newyorker--2020-08-03--Stet!, the Hot New Language Game

Stet!, the Hot New Language Game

Nerdsday fell on a Tuesday this year , and I invited a friend over for a doubleheader : a round of Stet !
, the new language game based on “ Dreyer ’ s English , ” followed by an episode of Mark Allen ’ s “ That Word Chat , ” a homespun Zoom talk show for editors , lexicographers , linguists , and others of the inky tribe .
My friend was Merrill Perlman , who writes the column “ Language Corner ” for the Columbia Journalism Review , where her biographical note says that she has “ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the New York Times.
” Although retired from full-time journalism , she continues to teach and serves on the board of ACES : The Society for Editing .
Her cell phone beeped intermittently all afternoon , a unique tone for each news outlet .
“ That ’ s the Times , ” she ’ d say , or “ That ’ s the Washington Post , ” or “ That ’ s CNN.
” She outnerded me from the start .
Nitpickers by profession , we ran into a problem right away .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ you “ play with three or more players ” ( is that redundant ? )
, and we had been unable , during the pandemic , to scare up a third nerd .
The game of Stet !
comprises two packs of cards with sentences on them , fifty of them Grammar cards with indisputable errors ( dangling modifiers , stinking apostrophes , and homonyms , like horde/hoard and reign/rein ) and fifty of them Style cards , on which the sentences are correct but pedestrian , and the object is to improve @ @ @ @ @ @ @ are trick cards with no mistakes on them .
You might suspect that there is something wrong with ( spoiler alert ) “ Jackson Pollock ” or “ asafetida ” or “ farmers market , ” but these are red herrings .
If you believe that the sentence is perfect just as it is , you shout “ Stet !
, ” the proofreading term for “ leave it alone ” ( from the Latin for “ let it stand ” ) , which is used by copy editors to protect an author @ @ @ @ @ @ @ protect their prose from copy editors .
The game involves some role playing .
If you use only the Grammar cards , the dealer is called the Copy Chief , as in “ The Copy Chief shuffles the fifty Grammar cards.
” If you mix in the Style cards , the dealer is the Author , the players are Copy Editors ( you can almost hear an author muttering , “ Everyone is a copy editor ” ) , and the deck is huge .
I got the impression from the size of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ those in a tarot pack , that authors and copy editors have large , masculine hands .
I personally wear a small-to-medium-sized disposable nitrile glove and could not riffle the deck with any kind of flair ( or is it “ flare ” ? )
.
The sporting element in Stet !
is slapping your hand on the carefully sanitized table when you spot the mistake or mistakes .
Points are awarded based on the number of errors planted in a sentence .
Most have just one , some have two , and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ are assessed for missing mistakes , but none for introducing an error , a cardinal sin in copy editing .
( Perhaps the instructions could be refined to add a slap on the hand for this . )
It takes five points to win a game , and the game goes fast .
I won the first round handily , mostly because my opponent , the Copy Chief , kept forgetting to slap .
The game is a spinoff of “ Dreyer ’ s English , ” by Benjamin Dreyer , published in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ author is the copy chief .
A few patterns emerged .
Dreyer is firmly against redundancies such as “ she shrugged her shoulders ” and “ she nodded her head ” ( what else would she shrug or nod ? )
and empty intensifiers ( very , really , actually ) , and he dismisses so-called “ zombie rules , ” like those against splitting infinitives and ending a sentence with a preposition .
While playing , our own tics quickly became evident : I kept objecting to semicolons ; Merrill wanted to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that it read “ Mortimer said ” instead of the more pompous-sounding “ said Mortimer.
” We stopped keeping score around cocktail time and zipped through the deck , matching wits with Dreyer , who became our honorary third , as his stamp is all over this game .
Our verdict : Stet !
is an excellent way to prepare for a copy-editing test and pairs well with a nice gin-and-tonic .
The busman ’ s holiday continued with a new episode of “ That Word Chat ” ( Tuesdays at 4:30 P.M @ @ @ @ @ @ @ at opposite ends of the table , I on my laptop and Merrill on her tablet , entered our Zoom boxes , and reverently muted ourselves .
The host , Mark Allen ( @ EditorMark on Twitter ) , an independent editor who is on the board of ACES , hatched the idea for the show this past spring as a way to cheer up housebound copy editors during the lockdown .
He Zooms from his home office , in Bexley , Ohio , looking dapper in a lightweight suit and bow tie @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the background .
His guests have included many A-list language pundits , among them David Crystal , Roy Peter Clark , Jesse Sheidlower , Lynne Murphy , Peter Sokolowski , Kory Stamper , Ammon Shea , Jane Friedman , and Mignon Fogarty , a.k.a .
Grammar Girl .
Mark ’ s son , James Allen , a composer who lives in Cincinnati , wrote theme music for the show , and , though it took a few weeks for Mark to master the technology and cue up the music ( it helped when @ @ @ @ @ @ @ producer ) , it has proved to be quite catchy , with strong earworm potential .
Several episodes of the show have been edited and posted on YouTube .
( Full disclosure : I appeared in the pilot , which was full of glitches and will probably never see the light of day .
Also , the puttanesca sauce I demonstrated in my home kitchen was pasta poison . )
Mark ’ s guests that day were the linguists James Harbeck ( @ sesquiotic ) , Zooming from downtown Toronto , and Stan @ @ @ @ @ @ @ lives near Galway , in Ireland .
Together they created Strong Language , “ a sweary blog about swearing.
” It went up in December of 2014 and has had no shortage of contributors or material .
The two reminisced fondly about “ the ‘ shithole ’ quote that Trump gave us.
” Journalists and translators all over the world had to figure out how to translate “ shithole ” after Trump was quoted , on the front page of the Times , complaining about immigrants from “ shithole countries.
” In China @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ where birds don ’ t lay eggs.
” Countries with strong religious traditions have a rich trove of ecclesiastical terms ( Jesus H. Christ !
Porca Madonna ! )
to combine with the usual excretory and sexual profanities .
In Quebecois , tabarnak ( tabernacle ) is highly offensive .
Carey was asked about the word “ shite.
” I always thought it was a euphemism for “ shit , ” but it turns out to be a centuries-old British and Irish variant of “ shit ” with a vowel sound that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ Shit ’ s very versatile , ” Harbeck said sagely .
In Scottish English , “ cunt ” is a pronoun ( “ If anycunt is accepted .
.
.
” ) .
By the end , the chat window was a bloody mess , with members of the audience contributing their favorites : shitgibbon , twat weasel , cockwobble , bawbag .
.
.
This was profanology at its fucking finest .

Nerdsday fell on a Tuesday this year, and I invited a friend over for a doubleheader: a round of Stet!, the new language game based on “Dreyer’s English,” followed by an episode of Mark Allen’s “That Word Chat,” a homespun Zoom talk show for editors, lexicographers, linguists, and others of the inky tribe. My friend was Merrill Perlman, who writes the column “Language Corner” for the Columbia Journalism Review, where her biographical note says that she has “managed copy desks across the newsroom at the New York Times.” Although retired from full-time journalism, she continues to teach and serves on the board of ACES: The Society for Editing. Her cell phone beeped intermittently all afternoon, a unique tone for each news outlet. “That’s the Times,” she’d say, or “That’s the Washington Post,” or “That’s CNN.” She outnerded me from the start.
Nitpickers by profession, we ran into a problem right away. The instructions for Stet! suggest that you “play with three or more players” (is that redundant?), and we had been unable, during the pandemic, to scare up a third nerd. The game of Stet! comprises two packs of cards with sentences on them, fifty of them Grammar cards with indisputable errors (dangling modifiers, stinking apostrophes, and homonyms, like horde/hoard and reign/rein) and fifty of them Style cards, on which the sentences are correct but pedestrian, and the object is to improve the sentence without rewriting it. There are trick cards with no mistakes on them. You might suspect that there is something wrong with (spoiler alert) “Jackson Pollock” or “asafetida” or “farmers market,” but these are red herrings. If you believe that the sentence is perfect just as it is, you shout “Stet!,” the proofreading term for “leave it alone” (from the Latin for “let it stand”), which is used by copy editors to protect an author’s prose and by authors to protect their prose from copy editors.
The game involves some role playing. If you use only the Grammar cards, the dealer is called the Copy Chief, as in “The Copy Chief shuffles the fifty Grammar cards.” If you mix in the Style cards, the dealer is the Author, the players are Copy Editors (you can almost hear an author muttering, “Everyone is a copy editor”), and the deck is huge. I got the impression from the size of the cards, which are bigger than those in a tarot pack, that authors and copy editors have large, masculine hands. I personally wear a small-to-medium-sized disposable nitrile glove and could not riffle the deck with any kind of flair (or is it “flare”?).
The sporting element in Stet! is slapping your hand on the carefully sanitized table when you spot the mistake or mistakes. Points are awarded based on the number of errors planted in a sentence. Most have just one, some have two, and there are a few three-pointers. Penalties are assessed for missing mistakes, but none for introducing an error, a cardinal sin in copy editing. (Perhaps the instructions could be refined to add a slap on the hand for this.) It takes five points to win a game, and the game goes fast. I won the first round handily, mostly because my opponent, the Copy Chief, kept forgetting to slap.
The game is a spinoff of “Dreyer’s English,” by Benjamin Dreyer, published in 2019 by Random House, where the author is the copy chief. A few patterns emerged. Dreyer is firmly against redundancies such as “she shrugged her shoulders” and “she nodded her head” (what else would she shrug or nod?) and empty intensifiers (very, really, actually), and he dismisses so-called “zombie rules,” like those against splitting infinitives and ending a sentence with a preposition. While playing, our own tics quickly became evident: I kept objecting to semicolons; Merrill wanted to reverse the order of an attribution so that it read “Mortimer said” instead of the more pompous-sounding “said Mortimer.” We stopped keeping score around cocktail time and zipped through the deck, matching wits with Dreyer, who became our honorary third, as his stamp is all over this game. Our verdict: Stet! is an excellent way to prepare for a copy-editing test and pairs well with a nice gin-and-tonic.
The busman’s holiday continued with a new episode of “That Word Chat” (Tuesdays at 4:30 P.M. E.D.T.). We settled in at opposite ends of the table, I on my laptop and Merrill on her tablet, entered our Zoom boxes, and reverently muted ourselves. The host, Mark Allen (@EditorMark on Twitter), an independent editor who is on the board of ACES, hatched the idea for the show this past spring as a way to cheer up housebound copy editors during the lockdown. He Zooms from his home office, in Bexley, Ohio, looking dapper in a lightweight suit and bow tie, with shelves of style guides in the background. His guests have included many A-list language pundits, among them David Crystal, Roy Peter Clark, Jesse Sheidlower, Lynne Murphy, Peter Sokolowski, Kory Stamper, Ammon Shea, Jane Friedman, and Mignon Fogarty, a.k.a. Grammar Girl. Mark’s son, James Allen, a composer who lives in Cincinnati, wrote theme music for the show, and, though it took a few weeks for Mark to master the technology and cue up the music (it helped when Heather Saunders joined the show as a producer), it has proved to be quite catchy, with strong earworm potential. Several episodes of the show have been edited and posted on YouTube. (Full disclosure: I appeared in the pilot, which was full of glitches and will probably never see the light of day. Also, the puttanesca sauce I demonstrated in my home kitchen was pasta poison.)
Mark’s guests that day were the linguists James Harbeck (@sesquiotic), Zooming from downtown Toronto, and Stan Carey (@StanCarey), who lives near Galway, in Ireland. Together they created Strong Language, “a sweary blog about swearing.” It went up in December of 2014 and has had no shortage of contributors or material. The two reminisced fondly about “the ‘shithole’ quote that Trump gave us.” Journalists and translators all over the world had to figure out how to translate “shithole” after Trump was quoted, on the front page of the Times, complaining about immigrants from “shithole countries.” In China, it came out as the place “where birds don’t lay eggs.” Countries with strong religious traditions have a rich trove of ecclesiastical terms (Jesus H. Christ! Porca Madonna!) to combine with the usual excretory and sexual profanities. In Quebecois, tabarnak (tabernacle) is highly offensive. Carey was asked about the word “shite.” I always thought it was a euphemism for “shit,” but it turns out to be a centuries-old British and Irish variant of “shit” with a vowel sound that can be extended for greater satisfaction. “Shit’s very versatile,” Harbeck said sagely. In Scottish English, “cunt” is a pronoun (“If anycunt is accepted . . .”). By the end, the chat window was a bloody mess, with members of the audience contributing their favorites: shitgibbon, twat weasel, cockwobble, bawbag . . . This was profanology at its fucking finest.
Between news flashes, Merrill fielded an e-mail from an editor at the Columbia Journalism Review about one of this season’s most heated language wars—the status of “irregardless”—though for Merrill reheated would be more accurate. She had written about “irregardless” back in 2008, when purists were shocked to find the word in the dictionary, although it had been there for decades. Here it was again, and she would tackle the subject anew. (Basically, if people use it, it’s a word, and it goes in the dictionary. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to use it, but before you complain about “irregardless” being accepted by Webster’s Dictionary of English Usage (gasp!), note that the citation is from a story by Ring Lardner, who used substandard English for comic effect.) Merrill wrote about the capitalization of Black in 2015, after the mass shooting of Black people by a white supremacist in Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church, in Charleston. The usage did not catch on at the time, but it has been in the air, and once we start capitalizing a word, we get used to it. With the urgency of the Black Lives Matter movement, the Columbia Journalism Review added an editor’s note to the column, clarifying its style. (It began capitalizing “Black” in 2019.)


newyorker--2020-08-03--Mayor Lori Lightfoot and the Federal Forces in Chicago

Before she became the mayor of Chicago , last year , Lori Lightfoot spent nearly a decade working on police @ @ @ @ @ facing civil unrest over police brutality , as well as criticism from the President for @ @ @ @ @ in her city .
Between the violence and the pandemic , it seems to be @ @ @ @ @ any Chicago politician has seen .
David Remnick spoke with Mayor Lightfoot about the state @ @ @ @ @ , and President Trump ’ s recent decision to send two hundred federal agents to @ @ @ @ @ crime .
”

Photograph by Nam Y. Huh / AP / Shutterstock
Before she became the mayor of Chicago, last year, Lori Lightfoot spent nearly a decade working on police reform. Now Lightfoot is facing civil unrest over police brutality, as well as criticism from the President for the homicide and shooting rates in her city. Between the violence and the pandemic, it seems to be one of the toughest climates any Chicago politician has seen. David Remnick spoke with Mayor Lightfoot about the state of the city, policing, and President Trump’s recent decision to send two hundred federal agents to help “drive down violent crime.”


newyorker--2020-08-03--Nneka Ogwumike and the W.N.B.A.’s Big, Complicated Moment

Nneka Ogwumike ’ s parents , Peter and Ify , were born within a hundred miles of each other , in Nigeria .
They met , years later , in Colorado , got married , and settled in Houston .
Ify became a teacher and , later , the assistant superintendent of a school district in Harris County .
Peter owns a tech company called Automated Systems .
They have four daughters : Nneka , Chiney , Olivia , and Erica .
Growing up , the girls played basketball , volleyball , and soccer , and did gymnastics .
There @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the piano , going to church , mentoring others , being role models , having straight A ’ s , cleaning the house , mowing the lawn with me , ” Ify said recently .
Her tone was lighthearted , but she was serious .
“ The only expectation we have of the girls , ” she went on , “ is that they are hardworking , focussed , and have good personal morals and values , and remember who they are.
” Today , Nneka and Chiney , who both went to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Angeles Sparks , in the W.N.B.A .
( They were each drafted No .
1 over all , two years apart . )
Olivia , who played college ball at Rice , is in business school , and Erica , who also played at Rice—and who was drafted by the Minnesota Lynx in the spring , but was cut before the season began—plans to attend medical school .
In December , Ify received a Ph.D. in education .
“ Our custom and culture is about excellence , ” Peter said .
Among the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is the “ mother hen , ” Ify told me .
“ Very nurturing with her sisters , but also the disciplinarian .
It ’ s kind of a fine balance .
But she doesn ’ t allow anyone else to be hard on them.
” Playing that role was , perhaps , the perfect preparation for the remarkable series of challenges that Nneka has taken on this year .
As the president of the W.N.B.A.
’ s players ’ union , she helped complete the negotiations for a historic collective-bargaining agreement , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ later , she played a central role in deciding how to start the season during a pandemic .
On the season ’ s first night , she scored twenty-one points for the Sparks , against the Phoenix Mercury , in the most-watched W.N.B.A .
opener in eight years .
She didn ’ t miss a shot ; the Sparks won by twenty-three points .
Condoleezza Rice , who got to know Chiney and Nneka at Stanford , told the Times several years ago , “ Whatever career they find themselves in , they @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that career .
They ’ re going to be transformative personalities.
” But , for Nneka , none of that seemed like a given .
Even after leading Stanford to four Final Fours , she didn ’ t plan to enter the draft—she was preparing for medical school—until Chiney convinced her that she could make it .
And , though she joined the executive committee of the players ’ union just after entering the league , she never thought about serving as its leader until the outgoing president , Tamika Catchings , urged @ @ @ @ @ @ @ unopposed .
Ogwumike is clearly aware of her accomplishments , but she seems conscious that others may not be .
On the court , her style is practical , matter-of-fact ; to watch her bait a defender with a fake jump hook before stepping into open space and sending up a gentle floater is to be more impressed than awed .
Her calling card is efficiency : in 2016 , her true-shooting percentage was nearly seventy-four per cent , an unheard-of stat .
( Men ’ s and women ’ s basketball are @ @ @ @ @ @ @ if not pointless , but it is perhaps worth nothing that the single-season record in the N.B.A.
, held by Tyson Chandler , is a shade under seventy-one per cent . )
In a three-game stretch that season , she made twenty-three straight shots .
Careful execution is her style off the court , too , Layshia Clarendon , who plays for the New York Liberty and serves on the players ’ union ’ s executive committee , told me .
“ She makes calculated , poised decisions.
” Ogwumike is six feet @ @ @ @ @ @ @ shoulders .
She is a dominant physical presence on the floor .
She should have known that she could succeed in the W.N.B.A.—she was named Rookie of the Year in her first season and M.V.P .
in her fifth—but her decision to become a pro basketball player rather than a doctor was less inevitable than it might have seemed .
Under the W.N.B.A.
’ s old collective-bargaining agreement , Ogwumike , the year that she was the M.V.P.
, made $ 63,710 .
The league ’ s average salary was around seventy-five thousand @ @ @ @ @ @ @ thirty-five thousand .
Spots in the W.N.B.A .
are limited , the competition is ruthless , and life on the road can be gruelling .
Most players supplement their income by going overseas—to China , Turkey , Spain , Russia—where the money is better .
European contracts involve confidentiality , Ogwumike ’ s agent , Lindsay Colas , told me , but , under the old salary structure , a player of Ogwumike ’ s calibre could make five to eight times the top W.N.B.A .
salary—and a few players were making ten @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the United States .
But the sacrifices were real .
“ When I say Siberia , it ’ s not a figure of speech , ” Howard Megdal , who reports extensively on women ’ s basketball , told me of where some athletes end up competing .
“ Players who wanted to have relationships , friends , lovers , whoever , simply didn ’ t have them.
” Ogwumike went to Poland after her rookie year .
Later , she played in Russia and China .
After winning the W.N.B.A .
title @ @ @ @ @ @ @ season—she hit the championship-clinching shot , off balance , with 3.1 seconds on the clock—she led Dynamo Kursk to the title there .
That year , 2016 , was when she realized her “ superpower , ” she told me—some ineffable awareness of her own capabilities , the sense that she had something rare and special within her .
She cited her favorite book , Paulo Coelho ’ s “ The Alchemist.
” In the novel , a parable about personal destiny , a shepherd travels from Andalusia to Egypt in search of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , only to realize that the treasure—a box of gold coins—was buried back home all along .
“ Every search begins with beginner ’ s luck , ” an alchemist tells the shepherd .
“ 2016 was like that for me , ” Ogwumike said .
The alchemist adds , “ And every search ends with the victor ’ s being severely tested.
” The W.N.B.A .
began , in 1996 , as an offshoot of the N.B.A .
Its teams were owned by N.B.A .
franchises , and many of them played @ @ @ @ @ @ @ end of 2002 , the N.B.A .
sold the teams either to the N.B.A .
franchises or independent parties , though it retains a controlling interest in the league , and there was a period of reshuffling and contraction .
There are still a number of chauvinistic sports fans who seem to assume that the women ’ s league is some kind of social-justice project , or charity case , rather than a business .
Like many fledgling leagues , it loses money ; in 2018 , shortly after the players decided they @ @ @ @ @ @ @ agreement , Adam Silver , the N.B.A .
commissioner , noted that the W.N.B.A .
had lost more than ten million dollars every year of its existence .
Of course , the previous N.B.A .
commissioner , David Stern , had insisted on multiple occasions—often in the context of labor negotiations—that the N.B.A .
itself lost hundreds of millions of dollars a year .
And Major League Soccer , which is a year older than the W.N.B.A.
, and which garners the same ratings on ESPN for its regular-season games that the W.N.B.A @ @ @ @ @ @ @ it was losing a hundred million dollars annually .
( According to a source recently cited by the Wall Street Journal , the M.L.S .
“ is losing more than that now .
.
.
because it is investing more in players .
” )

Nneka Ogwumike’s parents, Peter and Ify, were born within a hundred miles of each other, in Nigeria. They met, years later, in Colorado, got married, and settled in Houston. Ify became a teacher and, later, the assistant superintendent of a school district in Harris County. Peter owns a tech company called Automated Systems. They have four daughters: Nneka, Chiney, Olivia, and Erica. Growing up, the girls played basketball, volleyball, and soccer, and did gymnastics. There was also “student council, playing the piano, going to church, mentoring others, being role models, having straight A’s, cleaning the house, mowing the lawn with me,” Ify said recently. Her tone was lighthearted, but she was serious. “The only expectation we have of the girls,” she went on, “is that they are hardworking, focussed, and have good personal morals and values, and remember who they are.” Today, Nneka and Chiney, who both went to Stanford, are teammates on the Los Angeles Sparks, in the W.N.B.A. (They were each drafted No. 1 over all, two years apart.) Olivia, who played college ball at Rice, is in business school, and Erica, who also played at Rice—and who was drafted by the Minnesota Lynx in the spring, but was cut before the season began—plans to attend medical school. In December, Ify received a Ph.D. in education. “Our custom and culture is about excellence,” Peter said.
Among the sisters, Nneka, the eldest, is the “mother hen,” Ify told me. “Very nurturing with her sisters, but also the disciplinarian. It’s kind of a fine balance. But she doesn’t allow anyone else to be hard on them.” Playing that role was, perhaps, the perfect preparation for the remarkable series of challenges that Nneka has taken on this year. As the president of the W.N.B.A.’s players’ union, she helped complete the negotiations for a historic collective-bargaining agreement, in January. A couple of months later, she played a central role in deciding how to start the season during a pandemic. On the season’s first night, she scored twenty-one points for the Sparks, against the Phoenix Mercury, in the most-watched W.N.B.A. opener in eight years. She didn’t miss a shot; the Sparks won by twenty-three points.
Condoleezza Rice, who got to know Chiney and Nneka at Stanford, told the Times several years ago, “Whatever career they find themselves in, they will eventually end up on top of that career. They’re going to be transformative personalities.” But, for Nneka, none of that seemed like a given. Even after leading Stanford to four Final Fours, she didn’t plan to enter the draft—she was preparing for medical school—until Chiney convinced her that she could make it. And, though she joined the executive committee of the players’ union just after entering the league, she never thought about serving as its leader until the outgoing president, Tamika Catchings, urged her to run. She was elected unopposed.
Ogwumike is clearly aware of her accomplishments, but she seems conscious that others may not be. On the court, her style is practical, matter-of-fact; to watch her bait a defender with a fake jump hook before stepping into open space and sending up a gentle floater is to be more impressed than awed. Her calling card is efficiency: in 2016, her true-shooting percentage was nearly seventy-four per cent, an unheard-of stat. (Men’s and women’s basketball are different enough that making comparisons is complicated if not pointless, but it is perhaps worth nothing that the single-season record in the N.B.A., held by Tyson Chandler, is a shade under seventy-one per cent.) In a three-game stretch that season, she made twenty-three straight shots. Careful execution is her style off the court, too, Layshia Clarendon, who plays for the New York Liberty and serves on the players’ union’s executive committee, told me. “She makes calculated, poised decisions.”
Ogwumike is six feet two, with wide-set eyes and muscular shoulders. She is a dominant physical presence on the floor. She should have known that she could succeed in the W.N.B.A.—she was named Rookie of the Year in her first season and M.V.P. in her fifth—but her decision to become a pro basketball player rather than a doctor was less inevitable than it might have seemed. Under the W.N.B.A.’s old collective-bargaining agreement, Ogwumike, the year that she was the M.V.P., made $63,710. The league’s average salary was around seventy-five thousand dollars; the league minimum was about thirty-five thousand. Spots in the W.N.B.A. are limited, the competition is ruthless, and life on the road can be gruelling. Most players supplement their income by going overseas—to China, Turkey, Spain, Russia—where the money is better. European contracts involve confidentiality, Ogwumike’s agent, Lindsay Colas, told me, but, under the old salary structure, a player of Ogwumike’s calibre could make five to eight times the top W.N.B.A. salary—and a few players were making ten to fifteen times what they made in the United States. But the sacrifices were real. “When I say Siberia, it’s not a figure of speech,” Howard Megdal, who reports extensively on women’s basketball, told me of where some athletes end up competing. “Players who wanted to have relationships, friends, lovers, whoever, simply didn’t have them.”
Ogwumike went to Poland after her rookie year. Later, she played in Russia and China. After winning the W.N.B.A. title with the Sparks in her M.V.P. season—she hit the championship-clinching shot, off balance, with 3.1 seconds on the clock—she led Dynamo Kursk to the title there. That year, 2016, was when she realized her “superpower,” she told me—some ineffable awareness of her own capabilities, the sense that she had something rare and special within her. She cited her favorite book, Paulo Coelho’s “The Alchemist.” In the novel, a parable about personal destiny, a shepherd travels from Andalusia to Egypt in search of a treasure that he has dreamed about, only to realize that the treasure—a box of gold coins—was buried back home all along. “Every search begins with beginner’s luck,” an alchemist tells the shepherd. “2016 was like that for me,” Ogwumike said. The alchemist adds, “And every search ends with the victor’s being severely tested.”
The W.N.B.A. began, in 1996, as an offshoot of the N.B.A. Its teams were owned by N.B.A. franchises, and many of them played in N.B.A. arenas. At the end of 2002, the N.B.A. sold the teams either to the N.B.A. franchises or independent parties, though it retains a controlling interest in the league, and there was a period of reshuffling and contraction. There are still a number of chauvinistic sports fans who seem to assume that the women’s league is some kind of social-justice project, or charity case, rather than a business. Like many fledgling leagues, it loses money; in 2018, shortly after the players decided they would opt out of their previous collective-bargaining agreement, Adam Silver, the N.B.A. commissioner, noted that the W.N.B.A. had lost more than ten million dollars every year of its existence. Of course, the previous N.B.A. commissioner, David Stern, had insisted on multiple occasions—often in the context of labor negotiations—that the N.B.A. itself lost hundreds of millions of dollars a year. And Major League Soccer, which is a year older than the W.N.B.A., and which garners the same ratings on ESPN for its regular-season games that the W.N.B.A. does, acknowledged in 2014 that it was losing a hundred million dollars annually. (According to a source recently cited by the Wall Street Journal, the M.L.S. “is losing more than that now . . . because it is investing more in players.”)
Terri Jackson, the executive director of the W.N.B.A. union, told me that the first thing Ogwumike did after becoming president was question the union’s constitution. (“She’s structured,” Ogwumike’s father told me. “Everything has to be planned.”) The constitution was from the league’s early years and “perhaps hastily done,” Jackson explained. “It really didn’t speak to the organization that we had and the level of engagement we expected.” After Ogwumike took charge, the union expanded its executive committee from five to seven players, allowing for new platforms for player engagement, to better represent the diversity of athletes in the league: gay and nonbinary players, international players, players with children, role players, veterans, rookies.
Once the players opted out of the previous contract, they had a long list of issues to consider. They wanted quality-of-life improvements, and they needed to push the league to pay and market its stars more aggressively. For the league, perhaps the most pressing challenge was shifting the players’ focus from their overseas teams to the W.N.B.A. These issues were all connected. It was hard for the league to promote players who were on the other side of the world for half the year, and to demand that players show up on time at training camp when their foreign teams were paying double or, in some cases, ten times their W.N.B.A. salaries. Leagues live and die by their stars, but the structure of the W.N.B.A. was not set up to create them.
They women weren’t asking to earn as much money as N.B.A. players—not even close. (N.B.A. players were making about ten times more, on average, than their female counterparts.) They weren’t in the same situation as the U.S. women’s soccer team, whose players are more popular than the men’s team. But they wanted a larger share of the W.N.B.A.’s revenue—closer to the fifty per cent that the men commanded, rather than the reported twenty to thirty per cent that went to the women. And they wanted something else, too: a broader commitment to the idea of growing the league by investing in it.
The players had a new negotiating partner: Cathy Engelbert, who was named as the league’s commissioner last year. She came from the corporate world, having served as the C.E.O. of Deloitte. Both sides knew that a work stoppage could destroy the league. “Sponsors want to know you have long-term labor peace,” Engelbert told me. Ogwumike had been part of the difficult negotiations for the previous contract; in 2018, before the players opted out of that contract, Diana Taurasi, who is widely considered the best women’s basketball player of all time, suggested that it would take a strike to force meaningful change. But things were different now. From the beginning, Ogwumike insisted that a strike was “not on our radar.”
The players got much of what they asked for early on: a decent housing allowance, fully paid maternity leave, individual hotel rooms on the road. Their health care was expanded—veteran players could now receive up to sixty thousand dollars to cover adoption, surrogacy, egg freezing, or fertility treatments. But compensation for the best players was a sticking point. The last push for sharp increases was made in December, more than a year after the players opted out of the old contract. Chiney, who is also a member of the executive committee, credited Sue Bird, a Seattle Storm veteran and one of the league’s all-time greats, with convincing her fellow-players to demand more. “Sue had planted a lot of thoughts about being radical,” Chiney told me. “She would say we have to un-brainwash ourselves, or de-brainwash ourselves, because for so long our league has been on autopilot.”
The sides eventually agreed on a maximum annual salary of two hundred and fifteen thousand dollars, with the possibility for incentives that could bring guaranteed compensation above half a million dollars. Players agreed that, after an implementation period, they would no longer be allowed to miss any time at training camp in order to finish seasons overseas. “We have to create a league that is the only one we play in, and that’s going to take some time,” Ogwumike said.
More than ninety per cent of the players voted in favor of the contract. It doesn’t benefit everyone equally—mid-tier players, in particular, won’t see the kinds of gains that rookies and top players will see. But it appeared to give the whole league a boost. There were glowing stories about it on ESPN, in the Times, and in the Wall Street Journal. The Washington Post called it a “landmark deal.” The day of the announcement, Ogwumike appeared with Engelbert on “Good Morning America,” wearing a royal-blue sheath and matching eye shadow—a ball gown for a morning show, a kind of regal flex. She went on “The Daily Show” wearing emerald green. We made plans to meet on March 16th, after she was set to speak on a panel about pay equity, in Los Angeles. Then, days before that could happen, everything stopped.
We spoke on the phone the following week. Ogwumike was at home, in Houston. She was helping players across the globe navigate hastily erected travel restrictions; the race to see whether the W.N.B.A. season could be salvaged, and the momentum coming out of the union-contract negotiations preserved, had begun. “Everybody recognizes that a protracted off-season for us is really not an option,” Terri Jackson told me in May. The hiatus was particularly brutal for women’s sports. That month, the journalist Lindsay Gibbs tracked how men’s and women’s sports were being covered in six major newspapers and on four ESPN networks. Of fifteen hundred and thirty sports stories in the newspapers, only a hundred and seven—seven per cent—were about women’s sports. On ESPN’s flagship station—which, in the absence of most live sports, supplemented its talk shows with documentaries, replays, and events like fishing and poker—there was no programming devoted to women’s sports at all. The other three ESPN networks aired a total of nine and a half hours of women’s-sports programming, just under one per cent of what they broadcast. They aired seventy-two hours of cornhole.
The W.N.B.A. had a potential window of visibility, though, with fewer sports on TV than usual—particularly if they could start the season before the N.F.L. and the N.B.A. returned. The league focussed on constructing a “bubble” in Florida, where the players and a reduced staff would live for the duration of the season and postseason. Under an initial proposal, players would have been paid sixty per cent of their salary, but the athletes pushed back. “It was not a good look,” Clarendon, the New York Liberty player, told me. Jackson and Ogwumike set up individual calls with all twelve W.N.B.A. teams over two days. “That was her clearing the air,” Clarendon said. The union got the league to pay a hundred per cent of players’ salaries.
In June, the league announced plans for a twenty-two-game season, followed by playoffs, to be held at the IMG Academy, in Bradenton, Florida. Players can decline to play in the shortened season, though they will not be paid unless an independent medical board rules that they have a medical reason for not playing. Last month, the league’s reigning M.V.P., Elena Delle Donne, was denied a medical exemption from the season despite her doctor’s belief that she is at high risk for COVID-19, because of chronic Lyme disease. This prompted a wave of bad publicity. Delle Donne’s team, the Washington Mystics, later decided that they would pay her anyway.
But some athletes had other reasons to consider not playing. The protests against police brutality and systemic racism that arose after the killings of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor galvanized many players—the league is majority Black and has a strong tradition of activism. In 2016, the league initially punished players for wearing shirts supporting victims of police brutality and gun violence, which left hard feelings. And, although some players see the upcoming season as a platform for protest, others worry that sports will distract from the movement. (Last week, Kyrie Irving, the star guard for the Brooklyn Nets, announced that he was committing $1.5 million to supplement the income of W.N.B.A. players who choose to sit out the season for health concerns or to focus on social justice.) Ultimately, the league and players’ union announced that the season would be dedicated to social justice. They created a council to explore critical issues and amplify players’ voices. On their jerseys, players are wearing the names of women who have been the victims of police brutality and racial violence. There will be podcasts, social-media campaigns, fund-raising efforts, and conversations about racism and voting.
The players began arriving in the Wubble, as some call it—players often refer to the W.N.B.A. as “the W”—on July 6th. It did not go entirely smoothly. Videos of bedbugs and mousetraps went viral; the league and the union scrambled to move the women into better accommodations. The day after move-in, Kelly Loeffler, an owner of the Atlanta Dream who was appointed to the U.S. Senate by the governor of Georgia earlier this year, wrote a letter to Engelbert criticizing the league for promoting the Black Lives Matter movement. Players were outraged, and some believed that league executives did not push back hard enough on her remarks. (Engelbert told CNN that Loeffler’s views did not reflect those of the W.N.B.A., but that the league would not force her out of an ownership position.) “I don’t agree with players having to bear the brunt of these questions” about Loeffler, Ogwumike told me. “We can respond to it. But actions need to be taken from the league. I anticipate that’s what will happen.” Gibbs, the journalist, told me, “Nneka’s a politician. She’s careful.”
There are advantages to life in the bubble. The players are in walking distance of one another, and can have conversations that wouldn’t happen if they were spread across the country. But, Ogwumike told me, “it’s depleting, being over-accessible.” Though the Sparks have championship ambitions, the team’s coach, the former N.B.A. guard Derek Fisher, told reporters that he felt a responsibility not to ask too much of his best player. “We know how important she is to everyone,” he said.
Ogwumike is mindful, too, of those who aren’t there—including her sister Chiney, who is not playing, for medical reasons, and instead will focus on her other career, as an ESPN analyst. Ogwumike herself wavered about playing the season. Coronavirus cases were spiking in Florida. There was a risk of injury after such a short training camp. She was also sensitive to the concern that playing a game might pull attention away from a crucial moment in the movement for social justice. “We’ll gain nothing if there’s judgment around anyone’s choice,” Ogwumike told me. She sees the other teams’ players “less as opponents” right now, she added. “I look at them as my teammates, really. We all want to be healthy and safe, grow the game, not be tone-deaf about the times.”


newyorker--2020-08-03--Biden Leading Trump Among Voters Who Favor Being Alive

WASHINGTON ( The Borowitz Report ) —With fewer than a hundred days until the election , Donald J. Trump is trailing Joe Biden badly among voters who describe themselves as in favor of being alive .
The poll , which was conducted by the University of Minnesota , shows Biden beating Trump by a whopping thirty-one per cent among voters who call continuing to exist the issue that is most important to them .
In several swing states , including Pennsylvania , Michigan , and Wisconsin , Biden has wiped out Trump ’ s lead by racking up huge margins @ @ @ @ @ @ @ needs to do something dramatic to show voters that he , too , is in favor of them staying alive , ” Davis Logsdon , who supervised the poll , said .
“ I ’ m not sure that shooting rubber bullets and tear gas at them sends that message.
” Trump ’ s new campaign manager , Bill Stepien , accused the media of focussing too much attention on the opinions of voters who wish to continue to breathe because of the press ’ s own “ anti-dying bias.
” “ This @ @ @ @ @ @ @ who are not in favor of being alive and make sure they know that President Trump is on their side , ” he said .

WASHINGTON (The Borowitz Report)—With fewer than a hundred days until the election, Donald J. Trump is trailing Joe Biden badly among voters who describe themselves as in favor of being alive.
The poll, which was conducted by the University of Minnesota, shows Biden beating Trump by a whopping thirty-one per cent among voters who call continuing to exist the issue that is most important to them.
In several swing states, including Pennsylvania, Michigan, and Wisconsin, Biden has wiped out Trump’s lead by racking up huge margins among the rather-not-die-right-now demographic.
“Trump needs to do something dramatic to show voters that he, too, is in favor of them staying alive,” Davis Logsdon, who supervised the poll, said. “I’m not sure that shooting rubber bullets and tear gas at them sends that message.”
Trump’s new campaign manager, Bill Stepien, accused the media of focussing too much attention on the opinions of voters who wish to continue to breathe because of the press’s own “anti-dying bias.”
“This campaign is working overtime to identify voters who are not in favor of being alive and make sure they know that President Trump is on their side,” he said.


newyorker--2020-08-03--Why Stuart Stevens Wants to Defeat Donald Trump

Many Republicans have joined the Never Trump camp , but few have previously been more important to the Party than Stuart Stevens .
After working on George W. Bush ’ s two Presidential campaigns and serving as a consultant for several major congressional candidates , Stevens was Mitt Romney ’ s top strategist in 2012 .
He began speaking out against Donald Trump in 2016 and today is an adviser to the Lincoln Project , a political-action committee formed by current and former Republicans to prevent Trump ’ s reëlection .
In Stevens ’ s new book , “ It @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Republican Party Became Donald Trump , ” he tells the story of his long career in politics and how the party he once worked for has been subsumed by nativism , bigotry , and cruelty .
But Stevens doesn ’ t believe that the G.O.P .
was taken over by someone entirely alien to its ideology or behavior .
As he writes , “ How do you abandon deeply held beliefs about character , personal responsibility , foreign policy , and the national debt in a matter of months ?
You don ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ beliefs weren ’ t deeply held.
” I recently spoke by phone with Stevens , who was in Vermont .
During our conversation , which has been edited for length and clarity , we discussed what a Romney Presidency might have looked like , the ethics of campaign consultants , and how we should evaluate the George W. Bush years .
Your book differs from others in arguing not that the Republican Party has gone wrong with Donald Trump , but that the Republican Party has been going wrong for a very long @ @ @ @ @ @ @ your mind between those two critiques , and why did you think it was important to make the latter one ?
I think I wanted to believe for a long time that when Donald Trump came along he was hijacking the Party .
A lot of people were wrong about Trump in 2016 , but it ’ s hard to find somebody more wrong than I was .
I predicted he wouldn ’ t win the primary , and I predicted he wouldn ’ t win the general election .
In retrospect , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ didn ’ t want to believe it .
He says he has ninety-five per cent Republican approval , and that ’ s probably an exaggeration , but let ’ s say it is eighty-nine per cent or so .
You look at what Trump is saying , and the degree to which the Party is comfortable with it , and I don ’ t know what conclusion to come to other than that Trump very well suits the Republican Party .
In the book , I trace the history of the Party from @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Trump is one direction the Party could have gone in .
I don ’ t know how else to say it , but it did go in that direction .
Without getting into a question about cause and effect , and how the universe functions , and whether a different future was possible , what do you think held the Republican Party together pre-Trump , and what was attractive to you about it ?
What appealed to me was a party that believed in personal responsibility , that character counts , and that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , and strongly pro legal immigration .
It ’ s not just that the Party has drifted away from those principles , like parties do .
As far as I can tell , the Party is actively against every one of them .
We ’ re the “ character doesn ’ t count ” party .
We ’ re the anti-personal-responsibility party .
We ’ re the pro-Putin party .
I think the only conclusion is that a party that said it believed in these things didn ’ t really believe in them @ @ @ @ @ @ @ run in the Democratic primary in 2016 , would that person have won ?
No .
Had that person by some freak accident won , would the Party establishment have coalesced around him ?
No .
They would have said , “ This isn ’ t what the Democratic Party stands for.
” Your book has a huge chapter about racism and the degree to which it ’ s always been a part of the modern Republican Party .
How do you see the effect it had before Trump ?
There are always @ @ @ @ @ @ @ there was McCarthy .
We look at William F. Buckley now and mourn him for the loss of this erudite voice .
Instead we have Sean Hannity .
But we forget Buckley started out as a stone-cold racist arguing for segregation .
If you go to the Bush campaign that I worked on in 1999 and 2000 , when Bush called himself a compassionate conservative and was criticized on the right , he tried to articulate a different vision .
Had Bush not become a wartime President , I think it ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
But the Party has existed predominantly as a white party .
I think if you ’ re a business , and you spend sixty years appealing to one segment of the market , you get good at that and not very good at the other .
What I think is really striking is that we used to admit this was a failure and talk about it .
We used to talk a lot about a big tent .
I go back to 2005 , when Ken Mehlman , the chairman of the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and apologized for the Southern strategy .
This was the same Ken Mehlman who helped run the Bush reëlection campaign , which used anti-gay-marriage initiatives to turn out Republicans in key states .
What I say about this is that we were far from perfect in Bush world .
We played too much to the dark side .
But we had an aspiration to be better than we were .
I think that ’ s important .
With Trump , he takes your worst self and validates that as your best self .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ have it , that feels aggrieved , that feels cheated—the side of you that , when someone cuts you off in traffic , you have that little spirit of road rage .
Trump said , That ’ s your best self .
You should empower that .
I think that that ’ s an important distinction .
Bush clearly is a nice guy in certain ways that Trump is not a nice guy .
But when you look back at the Bush Administration , and you look at what ’ s going on @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and you look at the way the Bush Administration dealt with global warming , when you look at spurning expertise and making decisions and how Iraq ended up playing out and Katrina played out , do you think that even if we see that the intentions were different and that cruelty was not the point of the Bush Administration , to take a phrase from another writer , that there were more commonalities there ?
And that it ’ s not a coincidence that the last two Republican Presidencies are ending in failure @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is ending soon ?
I think the answer is , yes , those elements were there .
Definitely .
Look , Bush gets elected .
If you look at that picture of him signing [ No Child Left Behind ] with Ted Kennedy behind him , I mean , today that would be submitted in a war-crimes trial in the Republican Party .
It ’ s unimaginable that that would happen with Trump .
There was that side of Bush .
What happened after 9/11 ?
Did he demonize Muslims ?
No , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Muslims .
There ’ s that side of him .
Obviously , Iraq was a debacle , and we can argue about how that happened , why it happened , what they believed when they went in—but it was a disaster , undoubtedly , one of the great disasters in American history .

Many Republicans have joined the Never Trump camp, but few have previously been more important to the Party than Stuart Stevens. After working on George W. Bush’s two Presidential campaigns and serving as a consultant for several major congressional candidates, Stevens was Mitt Romney’s top strategist in 2012. He began speaking out against Donald Trump in 2016 and today is an adviser to the Lincoln Project, a political-action committee formed by current and former Republicans to prevent Trump’s reëlection. In Stevens’s new book, “It Was All a Lie: How the Republican Party Became Donald Trump,” he tells the story of his long career in politics and how the party he once worked for has been subsumed by nativism, bigotry, and cruelty. But Stevens doesn’t believe that the G.O.P. was taken over by someone entirely alien to its ideology or behavior. As he writes, “How do you abandon deeply held beliefs about character, personal responsibility, foreign policy, and the national debt in a matter of months? You don’t. The obvious answer is those beliefs weren’t deeply held.”
I recently spoke by phone with Stevens, who was in Vermont. During our conversation, which has been edited for length and clarity, we discussed what a Romney Presidency might have looked like, the ethics of campaign consultants, and how we should evaluate the George W. Bush years.
Your book differs from others in arguing not that the Republican Party has gone wrong with Donald Trump, but that the Republican Party has been going wrong for a very long time. What is the difference in your mind between those two critiques, and why did you think it was important to make the latter one?
I think I wanted to believe for a long time that when Donald Trump came along he was hijacking the Party. A lot of people were wrong about Trump in 2016, but it’s hard to find somebody more wrong than I was. I predicted he wouldn’t win the primary, and I predicted he wouldn’t win the general election. In retrospect, a lot of that was that I didn’t want to believe it. He says he has ninety-five per cent Republican approval, and that’s probably an exaggeration, but let’s say it is eighty-nine per cent or so. You look at what Trump is saying, and the degree to which the Party is comfortable with it, and I don’t know what conclusion to come to other than that Trump very well suits the Republican Party. In the book, I trace the history of the Party from the post-World War Two era, and Trump is one direction the Party could have gone in. I don’t know how else to say it, but it did go in that direction.
Without getting into a question about cause and effect, and how the universe functions, and whether a different future was possible, what do you think held the Republican Party together pre-Trump, and what was attractive to you about it?
What appealed to me was a party that believed in personal responsibility, that character counts, and that was strong on Russia and free trade, and strongly pro legal immigration. It’s not just that the Party has drifted away from those principles, like parties do. As far as I can tell, the Party is actively against every one of them. We’re the “character doesn’t count” party. We’re the anti-personal-responsibility party. We’re the pro-Putin party. I think the only conclusion is that a party that said it believed in these things didn’t really believe in them. If a George Wallace type had run in the Democratic primary in 2016, would that person have won? No. Had that person by some freak accident won, would the Party establishment have coalesced around him? No. They would have said, “This isn’t what the Democratic Party stands for.”
Your book has a huge chapter about racism and the degree to which it’s always been a part of the modern Republican Party. How do you see the effect it had before Trump?
There are always these tensions. There was Eisenhower; there was McCarthy. We look at William F. Buckley now and mourn him for the loss of this erudite voice. Instead we have Sean Hannity. But we forget Buckley started out as a stone-cold racist arguing for segregation. If you go to the Bush campaign that I worked on in 1999 and 2000, when Bush called himself a compassionate conservative and was criticized on the right, he tried to articulate a different vision. Had Bush not become a wartime President, I think it’s fascinating to think what would have happened.
But the Party has existed predominantly as a white party. I think if you’re a business, and you spend sixty years appealing to one segment of the market, you get good at that and not very good at the other. What I think is really striking is that we used to admit this was a failure and talk about it. We used to talk a lot about a big tent. I go back to 2005, when Ken Mehlman, the chairman of the Party, went before the N.A.A.C.P. and apologized for the Southern strategy.
This was the same Ken Mehlman who helped run the Bush reëlection campaign, which used anti-gay-marriage initiatives to turn out Republicans in key states.
What I say about this is that we were far from perfect in Bush world. We played too much to the dark side. But we had an aspiration to be better than we were. I think that’s important. With Trump, he takes your worst self and validates that as your best self. That part of you, we all have it, that feels aggrieved, that feels cheated—the side of you that, when someone cuts you off in traffic, you have that little spirit of road rage. Trump said, That’s your best self. You should empower that. I think that that’s an important distinction.
Bush clearly is a nice guy in certain ways that Trump is not a nice guy. But when you look back at the Bush Administration, and you look at what’s going on now—when you talk about contempt for science and you look at the way the Bush Administration dealt with global warming, when you look at spurning expertise and making decisions and how Iraq ended up playing out and Katrina played out, do you think that even if we see that the intentions were different and that cruelty was not the point of the Bush Administration, to take a phrase from another writer, that there were more commonalities there? And that it’s not a coincidence that the last two Republican Presidencies are ending in failure, assuming that Trump’s Presidency is ending soon?
I think the answer is, yes, those elements were there. Definitely. Look, Bush gets elected. If you look at that picture of him signing [No Child Left Behind] with Ted Kennedy behind him, I mean, today that would be submitted in a war-crimes trial in the Republican Party. It’s unimaginable that that would happen with Trump. There was that side of Bush. What happened after 9/11? Did he demonize Muslims? No, he didn’t. He defended Muslims. There’s that side of him. Obviously, Iraq was a debacle, and we can argue about how that happened, why it happened, what they believed when they went in—but it was a disaster, undoubtedly, one of the great disasters in American history.
I think we played too much on the social-conservative side, particularly, with the same-sex-marriage referendum. I think that’s regrettable. So I don’t think it’s one or the other. I think both. What I’m describing is the tension within that party, that both elements existed. Now that’s not uncommon for a party. You can look at Joe Biden and you can look at Bernie Sanders, and they exist in the same party. There’s an argument to be made that diversity is a strength, though I think the sort of know-nothingness of anti-science is not a strength. I don’t think that’s diversity. I think it’s ignorance.
I think that Bush being there as a leader made a huge difference in an ability to at least assert values of commonality that were not our worst selves. I think with Trump that has been abandoned. Then the question becomes, Do you accept that? In 2015, when I went out against Trump, I can’t tell you how many people in the Republican Party, high levels, were e-mailing me and saying, Thank you for doing this. I can’t do it because of X, Y, and Z, right up to about ten o’clock on Election Night. Then I started getting e-mails saying, Could you maybe erase that e-mail I sent? I think in many ways everything that a lot of us said about Trump in 2015 turned out to be overly optimistic.


newyorker--2020-08-01--What to Stream: Alan and Susan Raymond’s Prescient Documentaries About Police, Prison, and Schools

The documentary filmmakers Alan and Susan Raymond burst into the history of cinema in their twenties as the camera-and-sound team that shot “ An American Family , ” a groundbreaking documentary produced by Craig Gilbert .
( It was broadcast in 1973 . )
They became epochal producers in their own right soon thereafter , with the seminal 1977 documentary “ The Police Tapes , ” in which they presciently discerned the making of social and political history in the present tense .
It ’ s not in streaming release , but DVDs are available from the Raymonds ’ own @ @ @ @ @ @ @ other films ( such as “ Bad Boys , ” “ Doing Time , ” and “ I Am a Promise ” ) pursue themes suggested in “ The Police Tapes ” ; two recent ones , “ Toe Tag Parole ” ( 2015 ) and “ Hard Times at Douglass High : A No Child Left Behind Report Card ” ( 2008 ) , which are streaming on Amazon , follow both the social through line and the creative methods that “ The Police Tapes ” established .
For “ The Police @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to embed—just the two of them , no crew—with police officers in the Forty-fourth Precinct , in the South Bronx , an area that had , at the time , the city ’ s highest crime rate .
The Raymonds filmed over the course of three months , in 1976 , using a relatively new device , a lightweight video camera—tweaked for night filming with no additional lighting—that was connected by cable to a portable black-and-white videotape deck .
( Alan is the cinematographer ; Susan , the sound recordist , also schlepped @ @ @ @ @ @ @ much of the film in the back seat of police cars as officers make their nocturnal rounds of the neighborhood , and they embed with officers as they respond to calls that range from relatively minor domestic conflicts ( an elderly woman denting her neighbor ’ s door with an iron ) to homicide scenes and the arrest of a man suspected of rape .
The constant presence of the Raymonds ( who , like almost all of the precinct ’ s officers , are white ) appears not only tolerated but welcome—the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ thoughts and feelings about their work , and they do so uninhibitedly , especially in the isolation of their vehicles .
One pair of officers on patrol speak sensitively about the emotional demands of the job , one of them recognizing that the high-stress work in a high-crime area can “ get to ” officers in five to seven years and make them too quick to act violently .
His partner adds , “ They should bring you to a shrink every five years.
” ( These two officers , interacting with gang @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , and the gang members gather unreservedly around them and talk frankly about those conflicts—while also clowning around for the Raymonds ’ camera . )
Another pair of officers speak callously of their work—one officer refers to the “ animals ” that they ’ re defending society from , and his partner speaks of his readiness to use violence because “ as sad as it may seem , there ’ s people out here who need their ass kicked to haul ’ em back into line.
” The central figure of the film @ @ @ @ @ @ @ borough commander , who , in a pair of interview clips running about ten minutes in all , sets out his philosophy of policing , which is also a radical philosophy of society .
Officers , he says , face a contradiction between their sincere desire to be helpful and the resentment that they face from the communities they ’ re supposed to serve—and the cynicism and callousness that result .
Then Bouza offers a mighty disquisition on poverty and ghettoization that should be inscribed on the walls of every station house in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ education and high unemployment in the ghetto for producing violence , and adds that “ rage and frustration have created an emotional gorge that people are permanently endowed with in the ghetto .
.
.
the heat , the misery , the lack of rest , the whole miserable condition of poverty—and Aristotle did say twenty-five hundred years ago that poverty is the parent of revolution and crime ; it is still true.
” He says that the United States both hides and ignores the poor in order to avoid remedying poverty , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ if his own work is an inherent failure : “ To the degree that I succeed in keeping it cool , in keeping the ghetto cool .
.
.
am I deflecting America ’ s attention from discovering this cancer ?
” He adds that he considers himself to be nearly “ the commander of an army of occupation in the ghetto.
” Bouza ’ s comments have more than a theoretical resonance with our current moment : in 1980 , he was named chief of police in Minneapolis , to reform a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ brutality ; he was forced out in 1989 , largely owing to pushback from the police union .
In “ Hard Times at Douglass High , ” the Raymonds revisit the struggles of a poor and isolated neighborhood from the perspective of education .
It was filmed over the course of the 2004-05 school year in Baltimore ’ s Frederick Douglass High School , which appears to have had only Black students—and mainly ones who ( as Susan says in her voice-over commentary ) didn ’ t display the academic ability to get @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ghetto .
The stresses of poverty , including the prevalence of gang-related violence , are a distraction for many students .
The school itself has a skilled and dedicated staff ( starting with its principal , Isabelle Grant , herself a 1963 Douglass graduate ) , but it is , nevertheless , at the time of filming , the target of criticism .
That ’ s because of the 2002 No Child Left Behind law , which has a conspicuous and negative effect on the school ’ s educational efforts and on its @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , which imposed strict numerical standards for student success—and the power to replace administrators and even break up schools if they failed to meet those standards—ostensibly aimed to improve education for students nationwide .
But “ Hard Times ” shows that , in practice , the law was merely shunting the blame for educational problems toward individual administrators and teachers and away from the systemic failures that led some schools , and their students , to be neglected .
Most students arrive at Douglass without having reached ninth-grade levels in math or reading @ @ @ @ @ @ @ lag behind .
Douglass ’ s large class sizes make it impossible for teachers to work closely and frequently with students ; shortages of teachers throughout Baltimore leave many classes staffed by uncertified substitutes ; shortages of textbooks leave students unable to study at home ; underfunding leaves counselling and advising departments at pro-forma levels .
And , of course , the community at large is both policed and ignored rather than developed .
The Raymonds are modern documentary filmmakers in the classical sense .
Their immersive practice follows that of Robert Drew @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ Primary , ” “ The Chair , ” and “ Crisis ” : they aren ’ t detached observers of the filmed action but are a part of it , eliciting the participants ’ interactions through immersive engagement .
“ Hard Times at Douglass High ” is a movie of self-aware self-presentations , in which the filmmakers ’ presence both sparks frank discussions with staff and students and influences some students ’ playful winks and even others ’ rebellious acting-out for the camera .
Yet the Raymonds are not dogmatic or purist @ @ @ @ @ @ @ much-needed historical background and societal context , on the soundtrack , through the commentary that Susan both wrote and delivers .
The film focusses on the individual stories of students who succeed or don ’ t , of teachers who achieve good results or don ’ t ( and even one who quits midyear ) , but the film ’ s scope is national and its critique is systemic .

The documentary filmmakers Alan and Susan Raymond burst into the history of cinema in their twenties as the camera-and-sound team that shot “An American Family,” a groundbreaking documentary produced by Craig Gilbert. (It was broadcast in 1973.) They became epochal producers in their own right soon thereafter, with the seminal 1977 documentary “The Police Tapes,” in which they presciently discerned the making of social and political history in the present tense. It’s not in streaming release, but DVDs are available from the Raymonds’ own Web site. Most of their many other films (such as “Bad Boys,” “Doing Time,” and “I Am a Promise”) pursue themes suggested in “The Police Tapes”; two recent ones, “Toe Tag Parole” (2015) and “Hard Times at Douglass High: A No Child Left Behind Report Card” (2008), which are streaming on Amazon, follow both the social through line and the creative methods that “The Police Tapes” established.
For “The Police Tapes,” the Raymonds received permission to embed—just the two of them, no crew—with police officers in the Forty-fourth Precinct, in the South Bronx, an area that had, at the time, the city’s highest crime rate. The Raymonds filmed over the course of three months, in 1976, using a relatively new device, a lightweight video camera—tweaked for night filming with no additional lighting—that was connected by cable to a portable black-and-white videotape deck. (Alan is the cinematographer; Susan, the sound recordist, also schlepped the deck.) The Raymonds spend much of the film in the back seat of police cars as officers make their nocturnal rounds of the neighborhood, and they embed with officers as they respond to calls that range from relatively minor domestic conflicts (an elderly woman denting her neighbor’s door with an iron) to homicide scenes and the arrest of a man suspected of rape.
The constant presence of the Raymonds (who, like almost all of the precinct’s officers, are white) appears not only tolerated but welcome—the officers take the chance to express their thoughts and feelings about their work, and they do so uninhibitedly, especially in the isolation of their vehicles. One pair of officers on patrol speak sensitively about the emotional demands of the job, one of them recognizing that the high-stress work in a high-crime area can “get to” officers in five to seven years and make them too quick to act violently. His partner adds, “They should bring you to a shrink every five years.” (These two officers, interacting with gang members, try to defuse conflict calmly, and the gang members gather unreservedly around them and talk frankly about those conflicts—while also clowning around for the Raymonds’ camera.) Another pair of officers speak callously of their work—one officer refers to the “animals” that they’re defending society from, and his partner speaks of his readiness to use violence because “as sad as it may seem, there’s people out here who need their ass kicked to haul ’em back into line.”
The central figure of the film is Chief Tony Bouza, the Bronx borough commander, who, in a pair of interview clips running about ten minutes in all, sets out his philosophy of policing, which is also a radical philosophy of society. Officers, he says, face a contradiction between their sincere desire to be helpful and the resentment that they face from the communities they’re supposed to serve—and the cynicism and callousness that result. Then Bouza offers a mighty disquisition on poverty and ghettoization that should be inscribed on the walls of every station house in the country. He blames failures of education and high unemployment in the ghetto for producing violence, and adds that “rage and frustration have created an emotional gorge that people are permanently endowed with in the ghetto . . . the heat, the misery, the lack of rest, the whole miserable condition of poverty—and Aristotle did say twenty-five hundred years ago that poverty is the parent of revolution and crime; it is still true.” He says that the United States both hides and ignores the poor in order to avoid remedying poverty, and as a result he feels as if his own work is an inherent failure: “To the degree that I succeed in keeping it cool, in keeping the ghetto cool . . . am I deflecting America’s attention from discovering this cancer?” He adds that he considers himself to be nearly “the commander of an army of occupation in the ghetto.” Bouza’s comments have more than a theoretical resonance with our current moment: in 1980, he was named chief of police in Minneapolis, to reform a department with a culture of racism and brutality; he was forced out in 1989, largely owing to pushback from the police union.
In “Hard Times at Douglass High,” the Raymonds revisit the struggles of a poor and isolated neighborhood from the perspective of education. It was filmed over the course of the 2004-05 school year in Baltimore’s Frederick Douglass High School, which appears to have had only Black students—and mainly ones who (as Susan says in her voice-over commentary) didn’t display the academic ability to get placed in other city schools outside the ghetto. The stresses of poverty, including the prevalence of gang-related violence, are a distraction for many students. The school itself has a skilled and dedicated staff (starting with its principal, Isabelle Grant, herself a 1963 Douglass graduate), but it is, nevertheless, at the time of filming, the target of criticism.
That’s because of the 2002 No Child Left Behind law, which has a conspicuous and negative effect on the school’s educational efforts and on its staff’s morale. That bill, which imposed strict numerical standards for student success—and the power to replace administrators and even break up schools if they failed to meet those standards—ostensibly aimed to improve education for students nationwide. But “Hard Times” shows that, in practice, the law was merely shunting the blame for educational problems toward individual administrators and teachers and away from the systemic failures that led some schools, and their students, to be neglected. Most students arrive at Douglass without having reached ninth-grade levels in math or reading, yet Douglass is blamed when they lag behind. Douglass’s large class sizes make it impossible for teachers to work closely and frequently with students; shortages of teachers throughout Baltimore leave many classes staffed by uncertified substitutes; shortages of textbooks leave students unable to study at home; underfunding leaves counselling and advising departments at pro-forma levels. And, of course, the community at large is both policed and ignored rather than developed.
The Raymonds are modern documentary filmmakers in the classical sense. Their immersive practice follows that of Robert Drew in his direct-cinema masterworks, such as “Primary,” “The Chair,” and “Crisis”: they aren’t detached observers of the filmed action but are a part of it, eliciting the participants’ interactions through immersive engagement. “Hard Times at Douglass High” is a movie of self-aware self-presentations, in which the filmmakers’ presence both sparks frank discussions with staff and students and influences some students’ playful winks and even others’ rebellious acting-out for the camera. Yet the Raymonds are not dogmatic or purist about their approach: they also provide much-needed historical background and societal context, on the soundtrack, through the commentary that Susan both wrote and delivers. The film focusses on the individual stories of students who succeed or don’t, of teachers who achieve good results or don’t (and even one who quits midyear), but the film’s scope is national and its critique is systemic.
In “Toe Tag Parole,” the filmmakers immerse themselves in another part of the repressive system that Bouza identified in “The Police Tapes,” the carceral one—a maximum-security California prison that houses men sentenced to “life without the possibility of parole,” which, as the Raymonds acknowledge in an opening title card, is “the alternative death penalty,” a death sentence without execution. The men’s section of the prison is the Progressive Programming Facility, or so-called honor yard, to which they’ve been transferred for good behavior. The facility’s chief officer explains the program’s rationale as a feedback loop: offering these prisoners the chance of improved conditions creates the conditions for their behavior to improve—and these orderly and peaceful prisoners therefore pose no threat to the corrections officers under the chief’s command. (The same cannot be said of the prison population at large.) The idea for the yard, a title card specifies, came from an unnamed inmate, in 2000, who asked the warden for a space that “would break the code of violence that dominates prison life.” Whereas prison life, officials and prisoners alike say, tends to be dominated by “politics”—the gang-like enforcement of racial identification and segregation—a key aspect of the honor yard, and one of its prime rules, is integration, which is the basis for the wide variety of activities that these prisoners take part in together.


newyorker--2020-08-04--New Kinds of Surprise Health-Care Billing

Are you tired of medical providers sending surprise bills in the mail for services you didn ’ t know weren ’ t covered by your insurance ?
So are those of us who lobby on behalf of the health-care industry .
Like you , we want to see more variety in the ways in which doctors and hospitals spring bills on patients .
That ’ s why , in addition to defeating a ban on surprise bills , we ’ ve pressured Congress to allow these new methods of surprise billing .
A hospital administrator drives by your house and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ wrapped around it through your window .
Return the brick , or else you ’ ll receive a new bill on a brick for the brick you didn ’ t return .
You ’ ll think that it ’ s a surprise party for your birthday , only to learn when the lights come on and everyone yells “ Surprise !
” that you don ’ t know anyone there .
That ’ s because it ’ s actually a work birthday party for someone in the outpatient-billing department—the real surprise is that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ give you a massive bill for opting to be anesthetized for an operation .
You are welcome to stay for the party and have cake or ice cream , but not both .
Bill in the Hand Coming Out of the Dashboard of Your Car Someone from your insurance company will hide in a compartment that they hollowed out in the dash of your car and totally terrify you when they pass you a bill while you ’ re driving .
Note : if the hand doesn ’ t hold a bill , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ care , and your life is likely in danger .
( The kind of danger that might result in one of these sorts of surprise hospital bills ! )
This Next Paragraph Is a Bill You owe eleven thousand five hundred dollars for an MRI !
We just couldn ’ t help springing a bill on you while you were reading this .
And , if you didn ’ t have an MRI , try contacting numerous hospital billing departments around the country until you find the one that ’ s billing you @ @ @ @ @ @ @ out .
Out of nowhere , money is mysteriously taken out of your paycheck .
Oh , no , is your paycheck .
.
.
haunted ?
It certainly seems like it , because for all of October ( that ’ s the Halloween month ) , large portions of your wages will be supernaturally withheld from you .
Finally , on October 31st ( that ’ s the Halloween day ) , a debt collector will jump out of some bushes and scare you with an itemized summary of charges , and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ at some point .
Pretty standard invisible-ink gag , but also a solid way of slipping a bill to someone , so it ’ ll probably just be our fallback option .
To be extra shitty about it , we ’ ll also lobby Congress to make invisible ink illegal except for health-care billing purposes .
The Bill at the End of a CVS Receipt Wherein you learn that you were brought to the E.R .
by E.M.T.s who used eight different ambulances on the way to the hospital , and you are @ @ @ @ @ @ @ this hasn ’ t happened to you , no reason to fight the bill—all the proper parties have been notified to make it happen in the near future .
When you next get surgery on your head ( presumably because a brick with a hospital bill wrapped around it fractured your skull ) , you ’ ll have an electric node inserted into a specific part of your brain that , when stimulated remotely , will produce the thought “ I owe twenty-three thousand dollars for out-of-network lab tests.
” Throughout your day @ @ @ @ @ @ @ same man , only he will look older and older each time you cross paths , until finally he is an old man who grabs you by the collar , hands you a hospital bill , and dies in your arms .
( Luckily , we have many of these kinds of men , so it ’ s not just , like , one guy and it ’ s over . )
Can a person surprise himself ?
Thankfully , in lieu of searching for a cure for cancer or heart disease , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ working hard to find that out .
Most recently , they ’ ve come up with a sort of spring-loaded lunch pail that only works half the time—so they ’ re getting close .
But , until self-surprise can become regular human behavior , we ’ ll just use this as an opportunity to charge you a two-thousand-dollar surprise fee for being the recipient of a surprise bill .

Photograph from Getty
Are you tired of medical providers sending surprise bills in the mail for services you didn’t know weren’t covered by your insurance? So are those of us who lobby on behalf of the health-care industry. Like you, we want to see more variety in the ways in which doctors and hospitals spring bills on patients. That’s why, in addition to defeating a ban on surprise bills, we’ve pressured Congress to allow these new methods of surprise billing.
Brick-Through-the-Window Billing
A hospital administrator drives by your house and throws a brick with a medical bill wrapped around it through your window. Return the brick, or else you’ll receive a new bill on a brick for the brick you didn’t return.
Surprise-Party Bill
You’ll think that it’s a surprise party for your birthday, only to learn when the lights come on and everyone yells “Surprise!” that you don’t know anyone there. That’s because it’s actually a work birthday party for someone in the outpatient-billing department—the real surprise is that you were invited just so they could give you a massive bill for opting to be anesthetized for an operation. You are welcome to stay for the party and have cake or ice cream, but not both.
Bill in the Hand Coming Out of the Dashboard of Your Car
Someone from your insurance company will hide in a compartment that they hollowed out in the dash of your car and totally terrify you when they pass you a bill while you’re driving. Note: if the hand doesn’t hold a bill, that person does not work in health care, and your life is likely in danger. (The kind of danger that might result in one of these sorts of surprise hospital bills!)
This Next Paragraph Is a Bill
You owe eleven thousand five hundred dollars for an MRI! We just couldn’t help springing a bill on you while you were reading this. And, if you didn’t have an MRI, try contacting numerous hospital billing departments around the country until you find the one that’s billing you, and try to get it straightened out.
Spooky Wage Garnishment
Out of nowhere, money is mysteriously taken out of your paycheck. Oh, no, is your paycheck . . . haunted? It certainly seems like it, because for all of October (that’s the Halloween month), large portions of your wages will be supernaturally withheld from you. Finally, on October 31st (that’s the Halloween day), a debt collector will jump out of some bushes and scare you with an itemized summary of charges, and also by yelling “Boo!” at some point.
Bill in Invisible Ink
Pretty standard invisible-ink gag, but also a solid way of slipping a bill to someone, so it’ll probably just be our fallback option. To be extra shitty about it, we’ll also lobby Congress to make invisible ink illegal except for health-care billing purposes.
The Bill at the End of a CVS Receipt
Wherein you learn that you were brought to the E.R. by E.M.T.s who used eight different ambulances on the way to the hospital, and you are being charged for each one. If this hasn’t happened to you, no reason to fight the bill—all the proper parties have been notified to make it happen in the near future.
Brain-Stimulation Billing
When you next get surgery on your head (presumably because a brick with a hospital bill wrapped around it fractured your skull), you’ll have an electric node inserted into a specific part of your brain that, when stimulated remotely, will produce the thought “I owe twenty-three thousand dollars for out-of-network lab tests.”
Rapidly Aging-Man Bill
Throughout your day, you will keep bumping into the same man, only he will look older and older each time you cross paths, until finally he is an old man who grabs you by the collar, hands you a hospital bill, and dies in your arms. (Luckily, we have many of these kinds of men, so it’s not just, like, one guy and it’s over.)
Self-Surprise Bill
Can a person surprise himself? Thankfully, in lieu of searching for a cure for cancer or heart disease, members of the medical establishment have been working hard to find that out. Most recently, they’ve come up with a sort of spring-loaded lunch pail that only works half the time—so they’re getting close. But, until self-surprise can become regular human behavior, we’ll just use this as an opportunity to charge you a two-thousand-dollar surprise fee for being the recipient of a surprise bill.


newyorker--2020-08-04--The Ongoing Relevance of “Norma Rae”

The Ongoing Relevance of “Norma Rae”

The other night , I found myself once again scrolling the multiple streaming services I subscribe to , and wondering , as I often do , which show or movie would allow me to relax my brain into a pleasing limpness .
Should I pick the reality dating show about Indian singles looking to enter an arranged marriage with the help of an unflappable matchmaker ?
The documentary series about the face-off between federal agents and New York goodfellas in the seventies and eighties ?
The travel show in which a tetchy British comedian joins celebrities on jaunts to various @ @ @ @ @ @ @ solid options , if fairly mindless .
Then I noticed that Martin Ritt ’ s 1979 drama , “ Norma Rae , ” which I hadn ’ t watched since high school , was on Hulu .
Relaxing my brain , I decided , could wait for the night .
For those who haven ’ t seen the movie , or whose memory of it is hazy , a recap : Norma Rae Webster—played by a ferocious Sally Field , who won an Academy Award for Best Actress for the role , in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ who works on the dim , noisy floor of the town textile mill , where her parents , and , likely , her grandparents , have worked before her .
It ’ s a grim , precarious , and repetitive job , which makes for a grim , precarious , and repetitive existence .
Early on in the movie , we see her attempt to rouse her mother , who has gone temporarily deaf from the incessant din of the mill ’ s machines .
The plant doctor is unimpressed : “ Now @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Rae .
It happens all the time !
, ” he says , suggesting that the older woman “ can get herself another job ” if this one isn ’ t to her liking .
But in their mill town there is no other job , and no real alternative to the low-paying and dangerous work that the plant provides .
Though she is as constrained as anyone by her work and life conditions , Norma Rae is spirited .
The movie ’ s original theatrical poster , an image of which is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ shows Field silhouetted on a white background , smiling widely as she raises her arms high in a cheesy triumphant stance , a slice of bare tummy revealed over the waistband of her jeans .
The film itself , however , presents the character ’ s spunk as an angrier , more complicated , and occasionally self-defeating thing .
She rails against her circumstances by talking back—to the worthless men she sleeps with and who degrade her , to her loving but domineering father , to her uncaring bosses .
“ Norma Rae @ @ @ @ @ @ @ this mill , ” one of her managers tells her , before attempting to neutralize her workplace demands—for a Kotex machine in the women ’ s bathroom , for longer smoke breaks , for more time off—by giving her a supervisor job , which she leaves soon afterward , when she realizes that it makes her a “ fink ” in the eyes of her fellow-workers .
“ You ’ re looking fine , Norma Rae , ” the deadbeat father of one of her children tells her , when he runs into @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ I ’ m always fine .
I ’ m a horse !
” she tells him , defiantly .
Like a horse , she is strong , and she keeps going , but she also has blinders on .
On her own , she is unable to shift course .
A turn comes about when Reuben Warshowsky ( the great Ron Leibman , who died this past December ) , an organizer for the Textile Workers Union of America , arrives .
A New Yorker , Reuben is an oddity in town @ @ @ @ @ @ @ with resistance .
As far as most millhands are concerned , he is a communist Jew interloper who will cost them their jobs .
Norma Rae , however , is intrigued .
“ I think you ’ re too smart for what ’ s happening to you , ” Reuben , with whom she develops a platonic but transformative relationship , tells her .
The film ’ s most iconic and well-known scene—and the one I recalled , from watching it as a teen—is a moment when Norma Rae stands on a table @ @ @ @ @ @ @ sign that reads “ UNION , ” until , one by one , the workers around her stop their machines and silence falls on the factory floor .
On this viewing , what struck me even more strongly , however , was the movie ’ s suggestion that no struggle can take place alone .
Norma Rae is heroic , but she comes into her own , as a woman , because she is fighting for class solidarity—a struggle that , in turn , could not happen without a breaking down of long-standing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ he is Jewish , Reuben doesn ’ t have horns , as Norma Rae was taught to expect ( “ I ’ ve never met a Jew before , ” she tells him .
“ As far as I can see , you look just like the rest of us ” ) , and , though she is a woman , habitually derided by men , he treats her as his equal .
What ’ s more , the racist tactics taken by the factory bosses , who try to persuade white employees @ @ @ @ @ @ @ take over the union , can only be countered by a white-Black coalition working together against management .
Speaking from the pulpit at a Black church , Reuben tells the workers of his grandfather ’ s textile union and its members : “ When they spoke , they spoke in one voice , and they were heard .
And they were Black , and they were white , and they were Irish , and they were Polish , they were Catholic , and they were Jews.
” To watch the scene , toward @ @ @ @ @ @ @ which the factory workers chant as one , to celebrate their unionization victory , is to be reminded of something that is not only moving but also , still , more relevant than ever .

The other night, I found myself once again scrolling the multiple streaming services I subscribe to, and wondering, as I often do, which show or movie would allow me to relax my brain into a pleasing limpness. Should I pick the reality dating show about Indian singles looking to enter an arranged marriage with the help of an unflappable matchmaker? The documentary series about the face-off between federal agents and New York goodfellas in the seventies and eighties? The travel show in which a tetchy British comedian joins celebrities on jaunts to various international locales? All of these seemed solid options, if fairly mindless. Then I noticed that Martin Ritt’s 1979 drama, “Norma Rae,” which I hadn’t watched since high school, was on Hulu. Relaxing my brain, I decided, could wait for the night.
For those who haven’t seen the movie, or whose memory of it is hazy, a recap: Norma Rae Webster—played by a ferocious Sally Field, who won an Academy Award for Best Actress for the role, in 1980—is a Southern single mom of two who works on the dim, noisy floor of the town textile mill, where her parents, and, likely, her grandparents, have worked before her. It’s a grim, precarious, and repetitive job, which makes for a grim, precarious, and repetitive existence. Early on in the movie, we see her attempt to rouse her mother, who has gone temporarily deaf from the incessant din of the mill’s machines. The plant doctor is unimpressed: “Now, you know it happens, Norma Rae. It happens all the time!,” he says, suggesting that the older woman “can get herself another job” if this one isn’t to her liking. But in their mill town there is no other job, and no real alternative to the low-paying and dangerous work that the plant provides.
Though she is as constrained as anyone by her work and life conditions, Norma Rae is spirited. The movie’s original theatrical poster, an image of which is used as a thumbnail on Hulu, shows Field silhouetted on a white background, smiling widely as she raises her arms high in a cheesy triumphant stance, a slice of bare tummy revealed over the waistband of her jeans. The film itself, however, presents the character’s spunk as an angrier, more complicated, and occasionally self-defeating thing. She rails against her circumstances by talking back—to the worthless men she sleeps with and who degrade her, to her loving but domineering father, to her uncaring bosses. “Norma Rae, you have the biggest mouth in this mill,” one of her managers tells her, before attempting to neutralize her workplace demands—for a Kotex machine in the women’s bathroom, for longer smoke breaks, for more time off—by giving her a supervisor job, which she leaves soon afterward, when she realizes that it makes her a “fink” in the eyes of her fellow-workers. “You’re looking fine, Norma Rae,” the deadbeat father of one of her children tells her, when he runs into her at a local baseball game. “I’m always fine. I’m a horse!” she tells him, defiantly. Like a horse, she is strong, and she keeps going, but she also has blinders on. On her own, she is unable to shift course.
A turn comes about when Reuben Warshowsky (the great Ron Leibman, who died this past December), an organizer for the Textile Workers Union of America, arrives. A New Yorker, Reuben is an oddity in town, and his unionization efforts are met with resistance. As far as most millhands are concerned, he is a communist Jew interloper who will cost them their jobs. Norma Rae, however, is intrigued. “I think you’re too smart for what’s happening to you,” Reuben, with whom she develops a platonic but transformative relationship, tells her. The film’s most iconic and well-known scene—and the one I recalled, from watching it as a teen—is a moment when Norma Rae stands on a table at the mill and holds up a sign that reads “UNION,” until, one by one, the workers around her stop their machines and silence falls on the factory floor.
On this viewing, what struck me even more strongly, however, was the movie’s suggestion that no struggle can take place alone. Norma Rae is heroic, but she comes into her own, as a woman, because she is fighting for class solidarity—a struggle that, in turn, could not happen without a breaking down of long-standing ethnic and racial barriers. Even though he is Jewish, Reuben doesn’t have horns, as Norma Rae was taught to expect (“I’ve never met a Jew before,” she tells him. “As far as I can see, you look just like the rest of us”), and, though she is a woman, habitually derided by men, he treats her as his equal. What’s more, the racist tactics taken by the factory bosses, who try to persuade white employees that their Black co-workers are scheming to take over the union, can only be countered by a white-Black coalition working together against management. Speaking from the pulpit at a Black church, Reuben tells the workers of his grandfather’s textile union and its members: “When they spoke, they spoke in one voice, and they were heard. And they were Black, and they were white, and they were Irish, and they were Polish, they were Catholic, and they were Jews.” To watch the scene, toward the end of the movie, in which the factory workers chant as one, to celebrate their unionization victory, is to be reminded of something that is not only moving but also, still, more relevant than ever.