newyorker--2020-10-25--Pope Francis Supports Same-Sex Civil Unions, but the Church Must Do More

Francis ’ s recently released remarks about same-sex civil unions are quite a bit more ambiguous .
They appear in a documentary , “ Francesco , ” made with the approval of the Vatican , which had its première on Wednesday , at the Rome Film Festival .
Directed by Evgeny Afineevsky , who has made films about the crises in Ukraine and Syria , the documentary follows people whose lives have been affected by the Pope .
One sequence involves Andrea Rubera , a gay man who lives in Rome with his partner and their three adopted children .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ the papal residence , Rubera gave Francis a letter explaining that he and his partner hoped to raise the children as Catholics .
Francis phoned him , offered encouragement , and told him , as Rubera recalls in the film , to be aware that , in the parish , “ not all people will share your choice of having a family like that.
” Rubera adds , “ He didn ’ t mention which was his opinion about my family .
Probably he is following the doctrine on this point .
But @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” In the film , Francis is then heard saying , “ Homosexual people have a right to be in the family .
They are children of God .
They have a right to a family .
Nobody should be thrown out of the family or made miserable over this .
What we have to make is a law of civil coexistence , for they have the right to be legally covered .
I stood up for that.
” Those comments stirred approval from progressives and consternation from traditionalists .
James Martin , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to L.G.B.T.Q .
people , whom Francis met at the Vatican last year , described them on Twitter as “ historic.
” He wrote , “ What makes Pope Francis comments supporting same-sex civil unions today so momentous ?
First , he is saying them as Pope , not Archbishop of Buenos Aires .
Second , he is clearly supporting , not simply tolerating , civil unions .
Third , he is saying it on camera , not privately.
” Bishop Thomas Tobin , of Providence , Rhode Island ( who , in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Democratic Presidential nominee , Joe Biden , isn ’ t a true Catholic ) , sought clarification from Rome .
“ The Pope ’ s statement clearly contradicts what has been the long-standing teaching of the Church about same-sex unions , ” Tobin said in a statement .
“ The Church can not support the acceptance of objectively immoral relationships.
” Francis ’ s remarks in the film are unclear .
Does he mean that gay people should be welcomed in the families they are raised in , or that they should be @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of their own ?
Does he fear that they ’ ll be “ thrown out ” of the Church , or that they ’ d be treated as outcasts in civil society ?
He “ stood up for ” civil unions when he was an archbishop , and now , as Pope , he says that “ we have to make ” them , but does this mean that he will put the authority of the papal office behind efforts for civil unions worldwide—in Latin America , for instance , where only eight @ @ @ @ @ @ @ or civil unions ?
It turns out that there ’ s a reason for the lack of clarity : the remarks were reportedly edited , in different ways , by both the film ’ s director and the Vatican .
They are drawn from an interview with the Pope conducted in the spring of 2019 , by Valentina Alazraki , a longtime Vatican correspondent for the Mexican broadcaster Televisa .
At the time , the Vatican ( exercising its usual prerogative ) struck the comments about civil unions before clearing the footage for @ @ @ @ @ @ @ struck-out footage into his documentary .
A significant sentence was left out , however , so that Francis is heard approving of civil unions , but is not heard adding , “ That does not mean approving of homosexual acts , not in the least.
” Even as he supported civil unions , then , Francis , like his predecessors , made a distinction between gay people ( good ) and the way that they express passion and love ( not good ) .
His support is an incremental change , at most @ @ @ @ @ @ @ they make his support for gay civil unions common knowledge , may have greater practical import in the long term than his bold statements about climate change , migrants and refugees , or the global economy—at the same time that they put a fresh focus on the tensions in the Church ’ s attitude toward the lives of L.G.B.T.Q .
people .
Francis has been described in turn as a revolutionary Pope , a Latin American socialist , and a Trump-style disrupter .
In fact , he is an incrementalist , who works @ @ @ @ @ @ @ enigmatic pronouncements .
In 2018 , Francis sent a ninetieth-birthday greeting to the Peruvian theologian Gustavo Gutiérrez , symbolically bringing the whole movement known as “ liberation theology ” in from the cold , after decades of Vatican scrutiny .
The next year , he travelled to the United Arab Emirates , becoming the first Pope to visit the Arabian Peninsula ; he celebrated Mass for at least a hundred and thirty-five thousand people , most of them Catholic migrant workers from the Philippines , India , and South America who lack a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Muslim country ’ s strict anti-blasphemy laws , but he did not address either issue publicly during his two-day visit .
On matters of human sexuality , though , it can be argued that Francis ’ s incrementalism is vexing to the point of being incoherent .
Church teaching holds that marriage is between a man and a woman , and that gay sex is sinful for a number of reasons—for example , because it is sex outside what the Church regards as a properly constituted marriage , and because , not being @ @ @ @ @ @ @ contrary to the creative wisdom of God.
” It is “ a more or less strong tendency ordered toward an intrinsic moral evil , ” in the words of a document issued by the Vatican in October , 1986—at a grave moment in the AIDS epidemic for gay men in the United States—which counselled people with the homosexual “ condition ” to live chastely and to join the “ sufferings and difficulties ” it brought on to those of Christ on the Cross .
More than thirty years later , neither progressive Catholics @ @ @ @ @ @ @ which large numbers of gay people will live in committed same-sex relationships but will shun sexual activity as an “ intrinsic moral evil.
” Francis , then , has complicated the Church ’ s position rather than clarified it , and he did it in an interview , rather than with an encyclical or a Vatican conference .
There are good reasons for him to act incrementally , and offhandedly , rather than directly .
For one thing , his efforts to advance bold objectives through the formal structures of the papacy—on climate @ @ @ @ @ @ @ met with something less than acclamation from the Catholic populace .
For another , the Church ’ s understanding of L.G.B.T.Q .
people can ’ t simply be changed by papal decree .
The questions of human sexuality are no less complex than those of the economy or the environment .
And it seems , on some level , that Francis ’ s strenuous efforts to address intractable global problems serve to draw attention away from the problem near at hand—namely , that , when it comes to sexuality , the Church ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ as superannuated as trickle-down economics and coal-burning power plants .
It ’ s possible , of course , that Francis is wholeheartedly behind Church teaching , convinced that gay people should live chastely—including those in the civil unions he supports in the documentary .
If that ’ s the case , he could simply say so , and put the question of his commitments to rest .
But it may be that , in supporting those unions , he is acknowledging that the Church needs to revise its understanding of gay people .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ , D.C. , who was named the first African-American cardinal by the Pope on Sunday , wrote in 2014 , while archbishop of Atlanta , that “ the distinction that our Church makes between orientation and behavior ” is one “ which admittedly needs reexamination and development.
” A full recognition of gay people will have profound consequences for the Church ’ s teachings about marriage , the family , personhood , bioethics , celibacy , sex among the clergy—about human sexuality on the whole .
At some point , the Church is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ directly , through an encyclical letter , or a synod , or even an ecumenical council on the human person—a Vatican III , which would bring the Church into the twenty-first century as Vatican II brought it , belatedly , into the twentieth .
The words that Francis said back in 2013— “ Who am I to judge ?
” —are ones by which he , himself , will be judged .
He will turn eighty-four in December .
A council on the human person is likely a project for a successor .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ only if he keeps Catholicism moving in the right direction , toward recognizing gay people in the ways that they recognize themselves .
It may be stretching credulity to see his remarks in support of same-sex civil unions as a means to the eventual end of the full embrace of gay people .
And yet they are a step of some kind , and it may be that Francis knows where he , and the Church , must go .

An offhand remark that Pope Francis made about gay people in July, 2013, is still the single most memorable statement of his pontificate. He made it during a press conference on a flight from Rio to Rome, after a reporter alluded to a supposed “gay lobby” at the Vatican. Francis said, “If someone is gay and is searching for the Lord and has a good will, then who am I to judge him?” That reply, just four months after his election, signalled that, as he settled into the office, he wasn’t going to abandon the joyous spontaneity of the first weeks of his tenure. It revealed his personal humility before questions of human sexuality, and suggested an openness to the lives of gay people that runs strongly counter to Catholic history, Church teaching, and Vatican policy.
Francis’s recently released remarks about same-sex civil unions are quite a bit more ambiguous. They appear in a documentary, “Francesco,” made with the approval of the Vatican, which had its première on Wednesday, at the Rome Film Festival. Directed by Evgeny Afineevsky, who has made films about the crises in Ukraine and Syria, the documentary follows people whose lives have been affected by the Pope. One sequence involves Andrea Rubera, a gay man who lives in Rome with his partner and their three adopted children. After taking part in a Mass at the papal residence, Rubera gave Francis a letter explaining that he and his partner hoped to raise the children as Catholics. Francis phoned him, offered encouragement, and told him, as Rubera recalls in the film, to be aware that, in the parish, “not all people will share your choice of having a family like that.” Rubera adds, “He didn’t mention which was his opinion about my family. Probably he is following the doctrine on this point. But the attitude toward people has massively changed.” In the film, Francis is then heard saying, “Homosexual people have a right to be in the family. They are children of God. They have a right to a family. Nobody should be thrown out of the family or made miserable over this. What we have to make is a law of civil coexistence, for they have the right to be legally covered. I stood up for that.”
President Obama’s New Memoir Read an excerpt in this week’s issue.
Those comments stirred approval from progressives and consternation from traditionalists. James Martin, a Jesuit priest with an active ministry to L.G.B.T.Q. people, whom Francis met at the Vatican last year, described them on Twitter as “historic.” He wrote, “What makes Pope Francis comments supporting same-sex civil unions today so momentous? First, he is saying them as Pope, not Archbishop of Buenos Aires. Second, he is clearly supporting, not simply tolerating, civil unions. Third, he is saying it on camera, not privately.” Bishop Thomas Tobin, of Providence, Rhode Island (who, in August, insinuated on Twitter that the Democratic Presidential nominee, Joe Biden, isn’t a true Catholic), sought clarification from Rome. “The Pope’s statement clearly contradicts what has been the long-standing teaching of the Church about same-sex unions,” Tobin said in a statement. “The Church cannot support the acceptance of objectively immoral relationships.”
Francis’s remarks in the film are unclear. Does he mean that gay people should be welcomed in the families they are raised in, or that they should be encouraged in their wish to have families of their own? Does he fear that they’ll be “thrown out” of the Church, or that they’d be treated as outcasts in civil society? He “stood up for” civil unions when he was an archbishop, and now, as Pope, he says that “we have to make” them, but does this mean that he will put the authority of the papal office behind efforts for civil unions worldwide—in Latin America, for instance, where only eight out of thirty-three countries recognize same-sex marriage or civil unions?
It turns out that there’s a reason for the lack of clarity: the remarks were reportedly edited, in different ways, by both the film’s director and the Vatican. They are drawn from an interview with the Pope conducted in the spring of 2019, by Valentina Alazraki, a longtime Vatican correspondent for the Mexican broadcaster Televisa. At the time, the Vatican (exercising its usual prerogative) struck the comments about civil unions before clearing the footage for release to Televisa. Afineevsky incorporated that struck-out footage into his documentary. A significant sentence was left out, however, so that Francis is heard approving of civil unions, but is not heard adding, “That does not mean approving of homosexual acts, not in the least.”
Even as he supported civil unions, then, Francis, like his predecessors, made a distinction between gay people (good) and the way that they express passion and love (not good). His support is an incremental change, at most. And yet those remarks, because they make his support for gay civil unions common knowledge, may have greater practical import in the long term than his bold statements about climate change, migrants and refugees, or the global economy—at the same time that they put a fresh focus on the tensions in the Church’s attitude toward the lives of L.G.B.T.Q. people.
Francis has been described in turn as a revolutionary Pope, a Latin American socialist, and a Trump-style disrupter. In fact, he is an incrementalist, who works in small ways, with gestures and enigmatic pronouncements. In 2018, Francis sent a ninetieth-birthday greeting to the Peruvian theologian Gustavo Gutiérrez, symbolically bringing the whole movement known as “liberation theology” in from the cold, after decades of Vatican scrutiny. The next year, he travelled to the United Arab Emirates, becoming the first Pope to visit the Arabian Peninsula; he celebrated Mass for at least a hundred and thirty-five thousand people, most of them Catholic migrant workers from the Philippines, India, and South America who lack a path to citizenship or protection from the Muslim country’s strict anti-blasphemy laws, but he did not address either issue publicly during his two-day visit.
On matters of human sexuality, though, it can be argued that Francis’s incrementalism is vexing to the point of being incoherent. Church teaching holds that marriage is between a man and a woman, and that gay sex is sinful for a number of reasons—for example, because it is sex outside what the Church regards as a properly constituted marriage, and because, not being ordered toward procreation, it is “contrary to the creative wisdom of God.” It is “a more or less strong tendency ordered toward an intrinsic moral evil,” in the words of a document issued by the Vatican in October, 1986—at a grave moment in the AIDS epidemic for gay men in the United States—which counselled people with the homosexual “condition” to live chastely and to join the “sufferings and difficulties” it brought on to those of Christ on the Cross.
More than thirty years later, neither progressive Catholics nor traditionalists actually envision a world in which large numbers of gay people will live in committed same-sex relationships but will shun sexual activity as an “intrinsic moral evil.” Francis, then, has complicated the Church’s position rather than clarified it, and he did it in an interview, rather than with an encyclical or a Vatican conference.
There are good reasons for him to act incrementally, and offhandedly, rather than directly. For one thing, his efforts to advance bold objectives through the formal structures of the papacy—on climate change, immigration, or income inequality—have met with something less than acclamation from the Catholic populace. For another, the Church’s understanding of L.G.B.T.Q. people can’t simply be changed by papal decree. The questions of human sexuality are no less complex than those of the economy or the environment. And it seems, on some level, that Francis’s strenuous efforts to address intractable global problems serve to draw attention away from the problem near at hand—namely, that, when it comes to sexuality, the Church’s account of the human person is as superannuated as trickle-down economics and coal-burning power plants.


newyorker--2020-10-26--Wagner’s “Götterdämmerung,” in a Detroit Parking Garage

It made sense , then , that Yuval Sharon , the new artistic director of Michigan Opera Theatre , chose a Detroit parking garage as the impromptu set for an abridged production of “ Götterdämmerung.
” The final installment of Wagner ’ s “ Ring ” cycle ostensibly addresses the twilight of the gods , but no gods appear onstage : according to the libretto , we glimpse them only in the far distance , at the climax , as fire consumes Valhalla .
Instead , the opera is dominated by a compromised array of human beings , who move @ @ @ @ @ @ @ In the prologue , we are told that Wotan , the chief of the gods , fatally wounded the World Ash Tree when he tore a branch from it to make his spear of power .
The death of the tree stands in for the ruination of the earth by capitalism and industrialization .
A multistory parking garage is as good a spot as any for the Wagnerian apocalypse .
The site was chosen out of pandemic-era necessity .
When Michigan Opera Theatre began looking for a way to present socially distanced performances @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , who , as the leader of the Los Angeles company the Industry , has made his name staging opera in unusual settings : warehouses , parks , city streets , limousines , train stations .
Lyric Opera of Chicago became a partner in the Detroit production , and will host it in the spring .
Some of the costumes and props were borrowed from Lyric Opera ’ s “ Ring ” cycle , which was on the verge of a full presentation when the shutdown began .
The basic scheme of Sharon @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Twilight : Gods ” —recalls that of the Industry ’ s 2015 project “ Hopscotch , ” in which limousines conveyed audience members to locations around Los Angeles .
In Detroit , convoys of eight cars drove up the ramps of the Detroit Opera House garage , allowing passengers to witness scenes on six levels ; each day of the run , the process was repeated twelve times .
The performers were miked , and the audio was piped into the cars on dedicated FM stations .
“ Götterdämmerung ” usually lasts six @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s version , which used chamber-sized arrangements by Edward Windels and incorporated several prerecorded Wagner-based pieces by Lewis Pesacov , lasted just over an hour .
The sequence included the Valkyrie Waltraute ’ s narration of the gods in decline ; the magnificently menacing dialogue between the half-human Hagen and his dwarf father , Alberich , as they plot to seize the ring of power ; the hero Siegfried ’ s exchange with the Rhinemaidens , who plead for the return of the ring ; Siegfried ’ s death at Hagen ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the banished Valkyrie Brünnhilde , who rides onto Siegfried ’ s pyre with the ring , thereby redeeming the world .
The task of summarizing the plot fell to the Detroit-born poet , historian , and activist Marsha Music .
She assumed the guise of the earth mother Erda , who appears in earlier stages of the “ Ring ” but not in “ Götterdämmerung.
” Music ’ s condensation of the story was elegant , sly , and at times politically pointed .
Before the finale , she put the fall of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ To pandemic and plague , the world has succumbed / The end of days—it now has come / Jealousy , envy and skies fire red / And discarding and lying and defiling the bed / And courting then ghosting and boldfaced lies / And bragging and boasting , and making hearts cry.
” With accompaniments ranging from a single player to an ensemble of nine , the grandiose thunder of “ Götterdämmerung ” was absent , but the performance had considerable musical impact nonetheless—underscoring Nietzsche ’ s counterintuitive , half-sardonic remark that Wagner @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” During Waltraute ’ s monologue , a solo cello conveyed much of the spacious sorrow of the drama .
The Hagen-Alberich scene , a festival of abyssal timbres , featured a superbly clammy trio of electric bass , bass clarinet , and accordion .
A quintet of violin , harp , marimba , and vibraphones evoked the shimmering waters of the Rhine .
Pesacov contributed some moody , Kraftwerk-like fantasias on Wagnerian material and an unexpectedly funky version of Siegfried ’ s Funeral Music—adding a taste of Motown to the mix .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ elements , which were designed by Jason H. Thompson and Kaitlyn Pietras .
A blue drop cloth was rolled out for the Rhine ; Alberich and Hagen sat in armchairs or glared at each other through chicken-wire fencing , which was built into the grim décor of the garage .
As you drove up one ramp , you saw black-clad figures scrawling the names of some deceased “ Ring ” characters—Siegmund , Sieglinde , Hunding , Mime—in chalk on the walls .
The ultimate coup was Brünnhilde ’ s entrance in the passenger @ @ @ @ @ @ @ steed that took the place of the horse Grane .
Guides held up a sign reading “ Follow the Mustang ” ; the spectators drove up onto the rooftop level , where Brünnhilde got out of her vehicle and sang her closing monologue amid an assemblage of burned-out cars , with the Detroit skyline looming in the background .
For opera-starved audiences who have endured months of glitchy live streams , the greatest joy of “ Twilight : Gods ” was the chance to hear first-rate singers live .
Christine Goerke , in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the vocal heft and emotional force that she has brought to conventional stage outings , and she showed an extra glint of glee as she jumped into the Mustang to ride onto the metaphorical pyre .
Morris Robinson and Donnie Ray Albert contributed nuances of familial resentment to their secure characterizations of Hagen and Alberich .
Catherine Martin , Avery Boettcher , Olivia Johnson , and Kaswanna Kanyinda gave lyric warmth to Waltraute and the Rhinemaidens .
Sean Panikkar , a onetime lyric tenor whose voice has lately taken on commanding power and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ appearance as Siegfried : I only wish that the abridgment had given him more to do .
Singers of color were in the majority in the cast of “ Twilight : Gods , ” which made me think about the project ’ s political resonance .
Marsha Music ’ s narration pitched the piece against Trumpian politics , and the imminent Presidential election shadowed videotaped messages that were played in an outdoor lot before the show : Gretchen Whitmer , the governor of Michigan , who was recently the target of a failed @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ reimagining the boundaries of opera.
” The idea of attaching Wagner to a progressive agenda may seem strange at first glance .
The composer was , after all , a ferocious racist who became a symbol of Nazi propaganda .
On the other hand , leftists from George Bernard Shaw to Vsevolod Meyerhold saw Wagner as a kindred spirit , and several major African-American intellectuals—W .
E. B .
Du Bois , Alain Locke , Shirley Graham , Ralph Ellison , and Langston Hughes—took inspiration from his music .
Whatever the outcome @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Sharon has every right to yoke the malleable allegory of the “ Ring ” to the demands of the hour .
“ Götterdämmerung ” ends with a gloriously vague vision of a better future , in the form of a stately melody that unfurls slowly in the violins .
Audience members heard this music as they descended the garage ramps .
The sound design for “ Twilight : Gods , ” which was supervised by the composer Mark Grey , functioned perfectly throughout , but by intention the radio signal grew weak in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ obscured Wagner ’ s promise of redemption .
I tried not to hear it as an omen .
♦

In the psychogeography of modern life, parking garages are sites of anxiety and subtle terror. The doctor’s appointment is minutes away, and yet you are still frantically circling. The space you find is so torturously narrow that it could have been designed only in consultation with auto-body shops. Afterward, desperation rises as you wander acres of concrete, listening for your faintly beeping vehicle. The lighting is sepulchral, the air dank. Few soothing scenes in movies are set in garages: shady deals are done, witnesses are offed, Deep Throat speaks.
It made sense, then, that Yuval Sharon, the new artistic director of Michigan Opera Theatre, chose a Detroit parking garage as the impromptu set for an abridged production of “Götterdämmerung.” The final installment of Wagner’s “Ring” cycle ostensibly addresses the twilight of the gods, but no gods appear onstage: according to the libretto, we glimpse them only in the far distance, at the climax, as fire consumes Valhalla. Instead, the opera is dominated by a compromised array of human beings, who move through a darkening, decaying world. In the prologue, we are told that Wotan, the chief of the gods, fatally wounded the World Ash Tree when he tore a branch from it to make his spear of power. The death of the tree stands in for the ruination of the earth by capitalism and industrialization. A multistory parking garage is as good a spot as any for the Wagnerian apocalypse.
The site was chosen out of pandemic-era necessity. When Michigan Opera Theatre began looking for a way to present socially distanced performances, it smartly reached out to Sharon, who, as the leader of the Los Angeles company the Industry, has made his name staging opera in unusual settings: warehouses, parks, city streets, limousines, train stations. Lyric Opera of Chicago became a partner in the Detroit production, and will host it in the spring. Some of the costumes and props were borrowed from Lyric Opera’s “Ring” cycle, which was on the verge of a full presentation when the shutdown began.
The basic scheme of Sharon’s “Götterdämmerung”—retitled “Twilight: Gods”—recalls that of the Industry’s 2015 project “Hopscotch,” in which limousines conveyed audience members to locations around Los Angeles. In Detroit, convoys of eight cars drove up the ramps of the Detroit Opera House garage, allowing passengers to witness scenes on six levels; each day of the run, the process was repeated twelve times. The performers were miked, and the audio was piped into the cars on dedicated FM stations.
“Götterdämmerung” usually lasts six hours, including intermissions. Sharon’s version, which used chamber-sized arrangements by Edward Windels and incorporated several prerecorded Wagner-based pieces by Lewis Pesacov, lasted just over an hour. The sequence included the Valkyrie Waltraute’s narration of the gods in decline; the magnificently menacing dialogue between the half-human Hagen and his dwarf father, Alberich, as they plot to seize the ring of power; the hero Siegfried’s exchange with the Rhinemaidens, who plead for the return of the ring; Siegfried’s death at Hagen’s hands; and the final monologue of the banished Valkyrie Brünnhilde, who rides onto Siegfried’s pyre with the ring, thereby redeeming the world.
The task of summarizing the plot fell to the Detroit-born poet, historian, and activist Marsha Music. She assumed the guise of the earth mother Erda, who appears in earlier stages of the “Ring” but not in “Götterdämmerung.” Music’s condensation of the story was elegant, sly, and at times politically pointed. Before the finale, she put the fall of the gods in contemporary terms: “To pandemic and plague, the world has succumbed / The end of days—it now has come / Jealousy, envy and skies fire red / And discarding and lying and defiling the bed / And courting then ghosting and boldfaced lies / And bragging and boasting, and making hearts cry.”
With accompaniments ranging from a single player to an ensemble of nine, the grandiose thunder of “Götterdämmerung” was absent, but the performance had considerable musical impact nonetheless—underscoring Nietzsche’s counterintuitive, half-sardonic remark that Wagner was “our greatest miniaturist in music.” During Waltraute’s monologue, a solo cello conveyed much of the spacious sorrow of the drama. The Hagen-Alberich scene, a festival of abyssal timbres, featured a superbly clammy trio of electric bass, bass clarinet, and accordion. A quintet of violin, harp, marimba, and vibraphones evoked the shimmering waters of the Rhine. Pesacov contributed some moody, Kraftwerk-like fantasias on Wagnerian material and an unexpectedly funky version of Siegfried’s Funeral Music—adding a taste of Motown to the mix.
Similar economy and ingenuity governed the scenic elements, which were designed by Jason H. Thompson and Kaitlyn Pietras. A blue drop cloth was rolled out for the Rhine; Alberich and Hagen sat in armchairs or glared at each other through chicken-wire fencing, which was built into the grim décor of the garage. As you drove up one ramp, you saw black-clad figures scrawling the names of some deceased “Ring” characters—Siegmund, Sieglinde, Hunding, Mime—in chalk on the walls. The ultimate coup was Brünnhilde’s entrance in the passenger seat of a Ford Mustang—a locally manufactured steed that took the place of the horse Grane. Guides held up a sign reading “Follow the Mustang”; the spectators drove up onto the rooftop level, where Brünnhilde got out of her vehicle and sang her closing monologue amid an assemblage of burned-out cars, with the Detroit skyline looming in the background.
For opera-starved audiences who have endured months of glitchy live streams, the greatest joy of “Twilight: Gods” was the chance to hear first-rate singers live. Christine Goerke, in the role of Brünnhilde, summoned all the vocal heft and emotional force that she has brought to conventional stage outings, and she showed an extra glint of glee as she jumped into the Mustang to ride onto the metaphorical pyre. Morris Robinson and Donnie Ray Albert contributed nuances of familial resentment to their secure characterizations of Hagen and Alberich. Catherine Martin, Avery Boettcher, Olivia Johnson, and Kaswanna Kanyinda gave lyric warmth to Waltraute and the Rhinemaidens. Sean Panikkar, a onetime lyric tenor whose voice has lately taken on commanding power and weight, proved thrilling in his brief appearance as Siegfried: I only wish that the abridgment had given him more to do.
Singers of color were in the majority in the cast of “Twilight: Gods,” which made me think about the project’s political resonance. Marsha Music’s narration pitched the piece against Trumpian politics, and the imminent Presidential election shadowed videotaped messages that were played in an outdoor lot before the show: Gretchen Whitmer, the governor of Michigan, who was recently the target of a failed right-wing terrorist plot, praised Sharon for “reimagining the boundaries of opera.” The idea of attaching Wagner to a progressive agenda may seem strange at first glance. The composer was, after all, a ferocious racist who became a symbol of Nazi propaganda. On the other hand, leftists from George Bernard Shaw to Vsevolod Meyerhold saw Wagner as a kindred spirit, and several major African-American intellectuals—W. E. B. Du Bois, Alain Locke, Shirley Graham, Ralph Ellison, and Langston Hughes—took inspiration from his music. Whatever the outcome of the eternal debate over Wagner, Sharon has every right to yoke the malleable allegory of the “Ring” to the demands of the hour.
“Götterdämmerung” ends with a gloriously vague vision of a better future, in the form of a stately melody that unfurls slowly in the violins. Audience members heard this music as they descended the garage ramps. The sound design for “Twilight: Gods,” which was supervised by the composer Mark Grey, functioned perfectly throughout, but by intention the radio signal grew weak in those final moments: bursts of static obscured Wagner’s promise of redemption. I tried not to hear it as an omen. ♦


newyorker--2020-10-26--Laura Dern Plays a Depressed Suburban Housewife in a New Photo Memoir

At a rally in Pennsylvania recently , Donald Trump beseeched the voting bloc he ’ s most afraid of losing .
“ Suburban women , will you please like me ?
” he said .
“ I saved your damn neighborhood.
” Picture the endangered suburbs in Trump ’ s mind : homogeneous and as white as the milk you dip your after-school snickerdoodle in .
The mothers , home .
The fathers , not .
You ’ re seeing Cherry Hill , New Jersey , circa 1966 , when Jona Frank was born .
Frank is a photographer , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ taken pictures of skaters , boxers , rodeo kids , and evangelical youth .
This fall , Monacelli Press will publish “ Cherry Hill , ” a book of autobiographical essays and photographs by Frank that re-create a girlhood spent waiting all day for the mailman .
“ There was this feeling of Nothing happened here , ” she said .
“ I wanted to show the inside of suburbia .
Everyone has their trash cans lined up outside , but what ’ s really going on inside ?
” Frank ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ depression , prescribed rigid Catholicism and strict gender roles , insisting on Holly Hobbie wallpaper in her daughter ’ s room and baking impeccable pies .
To play her mother in the photos , Frank cast her best mom friend , Laura Dern .
The other day , Frank and Dern sat six feet apart in Dern ’ s living room , and talked over Zoom with a reporter a few miles away .
Dern had on a striped sweater and black-framed glasses ; one hand rested on Baby , a husky rescue @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , who has sharp brown eyes , wore a pink gingham mask .
She had brought a plate of Mexican-wedding cookies .
“ Let ’ s be clear : when Jona bakes , Laura shows up , ” Dern said .
“ And when Laura ’ s on location she may text Jona and say , ‘ Can you please drop cookies to Ellery ?
’ ” Ellery , Dern ’ s son , is nineteen , and is best friends with Frank ’ s son , Lucien .
“ I have been @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
( Her next movie is “ Jurassic World : Dominion.
” Frank ’ s husband is the cinematographer and second-unit director . )
“ The last time we saw each other .
.
.
” “ We did one really weird 7 A.M .
Whole Foods run at the start of quarantine , ” Frank said .
“ And we did a couple of drop-offs .
I did give Laura a Zoom lesson about making a cobbler.
” In the book , Frank documents her family ’ s quiet implosion : her @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to her room , in a pink robe , and emerge , pockets full of Kleenex ; her beloved older brother , who hid his sexuality , had a psychotic breakdown .
Frank grew to fear the telephone—heavy , black , wall-mounted—which always seemed to ring with catastrophic news .
In one image , an actress playing Frank as a teen-ager , wearing white Stan Smiths and rolled red jeans , has a black phone attached to her back , like baggage .
Talking about mothering their own kids through the tender passages @ @ @ @ @ @ @ memories .
“ If we ’ re trying to be authentic and present in our failings and our efforts as parents , the story of our own childhood comes up , ” Dern said .
She was raised in Hollywood .
Her parents , Bruce Dern and Diane Ladd , are actors .
“ This is a very different childhood from yours , ” Frank said .
“ I didn ’ t grow up going to Martin Scorsese ’ s set , eating ice cream with my mom.
” Frank , who in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , shot the book using an anamorphic lens designed for filmmaking .
The detail is exquisite , sometimes excruciating : the bleeding edge of peeled apple skin as the mother , her face tight , makes yet another pie .
Physically , Dern , who is lanky and blond , doesn ’ t resemble Frank ’ s mother .
Still , “ she was my mother , ” Frank said .
She turned to Dern : “ The last image in the book , how you purse your lips , that ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ me.
” Dern has been on a streak of playing mothers : Renata Klein , a protective mom and Silicon Valley executive in “ Big Little Lies ” ; a divorce-attorney power mom in Noah Baumbach ’ s “ Marriage Story ” ; Marmee , in Greta Gerwig ’ s “ Little Women.
” “ I ’ m reëvaluating the many faces of motherhood , ” she said , and recounted how a journalist asked her , “ Why do you think you ’ re playing these powerful-in-business moms suddenly ?
” “ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ until about four years ago , there weren ’ t any of these roles !
” Making “ Cherry Hill , ” she said , reminded her of her film “ Blue Velvet ” : “ These things that seem perfect , everything should feel great , but nothing is fun.
” “ That was the confusion—suburbia provided safety and comfort to me , but it was also killing my spirit , ” Frank said .
“ To my mother , that world was enough .
To me , it was , like @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , very stifling , and I have to get out of that box.
” Frank ’ s parents never left New Jersey .
Her mother , who is ninety-two , lives an hour away from Cherry Hill .
The book is a record of Frank ’ s escape .
Dern was thinking about Ellery , who had just left home for New York , where he is a freshman at Parsons .
“ I ’ ve got to put the cobbler recipe in Ellery ’ s cookbook for college , ” she said @ @

Laura Dern and Jona Frank Illustration by João Fazenda
At a rally in Pennsylvania recently, Donald Trump beseeched the voting bloc he’s most afraid of losing. “Suburban women, will you please like me?” he said. “I saved your damn neighborhood.” Picture the endangered suburbs in Trump’s mind: homogeneous and as white as the milk you dip your after-school snickerdoodle in. The mothers, home. The fathers, not. You’re seeing Cherry Hill, New Jersey, circa 1966, when Jona Frank was born. Frank is a photographer, based in Santa Monica, who has taken pictures of skaters, boxers, rodeo kids, and evangelical youth. This fall, Monacelli Press will publish “Cherry Hill,” a book of autobiographical essays and photographs by Frank that re-create a girlhood spent waiting all day for the mailman.
“There was this feeling of Nothing happened here,” she said. “I wanted to show the inside of suburbia. Everyone has their trash cans lined up outside, but what’s really going on inside?”
Frank’s mother, a homemaker who hid her depression, prescribed rigid Catholicism and strict gender roles, insisting on Holly Hobbie wallpaper in her daughter’s room and baking impeccable pies. To play her mother in the photos, Frank cast her best mom friend, Laura Dern. The other day, Frank and Dern sat six feet apart in Dern’s living room, and talked over Zoom with a reporter a few miles away. Dern had on a striped sweater and black-framed glasses; one hand rested on Baby, a husky rescue who had just had surgery. Frank, who has sharp brown eyes, wore a pink gingham mask. She had brought a plate of Mexican-wedding cookies. “Let’s be clear: when Jona bakes, Laura shows up,” Dern said. “And when Laura’s on location she may text Jona and say, ‘Can you please drop cookies to Ellery?’ ” Ellery, Dern’s son, is nineteen, and is best friends with Frank’s son, Lucien.
Photograph by Jona Frank / Courtesy the Monacelli Press
“I have been away, working,” Dern said. (Her next movie is “Jurassic World: Dominion.” Frank’s husband is the cinematographer and second-unit director.) “The last time we saw each other . . .”
“We did one really weird 7 A.M. Whole Foods run at the start of quarantine,” Frank said. “And we did a couple of drop-offs. I did give Laura a Zoom lesson about making a cobbler.”
“I’m rocking that cobbler now,” Dern said.
Photograph by Jona Frank / Courtesy the Monacelli Press
In the book, Frank documents her family’s quiet implosion: her mother, deteriorating, would silently retreat to her room, in a pink robe, and emerge, pockets full of Kleenex; her beloved older brother, who hid his sexuality, had a psychotic breakdown. Frank grew to fear the telephone—heavy, black, wall-mounted—which always seemed to ring with catastrophic news. In one image, an actress playing Frank as a teen-ager, wearing white Stan Smiths and rolled red jeans, has a black phone attached to her back, like baggage.
Talking about mothering their own kids through the tender passages of adolescence, Dern and Frank traded memories. “If we’re trying to be authentic and present in our failings and our efforts as parents, the story of our own childhood comes up,” Dern said. She was raised in Hollywood. Her parents, Bruce Dern and Diane Ladd, are actors.
Photograph by Jona Frank / Courtesy the Monacelli Press
“This is a very different childhood from yours,” Frank said. “I didn’t grow up going to Martin Scorsese’s set, eating ice cream with my mom.”
Frank, who in the past has used a four-by-five camera, shot the book using an anamorphic lens designed for filmmaking. The detail is exquisite, sometimes excruciating: the bleeding edge of peeled apple skin as the mother, her face tight, makes yet another pie. Physically, Dern, who is lanky and blond, doesn’t resemble Frank’s mother. Still, “she was my mother,” Frank said. She turned to Dern: “The last image in the book, how you purse your lips, that’s my mother, and it still haunts me.”
Photograph by Jona Frank / Courtesy the Monacelli Press
Dern has been on a streak of playing mothers: Renata Klein, a protective mom and Silicon Valley executive in “Big Little Lies”; a divorce-attorney power mom in Noah Baumbach’s “Marriage Story”; Marmee, in Greta Gerwig’s “Little Women.” “I’m reëvaluating the many faces of motherhood,” she said, and recounted how a journalist asked her, “Why do you think you’re playing these powerful-in-business moms suddenly?” “I’m, like, Because until about four years ago, there weren’t any of these roles!” Making “Cherry Hill,” she said, reminded her of her film “Blue Velvet”: “These things that seem perfect, everything should feel great, but nothing is fun.”
“That was the confusion—suburbia provided safety and comfort to me, but it was also killing my spirit,” Frank said. “To my mother, that world was enough. To me, it was, like, No, this is very repetitive, very stifling, and I have to get out of that box.” Frank’s parents never left New Jersey. Her mother, who is ninety-two, lives an hour away from Cherry Hill. The book is a record of Frank’s escape.
Photograph by Jona Frank / Courtesy the Monacelli Press
Dern was thinking about Ellery, who had just left home for New York, where he is a freshman at Parsons. “I’ve got to put the cobbler recipe in Ellery’s cookbook for college,” she said. ♦


newyorker--2020-10-26--“The Great Beauty,” by Toi Derricotte

“The Great Beauty,” by Toi Derricotte

In the movie , flamingos migrate over Rome and rest overnight on the terrace of Jep Gambardella , so that , in the rose light of dawn , he walks out to find his saintly old guest , Sister Maria , meditating among a flamboyance— a hundred stand on pink stilt-like legs with roseate plumes and beaks sturdy as lobster crackers .
Some rest on one leg or sit with legs tucked under them ; some halfheartedly peck at stone—as if they might find bread crumbs from last night ’ s party .
But all are quiet .
“ I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ she brags under her breath to no one , or perhaps to God .
I never received such tidings from the universe , but Saturday on my walk , checking my Fitbit again ( 3,000 for an old lady is good ) , I heard wing beats and cooing , and then , almost under my arm , one flew up nearly brushing my hand—as if intentional—then twenty , thirty coming from behind , as if they were pouring out of my back .
I couldn ’ t tell how many would arrive @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of a tree , and some flying up to a balustrade , sitting in a long row stolid as judges .
Why can ’ t I take evidence seriously ?
I ( who half believe in God ) spoke playfully— not even remembering I had watched Sister Maria ’ s flamingos two nights before— “ What are you doing here ?
, ” as if they were old friends or a bunch of my kids showing up out of nowhere .
I watched for a while and when they just sat there , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ with my walk—another 1,500 steps to go .
By the time I was almost home , I had persuaded myself : it was only pigeons ; perhaps hungry .
But then they came back , from all around , as if they were rising up out of the ground , as if they were being made right before me , all the sounding wings , air whipping and breaking , their gray-and-pink presences as if convincing me .

Audio: Read by the author.
In the movie, flamingos migrate over Rome and rest
overnight on the terrace of Jep Gambardella, so that,
in the rose light of dawn, he walks out to find his saintly
old guest, Sister Maria, meditating among a flamboyance—
a hundred stand on pink stilt-like legs with roseate plumes
and beaks sturdy as lobster crackers. Some rest on one leg
or sit with legs tucked under them; some halfheartedly peck
at stone—as if they might find bread crumbs from last night’s party.
But all are quiet. “I know all their Christian names,”
she brags under her breath to no one, or perhaps to God.
•
I never received such tidings from the universe, but Saturday
on my walk, checking my Fitbit again (3,000 for an old lady is good), I heard
wing beats and cooing, and then, almost under my arm, one flew up
nearly brushing my hand—as if intentional—then twenty, thirty coming
from behind, as if they were pouring out of my back. I couldn’t tell how
many would arrive, a hundred resting on the branches of a tree, and some
flying up to a balustrade, sitting in a long row stolid as judges. Why can’t I
take evidence seriously? I (who half believe in God) spoke playfully—
not even remembering I had watched Sister Maria’s flamingos two nights
before—“What are you doing here?,” as if they were old friends or a bunch
of my kids showing up out of nowhere. I watched for a while and when they
just sat there, turning their heads, I went on with my walk—another 1,500
steps to go. By the time I was almost home, I had persuaded myself: it was
only pigeons; perhaps hungry. But then they came back, from all around,
as if they were rising up out of the ground, as if they were being made
right before me, all the sounding wings, air whipping and breaking,
their gray-and-pink presences as if convincing me.


newyorker--2020-10-26--A President Looks Back on His Toughest Fight

Cooped up as we ’ d been through the winter of 2009 , we took full advantage of the new back yard .
We had a swing set installed for Sasha and Malia directly in front of the Oval Office .
Looking up from a late-afternoon meeting on this or that crisis , I might glimpse the girls playing outside , their faces set in bliss as they soared high on the swings .
But , of all the pleasures that first year in the White House would deliver , none quite compared to the mid-April arrival of Bo , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ fur , with a snowy-white chest and front paws .
Malia and Sasha , who ’ d been lobbying for a puppy since before the campaign , squealed with delight upon seeing him for the first time , letting him lick their ears and faces as the three of them rolled around on the floor .
With Bo , I got what someone once described as the only reliable friend a politician can have in Washington .
He also gave me an added excuse to put off my evening paperwork and join my @ @ @ @ @ @ @ South Lawn .
It was during those moments—with the light fading into streaks of purple and gold , Michelle smiling and squeezing my hand as Bo bounded in and out of the bushes with the girls giving chase—that I felt normal and whole and as lucky as any man has a right to expect .
Bo had come to us as a gift from Ted Kennedy and his wife , Vicki , part of a litter that was related to Teddy ’ s own beloved pair of Portuguese water dogs .
It was @ @ @ @ @ @ @ breed was hypoallergenic ( a necessity , owing to Malia ’ s allergies ) but also because the Kennedys had made sure that Bo was housebroken before he came to us .
When I called to thank them , though , it was only Vicki I could speak with .
It had been almost a year since Teddy was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor , and although he was still receiving treatment in Boston , it was clear to everyone—Teddy included—that the prognosis was not good .
I ’ d seen him @ @ @ @ @ @ @ made a surprise appearance at a White House conference we held to get the ball rolling on universal-health-care legislation .
Teddy ’ s walk was unsteady that day ; his suit draped loosely on him after all the weight he ’ d lost , and despite his cheerful demeanor his pinched , cloudy eyes showed the strain it took just to hold himself upright .
And yet he ’ d insisted on coming anyway , because thirty-five years earlier the cause of getting everyone decent , affordable health care had become personal for @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , had been diagnosed with a bone cancer that led to a leg amputation at the age of twelve .
While at the hospital , Teddy had come to know other parents whose children were just as ill but who had no idea how they ’ d pay the mounting medical bills .
Then and there , he had vowed to do something to change that .
Through seven Presidents , Teddy had fought the good fight .
During the Clinton Administration , he helped secure passage of the Children ’ s Health @ @ @ @ @ @ @ some in his own party , he worked with President George W. Bush to get drug coverage for seniors .
But , for all his power and legislative skill , the dream of establishing universal health care—a system that delivered good-quality medical care to all people , regardless of their ability to pay—continued to elude him .
Which is why he had forced himself out of bed to come to our conference , knowing his brief but symbolic presence might have an effect .
Sure enough , when he walked into the East @ @ @ @ @ @ @ who were present erupted into lengthy applause .
His remarks were short ; his baritone didn ’ t boom quite as loudly as it used to when he ’ d roared on the Senate floor .
By the time we ’ d moved on to the third or fourth speaker , Vicki had quietly escorted him out the door .
I saw him only once more in person , six weeks later , at a signing ceremony for a bill expanding national-service programs , which Republicans and Democrats alike had named in his @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Teddy sometimes when Bo wandered into the Treaty Room and curled up at my feet .
And I ’ d recall what Teddy had told me that day , just before we walked into the East Room together .
“ This is the time , Mr. President , ” he had said .
“ Don ’ t let it slip away.
” After Franklin Delano Roosevelt imposed a nationwide wage freeze , during the Second World War , meant to stem inflation , many companies began offering private health insurance and pension benefits @ @ @ @ @ @ @ limited number of workers not deployed overseas .
Once the war ended , this employer-based system continued , in no small part because labor unions used the more generous benefit packages negotiated under collective-bargaining agreements as a selling point to recruit new members .
The downside was that those unions then had little motivation to push for government-sponsored health programs that might help everybody else .
Harry Truman proposed a national health-care system twice , once in 1945 and again as part of his Fair Deal package , in 1949 , but his @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for the well-financed P.R .
efforts of the American Medical Association and other industry lobbyists .
Opponents didn ’ t just kill Truman ’ s effort .
They convinced a large swath of the public that “ socialized medicine ” would lead to rationing , to the loss of the family doctor and of the freedoms Americans hold so dear .
Rather than challenging private insurance head on , progressives shifted their energy to helping those populations the marketplace had left behind .
These efforts bore fruit during Lyndon Johnson ’ s Great @ @ @ @ @ @ @ program partially funded by payroll-tax revenue was introduced for seniors ( Medicare ) and a not so comprehensive program based on a combination of federal and state funding was set up for the poor ( Medicaid ) .
During the nineteen-seventies and early eighties , this patchwork system functioned well enough , with roughly eighty per cent of Americans covered through either their jobs or one of these two programs .
Meanwhile , defenders of the status quo could point to the many innovations brought to market by the for-profit medical industry , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ as these innovations were , though , they also drove up health-care costs .
And , with insurers footing the nation ’ s medical bills , patients had little incentive to question whether drug companies were overcharging or whether doctors and hospitals were ordering redundant tests and unnecessary treatments in order to pad their bottom lines .
At the same time , nearly a fifth of the country lived just an illness or an accident away from potential financial ruin .
Unable to afford regular checkups and preventive care , the uninsured often @ @ @ @ @ @ @ seeking attention at hospital emergency rooms , where more advanced illnesses meant more expensive treatment .
Hospitals made up for this uncompensated care by increasing prices for insured customers , which further jacked up premiums .
All this explained why the United States spent a lot more money per person on health care than any other advanced economy ( eighty-seven per cent more than Canada , a hundred and two per cent more than France , a hundred and eighty-two per cent more than Japan ) , and for similar or worse results @ @ @ @ @ @ @ billions of dollars a year—money that could have been used instead to provide child care for American families , or to reduce college tuition , or to eliminate a good chunk of the federal deficit .
Spiralling health-care costs also burdened American businesses : Japanese and German automakers didn ’ t have to worry about the extra fifteen hundred dollars in worker and retiree health-care costs that Detroit had to build into the price of every car rolling off the assembly line .
In fact , it was in response to foreign competition @ @ @ @ @ @ @ costs onto their employees in the late nineteen-eighties and nineties , replacing traditional plans that had few , if any , out-of-pocket costs with cheaper versions that included co-pays , lifetime limits , higher deductibles , and other unpleasant surprises hidden in the fine print .
Unions often found themselves able to preserve their traditional benefit plans only by agreeing to forgo increases in wages .
Small businesses found it tough to provide their workers with health benefits at all .
Meanwhile , insurance companies that operated in the individual market perfected the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to their actuarial data , were most likely to make use of the health-care system , especially anyone with a “ preëxisting condition ” —which they often defined as anything from a previous bout of cancer to asthma and chronic allergies .
It ’ s no wonder , then , that by the time I took office there were very few people ready to defend the existing system .
More than forty-three million Americans were now uninsured , premiums for family coverage had risen ninety-seven per cent since 2000 , and costs were @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the prospect of trying to get a big health-care-reform bill through Congress at the height of a historic recession made my team nervous .
Even my adviser David Axelrod—who had experienced the challenges of getting specialized care for a daughter with severe epilepsy and had left journalism to become a political consultant in part to pay for her treatment—had his doubts .
“ The data ’ s pretty clear , ” he said when we discussed the topic with Rahm Emanuel , my chief of staff .
“ People may hate the way @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of them have insurance .
They don ’ t really think about the flaws in the system until somebody in their own family gets sick .
They like their doctor .
They don ’ t trust Washington to fix anything .
And , even if they think you ’ re sincere , they worry that any changes you make will cost them money and help somebody else.
” “ What Axe is trying to say , Mr. President , ” Rahm interrupted , his face screwed up in a frown , “ is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ faces.
” We were already using up precious political capital , Rahm said , in order to fast-track the passage of the Recovery Act , a major economic-stimulus package .
As an adviser in the Clinton White House , he ’ d had a front-row seat at the last push for universal health care , when Hillary Clinton ’ s legislative proposal crashed and burned , and he was quick to remind us that the backlash had contributed to Democrats ’ losing control of the House in the 1994 midterms .
“ Republicans @ @ @ @ @ @ @ new liberal spending binge , and that it ’ s a distraction from solving the economic crisis , ” Rahm said .
“ Unless I ’ m missing something , ” I said , “ we ’ re doing everything we can do on the economy .
”

“The data’s pretty clear,” he said when we discussed the topic with Rahm Emanuel, my chief of staff. “People may hate the way things work in general, but most of them have insurance. They don’t really think about the flaws in the system until somebody in their own family gets sick. They like their doctor. They don’t trust Washington to fix anything. And, even if they think you’re sincere, they worry that any changes you make will cost them money and help somebody else.”
“What Axe is trying to say, Mr. President,” Rahm interrupted, his face screwed up in a frown, “is that this can blow up in our faces.”
We were already using up precious political capital, Rahm said, in order to fast-track the passage of the Recovery Act, a major economic-stimulus package. As an adviser in the Clinton White House, he’d had a front-row seat at the last push for universal health care, when Hillary Clinton’s legislative proposal crashed and burned, and he was quick to remind us that the backlash had contributed to Democrats’ losing control of the House in the 1994 midterms. “Republicans will say health care is a big new liberal spending binge, and that it’s a distraction from solving the economic crisis,” Rahm said.
“Unless I’m missing something,” I said, “we’re doing everything we can do on the economy.”
“I know that, Mr. President. But the American people don’t know that.”
“So what are we saying here?” I asked. “That despite having the biggest Democratic majorities in decades, despite the promises we made during the campaign, we shouldn’t try to get health care done?”
Rahm looked to Axe for help.
“We all think we should try,” Axe said. “You just need to know that, if we lose, your Presidency will be badly weakened. And nobody understands that better than McConnell and Boehner.”
I stood up, signalling that the meeting was over. “We better not lose, then,” I said.
When I think back to those early conversations, it’s hard to deny my overconfidence. I was convinced that the logic of health-care reform was so obvious that even in the face of well-organized opposition I could rally the American people’s support. Other big initiatives—like immigration reform and climate-change legislation—would probably be even harder to get through Congress; I figured that scoring a victory on the item that most affected people’s day-to-day lives was our best shot at building momentum for the rest of my legislative agenda. As for the political hazards that Axe and Rahm worried about, the recession virtually guaranteed that my poll numbers were going to take a hit anyway. Being timid wouldn’t change that reality. Even if it did, passing up a chance to help millions of people just because it might hurt my reëlection prospects—well, that was exactly the kind of myopic, self-preserving behavior I’d vowed to reject.
My interest in health care went beyond policy or politics; it was personal, just as it was for Teddy. Each time I met a parent struggling to come up with the money to get treatment for a sick child, I thought back to the night Michelle and I had to take three-month-old Sasha to the emergency room for what turned out to be viral meningitis. I remembered the terror and the helplessness we felt as the nurses whisked her away for a spinal tap, and the realization that we might never have caught the infection in time had the girls not had a regular pediatrician we felt comfortable calling in the middle of the night. Most of all, I thought about my mom, who had died in 1995, of uterine cancer.
In mid-June, I headed to Green Bay, Wisconsin, for the first in a series of health-care town-hall meetings we would hold around the country, hoping to solicit citizen input and educate people on the possibilities for reform. Introducing me that day was a local resident named Laura Klitzka, who was thirty-five years old and had been diagnosed with aggressive breast cancer that had spread to her bones. Even though she was on her husband’s insurance plan, repeated rounds of surgery, radiation, and chemo had bumped her up against the policy’s lifetime limits, leaving the couple with twelve thousand dollars in unpaid medical bills. Over the objections of her husband, Peter, she was now pondering whether more treatment was worth it. Sitting in their living room before we headed for the event, she smiled wanly as we watched Peter doing his best to keep track of their two young kids playing on the floor.
“I want as much time with them as I can get, but I don’t want to leave them with a mountain of debt,” she said to me. “It feels selfish.” Her eyes started misting, and I held her hand, remembering my mom wasting away in those final months: the times she’d put off checkups that might have caught her disease because she was in between consulting contracts and didn’t have coverage; the stress she carried to her hospital bed when her insurer refused to pay her disability claim, arguing that she had failed to disclose a preëxisting condition, despite the fact that she hadn’t even been diagnosed when her policy started. The unspoken regrets.
Passing a health-care bill wouldn’t bring my mom back. It wouldn’t douse the guilt I still felt for not having been at her side when she took her last breath. It would probably come too late to help Laura Klitzka and her family. But it would save somebody’s mom, somewhere down the line. And that was worth fighting for.
The question was whether we could get it done. Any major health-care bill meant rejiggering a sixth of the American economy. Legislation of this scope was guaranteed to involve hundreds of pages of endlessly fussed-over amendments and regulations. A single provision tucked inside the bill could translate to billions of dollars in gains or losses for some sector of the health-care industry. A shift in one number, a zero here or a decimal point there, could mean a million more families getting coverage—or not. Across the country, insurance companies were major employers, and local hospitals served as the economic anchor for many small towns and counties. People had good reasons—life-and-death reasons—to worry about how any change would affect them.
There was also the question of how to pay for the changes. To cover more people, I argued, America didn’t need to spend more money on health care; we just needed to use that money more wisely. In theory, that was true. But one person’s waste and inefficiency was another person’s profit or convenience; spending on coverage would show up on the federal books much sooner than the savings from reform; and, unlike the insurance companies or Big Pharma, whose shareholders expected them to be on guard against any change that might cost them a dime, most of the potential beneficiaries of reform—the waitress, the family farmer, the independent contractor, the cancer survivor—didn’t have gaggles of well-paid and experienced lobbyists roaming the halls of Congress.
In other words, both the politics and the substance of health care were mind-numbingly complicated. I was going to have to explain to the American people, including those with high-quality health insurance, why and how reform could work. For this reason, I thought we’d use as open and transparent a process as possible. “Everyone will have a seat at the table,” I’d told voters during the campaign. “Not negotiating behind closed doors, but bringing all parties together, and broadcasting those negotiations on C-SPAN, so that the American people can see what the choices are.” When I later brought this idea up with Rahm, he looked like he wished I weren’t the President, just so he could more vividly explain the stupidity of my plan. If we were going to get a bill passed, he told me, the process would involve dozens of deals and compromises along the way—and it wasn’t going to be conducted like a civics seminar.
“Making sausage isn’t pretty, Mr. President,” he said. “And you’re asking for a really big piece of sausage.”
One thing Rahm and I did agree on was that we had months of work ahead of us, and we needed a topnotch health-care team to keep us on track. Luckily, we were able to recruit a remarkable trio of women to help run the show. Kathleen Sebelius, the two-term Democratic governor of Republican-leaning Kansas, came on as Secretary of Health and Human Services. Jeanne Lambrew, a professor at the University of Texas and an expert on Medicare and Medicaid, became the director of the H.H.S. Office of Health Reform, basically our chief policy adviser.
Meeting with the Democratic senators Christopher Dodd and Max Baucus. Photograph by Pete Souza
It was Nancy-Ann DeParle whom I would come to rely on most as our campaign took shape. A Tennessee lawyer who had run that state’s health programs before serving as the Medicare administrator in the Clinton Administration, Nancy-Ann carried herself with the crisp professionalism of someone accustomed to seeing hard work translate into success. How much of that drive could be traced to her experiences growing up Chinese-American in a tiny Tennessee town, I couldn’t say. I did know that when she was seventeen her mom died of lung cancer. It seems I wasn’t the only one for whom getting health care passed was personal.
Our team began to map out a legislative strategy. Based on our experiences with the Recovery Act, we had no doubt that Mitch McConnell would do everything he could to torpedo our efforts, and that the chances of getting Republican votes in the Senate were slim. We could take heart from the fact that, instead of the fifty-eight senators who were caucusing with the Democrats when we passed the stimulus bill, we were likely to have sixty by the time any health-care bill actually came to a vote. Al Franken had finally taken his seat after a contentious election recount in Minnesota, and Arlen Specter had decided to switch parties after being effectively driven out of the G.O.P. for supporting the Recovery Act.
This would give us a filibuster-proof majority, but our head count was tenuous: it included the terminally ill Ted Kennedy and the frail and ailing Robert Byrd, of West Virginia, not to mention conservative Democrats like Nebraska’s Ben Nelson (a former insurance-company executive), who could go sideways on us at any minute. Beyond wanting some margin for error, I also knew that passing something as monumental as health-care reform on a purely party-line vote would make the law politically more vulnerable down the road. So we thought it made sense to shape our legislative proposal in such a way that it at least had a chance of winning over a handful of Republicans.
Fortunately, we had a model to work with—one that, ironically, had grown out of a partnership between Ted Kennedy and the former Massachusetts governor Mitt Romney. A few years earlier, confronting budget shortfalls and the prospect of losing Medicaid funding, Romney had become fixated on finding a way to get more Massachusetts residents properly insured, which would then reduce state spending on emergency care for the uninsured and, ideally, lead to a healthier population in general.
He and his staff came up with a multipronged approach in which every person would be required to purchase health insurance (an “individual mandate”), the same way every car owner was required to carry auto insurance. Middle-income people who couldn’t get insurance through their job, didn’t qualify for Medicare or Medicaid, and were unable to afford insurance on their own would get a government subsidy to buy coverage. Subsidies would be determined on a sliding scale according to each person’s income, and a central online marketplace—an “exchange”—would be set up so that consumers could shop for the best insurance deal. Insurers, meanwhile, would no longer be allowed to deny coverage based on preëxisting conditions.
These two ideas—the individual mandate and protecting people with preëxisting conditions—went hand in hand. With a huge new pool of government-subsidized customers, insurers no longer had a financial incentive for trying to cherry-pick only the young and the healthy for coverage. And the mandate would prevent people from gaming the system by waiting until they got sick to purchase insurance. Touting the plan to reporters, Romney called the individual mandate “the ultimate conservative idea,” because it promoted personal responsibility.


“A for Alone”

They smile at each other , and he says , “ This was fun .
Let ’ s do it again soon with Fara and Peter .
Fara ’ s our designated calendar manager , so probably best if you e-mail her.
” She gave up on scheduling the lunches at even intervals .
If she could recall spending time alone with a man in the past , no matter how long ago , she put an “ A ” next to his name ; if he was gay , she put a “ G ” ; if he was @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , ” though she decided against contacting the single men unless not enough of the married ones panned out .
For lunch , they meet at a grass-fed-burger chain near the suburban office where he ’ s an insurance adjuster .
She arrives first , and when he joins her she can feel immediately that he is confused but that , unlike Eddie , he will not ask why she has summoned him .
Either Phillip is too reserved or they don ’ t know each other well enough anymore .
As they @ @ @ @ @ @ @ are doing at college , Phillip sits stiffly , almost sideways , and doesn ’ t smile .
This confusion is , of course , the point .
And yet she can stand it for only five minutes after they order—if the artist in her is fine inducing discomfort , neither the Midwesterner nor the woman in her is .
“ So , ” she says , “ did you wonder why I suggested getting together ?
” “ I thought there ’ d be other people , ” he says .
“ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ you ever heard of the Billy Graham Rule or the Mike Pence Rule ?
It ’ s that , if you ’ re a married man , you don ’ t spend time alone with a woman , because it ’ s , you know , inappropriate.
” At the same time , she rolls her eyes and he says , “ Makes sense.
” As she tries to remember if he ’ s religious , she says , “ But the rule applies across the board , personally and professionally .
Don @ @ @ @ @ @ @ with a colleague who ’ s female ?
” “ There ’ s a difference between talking to someone in the office and going out for a drink.
” “ Do you remember that I ’ m a visual artist ?
I ’ m doing a project about the rule and ” —she pauses— “ people ’ s views on it.
” “ What does ‘ project ’ mean ?
” He ’ s squinting grimly .
“ I don ’ t want to be part of a Facebook post.
” “ No @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
And I wouldn ’ t include anyone without their permission .
I ’ m taking photos and having the participants fill out a questionnaire.
” “ Yeah , no , ” he says .
“ I ’ ll take a pass.
” Their food arrives—a turkey burger for him , a veggie burger for her—and after the waiter walks away she says , “ So , are you doing anything fun this weekend ?
” This is how they get through the next twenty minutes—she is blandly inquisitive , he is standoffish—and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ project , if you agree with the premise of the Mike Pence Rule , that ’ s interesting .
It ’ s interesting to feature some people who agree with it and some people who don ’ t .
Would you be comfortable filling out the questionnaire anonymously ?
” “ I realize I ’ m violating the social contract here , but are you—did you—in the election— ” Phillip looks at her blankly , and she says , “ Are you a Trump supporter ?
” “ I don ’ t care @ @ @ @ @ @ @ but Pence seems like a smart guy .
Good ethics , good leadership.
” Once , in the third period of a tied hockey game , Irene ’ s son Colin scored a goal against his own team .
His team lost , and afterward , while the little boys clustered off the ice and Colin blinked back tears , Phillip calmly told the team that everyone made mistakes , and what mattered wasn ’ t any particular moment or any one game but how they played together over a whole season .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ I wish I thought Pence was any better , but his homophobia , his abortion restrictions , plus the way he kowtows to Trump—I find it really scary.
” Phillip says nothing , and she adds , “ F.Y.I.
, a lot of my extended family is conservative.
” “ Yeah , I ’ m not someone who argues about politics , ” Phillip says .
At home , on her list , she writes a “ U ” next to his name , for unsuccessful .
If Irene ’ s life @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the third man she has lunch with who represents the breakthrough .
The first two would be duds , and the third would change everything .
But her life is not a movie .
Still , although the third isn ’ t life-changing , he is delightful .
The man is Ken , her former boss at Target , now sixty-eight years old , retired , and living on White Bear Lake .
He demonstrates none of Eddie ’ s or Phillip ’ s apparent need for justification for why he and Irene @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Instead , he ’ s palpably pleased to see her , and the conversation is wide-ranging : his upcoming vacation to Bermuda ; their former co-workers ; a six-hundred-page novel he just read , which he says left him sobbing at the end ; and the very long story of a lawsuit filed by his adult niece against her sister based on the second niece ’ s claim that their mother had given her an amethyst bracelet before her death , which the first niece said her sister had taken without permission @ @ @ @ @ @ @ lawsuits , sisters , and bracelets , and asks many follow-up questions .
Is it relevant that Ken is gay ?
She has amended his questionnaire accordingly .
While holding up the camera , she says , “ You have a tiny bit of— ” She runs the tip of her tongue between her own left central and lateral incisors .
“ Bless you , ” he says , and removes the kale remnant with his thumbnail .
The first fifteen minutes of their lunch are great .
They gossip enthusiastically about the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , who has just shared on Facebook that she ’ s a nudist .
But then they don ’ t , as Irene had anticipated and despite her efforts , segue into discussing work .
This was always Irene ’ s favorite part of having coffee with Troy—that they talked about the incremental progress of their art , his welding and her weaving , in such a nitty-gritty way that it might have been incomprehensible to a person overhearing .
This time , when she asks about his current projects , he tells @ @ @ @ @ @ @ show at a major gallery in Manhattan and also that he ’ s looking for an assistant , if she knows anyone .
He asks her nothing about what she ’ s working on , to such a notable extent that she wonders if he believes that doing so would be bad manners , now that his success so overshadows hers .
Eventually , before taking his picture and requesting that he fill out the questionnaire , she describes “ Interrogating Graham/Pence.
” His expression is skeptical .
“ What ?
” she @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s a horrible idea ?
” “ It all depends on the execution.
” “ The part I ’ m not hearing is where it ’ s transformative .
Where ’ s the alchemy ?
You have some Polaroids , some sheets of paper , and then what ?
That ’ s regurgitation , not transformation.
” He ’ s not wrong .
But the way he ’ s saying it—it ’ s both practiced and distant , like there ’ s some invisible but enormous audience , like he ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s the Alchemy ?
” Sarcastically , she says , “ Thanks for the encouragement , ” and he says , “ Hey , no one ’ s rooting for you more than I am.
” As she waits for him to complete the questionnaire , it occurs to her that she may never , after this , see him one on one—that he won ’ t initiate it , and neither will she .
Instead of answering the second and third questions verbally , Troy has drawn a self-portrait with one @ @ @ @ @ @ @ scorn .
This is almost endearing enough to make her think they ’ ll remain friends , after all .
When Abe joins her , at a chopped-salad place near his office , his eyes fill with tears as he says that he realizes Karla put Irene up to this , but that she , Irene , is a good friend to reach out .
It soon emerges , in such a way that it ’ s clear he ’ s unaware she ’ s learning it in this moment , that , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of a fraternity at the University of Wisconsin , his son Harry attempted suicide .
Harry has since entered an in-patient program for depression in the Twin Cities , and is also confronting an opioid addiction , of which his parents previously had no inkling .
Irene has the almost overwhelming impulse to call her own sons at their colleges , both to ask if they know about Harry and to confirm that they themselves are O.K .
For the duration of lunch , she murmurs unoriginal but sincere expressions of sympathy , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ can do , inquires about the logistical aspects of Harry ’ s program .
She eats her entire salad , and Abe eats almost none of his .
She paid for both of them after they went through the line at the counter , so there ’ s no bill to signal the end of their time together .
She retroactively decides that this was a lunch where she was checking on Abe and not just including him in “ Interrogating.
” Not for the first time , it occurs to her that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of married heterosexual socializing , she is inadvertently demonstrating the isolation of modern life .
As she drives home , she considers abandoning the project .
Jack and his wife , Lori , are friends of friends .
Every New Year ’ s Eve , Irene and her husband attend a dinner party held by a couple on their street named Maude and Carl , both of them political-science professors currently on sabbatical in Prague .
Jack and Lori , who don ’ t live in the neighborhood , are the other guests @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Maude and Carl saying that if they were in town she ’ d try to cajole Carl into participating in her project , and asking for Jack ’ s e-mail address .
Carl replied , “ Irene , no cajolery would be required !
” Before supplying Jack ’ s e-mail , he described his recent visit to Prague ’ s National Gallery .
Maude replied , “ Carl and I regularly get coffee or a drink one-on-one with opposite-sex colleagues in our department .
Nothing untoward happens , and not only is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ encounters but that energy is important .
Expecting one ’ s spouse to supply the totality of one ’ s mental and social stimulation is childish .
On a more prosaic note , Irene , I see that the temperature in Minneapolis is dropping—could you turn our heat on to 55 degrees ?
” Irene has never been in direct , individual contact with Jack , and though she has consistently enjoyed talking to him on New Year ’ s Eve for the past five years , she has never seen him anywhere @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
He and his wife live in St. Paul , and Irene would have said he was an engineer , but she learns by Googling him that he ’ s actually a geologist at an engineering consulting firm .
She e-mails him and suggests meeting at a large brewery in Golden Valley that she knows is near his office .
She always arrives at these lunches early , but when she walks into the restaurant he ’ s already seated .
He stands as she approaches , smiling broadly .
“ It was @ @ @ @ @ @ @ you , ” he says .
After a tiny hesitation , they hug .

He insists on paying, and, because of how rich he is, she acquiesces. Before the waiter brings back Eddie’s credit card, Irene reaches into her bag for the Polaroid camera and the handwritten questionnaire, which is protected inside a linen folder. He fills it out in less than a minute, then grins gamely for the camera.
As the photo slides out, he says, “Now that you mention it, I’m rarely alone with a woman who isn’t Fara.” Gesturing across the table, he says, “For sure, not like this. But professionally, too. I guess it’s because financial planning is a male-dominated field. Where did you say your exhibit will be?”
Cartoon by Roz Chast Copy link to cartoon Copy link to cartoon Shop Shop
“I’m not nearly that far along,” Irene says. “I need to see how the project unfolds.” Fleetingly, she wonders if he envies the fact that she’s still making art or if he considers her a chump.
This is when, his expression thoughtful, he says, “I listen to a satellite radio station when I’m driving that plays—I guess you’d call it classics. And whenever a Cat Stevens song comes on, I think of the ceramics studio.”
“I know!” she says. “A Muzak version of ‘Peace Train’ was playing the other day at the grocery store!”
They smile at each other, and he says, “This was fun. Let’s do it again soon with Fara and Peter. Fara’s our designated calendar manager, so probably best if you e-mail her.”
In her car, Irene reads Eddie’s answers:
Date September 8, 2017 Name Edward Nicholas Walsh Age 49 Profession Co-founder, Walsh Askelson Capital Group When, prior to lunch today, did you last spend time alone with a woman who is not your wife? Professionally: sometimes work with associate named Megan, albeit usually not alone. Socially: can’t even remember . . . 2015? 2008? 1995? Are you aware of the Modesto Manifesto, also known as the Billy Graham Rule, also known as the Mike Pence Rule? N/A If so, what is your opinion of this rule? Seems weird When I invited you to lunch, what was your reaction? Was worried, glad you’re good!
Her original plan was to have lunch with a different man every week for a year. After making a list of plausible candidates—actual friends, acquaintances from the Twin Cities art world, long-ago Target co-workers, neighbors and former neighbors, fathers of her sons’ friends—she realized that fifty-two was far too ambitious. She got to twenty-one, but, when she subtracted those with whom she suspected even an hour-long lunch would be intolerably awkward, the list dropped to sixteen. Of the sixteen, two were single—one divorced, one never married—and weren’t single men exempt? Another two were gay, which raised a different question: Wouldn’t Irene’s ability not to fall in love with them and vice versa fail to rebut the threat of omnipresent and unbridled heterosexual lust implied by the Billy Graham Rule? On the other hand, how in the year 2017 could she exclude anyone for being gay and not somehow be siding with Pence?
She gave up on scheduling the lunches at even intervals. If she could recall spending time alone with a man in the past, no matter how long ago, she put an “A” next to his name; if he was gay, she put a “G”; if he was single, she put an “S,” though she decided against contacting the single men unless not enough of the married ones panned out.
In the mid-two-thousands, after Irene and her family moved back to Minneapolis, a man named Phillip was the coach of her sons’ hockey team; his own son was also on the team. This was during a period when Irene decided to fight her natural aversion to group activities, and she often signed up to provide team snacks. The seven- and eight-year-old boys met three times a week. Irene didn’t expect to like Phillip, which maybe made it easier to? He was extremely patient and clear when explaining to the kids the rules of hockey and his own expectations.
For lunch, they meet at a grass-fed-burger chain near the suburban office where he’s an insurance adjuster. She arrives first, and when he joins her she can feel immediately that he is confused but that, unlike Eddie, he will not ask why she has summoned him. Either Phillip is too reserved or they don’t know each other well enough anymore. As they make small talk about how their sons are doing at college, Phillip sits stiffly, almost sideways, and doesn’t smile.
This confusion is, of course, the point. And yet she can stand it for only five minutes after they order—if the artist in her is fine inducing discomfort, neither the Midwesterner nor the woman in her is. “So,” she says, “did you wonder why I suggested getting together?”
“I thought there’d be other people,” he says.
“Funny you should say that. Have you ever heard of the Billy Graham Rule or the Mike Pence Rule? It’s that, if you’re a married man, you don’t spend time alone with a woman, because it’s, you know, inappropriate.”
At the same time, she rolls her eyes and he says, “Makes sense.”
As she tries to remember if he’s religious, she says, “But the rule applies across the board, personally and professionally. Don’t you ever have a meeting with a colleague who’s female?”
“There’s a difference between talking to someone in the office and going out for a drink.”
“Do you remember that I’m a visual artist? I’m doing a project about the rule and”—she pauses—“people’s views on it.”
“What does ‘project’ mean?” He’s squinting grimly. “I don’t want to be part of a Facebook post.”
“No, it’s not for Facebook. And I wouldn’t include anyone without their permission. I’m taking photos and having the participants fill out a questionnaire.”
“Yeah, no,” he says. “I’ll take a pass.”
Their food arrives—a turkey burger for him, a veggie burger for her—and after the waiter walks away she says, “So, are you doing anything fun this weekend?”
This is how they get through the next twenty minutes—she is blandly inquisitive, he is standoffish—and then she says, “Regarding my project, if you agree with the premise of the Mike Pence Rule, that’s interesting. It’s interesting to feature some people who agree with it and some people who don’t. Would you be comfortable filling out the questionnaire anonymously?”
“I’ll pass on that.”
“I realize I’m violating the social contract here, but are you—did you—in the election—” Phillip looks at her blankly, and she says, “Are you a Trump supporter?”
“I don’t care for the President’s rhetoric, but Pence seems like a smart guy. Good ethics, good leadership.”
Once, in the third period of a tied hockey game, Irene’s son Colin scored a goal against his own team. His team lost, and afterward, while the little boys clustered off the ice and Colin blinked back tears, Phillip calmly told the team that everyone made mistakes, and what mattered wasn’t any particular moment or any one game but how they played together over a whole season.
At the restaurant, she says, “I wish I thought Pence was any better, but his homophobia, his abortion restrictions, plus the way he kowtows to Trump—I find it really scary.” Phillip says nothing, and she adds, “F.Y.I., a lot of my extended family is conservative.”
“Yeah, I’m not someone who argues about politics,” Phillip says.
At home, on her list, she writes a “U” next to his name, for unsuccessful.
If Irene’s life were a movie, it would be the third man she has lunch with who represents the breakthrough. The first two would be duds, and the third would change everything. But her life is not a movie. Still, although the third isn’t life-changing, he is delightful. The man is Ken, her former boss at Target, now sixty-eight years old, retired, and living on White Bear Lake. He demonstrates none of Eddie’s or Phillip’s apparent need for justification for why he and Irene are in each other’s presence. Instead, he’s palpably pleased to see her, and the conversation is wide-ranging: his upcoming vacation to Bermuda; their former co-workers; a six-hundred-page novel he just read, which he says left him sobbing at the end; and the very long story of a lawsuit filed by his adult niece against her sister based on the second niece’s claim that their mother had given her an amethyst bracelet before her death, which the first niece said her sister had taken without permission. Irene enjoys very long stories involving lawsuits, sisters, and bracelets, and asks many follow-up questions. Is it relevant that Ken is gay? She has amended his questionnaire accordingly.
While holding up the camera, she says, “You have a tiny bit of—” She runs the tip of her tongue between her own left central and lateral incisors.
“Bless you,” he says, and removes the kale remnant with his thumbnail.
Date 9/25/17 Name Ken Age 68 Profession Retired in 2015 as Senior Group Director at Target When, prior to lunch today, did you last spend time alone with a woman? I went for a walk over the weekend with my neighbor Sheila. When, prior to lunch today, did you last spend time alone with a man who is not your husband? I had dinner last week with my friend Reggie. (At Acqua, which was delicious by the way—not good for the waistline but a fantastic meal!) Are you aware of the Modesto Manifesto, also known as the Billy Graham Rule, also known as the Mike Pence Rule? Pretending gay people don’t exist won’t make us go away. This administration is nothing but a bunch of bigots and bullies. If so, what is your opinion of this rule? Utter horseshit. Give ’em hell, Irene! When I invited you to lunch, what was your reaction? What a creative person you are! I’m proud to have been your mentor.
Troy and Irene met five years ago, when they both had work featured in an exhibit of local artists at a gallery in Northeast; Troy’s medium is metal sculpture, usually alloy steel. They hit it off on opening night, after being cornered by a drunk gallery donor, and they began meeting every month or two for coffee. In addition to being the one Black man on Irene’s list, Troy is ten years younger, handsome, and married to a woman named Gabrielle, who’s a lawyer at a big downtown firm. But Irene rarely sees him anymore. Eighteen months into their friendship, Troy won a MacArthur Fellowship, and suddenly he was never in Minneapolis—instead, he was in Miami or New Delhi or London. When they meet, at a sushi place in Uptown, Irene hasn’t seen him in about a year.
The first fifteen minutes of their lunch are great. They gossip enthusiastically about the owner of the gallery where they met, who has just shared on Facebook that she’s a nudist. But then they don’t, as Irene had anticipated and despite her efforts, segue into discussing work. This was always Irene’s favorite part of having coffee with Troy—that they talked about the incremental progress of their art, his welding and her weaving, in such a nitty-gritty way that it might have been incomprehensible to a person overhearing. This time, when she asks about his current projects, he tells her that he’s having a show at a major gallery in Manhattan and also that he’s looking for an assistant, if she knows anyone. He asks her nothing about what she’s working on, to such a notable extent that she wonders if he believes that doing so would be bad manners, now that his success so overshadows hers.
Eventually, before taking his picture and requesting that he fill out the questionnaire, she describes “Interrogating Graham/Pence.” His expression is skeptical.
“What?” she says. “Do you think it’s a horrible idea?”
“It all depends on the execution.”
“Right,” she says. “Of course.”
“The part I’m not hearing is where it’s transformative. Where’s the alchemy? You have some Polaroids, some sheets of paper, and then what? That’s regurgitation, not transformation.”
He’s not wrong. But the way he’s saying it—it’s both practiced and distant, like there’s some invisible but enormous audience, like he’s giving a TED talk titled “Where’s the Alchemy?”
Sarcastically, she says, “Thanks for the encouragement,” and he says, “Hey, no one’s rooting for you more than I am.”
As she waits for him to complete the questionnaire, it occurs to her that she may never, after this, see him one on one—that he won’t initiate it, and neither will she.
Date October 4 Name Troy Maxwell Age 39 Profession Artist When, prior to lunch today, did you last spend time alone with a woman who is not your wife? Lunch yesterday with my agent in NY Are you aware of the Modesto Manifesto, also known as the Billy Graham Rule, also known as the Mike Pence Rule? If so, what is your opinion of this rule? When I invited you to lunch, what was your reaction? Hang in there, Irene
Instead of answering the second and third questions verbally, Troy has drawn a self-portrait with one eyebrow raised, his lips pursed in scorn. This is almost endearing enough to make her think they’ll remain friends, after all.
Man No. 5 is Abe, the father of a boy named Harry, who in elementary and middle school was the best friend of both of Irene’s sons. Irene was unsure whether to put an “A” next to Abe’s name, because she has in fact been alone with him many times, but never by design. Before their sons could drive, she stood in all seasons at her door while Abe dropped off or picked up his son at Irene’s house, or she stood at Abe’s door while dropping off or picking up her sons. They also stood next to each other, very much not alone—sometimes with Abe’s wife, Karla—in the bleachers at ice rinks and on the sidelines of soccer fields. All of which is to say that she has no idea if she and Abe know each other well or barely.
When Abe joins her, at a chopped-salad place near his office, his eyes fill with tears as he says that he realizes Karla put Irene up to this, but that she, Irene, is a good friend to reach out. It soon emerges, in such a way that it’s clear he’s unaware she’s learning it in this moment, that, ten days ago, in the basement of a fraternity at the University of Wisconsin, his son Harry attempted suicide. Harry has since entered an in-patient program for depression in the Twin Cities, and is also confronting an opioid addiction, of which his parents previously had no inkling. Irene has the almost overwhelming impulse to call her own sons at their colleges, both to ask if they know about Harry and to confirm that they themselves are O.K.
For the duration of lunch, she murmurs unoriginal but sincere expressions of sympathy, asks if there’s anything she can do, inquires about the logistical aspects of Harry’s program. She eats her entire salad, and Abe eats almost none of his. She paid for both of them after they went through the line at the counter, so there’s no bill to signal the end of their time together.
She retroactively decides that this was a lunch where she was checking on Abe and not just including him in “Interrogating.” Not for the first time, it occurs to her that perhaps, rather than exploring the customs of married heterosexual socializing, she is inadvertently demonstrating the isolation of modern life. As she drives home, she considers abandoning the project.
In October, the #MeToo movement attracts widespread attention, which means that Irene’s project has become more relevant, or more unsavory, or both. She plans to explain the project up front to Jack—Man No. 6—because, of everyone who made the cut, she probably knows him the least well.
Jack and his wife, Lori, are friends of friends. Every New Year’s Eve, Irene and her husband attend a dinner party held by a couple on their street named Maude and Carl, both of them political-science professors currently on sabbatical in Prague. Jack and Lori, who don’t live in the neighborhood, are the other guests.
Irene sent a joint e-mail to Maude and Carl saying that if they were in town she’d try to cajole Carl into participating in her project, and asking for Jack’s e-mail address. Carl replied, “Irene, no cajolery would be required!” Before supplying Jack’s e-mail, he described his recent visit to Prague’s National Gallery. Maude replied, “Carl and I regularly get coffee or a drink one-on-one with opposite-sex colleagues in our department. Nothing untoward happens, and not only is a certain extra energy part of these encounters but that energy is important. Expecting one’s spouse to supply the totality of one’s mental and social stimulation is childish. On a more prosaic note, Irene, I see that the temperature in Minneapolis is dropping—could you turn our heat on to 55 degrees?”