newyorker--2020-08-25--Trump’s Convention Push for a Coronavirus Cure Puts Politics Before Health

The Food and Drug Administration has again failed to adhere to the scientific standards that the agency has always sought to uphold .
On Sunday , the agency granted emergency-use authorization for doctors to treat COVID-19 with blood plasma from recovered patients , though it was unable to provide sufficient data to determine how effective the treatment will be .
President Trump , in a tweet on Saturday , blamed “ deep state ” elements at the F.D.A .
for slowing the approval of drugs and vaccines until after the election .
Earlier in the week , federal scientists , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and his boss , Francis Collins , the director of the National Institutes of Health , had urged the F.D.A .
to delay the emergency-use authorization .
They did not think there was enough data to support it .
Trump is not a man to let a lack of data interfere with his political needs , however .
So at a briefing on Sunday , on the eve of the Republican National Convention , he called the treatment “ a historic breakthrough , ’ ’ with “ an incredible rate of success.
” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ made “ the independent determination ’ ’ that the treatment is “ very effective ” and has reduced mortality rates by “ thirty-five per cent.
” Not one of those assertions is true .
Yet the F.D.A .
Commissioner , Stephen Hahn , ignored the advice of Fauci , Collins , and others , and apparently made this significant scientific decision based on the wishes of a President who ignores science and denigrates researchers .
Trump ’ s trade advisor , Peter Navarro , who frequently offers inaccurate judgments about COVID-19 therapies , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ plasma helping a COVID-19 patient are “ close to a hundred percent.
” There is no evidence that the treatment has cured anyone .
Public-health officials expressed deep concern over the decision .
On Monday morning , on NPR , Margaret Hamburg , who was the commissioner of the F.D.A .
for six years , under Barack Obama , said , “ What we don ’ t know is how it works in this case .
Is it truly effective ?
When in the course of disease might it be most effective , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ She added that , based on the preliminary data that are available , the treatment “ probably has some marginal benefit , but it ’ s probably not much.
’ ’ Even Trump ’ s assertion that the F.D.A.
’ s authorization “ will dramatically expand access to this treatment ’ ’ is almost certainly wrong , since that will depend on tens of thousands of recovered patients donating blood .
Sunday ’ s decision was not as egregious as the agency ’ s similar emergency-use grant , in March , for hydroxychloroquine @ @ @ @ @ @ @ touted as a miracle cure .
He even announced at a nationally televised briefing that he was taking the drug as a preventative—a claim he repeated at the Convention on Monday night .
Not only did hydroxychloroquine prove to be ineffective against the coronavirus ; in some cases , it endangered people ’ s lives .
The agency was forced to withdraw the authorization earlier this summer and replace it with warnings about the drug ’ s dangers .
For the F.D.A .
that was a stunning reversal .
( Trump ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , the C.E.O .
of My Pillow , Inc. , who has been pushing oleandrin , a botanical supplement made from the poisonous oleander plant . )
Convalescent plasma has been undergoing clinical trials for months .
The concept itself has been in use for more than a century , treating everything from bacterial infections to the Ebola virus .
We do not know how well it will work with COVID-19 , but its long track record suggests there is little danger the treatment will cause harm .
The idea behind it is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ from people who have recovered from the disease can be injected into patients .
That should boost recipients ’ immune systems , helping them to fight the virus until they generate their own antibodies .
In June , the Mayo Clinic , after transfusing more than twenty thousand COVID-19 patients , released data showing that the treatment is safe .
The study did not include placebo controls , however , so it was impossible to fully judge its effectiveness .
Thousands of physicians have administered plasma to COVID-19 patients , and some feel @ @ @ @ @ @ @ I have neither spoken to nor read of any doctors who view it as anything more than a tool that may be of limited use until something better is developed .
The agency ’ s willingness to accede to Trump ’ s wishes raises an even more serious concern : What will happen as the President continues his campaign to force the F.D.A .
to approve a vaccine before the election ?
Several vaccines look promising , and , thanks to massive infusions of money , as well as genuine scientific advances , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Yet no serious public-health official thinks that one will be approved for general use before the end of this year , at the earliest .
Trump may be motivated by electoral politics , but Americans , in fact , have long bristled when their access to experimental remedies has been restricted—and the F.D.A.
’ s authority to do so has not come easily .
Snake-oil cures and worse were common before 1906 , when Congress passed the Pure Food and Drug Act .
The act permitted the Bureau of Chemistry , which preceded @ @ @ @ @ @ @ contained no false or misleading advertising .
It has usually taken a disaster to persuade Congress to adopt strict regulations .
For years , sulfanilamide , a drug prescribed to treat streptococcal infections , was used safely and effectively in tablet and in powder form .
Most children can ’ t swallow pills , though , and , in June , 1937 , researchers at one company found that the drug would dissolve in diethylene glycol .
They tested the mixture for flavor , appearance , and fragrance—but not for toxicity—and then shipped @ @ @ @ @ @ @ overlooked an important characteristic of the solution : diethylene glycol , normally used as an antifreeze , is a deadly poison .
Within weeks , scores of children were dead .
The next year , after more than a hundred deaths , Congress passed the Food , Drug , and Cosmetic Act , which finally gave the F.D.A .
the authority it needed to regulate such products , and in the years since it has done so with vigor .
But Sunday ’ s action , coming after other recent instances of federal-health @ @ @ @ @ @ @ experts deeply worried .
Bruce Gellin , the president of global immunization at the Sabin Vaccine Institute , told me that “ despite reassurances from Francis Collins and others that moving at warp speed won ’ t cut corners , if FDA ’ s gold standard of data-driven decision making can be trumped by politics , then I worry about how confident Americans will be about any product that the FDA approves.
’ ’ This is hardly a theoretical concern .
On Monday , the Financial Times reported that the Trump Administration is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” to approve an experimental British vaccine for use in this country before the election .
If that happens , the F.D.A .
will risk losing its hard-won credibility for good .
More on the Coronavirus • To protect American lives and revive the economy , Donald Trump and Jared Kushner should listen to Anthony Fauci rather than trash him .
• We should look to students to conceive of appropriate school-reopening plans .
It is not too late to ask what they really want .
• A pregnant pediatrician on what children @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is helping tycoons who have donated to his reëlection campaign exploit the pandemic to maximize profits .
• Meet the high-finance mogul in charge of our economic recovery .
• The coronavirus is likely to reshape architecture .
What kinds of space are we willing to live and work in now ?

The Food and Drug Administration has again failed to adhere to the scientific standards that the agency has always sought to uphold. On Sunday, the agency granted emergency-use authorization for doctors to treat COVID-19 with blood plasma from recovered patients, though it was unable to provide sufficient data to determine how effective the treatment will be. President Trump, in a tweet on Saturday, blamed “deep state” elements at the F.D.A. for slowing the approval of drugs and vaccines until after the election. Earlier in the week, federal scientists, including the infectious-disease expert Anthony Fauci, and his boss, Francis Collins, the director of the National Institutes of Health, had urged the F.D.A. to delay the emergency-use authorization. They did not think there was enough data to support it.
Trump is not a man to let a lack of data interfere with his political needs, however. So at a briefing on Sunday, on the eve of the Republican National Convention, he called the treatment “a historic breakthrough,’’ with “an incredible rate of success.” He added that the F.D.A. had made “the independent determination’’ that the treatment is “very effective” and has reduced mortality rates by “thirty-five per cent.” Not one of those assertions is true. Yet the F.D.A. Commissioner, Stephen Hahn, ignored the advice of Fauci, Collins, and others, and apparently made this significant scientific decision based on the wishes of a President who ignores science and denigrates researchers.
Trump’s trade advisor, Peter Navarro, who frequently offers inaccurate judgments about COVID-19 therapies, has said that the odds of blood plasma helping a COVID-19 patient are “close to a hundred percent.” There is no evidence that the treatment has cured anyone.
Public-health officials expressed deep concern over the decision. On Monday morning, on NPR, Margaret Hamburg, who was the commissioner of the F.D.A. for six years, under Barack Obama, said, “What we don’t know is how it works in this case. Is it truly effective? When in the course of disease might it be most effective, and for which patients?’’ She added that, based on the preliminary data that are available, the treatment “probably has some marginal benefit, but it’s probably not much.’’ Even Trump’s assertion that the F.D.A.’s authorization “will dramatically expand access to this treatment’’ is almost certainly wrong, since that will depend on tens of thousands of recovered patients donating blood.
Sunday’s decision was not as egregious as the agency’s similar emergency-use grant, in March, for hydroxychloroquine, the malaria drug that President Trump touted as a miracle cure. He even announced at a nationally televised briefing that he was taking the drug as a preventative—a claim he repeated at the Convention on Monday night. Not only did hydroxychloroquine prove to be ineffective against the coronavirus; in some cases, it endangered people’s lives. The agency was forced to withdraw the authorization earlier this summer and replace it with warnings about the drug’s dangers. For the F.D.A. that was a stunning reversal. (Trump’s latest COVID-19-treatment infatuation comes from Mike Lindell, the C.E.O. of My Pillow, Inc., who has been pushing oleandrin, a botanical supplement made from the poisonous oleander plant.)
Convalescent plasma has been undergoing clinical trials for months. The concept itself has been in use for more than a century, treating everything from bacterial infections to the Ebola virus. We do not know how well it will work with COVID-19, but its long track record suggests there is little danger the treatment will cause harm. The idea behind it is simple: infusions of antibody-rich plasma taken from people who have recovered from the disease can be injected into patients. That should boost recipients’ immune systems, helping them to fight the virus until they generate their own antibodies. In June, the Mayo Clinic, after transfusing more than twenty thousand COVID-19 patients, released data showing that the treatment is safe. The study did not include placebo controls, however, so it was impossible to fully judge its effectiveness. Thousands of physicians have administered plasma to COVID-19 patients, and some feel that it has helped them. But I have neither spoken to nor read of any doctors who view it as anything more than a tool that may be of limited use until something better is developed.
The agency’s willingness to accede to Trump’s wishes raises an even more serious concern: What will happen as the President continues his campaign to force the F.D.A. to approve a vaccine before the election? Several vaccines look promising, and, thanks to massive infusions of money, as well as genuine scientific advances, their development has been remarkably swift. Yet no serious public-health official thinks that one will be approved for general use before the end of this year, at the earliest.
Trump may be motivated by electoral politics, but Americans, in fact, have long bristled when their access to experimental remedies has been restricted—and the F.D.A.’s authority to do so has not come easily. Snake-oil cures and worse were common before 1906, when Congress passed the Pure Food and Drug Act. The act permitted the Bureau of Chemistry, which preceded the F.D.A., to insure that labels contained no false or misleading advertising.
It has usually taken a disaster to persuade Congress to adopt strict regulations.
For years, sulfanilamide, a drug prescribed to treat streptococcal infections, was used safely and effectively in tablet and in powder form. Most children can’t swallow pills, though, and, in June, 1937, researchers at one company found that the drug would dissolve in diethylene glycol. They tested the mixture for flavor, appearance, and fragrance—but not for toxicity—and then shipped it all over the country. They overlooked an important characteristic of the solution: diethylene glycol, normally used as an antifreeze, is a deadly poison. Within weeks, scores of children were dead. The next year, after more than a hundred deaths, Congress passed the Food, Drug, and Cosmetic Act, which finally gave the F.D.A. the authority it needed to regulate such products, and in the years since it has done so with vigor.
But Sunday’s action, coming after other recent instances of federal-health officials capitulating to Trump, has vaccine experts deeply worried. Bruce Gellin, the president of global immunization at the Sabin Vaccine Institute, told me that “despite reassurances from Francis Collins and others that moving at warp speed won’t cut corners, if FDA’s gold standard of data-driven decision making can be trumped by politics, then I worry about how confident Americans will be about any product that the FDA approves.’’
This is hardly a theoretical concern. On Monday, the Financial Times reported that the Trump Administration is “considering bypassing normal US regulatory standards” to approve an experimental British vaccine for use in this country before the election. If that happens, the F.D.A. will risk losing its hard-won credibility for good.
More on the Coronavirus


Escaping the City

I ’ m so lucky to have been able to escape the city this summer !
I ’ m breathing fresh country air and eating hot dogs .
I feed carrots to the adorable bunny that hops around the garden .
Maybe I ’ ll finally get to see some stars without city-light pollution !
In the afternoon , I walk ten thousand steps in concentric circles around the front lawn .
I don ’ t leave the property , of course—but , front lawn !
Can you believe it ?
Don ’ t have one of those in the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in which I ’ m trapped in an elevator with another person , is subsiding .
Is that a bear digging through the trash ?
Good thing he ’ s more scared of me than I am of him , or so they say .
Makes sense because he weighs almost a thousand pounds , but I have a big brain .
It ’ s quiet here , isn ’ t it ?
I guess some people like total isolation !
All this country fun made me forget to take my Ativan .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ Ativan in the country !
Tonight , I ’ m going to have hot dogs with beans .
And who needs air-conditioning when there ’ s a breeze ?
I hope a breeze comes soon .
I ’ m sweating bullets , but it ’ s nothing a couple of hot dogs can ’ t fix .
Hot dogs and a couple of Ativans .
I mean , I have them , so why not enjoy them ?
As I sip coffee on the porch ( that ’ s right , I have @ @ @ @ @ @ @ I see that the bunny has invited a couple of his friends over .
They probably want more carrots .
Silly bunnies .
I don ’ t have enough carrots for the whole family !
Good thing I have Instacart .
My Instacart shopper is trying to substitute carrots with non-dairy creamer .
Do bunnies like non-dairy creamer or just the real stuff ?
Good thing the supermarket has hot dogs !
No buns , though .
Is that a huge tick on my neck ?
Big is good .
Big means it @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Wait , no .
It ’ s three small ticks , huddled together .
Deceptive !
O.K.
, now there are , like , at least forty bunnies out there .
What ’ s that about ?
I guess there ’ s no reason to be scared of a menacing gathering of bunnies , watching me with dozens of creepy little eyes .
I ’ m sure it ’ s still safe to walk my circles with them out there .
Although , it is ninety-nine degrees with a hundred-per-cent humidity .
I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ day or two .
After the sun sets , I lie in bed and read on my iPad .
Man , bugs sure do love that blue light !
They keep landing on the screen .
And my face .
Now the mosquitoes are going for my neck .
Joke ’ s on them , because my neck has already been claimed by the ticks .
Losers !
It ’ s popular real estate !
My neck is like the SoHo of my body !
You have to be from the city to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Heh .
I guess I do miss the city a little .
At least here I can look out the window and see the stars .
You can ’ t see stars like that in the city !
Oh , wait , that ’ s hundreds of unblinking bunny eyes , watching me through my window .
What are they plotting ?
As I drift off , bathed in the glow of the eyes of hundreds of bunnies , seemingly poised to attack , I contemplate how great it is that everyone else @ @ @ @ @ @ @ escape the city .
This shit looks awesome on Instagram .

I’m so lucky to have been able to escape the city this summer! I’m breathing fresh country air and eating hot dogs. I feed carrots to the adorable bunny that hops around the garden. Maybe I’ll finally get to see some stars without city-light pollution!
In the afternoon, I walk ten thousand steps in concentric circles around the front lawn. I don’t leave the property, of course—but, front lawn! Can you believe it? Don’t have one of those in the city!
My recurring COVID-19 nightmare, in which I’m trapped in an elevator with another person, is subsiding. Is that a bear digging through the trash? Good thing he’s more scared of me than I am of him, or so they say. Makes sense because he weighs almost a thousand pounds, but I have a big brain.
It’s quiet here, isn’t it? I guess some people like total isolation!
All this country fun made me forget to take my Ativan. Good thing I don’t need Ativan in the country! Tonight, I’m going to have hot dogs with beans.
And who needs air-conditioning when there’s a breeze? I hope a breeze comes soon. I’m sweating bullets, but it’s nothing a couple of hot dogs can’t fix. Hot dogs and a couple of Ativans. I mean, I have them, so why not enjoy them?
As I sip coffee on the porch (that’s right, I have a porch, baby!), I see that the bunny has invited a couple of his friends over. They probably want more carrots. Silly bunnies. I don’t have enough carrots for the whole family! Good thing I have Instacart.
My Instacart shopper is trying to substitute carrots with non-dairy creamer. Do bunnies like non-dairy creamer or just the real stuff? Good thing the supermarket has hot dogs! No buns, though.
Is that a huge tick on my neck? Big is good. Big means it’s not a deer tick. Wait, no. It’s three small ticks, huddled together. Deceptive!
O.K., now there are, like, at least forty bunnies out there. What’s that about? I guess there’s no reason to be scared of a menacing gathering of bunnies, watching me with dozens of creepy little eyes. I’m sure it’s still safe to walk my circles with them out there. Although, it is ninety-nine degrees with a hundred-per-cent humidity. I’ll just stay in for a day or two.
After the sun sets, I lie in bed and read on my iPad. Man, bugs sure do love that blue light! They keep landing on the screen. And my face. Now the mosquitoes are going for my neck. Joke’s on them, because my neck has already been claimed by the ticks. Losers! It’s popular real estate! My neck is like the SoHo of my body! You have to be from the city to get why that’s funny. Heh. I guess I do miss the city a little.
At least here I can look out the window and see the stars. You can’t see stars like that in the city! Oh, wait, that’s hundreds of unblinking bunny eyes, watching me through my window. What are they plotting?
As I drift off, bathed in the glow of the eyes of hundreds of bunnies, seemingly poised to attack, I contemplate how great it is that everyone else thinks I’m so lucky to escape the city. This shit looks awesome on Instagram.


newyorker--2020-08-28--“The Personal History of David Copperfield,” Reviewed

It did not take long for “ David Copperfield ” to escape the confines of the page .
The novel first appeared in monthly installments , beginning in the spring of 1849 .
Even as it was being serialized , stage adaptations were under way , despite the fact that producers didn ’ t—couldn ’ t—yet know how Dickens would conclude his tale .
It finally appeared in book form in November , 1850 , and on January 6 , 1851 a dramatized ( and drastically shortened ) version opened at the Lyceum Theatre in New York .
Later , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to the author ’ s repertoire of public recitations .
“ I was half dead when I had done , ” he said , in the wake of one such event .
Like “ A Christmas Carol , ” in other words , “ David Copperfield ” is a shape-shifter , blessed from birth with a rare pliability—a story so resilient , and so resourceful , that it can survive whatever you make of it .
Is it best read alone , read aloud , or acted out ?
A new screen adaptation @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Copperfield , ” directed by Armando Iannucci , is instantly alive to this wealth of possibility .
We start in a crowded Victorian theatre , where the adult David ( Dev Patel ) sports a brocaded waistcoat and wonders , echoing the famous opening of the novel , whether he will turn out to be the hero of his own life .
Without ado , we are lofted back to his origins .
We meet his fragile mother , Clara , who is played by Morfydd Clark .
( Later in the movie @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , the same actress will play Dora Spenlow , the flighty giggler to whom David , not always a good judge of character , plights his troth . )
More robust by far is Peggotty ( Daisy May Cooper ) , the maid of all work who oversees David ’ s childhood and never wavers in her love for him .
Like Joe , in “ Great Expectations , ” she is one of those solid bodies and spiritual comforters , barely educated and wholly dependable , who exist , under Dickens ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the stricken and the shamed .
Even if you ’ ve never read “ David Copperfield , ” or if you read it long ago , it can still feel as familiar as a fairy tale .
Hence the noisy incursion of Betsey Trotwood ( Tilda Swinton ) , the sister of David ’ s late father ; she looks witchy enough to be wicked , and is appalled that David should be so ill-mannered as to be born male , yet her heart is sound and kind .
By contrast , David @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Darren Boyd ) , and his sister , Jane ( Gwendoline Christie ) , really are wicked , turfing the boy out of his home and exposing him to the iron rigors of warehouse work .
Little Red Riding Hood was lucky in her predators .
She had nothing worse than a lone wolf .
The novel , in fact , is more infested with carnivores than its cheerful reputation might imply .
It resounds with feats of cruelty and snarling expressions of contempt .
Even minor figures , encountered en route , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ you keep hearing phrases like “ If I could hunt her to her grave , I would , ” and “ Oh , my lungs and liver , what do you want ?
” All of which ought to be meat and drink to Iannucci .
After all , his previous film , “ The Death of Stalin ” ( 2017 ) , was so farcically foul that not a single stray act of benevolence was allowed to intrude .
It ’ s easy to think of him , in that vein , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s later books— “ Hard Times ” or “ Little Dorrit , ” say , both of which specialize in the squeezing and crushing of souls .
There is no one better qualified to bring out the strain of nightmare in “ David Copperfield.
” Yet that is not what occurs .
To a remarkable extent , the new movie is full of cheer .
It feels boisterous , bustling , and , at times , perilously close to a romp .
Of the young David ’ s deep and dawdling loneliness @ @ @ @ @ @ @ on the other hand , there ’ s a sequence in which the action is speeded up—rarely , if ever , a wise move .
True , you get a decent roster of bad ’ uns , led by Murdstone and by David ’ s schoolmate Steerforth ( Aneurin Barnard ) , who addresses him as “ Daisy ” and wrecks their friendship with a sudden act of betrayal .
In neither case , however , does the depravity make you blanch .
The same goes for the oleaginous Uriah Heep ( Ben @ @ @ @ @ @ @ can worm into people ’ s brains , as if into their guts , with his show of humility .
Whishaw , who is famed among recent moviegoers as Q in the Bond franchise , and as the voice of Paddington Bear , is an actor of great tact and reserve , but is he a natural instigator of dread ?
If you want a creepy Heep , I recommend Boris Karloff , who took the role in a 1950 radio production of “ David Copperfield.
” It didn ’ t matter that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
You could sense his looming presence , and hear the writhing menace in his tone .
You could practically smell him .
More than any other classic author , Dickens would have got the movies .
He was halfway to inventing them .
Is a film like “ City Lights ” ( 1931 ) , with its peculiar braiding of poverty , slapstick , and simpering romance , conceivable without Dickens ?
( The early chapters of Chaplin ’ s “ My Autobiography , ” published in 1964 , read like the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ) And who was the main legatee of Dickens ’ s discovery that a stylized exaggeration , in the gratifying of popular taste , can yank you closer to emotional truth ?
The answer has to be Walt Disney .
I must confess to a recurring fantasy , in which Dickens is plucked from his own epoch and flown through time , by the Ghost of Narrative Methods Yet to Come , to a darkened cinema , there to view the alchemy that has been wrought on his works .
Imagine his eyes @ @ @ @ @ @ @ with a dawning delight , at Magwitch in the moldy graveyard , in “ Great Expectations ” ( 1946 ) ; at the sight of the famished boys who troop to their benches and their gruel , at the start of “ Oliver !
” ( 1968 ) , chanting “ Food , Glorious Food ” ; and at the matchless Murdstone of Basil Rathbone , in “ David Copperfield ” ( 1935 ) , whose hatchet face all but cleaves the screen as he prepares to thrash David like a dog .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ no doubt thrill to the troupe of players who throng that splendid film—among them W. C. Fields as Mr. Micawber , David ’ s sometime landlord and moral mentor , who dwells majestically in elation and despair , though never in between .
So how would Dickens greet the latest film ?
He would , I reckon , be roused by its momentum and proud of its unblushing theatricality .
He would understand that the violent compacting of the plot , into a space of less than two hours , is a necessity @ @ @ @ @ @ @ if he were politely underwhelmed by the wiry and breathless Micawber of Peter Capaldi ( who should have been one of the villains ) , he would without question rejoice in other performers—instinctive Dickensians like Tilda Swinton , Gwendoline Christie , and , most endearing of all , Hugh Laurie .
With a wild corona of hair , flaring and blazing like the sun , Laurie takes the part of Mr. Dick , Aunt Betsey ’ s lodger , who is obsessed by the severing of King Charles ’ s head , and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Such , indeed , is the foremost virtue of this movie : it reminds us that almost everyone in the story , whether vicious or mild , is mad .
It is not just David who , as the title suggests , is trapped in his personal history .
To be alive is to sit in the cell of one ’ s manias , memories , and verbal tics , forever awaiting release .

It did not take long for “David Copperfield” to escape the confines of the page. The novel first appeared in monthly installments, beginning in the spring of 1849. Even as it was being serialized, stage adaptations were under way, despite the fact that producers didn’t—couldn’t—yet know how Dickens would conclude his tale. It finally appeared in book form in November, 1850, and on January 6, 1851 a dramatized (and drastically shortened) version opened at the Lyceum Theatre in New York. Later, choice morsels from the novel were added to the author’s repertoire of public recitations. “I was half dead when I had done,” he said, in the wake of one such event.
Like “A Christmas Carol,” in other words, “David Copperfield” is a shape-shifter, blessed from birth with a rare pliability—a story so resilient, and so resourceful, that it can survive whatever you make of it. Is it best read alone, read aloud, or acted out? A new screen adaptation, “The Personal History of David Copperfield,” directed by Armando Iannucci, is instantly alive to this wealth of possibility. We start in a crowded Victorian theatre, where the adult David (Dev Patel) sports a brocaded waistcoat and wonders, echoing the famous opening of the novel, whether he will turn out to be the hero of his own life.
Without ado, we are lofted back to his origins. We meet his fragile mother, Clara, who is played by Morfydd Clark. (Later in the movie, in an Oedipal sleight of hand, the same actress will play Dora Spenlow, the flighty giggler to whom David, not always a good judge of character, plights his troth.) More robust by far is Peggotty (Daisy May Cooper), the maid of all work who oversees David’s childhood and never wavers in her love for him. Like Joe, in “Great Expectations,” she is one of those solid bodies and spiritual comforters, barely educated and wholly dependable, who exist, under Dickens’s aegis, for the consolation of the stricken and the shamed.
Even if you’ve never read “David Copperfield,” or if you read it long ago, it can still feel as familiar as a fairy tale. Hence the noisy incursion of Betsey Trotwood (Tilda Swinton), the sister of David’s late father; she looks witchy enough to be wicked, and is appalled that David should be so ill-mannered as to be born male, yet her heart is sound and kind. By contrast, David’s stepfather, Edward Murdstone (Darren Boyd), and his sister, Jane (Gwendoline Christie), really are wicked, turfing the boy out of his home and exposing him to the iron rigors of warehouse work. Little Red Riding Hood was lucky in her predators. She had nothing worse than a lone wolf.
The novel, in fact, is more infested with carnivores than its cheerful reputation might imply. It resounds with feats of cruelty and snarling expressions of contempt. Even minor figures, encountered en route, speak as if they were spitting; you keep hearing phrases like “If I could hunt her to her grave, I would,” and “Oh, my lungs and liver, what do you want?” All of which ought to be meat and drink to Iannucci. After all, his previous film, “The Death of Stalin” (2017), was so farcically foul that not a single stray act of benevolence was allowed to intrude. It’s easy to think of him, in that vein, leaning toward the vengeful murk of Dickens’s later books—“Hard Times” or “Little Dorrit,” say, both of which specialize in the squeezing and crushing of souls. There is no one better qualified to bring out the strain of nightmare in “David Copperfield.”
Yet that is not what occurs. To a remarkable extent, the new movie is full of cheer. It feels boisterous, bustling, and, at times, perilously close to a romp. Of the young David’s deep and dawdling loneliness there is no sign; later, on the other hand, there’s a sequence in which the action is speeded up—rarely, if ever, a wise move. True, you get a decent roster of bad ’uns, led by Murdstone and by David’s schoolmate Steerforth (Aneurin Barnard), who addresses him as “Daisy” and wrecks their friendship with a sudden act of betrayal. In neither case, however, does the depravity make you blanch. The same goes for the oleaginous Uriah Heep (Ben Whishaw), the legal clerk who can worm into people’s brains, as if into their guts, with his show of humility. Whishaw, who is famed among recent moviegoers as Q in the Bond franchise, and as the voice of Paddington Bear, is an actor of great tact and reserve, but is he a natural instigator of dread? If you want a creepy Heep, I recommend Boris Karloff, who took the role in a 1950 radio production of “David Copperfield.” It didn’t matter that you couldn’t see the man. You could sense his looming presence, and hear the writhing menace in his tone. You could practically smell him.
More than any other classic author, Dickens would have got the movies. He was halfway to inventing them. Is a film like “City Lights” (1931), with its peculiar braiding of poverty, slapstick, and simpering romance, conceivable without Dickens? (The early chapters of Chaplin’s “My Autobiography,” published in 1964, read like the last pleading gasp of Victorian fiction.) And who was the main legatee of Dickens’s discovery that a stylized exaggeration, in the gratifying of popular taste, can yank you closer to emotional truth? The answer has to be Walt Disney.
I must confess to a recurring fantasy, in which Dickens is plucked from his own epoch and flown through time, by the Ghost of Narrative Methods Yet to Come, to a darkened cinema, there to view the alchemy that has been wrought on his works. Imagine his eyes widening, first in mystification and then with a dawning delight, at Magwitch in the moldy graveyard, in “Great Expectations” (1946); at the sight of the famished boys who troop to their benches and their gruel, at the start of “Oliver!” (1968), chanting “Food, Glorious Food”; and at the matchless Murdstone of Basil Rathbone, in “David Copperfield” (1935), whose hatchet face all but cleaves the screen as he prepares to thrash David like a dog. Dickens, an incurable actor, would no doubt thrill to the troupe of players who throng that splendid film—among them W. C. Fields as Mr. Micawber, David’s sometime landlord and moral mentor, who dwells majestically in elation and despair, though never in between.
So how would Dickens greet the latest film? He would, I reckon, be roused by its momentum and proud of its unblushing theatricality. He would understand that the violent compacting of the plot, into a space of less than two hours, is a necessity rather than a wound. And, if he were politely underwhelmed by the wiry and breathless Micawber of Peter Capaldi (who should have been one of the villains), he would without question rejoice in other performers—instinctive Dickensians like Tilda Swinton, Gwendoline Christie, and, most endearing of all, Hugh Laurie. With a wild corona of hair, flaring and blazing like the sun, Laurie takes the part of Mr. Dick, Aunt Betsey’s lodger, who is obsessed by the severing of King Charles’s head, and not quite right in his own. Such, indeed, is the foremost virtue of this movie: it reminds us that almost everyone in the story, whether vicious or mild, is mad. It is not just David who, as the title suggests, is trapped in his personal history. To be alive is to sit in the cell of one’s manias, memories, and verbal tics, forever awaiting release.
The casting of the film is color-blind. It’s a practice that has long been standard on the stage, not least in productions of Shakespeare, but that is arriving woefully late in period movies. All hail to Dev Patel, then, whose charmingly hapless gusto, in the title role, does much to sweep the tale along. We also have Benedict Wong as Mr. Wickfield, an amiable, gullible, and constantly tipsy lawyer. His daughter, Agnes, one of the few sane characters in the whole cavalcade, is portrayed by the biracial actor Rosalind Eleazar. And, while Steerforth is white, his mother, fearsomely played by Nikki Amuka-Bird, is Black. Again, I couldn’t help wishing that Dickens—whose chapter on slavery in “American Notes” (1842), swayed by “the indignant tide of honest wrath,” may be the angriest thing that he ever wrote—were around to inspect this dramatic demonstration of equality.
There is, of course, a countervailing thesis, which proposes that color-blind casting is less of a radical tactic and more of a liberal piety—smoothing over racial divisions as if they barely existed, and thereby erasing a vast chronicle of social and economic oppression. Would an Indian David Copperfield, by this argument, have stood a chance of worldly success? Regardless of our own attitudes, by what right do we export them to an earlier and less tolerant age, in which Mrs. Steerforth’s color would not have gone unremarked? Opinions will be fiercely held on both sides; either way, it’s hard to picture a more vivacious contribution to the debate than Iannucci’s movie. “Although it’s set in 1840, for the people in the film it’s the present day,” he said in an interview. “And it’s an exciting present.” That is a compelling claim, and “The Personal History of David Copperfield,” despite its shortcomings, is an enterprise full of hope. Like Mr. Micawber, it thrives on the ridiculous belief that something, somewhere, will turn up. ♦


newyorker--2020-08-28--Caribbean Flavors to Shift the Palate, from Yardy

The other day , as I ate a salad that I ’ d ordered from Yardy , an event-production company started by the twenty-seven-year-old artist , chef , and model DeVonn Francis , my brain kept short-circuiting .
Every time I bit into a cube of yellow fruit , dusted with Francis ’ s riff on Tajín ( a Mexican chili-and-lime seasoning powder ) , I expected pineapple ; in fact , it was mellow , sunny-fleshed watermelon .
Between the cognitive glitch and the heat of the spice mix—heavy on dehydrated Scotch-bonnet pepper , ubiquitous in West Africa and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ my palate as much as it brought me pleasure .
Reframing the American palate by skillfully wielding pleasure , not to mention style , is one way to describe what Francis aims to do with Yardy .
Before the pandemic , the company was focussed on food-centric gatherings , some public—a one-night roller disco in Bushwick , an Afro-Caribbean-themed dinner at the Lower East Side restaurant Dimes—and some private , for companies such as Gucci and Squarespace .
Francis , whose Jamaican-immigrant parents owned a restaurant in Norfolk , Virginia , when he @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the restaurants Estela and Café Altro Paradiso while he was in art school , at Cooper Union .
After he graduated , in 2015 , he chose food—woven together with event production and design—as his medium for exploring the threads of his identity as a queer Black Caribbean-American .
Parties may be on pause , but Yardy is not .
In some ways , Francis told me recently , this strange new world has motivated him to move faster toward his biggest ambitions .
“ For a long time , I was , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ be in everyone ’ s home , ’ ” he said .
“ I spent so much time watching food shows that helped me get to where I am right now .
Wouldn ’ t it be great if Yardy could be a beacon of what it meant to be a queer Black chef who has hit a certain amount of notoriety ?
” Although the past few months have been “ a huge challenge , ” Francis said , “ it ’ s been a really great way to amplify our message.
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ , which , until March , took the form of ticketed dinners featuring discussions with artists , poets , and chefs , has moved to Instagram Live , where anyone can watch .
He ’ d like Yardy to be a household brand , offering Caribbean-inspired ice cream or condiments made with ingredients grown by Black farmers , packaged so that “ a little Jamaican kid walking down the aisle ” at Whole Foods will feel an immediate sense of recognition .
As a precursor , he ’ s offering takeout from the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ menu is short and features essential-feeling dishes found across cultures , made with Caribbean ingredients that Francis wants to spotlight and demystify for a broad audience .
The blackened skin of his roast chicken is coated in tamarind and ginger ; his brown-rice bowl is dotted with cubed mango , black beans , and pickled cabbage , and comes with a papaya vinaigrette .
He reimagined the chayote squash of his childhood , usually boiled in chunks in soup , as a thinly sliced filling for a rich , savory tart , delicately @ @ @ @ @ @ @ thick but flaky pâte brisée , and garnished with culantro , a tropical cousin of cilantro .
He ’ s also collaborating with the Black Farmer Fund , which supports Black farmers and food entrepreneurs in New York State , to source produce to use in his prepared dishes and to sell as grocery items .
“ Making things that feel like they just live with you , and are accessories to what you ’ re already doing , is a great way to introduce people to unfamiliar food concepts , ” Francis @ @ @ @ @ @ @ inspired by his favorite food to buy from a street vender : a plastic baggie of ripe mango sprinkled with Tajín .
“ It ’ s such a beautiful gesture of convenience and utility , to have a snack that you travel with that ’ s in a bag , ” he said , clearly nostalgic for life as we knew it before March .
I finished the watermelon in minutes .
Most everything else I ordered from Yardy kept well for a least a week , playing happy accessory to life as @ @ @ @ @ @ @ $ 8- $ 32 . )
♦

The other day, as I ate a salad that I’d ordered from Yardy, an event-production company started by the twenty-seven-year-old artist, chef, and model DeVonn Francis, my brain kept short-circuiting. Every time I bit into a cube of yellow fruit, dusted with Francis’s riff on Tajín (a Mexican chili-and-lime seasoning powder), I expected pineapple; in fact, it was mellow, sunny-fleshed watermelon. Between the cognitive glitch and the heat of the spice mix—heavy on dehydrated Scotch-bonnet pepper, ubiquitous in West Africa and the Caribbean—it was a dish that reframed my palate as much as it brought me pleasure.
Reframing the American palate by skillfully wielding pleasure, not to mention style, is one way to describe what Francis aims to do with Yardy. Before the pandemic, the company was focussed on food-centric gatherings, some public—a one-night roller disco in Bushwick, an Afro-Caribbean-themed dinner at the Lower East Side restaurant Dimes—and some private, for companies such as Gucci and Squarespace. Francis, whose Jamaican-immigrant parents owned a restaurant in Norfolk, Virginia, when he was a kid, waited tables at the restaurants Estela and Café Altro Paradiso while he was in art school, at Cooper Union. After he graduated, in 2015, he chose food—woven together with event production and design—as his medium for exploring the threads of his identity as a queer Black Caribbean-American.
The small menu, currently available for pickup at the SoHo café Smile to Go, includes grilled shrimp skewers. Photo illustration by Nichole Washington for The New Yorker
Parties may be on pause, but Yardy is not. In some ways, Francis told me recently, this strange new world has motivated him to move faster toward his biggest ambitions. “For a long time, I was, like, ‘Imagine if Yardy could be in everyone’s home,’ ” he said. “I spent so much time watching food shows that helped me get to where I am right now. Wouldn’t it be great if Yardy could be a beacon of what it meant to be a queer Black chef who has hit a certain amount of notoriety?”
Although the past few months have been “a huge challenge,” Francis said, “it’s been a really great way to amplify our message.” His “Living Room” series, which, until March, took the form of ticketed dinners featuring discussions with artists, poets, and chefs, has moved to Instagram Live, where anyone can watch. He’d like Yardy to be a household brand, offering Caribbean-inspired ice cream or condiments made with ingredients grown by Black farmers, packaged so that “a little Jamaican kid walking down the aisle” at Whole Foods will feel an immediate sense of recognition. As a precursor, he’s offering takeout from the SoHo café Smile to Go.
A salad of yellow watermelon dusted with a seasoning powder heavy on dehydrated Scotch bonnet, a pepper ubiquitous in the Caribbean, was inspired by baggies of sliced and spiced fresh mango sold by Latin-American street venders. Photo illustration by Nichole Washington for The New Yorker
The menu is short and features essential-feeling dishes found across cultures, made with Caribbean ingredients that Francis wants to spotlight and demystify for a broad audience. The blackened skin of his roast chicken is coated in tamarind and ginger; his brown-rice bowl is dotted with cubed mango, black beans, and pickled cabbage, and comes with a papaya vinaigrette. He reimagined the chayote squash of his childhood, usually boiled in chunks in soup, as a thinly sliced filling for a rich, savory tart, delicately arranged atop caramelized onions, in a thick but flaky pâte brisée, and garnished with culantro, a tropical cousin of cilantro. He’s also collaborating with the Black Farmer Fund, which supports Black farmers and food entrepreneurs in New York State, to source produce to use in his prepared dishes and to sell as grocery items.
“Making things that feel like they just live with you, and are accessories to what you’re already doing, is a great way to introduce people to unfamiliar food concepts,” Francis told me. The watermelon salad was inspired by his favorite food to buy from a street vender: a plastic baggie of ripe mango sprinkled with Tajín. “It’s such a beautiful gesture of convenience and utility, to have a snack that you travel with that’s in a bag,” he said, clearly nostalgic for life as we knew it before March. I finished the watermelon in minutes. Most everything else I ordered from Yardy kept well for a least a week, playing happy accessory to life as we know it now. (Dishes $8-$32.) ♦
More on the Coronavirus


newyorker--2020-08-28--Disney World Enthusiasts Are Divided Over the Park’s Pandemic Reopening

On March 16th , when Walt Disney World Resort , in Orlando , shut down in response to the threat posed by COVID-19 , the pandemic ’ s spread through the South had just begun : all of the Floridians who tested positive that day could have just about fit on the Big Thunder Mountain Railroad .
When the park reopened , on July 11th , numbers in the state were surging dramatically , with more than ten thousand new cases reported that day .
For the past month and a half , Disney World has been operating , with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and with tentative success ; no spikes in cases have been linked to the park .
In the video above , dedicated fans recount the significance that trips to Disney World have held for them over the years , including a chance for connection with a father whose P.T.S.D .
was soothed by visiting the park , reminders of watching Disney movies over and over as a kid , and an escape from day-to-day concerns with a partner .
“ I think of those as the moments you want to hold on to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” one man says , describing revisiting a ride he recalls taking as a five-year-old with his mother , who passed away four years ago .
These reminiscences are paired with slightly eerie footage from the reopened park which , with low visitor numbers on top of planned capacity limits , has the semi-abandoned feeling of a fair beginning to shut down at the end of the day .
Park-goers are sanguine about the reopening ; one woman says that she felt confident that Disney “ wouldn ’ t open if it wasn @ @ @ @ @ @ @ doubts , and are attempting to reconcile their affection for the park with a suspicion that the decision to reopen may have had less to do with safety than with a desire to begin to recoup the almost five billion dollars that the Walt Disney Company lost between April and June .
One woman describes letting some friends know that she was too concerned about the coronavirus to join them for a day at the park .
She texted a sentiment that has become familiar : “ Love you dearly , would love @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” As images from China and other countries of large , sometimes mask-optional , gatherings circulate , Disney World ’ s precarious reopening points to the question of how far the U.S. still is from regaining any sense of normalcy .
“ You talk about , you know , you can enjoy it as a new normal .
.
.
maybe , ” one Disney fan says , of changes both to the park and to life more broadly , over footage in which a girl wearing Minnie Mouse ears and a face @ @ @ @ @ @ @ circling against blue skies .
“ That ’ s a big maybe.
” On the Walt Disney World Web site , a cheerful video titled “ Know Before You Go ” provides information about safety protocols , including face coverings , temperature screenings , and reduced capacity , all presented over a zippy , upbeat soundtrack .
The fine print further down the page is considerably less reassuring .
“ An inherent risk of exposure to COVID-19 exists in any public place where people are present , ” it warns .
“ By @ @ @ @ @ @ @ assume all risks related to exposure to COVID-19.
” But a graphic at the end of the video offers a welcoming message disconnected from potential dangers , nestled by a cluster of mouse-ear balloons : “ See you real soon !
”

On March 16th, when Walt Disney World Resort, in Orlando, shut down in response to the threat posed by COVID-19, the pandemic’s spread through the South had just begun: all of the Floridians who tested positive that day could have just about fit on the Big Thunder Mountain Railroad. When the park reopened, on July 11th, numbers in the state were surging dramatically, with more than ten thousand new cases reported that day. For the past month and a half, Disney World has been operating, with precautionary measures—including a no-hugging policy—in place, and with tentative success; no spikes in cases have been linked to the park.
In the documentary “Small World,” by Jonathan Napolitano, dedicated fans recount the significance that trips to Disney World have held for them over the years, including a chance for connection with a father whose P.T.S.D. was soothed by visiting the park, reminders of watching Disney movies over and over as a kid, and an escape from day-to-day concerns with a partner. “I think of those as the moments you want to hold on to, especially as you get older,” one man says, describing revisiting a ride he recalls taking as a five-year-old with his mother, who passed away four years ago. These reminiscences are paired with slightly eerie footage from the reopened park which, with low visitor numbers on top of planned capacity limits, has the semi-abandoned feeling of a fair beginning to shut down at the end of the day.
Park-goers are sanguine about the reopening; one woman says that she felt confident that Disney “wouldn’t open if it wasn’t safe.” Others have serious doubts, and are attempting to reconcile their affection for the park with a suspicion that the decision to reopen may have had less to do with safety than with a desire to begin to recoup the almost five billion dollars that the Walt Disney Company lost between April and June. One woman describes letting some friends know that she was too concerned about the coronavirus to join them for a day at the park. She texted a sentiment that has become familiar: “Love you dearly, would love to see you, definitely not going.”
As images from China and other countries of large, sometimes mask-optional, gatherings circulate, Disney World’s precarious reopening points to the question of how far the U.S. still is from regaining any sense of normalcy. “You talk about, you know, you can enjoy it as a new normal . . . maybe,” one Disney fan says, of changes both to the park and to life more broadly, over footage in which a girl wearing Minnie Mouse ears and a face mask looks out from a spaceship-themed ride circling against blue skies. “That’s a big maybe.”
On the Walt Disney World Web site, a cheerful video titled “Know Before You Go” provides information about safety protocols, including face coverings, temperature screenings, and reduced capacity, all presented over a zippy, upbeat soundtrack. The fine print further down the page is considerably less reassuring. “An inherent risk of exposure to COVID-19 exists in any public place where people are present,” it warns. “By visiting Walt Disney World Resort you voluntarily assume all risks related to exposure to COVID-19.” But a graphic at the end of the video offers a welcoming message disconnected from potential dangers, nestled by a cluster of mouse-ear balloons: “See you real soon!”


newyorker--2020-08-28--The New Orleans Chef Nina Compton Weathers the Coronavirus Storm

New Orleans , as the old line goes , is a city of a thousand restaurants but only one menu .
Its celebrated dishes—gumbo , jambalaya , catfish , crawfish étouffée , po ’ boy and muffuletta sandwiches , red beans and rice—are the products of a glorious culinary sfumato , blending the techniques and ingredients of Spanish and French colonizers , enslaved Africans and their free descendants , Italian immigrants , and Native Americans .
The flavors are cayenne and black pepper , toasty roux , smoked meats , the slick deep-greenness of okra , the muscular brine wallop @ @ @ @ @ @ @ than anywhere else in the United States , New Orleans boasts its own rich regional culinary tradition , one that is integral to the city ’ s sense of itself—and famously resistant to change .
“ For three hundred years , it ’ s been kind of the same , ” Emeril Lagasse , one of the most influential ambassadors of New Orleans gastronomy , lamented in an interview in 2000 .
“ There are restaurants in New Orleans that the menu hasn ’ t changed in a hundred and twenty-five years , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ or evolve the food ?
” By the time the chef Nina Compton arrived in New Orleans , in 2015 , the city ’ s cuisine was no longer so rigidly set in amber .
What loosened it was one of the most catastrophic disasters in modern American history : the federal levee failures that followed Hurricane Katrina , in August of 2005 , killing an estimated eighteen hundred and thirty-three people , displacing seven hundred and seventy thousand residents , and devastating entire neighborhoods .
In the years after , as the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ outsiders arrived , drawn by cheap rents and by the romance of rebuilding .
Among them was a new generation of chefs proudly cooking the foods of their places of origin .
Before the storm , restaurants that cooked outside of the city ’ s Creole vernacular rarely landed on tourists ’ must-visit lists .
Now New Orleans was earning attention for new Middle Eastern and Latin American restaurants , farm-to-table cafés , a flurry of serious pizza joints .
Compton ’ s first restaurant , Compère Lapin , opened in mid-2015 , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s trendy Warehouse District , showcasing the food of the Caribbean , and of her native St. Lucia in particular : seafood pepper pot , cow-heel soup , jerk fish .
Her dishes were threaded through with the islands ’ smoke and spice and with the ambrosial sweetness of tropical fruit , but they also borrowed freely from France and Italy , the American South , and from the flavors of New Orleans itself .
New Orleans is often described as the northernmost city in the Caribbean .
As with the city ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the islands—of European colonizers , enslaved Africans , indentured laborers from South Asia and China—can be gleaned by studying the dishes on its tables .
Compton played up the culinary harmonies between her home country and her adopted city , serving dishes such as accra—Caribbean salt-fish fritters—alongside green beans with rémoulade , a quintessential New Orleans sauce .
The New Orleanian writer and food historian Lolis Eric Elie told me that he sees Compère Lapin as an exultant argument for a more complete understanding of the city ’ s culinary history .
“ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the goodness of New Orleans food stems from its French influence , and that ’ s largely wrong , ” Elie said .
“ To understand our cuisine , we need to look south , to the Caribbean and Latin America , and we need to look east , to Africa.
” Even the restaurant ’ s name highlights the connection : the character of Compère Lapin , a trickster rabbit , originates in African folklore and is a centerpiece of both St. Lucian and Louisiana storytelling .
( Others might know him @ @ @ @ @ @ @ er Rabbit . )
In St. Lucia , Compton is political royalty : her late father , John Compton , was the nation ’ s first Prime Minister , and is considered its founding father .
But in the U.S. she made her name on reality television , as a standout competitor on the eleventh season of “ Top Chef.
” New Orleanians might have been wary of a TV chef sweeping in to open a restaurant .
But Compton ’ s deeply personal cooking won the city over .
Almost right away @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was packed from breakfast to nightcap ; its signature dish , curried goat over sweet-potato gnocchi , became so popular that Compton ran through her goat supplier ’ s entire stock .
In 2016 , Brett Anderson , then the restaurant critic at the Times-Picayune , named Compère Lapin the restaurant of the year , calling Compton ’ s cooking “ a delicious case study in the art of belonging.
” In 2018 , Compton opened Bywater American Bistro , which hewed more closely to New Orleans tradition , with dishes like hog @ @ @ @ @ @ @ precision-engineered bistro fare .
It , too , was a hit .
Being a famous chef in New Orleans is a responsibility , as much as anything ; the city elevates its culinary titans into civic spokespeople and cultural custodians .
In the five years since she arrived , Compton has become one of New Orleans ’ s most recognizable faces .
As a newcomer who earned the support of a community resistant to outsiders , and a Black woman who found her spotlight in a system that struggles to celebrate people of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ good that ’ s come out of the city ’ s postdiluvian renewal .
But not all of New Orleans recovered after Katrina : fifteen years later , parts of the Lower Ninth Ward , one of the city ’ s poorest neighborhoods , remain ravaged , and many of the people who left never made it back .
The city is still rebuilding , still mapping the path from before to after .
Now the novel coronavirus has upended New Orleans all over again .
Four hundred thousand people live in New @ @ @ @ @ @ @ twenty million visitors , who spill out onto courtyards and sidewalks , crowd onto raucous party porches , and turn the narrow streets of the French Quarter into dense rivers of revelry .
This year , Mardi Gras was a harbinger : according to official counts , attendance at the revel , which spanned a week in late February , was down by about twenty per cent compared with 2019 .
City officials attributed the dip to public anxiety about the virus , which had begun its spread through parts of the United @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that Compton noticed that the reservation books at her restaurants were thinning : fewer new bookings , more cancellations and no-shows .
A little more than a week later , on March 9th , the first case of COVID-19 in Louisiana was detected , in Jefferson Parish , just outside New Orleans .
“ I was trying to be eternally optimistic , ” Compton told me recently .
March 15th was Bywater American Bistro ’ s second anniversary , and she and Larry Miller , her husband and business partner , had been @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the occasion .
The day before , the state recorded its first COVID-19-related death .
She and Miller went through with the party , hoping that it would be a distraction .
“ Everybody was trying to act normal , but they all looked like they stole a pack of gum from the convenience store and somebody saw them do it—fear , ” Compton said .
That evening , after the crowd had dwindled , Compton and Miller sat down in the bistro ’ s dining room to have dinner with some friends @ @ @ @ @ @ @ old , is slender , with short , shaggy hair and a spray of cooking burns across her forearms .
Halfway through the meal , the restaurant ’ s general manager pulled her aside : the mayor had just imposed a curfew on the city ’ s businesses—they would need to empty the dining room by nine o ’ clock that night—and , starting the next day , all restaurants would be required to shift to takeout only .

New Orleans, as the old line goes, is a city of a thousand restaurants but only one menu. Its celebrated dishes—gumbo, jambalaya, catfish, crawfish étouffée, po’boy and muffuletta sandwiches, red beans and rice—are the products of a glorious culinary sfumato, blending the techniques and ingredients of Spanish and French colonizers, enslaved Africans and their free descendants, Italian immigrants, and Native Americans. The flavors are cayenne and black pepper, toasty roux, smoked meats, the slick deep-greenness of okra, the muscular brine wallop of a Gulf oyster. Perhaps more than anywhere else in the United States, New Orleans boasts its own rich regional culinary tradition, one that is integral to the city’s sense of itself—and famously resistant to change. “For three hundred years, it’s been kind of the same,” Emeril Lagasse, one of the most influential ambassadors of New Orleans gastronomy, lamented in an interview in 2000. “There are restaurants in New Orleans that the menu hasn’t changed in a hundred and twenty-five years, so how is one going to change or evolve the food?”
By the time the chef Nina Compton arrived in New Orleans, in 2015, the city’s cuisine was no longer so rigidly set in amber. What loosened it was one of the most catastrophic disasters in modern American history: the federal levee failures that followed Hurricane Katrina, in August of 2005, killing an estimated eighteen hundred and thirty-three people, displacing seven hundred and seventy thousand residents, and devastating entire neighborhoods. In the years after, as the city slowly recovered, an influx of outsiders arrived, drawn by cheap rents and by the romance of rebuilding. Among them was a new generation of chefs proudly cooking the foods of their places of origin. Before the storm, restaurants that cooked outside of the city’s Creole vernacular rarely landed on tourists’ must-visit lists. Now New Orleans was earning attention for new Middle Eastern and Latin American restaurants, farm-to-table cafés, a flurry of serious pizza joints. Compton’s first restaurant, Compère Lapin, opened in mid-2015, in a hotel in the city’s trendy Warehouse District, showcasing the food of the Caribbean, and of her native St. Lucia in particular: seafood pepper pot, cow-heel soup, jerk fish. Her dishes were threaded through with the islands’ smoke and spice and with the ambrosial sweetness of tropical fruit, but they also borrowed freely from France and Italy, the American South, and from the flavors of New Orleans itself.
New Orleans is often described as the northernmost city in the Caribbean. As with the city’s past, the layered history of the islands—of European colonizers, enslaved Africans, indentured laborers from South Asia and China—can be gleaned by studying the dishes on its tables. Compton played up the culinary harmonies between her home country and her adopted city, serving dishes such as accra—Caribbean salt-fish fritters—alongside green beans with rémoulade, a quintessential New Orleans sauce. The New Orleanian writer and food historian Lolis Eric Elie told me that he sees Compère Lapin as an exultant argument for a more complete understanding of the city’s culinary history. “There’s a knee-jerk assumption that the goodness of New Orleans food stems from its French influence, and that’s largely wrong,” Elie said. “To understand our cuisine, we need to look south, to the Caribbean and Latin America, and we need to look east, to Africa.” Even the restaurant’s name highlights the connection: the character of Compère Lapin, a trickster rabbit, originates in African folklore and is a centerpiece of both St. Lucian and Louisiana storytelling. (Others might know him by his Anglophone name: Br’er Rabbit.)
In St. Lucia, Compton is political royalty: her late father, John Compton, was the nation’s first Prime Minister, and is considered its founding father. But in the U.S. she made her name on reality television, as a standout competitor on the eleventh season of “Top Chef.” New Orleanians might have been wary of a TV chef sweeping in to open a restaurant. But Compton’s deeply personal cooking won the city over. Almost right away, Compère Lapin’s dining room was packed from breakfast to nightcap; its signature dish, curried goat over sweet-potato gnocchi, became so popular that Compton ran through her goat supplier’s entire stock. In 2016, Brett Anderson, then the restaurant critic at the Times-Picayune, named Compère Lapin the restaurant of the year, calling Compton’s cooking “a delicious case study in the art of belonging.” In 2018, Compton opened Bywater American Bistro, which hewed more closely to New Orleans tradition, with dishes like hog’s-head boudin and fried oysters alongside precision-engineered bistro fare. It, too, was a hit.
Being a famous chef in New Orleans is a responsibility, as much as anything; the city elevates its culinary titans into civic spokespeople and cultural custodians. In the five years since she arrived, Compton has become one of New Orleans’s most recognizable faces. As a newcomer who earned the support of a community resistant to outsiders, and a Black woman who found her spotlight in a system that struggles to celebrate people of color, she embodies some of the good that’s come out of the city’s postdiluvian renewal. But not all of New Orleans recovered after Katrina: fifteen years later, parts of the Lower Ninth Ward, one of the city’s poorest neighborhoods, remain ravaged, and many of the people who left never made it back. The city is still rebuilding, still mapping the path from before to after.
Now the novel coronavirus has upended New Orleans all over again. Four hundred thousand people live in New Orleans; last year, it saw twenty million visitors, who spill out onto courtyards and sidewalks, crowd onto raucous party porches, and turn the narrow streets of the French Quarter into dense rivers of revelry. This year, Mardi Gras was a harbinger: according to official counts, attendance at the revel, which spanned a week in late February, was down by about twenty per cent compared with 2019. City officials attributed the dip to public anxiety about the virus, which had begun its spread through parts of the United States. It was around that time that Compton noticed that the reservation books at her restaurants were thinning: fewer new bookings, more cancellations and no-shows. A little more than a week later, on March 9th, the first case of COVID-19 in Louisiana was detected, in Jefferson Parish, just outside New Orleans.
“I was trying to be eternally optimistic,” Compton told me recently. March 15th was Bywater American Bistro’s second anniversary, and she and Larry Miller, her husband and business partner, had been planning a massive lunchtime crawfish boil for the occasion. The day before, the state recorded its first COVID-19-related death. She and Miller went through with the party, hoping that it would be a distraction. “Everybody was trying to act normal, but they all looked like they stole a pack of gum from the convenience store and somebody saw them do it—fear,” Compton said. That evening, after the crowd had dwindled, Compton and Miller sat down in the bistro’s dining room to have dinner with some friends. Compton, who is forty-one years old, is slender, with short, shaggy hair and a spray of cooking burns across her forearms. Halfway through the meal, the restaurant’s general manager pulled her aside: the mayor had just imposed a curfew on the city’s businesses—they would need to empty the dining room by nine o’clock that night—and, starting the next day, all restaurants would be required to shift to takeout only.
Little was known about COVID-19 at that point, besides its rapaciousness. Health and government officials were giving out conflicting messages about how the virus spread, how to prevent it, what its effects would be. That night, overwhelmed by the wave of rapidly changing information, Compton and Miller decided that the best thing to do was wait: they would close both restaurants and then figure out what their next steps ought to be. On Tuesday, March 17th—the same day that New Orleans claimed the second-highest per-capita case rate in the country—they called a staff meeting and announced that Compère Lapin and Bywater American Bistro would be going dark indefinitely, and that the entire staff—some hundred and twenty employees—was being laid off.
In the span of just a few days, virtually all of New Orleans shut down; statewide, unemployment claims leaped in a single week from seventeen hundred to more than thirty thousand. After the closures, Compton had a conversation with a longtime New Orleans restaurateur. “He said, ‘You know, Nina, during Katrina, it was up to our knees, but everybody wanted to reopen,’ ” Compton told me. The city’s attitude in the face of the coronavirus seemed similarly resolute, she said. “Everybody’s, like, ‘It may not be this month, but we’re going to reopen.’ ” In the pandemic, though, the strategies for survival are different. Anderson, who covered the city’s restaurants in the immediate aftermath of Katrina, and who is now a writer for the New York Times, told me, “Reopening a restaurant after Katrina was, ‘You know what? I’m going to grill hamburgers. Watch me go find some soft-shell fucking crabs right now.’ ” In the pandemic, pushing defiantly ahead is dangerous. “We’ve got the calluses, we’ve got the know-how, we’ve got a playbook,” Anderson said. “It turns out all those things aren’t really that useful.”


newyorker--2020-08-28--The High Line Reopens, with Tickets

The High Line Reopens, with Tickets

One of the silver linings of the pause in New York City has been seeing harried pedestrians become masked flâneurs @ @ @ @ @ walking for its own sake .
The High Line was created for exactly that purpose—an @ @ @ @ @ air , enhanced by outdoor art and sustainable landscaping .
Of course , some people @ @ @ @ @ their shoes and lean back .
A portion of the park is now open daily @ @ @ @ @ P.M. , with timed tickets available on the High Line app and Web site .

One of the silver linings of the pause in New York City has been seeing harried pedestrians become masked flâneurs, discovering the pleasures of walking for its own sake. The High Line was created for exactly that purpose—an elevated stroll in the fresh air, enhanced by outdoor art and sustainable landscaping. Of course, some people would rather just kick off their shoes and lean back. A portion of the park is now open daily, from noon to 8 P.M., with timed tickets available on the High Line app and Web site.


newyorker--2020-08-28--The Malign Fantasy of Donald Trump’s Convention

For four years , Donald Trump has been asking us to believe the unbelievable , to accept the unthinkable , to replace harsh realities with simple fantasies .
On Thursday night , using the White House as a gaudy backdrop , the President made his case to the American people for four more years .
His speech capping the Republican National Convention was long , acerbic , untruthful , and surprisingly muted in comparison to the grandeur of the setting , which no chief executive before him has dared to appropriate in such a partisan way .
“ We will @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” he promised .
Even for a salesman like Trump , it was never going to be an easy deal to close , what with a deadly pandemic , mass unemployment , nationwide protests over racial injustice , and even a killer hurricane smashing into the Gulf Coast hours before his speech .
Some seventy per cent of Americans currently believe that the country is on the wrong track , according to recent polls .
Who can blame them ?
This should be devastating context for a President , any President , seeking @ @ @ @ @ @ @ carnage to replace the false one that Trump conjured four years ago .
Yet the strategy of Trump and his team is now clear : to talk about how bad things would be in Joe Biden ’ s America , a violent socialist ruin in which freedom itself will no longer exist and rampaging protesters , like those now committing “ rioting , looting , arson , and violence ” in “ Democrat-run cities , ” will be coming soon to a suburb near you .
“ The hard truth is , you @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Biden ’ s America , ” Vice-President Mike Pence said on Wednesday night .
“ No one will be safe in Biden ’ s America , ” Trump said on Thursday night .
To say this sounded a bit off in actual America , Trump ’ s America , does not do justice to the bizarre dissonance of this year ’ s Republican Convention .
Americans know Trump pretty well by now , and so it was more than a little discordant to hear him extolled throughout the Convention this week as a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ friend to African-Americans , champion of religious liberty , and lover of immigrants , who interrupted his own Convention to preside over a White House naturalization ceremony for five lucky new citizens .
A courageous patriot who works “ from dawn to midnight , ” as his daughter Ivanka told us , this Convention-Trump personally charmed German Chancellor Angela Merkel , made peace in the Middle East , and single-handedly saved U.S. industries and unborn babies .
And then there was his response to the coronavirus pandemic , perhaps the Administration ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ bravely disregarded the so-called experts to ban flights from China , thus saving millions of lives , while working closely with America ’ s governors , providing medical workers with all the resources they needed , reopening schools and businesses , and putting the greatest economy in history on the path to a fast recovery .
The trolling was as epic as the setting was legally questionable : sitting and listening to Trump were more than a thousand supporters , packed together tightly in white chairs on the White House lawn , and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
While thus publicly and flagrantly flouting public-health standards , Trump touted his response to the pandemic as one that is focussed exclusively “ on the science , the facts , and the data.
” Did they expect anyone to believe it ?
Who knows , but politically , at least , the spectacle suggested a President entering his reëlection campaign not strong and confident of victory , but insecure and faltering , a President whose prospects , left unvarnished by lies and fantasy , were so poor that his strategists had to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
The departure from reality was so complete that I spent much of the week feeling sorry for the many journalists now employed as real-time fact checkers .
The truth is that Trump ’ s heart wasn ’ t really in the ridiculously uncredible makeover anyway .
Fear is his preferred political drug , and nasty personal attacks are his default setting .
This is what he is pushing , now and forever .
Minutes into his speech , he framed the election as a fight to “ save the American dream ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” from Democrats who would give “ free reign to violent anarchists , agitators , and criminals who threaten our citizens.
” Trump attacked Biden by name forty-one times in his prepared remarks , some kind of record in a convention speech .
Biden is a “ destroyer of American greatness ” itself , Trump said , and he supports “ the most extreme set of proposals ever put forward by a major party nominee.
” He is a pawn of China and the radical left , “ a Trojan horse for socialism @ @ @ @ @ @ @ failed political class , ” and a loser on the wrong side of history .
He and his party will “ demolish the suburbs.
” They will “ confiscate your guns.
” Biden , in short , will end America as you know it .
The problem , of course , is that America as we know it is currently in the midst of a mess not of Biden ’ s making but of Trump ’ s .
Suffice it to say that , by the time Trump ’ s speech was over @ @ @ @ @ @ @ blue fireworks spelling out “ 2020 ” had been set off over the National Mall , late Thursday night , more than three thousand seven hundred Americans had died of the coronavirus since the start of the Convention—more than perished on 9/11—and a hundred and eighty thousand Americans total had succumbed to the disease , a disease that Trump repeatedly denied was even a threat .
His botched handling of the pandemic was the very reason that his Convention was taking place on the White House lawn in the first place .
But @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that nothing , not even a deadly plague or a cratering economy , can stop Trump from being Trump .
He bragged .
He lied .
He even ad-libbed a taunt at his critics , using the White House as his prop .
“ We ’ re here , ” he said , pointing to the flood-lit mansion behind him , “ and they ’ re not.
” Four years ago , the Republican National Convention was not an electoral game-changer for Trump , but it was an important marker for the man @ @ @ @ @ @ @ closely , it was a herald of the scorched-earth campaign to come—and , especially , of the fundamental dishonesty of the Administration that would follow .
Trump ’ s Presidency , just like that 2016 Convention , has always been a puzzling combination of the incompetent and the dangerous ; from the start , it has been equal parts dystopianism and hucksterism , with a strong side of nepotism thrown in .
Pretty much all of it was on the giant gilded platform in Cleveland , plain to see .
Perhaps the most @ @ @ @ @ @ @ speech was a memorable expression of his aspirational authoritarianism : “ I alone can fix it.
” That , it turned out , was not a throwaway line or an odd exaggeration by a narcissistic political novice ; it was a precursor and a prelude to the radical reimagining of the Presidency as a one-man show .
Cleveland was a prologue .
What happened at the White House last night was its tawdry , perhaps inevitable , sequel .
Trump appears to believe that what really worked about that Cleveland speech were his @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” The dark hellscape of America in the Obama years was not the subtext of his candidacy back then ; it was the text of it , and if it did not actually exist—well , that was O.K.
, because Trump was more than willing to invent it .
Four years later , as an actual hellscape unfolds , there is another act of invention : pretending that the cataclysm is not happening , or spuriously claiming that the true crisis is not the pandemic or the economic catastrophe or police brutality toward @ @ @ @ @ @ @ illegal aliens and open borders and attacks on law enforcement—all the same old racially coded appeals to the President ’ s white political base , freshened up and brought back out against the backdrop of this summer ’ s protests , which began with the police killing of George Floyd in Minneapolis and have escalated once again this week following the police shooting of another young Black man , Jacob Blake , in Kenosha , Wisconsin .
“ The more .
.
.
violence reigns , the better it is ” for Trump @ @ @ @ @ @ @ House counsellor , told Fox News on Thursday morning , as pictures of looting in Kenosha dominated the news .
Trump thinks law and order won him the election four years ago .
He thinks it will do so again in November .

For four years, Donald Trump has been asking us to believe the unbelievable, to accept the unthinkable, to replace harsh realities with simple fantasies. On Thursday night, using the White House as a gaudy backdrop, the President made his case to the American people for four more years. His speech capping the Republican National Convention was long, acerbic, untruthful, and surprisingly muted in comparison to the grandeur of the setting, which no chief executive before him has dared to appropriate in such a partisan way. “We will make America greater than ever before,” he promised.
Even for a salesman like Trump, it was never going to be an easy deal to close, what with a deadly pandemic, mass unemployment, nationwide protests over racial injustice, and even a killer hurricane smashing into the Gulf Coast hours before his speech. Some seventy per cent of Americans currently believe that the country is on the wrong track, according to recent polls. Who can blame them?
This should be devastating context for a President, any President, seeking reëlection, a true picture of American carnage to replace the false one that Trump conjured four years ago. Yet the strategy of Trump and his team is now clear: to talk about how bad things would be in Joe Biden’s America, a violent socialist ruin in which freedom itself will no longer exist and rampaging protesters, like those now committing “rioting, looting, arson, and violence” in “Democrat-run cities,” will be coming soon to a suburb near you. “The hard truth is, you won’t be safe in Joe Biden’s America,” Vice-President Mike Pence said on Wednesday night. “No one will be safe in Biden’s America,” Trump said on Thursday night. To say this sounded a bit off in actual America, Trump’s America, does not do justice to the bizarre dissonance of this year’s Republican Convention.
Americans know Trump pretty well by now, and so it was more than a little discordant to hear him extolled throughout the Convention this week as a family man, promoter of women, friend to African-Americans, champion of religious liberty, and lover of immigrants, who interrupted his own Convention to preside over a White House naturalization ceremony for five lucky new citizens. A courageous patriot who works “from dawn to midnight,” as his daughter Ivanka told us, this Convention Trump personally charmed German Chancellor Angela Merkel, made peace in the Middle East, and single-handedly saved U.S. industries and unborn babies. And then there was his response to the coronavirus pandemic, perhaps the Administration’s shining hour, in which the President bravely disregarded the so-called experts to ban flights from China, thus saving millions of lives, while working closely with America’s governors, providing medical workers with all the resources they needed, reopening schools and businesses, and putting the greatest economy in history on the path to a fast recovery. The trolling was as epic as the setting was legally questionable: sitting and listening to Trump were more than a thousand supporters, packed together tightly in white chairs on the White House lawn, and almost none of them were wearing masks. While thus publicly and flagrantly flouting public-health standards, Trump touted his response to the pandemic as one that is focussed exclusively “on the science, the facts, and the data.”
Did they expect anyone to believe it? Who knows, but politically, at least, the spectacle suggested a President entering his reëlection campaign not strong and confident of victory but insecure and faltering, a President whose prospects, left unvarnished by lies and fantasy, were so poor that his strategists had to reinvent him as a different person altogether. The departure from reality was so complete that I spent much of the week feeling sorry for the many journalists now employed as real-time fact checkers.
The truth is that Trump’s heart wasn’t really in the ridiculously uncredible makeover anyway. Fear is his preferred political drug, and nasty personal attacks are his default setting. This is what he is pushing, now and forever. Minutes into his speech, he framed the election as a fight to “save the American Dream” and “the American way of life” from Democrats who would give “free reign to violent anarchists, agitators, and criminals who threaten our citizens.” Trump attacked Biden by name forty-one times in his prepared remarks, some kind of record in a Convention speech. Biden is a “destroyer of American greatness” itself, Trump said, and he supports “the most extreme set of proposals ever put forward by a major-party nominee.” He is a pawn of China and the radical left, “a Trojan horse for socialism,” a representative of a “failed political class,” and a loser on the wrong side of history. He and his party will “demolish the suburbs.” They will “confiscate your guns.” Biden, in short, will end America as you know it.
The problem, of course, is that America as we know it is currently in the midst of a mess not of Biden’s making but of Trump’s. Suffice it to say that, by the time Trump’s speech was over and the red, white, and blue fireworks spelling out “2020” had been set off over the National Mall, late Thursday night, more than three thousand seven hundred Americans had died of the coronavirus since the start of the Convention—more than perished on 9/11—and a hundred and eighty thousand Americans total had succumbed to the disease, a disease that Trump repeatedly denied was even a threat. His botched handling of the pandemic was the very reason that his Convention was taking place on the White House lawn in the first place.
But the real message of the evening was that nothing, not even a deadly plague or a cratering economy, can stop Trump from being Trump. He bragged. He lied. He even ad-libbed a taunt at his critics, using the White House as his prop. “We’re here,” he said, pointing to the flood-lit mansion behind him, “and they’re not.”
As Trump touted his response to the pandemic, more than a thousand supporters sat listening on the White House lawn, packed together tightly and, in most cases, not wearing masks. Photograph by Jim Lo Scalzo / EPA-EFE / Shutterstock
Four years ago, the Republican National Convention was not an electoral game-changer for Trump, but it was an important marker for the man and his party. If you listened closely, it was a herald of the scorched-earth campaign to come—and, especially, of the fundamental dishonesty of the Administration that would follow. Trump’s Presidency, just like that 2016 Convention, has always been a puzzling combination of the incompetent and the dangerous; from the start, it has been equal parts dystopianism and hucksterism, with a strong side of nepotism thrown in. Pretty much all of it was on the giant gilded platform in Cleveland, plain to see.
Perhaps the most quoted line from Trump’s 2016 speech was a memorable expression of his aspirational authoritarianism: “I alone can fix it.” That, it turned out, was not a throwaway line or an odd exaggeration by a narcissistic political novice; it was a precursor and a prelude to the radical reimagining of the Presidency as a one-man show. Cleveland was a prologue. What happened at the White House last night was its tawdry, perhaps inevitable, sequel.
Trump appears to believe that what really worked about that Cleveland speech were his repeated calls for “law and order.” The dark hellscape of America in the Obama years was not the subtext of his candidacy back then; it was the text of it, and if it did not actually exist—well, that was O.K., because Trump was more than willing to invent it. Four years later, as an actual hellscape unfolds, there is another act of invention: pretending that the cataclysm is not happening, or spuriously claiming that the true crisis is not the pandemic or the economic catastrophe or police brutality toward Black people but a plague of illegal aliens and open borders and attacks on law enforcement—all the same old racially coded appeals to the President’s white political base, freshened up and brought back out against the backdrop of this summer’s protests, which began with the police killing of George Floyd, in Minneapolis, and have escalated once again this week following the police shooting of another young Black man, Jacob Blake, in Kenosha, Wisconsin. “The more . . . violence reigns, the better it is” for Trump, Kellyanne Conway, his soon-to-depart White House counsellor, told Fox News on Thursday morning, as pictures of looting in Kenosha dominated the news. Trump thinks law and order won him the election four years ago. He thinks it will do so again in November.