, and coconut cream.
“Let me go to the kitchen and grab my chia,” Drori said, as her image jumbled. Shouts of “Mom!” followed. Usually, the company invites customers into the office for taste tests; for now, two toddlers would do. “But I need you to be helpful, O.K.?” Drori said. Little heads nodded. Lonsdale scooped up a spoonful. “I’m getting more vanilla flavor than our last sample, which is nice,” she said.
“The salt brought that out,” Drori said.
“Salt, vanilla, and fat make this really great, magical taste,” Lonsdale said, “like a salty cookie”—or the opposite of cold cauliflower.
“I’m relaxed enough that I’ve stopped thinking about the drive here, but not so relaxed that I’m not thinking about the drive back.” Cartoon by Christopher Weyant Copy link to cartoon Copy link to cartoon Shop Shop
“Should the figs be cut up smaller?” Drori asked. To one of the testers: “No, you cannot steal a fig.” Her husband entered the shot and set down another bowl: avocado, maca, chocolate, cherries, and oats. “It’s scorching hot and I know I’m gonna burn my face, because I’m not patient,” Drori said.
“Make sure it’s stirred,” Lonsdale said. “Get the chocolate distributed.”
Drori sampled it. “Do you think it’s too sweet?” she asked. “Do you think people want that much chocolate for breakfast?” Yet what was breakfast, these days, but a construct? They discussed how the marketing team could position the dish (“energizing,” “anti-inflammatory,” “smooth and decadent”) and which customers to target (those who positively reviewed cacao-avocado smoothies). Drori’s image jumbled again, and she was back in the bedroom. “Ashley, two thumbs up from the kids,” she said. “They were fighting over the cherries. I had to leave. I was, like, ‘I’m out.’ ”
Daily Harvest has explored other ways to make vegetables more palatable. In April, to promote a new line of flat “breads” (one is cauliflower-based), the company enlisted one of its customers, Neil Patrick Harris, to host a vegetable-themed bingo night on YouTube—a few winners received flatbreads, as did City Harvest, a nonprofit—and sent him a shiny raffle drum filled with inscribed Ping-Pong balls. “This says ‘reishi,’ ” Harris said, turning over one of the balls. “I’m going to guess that it’s a Latin root vegetable.” (It’s a mushroom.)
“We wanted to create a good, heartwarming moment,” Drori said. “You go on any site right now, it’s just doom and gloom.” But even the most magic of mushrooms can’t solve everything. “There’s somebody in my house who’s sick—not with COVID—but I had to run to the pharmacy,” Drori said. “I had to suit up and I was so stressed out.” ♦


newyorker--2020-07-27--How Police Unions Fight Reform

How Police Unions Fight Reform

In May , just days after a Minneapolis police officer killed George Floyd , Lieutenant Bob Kroll , the bellicose leader of the city ’ s police union , described Floyd as a violent criminal , said that the protesters who had gathered to lament his death were terrorists , and complained that they weren ’ t being treated more roughly by police .
Kroll , who has spoken unsentimentally about being involved in three shootings himself , said that he was fighting to get the accused officers reinstated .
In the following days , the Kentucky police union rallied @ @ @ @ @ @ @ E.M.T .
worker named Breonna Taylor in her home .
Atlanta police staged an organized sick-out after the officers who killed Rayshard Brooks were charged .
Philadelphia police sold T-shirts celebrating a fellow-cop who was caught on video clubbing a student protester with a steel baton .
The list goes on .
Along with everything else about American society that was thrown into appalling relief by Floyd ’ s killing , there has been the peculiar militancy of many police unions .
Law enforcement kills more than a thousand Americans a year .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ number are African-American .
Very few of the officers involved face serious , if any , consequences , and much of that impunity is owed to the power of police unions .
In many cities , including New York , the unions are a political force , their endorsements and campaign donations coveted by both Republicans and Democrats .
The legislation they support tends to get passed , their candidates elected .
They insist on public displays of respect and may humiliate mayors who displease them .
They defy reformers , including police @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the worst-performing officers .
In an era when other labor unions are steadily declining in membership and influence , police unions have kept their numbers up , their coffers full .
In Wisconsin , the Republican governor , Scott Walker , led a successful campaign to eliminate union rights for most of the state ’ s public employees .
The exceptions were firefighters and police .
Police unions enjoy a political paradox .
Conservatives traditionally abhor labor unions but support the police .
The left is critical of aggressive policing , yet has @ @ @ @ @ @ @ are , after all , public-sector unions , an endangered and mostly progressive species .
In their interstitial safe zone , police unions can offer their members extraordinary protections .
Officers accused of misconduct may be given legal representation paid for by the city , and ample time to review evidence before speaking to investigators .
In many cases , suspended officers have their pay guaranteed , and disciplinary recommendations of oversight boards are ignored .
Complaints submitted too late are disqualified .
Records of misconduct may be kept secret , and permanently @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
With the rise of the Black Lives Matter movement , criticism of the police has become less muted .
Calls resound to defund police forces , and to abolish the unions .
But the United States has eighteen thousand nonfederal police agencies in its hyperlocalized system , with more than seven hundred thousand officers represented by unions .
They will not be easily dislodged .
The Police Benevolent Association of New York City , which represents rank-and-file officers in the N.Y.P.D.
, is the largest municipal police union in the country , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the P.B.A .
was founded , in the eighteen-nineties , it was a feeble thing , dedicated to raising money for the widows of fallen officers .
The job was brutal then .
Officers were badly paid , untrained , overworked—and thrown out of their jobs every time political power changed hands .
They could plead for a living wage or an eight-hour day , but the rising labor movement wanted nothing to do with them .
Cops were strikebreakers or worse ; the first unionists killed in the American labor struggle , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ death by the New York police , at Ninth Avenue and Thirty-eighth Street .
After the First World War , the American Federation of Labor began issuing charters to police locals—in Cincinnati , St. Paul , Boston , Los Angeles .
Management was horrified .
Police were not ordinary workers , the argument went ; they were more akin to soldiers or sailors , and unions would divide their loyalties , undermining the chain of command .
The Boston Police Strike of 1919 , when the nascent union demanded recognition from the city @ @ @ @ @ @ @ extensive looting and reported rape ; eight people were killed by the state militia .
President Woodrow Wilson called the strike “ a crime against civilization , ” and most of the city ’ s policemen were fired .
The fledgling unions in other cities were destroyed , and the cause of police unionization was set back for generations .
It didn ’ t help that , in 1937 , Chicago cops fired on striking steelworkers and their families , killing ten .
In the early sixties , white racial anxiety helped strengthen @ @ @ @ @ @ @ movement was gathering force , street crime was increasing , and white flight was transforming cities .
Public-sector unions were also flourishing .
In New York , the teachers ’ union secured the right to collective bargaining in 1961—a major victory .
The city ’ s police were next .
In 1963 , Mayor Robert Wagner , Jr. , a progressive , signed an executive order granting them collective-bargaining rights .
Other cities followed , and police unions were eventually accepted in much of the country .
The N.Y.C.P.B.A .
reassured politicians by @ @ @ @ @ @ @ with any other union , but it quickly asserted its power in other ways .
The next mayor , John Lindsay , a Kennedyesque Republican , came into office vowing to establish a strong civilian complaint-review board , to provide police oversight .
The P.B.A .
mounted an overwhelming campaign against the plan .
One poster showed a young middle-class white woman emerging from the subway onto a darkened street , looking frightened , with an accompanying text that read , “ The Civilian Review Board must be stopped !
Her life .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ may depend on it.
” A TV commercial surveyed damage from rioting in Harlem in 1964 , with a voice-over intoning , “ The police were so careful to avoid accusations that they were virtually powerless.
” The P.B.A .
leadership was , if anything , blunter .
The president , John Cassese , said , “ I am sick and tired of giving in to minority groups , with their whims and their gripes and shouting.
” In a citywide referendum , Lindsay ’ s side was defeated , by a margin @ @ @ @ @ @ @ New York ’ s mayors have been on notice ever since .
In the city ’ s large , and largely segregated , Black community , police brutality had been a first-order issue for decades .
The 1964 riots had been sparked when an off-duty policeman killed a fifteen-year-old Black student , James Powell .
Activists , led by the N.A.A.C.P .
and by Black newspapers such as the Amsterdam News , had been calling for more police accountability since at least the twenties , and for civilian oversight since the forties .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ of more Black officers .
One of the less-remembered lines in Martin Luther King , Jr. , ’ s soaring speech at the March on Washington , in 1963 : “ We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality.
” When Mayor David Dinkins sought to install a civilian review board , in 1992 , the P.B.A .
staged a ferocious protest at City Hall , with ten thousand off-duty officers , virtually all white and many carrying guns and drinking @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Dump the Washroom Attendant ” —attacked reporters and bystanders , vandalized City Council members ’ cars , stormed City Hall , and overflowed onto the Brooklyn Bridge , where they stopped traffic and jumped on occupied cars .
It was a wild performance of police impunity , and the on-duty officers did nothing to stop the mayhem .
Jimmy Breslin was there , reporting for Newsday , and he described a scene of toxic racism .
“ The cops held up several of the most crude drawings of Dinkins , black , performing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Newsday had more .
A city councilwoman , Una Clarke , who is Black , was prevented from crossing Broadway “ by a beer-drinking , off-duty police officer who said to his sidekick , ‘ This nigger says she ’ s a member of the City Council.
’ ” As the rally surged , Rudolph Giuliani , a former prosecutor , stood on a car , leading obscene chants through a bullhorn .
He defeated Dinkins the next year and went on to two terms as mayor .

In May, just days after a Minneapolis police officer killed George Floyd, Lieutenant Bob Kroll, the bellicose leader of the city’s police union, described Floyd as a violent criminal, said that the protesters who had gathered to lament his death were terrorists, and complained that they weren’t being treated more roughly by police. Kroll, who has spoken unsentimentally about being involved in three shootings himself, said that he was fighting to get the accused officers reinstated. In the following days, the Kentucky police union rallied around officers who had fatally shot an E.M.T. worker named Breonna Taylor in her home. Atlanta police staged an organized sick-out after the officers who killed Rayshard Brooks were charged. Philadelphia police sold T-shirts celebrating a fellow-cop who was caught on video clubbing a student protester with a steel baton. The list goes on.
Along with everything else about American society that was thrown into appalling relief by Floyd’s killing, there has been the peculiar militancy of many police unions. Law enforcement kills more than a thousand Americans a year. Many are unarmed, and a disproportionate number are African-American. Very few of the officers involved face serious, if any, consequences, and much of that impunity is owed to the power of police unions.
In many cities, including New York, the unions are a political force, their endorsements and campaign donations coveted by both Republicans and Democrats. The legislation they support tends to get passed, their candidates elected. They insist on public displays of respect and may humiliate mayors who displease them. They defy reformers, including police chiefs, who struggle to fire even the worst-performing officers. In an era when other labor unions are steadily declining in membership and influence, police unions have kept their numbers up, their coffers full. In Wisconsin, the Republican governor, Scott Walker, led a successful campaign to eliminate union rights for most of the state’s public employees. The exceptions were firefighters and police.
Police unions enjoy a political paradox. Conservatives traditionally abhor labor unions but support the police. The left is critical of aggressive policing, yet has often muted its criticism of police unions—which are, after all, public-sector unions, an endangered and mostly progressive species.
In their interstitial safe zone, police unions can offer their members extraordinary protections. Officers accused of misconduct may be given legal representation paid for by the city, and ample time to review evidence before speaking to investigators. In many cases, suspended officers have their pay guaranteed, and disciplinary recommendations of oversight boards are ignored. Complaints submitted too late are disqualified. Records of misconduct may be kept secret, and permanently destroyed after as little as sixty days.
With the rise of the Black Lives Matter movement, criticism of the police has become less muted. Calls resound to defund police forces, and to abolish the unions. But the United States has eighteen thousand nonfederal police agencies in its hyperlocalized system, with more than seven hundred thousand officers represented by unions. They will not be easily dislodged.
The Police Benevolent Association of New York City, which represents rank-and-file officers in the N.Y.P.D., is the largest municipal police union in the country, with twenty-four thousand dues-paying members. When the P.B.A. was founded, in the eighteen-nineties, it was a feeble thing, dedicated to raising money for the widows of fallen officers. The job was brutal then. Officers were badly paid, untrained, overworked—and thrown out of their jobs every time political power changed hands. They could plead for a living wage or an eight-hour day, but the rising labor movement wanted nothing to do with them. Cops were strikebreakers or worse; the first unionists killed in the American labor struggle, in 1850, were tailors clubbed to death by the New York police, at Ninth Avenue and Thirty-eighth Street.
After the First World War, the American Federation of Labor began issuing charters to police locals—in Cincinnati, St. Paul, Boston, Los Angeles. Management was horrified. Police were not ordinary workers, the argument went; they were more akin to soldiers or sailors, and unions would divide their loyalties, undermining the chain of command. The Boston Police Strike of 1919, when the nascent union demanded recognition from the city, forced a reckoning. There was extensive looting and reported rape; eight people were killed by the state militia. President Woodrow Wilson called the strike “a crime against civilization,” and most of the city’s policemen were fired. The fledgling unions in other cities were destroyed, and the cause of police unionization was set back for generations. It didn’t help that, in 1937, Chicago cops fired on striking steelworkers and their families, killing ten.
In the early sixties, white racial anxiety helped strengthen the unions’ position. The civil-rights movement was gathering force, street crime was increasing, and white flight was transforming cities. Public-sector unions were also flourishing. In New York, the teachers’ union secured the right to collective bargaining in 1961—a major victory. The city’s police were next. In 1963, Mayor Robert Wagner, Jr., a progressive, signed an executive order granting them collective-bargaining rights. Other cities followed, and police unions were eventually accepted in much of the country.
The N.Y.C.P.B.A. reassured politicians by promising not to strike or to affiliate with any other union, but it quickly asserted its power in other ways. The next mayor, John Lindsay, a Kennedyesque Republican, came into office vowing to establish a strong civilian complaint-review board, to provide police oversight. The P.B.A. mounted an overwhelming campaign against the plan. One poster showed a young middle-class white woman emerging from the subway onto a darkened street, looking frightened, with an accompanying text that read, “The Civilian Review Board must be stopped! Her life . . . your life . . . may depend on it.” A TV commercial surveyed damage from rioting in Harlem in 1964, with a voice-over intoning, “The police were so careful to avoid accusations that they were virtually powerless.” The P.B.A. leadership was, if anything, blunter. The president, John Cassese, said, “I am sick and tired of giving in to minority groups, with their whims and their gripes and shouting.” In a citywide referendum, Lindsay’s side was defeated, by a margin of nearly two to one, and New York’s mayors have been on notice ever since.
In the city’s large, and largely segregated, Black community, police brutality had been a first-order issue for decades. The 1964 riots had been sparked when an off-duty policeman killed a fifteen-year-old Black student, James Powell. Activists, led by the N.A.A.C.P. and by Black newspapers such as the Amsterdam News, had been calling for more police accountability since at least the twenties, and for civilian oversight since the forties. Another frequent demand was for the hiring of more Black officers. One of the less-remembered lines in Martin Luther King, Jr.,’s soaring speech at the March on Washington, in 1963: “We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality.”
When Mayor David Dinkins sought to install a civilian review board, in 1992, the P.B.A. staged a ferocious protest at City Hall, with ten thousand off-duty officers, virtually all white and many carrying guns and drinking alcohol. Demonstrators waved racist placards—“Dump the Washroom Attendant”—attacked reporters and bystanders, vandalized City Council members’ cars, stormed City Hall, and overflowed onto the Brooklyn Bridge, where they stopped traffic and jumped on occupied cars. It was a wild performance of police impunity, and the on-duty officers did nothing to stop the mayhem.
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Jimmy Breslin was there, reporting for Newsday, and he described a scene of toxic racism. “The cops held up several of the most crude drawings of Dinkins, black, performing perverted sex acts,” he wrote. Newsday had more. A city councilwoman, Una Clarke, who is Black, was prevented from crossing Broadway “by a beer-drinking, off-duty police officer who said to his sidekick, ‘This nigger says she’s a member of the City Council.’ ” As the rally surged, Rudolph Giuliani, a former prosecutor, stood on a car, leading obscene chants through a bullhorn. He defeated Dinkins the next year and went on to two terms as mayor.
By the end of the sixties, a racialized law-and-order ideology had emerged as a sort of unexamined American consensus, and it has basically prevailed since then, providing the political context in which police unions thrive. In the N.Y.P.D. today, with the arc having bent toward inclusion, people of color constitute slightly more than half the uniformed force. And yet the unions—there are five, for various ranks, with the P.B.A. the largest by far—give a different impression. Their leadership, their politics, and their occasional mass protests, not to mention the N.Y.P.D.’s riot squads, still read as overwhelmingly white. White cops, Black and brown suspects: that remains the dominant paradigm.
Patrick J. Lynch is the president of the N.Y.C.P.B.A. He is fifty-seven, and was recently elected, unopposed, to a sixth four-year term. Lynch, who grew up and still lives in Bayside, Queens, is a cop’s cop, banty and brash, clean-shaven, with hair gelled straight back. He’s wound tight, and has a commanding shout that he can sustain for long periods at no-questions-taken press conferences. Outrage is his default mode. His officers are never wrong. Anybody who criticizes them is wrong. Mayors are the enemy. Police brass are the near-enemy. Recently, Lynch said, “Pro-criminal advocates have hijacked our city and state. Law-abiding New Yorkers are suffering, and the police officers who protect them are under attack.” That was in March, but it could have been anytime in the past twenty years. “Pro-criminal” seems to be code. Lynch says it a lot.
Lynch and the P.B.A. deliver solid contracts for their members, with generous pay, especially for overtime, and good benefits. New York cops often retire after twenty years of service, with pensions that, according to a 2018 analysis by the nonprofit Citizens Budget Commission, average $74,500, and with plenty of time to start a second career, typically in security. The union—with its hefty political budget, its ability to launch fierce media campaigns, and the fear it can inspire in every politician who does not want to be painted as soft on crime—has also delivered when it comes to public policy. In the sixties, the N.Y.P.D. dropped a longtime requirement that its officers live in the five boroughs, and the P.B.A. has fought off every suggestion that the requirement be revived. And so a majority of its white members live on Long Island or in other suburbs. Dinkins ultimately succeeded in installing a civilian complaint-review board, but its disciplinary recommendations to the department are rarely followed. In public, the union trashes its every step.
The N.Y.P.D. is not the most insular, lawless police department around. It is, in fact, one of the least violent police agencies in the country’s hundred largest cities. During the past seven years, according to a database built by a group called Mapping Police Violence, the police in St. Louis have killed fourteen times more civilians, per capita, than New York police have. In New York, police kill Black civilians at 7.8 times the rate of white civilians. In Chicago, the factor is 27.4.
In June, Lynch denounced George Floyd’s killing as the “murder of an innocent person.” But, even in New York, police killings have gone unprosecuted to an extraordinary extent. In 2014, the Daily News looked at the hundred and seventy-nine killings committed by on-duty N.Y.P.D. officers in the previous fifteen years and found that all those deaths had produced only three indictments and one conviction—which brought no jail time. The reluctance to indict stems partly from the close relationships between the police and local district attorneys—many of whom take campaign donations from the unions—but also from prosecutors’ awareness that juries tend to believe police officers.


The Mail

As a health-care professional who during the pandemic has used telemedicine for the first time , I read John Seabrook ’ s report on the subject with great interest ( “ Hands Off , ” June 29th ) .
Seabrook does an excellent job outlining telemedicine ’ s advantages and limitations , but my colleagues and I continue to wonder how a for-profit medical system that relies on “ heads in beds ” to drive revenue can adequately deliver virtual care , particularly amid a pandemic .
In developed countries with socialized medical systems , saving lives means saving money @ @ @ @ @ @ @ people lowers costs for the system .
But in the United States the situation is reversed .
Despite surging E.R .
and I.C.U .
admittances , hospitals—owing to the cancellation of lucrative elective procedures—are losing money and laying off staff .
Although preventive medicine , such as visits with a primary-care physician , produces the best patient outcomes , it generates only a fraction of an organization ’ s profit .
There is thus little economic incentive for health-care professionals to permanently adopt telemedicine .
Although I appreciate how the country has rallied @ @ @ @ @ @ @ not pass up the opportunity to take a critical look at our failing medical system .
To support our health-care heroes in the long term , we should focus on building a system that isn ’ t bound and gagged by insurance and reimbursement , and which offers its patients multiple quality options for preventive care .
I am a developmental-behavioral pediatrician who can attest to many of the benefits of telemedicine that Seabrook describes .
However , telemedicine relies both on access to technology , which many don ’ t have , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ pose difficulties for people with limited English proficiency or low health-care literacy .
As we consider the role of telehealth in health-care delivery—whether now or , dare I say , in a post-COVID world—we must make sure that virtual care becomes more accessible and equitable .
Otherwise , we will contribute to the widening of health disparities .
Seabrook ’ s whirlwind tour of telemedicine conflates two types of telehealth : the uncontroversial doctor-to-doctor consultation and the more problematic patient-to-doctor treatment .
The former is simply a virtual form of the long-practiced “ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ treating physician solicits advice from a colleague .
In contrast , seeing a patient via a cell phone or a laptop provides convenience at the cost of diagnostic accuracy and careful treatment .
Yes , physical exams are sometimes unnecessary , and some lesions , for example , can be evaluated using a camera , but does anyone think that a stethoscope , a reflex hammer , and a hands-on examination are mere theatrics ?
During the pandemic , virtual treatment has been a godsend for me as a physician—not because it is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ care but because it is better than offering them no treatment at all .
After the pandemic , as before , telemedicine will be valuable in remote locations , and as a tool for follow-ups with patients .
But problems arise when health care is made to fit a technology , rather than vice versa .
Commercial interests that see telehealth as a cash cow won ’ t insure medical excellence , and a public that often prefers fast and cheap care won ’ t choose higher-quality in-person consultations when there ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for best practices , and this usually means in-person visits .
Letters should be sent with the writer ’ s name , address , and daytime phone number via e-mail to themail @ newyorker.com .
Letters may be edited for length and clarity , and may be published in any medium .
We regret that owing to the volume of correspondence we can not reply to every letter .

Doctor in the House
As a health-care professional who during the pandemic has used telemedicine for the first time, I read John Seabrook’s report on the subject with great interest (“Hands Off,” June 29th). Seabrook does an excellent job outlining telemedicine’s advantages and limitations, but my colleagues and I continue to wonder how a for-profit medical system that relies on “heads in beds” to drive revenue can adequately deliver virtual care, particularly amid a pandemic. In developed countries with socialized medical systems, saving lives means saving money, because reducing the number of sick people lowers costs for the system. But in the United States the situation is reversed. Despite surging E.R. and I.C.U. admittances, hospitals—owing to the cancellation of lucrative elective procedures—are losing money and laying off staff. Although preventive medicine, such as visits with a primary-care physician, produces the best patient outcomes, it generates only a fraction of an organization’s profit. There is thus little economic incentive for health-care professionals to permanently adopt telemedicine.
Although I appreciate how the country has rallied around essential workers, let’s not pass up the opportunity to take a critical look at our failing medical system. To support our health-care heroes in the long term, we should focus on building a system that isn’t bound and gagged by insurance and reimbursement, and which offers its patients multiple quality options for preventive care.
Suzy Gordon
Boulder, Colo.
I am a developmental-behavioral pediatrician who can attest to many of the benefits of telemedicine that Seabrook describes. However, telemedicine relies both on access to technology, which many don’t have, and on English-language telehealth platforms, which pose difficulties for people with limited English proficiency or low health-care literacy. As we consider the role of telehealth in health-care delivery—whether now or, dare I say, in a post-COVID world—we must make sure that virtual care becomes more accessible and equitable. Otherwise, we will contribute to the widening of health disparities.
Kate E. Wallis
Philadelphia, Pa.
Seabrook’s whirlwind tour of telemedicine conflates two types of telehealth: the uncontroversial doctor-to-doctor consultation and the more problematic patient-to-doctor treatment. The former is simply a virtual form of the long-practiced “curbside consult,” in which a treating physician solicits advice from a colleague. In contrast, seeing a patient via a cell phone or a laptop provides convenience at the cost of diagnostic accuracy and careful treatment. Yes, physical exams are sometimes unnecessary, and some lesions, for example, can be evaluated using a camera, but does anyone think that a stethoscope, a reflex hammer, and a hands-on examination are mere theatrics?
During the pandemic, virtual treatment has been a godsend for me as a physician—not because it is as good as offering my patients in-person care but because it is better than offering them no treatment at all. After the pandemic, as before, telemedicine will be valuable in remote locations, and as a tool for follow-ups with patients. But problems arise when health care is made to fit a technology, rather than vice versa. Commercial interests that see telehealth as a cash cow won’t insure medical excellence, and a public that often prefers fast and cheap care won’t choose higher-quality in-person consultations when there’s a virtual option. Doctors must advocate for best practices, and this usually means in-person visits.
Steven Reidbord
San Francisco, Calif.
•
Letters should be sent with the writer’s name, address, and daytime phone number via e-mail to themail@newyorker.com. Letters may be edited for length and clarity, and may be published in any medium. We regret that owing to the volume of correspondence we cannot reply to every letter.


newyorker--2020-07-27--Joseph McCarthy and the Force of Political Falsehoods

At the start of 1950 , Joseph McCarthy ’ s political future did not look promising .
McCarthy had been elected senator from Wisconsin in 1946 , after switching his party affiliation from Democrat to Republican and running as a decorated Marine veteran with the nickname Tail Gunner Joe .
Even then , he had a reputation as a scofflaw .
He had exaggerated his war record .
He first ran for Senate ( and lost ) while he was still in uniform , which was against Army regulations , and he ran his second Senate campaign while he was @ @ @ @ @ @ @ his oath .
Questions had been raised about whether he had dodged his taxes and where his campaign funds had come from .
When McCarthy got to Washington , he became known as a tool of business interests , accepting a loan from Pepsi-Cola in exchange for working to end sugar rationing ( he paid it back ) , and money from a construction company in exchange for opposing funding for public housing ( which he eventually voted for ) .
He plainly had no ethical or ideological compass , and most of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , a loudmouth , and a fellow entirely lacking in senatorial politesse .
So when , in 1950 , Lincoln ’ s birthday came around , a time of year when the Republican Party traditionally sent its elected officials out to speak at fund-raisers around the country , McCarthy was assigned to venues where it was clearly hoped that he would attract little notice .
His first stop was the Ohio County Republican Women ’ s Club , in Wheeling , West Virginia , then a diehard Democratic state .
McCarthy didn ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ talk about ( he never planned very far ahead ) , so he brought notes for a couple of speeches : one about housing for veterans , and one , consisting mostly of clippings cobbled together by a speechwriter , about Communists in the government .
McCarthy had seemingly had very little to do with that second speech , but he decided to go with it .
It is not known exactly what McCarthy said in Wheeling , and he later claimed that he couldn ’ t find his copy of the speech @ @ @ @ @ @ @ as having waved a piece of paper on which , he said , were the names of two hundred and five Communists working in the State Department .
The story was picked up by the Associated Press , and soon it was everywhere .
McCarthy had , in fact , no such list .
He did not have even a single name .
He may have calculated that a dinner speech at a women ’ s club in West Virginia was a safe place to try out the “ I have in my @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to his surprise , it worked .
In subsequent appearances on his Lincoln ’ s-birthday circuit , he gave the same speech , though the numbers changed .
In Reno , the list had fifty-seven names .
It didn ’ t matter .
He had grabbed the headlines , and that was all he cared about .
He would dominate them for the next four and a half years .
Wheeling was McCarthy ’ s Trump Tower escalator .
He tossed a match and started a bonfire .
Larry Tye ’ s purpose @ @ @ @ @ @ @ : The Life and Long Shadow of Senator Joe McCarthy ” ( Houghton Mifflin Harcourt ) , is to make the case that Donald Trump is a twenty-first-century Joe McCarthy .
Tye draws on some fresh sources , including McCarthy ’ s papers , which are deposited at Marquette , his alma mater , and unpublished memoirs by McCarthy ’ s wife , Jean , and his longtime aide James Juliana , who served as his chief investigator .
Tye also quotes from transcripts of the executive sessions ( that is , hearings @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Senate Permanent Subcommittee on Investigations of the Government Operations Committee , which McCarthy essentially hijacked in 1953 and put to the business of exposing Communists in the government .
Tye describes these transcripts—almost nine thousand pages—as “ recently unveiled .
.
.
and never before closely examined.
” This is a little misleading .
The transcripts were released in 2003 , and they have been quoted from extensively , notably by Ted Morgan , in “ Reds : McCarthyism in Twentieth-Century America.
” But they are important .
The other senators on McCarthy @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , since McCarthy dominated everything , and so it became his personal star chamber .
He could subpoena anyone ( Tye says he called five hundred and forty-six witnesses in the year and a half he ran the show ) , and was answerable to no one .
These transcripts give us McCarthy unbound .
As for Tye ’ s McCarthy-Trump comparison ?
He more than makes the case .
The likeness is uncanny .
McCarthy was a bomb-thrower—and , in a sense , that is all he was .
He would make @ @ @ @ @ @ @ little or no evidentiary basis , and then he would surf the aftershocks .
When these subsided , he threw another bomb .
He knew that every time he did it reporters had two options .
They could present what he said neutrally , or they could contest its veracity .
He cared little which they did , nor did he care that , in his entire career as a Communist-hunter , he never sent a single “ subversive ” to jail .
What mattered was that he was controlling the conversation .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ conglomerate , the Hearst papers , which amplified everything he said , and he had cheerleaders in the commentariat , such as the columnists Westbrook Pegler and Walter Winchell , both of whom reached millions of readers in a time when relatively few households ( in 1952 , about a third ) had a television set .
He tried to block a hostile newspaper , the Milwaukee Journal , from his press conferences , and he egged on the crowds at his rallies to harass the reporters .
Right from the start , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the entire political establishment was afraid of him .
You could fight him , in which case he just made your life harder , or you could ignore him , in which case he rolled right over you .
He verbally abused people who disagreed with him .
He also had easy access to money , much of it from Texas oilmen , which he used to help unseat politicians who crossed him .
To his supporters , he could say and do no wrong .
Tye quotes the pollster George Gallup , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ were known that McCarthy had killed five innocent children , they would probably still go along with him.
” His fans liked that he was a bully , and they liked that he scandalized the genteel and the privileged .
McCarthy forced government agencies , by the constant threat of investigations , to second-guess appointments , and to fire people he had smeared just because he had smeared them .
He didn ’ t need to prove anything , and he almost never did , because it didn ’ t matter .
Your @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the kiss of death .
He was a destroyer of careers .
To call McCarthy a conspiracy theorist is giving him too much credit .
He was more like a conspiracy-monger .
He had one pitch , which he trotted out on all occasions .
It was that American governmental and educational institutions had been infiltrated by a secret network of Communists and Communist sympathizers , and that these people were letting Stalin and Mao have their way in Europe and Asia , and were working to turn the United States into a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s claims was their outlandishness .
He didn ’ t attack people for being soft on Communism , or for pushing policies , like public housing , that were un-American or socialistic .
That is what ordinary politicians like Richard Nixon did .
McCarthy accused people of being agents of a Communist conspiracy .
In 1951 , he claimed that George Marshall , the Secretary of Defense , the former Secretary of State , and the author of the Marshall Plan , had been , throughout his career , “ always and invariably @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” Marshall , he said , sat at the center of “ a conspiracy on a scale so immense as to dwarf any previous such venture in the history of man .
A conspiracy of infamy so black that , when it is finally exposed , its principals shall be forever deserving of the maledictions of all honest men .
”

At the start of 1950, Joseph McCarthy’s political future did not look promising. McCarthy had been elected senator from Wisconsin in 1946, after switching his party affiliation from Democrat to Republican and running as a decorated Marine veteran with the nickname Tail Gunner Joe. Even then, he had a reputation as a scofflaw. He had exaggerated his war record. He first ran for Senate (and lost) while he was still in uniform, which was against Army regulations, and he ran his second Senate campaign while he was a sitting judge, a violation of his oath. Questions had been raised about whether he had dodged his taxes and where his campaign funds had come from.
When McCarthy got to Washington, he became known as a tool of business interests, accepting a loan from Pepsi-Cola in exchange for working to end sugar rationing (he paid it back), and money from a construction company in exchange for opposing funding for public housing (which he eventually voted for). He plainly had no ethical or ideological compass, and most of his colleagues regarded him as a troublemaker, a loudmouth, and a fellow entirely lacking in senatorial politesse.
So when, in 1950, Lincoln’s birthday came around, a time of year when the Republican Party traditionally sent its elected officials out to speak at fund-raisers around the country, McCarthy was assigned to venues where it was clearly hoped that he would attract little notice. His first stop was the Ohio County Republican Women’s Club, in Wheeling, West Virginia, then a diehard Democratic state.
McCarthy didn’t know what he was going to talk about (he never planned very far ahead), so he brought notes for a couple of speeches: one about housing for veterans, and one, consisting mostly of clippings cobbled together by a speechwriter, about Communists in the government. McCarthy had seemingly had very little to do with that second speech, but he decided to go with it.
It is not known exactly what McCarthy said in Wheeling, and he later claimed that he couldn’t find his copy of the speech. But a local paper reported him as having waved a piece of paper on which, he said, were the names of two hundred and five Communists working in the State Department. The story was picked up by the Associated Press, and soon it was everywhere.
McCarthy had, in fact, no such list. He did not have even a single name. He may have calculated that a dinner speech at a women’s club in West Virginia was a safe place to try out the “I have in my hand” gimmick, and, somewhat to his surprise, it worked. In subsequent appearances on his Lincoln’s-birthday circuit, he gave the same speech, though the numbers changed. In Reno, the list had fifty-seven names. It didn’t matter. He had grabbed the headlines, and that was all he cared about. He would dominate them for the next four and a half years. Wheeling was McCarthy’s Trump Tower escalator. He tossed a match and started a bonfire.
Larry Tye’s purpose in his new biography, “Demagogue: The Life and Long Shadow of Senator Joe McCarthy” (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt), is to make the case that Donald Trump is a twenty-first-century Joe McCarthy. Tye draws on some fresh sources, including McCarthy’s papers, which are deposited at Marquette, his alma mater, and unpublished memoirs by McCarthy’s wife, Jean, and his longtime aide James Juliana, who served as his chief investigator.
Tye also quotes from transcripts of the executive sessions (that is, hearings closed to the public) of the Senate Permanent Subcommittee on Investigations of the Government Operations Committee, which McCarthy essentially hijacked in 1953 and put to the business of exposing Communists in the government.
Tye describes these transcripts—almost nine thousand pages—as “recently unveiled . . . and never before closely examined.” This is a little misleading. The transcripts were released in 2003, and they have been quoted from extensively, notably by Ted Morgan, in “Reds: McCarthyism in Twentieth-Century America.”
But they are important. The other senators on McCarthy’s subcommittee stopped attending the hearings, since McCarthy dominated everything, and so it became his personal star chamber. He could subpoena anyone (Tye says he called five hundred and forty-six witnesses in the year and a half he ran the show), and was answerable to no one. These transcripts give us McCarthy unbound. As for Tye’s McCarthy-Trump comparison? He more than makes the case. The likeness is uncanny.
McCarthy was a bomb-thrower—and, in a sense, that is all he was. He would make an outrageous charge, almost always with little or no evidentiary basis, and then he would surf the aftershocks. When these subsided, he threw another bomb. He knew that every time he did it reporters had two options. They could present what he said neutrally, or they could contest its veracity. He cared little which they did, nor did he care that, in his entire career as a Communist-hunter, he never sent a single “subversive” to jail. What mattered was that he was controlling the conversation.
McCarthy had the support of a media conglomerate, the Hearst papers, which amplified everything he said, and he had cheerleaders in the commentariat, such as the columnists Westbrook Pegler and Walter Winchell, both of whom reached millions of readers in a time when relatively few households (in 1952, about a third) had a television set. He tried to block a hostile newspaper, the Milwaukee Journal, from his press conferences, and he egged on the crowds at his rallies to harass the reporters.
Right from the start, McCarthy had prominent critics. But almost the entire political establishment was afraid of him. You could fight him, in which case he just made your life harder, or you could ignore him, in which case he rolled right over you. He verbally abused people who disagreed with him. He also had easy access to money, much of it from Texas oilmen, which he used to help unseat politicians who crossed him.
“ ‘The armadillo’ is not a yoga pose, Ethan.” Cartoon by Victoria Roberts Copy link to cartoon Copy link to cartoon Shop Shop
To his supporters, he could say and do no wrong. Tye quotes the pollster George Gallup, in 1954: “Even if it were known that McCarthy had killed five innocent children, they would probably still go along with him.” His fans liked that he was a bully, and they liked that he scandalized the genteel and the privileged.
McCarthy forced government agencies, by the constant threat of investigations, to second-guess appointments, and to fire people he had smeared just because he had smeared them. He didn’t need to prove anything, and he almost never did, because it didn’t matter. Your name in McCarthy’s mouth was the kiss of death. He was a destroyer of careers.
To call McCarthy a conspiracy theorist is giving him too much credit. He was more like a conspiracy-monger. He had one pitch, which he trotted out on all occasions. It was that American governmental and educational institutions had been infiltrated by a secret network of Communists and Communist sympathizers, and that these people were letting Stalin and Mao have their way in Europe and Asia, and were working to turn the United States into a Communist dictatorship.
What distinguished McCarthy’s claims was their outlandishness. He didn’t attack people for being soft on Communism, or for pushing policies, like public housing, that were un-American or socialistic. That is what ordinary politicians like Richard Nixon did. McCarthy accused people of being agents of a Communist conspiracy. In 1951, he claimed that George Marshall, the Secretary of Defense, the former Secretary of State, and the author of the Marshall Plan, had been, throughout his career, “always and invariably serving the world policy of the Kremlin.” Marshall, he said, sat at the center of “a conspiracy on a scale so immense as to dwarf any previous such venture in the history of man. A conspiracy of infamy so black that, when it is finally exposed, its principals shall be forever deserving of the maledictions of all honest men.”