newyorker--2020-07-21--How Harvard’s Star Computer-Science Professor Built a Distance-Learning Empire

Gabriel Guimaraes grew up in Vitória , Brazil , in a yellow house surrounded by star-fruit trees and chicken coops .
His father , who wrote software for a local bank , instilled in him an interest in computers .
On weekends , when Guimaraes got bored with Nintendo video games , he programmed his own .
In grade school , he built a humanoid robot and wrote enough assembly code to make it zip around his home .
In Vitória , an island city , his most ambitious peers dreamed of attending university in São Paulo , an hour @ @ @ @ @ @ @ sights on the Massachusetts Institute of Technology .
By the time he was in high school , M.I.T .
had released hundreds of its classes , free of charge , on the Internet , as a series of massive open online courses , or MOOCs .
Guimaraes sampled the introductory computer-science class , but he found the lecturer , a “ white-haired guy in front of a blackboard , ” crushingly dull .
In 2011 , trawling YouTube for other course material , Guimaraes clicked on a lecture from Harvard ’ s introductory @ @ @ @ @ @ @ taught by a young professor named David Malan .
Almost instantly , Guimaraes told me , he felt himself “ hypnotized.
” Malan , who had glossy black hair and an energetic mien , lectured from a grand auditorium on Harvard ’ s campus .
In the first class , he illustrated an algorithm called binary search by inviting a volunteer onstage to find “ Mike Smith ” in the Yellow Pages ; at Malan ’ s urging , the student opened up the phone book to a random spot , tore off @ @ @ @ @ @ @ right name , and then repeated the process , halving the volume again and again , until only the desired page remained .
Malan ’ s assignments , too , eased students into the arcana of computer science .
Before learning C , a low-level programming language with finicky syntax , they created animated games in Scratch , a visual programming language designed for children .
For a forensics problem set , inspired by a summer that Malan spent working in a district attorney ’ s office , students were asked to write @ @ @ @ @ @ @ photo files .
“ It felt like the coolest video game I ’ d ever gotten my hands on , ” Guimaraes said .
On Harvard ’ s campus , CS50 culminates in a festive exposition , where students show off their final coding projects and hobnob with technical recruiters from companies like Facebook and Google , many of whom are alumni of the class ; Malan provides a bevy of free paraphernalia , including CS50-branded stress balls and T-shirts that read , “ I TOOK CS50.
” In Brazil , Guimaraes decided @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a re-creation of Malan ’ s course materials and lectures in Portuguese .
In his sophomore year of high school , he taught CC50—Ciência da Computação Cinquenta—to his peers , during eleven weeks of the fall term .
When Guimaraes arrived for the first class , bearing , as Malan did , a gargantuan sheet cake as a welcome treat , he found about a hundred students snaking out the door .
Dressed in a baggy Harvard shirt that he ’ d bought online , he delivered Malan ’ s first lecture , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ dictionary .
CS50 ’ s course materials were freely distributed under a Creative Commons license , but , as a courtesy , Guimaraes had e-mailed Malan ’ s staff a heads-up about his project .
During the sixth week of his lectures , he received a gift box from Malan , stuffed with CS50 swag .
Malan , who took over CS50 in 2007 , was a pioneer in distributing Harvard course materials online for free .
In 2012 , Harvard and M.I.T .
launched their own online-learning platform , edX , which @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of existing university courses and original certificate programs designed by Microsoft , I.B.M.
, and other technology giants .
But few , if any , combine the institutional credibility , the enormous reach , and the zealous engagement of Malan ’ s .
In the decade since Guimaraes took it , CS50 has inspired satellite operations on every continent except Antarctica .
Though most of the students who sign up for the edX version—more than two million to date—quit before finishing , those who stick with it often become diehards : earlier this @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Malan ’ s project fair at al-Hikma University with identical trimmings , down to the emoji-shaped balloons and the custom “ debugging ” rubber ducks .
To promote the expansion of CS50 , Malan films welcome teasers for the remote cohorts , hosts annual educator workshops , and helps prop up outposts around the world .
CS50 is less a single course than an “ ecosystem of courses , ” as one staff member put it , with spinoffs designed for specific audiences : lawyers , business students , gamers .
In 2015 @ @ @ @ @ @ @ an unprecedented partnership with Yale , live-streaming Malan ’ s lectures from Cambridge to New Haven .
Malan ’ s investment in virtual learning has transformed the way that students engage with the class at its home base , too .
CS50 is one of Harvard College ’ s most popular courses ; it ’ s also the only one that students can watch live , in high definition , from their dorms .
In the past , Malan has encouraged them to do so , writing , in a blog post from @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ a better educational experience to watch CS50 ’ s lectures online than attend them in person.
” Prioritizing remote teaching to such an extent is still a rarity among Harvard professors .
Even Michael Sandel ’ s Justice , another flagship Harvard lecture course , the online counterpart of which predates CS50 and was broadcast on PBS , has little of Malan ’ s technological infrastructure .
In March , when the coronavirus pandemic forced universities across the country to migrate classes online , no more than five hundred Harvard instructors had @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s president , Lawrence Bacow , told me in an e-mail .
In a matter of days , the number “ jumped to about three thousand , ” the size of Harvard ’ s entire teaching staff .
For many professors , the sudden transition was a struggle .
For Malan , it was the natural extension of a decade ’ s worth of experimentation .
“ Our team is fortunate to have been doing this blend of education for quite some time , ” he told me recently .
“ For us @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s contract at Harvard allows him to focus almost exclusively on CS50 ; even the research he publishes centers mainly on the class .
In the spring , he happened to be piloting a small version of CS50 , historically a fall course , using online-only lectures filmed in the previous term .
The pandemic prompted him to move parts of the curriculum—office hours , a weekly tutorial , the project fair—to Zoom .
But , while his colleagues were scrambling to retool their classes for virtual platforms—troubleshooting unfamiliar technology , shortening @ @ @ @ @ @ @ presentation of CS50 , as one student wrote in an end-of-term evaluation , “ pretty much stayed the exact same.
” Malan ’ s method of remote teaching is not easily replicable ; CS50 ’ s pyrotechnics would not be possible without an unusually deep well of resources and his own fanatical commitment .
But , as universities attempt to reopen safely in the fall , with online learning at the forefront , the course ’ s spread and success provide a glimpse of where higher education might be headed .
One muggy @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s campus .
Sanders Theatre , where he lectures , was still officially closed , but a few members of CS50 ’ s staff had received special permission to enter .
I found Malan at a side door .
He was wearing a mask and , over one shoulder , carried a backpack containing two laptops .
Inside , signs in Harvard ’ s colors encouraged hand washing and social distancing .
Doors had been propped open , to reduce human contact with knobs and handles ; a red brick , stationed @ @ @ @ @ @ @ could be kicked aside to signal that someone was inside .
Harvard had not yet finalized its reopening plans , but the university had released an interim report earlier in the week , stating that , “ regardless of whether students are on campus , learning will be remote next year , with only rare exceptions.
” For more than two months , Malan had been holding CS50 ’ s office hours online , both for his Harvard class and , separately , for outside students , in sessions open to the public @ @ @ @ @ @ @ streaming his office hours from Sanders , to see how it would feel to teach there , in the fall , with only a virtual audience .
More than a thousand students , from a hundred and nine countries , had registered to attend the day ’ s session .

Gabriel Guimaraes grew up in Vitória, Brazil, in a yellow house surrounded by star-fruit trees and chicken coops. His father, who wrote software for a local bank, instilled in him an interest in computers. On weekends, when Guimaraes got bored with Nintendo video games, he programmed his own. In grade school, he built a humanoid robot and wrote enough assembly code to make it zip around his home. In Vitória, an island city, his most ambitious peers dreamed of attending university in São Paulo, an hour away by plane. Guimaraes set his sights on the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. By the time he was in high school, M.I.T. had released hundreds of its classes, free of charge, on the Internet, as a series of massive open online courses, or MOOCs. Guimaraes sampled the introductory computer-science class, but he found the lecturer, a “white-haired guy in front of a blackboard,” crushingly dull. In 2011, trawling YouTube for other course material, Guimaraes clicked on a lecture from Harvard’s introductory computer-science class, CS50, which was taught by a young professor named David Malan. Almost instantly, Guimaraes told me, he felt himself “hypnotized.”
Malan, who had glossy black hair and an energetic mien, lectured from a grand auditorium on Harvard’s campus. In the first class, he illustrated an algorithm called binary search by inviting a volunteer onstage to find “Mike Smith” in the Yellow Pages; at Malan’s urging, the student opened up the phone book to a random spot, tore off the half of the book without the right name, and then repeated the process, halving the volume again and again, until only the desired page remained. Malan’s assignments, too, eased students into the arcana of computer science. Before learning C, a low-level programming language with finicky syntax, they created animated games in Scratch, a visual programming language designed for children. For a forensics problem set, inspired by a summer that Malan spent working in a district attorney’s office, students were asked to write code to restore a set of deleted photo files. “It felt like the coolest video game I’d ever gotten my hands on,” Guimaraes said.
On Harvard’s campus, CS50 culminates in a festive exposition, where students show off their final coding projects and hobnob with technical recruiters from companies like Facebook and Google, many of whom are alumni of the class; Malan provides a bevy of free paraphernalia, including CS50-branded stress balls and T-shirts that read, “I TOOK CS50.” In Brazil, Guimaraes decided to conduct his own final project: a re-creation of Malan’s course materials and lectures in Portuguese. In his sophomore year of high school, he taught CC50—Ciência da Computação Cinquenta—to his peers, during eleven weeks of the fall term. When Guimaraes arrived for the first class, bearing, as Malan did, a gargantuan sheet cake as a welcome treat, he found about a hundred students snaking out the door. Dressed in a baggy Harvard shirt that he’d bought online, he delivered Malan’s first lecture, repeating the phone-book demonstration with an old dictionary. CS50’s course materials were freely distributed under a Creative Commons license, but, as a courtesy, Guimaraes had e-mailed Malan’s staff a heads-up about his project. During the sixth week of his lectures, he received a gift box from Malan, stuffed with CS50 swag.
Malan, who took over CS50 in 2007, was a pioneer in distributing Harvard course materials online for free. In 2012, Harvard and M.I.T. launched their own online-learning platform, edX, which today offers several thousand MOOCs—both digital editions of existing university courses and original certificate programs designed by Microsoft, I.B.M., and other technology giants. But few, if any, combine the institutional credibility, the enormous reach, and the zealous engagement of Malan’s. In the decade since Guimaraes took it, CS50 has inspired satellite operations on every continent except Antarctica. Though most of the students who sign up for the edX version—more than two million to date—quit before finishing, those who stick with it often become diehards: earlier this year, in Baghdad, students restaged Malan’s project fair at al-Hikma University with identical trimmings, down to the emoji-shaped balloons and the custom “debugging” rubber ducks. To promote the expansion of CS50, Malan films welcome teasers for the remote cohorts, hosts annual educator workshops, and helps prop up outposts around the world. CS50 is less a single course than an “ecosystem of courses,” as one staff member put it, with spinoffs designed for specific audiences: lawyers, business students, gamers. In 2015, Harvard’s computer-science department launched an unprecedented partnership with Yale, live-streaming Malan’s lectures from Cambridge to New Haven.
Malan’s investment in virtual learning has transformed the way that students engage with the class at its home base, too. CS50 is one of Harvard College’s most popular courses; it’s also the only one that students can watch live, in high definition, from their dorms. In the past, Malan has encouraged them to do so, writing, in a blog post from 2016, that it might well be “a better educational experience to watch CS50’s lectures online than attend them in person.” Prioritizing remote teaching to such an extent is still a rarity among Harvard professors. Even Michael Sandel’s Justice, another flagship Harvard lecture course, whose online counterpart predates CS50 and was broadcast on PBS, has little of Malan’s technological infrastructure. In March, when the coronavirus pandemic forced universities across the country to migrate classes online, no more than five hundred Harvard instructors had virtual teaching experience, the university’s president, Lawrence Bacow, told me in an e-mail. In a matter of days, the number “jumped to about three thousand,” the size of Harvard’s entire teaching staff.
For many professors, the sudden transition was a struggle. For Malan, it was the natural extension of a decade’s worth of experimentation. “Our team is fortunate to have been doing this blend of education for quite some time,” he told me recently. “For us, it was very straightforward.” Malan’s contract at Harvard allows him to focus almost exclusively on CS50; even the research he publishes centers mainly on the class. In the spring, he happened to be piloting a small version of CS50, historically a fall course, using online-only lectures filmed in the previous term. The pandemic prompted him to move parts of the curriculum—office hours, a weekly tutorial, the project fair—to Zoom. But, while his colleagues were scrambling to retool their classes for virtual platforms—troubleshooting unfamiliar technology, shortening lessons, building in interactivity—the substance and presentation of CS50, as one student wrote in an end-of-term evaluation, “pretty much stayed the exact same.” Malan’s method of remote teaching is not easily replicable; CS50’s pyrotechnics would not be possible without an unusually deep well of resources and his own fanatical commitment. But, as universities attempt to reopen safely in the fall, with online learning at the forefront, the course’s spread and success provide a glimpse of where higher education might be headed.
One muggy morning in June, Malan visited Harvard’s campus. Sanders Theatre, where he lectures, was still officially closed, but a few members of CS50’s staff had received special permission to enter. I found Malan at a side door. He was wearing a mask and, over one shoulder, carried a backpack containing two laptops. Inside, signs in Harvard’s colors encouraged hand washing and social distancing. Doors had been propped open, to reduce human contact with knobs and handles; a red brick, stationed on the floor outside the bathroom, could be kicked aside to signal that someone was inside. Harvard had not yet finalized its reopening plans, but the university had released an interim report earlier in the week, stating that, “regardless of whether students are on campus, learning will be remote next year, with only rare exceptions.” For more than two months, Malan had been holding CS50’s office hours online, both for his Harvard class and, separately, for outside students, in sessions open to the public. Now he was going to try streaming his office hours from Sanders, to see how it would feel to teach there, in the fall, with only a virtual audience. More than a thousand students, from a hundred and nine countries, had registered to attend the day’s session.
In 2008, when Malan first moved CS50 to Sanders, from a nondescript amphitheatre in Harvard’s Sever Hall, the class, at around three hundred students, occupied only the orchestra section and a segment of the mezzanine. By 2014, enrollment had exceeded eight hundred students, and many of them had to watch from the balcony. Sanders is one of the university’s largest performance venues, a booming, stadium-style hall of burnished red oak. Malan’s team equipped it with five cameras—some manned by humans, others robotically controlled—and, at the back of the mezzanine, a makeshift production booth. As in a “live sporting event,” Malan explained, the students who watch CS50 in real time might see the camera cut to a closeup of him, or to a gigantic projection of his computer screen, or to a wide shot from the robotic slider, which captures the silhouettes of spectators in the front of the house. Whereas many online instructors chop up their lectures into short segments, interspersed with exercises designed to monitor progress and sustain engagement, Malan publishes his uninterrupted. He often teaches in front of a green screen, so that his team can turn his Web browser into a giant backdrop in post-production.


newyorker--2020-07-22--Note to Congress: Don’t Throw the Unemployed Off the Bridge

As Senate Republicans met with Treasury Secretary Steve Mnuchin on Tuesday , to discuss a new stimulus package , the outcome of upcoming negotiations with Democrats remained hazy .
One thing was evident , though : Steve Bannon ’ s professed ambition to transform the G.O.P .
into a workers ’ party still hasn ’ t penetrated Capitol Hill or the Trump Administration .
Under the leadership of Donald Trump , Mitch McConnell , and Mnuchin , a former Wall Street banker , Republican legislators seem intent on slashing unemployment-insurance payments to tens of millions of American workers who lost @ @ @ @ @ @ @ own .
The context is important .
Back in March and April—as the pandemic engendered broad economic shutdowns , the stock market slumped , and parts of the credit markets froze up—the U.S. economy seemed to be in imminent danger of entering a calamitous downward spiral .
In response , the U.S. government launched a multipronged effort to fortify American capitalism and American households for the struggle ahead .
To prevent mass layoffs and bankruptcies at businesses with five hundred employees or fewer , Congress authorized the Small Business Administration to extend more @ @ @ @ @ @ @ loans through the Paycheck Protection Program .
To help out larger companies , the Federal Reserve introduced a series of lending and asset-purchase programs , which expanded its remit as lender of last resort beyond the banking system and to much of corporate America .
Crucially , these pro-business policies were balanced out by issuing one-off stimulus payments of up to twelve hundred dollars to poor and middle-income Americans , and by raising the level of unemployment payments by six hundred dollars a week .
As the unemployment rate skyrocketed , this latter @ @ @ @ @ @ @ provided more than twenty million people who either lost their jobs or were furloughed with an invaluable cushion during a period of unprecedented economic dislocation .
Even so , the over-all impact of the coronavirus response has been to reinforce existing social chasms and boost inequality .
Exploiting the lax terms of the P.P.P .
program , wealth managers , corporate restaurant chains , energy firms , exclusive private schools , and companies owned by billionaires received taxpayers ’ money , alongside shuttered mom-and-pop stores .
Thanks to dogged reporting by the New @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Orlando Sentinel , among other outlets , we also know that , under the terms of the CARES Act , many wealthy people and businesses , including real-estate developers like Trump and the Kushner family , stood to receive billions of dollars in tax breaks .
These particular giveaways to the rich , which were salted into the bill as Congress rushed to pass it , in late March , didn ’ t receive much attention at the time .
The Fed ’ s actions were far more overt and produced a soaring @ @ @ @ @ @ @ primarily benefitted the wealthy .
Although many Americans possess some equities through their 401 ( k ) plans , the richest ten per cent of households own more than eighty per cent of all stocks , according to Ed Wolff , an economist at New York University .
Then there is the bond market .
As the Fed ’ s actions stabilized the credit markets , many corporations rushed to raise more money , and the Wall Street firms that facilitated this capital-raising enjoyed one of their best quarters ever .
Morgan Stanley @ @ @ @ @ @ @ revenues rise sixty-four per cent during the quarter that started in April and ended in June .
Its sales and trading revenues rose even more : sixty-eight per cent .
Come bonus season , many traders and bankers will have reason to cheer .
Not so for the jobless .
In some parts of the country , such as Oklahoma , people who have been laid off are still having grave difficulty applying for benefits , because the local unemployment systems have been overwhelmed .
Republicans are now trying to slash the incomes @ @ @ @ @ @ @ problems , because , they claim , the weekly supplement of six hundred dollars acts as a disincentive to seek employment .
“ Keeping it will slow the return to work , really hit job creation , and we won ’ t get anything that looks like a quick recovery , ” Douglas Holtz-Eakin , the president of the American Action Forum , a conservative think tank , told the Wall Street Journal .
At best , this is a weak argument .
According to the most recent figures from the Labor Department @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and 5.4 million job vacancies .
In other words , there aren ’ t nearly enough jobs to go around : a shortage of jobs is the problem , not a shortage of workers .
Thanks to expanded unemployment-insurance payments , some people who are out of work do have somewhat higher incomes than when they were employed .
But this isn ’ t preventing them from returning to the workplace—if they are fortunate enough to be called back—or finding a new job .
Ernie Tedeschi , an economist at Evercore ISI , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the UI recipients who returned to work were making more on UI than their prior wage , and yet still returned to work.
” Incentivizing the unemployed to take jobs that are available is an issue for an economy at or near full employment—not one in which the official jobless rate is 11.1 per cent , and the real rate could be considerably higher .
Moreover , as I pointed out in a previous column , the supplemental unemployment payments are supporting the over-all level of spending in the economy .
Cutting or @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and more job cuts .
Finally , there is the issue of fairness .
At a time when many well-to-do Americans are benefitting from the ability to work at home , or access to P.P.P .
loans , or a bubbly stock market , it is unconscionable to punish those who happened to be working in businesses and industries that the pandemic impacted most adversely .
Back in the spring , policymakers at the White House and the Fed insisted that they were building a “ bridge ” to get the entire country @ @ @ @ @ @ @ recession .
That was the right thing to do .
With new infections still rising alarmingly in many parts of the country , this is no time to throw tens of millions of Americans off the bridge .

As Senate Republicans met with Treasury Secretary Steve Mnuchin on Tuesday, to discuss a new stimulus package, the outcome of upcoming negotiations with Democrats remained hazy. One thing was evident, though: Steve Bannon’s professed ambition to transform the G.O.P. into a workers’ party still hasn’t penetrated Capitol Hill or the Trump Administration. Under the leadership of Donald Trump, Mitch McConnell, and Mnuchin, a former Wall Street banker, Republican legislators seem intent on slashing unemployment-insurance payments to tens of millions of American workers who lost their jobs through no fault of their own.
The context is important. Back in March and April—as the pandemic engendered broad economic shutdowns, the stock market slumped, and parts of the credit markets froze up—the U.S. economy seemed to be in imminent danger of entering a calamitous downward spiral. In response, the U.S. government launched a multipronged effort to fortify American capitalism and American households for the struggle ahead.
To prevent mass layoffs and bankruptcies at businesses with five hundred employees or fewer, Congress authorized the Small Business Administration to extend more than six hundred billion dollars in forgivable loans through the Paycheck Protection Program. To help out larger companies, the Federal Reserve introduced a series of lending and asset-purchase programs, which expanded its remit as lender of last resort beyond the banking system and to much of corporate America. Crucially, these pro-business policies were balanced out by issuing one-off stimulus payments of up to twelve hundred dollars to poor and middle-income Americans, and by raising the level of unemployment payments by six hundred dollars a week. As the unemployment rate skyrocketed, this latter policy—a Democratic proposal that Republicans reluctantly accepted—has provided more than twenty million people who either lost their jobs or were furloughed with an invaluable cushion during a period of unprecedented economic dislocation.
Even so, the over-all impact of the coronavirus response has been to reinforce existing social chasms and boost inequality. Exploiting the lax terms of the P.P.P., wealth managers, corporate restaurant chains, energy firms, exclusive private schools, and companies owned by billionaires received taxpayers’ money, alongside shuttered mom-and-pop stores. Thanks to dogged reporting by the New York Times, ProPublica, and the Orlando Sentinel, among other outlets, we also know that, under the terms of the CARES Act, many wealthy people and businesses, including real-estate developers like Trump and the Kushner family, stood to receive billions of dollars in tax breaks. These particular giveaways to the rich, which were salted into the bill as Congress rushed to pass it, in late March, didn’t receive much attention at the time.
The Fed’s actions were far more overt and produced a soaring rally in the stock market, which primarily benefitted the wealthy. Although many Americans possess some equities through their 401(k) plans, the richest ten per cent of households own more than eighty per cent of all stocks, according to Ed Wolff, an economist at New York University. Then there is the bond market. As the Fed’s actions stabilized the credit markets, many corporations rushed to raise more money, and the Wall Street firms that facilitated this capital-raising enjoyed one of their best quarters ever. Morgan Stanley, for example, saw its underwriting revenues rise sixty-four per cent during the quarter that started in April and ended in June. Its sales and trading revenues rose even more: sixty-eight per cent. Come bonus season, many traders and bankers will have reason to cheer.
Not so for the jobless. In some parts of the country, such as Oklahoma, people who have been laid off are still having grave difficulty applying for benefits, because the local unemployment systems have been overwhelmed. Republicans are now trying to slash the incomes of those who successfully navigated these administrative problems, because, they claim, the weekly supplement of six hundred dollars acts as a disincentive to seek employment. “Keeping it will slow the return to work, really hit job creation, and we won’t get anything that looks like a quick recovery,” Douglas Holtz-Eakin, the president of the American Action Forum, a conservative think tank, told the Wall Street Journal.
At best, this is a weak argument. According to the most recent figures from the Labor Department, there are 17.8 million unemployed Americans and 5.4 million job vacancies. In other words, there aren’t nearly enough jobs to go around: a shortage of jobs is the problem, not a shortage of workers. Thanks to expanded unemployment-insurance payments, some people who are out of work do have somewhat higher incomes than when they were employed. But this isn’t preventing them from returning to the workplace—if they are fortunate enough to be called back—or finding a new job. Ernie Tedeschi, an economist at Evercore ISI, estimated that “around 70% of the UI recipients who returned to work were making more on UI than their prior wage, and yet still returned to work.”
Incentivizing the unemployed to take jobs that are available is an issue for an economy at or near full employment—not one in which the official jobless rate is 11.1 per cent, and the real rate could be considerably higher. Moreover, as I pointed out in a previous column, the supplemental unemployment payments are supporting the over-all level of spending in the economy. Cutting or eliminating them would lead to lower demand and more job cuts.
Finally, there is the issue of fairness. At a time when many well-to-do Americans are benefitting from the ability to work at home, or access to P.P.P. loans, or a bubbly stock market, it is unconscionable to punish those who happened to be working in businesses and industries that the pandemic impacted most adversely. Back in the spring, policymakers at the White House and the Fed insisted that they were building a “bridge” to get the entire country to the other side of the virus-induced recession. That was the right thing to do. With new infections still rising alarmingly in many parts of the country, this is no time to throw tens of millions of Americans off the bridge.


newyorker--2020-07-21--“Word Is Out”: A Pioneering Documentary of Gay Voices

With social distancing getting in the way of social life , I ’ ve found a particular pleasure in documentaries in which people talk at length .
It ’ s a subgenre unto itself , and a crucial one .
Many documentaries denature interviews into sound bites , whereas ones featuring interviews centrally are like opéras vérité : their directors don ’ t merely record people speaking but set the spoken text to images as a composer does a libretto to music .
It ’ s also a young subgenre ; it was born in 1960 , when lightweight professional-quality @ @ @ @ @ @ @ In the United States , Robert Drew ’ s “ Primary ” used such equipment to change the documentary filmmaker from an observer into an immersed participant in the onscreen action .
In France , Jean Rouch and Edgar Morin ’ s “ Chronicle of a Summer ” —the primordial interview film—used it to turn talk into the heart of the action .
The early generation of interview films ( as in the extraordinary collection in the “ Tell Me ” series , on the Criterion Channel ) have a built-in element of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ material , because they were shot on film .
This often lends them a distinctive artistic and even ethical urgency .
One such crucial film , and a profoundly moving one , “ Word Is Out , ” from 1977 , is now available to stream on Vimeo on Demand .
“ Word Is Out ” is widely considered to be the first feature film about gay people by gay people .
It is a movie of a mighty complexity built from the simple premise of people talking about their lives .
Distilled @ @ @ @ @ @ @ features twenty-six people , from college age to elderly , and from a variety of backgrounds and places , whose divergent lives converge around their common experiences of persecution and alienation as a result of being gay .
The subjects discuss these experiences and the breakthrough moments that led them to accept their sexuality , and , in the third part of their film , they imagine a society in which L.G.B.T.Q .
people will have the same freedoms as straight people—and the public action that ’ s needed to fight for those @ @ @ @ @ @ @ such public action .
It is simultaneously a presentation to the world at large about the lives of gay people and an affirmation , to gay people themselves , that there is a community out there with which they can identify .
Many of the subjects in “ Word Is Out ” discuss the lack of media representations of people like themselves , which contributed to their sense of isolation .
The film provides the beginnings of such representation—and the self-aware assertion that this representation is itself an instrument of political change .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ terrifying consequences they suffered for being gay .
Pat Bond discusses her military service during the McCarthy era , after the Second World War , where many lesbians found a community for the first time—and where a brutal crackdown , involving surveillance and coerced testimony , led to the dishonorable discharge of five hundred women serving in Tokyo .
Rick Stokes describes being in a furtive same-sex relationship for many years with a neighbor , beginning when he was ten and the neighbor was twelve ; when the ongoing relationship was disclosed to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a mental hospital , was threatened with castration , and endured shock treatment , he estimates , twenty-five times .
A woman called Whitey moved to Greenwich Village , where she ’ d heard that there were many gay people—and , after her father found her there , she was incarcerated for four years in a New York State mental hospital .
A middle-aged man named George Mendenhall describes arriving in San Francisco in the early fifties , as a young man , and finding a gay bar—one under intense police scrutiny and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ audiences to sing an anthem together , in an act of unity and collective affirmation that brings tears to Mendenhall ’ s eyes in the telling .
“ To the doctor , you were sick ; to the lawyer , you were a criminal ; and to the minister , you were wicked , ” another middle-aged participant , John Burnside , says .
Many of the film ’ s subjects carefully and elaborately concealed their identities .
Others , in their younger days , didn ’ t even get that far—they hadn @ @ @ @ @ @ @ homosexual , ” had no vocabulary with which to identify themselves , and knew only that they felt different from the people around them .
( Some participants , including Tede Mathews , who identifies as male and often wears what he calls women ’ s clothing , try to avoid labelling and defining their gender and sexual identities altogether . )
Bond , the woman who served in the military , calls her very participation in the film an act of coming out , and worries about the professional consequences that she @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in the film were risking , too .
One woman , Ann Samsell , fears how participating in the film might affect her father if his colleagues found out .
“ Word Is Out ” is poised at the intersection of the public and the private , the intimate and the political , the individual and the collective—and its ideas are embodied in its mode of production .
It was made by the Mariposa Film Group , a collective of six filmmakers ( Peter Adair , who ’ s credited as the producer @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Robert Epstein , Lucy Massie Phenix , and Veronica Selver ) , and its diversity of subjects is matched by a cinematic diversity—it reflects not one technique but several , not one practice but a variety of practices , which similarly coalesce into a sense of shared experience and shared purpose .
When filming the actor Roger Harkenrider in a rehearsal studio , for instance , the cinematographer and sound recordist are clearly visible at work in the mirrored wall behind him .
Interviewers are heard on the soundtrack , filmmakers gather for @ @ @ @ @ @ @ most senior participant , the poet Elsa Gidlow ( who was born in 1898 and was seventy-seven at the time of filming ) , and join Whitey in cutting down a dead tree branch that ’ s threatening the roof of her cabin .
The participants , who are often filmed in extreme closeups of a frank intimacy , with alternating hand-held cinematography and static shots from tripods , are also seen in wider views , in their own environments , mainly at home , partaking in familiar domesticities and leisure activities .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ despite the extraordinary pressures that they ’ ve endured throughout their lives , is one of the movie ’ s subjects .
What ’ s extraordinary about their circumstances is the self-abnegation , the emotional shutdown that many of the participants experienced for fear of exposure ; the struggle for self-recognition and public acceptance is centered on the quest for love .
In the movie ’ s third section , “ From Now On , ” the participants envision a more humane society , not only for homosexuals but for all—one in which @ @ @ @ @ @ @ limiting , in which the ability to publicly express one ’ s identity and desire ( as in the film ) would liberate emotional life at large .
In this regard , “ Word Is Out ” follows in the tradition of interview movies pioneered by “ Chronicle of a Summer.
” There , the filmmakers began with the premise of approaching random people in Paris and asking them whether they ’ re happy .
The answers that people gave quickly veered to matters of politics and history—notably , of the Algerian War @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in France at the time ) and of France ’ s share of responsibility for the Holocaust ( then a largely taboo subject in the country ’ s public discourse ) .
The voices of “ Word Is Out ” have a similarly liberating , polyphonic energy , a sense of collective yet independent improvisation that ’ s thematically centered on the connection of personal happiness and political progress .
None of the subjects anticipates the legalization of gay marriage ; one , Sally Gearhart , speaks regretfully about the fact that she @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Meanwhile , persecution continues : Pam Jackson , who was in a relationship with a woman named Rusty Millington , had her children taken from her as a result .
But “ Word Is Out ” points toward a more humane future—with practical steps to achieve it .
The conclusion of the film , depicting a march for gay rights in which the subjects ’ diverse voices fuse into a unified chorus , suggests the transformation of discourse into power .

With social distancing getting in the way of social life, I’ve found a particular pleasure in documentaries in which people talk at length. It’s a subgenre unto itself, and a crucial one. Many documentaries denature interviews into sound bites, whereas ones featuring interviews centrally are like opéras vérité: their directors don’t merely record people speaking but set the spoken text to images as a composer does a libretto to music. It’s also a young subgenre; it was born in 1960, when lightweight professional-quality synch-sound equipment had just been devised. In the United States, Robert Drew’s “Primary” used such equipment to change the documentary filmmaker from an observer into an immersed participant in the onscreen action. In France, Jean Rouch and Edgar Morin’s “Chronicle of a Summer”—the primordial interview film—used it to turn talk into the heart of the action. The early generation of interview films (as in the extraordinary collection in the “Tell Me” series, on the Criterion Channel) have a built-in element of physical drama, of confrontation with the material, because they were shot on film. This often lends them a distinctive artistic and even ethical urgency. One such crucial film, and a profoundly moving one, “Word Is Out,” from 1977, is now available to stream on Vimeo on Demand.
“Word Is Out” is widely considered to be the first feature film about gay people by gay people. It is a movie of a mighty complexity built from the simple premise of people talking about their lives. Distilled from approximately two hundred interviews, it features twenty-six people, from college age to elderly, and from a variety of backgrounds and places, whose divergent lives converge around their common experiences of persecution and alienation as a result of being gay. The subjects discuss these experiences and the breakthrough moments that led them to accept their sexuality, and, in the third part of their film, they imagine a society in which L.G.B.T.Q. people will have the same freedoms as straight people—and the public action that’s needed to fight for those changes.
The movie itself is one such public action. It is simultaneously a presentation to the world at large about the lives of gay people and an affirmation, to gay people themselves, that there is a community out there with which they can identify. Many of the subjects in “Word Is Out” discuss the lack of media representations of people like themselves, which contributed to their sense of isolation. The film provides the beginnings of such representation—and the self-aware assertion that this representation is itself an instrument of political change.
Many participants share detailed accounts of the terrifying consequences they suffered for being gay. Pat Bond discusses her military service during the McCarthy era, after the Second World War, where many lesbians found a community for the first time—and where a brutal crackdown, involving surveillance and coerced testimony, led to the dishonorable discharge of five hundred women serving in Tokyo. Rick Stokes describes being in a furtive same-sex relationship for many years with a neighbor, beginning when he was ten and the neighbor was twelve; when the ongoing relationship was disclosed to his wife, he was interned in a mental hospital, was threatened with castration, and endured shock treatment, he estimates, twenty-five times. A woman called Whitey moved to Greenwich Village, where she’d heard that there were many gay people—and, after her father found her there, she was incarcerated for four years in a New York State mental hospital. A middle-aged man named George Mendenhall describes arriving in San Francisco in the early fifties, as a young man, and finding a gay bar—one under intense police scrutiny and pressure—where a performer named Jose got his audiences to sing an anthem together, in an act of unity and collective affirmation that brings tears to Mendenhall’s eyes in the telling.
“To the doctor, you were sick; to the lawyer, you were a criminal; and to the minister, you were wicked,” another middle-aged participant, John Burnside, says. Many of the film’s subjects carefully and elaborately concealed their identities. Others, in their younger days, didn’t even get that far—they hadn’t even heard the word “homosexual,” had no vocabulary with which to identify themselves, and knew only that they felt different from the people around them. (Some participants, including Tede Mathews, who identifies as male and often wears what he calls women’s clothing, try to avoid labelling and defining their gender and sexual identities altogether.) Bond, the woman who served in the military, calls her very participation in the film an act of coming out, and worries about the professional consequences that she could face as a result—and that others in the film were risking, too. One woman, Ann Samsell, fears how participating in the film might affect her father if his colleagues found out.
“Word Is Out” is poised at the intersection of the public and the private, the intimate and the political, the individual and the collective—and its ideas are embodied in its mode of production. It was made by the Mariposa Film Group, a collective of six filmmakers (Peter Adair, who’s credited as the producer, Nancy Adair, Andrew Brown, Robert Epstein, Lucy Massie Phenix, and Veronica Selver), and its diversity of subjects is matched by a cinematic diversity—it reflects not one technique but several, not one practice but a variety of practices, which similarly coalesce into a sense of shared experience and shared purpose. When filming the actor Roger Harkenrider in a rehearsal studio, for instance, the cinematographer and sound recordist are clearly visible at work in the mirrored wall behind him. Interviewers are heard on the soundtrack, filmmakers gather for a meal with the film’s most senior participant, the poet Elsa Gidlow (who was born in 1898 and was seventy-seven at the time of filming), and join Whitey in cutting down a dead tree branch that’s threatening the roof of her cabin. The participants, who are often filmed in extreme closeups of a frank intimacy, with alternating hand-held cinematography and static shots from tripods, are also seen in wider views, in their own environments, mainly at home, partaking in familiar domesticities and leisure activities. The very ordinariness of their circumstances, despite the extraordinary pressures that they’ve endured throughout their lives, is one of the movie’s subjects. What’s extraordinary about their circumstances is the self-abnegation, the emotional shutdown that many of the participants experienced for fear of exposure; the struggle for self-recognition and public acceptance is centered on the quest for love.
In the movie’s third section, “From Now On,” the participants envision a more humane society, not only for homosexuals but for all—one in which gender roles wouldn’t be narrowly limiting, in which the ability to publicly express one’s identity and desire (as in the film) would liberate emotional life at large. The film’s own breaking of silence is a crucial part of the process. In this regard, “Word Is Out” follows in the tradition of interview movies pioneered by “Chronicle of a Summer.” There, the filmmakers began with the premise of approaching random people in Paris and asking them whether they’re happy. The answers that people gave quickly veered to matters of politics and history—notably, of the Algerian War (discussion of which was rigidly censored in France at the time) and of France’s share of responsibility for the Holocaust (then a largely taboo subject in the country’s public discourse). The voices of “Word Is Out” have a similarly liberating, polyphonic energy, a sense of collective yet independent improvisation that’s thematically centered on the connection of personal happiness and political progress. None of the subjects anticipates the legalization of gay marriage; one, Sally Gearhart, speaks regretfully about the fact that she’ll never be able to wed. Meanwhile, persecution continues: Pam Jackson, who was in a relationship with a woman named Rusty Millington, had her children taken from her as a result. But “Word Is Out” points toward a more humane future—with practical steps to achieve it. The conclusion of the film, depicting a march for gay rights in which the subjects’ diverse voices fuse into a unified chorus, suggests the transformation of discourse into power.


newyorker--2020-07-21--Red Lobster Is Not Essential

Red Lobster Is Not Essential

My mom has been a server at Red Lobster since Ronald Reagan served as President .
When I was growing up , unclaimed takeout seafood had a habit of showing up in our fridge .
I guess you could say I was born with a Cheddar Bay Biscuit in my mouth .
While the Red Lobster menu has changed slightly over the years , the wage has not : two dollars and thirteen cents an hour plus tips .
Two-thirteen is a bad guess for pi or a good time for a nap , but not a living wage .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ to add a few dollars to the bill for my mom for silly things like her mortgage .
So she puts on a show for tips , and because , as she says , “ I do love meeting people.
” The Red Lobster where she works is near Myrtle Beach , in South Carolina .
She collects stories from ocean-bound tourists , Yankees who have moved South , and customers from abroad who occasionally laugh at her joke that “ standard tipping in the U.S. is fifty per cent.
” She likes @ @ @ @ @ @ @ her “ silver fox ” husband , four kids , and three grandbabies .
If you ’ ve had my mom as a waitress , you ’ ve definitely heard that I live up in New York City and that I don ’ t call her enough .
At Thanksgiving last year , I surprised her during her shift .
When I came in , a host whom I ’ d never met hollered “ Zach ’ s here !
” and then added , “ We ’ ve heard so many stories @ @ @ @ @ @ @ around her tables and chat with her co-workers , a mother hen to a gaggle of twentysomethings .
She smiled when she saw me in her section .
She took my order , brought extra ranch , and refused my tip .
At a press conference on April 20th , Henry McMaster , the governor of South Carolina , announced the reopening of the state : “ Our goal was to cause the most damage possible to the virus while doing the least possible damage , at least permanent damage , to our @ @ @ @ @ @ @ told the accelerateSC task force that “ the last thing any of us want is to have a relapse.
” He might as well have named the task force toofastSC .
The beaches were reopened immediately , to be followed by hotels and indoor dining .
According to the Times , dine-in restaurants are especially dangerous for spreading the virus , due to high people traffic , sustained visits , close contact , and indoor settings .
On May 11th , McMaster reopened them .
My mom wanted to get back to work @ @ @ @ @ @ @ na die ’ til it ’ s my time , ” she told me over the phone , back in May .
“ I don ’ t live in fear .
I ’ m not a worrier .
I guess that ’ s part of being a Christian.
” My parents have been evangelicals since they were teen-agers .
When I became an atheist , at eighteen , Mom cried for days .
When I came out as queer , she cried harder .
When I came out as vegetarian , she said @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Alas , God isn ’ t the only one steering her through the pandemic .
“ I think he did a damn good job.
” Did .
Referring to President Trump .
Like it ’ s over .
When I ask her where she ’ s been getting her news about Trump ’ s handling of the virus—a question we both know the answer to—she jokes , “ The View.
” The rest of the call jumps between the personal , the political , and the religious in the frustrating , familiar way @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 2016 election .
She celebrates Trump ’ s travel bans on China and Europe as if they were a coronavirus vaccine and shares her theory that the Democrats are trying to destroy the economy until they can win the election .
Michael Flynn , Twitter censorship , Bill Gates vaccine conspiracy theories—the Fox News talking head on the phone is the woman who shared midnight crab legs with me in the kitchen .
“ The Bible says you don ’ t work , you don ’ t eat , ” she said .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ we ’ d be having over a thousand positives every day ?
” Governor McMaster asked on July 1st , during the first press conference in which he wore a mask .
“ The responsibility lies not with someone on stopping you , but on you stopping you.
” It ’ s your responsibility , says the parent to the kids playing in a sandbox full of razor blades .
After the aggressive reopening of South Carolina , cases in the state have skyrocketed , bolstered by an influx of tourists to Myrtle @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and tourists are becoming infected and bringing the virus home .
Seventeen high-school students in Ohio .
A hundred in Washington , D.C .
When my grandma in Virginia got tested for the coronavirus , the nurse asked if she had visited Myrtle Beach .
My mom , the people person , struggled during her first shift back .
“ It ’ s hard to talk to your tables .
I can ’ t talk to them the way I used to .
The mask is so hot.
” Mom described a hack @ @ @ @ @ @ @ mask upside down , so that it ’ s a little easier to breathe .
“ Things just feel eerie .
It don ’ t feel right .
Not normal .
People weren ’ t as friendly as they normally are.
” There are some new procedures in place .
Employees have their temperatures taken at the start of shifts and wear masks in customer areas .
The host sanitizes the table kiosks after each customer .
Every other table is left empty , and a party of ten had to split into @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the hardest adjustment of all ?
“ I love babies , and I can ’ t get close to babies .
It ’ s terrible !
” Coming from the woman who said she preferred me as a baby because I didn ’ t talk back , I believe her .
“ Acting like nothing ’ s going on , ” she answers .
“ One couple did wear a mask .
One guy sanitized the table.
” It wasn ’ t until July 3rd , three months after the first coronavirus death @ @ @ @ @ @ @ council voted , 8–4 , to require masks for customers in indoor businesses .
When “ Good Morning America ” asked Brenda Bethune , the mayor of Myrtle Beach , if the city takes any responsibility for spreading infections , she answered , “ People spread this virus , not places.
” What changed my mom ’ s mind about the dangers of the pandemic wasn ’ t a call from her son but one from her own mom .
Nanny had tested positive for the coronavirus .
“ She was taking it @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
“ I ’ m mad.
” She caught it at a funeral , for my great uncle Oscar .
She was wearing a mask , but others in attendance were not .
“ Everything was starting to reopen , ” Nanny told me , through weak breaths on her flip phone .
“ So we thought it was O.K.
” Her landline kept ringing in the background during the call .
She said , “ I ’ m gon na have to get me a telephone operator.
” We talk about how @ @ @ @ @ @ @ just need to get my strength back ” ) , politics ( “ I don ’ t know why these people worship him .
.
.
.
He looks like a chicken ” ) , and the virus .
“ I don ’ t think it will ever go away.
” My older sister ended the call by asking Nanny if she could pray for her .
I bit my tongue and listened to the prayer .
“ Fourteen of your family members have the virus now , ” my mom tells me @

My mom has been a server at Red Lobster since Ronald Reagan served as President. When I was growing up, unclaimed takeout seafood had a habit of showing up in our fridge. I guess you could say I was born with a Cheddar Bay Biscuit in my mouth. While the Red Lobster menu has changed slightly over the years, the wage has not: two dollars and thirteen cents an hour plus tips. Two-thirteen is a bad guess for pi or a good time for a nap, but not a living wage. It’s left to the customers to add a few dollars to the bill for my mom for silly things like her mortgage. So she puts on a show for tips, and because, as she says, “I do love meeting people.”
The Red Lobster where she works is near Myrtle Beach, in South Carolina. She collects stories from ocean-bound tourists, Yankees who have moved South, and customers from abroad who occasionally laugh at her joke that “standard tipping in the U.S. is fifty per cent.” She likes telling her stories, too: about her “silver fox” husband, four kids, and three grandbabies. If you’ve had my mom as a waitress, you’ve definitely heard that I live up in New York City and that I don’t call her enough. At Thanksgiving last year, I surprised her during her shift. When I came in, a host whom I’d never met hollered “Zach’s here!” and then added, “We’ve heard so many stories about you.” I watched Mom bounce around her tables and chat with her co-workers, a mother hen to a gaggle of twentysomethings. She smiled when she saw me in her section. She took my order, brought extra ranch, and refused my tip.
At a press conference on April 20th, Henry McMaster, the governor of South Carolina, announced the reopening of the state: “Our goal was to cause the most damage possible to the virus while doing the least possible damage, at least permanent damage, to our businesses.” Three days later, he told the accelerateSC task force that “the last thing any of us want is to have a relapse.” He might as well have named the task force toofastSC. The beaches were reopened immediately, to be followed by hotels and indoor dining. According to the Times, dine-in restaurants are especially dangerous for spreading the virus, due to high people traffic, sustained visits, close contact, and indoor settings. On May 11th, McMaster reopened them.
My mom wanted to get back to work. “I’m not gonna die ’til it’s my time,” she told me over the phone, back in May. “I don’t live in fear. I’m not a worrier. I guess that’s part of being a Christian.” My parents have been evangelicals since they were teen-agers. When I became an atheist, at eighteen, Mom cried for days. When I came out as queer, she cried harder. When I came out as vegetarian, she said veggie sausage patties actually taste better.
Alas, God isn’t the only one steering her through the pandemic. “I think he did a damn good job.” Did. Referring to President Trump. Like it’s over. When I ask her where she’s been getting her news about Trump’s handling of the virus—a question we both know the answer to—she jokes, “The View.” The rest of the call jumps between the personal, the political, and the religious in the frustrating, familiar way that all our conversations have since the 2016 election. She celebrates Trump’s travel bans on China and Europe as if they were a coronavirus vaccine and shares her theory that the Democrats are trying to destroy the economy until they can win the election. Michael Flynn, Twitter censorship, Bill Gates vaccine conspiracy theories—the Fox News talking head on the phone is the woman who shared midnight crab legs with me in the kitchen. “The Bible says you don’t work, you don’t eat,” she said.
“Who would have ever imagined that we’d be having over a thousand positives every day?” Governor McMaster asked on July 1st, during the first press conference in which he wore a mask. “The responsibility lies not with someone on stopping you, but on you stopping you.” It’s your responsibility, says the parent to the kids playing in a sandbox full of razor blades. After the aggressive reopening of South Carolina, cases in the state have skyrocketed, bolstered by an influx of tourists to Myrtle Beach. Hotels have been booked, and tourists are becoming infected and bringing the virus home. Seventeen high-school students in Ohio. A hundred in Washington, D.C. When my grandma in Virginia got tested for the coronavirus, the nurse asked if she had visited Myrtle Beach.
My mom, the people person, struggled during her first shift back. “It’s hard to talk to your tables. I can’t talk to them the way I used to. The mask is so hot.” Mom described a hack to me in which she turns her mask upside down, so that it’s a little easier to breathe. “Things just feel eerie. It don’t feel right. Not normal. People weren’t as friendly as they normally are.” There are some new procedures in place. Employees have their temperatures taken at the start of shifts and wear masks in customer areas. The host sanitizes the table kiosks after each customer. Every other table is left empty, and a party of ten had to split into a table and a booth. But the hardest adjustment of all?
“I love babies, and I can’t get close to babies. It’s terrible!”
Coming from the woman who said she preferred me as a baby because I didn’t talk back, I believe her.
“Are customers taking it seriously?”
“Acting like nothing’s going on,” she answers. “One couple did wear a mask. One guy sanitized the table.”
It wasn’t until July 3rd, three months after the first coronavirus death in Myrtle Beach, that the county council voted, 8–4, to require masks for customers in indoor businesses. When “Good Morning America” asked Brenda Bethune, the mayor of Myrtle Beach, if the city takes any responsibility for spreading infections, she answered, “People spread this virus, not places.”
What changed my mom’s mind about the dangers of the pandemic wasn’t a call from her son but one from her own mom. Nanny had tested positive for the coronavirus. “She was taking it so seriously,” my mom said. “I’m mad.” She caught it at a funeral, for my great uncle Oscar. She was wearing a mask, but others in attendance were not.
“Everything was starting to reopen,” Nanny told me, through weak breaths on her flip phone. “So we thought it was O.K.” Her landline kept ringing in the background during the call. She said, “I’m gonna have to get me a telephone operator.”
We talk about how she’s feeling (“I just need to get my strength back”), politics (“I don’t know why these people worship him. . . . He looks like a chicken”), and the virus.
“I don’t think it will ever go away.”
“It will, Nanny,” my older sister promises.
“Not in my lifetime.”
My older sister ended the call by asking Nanny if she could pray for her. I bit my tongue and listened to the prayer.
“Fourteen of your family members have the virus now,” my mom tells me.
“Has that changed your opinion of the virus?”
“It’s hitting a little closer to home. It’s awful. My momma’s done some suffering the past two weeks. It’s bizarre how bad it is. The virus spreading and killing people and hurting people.”
I want to say I told you so, but when that’s true you never can. I want her to say that she’s been failed by her news network, her President, her governor, her mayor, and her employer. I want her to say that she’s been failed every day with two-thirteen an hour, and failed again with the accelerated reopening of funeral homes and dining rooms.
Instead, she says she’s made a decision.
“I told Red Lobster I wasn’t coming back until further notice.”
For the first time in my lifetime, my mom’s not a waitress. She’s just a mom.
“What are you gonna do?”
“I guess I’m gonna learn how to wait tables online.”
A Guide to the Coronavirus


newyorker--2020-07-21--The Allure of the Nap Dress, the Look of Gussied-Up Oblivion

For about a year , a dress stalked me on Instagram .
It was made of semi-sheer white cotton and hit at the mid-calf .
It was covered in nubbly swiss dots and had a fey little ruffle adorning each thick shoulder strap , like the edges of a conch shell .
The bodice was smocked in soft , accordion-like fabric , creating the gentlest suggestion of corseting .
It looked like a dress that the young heroine of a Frances Hodgson Burnett novel might pull out of a steamer trunk , or like something that a tubercular patient might @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in the nineteen-tens .
It looked as light and sweet as meringue .
It looked frighteningly easy to stain .
I finally succumbed to this dress last month , not only because of its incessant presence on my feed but because of its alluring name : the Nap Dress .
I purchased it in the wee hours of the morning , during one of my frequent bouts of pandemic-induced insomnia .
Since sleeping through the night was not happening , I figured an outfit specifically designated for daytime dozing might be just the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Nap Dress to bed , but it is decidedly not a nightgown .
( For one , it is opaque enough to wear to the grocery store . )
It is not the same thing as a caftan , which , though often luxurious , is more shapeless and more grown-up .
It is not a housedress , which we tend to associate with older women shuffling onto the stoop to grab the morning paper , the curlers still in their hair .
A housedress is about forgetting the self , or at @ @ @ @ @ @ @ fabric .
The Nap Dress , on the other hand , suggests a cheeky indulgence for one ’ s body , and a childlike return to waking up bleary-eyed hours before dinner .
Nell Diamond , the C.E.O .
of Hill House Home , the company that makes the Nap Dress , told me recently , over Zoom , that she has been accused of opportunistically naming the garment for quarantine , when so many people are jittery and pacing their own hallways , and loungewear is one of the few things sure @ @ @ @ @ @ @ began developing the Nap Dress two years ago , and trademarked the name in January , when the coronavirus in this country still seemed a distant threat .
A thirty-one-year-old American who grew up mostly in London , Diamond came up with the idea for Hill House Home while she was working as an analyst at Deutsche Bank , and cultivating a personal aesthetic that she refers to as “ Victorian ghost.
” “ I walked into that trading floor full of all of these men in their Patagonia vests , ” she @ @ @ @ @ @ @ my bow in my hair and my headband and my cute little part and my cat eye .
And I said , ‘ Watch me.
’ ” Diamond launched the company with a line of bedding , in 2016 , and started selling Nap Dresses in four styles last year .
The one that followed me around is the “ Ellie ” ( $ 125 ) .
There is also the “ Athena , ” ( $ 100 ) , a minidress with oversized puff sleeves , and the “ Caroline ” ( @ @ @ @ @ @ @ conservative of the bunch , with a long skirt and a high-smocked neck .
Diamond ’ s first capsule collection of Nap Dresses sold out within a day .
In the past year , she has released all four styles in a variety of hues and patterns , including pink stripes , green gingham , and white with powder-blue swiss dots , the top-selling color .
( They are made primarily in Madagascar , in a factory that Diamond chose because , she told me , it is woman-owned . )
Since the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ her Nap Dress business has increased sevenfold .
On a recent Zoom call , Diamond , who has a three-year-old son and is pregnant with twins , looked less like a Victorian ghost than a milkmaid , wearing a white Ellie Dress with her long brown hair in braided pigtails .
Her interest in period loungewear , she explained , dates back to her college days , at Princeton , where she wrote her senior English thesis on “ Pre-Raphaelite women using very traditional notions of femininity to quietly subvert their husbands , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ line from Milton ’ s “ Paradise Lost , ” about Eve ’ s wild hair .
She became interested in the connection between the white cotton gown and hysteria ; it was the signature garment of sanatoriums and dusty attics , of women in Victorian novels who have been pronounced “ mad ” but are in fact victims of trauma or abuse .
Later , Diamond sent me several paintings that she saw as her Nap Dress vision board : John William Waterhouse ’ s “ Lady of Shalott ” ( 1888 @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ Lady Lilith ” ( 1867 ) , John Everett Millais ’ s “ Ophelia ” ( 1851 ) , all of which feature ( white , slender ) women in various states of repose , looking equally fragile and formidable with gauzy gowns and flame-red hair .
Elizabeth Siddal , the model who floated in a bathtub for several months—and once fell ill , with what was thought to be pneumonia—so that Millais could depict the drowning Ophelia , was a painter in her own right , and struggled with depression and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a laudanum overdose , at only thirty-two .
Siddal wanted more for herself than to be a muse , and yet she continues to be one—for the Nap Dress .
Diamond may own the phrase , but hers is not the only company hawking Nap Dress-like garments during quarantine .
The Brooklyn-based store Salter House sells a pintucked cotton version ( $ 68 ) ; the British emporium White Nightie has been swamped with orders .
For those looking to splurge , the Italian designer Loretta Caponi pushes the pastoral , cottagecore fantasy @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ivory lace-slip dresses that can cost upwards of nine hundred euros .
( The exact point at which a Nap Dress tilts into a wedding dress is yours to judge . )
We are used to seeing women in white nightgowns as haunted , anxious , skulking around with unfinished business .
But there is also the figure of the innocent child in white , a kind of prelapsarian state of guilelessness and imagination .
The Nap Dress combines these associations into a single garment ; it is children ’ s clothing sized @ @ @ @ @ @ @ adult ghost clothes festooned with sweet and approachable details .
It is a dress that connotes both extreme stress and also the cessation of it .
How wonderful it would be , the Nap Dress suggests , to finally be able to rest after all the hand-wringing .
Victorian garments , even ones that have been reimagined , retain a faint whiff of the era ’ s colonialism : there is privilege inherent in dressing for gussied-up oblivion .
The Nap Dress , with its twin promise of beauty and sleep , makes @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the cover of Ottessa Moshfegh ’ s novel “ My Year of Rest and Relaxation , ” which tells the story of a wealthy young Manhattanite who drugs herself into a stupor and holes up in her apartment for several months .
Essential workers can not dress for napping .
There is little rest for the weary .
But , for those who can take a stolen moment of repose , the Nap Dress has a tranquillizing allure .
It is a clean slate , white noise , a gauzy , brief escape @ @ @ @ @ @ @

The Nap Dress offers the twin promise of beauty and sleep. Photograph by Amy Lefevre / Hill House Home
For about a year, a dress stalked me on Instagram. It was made of semi-sheer white cotton and hit at the mid-calf. It was covered in nubbly swiss dots and had a fey little ruffle adorning each thick shoulder strap, like the edges of a conch shell. The bodice was smocked in soft, accordion-like fabric, creating the gentlest suggestion of corseting. It looked like a dress that the young heroine of a Frances Hodgson Burnett novel might pull out of a steamer trunk, or like something that a tubercular patient might wear to recuperate in a Swiss facility in the nineteen-tens. It looked as light and sweet as meringue. It looked frighteningly easy to stain.
I finally succumbed to this dress last month, not only because of its incessant presence on my feed but because of its alluring name: the Nap Dress. I purchased it in the wee hours of the morning, during one of my frequent bouts of pandemic-induced insomnia. Since sleeping through the night was not happening, I figured an outfit specifically designated for daytime dozing might be just the thing. One could theoretically wear a Nap Dress to bed, but it is decidedly not a nightgown. (For one, it is opaque enough to wear to the grocery store.) It is not the same thing as a caftan, which, though often luxurious, is more shapeless and more grown-up. It is not a housedress, which we tend to associate with older women shuffling onto the stoop to grab the morning paper, the curlers still in their hair. A housedress is about forgetting the self, or at least hiding it under layers of quilted fabric. The Nap Dress, on the other hand, suggests a cheeky indulgence for one’s body, and a childlike return to waking up bleary-eyed hours before dinner.
Nell Diamond, the C.E.O. of Hill House Home, the company that makes the Nap Dress, told me recently, over Zoom, that she has been accused of opportunistically naming the garment for quarantine, when so many people are jittery and pacing their own hallways, and loungewear is one of the few things sure to sell. In fact, she began developing the Nap Dress two years ago, and trademarked the name in January, when the coronavirus in this country still seemed a distant threat. A thirty-one-year-old American who grew up mostly in London, Diamond came up with the idea for Hill House Home while she was working as an analyst at Deutsche Bank, and cultivating a personal aesthetic that she refers to as “Victorian ghost.” “I walked into that trading floor full of all of these men in their Patagonia vests,” she said. “I did it with my bow in my hair and my headband and my cute little part and my cat eye. And I said, ‘Watch me.’ ”
Diamond launched the company with a line of bedding, in 2016, and started selling Nap Dresses in four styles last year. The one that followed me around is the “Ellie” ($125). There is also the “Athena,” ($100), a minidress with oversized puff sleeves; the “Katherine“ ($75), a short sheath with a dainty ruffle hem; and the “Caroline” (also $100), the most conservative of the bunch, with a long skirt and a high-smocked neck. Diamond’s first capsule collection of Nap Dresses sold out within a day. In the past year, she has released all four styles in a variety of hues and patterns, including pink stripes, green gingham, and white with powder-blue swiss dots, the top-selling color. (They are made primarily in Madagascar, in a factory that Diamond chose because, she told me, it is woman-owned.) Since the beginning of 2020, Diamond said, her Nap Dress business has increased sevenfold.
On a recent Zoom call, Diamond, who has a three-year-old son and is pregnant with twins, looked less like a Victorian ghost than a milkmaid, wearing a white Ellie Dress with her long brown hair in braided pigtails. Her interest in period loungewear, she explained, dates back to her college days, at Princeton, where she wrote her senior English thesis on “Pre-Raphaelite women using very traditional notions of femininity to quietly subvert their husbands,” with a focus on a single line from Milton’s “Paradise Lost,” about Eve’s wild hair. She became interested in the connection between the white cotton gown and hysteria; it was the signature garment of sanatoriums and dusty attics, of women in Victorian novels who have been pronounced “mad” but are in fact victims of trauma or abuse.
Later, Diamond sent me several paintings that she saw as her Nap Dress vision board: John William Waterhouse’s “Lady of Shalott” (1888), Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s “Lady Lilith” (1867), John Everett Millais’s “Ophelia” (1851), all of which feature (white, slender) women in various states of repose, looking equally fragile and formidable with gauzy gowns and flame-red hair. Elizabeth Siddal, the model who floated in a bathtub for several months—and once fell ill, with what was thought to be pneumonia—so that Millais could depict the drowning Ophelia, was a painter in her own right, and struggled with depression and thwarted ambition until she died, of a laudanum overdose, at only thirty-two. Siddal wanted more for herself than to be a muse, and yet she continues to be one—for the Nap Dress.
Diamond may own the phrase, but hers is not the only company hawking Nap Dress-like garments during quarantine. The Brooklyn-based store Salter House sells a pintucked cotton version ($68); the British emporium White Nightie has been swamped with orders. For those looking to splurge, the Italian designer Loretta Caponi pushes the pastoral, cottagecore fantasy into the luxury space, with her ivory lace-slip dresses that can cost upwards of nine hundred euros. (The exact point at which a Nap Dress tilts into a wedding dress is yours to judge.)
We are used to seeing women in white nightgowns as haunted, anxious, skulking around with unfinished business. But there is also the figure of the innocent child in white, a kind of prelapsarian state of guilelessness and imagination. The Nap Dress combines these associations into a single garment; it is children’s clothing sized up for adults, or creepy, adult ghost clothes festooned with sweet and approachable details. It is a dress that connotes both extreme stress and also the cessation of it. How wonderful it would be, the Nap Dress suggests, to finally be able to rest after all the hand-wringing.
Victorian garments, even ones that have been reimagined, retain a faint whiff of the era’s colonialism: there is privilege inherent in dressing for gussied-up oblivion. The Nap Dress, with its twin promise of beauty and sleep, makes me think of the frock-clad woman on the cover of Ottessa Moshfegh’s novel “My Year of Rest and Relaxation,” which tells the story of a wealthy young Manhattanite who drugs herself into a stupor and holes up in her apartment for several months. Essential workers cannot dress for napping. There is little rest for the weary. But, for those who can take a stolen moment of repose, the Nap Dress has a tranquillizing allure. It is a clean slate, white noise, a gauzy, brief escape for those who can afford it.


newyorker--2020-07-21--What Could Happen if Donald Trump Rejects Electoral Defeat?

On Sunday , in an interview with Chris Wallace of Fox News , Donald Trump refused to commit to recognizing the outcome of the 2020 election .
“ I ’ m not going to just say yes , ” the President said .
“ And I didn ’ t last time , either.
” ( Back in October , 2016 , Trump was proclaiming that the election he went on to win was “ rigged ” against him . )
He wasn ’ t telling us anything new , and yet we still have not learned to think of ourselves @ @ @ @ @ @ @ lose an election and refuse to leave office .
Lawrence Douglas , a legal scholar and a professor at Amherst College , gave himself the task of methodically thinking through the unthinkable .
The result is a slim book , “ Will He Go ?
Trump and the Looming Election Meltdown in 2020.
” Douglas begins by taking the President at his word .
“ While his defeat is far from certain , ” he writes , “ what is not uncertain is how Donald Trump would react to electoral defeat , especially @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the result.
” Douglas argues that Trump ’ s evident intent to hold on to his office , regardless of the will of the voters , is not the best measure of the damage he has wrought or the power he has accumulated .
He writes , “ A more powerful authoritarian would never let himself get into this situation in the first place ; he would have already so corrupted the process that his chance of losing would have been effectively eliminated.
” By the standards of entrenched autocracies , Trump ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ as his grip on reality .
Still , the system of government that he has hijacked is not designed to protect itself against his kind of attack .
“ Our Constitution does not secure the peaceful transition of power , but rather presupposes it , ” Douglas writes .
Worse , the peculiar institution of the Electoral College , which separates the outcome of the election from the popular vote , practically invites abuse .
When electoral crises have arisen , past political leaders have stepped up , or stepped aside , to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Al Gore , to take a painful example , did not have to accept the Supreme Court ’ s order stopping a recount in Florida , in December , 2000 , as the last word on that year ’ s election ; Douglas details Constitutional avenues Gore could have pursued to claim victory .
Though he had won the popular vote , Gore saw it as his duty to avoid escalating the electoral crisis .
The Presidential elections of 1800 and 1876 ended in compromises , too , in the spirit of the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ faith—all things alien to Donald Trump .
It ’ s not the compromise that functions as precedent here but the conflict : election results have been unclear in the past , and they can be unclear again .
Douglas conjures three detailed scenarios , which he calls Catastrophe No .
1 , Catastrophe No .
2 , and Catastrophe No .
3 .
In the first story , Trump gets five million fewer votes than Joe Biden , but appears to win the Electoral College—that is , until two Republican electors from Pennsylvania @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Mitt Romney .
Douglas , who is also the author of two novels , imagines the ensuing chaos in vivid detail , down to Trump ’ s tweets ( “ BULLSHIT rains [ sic ] in PA !
!
!
TREASONOUS ‘ electors ’ trying to DEFRAUD the American People ” ) and “ Faithful not Faithless ” bumper stickers for supporters of the rogue electors .
In Douglas ’ s second scenario , hackers attack the power grid of Detroit on Election Day .
Much of the city is in the dark @ @ @ @ @ @ @ votes are not counted .
The outcome of the election in Michigan , and the country , hangs in the balance .
The Democrats demand a revote , as does the mayor of the city .
Trump tweets , “ DETROIT doesn ’ t get a revote because very LOW IQ mayor doesn ’ t know how to HOLD AN ELECTION !
” A revote is held and improbably recognized by the Supreme Court , but not by Donald Trump .
In the third scenario , the drama unfolds slowly—too slowly .
On @ @ @ @ @ @ @ race for Trump , but an unprecedented number of Americans have voted by mail , and as their votes are counted , the balance shifts : Americans have chosen Biden .
The process of counting absentee ballots is so cumbersome and labor-intensive , however , that in some states it necessarily misses the filing deadline .
As a result , three states each file two conflicting vote reports , certified by separate agencies : one that privileges the deadline and one that reflects the total number of ballots collected .
The first count @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the second in favor of Biden .
The mortifying beauty of Douglas ’ s scenarios is that each is based on historical precedent .
Electors have broken ranks before .
Russia has used computer hacking to interfere in American elections , and it has brought down digital infrastructure in other countries as a gesture of domination : Ukraine in 2015 , Georgia in 2008 , and Estonia in 2007 .
States have organized revotes , which have taken an extraordinarily long time .
And states have filed conflicting vote reports—in 1876 , three @ @ @ @ @ @ @ imagines in his third scenario .
What happens next ?
We know that Trump will work to exacerbate any crisis , not resolve it ; the Constitution assumes good faith , and laws intended to regulate voting outcomes are disastrously vague .
In each of Douglas ’ s three scenarios , Trump would continue to consider himself President , although Biden may consider himself the victor of the race .
According to the Constitution , if the Presidential race can not be called , the Speaker of the House becomes the acting President @ @ @ @ @ @ @ swearing in Nancy Pelosi while Justice Clarence Thomas administers the oath of office to Trump—or , alternatively , no one being sworn in and Trump and Biden and/or Pelosi claiming the rights and responsibilities of the Presidency .
Because Americans no longer live in a shared reality , different Americans will have different Presidents .
All the while , Trump ’ s tweets incite violent clashes .
“ And let us not forget , ” Douglas writes , “ that guns in this country remain in profuse supply and are largely concentrated in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ most fervent , distrustful , and easily unsettled supporters.
” “ Can the crisis be contained ?
” Douglas asks .
His answer is not reassuring .
Suppose no major catastrophe befalls the election .
( By the time the reader reaches the end of Douglas ’ s book , this supposition will seem naïve . )
Suppose Biden wins .
“ The best we can expect from President Donald Trump after an electoral defeat is self-pitying , peevish submission , ” Douglas writes .
If he goes—which will require an overwhelming electoral @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the victim , blaming the Deep State and undocumented immigrants for his loss , but also likely to linger and delay his departure .
The ragged end of his Presidency , if it comes , will be full of conflict and resentment .
There will be no orderly handover , no constructive transition—a disastrous prospect during a pandemic and a deep recession , and yet another blow to our perceptions of how elections and government operate .
This is the best-case scenario .
The worst case , as Douglas ’ s three catastrophes @ @ @ @ @ @ @ result of the vote , which leads to a Constitutional implosion and an explosion of violence .
“ This would represent a greater disaster for America than an outright victory by Trump , ” Douglas writes .
It ’ s a jarring conclusion , and an entirely convincing one .

On Sunday, in an interview with Chris Wallace of Fox News, Donald Trump refused to commit to recognizing the outcome of the 2020 election. “I’m not going to just say yes,” the President said. “And I didn’t last time, either.” (Back in October, 2016, Trump was proclaiming that the election he went on to win was “rigged” against him.) He wasn’t telling us anything new, and yet we still have not learned to think of ourselves as a country where the President can lose an election and refuse to leave office.
Lawrence Douglas, a legal scholar and a professor at Amherst College, gave himself the task of methodically thinking through the unthinkable. The result is a slim book, “Will He Go? Trump and the Looming Election Meltdown in 2020.” Douglas begins by taking the President at his word. “While his defeat is far from certain,” he writes, “what is not uncertain is how Donald Trump would react to electoral defeat, especially a narrow one. He will reject the result.”
Douglas argues that Trump’s evident intent to hold on to his office, regardless of the will of the voters, is not the best measure of the damage he has wrought or the power he has accumulated. He writes, “A more powerful authoritarian would never let himself get into this situation in the first place; he would have already so corrupted the process that his chance of losing would have been effectively eliminated.” By the standards of entrenched autocracies, Trump’s grip on power is as weak as his grip on reality. Still, the system of government that he has hijacked is not designed to protect itself against his kind of attack. “Our Constitution does not secure the peaceful transition of power, but rather presupposes it,” Douglas writes. Worse, the peculiar institution of the Electoral College, which separates the outcome of the election from the popular vote, practically invites abuse.
When electoral crises have arisen, past political leaders have stepped up, or stepped aside, to insure the peaceful transfer of power. Al Gore, to take a painful example, did not have to accept the Supreme Court’s order stopping a recount in Florida, in December, 2000, as the last word on that year’s election; Douglas details constitutional avenues Gore could have pursued to claim victory. Though he had won the popular vote, Gore saw it as his duty to avoid escalating the electoral crisis. The Presidential elections of 1800 and 1876 ended in compromises, too, in the spirit of the Constitution, common cause, and good faith—all things alien to Donald Trump. It’s not the compromise that functions as precedent here but the conflict: election results have been unclear in the past, and they can be unclear again.
Douglas conjures three detailed scenarios, which he calls Catastrophe No. 1, Catastrophe No. 2, and Catastrophe No. 3. In the first story, Trump gets five million fewer votes than Joe Biden, but appears to win the Electoral College—that is, until two Republican electors from Pennsylvania decide to break ranks and vote for Mitt Romney. Douglas, who is also the author of two novels, imagines the ensuing chaos in vivid detail, down to Trump’s tweets (“BULLSHIT rains [sic] in PA!!! TREASONOUS ‘electors’ trying to DEFRAUD the American People”) and “Faithful not Faithless” bumper stickers for supporters of the rogue electors.
In Douglas’s second scenario, hackers attack the power grid of Detroit on Election Day. Much of the city is in the dark for much of the day, and votes are not counted. The outcome of the election in Michigan, and the country, hangs in the balance. The Democrats demand a revote, as does the mayor of the city. Trump tweets, “DETROIT doesn’t get a revote because very LOW IQ mayor doesn’t know how to HOLD AN ELECTION!” A revote is held and improbably recognized by the Supreme Court, but not by Donald Trump.
In the third scenario, the drama unfolds slowly—too slowly. On Election Day, Fox News calls the race for Trump, but an unprecedented number of Americans have voted by mail, and as their votes are counted, the balance shifts: Americans have chosen Biden. The process of counting absentee ballots is so cumbersome and labor-intensive, however, that in some states it necessarily misses the filing deadline. As a result, three states each file two conflicting vote reports, certified by separate agencies: one that privileges the deadline and one that reflects the total number of ballots collected. The first count comes out in favor of Trump, the second in favor of Biden.
The mortifying beauty of Douglas’s scenarios is that each is based on historical precedent. Electors have broken ranks before. Russia has used computer hacking to interfere in American elections, and it has brought down digital infrastructure in other countries as a gesture of domination: Ukraine in 2015, Georgia in 2008, and Estonia in 2007. States have organized revotes, which have taken an extraordinarily long time. And states have filed conflicting vote reports—in 1876, three states did so, just as Douglas imagines in his third scenario.
What happens next? We know that Trump will work to exacerbate any crisis, not resolve it; the Constitution assumes good faith, and laws intended to regulate voting outcomes are disastrously vague. In each of Douglas’s three scenarios, Trump would continue to consider himself President, although Biden may consider himself the victor of the race. According to the Constitution, if the Presidential race cannot be called, the Speaker of the House becomes the acting President. Douglas imagines Chief Justice John Roberts swearing in Nancy Pelosi while Justice Clarence Thomas administers the oath of office to Trump—or, alternatively, no one being sworn in and Trump and Biden and/or Pelosi claiming the rights and responsibilities of the Presidency. Because Americans no longer live in a shared reality, different Americans will have different Presidents. All the while, Trump’s tweets incite violent clashes. “And let us not forget,” Douglas writes, “that guns in this country remain in profuse supply and are largely concentrated in the hands of the president’s most fervent, distrustful, and easily unsettled supporters.”
“Can the crisis be contained?” Douglas asks. His answer is not reassuring. Suppose no major catastrophe befalls the election. (By the time the reader reaches the end of Douglas’s book, this supposition will seem naïve.) Suppose Biden wins. “The best we can expect from President Donald Trump after an electoral defeat is self-pitying, peevish submission,” Douglas writes. If he goes—which will require an overwhelming electoral defeat—Trump is not only sure to play the victim, blaming the Deep State and undocumented immigrants for his loss, but also likely to linger and delay his departure. The ragged end of his Presidency, if it comes, will be full of conflict and resentment. There will be no orderly handover, no constructive transition—a disastrous prospect during a pandemic and a deep recession, and yet another blow to our perceptions of how elections and government operate.
This is the best-case scenario. The worst case, as Douglas’s three catastrophes illustrate, is a close or contested result of the vote, which leads to a constitutional implosion and an explosion of violence. “This would represent a greater disaster for America than an outright victory by Trump,” Douglas writes. It’s a jarring conclusion, and an entirely convincing one.