newyorker--2020-08-05--Kate Zambreno’s Present Tense

Kate Zambreno’s Present Tense

My first philosophy of writing came from the teen dance movie “ Center Stage.
” In the rehearsal room , Jonathan ( Peter Gallagher ) , the domineering choreographer—is there any other kind ?
—scrutinizes Maureen ( Susan May Pratt ) , a bulimic ballerina rehearsing for his new production .
“ You make it look like work , ” he snaps .
“ I need to see the movement , not the effort behind it.
” The movie was released in 2000 .
I watched it the following summer on a tiny coach-bus television during a summer-camp trip , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ when I sit down at the keyboard , I still see the ballerina and her thin , lifted arms .
That impression of sweatlessness is the masochist ’ s ideal—and writing , many writers will tell you , is masochism , a torture and a torment , an exercise in mental brick-breaking that justifies itself in pursuit of the apt and elegant line .
On Twitter , struggling writers commiserate with one another , taking vocational pride in the pain , hoping that the false starts and hideous metaphors will eventually be hidden @ @ @ @ @ @ @ foot , in finished beauty .
Go through hell—but make it look like dancing .
Kate Zambreno ’ s new novel , “ Drifts ” ( Riverhead ) , takes that pretense of perfection and stomps all over it .
The book ’ s movement is repetitive and jerky , gliding , then scuttling , then stuck ; it revels , and wallows , in the aesthetics of effort .
“ My mind spinning and stupid , ” Zambreno writes , or her narrator does—this is a work of autofiction in which the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ so thin as to be transparent .
That ’ s not to say that there ’ s no difference between them ; an “ I ” is always a character .
But , as with other recent works in the genre , the term “ narrator ” has come to seem descriptively outmoded .
We ’ re not dealing with David Copperfield , regaling us with a life shaped as an appealing series of stories .
Zambreno ’ s persona on the page is a tracker of moods and feelings that resist being @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s Zambreno is , like Zambreno herself , a writer who has published a series of books , peripatetic and experimental in form , that have won her a devoted if niche following—a cute guy recognizes her in the subway , which pleases and embarrasses her—and who holds down various exhausting , underpaid gigs as an adjunct of creative writing .
Now , in her late thirties , she is trying to write a book called “ Drifts.
” “ What I really wanted to write was my present tense , which @ @ @ @ @ @ @ protagonist ( not a perfect terminological fit , but good enough ) says , at its start .
“ How can a paragraph be a day , or a day a paragraph ?
” This is a book in search of lost time , which all time is ; its subject is its own creation , which gives it an uneasy , flayed quality , like a patient who watches herself being cut open on the operating table .
Zambreno is interested in “ the writing one is doing when one is not @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , in part , the work that is done in preparation : the notes she takes in a journal , as she sits on the porch of the Victorian house where she lives with her husband , John , and their dog , Genet , keeping an eye on neighborhood life in what seems to be Ditmas Park , in Brooklyn , or as she wanders the city in the tradition of flânerie .
Her method is the sketch , the note , the Internet search , the photograph .
W. G. Sebald @ @ @ @ @ @ @ chosen family of artists that includes Robert Walser , Kafka , and , above all , Rainer Maria Rilke , whose biography she returns to repeatedly , staking the poet ’ s creative torments to her own .
This is very male European company to keep ; “ my hermit-bachelors , ” Zambreno calls them .
As she meanders around New York , taking moody pictures of stray cats and the neon signs of storefront psychics ( as with Sebald , some images appear in the book itself ) , she drifts ever @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was originally intended to be , back when it was nothing but a title in a publishing contract .
“ Who are the characters in your novel , the publishing people ask me , and does anything happen ?
” Zambreno writes , on page 15 .
Those questions stand in their own paragraph , the typographical equivalent of being made to wear a dunce cap , as if just to ask them is absurd .
The novel opens in the summer of 2015 , in a mood of quiet optimism : it @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to suck up the protagonist ’ s time and attention , no commute to wear her out .
Soon , though , that abundance turns to rot .
If nothing is more frightening than the blank page , nothing is worse than a bounty of hours to fill it with .
The protagonist watches television and movies , reads , Googles , writes e-mails , and looks at art books ( her husband is an art librarian ) ; one with Dürer ’ s engraving of artistic idleness , “ Melencolia I , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Does all this count as writing , too ?
It might come down to a question of terminology .
On her porch , she sits with Genet , watching other dogs pass by with their owners , and thinks about how she , in turn , might be seen : So much of writing is observing , storing away material for future use ; this makes for convenient mental accounting , because Zambreno ’ s protagonist can credit whole days spent away from her desk as work , on the ground that she @ @ @ @ @ @ @ it doesn ’ t take long for her spiritual stance to waver .
Is a finished book really going to cohere from all this woolgathering ?
“ Never have I felt more emptied of the possibility of writing but more full of it at the same time , ” she confesses , later , before once again redefining her terms to recast the blight of creative stoppage into something glamorous and vague : “ When did I realize I was suffering not from writer ’ s block but from refusal ?
” The @ @ @ @ @ @ @ replaces the work is a familiar one to readers of contemporary fiction .
Like some invasive beetle , the fragment has burrowed deep into the trunk of the novel , hollowing it out .
The aperçu takes precedent over the scene ; the acknowledgment of the disjointed is valued over the effort to synthesize and combine .
Blocky paragraphs are encased , on the page , in chic white space , like paintings on a gallery wall .
The form , with its suspicion of unified narrative , is ideal for capturing the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in every direction at once .
( Zambreno ’ s protagonist loves Elizabeth Hardwick ’ s “ Sleepless Nights , ” published in 1979 , which remains the pinnacle of the fragmented novel . )
But it also gives cover to the inability to sustain a unified narrative in the first place .
For a self-portraitist like Zambreno , the fragment is a way to explore the inability to sustain a unified self .
If an “ I ” is always a character , it ’ s also a composite ; the person @ @ @ @ @ @ @ not identical to the one riding the train , in the privacy of strangers , on the way home , and Zambreno ’ s method allows her to pick at her own seams , to show us the places where she is inconsistent , unsure , confused by her own actions and motives .
But that method can be almost too successful .
There ’ s a sense , as the novel progresses in its elliptical , diaristic fashion , that the more that her protagonist records her thoughts and activities the less @ @ @ @ @ @ @ own mind .
“ I look inside my inbox like an oracle , to remind myself that I still exist , ” Zambreno writes .
The risk of such long-exposure scrutiny is that the self begins to squirm and blur under its own stare .

My first philosophy of writing came from the teen dance movie “Center Stage.” In the rehearsal room, Jonathan (Peter Gallagher), the domineering choreographer—is there any other kind?—scrutinizes Maureen (Susan May Pratt), a bulimic ballerina rehearsing for his new production. “You make it look like work,” he snaps. “I need to see the movement, not the effort behind it.” The movie was released in 2000. I watched it the following summer on a tiny coach-bus television during a summer-camp trip, and now, twenty years later, when I sit down at the keyboard, I still see the ballerina and her thin, lifted arms. That impression of sweatlessness is the masochist’s ideal—and writing, many writers will tell you, is masochism, a torture and a torment, an exercise in mental brick-breaking that justifies itself in pursuit of the apt and elegant line. On Twitter, struggling writers commiserate with one another, taking vocational pride in the pain, hoping that the false starts and hideous metaphors will eventually be hidden, like a ballerina’s disfigured foot, in finished beauty. Go through hell—but make it look like dancing.
Kate Zambreno’s new novel, “Drifts” (Riverhead), takes that pretense of perfection and stomps all over it. The book’s movement is repetitive and jerky, gliding, then scuttling, then stuck; it revels, and wallows, in the aesthetics of effort. “My mind spinning and stupid,” Zambreno writes, or her narrator does—this is a work of autofiction in which the barrier between writer and protagonist is rubbed so thin as to be transparent. That’s not to say that there’s no difference between them; an “I” is always a character. But, as with other recent works in the genre, the term “narrator” has come to seem descriptively outmoded. We’re not dealing with David Copperfield, regaling us with a life shaped as an appealing series of stories. Zambreno’s persona on the page is a tracker of moods and feelings that resist being stuffed and mounted with words.
Zambreno’s Zambreno is, like Zambreno herself, a writer who has published a series of books, peripatetic and experimental in form, that have won her a devoted if niche following—a cute guy recognizes her in the subway, which pleases and embarrasses her—and who holds down various exhausting, underpaid gigs as an adjunct of creative writing. Now, in her late thirties, she is trying to write a book called “Drifts.” “What I really wanted to write was my present tense, which seemed impossible,” Zambreno’s protagonist (not a perfect terminological fit, but good enough) says, at its start. “How can a paragraph be a day, or a day a paragraph?” This is a book in search of lost time, which all time is; its subject is its own creation, which gives it an uneasy, flayed quality, like a patient who watches herself being cut open on the operating table. Zambreno is interested in “the writing one is doing when one is not writing,” by which she means, in part, the work that is done in preparation: the notes she takes in a journal, as she sits on the porch of the Victorian house where she lives with her husband, John, and their dog, Genet, keeping an eye on neighborhood life in what seems to be Ditmas Park, in Brooklyn, or as she wanders the city in the tradition of flânerie.
Her method is the sketch, the note, the Internet search, the photograph. W. G. Sebald is a touchstone, one in a chosen family of artists that includes Robert Walser, Kafka, and, above all, Rainer Maria Rilke, whose biography she returns to repeatedly, staking the poet’s creative torments to her own. This is very male European company to keep; “my hermit-bachelors,” Zambreno calls them. As she meanders around New York, taking moody pictures of stray cats and the neon signs of storefront psychics (as with Sebald, some images appear in the book itself), she drifts ever farther from “Drifts” as it was originally intended to be, back when it was nothing but a title in a publishing contract. “Who are the characters in your novel, the publishing people ask me, and does anything happen?” Zambreno writes, on page 15. Those questions stand in their own paragraph, the typographical equivalent of being made to wear a dunce cap, as if just to ask them is absurd.
The novel opens in the summer of 2015, in a mood of quiet optimism: it’s vacation, with no students to suck up the protagonist’s time and attention, no commute to wear her out. Soon, though, that abundance turns to rot. If nothing is more frightening than the blank page, nothing is worse than a bounty of hours to fill it with. The protagonist watches television and movies, reads, Googles, writes e-mails, and looks at art books (her husband is an art librarian); one with Dürer’s engraving of artistic idleness, “Melencolia I,” lies open on her desk. Does all this count as writing, too? It might come down to a question of terminology. On her porch, she sits with Genet, watching other dogs pass by with their owners, and thinks about how she, in turn, might be seen:
I often wonder if the trainer thinks I’m lazy when he sees me on the porch in my sun hat, watching the procession of the neighborhood with my dog. But I am working, taking notes and thinking. Not just laziness, I’ve decided, but what Blanchot calls désoeuvrement, translated variously as “inoperativeness,” “inertia,” “idleness,” “unworking,” or my favorite, “worklessness.” A spiritual stance, more active, like decreation. The state where the writing of the fragment replaces the work.
So much of writing is observing, storing away material for future use; this makes for convenient mental accounting, because Zambreno’s protagonist can credit whole days spent away from her desk as work, on the ground that she had kept her eyes open. But it doesn’t take long for her spiritual stance to waver. Is a finished book really going to cohere from all this woolgathering? “Never have I felt more emptied of the possibility of writing but more full of it at the same time,” she confesses, later, before once again redefining her terms to recast the blight of creative stoppage into something glamorous and vague: “When did I realize I was suffering not from writer’s block but from refusal?”
The state where the writing of the fragment replaces the work is a familiar one to readers of contemporary fiction. Like some invasive beetle, the fragment has burrowed deep into the trunk of the novel, hollowing it out. The aperçu takes precedent over the scene; the acknowledgment of the disjointed is valued over the effort to synthesize and combine. Blocky paragraphs are encased, on the page, in chic white space, like paintings on a gallery wall. The form, with its suspicion of unified narrative, is ideal for capturing the flitting, distracted modern mind, pulled in every direction at once. (Zambreno’s protagonist loves Elizabeth Hardwick’s “Sleepless Nights,” published in 1979, which remains the pinnacle of the fragmented novel.) But it also gives cover to the inability to sustain a unified narrative in the first place.
For a self-portraitist like Zambreno, the fragment is a way to explore the inability to sustain a unified self. If an “I” is always a character, it’s also a composite; the person who teaches at the college upstate is not identical to the one riding the train, in the privacy of strangers, on the way home, and Zambreno’s method allows her to pick at her own seams, to show us the places where she is inconsistent, unsure, confused by her own actions and motives. But that method can be almost too successful. There’s a sense, as the novel progresses in its elliptical, diaristic fashion, that the more that her protagonist records her thoughts and activities the less real she comes to seem in her own mind. “I look inside my inbox like an oracle, to remind myself that I still exist,” Zambreno writes. The risk of such long-exposure scrutiny is that the self begins to squirm and blur under its own stare.
A quarantine mood hangs over this novel written long before quarantine, an airless indoor feeling of closed blinds and domestic neglect that approaches a state of trance. The effect is frequently mesmerizing; at other times, it is tortuous and almost luxuriantly dull. Autofiction is a hermetic genre, and “Drifts” is a more hermetic work of autofiction than most. The protagonist and her husband suffer from a sort of social blight; they haven’t lived in New York long, and seem not to know anyone in the city. There are no parties to go to, no dinners out. Mostly, the protagonist stays sealed in at home, alone with Genet, weeping and isolated in her despair; as a representation of female depression, “Drifts” calls to mind Tracey Emin’s installation “My Bed.” John works long hours in Manhattan; her friends exist primarily on e-mail. They are mainly other women writers, like Sofia, a sympathetic confidante, and Anna, who, being more professionally successful and more confident in her success, is a source of competitive friction and envy:
Anna was always worried about being remembered. . . . I wasn’t sure anyone was going to be remembered. Writing was what I felt compelled to do while I was living. Not about what would happen after I was dead. Maybe writing was about being visible when I felt invisible, as I felt invisible as a child, unspecial, ignored. Or maybe writing was about becoming invisible again after having become too visible. Maybe it was both. I wasn’t sure anymore. A genius goes inside someone else’s heart and blood and stays there forever, Anna wrote me. Maybe this was the difference between the two of us. Anna was sure we were geniuses, or at least sure that she was. I was worried that I was a fraud.
Genius is a touchy term, with its overtones of great-white-maleness. It was her brother who was considered the family’s genius, Zambreno’s protagonist says, though she and her sister were just as “tiny, oversensitive, and intense” as he was. Then, in September of 2015, “a prominent writer of so-called autofiction, with a half-million-dollar advance on his last book, wins the so-called genius grant.” This is Ben Lerner, unnamed and pleasurably resented: “All day, friends contact me to complain. This writer’s name had become synonymous for the type of first-person narrative we also wrote, and yet no one found our struggles worthy of reward.” Zambreno’s protagonist is irked by her own lack of prestigious recognition—is it because she’s a woman?
That’s impossible to know, but impossible not to wonder. She’s also suspicious of what Lerner is doing, publishing a book (the novel “10:04,” which came out in the fall of 2014) that is set in the previous year: “How did this writer have the confidence to write his novel seemingly in real time, over a year?” While he has written his book, she is still consumed with making notes for hers.


newyorker--2020-08-05--Trump Tries to Make It Hard for Anyone Else to Behave Ethically, Either

Subscribers to The Climate Crisis newsletter received this piece in their in-boxes .
Sign up to receive future installments .
Given what you know of the Trump Administration , you may not be shocked to learn that—hidden away behind a wall of acronyms , and obscured in the recesses of the federal rule-making process—it is doing its best to stall the trend toward ethical investing .
The Department of Labor , in June , proposed changes to the Employee Retirement Income Security Act ( ERISA ) that would make it hard for pension funds to steer money toward so-called E.S.G @ @ @ @ @ @ @ environmental , social , and governance factors , such as whether a company is switching to renewable energy or putting women on its board or treating its workers fairly .
A couple of caveats first : E.S.G .
investing is no panacea .
( A Blackrock E.S.G .
fund , for instance , had ExxonMobil as its twentieth-largest holding at one point , which is roughly akin to the Vatican setting aside a corner of the Sistine Chapel for satanic rituals . )
And , at this late date , the idea that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ single-handedly save the day seems absurd .
Still , people have pensions , and they ’ re going to be invested somewhere .
E.S.G .
funds saw record growth in 2019 , and that rise steepened as the pandemic hit .
“ The rebound in civil society has been impressive , with an increase in volunteering , social cohesion , community support and focus on public good vs. private freedoms , ” JPMorgan said in a recent note to clients .
“ We see the Covid-19 crisis accelerating the trend to ESG investment.
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ another reason : a Financial Times analysis in June found that , in the past decade , you made more money investing responsibly .
Who wouldn ’ t like all this ?
Well , diehard libertarians clinging to the Milton Friedman theory that a corporation has no social responsibility beyond making money , and people who run unethical enterprises .
This ( often overlapping ) set of players orbits in a loose constellation around the businessman in the Oval Office , who himself has never been accused of behaving ethically .
Now Trump @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Scalia ( the son of the late Supreme Court Justice ) , has proposed the rule changes , which would force pension funds seeking to invest ethically to jump through any number of hoops proving that there ’ s no “ pecuniary ” difference with more cavalier holdings .
Happily , New York State—which is home to , among other things , a great many funds—has decided to fight back .
Linda Lacewell , the state ’ s superintendent of financial services , wrote Scalia last week to say , “ In our @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in recent years is a welcome development that reflects both a more sophisticated approach to investment and risk analysis and one more in line with the challenges facing investors today.
” As Ali Zaidi , who handles climate policy for Governor Andrew Cuomo , explained to me in an interview , the proposed rule is “ essentially an effort to take information away from the market.
” What ’ s really stunning , Zaidi added , is that it comes as “ the economic feedback to this incredible challenge we face in the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ reminded us how important E.S.G .
and climate-risk analysis really are .
In financial regulatory parlance , we talk about stress testing .
In some ways , the stress testing is happening right now , and showing that a lot of these industries sit on a house of sand , not a firm foundation.
” That is to say , you better hope that you weren ’ t long on oil going into the pandemic , because you not only helped to wreck the planet—you also lost your shirt .
As Zaidi pointed @ @ @ @ @ @ @ public life , the result of the Administration ’ s efforts rests on the outcome of the November elections .
The Department of Labor ’ s rule changes will probably come late enough in the Trump term that , if he ’ s defeated , it will be relatively easy for Congress to overturn them .
And Elizabeth Warren , who seems likely to wield some power on financial questions in a Biden Administration , has made it clear that she ’ ll have no patience for this kind of irresponsibility .
As @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Wall Street Journal last month , “ Mr .
Scalia seems to think that burying our heads in the sand and pretending that there is no risk to manage is risk management itself .
If Mr. Scalia truly wanted to protect retirees , he ’ d remove roadblocks to ESG investing , call on his colleagues to create strong ESG standards and support my Climate Risk Disclosure Act.
” The bottom line , as she points out , is that “ climate change threatens the stability of our economy.
” Indeed , as @ @ @ @ @ @ @ clear , by 2100 , as much as twenty per cent of global G.D.P .
could be threatened by coastal flooding , in a worst-case scenario .
Add in desertification , heat waves , agricultural collapse—pretty soon , there isn ’ t much of an economy left to worry about .
The situation seems obvious by this point—but clearly not , at least in the Azkaban where American policy is currently formulated .
Others , however , are catching on .
Mark Fawcett , the chief investment officer for the National Employment Savings @ @ @ @ @ @ @ largest public pension fund by number of members , announced last week that it will begin to divest its massive portfolio from fossil fuels .
Why ?
“ Just like coronavirus , climate change poses serious risks to both our savers and their investments , ” Fawcett said .
“ It has the potential to cause catastrophic damage and completely disrupt our way of life .
No one wants to save throughout their life to retire into a world devastated by climate change.
” According to the World Bank , fashion is responsible @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s greenhouse-gas emissions , more than all international flights and maritime shipping combined .
Which is why it ’ s good that the fashion writer Shonagh Marshall has launched Denier , a Web site that features her conversations about the industry ’ s “ relation to people , the planet , and profit.
” ( And also a pretty good pun . )
The site ’ s early content includes a particularly fine colloquy with Liz Ricketts , of the Or Foundation , about what happens to the clothes that Americans give @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , who ’ s based in New York , last week ; our conversation has been edited for length and clarity .
Fashion , broadly defined , seems to be a large part of the climate equation .
Is it possible to reimagine it as an industry ?
If so , is that reimagining under way , or is it mostly greenwashing so far ?
It is possible to reimagine it , and I think the regenerative nature at the very core of the fashion industry makes it ripe for dreaming up new @ @ @ @ @ @ @ fashion designers that have built their businesses with concerns for the climate crisis at the center .
They act as interesting case studies in that all the decisions they make have the well-being of people and the planet as a focus , even if this means forgoing profit .
But there is a lot of greenwashing , and fast fashion and luxury design houses have done little to change all elements of their business .
Often , they focus on one thing , such as carbon emissions , which is fantastic—however , as @ @ @ @ @ @ @ enough !
A brilliant resource to find out how well a fashion brand is doing across people , planet , and animals is Good on You .
Fashion companies are rated from 1 ( We Avoid ) to 5 ( Great ) , and it includes lengthy descriptions about why they are rated this way .

Subscribers to The Climate Crisis newsletter received this piece in their in-boxes. Sign up to receive future installments.
Given what you know of the Trump Administration, you may not be shocked to learn that—hidden away behind a wall of acronyms, and obscured in the recesses of the federal rule-making process—it is doing its best to stall the trend toward ethical investing. The Department of Labor, in June, proposed changes to the Employee Retirement Income Security Act (ERISA) that would make it hard for pension funds to steer money toward so-called E.S.G. funds—those that put a priority on environmental, social, and governance factors, such as whether a company is switching to renewable energy or putting women on its board or treating its workers fairly.
A couple of caveats first: E.S.G. investing is no panacea. (A Blackrock E.S.G. fund, for instance, had ExxonMobil as its twentieth-largest holding at one point, which is roughly akin to the Vatican setting aside a corner of the Sistine Chapel for satanic rituals.) And, at this late date, the idea that “green capitalism” is going to single-handedly save the day seems absurd. Still, people have pensions, and they’re going to be invested somewhere. E.S.G. funds saw record growth in 2019, and that rise steepened as the pandemic hit. “The rebound in civil society has been impressive, with an increase in volunteering, social cohesion, community support and focus on public good vs. private freedoms,” JPMorgan said in a recent note to clients. “We see the Covid-19 crisis accelerating the trend to ESG investment.” Oh, and there’s another reason: a Financial Times analysis in June found that, in the past decade, you made more money investing responsibly.
Who wouldn’t like all this? Well, diehard libertarians clinging to the Milton Friedman theory that a corporation has no social responsibility beyond making money, and people who run unethical enterprises. This (often overlapping) set of players orbits in a loose constellation around the businessman in the Oval Office, who himself has never been accused of behaving ethically. Now Trump’s Secretary of Labor, Eugene Scalia (the son of the late Supreme Court Justice), has proposed the rule changes, which would force pension funds seeking to invest ethically to jump through any number of hoops proving that there’s no “pecuniary” difference with more cavalier holdings.
Happily, New York State—which is home to, among other things, a great many funds—has decided to fight back. Linda Lacewell, the state’s superintendent of financial services, wrote Scalia last week to say, “In our view, the rise of ESG investing in recent years is a welcome development that reflects both a more sophisticated approach to investment and risk analysis and one more in line with the challenges facing investors today.” As Ali Zaidi, who handles climate policy for Governor Andrew Cuomo, explained to me in an interview, the proposed rule is “essentially an effort to take information away from the market.” What’s really stunning, Zaidi added, is that it comes as “the economic feedback to this incredible challenge we face in the form of the COVID crisis has actually reminded us how important E.S.G. and climate-risk analysis really are. In financial regulatory parlance, we talk about stress testing. In some ways, the stress testing is happening right now, and showing that a lot of these industries sit on a house of sand, not a firm foundation.” That is to say, you better hope that you weren’t long on oil going into the pandemic, because you not only helped to wreck the planet—you also lost your shirt.
As Zaidi pointed out, like all else in our public life, the result of the Administration’s efforts rests on the outcome of the November elections. The Department of Labor’s rule changes will probably come late enough in the Trump term that, if he’s defeated, it will be relatively easy for Congress to overturn them. And Elizabeth Warren, who seems likely to wield some power on financial questions in a Biden Administration, has made it clear that she’ll have no patience for this kind of irresponsibility. As she wrote in a letter to the Wall Street Journal last month, “Mr. Scalia seems to think that burying our heads in the sand and pretending that there is no risk to manage is risk management itself. If Mr. Scalia truly wanted to protect retirees, he’d remove roadblocks to ESG investing, call on his colleagues to create strong ESG standards and support my Climate Risk Disclosure Act.” The bottom line, as she points out, is that “climate change threatens the stability of our economy.” Indeed, as a new study published last Thursday makes clear, by 2100, as much as twenty per cent of global G.D.P. could be threatened by coastal flooding, in a worst-case scenario. Add in desertification, heat waves, agricultural collapse—pretty soon, there isn’t much of an economy left to worry about.
The situation seems obvious by this point—but clearly not, at least in the Azkaban where American policy is currently formulated. Others, however, are catching on. Mark Fawcett, the chief investment officer for the National Employment Savings Trust, the United Kingdom’s largest public pension fund by number of members, announced last week that it will begin to divest its massive portfolio from fossil fuels. Why? “Just like coronavirus, climate change poses serious risks to both our savers and their investments,” Fawcett said. “It has the potential to cause catastrophic damage and completely disrupt our way of life. No one wants to save throughout their life to retire into a world devastated by climate change.”
Passing the Mic
According to the World Bank, fashion is responsible for ten per cent of the planet’s greenhouse-gas emissions, more than all international flights and maritime shipping combined. Which is why it’s good that the fashion writer Shonagh Marshall has launched Denier, a Web site that features her conversations about the industry’s “relation to people, the planet, and profit.” (And also a pretty good pun.) The site’s early content includes a particularly fine colloquy with Liz Ricketts, of the Or Foundation, about what happens to the clothes that Americans give away to charities. I interviewed Marshall, who’s based in New York, last week; our conversation has been edited for length and clarity.
Fashion, broadly defined, seems to be a large part of the climate equation. Is it possible to reimagine it as an industry? If so, is that reimagining under way, or is it mostly greenwashing so far?
It is possible to reimagine it, and I think the regenerative nature at the very core of the fashion industry makes it ripe for dreaming up new systems. There are a number of fashion designers that have built their businesses with concerns for the climate crisis at the center. They act as interesting case studies in that all the decisions they make have the well-being of people and the planet as a focus, even if this means forgoing profit. But there is a lot of greenwashing, and fast fashion and luxury design houses have done little to change all elements of their business. Often, they focus on one thing, such as carbon emissions, which is fantastic—however, as we know, this is just not enough! A brilliant resource to find out how well a fashion brand is doing across people, planet, and animals is Good on You. Fashion companies are rated from 1 (We Avoid) to 5 (Great), and it includes lengthy descriptions about why they are rated this way.
What needs to change in our relationship to clothes and the way we think about them?


newyorker--2020-08-05--After Twin Explosions, an “Apocalypse” in Lebanon

Pity Lebanon .
The charming Mediterranean nation , smaller than Connecticut , survived a fifteen-year civil war , from 1975 to 1990 , that became a battlefield for the entire Middle East—sucking in arms , armies , and issues from around the world .
It has endured bombings , hostage-takings , and mass killings by dozens of militias , including the powerful P.L.O .
and Hezbollah , both of which used Lebanese soil in order to fight Israel .
It has navigated the labyrinthine politics of eighteen religious sects , each officially recognized and allocated proportionate shares of government jobs @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the assassinations of Presidents and Prime Ministers , Cabinet members , and Members of Parliament and occupations by Syrian and Israeli troops .
It ’ s been rocked by a series of national protests—from the Cedar Revolution , in 2005 , that ousted one government , to the October , 2019 , uprising that forced out another Prime Minister .
For decades , Lebanon has defied the odds .
During an interview on his old Comedy Central show , Stephen Colbert asked me which of the dozen wars that I ’ ve covered @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Lebanon and its strife , for my wonderment of that country ’ s creative , resilient people and its physical beauty as well as the epic political stakes for the country , the region , and the world .
No longer .
Lebanon is now on the verge of collapse .
It was already a failing state before twin explosions ripped through Beirut ’ s scenic port , shortly after rush hour began , at 6 P.M. on Tuesday .
The second blast set off a billowing mushroom cloud , reminiscent of a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ equivalent to a 3.3-magnitude earthquake .
The explosion was heard as far away as Cyprus , an island more than a hundred and twenty miles to the northwest .
The Lebanese government appealed to every ambulance in the country to head for Beirut .
As of Wednesday afternoon , more than a hundred and thirty-five had died , more than five thousand were wounded , and untold numbers were still missing .
Hospitals , already overwhelmed with COVID-19 patients , treated many of the injured on sidewalks and roads , or turned them @ @ @ @ @ @ @ shortage of everything , ” the country ’ s health minister , Hamad Hasan , told reporters .
Lebanon now faces existential challenges .
The blasts destroyed office buildings and apartment blocks across the capital as well as its largest port , which is critical to the trade and imports on which Lebanon is dependent .
One governor estimated that more than a quarter million were left homeless , compounding the challenges of absorbing hundreds of thousands of Syrian war refugees in a country of fewer than seven million .
A row of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ central role in the country ’ s importing and storing of food , were among the facilities destroyed at the port .
“ No words can describe the horror that has hit Beirut last night , turning it into a disaster-stricken city , ” President Michel Aoun said at an emergency Cabinet meeting on Wednesday , as smoke still rose from the port .
“ The Apocalypse , ” a headline in the Lebanese daily L ’ Orient-Le Jour read .
The blasts could not have come at a worse time for the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of modern Lebanon as we know it .
The physical signs are everywhere : once famed for its robust night life and rich cultural outlets , Beirut recently has had no electricity for up to twenty hours a day .
Rescue efforts were hampered by the power outages .
Rancid garbage lines streets and fills open spaces , owing to squabbling among political factions over which of their allies should get the contract to collect it .
Potable water is often in short supply .
Last month , Michelle Bachelet , the former @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Commissioner for Human Rights , warned that Lebanon is “ fast spiralling out of control , with many already destitute and facing starvation.
” Once the banking center and economic pulse for the Middle East , Lebanon is now facing an economic crisis without precedent in its history , the International Crisis Group reported in June .
The price of food and basic commodities has risen by at least fifty per cent every month since May .
One in three Lebanese is unemployed , due to a long-standing economic crisis exacerbated by the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ As of April , Bachelet reported , a staggering seventy-five per cent of the population needed various forms of aid .
The national currency has lost eighty per cent of its value since the October uprising , which was triggered by a new government tax on WhatsApp usage but quickly escalated into demands for a political overhaul of the power structure dominated by warlords turned politicians since the end of the civil war , three decades ago .
The Levantine state is in even worse shape politically than it is physically .
“ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ have seen .
And I have lived through multiple wars in this country , ” Maha Yahya , the head of the Beirut office at the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace , told me on Wednesday , in an e-mail .
But , she added , “ Lebanon has been collapsing in an exponential manner prior to this explosion.
” In a report published two weeks ago , Yahya warned that four of the five key pillars that have sustained Lebanon since it gained independence from France , in 1943 , are now @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is deeply dysfunctional .
Lebanon ’ s middle class is disappearing .
The country can no longer pretend to be a merchant republic , its long-standing role in the Middle East .
Personal freedoms—including freedom of speech , which provided for rich intellectual debate unknown in other parts of the region—are disappearing , as repression and intimidation increase .
Even the military , the one national institution that works ( sort of ) , has been weakened by the economic crisis .
“ Lebanese politicians are pushing their country over the precipice , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ into a complex crisis that is threatening Lebanon ’ s foundations , they have yet to take steps to stem the collapse .
Since the civil war ended , in 1990 , Lebanon has been built largely on a political Ponzi scheme , Paul Salem , the president of the Middle East Institute and the son of a former Lebanese foreign minister , told me .
The state is now “ grievously wounded , ” but not yet dead .
It faces two stark alternatives , he said : civil-society protest movements that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ change can push even harder for reforms and new leadership , or the “ criminal oligarchy ” can stitch its corrupt deals and continue to rule—and ruin—Lebanon .
“ There ’ s been a new variable since the October protests , when a wide cross-section stood up and rejected the corruption and old sectarian way of doing everything , ” he said .
“ If nothing is done , then we are headed to becoming a failed state.
” At his briefing on the pandemic , on Tuesday , President Trump described the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ It was “ a bomb of some kind , ” he said .
In Lebanon , which is always rich with conspiracy theories , speculation ranged from sabotage by Israel to an explosion at an arms depot maintained by Hezbollah at the port .
But President Aoun said that the blast was sparked in a warehouse that stored almost three thousand tons of ammonium nitrate confiscated from a Russian-owned cargo ship that had docked in Beirut in 2013 with unspecified problems .
The ship was subsequently abandoned by the owner ; and the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ be used both for good ( as fertilizer , to enrich agriculture ) and evil ( as explosives , to make bombs ) —was deemed too risky to leave on the ship .
So it was offloaded onto the Beirut dock , where it has apparently been sitting in a warehouse for seven years .
The fact that the government failed to deal with so much explosive material in the nation ’ s most strategic port was a microcosm of its broader failures .
Given the description of the two explosions , including @ @ @ @ @ @ @ by the first , arms experts said that the official story sounded correct .
“ Storing 2,750 tons of ammonium nitrate in a hot warehouse in the middle of a port city is not an ‘ attack ’ —it is tragic incompetence , ” Daryl Kimball , the executive director of the Arms Control Association , told me .
“ As if the Lebanese people needed more evidence of the abysmally low performance of their successive governments , ” Jeffrey Feltman , a the former U.S .
Ambassador to Lebanon and former U.N. @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .

Pity Lebanon. The charming Mediterranean nation, smaller than Connecticut, survived a fifteen-year civil war, from 1975 to 1990, that became a battlefield for the entire Middle East—sucking in arms, armies, and issues from around the world. It has endured bombings, hostage-takings, and mass killings by dozens of militias, including the powerful P.L.O. and Hezbollah, both of which used Lebanese soil in order to fight Israel. It has navigated the labyrinthine politics of eighteen religious sects, each officially recognized and allocated proportionate shares of government jobs. It picked up the pieces after the assassinations of Presidents and Prime Ministers, Cabinet members, and Members of Parliament and occupations by Syrian and Israeli troops. It’s been rocked by a series of national protests—from the Cedar Revolution, in 2005, that ousted one government, to the October, 2019, uprising that forced out another Prime Minister. For decades, Lebanon has defied the odds. During an interview on his old Comedy Central show, Stephen Colbert asked me which of the dozen wars that I’ve covered was my favorite. No question: Lebanon and its strife, for my wonderment of that country’s creative, resilient people and its physical beauty as well as the epic political stakes for the country, the region, and the world.
No longer. Lebanon is now on the verge of collapse. It was already a failing state before twin explosions ripped through Beirut’s scenic port, shortly after rush hour began, at 6 P.M. on Tuesday. The second blast set off a billowing mushroom cloud, reminiscent of a nuclear bomb, and registered seismic waves equivalent to a 3.3-magnitude earthquake. The explosion was heard as far away as Cyprus, an island more than a hundred and twenty miles to the northwest. The Lebanese government appealed to every ambulance in the country to head for Beirut. As of Wednesday afternoon, more than a hundred and thirty-five had died, more than five thousand were wounded, and untold numbers were still missing. Hospitals, already overwhelmed with COVID-19 patients, treated many of the injured on sidewalks and roads, or turned them away. “There is an acute shortage of everything,” the country’s health minister, Hamad Hasan, told reporters.
Lebanon now faces existential challenges. The blasts destroyed office buildings and apartment blocks across the capital as well as its largest port, which is critical to the trade and imports on which Lebanon is dependent. One governor estimated that more than a quarter million were left homeless, compounding the challenges of absorbing hundreds of thousands of Syrian war refugees in a country of fewer than seven million. A row of towering wheat silos, which play a central role in the country’s importing and storing of food, were among the facilities destroyed at the port. “No words can describe the horror that has hit Beirut last night, turning it into a disaster-stricken city,” President Michel Aoun said at an emergency Cabinet meeting on Wednesday, as smoke still rose from the port. “The Apocalypse,” a headline in the Lebanese daily L’Orient-Le Jour read.
The blasts could not have come at a worse time for the country. They may mark the end of modern Lebanon as we know it. The physical signs are everywhere: once famed for its robust night life and rich cultural outlets, Beirut recently has had no electricity for up to twenty hours a day. Rescue efforts were hampered by the power outages. Rancid garbage lines streets and fills open spaces, owing to squabbling among political factions over which of their allies should get the contract to collect it. Potable water is often in short supply.
Last month, Michelle Bachelet, the former Chilean President and the current U.N. High Commissioner for Human Rights, warned that Lebanon is “fast spiralling out of control, with many already destitute and facing starvation.” Once the banking center and economic pulse for the Middle East, Lebanon is now facing an economic crisis without precedent in its history, the International Crisis Group reported in June. The price of food and basic commodities has risen by at least fifty per cent every month since May. One in three Lebanese is unemployed, due to a long-standing economic crisis exacerbated by the coronavirus pandemic, the U.N. said. As of April, Bachelet reported, a staggering seventy-five per cent of the population needed various forms of aid. The national currency has lost eighty per cent of its value since the October uprising, which was triggered by a new government tax on WhatsApp usage but quickly escalated into demands for a political overhaul of the power structure dominated by warlords turned politicians since the end of the civil war, three decades ago.
The Levantine state is in even worse shape politically than it is physically. “The devastation is far beyond anything I have seen. And I have lived through multiple wars in this country,” Maha Yahya, the head of the Beirut office at the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, told me on Wednesday, in an e-mail. But, she added, “Lebanon has been collapsing in an exponential manner prior to this explosion.” In a report published two weeks ago, Yahya warned that four of the five key pillars that have sustained Lebanon since it gained independence from France, in 1943, are now crumbling. The power-sharing agreement among sects is deeply dysfunctional. Lebanon’s middle class is disappearing. The country can no longer pretend to be a merchant republic, its long-standing role in the Middle East. Personal freedoms—including freedom of speech, which provided for rich intellectual debate unknown in other parts of the region—are disappearing, as repression and intimidation increase. Even the military, the one national institution that works (sort of), has been weakened by the economic crisis. “Lebanese politicians are pushing their country over the precipice,” Yahya wrote. “Eight months into a complex crisis that is threatening Lebanon’s foundations, they have yet to take steps to stem the collapse.”
Since the civil war ended, in 1990, Lebanon has been built largely on a political Ponzi scheme, Paul Salem, the president of the Middle East Institute and the son of a former Lebanese foreign minister, told me. The state is now “grievously wounded,” but not yet dead. It faces two stark alternatives, he said: civil-society protest movements that have struggled for fifteen years to provoke change can push even harder for reforms and new leadership, or the “criminal oligarchy” can stitch its corrupt deals and continue to rule—and ruin—Lebanon. “There’s been a new variable since the October protests, when a wide cross-section stood up and rejected the corruption and old sectarian way of doing everything,” he said. “If nothing is done, then we are headed to becoming a failed state.”
At his briefing on the pandemic, on Tuesday, President Trump described the blast as a “terrible attack.” It was “a bomb of some kind,” he said. In Lebanon, which is always rich with conspiracy theories, speculation ranged from sabotage by Israel to an explosion at an arms depot maintained by Hezbollah at the port. But President Aoun said that the blast was sparked in a warehouse that stored almost three thousand tons of ammonium nitrate confiscated from a Russian-owned cargo ship that had docked in Beirut in 2013 with unspecified problems. The ship was subsequently abandoned by the owner; and the cargo—one of those dual-use commodities that can be used both for good (as fertilizer, to enrich agriculture) and evil (as explosives, to make bombs)—was deemed too risky to leave on the ship. So it was offloaded onto the Beirut dock, where it has apparently been sitting in a warehouse for seven years. The fact that the government failed to deal with so much explosive material in the nation’s most strategic port was a microcosm of its broader failures. Given the description of the two explosions, including the orange cloud that was set off by the first, arms experts said that the official story sounded correct. “Storing 2,750 tons of ammonium nitrate in a hot warehouse in the middle of a port city is not an ‘attack’—it is tragic incompetence,” Daryl Kimball, the executive director of the Arms Control Association, told me. “As if the Lebanese people needed more evidence of the abysmally low performance of their successive governments,” Jeffrey Feltman, a former U.S. Ambassador to Lebanon and former U.N. Undersecretary-General for political affairs, told me.
The political aftershock from the twin blasts—and the criminal negligence that they exposed—will be much bigger than the explosions themselves, Rami Khouri, the director of global engagement at the American University of Beirut and a nonresident fellow at Harvard’s Kennedy School, told me. “There will be enormous public pressure to finally force the political élite to get out of their lives. This will ultimately be seen as the decisive blow that brings down the system.” During the nine months since the October uprising, he said, Lebanon has felt new rumblings among young activists, the media, professional associations, and civil society “getting ready to replace the crappy old system.” The sectarian divide of power—and its fifty-fifty split between Christians and Muslims of all government and civil-service jobs—will remain, he said; it was this division of power that ended the civil war. The primary focus will instead be ejecting the corrupt political élite, who have created a spoils system that excludes all but their own. “This is a turning point,” Khouri said. “It’s not the end of Lebanon. It’s the beginning of a different Lebanon.”
I adore this little country. I return as often as I can. Despite their exhaustion, the Lebanese will almost certainly rise up against the political mafia yet again, possibly in even greater numbers, to demand accountability—and more. Some heads will roll. Some officials will certainly have to resign. But more meaningful and enduring change? I can only wish the Lebanese well—and hope they once again defy the odds.


newyorker--2020-08-05--What to Stream: “The Well,” a Daring Drama About a Race Riot in a Small Town

Oscar nominations , as history has shown , are hardly a guarantee of a movie ’ s merits—but , more surprisingly , they don ’ t guarantee prominence , either .
That ’ s why I was surprised to learn that a low-budget drama , “ The Well , ” from 1951 , an independent production with no stars , was nominated for two of them .
It recently turned up on YouTube—and it ’ s a remarkable movie , one that both highlights the central American crisis with dramatic audacity and , with a documentary-rooted sense of nuance , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
“ The Well ” is a drama about the genesis of a race riot in a small town , sparked by the disappearance of a five-year-old Black girl named Carolyn Crawford ( Gwendolyn Laster ) who was last seen in town talking to a white man ( Harry Morgan ) , a stranger in town , who bought her flowers and walked with her , holding her hand .
( Its Oscar nominations were for its script , which was written by Clarence Greene with Russell Rouse , and its editing ; @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ; Popkin and Rouse co-directed it . )
“ The Well ” is distinctive in the sheer fact of its characterizations and dramatizations—it depicts , alongside its white characters , a wide variety of Black characters in a wide range of settings ( work , school , home , government offices , street life ) , speaking substantially ( if briefly ) about the trouble at hand and their views of it .
From the start , the movie dispels all ambiguity : Carolyn , who loved flowers , walks through an empty @ @ @ @ @ @ @ falls into a long-abandoned well .
Her teacher , a white woman , reports her absence to Carolyn ’ s mother , Martha ( Maidie Norman ) , who informs the town ’ s sheriff , Ben Kellog ( Richard Rober ) , a white man .
Despite the frank assertion of Carolyn ’ s uncle , Gaines ( Alfred Grant ) , that the police won ’ t be looking very hard for a Black child , Ben sharply declares and clearly displays his authentic concern , energetically and devotedly sending more @ @ @ @ @ @ @ men—to scour the town for Carolyn .
A group of residents who ’ d been on the street that morning—all white people—inform the department of the man whom they ’ d seen with her .
Ben is well aware that the information is potentially incendiary , and he asks them to keep the news to themselves .
But a young Black man who works in a shop overhears such a conversation between his ( white ) boss and the sheriff , and , while making a delivery , informs other Black residents of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ seen with Carolyn turns out to be the nephew of Sam Packard ( Barry Kelley ) , the town grandee , and rumors ( accurate ones ) fly among the Black community that this rich and connected man is trying to help the suspect get away .
When Gaines and Carolyn ’ s father , Ralph ( Ernest Anderson ) , confront Sam and he accidentally falls , rumors of an angry and violent Black mob fly through the town ; then a cluster of hot-headed young white men are roused into action @ @ @ @ @ @ @ claims , for sick fun , that a Black man insulted her .
Soon white people are attacking Black ones , mobbing and beating them , pulling them out of cars , and throwing rocks through the windows of Black-owned businesses , and Black people are responding in kind .
Ben wants to call in the state militia before the violence engulfs the entire town .
White residents are shocked—they and the town ’ s Black community had always , one white community leader says , got along well .
The movie , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ t delve deeply into the private lives of Black characters , but it does catch , in discerning touches , the town ’ s deceptive , one-way comity .
Not long after the arrest , a group of workers , white and Black , are talking about the case ; a white man cautions against jumping to conclusions and recommends giving the guy “ a break , ” and a Black worker responds , “ Tell him what kind of a break we ’ d catch if it was one of us.
” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ You can get away with murder as long as you ’ re the right color.
” Early on , when Ralph , an auto mechanic , is called home from work to help look for his daughter , he says , plainly , “ It was hard enough to get a good job in this town , and I don ’ t want to lose it.
” For that matter , the casual use of the N-word by several white residents suggests the ambient racism that the civic order both seemingly conceals and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is evident in the fact that all the town ’ s officials are white ; Black power is seen only in private activities , when the mayor calls community leaders unofficially together for an emergency meeting .
The bitter , if facile , irony of the mounting violence is that it distracts the police from searching for Carolyn ; it takes another child , innocent and uninvolved , to do what the authorities can not .
The effort to rescue Carolyn—an extraordinarily detailed , intensely dramatic , and daringly extended sequence of large-scale @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that , though it ends the violence and restores morale along with calm , merely pushes the underlying questions past “ The End ” and leaves the real story utterly unresolved .

Oscar nominations, as history has shown, are hardly a guarantee of a movie’s merits—but, more surprisingly, they don’t guarantee prominence, either. That’s why I was surprised to learn that a low-budget drama, “The Well,” from 1951, an independent production with no stars, was nominated for two of them. It recently turned up on YouTube—and it’s a remarkable movie, one that both highlights the central American crisis with dramatic audacity and, with a documentary-rooted sense of nuance, reveals its underlying, endemic social framework. “The Well” is a drama about the genesis of a race riot in a small town, sparked by the disappearance of a five-year-old Black girl named Carolyn Crawford (Gwendolyn Laster) who was last seen in town talking to a white man (Harry Morgan), a stranger in town, who bought her flowers and walked with her, holding her hand. (Its Oscar nominations were for its script, which was written by Clarence Greene with Russell Rouse, and its editing; Greene and Leo Popkin co-produced the film; Popkin and Rouse co-directed it.)
“The Well” is distinctive in the sheer fact of its characterizations and dramatizations—it depicts, alongside its white characters, a wide variety of Black characters in a wide range of settings (work, school, home, government offices, street life), speaking substantially (if briefly) about the trouble at hand and their views of it. From the start, the movie dispels all ambiguity: Carolyn, who loved flowers, walks through an empty field on the way to school and falls into a long-abandoned well. Her teacher, a white woman, reports her absence to Carolyn’s mother, Martha (Maidie Norman), who informs the town’s sheriff, Ben Kellog (Richard Rober), a white man. Despite the frank assertion of Carolyn’s uncle, Gaines (Alfred Grant), that the police won’t be looking very hard for a Black child, Ben sharply declares and clearly displays his authentic concern, energetically and devotedly sending more or less the entire police force—all white men—to scour the town for Carolyn. A group of residents who’d been on the street that morning—all white people—inform the department of the man whom they’d seen with her. Ben is well aware that the information is potentially incendiary, and he asks them to keep the news to themselves. But a young Black man who works in a shop overhears such a conversation between his (white) boss and the sheriff, and, while making a delivery, informs other Black residents of what he heard.
The white man seen with Carolyn turns out to be the nephew of Sam Packard (Barry Kelley), the town grandee, and rumors (accurate ones) fly among the Black community that this rich and connected man is trying to help the suspect get away. When Gaines and Carolyn’s father, Ralph (Ernest Anderson), confront Sam and he accidentally falls, rumors of an angry and violent Black mob fly through the town; then a cluster of hot-headed young white men are roused into action by a young white woman who falsely claims, for sick fun, that a Black man insulted her. Soon white people are attacking Black ones, mobbing and beating them, pulling them out of cars, and throwing rocks through the windows of Black-owned businesses, and Black people are responding in kind. Ben wants to call in the state militia before the violence engulfs the entire town.
White residents are shocked—they and the town’s Black community had always, one white community leader says, got along well. The movie, made by white filmmakers, doesn’t delve deeply into the private lives of Black characters, but it does catch, in discerning touches, the town’s deceptive, one-way comity. Not long after the arrest, a group of workers, white and Black, are talking about the case; a white man cautions against jumping to conclusions and recommends giving the guy “a break,” and a Black worker responds, “Tell him what kind of a break we’d catch if it was one of us.” Another Black man states plainly, “You can get away with murder as long as you’re the right color.” Early on, when Ralph, an auto mechanic, is called home from work to help look for his daughter, he says, plainly, “It was hard enough to get a good job in this town, and I don’t want to lose it.” For that matter, the casual use of the N-word by several white residents suggests the ambient racism that the civic order both seemingly conceals and substantially reflects. The disparity of power is evident in the fact that all the town’s officials are white; Black power is seen only in private activities, when the mayor calls community leaders unofficially together for an emergency meeting.
The bitter, if facile, irony of the mounting violence is that it distracts the police from searching for Carolyn; it takes another child, innocent and uninvolved, to do what the authorities cannot. The effort to rescue Carolyn—an extraordinarily detailed, intensely dramatic, and daringly extended sequence of large-scale industrial exertions—brings townspeople together in a way that, though it ends the violence and restores morale along with calm, merely pushes the underlying questions past “The End” and leaves the real story utterly unresolved.


newyorker--2020-08-05--Why a Court Overturned the Death Sentence for Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, the Boston Marathon Bomber

On Friday , a panel of three federal judges vacated the death sentence in the case of Dzhokhar Tsarnaev , the Boston Marathon bomber , who has been on death row for five years .
The court unanimously concluded that Tsarnaev did not receive a fair trial .
“ A core promise of our criminal-justice system is that even the very worst among us deserves to be fairly tried and lawfully punished , ” Judge O. Rogeriee Thompson wrote for the panel .
Later , she reiterated , “ For even the most heinous of offenses , our system of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ fact—of a defendant ’ s right to a fair trial and sentencing.
” Tsarnaev , who was nineteen at the time of his crime and twenty-one when he was sentenced , was tried in Boston after he and his older brother Tamerlan set off two homemade explosive devices during the 2013 Boston Marathon , killing three people and injuring two hundred and sixty-four .
I was at the federal courthouse in Boston every day , watching the jury selection and then the trial ; I was then finishing a book on the Tsarnaev @ @ @ @ @ @ @ most disheartening reporting I have ever had to do .
William Richard testified about his six-year-old daughter , Jane , who lost a leg , and his eight-year-old son , Martin , who was fatally injured .
Karen McWatters , who also lost a leg in the blast , recalled dragging herself closer to her best friend , Krystle Campbell , and pressing her face to Campbell ’ s as she lay dying .
Before the trial actually began , however , in March , 2015 , there were twenty-one quiet , monotonous @ @ @ @ @ @ @ selection .
Out of an initial pool of 1,373 people , two hundred and fifty-six potential jurors came in to be interviewed by the judge , George O ’ Toole , with members of the prosecution and defense teams following up .
The jurors sat with their backs to a camera that broadcast the process into rooms where members of the media and the public could watch .
( The public quickly lost interest , and some days there were only a handful of journalists in the media room . )
Looking at @ @ @ @ @ @ @ head , you could guess at race , gender , and age ; you could adjust your guesses when you heard them speak .
You could watch the lawyers , and , in my notes , I indicated when I thought any of the attorneys were displaying strong emotion .
Tsarnaev himself seemed indifferent , and spent much of his time doodling on a legal pad .
He appeared to take an interest only once , when a Mexican-American academic described his work studying how immigrants provide financial support to their families back @ @ @ @ @ @ @ on the jury ; he was disqualified because he was opposed to the death penalty .
Because the government was seeking the death penalty , jurors had to be willing to consider applying it .
Most of the potential jurors had some kind of personal connection to the bombing .
One lived in the same neighborhood as the Richard family ; another had a friend who was a first responder to the attack ; a third was a marathon runner .
Almost everyone , it seemed , owned a piece of “ Boston @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a charity that helped survivors of the attack .
Sixty-eight per cent of the potential jurors said that they believed Dzhokhar Tsarnaev to be guilty .
Before voir dire started , the lawyers on both sides and the judge debated how potential jurors should be questioned on what they knew and thought of the bombing .
The appeal hearing revealed that the defense argued for detailed discussions , but the judge opted to ask one general question of every juror : “ Can you set aside your opinion and base your decision solely @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to you in court ?
” It was a poorly constructed question , since it suggested one correct answer .
One potential juror , a psychologist , responded , “ I don ’ t know that the brain works that way.
” She said that it would be difficult for her to surrender her principled opposition to the death penalty , “ because it ’ s not based on something I ’ ve heard in the media ; it ’ s based on my personal beliefs .
It ’ s even harder to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of my lifelong beliefs.
” She , too , was disqualified .
Massachusetts abolished the death penalty in 1984 , and the state had not executed anyone for several decades before that , but Tsarnaev ’ s was a federal case .
Polling indicated that most Bostonians preferred life imprisonment for Tsarnaev over a death sentence ; the requirement that jurors be open to applying the death penalty probably narrowed the jury pool significantly .
Some potential jurors appeared to soft-pedal their opposition to capital punishment .
Juror No .
355 , a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ run the 2014 Boston Marathon , claimed that he could vote for the death penalty even though he thought it was used too widely in the United States .
The prosecutor , Steve Mellin , pressed him to give an example of someone who ought to be put to death for his crimes .
The juror suggested Slobodan Milosevic , the former Yugoslav dictator .
“ So , genocide ?
” Mellin asked .
“ Genocide is a good starting point , ” the juror responded .
I wrote in my notebook , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ judge says this ‘ sounds a bit too much like cross-examination.
’ ” The juror was disqualified , because , Judge O ’ Toole said , he did not believe the juror “ was going to be truly open ” to the death penalty “ in the way that would be necessary.
” The interview I remember best was with Juror No .
286 , a white , middle-aged woman who worked as a general manager at a restaurant .
She claimed to have no particular view on the death penalty because , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ t affect me personally.
” Mellin asked if she would have trouble voting for the death penalty .
“ It doesn ’ t bother me , ” she responded .
“ I guess I don ’ t really feel that I ’ m sentencing someone to death or to life imprisonment—it ’ s their actions that led to that .
It ’ s like at work .
I fire people , and they ask , ‘ How can you do that ?
’ I ’ m not the one doing that .
They @ @ @ @ @ @ @ work , stealing , whatever.
” The defense attorney Judy Clarke ( whom my colleague Patrick Radden Keefe profiled in this magazine , in 2015 ) pointed out that , through her job , Juror No .
286 was habituated to being in charge .
Could she set that aside on a jury , where “ everyone is equal ” ?
Juror No .
286 reassured Clarke .
“ I don ’ t like to be the center of attention , ” she said .
She added that , ever since being promoted @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the lottery in hopes of retiring .
“ I don ’ t like the responsibility for people , ” she said .
Clarke pressed the woman on her willingness to take up the “ huge responsibility ” of becoming a juror .
Juror No .
286 responded that she had served on a criminal jury before and felt elevated by the experience .
“ It ’ s an important thing for someone like me , who hasn ’ t gone to college , ” she said .
“ I was a waitress for @ @ @ @ @ @ @ every time I come out of the voting booth.
” I found the juror ’ s words both moving and chilling .
When she talked about the trust that the jury system places in ordinary people , I thought I heard her choke up—but all I could see was the back of her head , so maybe that was my own emotional reaction .
Yet the cavalier way in which she talked about her willingness to vote to put someone to death—the ease with which she shifted the burden of that decision onto @ @ @ @ @ @ @ words about civic duty .
She became the jury forewoman : a supervisor after all .

On Friday, a panel of three federal judges vacated the death sentence in the case of Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, the Boston Marathon bomber, who has been on death row for five years. The court unanimously concluded that Tsarnaev did not receive a fair trial. “A core promise of our criminal-justice system is that even the very worst among us deserves to be fairly tried and lawfully punished,” Judge O. Rogeriee Thompson wrote for the panel. Later, she reiterated, “For even the most heinous of offenses, our system of justice demands vigorous protection—both in appearance and fact—of a defendant’s right to a fair trial and sentencing.”
Tsarnaev, who was nineteen at the time of his crime and twenty-one when he was sentenced, was tried in Boston after he and his older brother Tamerlan set off two homemade explosive devices during the 2013 Boston Marathon, killing three people and injuring two hundred and sixty-four. I was at the federal courthouse in Boston every day, watching the jury selection and then the trial; I was then finishing a book on the Tsarnaev brothers. It was some of the most disheartening reporting I have ever had to do. William Richard testified about his six-year-old daughter, Jane, who lost a leg, and his eight-year-old son, Martin, who was fatally injured. Karen McWatters, who also lost a leg in the blast, recalled dragging herself closer to her best friend, Krystle Campbell, and pressing her face to Campbell’s as she lay dying.
Before the trial actually began, however, in March, 2015, there were twenty-one quiet, monotonous days of voir dire, or jury selection. Out of an initial pool of 1,373 people, two hundred and fifty-six potential jurors came in to be interviewed by the judge, George O’Toole, with members of the prosecution and defense teams following up. The jurors sat with their backs to a camera that broadcast the process into rooms where members of the media and the public could watch. (The public quickly lost interest, and some days there were only a handful of journalists in the media room.) Looking at the back of each person’s head, you could guess at race, gender, and age; you could adjust your guesses when you heard them speak. You could watch the lawyers, and, in my notes, I indicated when I thought any of the attorneys were displaying strong emotion. Tsarnaev himself seemed indifferent, and spent much of his time doodling on a legal pad. He appeared to take an interest only once, when a Mexican-American academic described his work studying how immigrants provide financial support to their families back home. This man was not seated on the jury; he was disqualified because he was opposed to the death penalty. Because the government was seeking the death penalty, jurors had to be willing to consider applying it.
Most of the potential jurors had some kind of personal connection to the bombing. One lived in the same neighborhood as the Richard family; another had a friend who was a first responder to the attack; a third was a marathon runner. Almost everyone, it seemed, owned a piece of “Boston Strong” merchandise or had donated to a charity that helped survivors of the attack. Sixty-eight per cent of the potential jurors said that they believed Dzhokhar Tsarnaev to be guilty. Before voir dire started, the lawyers on both sides and the judge debated how potential jurors should be questioned on what they knew and thought of the bombing. The appeal hearing revealed that the defense argued for detailed discussions, but the judge opted to ask one general question of every juror: “Can you set aside your opinion and base your decision solely on the evidence that will be presented to you in court?” It was a poorly constructed question, since it suggested one correct answer. One potential juror, a psychologist, responded, “I don’t know that the brain works that way.” She said that it would be difficult for her to surrender her principled opposition to the death penalty, “because it’s not based on something I’ve heard in the media; it’s based on my personal beliefs. It’s even harder to set aside because it’s one of my lifelong beliefs.” She, too, was disqualified.
Massachusetts abolished the death penalty in 1984, and the state had not executed anyone for several decades before that, but Tsarnaev’s was a federal case. Polling indicated that most Bostonians preferred life imprisonment for Tsarnaev over a death sentence; the requirement that jurors be open to applying the death penalty probably narrowed the jury pool significantly. Some potential jurors appeared to soft-pedal their opposition to capital punishment. Juror No. 355, a criminal-defense attorney who had been training to run the 2014 Boston Marathon, claimed that he could vote for the death penalty even though he thought it was used too widely in the United States. The prosecutor, Steve Mellin, pressed him to give an example of someone who ought to be put to death for his crimes. The juror suggested Slobodan Milosevic, the former Yugoslav dictator. “So, genocide?” Mellin asked. “Genocide is a good starting point,” the juror responded. I wrote in my notebook, “S.M. dislikes him deeply, judge says this ‘sounds a bit too much like cross-examination.’ ” The juror was disqualified, because, Judge O’Toole said, he did not believe the juror “was going to be truly open” to the death penalty “in the way that would be necessary.”
The interview I remember best was with Juror No. 286, a white, middle-aged woman who worked as a general manager at a restaurant. She claimed to have no particular view on the death penalty because, she said, “it doesn’t affect me personally.” Mellin asked if she would have trouble voting for the death penalty. “It doesn’t bother me,” she responded. “I guess I don’t really feel that I’m sentencing someone to death or to life imprisonment—it’s their actions that led to that. It’s like at work. I fire people, and they ask, ‘How can you do that?’ I’m not the one doing that. They did it by their actions—not coming to work, stealing, whatever.” The defense attorney Judy Clarke (whom my colleague Patrick Radden Keefe profiled in this magazine, in 2015) pointed out that, through her job, Juror No. 286 was habituated to being in charge. Could she set that aside on a jury, where “everyone is equal”? Juror No. 286 reassured Clarke. “I don’t like to be the center of attention,” she said. She added that, ever since being promoted to manager, she had been playing the lottery in hopes of retiring. “I don’t like the responsibility for people,” she said. Clarke pressed the woman on her willingness to take up the “huge responsibility” of becoming a juror. Juror No. 286 responded that she had served on a criminal jury before and felt elevated by the experience. “It’s an important thing for someone like me, who hasn’t gone to college,” she said. “I was a waitress for years. I feel the same way every time I come out of the voting booth.”
I found the juror’s words both moving and chilling. When she talked about the trust that the jury system places in ordinary people, I thought I heard her choke up—but all I could see was the back of her head, so maybe that was my own emotional reaction. Yet the cavalier way in which she talked about her willingness to vote to put someone to death—the ease with which she shifted the burden of that decision onto the person she would condemn—belied her humble words about civic duty. She became the jury forewoman: a supervisor after all.


newyorker--2020-08-05--The Personal Side of an East German Spy’s Defection in “Betrayal”

The Cold War , and the international politics that it established , have been full of high-profile defections : Rudolf Nureyev dashing to French security officers at a Paris airport , in 1961 ; a North Korean military officer racing over the line of demarcation , first by car and then on foot , in 2017 ; a handful of Cuban baseball players flying to the States to sign with the major leagues .
Such moments leave a strong impression in national consciences—and can serve as powerful political capital .
These instances of great personal risk and sacrifice are one @ @ @ @ @ @ @ score .
The short documentary “ Betrayal ” looks at the fallout from one such defection from another angle , telling the story of how the flight of an East German spy affected the family members he left behind .
In January of 1979 , Werner Stiller was working for the East German Ministerium für Staatssicherheit , better known as the Stasi , when he secured fake exit visas ; walked through Checkpoint Charlie , the famous crossing point between East and West Berlin , with a dissident waitress ; and boarded the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a double agent for years , dropping photocopied Stasi documents for the West German intelligence service .
Shortly after Stiller ’ s defection , Bob Schieffer , then an anchor for “ CBS Evening News , ” reported that Western intelligence officials had identified five East German spies working in West Germany—all were arrested , Schieffer reported , based on information that Stiller had provided .
Ultimately , according to a report in the Baltimore Sun , nearly a hundred spies were identified , and seventeen spent time in prison , based on @ @ @ @ @ @ @ services , determining that it wasn ’ t safe for Stiller to remain near the German border , spirited him away to the United States , where he was resettled by the C.I.A .
“ At the time of the Cold War , all you heard in the media was the actual act of defection—and not any of the personal stories of the participants , ” Scott Calonico , the director and producer of “ Betrayal , ” told me .
He sought to tell the story another way .
“ So you @ @ @ @ @ @ @ bit of news that was broadcast to viewing audiences in the States , along the lines of ‘ Yeah , we got another one , ’ but , behind that , you have this family that was torn apart.
” When he arrived in the U.S. , Stiller , a former physics student , changed his name and enrolled at Washington University in St. Louis , where he earned an M.B.A .
He got a lucrative job with Goldman Sachs , and began a new life .
During Stiller ’ s years in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Berlin Wall falls and Germany is unified .
But the focus of “ Betrayal ” is not on how Stiller ’ s defection intersects with these world-historical events but on what was happening to Stiller ’ s wife and two young children back home .
In a letter that he left for his wife , Stiller offered a feeble comment on his disappearance : “ I don ’ t even understand it myself yet.
” His wife , surprised when two Stasi investigators showed up on her doorstep , pled ignorance of her @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” pieces together Stiller ’ s story—through letters , documents , and old photographs—guided by the perspective of Stiller ’ s now-adult son , Andy Hudson .
Hudson was too young when his father left , he says , to have any memories of him , but he notes that his sister was “ quite attached.
” Later , when the children would ask about their father , they were told , simply , “ Your father was a bad man.
” When Hudson was a young teen-ager , Stiller took another finance @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , and moved to Frankfurt to open a new office .
While he was there , the children met with him , but the abandonment was hard to overcome , and the encounter did not lead to total reconciliation .
Hudson met Calonico when the two worked together at a corporate firm , in 2014 .
“ One day , after a friendly soccer game with work colleagues , we were all discussing what our fathers did , ” Calonico told me .
“ The conversation got around to Andy , and he @ @ @ @ @ @ @ be a spy.
’ ” Calonico was immediately intrigued .
“ I pulled Andy aside into our studio , stood him in front of the camera , gave him a couple of beers , and he told me his story.
” But the filmmaker ’ s desire to unravel a mystery is tempered by a son ’ s ambivalence .
It ’ s not clear how much Hudson really wants to hear about his father ’ s new life .
When he is asked outright , “ Do you want to learn more @ @ @ @ @ @ @ demurs .
It ’ s plainly a painful subject .
“ He wasn ’ t an easy character .
Never .
By all means.
” “ Betrayal ” is full of espionage and intrigue .
There is the note that Stiller left for his wife instructing her to “ burn the letter once you read it , ” and which , it turns out , may not have been authored by him alone .
There is the suggestion of an affair in New York .
( Does a relationship in a completely restarted @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ) And , casting the longest shadow , there is Stiller ’ s fate .
When the filmmakers set out to interview Stiller , who had retired in Budapest , their efforts were cut short .
On December 22 , 2016 , Stiller ’ s body was discovered in the Danube River .
He was sixty-nine .

The Cold War, and the international politics that it established, have been full of high-profile defections: Rudolf Nureyev dashing to French security officers at a Paris airport, in 1961; a North Korean military officer racing over the line of demarcation, first by car and then on foot, in 2017; a handful of Cuban baseball players flying to the States to sign with the major leagues. Such moments leave a strong impression in national consciences—and can serve as powerful political capital. These instances of great personal risk and sacrifice are one of the ways that world powers keep score. The short documentary “Betrayal” looks at the fallout from one such defection from another angle, telling the story of how the flight of an East German spy affected the family members he left behind.
In January of 1979, Werner Stiller was working for the East German Ministerium für Staatssicherheit, better known as the Stasi, when he secured fake exit visas, walked through the checkpoint at Friedrichstrasse, and boarded the subway. He had been acting as a double agent, dropping photocopied Stasi documents for the West German intelligence service. Shortly after Stiller’s defection, Bob Schieffer, then an anchor for “CBS Evening News,” reported that Western intelligence officials had identified five East German spies working in West Germany—all were arrested, Schieffer reported, based on information that Stiller had provided. Ultimately, according to a report in the Baltimore Sun, nearly a hundred spies were identified, and seventeen spent time in prison, based on intelligence that Stiller shared. Western intelligence services, determining that it wasn’t safe for Stiller to remain near the German border, spirited him away to the United States, where he was resettled by the C.I.A.
“At the time of the Cold War, all you heard in the media was the actual act of defection—and not any of the personal stories of the participants,” Scott Calonico, the director and producer of “Betrayal,” told me. He sought to tell the story another way. “So you have this little, tiny, brief bit of news that was broadcast to viewing audiences in the States, along the lines of ‘Yeah, we got another one,’ but, behind that, you have this family that was torn apart.”
When he arrived in the U.S., Stiller, a former physics student, changed his name and enrolled at Washington University in St. Louis, where he earned an M.B.A. He got a lucrative job with Goldman Sachs, and began a new life. During Stiller’s years in finance, history takes over: the Berlin Wall falls and Germany is unified. But the focus of “Betrayal” is not on how Stiller’s defection intersects with these world-historical events but on what was happening to Stiller’s wife and two young children back home. In a letter that he left for his wife, Stiller offered a feeble comment on his disappearance: “I don’t even understand it myself yet.” His wife, surprised when two Stasi investigators showed up on her doorstep, pled ignorance of her husband’s plan. “Betrayal” pieces together Stiller’s story—through letters, documents, and old photographs—guided by the perspective of Stiller’s now-adult son, Andy Hudson.
Hudson was too young when his father left, he says, to have any memories of him, but he notes that his sister was “quite attached.” Later, when the children would ask about their father, they were told, simply, “Your father was a bad man.” When Hudson was a young teen-ager, Stiller took another finance job, this time with Lehman Brothers, and moved to Frankfurt to open a new office. While he was there, the children met with him, but the abandonment was hard to overcome, and the encounter did not lead to total reconciliation.
Hudson met Calonico when the two worked together at a corporate firm, in 2014. “One day, after a friendly soccer game with work colleagues, we were all discussing what our fathers did,” Calonico told me. “The conversation got around to Andy, and he said, ‘My dad used to be a spy.’ ” Calonico was immediately intrigued. “I pulled Andy aside into our studio, stood him in front of the camera, gave him a couple of beers, and he told me his story.” But the filmmaker’s desire to unravel a mystery is tempered by a son’s ambivalence. It’s not clear how much Hudson really wants to hear about his father’s new life. When he is asked outright, “Do you want to learn more about your dad?,” Hudson demurs. It’s plainly a painful subject. “He wasn’t an easy character. Never. By all means.”
“Betrayal” is full of espionage and intrigue. There is the note that Stiller left for his wife instructing her to “burn the letter once you read it,” and which, it turns out, may not have been authored by him alone. There is the suggestion of an affair in New York. (Does a relationship in a completely restarted life constitute an “affair”?) And, casting the longest shadow, there is Stiller’s fate. When the filmmakers set out to interview Stiller, who had retired in Budapest, their efforts were cut short. On December 22, 2016, Stiller’s body was discovered in the Danube River. He was sixty-nine.
Note: A previous version of this piece misstated some aspects of Stiller’s border crossing.