newyorker--2020-05-01--When James Baldwin Wrote About the Atlanta Child Murders

One by one , they went missing .
At least two dozen young boys and girls , ages seven to seventeen , disappeared—while walking home or riding their bicycles , on their way to the bank or the store or the local swimming pool , in the spring and fall and winter and summer .
Most of their bodies were found within a few months , in abandoned buildings or vacant lots , under bridges or deep in the woods .
Some of them were never found at all .
For three years , from 1979 to 1981 , these @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and the city has been haunted by them ever since .
None of the murders were ever solved , although , inexplicably , twenty-two of the cases were closed after a man named Wayne Williams was convicted of two other murders in 1982 , both of adult men , which the police argued were linked to at least ten of the missing children .
That argument did not convince many of the families of the children , or much of the rest of the city , and , finally , last year , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ department to reopen its investigation into the Atlanta child murders , as the cases came to be called .
That decision has brought increased attention to a series of crimes that have never really been out of the public eye .
They have inspired countless exposés , features , and adaptations : a dramatic miniseries , in 1985 , starring Morgan Freeman , James Earl Jones , and Martin Sheen ; the moving novel “ Leaving Atlanta , ” by Tayari Jones , which was published in 2002 ; a documentary , a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Soledad O ’ Brien , and a different one , last year , for Investigation Discovery , by the producer Will Packer ; an insensitive , freewheeling podcast , two years ago , called “ Atlanta Monster ” ; a more compelling season of the Netflix series “ Mindhunter , ” last year .
The most recent addition to this canon is the five-part documentary “ Atlanta ’ s Missing and Murdered : The Lost Children , ” which began airing earlier this month , on HBO .
( The final episode of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Directed by Sam Pollard , Maro Chermayeff , Jeff Dupre , and Joshua Bennett , with the musician John Legend among its executive producers , this moving , patient series begins with Mayor Bottoms announcing that the cases will be reopened , then goes back methodically through the events themselves , letting relatives , community members , law-enforcement officers , and reporters share their memories .
Outside of a flicker of a reference in the middle of the second episode , however , the most famous of the journalists who covered the cases @ @ @ @ @ @ @ years before he died , James Baldwin published “ The Evidence of Things Not Seen , ” a short book on the Atlanta child murders .
It was built from reporting he had done in Georgia ’ s capital city for Playboy , before and after the arrest of Wayne Williams , and also from his lifetime of experience as a black American .
The circumstances of that reporting were , in some ways , inauspicious ; when the book was published , a reviewer in the Times complained that it consisted of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
But the book is a fascinating work of true crime which marshals the injustice of one set of cases not only or even chiefly to resolve them but in order to make an argument about justice itself .
Today , its argument seems prescient .
“ The Evidence of Things Not Seen ” is less a book about the deaths of black children than one about their lives—about the violence and neglect that too often afflict them and about the ways that , in today ’ s parlance , they do and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Jr. , wanted to cover the Atlanta child murders himself .
As the first black editor at Playboy , he recognized the importance of the story , but the magazine ’ s editorial director insisted that the story needed a bigger name attached to it , so Lowe tracked down the telephone number for one of the biggest names they could think of .
By this time , James Baldwin had been James Baldwin for many years .
He was the author of celebrated novels and plays , his essays in magazines such @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Yorker had been collected and bound into their own books , and his photograph had appeared on the cover of Time beneath a banner that read “ The Negro ’ s Push for Equality.
” Lowe phoned Baldwin in France , where he had moved , from New York City , more than three decades before , on the advice of his mentor , the novelist Richard Wright , who insisted that for black artists it was better to be from America than in it .
For Lowe , it was a nerve-racking @ @ @ @ @ @ @ might say no to the assignment but because he might say yes .
In a remembrance he wrote for the magazine Emerge a few years after Baldwin died , Lowe recalled stuttering through the call , nervously trying to convince the author to leave his refuge in France and reminding him of earlier essays he ’ d written for Playboy , including “ Words of a Native Son ” and “ The Uses of the Blues.
” Baldwin had read about the child murders in the international edition of the Times , but @ @ @ @ @ @ @ South , and he curtly informed the young editor that he was far too busy for the assignment .
That was when Lowe realized that his idol might have a mistaken notion of who was on the other end of the line .
“ It suddenly occurred to me that he may have thought I was white , ” Lowe said , so , “ I rephrased my request in terms of writing about our murdered children.
” The author interrupted to ask if Lowe was black , and then said , “ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ any black editors.
” That fact got Lowe halfway to a yes .
He got the rest of the way there by agreeing to cover all Baldwin ’ s expenses—two hotel rooms ( one for Baldwin and his romantic partner and another for Baldwin ’ s longtime assistant ) , plus food , drinks , entertainment , and a few hundred dollars on top for whatever else he might need—and by promising to manage every detail of the assignment himself , beginning with meeting the writer at the Atlanta airport .
Baldwin ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ airline announced that the arrival gate had changed , so Lowe ran from one side of Hartsfield International to the other , only to find out that the announcement was wrong and then race back to the original gate .
When he finally saw Baldwin for the first time , the writer “ was about as far from sober as he was from France , ” and announced , tiredly , “ I put myself entirely in your care.
” For Lowe , the experience was , in the end , a bit @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the Cat in the Hat .
Mercurial , easily distracted , and demanding , Baldwin passed much of his time in Atlanta ordering room service , getting pedicures , visiting with friends , taking calls from the likes of Coretta Scott King and Andrew Young , and drinking a lot of Stolichnaya .
But around the edges of all that Baldwin did his homework : visiting crime scenes , talking with local leaders about the case , interviewing family members of the children .
One night , after turning on the news and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , Baldwin wanted to go downtown to observe protesters who were gathering at City Hall .
It was late , and Lowe offered to go and take a tape recorder so that Baldwin could stay at the hotel , but Baldwin insisted that he wanted to go and , once he was there , the student protesters recognized him .
“ Hey , brothers and sisters !
” one of them shouted .
“ James Baldwin is here !
We got Brother James Baldwin here !
”

One by one, they went missing. At least two dozen young boys and girls, ages seven to seventeen, disappeared—while walking home or riding their bicycles, on their way to the bank or the store or the local swimming pool, in the spring and fall and winter and summer. Most of their bodies were found within a few months, in abandoned buildings or vacant lots, under bridges or deep in the woods. Some of them were never found at all. For three years, from 1979 to 1981, these disappearances terrified the people of Atlanta, and the city has been haunted by them ever since. None of the murders were ever solved, although, inexplicably, twenty-two of the cases were closed after a man named Wayne Williams was convicted of two other murders in 1982, both of adult men, which the police argued were linked to at least ten of the missing children.
That argument did not convince many of the families of the children, or much of the rest of the city, and, finally, last year, Mayor Keisha Lance Bottoms ordered the police department to reopen its investigation into the Atlanta child murders, as the cases came to be called. That decision has brought increased attention to a series of crimes that have never really been out of the public eye. They have inspired countless exposés, features, and adaptations: a dramatic miniseries, in 1985, starring Morgan Freeman, James Earl Jones, and Martin Sheen; the moving novel “Leaving Atlanta,” by Tayari Jones, which was published in 2002; a documentary, a decade ago, by the CNN correspondent Soledad O’Brien, and a different one, last year, for Investigation Discovery, by the producer Will Packer; an insensitive, freewheeling podcast, two years ago, called “Atlanta Monster”; a more compelling season of the Netflix series “Mindhunter,” last year.
The most recent addition to this canon is the five-part documentary “Atlanta’s Missing and Murdered: The Lost Children,” which began airing earlier this month, on HBO. (The final episode of the series broadcasts on Sunday.) Directed by Sam Pollard, Maro Chermayeff, Jeff Dupre, and Joshua Bennett, with the musician John Legend among its executive producers, this moving, patient series begins with Mayor Bottoms announcing that the cases will be reopened, then goes back methodically through the events themselves, letting relatives, community members, law-enforcement officers, and reporters share their memories.
Outside of a flicker of a reference in the middle of the second episode, however, the most famous of the journalists who covered the cases goes unmentioned. In 1985, two years before he died, James Baldwin published “The Evidence of Things Not Seen,” a short book on the Atlanta child murders. It was built from reporting he had done in Georgia’s capital city for Playboy, before and after the arrest of Wayne Williams, and also from his lifetime of experience as a black American. The circumstances of that reporting were, in some ways, inauspicious; when the book was published, a reviewer in the Times complained that it consisted of too much sermonizing and not enough sleuthing. But the book is a fascinating work of true crime which marshals the injustice of one set of cases not only or even chiefly to resolve them but in order to make an argument about justice itself. Today, its argument seems prescient. “The Evidence of Things Not Seen” is less a book about the deaths of black children than one about their lives—about the violence and neglect that too often afflict them and about the ways that, in today’s parlance, they do and do not matter.
Walter Lowe, Jr., wanted to cover the Atlanta child murders himself. As the first black editor at Playboy, he recognized the importance of the story, but the magazine’s editorial director insisted that the story needed a bigger name attached to it, so Lowe tracked down the telephone number for one of the biggest names they could think of. By this time, James Baldwin had been James Baldwin for many years. He was the author of celebrated novels and plays, his essays in magazines such as Harper’s and The New Yorker had been collected and bound into their own books, and his photograph had appeared on the cover of Time beneath a banner that read “The Negro’s Push for Equality.” Lowe phoned Baldwin in France, where he had moved, from New York City, more than three decades before, on the advice of his mentor, the novelist Richard Wright, who insisted that for black artists it was better to be from America than in it.
For Lowe, it was a nerve-racking call, not because his literary hero might say no to the assignment but because he might say yes. In a remembrance he wrote for the magazine Emerge a few years after Baldwin died, Lowe recalled stuttering through the call, nervously trying to convince the author to leave his refuge in France and reminding him of earlier essays he’d written for Playboy, including “Words of a Native Son” and “The Uses of the Blues.” Baldwin had read about the child murders in the international edition of the Times, but he had reservations about returning to the South, and he curtly informed the young editor that he was far too busy for the assignment. That was when Lowe realized that his idol might have a mistaken notion of who was on the other end of the line. “It suddenly occurred to me that he may have thought I was white,” Lowe said, so, “I rephrased my request in terms of writing about our murdered children.” The author interrupted to ask if Lowe was black, and then said, “I didn’t know Playboy had any black editors.”
That fact got Lowe halfway to a yes. He got the rest of the way there by agreeing to cover all Baldwin’s expenses—two hotel rooms (one for Baldwin and his romantic partner and another for Baldwin’s longtime assistant), plus food, drinks, entertainment, and a few hundred dollars on top for whatever else he might need—and by promising to manage every detail of the assignment himself, beginning with meeting the writer at the Atlanta airport. Baldwin’s flight was late, and the airline announced that the arrival gate had changed, so Lowe ran from one side of Hartsfield International to the other, only to find out that the announcement was wrong and then race back to the original gate. When he finally saw Baldwin for the first time, the writer “was about as far from sober as he was from France,” and announced, tiredly, “I put myself entirely in your care.”
For Lowe, the experience was, in the end, a bit like agreeing to be the attaché of the Cat in the Hat. Mercurial, easily distracted, and demanding, Baldwin passed much of his time in Atlanta ordering room service, getting pedicures, visiting with friends, taking calls from the likes of Coretta Scott King and Andrew Young, and drinking a lot of Stolichnaya. But around the edges of all that Baldwin did his homework: visiting crime scenes, talking with local leaders about the case, interviewing family members of the children. One night, after turning on the news and learning that another child had gone missing, Baldwin wanted to go downtown to observe protesters who were gathering at City Hall. It was late, and Lowe offered to go and take a tape recorder so that Baldwin could stay at the hotel, but Baldwin insisted that he wanted to go and, once he was there, the student protesters recognized him. “Hey, brothers and sisters!” one of them shouted. “James Baldwin is here! We got Brother James Baldwin here!”
“Brother James” was a welcome presence in the city: murders and disappearances like those happening in Atlanta rarely got the attention that routinely attended the disappearance and murder of white children, and black writers were not often given the platform that white ones were for writing about crimes of any kind, much less those with black victims. In 1952, when Zora Neale Hurston covered the murder trial of Ruby McCollum, a black woman accused of killing the white doctor who raped her, it was for the Pittsburgh Courier, an influential black newspaper with a circulation of a few hundred thousand; Playboy, in the early eighties, had a circulation of around five million. Baldwin was a national name writing for a national magazine, and he would have both a bigger audience for his crime story and far more space and time than a weekly newspaper could ever give him to report it.
Baldwin stayed in Atlanta for a few weeks, though it would be nearly a year before his article finally appeared. In it, he wrote that he “sometimes cursed the editor whose brainstorm this had been,” since his reporting was some of the most difficult he had ever undertaken. For his part, Lowe later noted that “one of the unfortunate aspects of being an editor for a major periodical publication is that you’re sometimes in the uncomfortable position of having to coax a creative person to produce on a deadline.” “Coax” was a gentle way of putting it; Lowe ended up having to harass one of his favorite writers by phone, by letter, and in person, including in one shocking fight that made Lowe worry that he had ruined the entire project. That fight came about because Playboy had teased the essay in one month’s issue, promising it would appear in the next one, and, as that deadline grew dangerously near, Lowe’s anxiety gave way to anger. “Stop bullshitting me,” he shouted at Baldwin, in the presence of the writer’s entourage, including the pedicurist who had been summoned to his room to take care of an ingrown toenail. (“Now, you see? I’ve cut Mr. Baldwin’s foot!” the man exclaimed.) “I think you’re so addicted to being the famous James Baldwin that you haven’t the stomach for writing like him,” Lowe continued. “You’re getting old. The fire isn’t there anymore. So you’re trying to drink yourself to death.” When, in a brief quiet moment, Baldwin calmly asked, “Are you finished?” Lowe snapped, “No, I’m not.”
There’s no trace of any of this drama in the Playboy article, which Baldwin wound up delivering a day before it was due. “The Evidence of Things Not Seen” begins near what was then the ending, with the selection of the judge for the trial of Wayne Williams, who had been charged with murder in the case now known as ATKID, an acronym, referring to the city of residence and the age of the victims, created by the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Baldwin presumes some knowledge on the part of his audience about the crimes, and it takes him a few pages before he offers a litany of all the murdered children: each name, age, date last seen, date of death, and cause of death, punctuated by the line, “Bring out your dead.” The first two boys had gone missing in July of 1979, and, by April of the next year, some of the mothers of the missing children had joined together to form the Committee to Stop Children’s Murders, which brought more media attention to what would soon be nine confirmed murders. A task force came together that summer, too, and eventually fifty officers were involved in investigating the increasing number of cases—looking for suspects but also looking for links, because it was never entirely clear how many, if any, of the ATKID murders were related.
Even a fact as basic as the victim count was up for debate. While some claimed the number of cases was overestimated, others pointed to dozens of additional children who disappeared over the same three-year period yet were never included in the total, and still others noted that more children disappeared under similar circumstances even after Wayne Williams was in prison. All this made the matter of culpability even more confusing. Some believed that a single serial killer was at work, if not Williams then someone else, but many did not, and there were plenty of other theories about who was killing black children. One of the most persistent of these pointed to pedophiles, possibly even a network of child pornographers. Another theory alleged that the Ku Klux Klan was involved, and that the murders were committed in order to instigate a race war. The authorities further muddied the case by insisting that two adult men who were found dead must have been related to the child murders because of where their bodies were discovered, and then because they found fibre evidence on those bodies that supposedly matched similar evidence found on ten of the murdered children.
Baldwin took a particular interest in this search for connections, which he saw as both an understandable human impulse and also a pathological way of thinking about black life. The ages of the victims, the locations where they had disappeared, the causes of their deaths, and the sites of their recoveries were too different to logically connect the crimes to a single perpetrator; the only “pattern” Baldwin could see was that all the victims were black and poor and that, because of those two facts, their cases were never investigated with sufficient rigor. To his mind, the authorities’ belated efforts to solve the crimes were less about seeking justice than ending the press scrutiny that the killings had attracted.
Meanwhile, some members of law enforcement insisted—accurately, if defensively—that there was nothing statistically significant about these disappearances and deaths: Atlanta had one of the highest murder rates in the country, and more than the alleged number of ATKID children had gone missing every year for some time. It was the media’s interest, stoked in desperation by the families of the victims, that linked the cases; eventually, that interest, as important as it was, became its own kind of injury. “Black death has never before elicited so much attention,” Baldwin wrote, but “the publicity, given to the slaughter becomes, itself, one more aspect of an unforgivable violation.” The families were grateful for anything that might lead to more thorough police work and pressure on the authorities, but it made a spectacle of their grief. After the twentieth victim was found, early in 1981, Ronald Reagan, the newly elected President, was pressed to comment on the case. Eventually, in an effort to prove the “color blindness” of his Administration, he dispatched more than a million dollars and his own Vice-President to Atlanta to support public-safety campaigns and the criminal investigation.


newyorker--2020-05-01--The Coronavirus and Our Future

The Coronavirus and Our Future

The critic Raymond Williams once wrote that every historical period has its own “ structure of feeling.
” How everything seemed in the nineteen-sixties , the way the Victorians understood one another , the chivalry of the Middle Ages , the world view of Tang-dynasty China : each period , Williams thought , had a distinct way of organizing basic human emotions into an overarching cultural system .
Each had its own way of experiencing being alive .
In mid-March , in a prior age , I spent a week rafting down the Grand Canyon .
When I left for @ @ @ @ @ @ @ still beginning to grapple with the reality of the coronavirus pandemic .
Italy was suffering ; the N.B.A .
had just suspended its season ; Tom Hanks had been reported ill .
When I hiked back up , on March 19th , it was into a different world .
I ’ ve spent my life writing science-fiction novels that try to convey some of the strangeness of the future .
But I was still shocked by how much had changed , and how quickly .
Schools and borders had closed ; the governor @ @ @ @ @ @ @ had asked residents to begin staying at home .
But the change that struck me seemed more abstract and internal .
It was a change in the way we were looking at things , and it is still ongoing .
The virus is rewriting our imaginations .
What felt impossible has become thinkable .
We ’ re getting a different sense of our place in history .
We know we ’ re entering a new world , a new era .
We seem to be learning our way into a new structure of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ ve been overdue for such a shift .
In our feelings , we ’ ve been lagging behind the times in which we live .
The Anthropocene , the Great Acceleration , the age of climate change—whatever you want to call it , we ’ ve been out of synch with the biosphere , wasting our children ’ s hopes for a normal life , burning our ecological capital as if it were disposable income , wrecking our one and only home in ways that soon will be beyond our descendants ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ ve been acting as though it were 2000 , or 1990—as though the neoliberal arrangements built back then still made sense .
We ’ ve been paralyzed , living in the world without feeling it .
Now , all of a sudden , we ’ re acting fast as a civilization .
We ’ re trying , despite many obstacles , to flatten the curve—to avoid mass death .
Doing this , we know that we ’ re living in a moment of historic importance .
We realize that what we do @ @ @ @ @ @ @ be remembered later on .
This sense of enacting history matters .
For some of us , it partly compensates for the disruption of our lives .
Actually , we ’ ve already been living in a historic moment .
For the past few decades , we ’ ve been called upon to act , and have been acting in a way that will be scrutinized by our descendants .
Now we feel it .
The shift has to do with the concentration and intensity of what ’ s happening .
September 11th @ @ @ @ @ @ @ felt the shock of it , but our daily habits didn ’ t shift , except at airports ; the President even urged us to keep shopping .
This crisis is different .
It ’ s a biological threat , and it ’ s global .
Everyone has to change together to deal with it .
That ’ s really history .
It seems as though science has been mobilized to a dramatic new degree , but that impression is just another way in which we ’ re lagging behind .
There are @ @ @ @ @ @ @ stupendous social and technological achievement that ’ s unnatural and unstable .
It ’ s made possible by science , which has already been saving us .
Now , though , when disaster strikes , we grasp the complexity of our civilization—we feel the reality , which is that the whole system is a technical improvisation that science keeps from crashing down .
On a personal level , most of us have accepted that we live in a scientific age .
If you feel sick , you go to a doctor , who @ @ @ @ @ @ @ tests you , then sometimes tells you to take a poison so that you can heal—and you take the poison .
It ’ s on a societal level that we ’ ve been lagging .
Today , in theory , everyone knows everything .
We know that our accidental alteration of the atmosphere is leading us into a mass-extinction event , and that we need to move fast to dodge it .
But we don ’ t act on what we know .
We don ’ t want to change our habits .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ structure of feeling .
Now comes this disease that can kill anyone on the planet .
It ’ s invisible ; it spreads because of the way we move and congregate .
Instantly , we ’ ve changed .
As a society , we ’ re watching the statistics , following the recommendations , listening to the scientists .
Do we believe in science ?
Go outside and you ’ ll see the proof that we do everywhere you look .
We ’ re learning to trust our science as a society .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ new structure of feeling .
Possibly , in a few months , we ’ ll return to some version of the old normal .
But this spring won ’ t be forgotten .
When later shocks strike global civilization , we ’ ll remember how we behaved this time , and how it worked .
It ’ s not that the coronavirus is a dress rehearsal—it ’ s too deadly for that .
But it is the first of many calamities that will likely unfold throughout this century .
Now , when they @ @ @ @ @ @ @ with how they feel .
What shocks might be coming ?
Everyone knows everything .
Remember when Cape Town almost ran out of water ?
It ’ s very likely that there will be more water shortages .
And food shortages , electricity outages , devastating storms , droughts , floods .
These are easy calls .
They ’ re baked into the situation we ’ ve already created , in part by ignoring warnings that scientists have been issuing since the nineteen-sixties .
Some shocks will be local , others regional , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , as this crisis shows , we are interconnected as a biosphere and a civilization .
Imagine what a food scare would do .
Imagine a heat wave hot enough to kill anyone not in an air-conditioned space , then imagine power failures happening during such a heat wave .
( The novel I ’ ve just finished begins with this scenario , so it scares me most of all . )
Imagine pandemics deadlier than the coronavirus .
These events , and others like them , are easier to imagine now than @ @ @ @ @ @ @ they were the stuff of dystopian science fiction .
But science fiction is the realism of our time .
The sense that we are all now stuck in a science-fiction novel that we ’ re writing together—that ’ s another sign of the emerging structure of feeling .
Science-fiction writers don ’ t know anything more about the future than anyone else .
Human history is too unpredictable ; from this moment , we could descend into a mass-extinction event or rise into an age of general prosperity .
Still , if you @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a little less surprised by whatever does happen .
Often , science fiction traces the ramifications of a single postulated change ; readers co-create , judging the writers ’ plausibility and ingenuity , interrogating their theories of history .
Doing this repeatedly is a kind of training .
It can help you feel more oriented in the history we ’ re making now .
This radical spread of possibilities , good to bad , which creates such a profound disorientation ; this tentative awareness of the emerging next stage—these are also new feelings @ @ @ @

The critic Raymond Williams once wrote that every historical period has its own “structure of feeling.” How everything seemed in the nineteen-sixties, the way the Victorians understood one another, the chivalry of the Middle Ages, the world view of Tang-dynasty China: each period, Williams thought, had a distinct way of organizing basic human emotions into an overarching cultural system. Each had its own way of experiencing being alive.
In mid-March, in a prior age, I spent a week rafting down the Grand Canyon. When I left for the trip, the United States was still beginning to grapple with the reality of the coronavirus pandemic. Italy was suffering; the N.B.A. had just suspended its season; Tom Hanks had been reported ill. When I hiked back up, on March 19th, it was into a different world. I’ve spent my life writing science-fiction novels that try to convey some of the strangeness of the future. But I was still shocked by how much had changed, and how quickly.
Schools and borders had closed; the governor of California, like governors elsewhere, had asked residents to begin staying at home. But the change that struck me seemed more abstract and internal. It was a change in the way we were looking at things, and it is still ongoing. The virus is rewriting our imaginations. What felt impossible has become thinkable. We’re getting a different sense of our place in history. We know we’re entering a new world, a new era. We seem to be learning our way into a new structure of feeling.
In many ways, we’ve been overdue for such a shift. In our feelings, we’ve been lagging behind the times in which we live. The Anthropocene, the Great Acceleration, the age of climate change—whatever you want to call it, we’ve been out of synch with the biosphere, wasting our children’s hopes for a normal life, burning our ecological capital as if it were disposable income, wrecking our one and only home in ways that soon will be beyond our descendants’ ability to repair. And yet we’ve been acting as though it were 2000, or 1990—as though the neoliberal arrangements built back then still made sense. We’ve been paralyzed, living in the world without feeling it.
Now, all of a sudden, we’re acting fast as a civilization. We’re trying, despite many obstacles, to flatten the curve—to avoid mass death. Doing this, we know that we’re living in a moment of historic importance. We realize that what we do now, well or badly, will be remembered later on. This sense of enacting history matters. For some of us, it partly compensates for the disruption of our lives.
Actually, we’ve already been living in a historic moment. For the past few decades, we’ve been called upon to act, and have been acting in a way that will be scrutinized by our descendants. Now we feel it. The shift has to do with the concentration and intensity of what’s happening. September 11th was a single day, and everyone felt the shock of it, but our daily habits didn’t shift, except at airports; the President even urged us to keep shopping. This crisis is different. It’s a biological threat, and it’s global. Everyone has to change together to deal with it. That’s really history.
It seems as though science has been mobilized to a dramatic new degree, but that impression is just another way in which we’re lagging behind. There are 7.8 billion people alive on this planet—a stupendous social and technological achievement that’s unnatural and unstable. It’s made possible by science, which has already been saving us. Now, though, when disaster strikes, we grasp the complexity of our civilization—we feel the reality, which is that the whole system is a technical improvisation that science keeps from crashing down.
On a personal level, most of us have accepted that we live in a scientific age. If you feel sick, you go to a doctor, who is really a scientist; that scientist tests you, then sometimes tells you to take a poison so that you can heal—and you take the poison. It’s on a societal level that we’ve been lagging. Today, in theory, everyone knows everything. We know that our accidental alteration of the atmosphere is leading us into a mass-extinction event, and that we need to move fast to dodge it. But we don’t act on what we know. We don’t want to change our habits. This knowing-but-not-acting is part of the old structure of feeling.
Now comes this disease that can kill anyone on the planet. It’s invisible; it spreads because of the way we move and congregate. Instantly, we’ve changed. As a society, we’re watching the statistics, following the recommendations, listening to the scientists. Do we believe in science? Go outside and you’ll see the proof that we do everywhere you look. We’re learning to trust our science as a society. That’s another part of the new structure of feeling.
Possibly, in a few months, we’ll return to some version of the old normal. But this spring won’t be forgotten. When later shocks strike global civilization, we’ll remember how we behaved this time, and how it worked. It’s not that the coronavirus is a dress rehearsal—it’s too deadly for that. But it is the first of many calamities that will likely unfold throughout this century. Now, when they come, we’ll be familiar with how they feel.
What shocks might be coming? Everyone knows everything. Remember when Cape Town almost ran out of water? It’s very likely that there will be more water shortages. And food shortages, electricity outages, devastating storms, droughts, floods. These are easy calls. They’re baked into the situation we’ve already created, in part by ignoring warnings that scientists have been issuing since the nineteen-sixties. Some shocks will be local, others regional, but many will be global, because, as this crisis shows, we are interconnected as a biosphere and a civilization.
Imagine what a food scare would do. Imagine a heat wave hot enough to kill anyone not in an air-conditioned space, then imagine power failures happening during such a heat wave. (The novel I’ve just finished begins with this scenario, so it scares me most of all.) Imagine pandemics deadlier than the coronavirus. These events, and others like them, are easier to imagine now than they were back in January, when they were the stuff of dystopian science fiction. But science fiction is the realism of our time. The sense that we are all now stuck in a science-fiction novel that we’re writing together—that’s another sign of the emerging structure of feeling.
Science-fiction writers don’t know anything more about the future than anyone else. Human history is too unpredictable; from this moment, we could descend into a mass-extinction event or rise into an age of general prosperity. Still, if you read science fiction, you may be a little less surprised by whatever does happen. Often, science fiction traces the ramifications of a single postulated change; readers co-create, judging the writers’ plausibility and ingenuity, interrogating their theories of history. Doing this repeatedly is a kind of training. It can help you feel more oriented in the history we’re making now. This radical spread of possibilities, good to bad, which creates such a profound disorientation; this tentative awareness of the emerging next stage—these are also new feelings in our time.
Memento mori: remember that you must die. Older people are sometimes better at keeping this in mind than younger people. Still, we’re all prone to forgetting death. It never seems quite real until the end, and even then it’s hard to believe. The reality of death is another thing we know about but don’t feel.
So this epidemic brings with it a sense of panic: we’re all going to die, yes, always true, but now perhaps this month! That’s different. Sometimes, when hiking in the Sierra, my friends and I get caught in a lightning storm, and, completely exposed to it, we hurry over the rocky highlands, watching lightning bolts crack out of nowhere and connect nearby, thunder exploding less than a second later. That gets your attention: death, all too possible! But to have that feeling in your ordinary, daily life, at home, stretched out over weeks—that’s too strange to hold on to. You partly get used to it, but not entirely. This mixture of dread and apprehension and normality is the sensation of plague on the loose. It could be part of our new structure of feeling, too.
Just as there are charismatic megafauna, there are charismatic mega-ideas. “Flatten the curve” could be one of them. Immediately, we get it. There’s an infectious, deadly plague that spreads easily, and, although we can’t avoid it entirely, we can try to avoid a big spike in infections, so that hospitals won’t be overwhelmed and fewer people will die. It makes sense, and it’s something all of us can help to do. When we do it—if we do it—it will be a civilizational achievement: a new thing that our scientific, educated, high-tech species is capable of doing. Knowing that we can act in concert when necessary is another thing that will change us.
People who study climate change talk about “the tragedy of the time horizon.” The tragedy is that we don’t care enough about those future people, our descendants, who will have to fix, or just survive on, the planet we’re now wrecking. We like to think that they’ll be richer and smarter than we are and so able to handle their own problems in their own time. But we’re creating problems that they’ll be unable to solve. You can’t fix extinctions, or ocean acidification, or melted permafrost, no matter how rich or smart you are. The fact that these problems will occur in the future lets us take a magical view of them. We go on exacerbating them, thinking—not that we think this, but the notion seems to underlie our thinking—that we will be dead before it gets too serious. The tragedy of the time horizon is often something we encounter, without knowing it, when we buy and sell. The market is wrong; the prices are too low. Our way of life has environmental costs that aren’t included in what we pay, and those costs will be borne by our descendents. We are operating a multigenerational Ponzi scheme.
And yet: “Flatten the curve.” We’re now confronting a miniature version of the tragedy of the time horizon. We’ve decided to sacrifice over these months so that, in the future, people won’t suffer as much as they would otherwise. In this case, the time horizon is so short that we are the future people. It’s harder to come to grips with the fact that we’re living in a long-term crisis that will not end in our lifetimes. But it’s meaningful to notice that, all together, we are capable of learning to extend our care further along the time horizon. Amid the tragedy and death, this is one source of pleasure. Even though our economic system ignores reality, we can act when we have to. At the very least, we are all freaking out together. To my mind, this new sense of solidarity is one of the few reassuring things to have happened in this century. If we can find it in this crisis, to save ourselves, then maybe we can find it in the big crisis, to save our children and theirs.
Margaret Thatcher said that “there is no such thing as society,” and Ronald Reagan said that “government is not the solution to our problem; government is the problem.” These stupid slogans marked the turn away from the postwar period of reconstruction and underpin much of the bullshit of the past forty years.
We are individuals first, yes, just as bees are, but we exist in a larger social body. Society is not only real; it’s fundamental. We can’t live without it. And now we’re beginning to understand that this “we” includes many other creatures and societies in our biosphere and even in ourselves. Even as an individual, you are a biome, an ecosystem, much like a forest or a swamp or a coral reef. Your skin holds inside it all kinds of unlikely coöperations, and to survive you depend on any number of interspecies operations going on within you all at once. We are societies made of societies; there are nothing but societies. This is shocking news—it demands a whole new world view. And now, when those of us who are sheltering in place venture out and see everyone in masks, sharing looks with strangers is a different thing. It’s eye to eye, this knowledge that, although we are practicing social distancing as we need to, we want to be social—we not only want to be social, we’ve got to be social, if we are to survive. It’s a new feeling, this alienation and solidarity at once. It’s the reality of the social; it’s seeing the tangible existence of a society of strangers, all of whom depend on one another to survive. It’s as if the reality of citizenship has smacked us in the face.
As for government: it’s government that listens to science and responds by taking action to save us. Stop to ponder what is now obstructing the performance of that government. Who opposes it? Right now we’re hearing two statements being made. One, from the President and his circle: we have to save money even if it costs lives. The other, from the Centers for Disease Control and similar organizations: we have to save lives even if it costs money. Which is more important, money or lives? Money, of course! says capital and its spokespersons. Really? people reply, uncertainly. Seems like that’s maybe going too far? Even if it’s the common wisdom? Or was.
Some people can’t stay isolated and still do their jobs. If their jobs are important enough, they have to expose themselves to the disease. My younger son works in a grocery store and is now one of the front-line workers who keep civilization running.
My son is now my hero: this is a good feeling. I think the same of all the people still working now for the sake of the rest of us. If we all keep thinking this way, the new structure of feeling will be better than the one that’s dominated for the past forty years.
The neoliberal structure of feeling totters. What might a post-capitalist response to this crisis include? Maybe rent and debt relief; unemployment aid for all those laid off; government hiring for contact tracing and the manufacture of necessary health equipment; the world’s militaries used to support health care; the rapid construction of hospitals.
What about afterward, when this crisis recedes and the larger crisis looms? If the project of civilization—including science, economics, politics, and all the rest of it—were to bring all eight billion of us into a long-term balance with Earth’s biosphere, we could do it. By contrast, when the project of civilization is to create profit—which, by definition, goes to only a few—much of what we do is actively harmful to the long-term prospects of our species. Everyone knows everything. Right now pursuing profit as the ultimate goal of all our activities will lead to a mass-extinction event. Humanity might survive, but traumatized, interrupted, angry, ashamed, sad. A science-fiction story too painful to write, too obvious. It would be better to adapt to reality.
Economics is a system for optimizing resources, and, if it were trying to calculate ways to optimize a sustainable civilization in balance with the biosphere, it could be a helpful tool. When it’s used to optimize profit, however, it encourages us to live within a system of destructive falsehoods. We need a new political economy by which to make our calculations. Now, acutely, we feel that need.
It could happen, but it might not. There will be enormous pressure to forget this spring and go back to the old ways of experiencing life. And yet forgetting something this big never works. We’ll remember this even if we pretend not to. History is happening now, and it will have happened. So what will we do with that?
A structure of feeling is not a free-floating thing. It’s tightly coupled with its corresponding political economy. How we feel is shaped by what we value, and vice versa. Food, water, shelter, clothing, education, health care: maybe now we value these things more, along with the people whose work creates them. To survive the next century, we need to start valuing the planet more, too, since it’s our only home.
It will be hard to make these values durable. Valuing the right things and wanting to keep on valuing them—maybe that’s also part of our new structure of feeling. As is knowing how much work there is to be done. But the spring of 2020 is suggestive of how much, and how quickly, we can change. It’s like a bell ringing to start a race. Off we go—into a new time.
A Guide to the Coronavirus


newyorker--2020-05-01--This Year, Frieze New York Is Just an App Away

Accessing Frieze New York usually requires a trip to Randall ’ s Island .
This year , May 8-15 , @ @ @ @ @ mouse click or an app download away .
( Visit frieze.com for speciﬁcs . )
@ @ @ @ @ two hundred international galleries is the elegant 1969 photogram “ Precincts ” ( above ) @ @ @ @ @ artist Nalini Malani .
It was selected by the discerning Laura Hoptman , the director @ @ @ @ @ Drawing Center , for a special section about trailblazers of the twentieth century .

Accessing Frieze New York usually requires a trip to Randall’s Island. This year, May 8-15, the contemporary-art fair is a mouse click or an app download away. (Visit frieze.com for speciﬁcs.) Among the oﬀerings from some two hundred international galleries is the elegant 1969 photogram “Precincts” (above), by the septuagenarian Indian artist Nalini Malani. It was selected by the discerning Laura Hoptman, the director of New York’s Drawing Center, for a special section about trailblazers of the twentieth century.


newyorker--2020-05-01--The Chefs Behind Contra and Wildair Reincarnate

The other day , at around 6:45 p.m. , an iPad lit up at Contrair , perhaps New York ’ s only brand-new restaurant .
On it was takeout order 63627 : one jerk chicken , one crab congee , one lamb birria .
Contrair is run by Jeremiah Stone and Fabián von Hauske Valtierra , the chefs behind the Lower East Side tasting-menu spot Contra and Wildair , a natural-wine bar next door—well-loved restaurants that nail that rare hat trick of being impeccably cool , winningly laid-back , and culinarily thrilling .
But at the beginning of April , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the coronavirus , and artful small plates far from people ’ s minds , Stone and von Hauske Valtierra decided that their gastronomic future lay , at least temporarily , in stews , grills , and braises , packaged to go .
( Contrair ’ s portmanteau name doubles as a punning bit of gallows humor : “ You might ask ‘ Are you guys closed ?
’ ” Stone said , “ and we can be , like , ‘ Au Contrair !
’ ” ) Countless restaurants in New York have @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and delivery , and many have changed their menus—but few have taken on entirely new identities .
To Stone and von Hauske Valtierra , reincarnating as Contrair was an aesthetic decision as much as a practical one .
“ I ordered some takeout from a place that ’ s quite expensive , and it just looked sad , ” Stone said .
Rustic cooking travels better , he found .
He ran a quality-control experiment , sending deliveries to friends ( and to von Hauske Valtierra , who had spent the early weeks @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ) ; he ’ d take a “ before ” photo , and ask them to send him an “ after.
” In the morning , four days a week , Stone and von Hauske Valtierra prep lunches for medical workers ; in the afternoon , they turn their attention to Contrair .
For order 63627 , Stone placed a chicken leg—which had cured in salt for a day , then marinated in jerk spices for another—on the grill , where its skin would become crisp and dark around the sweet , smoky @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a compostable clamshell with collards , squash , and pigeon peas .
Another cook filled a paper bowl with rice , purple cabbage , chickpeas , cilantro , and thin slices of red onion , an eventual home for the velvet-tender lamb birria ( which arrives separately , in its dark , savory broth ) , then filled a quart container with golden ladlefuls of congee , packed alongside fried wonton wrappers tossed with Old Bay seasoning .
Even in the best of times , restaurants run on razor-thin margins ; right now @ @ @ @ @ @ @ from their hospital contract ( paid for , philanthropically , by Verizon ) , Stone and von Hauske Valtierra barely break even .
“ We ’ re not squandering any resources , ” Stone said .
“ André Soltner told me that if you crack twelve eggs , the amount you leave behind is basically an extra egg , so you should do this ” —he swiped his thumb inside each cracked shell , scooping out any lingering whites .
Rice left over from the previous day ’ s birria is repurposed for @ @ @ @ @ @ @ from making congee , are charred and added to the marinade for the next day ’ s birria .
By 7:10 , order 63627 was neatly bundled , the food packaged up with a rum cocktail of Stone ’ s invention , made with beet syrup and orange bitters ; two bottles of wine ( like many desperate restaurants , they ’ re selling off their cellar at near-cost prices ) ; and two of von Hauske Valtierra ’ s marvellous dirt cups , cloudlike hazelnut pudding layered with praline and chocolate , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the still open bodega down the block .
At 7:15 , a customer arrived to pick up her order .
She stepped just inside the front door of the erstwhile Contra dining room , where three tables had been repurposed as a makeshift barricade .
A wireless doorbell cued a staffer to slide the bagged order across the polished wood .
Outside , Orchard Street was gloomy with evening shadows ; the sidewalks , usually crowded with bons vivants waiting for tables , were empty .
As she left , the customer sent @ @ @ @ @ @ @ sound onto the street .
Then everything was quiet and dark again .
( Entrées $ 14- $ 19 . )
♦

The other day, at around 6:45 p.m., an iPad lit up at Contrair, perhaps New York’s only brand-new restaurant. On it was takeout order 63627: one jerk chicken, one crab congee, one lamb birria. Contrair is run by Jeremiah Stone and Fabián von Hauske Valtierra, the chefs behind the Lower East Side tasting-menu spot Contra and Wildair, a natural-wine bar next door—well-loved restaurants that nail that rare hat trick of being impeccably cool, winningly laid-back, and culinarily thrilling. But at the beginning of April, with their dining rooms closed because of the coronavirus, and artful small plates far from people’s minds, Stone and von Hauske Valtierra decided that their gastronomic future lay, at least temporarily, in stews, grills, and braises, packaged to go. (Contrair’s portmanteau name doubles as a punning bit of gallows humor: “You might ask ‘Are you guys closed?’ ” Stone said, “and we can be, like, ‘Au Contrair! ’ ”)
At the beginning of April, Stone and von Hauske Valtierra decided that their gastronomic future lay, at least temporarily, in stews, grills, and braises, packaged to go. Photograph by Haruka Sakaguchi for The New Yorker
Countless restaurants in New York have shifted, of late, to takeout and delivery, and many have changed their menus—but few have taken on entirely new identities. To Stone and von Hauske Valtierra, reincarnating as Contrair was an aesthetic decision as much as a practical one. “I ordered some takeout from a place that’s quite expensive, and it just looked sad,” Stone said. Rustic cooking travels better, he found. He ran a quality-control experiment, sending deliveries to friends (and to von Hauske Valtierra, who had spent the early weeks of the social-distancing era housebound with bronchitis); he’d take a “before” photo, and ask them to send him an “after.”
The worldly menu includes, from left to right, jerk chicken, azimuth tabouli, miso kale salad with grilled beets, golden-crab congee, and rice pudding. Photograph by Haruka Sakaguchi for The New Yorker
In the morning, four days a week, Stone and von Hauske Valtierra prep lunches for medical workers; in the afternoon, they turn their attention to Contrair. For order 63627, Stone placed a chicken leg—which had cured in salt for a day, then marinated in jerk spices for another—on the grill, where its skin would become crisp and dark around the sweet, smoky meat; it would be plated in a compostable clamshell with collards, squash, and pigeon peas. Another cook filled a paper bowl with rice, purple cabbage, chickpeas, cilantro, and thin slices of red onion, an eventual home for the velvet-tender lamb birria (which arrives separately, in its dark, savory broth), then filled a quart container with golden ladlefuls of congee, packed alongside fried wonton wrappers tossed with Old Bay seasoning.
The restaurant’s portmanteau name doubles as a punning bit of gallows humor: “You might ask ‘Are you guys closed?’ ” chef Jeremiah Stone said, “and we can be, like, ‘Au Contrair!’ ” Photograph by Haruka Sakaguchi for The New Yorker
Even in the best of times, restaurants run on razor-thin margins; right now, between revenue from Contrair and income from their hospital contract (paid for, philanthropically, by Verizon), Stone and von Hauske Valtierra barely break even. “We’re not squandering any resources,” Stone said. “André Soltner told me that if you crack twelve eggs, the amount you leave behind is basically an extra egg, so you should do this”—he swiped his thumb inside each cracked shell, scooping out any lingering whites. Rice left over from the previous day’s birria is repurposed for the congee; scallion ends, scraps from making congee, are charred and added to the marinade for the next day’s birria.
By 7:10, order 63627 was neatly bundled, the food packaged up with a rum cocktail of Stone’s invention, made with beet syrup and orange bitters; two bottles of wine (like many desperate restaurants, they’re selling off their cellar at near-cost prices); and two of von Hauske Valtierra’s marvellous dirt cups, cloudlike hazelnut pudding layered with praline and chocolate, garnished jauntily with Haribo gummies purchased from the still open bodega down the block.
Von Hauske Valtierra’s desserts include rice pudding garnished with green strawberries (pictured) and a marvellous dirt cup of cloudlike hazelnut pudding layered with praline and chocolate, garnished with Haribo gummies. Photograph by Haruka Sakaguchi for The New Yorker
At 7:15, a customer arrived to pick up her order. She stepped just inside the front door of the erstwhile Contra dining room, where three tables had been repurposed as a makeshift barricade. A wireless doorbell cued a staffer to slide the bagged order across the polished wood. Outside, Orchard Street was gloomy with evening shadows; the sidewalks, usually crowded with bons vivants waiting for tables, were empty. As she left, the customer sent brief arcs of light and snippets of sound onto the street. Then everything was quiet and dark again. (Entrées $14-$19.) ♦
A Guide to the Coronavirus


newyorker--2020-05-01--Kristen Roupenian Reads Shirley Jackson

Kristen Roupenian Reads Shirley Jackson

Kristen Roupenian joins Deborah Treisman to read and discuss “ Afternoon in Linen , ” by Shirley Jackson , which @ @ @ @ @ of the magazine .
Roupenian ’ s début story collection , “ You Know You @ @ @ @ @ published last year , and was just released in paperback under the title “ Cat @ @ @ @ @ ”

Audio available Listen to this story Transcript
Photograph by Bruno Arbesu / REA / Redux
Kristen Roupenian joins Deborah Treisman to read and discuss “Afternoon in Linen,” by Shirley Jackson, which appeared in a 1943 issue of the magazine. Roupenian’s début story collection, “You Know You Want This,” was published last year, and was just released in paperback under the title “Cat Person and Other Stories.”


newyorker--2020-05-01--A Hardware-Store Owner’s Foray Into Fine-Art Authentication

For Peter Guppy , the owner of Prosperity Hardware , in Brooklyn , the American Dream is an organizing principle .
“ The American Dream gives you the opportunity to achieve things , ” Guppy , who emigrated with his family from Trinidad , in the seventies , declares with unflinching conviction in “ Peter ’ s Painting , ” a short documentary from the Brooklyn-based production company Rota6 Films .
Nestled between a driving school and a luxury apartment building in the rapidly gentrifying neighborhood of Bedford-Stuyvesant , the hardware store is aptly named for all the things Guppy @ @ @ @ @ @ @ States represented : prosperity , wealth , a good life .
When his quest for these aims took Guppy down a new avenue of art collecting—which he calls both a hobby and an adventure—he came to be the owner of a painting with a murky provenance , one that he thought could be the work of a Russian master .
About a decade ago , Guppy ’ s friend Valeri , an immigrant from Russia , was going through a difficult financial period .
Guppy wanted to help but was reluctant to offer @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a deal for Guppy to buy a painting that Valeri had purchased at an open-air flea market in Moscow , in the nineties .
With its sharp lines , red and yellow geometric shapes , and Cyrillic lettering roughly translating to “ the fifth congress of the Russian Social Democratic Labor Party , ” they thought it could be the work of Kazimir Malevich , the Kyiv-born avant-garde artist who was a pioneer of abstract art in the early twentieth century .
The film is shot almost entirely inside Prosperity Hardware .
“ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ store , it ’ s like I ’ m in Peter ’ s mind , ” Olivier Bernier , the filmmaker , told me .
Just as the family ’ s business represented for Guppy ’ s mother the perceived good fortune of life in America , the painting represents it for Guppy .
“ In economics , you buy low and you sell high , ” he says .
“ There ’ s money to be gained in art collecting.
” Convinced that the painting was “ one-hundred-per-cent ” real , Guppy @ @ @ @ @ @ @ but struggled to be taken seriously as an art collector .
It was Bernier and Tiffany Conklin , the founders of Rota6 , who first heard about Guppy and his painting from a mutual friend and who set out to help him get the painting analyzed and , hopefully , turn it into the source of prosperity about which he had always dreamed .
In the only scene set outside the hardware shop , Guppy delivers the painting to Art Analysis & Research , where Nica Gutman Rieppi , a professional art authenticator @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in search of identifying Malevichian details .
Malevich ’ s work is known , for example , for perfectly straight lines , which he achieved by painting against a cardboard aid .
Back at the hardware shop , James Butterwick , a London art dealer specializing in Russian works , completes his own analysis of the painting .
Flanked by hammers and foam paint rollers , Butterwick examines the painting through his round-framed glasses and declares that the chances the piece is real are “ on a par with winning the lottery.
” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the painting ’ s slight imperfections , which deviate from Malevich ’ s famously precise edges , with its dubious provenance is an undeniable red flag , but he stops short of classifying the work as a counterfeit .
When Bernier first set out to make a film about Guppy and his family ’ s business , he imagined a project about the effects of gentrification .
But , in the process , he discovered an unexpected story , about Guppy ’ s appreciation for the irrefutable power of art .
Guppy ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , whether or not it ’ s real , he told me : “ We place value in it , but it ’ s really what we believe it to be.
” For his part , Guppy has no doubt that his painting is the real thing .

For Peter Guppy, the owner of Prosperity Hardware, in Brooklyn, the American Dream is an organizing principle. “The American Dream gives you the opportunity to achieve things,” Guppy, who emigrated with his family from Trinidad, in the seventies, declares with unflinching conviction in “Peter’s Painting,” a short documentary from the Brooklyn-based production company Rota6 Films. Nestled between a driving school and a luxury apartment building in the rapidly gentrifying neighborhood of Bedford-Stuyvesant, the hardware store is aptly named for all the things Guppy’s mother imagined that the United States represented: prosperity, wealth, a good life. When his quest for these aims took Guppy down a new avenue of art collecting—which he calls both a hobby and an adventure—he came to be the owner of a painting with a murky provenance, one that he thought could be the work of a Russian master.
About a decade ago, Guppy’s friend Valeri, an immigrant from Russia, was going through a difficult financial period. Guppy wanted to help but was reluctant to offer a handout, so the two struck a deal for Guppy to buy a painting that Valeri had purchased at an open-air flea market in Moscow, in the nineties. With its sharp lines, red and yellow geometric shapes, and Cyrillic lettering roughly translating to “the fifth congress of the Russian Social Democratic Labor Party,” they thought it could be the work of Kazimir Malevich, the Kyiv-born avant-garde artist who was a pioneer of abstract art in the early twentieth century.
The film is shot almost entirely inside Prosperity Hardware. “When I’m in the hardware store, it’s like I’m in Peter’s mind,” Olivier Bernier, the filmmaker, told me. Just as the family’s business represented for Guppy’s mother the perceived good fortune of life in America, the painting represents it for Guppy. “In economics, you buy low and you sell high,” he says. “There’s money to be gained in art collecting.”
Convinced that the painting was “one-hundred-per-cent” real, Guppy sought to have it professionally authenticated, but struggled to be taken seriously as an art collector. It was Bernier and Tiffany Conklin, the founders of Rota6, who first heard about Guppy and his painting from a mutual friend and who set out to help him get the painting analyzed and, hopefully, turn it into the source of prosperity about which he had always dreamed. In the only scene set outside the hardware shop, Guppy delivers the painting to Art Analysis & Research, where Nica Gutman Rieppi, a professional art authenticator, examines it under a microscope, in search of identifying Malevichian details. Malevich’s work is known, for example, for perfectly straight lines, which he achieved by painting against a cardboard aid.
Back at the hardware shop, James Butterwick, a London art dealer specializing in Russian works, completes his own analysis of the painting. Flanked by hammers and foam paint rollers, Butterwick examines the painting through his round-framed glasses and declares that the chances the piece is real are “on a par with winning the lottery.” In his view, the coupling of the painting’s slight imperfections, which deviate from Malevich’s famously precise edges, with its dubious provenance is an undeniable red flag, but he stops short of classifying the work as a counterfeit.
When Bernier first set out to make a film about Guppy and his family’s business, he imagined a project about the effects of gentrification. But, in the process, he discovered an unexpected story, about Guppy’s appreciation for the irrefutable power of art. Guppy’s painting is something to believe in, whether or not it’s real, he told me: “We place value in it, but it’s really what we believe it to be.” For his part, Guppy has no doubt that his painting is the real thing.


newyorker--2020-05-01--What to Stream: “Fallen Angel,” a Frenzied Otto Preminger Romance on Turner Classic Movies

TCM—Turner Classic Movies—is the sort of cinematic treasure chest that it ’ s all too easy to take for granted .
But , for cinephiles , the idea of a round-the-clock channel devoted mainly to Hollywood classics is as revolutionary and as vital as Ted Turner ’ s founding of a twenty-four-hour news channel—an audacious throwdown that , albeit more quietly , marks an era .
Suddenly , movies that one trawled revival houses for—or crossed fingers awaiting VHS or DVD releases of , or even taped ( with commercials ) from late-night TV—were being shown , uncut and uninterrupted @ @ @ @ @ @ @ many other movies that were hard or impossible to find .
The program for May features a tribute to Edward G. Robinson that includes Howard Hawks ’ s rowdy , psychosexually complex drama “ Tiger Shark , ” from 1932—which I taped from TV about thirty years ago , and which shows there on May 7th .
But there ’ s no need to wait until next week for rare treasure : this weekend , as part of TCM ’ s ongoing Noir Alley series , hosted by Eddie Muller , the channel @ @ @ @ @ @ @ t streaming and isn ’ t on DVD , “ Fallen Angel ” ( Saturday at midnight and Sunday at 10 A.M. ) , Otto Preminger ’ s taut and tense and frenzied romantic tale starring Dana Andrews , Linda Darnell , Alice Faye , and a batch of distinctive character actors who lend energy and spice to every scene .
The setup is classic : a guy from nowhere with no money and nowhere to go is unceremoniously dumped off a Greyhound bus in the middle of the night in a small @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ t so much cause trouble as finds it waiting for him there .
The guy is Eric Stanton , played by Andrews , who was something of a Preminger muse ; he ’ d starred in the director ’ s breakout film , “ Laura , ” and would soon follow up with heated roles in “ Daisy Kenyon ” and “ Where the Sidewalk Ends.
” Here , as in “ Laura , ” the passion burns through the veneer of intensely calculating control that Eric maintains through his recklessly perilous @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of action is a diner called Pop ’ s .
Pop ( played by the papery , life-worn Percy Kilbride ) is mainly concerned about the whereabouts of his one waitress , a sultry young woman named Stella ( Darnell ) , whose busy late-night life seems to fascinate all of the diner ’ s male customers , including a retired New York police detective named Judd ( Charles Bickford ) .
When she shows up , Eric , a fast-talking , big-city slicker , falls for her at once .
Eric is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ make a buck and some connections he deploys his theatrical wiles to promote an itinerant spiritualist act , played by the tall , spidery John Carradine .
With a few dollars in his pocket , Eric sparks an affair with Stella , who ’ d be willing to marry him , except that he has nothing but big promises , no real money to offer her—and money is what she wants .
So he finds an easy mark from whom to siphon some , a townswoman named June Mills ( Faye ) , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ heiress who ’ s also a highbrow musician and closet intellectual stuck in small-town mediocrity—and who ’ s being fiercely protected by her embittered and wary older sister , Clara ( Anne Revere ) .
Preminger—who both produced and directed “ Fallen Angel ” —tells this story of crisscrossing confessions and deceptions , truths and lies , with a deceptively divided style to match .
Trained as a lawyer ( and the son of a prominent Austrian prosecutor ) , Preminger established a dialectical method for filming scenes of conflict , holding opponents @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ Fallen Angel , ” he tilts the balance with hectic diagonals to match the tale ’ s twisted passions ; figures loom ominously in the foreground at one edge of the frame , and the action recedes into the void at the other .
He borrows the highly inflected silent-movie expressionism that Orson Welles reintroduced to talking pictures and , working with the cinematographer Joseph LaShelle ( whose remarkable career includes Billy Wilder ’ s “ The Apartment ” and John Ford ’ s “ 7 Women ” ) , adds high-contrast @ @ @ @ @ @ @ In his autobiography , Preminger complained that he didn ’ t have much choice of subjects at this point in his career—but that he was able to maintain a virtual behind-the-scenes stock company of technicians and craftspeople , including LaShelle , the art director Lyle Wheeler , the costume designer Bonnie Cashin , and the composer David Raksin , who worked on “ Fallen Angel , ” among other films of his , and who sustained a unified Premingerian style along with what he considered his regular group of actors .
The fusion @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ Fallen Angel ” peculiarly exemplifies both the enduring power of such Hollywood classics and the limits of their psychological realism .
Working with a script by Harry Kleiner based on a novel by Marty Holland , Preminger builds suspense along with emotion , tension along with the passions that threaten to deform the drama and wrench it apart at its hinges .
It ’ s a movie in which the characters know more than Preminger shows , in which their offscreen conversations with one another—as well as with other unseen but nonetheless @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
The movie behind the movie involves a far richer range of themes and their implications than does the taut and terse compactness , the streamlined and rapid precision of the plot ’ s turns and resolutions .
The sublime inventiveness of such Hollywood classics remains an inspiration to filmmakers—as a sort of raw material , a primal set of themes and methods , styles and images that nearly cry out not to be imitated but to be taken apart .

TCM—Turner Classic Movies—is the sort of cinematic treasure chest that it’s all too easy to take for granted. But, for cinephiles, the idea of a round-the-clock channel devoted mainly to Hollywood classics is as revolutionary and as vital as Ted Turner’s founding of a twenty-four-hour news channel—an audacious throwdown that, albeit more quietly, marks an era. Suddenly, movies that one trawled revival houses for—or crossed fingers awaiting VHS or DVD releases of, or even taped (with commercials) from late-night TV—were being shown, uncut and uninterrupted, and in the good company of many other movies that were hard or impossible to find. The program for May features a tribute to Edward G. Robinson that includes Howard Hawks’s rowdy, psychosexually complex drama “Tiger Shark,” from 1932—which I taped from TV about thirty years ago, and which shows there on May 7th. But there’s no need to wait until next week for rare treasure: this weekend, as part of TCM’s ongoing Noir Alley series, hosted by Eddie Muller, the channel offers a great movie that isn’t streaming and isn’t on DVD, “Fallen Angel” (Saturday at midnight and Sunday at 10 A.M.), Otto Preminger’s taut and tense and frenzied romantic tale starring Dana Andrews, Linda Darnell, Alice Faye, and a batch of distinctive character actors who lend energy and spice to every scene.
The setup is classic: a guy from nowhere with no money and nowhere to go is unceremoniously dumped off a Greyhound bus in the middle of the night in a small seaside California town, and he doesn’t so much cause trouble as finds it waiting for him there. The guy is Eric Stanton, played by Andrews, who was something of a Preminger muse; he’d starred in the director’s breakout film, “Laura,” and would soon follow up with heated roles in “Daisy Kenyon” and “Where the Sidewalk Ends.” Here, as in “Laura,” the passion burns through the veneer of intensely calculating control that Eric maintains through his recklessly perilous schemes. The town’s center of action is a diner called Pop’s. Pop (played by the papery, life-worn Percy Kilbride) is mainly concerned about the whereabouts of his one waitress, a sultry young woman named Stella (Darnell), whose busy late-night life seems to fascinate all of the diner’s male customers, including a retired New York police detective named Judd (Charles Bickford). When she shows up, Eric, a fast-talking, big-city slicker, falls for her at once.
Eric is a onetime theatrical publicist, and to make a buck and some connections he deploys his theatrical wiles to promote an itinerant spiritualist act, played by the tall, spidery John Carradine. With a few dollars in his pocket, Eric sparks an affair with Stella, who’d be willing to marry him, except that he has nothing but big promises, no real money to offer her—and money is what she wants. So he finds an easy mark from whom to siphon some, a townswoman named June Mills (Faye), an unmarried, naïve, and cloistered heiress who’s also a highbrow musician and closet intellectual stuck in small-town mediocrity—and who’s being fiercely protected by her embittered and wary older sister, Clara (Anne Revere).
Preminger—who both produced and directed “Fallen Angel”—tells this story of crisscrossing confessions and deceptions, truths and lies, with a deceptively divided style to match. Trained as a lawyer (and the son of a prominent Austrian prosecutor), Preminger established a dialectical method for filming scenes of conflict, holding opponents in tense and unstable balance. In “Fallen Angel,” he tilts the balance with hectic diagonals to match the tale’s twisted passions; figures loom ominously in the foreground at one edge of the frame, and the action recedes into the void at the other. He borrows the highly inflected silent-movie expressionism that Orson Welles reintroduced to talking pictures and, working with the cinematographer Joseph LaShelle (whose remarkable career includes Billy Wilder’s “The Apartment” and John Ford’s “7 Women”), adds high-contrast lighting and ominous, engulfing shadows. In his autobiography, Preminger complained that he didn’t have much choice of subjects at this point in his career—but that he was able to maintain a virtual behind-the-scenes stock company of technicians and craftspeople, including LaShelle, the art director Lyle Wheeler, the costume designer Bonnie Cashin, and the composer David Raksin, who worked on “Fallen Angel,” among other films of his, and who sustained a unified Premingerian style along with what he considered his regular group of actors.
The fusion of exquisitely stylized images and performances in “Fallen Angel” peculiarly exemplifies both the enduring power of such Hollywood classics and the limits of their psychological realism. Working with a script by Harry Kleiner based on a novel by Marty Holland, Preminger builds suspense along with emotion, tension along with the passions that threaten to deform the drama and wrench it apart at its hinges. It’s a movie in which the characters know more than Preminger shows, in which their offscreen conversations with one another—as well as with other unseen but nonetheless crucial characters—tell a much more ample story. The movie behind the movie involves a far richer range of themes and their implications than does the taut and terse compactness, the streamlined and rapid precision of the plot’s turns and resolutions. The sublime inventiveness of such Hollywood classics remains an inspiration to filmmakers—as a sort of raw material, a primal set of themes and methods, styles and images that nearly cry out not to be imitated but to be taken apart.


newyorker--2020-05-01--Will the Coronavirus Create a More Progressive Society or a More Dystopian One?

One of the few consolations of the coronavirus pandemic is the possibility that it could lead to some progressive changes in the economy and politics .
Every day of the unfolding crisis is an argument for universal health care , competent government , and better treatment for members of the working class—such as nurses , transit workers , supermarket clerks , and employees at food-processing plants—whose enormous contribution to society has been brought into plain view .
About a month ago , I noted some encouraging signs for progressives , such as the rapid moves in Congress to expand paid @ @ @ @ @ @ @ unemployment benefits , and provide financial support for small businesses .
But in the past few weeks , there have been worrying developments , too , such as more than thirty million people being laid off or furloughed , and Donald Trump ordering workers in meat-processing factories to stay on the job regardless of the health risks they face .
These developments raise some alarming questions : What if the virus ends up benefitting the big and powerful , accentuating inequality , and boosting populist extremism ?
What if it ’ s a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ?
Let ’ s start with the economy .
So far , the big winners from the COVID-19 shutdowns are a handful of tech giants whose monopolistic power was already a major concern .
As old-economy firms like Hertz , J .
Crew , and AMC Theatres flirt with bankruptcy , Alphabet ( the parent company of Google ) , Amazon , Apple , Facebook , and Microsoft have all just reported that their over-all revenues increased during the first quarter of 2020 .
Facebook ’ s revenues rose eighteen per cent , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ services .
“ In Italy .
.
.
we ’ ve seen up to seventy per cent more time spent across our apps , ” Mark Zuckerberg , the firm ’ s founder , chairman , and chief executive , said in a conference call with Wall Street analysts .
“ Instagram and Facebook Live views doubled in one week .
And we ’ ve also seen time and Group video calling increase by more than a thousand per cent over March.
” Zuckerberg said he didn ’ t expect this huge spike @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and economies reopen .
“ But in some areas , ” he went on , “ I think we are seeing an acceleration in preëxisting , long-term trends like the dramatic increase in online private social communication that is likely to continue.
” Satya Nadella , the chief executive of Microsoft , agrees .
“ There is no turning back , for example in telemedicine , ” he said during Microsoft ’ s earnings call .
“ If you look at even what has happened in this first phase with A.I .
bots @ @ @ @ @ @ @ going to change , I think , what health-care outcomes look like .
Same thing in education.
” In this new “ world of remote everything ” —to borrow Nadella ’ s phrase—work patterns will be different , the tech giants will have cannibalized more offline businesses , and they will be even more dominant than they were before .
That is what the stock market is telling us , anyway .
As many other stocks have cratered during the pandemic , tech stocks have held up remarkably well .
Indeed , five @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Facebook , and Microsoft—now account for more than twenty per cent of the entire S. & P. 500 index .
What about the workers ?
For those with the requisite technical skills , the future looks bright .
Zuckerberg said Facebook intends to hire at least ten thousand people for engineering and product-development positions .
But for the tens of millions of Americans who have lost their jobs over the past couple of months , the outlook is less sunny .
As the economy reopens , the majority of them will probably return @ @ @ @ @ @ @ t .
According to the International Monetary Fund ’ s latest forecast , the unemployment rate is expected to average nine per cent in 2021 .
This February , before the shutdowns began , it was 3.5 per cent .
For laid-off or furloughed workers who have managed to navigate an overwhelmed jobless-claims system , the expansion in unemployment benefits that was included in the recent federal stimulus , known as the CARES Act , has cushioned the blow , thus far .
But Lindsey Graham and other Republican senators have made clear @ @ @ @ @ @ @ this expansion beyond July , which means people who are still out of work by then—and there will probably be tens of millions of them—will face tremendous hardship .
Before Congress raised the level of unemployment benefits , allotments averaged about four hundred dollars a week across the country , according to the Center on Budget and Policy Priorities .
Imagine trying to raise a family , or even sustaining yourself , on that sum .
People who go back to their jobs will be in better shape .
But with such a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ modest rise in wages that we ’ ve seen during the past few years may well be reversed .
As businesses have struggled to find enough workers , they have been forced to raise wages .
That tight labor market is now a thing of the past .
In turn , this suggests that income inequality , which , over the past few decades , has risen to levels not seen since the nineteen-twenties , will remain at those levels , or possibly increase further .
To be sure , such an outcome @ @ @ @ @ @ @ wrenching experiences of the Great Depression and the Second World War , the United States and other Western countries enjoyed about three decades of equitable growth , in which wages rose broadly and inequality fell .
But this required a regime shift in economic policy , which included a commitment to full employment , more government spending on social programs , the strengthening of labor unions , restrictions on the financial sector , and higher tax rates , especially at the top .
What brought about these changes wasn ’ t a sudden @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the “ business community ” or the Republican Party .
It was pressure from below in the form of political mobilization , labor activism , and popular demands for change , combined with new thinking about how to organize the economy .
Amid all of this ferment , talented social-democratic politicians like F.D.R.
, Clement Attlee , and Per Albin Hansson put together coalitions of voters to support far-reaching reforms that lasted decades .
If we want to create a fairer economy coming out of the pandemic , we will need a similar @ @ @ @ @ @ @ A progressive turn is certainly possible , but so is its antithesis : a further upsurge in right-wing populism , and the strengthening of antidemocratic forces .
Last week ’ s edition of The Economist had an alarming piece about how , in many places , authoritarian leaders are exploiting the pandemic for their own ends .
In countries such as Hungary , Turkey , and Cambodia , COVID-19 “ is creating opportunities for autocrats and would-be autocrats to tighten their grip , ” intimidate their opponents , and expand the surveillance state @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Hong Kong , The Economist reported , and Russia is considering a scheme in which everyone in the country would have to register on a government Web site and have all of their movements tracked .
Fortunately , our own wannabe strongman is also a bumbling cable-television addict , whose claim to possess “ absolute power ” to order the reopening of the American economy was widely scoffed at .
But even a bumbling demagogue can be dangerous .
Two weeks ago , Trump tweeted , “ LIBERATE MICHIGAN !
” —an apparent @ @ @ @ @ @ @ orders .
On Thursday , groups of protesters , some of them heavily armed , showed up at the state capitol building , in Lansing .
On Friday , Trump , in another tweet , urged Michigan ’ s governor , Gretchen Whitmer , to talk with the protesters , and described them as “ very good people .
”

One of the few consolations of the coronavirus pandemic is the possibility that it could lead to some progressive changes in the economy and politics. Every day of the unfolding crisis is an argument for universal health care, competent government, and better treatment for members of the working class—such as nurses, transit workers, supermarket clerks, and employees at food-processing plants—whose enormous contribution to society has been brought into plain view. About a month ago, I noted some encouraging signs for progressives, such as the rapid moves in Congress to expand paid sick leave, raise the level of unemployment benefits, and provide financial support for small businesses. But in the past few weeks, there have been worrying developments, too, such as more than thirty million people being laid off or furloughed, and Donald Trump ordering workers in meat-processing factories to stay on the job regardless of the health risks they face.
These developments raise some alarming questions: What if the virus ends up benefitting the big and powerful, accentuating inequality, and boosting populist extremism? What if it’s a force for dystopia rather than social progress?
Let’s start with the economy. So far, the big winners from the COVID-19 shutdowns are a handful of tech giants whose monopolistic power was already a major concern. As old-economy firms like Hertz, J. Crew, and AMC Theatres flirt with bankruptcy, Alphabet (the parent company of Google), Amazon, Apple, Facebook, and Microsoft have all just reported that their over-all revenues increased during the first quarter of 2020. Facebook’s revenues rose eighteen per cent, as homebound people everywhere flocked to its services. “In Italy . . . we’ve seen up to seventy per cent more time spent across our apps,” Mark Zuckerberg, the firm’s founder, chairman, and chief executive, said in a conference call with Wall Street analysts. “Instagram and Facebook Live views doubled in one week. And we’ve also seen time and Group video calling increase by more than a thousand per cent over March.”
Zuckerberg said he didn’t expect this huge spike to be sustained as the pandemic recedes and economies reopen. “But in some areas,” he went on, “I think we are seeing an acceleration in preëxisting, long-term trends like the dramatic increase in online private social communication that is likely to continue.” Satya Nadella, the chief executive of Microsoft, agrees. “There is no turning back, for example in telemedicine,” he said during Microsoft’s earnings call. “If you look at even what has happened in this first phase with A.I. bots powering telemedicine triage. That’s going to change, I think, what health-care outcomes look like. Same thing in education.”
In this new “world of remote everything”—to borrow Nadella’s phrase—work patterns will be different, the tech giants will have cannibalized more offline businesses, and they will be even more dominant than they were before. That is what the stock market is telling us, anyway. As many other stocks have cratered during the pandemic, tech stocks have held up remarkably well. Indeed, five of them—Alphabet, Amazon, Apple, Facebook, and Microsoft—now account for more than twenty per cent of the entire S. & P. 500 index.
What about the workers? For those with the requisite technical skills, the future looks bright. Zuckerberg said Facebook intends to hire at least ten thousand people for engineering and product-development positions. But for the tens of millions of Americans who have lost their jobs over the past couple of months, the outlook is less sunny. As the economy reopens, the majority of them will probably return to work, but many won’t. According to the International Monetary Fund’s latest forecast, the unemployment rate is expected to average nine per cent in 2021. This February, before the shutdowns began, it was 3.5 per cent.
For laid-off or furloughed workers who have managed to navigate an overwhelmed jobless-claims system, the expansion in unemployment benefits that was included in the recent federal stimulus, known as the CARES Act, has cushioned the blow, thus far. But Lindsey Graham and other Republican senators have made clear that they have no intention of extending this expansion beyond July, which means people who are still out of work by then—and there will probably be tens of millions of them—will face tremendous hardship. Before Congress raised the level of unemployment benefits, allotments averaged about four hundred dollars a week across the country, according to the Center on Budget and Policy Priorities. Imagine trying to raise a family, or even sustaining yourself, on that sum.
People who go back to their jobs will be in better shape. But with such a large number of jobless workers, the modest rise in wages that we’ve seen during the past few years may well be reversed. As businesses have struggled to find enough workers, they have been forced to raise wages. That tight labor market is now a thing of the past. In turn, this suggests that income inequality, which, over the past few decades, has risen to levels not seen since the nineteen-twenties, will remain at those levels, or possibly increase further.
To be sure, such an outcome isn’t inevitable. After the wrenching experiences of the Great Depression and the Second World War, the United States and other Western countries enjoyed about three decades of equitable growth, in which wages rose broadly and inequality fell. But this required a regime shift in economic policy, which included a commitment to full employment, more government spending on social programs, the strengthening of labor unions, restrictions on the financial sector, and higher tax rates, especially at the top.
What brought about these changes wasn’t a sudden change of heart on the part of the “business community” or the Republican Party. It was pressure from below in the form of political mobilization, labor activism, and popular demands for change, combined with new thinking about how to organize the economy. Amid all of this ferment, talented social-democratic politicians like F.D.R., Clement Attlee, and Per Albin Hansson put together coalitions of voters to support far-reaching reforms that lasted decades. If we want to create a fairer economy coming out of the pandemic, we will need a similar wave of mobilization and political boldness.
A progressive turn is certainly possible, but so is its antithesis: a further upsurge in right-wing populism, and the strengthening of antidemocratic forces. Last week’s edition of The Economist had an alarming piece about how, in many places, authoritarian leaders are exploiting the pandemic for their own ends. In countries such as Hungary, Turkey, and Cambodia, COVID-19 “is creating opportunities for autocrats and would-be autocrats to tighten their grip,” intimidate their opponents, and expand the surveillance state. China has arrested democracy activists in Hong Kong, The Economist reported, and Russia is considering a scheme in which everyone in the country would have to register on a government Web site and have all of their movements tracked.
Fortunately, our own wannabe strongman is also a bumbling cable-television addict, whose claim to possess “absolute power” to order the reopening of the American economy was widely scoffed at. But even a bumbling demagogue can be dangerous. Two weeks ago, Trump tweeted, “LIBERATE MICHIGAN!”—an apparent reference to the state’s stay-at-home orders. On Thursday, groups of protesters, some of them heavily armed, showed up at the state capitol building, in Lansing. On Friday, Trump, in another tweet, urged Michigan’s governor, Gretchen Whitmer, to talk with the protesters, and described them as “very good people.”
The people out protesting are a small minority: opinion polls show that a majority of Americans still support the emergency measures that states have introduced. But the scenes from Michigan are a further indication that we can’t automatically assume things will turn out well after the virus is gone. Simply hoping that things will move in a progressive direction when the shutdowns end isn’t enough. Creating a fairer, more inclusive economy is hard work, and it will inevitably encounter resistance. Concentrations of economic power have to be confronted. Workers’ rights and bargaining power have to be extended. Democratic freedoms have to be protected. Demagogues have to be defeated, during pandemics more than ever.
A Guide to the Coronavirus


newyorker--2020-05-01--Some Ways That I’m O.K. Dying

Some Ways That I’m O.K. Dying

This is the first time I have spent long stretches imagining my own death .
Usually , the death pass is a perfect thirty-yard spiral .
This death daydream takes place in a blinding blizzard in a game that I lose .
In this one , I imagine being sick for a while and then developing a hacking cough and then getting pneumonia and then dying .
This is an awful death simulation .
I feel like I am O.K .
with some versions of my own death .
Like , maybe I go for a nice long walk , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and daughter , maybe a phone call with an old college friend , and then a meteor hits the earth .
Sign me up for that death .
Or maybe this : I take a guitar lesson with Paul Simon .
He teaches me “ The Boxer ” and then , for no justifiable reason , I play the song perfectly—like , better than Simon & Garfunkel in Central Park in ’ 81—and after I play the final note Paul looks over at me and says , “ That was really good , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
So obviously , in that scenario , we both die instantly and the headline reads , “ Paul Simon and Unknown Comedian Die After Perfect Jam Session.
” There is one last death scenario I ’ d be O.K .
with .
To recap , so far it ’ s : 1 .
Dinner with my family and then a meteor .
The third and final death scenario I ’ m O.K .
with is my wife and daughter and I go to the beach and have a bonfire , which is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ it ’ s not too hot but perfect for s ’ mores .
And we make s ’ mores—no , wait , that ’ s after we make a bonfire pizza , with dough flown in from Frank Pepe ’ s , in New Haven .
So we do pizza then s ’ mores and then my wife leans over to me—privately , because our daughter is only five—and she says , “ If anything ever happened to you , I want you to know that we would be O.K .
and that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ we could hope for in three lifetimes .
So , God forbid anything happens—we will be fine.
” And then I say , “ I love you both.
” And I walk into the water and am eaten by a shark .
Quickly .
The key there is “ quickly.
” And the headline reads , “ Unknown Comedian Killed by Shark After He Kills with Thousands of Audience Members.
” Those are the ways I ’ m O.K .
dying .
But , these days , it ’ s much grimmer than @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and scorching fevers and ventilators and intubations and people sharing their final words with their families through a bad connection on a cell phone .
So my only remaining hope in this terrible simulation is that , if I find myself in a hospital , hooked up to a ventilator that is about to be taken from me—that I will be aided by an adequate amount of medical delirium to actually believe that the last thing I see is Paul Simon , leaning over to say , “ Mike , you played that @ @ @ @ @

Audio: Read by the author.
This is the first time I have spent long stretches imagining my own death. Usually, the death pass is a perfect thirty-yard spiral. This death daydream takes place in a blinding blizzard in a game that I lose. In this one, I imagine being sick for a while and then developing a hacking cough and then getting pneumonia and then dying. This is an awful death simulation.
I feel like I am O.K. with some versions of my own death. Like, maybe I go for a nice long walk, then I have dinner with my wife and daughter, maybe a phone call with an old college friend, and then a meteor hits the earth. Sign me up for that death. Or maybe this: I take a guitar lesson with Paul Simon. He teaches me “The Boxer” and then, for no justifiable reason, I play the song perfectly—like, better than Simon & Garfunkel in Central Park in ’81—and after I play the final note Paul looks over at me and says, “That was really good, Mike.” And then the building explodes. So obviously, in that scenario, we both die instantly and the headline reads, “Paul Simon and Unknown Comedian Die After Perfect Jam Session.”
There is one last death scenario I’d be O.K. with. To recap, so far it’s:
1. Dinner with my family and then a meteor.
2. Simon & Birbiglia followed by explosion.
The third and final death scenario I’m O.K. with is my wife and daughter and I go to the beach and have a bonfire, which is prepared by bonfire professionals who make sure it’s not too hot but perfect for s’mores. And we make s’mores—no, wait, that’s after we make a bonfire pizza, with dough flown in from Frank Pepe’s, in New Haven. So we do pizza then s’mores and then my wife leans over to me—privately, because our daughter is only five—and she says, “If anything ever happened to you, I want you to know that we would be O.K. and that you’ve given us more than we could hope for in three lifetimes. So, God forbid anything happens—we will be fine.”
And then I say, “I love you both.”
And I walk into the water and am eaten by a shark. Quickly. The key there is “quickly.” And the headline reads, “Unknown Comedian Killed by Shark After He Kills with Thousands of Audience Members.”
Those are the ways I’m O.K. dying. But, these days, it’s much grimmer than that. It’s hacking coughs and scorching fevers and ventilators and intubations and people sharing their final words with their families through a bad connection on a cell phone.
So my only remaining hope in this terrible simulation is that, if I find myself in a hospital, hooked up to a ventilator that is about to be taken from me—that I will be aided by an adequate amount of medical delirium to actually believe that the last thing I see is Paul Simon, leaning over to say, “Mike, you played that final note perfectly.”