newyorker--2020-08-20--Will Kamala Harris Act Boldly on Climate Change?

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We ’ re in the Kamala Harris era now , and so far , so good .
Of the four people on the major-party Presidential tickets , she appears to be the most energetic and normal .
I ’ ve never met Harris , but I did spend a number of days sitting next to her sister Maya when we both served on the 2016 Democratic platform-drafting committee .
Maya Harris was tack-smart and tightly focussed , which appears to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Joe Biden speak , I feel a constant mild apprehension about what may emerge ; Harris relaxes me .
Given the very real possibility that she ’ ll be at or near the pinnacle of our politics for somewhere between four and sixteen years , it ’ s worth asking how she will handle the gravest crisis that looms over our planet .
That ’ s not the same as asking if she should be elected , because , on climate issues , a shrink-wrapped pallet of frozen Ore-Ida French fries would be @ @ @ @ @ @ @ But it ’ s going to take an unflinching , unrelenting effort to transform America ’ s energy system and lead a similar process globally .
Is she committed to that ?
Her defenders point to a number of powerful statements that she made over the course of her Presidential primary campaign .
She ’ d eliminate the filibuster to pass a Green New Deal .
She ’ d tell the Department of Justice to investigate oil and gas companies .
“ When you take away that money because you take them to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ have done , it ’ s extraordinary how they will change behaviors , ” Harris said .
“ Maybe this is the prosecutor in me .
They have to be held accountable.
” Harris has been particularly outspoken about environmental injustice : just six days before she got the V.P .
nod , she joined Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez to introduce the Climate Equity Act , which , as the Times explained , “ would create a dedicated Office of Climate and Environmental Justice Accountability within the White House and require the federal government to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ or regulation would have on low-income communities.
” If there ’ s a rub , it ’ s that , to date , she hasn ’ t been that eager to really stand up to power on this issue .
During a forum last year , Harris said that she had sued ExxonMobil over its climate denial , but that ’ s not true .
After investigative reporters showed that company executives had spent decades lying about their knowledge of climate change , many state attorneys general announced investigations .
Only two , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ New York , under Eric Schneiderman and his successors , and Massachusetts , under the very gutsy Maura Healey .
Harris , in California , investigated but never pulled the trigger—a grave disappointment to environmentalists , who knew that the country ’ s most economically powerful state would have been a useful ally .
Such reluctance is not admirable , but it is perhaps understandable : California is an oil state , if less so than it used to be , and the big oil companies are major players in its politics in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in New York or Massachusetts .
Harris sued oil companies in California for local pollution , but those aren ’ t existential attacks on the industry , the way the climate litigation against ExxonMobil would have been .
So she punted , in the best case because she wanted to live to fight another day .
What will she do if she becomes Vice-President ?
I imagine that her courage will depend on the climate movement ’ s success in eroding the political power of the oil companies .
The weaker the fossil-fuel @ @ @ @ @ @ @ are .
( Oil barons understand this , which is why they ’ re spending large sums to reëlect Trump ) .
My guess is that Harris is a run-of-the mill politician , who will go where the footing is easiest .
That ’ s less attractive than principled and unbending leadership , because that means movements can ’ t demobilize after Election Day .
The pushing never ceases .
( I ’ m a Bernie guy . )
When politicians are weathervanes , you need to make the wind blow .
And @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in the Atlantic , where , last week , we reached the letter “ K ” in the hurricane naming list ten days earlier than ever before .
Earlier this week , for instance , there was a kerfuffle after the D.N.C .
dropped from its platform a pledge to end fossil-fuel subsidies .
Within twenty-four hours , a spirited response from disappointed environmentalists produced a new pledge from the Biden campaign that his commitment hadn ’ t wavered , and that he indeed planned on “ rallying the rest of the world @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s politics in action .
Or consider one closely watched Democratic Senate primary : on September 1st , Massachusetts voters will decide between the incumbent , Ed Markey , and the challenger , Joseph Kennedy III .
When the race began , Kennedy had a big lead in the polls , based largely on his last name and his Disney Hall of Presidents resemblance to its most famous bearer .
But Markey ( whom I admire , and have worked with on environmental legislation ) fought back .
And he did it largely @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Markey is the Senate sponsor of the Green New Deal , and his House counterpart , Ocasio-Cortez , cut a nifty ad for him .
The latest polling shows that the seventy-four-year-old has moved ahead of the thirty-nine-year-old political scion , largely thanks to a fifty-one-per-cent lead among eighteen- to twenty-nine-year olds .
Teen Vogue , which has become must-read political journalism , wrote that Markey is “ the subject of countless stan accounts .
His outfits go viral .
Teens cling to his every word.
” ( Note to Joe Biden @ @ @ @ @ @ @ under-thirties who organized the sit-in at House Speaker Nancy Pelosi ’ s office that served as a coming-out party for the Green New Deal—produced a YouTube video for Markey last week , which may be my favorite political ad of all time .
( Watch till the end for one of the best knife twists in campaign history ) .
If Markey wins , he will go back to the Senate a national progressive hero ; more to the point , he will have demonstrated that truly taking on climate change can pay @ @ @ @ @ @ @ t be lost on anyone , Harris included .
Michelle Wu has been a Boston city councillor since 2013 , when ( at the age of twenty-eight ) she became the first Asian-American woman to hold the job .
In 2016 , her colleagues elected her city-council chair , and she was the first woman of color to hold that post .
She recently introduced plans for a city-scale Green New Deal—and her team is working to make it a template for cities worldwide .

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We’re in the Kamala Harris era now, and so far, so good. Of the four people on the major-party Presidential tickets, she appears to be the most energetic and normal. I’ve never met Harris, but I did spend a number of days sitting next to her sister Maya when we both served on the 2016 Democratic platform-drafting committee. Maya Harris was tack-smart and tightly focussed, which appears to run in the family. Listening to Joe Biden speak, I feel a constant mild apprehension about what may emerge; Harris relaxes me.
Given the very real possibility that she’ll be at or near the pinnacle of our politics for somewhere between four and sixteen years, it’s worth asking how she will handle the gravest crisis that looms over our planet. That’s not the same as asking if she should be elected, because, on climate issues, a shrink-wrapped pallet of frozen Ore-Ida French fries would be a vast improvement on the incumbent. But it’s going to take an unflinching, unrelenting effort to transform America’s energy system and lead a similar process globally. Is she committed to that?
Her defenders point to a number of powerful statements that she made over the course of her Presidential primary campaign. She’d eliminate the filibuster to pass a Green New Deal. She’d tell the Department of Justice to investigate oil and gas companies. “When you take away that money because you take them to court and sue them, as I have done, it’s extraordinary how they will change behaviors,” Harris said. “Maybe this is the prosecutor in me. They have to be held accountable.” Harris has been particularly outspoken about environmental injustice: just six days before she got the V.P. nod, she joined Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez to introduce the Climate Equity Act, which, as the Times explained, “would create a dedicated Office of Climate and Environmental Justice Accountability within the White House and require the federal government to rate the effect that every environmental legislation or regulation would have on low-income communities.”
If there’s a rub, it’s that, to date, she hasn’t been that eager to really stand up to power on this issue. During a forum last year, Harris said that she had sued ExxonMobil over its climate denial, but that’s not true. After investigative reporters showed that company executives had spent decades lying about their knowledge of climate change, many state attorneys general announced investigations. Only two, however, actually went to court: New York, under Eric Schneiderman and his successors, and Massachusetts, under the very gutsy Maura Healey. Harris, in California, investigated but never pulled the trigger—a grave disappointment to environmentalists, who knew that the country’s most economically powerful state would have been a useful ally.
Such reluctance is not admirable, but it is perhaps understandable: California is an oil state, if less so than it used to be, and the big oil companies are major players in its politics in a way that isn’t true in New York or Massachusetts. Harris sued oil companies in California for local pollution, but those aren’t existential attacks on the industry, the way the climate litigation against ExxonMobil would have been. So she punted, in the best case because she wanted to live to fight another day. What will she do if she becomes Vice-President? I imagine that her courage will depend on the climate movement’s success in eroding the political power of the oil companies. The weaker the fossil-fuel conglomerates become, the less scary they are. (Oil barons understand this, which is why they’re spending large sums to reëlect Trump). My guess is that Harris is a run-of-the mill politician, who will go where the footing is easiest. That’s less attractive than principled and unbending leadership, because that means movements can’t demobilize after Election Day. The pushing never ceases. (I’m a Bernie guy.)
When politicians are weathervanes, you need to make the wind blow. And the wind is blowing in Washington and in the Atlantic, where, last week, we reached the letter “K” in the hurricane naming list ten days earlier than ever before. Earlier this week, for instance, there was a kerfuffle after the D.N.C. dropped from its platform a pledge to end fossil-fuel subsidies. Within twenty-four hours, a spirited response from disappointed environmentalists produced a new pledge from the Biden campaign that his commitment hadn’t wavered, and that he indeed planned on “rallying the rest of the world” to do likewise. That’s politics in action. Or consider one closely watched Democratic Senate primary: on September 1st, Massachusetts voters will decide between the incumbent, Ed Markey, and the challenger, Joseph Kennedy III. When the race began, Kennedy had a big lead in the polls, based largely on his last name and his Disney Hall of Presidents resemblance to its most famous bearer. But Markey (whom I admire, and have worked with on environmental legislation) fought back. And he did it largely on the strength of his climate credentials. Markey is the Senate sponsor of the Green New Deal, and his House counterpart, Ocasio-Cortez, cut a nifty ad for him. The latest polling shows that the seventy-four-year-old has moved ahead of the thirty-nine-year-old political scion, largely thanks to a fifty-one-per-cent lead among eighteen- to twenty-nine-year olds. Teen Vogue, which has become must-read political journalism, wrote that Markey is “the subject of countless stan accounts. His outfits go viral. Teens cling to his every word.” (Note to Joe Biden.) The Sunrise Movement—the group of under-thirties who organized the sit-in at House Speaker Nancy Pelosi’s office that served as a coming-out party for the Green New Deal—produced a YouTube video for Markey last week, which may be my favorite political ad of all time. (Watch till the end for one of the best knife twists in campaign history). If Markey wins, he will go back to the Senate a national progressive hero; more to the point, he will have demonstrated that truly taking on climate change can pay off politically. That lesson won’t be lost on anyone, Harris included.
Passing the Mic
Michelle Wu has been a Boston city councillor since 2013, when (at the age of twenty-eight) she became the first Asian-American woman to hold the job. In 2016, her colleagues elected her city-council chair, and she was the first woman of color to hold that post. She recently introduced plans for a city-scale Green New Deal—and her team is working to make it a template for cities worldwide.
If we don’t do anything about climate change, what’s Boston going to look like in fifty years? Give us a little tour of the city’s landmarks and neighborhoods.
Thanks to local researchers, we have a pretty clear picture of where we’re headed under business as usual. Most of Boston’s downtown area was created through huge landfill projects in the eighteen-hundreds, so we’re really vulnerable to flooding, as storms intensify and the ocean takes back this low-lying, man-made land. By 2070, with more than three feet of sea-level rise, you’ll be paddling the Freedom Trail by kayak. During Nor’easters, Boston Harbor will spill over nearly a mile to the Chinatown Gate. But what should really move us to action is the suffering and displacement we’d face in our neighborhoods. As luxury condo buildings of the Seaport and other areas are abandoned, because they’ll be underwater every day at high tide, safe and dry areas will become unaffordable for many. When every day of summer is hotter than ninety degrees, outdoor workers and residents who can’t afford air-conditioning will face extreme risk. Already wide racial and economic disparities will grow, as communities of color and low-income families bear the brunt of these costs and injustices.
You’ve put racial justice front and center in addressing the city’s environmental future: explain the rationale.


newyorker--2020-08-19--The Summer Magic of a Classic Salade Niçoise

A salade Niçoise , named after the city of Nice , is among the perfect foods to be eating for lunch or dinner today , in the month of August , when your skin is sticky from sweat , and the air is once again filthy , and you can ’ t stop yourself from daydreaming about the Mediterranean and the particular lazy blue haze that hovers on the horizon when it ’ s hot , even though you know that you ’ re not going to the south of France anytime soon , even if you had the wherewithal @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to your virus-compromised United States passport , you won ’ t be admitted .
I propose , therefore , a momentary fix : first , chill a bottle of rosé and , second , make yourself a cold plate of summer flavors made famous by the boardwalk and the sandy beaches of the city by the sea .
A salade Niçoise , in its conception—and , for that matter , in the mouth—is delightfully contradictory .
It consists , pretty much in equal measure , of ingredients that have been preserved ( in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ those that have only just been harvested , such as fruity tomatoes , aromatic basil , and crispy green beans .
One category could be eaten at any time of the year .
The other calls out to be eaten now .
The salad ’ s essential preparation was codified by Auguste Escoffier ( 1846 to 1935 ) , the chef and encyclopedist who gathered up two and a half centuries of recipes from the French kitchen and set down what , in his judgment , was the correct version .
In his @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the one made with potatoes and green beans—evidently , a radical touch .
To this day , hardcore Niçois are still indignant and regard the great chef as a charlatan .
( Potatoes !
Green beans !
How sacreligious ! )
In their view , the dish has nothing to do with either green beans or potatoes , and originally wasn ’ t even a salad but a pan bagnat—basically , a juicy , runny , and tomatoey stale-bread sandwich with anchovies , not so different from other tomatoey stale-bread concoctions ( bruschetta @ @ @ @ @ @ @ tomàquet ) that you find along that wonderful crescent of the Mediterranean between Spain and Italy .
And yet—notwithstanding the fact that Escoffier was , in my humble opinion , a pompous ass—he probably knew what he was talking about : after all , he grew up nine miles from Nice , and his first four kitchen jobs were in Nice itself—starting , at the age of thirteen , in an uncle ’ s restaurant .
Today , the ( more-or-less ) accepted version of the salad has eleven ingredients : among the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ anchovies in oil , olive oil , and olives ; among the fresh , tomatoes , green peppers , lettuce , eggs , and basil , plus those irreligious potatoes and green beans .
( When we lived in Lyon and I was told to make a salade Niçoise for a staff lunch at a restaurant where I was working , I asked Franck Delhoume , the chef of Potager , our local bistro , how he made his .
Franck was from Marseilles , not Nice , but was the only “ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ off the eleven ingredients on his fingers , as though it had been a school exercise from his childhood , which it probably was . )
For my part , I have since come to know Nice , but only superficially : we ’ ve had lunch there with my family , a pause on our way out of France , via either its bright , blue-sky airport ( evocatively called l ’ Aéroport Nice Côte d ’ Azur ) or the highway that passes nearby , the A8 , en route to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Liguria .
And it was on a visit to a town there , the busy , not immediately charming Finale Ligure , about seventy-five miles east of Nice , that I found myself thinking about the famous French salad and began to understand its magic .
Finale Ligure is an unflashy Mediterranean “ resort ” ( very few foreigners , thousands of mopeds , beaches so crowded that my son Frederick—arms crossed , on tiptoes , on the small perch of sand that he could secure for himself—refused , for health reasons , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the town is very much its Italian self , and the food is good and built around a familiar catalogue of absolutely local summer ingredients , namely , tomatoes , basil , olives , olive oil , and , as it happens , potatoes and green beans .
How are these different from what we had recently eaten in France ?
They aren ’ t .
These are the ingredients of the Mediterranean crescent .
In Liguria , they are served up on a plate , alongside very fresh fish or , most @ @ @ @ @ @ @ South of France , they figure in the salade Niçoise ’ s vibrant , contrapuntal performance of opposites : sweet and sour , salty and acidic—it ’ s almost an assault on the palate .
I hesitate to use the overused Japanese word “ umami ” —that dark , savory quality which Hannah Goldfield has described as both a “ state of mind ” and “ deliciousness ” —but there is an umami element as well .
( Like mushrooms and soy , anchovies are textbook umami . )
You ’ d think @ @ @ @ @ @ @ on the plate , the salad ’ s pungent salty fishiness fighting with all the sweet summer-harvest flavors .
But it doesn ’ t—quite the contrary .
The chef Eric Ripert made a similar point when I contacted him recently .
Ripert was born in Antibes , fifteen miles from Nice , and he remembers eating a Niçoise once or twice a week during summer holidays with members of his family .
I was about to ask him about his approach to the dish when he interrupted me with a declaration .
“ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ said , as if this were the most important fact of the dish .
“ In France , I have never seen fresh tuna , or seared-on-the-outside tuna , or sushi-grade .
Never .
You also don ’ t see tuna in brine .
It ’ s tuna in a can with olive oil.
” He seemed then to reflect on the implications .
“ Yes , the tuna has a unique taste but not a bad one.
” It is fishier than the fresh , but also more intense , more complex @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
He added that he never serves it in chunks .
“ I shred the tuna into flakes.
” The salad is dressed with a vinaigrette .
The tuna , scattered on top , acts like a second dressing .

A salade Niçoise, named after the city of Nice, is among the perfect foods to be eating for lunch or dinner today, in the month of August, when your skin is sticky from sweat, and the air is once again filthy, and you can’t stop yourself from daydreaming about the Mediterranean and the particular lazy blue haze that hovers on the horizon when it’s hot, even though you know that you’re not going to the south of France anytime soon, even if you had the wherewithal to get there, because, owing to your virus-compromised United States passport, you won’t be admitted. I propose, therefore, a momentary fix: first, chill a bottle of rosé and, second, make yourself a cold plate of summer flavors made famous by the boardwalk and the sandy beaches of the city by the sea.
A salade Niçoise, in its conception—and, for that matter, in the mouth—is delightfully contradictory. It consists, pretty much in equal measure, of ingredients that have been preserved (in a can or a jar) and those that have only just been harvested, such as fruity tomatoes, aromatic basil, and crispy green beans. One category could be eaten at any time of the year. The other calls out to be eaten now.
The salad’s essential preparation was codified by Auguste Escoffier (1846 to 1935), the chef and encyclopedist who gathered up two and a half centuries of recipes from the French kitchen and set down what, in his judgment, was the correct version. In his view, a correct salade Niçoise was the one made with potatoes and green beans—evidently, a radical touch. To this day, hardcore Niçois are still indignant and regard the great chef as a charlatan. (Potatoes! Green beans! How sacreligious!) In their view, the dish has nothing to do with either green beans or potatoes, and originally wasn’t even a salad but a pan bagnat—basically, a juicy, runny, and tomatoey stale-bread sandwich with anchovies, not so different from other tomatoey stale-bread concoctions (bruschetta di pomodori or the Catalan pa amb tomàquet) that you find along that wonderful crescent of the Mediterranean between Spain and Italy. And yet—notwithstanding the fact that Escoffier was, in my humble opinion, a pompous ass—he probably knew what he was talking about: after all, he grew up nine miles from Nice, and his first four kitchen jobs were in Nice itself—starting, at the age of thirteen, in an uncle’s restaurant.
With his twin sons on hand, Bill Buford explains the steps to a successful salad Niçoise.
Today, the (more-or-less) accepted version of the salad has eleven ingredients: among the preserved elements, tuna in oil, anchovies in oil, olive oil, and olives; among the fresh, tomatoes, green peppers, lettuce, eggs, and basil, plus those irreligious potatoes and green beans. (When we lived in Lyon and I was told to make a salade Niçoise for a staff lunch at a restaurant where I was working, I asked Franck Delhoume, the chef of Potager, our local bistro, how he made his. Franck was from Marseilles, not Nice, but was the only “southerner” I then knew—and he counted off the eleven ingredients on his fingers, as though it had been a school exercise from his childhood, which it probably was.)
For my part, I have since come to know Nice, but only superficially: we’ve had lunch there with my family, a pause on our way out of France, via either its bright, blue-sky airport (evocatively called l’Aéroport Nice Côte d’Azur) or the highway that passes nearby, the A8, en route to the Italian peninsula and the beaches of Liguria. And it was on a visit to a town there, the busy, not immediately charming Finale Ligure, about seventy-five miles east of Nice, that I found myself thinking about the famous French salad and began to understand its magic.
Finale Ligure is an unflashy Mediterranean “resort” (very few foreigners, thousands of mopeds, beaches so crowded that my son Frederick—arms crossed, on tiptoes, on the small perch of sand that he could secure for himself—refused, for health reasons, to enter the sea). But the town is very much its Italian self, and the food is good and built around a familiar catalogue of absolutely local summer ingredients, namely, tomatoes, basil, olives, olive oil, and, as it happens, potatoes and green beans. How are these different from what we had recently eaten in France? They aren’t. These are the ingredients of the Mediterranean crescent.
In Liguria, they are served up on a plate, alongside very fresh fish or, most famously, with pasta. In the South of France, they figure in the salade Niçoise’s vibrant, contrapuntal performance of opposites: sweet and sour, salty and acidic—it’s almost an assault on the palate. I hesitate to use the overused Japanese word “umami”—that dark, savory quality which Hannah Goldfield has described as both a “state of mind” and “deliciousness”—but there is an umami element as well. (Like mushrooms and soy, anchovies are textbook umami.) You’d think that there would be too much combat on the plate, the salad’s pungent salty fishiness fighting with all the sweet summer-harvest flavors. But it doesn’t—quite the contrary.
The chef Eric Ripert made a similar point when I contacted him recently. Ripert was born in Antibes, fifteen miles from Nice, and he remembers eating a Niçoise once or twice a week during summer holidays with members of his family. I was about to ask him about his approach to the dish when he interrupted me with a declaration.
“The tuna is canned,” he said, as if this were the most important fact of the dish. “In France, I have never seen fresh tuna, or seared-on-the-outside tuna, or sushi-grade. Never. You also don’t see tuna in brine. It’s tuna in a can with olive oil.” He seemed then to reflect on the implications. “Yes, the tuna has a unique taste but not a bad one.” It is fishier than the fresh, but also more intense, more complex (i.e., possibly more umami). He added that he never serves it in chunks. “I shred the tuna into flakes.” The salad is dressed with a vinaigrette. The tuna, scattered on top, acts like a second dressing.
It was interesting, I said, that, in historical versions of the dish, it seemed to have been made either with tuna or anchovies. (Escoffier used only anchovies.)
“I love anchovies,” Ripert said. “All French people love anchovies. But here, in the U.S., I sometimes leave them out. Many Americans don’t eat them.”
“But anchovies are essential—they’re like the bass notes,” I said. “You can’t not use them.”
“Yes, it’s true.”
“In my view,” I said, swelling with a sudden know-it-all authority, “if you don’t eat anchovies, you don’t eat the dish.”


newyorker--2020-08-19--The Computer Game That Led to Enlightenment

After a fierce battle with an evil wizard and his skeleton minions , I found rest at an abbey .
I had spent an excessive amount of time lost in the wilds of Britannia—a kingdom ruled by the benevolent monarch Lord British—trying to find the town of Yew , where I might be able to locate a relic known as the Rune of Justice .
At the abbey , I visited the local healer , who patched me up , and the hope of completing my quest to excel in eight virtues—honesty , compassion , valor , justice , sacrifice @ @ @ @ @ @ @ restored .
So , too , was my hope of “ winning ” the game by becoming the Avatar , an enlightened beacon for all of Britannia .
The healer , as well as the sorcerer and his legion of resurrected bones , were little more than four-color graphics , crudely animated against the simple playing screen of the computer game Ultima IV : Quest of the Avatar , which is turning thirty-five this year .
Compared with contemporary games , this two-dimensional adventure is an anachronism .
From an aesthetic point of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ it , save for the invigorating nostalgia that it induces in those old enough to remember the original .
Nevertheless , the journey to fulfill my character ’ s spiritual destiny was starting to feel a little personal .
Over video chat , the game ’ s developer , Richard Garriott , explained that this feeling was exactly what he wanted players to experience .
“ You yourself are the character—it is not an alter ego , ” Garriott said .
“ It is your moral compass guiding their actions.
” Garriott ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ he was a teen-ager , in BASIC , on a teletype , which used paper tape spools , while connected to a mainframe computer .
There were no graphics : asterisks were used for walls and letters for various monsters .
Eventually , Garriott acquired an Apple II , one of the first home computers with color-graphic capabilities .
In his bedroom , Garriott wrote a game called Akalabeth : World of Doom .
His mother , an artist , helped him think about perspective and other visual elements .
Garriott packed the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ bag and sold them at a local computer store .
They were discovered by a national game distributor , who offered to repackage the game and raise the price from twenty dollars to thirty-five dollars .
In the summer before he left for college , Garriott—then nineteen—made a hundred and fifty thousand dollars , triple his father ’ s salary as a NASA astronaut .
Garriott was an avid player of Dungeons & Dragons and a compulsive reader of J. R. R. Tolkien ’ s “ Lord of the Rings ” trilogy ; @ @ @ @ @ @ @ like a living world with its own mythos and history .
To this end , he developed Ultima I and Ultima II , with user manuals written as if they were pieces of fiction , describing the world of Britannia and Lord British in intricate detail .
Ultima II contained a delightful cloth map with the names of the kingdom ’ s cities spelled out in runes .
A series of conflicts over money and management led Garriott to break with the national game distributor , so he and an older brother started @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Ultima III : Exodus .
Ultima III was the crucible out of which Ultima IV would arise .
By the mid-eighties , the phenomenon known as the Satanic Panic was reaching its peak , with many conservative and religious leaders viewing role-playing games such as Dungeons & Dragons as corrupting influences , turning young people toward witchcraft and violence .
The mother of one Ultima player was so horrified by the image of a demon on the cover art for Ultima III—which Garriott told me is based on the devil Chernabog from the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ she sent a letter to Garriott , who was twenty-two , calling him “ the Satanic perverter of America ’ s youth.
” It was the fan mail that set Garriott on a path toward reimagining what a computer role-playing game ( C.R.P.G . )
could do .
In these letters , people described how they played the first three Ultimas , which were open-world games that did not require a linear path to complete , giving players the freedom to steal from shops or kill townsfolk .
The letter writers explained , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ easiest way to gain power was not to play as a good guy.
” He was despondent .
“ I inadvertently made games that drove the players to act dishonorably , as this was the path of least resistance.
” What if , he wondered , there were a game in which your moral choices had consequences ?
He wanted the next installment of Ultima to reward honor and courage , and to penalize players for casual depravity .
Garriott ’ s family and colleagues warned him that players might feel as if @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to enjoying robbing and murdering , but Garriott ignored them .
“ This was the art I was compelled to make , ” he said .
Where would these moral ideas come from ?
Garriott studied Christian theology , Greek philosophy , and Arthurian codes of conduct , but none felt applicable enough for all people .
He was attracted to Buddhist and Hindu thought , but these traditions didn ’ t seem to offer a framework for a game .
The plan for Ultima IV coalesced for Garriott after repeatedly watching his @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Oz.
” Garriott had been ruminating on the essential ideals of truth , love , and courage and realized that the Scarecrow , Tin Man , and Cowardly Lion , respectively , embodied these concepts .
With these three ideals , Garriott created a schema of relational virtues through which a player would develop a hero .
Ultima IV begins with a small experiment in personal ethics .
Your character enters a Renaissance fair where a fortune teller invites you into her covered wagon .
There , using cards reminiscent of those from @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of questions .
For example : You are told by your king to evict a poor serf from the land .
Do you honorably uphold your duty to your liege , or do you show compassion by refusing the order , thereby suffering dishonor ?
When the fortune teller finishes the reading , a strange portal in a stone circle opens and you step through to Britannia .
The game play in Ultima IV was similar to that of many of its competitors : visit cities and towns ; talk with residents to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and sell food , weapons , and armor ; explore dungeons ; solve puzzles ; wield magic ; and , of course , fight monsters .
But , in Ultima IV , chasing and slaughtering a creature that is fleeing from battle would be considered cowardly .
Giving your hard-won gold pieces to a starving beggar will help you along the path of compassion .
The mail for Ultima IV poured into the Origin Systems office .
One woman wrote to Garriott that her daughter , who had begun shoplifting , played Ultima @ @ @ @ @ @ @ more remarkable were the emotional letters from Christian gamers who claimed that trying to become the Avatar had helped them feel closer to God .
One player wrote to say that Garriott taught him “ almost everything I know about morality and ethics.
” People felt deeply connected to a game in which winning was not just about the most kills but behavior .
Garriott discovered that even though he couldn ’ t possibly program Ultima IV to respond to every action , people played as if the game could .
“ It @ @ @ @ @ @ @ really a virtue test , ” Garriott said .
“ It mattered if the player believed there was a test .
”

After a fierce battle with an evil wizard and his skeleton minions, I found rest at an abbey. I had spent an excessive amount of time lost in the wilds of Britannia—a kingdom ruled by the benevolent monarch Lord British—trying to find the town of Yew, where I might be able to locate a relic known as the Rune of Justice. At the abbey, I visited the local healer, who patched me up, and the hope of completing my quest to excel in eight virtues—honesty, compassion, valor, justice, sacrifice, honor, spirituality, and humility—was restored. So, too, was my hope of “winning” the game by becoming the Avatar, an enlightened beacon for all of Britannia.
The healer, as well as the sorcerer and his legion of resurrected bones, were little more than four-color graphics, crudely animated against the simple playing screen of the computer game Ultima IV: Quest of the Avatar, which is turning thirty-five this year. Compared with contemporary games, this two-dimensional adventure is an anachronism. From an aesthetic point of view, there is little to recommend it, save for the invigorating nostalgia that it induces in those old enough to remember the original. Nevertheless, the journey to fulfill my character’s spiritual destiny was starting to feel a little personal. Over video chat, the game’s developer, Richard Garriott, explained that this feeling was exactly what he wanted players to experience. “You yourself are the character—it is not an alter ego,” Garriott said. “It is your moral compass guiding their actions.”
Garriott’s first role-playing games were written when he was a teen-ager, in BASIC, on a teletype, which used paper tape spools, while connected to a mainframe computer. There were no graphics: asterisks were used for walls and letters for various monsters. Eventually, Garriott acquired an Apple II, one of the first home computers with color-graphic capabilities. In his bedroom, Garriott wrote a game called Akalabeth: World of Doom. His mother, an artist, helped him think about perspective and other visual elements. Garriott packed the computer disks for Akalabeth in a ziplock bag and sold them at a local computer store. They were discovered by a national game distributor, who offered to repackage the game and raise the price from twenty dollars to thirty-five dollars. In the summer before he left for college, Garriott—then nineteen—made a hundred and fifty thousand dollars, triple his father’s salary as a NASA astronaut.
Garriott was an avid player of Dungeons & Dragons and a compulsive reader of J. R. R. Tolkien’s “Lord of the Rings” trilogy; he wanted his next game to feel like a living world with its own mythos and history. To this end, he developed Ultima I and Ultima II, with user manuals written as if they were pieces of fiction, describing the world of Britannia and Lord British in intricate detail. Ultima II contained a delightful cloth map with the names of the kingdom’s cities spelled out in runes. A series of conflicts over money and management led Garriott to break with the national game distributor, so he and an older brother started a company called Origin Systems to publish Ultima III: Exodus. Ultima III was the crucible out of which Ultima IV would arise. By the mid-eighties, the phenomenon known as the Satanic Panic was reaching its peak, with many conservative and religious leaders viewing role-playing games such as Dungeons & Dragons as corrupting influences, turning young people toward witchcraft and violence. The mother of one Ultima player was so horrified by the image of a demon on the cover art for Ultima III—which Garriott told me is based on the devil Chernabog from the Walt Disney film “Fantasia”—that she sent a letter to Garriott, who was twenty-two, calling him “the Satanic perverter of America’s youth.”
It was the fan mail that set Garriott on a path toward reimagining what a computer role-playing game (C.R.P.G.) could do. In these letters, people described how they played the first three Ultimas, which were open-world games that did not require a linear path to complete, giving players the freedom to steal from shops or kill townsfolk. The letter writers explained, according to Garriott, that “the easiest way to gain power was not to play as a good guy.” He was despondent. “I inadvertently made games that drove the players to act dishonorably, as this was the path of least resistance.” What if, he wondered, there were a game in which your moral choices had consequences? He wanted the next installment of Ultima to reward honor and courage, and to penalize players for casual depravity. Garriott’s family and colleagues warned him that players might feel as if they were being punished for having admitted to enjoying robbing and murdering, but Garriott ignored them. “This was the art I was compelled to make,” he said.
Where would these moral ideas come from? Garriott studied Christian theology, Greek philosophy, and Arthurian codes of conduct, but none felt applicable enough for all people. He was attracted to Buddhist and Hindu thought, but these traditions didn’t seem to offer a framework for a game. The plan for Ultima IV coalesced for Garriott after repeatedly watching his favorite movie, “The Wizard of Oz.” Garriott had been ruminating on the essential ideals of truth, love, and courage and realized that the Scarecrow, Tin Man, and Cowardly Lion, respectively, embodied these concepts. With these three ideals, Garriott created a schema of relational virtues through which a player would develop a hero.
Ultima IV begins with a small experiment in personal ethics. Your character enters a Renaissance fair where a fortune teller invites you into her covered wagon. There, using cards reminiscent of those from the tarot, she presents a series of questions. For example: You are told by your king to evict a poor serf from the land. Do you honorably uphold your duty to your liege, or do you show compassion by refusing the order, thereby suffering dishonor? When the fortune teller finishes the reading, a strange portal in a stone circle opens and you step through to Britannia. The game play in Ultima IV was similar to that of many of its competitors: visit cities and towns; talk with residents to find clues on various quests; buy and sell food, weapons, and armor; explore dungeons; solve puzzles; wield magic; and, of course, fight monsters. But, in Ultima IV, chasing and slaughtering a creature that is fleeing from battle would be considered cowardly. Giving your hard-won gold pieces to a starving beggar will help you along the path of compassion.
The mail for Ultima IV poured into the Origin Systems office. One woman wrote to Garriott that her daughter, who had begun shoplifting, played Ultima IV and mended her ways. Even more remarkable were the emotional letters from Christian gamers who claimed that trying to become the Avatar had helped them feel closer to God. One player wrote to say that Garriott taught him “almost everything I know about morality and ethics.” People felt deeply connected to a game in which winning was not just about the most kills but behavior. Garriott discovered that even though he couldn’t possibly program Ultima IV to respond to every action, people played as if the game could. “It didn’t matter if there was really a virtue test,” Garriott said. “It mattered if the player believed there was a test.”
Often when I should be doing something else—writing, reading, cooking dinner—I play a present-day descendent of Ultima IV, Skyrim, and wander its open world, which is vast. The technical details, range of quests, and story lines are extraordinary—few games have offered this level of freedom. I can be whomever I choose, good or bad, and, although I might be arrested for stealing and spend some time in virtual jail, I could depart from the game’s main story line to try killing all of a town’s guards and fleeing with their weapons. The game doesn’t care that, instead, I choose to kill only “evil” enemies and not take items from graves or temples. Yet, ever since playing Ultima IV all those decades ago, I can’t shake the feeling that the integrity of my actions in a C.R.P.G. matters.


newyorker--2020-08-19--Things I’ve Decided Are Emotional Labor (and What I Expect in Return)

Labor : Mentioning to someone that you think they might like a TV show .
Demand : Unlimited access to all intergenerational streaming logins including but not limited to any future platforms released under the Disney/Fox/Raytheon umbrella .
Demand : Unlimited help-me-move passes for as long we live in the same city .
You like sweating so much ?
Prove it !
( It ’ s weirdly more stuff than you ’ d think .
.
.
. )
Labor : Showing restraint when discussing a recent ex you never liked .
Demand : On-demand companionship during the loneliest and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ No blackout dates , including prime committed relationship hours ( Sunday , 3 to 7 P.M. ) .
Demand : White-glove service on Zuck ’ s Other Platform™ .
Immediate likes on any future thirst traps , always-on Stories content ( with tag ) to create the illusion of an active/fun social life .
Demand : One of those nights where you take me out to dinner to talk about me and listen to all of my dreams in detail .
It ’ s the one with my boss but she ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ sense ?
No ?
I ’ ll keep going .
.
.
.
Labor : Saying thank you .
Labor : Looking a barista in the eye .

Labor: Mentioning to someone that you think they might like a TV show.
Demand: Unlimited access to all intergenerational streaming logins including but not limited to any future platforms released under the Disney/Fox/Raytheon umbrella.
Labor: Acting remotely enthused about a co-worker’s upcoming half-marathon.
Demand: Unlimited help-me-move passes for as long we live in the same city. You like sweating so much? Prove it! (It’s weirdly more stuff than you’d think. . . .)
Labor: Showing restraint when discussing a recent ex you never liked.
Demand: On-demand companionship during the loneliest and most vulnerable pockets of the week. No blackout dates, including prime committed relationship hours (Sunday, 3 to 7 P.M.).
Labor: Remembering someone’s birthday in a post-Facebook world.
Demand: White-glove service on Zuck’s Other Platform™. Immediate likes on any future thirst traps, always-on Stories content (with tag) to create the illusion of an active/fun social life.
Labor: Texting someone back.
Demand: One of those nights where you take me out to dinner to talk about me and listen to all of my dreams in detail. It’s the one with my boss but she’s also Laura Dern if that makes any sense? No? I’ll keep going. . . .
Labor: Saying thank you.
Demand: Cold hard cash.
Labor: Looking a barista in the eye.
Demand: Keys to the city.


newyorker--2020-08-19--A Long Walk Through the Complex History of California

In the summer and autumn of 2016 , Nick Neely walked from San Diego to San Francisco Bay—a six-hundred-and-fifty-mile trek that took him twelve weeks to complete .
He was following the trail of the Gaspar de Portolá expedition , a Spanish convoy that made its way up the California coast in 1769 .
Portolá ’ s men are traditionally called explorers , but they were really invaders .
They were often met with friendly gestures from the coast ’ s Native American inhabitants , who little suspected the regime of indoctrination and enslavement that would soon bear down upon @ @ @ @ @ @ @ much in the news in California in recent weeks : indigenous activists have toppled statues of Padre Junípero Serra , who travelled with the Portolá expedition .
“ Alta California , ” Neely ’ s account of his improbable journey , touches on many other layers of California ’ s fiendishly complex history .
An uncommonly sensitive writer , Neely trains his eye equally on the natural landscape , on plant and animal life , and on the variegated human worlds through which his strange itinerary takes him .
With no trail to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ across public and private lands , acres of concrete and tracts of near-wilderness .
Above all , he is walking through multiple worlds of time : into his first-person narrative , he weaves excerpts from the diaries of the Franciscan missionary Juan Crespí , subsequent historical records , and the memories of locals he encounters along the way .
What results is a kind of rhapsody of Californian chaos , emerging in densely packed but lyrically shaped paragraphs : “ White doves racing circles over an orchard house on Telegraph Road , on @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was a coop in the rear , and the birds were out for exercise .
Roundabout they dashed , in silence , in shimmer , through an alley of pine and palms .
They thought of settling on the roof , and a few did , but most accelerated , revolved again .
Flock mentality .
.
.
Two dozen young avocados in black plastic pots .
Two turquoise dumpsters .
A silver Toyota pickup with the lids of its toolbox open .
An antique wooden chair in the dirt , beside it @ @ @ @ @ @ @ motion of the pigeons was unadulterated , an expression of the need to burn energy .
Of the color ivory .
Of one family or person ’ s care for these creatures.
” “ Alta California ” ends in the shadow of El Palo Alto , the thousand-year-old redwood that stands in the now immensely rich Silicon Valley town to which it gave its name .
Local lore , probably apocryphal , holds that the Portolá expedition camped at the foot of the tree in November , 1769 .
Neely grew up a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a kid , he seldom thought about the encrustations of history at his doorstep .
After his epic walk up the coast , he looks around with a well-earned aura of wisdom , seeing beauty , agony , ugliness , and ordinariness intermingled .
The last sounds we hear are of a referee ’ s whistle and of a hummingbird in flight .

Nick Neely’s journey ends in the shadow of El Palo Alto, the thousand-year-old redwood. Photograph from Getty
In the summer and autumn of 2016, Nick Neely walked from San Diego to San Francisco Bay—a six-hundred-and-fifty-mile trek that took him twelve weeks to complete. He was following the trail of the Gaspar de Portolá expedition, a Spanish convoy that made its way up the California coast in 1769. Portolá’s men are traditionally called explorers, but they were really invaders. They were often met with friendly gestures from the coast’s Native American inhabitants, who little suspected the regime of indoctrination and enslavement that would soon bear down upon them. That grim history has been much in the news in California in recent weeks: indigenous activists have toppled statues of Padre Junípero Serra, who travelled with the Portolá expedition.
“Alta California,” Neely’s account of his improbable journey, touches on many other layers of California’s fiendishly complex history. An uncommonly sensitive writer, Neely trains his eye equally on the natural landscape, on plant and animal life, and on the variegated human worlds through which his strange itinerary takes him. With no trail to guide him, he makes his way across public and private lands, acres of concrete and tracts of near-wilderness. Above all, he is walking through multiple worlds of time: into his first-person narrative, he weaves excerpts from the diaries of the Franciscan missionary Juan Crespí, subsequent historical records, and the memories of locals he encounters along the way.
What results is a kind of rhapsody of Californian chaos, emerging in densely packed but lyrically shaped paragraphs: “White doves racing circles over an orchard house on Telegraph Road, on my way toward the Pacific. There was a coop in the rear, and the birds were out for exercise. Roundabout they dashed, in silence, in shimmer, through an alley of pine and palms. They thought of settling on the roof, and a few did, but most accelerated, revolved again. Flock mentality . . . Two dozen young avocados in black plastic pots. Two turquoise dumpsters. A silver Toyota pickup with the lids of its toolbox open. An antique wooden chair in the dirt, beside it, in need of mending. The motion of the pigeons was unadulterated, an expression of the need to burn energy. Of the color ivory. Of one family or person’s care for these creatures.”
“Alta California” ends in the shadow of El Palo Alto, the thousand-year-old redwood that stands in the now immensely rich Silicon Valley town to which it gave its name. Local lore, probably apocryphal, holds that the Portolá expedition camped at the foot of the tree in November, 1769. Neely grew up a few miles away, and, as a kid, he seldom thought about the encrustations of history at his doorstep. After his epic walk up the coast, he looks around with a well-earned aura of wisdom, seeing beauty, agony, ugliness, and ordinariness intermingled. The last sounds we hear are of a referee’s whistle and of a hummingbird in flight.


newyorker--2020-08-19--Melania to Deliver Convention Speech from Empty Classroom at Trump University

WASHINGTON ( The Borowitz Report ) —Calling it “ a great idea I just had , ” Melania Trump said on Wednesday morning that she would deliver her Republican National Convention speech from an empty classroom at Trump University .
Trump said that , to set the stage for her speech , she would stroll down the hallway of the now shuttered educational institution before settling in at a desk in one of its many disused classrooms .
She indicated that she would use the intimate setting to talk about the many personal challenges that her husband , Donald J.
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
“ There was that very sad day when he found out that he had bone spurs and could not serve in Vietnam , ” she said .
“ But he somehow stood tall and went on to inherit hundreds of millions of dollars from his father.
” Trump added that , if her husband is reëlected , she hopes that the halls of Trump University “ will be full once again with the happy pitter-patter of students hoping to make fortunes in real estate.
” “ That be best , ” she @ @

WASHINGTON (The Borowitz Report)—Calling it “a great idea I just had,” Melania Trump said on Wednesday morning that she would deliver her Republican National Convention speech from an empty classroom at Trump University.
Trump said that, to set the stage for her speech, she would stroll down the hallway of the now shuttered educational institution before settling in at a desk in one of its many disused classrooms.
She indicated that she would use the intimate setting to talk about the many personal challenges that her husband, Donald J. Trump, has faced in his life.
“There was that very sad day when he found out that he had bone spurs and could not serve in Vietnam,” she said. “But he somehow stood tall and went on to inherit hundreds of millions of dollars from his father.”
Trump added that, if her husband is reëlected, she hopes that the halls of Trump University “will be full once again with the happy pitter-patter of students hoping to make fortunes in real estate.”
“That be best,” she said.


newyorker--2020-08-19--El sacerdote renegado que ayuda a los indocumentados a sobrevivir a la pandemia.

Las siguientes semanas fueron una confusión de luto y de logística .
Fidel le dio la noticia a la familia de Narcizo , que vive en el estado mexicano de Guerrero , y trató de recaudar dinero para la cremación entre amigos en Facebook .
Pero como las empresas cerraron en respuesta a la pandemia , algunos de los amigos habían perdido sus trabajos y no tenían nada con que contribuir .
Fidel siguió yendo a trabajar en un restaurante de sushi en el centro de Manhattan , mientras intentaba encontrar a alguien que se mudara al apartamento para cubrir @ @ @ @ @ @ @ que no tenía ni tiempo ni energía para responder : si también había estado expuesto al virus , ¿por qué se salvó ?
Dos semanas después , el hospital llamó para advertir a Fidel que los funcionarios de la ciudad enterrarían a Narcizo en una fosa común si no hacía otros arreglos .
Cuando Fidel comenzó a llamar a los familiares de Narcizo en Nueva York para pedirles consejo , un tío que acababa de ser despedido como sandwichero en una tienda de delicatessen del Bronx le dio el nombre de alguien que @ @ @ @ @ @ @ un pastor mexicano de cincuenta y un años que dirige una congregación en Bay Ridge , Brooklyn .
Durante la primavera y principios de verano , el celular de Ruiz sonaba sin cesar .
La gente perdía su trabajo , pasaba hambre , enfermaba , moría .
“ Era como si hubiera comenzado una guerra ” , me dijo .
Un hombre llamó a Ruiz a altas horas de la noche , después de pelear a puñetazos con su casero por el alquiler que no podía pagar ya que había perdido su trabajo @ @ @ @ @ @ @ que había estado viviendo durante varios días con el cadáver de su hermano en el apartamento que compartían ; temía llamar a las autoridades de la ciudad pero no podía pagar a una funeraria para que recuperase el cadáver .
Las autoridades de Guerrero buscaban regularmente consejos sobre cómo repatriar los restos de los lugareños que habían fallecido en Nueva York .
En abril , la Open Society Foundations , la organización filantrópica fundada por el financiero liberal George Soros , donó veinte millones de dólares a la ciudad para ayudar a los @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” , me dijo Gregory Maniatis , director de la Iniciativa de Migración Internacional de la organización .
“ Pero vamos a satisfacer solo una pequeña parte de la necesidad de la comunidad ” .
El plan era impulsar las donaciones de otros filántropos , ya que los asesores del alcalde , que señalaban un déficit presupuestario , consideraban imposible gastar dinero público en asistencia directa en efectivo a neoyorquinos indocumentados .
Sin embargo , hasta ahora ningún otro donante ha contribuido al fondo y el gobernador ha mantenido su distancia .
“ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ una elección debido a este problema ” , me dijo un funcionario municipal .

Leer en inglés | Read in English
En marzo, Victorino Narcizo desarrolló una tos seca. Él y su cuñado Fidel, inmigrantes indocumentados que vivían juntos desde hace una década, no se ponían de acuerdo sobre qué hacer. El jefe de Narcizo había amenazado con despedirlo si perdía un turno. Su madre, en México, dependía del dinero que enviaba a casa, así que decidió seguir trabajando. Tenía veinticinco años y, por lo demás, buena salud; dudaba que sus síntomas fueran graves. Fidel, sin embargo, argumentó: “Quédate en casa y mejora. Hay trabajo en todas partes. Esto es Nueva York”. Narcizo y Fidel se movían por la ciudad como un dúo, más como mejores amigos que como familia política, y compartían un apartamento tipo estudio en Harlem con dos compañeros de habitación que trabajaban en cocinas de restaurantes, tal como ellos.
Unos días después, Narcizo se despertó sin aliento, y él y Fidel se apuraron para llegar al hospital Mount Sinai Morningside, en la avenida Amsterdam. La sala de espera estaba abarrotada y un enfermero con cubrebocas y bata lo interceptó. “¿Por qué lo trajiste aquí?”, le preguntó a Fidel. “Vas a enfermar a otras personas”. Fidel intentó responder, pero su inglés trastabilló; se fueron aturdidos, con Narcizo apoyado en su cuñado. Finalmente, un amigo bilingüe los acompañó al hospital Bellevue, donde Narcizo fue ingresado. Fidel nunca lo volvió a ver. Narcizo murió el 1 de abril, uno de los veintiún mil neoyorquinos que sucumbieron a la COVID-19 esta primavera.
Las siguientes semanas fueron una confusión de luto y de logística. Fidel le dio la noticia a la familia de Narcizo, que vive en el estado mexicano de Guerrero, y trató de recaudar dinero para la cremación entre amigos en Facebook. Pero como las empresas cerraron en respuesta a la pandemia, algunos de los amigos habían perdido sus trabajos y no tenían nada con que contribuir. Fidel siguió yendo a trabajar en un restaurante de sushi en el centro de Manhattan, mientras intentaba encontrar a alguien que se mudara al apartamento para cubrir el alquiler. Lo consumía una pregunta que no tenía ni tiempo ni energía para responder: si también había estado expuesto al virus, ¿por qué se salvó? Dos semanas después, el hospital llamó para advertir a Fidel que los funcionarios de la ciudad enterrarían a Narcizo en una fosa común si no hacía otros arreglos. Cuando Fidel comenzó a llamar a los familiares de Narcizo en Nueva York para pedirles consejo, un tío que acababa de ser despedido como sandwichero en una tienda de delicatessen del Bronx le dio el nombre de alguien que podría ayudar: Juan Carlos Ruiz, un pastor mexicano de cincuenta y un años que dirige una congregación en Bay Ridge, Brooklyn.
Entre los inmigrantes indocumentados en la ciudad de Nueva York, Ruiz tiene fama de ser un defensor dedicado e implacable de su comunidad. Todo el mundo parece conocerlo o conocer a alguien que lo conoce, y no es difícil ver por qué. Un día reciente entregó comidas en tres apartamentos, recibió un camión lleno de alimentos donados por un tendero del Bronx, habló en una manifestación callejera en solidaridad con los trabajadores esenciales y visitó un hospital local para identificar los restos de un inmigrante. Otros pastores simplemente le han dado las llaves de sus iglesias. Últimamente, con una frecuencia sombría, ha hecho arreglos para entierros con descuento en una funeraria en Park Slope dirigida por un viejo amigo. Ruiz tiene parientes en Puebla y Guerrero y, debido a estos vínculos, los funcionarios y defensores de los derechos humanos de allá también dan su número de teléfono.
Ruiz, cerca de Red Hook, Brooklyn, lleva comida para distribuir a las familias. Fotografía de Gaia Squarci para The New Yorker
Durante su conversación telefónica, Ruiz le dijo a Fidel: “Yo me encargo de todo”.
Una fresca mañana de lunes, en mayo, me encontré con Fidel en la iglesia El Buen Pastor, un austero edificio de piedra gris con puertas rojas en la esquina de la Cuarta avenida y Bay Ridge Parkway. Un primo y dos amigos lo acompañaban—todos vestían sudaderas con capuchas negras y usaban mascarillas quirúrgicas—sentados en silencio alrededor de una mesa plegable dentro de la iglesia vacía. Habían viajado en metro durante una hora y media, desde el Alto Manhattan y el Bronx, para asistir a un funeral que Ruiz había organizado de forma gratuita.
Ruiz entró unos minutos después, con una bata blanca, seguido por su perro, un Bichón Habanero que ladraba mucho y llevaba un suéter. Ruiz es bajo y esbelto, luce una barba que sigue la línea de su barbilla y quijada, usa anteojos de montura cuadrada, y tiene el aire de quien está en constante actividad. Saludó a Fidel chocando los codos y guió a los hombres a las bancas, instruyendo a cada uno a sentarse en su propia fila. La esposa de Ruiz, Cinthya Briones, antropóloga y fotógrafa, entró con una cámara, y un amigo suyo, un oaxaqueño llamado Próspero, quien ha trabajado como voluntario en la iglesia durante el último año, instaló una videograbadora. “Quieres que podamos filmar esto, ¿verdad?”, le preguntó Ruiz a Fidel, quien asintió. Tenía planeado enviar imágenes de la ceremonia a la familia de Narcizo. Para la ocasión había un programa sencillo, con una fotografía de Narcizo en blanco y negro, sonriendo, con una gorra de chef. Una urna con sus cenizas estaba colocada sobre una pequeña mesa de madera.
Haciendo un gesto hacia ella, al comenzar la ceremonia, Ruiz dijo: “El dolor es un gran abismo que nos invita a realizar un acto de fe”. Enumeró las dificultades que los hombres habían soportado: la muerte de Narcizo, sus perspectivas laborales cada vez más oscuras, la añoranza de su tierra, los temores de contraer el coronavirus y los recuerdos traumáticos del cruce de la frontera. Los bancos crujieron cuando los hombres asintieron. “Dios está ahí afuera”, dijo Ruiz. “Pero hay llamas en todas partes a nuestro alrededor, y el humo hace que sea muy difícil de ver”.
Durante la primavera y principios de verano, el celular de Ruiz sonaba sin cesar. La gente perdía su trabajo, pasaba hambre, enfermaba, moría. “Era como si hubiera comenzado una guerra”, me dijo. Un hombre llamó a Ruiz a altas horas de la noche, después de pelear a puñetazos con su casero por el alquiler que no podía pagar ya que había perdido su trabajo. Ruiz escuchó de un inmigrante indocumentado que había estado viviendo durante varios días con el cadáver de su hermano en el apartamento que compartían; temía llamar a las autoridades de la ciudad pero no podía pagar a una funeraria para que recuperase el cadáver. Las autoridades de Guerrero buscaban regularmente consejos sobre cómo repatriar los restos de los lugareños que habían fallecido en Nueva York.
La pandemia ha devastado comunidades de inmigrantes y minorías, y mató a negros y latinos a tasas mucho más altas que el resto de la población; la recesión subsiguiente, en la que la ciudad de Nueva York ha perdido más de un millón de puestos de trabajo, los ha dejado desproporcionalmente sin empleo. Los indocumentados no califican para las prestaciones de desempleo o la indemnización por despido, y están excluidos de los programas de ayuda federal diseñados para aliviar el golpe financiero del coronavirus. Según la Oficina del Alcalde para Asuntos del Inmigrante, trescientos setenta y seis mil trabajadores y cuarenta y siete mil dueños de negocios son indocumentados. Aunque el alcalde Bill de Blasio y el gobernador Andrew Cuomo se jactan habitualmente de sus logros progresistas, ninguno ha financiado un fondo de ayuda para los indocumentados, a diferencia de gobiernos municipales y estatales en California, Oregón, Washington y Connecticut.
El templo Church of the Good Shepherd, en Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, ha servido de base de operaciones para las actividades de ayuda por la pandemia. Fotografía de Gaia Squarci para The New Yorker
En abril, la Open Society Foundations, la organización filantrópica fundada por el financiero liberal George Soros, donó veinte millones de dólares a la ciudad para ayudar a los inmigrantes. “Fue una intervención humanitaria”, me dijo Gregory Maniatis, director de la Iniciativa de Migración Internacional de la organización. “Pero vamos a satisfacer solo una pequeña parte de la necesidad de la comunidad”. El plan era impulsar las donaciones de otros filántropos, ya que los asesores del alcalde, que señalaban un déficit presupuestario, consideraban imposible gastar dinero público en asistencia directa en efectivo a neoyorquinos indocumentados. Sin embargo, hasta ahora ningún otro donante ha contribuido al fondo y el gobernador ha mantenido su distancia. “Cuomo no va a ganar o perder una elección debido a este problema”, me dijo un funcionario municipal.
Para Ruiz, el hecho de que el estado no ayude a cientos de miles de personas en situación desesperada es el último recordatorio de que los inmigrantes más vulnerables de la ciudad siempre han estado solos. Desde los años ochenta, me dijo, los centroamericanos se han visto cada vez más apretujados por la prensadora de la política de inmigración estadounidense y sus efectos cotidianos: trabajos mal pagados, aumento del costo de vida, operaciones de control de la inmigración en constante expansión. Ahora, dijo Ruiz, los inmigrantes se preguntaban si los beneficios de venir a Estados Unidos superaban los costos. Dijo: “Creo que estamos por llegar a la etapa en la que las cosas se estén poniendo tan malas que las personas que han sacrificado todo para venir aquí y trabajar en la ciudad de Nueva York duden si realmente vale la pena”.
Ruiz llegó a Estados Unidos en 1986, con sus propias dudas. Tenía dieciséis años y estudiaba para ser sacerdote católico en un seminario en San Luis Potosí, un estado en el centro de México, donde nació y se crió. Sus padres y cinco hermanos se habían mudado a Paterson, Nueva Jersey, más de un año antes, pero él no había querido irse con ellos. “Los mexicanos tenemos un sentido ambivalente del norte”, me dijo. (Le gusta citar un dicho popular: “Pobre México, tan lejos de Dios y tan cerca de los Estados Unidos”). Finalmente visitó a su familia con una visa de turista y planeaba regresar a casa para continuar su instrucción, pero dejarlos por segunda vez le resultó demasiado difícil.
Después de que expiró su visa, cayó en un limbo legal que duró ocho años. Durante ese tiempo, atendió a la escuela secundaria, la universidad y el seminario, pero no obtuvo un número de seguro social hasta los veinticuatro años. Su familia, que había ingresado al país legalmente, perdió su estatus luego de no poder renovar sus visas. “Mis padres estuvieron en las sombras por los primeros dieciocho años de sus vidas en Estados Unidos”, me dijo. “Hay otro mundo aquí, la vida subterránea, la vida clandestina”. Descubrir la necesidad de curas bilingües para apoyar a esta población fue una epifanía para Ruiz, y una de las razones por las que decidió quedarse en Estados Unidos. Él y su familia finalmente obtuvieron tarjetas de residencia, pero nunca se despojó completamente del sentimiento de indocumentado. “Estás desconectado de la manera oficial y formal de hacer las cosas”, dijo. “Ignoras la ley. No la estás rompiendo, no intentas hacerlo. Pero está la sensación de que haces algo ilegal todo el tiempo y eso comienza a filtrarse en la vida cotidiana”.
En 1993, era un joven seminarista que vivía en el lado norte de Chicago cuando se hizo amigo del poeta y sacerdote jesuita Daniel Berrigan y su hermano, Philip, quienes habían cumplido condena en prisión por su activismo contra la guerra de Vietnam. Estaban involucrados con el Movimiento de Trabajadores Católicos y se oponían ferozmente al militarismo y los excesos del capitalismo estadounidense. “Pusieron sus cuerpos en juego y mi espíritu se despertó”, me dijo Ruiz. En América Latina, a partir de los años sesenta, un movimiento religioso conocido como la teología de la liberación llevó a los sacerdotes católicos a luchar contra las élites autoritarias por la igualdad económica y los derechos humanos. Ruiz, que había estudiado con uno de los fundadores del movimiento mientras vivía en Estados Unidos, encontró su expresión en las decaídas ciudades industriales de Indiana, donde predicaba en español los fines de semana. “En las ciudades de todo el país, había una clase de personas invisibles que trabajaban en los restaurantes, limpiaban las casas”, dijo. “¿Somos una iglesia si excluimos a estas personas?”


newyorker--2020-08-19--Daily Cartoon: Wednesday, August 19th

Daily Cartoon: Wednesday, August 19th

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newyorker--2020-08-19--After Two Nights, the Virtual Democratic National Convention Is Winning

At the halfway mark of the 2020 Democratic National Convention , at least one thing is evident : going forward , there will be more to these quadrennial events than packing thousands of delegates and reporters into some enormous shed for hours on end .
Starting with Monday night ’ s choral version of “ The Star-Spangled Banner , ” with singers beamed in from every state , the District of Columbia , the Navajo Nation , and five U.S. territories , the organizers have embraced rather than resisted the online format that the pandemic has forced upon them .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ night ’ s roll-call vote , have worked so well that they will probably become fixtures .
Others may not be as long-lasting .
Still , the direction is clear .
Like the multistory office building and the packed commuter train , the Convention stage is another twentieth-century invention that has been thoroughly disrupted by the coronavirus .
It ’ s not entirely clear yet how the public is reacting .
On Monday , about nineteen million people watched the Convention on cable or broadcast networks , according to Nielsen .
That ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to the first night of the D.N.C .
in 2016 , but this figure doesn ’ t account for all the people who are watching on streaming platforms .
T. J. Ducklo , a spokesman for the Joe Biden campaign , said on Twitter that 10.2 million people watched online live streams on Monday , “ shattering the previous record.
” In any case , the new-style Convention has already demonstrated a capacity to dominate the news agenda , which is a key concern of any political campaign .
The speeches by Michelle @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Biden , on Tuesday , both generated enormous amounts of coverage .
That shouldn ’ t be surprising .
They were two powerful addresses , and they also benefited greatly from the intimacy of being delivered from a living room and a classroom rather than a Convention stage .
The former First Lady took the axe directly to Donald Trump ; the former Second Lady didn ’ t mention his name .
But both emphasized the huge empathy gap that exists between the President and his challenger , as well as the enormous @ @ @ @ @ @ @ attended this Presidency , especially since the onset of the pandemic .
“ As a mother and a grandmother , as an American , I am heartbroken by the magnitude of this loss—by the failure to protect our communities—by every precious and irreplaceable life gone , ” Jill Biden said .
“ Like so many of you , I ’ m left asking , How do I keep my family safe ?
” Not by reëlecting Trump , was the implied answer .
Jill Biden didn ’ t spell this out explicitly .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ recorded in his home in Westchester—and which , by his standards , was a mere cameo appearance—did the job for her .
“ If you want a President who defines the job as spending hours a day watching TV and zapping people on social media , he ’ s your man , ” the forty-second President said of the forty-fifth .
“ Denying , distracting , and demeaning works great if you ’ re trying to entertain and inflame .
But in a real crisis it collapses like a house of cards .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ of that .
To beat it , you ’ ve got to go to work and deal with the facts.
” The charges that Trump is morally bankrupt and utterly incompetent make up two-thirds of the Democrats ’ indictment against him .
The third charge—that for all his clownishness , Trump also represents a potentially mortal threat to the American system of government—is perhaps the most serious of all .
Speaking from Burlington , Vermont , Bernie Sanders articulated it very effectively on Monday night , when he called on his progressive supporters @ @ @ @ @ @ @ its most basic , this election is about preserving our democracy , ” Sanders said .
“ During this President ’ s term , the unthinkable has become normal .
He has tried to prevent people from voting , undermined the U.S .
Postal Service , deployed the military and federal agents against peaceful protesters , threatened to delay the election , and suggested that he will not leave office if he loses .
This is not normal , and we must never treat it like it is.
” In 2020 , lots @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of course .
From the rogue Presidency to the pandemic , the economic dislocation the virus has caused , and the long-overdue racial reckoning that has followed the killing of George Floyd ( whose two brothers , Philonise and Rodney , spoke to the Convention on Monday night ) —abnormality is the defining feature of the moment .
The Democrats ’ underlying message is that for all the death and dissonance and division , there is now an opportunity to create a better America , a candidate who embodies this opportunity , and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that is yearning for change .
By accident or design , the segment that has perhaps highlighted this most effectively was the roll-call vote , which featured a “ virtual trip around America , ” beginning at the Edmund Pettus Bridge , in Selma , Alabama , and ending at the Joseph R. Biden , Jr. , Railroad Station , in Wilmington , Delaware .
In addition to its evocative ( and often stunning ) locations , the thirty-five-minute segment featured an assortment of lesser- and better-known people from every state in the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ included Marisol Garcia , a middle-school teacher in Arizona ; Reuben Gill , a bricklayer from Missouri ; Khizr Khan , the Gold Star father who spoke at the D.N.C .
in 2016 ; Fred Guttenberg , the Florida gun-control activist who lost a child in the Parkland High School massacre ; and a stout but anonymous fellow in Rhode Island who was proudly carrying a vast plate of calamari as the state representative Joseph McNamara read out his state ’ s nominating votes .
From Election Day in November , 2016 , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ been hanging in the air : Is Donald Trump bigger than the United States ?
By displaying some of the incredible physical and human riches that this country contains , and which are still waiting to be tapped , the roll-call vote made the question seem ridiculous , at least for a few minutes .
Doubtless , the original site of the convention , Milwaukee ’ s Fiserv Forum , which is home to the Milwaukee Bucks , is a fine facility .
But it ’ s hard to see how such a @ @ @ @ @ @ @

At the halfway mark of the 2020 Democratic National Convention, at least one thing is evident: going forward, there will be more to these quadrennial events than packing thousands of delegates and reporters into some enormous shed for hours on end. Starting with Monday night’s choral version of “The Star-Spangled Banner,” with singers beamed in from every state, the District of Columbia, the Navajo Nation, and five U.S. territories, the organizers have embraced rather than resisted the online format that the pandemic has forced upon them. Some of their innovations, particularly Tuesday night’s roll-call vote, have worked so well that they will probably become fixtures. Others may not be as long-lasting. Still, the direction is clear. Like the multistory office building and the packed commuter train, the Convention stage is another twentieth-century invention that has been thoroughly disrupted by the coronavirus.
It’s not entirely clear yet how the public is reacting. On Monday, about nineteen million people watched the Convention on cable or broadcast networks, according to Nielsen. That’s a drop of six million compared to the first night of the D.N.C. in 2016, but this figure doesn’t account for all the people who are watching on streaming platforms. T. J. Ducklo, a spokesman for the Joe Biden campaign, said on Twitter that 10.2 million people watched online live streams on Monday, “shattering the previous record.” In any case, the new-style Convention has already demonstrated a capacity to dominate the news agenda, which is a key concern of any political campaign. The speeches by Michelle Obama, on Monday, and Jill Biden, on Tuesday, both generated enormous amounts of coverage.
That shouldn’t be surprising. They were two powerful addresses, and they also benefited greatly from the intimacy of being delivered from a living room and a classroom rather than a Convention stage. The former First Lady took the axe directly to Donald Trump; the former Second Lady didn’t mention his name. But both emphasized the huge empathy gap that exists between the President and his challenger, as well as the enormous losses—physical, moral, and spiritual—that have attended this Presidency, especially since the onset of the pandemic. “As a mother and a grandmother, as an American, I am heartbroken by the magnitude of this loss—by the failure to protect our communities—by every precious and irreplaceable life gone,” Jill Biden said. “Like so many of you, I’m left asking, How do I keep my family safe?”
Not by reëlecting Trump, was the implied answer. Jill Biden didn’t spell this out explicitly. Bill Clinton, during a five-minute speech recorded in his home in Westchester—and which, by his standards, was a mere cameo appearance—did the job for her. “If you want a President who defines the job as spending hours a day watching TV and zapping people on social media, he’s your man,” the forty-second President said of the forty-fifth. “Denying, distracting, and demeaning works great if you’re trying to entertain and inflame. But in a real crisis it collapses like a house of cards. COVID doesn’t respond to any of that. To beat it, you’ve got to go to work and deal with the facts.”
The charges that Trump is morally bankrupt and utterly incompetent make up two-thirds of the Democrats’ indictment against him. The third charge—that for all his clownishness, Trump also represents a potentially mortal threat to the American system of government—is perhaps the most serious of all. Speaking from Burlington, Vermont, Bernie Sanders articulated it very effectively on Monday night, when he called on his progressive supporters to vote for Biden. “At its most basic, this election is about preserving our democracy,” Sanders said. “During this President’s term, the unthinkable has become normal. He has tried to prevent people from voting, undermined the U.S. Postal Service, deployed the military and federal agents against peaceful protesters, threatened to delay the election, and suggested that he will not leave office if he loses. This is not normal, and we must never treat it like it is.”
In 2020, lots of things aren’t normal, of course. From the rogue Presidency to the pandemic, the economic dislocation the virus has caused, and the long-overdue racial reckoning that has followed the killing of George Floyd (whose two brothers, Philonise and Rodney, spoke to the Convention on Monday night)—abnormality is the defining feature of the moment. The Democrats’ underlying message is that for all the death and dissonance and division, there is now an opportunity to create a better America, a candidate who embodies this opportunity, and an exhausted but resilient country out there that is yearning for change.
By accident or design, the segment that has perhaps highlighted this most effectively was the roll-call vote, which featured a “virtual trip around America,” beginning at the Edmund Pettus Bridge, in Selma, Alabama, and ending at the Joseph R. Biden, Jr., Railroad Station, in Wilmington, Delaware. In addition to its evocative (and often stunning) locations, the thirty-five-minute segment featured an assortment of lesser- and better-known people from every state in the Union and the offshore territories. They included Marisol Garcia, a middle-school teacher in Arizona; Reuben Gill, a bricklayer from Missouri; Khizr Khan, the Gold Star father who spoke at the D.N.C. in 2016; Fred Guttenberg, the Florida gun-control activist who lost a child in the Parkland High School massacre; and a stout but anonymous fellow in Rhode Island who was proudly carrying a vast plate of calamari as the state representative Joseph McNamara read out his state’s nominating votes.
From Election Day in November, 2016, until now, an ominous question has been hanging in the air: Is Donald Trump bigger than the United States? By displaying some of the incredible physical and human riches that this country contains, and which are still waiting to be tapped, the roll-call vote made the question seem ridiculous, at least for a few minutes. Doubtless, the original site of the convention, Milwaukee’s Fiserv Forum, which is home to the Milwaukee Bucks, is a fine facility. But it’s hard to see how such a result could have been achieved there.


newyorker--2020-08-20--Ask Kim Kierkegaardashian: Worldly Goods vs. the Greater Good

Ask Kim Kierkegaardashian is an advice column by a mashup of the nineteenth-century existentialist philosopher Søren Kierkegaard and the reality star and fashion maven Kim Kardashian West .
Are you suffering an existential crisis ?
Vexed about what to wear ?
Send your questions to kimkierkegaard1 @ gmail.com ( or address them to @ kimkierkegaard on Twitter ) .
Questions may be edited for clarity and length .
How do I balance being an anti-capitalist Marxist at heart with also loving stuff ?
All of my friends are pot-smoking leftists who talk about how we should eat the rich , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is it ethical that we live in a world that allows some to hoard wealth , while others lack basic human dignities ?
But my parents are immigrants who came to the United States for greater career opportunities—they just want me to live a comfortable life style , and I get that , too .
In fact , I really want one of those walk-in closets filled to the brim with designer handbags .
I follow a ton of fashion influencers on social media , and I luxuriate in my Tatcha face masks @ @ @ @ @ @ @ my decrepit , disgusting apartment that I share with too many roommates , sure ) .
I was incredibly proud of myself for scoring an internship at a major fashion brand last year , and although some friends congratulated me , others told me that I ’ d sold out to an industry that exploits insecurities for profit .
This , to me , represents the heart of my predicament—whose words should I honor ?
Should I prioritize my own financial comfort and career aspirations , or the greater global good ?
Like @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of worldly things , except when those worldly things are destined for my own closet .
In fact , my walk-in closet is so big that it has a hot tub for trying out bathing suits and dedicated sections for clothes purchased for my many moods and activities , such as despair , raging against the foolishness of men , weeping over my sins , clubbing , and resort wear .
Anyway , kudos to you , Closet Consumerist , for recognizing the gap between your ideals and your desires .
You ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ never deviate from their principles are those who don ’ t have any .
As for the rest , many live out their days in a haze of unexamined hypocrisy , while wearing shoes that don ’ t go at all with unexamined hypocrisy .
You , however , perceive the world in all its contradictions—its seductions , its joys , its injustices .
You recognize the conflict in your soul and examine your hypocrisy .
It ’ s as though you ’ ve realized that you ’ re wearing the wrong hair @ @ @ @ @ @ @ you can begin to understand yourself .
Now you can make changes .
It sounds to me like you have granted a great deal of power to other people ’ s opinions—those of your charming hippie friends and of your admirable parents .
But , although it ’ s fine to borrow little snatches of other people ’ s looks , you can ’ t go through life copying someone else ’ s style .
You have to find your own flair .
So pay close attention to your heart ’ s contradictions @ @ @ @ @ @ @ closet with the supple calfskin of countless Birkin bags a joyful appreciation of French craftsmanship , or an attempt to fill a terrible void ?
Is your Tatcha face mask life-affirming self-care , or a desperate disguise against mortality ?
What would it feel like to face life without the comforting cocoon of stuff ?
And when you enter the walk-in closet of your soul , are your politics just a youthful fad , as dispensable as drunk-ordered harem pants ?
Or are they a treasured wardrobe centerpiece—enduring and deeply felt—like a vintage @ @ @ @ @ @ @ jeans ?
It takes time , experience , and unflinching introspection to answer questions such as these .
Like the flavor of Royal Ossetra caviar served with Santa Barbara sea urchin , Hawaiian hearts of peach palm , and Persian cucumbers ( which my private chef Thomas Keller just served me for lunch—thank you , Thomas ) , the things of life can not be known in the abstract .
They must be tasted to be understood .
So make your choices , Closet Consumerist .
Do your internships .
Feel proud of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ will .
But prioritize your own thoughts and feelings on these things , over those of your peers and your parents .
A moisturizer that works great on a friend ’ s face might make yours break out .
Figure out what makes your skin type glow .
I myself am quite clear that my own lust for stuff is an aspect of my despair , but this may or may not be true for you .
There could be ways to reconcile your two clashing looks , personal comfort and anti-capitalism .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ , for example , or to volunteering and activism outside of your day job .
Justice is a glorious diva , and if you truly believe in her , you must find ways to let her sing .
But I am an existentialist influencer , not a political philosopher , so I view the problem of wealth through the lenses of the self , and of the selfie .
And what you are searching for here is nothing less than your authentic self , your soul—that which gives life to even the most @ @ @ @ @ @ @ self is the one must-have piece that can be neither purchased by a personal shopper nor borrowed from a roommate ’ s wardrobe and that , once achieved , becomes the most fabulous item you possess .
What you want to avoid , Closet Consumerist , is eventually stepping into your walk-in and realizing that your life has become like one of your Birkin bags : impressive-looking , acquired with great effort—and empty .

Ask Kim Kierkegaardashian is an advice column by a mashup of the nineteenth-century existentialist philosopher Søren Kierkegaard and the reality star and fashion maven Kim Kardashian West. Are you suffering an existential crisis? Vexed about what to wear? Send your questions to kimkierkegaard1@gmail.com (or address them to @kimkierkegaard on Twitter). Questions may be edited for clarity and length.
Dear Kim Kierkegaardashian,
How do I balance being an anti-capitalist Marxist at heart with also loving stuff? All of my friends are pot-smoking leftists who talk about how we should eat the rich, and I agree with them. How is it ethical that we live in a world that allows some to hoard wealth, while others lack basic human dignities? But my parents are immigrants who came to the United States for greater career opportunities—they just want me to live a comfortable life style, and I get that, too.
In fact, I really want one of those walk-in closets filled to the brim with designer handbags. I follow a ton of fashion influencers on social media, and I luxuriate in my Tatcha face masks and Chanel cosmetics (while lounging in my decrepit, disgusting apartment that I share with too many roommates, sure).
I was incredibly proud of myself for scoring an internship at a major fashion brand last year, and although some friends congratulated me, others told me that I’d sold out to an industry that exploits insecurities for profit. This, to me, represents the heart of my predicament—whose words should I honor? Should I prioritize my own financial comfort and career aspirations, or the greater global good?
Signed,
Closet Consumerist
Dear Closet Consumerist,
Like you, I also disdain the allure of worldly things, except when those worldly things are destined for my own closet. In fact, my walk-in closet is so big that it has a hot tub for trying out bathing suits and dedicated sections for clothes purchased for my many moods and activities, such as despair, raging against the foolishness of men, weeping over my sins, clubbing, and resort wear.
Anyway, kudos to you, Closet Consumerist, for recognizing the gap between your ideals and your desires. You’re not alone—the only people whose lives never deviate from their principles are those who don’t have any. As for the rest, many live out their days in a haze of unexamined hypocrisy, while wearing shoes that don’t go at all with unexamined hypocrisy.
You, however, perceive the world in all its contradictions—its seductions, its joys, its injustices. You recognize the conflict in your soul and examine your hypocrisy. It’s as though you’ve realized that you’re wearing the wrong hair style for your face shape. Now you can begin to understand yourself. Now you can make changes.
It sounds to me like you have granted a great deal of power to other people’s opinions—those of your charming hippie friends and of your admirable parents. But, although it’s fine to borrow little snatches of other people’s looks, you can’t go through life copying someone else’s style. You have to find your own flair.
So pay close attention to your heart’s contradictions. Is the urge to fill a closet with the supple calfskin of countless Birkin bags a joyful appreciation of French craftsmanship, or an attempt to fill a terrible void? Is your Tatcha face mask life-affirming self-care, or a desperate disguise against mortality? What would it feel like to face life without the comforting cocoon of stuff?
And when you enter the walk-in closet of your soul, are your politics just a youthful fad, as dispensable as drunk-ordered harem pants? Or are they a treasured wardrobe centerpiece—enduring and deeply felt—like a vintage Valentino gown or a well-worn pair of jeans?
It takes time, experience, and unflinching introspection to answer questions such as these. Like the flavor of Royal Ossetra caviar served with Santa Barbara sea urchin, Hawaiian hearts of peach palm, and Persian cucumbers (which my private chef Thomas Keller just served me for lunch—thank you, Thomas), the things of life cannot be known in the abstract. They must be tasted to be understood.
So make your choices, Closet Consumerist. Do your internships. Feel proud of them or regret them, as you will. But prioritize your own thoughts and feelings on these things, over those of your peers and your parents. A moisturizer that works great on a friend’s face might make yours break out. Figure out what makes your skin type glow.
I myself am quite clear that my own lust for stuff is an aspect of my despair, but this may or may not be true for you. There could be ways to reconcile your two clashing looks, personal comfort and anti-capitalism. You could dedicate yourself to ethical fashion, for example, or to volunteering and activism outside of your day job. Justice is a glorious diva, and if you truly believe in her, you must find ways to let her sing.
But I am an existentialist influencer, not a political philosopher, so I view the problem of wealth through the lenses of the self, and of the selfie. And what you are searching for here is nothing less than your authentic self, your soul—that which gives life to even the most poorly lit of bathroom selfies. The self is the one must-have piece that can be neither purchased by a personal shopper nor borrowed from a roommate’s wardrobe and that, once achieved, becomes the most fabulous item you possess. What you want to avoid, Closet Consumerist, is eventually stepping into your walk-in and realizing that your life has become like one of your Birkin bags: impressive-looking, acquired with great effort—and empty.
XOXO
Kim Kierkegaardashian