newyorker--2020-10-29--Denialism, Dishonesty, Deflection: The Final Days of the Trump Campaign Have It All

No one wants to admit it , but in Washington , D.C. , the election might as well be over—except for the what-if-the-polls-are-wrong jitters , which are real and have been the stuff not just of nightmares but of all-day worrying since Donald Trump ’ s 2016 upset .
Still , there are post-election plans to be made , lobbying strategies to be gamed out , Cabinet positions to speculate about .
The election forecasters at The Economist currently give Joe Biden a ninety-six-per-cent chance of winning the Electoral College .
According to the political Web site FiveThirtyEight , the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ circumspect eighty-nine-per-cent chance .
The Cook Political Report has moved Texas into the tossup category—Texas , which has not gone Democratic since Jimmy Carter , in 1976 .
No wonder the rumors are rife about Biden ’ s White House , about who will get what job and why .
Will Susan Rice , a surprise finalist for Vice-President , be tapped as Secretary of State ?
Is Ron Klain a lock for White House chief of staff ?
On Thursday , House Speaker Nancy Pelosi said she was “ very confident ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ her weekly press conference outlining her governing agenda for the new Administration , from instituting green infrastructure policies to lowering the cost of prescription drugs .
Politico has already started on a transition newsletter , though I am trying not to read it .
This is not because I don ’ t believe the polls .
The election may , in fact , be over .
In truth , the polls matter less and less every day from here on in .
As I wrote this column , on Thursday , more than @ @ @ @ @ @ @ there are still five days to go .
In some places , more voters have cast their ballots in early voting than in the entire 2016 election .
In other words , it ’ s already the equivalent of 2 P.M.. on Election Day .
A late revelation—yet another Trump scandal , or an attack on Biden—can ’ t change votes that have been cast .
And , besides , who is going to change their minds about Donald Trump now , anyway ?
Since winning four years ago , in a fluke @ @ @ @ @ @ @ been the most omnipresent , overexposed President in American history .
Everybody has an opinion of him , and he has never , for a single day of his Presidency , had the support of a majority of the American people .
That is not going to suddenly flip over a Halloween weekend , at a time when thousands of Americans are sick or dying because of a pandemic that he claims is no big deal .
Back in early September , the election already looked to me like a race in which @ @ @ @ @ @ @ remarkably fixed voter preferences and a remarkably stable set of polls showing Biden with a strong , though not overwhelming , lead .
With only five days left until Election Day , this is still the case .
Much has indeed happened this fall : scandals that would have destroyed anyone other than Trump .
His bout of COVID-19 and subsequent tour of the country proclaiming that the coronavirus is being vanquished—even as case levels are hitting record highs .
His disastrous performance in the first Presidential debate and ferocious late efforts to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ politician .
Through it all , Biden ’ s lead has held more or less steady .
So let ’ s stipulate—although we won ’ t know for sure for some days—that the polls are more or less correct .
Even without knowing for sure , it is already fair to say that , should Trump prevail , it would be even more unprecedented in modern American politics than his 2016 win—and is , therefore , even less likely .
I have a different fear this time : What if the polls are @ @ @ @ @ @ @ may be over , but the counting is not .
His path to victory through the Electoral College may rest with only a few states where Election Night results are ambiguous enough that Trump could question them and , instead , pursue a win via friendly Republican state legislatures and the pro-Trump Supreme Court .
Trump has already spent months laying the groundwork for this , preëmptively attacking the “ rigged ” election , baselessly suggesting widespread voter fraud in the use of mail-in ballots , and authorizing lawsuits to push for as @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in key states .
An American President attacking American democracy in advance of an election has simply never been seen before .
But he continues to do it every day , in the final run-up to November 3rd .
Whatever the election ’ s outcome , this is already one of the greatest political scandals of our time , and a lasting blot on Trump ’ s record .
Whether or not Trump once again succeeds in pulling an unlikely win out of a near-certain defeat , this fall ’ s campaign may @ @ @ @ @ @ @ most scandalous periods of his norm-shattering Presidency .
Trump in recent weeks has openly flirted with white supremacy and bizarre conspiracy theories .
He has demanded that the U.S. government investigate and jail Biden—it is not clear for what—and he has publicly threatened to fire the F.B.I .
director and the Attorney General for failing to do so .
He has held rallies at which his supporters chanted “ Lock him up , ” and did and said nothing to stop them .
He has broadcast so much misinformation that social-media platforms such @ @ @ @ @ @ @ time , regularly warned readers about the veracity of his posts .
He has lied so much that the Times found seventy-five per cent of his statements during a single rally to be untrue .
He has issued orders that threaten to politicize the government long after he is gone , including an executive order , last week , which would remove key protections from the professional civil service ; the potential consequences of this move are so significant that , on Monday , the Republican Trump appointee who would have to oversee @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the decision will “ replace apolitical expertise with political obeisance ” across the government .
In recent weeks , scandalous revelations about Trump ’ s corruption include the Times ’ reporting on hundreds of millions of dollars of debt that Trump is personally liable for .
( He will not say to whom . )
The Washington Post disclosed this week that Trump has used his power to direct at least eight million dollars from the U.S. government—–and his political supporters—into his personal businesses since he took office .
The consequences of Trump @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the forcible separation of at least twenty-six hundred migrant children from their parents at the southern border , and last week the awful news came out that five hundred and forty-five of these children are now stranded alone in the United States , owing to the authorities being unable to locate their mothers or fathers .
And this parade of horrors , of course , also includes Trump ’ s record on the coronavirus , a disastrous performance that , as of this week , has left more than two hundred and twenty @ @ @ @ @ @ @ prevent perhaps a hundred and thirty thousand Americans from dying , according to a study in the scientific journal Nature which was released earlier this month .
Yet Trump not only refuses to issue a national mask mandate ; he has repeatedly and publicly questioned the need for mask-wearing during the fall campaign and has held numerous White House events with packed crowds of unmasked attendees .
The most notable such event , of course , was the public announcement , in late September , of his nomination of Amy Coney Barrett to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ cases apparently resulted from that gathering , on the White House lawn , that even government public-health officials labelled it a “ superspreader ” event .
Trump has been extraordinarily blunt in admitting that his main reason for pushing Barrett ’ s nomination through so close to November 3rd was to insure his own reëlection , an effort that culminated in this Monday ’ s Senate vote to confirm Barrett , just eight days before Election Day .
“ I think this will end up in the Supreme Court , ” Trump said @ @ @ @ @ @ @ think it ’ s very important that we have nine Justices , ” rather than risk a 4–4 tie .
The vote for a Supreme Court Justice so close to an election was unprecedented , and yet it was just another violation in a campaign full of them .
Trump ’ s comment about why he was pushing for Barrett now was a norm-shattering scandal in its own right , undermining the legitimacy of the high court at a time when it is urgently needed .
In many ways , the whole Trump @ @ @ @ @ @ @ few days and weeks .
It is self-dealing , denialism , dishonesty , and deflection .
It is narcissism , recklessness , and disregard for the public good—and for democracy itself .
There is nothing and no one he has not corrupted—or tried to .
Even the remaining uncertainty about the election ’ s outcome is a product of Trump ’ s cynical , self-serving , and dangerous assault on the political system .
Washington can read the polls , but after four years there ’ s still no poll that can fully @ @ @ @ @ @ @ it ain ’ t over till it ’ s over .
Read More About the 2020 Election • The fall and rise of Kamala Harris .
• When a sitting President threatens to delay a sacrosanct American ritual like an election , you should listen .
• To understand the path Donald Trump has taken to the 2020 election , look at what he has provided the executive class .
• What happens if Trump fights the election results ?
• The refusal by Mitch McConnell to rein in Trump is looking riskier @ @ @ @ @ @ @ our election newsletter for insight and analysis from our reporters and columnists .

No one wants to admit it, but in Washington, D.C., the election might as well be over—except for the what-if-the-polls-are-wrong jitters, which are real and have been the stuff not just of nightmares but of all-day worrying since Donald Trump’s 2016 upset. Still, there are post-election plans to be made, lobbying strategies to be gamed out, Cabinet positions to speculate about. The election forecasters at The Economist currently give Joe Biden a ninety-six-per-cent chance of winning the Electoral College. According to the political Web site FiveThirtyEight, the former Vice-President has an only slightly more circumspect eighty-nine-per-cent chance. The Cook Political Report has moved Texas into the tossup category—Texas, which has not gone Democratic since Jimmy Carter, in 1976. No wonder the rumors are rife about Biden’s White House, about who will get what job and why. Will Susan Rice, a surprise finalist for Vice-President, be tapped as Secretary of State? Is Ron Klain a lock for White House chief of staff? On Thursday, House Speaker Nancy Pelosi said she was “very confident” that Biden will win, and spent her weekly press conference outlining her governing agenda for the new Administration, from instituting green infrastructure policies to lowering the cost of prescription drugs. Politico has already started on a transition newsletter, though I am trying not to read it.
This is not because I don’t believe the polls. The election may, in fact, be over. In truth, the polls matter less and less every day from here on in. As I wrote this column, on Thursday, more than seventy million Americans had voted, and there are still five days to go. In some places, more voters have cast their ballots in early voting than in the entire 2016 election. In other words, it’s already the equivalent of 2 P.M.. on Election Day. A late revelation—yet another Trump scandal, or an attack on Biden—can’t change votes that have been cast. And, besides, who is going to change their minds about Donald Trump now, anyway? Since winning four years ago, in a fluke of our electoral system, he has been the most omnipresent, overexposed President in American history. Everybody has an opinion of him, and he has never, for a single day of his Presidency, had the support of a majority of the American people. That is not going to suddenly flip over a Halloween weekend, at a time when thousands of Americans are sick or dying because of a pandemic that he claims is no big deal.
President Obama’s New Memoir Read an excerpt in this week’s issue.
Back in early September, the election already looked to me like a race in which everything happens and nothing matters, with remarkably fixed voter preferences and a remarkably stable set of polls showing Biden with a strong, though not overwhelming, lead. With only five days left until Election Day, this is still the case. Much has indeed happened this fall: scandals that would have destroyed anyone other than Trump. His bout of COVID-19 and subsequent tour of the country proclaiming that the coronavirus is being vanquished—even as case levels are hitting record highs. His disastrous performance in the first Presidential debate and ferocious late efforts to label Biden a corrupt and out-of-touch career politician. Through it all, Biden’s lead has held more or less steady. So let’s stipulate—although we won’t know for sure for some days—that the polls are more or less correct. Even without knowing for sure, it is already fair to say that, should Trump prevail, it would be even more unprecedented in modern American politics than his 2016 win—and is, therefore, even less likely.
I have a different fear this time: What if the polls are right—and Trump still wins? The election may be over, but the counting is not. His path to victory through the Electoral College may rest with only a few states where Election Night results are ambiguous enough that Trump could question them and, instead, pursue a win via friendly Republican state legislatures and the pro-Trump Supreme Court. Trump has already spent months laying the groundwork for this, preëmptively attacking the “rigged” election, baselessly suggesting widespread voter fraud in the use of mail-in ballots, and authorizing lawsuits to push for as many restrictive conditions on voting as possible in key states. An American President attacking American democracy in advance of an election has simply never been seen before. But he continues to do it every day, in the final run-up to November 3rd. Whatever the election’s outcome, this is already one of the greatest political scandals of our time, and a lasting blot on Trump’s record.
Whether or not Trump once again succeeds in pulling an unlikely win out of a near-certain defeat, this fall’s campaign may well go down as one of the most scandalous periods of his norm-shattering Presidency. Trump in recent weeks has openly flirted with white supremacy and bizarre conspiracy theories. He has demanded that the U.S. government investigate and jail Biden—it is not clear for what—and he has publicly threatened to fire the F.B.I. director and the Attorney General for failing to do so. He has held rallies at which his supporters chanted “Lock him up,” and did and said nothing to stop them. He has broadcast so much misinformation that social-media platforms such as Twitter have, for the first time, regularly warned readers about the veracity of his posts. He has lied so much that the Times found seventy-five per cent of his statements during a single rally to be untrue. He has issued orders that threaten to politicize the government long after he is gone, including an executive order, last week, which would remove key protections from the professional civil service; the potential consequences of this move are so significant that, on Monday, the Republican Trump appointee who would have to oversee it resigned in protest, warning that the decision will “replace apolitical expertise with political obeisance” across the government.
In recent weeks, scandalous revelations about Trump’s corruption include the Times’ reporting on hundreds of millions of dollars of debt that Trump is personally liable for. (He will not say to whom.) The Washington Post disclosed this week that Trump has used his power to direct at least eight million dollars from the U.S. government—–and his political supporters—into his personal businesses since he took office. The consequences of Trump’s Presidency, meanwhile, include the forcible separation of at least twenty-six hundred migrant children from their parents at the southern border, and last week the awful news came out that five hundred and forty-five of these children are now stranded alone in the United States, owing to the authorities being unable to locate their mothers or fathers.
And this parade of horrors, of course, also includes Trump’s record on the coronavirus, a disastrous performance that, as of this week, has left more than two hundred and twenty thousand Americans dead. Universal mask-wearing could prevent perhaps a hundred and thirty thousand Americans from dying, according to a study in the scientific journal Nature which was released earlier this month. Yet Trump not only refuses to issue a national mask mandate; he has repeatedly and publicly questioned the need for mask-wearing during the fall campaign and has held numerous White House events with packed crowds of unmasked attendees.
The most notable such event, of course, was the public announcement, in late September, of his nomination of Amy Coney Barrett to the Supreme Court. So many coronavirus cases apparently resulted from that gathering, on the White House lawn, that even government public-health officials labelled it a “superspreader” event. Trump has been extraordinarily blunt in admitting that his main reason for pushing Barrett’s nomination through so close to November 3rd was to insure his own reëlection, an effort that culminated in this Monday’s Senate vote to confirm Barrett, just eight days before Election Day. “I think this will end up in the Supreme Court,” Trump said of the election, “and I think it’s very important that we have nine Justices,” rather than risk a 4–4 tie. The vote for a Supreme Court Justice so close to an election was unprecedented, and yet it was just another violation in a campaign full of them. Trump’s comment about why he was pushing for Barrett now was a norm-shattering scandal in its own right, undermining the legitimacy of the high court at a time when it is urgently needed.


newyorker--2020-10-29--Remembering Daniel Menaker, a Lighthearted Champion of His Writers

Daniel Menaker , who died on Monday , at the age of seventy-nine , made a name for himself as the executive editor-in-chief at Random House , where , in the early two-thousands , he published such best-selling authors as Salman Rushdie , Colum McCann , Billy Collins , and Elizabeth Strout .
He was always a little ambivalent , though , about the book business , which he more than once called a lottery and a crap shoot .
He insisted that his real home—his true family—was The New Yorker , where he had worked for twenty-six years .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ in 1968 , then became a copy editor , and for nineteen years was an editor in the fiction department , where he worked on the stories of Alice Munro , Mavis Gallant , Michael Cunningham , and Michael Chabon , among many others .
Dan came from what he liked to call a mixed marriage .
His mother was a New York Wasp who , for years , oversaw the copy department at Fortune , helping to mold that magazine ’ s distinctive style .
His father , a furniture exporter , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Trotsky in Mexico , and Dan ’ s beloved Uncle Enge ( named for Friedrich Engels ) helped run a socialist boys ’ camp .
At The New Yorker , Dan combined elements of both heritages .
He was the sort of painstaking , old-school editor who fusses over semicolons , but also part anarchist , bristling against established authority and received wisdom .
While still a copy editor , he once had the nerve to tell William Shawn , then the magazine ’ s editor-in-chief , that an article by Charles A.
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ Shawn suggested that Menaker should start looking for another job .
Dan , like a stubborn Bartleby , took his time about that : twenty-three years , to be precise , during which he eventually established himself as an essential and transformative member of the fiction staff , nudging the magazine to open itself to writers like George Saunders and Thom Jones , who , like Dan himself , pushed against the rules a bit .
He also lobbied to bring in more foreign authors , championing , for example , the work @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Dan cared passionately about his writers .
He defended them against what he thought was The New Yorker ’ s overly rigid house style , and sometimes preserved their eccentricities just for their own sake .
In this , he took after his great mentor at the magazine , William Maxwell , who first recognized Dan ’ s editorial talent and insisted that a grudging Shawn give him a chance .
Dan was more opinionated than Maxwell , though , and took it hard when—too often , he thought—his fiction colleagues disagreed with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ one of the magazine ’ s better door-slammers .
Mostly his door was open , though , with Dan hunched over a corner of his desk in a way that suggested he had just arrived and might have to take flight at any moment .
People were always dropping by , because no one was more fun to be around .
Dan loved to kvetch and was brilliant at it .
It was a treat , for example , to hear him lash into the magazine ’ s salary structure .
He never @ @ @ @ @ @ @ didn ’ t care whether he was overheard or not .
He seldom worried about conventions or what people thought .
He wore black Reeboks with his gray flannels and cultivated a mustache that over the years went in and out of fashion several times without his ever seeming to notice .
He loved practical jokes , especially during February , when he would anonymously send out jokey valentines , and also did more than passable imitations of many of The New Yorker ’ s more eccentric characters .
Younger staff members , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ advice , because they recognized in him a kindred soul—someone who sympathized with their plight and their unformed passions .
In 1976 , when some young staff members attempted to unionize the magazine , Dan was the only senior figure who—much to Mr. Shawn ’ s annoyance—took their side .
Above all , Dan Menaker was famous at the magazine just for being funny .
The New Yorker began , of course , as a sort of humor magazine , and comic writing remains one of its mainstays .
But when Dan arrived @ @ @ @ @ @ @ desirable and much-envied place to work , wasn ’ t especially lighthearted .
A number of people took themselves too seriously .
Dan never did , and he brightened the place up .
He was funny about almost everything—parrots , cockroaches , wine snobs , oral surgery , off-track betting , folk singing—and funny about himself especially .
On at least two occasions , one of his colleagues—me , if you must know—made the mistake of trying to eat a sandwich while listening to one of his monologues and practically died laughing .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ even about his own illness , making jokes about the horrors of hospitals and chemotherapy .
“ I have something funny to tell you , ” he said , in our last conversation .
“ But I can ’ t remember what it is .
”

Daniel Menaker, who died on Monday, at the age of seventy-nine, made a name for himself as the executive editor-in-chief at Random House, where, in the early two-thousands, he published such best-selling authors as Salman Rushdie, Colum McCann, Billy Collins, and Elizabeth Strout. He was always a little ambivalent, though, about the book business, which he more than once called a lottery and a crap shoot. He insisted that his real home—his true family—was The New Yorker, where he had worked for twenty-six years. He started as a fact checker, in 1968, then became a copy editor, and for nineteen years was an editor in the fiction department, where he worked on the stories of Alice Munro, Mavis Gallant, Michael Cunningham, and Michael Chabon, among many others.
Dan came from what he liked to call a mixed marriage. His mother was a New York Wasp who, for years, oversaw the copy department at Fortune, helping to mold that magazine’s distinctive style. His father, a furniture exporter, was a Jewish Communist who spied on Trotsky in Mexico, and Dan’s beloved Uncle Enge (named for Friedrich Engels) helped run a socialist boys’ camp. At The New Yorker, Dan combined elements of both heritages. He was the sort of painstaking, old-school editor who fusses over semicolons, but also part anarchist, bristling against established authority and received wisdom. While still a copy editor, he once had the nerve to tell William Shawn, then the magazine’s editor-in-chief, that an article by Charles A. Reich was no good at all. Shawn suggested that Menaker should start looking for another job. Dan, like a stubborn Bartleby, took his time about that: twenty-three years, to be precise, during which he eventually established himself as an essential and transformative member of the fiction staff, nudging the magazine to open itself to writers like George Saunders and Thom Jones, who, like Dan himself, pushed against the rules a bit. He also lobbied to bring in more foreign authors, championing, for example, the work of Max Frisch and Stanisław Lem.
Dan cared passionately about his writers. He defended them against what he thought was The New Yorker’s overly rigid house style, and sometimes preserved their eccentricities just for their own sake. In this, he took after his great mentor at the magazine, William Maxwell, who first recognized Dan’s editorial talent and insisted that a grudging Shawn give him a chance. Dan was more opinionated than Maxwell, though, and took it hard when—too often, he thought—his fiction colleagues disagreed with him. In time, he became one of the magazine’s better door-slammers.
Mostly his door was open, though, with Dan hunched over a corner of his desk in a way that suggested he had just arrived and might have to take flight at any moment. People were always dropping by, because no one was more fun to be around. Dan loved to kvetch and was brilliant at it. It was a treat, for example, to hear him lash into the magazine’s salary structure. He never lowered his voice, saying that he didn’t care whether he was overheard or not. He seldom worried about conventions or what people thought. He wore black Reeboks with his gray flannels and cultivated a mustache that over the years went in and out of fashion several times without his ever seeming to notice. He loved practical jokes, especially during February, when he would anonymously send out valentines, and also did more than passable imitations of many of The New Yorker’s more eccentric characters. Younger staff members, in particular, sought his company and advice, because they recognized in him a kindred soul—someone who sympathized with their plight and their unformed passions. In 1976, when some young staff members attempted to unionize the magazine, Dan was the only senior figure who—much to Mr. Shawn’s annoyance—took their side.
Above all, Dan Menaker was famous at the magazine just for being funny. The New Yorker began, of course, as a sort of humor magazine, and comic writing remains one of its mainstays. But when Dan arrived, the office itself, though a desirable and much-envied place to work, wasn’t especially lighthearted. A number of people took themselves too seriously. Dan never did, and he brightened the place up. He was funny about almost everything—parrots, cockroaches, wine snobs, oral surgery, off-track betting, folk singing—and funny about himself especially. On at least two occasions, one of his colleagues—me, if you must know—made the mistake of trying to eat a sandwich while listening to one of his monologues and practically died laughing. At the end, he was comical even about his own illness, making jokes about the horrors of hospitals and chemotherapy. “I have something funny to tell you,” he said, in our last conversation. “But I can’t remember what it is.”


newyorker--2020-10-29--A Lifetime of Pancakes, and Jamaican Banana Fritters

I can ’ t pinpoint exactly when I began making pancakes , but I ’ m almost certain they were the first dish I attempted to cook on my own .
The same way that friends of mine would read comics and then pick up a pen , or take to the weight room after watching the Longhorns fumble a title game , I ’ d chew a few chunks of a buttermilk pancake from , say , this one diner by Houston ’ s Hobby Airport and think , Damn , wouldn ’ t it be wild if this @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , on lazy Saturdays , my family would grab short stacks at the Cracker Barrel just beyond Houston ’ s city limits .
In high school , my friends and I would huddle around tables at IHOP on weekend nights .
And the habit endured years later , when I ’ d sit at one Houston diner or another , in a state of disrepair after a night out , and a stack of flapjacks would seem to be the only remedy .
At home , I started with Aunt Jemima , because @ @ @ @ @ @ @ always on hand ; but , over time , gradually , I branched out across cuisines , all of them unified by the simple method of frying batter in a pan ( the world is , frankly , a very small place ) .
One year , my cooking consisted largely of scallion pancakes—rolled across my tiny countertop and dunked in a makeshift mixture of soy sauce , rice-wine vinegar , and honey—because it was what I could afford at the time .
Then came a Swedish-pancake infatuation , followed by a dalliance @ @ @ @ @ @ @ every week , I fried batches of hotteok—Korean pancakes with a sweet , nut-laden filling—sneaking them into movie theatres to munch on , freezing the extras for lazy afternoons .
And , in the spring , sometimes several days a week , my boyfriend and I made okonomiyaki—Japanese cabbage pancakes topped with pork belly and sprinkled with the bonito flakes from Kuromon Market that I ’ d been rationing out over several seasons .
Pancakes have been a boon to me this past year , especially , as I ’ ve shifted my @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the grocery store .
At least twice a week , something—anything—in my fridge gets pancaked : a small stack of buttermilk hotcakes makes a solid breakfast one day , and an eggy veggie pancake suffices for the next , followed by a billowing Dutch baby , or a crisp disk of pajeon for a rainy evening .
The formula—something wet , something dry , a quick sojourn in some oil—will take you as far as you ’ d like to go .
You might read the recipe closely the first time around , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ feel it out on your own .
You ’ ll hear the edges crisp .
Your nose will start to recognize the smell of a finished product .
Flipping your perfect pancake will start to seem more instinctual than learned , and you ’ ll—eventually , necessarily—make peace with the fact that the first one in the batch really is always the worst .
When I think of a batter-in-a-frying-pan meal that brings maximal pleasure , now as ever , what comes to mind is my mom ’ s banana fritters .
They @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a little bit of powdered sugar and a splash of condensed milk , from a can that ’ s likely been long forgotten under the kitchen counter , only to prove clutch at the last minute , instantaneously miracle-worthy .
The recipe ’ s a staple among Jamaican households , and , if you ’ re even a semi-regular baker , you likely already have on hand all the ingredients you ’ ll need for a batch .
In Enid Donaldson ’ s “ The Real Taste of Jamaica , ” she writes @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ if you can count to one , you will remember the ingredients for these banana fritters.
” Not too long ago , I called my mom to bug her about it .
After we took stock of the country ’ s declining state , in our usual way ( in her city , protests over extrajudicial state violence against Black folks were ongoing ; in mine , the confirmed cases of COVID-19 were multiplying , while more than a handful of locals were behaving as if there ’ d never been a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a bit tentatively—because a recipe is a precious thing—about her banana-fritter method .
She gave it to me in bits and pieces : make sure the bananas are just ripe enough ( “ Make sure you pick the right ones ” ) before mashing them with a fork ; sift a bit of flour and stir a beaten egg into the batter ( “ Don ’ t overbeat it ” ) ; add some spices and a pinch of baking powder ( “ With your fingers ” ) , unless you don ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ skip that if you want to .
Use what you have ; just stay home ” ) .
I should note that the difference between a pancake and a fritter had never much occurred to me before writing this , perhaps because banana fritters blur the lines .
Technically , a pancake is defined by batter ; a fritter is defined by what ’ s dipped into batter , whether vegetables or fruits or leftover meats .
A pancake is often griddled with just a bit of fat ( your butter , your @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ; a fritter is properly fried ( more tempura than pancake , kakiage being a cardinal example ) .
My mother ’ s banana fritters involve no dipping—the mashed banana gets incorporated into the batter , just as it would for banana bread .
These are round and flat , like pancakes ( though smaller—about as wide as a tiny tea coaster ) , and they get fried up like a fritter .
At the end of the day , when your steaming bounty is piled high , deliciousness is the common denominator @ @ @ @ @ @ @ pancake , riffs on a melody that couldn ’ t be simpler , and cooking these , after a while , really is as easy as counting to one .
1 .
In a medium bowl , use a fork to mash banana and sugar until the mixture forms a thick , goopy paste .
3 .
Sift flour into the banana mixture , stirring just until combined .
4 .
Add beaten egg to the banana mixture , stirring until thoroughly combined .
5 .
Set a large frying pan over medium-high @ @ @ @ @ @ @ coat the bottom .
( Flick some batter into the pan ; if it sizzles , the oil is hot enough . )
6 .
Working in batches , add batter by the heaping spoonful , several at a time , taking care not to crowd the pan .
7 .
Cook until the edges of your fritters start to bubble , about 3 minutes .
Flip and cook for another 2 minutes or so .
Don ’ t flatten them .
8 .
Place finished fritters on a plate lined with paper @ @ @ @ @ @ @ towel to keep them warm .
9 .
To serve , dust fritters with confectioner ’ s sugar and drizzle with condensed milk , if you like .

If you’re even a semi-regular baker, you likely already have on hand all the ingredients you’ll need for a batch of banana fritters. Photograph by Maxine Lock / Alamy
I can’t pinpoint exactly when I began making pancakes, but I’m almost certain they were the first dish I attempted to cook on my own. The same way that friends of mine would read comics and then pick up a pen, or take to the weight room after watching the Longhorns fumble a title game, I’d chew a few chunks of a buttermilk pancake from, say, this one diner by Houston’s Hobby Airport and think, Damn, wouldn’t it be wild if this were something I could do? Sometimes, on lazy Saturdays, my family would grab short stacks at the Cracker Barrel just beyond Houston’s city limits. In high school, my friends and I would huddle around tables at IHOP on weekend nights. And the habit endured years later, when I’d sit at one Houston diner or another, in a state of disrepair after a night out, and a stack of flapjacks would seem to be the only remedy.
At home, I started with Aunt Jemima, because it was cheap and delicious and nearly always on hand; but, over time, gradually, I branched out across cuisines, all of them unified by the simple method of frying batter in a pan (the world is, frankly, a very small place). One year, my cooking consisted largely of scallion pancakes—rolled across my tiny countertop and dunked in a makeshift mixture of soy sauce, rice-wine vinegar, and honey—because it was what I could afford at the time. Then came a Swedish-pancake infatuation, followed by a dalliance with kimchi pancakes. Last winter, every week, I fried batches of hotteok—Korean pancakes with a sweet, nut-laden filling—sneaking them into movie theatres to munch on, freezing the extras for lazy afternoons. And, in the spring, sometimes several days a week, my boyfriend and I made okonomiyaki—Japanese cabbage pancakes topped with pork belly and sprinkled with the bonito flakes from Kuromon Market that I’d been rationing out over several seasons.
Pancakes have been a boon to me this past year, especially, as I’ve shifted my home cooking to maximize every haul from the grocery store. At least twice a week, something—anything—in my fridge gets pancaked: a small stack of buttermilk hotcakes makes a solid breakfast one day, and an eggy veggie pancake suffices for the next, followed by a billowing Dutch baby, or a crisp disk of pajeon for a rainy evening. The formula—something wet, something dry, a quick sojourn in some oil—will take you as far as you’d like to go. You might read the recipe closely the first time around, but soon you’ll begin to feel it out on your own. You’ll hear the edges crisp. Your nose will start to recognize the smell of a finished product. Flipping your perfect pancake will start to seem more instinctual than learned, and you’ll—eventually, necessarily—make peace with the fact that the first one in the batch really is always the worst.
When I think of a batter-in-a-frying-pan meal that brings maximal pleasure, now as ever, what comes to mind is my mom’s banana fritters. They’re my lodestar, topped with a little bit of powdered sugar and a splash of condensed milk, from a can that’s likely been long forgotten under the kitchen counter, only to prove clutch at the last minute, instantaneously miracle-worthy. The recipe’s a staple among Jamaican households, and, if you’re even a semi-regular baker, you likely already have on hand all the ingredients you’ll need for a batch. In Enid Donaldson’s “The Real Taste of Jamaica,” she writes, with only modest exaggeration, that “if you can count to one, you will remember the ingredients for these banana fritters.”
Not too long ago, I called my mom to bug her about it. After we took stock of the country’s declining state, in our usual way (in her city, protests over extrajudicial state violence against Black folks were ongoing; in mine, the confirmed cases of COVID-19 were multiplying, while more than a handful of locals were behaving as if there’d never been a pandemic), I asked her, a bit tentatively—because a recipe is a precious thing—about her banana-fritter method. She gave it to me in bits and pieces: make sure the bananas are just ripe enough (“Make sure you pick the right ones”) before mashing them with a fork; sift a bit of flour and stir a beaten egg into the batter (“Don’t overbeat it”); add some spices and a pinch of baking powder (“With your fingers”), unless you don’t have any (“You can skip that if you want to. Use what you have; just stay home”).
I should note that the difference between a pancake and a fritter had never much occurred to me before writing this, perhaps because banana fritters blur the lines. Technically, a pancake is defined by batter; a fritter is defined by what’s dipped into batter, whether vegetables or fruits or leftover meats. A pancake is often griddled with just a bit of fat (your butter, your lard, your oil, whatever); a fritter is properly fried (more tempura than pancake, kakiage being a cardinal example). My mother’s banana fritters involve no dipping—the mashed banana gets incorporated into the batter, just as it would for banana bread. These are round and flat, like pancakes (though smaller—about as wide as a tiny tea coaster), and they get fried up like a fritter. At the end of the day, when your steaming bounty is piled high, deliciousness is the common denominator. A banana fritter, like a pancake, riffs on a melody that couldn’t be simpler, and cooking these, after a while, really is as easy as counting to one.
Banana Fritters
Makes about 8 fritters
Ingredients
1 ripe banana
2 Tbsp. granulated sugar
2 tsp. vanilla extract
1 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. ground cinnamon
½ tsp. ground nutmeg
A pinch of salt
1 Tbsp. all-purpose flour
1 egg, lightly beaten
About ½ cup neutral oil, for frying
Confectioner’s sugar (optional), for serving
Condensed milk (optional), for serving
Directions
1. In a medium bowl, use a fork to mash banana and sugar until the mixture forms a thick, goopy paste.
2. Add vanilla, baking powder, cinnamon, nutmeg, and salt, stirring to combine.
3. Sift flour into the banana mixture, stirring just until combined.
4. Add beaten egg to the banana mixture, stirring until thoroughly combined.
5. Set a large frying pan over medium-high heat and add enough oil to thinly coat the bottom. (Flick some batter into the pan; if it sizzles, the oil is hot enough.)
6. Working in batches, add batter by the heaping spoonful, several at a time, taking care not to crowd the pan.
7. Cook until the edges of your fritters start to bubble, about 3 minutes. Flip and cook for another 2 minutes or so. Don’t flatten them.
8. Place finished fritters on a plate lined with paper towels. Cover them with a kitchen towel to keep them warm.
9. To serve, dust fritters with confectioner’s sugar and drizzle with condensed milk, if you like.


newyorker--2020-10-29--Google Smart Reply, Literary Critic

Google Smart Reply, Literary Critic

(All the suggested responses below were generated by the “smart reply” feature of the author’s Gmail account.)


newyorker--2020-10-29--The Long, Lonesome Roads of Jerry Jeff Walker

The maverick country-folk singer Jerry Jeff Walker was born in 1942 in Oneonta , a small city in upstate New York , near the northernmost boundary of Appalachia .
His parents , both local square-dance champions , gave Walker the slightly less swashbuckling name of Ronald Clyde Crosby .
He changed it in the early nineteen-sixties , shortly after going AWOL from the National Guard and embarking upon a hitchhiking odyssey around America ; Walker settled in Greenwich Village , with hopes of becoming a folksinger .
It ’ s possible that there was something about the tumult of the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of brazen , don ’ t-look-back reinvention—but one gets the sense that Walker was simply born with an outlaw heart .
He died last Friday , in Austin , Texas , of complications from throat cancer , at the age of seventy-eight .
Walker recorded more than thirty LPs in the course of his career , but is best known for “ Mr .
Bojangles , ” a song about a silver-haired , down-and-out showman Walker met while cooling off in a drunk tank in New Orleans .
Though the lyrics are mostly @ @ @ @ @ @ @ shoes , “ danced a lick across the cell ” —the song is still suffused with a kind of gnawing melancholy ; we are meant to understand that there is something spiritually crushing about the arc of Bojangles ’ s life .
“ Mr .
Bojangles ” was a hit for the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band , in 1971 , and a beloved staple of Sammy Davis , Jr. , ’ s set ( “ I can not do a show without including this song , ” Davis said , in 1985 ) @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , Nina Simone , Whitney Houston , John Denver , and Neil Diamond .
Walker ’ s own recording of the song , from 1968 , was powerful enough to secure him a record deal , and , in the early seventies , he signed and moved to Austin .
Texas suited Walker .
His songs were looser and more rambunctious than what many of his folk-revival counterparts were doing in New York , and he seemed more at ease in honky-tonks of ill repute than he did in the hipster cafés of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ferocious drinker—indefatigable , by all accounts , in his desire for oblivion .
“ Greased by drugs and alcohol , I was also raising the pursuit of wildness and weirdness to a fine art , ” he wrote in his memoir , “ Gypsy Songman.
” “ I didn ’ t just burn the candle at both ends , I was also finding new ends to light.
” Walker started hanging around the Armadillo World Headquarters , an abandoned armory that became a music hall and a beer garden in downtown Austin , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , Waylon Jennings , Kinky Friedman , and Guy Clark—rebellious , self-styled country songwriters working outside the confines of the Nashville machine .
Walker ’ s recording of Clark ’ s “ L.A .
Freeway , ” which Walker included on his self-titled 1972 album , is extraordinary .
It might be the best song I ’ ve ever heard about taking off and not looking back : Walker ’ s voice is rough , straining , and gorgeous .
“ L.A .
Freeway ” is about a fantasy of freedom ( “ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ smoke / For some land that I ain ’ t bought , bought , bought ” ) , but it is also about actual freedom—the heady and thrilling realization that you have had enough of something .
If you , like me , have never felt entirely certain about anything , hearing Walker announce “ We ’ ve got something to believe in / Now don ’ t ya think it ’ s time we ’ re leavin ’ ?
” can feel like a kind of divine mandate to follow your heart @ @ @ @ @ @ @ by Susan Streit , his wife of forty-six years , who also worked as his manager .
In 2018 , an interviewer asked Streit about her first impressions of her husband .
She and Walker met in 1972 , at a gathering in her living room .
Walker kept wandering over to the record player and replacing Streit ’ s music—she was playing the Rolling Stones ’ “ Let It Bleed ” —with a test pressing of his own album .
The label had recently asked him to listen back to it , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ turntable of his own .
“ So were there sparks between you instantly ?
” the interviewer asked .
“ Oh yeah , but not the good ones , ” Streit answered .
“ I had to admit that I needed someone , ” Walker said .
“ Which I didn ’ t want .
I didn ’ t want the complications of it , but I did need help.
” He and Streit married in 1974 , and have two children and two grandchildren .
Walker finally got clean in the nineteen-eighties @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
In 2008 , the singer and songwriter Nanci Griffith briefly put together an all-star band , including Walker , Clark , Steve Earle , Rodney Crowell , Jimmie Dale Gilmore , and Eric Taylor .
The group appeared on “ Late Night with David Letterman ” to perform “ Desperados Waiting for a Train , ” one of Clark ’ s songs .
“ Here ’ s where we ’ re going to straighten your life out , ” Letterman says in his introduction .
“ Just listen to the song and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the first to record “ Desperados , ” for his 1973 album “ Viva Terlingua , ” and he takes the first verse on “ Letterman.
” Walker was sixty-six then , but his voice sounds as heavy and full as ever .
It ’ s treacherous to romanticize the sorts of sad-eyed , luckless characters Clark and Walker wrote about—heartsick , defeated men who found themselves tyrannized by industry , drugs , women—but there is nonetheless something deeply kind in the way that Walker embodied , without judgment , the hard-up and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ Walker ’ s Collectibles , ” which he released in 1974 .
It does not appear to be readily available on streaming services , which is fine by me ; it ’ s one of a handful of records that I am certain sounds better—richer , more like itself—on vinyl .
The album includes a cover of “ Well of the Blues , ” a song by Gary P. Nunn .
At the time , Walker had not yet got sober , and it appears as if he might ’ ve recently @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and woken up to regret it .
“ Well of the Blues ” is a song about getting sad and trying to bung the holes in your soul with booze .
The arrangement is spare—an organ , some piano , some guitar , a hint of percussion , backing singers , a saxophone—and Walker ’ s performance is magnificently slow , though it never sounds labored .
“ The well of the blues , oh , it never runs dry , ” Walker growls .
“ It never gets full enough of whiskey @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of very good songs about desperation , or about feeling as if the slog of life has simply become too much to bear , but it is rare to hear a singer sound this compassionate about the whole mess .
I don ’ t know how to describe it , exactly , but something in Walker ’ s voice radiates a kind of profound , primal empathy—he has been wherever you ’ ve been , and he gets it .
This makes Walker the perfect companion for nights when you might be feeling @ @ @ @ @ @ @ by your side and show you a way back .

The maverick country-folk singer Jerry Jeff Walker was born in 1942 in Oneonta, a small city in upstate New York, near the northernmost boundary of Appalachia. His parents, both local square-dance champions, gave Walker the slightly less swashbuckling name of Ronald Clyde Crosby. He changed it in the early nineteen-sixties, shortly after going AWOL from the National Guard and embarking upon a hitchhiking odyssey around America; Walker settled in Greenwich Village, with hopes of becoming a folksinger. It’s possible that there was something about the tumult of the era that nurtured or encouraged this sort of brazen, don’t-look-back reinvention—but one gets the sense that Walker was simply born with an outlaw heart. He died last Friday, in Austin, Texas, of complications from throat cancer, at the age of seventy-eight.
Walker recorded more than thirty LPs in the course of his career, but is best known for “Mr. Bojangles,” a song about a silver-haired, down-and-out showman Walker met while cooling off in a drunk tank in New Orleans. Though the lyrics are mostly celebratory—Mr. Bojangles laughs, clicks his shoes, “danced a lick across the cell”—the song is still suffused with a kind of gnawing melancholy; we are meant to understand that there is something spiritually crushing about the arc of Bojangles’s life. “Mr. Bojangles” was a hit for the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, in 1971, and a beloved staple of Sammy Davis, Jr.,’s set (“I cannot do a show without including this song,” Davis said, in 1985); it was recorded by Bob Dylan, Nina Simone, Whitney Houston, John Denver, and Neil Diamond. Walker’s own recording of the song, from 1968, was powerful enough to secure him a record deal, and, in the early seventies, he signed and moved to Austin.
Texas suited Walker. His songs were looser and more rambunctious than what many of his folk-revival counterparts were doing in New York, and he seemed more at ease in honky-tonks of ill repute than he did in the hipster cafés of the West Village. Walker was a ferocious drinker—indefatigable, by all accounts, in his desire for oblivion. “Greased by drugs and alcohol, I was also raising the pursuit of wildness and weirdness to a fine art,” he wrote in his memoir, “Gypsy Songman.” “I didn’t just burn the candle at both ends, I was also finding new ends to light.”
Walker started hanging around the Armadillo World Headquarters, an abandoned armory that became a music hall and a beer garden in downtown Austin, and he got to know Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings, Kinky Friedman, and Guy Clark—rebellious, self-styled country songwriters working outside the confines of the Nashville machine. Walker’s recording of Clark’s “L.A. Freeway,” which Walker included on his self-titled 1972 album, is extraordinary. It might be the best song I’ve ever heard about taking off and not looking back:
Pack up all your dishes
Make note of all good wishes
Say goodbye to the landlord for me
Sons of bitches always bore me
Throw out those L.A. papers
Moldy box of vanilla wafers
Adios to all this concrete
Gonna get me some dirt road back street
Walker’s voice is rough, straining, and gorgeous. “L.A. Freeway” is about a fantasy of freedom (“Down the road in a cloud of smoke / For some land that I ain’t bought, bought, bought”), but it is also about actual freedom—the heady and thrilling realization that you have had enough of something. If you, like me, have never felt entirely certain about anything, hearing Walker announce “We’ve got something to believe in / Now don’t ya think it’s time we’re leavin’?” can feel like a kind of divine mandate to follow your heart at all costs.
Walker is survived by Susan Streit, his wife of forty-six years, who also worked as his manager. In 2018, an interviewer asked Streit about her first impressions of her husband. She and Walker met in 1972, at a gathering in her living room. Walker kept wandering over to the record player and replacing Streit’s music—she was playing the Rolling Stones’ “Let It Bleed”—with a test pressing of his own album. The label had recently asked him to listen back to it, but he didn’t have a turntable of his own. “So were there sparks between you instantly?” the interviewer asked.
“Oh yeah, but not the good ones,” Streit answered.
“I had to admit that I needed someone,” Walker said. “Which I didn’t want. I didn’t want the complications of it, but I did need help.”
He and Streit married in 1974, and have two children and two grandchildren. Walker finally got clean in the nineteen-eighties, but he never stopped making music. In 2008, the singer and songwriter Nanci Griffith briefly put together an all-star band, including Walker, Clark, Steve Earle, Rodney Crowell, Jimmie Dale Gilmore, and Eric Taylor. The group appeared on “Late Night with David Letterman” to perform “Desperados Waiting for a Train,” one of Clark’s songs. “Here’s where we’re going to straighten your life out,” Letterman says in his introduction. “Just listen to the song and everything will be fine.” Walker was the first to record “Desperados,” for his 1973 album, “Viva Terlingua,” and he takes one of the later verses on “Letterman.” Walker was sixty-six then, but his voice sounds as heavy and full as ever. It’s treacherous to romanticize the sorts of sad-eyed, luckless characters Clark and Walker wrote about—heartsick, defeated men who found themselves tyrannized by industry, drugs, women—but there is nonetheless something deeply kind in the way that Walker embodied, without judgment, the hard-up and wanting.
My favorite Walker record is “Walker’s Collectibles,” which he released in 1974. It does not appear to be readily available on streaming services, which is fine by me; it’s one of a handful of records that I am certain sounds better—richer, more like itself—on vinyl. The album includes a cover of “Well of the Blues,” a song by Gary P. Nunn. At the time, Walker had not yet got sober, and it appears as if he might’ve recently chugged several gallons of rotgut liquor, and woken up to regret it. “Well of the Blues” is a song about getting sad and trying to bung the holes in your soul with booze. The arrangement is spare—an organ, some piano, some guitar, a hint of percussion, backing singers, a saxophone—and Walker’s performance is magnificently slow, though it never sounds labored. “The well of the blues, oh, it never runs dry,” Walker growls. “It never gets full enough of whiskey and rye.” There are a lot of very good songs about desperation, or about feeling as if the slog of life has simply become too much to bear, but it is rare to hear a singer sound this compassionate about the whole mess. I don’t know how to describe it, exactly, but something in Walker’s voice radiates a kind of profound, primal empathy—he has been wherever you’ve been, and he gets it. This makes Walker the perfect companion for nights when you might be feeling certain sorrows acutely. He will stay by your side and show you a way back.


newyorker--2020-10-29--Jared Kushner Asks Dad to Bribe His Way Into Electoral College

WASHINGTON ( The Borowitz Report ) —With less than a week until Election Day , Jared Kushner has asked his father to bribe his way into the Electoral College .
Noting that Charles Kushner donated two and a half million dollars to Harvard before his son was accepted , Jared pointed out that his dad “ might have to pony up more this time around.
” “ The Electoral College only accepts five hundred and thirty-eight applicants , ” he reportedly told his dad .
“ Even Lori Loughlin couldn ’ t get her kids in.
” In addition to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ rain on the E.C.
, ” Jared said that he was putting together a “ stellar ” application .
“ I ’ m pretty sure I can get a letter of recommendation from Bob Woodward , ” he said .
“ We had an awesome interview.
” Between his father ’ s “ Benjamins ” and his own “ rock-star status , ” Jared said that his admission to the Electoral College should be “ a lock , ” arguing , “ How can they turn down the guy who ended the pandemic @ @

WASHINGTON (The Borowitz Report)—With less than a week until Election Day, Jared Kushner has asked his father to bribe his way into the Electoral College.
Noting that Charles Kushner donated two and a half million dollars to Harvard before his son was accepted, Jared pointed out that his dad “might have to pony up more this time around.”
“The Electoral College only accepts five hundred and thirty-eight applicants,” he reportedly told his dad. “Even Lori Loughlin couldn’t get her kids in.”
In addition to persuading his father to “make it rain on the E.C.,” Jared said that he was putting together a “stellar” application.
“I’m pretty sure I can get a letter of recommendation from Bob Woodward,” he said. “We had an awesome interview.”
Between his father’s “Benjamins” and his own “rock-star status,” Jared said that his admission to the Electoral College should be “a lock,” arguing, “How can they turn down the guy who ended the pandemic?”


newyorker--2020-10-29--Is American Tolerance for Political Violence on the Rise?

When it ’ s working , American democracy is a peace process—its institutions were devised to settle radical disagreements nonviolently .
On rare occasions , though , the institutions have failed .
Is this another such moment ?
Bright Line Watch , a group of political scientists monitoring threats to democratic practices , has conducted a survey on the robustness of America ’ s democracy in the face of what it calls “ nightmare scenarios.
” Election Day is less than a week away , and Donald Trump has indicated that he ’ ll respect the result if he wins—but @ @ @ @ @ @ @ campaign to gin up belief in voter fraud .
Should he lose in anything but a blowout , he seems poised to try to discredit the electoral process by casting doubt on the mechanics of voting and counting and by manipulating the vote in the Electoral College through spurious legal challenges , among other strategies .
Which tactics seem most likely to damage democratic processes , given America ’ s institutional soft spots ?
More important , will Americans keep the peace , even as the President riles them ?
Earlier this month @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Gretchen Helmke , of the University of Rochester , Susan C. Stokes , of the University of Chicago , and my colleagues John M. Carey and Brendan Nyhan , of Dartmouth College—posed such questions to some ten thousand academic political scientists in the United States .
More than seven hundred , “ across a diverse range of subfields , ” responded , offering opinions about the vulnerabilities of America ’ s democratic institutions .
The team simultaneously commissioned a YouGov survey of twenty-seven hundred citizens “ selected and weighted to be representative of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ asked them not the diagnostic questions posed to the political scientists but , to complement those , whether and in what ways they thought the vote could prove fraudulent .
The team then divided those citizens into self-identified Trump “ approvers ” and “ disapprovers ” ( the survey did not require respondents to identify as registered Republicans or Democrats , but it did establish which parties they felt “ closer ” to ) .
The team examined the answers to determine how seriously Trump ’ s claims are believed—and , more important @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to do about it .
“ We asked a battery of questions regarding the ways fraud might be perpetrated , ” Carey told me .
“ What ’ s fascinating , and cautionary , is the degree to which the President 's supporters and his opponents are—no surprise—living in completely disconnected information ecosystems.
” The political scientists were asked to rate the likelihood of twenty-eight electoral scenarios in which things could go wrong , intentionally or not , from polling places being closed to the House of Representatives deciding the winner .
Interestingly @ @ @ @ @ @ @ particularly disturb them : Russian hacking , for example , or a coronavirus-related emergency order that could curtail voting in various states , or “ faithless electors ” deciding the outcome in the Electoral College .
The academics apparently think America ’ s electoral institutions are rooted enough that inherent weaknesses in law and formal decision-making procedures are not likely to be a source of major problems .
What does worry them ( and , in fact , many others in the public arena ) is the potential for bad faith deriving from @ @ @ @ @ @ @ as the election proceeds : long lines at the polls on Election Day , notionally produced by efforts at voter suppression , or the likelihood that Trump will attack the “ blue shift ” —the tendency of returns in narrow state contests to favor Democrats in the hours and days after the polls close , largely because of the lag time in processing urban and mail-in ballots .
They are most concerned , it seems , that false social-media claims will incite rage against any result that does not go Trump ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ if Trump loses , he will , indeed , refuse to concede and may also encourage violence during voting and ballot counting .
On that ground , the YouGov survey of citizens is hardly reassuring .
Both sides seem to agree on just one positive point : that poll workers at the local level , in towns and counties , can be counted on to tally votes in a trustworthy manner .
Around eighty per cent think that their own votes will be counted fairly , a kind of proxy for a belief @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Moreover , around three-quarters of respondents on both sides have “ confidence that votes will be counted as intended ” at the state level , although that confidence is shaken when the other side controls both houses and the governorship of the state .
( Trumpists are somewhat more skeptical than anti-Trumpists on this score , even though Democrats face full Republican control in the key battleground states of Florida , Georgia , Ohio , and Iowa . )
But confidence drops about twenty points when the respondents consider vote-counting on the national @ @ @ @ @ @ @ no vote counting on the federal level ( except for , say , in the District of Columbia ) .
Instead , the point seems to reflect a concern that not all states will count and certify their votes appropriately .
Apparently , it is enough to ask about the nation as a whole to trigger a kind of reciprocal cynicism .
There is “ vast partisan divide over voter fraud , ” the team reports .
With little more than Trump ’ s railings and tweets to go on , about three-quarters @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of illegal votes are cast each election ” by non-citizens , as a result of people pretending to be someone else or of Democratic Party operatives stealing or tampering with ballots .
( About a quarter of Democrats believe similar things about the voting process . )
Things get even dicier when these attitudes bleed into opinions about the legitimacy of a government led by the other side .
Only forty-four per cent of Trumpists said that they ’ d regard a Joe Biden victory as legitimate ; presumably , voter fraud would @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that Biden would lead would be correspondingly tainted .
At the same time , only thirty-four per cent of anti-Trumpists would regard the President as the rightful winner .
The team did not speculate about why they found a more skeptical attitude among anti-Trumpists .
But it probably reflects their anger at the G.O.P.
’ s naked efforts at voter suppression , and the frustration they feel prospectively about the chance that Biden , who is likely to win the popular vote decisively , could lose by a thin margin in the Electoral @ @ @ @ @ @ @ troubling result of the survey reflects attitudes toward acts of political aggression .
Using a roster of research questions provided by the political scientists Nathan Kalmoe and Lilliana Mason , the Bright Line Watch team asked whether “ it is ever justified ” to harass the opposing party over the Internet , or to send “ threatening messages ” to its leaders .
The questionnaire did not specify whether the messages would target an actual person—as opposed to , say , his or her chances of reëlection—or whether the respondents themselves would ever @ @ @ @ @ @ @ twenty per cent of Trumpists and a somewhat smaller proportion of anti-Trumpists were O.K .
with both .
Citizens were then asked another vague yet obviously grave question : whether it could ever be justified to “ use violence to advance one ’ s goals ( generally ) ” or to “ use violence if the other party wins the 2020 election.
” Again , the question did not specify if the violence might entail the destruction of property or physical harm to people .
Nor did it ask whether the respondents themselves @ @ @ @ @ @ @ could ever be situations in which they might consider others taking such actions tolerable .
The survey was conducted after , among other incidents , a heavily armed , loosely organized rightist group , Michigan United for Liberty , had gathered at the state capitol to protest a stay-at-home order from the Democratic Governor , Gretchen Whitmer ; indeed , before the survey was completed , Whitmer became the target of a foiled kidnapping plot allegedly mounted by another self-styled rightist militia , which calls itself the Wolverine Watchmen .
Still , twenty-six @ @ @ @ @ @ @ they could condone some violence if he loses , and twenty-one per cent of his opponents could if he wins .
“ These numbers skyrocket , ” the team writes , “ if partisan opponents use violence first.
” In that case , forty-six per cent of Trump supporters and thirty-six per cent of Trump opponents could see some form of “ retaliatory violence ” as justified .
“ These numbers are worrisome given the potential of social media and cable news to quickly amplify cases of political violence across the country , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ well as prompt support for retaliation , ” the report states .
How might such cases be precipitated ?
John Carey and Brendan Nyhan offered a couple of “ nightmare scenarios.
” Imagine that Trump is ahead in Florida on Election Night , and the governor , Ron DeSantis , an avid Trump defender , claims irregularities in Miami-Dade County ’ s voter rolls and halts the vote count before any blue shift can be factored in—a decision that is then supported by the Republican majorities in the state legislature and Senate .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ then go to Tallahassee , to stage a peaceful protest at the state capitol .
If some of them destroy property—or are even just rumored to—imagine , given what we have seen transpire so far , the potential reactions from Tallahassee ’ s surrounding counties—Wakulla , Liberty , and Calhoun—where many ardent , gun-owning Trumpists live .
Nyhan was particularly anxious about a scenario involving the Supreme Court .
“ Think about the Electoral College hanging on Pennsylvania , where on Election Night Trump holds a narrow lead but mail-in ballots look certain @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s column , ” he told me .
“ What if the Supreme Court , with newly seated Justice Amy Coney Barrett in the majority , upholds the Pennsylvania G.O.P.
’ s objection to counting mail-in ballots that arrive after November 3rd , suspending the count and handing the election to Trump ?
” In fact , on Wednesday evening , the Court decided , 4–4 , not to reconsider the case before the election—Barrett did not cast a vote—so the extended count period holds .
But it isn ’ t likely to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ On Monday night , the Court , without Barrett , decided 5–3 to , in effect , prevent Wisconsin from extending its deadline to receive absentee ballots that are postmarked by Election Day but potentially delayed in the mail . )
Reading the Bright Line Watch report , none of this straining of American institutions seems merely hypothetical .
“ The report underscores the very real threat of significant political violence , ” Nyhan says .
“ That outcome might not be likely , but it ’ s intolerably plausible in what should @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to renew our shared commitment to the peaceful transfer of power—and not just for this election.
” Violence , he might have added , has seemed at times as American as apple pie , but so has the peaceful transition to new leaders .
The age of Trump may test that precedent , too .
Read More About the 2020 Election • The fall and rise of Kamala Harris .
• When a sitting President threatens to delay a sacrosanct American ritual like an election , you should listen .
• To understand @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the 2020 election , look at what he has provided the executive class .
• What happens if Trump fights the election results ?
• The refusal by Mitch McConnell to rein in Trump is looking riskier than ever .
• Sign up for our election newsletter for insight and analysis from our reporters and columnists .

When it’s working, American democracy is a peace process—its institutions were devised to settle radical disagreements nonviolently. On rare occasions, though, the institutions have failed. Is this another such moment? Bright Line Watch, a group of political scientists monitoring threats to democratic practices, has conducted a survey on the robustness of America’s democracy in the face of what it calls “nightmare scenarios.” Election Day is less than a week away, and Donald Trump has indicated that he’ll respect the result if he wins—but he has also been waging an unprecedented campaign to gin up belief in voter fraud. Should he lose in anything but a blowout, he seems poised to try to discredit the electoral process by casting doubt on the mechanics of voting and counting and by manipulating the vote in the Electoral College through spurious legal challenges, among other strategies. Which tactics seem most likely to damage democratic processes, given America’s institutional soft spots? More important, will Americans keep the peace, even as the President riles them?
Earlier this month, the Bright Line Watch team—led by Gretchen Helmke, of the University of Rochester, Susan C. Stokes, of the University of Chicago, and my colleagues John M. Carey and Brendan Nyhan, of Dartmouth College—posed such questions to some ten thousand academic political scientists in the United States. More than seven hundred, “across a diverse range of subfields,” responded, offering opinions about the vulnerabilities of America’s democratic institutions. The team simultaneously commissioned a YouGov survey of twenty-seven hundred citizens “selected and weighted to be representative of the U.S. adult population.” The survey asked them not the diagnostic questions posed to the political scientists but, to complement those, whether and in what ways they thought the vote could prove fraudulent. The team then divided those citizens into self-identified Trump “approvers” and “disapprovers” (the survey did not require respondents to identify as registered Republicans or Democrats, but it did establish which parties they felt “closer” to). The team examined the answers to determine how seriously Trump’s claims are believed—and, more important, what both groups might be prepared to do about it. “We asked a battery of questions regarding the ways fraud might be perpetrated,” Carey told me. “What’s fascinating, and cautionary, is the degree to which the President's supporters and his opponents are—no surprise—living in completely disconnected information ecosystems.”
The political scientists were asked to rate the likelihood of twenty-eight electoral scenarios in which things could go wrong, intentionally or not, from polling places being closed to the House of Representatives deciding the winner. Interestingly, many potential threats didn’t particularly disturb them: Russian hacking, for example, or a coronavirus-related emergency order that could curtail voting in various states, or “faithless electors” deciding the outcome in the Electoral College. The academics apparently think America’s electoral institutions are rooted enough that inherent weaknesses in law and formal decision-making procedures are not likely to be a source of major problems.
What does worry them (and, in fact, many others in the public arena) is the potential for bad faith deriving from party tribalism, which can roil supporters as the election proceeds: long lines at the polls on Election Day, notionally produced by efforts at voter suppression, or the likelihood that Trump will attack the “blue shift”—the tendency of returns in narrow state contests to favor Democrats in the hours and days after the polls close, largely because of the lag time in processing urban and mail-in ballots. They are most concerned, it seems, that false social-media claims will incite rage against any result that does not go Trump’s way, and they fear that, if Trump loses, he will, indeed, refuse to concede and may also encourage violence during voting and ballot counting.
On that ground, the YouGov survey of citizens is hardly reassuring. Both sides seem to agree on just one positive point: that poll workers at the local level, in towns and counties, can be counted on to tally votes in a trustworthy manner. Around eighty per cent think that their own votes will be counted fairly, a kind of proxy for a belief that their neighbors will be fair. Moreover, around three-quarters of respondents on both sides have “confidence that votes will be counted as intended” at the state level, although that confidence is shaken when the other side controls both houses and the governorship of the state. (Trumpists are somewhat more skeptical than anti-Trumpists on this score, even though Democrats face full Republican control in the key battleground states of Florida, Georgia, Ohio, and Iowa.)
But confidence drops about twenty points when the respondents consider vote-counting on the national level—a curious attitude, because there is no vote counting on the federal level (except for, say, in the District of Columbia). Instead, the point seems to reflect a concern that not all states will count and certify their votes appropriately. Apparently, it is enough to ask about the nation as a whole to trigger a kind of reciprocal cynicism. There is “vast partisan divide over voter fraud,” the team reports. With little more than Trump’s railings and tweets to go on, about three-quarters of Trump approvers think that “thousands of illegal votes are cast each election” by non-citizens, as a result of people pretending to be someone else or of Democratic Party operatives stealing or tampering with ballots. (About a quarter of Democrats believe similar things about the voting process.)
Things get even dicier when these attitudes bleed into opinions about the legitimacy of a government led by the other side. Only forty-four per cent of Trumpists said that they’d regard a Joe Biden victory as legitimate; presumably, voter fraud would be to blame, and any government that Biden would lead would be correspondingly tainted. At the same time, only thirty-four per cent of anti-Trumpists would regard the President as the rightful winner. The team did not speculate about why they found a more skeptical attitude among anti-Trumpists. But it probably reflects their anger at the G.O.P.’s naked efforts at voter suppression, and the frustration they feel prospectively about the chance that Biden, who is likely to win the popular vote decisively, could lose by a thin margin in the Electoral College.
By far, the most troubling result of the survey reflects attitudes toward acts of political aggression. Using a roster of research questions provided by the political scientists Nathan Kalmoe and Lilliana Mason, the Bright Line Watch team asked whether “it is ever justified” to harass the opposing party over the Internet, or to send “threatening messages” to its leaders. The questionnaire did not specify whether the messages would target an actual person—as opposed to, say, his or her chances of reëlection—or whether the respondents themselves would ever consider sending one. Regardless, about twenty per cent of Trumpists and a somewhat smaller proportion of anti-Trumpists were O.K. with both.
Citizens were then asked another vague yet obviously grave question: whether it could ever be justified to “use violence to advance one’s goals (generally)” or to “use violence if the other party wins the 2020 election.” Again, the question did not specify if the violence might entail the destruction of property or physical harm to people. Nor did it ask whether the respondents themselves would ever act—just if they thought there could ever be situations in which they might consider others taking such actions tolerable. The survey was conducted after, among other incidents, a heavily armed, loosely organized rightist group, Michigan United for Liberty, had gathered at the state capitol to protest a stay-at-home order from the Democratic Governor, Gretchen Whitmer; indeed, before the survey was completed, Whitmer became the target of a foiled kidnapping plot allegedly mounted by another self-styled rightist militia, which calls itself the Wolverine Watchmen. Still, twenty-six per cent of Trump supporters said that they could condone some violence if he loses, and twenty-one per cent of his opponents could if he wins. “These numbers skyrocket,” the team writes, “if partisan opponents use violence first.” In that case, forty-six per cent of Trump supporters and thirty-six per cent of Trump opponents could see some form of “retaliatory violence” as justified.
“These numbers are worrisome given the potential of social media and cable news to quickly amplify cases of political violence across the country, which could both encourage copycat behavior as well as prompt support for retaliation,” the report states. How might such cases be precipitated? John Carey and Brendan Nyhan offered a couple of “nightmare scenarios.” Imagine that Trump is ahead in Florida on Election Night, and the governor, Ron DeSantis, an avid Trump defender, claims irregularities in Miami-Dade County’s voter rolls and halts the vote count before any blue shift can be factored in—a decision that is then supported by the Republican majorities in the state legislature and Senate. Imagine that Democrats from Miami and Orlando then go to Tallahassee, to stage a peaceful protest at the state capitol. If some of them destroy property—or are even just rumored to—imagine, given what we have seen transpire so far, the potential reactions from Tallahassee’s surrounding counties—Wakulla, Liberty, and Calhoun—where many ardent, gun-owning Trumpists live.


newyorker--2020-10-29--How Much Longer Will Donald Trump Be Our Con-Artist-in-Chief?

To be sure , that is a bold claim to make in a nation that has long specialized in producing sharpies and mountebanks .
In nominating Trump for the top slot , however , there are a number of unmatched achievements to point to .
Unlike many shysters , he has managed to remain within the letter of the law—or , at least , he has not faced any criminal prosecutions .
Second , as the latest Times story makes clear , he has enlisted some of the supposedly most astute financial minds in the country to back his ventures @ @ @ @ @ @ @ he has parlayed the fiction that he is a sterling businessman into a scandalous Presidency , which hopefully will be confined to a single term after the votes are counted .
The Chicago story began almost twenty years ago , when Trump announced plans to build a skyscraper on the site of the decrepit Chicago Sun-Times Building , where Mike Royko and Ann Landers once penned their columns .
( What did Royko think of Trump ?
“ I finally decided that he was totally loathsome when , in addition to his other @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a cheapo , ” the columnist wrote in a 1991 piece about Trump ’ s first divorce . )
Trump originally claimed that the new building would be a hundred and fifty stories high .
After 9/11 , he scaled it back to a modest ninety stories .
In addition to an upscale hotel , the plan included luxury condos and retail outlets .
The principal financier of the project was Deutsche Bank , which was then trying to establish itself as a top player on Wall Street .
Many U.S. banks had @ @ @ @ @ @ @ during the nineteen-nineties , when two of his debt-laden properties had filed for bankruptcy , leaving their creditors with heavy losses .
Deutsche extended a construction loan of six hundred and forty million dollars , some of which it chopped into pieces and sold to other banks , many of them foreign .
Trump was then starring in “ The Apprentice , ” a top-rated reality show , and memories were short .
A big hedge-fund manager , Fortress Investments , also came in on the deal .
According to the Times , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and thirty million dollars , some of which it sold to other private-equity firms and hedge funds , including Dune Capital Management , a firm co-founded by Steven Mnuchin , who would go on to be Trump ’ s Treasury Secretary .
Did Mnuchin or any of these other financial geniuses take the time to call up some of the bankers who had been left holding the bag in the nineteen-nineties ?
The Times story doesn ’ t say .
In any case , Trump ’ s new creditors soon met a fate @ @ @ @ @ @ @ had faced .
In 2008 , some of the loans on the Chicago project came due , but many of the condo units still hadn ’ t been completed , and the project was way behind its financial projections .
The bankers found themselves stuck with a debtor who couldn ’ t meet his payments and who had no compunction about using his stretched finances as leverage .
Trump demanded an extension to the loans , which Deutsche refused .
Then he sued the bank , accusing it of “ predatory lending practices.
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ ) As the saying goes , if you owe the bank a hundred dollars , it is your problem , but if you owe a million dollars , it is the bank ’ s problem .
Trump owed hundreds of millions , and he had played this game before .
In the nineties , Trump ’ s creditors , when faced with the prospect of endless legal battles and maybe losing the entirety of the money they had lent , agreed to write off huge chunks of his loans .
Deutsche and Fortress @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Mr .
Trump was let off the hook for about $ 270 million , ” the Times story says .
“ It was the type of generous financial break that few American companies or individuals could ever expect to receive , especially without filing for bankruptcy protection.
” You can say that again .
According to the Times story , Fortress was repaid forty-eight million dollars , or roughly a sixth of what it had expected to receive after interest payments .
Deutsche ’ s corporate-loan division also suffered a big loss .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ another arm of the bank—the wealth-management division—subsequently lent Trump hundreds of millions of dollars more .
These new loans went to the Chicago building ; the Doral golf resort , in Miami ; and the Trump International Hotel in Washington , D.C. , which Trump built on the site of the Old Post Office Building .
“ At the end of 2018 , Mr. Trump and his companies owed the bank $ 330 million , ” the Times says .
The saga doesn ’ t end there .
In the nineties , according @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Trump exploited his huge losses to take a gargantuan tax writeoff , which enabled him to pay virtually nothing in federal income taxes during the subsequent decade .
After the Chicago debacle , he again turned the situation to his advantage .
Under the tax laws , if somebody forgives a loan that you owe them , the I.R.S .
treats the sum as income , and you have to pay tax on it .
Unless you are Trump .
By exploiting other loopholes in the tax code and utilizing offsetting losses from @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ managed to avoid paying income taxes on nearly all of it , ” the Times story says .
It ’ s a remarkable tale , but not at all surprising when you take into account its subject .
After all , this is the financial Houdini who rebounded from the wreckage of his early-nineties bust ; the former proprietor of the shameless scam that was Trump University ; the self-proclaimed billionaire who got other people to finance his charitable foundation ; the man whose chronic self-dealing as President has extended to such @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Florida , once charged the U.S. government three dollars for water that was served to him .
You hadn ’ t heard that last detail ?
It comes from David Fahrenthold , the Washington Post reporter who won a Pulitzer Prize , in 2017 , for his reporting on Trump ’ s unique brand of philanthropy .
In a report published on Tuesday , Fahrenthold revealed that since Trump came to office his properties have charged the federal government at least $ 2.5 million for hosting Trump events .
This total includes seven @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Mar-a-Lago with Xi Jinping , the Chinese leader ; six thousand dollars for flowers at Mar-a-Lago during a 2018 visit by Shinzo Abe , the former Prime Minister of Japan ; and—yes—three dollars for water served during a press briefing with Trump and Abe at the same event .
“ The price was $ 3 each , including service charge , ” Fahrenthold ’ s story notes .
“ Taxpayers had effectively paid Trump ’ s company to serve him water.
” Read More About the 2020 Election • The fall and rise @ @ @ @ @ @ @ sitting President threatens to delay a sacrosanct American ritual like an election , you should listen .
• To understand the path Donald Trump has taken to the 2020 election , look at what he has provided the executive class .
• What happens if Trump fights the election results ?
• The refusal by Mitch McConnell to rein in Trump is looking riskier than ever .
• Sign up for our election newsletter for insight and analysis from our reporters and columnists .

Over the past few weeks, the Times has published a series of detailed reports about Donald Trump’s financial affairs, including a mammoth exposé of his tax records. The latest installment is devoted to a single ill-starred venture—the Trump International Hotel & Tower, in Chicago—and, in some ways, it is the most revealing of all. With its publication coming just days before the election, it provides another reminder, at once painful and comical, that Trump may well be the most successful con artist in American history.
To be sure, that is a bold claim to make in a nation that has long specialized in producing sharpies and mountebanks. In nominating Trump for the top slot, however, there are a number of unmatched achievements to point to. Unlike many shysters, he has managed to remain within the letter of the law—or, at least, he has not faced any criminal prosecutions. Second, as the latest Times story makes clear, he has enlisted some of the supposedly most astute financial minds in the country to back his ventures. Third, and most obviously, he has parlayed the fiction that he is a sterling businessman into a scandalous Presidency, which hopefully will be confined to a single term after the votes are counted.
The Chicago story began almost twenty years ago, when Trump announced plans to build a skyscraper on the site of the decrepit Chicago Sun-Times Building, where Mike Royko and Ann Landers once penned their columns. (What did Royko think of Trump? “I finally decided that he was totally loathsome when, in addition to his other flaws, he turned out to be a cheapo,” the columnist wrote in a 1991 piece about Trump’s first divorce.) Trump originally claimed that the new building would be a hundred and fifty stories high. After 9/11, he scaled it back to a modest ninety stories. In addition to an upscale hotel, the plan included luxury condos and retail outlets.
President Obama’s New Memoir Read an excerpt in this week’s issue.
The principal financier of the project was Deutsche Bank, which was then trying to establish itself as a top player on Wall Street. Many U.S. banks had been burned by their experiences with Trump during the nineteen-nineties, when two of his debt-laden properties had filed for bankruptcy, leaving their creditors with heavy losses. Deutsche extended a construction loan of six hundred and forty million dollars, some of which it chopped into pieces and sold to other banks, many of them foreign. Trump was then starring in “The Apprentice,” a top-rated reality show, and memories were short. A big hedge-fund manager, Fortress Investments, also came in on the deal. According to the Times, it extended a loan of a hundred and thirty million dollars, some of which it sold to other private-equity firms and hedge funds, including Dune Capital Management, a firm co-founded by Steven Mnuchin, who would go on to be Trump’s Treasury Secretary.
Did Mnuchin or any of these other financial geniuses take the time to call up some of the bankers who had been left holding the bag in the nineteen-nineties? The Times story doesn’t say. In any case, Trump’s new creditors soon met a fate that was similar to what their predecessors had faced. In 2008, some of the loans on the Chicago project came due, but many of the condo units still hadn’t been completed, and the project was way behind its financial projections. The bankers found themselves stuck with a debtor who couldn’t meet his payments and who had no compunction about using his stretched finances as leverage. Trump demanded an extension to the loans, which Deutsche refused. Then he sued the bank, accusing it of “predatory lending practices.” (He also sued Fortress.)
As the saying goes, if you owe the bank a hundred dollars, it is your problem, but if you owe a million dollars, it is the bank’s problem. Trump owed hundreds of millions, and he had played this game before. In the nineties, Trump’s creditors, when faced with the prospect of endless legal battles and maybe losing the entirety of the money they had lent, agreed to write off huge chunks of his loans. Deutsche and Fortress ultimately did the same thing. “Mr. Trump was let off the hook for about $270 million,” the Times story says. “It was the type of generous financial break that few American companies or individuals could ever expect to receive, especially without filing for bankruptcy protection.”
You can say that again. According to the Times story, Fortress was repaid forty-eight million dollars, or roughly a sixth of what it had expected to receive after interest payments. Deutsche’s corporate-loan division also suffered a big loss. But, in a remarkable turnaround, another arm of the bank—the wealth-management division—subsequently lent Trump hundreds of millions of dollars more. These new loans went to the Chicago building; the Doral golf resort, in Miami; and the Trump International Hotel in Washington, D.C., which Trump built on the site of the Old Post Office Building. “At the end of 2018, Mr. Trump and his companies owed the bank $330 million,” the Times says.
The saga doesn’t end there. In the nineties, according to another scoop in the Times, Trump exploited his huge losses to take a gargantuan tax writeoff, which enabled him to pay virtually nothing in federal income taxes during the subsequent decade. After the Chicago debacle, he again turned the situation to his advantage. Under the tax laws, if somebody forgives a loan that you owe them, the I.R.S. treats the sum as income, and you have to pay tax on it. Unless you are Trump. By exploiting other loopholes in the tax code and utilizing offsetting losses from elsewhere in the Trump organization, he “managed to avoid paying income taxes on nearly all of it,” the Times story says.
It’s a remarkable tale, but not at all surprising when you take into account its subject. After all, this is the financial Houdini who rebounded from the wreckage of his early-nineties bust; the former proprietor of the shameless scam that was Trump University; the self-proclaimed billionaire who got other people to finance his charitable foundation; the man whose chronic self-dealing as President has extended to such lengths that his Mar-a-Lago resort, in Florida, once charged the U.S. government three dollars for water that was served to him.
You hadn’t heard that last detail? It comes from David Fahrenthold, the Washington Post reporter who won a Pulitzer Prize, in 2017, for his reporting on Trump’s unique brand of philanthropy. In a report published on Tuesday, Fahrenthold revealed that since Trump came to office his properties have charged the federal government at least $2.5 million for hosting Trump events. This total includes seven thousand dollars for a 2017 dinner at Mar-a-Lago with Xi Jinping, the Chinese leader; six thousand dollars for flowers at Mar-a-Lago during a 2018 visit by Shinzo Abe, the former Prime Minister of Japan; and—yes—three dollars for water served during a press briefing with Trump and Abe at the same event. “The price was $3 each, including service charge,” Fahrenthold’s story notes. “Taxpayers had effectively paid Trump’s company to serve him water.”
Mike Royko wouldn’t have been surprised.
Read More About the 2020 Election