newyorker--2020-10-30--The Loneliness of the Pro-Choice Republican Woman

In 1981 , Cullman moved from New York City to Washington , D.C. , as a consummate Republican insider : her former husband , Larry Kudlow , advised President Ronald Reagan on economic policy , and Cullman joined the President ’ s task force on private-sector initiatives .
By that time , after a decade of courting Catholic voters and amid new efforts to sway evangelical Christians , the G.O.P .
had become less hospitable to pro-choice views .
Reagan and Bush had both turned against abortion rights , and the 1980 Republican Party platform supported a constitutional amendment that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ I would say , ‘ Larry , I just got a thing in the mail from Planned Parenthood—I think I ’ m going to send some money , ’ ” Cullman recalled .
“ And he would say , ‘ Well , don ’ t tell anybody.
’ ” ( A spokesperson for Kudlow denied that these exchanges ever took place . )
In 1991 , Cullman , by then divorced from Kudlow ( who is now director of the National Economic Council ) , joined a nascent advocacy organization and political-action committee @ @ @ @ @ @ @ former co-chair of the R.N.C.
, called the National Republican Coalition for Choice .
“ I discovered that I joined an Administration that was starting to reduce women ’ s ability to manage their own life , ” Cullman said .
“ So I was going to fight them , and I wanted to fight them on the inside.
” The group , renamed the Republican Majority for Choice ( R.M.C . )
in the early two-thousands , shut down operations two years ago , but many former R.M.C .
members remain close @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of them white and well-connected , to whom Cullman turned on the evening of Friday , September 18th .
She had just sat down to dinner with her stepson and his wife in her home in Stamford , Connecticut , when her stepson ’ s phone dinged .
“ Ginsburg died , ” he said .
“ I felt horror in my bones , just horror , ” Cullman said .
She left the dinner table , turned on MSNBC , and started e-mailing her “ old gang ” from the R.M.C .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ G.O.P .
leadership that the Party ’ s increasingly narrow outlook on abortion , as reflected in its platform , candidates , and judges , did not reflect the views of a majority of Republican voters .
The death of Ruth Bader Ginsburg , the liberal feminist icon , would give President Trump his third Supreme Court appointment , cementing the rightward turn of the court for a generation or more , and placing the future of Roe v. Wade in doubt .
The e-mail thread began in despair and moved to possible @ @ @ @ @ @ @ convince a handful of Republican senators to delay a vote on Ginsburg ’ s replacement .
Lisa Murkowski and Susan Collins , the last two pro-choice Republicans remaining in the Senate , confirmed that weekend that they would not support a vote on a Supreme Court nominee before the election .
( Murkowski reversed her position on October 24th . )
The group tried to think of other , relatively moderate Republicans who might be swayed to delay confirmation : Rob Portman , of Ohio ; Shelley Moore Capito , of West Virginia @ @ @ @ @ @ @ But none of the women had any current connections to Portman or Capito .
And , back in 2007 , ahead of the Presidential primaries , the R.M.C .
had run ads in Iowa and New Hampshire that called out Romney for his “ flip-flops ” on reproductive rights .
“ We realized , ” Cullman said , “ that we really didn ’ t have much of a leg to stand on.
” The eventual nominee , Amy Coney Barrett , is a devout Catholic ; as a professor at Notre Dame @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of University Faculty for Life , and she once signed her name to an ad calling Roe v. Wade “ barbaric.
” Barrett was confirmed to the Supreme Court on October 26th , with Collins as the lone Senate Republican voting against her .
Historically , Miller said , “ the Republican Party had the ability to have their cake and eat it , too—to speak to the base with a wedge issue and still maintain the support of white suburban women.
” Decades ago , Republican lawmakers could claim credit for many @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , as governor of California , Ronald Reagan liberalized the state ’ s abortion law .
Three years later , another Republican governor , Nelson Rockefeller , signed a bill , co-authored by the Republican assemblywoman Constance Cook , that made New York the first state in the country to legalize abortion without a residency requirement .
George H. W. Bush—a son of Prescott Bush , who was an early treasurer of Planned Parenthood—earned the nickname “ Rubbers ” for his support for contraceptive access .
As a freshman member of the House @ @ @ @ @ @ @ legislation that created Title X , the domestic family-planning program that the Trump Administration is now dismantling .
Yet , in the late nineteen-sixties , Republican strategists were beginning to identify blue-collar social conservatives as an untapped voter base .
These potential converts to the G.O.P .
cause included Southern whites and Catholic Democrats—the latter mostly Irish , Polish , and Italian immigrants , who were historically bound to Democrats through urban machines .
“ Men showed a strong anti-Democrat trend between 1960 and 1968 ; women showed considerably less change , ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ book “ The Emerging Republican Majority , ” from 1969 .
“ The new popular majority is white and conservative.
” Some of the Republican strategists of the time , such as Richard Viguerie and Paul Weyrich , were Catholic themselves , and sought to align themselves with an increasingly vocal Catholic leadership .
Weyrich identified abortion as a key wedge issue , “ perhaps the most effective ” of all the single-issue groups , as Michele McKeegan , the former executive director of California ’ s Six Rivers Planned Parenthood , wrote @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” from 1992 .
Donald Devine , another strategist , suggested wrapping traditional Republican priorities , such as lower taxes and smaller government , in a blanket of opposition to abortion rights , sexual freedom , and women ’ s liberation .
This approach , Devine argued , would heighten the Party ’ s appeal to a group of voters—twelve per cent of Americans , by his calculations—who didn ’ t vote Republican but held socially conservative values .
Phyllis Schlafly , the telegenic conservative who helped defeat the Equal Rights Amendment , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the name of family values .
By 1970 , Republican registrars stood outside of Catholic churches across California , ready to enlist voters who were frustrated by the state Democratic Party ’ s support for legal abortion .
Roe v. Wade , decided in 1973 , tightened this alliance .
Toward the end of the seventies , evangelical Christian leaders—such as Jerry Falwell , of the Moral Majority ; James Dobson , of Focus on the Family ; and Pat Robertson , the founder of the Christian Broadcasting Network—sensed an opportunity to align @ @ @ @ @ @ @ emerging Christian right ’ s enthusiasm for the issue , however , was not reflected among the rest of the Republican Party ’ s voting base .
In 1972 , a Gallup poll showed that sixty-eight per cent of Republicans believed that “ the decision to have an abortion should be made solely by a woman and her physician.
” These numbers remained steady , even rising at times , for the next two decades .
Even today , although polling indicates that clear majorities of Republican voters oppose abortion access and support @ @ @ @ @ @ @ shift significantly depending on how a question is posed .
In May and June of this year , when the N.I.R.H .
Action Fund polled voters in Arizona and Pennsylvania , sixty-one and sixty-five per cent of Republicans , respectively , agreed with the statement “ I can hold my own moral views about abortion and still trust a woman to make this decision for herself.
” Similar proportions of Republicans agreed that “ these decisions are best left to women , their families , and their doctors/healthcare providers.
” In the nineteen-nineties @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the National Republican Coalition for Choice ) , had chapters in nearly twenty states , an annual budget of a million dollars , and eight people working in its D.C. office .
Its political-action committee helped elect many pro-choice , moderate Republicans : Lisa Murkowski , of Alaska ; Lincoln Chafee , of Rhode Island ; Susan Molinari , of New York ; Christine Todd Whitman , of New Jersey ; Jodi Rell , of Connecticut ; Bill Weld , of Massachusetts ; and Susan Collins and Olympia Snowe , of Maine .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s views felt increasingly compelled to hide them .
“ They would say , ‘ I agree with you , but I got ta get elected first , ’ ” Cullman said .
“ We were so angry at what he did to reverse his opinion , just for political reasons , because he was running for President , ” Stockman said .
“ Mitt Romney totally manipulated us.
” ( A spokesperson for Romney did not respond to a request for comment . )
Like Cullman , Stockman was a Republican @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Stockman , a former Republican congressman for Michigan and President Reagan ’ s budget director from 1981 to 1985 .
“ The problem with our side was two things , ” Stockman said .
“ Our supporters would much rather play golf and tennis than go fill out mailers to get the vote out .
And they were more interested in their pocketbooks than they were social issues .
So they would vote Republican and say , ‘ Oh , well , Roe v. Wade won ’ t be overturned—we ’ re not @ @ @ @ @ @ @ co-founded the New York State Republican Family Committee , in 1984 , thought that the R.M.C .
lacked the political chops to play hardball with abortion opponents .
Melich had been a Republican since birth : her father was a Utah state senator , and in 1940 , as a preschooler , she had handed out pamphlets for the Republican Presidential candidate Wendell Willkie .
She later worked on the staff of Governor Rockefeller ; her own pro-choice organization was backed by wealthy Manhattan women with last names like Du Pont , Gimbel @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s view , her national pro-choice counterparts had misplaced faith in George H. W. Bush , whom many of them knew personally .
“ The pro-choice Republican women supported the Republican establishment , and the establishment played them , ” she said .
“ There was no fight.
” Melich stormed out of the 1992 Republican National Convention in disgust , and , in 1996 , published the book “ The Republican War AgainstWomen.
” In 2010 , the Republican Majority for Choice merged with the WISH List , a political-action committee aimed @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , but the organizations ’ combined forces had little effect .
There were few donors willing to write big checks to an increasingly steep uphill battle , and still fewer candidates who would run as pro-choice in what was becoming a monolithically pro-life party .
“ Looking back , we missed the state legislatures , the judicial appointments , ” Cullman said .
“ We were focussed on national politics.
” In the time Stockman had been involved with the R.M.C.
, at least a dozen former members of its board had quit @ @ @ @ @ @ @ whole thing was dwindling , ” she said .
“ There was nobody there.
” When the R.M.C .
shut down , in 2018 , Cullman and Susan Bevan , both national co-chairs , published an Op-Ed in the Times , titled “ Why We Are Leaving the G.O.P.
” “ We don ’ t have the space to outline President Trump ’ s transgressions , ” they wrote , “ but it is important to understand that his rise is an inevitable result of the hostility to women within the Republican culture.
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ has reinstated and expanded the global gag rule , which blocks funding for N.G.O.s that provide abortion services and counselling ; blocked patients who use Title X funding from choosing Planned Parenthood clinics ; and routed federal dollars toward religious groups that counsel against abortion .
Bevan said that she will still vote for moderate Republicans in Connecticut , where she is based .
In the 2016 election , she voted for Hillary Clinton after writing in Michael Bloomberg during previous cycles ; this year , she said , she is “ proudly @ @ @ @ @ @ @ she occasionally writes in her husband ’ s name for President , voted for Carly Fiorina in the 2016 primary , and voted for Biden .
Melich registered as a Democrat in 2018 .
Cullman did the same last month , and plans to vote for Biden .
In 1992 , delegates gathered in Salt Lake City to debate the Republican Party platform , which included a declaration that “ the unborn child has a fundamental individual right to life ” and supported “ a human life amendment to the Constitution.
” ( @ @ @ @ @ @ @ current G.O.P .
platform . )
Ahead of the hearings , Stone bought up billboards along the route from the Salt Lake City airport to the convention center that read , “ 68 % of the Party Can ’ t Be Wrong : Republicans for Choice.
” Her P.R .
flair was also evident at the hearings themselves , where she appeared on a panel on abortion issues .
Stone defended abortion rights before the roomful of delegates , expressed her support for sex education and contraception access , and , most provocatively @ @ @ @ @ @ @ strength of their convictions by becoming adoptive parents .
“ If you vote for the platform language as is , that would mandate more unwanted children be born , then , to show good faith , back up that commitment with action , and adopt , ” Stone told her audience .
“ I have sample adoption papers here for each of you.
” A woman then began distributing the applications to Stone ’ s fellow panelists , who included Phyllis Schlafly .
“ She about had a coronary during the hearing , @ @ @ @ @ @ @

Susan Cullman, a cigar heiress, philanthropist, and pro-choice activist, joined the Republican Party in the nineteen-seventies, when support for abortion rights was widely seen as consistent with conservative ideology. Barry Goldwater, the Republican candidate for President in 1964, was himself pro-choice, and his wife, Peggy, had helped to found an Arizona chapter of Planned Parenthood. “The conservative view at the time when Goldwater was around was that you don’t want the government in your life,” Cullman said. “The government isn’t supposed to enter your home, never mind your body.”
In 1981, Cullman moved from New York City to Washington, D.C., as a consummate Republican insider: her former husband, Larry Kudlow, advised President Ronald Reagan on economic policy, and Cullman joined the President’s task force on private-sector initiatives. By that time, after a decade of courting Catholic voters and amid new efforts to sway evangelical Christians, the G.O.P. had become less hospitable to pro-choice views. Reagan and Bush had both turned against abortion rights, and the 1980 Republican Party platform supported a constitutional amendment that would overturn Roe v. Wade. “I would say, ‘Larry, I just got a thing in the mail from Planned Parenthood—I think I’m going to send some money,’ ” Cullman recalled. “And he would say, ‘Well, don’t tell anybody.’ ” (A spokesperson for Kudlow denied that these exchanges ever took place.)
In 1991, Cullman, by then divorced from Kudlow (who is now director of the National Economic Council), joined a nascent advocacy organization and political-action committee founded by Mary Dent Crisp, the former co-chair of the R.N.C., called the National Republican Coalition for Choice. “I discovered that I joined an Administration that was starting to reduce women’s ability to manage their own life,” Cullman said. “So I was going to fight them, and I wanted to fight them on the inside.”
The group, renamed the Republican Majority for Choice (R.M.C.) in the early two-thousands, shut down operations two years ago, but many former R.M.C. members remain close. It was these women, all of them white and well-connected, to whom Cullman turned on the evening of Friday, September 18th. She had just sat down to dinner with her stepson and his wife in her home in Stamford, Connecticut, when her stepson’s phone dinged. “Ginsburg died,” he said.
“I felt horror in my bones, just horror,” Cullman said. She left the dinner table, turned on MSNBC, and started e-mailing her “old gang” from the R.M.C. These women had spent decades arguing to G.O.P. leadership that the Party’s increasingly narrow outlook on abortion, as reflected in its platform, candidates, and judges, did not reflect the views of a majority of Republican voters. The death of Ruth Bader Ginsburg, the liberal feminist icon, would give President Trump his third Supreme Court appointment, cementing the rightward turn of the court for a generation or more, and placing the future of Roe v. Wade in doubt.
The e-mail thread began in despair and moved to possible action. The group would need to convince a handful of Republican senators to delay a vote on Ginsburg’s replacement. Lisa Murkowski and Susan Collins, the last two pro-choice Republicans remaining in the Senate, confirmed that weekend that they would not support a vote on a Supreme Court nominee before the election. (Murkowski reversed her position on October 24th.) The group tried to think of other, relatively moderate Republicans who might be swayed to delay confirmation: Rob Portman, of Ohio; Shelley Moore Capito, of West Virginia; Mitt Romney, of Utah. But none of the women had any current connections to Portman or Capito. And, back in 2007, ahead of the Presidential primaries, the R.M.C. had run ads in Iowa and New Hampshire that called out Romney for his “flip-flops” on reproductive rights.
“We realized,” Cullman said, “that we really didn’t have much of a leg to stand on.” The eventual nominee, Amy Coney Barrett, is a devout Catholic; as a professor at Notre Dame Law School, she was a member of University Faculty for Life, and she once signed her name to an ad calling Roe v. Wade “barbaric.” Barrett was confirmed to the Supreme Court on October 26th, with Collins as the lone Senate Republican voting against her.
At the end of 2016, the National Institute for Reproductive Health (N.I.R.H.) conducted focus groups in Ohio and North Carolina that tried to deduce if Trump’s electoral success in those states indicated an over-all drop-off in support for reproductive rights. “These voters thought, He says lots of things, but maybe he doesn’t believe them all,” Andrea Miller, the president of the N.I.R.H., told me. “They didn’t believe that this”—rolling back abortion rights—“was truly the agenda.”
Historically, Miller said, “the Republican Party had the ability to have their cake and eat it, too—to speak to the base with a wedge issue and still maintain the support of white suburban women.”
Decades ago, Republican lawmakers could claim credit for many advances in reproductive rights. In 1967, as governor of California, Ronald Reagan liberalized the state’s abortion law. Three years later, another Republican governor, Nelson Rockefeller, signed a bill, co-authored by the Republican assemblywoman Constance Cook, that made New York the first state in the country to legalize abortion without a residency requirement. George H. W. Bush—a son of Prescott Bush, who was an early treasurer of Planned Parenthood—earned the nickname “Rubbers” for his support for contraceptive access. As a freshman member of the House Ways and Means Committee, Bush co-sponsored legislation that created Title X, the domestic family-planning program that the Trump Administration is now dismantling.
Yet, in the late nineteen-sixties, Republican strategists were beginning to identify blue-collar social conservatives as an untapped voter base. These potential converts to the G.O.P. cause included Southern whites and Catholic Democrats—the latter mostly Irish, Polish, and Italian immigrants, who were historically bound to Democrats through urban machines. “Men showed a strong anti-Democrat trend between 1960 and 1968; women showed considerably less change,” the strategist Kevin Phillips wrote in the book “The Emerging Republican Majority,” from 1969. “The new popular majority is white and conservative.” Some of the Republican strategists of the time, such as Richard Viguerie and Paul Weyrich, were Catholic themselves, and sought to align themselves with an increasingly vocal Catholic leadership.
Weyrich identified abortion as a key wedge issue, “perhaps the most effective” of all the single-issue groups, as Michele McKeegan, the former executive director of California’s Six Rivers Planned Parenthood, wrote in her book “Abortion Politics,” from 1992. Donald Devine, another strategist, suggested wrapping traditional Republican priorities, such as lower taxes and smaller government, in a blanket of opposition to abortion rights, sexual freedom, and women’s liberation. This approach, Devine argued, would heighten the Party’s appeal to a group of voters—twelve per cent of Americans, by his calculations—who didn’t vote Republican but held socially conservative values. Phyllis Schlafly, the telegenic conservative who helped defeat the Equal Rights Amendment, rallied women to the G.O.P. in the name of family values.
By 1970, Republican registrars stood outside of Catholic churches across California, ready to enlist voters who were frustrated by the state Democratic Party’s support for legal abortion. Roe v. Wade, decided in 1973, tightened this alliance. Toward the end of the seventies, evangelical Christian leaders—such as Jerry Falwell, of the Moral Majority; James Dobson, of Focus on the Family; and Pat Robertson, the founder of the Christian Broadcasting Network—sensed an opportunity to align themselves with powerful political forces.
The emerging Christian right’s enthusiasm for the issue, however, was not reflected among the rest of the Republican Party’s voting base. In 1972, a Gallup poll showed that sixty-eight per cent of Republicans believed that “the decision to have an abortion should be made solely by a woman and her physician.” These numbers remained steady, even rising at times, for the next two decades.
Even today, although polling indicates that clear majorities of Republican voters oppose abortion access and support anti-abortion candidates, their stated views can shift significantly depending on how a question is posed. In May and June of this year, when the N.I.R.H. Action Fund polled voters in Arizona and Pennsylvania, sixty-one and sixty-five per cent of Republicans, respectively, agreed with the statement “I can hold my own moral views about abortion and still trust a woman to make this decision for herself.” Similar proportions of Republicans agreed that “these decisions are best left to women, their families, and their doctors/healthcare providers.”


newyorker--2020-10-30--A Year Without Movie Buzz

A Year Without Movie Buzz

For much of the past year , movie theatres were closed nationwide ; now they ’ re open again in most states , and films are being shown in them , but studios are keeping their biggest releases on hold for now , and audiences are staying away .
The Regal Cinemas chain closed its doors altogether , nationwide ( but reopened a handful of theatres in New York State last week ) ; AMC is threatened with bankruptcy .
With American movie theatres teetering on the edge of extinction and , in any case , shunted into irrelevance , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ afflicting the art of film : the end of buzz .
It ’ s odd to think that it matters .
As buzz proliferated in recent decades , it seemed like mere noise—the distracting clamor of advertising and its amplification , publicity and its reprocessing , the substitution of celebrity adulation for critical perspective , the prioritizing of commercial success over artistic achievement .
I ’ ve complained often of such things .
But , with the disappearance of massive blockbuster publicity campaigns , the cutting off of star-studded film festivals , and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ new movies , the absence of buzz is eerie .
The movie world now reminds me of New York City in the early days of the pandemic , when the traffic was nearly stilled and the sidewalks nearly empty and one set of footsteps echoed with a disturbing prominence .
The world of movies , more than any time in recent memory , is a ghost town .
This current crisis isn ’ t a crisis of the art of movies—it has been a superb year for new releases , despite , or @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of major studio fare .
With the reduced impact of theatrical releases , many movies have been rushed into online distribution—whether on major streaming platforms , “ virtual cinemas ” on the Web sites of art-house theatres , or on less prominent , independent sites .
What ’ s more , many of these movies came along during the summer , when in ordinary times they ’ d have been competing with studio behemoths and Hollywood-adjacent releases .
Yet , far from benefitting from the otherwise bare cinemascape , these virtual art-house releases @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a void .
This muffled attention suggests that prominence isn ’ t a zero-sum game .
Instead , it points to an odd , perhaps dismaying view of the world of movies , and of the connection between the art and the business : the rising tide of publicity and its echoes seems to lift all boats .
More than serving only the fortunes of individual films ( and sometimes not serving them at all—big movies do flop ) , the buzz of advertising and advertorials turns out to serve the medium and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the buzz , it ’ s not just the media environment that seems quiet , too quiet—it ’ s the world of movies as well .
What we think of as “ buzz ” is a historically determined development .
Box-office reporting became a major phenomenon only in the nineteen-eighties , and it soon became part of the mainstream press coverage of Hollywood , amplified by the hectic blare of cable news and entertainment TV .
( By contrast , in today ’ s age of streaming , there ’ s very little @ @ @ @ @ @ @ digital releases—even with supposed successes , such as the “ Borat ” sequel . )
Around the same time , pop-movie culture got another kind of buzz , from within—from the infra-referential cinephilia of a new generation of directors , such as Martin Scorsese , Steven Spielberg , and Joe Dante ( followed by Quentin Tarantino , Wes Anderson , and others ) .
Viewers became accustomed to watching movies that referenced other movies and to reading the inside scoop on the business—and the technique and personalities—involved in making them .
This engagement @ @ @ @ @ @ @ video ( which took the obsessive viewing of classics and personal favorites out of the cinephilic cloister and made it an ordinary part of daily life ) , opened new dimensions of experience for audiences , allowing viewers to identify with the behind-the-scenes world of moviemaking along with whatever was taking place onscreen , and fostering a new kind of amped-up movie mania .
Developments of recent decades—the rise of blockbusters , the din of the Internet—have sent this movie madness into warp speed , while also clarifying the odd connection between the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the art .
Learning the backstory behind franchise plotting , casting , and special effects , gauging fan reaction ( even far ahead of time ) , tracking a film ’ s level of commercial success and failure : for Hollywood movies , all of this has become as much a part of the movie-viewing experience as the viewing itself .
And the corpspeak and engineered hype that goes into the making of movie buzz , impersonal and numbing as it may be , is a large part of what enables this sense @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to the films themselves .
Just as the rustles and whispers ( and popcorn-chomping and soda-slurping ) in a movie-theatre audience is the sonic mark of moviegoing , so buzz conjures the rustlings behind the screen—buzz is the sound of people working on movies , whether on the set or the editing suite or the boardroom , in publicity offices and newsrooms and television stations , and even at the keyboards of critics .
And although many people in the industry are , despite dire circumstances , devotedly and imaginatively bringing out and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ online film festivals , special series , and great revivals—the thinning of theatrical releases has made this often heroic activity seem quiet , even confidential .
Although viewing movies alone at home , often on a small laptop screen , has its aesthetic benefits ( as I wrote earlier this year ) , its downside goes beyond the lack of revenue from ticket sales in a theatre-dependent industry ; in the absence of a scene , of a sense of spectacle , it ’ s hard to even conceive of what ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of blockbusters has coincided with a new generation of independent filmmakers , many of whom have launched careers more rapidly than their elders .
These independents have advanced in the same ecosystem that has brought billions to the studios ; many of the same publications and Web sites cover both kinds of movies , amplifying studio films as well as independent ones .
I share Martin Scorsese ’ s dismay at the artistic results of many ( or most ) of the franchise films that get made and at the anti-creative , corporatized @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Yet we ’ re being reminded , now , that they inhabit the same environment as independent filmmaking .
Some of the same people work in both ( Adam Driver , for instance , appears in “ Star Wars ” as well as in Jim Jarmusch ’ s “ The Dead Don ’ t Die ” ) , and the success of franchises effectively launders the money from their corporate overlords into independent filmmaking , allowing actors and crew to take on ambitious low-budget projects that they know won ’ t lead to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ streaming these past months may well have pushed many wonderful movies into wide availability online , movies that might otherwise have remained in extremely limited local theatrical release ( or might never have been released theatrically at all ) .
But what does it matter , if they are being released into an ecosystem that is parched ?
The immediate splash a film makes is not necessarily related to its ultimate place in the annals of the art form : to take just one recent example , Spike Lee ’ s “ Bamboozled @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in the Criterion Collection , has a mere fifty-two per cent Rotten Tomatoes rating and was scantly viewed at the time of its release .
But the deadening of buzz will reverberate in other ways , with potentially grave consequences .
If a film proves a commercial failure ( or , for that matter , if the markers of success remain vague or undisclosed ) , its director , actors , and other participants may face hurdles finding work again when the world of moviemaking comes back to life .
I worry that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ now will prove to be the sound of stifled careers .

For much of the past year, movie theatres were closed nationwide; now they’re open again in most states, and films are being shown in them, but studios are keeping their biggest releases on hold for now, and audiences are staying away. The Regal Cinemas chain closed its doors altogether, nationwide (but reopened a handful of theatres in New York State last week); AMC is threatened with bankruptcy. With American movie theatres teetering on the edge of extinction and, in any case, shunted into irrelevance, a strange and tragicomic side effect is afflicting the art of film: the end of buzz. It’s odd to think that it matters. As buzz proliferated in recent decades, it seemed like mere noise—the distracting clamor of advertising and its amplification, publicity and its reprocessing, the substitution of celebrity adulation for critical perspective, the prioritizing of commercial success over artistic achievement. I’ve complained often of such things. But, with the disappearance of massive blockbuster publicity campaigns, the cutting off of star-studded film festivals, and the near-total shutdown of the production of new movies, the absence of buzz is eerie. The movie world now reminds me of New York City in the early days of the pandemic, when the traffic was nearly stilled and the sidewalks nearly empty and one set of footsteps echoed with a disturbing prominence. The world of movies, more than any time in recent memory, is a ghost town.
This current crisis isn’t a crisis of the art of movies—it has been a superb year for new releases, despite, or quite possibly because of, the lack of major studio fare. With the reduced impact of theatrical releases, many movies have been rushed into online distribution—whether on major streaming platforms, “virtual cinemas” on the Web sites of art-house theatres, or on less prominent, independent sites. What’s more, many of these movies came along during the summer, when in ordinary times they’d have been competing with studio behemoths and Hollywood-adjacent releases. Yet, far from benefitting from the otherwise bare cinemascape, these virtual art-house releases have been delivered into what seems like a void.
This muffled attention suggests that prominence isn’t a zero-sum game. Instead, it points to an odd, perhaps dismaying view of the world of movies, and of the connection between the art and the business: the rising tide of publicity and its echoes seems to lift all boats. More than serving only the fortunes of individual films (and sometimes not serving them at all—big movies do flop), the buzz of advertising and advertorials turns out to serve the medium and the art form at large. Without the buzz, it’s not just the media environment that seems quiet, too quiet—it’s the world of movies as well.
What we think of as “buzz” is a historically determined development. Box-office reporting became a major phenomenon only in the nineteen-eighties, and it soon became part of the mainstream press coverage of Hollywood, amplified by the hectic blare of cable news and entertainment TV. (By contrast, in today’s age of streaming, there’s very little reported data regarding viewership and revenue from digital releases—even with supposed successes, such as the “Borat” sequel.) Around the same time, pop-movie culture got another kind of buzz, from within—from the infra-referential cinephilia of a new generation of directors, such as Martin Scorsese, Steven Spielberg, and Joe Dante (followed by Quentin Tarantino, Wes Anderson, and others). Viewers became accustomed to watching movies that referenced other movies and to reading the inside scoop on the business—and the technique and personalities—involved in making them. This engagement, along with the rise of home video (which took the obsessive viewing of classics and personal favorites out of the cinephilic cloister and made it an ordinary part of daily life), opened new dimensions of experience for audiences, allowing viewers to identify with the behind-the-scenes world of moviemaking along with whatever was taking place onscreen, and fostering a new kind of amped-up movie mania.
Developments of recent decades—the rise of blockbusters, the din of the Internet—have sent this movie madness into warp speed, while also clarifying the odd connection between the business of movies and the heights of the art. Learning the backstory behind franchise plotting, casting, and special effects, gauging fan reaction (even far ahead of time), tracking a film’s level of commercial success and failure: for Hollywood movies, all of this has become as much a part of the movie-viewing experience as the viewing itself. And the corpspeak and engineered hype that goes into the making of movie buzz, impersonal and numbing as it may be, is a large part of what enables this sense of connection to the filmmaking process and to the films themselves.
Just as the rustles and whispers (and popcorn-chomping and soda-slurping) in a movie-theatre audience is the sonic mark of moviegoing, so buzz conjures the rustlings behind the screen—buzz is the sound of people working on movies, whether on the set or the editing suite or the boardroom, in publicity offices and newsrooms and television stations, and even at the keyboards of critics. And although many people in the industry are, despite dire circumstances, devotedly and imaginatively bringing out and calling attention to wonderful new movies—and even online film festivals, special series, and great revivals—the thinning of theatrical releases has made this often heroic activity seem quiet, even confidential. Although viewing movies alone at home, often on a small laptop screen, has its aesthetic benefits (as I wrote earlier this year), its downside goes beyond the lack of revenue from ticket sales in a theatre-dependent industry; in the absence of a scene, of a sense of spectacle, it’s hard to even conceive of what’s happening behind the scenes.
The age of blockbusters has coincided with a new generation of independent filmmakers, many of whom have launched careers more rapidly than their elders. These independents have advanced in the same ecosystem that has brought billions to the studios; many of the same publications and Web sites cover both kinds of movies, amplifying studio films as well as independent ones. I share Martin Scorsese’s dismay at the artistic results of many (or most) of the franchise films that get made and at the anti-creative, corporatized process by which they are created. Yet we’re being reminded, now, that they inhabit the same environment as independent filmmaking. Some of the same people work in both (Adam Driver, for instance, appears in “Star Wars” as well as in Jim Jarmusch’s “The Dead Don’t Die”), and the success of franchises effectively launders the money from their corporate overlords into independent filmmaking, allowing actors and crew to take on ambitious low-budget projects that they know won’t lead to enormous paydays.
The sudden primacy of streaming these past months may well have pushed many wonderful movies into wide availability online, movies that might otherwise have remained in extremely limited local theatrical release (or might never have been released theatrically at all). But what does it matter, if they are being released into an ecosystem that is parched? The immediate splash a film makes is not necessarily related to its ultimate place in the annals of the art form: to take just one recent example, Spike Lee’s “Bamboozled,” from 2000 and newly canonized in the Criterion Collection, has a mere fifty-two per cent Rotten Tomatoes rating and was scantly viewed at the time of its release. But the deadening of buzz will reverberate in other ways, with potentially grave consequences. If a film proves a commercial failure (or, for that matter, if the markers of success remain vague or undisclosed), its director, actors, and other participants may face hurdles finding work again when the world of moviemaking comes back to life. I worry that the lack of buzz in movies right now will prove to be the sound of stifled careers.


newyorker--2020-10-31--Things I Don’t Want to See in My Rearview Mirror on Halloween

The guy from “ Saw ” tailgating me while using the puppet from “ Saw ” to drive , making the tailgating even more dangerous .
The guy from “ Saw ” tailgating me and screaming out of his window that his name is Jigsaw , and that there are lots of people who could be considered to be “ the guy from Saw , ” so I need to refer to him in a less ambiguous manner .
The “ It ” clown drinking and driving in a cop car .
The “ It ” clown drinking and driving @ @ @ @ @ @ @ flying a Thin Blue Line flag .
Hannibal Lecter holding a recipe book titled “ Good Eating Man , ” but , when he moves his arm that was around the front of the book , it reads “ How to Feel Good Eating a Man.
” Freddy Krueger climbing onto the back of my car , obscuring my view of what ’ s going on behind me on the highway .
Freddy Krueger climbing onto the back of my car and placing a large MAGA bumper sticker on my back window that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Freddy Krueger climbing onto the back of my car and using his finger knives to slowly scrape off the MAGA sticker , making an awful scratching noise inside the car and leaving it half scratched off , only to put on an even bigger QAnon bumper sticker after finishing .
The girl from “ The Exorcist ” speeding because she ’ s about to give birth and is trying to reach a hospital to safely deliver her demon spawn .
The girl from “ The Exorcist ” screaming through her window at me @ @ @ @ @ @ @ unfair of me to assume that her children will be demon spawn .
Dracula flying extremely close to my rear window , waiting for me to brake so he can smash through it and sue me in a frivolous personal-injury lawsuit .
The lawyer that I hired to fight against the lawsuit being bitten by Dracula .
The reflection of Dracula , which means that this is not , in fact , Dracula , but just a guy who has dressed up that way , built a working flying machine , and murdered @ @ @ @ @ @ @ reason , which is perhaps even scarier than the real Dracula .
Jack Nicholson as Jack Torrance , from “ The Shining , ” using an axe to smash through my rear window , thereby ruining my no-claims bonus on my insurance .
Jack Nicholson as Melvin Udall , from “ As Good As It Gets , ” using the dog from the film , Verdell , to smash through my rear window , thereby creating a horrible mess and ruining my no-claims bonus .
My own reflection , realizing that the scariest @ @ @ @ @ @ @ going on a journey of self-discovery .

The guy from “Saw” tailgating me.
The guy from “Saw” tailgating me while using the puppet from “Saw” to drive, making the tailgating even more dangerous.
The guy from “Saw” tailgating me and screaming out of his window that his name is Jigsaw, and that there are lots of people who could be considered to be “the guy from Saw,” so I need to refer to him in a less ambiguous manner.
The “It” clown drinking and driving.
The “It” clown drinking and driving in a cop car.
The “It” clown drinking and driving in a decommissioned military-police tank that is flying a Thin Blue Line flag.
Hannibal Lecter holding a recipe book titled “Good Eating Man,” but, when he moves his arm that was around the front of the book, it reads “How to Feel Good Eating a Man.”
Freddy Krueger climbing onto the back of my car, obscuring my view of what’s going on behind me on the highway.
Freddy Krueger climbing onto the back of my car and placing a large MAGA bumper sticker on my back window that is almost impossible to get off.
Freddy Krueger climbing onto the back of my car and using his finger knives to slowly scrape off the MAGA sticker, making an awful scratching noise inside the car and leaving it half scratched off, only to put on an even bigger QAnon bumper sticker after finishing.
The girl from “The Exorcist” speeding because she’s about to give birth and is trying to reach a hospital to safely deliver her demon spawn.
The girl from “The Exorcist” screaming through her window at me, pointing out that it’s unfair of me to assume that her children will be demon spawn.
Dracula flying extremely close to my rear window, waiting for me to brake so he can smash through it and sue me in a frivolous personal-injury lawsuit.
The lawyer that I hired to fight against the lawsuit being bitten by Dracula.
The reflection of Dracula, which means that this is not, in fact, Dracula, but just a guy who has dressed up that way, built a working flying machine, and murdered a lawyer, all for no apparent reason, which is perhaps even scarier than the real Dracula.
Jack Nicholson as Jack Torrance, from “The Shining,” using an axe to smash through my rear window, thereby ruining my no-claims bonus on my insurance.
Jack Nicholson as Melvin Udall, from “As Good As It Gets,” using the dog from the film, Verdell, to smash through my rear window, thereby creating a horrible mess and ruining my no-claims bonus.
My own reflection, realizing that the scariest thing is confronting my inner demons and going on a journey of self-discovery.


newyorker--2020-10-31--The Fight to Turn Georgia Blue

The Fight to Turn Georgia Blue

When Roy Barnes was running for governor of Georgia , as a Democrat , in 1998 , he could see that his party ’ s traditional coalition in the state was falling apart .
For three decades , its base had consisted of urban Black voters and rural white voters .
But the latter group “ were voting more and more Republican—and there were fewer of them , ” he told me recently .
He managed to win , with the help of moderate white voters in Cobb County , then a largely conservative area , where he lived .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ reëlection .
He tried hard , as governor , to appeal to white suburban women .
“ We emphasized education , ” he said .
“ We created a child tax credit .
All these things that appeal to working white women in the suburbs .
But I was ahead of the demographic shift—they didn ’ t come around fast enough.
” He lost by five points , in 2002 , to Sonny Perdue , who became the state ’ s first Republican governor since Reconstruction , a hundred and thirty years before @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s Secretary of Agriculture . )
Barnes probably hurt his chances by supporting the removal of the Confederate emblem from the state flag .
“ That stopped the rural whites from voting Democrat , ” he told me .
In the years since , only one Democrat in Georgia , Michael Thurmond—who was elected labor commissioner , in 1998 , and reëlected twice—has won statewide office of any kind .
Barnes ran and lost again in 2010 .
Since leaving office , he has watched Republicans become “ more and more reactionary @ @ @ @ @ @ @ now the moderates , the Republicans who were my friends , are gone.
” He mentioned Johnny Isakson , who retired from the Senate last year , and was replaced by Kelly Loeffler , a conservative businesswoman .
Loeffler was appointed by Georgia ’ s current governor , Brian Kemp—partly in an attempt , it seems , to shore up support among white suburban women .
But Loeffler , who ’ s now running in a “ jungle primary ” against twenty other candidates from both parties , has moved right to fend @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ads that claim she is “ more conservative than Attila the Hun , ” and has touted the endorsement of Marjorie Taylor Greene , a congressional candidate known for having espoused QAnon .
When Loeffler was asked , at a debate , whether there is anything Trump has said or done that she disagrees with , she said no .
Loeffler ’ s chief Republican challenger is Doug Collins , a four-term congressman from a largely rural district in North Georgia , who recently announced a “ Trump Defender Statewide Tour , ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in his Chevrolet Suburban followed by a van “ that runs on liberal tears.
” The choice of vehicles serve as a contrast with Loeffler , who has spent twenty-three million dollars of her own money on the campaign , and often travels on a private jet .
The Suburban recently broke down while Collins campaigned with Carter Page .
I asked a spokesman for Collins whether it was fair to say that he and Loeffler have emphasized their support for Trump in order to appeal to conservative voters , possibly at the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ poking fun at Loeffler ’ s “ makeover , ” noting her friendship with Mitt Romney , and saying “ she seems about as comfortable as a vegan at a steakhouse.
” A Loeffler spokesman responded , in an e-mail , by calling Collins “ a career politician ” who has voted with Nancy Pelosi .
“ The only reason he wants the Senate seat is so he can keep lining his pockets with cash from lobbyists and Big Tech , ” the spokesman added .
Polls show Loeffler and Collins splitting the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ candidate , Raphael Warnock , pulling ahead .
( Georgia is one of two states that requires candidates to win a majority of votes to avoid a runoff—a requirement that dates back to the Jim Crow era—so the top two finishers will likely square off in January . )
Warnock is the pastor at Martin Luther King , Jr. , ’ s old church , Ebenezer Baptist , in Atlanta ; he presided over the funeral for the late congressman John Lewis , in July , and boasts endorsements from Barack Obama , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ called Warnock “ the new star in the Democratic Party of Georgia.
” Warnock has taken relatively moderate policy positions : he told me that he wants to “ strengthen the Affordable Care Act , ” possibly with a public option , rather than pushing for Medicare for All , and he speaks about “ responsibly funding law enforcement , ” not defunding the police .
He raised thirteen million dollars last quarter .
The only other Democrat in the race to get much attention , Matthew Lieberman , the son of former @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for past fund-raisers he ’ s held for Republicans , including Lindsey Graham , and is fading in the polls .
Isakson ’ s retirement made Georgia ’ s 2020 election doubly significant : the other Senate seat , currently held by the Republican David Perdue , Sonny ’ s cousin , was already set to come up this year .
Perdue , a former management consultant who became the C.E.O .
of Reebok and then of Dollar General , was first elected in 2014 , when he mostly touted his business record @ @ @ @ @ @ @ faces just one opponent , the Democrat Jon Ossoff , in November ; he hasn ’ t been pushed to make quite the show of fealty to Trump as they have .
Still , he spoke at a recent Trump rally , in Macon , and , in his remarks , he used the first name of fellow-senator and Vice-Presidential candidate Kamala Harris as a racist laugh line , referring to her as “ Ka-mala , mala , mala , I don ’ t know , whatever.
” ( A spokesperson for Perdue @ @ @ @ @ @ @ senator “ didn ’ t mean anything by it.
” ) His campaign was previously criticized for a Facebook ad that enlarged Ossoff ’ s nose in a seeming effort to call attention to his Jewishness .
( The ad also featured Chuck Schumer and the all-caps warning “ DEMOCRATS ARE TRYING TO BUY GEORGIA !
” Perdue took down the ad . )
Ossoff , who ’ s thirty-three , rose to prominence during a losing special election for Georgia ’ s Sixth Congressional District , in 2017 , for which he @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
This time around , he has been more full-throated in his critique of Trump and his Republican opponent .
He raised a state-record twenty-one million dollars last quarter , and multiple polls have shown him tied with Perdue , who recently pulled out of the final debate , opting instead to participate in a Trump rally in northwest Georgia .
Barnes is optimistic .
“ There ’ s a new coalition to be made , which is forming right now , ” he said .
“ Suburban white women , African-Americans , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ old white-haired Democrats like me.
” He believes that this coalition will elect both Warnock and Ossoff and deliver the state ’ s electoral votes to Joe Biden .
Trump ’ s campaign manager has told reporters that he is “ very , very confident in our standing in Georgia.
” Trump and his top surrogates have visited the state , and the campaign has spent a lot of money here .
Biden ’ s press secretary , T. J. Ducklo , told me , “ Georgia is an important part of our @ @ @ @ @ @ @ moment to 1976 , when the state ’ s native son Jimmy Carter defeated Gerald Ford , two years after Watergate .
“ The true test , ” he added , “ is whether the Democrats take the Georgia House of Representatives this year .
That ’ s more difficult .
But it could happen.
” Republicans currently have a thirty-seat advantage among state representatives ; the gap looks likely to shrink , but “ it would take quite a blue wave ” to erase it , Barnes said .
Barnes , who @ @ @ @ @ @ @ two personal anecdotes as evidence that change is afoot .
First , he mentioned “ an old-time Republican client of mine—you ’ d recognize him—a very thoughtful and religious Republican , who called me yesterday and said , ‘ I just went to vote and I voted for Joe Biden.
’ ” Barnes asked him why .
“ He said , ‘ I think Donald Trump is a threat to democracy.
’ ” This friend was not a fan of Kamala Harris , Barnes said , but had overcome his reluctance to vote @ @ @ @ @ @ @ down-ballot Democrats for the first time .
Barnes ’ s second anecdote was about going to his local precinct , in a conservative Atlanta suburb , to drop off the ballots he and his wife had filled out .
( Early voting started in Georgia on October 12th . )
“ I got out , and there were three or four people there , ” he said .
“ All white , all older .
I put my votes in .
I had my mask on .
One of the ladies spoke up @ @ @ @ @ @ @ put two in for Joe Biden.
’ And I said , ‘ Well , I just put in two as well.
’ The other lady wouldn ’ t say , so I assume she voted for Trump .
But when you have four out of six votes from older whites for Joe Biden , I know things are changing.
” Of all the people I spoke to who follow politics professionally—from academics , to consultants , to elected officials—nobody believed that Biden would win Georgia by seven points , or even that he @ @ @ @ @ @ @ thought the state would be the most competitive it had been since 1996 , when Bill Clinton lost the state to Bob Dole by a little under three points .
Democratic Presidential candidates have lost Georgia in every election since , often by large margins ; in 2016 , Trump won it by five .
In the past four years , a million new voters have been added to the state ’ s rolls , and many of them are young and nonwhite .
“ There are more latent Democrats here now , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ at Emory University , told me .
“ You ’ ve got white transplants who aren ’ t conservative .
You ’ ve got the African-American base .
New Asian-American and Hispanic voters coming to the state .
They all break Democratic.
” Stacey Abrams , a former state legislator who has directed local voter-registration efforts , mobilized this coalition in her race for governor two years ago .
She lost to Kemp by just fifty thousand votes , out of nearly four million cast .
Kemp was then Georgia ’ s secretary @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of the election ; Abrams pointed to long lines and voting-machine malfunctions at majority-Black precincts as evidence of voter suppression .
Days before the election , Kemp publicly opened an investigation into the Georgia Democratic Party for a “ failed hacking attempt ” of the voter-registration system ; it was later determined that the computer activity in question was conducted by the Department of Homeland Security , and had been approved by Kemp ’ s office three months before .
In a tight race , such shenanigans can be decisive ; so can @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , Georgians are voting early at twice the rate they did four years ago ; more than a dozen counties have already surpassed their total 2016 turnout .
The two groups that Democrats used to count on in the state , urban Black voters and rural white voters , are expected to show up in droves , but , as Dave Wasserman , of the Cook Political Report , recently noted , confident projections for nonwhite rural voters are harder to come by .
I spoke to Royce Reeves , Sr. , a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ voted for Trump in 2016 but who is now driving Democrats to the polls , in a funeral limousine , to vote for Biden .
“ Yesterday , five hundred people did early voting , ” Reeves told me .
“ I haven ’ t seen that before.
” “ Everybody is concerned , ” a longtime Republican strategist in the state , who spoke with me on the condition of anonymity , said .
The strategist acknowledged that the record amount of early voting probably benefitted Democrats , and that Trump ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ had likely hurt him .
“ Republican enthusiasm , or trust , in voting by mail plummeted in response to the stuff that the President is saying , ” he said .
“ And that ’ s dangerous !
We want those votes in the bank !
” Trump ’ s first debate performance had also made things harder , the strategist said .
“ I was watching that shitshow thinking , The gettable white women are gon na hate this , and they ’ re gon na blame Trump for this.
” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s handling of the economy and his emphasis on “ law and order ” —by which Trump generally means aggressive police tactics used in response to protests for racial equality—would tilt the race in the President ’ s favor .
“ Those suburban white women who voted for Abrams and don ’ t like Trump , many are appalled by the Democrats ’ rhetoric , or silence , when it comes to the violence and rioting in American cities , ” the strategist said .
“ They don ’ t feel like @ @ @ @ @ @ @ it stays quiet all this month , I think it helps Democrats .
If another city burns—if we have another Kenosha—that ’ s good for Republicans.
” ( Nationally , at least , polls conducted in the wake of protests that involved looting and rioting have not shown swings toward Trump . )
The strategist added , “ I feel in my bones that Trump has lost ground here in recent weeks , since that debate .
I don ’ t think the bottom has fallen out from under him , but it @ @ @ @ @ @ @ happen.
” Crenshaw began his efforts with his family , in north Atlanta .
His father , a construction manager , and one of his older sisters , a nurse , were unmoved by his arguments .
But his mother , who is also a nurse , seemed persuadable .
“ At the beginning of his Presidency , she would always say , ‘ But the economy is strong , ’ and now she can ’ t say that , ” Crenshaw told me in the spring , when we first spoke .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ Trump ’ s actions and rising cases of the coronavirus .
“ I don ’ t think she can take much more of this , ” he said , in late May , the day before the United States reached a hundred thousand COVID-19 deaths .
But , for a long time , her support for Trump didn ’ t waver .
Moscato and Crenshaw found kindred spirits , but they were mostly , Moscato told me , “ Republicans who didn ’ t vote for Trump in 2016 or haven ’ t @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the leaves turned , Moscato and Crenshaw seized on little breakthroughs .
In late September , shortly after the death of Ruth Bader Ginsburg , Crenshaw ’ s older sister , an accounts manager in north Atlanta , began writing anti-Trump posts on social media , and finally committed to voting for Biden .
She decided against voting for Loeffler , too , and was considering supporting Ossoff—because , as Crenshaw put it , Perdue had “ just sucked up way too much to Trump.
” In October , Crenshaw said that his @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ d vote for Biden , and also for Warnock .
“ It was really the mishandling and manipulation of the pandemic , ” Crenshaw told me , “ by Trump as well as Kelly Loeffler , who she just can ’ t stand .
And , of course , the steady rising of cases.
” Meanwhile , a friend of Moscato ’ s , whom she described as “ long-respected in Republican circles , ” texted her to say that , although he had voted for Trump in 2016 , he would @ @ @ @ @ @ @ last straw , ” he wrote , was an audio recording of Trump speaking with the journalist Bob Woodward , in which he acknowledged the risks of the coronavirus and said that he wanted to “ play it down.
” Moscato ’ s friend even read Woodward ’ s book , Moscato said .
In a text to her , he wrote , “ If Trump had moved on the Coronavirus as quickly as he has on RBG ’ s replacement nomination , the world would be a much different place .
”

When Roy Barnes was running for governor of Georgia, as a Democrat, in 1998, he could see that his party’s traditional coalition in the state was falling apart. For three decades, its base had consisted of urban Black voters and rural white voters. But the latter group “were voting more and more Republican—and there were fewer of them,” he told me recently. He managed to win, with the help of moderate white voters in Cobb County, then a largely conservative area, where he lived. But he needed a new strategy for reëlection. He tried hard, as governor, to appeal to white suburban women. “We emphasized education,” he said. “We created a child tax credit. All these things that appeal to working white women in the suburbs. But I was ahead of the demographic shift—they didn’t come around fast enough.” He lost by five points, in 2002, to Sonny Perdue, who became the state’s first Republican governor since Reconstruction, a hundred and thirty years before. (Perdue is now Donald Trump’s Secretary of Agriculture.) Barnes probably hurt his chances by supporting the removal of the Confederate emblem from the state flag. “That stopped the rural whites from voting Democrat,” he told me. In the years since, only a few Democrats in Georgia, including the former labor commissioner Michael Thurmond, have won statewide office of any kind. Barnes ran and lost again in 2010.
Since leaving office, he has watched Republicans become “more and more reactionary,” he said. “And now the moderates, the Republicans who were my friends, are gone.” He mentioned Johnny Isakson, who retired from the Senate last year, and was replaced by Kelly Loeffler, a conservative businesswoman. Loeffler was appointed by Georgia’s current governor, Brian Kemp—partly in an attempt, it seems, to shore up support among white suburban women. But Loeffler, who’s now running in a “jungle primary” against twenty other candidates from both parties, has moved right to fend off fellow-Republicans. She’s run ads that claim she is “more conservative than Attila the Hun,” and has touted the endorsement of Marjorie Taylor Greene, a congressional candidate known for having espoused QAnon. When Loeffler was asked, at a debate, whether there is anything Trump has said or done that she disagrees with, she said no. Loeffler’s chief Republican challenger is Doug Collins, a four-term congressman from a largely rural district in North Georgia, who recently announced a “Trump Defender Statewide Tour,” for which he’ll drive around in his Chevrolet Suburban followed by a van “that runs on liberal tears.” The choice of vehicles serve as a contrast with Loeffler, who has spent twenty-three million dollars of her own money on the campaign, and often travels on a private jet. The Suburban recently broke down while Collins campaigned with Carter Page.
I asked a spokesman for Collins whether it was fair to say that he and Loeffler have emphasized their support for Trump in order to appeal to conservative voters, possibly at the expense of moderates. He replied by poking fun at Loeffler’s “makeover,” noting her friendship with Mitt Romney, and saying “she seems about as comfortable as a vegan at a steakhouse.” A Loeffler spokesman responded, in an e-mail, by calling Collins “a career politician” who has voted with Nancy Pelosi. “The only reason he wants the Senate seat is so he can keep lining his pockets with cash from lobbyists and Big Tech,” the spokesman added.
Polls show Loeffler and Collins splitting the Republican vote and the Democrats’ leading candidate, Raphael Warnock, pulling ahead. (Georgia is one of two states that requires candidates to win a majority of votes to avoid a runoff—a requirement that dates back to the Jim Crow era—so the top two finishers will likely square off in January.) Warnock is the pastor at Martin Luther King, Jr.,’s old church, Ebenezer Baptist, in Atlanta; he presided over the funeral for the late congressman John Lewis, in July, and boasts endorsements from Barack Obama, Jimmy Carter, and Barnes, who called Warnock “the new star in the Democratic Party of Georgia.” Warnock has taken relatively moderate policy positions: he told me that he wants to “strengthen the Affordable Care Act,” possibly with a public option, rather than pushing for Medicare for All, and he speaks about “responsibly funding law enforcement,” not defunding the police. He raised thirteen million dollars last quarter. The only other Democrat in the race to get much attention, Matthew Lieberman, the son of former Senator Joseph Lieberman, has faced criticism for past fund-raisers he’s held for Republicans, including Lindsey Graham, and is fading in the polls.
Isakson’s retirement made Georgia’s 2020 election doubly significant: the other Senate seat, currently held by the Republican David Perdue, Sonny’s cousin, was already set to come up this year. Perdue, a former management consultant who became the C.E.O. of Reebok and then of Dollar General, was first elected in 2014, when he mostly touted his business record. Unlike Collins and Loeffler, he faces just one opponent, the Democrat Jon Ossoff, in November; he hasn’t been pushed to make quite the show of fealty to Trump as they have. Still, he spoke at a recent Trump rally, in Macon, and, in his remarks, he used the first name of fellow-senator and Vice-Presidential candidate Kamala Harris as a racist laugh line, referring to her as “Ka-mala, mala, mala, I don’t know, whatever.” (A spokesperson for Perdue insisted, on Twitter, that the senator “didn’t mean anything by it.”) His campaign was previously criticized for a Facebook ad that enlarged Ossoff’s nose in a seeming effort to call attention to his Jewishness. (The ad also featured Chuck Schumer and the all-caps warning “DEMOCRATS ARE TRYING TO BUY GEORGIA!” Perdue took down the ad.) Ossoff, who’s thirty-three, rose to prominence during a losing special election for Georgia’s Sixth Congressional District, in 2017, for which he ran a spirited but somewhat cautious campaign. This time around, he has been more full-throated in his critique of Trump and his Republican opponent. He raised a state-record twenty-one million dollars last quarter, and multiple polls have shown him tied with Perdue, who recently pulled out of the final debate, opting instead to participate in a Trump rally in northwest Georgia.
Barnes is optimistic. “There’s a new coalition to be made, which is forming right now,” he said. “Suburban white women, African-Americans, a growing Latino population, and some old white-haired Democrats like me.” He believes that this coalition will elect both Warnock and Ossoff and deliver the state’s electoral votes to Joe Biden. Trump’s campaign manager has told reporters that he is “very, very confident in our standing in Georgia.” Trump and his top surrogates have visited the state, and the campaign has spent a lot of money here. Biden’s press secretary, T. J. Ducklo, told me, “Georgia is an important part of our expansion map.” Barnes compared the current moment to 1976, when the state’s native son Jimmy Carter defeated Gerald Ford, two years after Watergate. “The true test,” he added, “is whether the Democrats take the Georgia House of Representatives this year. That’s more difficult. But it could happen.” Republicans currently have a thirty-seat advantage among state representatives; the gap looks likely to shrink, but “it would take quite a blue wave” to erase it, Barnes said.
Barnes, who now runs a law practice, offered two personal anecdotes as evidence that change is afoot. First, he mentioned “an old-time Republican client of mine—you’d recognize him—a very thoughtful and religious Republican, who called me yesterday and said, ‘I just went to vote and I voted for Joe Biden.’ ” Barnes asked him why. “He said, ‘I think Donald Trump is a threat to democracy.’ ” This friend was not a fan of Kamala Harris, Barnes said, but had overcome his reluctance to vote for her, and even voted for down-ballot Democrats for the first time. Barnes’s second anecdote was about going to his local precinct, in a conservative Atlanta suburb, to drop off the ballots he and his wife had filled out. (Early voting started in Georgia on October 12th.) “I got out, and there were three or four people there,” he said. “All white, all older. I put my votes in. I had my mask on. One of the ladies spoke up. She said, ‘We just put two in for Joe Biden.’ And I said, ‘Well, I just put in two as well.’ The other lady wouldn’t say, so I assume she voted for Trump. But when you have four out of six votes from older whites for Joe Biden, I know things are changing.”
Six people is not a very large sample, as the statisticians say. The day I spoke with Barnes, Quinnipiac published poll results showing Biden seven points ahead of Trump in Georgia, with a sample of a little over a thousand. The poll had been conducted shortly after Trump’s chaotic performance in the first Presidential debate and his positive test for the coronavirus; also, many of Quinnipiac’s state polls this year have had unusually good numbers for Biden. Still, it was such a large margin, in such a reliably Republican state, that the results trended on Twitter, and Nate Silver, of FiveThirtyEight, wrote a column analyzing the state of the race in Georgia, concluding that a “formerly red state has become perhaps the most competitive battleground in the country.” This, he noted, “is a bad sign for Republicans.”
Of all the people I spoke to who follow politics professionally—from academics, to consultants, to elected officials—nobody believed that Biden would win Georgia by seven points, or even that he should be favored. But they all thought the state would be the most competitive it had been since 1996, when Bill Clinton lost the state to Bob Dole by a little under three points. Democratic Presidential candidates have lost Georgia in every election since, often by large margins; in 2016, Trump won it by five. In the past four years, a million new voters have been added to the state’s rolls, and many of them are young and nonwhite. “There are more latent Democrats here now,” Andra Gillespie, a political scientist at Emory University, told me. “You’ve got white transplants who aren’t conservative. You’ve got the African-American base. New Asian-American and Hispanic voters coming to the state. They all break Democratic.” Stacey Abrams, a former state legislator who has directed local voter-registration efforts, mobilized this coalition in her race for governor two years ago. She lost to Kemp by just fifty thousand votes, out of nearly four million cast. Kemp was then Georgia’s secretary of state, and thus in charge of the election; Abrams pointed to long lines and voting-machine malfunctions at majority-Black precincts as evidence of voter suppression. Days before the election, Kemp publicly opened an investigation into the Georgia Democratic Party for a “failed hacking attempt” of the voter-registration system; it was later determined that the computer activity in question was conducted by the Department of Homeland Security, and had been approved by Kemp’s office three months before.
In a tight race, such shenanigans can be decisive; so can turnout at the margins. So far, Georgians are voting early at twice the rate they did four years ago; more than a dozen counties have already surpassed their total 2016 turnout. The two groups that Democrats used to count on in the state, urban Black voters and rural white voters, are expected to show up in droves, but, as Dave Wasserman, of the Cook Political Report, recently noted, confident projections for nonwhite rural voters are harder to come by. I spoke to Royce Reeves, Sr., a Black man in rural Cordele, who voted for Trump in 2016 but who is now driving Democrats to the polls, in a funeral limousine, to vote for Biden. “Yesterday, five hundred people did early voting,” Reeves told me. “I haven’t seen that before.”
“Everybody is concerned,” a longtime Republican strategist in the state, who spoke with me on the condition of anonymity, said. The strategist acknowledged that the record amount of early voting probably benefitted Democrats, and that Trump’s attempts to sow doubt about voting-by-mail had likely hurt him. “Republican enthusiasm, or trust, in voting by mail plummeted in response to the stuff that the President is saying,” he said. “And that’s dangerous! We want those votes in the bank!” Trump’s first debate performance had also made things harder, the strategist said. “I was watching that shitshow thinking, The gettable white women are gonna hate this, and they’re gonna blame Trump for this.”


newyorker--2020-10-31--Barack Obama in The New Yorker

Barack Obama in The New Yorker

In the preface to the 2004 edition of Barack Obama ’ s best-selling memoir , “ Dreams from My Father , ” the future President wrote that every American— “ inner-city mothers and corn and bean farmers , immigrant day laborers alongside suburban investment bankers ” —has a longing for her own story to be told .
This week , The New Yorker published an exclusive excerpt from Obama ’ s new memoir , “ A Promised Land , ” which will be released on November 17th .
In the piece , Obama writes about the arduous legislative campaign to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ has provided health care to tens of millions of Americans .
It ’ s a fascinating behind-the-scenes look at the heavy lifting required to bring about health-care reform .
( The excerpt is especially timely now , as deaths from the coronavirus surge again . )
Part of what makes the piece so captivating is Obama ’ s intimate and clear-eyed assessment of the ever-shifting obstacles to progress .
His facility for granular but illuminating storytelling is a quality that he ’ s carried with him since his early days as a community @ @ @ @ @ @ @ has published countless stories about Obama over the years , beginning even before he gained widespread national attention .
The first major piece was a profile , written by William Finnegan , in 2004 , and it ran two months before its subject , then a state senator in Illinois , delivered his electrifying keynote address at the Democratic National Convention .
As Finnegan accompanies Obama on his daily routine , he notices the diversity of those eager to share their stories with the young politician .
( “ The people who stopped @ @ @ @ @ @ @ white , old and young , professors and car mechanics.
” ) Obama , Finnegan observes , still has his hair cut at the same Black barbershop in Hyde Park that he wandered into upon first arriving in the city , twenty years earlier .
In “ The Conciliator , ” published three years later , Larissa MacFarquhar profiles Obama during his first Presidential campaign .
Now a U.S. senator , Obama has staked his candidacy , she writes , on a concept that , in our current political climate , seems antiquated—the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ together the two halves of America that are profoundly divided.
” Many people , MacFarquhar notes , have described Obama ’ s political style as professorial , yet she finds his manner less professorial than medical— ” like that of a doctor , who , by listening to a patient ’ s story without emotional reaction , reassures the patient that the symptoms are familiar to him.
” In 2008 , one week after the Presidential election , David Remnick published “ The Joshua Generation , ” a sweeping report on race and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ t predicated his bid for the White House on identity , Remnick writes , but he was able to make his “ ancestry a metaphor for his ambition to create a broad coalition of support , to rally Americans behind a narrative of moral and political progress.
” Obama understood the profound significance ( and political potency ) of his background—and he recognized the meaningful impact that earlier generations ’ sacrifices had made on his own life .
A couple of months later , in 2009 , Mariana Cook published “ A Couple @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the Obamas about their relationship that she had conducted in the mid-nineties , accompanied by a photo portfolio .
In a candid moment , Barack Obama divulges that it is the “ tension between familiarity and mystery ” —the ability to “ retain some sense of surprise or wonder about the other person ” —that makes their marriage work .
In 2016 , shortly after Hillary Clinton ’ s surprise defeat , Remnick published a piece about how Obama was reconciling his legacy with the ascendency of Donald Trump .
The 2016 Presidential @ @ @ @ @ @ @ observed .
The day after the election , Obama told staffers in the Oval Office , “ For some of you , all you ’ ve ever known is winning .
But the older people here , we have known loss .
And this stings .
This hurts.
” Remnick offers a compelling look at Obama ’ s appraisal of his successor and his thoughts on what the election means for the country .
In addition to our coverage of Obama and his Administration , the magazine has also published multiple pieces on @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ( or Obamacare ) and the long road to health-care reform .
We ’ re bringing you several of these stories today , including Ezra Klein ’ s piece on shifting political positions on individual mandates and Malcolm Gladwell ’ s review of a comprehensive history of the A.C.A .
We hope that you enjoy the excerpt from Obama ’ s memoir in this week ’ s issue , and that you ’ ll take some time to delve into our additional coverage of his groundbreaking Presidency and its impact .
The story @ @ @ @ @ @ @ enduring—and most contested—legacy : reforming American health care .
Speaking at a church in Selma , Obama was not a patriarch and not a prophet but the prophesied .
“ I ’ m here because you all sacrificed for me , ” he said .
In 1996 , Barack and Michelle Obama took part in a photography project on couples in America .
How the son of a Kenyan economist became an Illinois everyman .
Obama calls America ’ s founding “ a grand compromise ” : compromise , for him , is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ sake of getting something done but a principle in itself—the certainty of uncertainty , the fundament of union .
Inside a stunned White House , the President considers his legacy and America ’ s future .
How Republicans turned against the individual mandate after supporting it for two decades .
The battle over whether to repeal , replace , or repair the Affordable Care Act continues to rage on .

In the preface to the 2004 edition of Barack Obama’s best-selling memoir, “Dreams from My Father,” the future President wrote that every American—“inner-city mothers and corn and bean farmers, immigrant day laborers alongside suburban investment bankers”—has a longing for her own story to be told. This week, The New Yorker published an exclusive excerpt from Obama’s new memoir, “A Promised Land,” which will be released on November 17th. In the piece, Obama writes about the arduous legislative campaign to pass the Affordable Care Act, which has provided health care to tens of millions of Americans. It’s a fascinating behind-the-scenes look at the heavy lifting required to bring about health-care reform. (The excerpt is especially timely now, as deaths from the coronavirus surge again.) Part of what makes the piece so captivating is Obama’s intimate and clear-eyed assessment of the ever-shifting obstacles to progress. His facility for granular but illuminating storytelling is a quality that he’s carried with him since his early days as a community organizer in Chicago.
The New Yorker has published countless stories about Obama over the years, beginning even before he gained widespread national attention. The first major piece was a profile, written by William Finnegan, in 2004, and it ran two months before its subject, then a state senator in Illinois, delivered his electrifying keynote address at the Democratic National Convention. As Finnegan accompanies Obama on his daily routine, he notices the diversity of those eager to share their stories with the young politician. (“The people who stopped to shake his hand were black and white, old and young, professors and car mechanics.”) Obama, Finnegan observes, still has his hair cut at the same Black barbershop in Hyde Park that he wandered into upon first arriving in the city, twenty years earlier.
In “The Conciliator,” published three years later, Larissa MacFarquhar profiles Obama during his first Presidential campaign. Now a U.S. senator, Obama has staked his candidacy, she writes, on a concept that, in our current political climate, seems antiquated—the prospect of national unity and “bringing together the two halves of America that are profoundly divided.” Many people, MacFarquhar notes, have described Obama’s political style as professorial, yet she finds his manner less professorial than medical—“like that of a doctor, who, by listening to a patient’s story without emotional reaction, reassures the patient that the symptoms are familiar to him.”
In 2008, one week after the Presidential election, David Remnick published “The Joshua Generation,” a sweeping report on race and Obama’s campaign. Obama hadn’t predicated his bid for the White House on identity, Remnick writes, but he was able to make his “ancestry a metaphor for his ambition to create a broad coalition of support, to rally Americans behind a narrative of moral and political progress.” Obama understood the profound significance (and political potency) of his background—and he recognized the meaningful impact that earlier generations’ sacrifices had made on his own life. A couple of months later, in 2009, Mariana Cook published “A Couple in Chicago,” an interview with the Obamas about their relationship that she had conducted in the mid-nineties, accompanied by a photo portfolio. In a candid moment, Barack Obama divulges that it is the “tension between familiarity and mystery”—the ability to “retain some sense of surprise or wonder about the other person”—that makes their marriage work.
Shortly after Hillary Clinton’s surprise defeat, in 2016, Remnick published a piece about how Obama was reconciling his legacy with the ascendency of Donald Trump. The 2016 Presidential campaign was personal for Obama, Remnick observed. The day after the election, Obama told staffers in the Oval Office, “For some of you, all you’ve ever known is winning. But the older people here, we have known loss. And this stings. This hurts.” Remnick offers a compelling look at Obama’s appraisal of his successor and his thoughts on what the election means for the country.
In addition to our coverage of Obama and his Administration, the magazine has also published multiple pieces on the origins of the Affordable Care Act (or Obamacare) and the long road to health-care reform. We’re bringing you several of these stories today, including Ezra Klein’s piece on shifting political positions on individual mandates and Malcolm Gladwell’s review of a comprehensive history of the A.C.A. We hope that you enjoy the excerpt from Obama’s memoir in this week’s issue, and that you’ll take some time to delve into our additional coverage of his groundbreaking Presidency and its impact.
The story behind the Obama Administration’s most enduring—and most contested—legacy: reforming American health care.
Illustration by John Ritter; After James Rosenquist, “President Elect” (1960-61); Photographs from left: Steve Schapiro, AP, Bruce Davidson / Magnum, Eve Arnold / Magnum, Platon
Speaking at a church in Selma, Obama was not a patriarch and not a prophet but the prophesied. “I’m here because you all sacrificed for me,” he said.
Photograph by Mariana Cook
In 1996, Barack and Michelle Obama took part in a photography project on couples in America.
How the son of a Kenyan economist became an Illinois everyman.
Photograph by Samantha Appleton
Obama calls America’s founding “a grand compromise”: compromise, for him, is not an eroding of principle for the sake of getting something done but a principle in itself—the certainty of uncertainty, the fundament of union.
Inside a stunned White House, the President considers his legacy and America’s future.
How Republicans turned against the individual mandate after supporting it for two decades.
The battle over whether to repeal, replace, or repair the Affordable Care Act continues to rage on.
How health-care reform went wrong.