newyorker--2020-09-26--Trump’s Selection of Amy Coney Barrett for the Supreme Court Is Part of a Larger Anti-Democratic Pro

Trump’s Selection of Amy Coney Barrett for the Supreme Court Is Part of a Larger Anti-Democratic Project

On Friday evening , CNN , the New York Times , and other media outlets reported that Donald Trump had told associates that he has chosen Judge Amy Coney Barrett , a prominent social conservative , to replace the late Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg on the Supreme Court .
Although Trump ’ s choice of Barrett—whom he appointed to the Seventh Circuit Court of Appeals , in 2017—wasn ’ t unexpected , it ’ s sure to escalate the bitter political conflict surrounding the Republican effort to rush a nomination through the U.S. Senate less than forty days before the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ like Mitch McConnell , the Senate Majority Leader , has the votes to do that .
The brazen and unapologetic nature of this G.O.P .
power play is fanning perfectly justified outrage , and the selection of Barrett—who has ruled in favor of restrictions on abortion and who once served as a law clerk to Justice Antonin Scalia—as a replacement for a liberal icon will further inflame passions .
The nominee is expected to appear alongside Trump at the White House on Saturday afternoon .
Some Democratic senators have openly considered boycotting the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , at least in the modern era .
With the first Presidential debate , on Tuesday , set to add to the political tension , the next few weeks will be fast-moving and nerve-racking .
But it is worth first stepping back and considering the larger context in which all this is taking place .
If the aftermath of Ginsburg ’ s untimely death has taught us anything , it ’ s that the antiquated institutions of American democracy are in urgent need of repair—that is , if the country can get through @ @ @ @ @ @ @ institutions still intact , which at times this week hasn ’ t always seemed like a given .
The alternative to wholesale reform is almost too ghastly to contemplate : the continuation and intensification of a years-long effort to consolidate minority rule .
For , when you strip away all the diversions and disinformation , that is the project that the Republican Party and the forty-fifth President are engaged in .
According to a new poll from ABC News , which was released on Friday , fifty-seven per cent of Americans think that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ replacement should be left to the next President ; only thirty-eight per cent think Trump should make the pick .
Other surveys have found similar results .
The data site FiveThirtyEight examined twelve polls and found that , in the aggregate , fifty-two per cent of respondents favored waiting until after the election to fill Ginsburg ’ s seat , while thirty-nine per cent said that Trump should fill it immediately .
This is just the current anti-democratic outrage .
When you consider the combined influence of the Electoral College and the Senate @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of Republican voters living in less densely populated parts of the country , the empowerment of the minority—an overwhelmingly white and conservative minority—goes far beyond this instance , egregious as it is .
If the Senate confirms Trump ’ s nominee , five members of the Court will have been selected by a President who initially won the White House while losing the popular vote .
George W. Bush nominated John Roberts , the Chief Justice , and Samuel Alito ; Trump picked Neil Gorsuch and Brett Kavanaugh , and will soon nominate @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s two picks came during his second term , which followed a handy popular-vote victory over John Kerry , in 2004 .
But Bush wouldn ’ t have been running in the 2004 election as an incumbent if the 2000 election had been decided on the basis of who received the most support nationally .
In the popular vote , Al Gore beat him by more than half a million votes .
Why bring up an event that , to younger readers , may seem like ancient history ?
Because , in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ t something that resides solely in the past .
With the nation ’ s early years having bequeathed to posterity an unrepresentative Electoral College and an unrepresentative U.S. Senate , this history is ever present—shaping some outcomes , ruling out others , and exercising a baleful influence that politicians of bad will , such as McConnell and Trump , can seize upon to further entrench the minority of which they are very much part .
After all , McConnell ’ s status as the Dark Lord of Capitol Hill depends on a political @ @ @ @ @ @ @ senators to California ( population 39.1 million ) as it does to Wyoming ( population 0.6 million ) .
According to the Real Clear Politics poll average , Trump is trailing Biden by 6.7 percentage points , and he ’ s been well behind all year .
At this stage , his hopes of getting reëlected hinge almost entirely on cobbling together another majority in the Electoral College , to negate the expressed will of the majority .
In trying to do this , he has amply demonstrated his willingness to rely on @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , and even possibly call upon Republican legislatures to set aside their states ’ election results and appoint slates of loyalist electors to the Electoral College .
( In the magazine this week , my colleague Jeffrey Toobin wrote about all these possibilities . )
When points like these are put to Republicans , some of them reply that this is a republic rather than a democracy , which is conceding the point .
A somewhat more sophisticated argument is that the United States is a representative democracy rather than a direct democracy @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the seemingly anti-democratic elements of the political system to protect minorities and prevent mob rule .
The proper response to this argument is to invoke actual history rather than fables .
The Founders were men of property and eighteenth-century views .
In his book , “ The Framers ’ Coup : The Making of the United States Constitution , ” from 2016 , Michael J. Klarman , a professor at Harvard Law School , explains that they “ had interests , prejudices , and moral blind spots .
They could not foresee the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Largely drawn from the landed class , they had little interest in empowering the common man , and no interest at all in empowering women and Black people .
But , unlike many latter-day “ constitutionalists , ” they were aware of their own shortcomings .
Although they tussled long and hard over the system they created , they didn ’ t consider it a perfect solution or something that couldn ’ t be altered in the future , depending on the circumstances and exigencies of the time .
“ As Jefferson would @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ those who wish to sanctify the Constitution are often using it to defend some particular interest that , in their own day , can not be adequately justified on its own merits.
” In the nearly two centuries since Jefferson ’ s death , some of the more objectionable aspects of the system that he helped to create have been reformed and updated .
It is our misfortune to be living through a period in which Trump and his allies are busy exploiting the system ’ s remaining weaknesses for their own @ @ @ @ @ @ @ it is , the rushed nomination of Amy Coney Barrett is but one part of a bigger and even more alarming story .

On Friday evening, CNN, the New York Times, and other media outlets reported that Donald Trump had told associates that he has chosen Judge Amy Coney Barrett, a prominent social conservative, to replace the late Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg on the Supreme Court. Although Trump’s choice of Barrett—whom he appointed to the Seventh Circuit Court of Appeals, in 2017—wasn’t unexpected, it’s sure to escalate the bitter political conflict surrounding the Republican effort to rush a nomination through the U.S. Senate less than forty days before the election.
Right now, it looks like Mitch McConnell, the Senate Majority Leader, has the votes to do that. The brazen and unapologetic nature of this G.O.P. power play is fanning perfectly justified outrage, and the selection of Barrett—who has ruled in favor of restrictions on abortion and who once served as a law clerk to Justice Antonin Scalia—as a replacement for a liberal icon will further inflame passions. The nominee is expected to appear alongside Trump at the White House on Saturday afternoon. Some Democratic senators have openly considered boycotting the confirmation hearings, which would be unprecedented, at least in the modern era.
With the first Presidential debate, on Tuesday, set to add to the political tension, the next few weeks will be fast-moving and nerve-racking. But it is worth first stepping back and considering the larger context in which all this is taking place. If the aftermath of Ginsburg’s untimely death has taught us anything, it’s that the antiquated institutions of American democracy are in urgent need of repair—that is, if the country can get through the next couple of months with these institutions still intact, which at times this week hasn’t always seemed like a given. The alternative to wholesale reform is almost too ghastly to contemplate: the continuation and intensification of a years-long effort to consolidate minority rule. For, when you strip away all the diversions and disinformation, that is the project that the Republican Party and the forty-fifth President are engaged in.
According to a new poll from ABC News, which was released on Friday, fifty-seven per cent of Americans think that the job of selecting Ginsburg’s replacement should be left to the next President; only thirty-eight per cent think Trump should make the pick. Other surveys have found similar results. The data site FiveThirtyEight examined twelve polls and found that, in the aggregate, fifty-two per cent of respondents favored waiting until after the election to fill Ginsburg’s seat, while thirty-nine per cent said that Trump should fill it immediately.
This is just the current antidemocratic outrage. When you consider the combined influence of the Electoral College and the Senate, both of which amplify the power of Republican voters living in less densely populated parts of the country, the empowerment of the minority—an overwhelmingly white and conservative minority—goes far beyond this instance, egregious as it is.
If the Senate confirms Trump’s nominee, five members of the Court will have been selected by a President who initially won the White House while losing the popular vote. George W. Bush nominated John Roberts, the Chief Justice, and Samuel Alito; Trump picked Neil Gorsuch and Brett Kavanaugh, and will soon nominate Barrett. To be sure, Bush’s two picks came during his second term, which followed a handy popular-vote victory over John Kerry, in 2004. But Bush wouldn’t have been running in the 2004 election as an incumbent if the 2000 election had been decided on the basis of who received the most support nationally. In the popular vote, Al Gore beat him by more than half a million votes.
Why bring up an event that, to younger readers, may seem like ancient history? Because, in this country, American history isn’t something that resides solely in the past. With the nation’s early years having bequeathed to posterity an unrepresentative Electoral College and an unrepresentative U.S. Senate, this history is ever present—shaping some outcomes, ruling out others, and exercising a baleful influence that politicians of bad will, such as McConnell and Trump, can seize upon to further entrench the minority of which they are very much part.
After all, McConnell’s status as the Dark Lord of Capitol Hill depends on a political system that affords the same number of senators to California (population 39.1 million) as it does to Wyoming (population 0.6 million). According to the Real Clear Politics poll average, Trump is trailing Biden by 6.7 percentage points, and he’s been well behind all year. At this stage, his hopes of getting reëlected hinge almost entirely on cobbling together another majority in the Electoral College, to negate the expressed will of the majority. In trying to do this, he has amply demonstrated his willingness to rely on voter suppression, challenge legitimate mail-in ballots, and even possibly call upon Republican legislatures to set aside their states’ election results and appoint slates of loyalist electors to the Electoral College. (In the magazine this week, my colleague Jeffrey Toobin wrote about all these possibilities.)
When points like these are put to Republicans, some of them reply that this is a republic rather than a democracy, which is conceding the point. A somewhat more sophisticated argument is that the United States is a representative democracy rather than a direct democracy, and that the Founders expressly designed the seemingly antidemocratic elements of the political system to protect minorities and prevent mob rule. The proper response to this argument is to invoke actual history rather than fables.
The Founders were men of property and eighteenth-century views. In his book,“The Framers’ Coup: The Making of the United States Constitution,” from 2016, Michael J. Klarman, a professor at Harvard Law School, explains that they “had interests, prejudices, and moral blind spots. They could not foresee the future, and they made mistakes.” Largely drawn from the landed class, they had little interest in empowering the common man, and no interest at all in empowering women and Black people. But, unlike many latter-day “constitutionalists,” they were aware of their own shortcomings. Although they tussled long and hard over the system they created, they didn’t consider it a perfect solution or something that couldn’t be altered in the future, depending on the circumstances and exigencies of the time. “As Jefferson would have recognized,” Klarman writes, “those who wish to sanctify the Constitution are often using it to defend some particular interest that, in their own day, cannot be adequately justified on its own merits.”
In the nearly two centuries since Jefferson’s death, some of the more objectionable aspects of the system that he helped to create have been reformed and updated. It is our misfortune to be living through a period in which Trump and his allies are busy exploiting the system’s remaining weaknesses for their own iniquitous and antidemocratic ends. Disturbing as it is, the rushed nomination of Amy Coney Barrett is but one part of a bigger and even more alarming story.


newyorker--2020-09-25--How to Preserve American Elections

How to Preserve American Elections

There is already legal maneuvering in state and federal court over these issues , but there could be continued legal maneuvering that would be geared more toward trying to stop the count or limit the number of outstanding ballots counted .
There could be parallel efforts in the state legislature to try to declare that the vote was marred by improprieties , and therefore that the state legislature has to choose its own slate of electors—and then there would be a big fight over whether they could do that , and that is a fight that could play out both @ @ @ @ @ @ @ eventually , as Electoral College votes are considered and taken .
One of the most talked-about parts of the Atlantic story , which you alluded to , is that , if the votes went against Trump in various states , the state legislatures with Republican majorities could appoint their own slates of electors .
How concerned are you about this scenario ?
I do not think it is likely , but I don ’ t think it is impossible that this will happen .
I was having a debate with Nate Silver about @ @ @ @ @ @ @ like a statistician .
I look at it more like the engineer at a nuclear reactor who is worried about the small risk of a catastrophic meltdown—and I think we have gone from a negligible risk to a small risk .
But that is still very worrisome , because the consequences are so huge .
To summarize why I think this Electoral College gambit by state legislatures is unlikely , to begin with , is that the Constitution provides , in Article II , that states get to set the manner for conducting @ @ @ @ @ @ @ manner !
They are letting voters vote , and in every state it is winner take all , except for a couple states where they do it partially by congressional district .
So the manner has already been set—people have already started voting .
I take it that you couldn ’ t change that midstream .
The play would instead have to be that the legislature says that we gave it to the people , but the election was so poorly conducted that they have made a choice that we can not discern @ @ @ @ @ @ @ this on our own .
That has a lot of risks .
No .
1 , it calls their own elections into question , because it says they don ’ t know if the ballot count is valid .
No .
2 , in states with Democratic governors , there is going to be a serious fight about whether state legislatures can act without the governor ’ s acquiescence in appointing electors , when usually it ’ s the governor who is sending in the slate of electors .
Furthermore , this would @ @ @ @ @ @ @ you are going to disenfranchise voters and not allow the vote count—I think you would have a huge backlash against those legislators who would do this .
It would be seen as the ultimate Republican power grab , worse than some of the things we have seen in every state .
You would have rioting .
It would be hugely disruptive .
And then those electors are going to be sent to Congress , where , if there is a Democratic House and maybe a Democratic Senate , their votes might not be @ @ @ @ @ @ @ crisis , but it wouldn ’ t necessarily lead to the choice of Trump .
It could go down a bunch of different roads .
It could end up in the courts .
It could become a political battle more than a legal battle .
It would be setting off a kind of explosion that would be incredibly disruptive and uncertain .
So the legislature chooses the electors and the governor sends them to Congress ?
Every state has its own set of rules , and I would refer you and your readers @ @ @ @ @ @ @ When someone declares victory or defeat , it has no legal effect .
It might in terms of public opinion , but it ’ s really the certification of the vote count , which happens weeks after the election , that matters .
For the Presidential contest , there is the certification of the election by state election officials , and for the purposes of the Presidency that leads to the appointment of a slate of electors from each state .
Those electors meet , and then the governor of the state sends @ @ @ @ @ @ @ electors voted .
There are all kinds of scenarios in federal law when there are competing slates , and that gets to be a mess .
But it is the governor who reports the Electoral College vote .
So think of Wisconsin and Pennsylvania as two states with Democratic governors who might not report what a Republican legislature might do , and contrast that with Arizona and Florida , where the Republican governors would be more likely to do that .
I assume we are probably talking about something ending in the Supreme @ @ @ @ @ @ @ I think that , if we have a disputed Presidential election , there will no doubt be attempts to get the Supreme Court involved .
Whether the Court steps in and how it is does is really speculative right now .
What I can say is that , even though we have an eight-member Court , assuming we don ’ t have another member appointed before the election , the Court is not divided ideologically like it was when Justice Scalia died .
It ’ s a 5–3 Court .
So it ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
It won ’ t be divided after a ninth Justice , either .
Right , and that ’ s why the argument that you need a ninth Justice to decide the race is a ridiculous one .
This is something Trump and Lindsey Graham have been saying .
Yes .
It ’ s not a reason to speed things up .
And , if the Court does decide something 4–4 , it is not like we have no decision—the decision of the lower court would stand .
That would be a problem @ @ @ @ @ @ @ You said earlier that you didn ’ t know if Trump ’ s comments on mail voting would actually help him .
What message should Democrats be sending on mail voting ?
The general argument is that mail ballots are rejected at higher rates , but mail voting can help turnout .
Sometimes people don ’ t show up at the polls because the weather is bad or whatever else , and this is safer .
Here is the advice everyone should take , whether they are Democrats or Republicans or a member @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
No .
1 , register to vote .
We are quickly coming up on thirty-day deadlines in a number of states .
If you aren ’ t registered to vote , you can ’ t vote .
No .
2 , have a voting plan , because voting will be different this year , whether you are voting in person—your polling place may have moved , the times may have changed—or if you are voting by mail .
And you have to know what the rules are .
We are talking about @ @ @ @ @ @ @ disenfranchised inadvertently in Pennsylvania because the instructions are not clear .
They have to put their ballot in a second envelope .
These naked ballots are not going to count .
So , once you have a voting plan , you need to make sure that you vote as early as you are allowed to vote , and that you follow all the rules .
Only in some states are you told you made a mistake and can correct that error .
In other states , you are not told about that .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ more likely to be disenfranchised if you vote by mail .
If you listen to Michelle Obama , when she gave that speech at the Democratic National Convention , she said to vote early in person if you can .
So I think that is the Democratic message .
I think voting in person may not be right for everybody , and I think waiting to vote until Election Day is somewhat risky .
We may have long lines .
Remember , the President has encouraged people who vote by mail to go @ @ @ @ @ @ @ again or check their registration .
We don ’ t know what it will be like on Election Day .
So voting as early as possible , and doing it right , is a key message for all voters .

On Wednesday, President Donald Trump refused to promise a peaceful transfer of power should Joe Biden win the election, telling reporters, “We’re going to have to see what happens,” and, “You know that I’ve been complaining very strongly about the ballots, and the ballots are a disaster.” He added, “Get rid of the ballots and you’ll have a very peaceful—there won’t be a transfer, frankly. There will be a continuation.” Earlier that day, he predicted that the election results “will end up in the Supreme Court,” and made clear that he wants to confirm a new Justice quickly in order to secure a favorable ruling, saying, “I think having a four-four situation is not a good situation, if you get that.” On Thursday, various Republicans commented on Trump’s statements. Some, such as the former Wisconsin governor Scott Walker, defended him; others, such as Senators Marco Rubio and Susan Collins said, without mentioning Trump, that both the election and any transfer of power would be peaceful. The Senate Majority Leader, Mitch McConnell, refused to answer reporters’ questions on Thursday, but tweeted, “The winner of the November 3rd election will be inaugurated on January 20th. There will be an orderly transition just as there has been every four years since 1792.”
Discussion surrounding the election’s fairness and legitimacy has been in high gear since the President began attacking voting by mail, baselessly claiming that it was likely to be fraudulent. This week, Jeffrey Toobin wrote for The New Yorker about the legal issues we are likely to face surrounding the election, and on Wednesday morning The Atlantic published an article by Barton Gellman about the ways that Trump might try to cast doubt on and even steal the election. Gellman reported that “the Trump campaign is discussing contingency plans to bypass election results and appoint loyal electors in battleground states where Republicans hold the legislative majority,” which might be technically possible, as the Constitution gives state legislatures the authority to choose their electors and does not require the electors to adhere to the statewide vote.
To talk about the biggest threats to the election, I spoke by phone, on Thursday, with Richard Hasen, a professor of law and political science at the University of California, Irvine, and the author of the recent book “Election Meltdown: Dirty Tricks, Distrust, and the Threat to American Democracy.” During our conversation, which has been edited for length and clarity, we discussed whether people should vote by mail or in person, what happens if state legislatures try to choose their own slates of electors, and what the next Congress can do to make elections freer and fairer.
Trump’s threats regarding the election have to do with both political and legal issues. Is it worth thinking about these as separate categories?
I think the two are working hand in hand. The Trump campaign and its allies are putting out legal arguments that are intended to make it harder for people to vote successfully by mail. And I think the short-term goal here is to shrink turnout. Whether that is actually to Trump’s benefit I seriously question, because I think he is disenfranchising his own voters. But the legal strategy is one that also helps to bolster a political strategy—that of potentially calling election outcomes into question, and generally making it seem like the election system is chaotic, which could leave room for other actors besides the voters to ultimately be the determinant of the winner of the November election.
What is your biggest specific concern?
I’ve had great concerns about both whether we can have a fair election and whether most voters will accept the election as legitimate, and I had those concerns well before any of us had ever heard of COVID-19. My book came out on February 4th, as the Iowa caucuses melted down and it wasn’t clear what the results were. You have this confluence of a number of forces: efforts at voter suppression, pockets of election-administrator incompetence, dirty tricks by foreign and domestic sources, and increasingly incendiary rhetoric around rigged or stolen elections. And all of those things contribute to reduced public confidence in elections and their legitimacy. You add that we are trying to hold an election during a pandemic, where there has been resistance among Republicans and in some courts to expanding voting opportunities in a safe and healthy way, and it is a volatile mix. The President is a big part of the story, but his rhetoric and what he is doing wouldn’t be so worrisome without these other broken parts of the system.
Let’s fast forward to November 3rd. We know Trump will say he won, and then you are going to have various Republicans saying he won, even if that is not clear or if it’s clear that he didn’t. And then there will be legal issues. Putting aside the rhetoric, which will be bad for the country, and maybe dangerous, what are the specific legal steps you are worried about Republicans taking?
I think I disagree with the premise of your question.
O.K., good.
I am not sure Trump will declare victory. He might do something somewhat different and say there was cheating, and he never got a fair election, and more people wanted to vote for him.
That’s a good distinction.
Barton Gellman’s story says Trump will never concede. We may be splitting hairs. Is he going to say he would have lost in a fair election? Absolutely not. The real question is whether he goes quietly or whether he tries to fight the results of the election. And the biggest determinant there, in terms of which way he goes, is the margin. If Trump is ahead on Election Night, then he plows ahead. If it is close, he plows ahead. If he loses Florida and Texas, I don’t know that he plows ahead, and I don’t know if Republicans go along with him.
O.K., but, just for fun, let’s stick to the nightmare scenarios. I agree about the Florida/Texas scenario, but let’s put that aside for now. Let’s say it’s closer, and Trump says either that he won or would have won in a fair election. What are the legal steps the White House and Republicans can take or might take?
There are a lot of ways that this can go, but let’s say that it comes down to a very close election in the Electoral College, and let’s say it comes down to the state of Pennsylvania, where Trump could well be ahead on Election Night. He is encouraging his supporters to vote in person, while Democrats and others are more likely to vote by mail. In that scenario, he could say, “We should stop the counting, because mail-in ballots are fraudulent, and I have won Pennsylvania and therefore the Presidency.” So what could happen legally, then, is there could be all sorts of maneuvering about how votes are actually counted, and classes of ballots that come in, for example, without their secrecy envelopes—the so-called naked ballots we have been talking about.
There is already legal maneuvering in state and federal court over these issues, but there could be continued legal maneuvering that would be geared more toward trying to stop the count or limit the number of outstanding ballots counted. There could be parallel efforts in the state legislature to try to declare that the vote was marred by improprieties, and therefore that the state legislature has to choose its own slate of electors—and then there would be a big fight over whether they could do that, and that is a fight that could play out both in the courts and in Congress, eventually, as Electoral College votes are considered and taken.
One of the most talked-about parts of the Atlantic story, which you alluded to, is that, if the votes went against Trump in various states, the state legislatures with Republican majorities could appoint their own slates of electors. How concerned are you about this scenario?
I do not think it is likely, but I don’t think it is impossible that this will happen. I was having a debate with Nate Silver about this. He looks at it more like a statistician. I look at it more like the engineer at a nuclear reactor who is worried about the small risk of a catastrophic meltdown—and I think we have gone from a negligible risk to a small risk. But that is still very worrisome, because the consequences are so huge.
To summarize why I think this Electoral College gambit by state legislatures is unlikely, to begin with, is that the Constitution provides, in Article II, that states get to set the manner for conducting elections. States have already set the manner! They are letting voters vote, and in every state it is winner take all, except for a couple states where they do it partially by congressional district. So the manner has already been set—people have already started voting. I take it that you couldn’t change that midstream. The play would instead have to be that the legislature says that we gave it to the people, but the election was so poorly conducted that they have made a choice that we cannot discern, so we are going to do this on our own. That has a lot of risks. No. 1, it calls their own elections into question, because it says they don’t know if the ballot count is valid. No. 2, in states with Democratic governors, there is going to be a serious fight about whether state legislatures can act without the governor’s acquiescence in appointing electors, when usually it’s the governor who is sending in the slate of electors.


newyorker--2020-09-25--What to Stream: “Babies and Banners,” the Still Urgent Story of Women Workers on Strike

I ’ m somewhat obsessed by thoughts of a whole realm of movies that don ’ t exist—oral-history ones , interview-centered documentaries from the early days of talking pictures , in the nineteen-twenties and thirties .
No one bothered to record people telling their stories back then ; but the filmmaker Lorraine Gray , in her documentary “ With Babies and Banners : Story of the Women ’ s Emergency Brigade , ” released in 1979 , offered an ardent compensation .
Gray ’ s film ( streaming on YouTube and other sites ) is centered on a strike at @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , in the winter of 1936-37 .
For the fortieth anniversary of the strike , she brought together—and filmed the discussions of—the women , now elderly , who had been involved in forming and leading the “ women ’ s auxiliary , ” later the “ emergency brigade , ” to support the strikers .
The organization lent support to local men who were demanding that General Motors recognize the United Auto Workers union .
But in Gray ’ s documentary , before the subject of the strike is addressed , the women @ @ @ @ @ @ @ so at each of two gatherings ) discuss their own experiences in the workforce during the Depression , and their accounts are harrowing .
These women—a racially integrated group—also worked in the G.M .
plants , and they explain that they were often hired to replace men who had been fired , on the assumption that they ’ d be cheaper and more docile .
The women describe the complete lack of safety measures at machines and on assembly lines , and the efforts of supervisors to conceal on-the-job injuries .
( One @ @ @ @ @ @ @ an injury when she reached her work station . )
They also speak of what was then called “ women ’ s work , ” in the needle trades and in candy factories , where the supervision ( including of bathroom breaks ) was stringent and the pace of work was cruelly relentless .
( After seeing Gray ’ s archival footage of women wrapping candy at a conveyor belt , it ’ s hard to laugh uninhibitedly at the celebrated 1952 episode of “ I Love Lucy ” in which Lucille Ball @ @ @ @ @ @ @ effect . )
Women were also commonly subjected to the sexual depredations of male supervisors , with demands ranging from casual on-the-job pawings to after-hours sexual submission , under pain of firing , and sometimes with devastating consequences .
Moreover , ministers and priests , as one participant recalls , counselled these women to bear their worldly miseries and await their posthumous rewards .
Instead , the women who worked for G.M .
and its subsidiaries in Flint joined male workers in secretly signing union cards , and , when some were fired @ @ @ @ @ @ @ men in the strike , which began on December 30 , 1936 .
It was called a “ sit-down strike ” and would now be called an occupation of the factory ; the women were ready to remain in the plant throughout , too , but were ordered home by male strikers on the grounds that their presence would lead to rumors of sexual impropriety among the strikers .
Nonetheless , the women refused to be sidelined from the movement , and the film details the various kinds of support that they lent @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , and from coördinated strategizing to forming the front lines of resistance against police violence .
At crucial moments of the struggle , these contributions proved effective , even as officials labelled the strike a riot and a “ revolutionary situation ” and called out the National Guard , which , along with police , confronted the strikers with guns and tear gas .
( The women tell the story of how they faced the police down—and to what surprising effect . )
Some of the more remarkable specifics that the women discuss @ @ @ @ @ @ @ they wielded two-by-fours to break factory windows after the men inside were teargassed ) are accompanied by archival documentary footage showing the very same incidents in amazing detail .
The film clips and photographs that appear in the film also provide a fascinating portrait gallery of nineteen-thirties people .
One of the familiar experiences of looking at photos from decades back is the different repertory of facial expressions , gestures , and postures—yet those of the women in “ With Babies and Banners ” look shockingly modern , almost like twenty-first-century faces planted @ @ @ @ @ @ @ as if their ideas and their principles , now common coin , overrode fashions and manners to link disparate eras and lives .
The women ’ s political principles remain current , too .
One interviewee draws a connection between the rise of labor unions and the establishment of the social safety net , from unemployment insurance to Social Security , which didn ’ t exist at the time of the strike .
In a speech that Gray filmed at a 1977 United Auto Workers ’ assembly in commemoration of the strike , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ groups of the thirties , Genora Dollinger , links the women ’ s brigade to the feminist movement—and calls for the increased representation of women in union leadership , with an eye to specific policy changes of the sort that remain on the agenda even today .

I’m somewhat obsessed by thoughts of a whole realm of movies that don’t exist—oral-history ones, interview-centered documentaries from the early days of talking pictures, in the nineteen-twenties and thirties. No one bothered to record people telling their stories back then; but the filmmaker Lorraine Gray, in her documentary “With Babies and Banners: Story of the Women’s Emergency Brigade,” released in 1979, offered an ardent compensation. Gray’s film (streaming on YouTube and other sites) is centered on a strike at General Motors plants in Flint, Michigan, in the winter of 1936-37. For the fortieth anniversary of the strike, she brought together—and filmed the discussions of—the women, now elderly, who had been involved in forming and leading the “women’s auxiliary,” later the “emergency brigade,” to support the strikers. The organization lent support to local men who were demanding that General Motors recognize the United Auto Workers union. But in Gray’s documentary, before the subject of the strike is addressed, the women (there are half a dozen or so at each of two gatherings) discuss their own experiences in the workforce during the Depression, and their accounts are harrowing.
These women—a racially integrated group—also worked in the G.M. plants, and they explain that they were often hired to replace men who had been fired, on the assumption that they’d be cheaper and more docile. The women describe the complete lack of safety measures at machines and on assembly lines, and the efforts of supervisors to conceal on-the-job injuries. (One woman recounts finding gruesome evidence of such an injury when she reached her work station.) They also speak of what was then called “women’s work,” in the needle trades and in candy factories, where the supervision (including of bathroom breaks) was stringent and the pace of work was cruelly relentless. (After seeing Gray’s archival footage of women wrapping candy at a conveyor belt, it’s hard to laugh uninhibitedly at the celebrated 1952 episode of “I Love Lucy” in which Lucille Ball and Vivian Vance do so to antic effect.) Women were also commonly subjected to the sexual depredations of male supervisors, with demands ranging from casual on-the-job pawings to after-hours sexual submission, under pain of firing, and sometimes with devastating consequences. Moreover, ministers and priests, as one participant recalls, counselled these women to bear their worldly miseries and await their posthumous rewards.
Instead, the women who worked for G.M. and its subsidiaries in Flint joined male workers in secretly signing union cards, and, when some were fired for doing so, they joined the men in the strike, which began on December 30, 1936. It was called a “sit-down strike” and would now be called an occupation of the factory; the women were ready to remain in the plant throughout, too, but were ordered home by male strikers on the grounds that their presence would lead to rumors of sexual impropriety among the strikers. Nonetheless, the women refused to be sidelined from the movement, and the film details the various kinds of support that they lent the strikers—from material assistance to public demonstration, and from coördinated strategizing to forming the front lines of resistance against police violence. At crucial moments of the struggle, these contributions proved effective, even as officials labelled the strike a riot and a “revolutionary situation” and called out the National Guard, which, along with police, confronted the strikers with guns and tear gas. (The women tell the story of how they faced the police down—and to what surprising effect.)
Some of the more remarkable specifics that the women discuss (such as a protest during which they wielded two-by-fours to break factory windows after the men inside were teargassed) are accompanied by archival documentary footage showing the very same incidents in amazing detail. The film clips and photographs that appear in the film also provide a fascinating portrait gallery of nineteen-thirties people. One of the familiar experiences of looking at photos from decades back is the different repertory of facial expressions, gestures, and postures—yet those of the women in “With Babies and Banners” look shockingly modern, almost like twenty-first-century faces planted in archival settings. It’s as if their ideas and their principles, now common coin, overrode fashions and manners to link disparate eras and lives.
The women’s political principles remain current, too. One interviewee draws a connection between the rise of labor unions and the establishment of the social safety net, from unemployment insurance to Social Security, which didn’t exist at the time of the strike. In a speech that Gray filmed at a 1977 United Auto Workers’ assembly in commemoration of the strike, the leader of the women’s groups of the thirties, Genora Dollinger, links the women’s brigade to the feminist movement—and calls for the increased representation of women in union leadership, with an eye to specific policy changes of the sort that remain on the agenda even today.


newyorker--2020-09-25--Can a Newcomer Unseat Lindsey Graham?

Can a Newcomer Unseat Lindsey Graham?

Jaime Harrison , a South Carolina Democrat who ’ s never held elected public office , is running against Lindsey Graham , one of the Senate ’ s most powerful Republicans .
It sounds like a long-shot bid , but a prominent poll has them tied among likely voters .
Graham , Harrison says , should spend less time golfing with the President and more time talking to voters .
Plus , a Washington Post books editor talks about his crash course on the literature of the Trump era ; and the New Yorker staff writer Jia Tolentino introduces David @ @ @ @ @ @ @ been enjoying while home with a newborn .
Jaime Harrison , a Democrat who ’ s never held elected public office , is running to unseat a G.O.P .
power broker and key player in the Supreme Court nomination fight .
What ’ s his strategy ?
Carlos Lozada on “ What Were We Thinking ?
” A Washington Post books editor immersed himself in a new genre : books that purport to explain Donald Trump and his era .
The cartoonist ’ s political awakening inspired his new show on Hulu .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ them in the face with a serious issue , ” he says , “ is the way to work.
” At home with a newborn , the writer and voracious cultural critic recommends a book , a record , and a reality show .

Illustration by Golden Cosmos; Source photographs from Getty
Jaime Harrison, a South Carolina Democrat who’s never held elected public office, is running against Lindsey Graham, one of the Senate’s most powerful Republicans. It sounds like a long-shot bid, but a prominent poll has them tied among likely voters. Graham, Harrison says, should spend less time golfing with the President and more time talking to voters. Plus, a Washington Post books editor talks about his crash course on the literature of the Trump era; and the New Yorker staff writer Jia Tolentino introduces David Remnick to the things she’s been enjoying while home with a newborn.
Can a Newcomer Unseat Lindsey Graham?
Jaime Harrison, a Democrat who’s never held elected public office, is running to unseat a G.O.P. power broker and key player in the Supreme Court nomination fight. What’s his strategy?
Carlos Lozada on “What Were We Thinking?”
A Washington Post books editor immersed himself in a new genre: books that purport to explain Donald Trump and his era.
Keith Knight of “Woke”
The cartoonist’s political awakening inspired his new show on Hulu. “Making people laugh and then punching them in the face with a serious issue,” he says, “is the way to work.”
Jia Tolentino Picks Three
At home with a newborn, the writer and voracious cultural critic recommends a book, a record, and a reality show.


newyorker--2020-09-25--How Ruth Bader Ginsburg's Death Is Changing the 2020 Election

Last week , Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg died , at the age of eighty-seven .
Although early voting has already begun in several states , President Donald Trump and his Republican colleagues immediately announced their intention to fill Ginsburg ’ s seat .
Jane Mayer and Jeffrey Toobin join Dorothy Wickenden to discuss Ginsburg ’ s legacy , how the fight for her seat will affect the 2020 election , and the key cases that the Court is likely to hear in the coming term .
Read More About the 2020 Election • Can Joe Biden win the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ change ?
• The fall and rise of Kamala Harris .
• When a sitting President threatens to delay a sacrosanct American ritual like an election , you should listen .
• To understand the path Donald Trump has taken to the 2020 election , look at what he has provided the executive class .
• What happens if Trump fights the election results ?
• The refusal by Mitch McConnell to rein in Trump is looking riskier than ever .
• Sign up for our election newsletter for insight and analysis from @ @ @ @ @

Download a transcript.|||
Photograph by Andrew Harnik / Pool / Getty
Last week, Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg died, at the age of eighty-seven. Although early voting has already begun in several states, President Donald Trump and his Republican colleagues immediately announced their intention to fill Ginsburg’s seat. Jane Mayer and Jeffrey Toobin join Dorothy Wickenden to discuss Ginsburg’s legacy, how the fight for her seat will affect the 2020 election, and the key cases that the Court is likely to hear in the coming term.
Read More About the 2020 Election


newyorker--2020-09-25--Highlights from the Second Week of the New York Film Festival

The best things I ’ ve seen from the second week of the New York Film Festival come from a trio of usual suspects , three veteran filmmakers whose work has long been appearing at the festival and whose new films provide illuminating views both of their longtime artistic obsessions and of the present day .
“ City Hall , ” the new film by Frederick Wiseman , who ’ s ninety ( and whose first film , “ Titicut Follies , ” played at the festival in 1967 ) , completes an unofficial trilogy , with his 2014 film @ @ @ @ @ @ @ view of a multicultural neighborhood invigorated by community activism ) and “ Monrovia , Indiana , ” from 2018 , showing the torpor of a homogeneous and backward-looking town .
In “ City Hall , ” Wiseman considers , with a lofty philosophical logic and an ardent sense of observation , the very nature of good government , as he sees it at work in Boston , with the mayoralty of Marty Walsh ( who was elected in 2013 and reëlected in 2017 ) .
Wiseman ( who works with the cinematographer John @ @ @ @ @ @ @ records sound himself ) had extraordinary access to some of the inner workings of Boston ’ s government , though many of the most powerful and revelatory sequences in the film—which runs an absorbing four and a half hours—involve public events .
Walsh is the animating spirit throughout but not the center of attention ; when he appears , it ’ s almost exclusively at public events , where , with a longtime politician ’ s deftness , he tugs at the audience ’ s heartstrings while at the same time passionately expressing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to federal anti-immigrant policies and activism on behalf of social justice .
At other meetings , residents confront the Mayor ’ s representatives and other official participants in remarkable displays of civic activism .
The crucial word in the many meetings is one that turns up in a budget discussion early on : complexity .
Whether confronting homelessness or drug addiction , building inspection or income disparity or the mental health of veterans , accessibility for the disabled or inequities in the allotment of contracts , traffic management or the organization of a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ or ( in the movie ’ s most extended and most stirring sequence ) a public debate over the location of a cannabis center , government—which is to say , skilled and caring public officials and professional administrators—confronts problems that it can ’ t avoid and that only it can solve .
Where “ In Jackson Heights ” looked at community from street level , “ City Hall ” considers in detail the government ’ s role—and responsibility—in fostering that sense of community , and the connection of that sense to the city @ @ @ @ @ @ @ director Jia Zhangke ( whose début feature , “ Xiao Wu , ” a.k.a .
“ Pickpocket , ” from 1997 , is also playing at the festival , in a new restoration ) interweaves elements of fiction and documentary in all of his films , with the balance usually tilting toward the former .
His new film , “ Swimming Out Till the Sea Turns Blue , ” is a documentary of a familiar style , composed mainly of interviews with Chinese writers ( and their relatives ) .
With its wide @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the time of the Communist takeover in the postwar years , ones who endured the Cultural Revolution , and others whose careers took off in the relative thaw of the nineteen-eighties and nineties—it ’ s an allusive history of China since the founding of its one-party regime .
Its very title is a sort of spoiler—it ’ s a reference to an anecdote related in the movie ’ s last scene , regarding the gap between official textbooks and actual experience , and it looks back ironically at the entire movie to lead @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to what they couldn ’ t say .
( One writer , for instance , speaks in passing of the “ peace and joy ” that prevailed at Beijing University in 1989 , the closest he could come to acknowledging the Tiananmen massacre . )
What does get said is nonetheless moving and fascinating , and the richly detailed stories of writers ’ lives peer deep into family troubles and personal struggles and link them to the grand forces of history .
In their telling , what dominates the decades following the Second @ @ @ @ @ @ @ rural villages and small towns , the mighty political efforts to overcome it ( with a blend of local collective organization and draconian decrees from above ) , and , throughout , the inextricable politicization of private lives and literary careers alike—which nonetheless gives rise to narratives of great artistic power .
Jia ’ s subjects are , above all , creative writers , and the vividness , the vitality , the passion of their spoken-word dramas , delivered in a variety of private and public settings , conjure vast skeins of imagined @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Jia ’ s scenes of the telling .
Philippe Garrel , a prodigy of the French cinema ( whose work was first included in the New York Film Festival in 1970 , when he was twenty-two ) , has developed a spare method , a self-imposed classicism of dramatic intimacy , centered largely on the lives of young people , that runs the risks of theoretical abstraction ( thinness of observation ) in pursuit of its power ( symbolic distillation of great emotion ) .
His new film , “ The Salt of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ scenes of a bus-stop encounter of two young adults that in short order becomes a fragile romance , but it soon rises very high with its fusion of brusque candor and unspoken yearnings .
Luc ( Logann Antuofermo ) is a cabinetmaker who works with his aged , widowed , and solitary father ( André Wilms ) in a provincial town ; Luc goes to Paris to compete for a spot in a prestigious furniture-making academy ( it really exists ) , meets Djemila ( Oulaya Amamra ) , who ’ s working @ @ @ @ @ @ @ go back to school , and he jerkishly messes up their relationship .
Back home , he pursues other relationships even as he and Djemila remain in touch ( quaintly , by letter ) ; then he moves to Paris .
The virtually mathematical precision with which the movie ’ s young people , whether brash or tender , cavalier or devoted , get a tough and unsentimental education is matched by images of a rarefied , concentrated , vertiginous power .
There ’ s a peculiar timelessness imposed on the movie by @ @ @ @ @ @ @ who ’ s seventy-three , lends the role an ancient air of craggy authority ) and tone ; the script , which Garrel co-wrote with Arlette Langmann ( born in 1946 ) and Jean-Claude Carrière ( born in 1931 ) , feels like a revisitation of the austerities , aspirations , and humiliations of an earlier age , a return to primordial experiences and artistic ambitions .
Specifically , the film has an air of the nineteen-sixties , minus its politics—but plus some of the politics of today , notably , a vision @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of right-wing goons who violently oppose it .
The film also happens to have one of the best dance scenes in the recent cinema ; the choreography is by Caroline Marcadé .

The best things I’ve seen from the second week of the New York Film Festival come from a trio of usual suspects, three veteran filmmakers whose work has long been appearing at the festival and whose new films provide illuminating views both of their longtime artistic obsessions and of the present day.
“City Hall,” the new film by Frederick Wiseman, who’s ninety (and whose first film, “Titicut Follies,” played at the festival in 1967), completes an unofficial trilogy, with his 2014 film “In Jackson Heights” (a view of a multicultural neighborhood invigorated by community activism) and “Monrovia, Indiana,” from 2018, showing the torpor of a homogeneous and backward-looking town. In “City Hall,” Wiseman considers, with a lofty philosophical logic and an ardent sense of observation, the very nature of good government, as he sees it at work in Boston, with the mayoralty of Marty Walsh (who was elected in 2013 and reëlected in 2017). Wiseman (who works with the cinematographer John Davey and a camera assistant; he records sound himself) had extraordinary access to some of the inner workings of Boston’s government, though many of the most powerful and revelatory sequences in the film—which runs an absorbing four and a half hours—involve public events. Walsh is the animating spirit throughout but not the center of attention; when he appears, it’s almost exclusively at public events, where, with a longtime politician’s deftness, he tugs at the audience’s heartstrings while at the same time passionately expressing his progressive principles, which include opposition to federal anti-immigrant policies and activism on behalf of social justice. At other meetings, residents confront the Mayor’s representatives and other official participants in remarkable displays of civic activism. The crucial word in the many meetings is one that turns up in a budget discussion early on: complexity. Whether confronting homelessness or drug addiction, building inspection or income disparity or the mental health of veterans, accessibility for the disabled or inequities in the allotment of contracts, traffic management or the organization of a victory parade for the Boston Red Sox or (in the movie’s most extended and most stirring sequence) a public debate over the location of a cannabis center, government—which is to say, skilled and caring public officials and professional administrators—confronts problems that it can’t avoid and that only it can solve. Where “In Jackson Heights” looked at community from street level, “City Hall” considers in detail the government’s role—and responsibility—in fostering that sense of community, and the connection of that sense to the city’s over-all well-being.
The Chinese director Jia Zhangke (whose début feature, “Xiao Wu,” a.k.a. “Pickpocket,” from 1997, is also playing at the festival, in a new restoration) interweaves elements of fiction and documentary in all of his films, with the balance usually tilting toward the former. His new film, “Swimming Out Till the Sea Turns Blue,” is a documentary of a familiar style, composed mainly of interviews with Chinese writers (and their relatives). With its wide range of participants and subjects—writers active at the time of the Communist takeover in the postwar years, ones who endured the Cultural Revolution, and others whose careers took off in the relative thaw of the nineteen-eighties and nineties—it’s an allusive history of China since the founding of its one-party regime. Its very title is a sort of spoiler—it’s a reference to an anecdote related in the movie’s last scene, regarding the gap between official textbooks and actual experience, and it looks back ironically at the entire movie to lead viewers to compare what its participants said to what they couldn’t say. (One writer, for instance, speaks in passing of the “peace and joy” that prevailed at Beijing University in 1989, the closest he could come to acknowledging the Tiananmen massacre.) What does get said is nonetheless moving and fascinating, and the richly detailed stories of writers’ lives peer deep into family troubles and personal struggles and link them to the grand forces of history. In their telling, what dominates the decades following the Second World War is the desperate poverty of rural villages and small towns, the mighty political efforts to overcome it (with a blend of local collective organization and draconian decrees from above), and, throughout, the inextricable politicization of private lives and literary careers alike—which nonetheless gives rise to narratives of great artistic power. Jia’s subjects are, above all, creative writers, and the vividness, the vitality, the passion of their spoken-word dramas, delivered in a variety of private and public settings, conjure vast skeins of imagined images, which seem virtually superimposed on Jia’s scenes of the telling.
“Swimming Out Till the Sea Turns Blue,” by Jia Zhangke, is a documentary of what is said and what cannot be said. Photograph courtesy Xstream Pictures
Philippe Garrel, a prodigy of the French cinema (whose work was first included in the New York Film Festival in 1970, when he was twenty-two), has developed a spare method, a self-imposed classicism of dramatic intimacy, centered largely on the lives of young people, that runs the risks of theoretical abstraction (thinness of observation) in pursuit of its power (symbolic distillation of great emotion). His new film, “The Salt of Tears,” starts aridly, in scenes of a bus-stop encounter of two young adults that in short order becomes a fragile romance, but it soon rises very high with its fusion of brusque candor and unspoken yearnings. Luc (Logann Antuofermo) is a cabinetmaker who works with his aged, widowed, and solitary father (André Wilms) in a provincial town; Luc goes to Paris to compete for a spot in a prestigious furniture-making academy (it really exists), meets Djemila (Oulaya Amamra), who’s working at a day job and planning to go back to school, and he jerkishly messes up their relationship. Back home, he pursues other relationships even as he and Djemila remain in touch (quaintly, by letter); then he moves to Paris. The virtually mathematical precision with which the movie’s young people, whether brash or tender, cavalier or devoted, get a tough and unsentimental education is matched by images of a rarefied, concentrated, vertiginous power. There’s a peculiar timelessness imposed on the movie by a blend of casting (Wilms, who’s seventy-three, lends the role an ancient air of craggy authority) and tone; the script, which Garrel co-wrote with Arlette Langmann (born in 1946) and Jean-Claude Carrière (born in 1931), feels like a revisitation of the austerities, aspirations, and humiliations of an earlier age, a return to primordial experiences and artistic ambitions. Specifically, the film has an air of the nineteen-sixties, minus its politics—but plus some of the politics of today, notably, a vision of France’s ethnic diversity and of right-wing goons who violently oppose it. The film also happens to have one of the best dance scenes in the recent cinema; the choreography is by Caroline Marcadé.


newyorker--2020-09-25--Obama Proposes Cancelling White House’s Cable to Get Trump to Leave

WASHINGTON ( The Borowitz Report ) —As Donald J. Trump refuses to commit to a peaceful transfer of power in @ @ @ @ @ Obama suggested that cancelling the White House ’ s cable-TV account could induce the President @ @ @ @ @ is a man who enjoys watching television , ” Obama told reporters .
“ What @ @ @ @ @ , he picks up the remote and nothing comes on ?
” “ This seems @ @ @ @ @ to get him to go , ” Obama said .
Obama also said that , @ @ @ @ @ constitutional crisis , the White House ’ s supply of Diet Coke could also be @ @ @ @ @ , “ I don ’ t think it will come to that.
” “ Once @ @ @ @ @ there ’ s no cable , his days will stretch out before him in a @ @ @ @ @ Obama said .
“ No ‘ Fox & Friends.
’ No Tucker Carlson .
And @ @ @ @ @ He ’ ll be on the next helicopter out , ” Obama predicted .

WASHINGTON (The Borowitz Report)—As Donald J. Trump refuses to commit to a peaceful transfer of power in January, former President Barack Obama suggested that cancelling the White House’s cable-TV account could induce the President to leave.
“This is a man who enjoys watching television,” Obama told reporters. “What if, on Inauguration Day, he picks up the remote and nothing comes on?”
“This seems like the most peaceful way to get him to go,” Obama said.
Obama also said that, in order to avoid a constitutional crisis, the White House’s supply of Diet Coke could also be cut off, but added, “I don’t think it will come to that.”
“Once it dawns on him that there’s no cable, his days will stretch out before him in a vista of emptiness,” Obama said. “No ‘Fox & Friends.’ No Tucker Carlson. And no Shark Week.”
“He’ll be on the next helicopter out,” Obama predicted.
Read More Satire from the Borowitz Report


newyorker--2020-09-25--The New Republicans of Pennsylvania

The New Republicans of Pennsylvania

On a Wednesday afternoon in August , in Scranton , Pennsylvania , Lance Stange , the chair of the local Republican Party , led a dozen volunteers and campaign staffers in an effort to assemble a thousand Donald Trump yard signs .
Stange , who is forty-four and wears his white hair slicked back , was calm , though the mood in the office was frantic .
The President was arriving the following afternoon to host a rally outside of Scranton , Joe Biden ’ s home town , on the same day that Biden would accept his Presidential nomination @ @ @ @ @ @ @ The visit was spur of the moment .
“ It just came together in the last twenty-four hours , but we ’ re working through it , ” Stange told me .
He was hoping to line a two-mile stretch of road between the airport and the event space with boosterish messages , so that Trump would see them on his way to the rally and be pleased .
Stange told me that he also uses the yard signs for another purpose : when someone orders one , he checks her voter registration @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a Republican he tries to recruit her .
He said that he has been flooded with requests for signs from disaffected Democrats .
“ If I ’ m delivering a Trump sign to a registered Democrat , believe me , they ’ re going to hear from me , ” he said .
Stange , who was born and raised in Scranton , comes from a longtime Republican family , a rarity in the area .
For decades , Scranton was a coal town dominated by labor unions , and almost everyone was @ @ @ @ @ @ @ owned a chain of grocery and convenience stores , and kept quiet about politics—being outspoken would have been bad for business .
At twenty , Stange called the local G.O.P .
headquarters , asked to volunteer , and was told that he should try the Young Republicans .
“ I was a little disappointed , ” he told me .
But , before long , he came to chair the group , went on to serve as secretary of the local Party , and is now the G.O.P .
chair in Lackawanna County @ @ @ @ @ @ @ counties that make up northeastern Pennsylvania .
For the past couple decades , he has worked to strengthen the Republican Party in Lackawanna County ; his successes on the local level reflect a general trend in the state .
Pennsylvania has been a battleground since the nineteen-thirties , but , in recent years , the state has appeared to shift rightward .
Obama won Pennsylvania by a wide margin in 2008 , and more narrowly in 2012 .
In 2016 , however , Trump took Pennsylvania by forty-four thousand votes .
Lackawanna County @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 2008 , it went to Obama by twenty-eight thousand votes .
In 2016 , Hillary Clinton—whose grandfather worked in a nearby lace factory , and whose grandparents are buried on the west side of town—managed to hold it by only three thousand votes .
“ Lackawanna County was blue on the map on CNN , ” Paige Gebhardt Cognetti , the mayor of Scranton , told me .
“ But that painted over the truth , which was a huge loss of votes.
” Stange is hoping to turn the region red , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
He focusses on white working-class voters in the area , a demographic that has historically belonged to the Democratic Party ; he calls these people the “ forgotten man or woman , ” and notes that they have been particularly sympathetic to Trump ’ s message .
To pinpoint them , Stange measures the registration figures of individual districts against their election performance .
He recently located a precinct in Carbondale , in the north of Lackawanna County , where only twenty-eight per cent of residents are registered Republicans but where Trump @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in 2016 .
“ Clearly , there are a number of Democrats and Independents ripe for recruitment , ” he told me .
Stange has established a large , visible G.O.P .
office in a building in downtown Scranton that previously served as a sandwich shop .
Taped to its walls are brightly colored signs that read “ # BigGovSucks ” and “ Socialism : You Make It , They Take It.
” He set up the office ’ s landline to forward to his cell phone , which he answers at all @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is in Peckville , a fifteen-minute drive away .
“ If Biden has an office here in Scranton , it ’ s a secret , ” Stange told me .
“ I don ’ t know where it is.
” He makes sure that his office posts on social media every day ; he pointed out that the local Democratic Party often goes days without posting .
Stange had planned extensive outreach efforts in the lead-up to the election , but , when the coronavirus pandemic hit , he had to cancel them @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and their work , along with that of the rest of the Trump campaign , was coördinated on an app .
Around May 1st , however , Stange led the campaign back into the physical world , to do “ the more conventional grassroots stuff.
” His volunteers have since visited fifty thousand homes in northeastern Pennsylvania , knocking on doors and talking to residents .
The local Democrats , by contrast , have assiduously avoided face-to-face contact ; most of their home visits are limited to hanging flyers on closed doors .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ reach voters remotely , through phone calls , text messages , and postcards .
Jenn Ridder , a spokesperson for the Biden campaign , told me that going door to door during a pandemic is dangerous and unethical .
She wrote in an e-mail that the local campaign ’ s “ full-scale organizing program ” was “ helping everyday people plug into our campaign in ways they ’ re most comfortable with.
” Stange , referring to a Politico article , said that , in the past several months , the Trump campaign @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a week ; the Biden campaign had knocked on none .
“ You can ’ t win this state without knocking on doors , ” he told me .
When I visited the G.O.P .
office , the day before Trump ’ s visit to Scranton , Stange stood behind a counter , wearing a gray wool suit .
Campaign workers , mostly thick-waisted white men in MAGA hats and shorts , unpacked boxes of Trump-Pence placards .
Owing to the pandemic , Tom Wolf , the state ’ s Democratic governor , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ which frustrated the campaign workers .
“ Typically , we ’ d have twenty thousand people , ” Stange said .
“ But we ’ re only allowed to register two hundred and fifty.
” At the office , no one was wearing a mask , including Stange .
When I asked about this , he pulled a red-white-and-blue “ Trump ” mask from his briefcase .
“ We respect the virus , ” he said .
I asked what the policy was for door-knockers : Did the campaign leave it up to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to wear a mask ?
“ Yeah , um , we do , ” Stange said , though he added that he thought wearing one was the “ respectful thing ” to do .
“ Like I said , we respect the virus.
” In Pennsylvania , Republican registration is outpacing that of Democrats .
Since 2016 , the G.O.P .
has added more than a hundred thousand registered voters in the state , while the Democrats have lost eighty thousand .
The precise meaning of these numbers is somewhat contentious .
Democratic @ @ @ @ @ @ @ registered more first-time voters , and that , over all , Democrats still have about seven hundred thousand more registered members in the state than Republicans do .
Still , by any measure , local Republicans have eroded the traditional Democratic lead , mostly by picking off Democrats who have become disaffected .
This pattern has been mirrored in other battleground states , such as North Carolina and Florida , where Republicans appear to be closing historic gaps in registration .

On a Wednesday afternoon in August, in Scranton, Pennsylvania, Lance Stange, the chair of the local Republican Party, led a dozen volunteers and campaign staffers in an effort to assemble a thousand Donald Trump yard signs. Stange, who is forty-four and wears his white hair slicked back, was calm, though the mood in the office was frantic. The President was arriving the following afternoon to host a rally outside of Scranton, Joe Biden’s home town, on the same day that Biden would accept his Presidential nomination, at the Democratic National Convention. The visit was spur of the moment. “It just came together in the last twenty-four hours, but we’re working through it,” Stange told me. He was hoping to line a two-mile stretch of road between the airport and the event space with boosterish messages, so that Trump would see them on his way to the rally and be pleased. Stange told me that he also uses the yard signs for another purpose: when someone orders one, he checks her voter registration, and if she isn’t a Republican he tries to recruit her. He said that he has been flooded with requests for signs from disaffected Democrats. “If I’m delivering a Trump sign to a registered Democrat, believe me, they’re going to hear from me,” he said.
Stange, who was born and raised in Scranton, comes from a longtime Republican family, a rarity in the area. For decades, Scranton was a coal town dominated by labor unions, and almost everyone was a Democrat. Stange’s family owned a chain of grocery and convenience stores, and kept quiet about politics—being outspoken would have been bad for business. At twenty, Stange called the local G.O.P. headquarters, asked to volunteer, and was told that he should try the Young Republicans. “I was a little disappointed,” he told me. But, before long, he came to chair the group, went on to serve as secretary of the local Party, and is now the G.O.P. chair in Lackawanna County and the caucus chair for the nine counties that make up northeastern Pennsylvania.
For the past couple decades, he has worked to strengthen the Republican Party in Lackawanna County; his successes on the local level reflect a general trend in the state. Pennsylvania has been a battleground since the nineteen-thirties, but, in recent years, the state has appeared to shift rightward. Obama won Pennsylvania by a wide margin in 2008, and more narrowly in 2012. In 2016, however, Trump took Pennsylvania by forty-four thousand votes. Lackawanna County has followed a similar pattern. In 2008, it went to Obama by twenty-eight thousand votes. In 2016, Hillary Clinton—whose grandfather worked in a nearby lace factory, and whose grandparents are buried on the west side of town—managed to hold it by only three thousand votes. “Lackawanna County was blue on the map on CNN,” Paige Gebhardt Cognetti, the mayor of Scranton, told me. “But that painted over the truth, which was a huge loss of votes.”
Stange is hoping to turn the region red, primarily by recruiting and registering new Republicans. He focusses on white working-class voters in the area, a demographic that has historically belonged to the Democratic Party; he calls these people the “forgotten man or woman,” and notes that they have been particularly sympathetic to Trump’s message. To pinpoint them, Stange measures the registration figures of individual districts against their election performance. He recently located a precinct in Carbondale, in the north of Lackawanna County, where only twenty-eight per cent of residents are registered Republicans but where Trump won fifty-seven per cent of the vote in 2016. “Clearly, there are a number of Democrats and Independents ripe for recruitment,” he told me.
Stange has established a large, visible G.O.P. office in a building in downtown Scranton that previously served as a sandwich shop. Taped to its walls are brightly colored signs that read “#BigGovSucks” and “Socialism: You Make It, They Take It.” He set up the office’s landline to forward to his cell phone, which he answers at all hours. The nearest Democratic Party office is in Peckville, a fifteen-minute drive away. “If Biden has an office here in Scranton, it’s a secret,” Stange told me. “I don’t know where it is.” He makes sure that his office posts on social media every day; he pointed out that the local Democratic Party often goes days without posting.
Stange had planned extensive outreach efforts in the lead-up to the election, but, when the coronavirus pandemic hit, he had to cancel them. Volunteers made calls from home, and their work, along with that of the rest of the Trump campaign, was coördinated on an app. Around May 1st, however, Stange led the campaign back into the physical world, to do “the more conventional grassroots stuff.” His volunteers have since visited fifty thousand homes in northeastern Pennsylvania, knocking on doors and talking to residents. The local Democrats, by contrast, have assiduously avoided face-to-face contact; most of their home visits are limited to hanging flyers on closed doors. To compensate, they have tried to reach voters remotely, through phone calls, text messages, and postcards. Jenn Ridder, a spokesperson for the Biden campaign, told me that going door to door during a pandemic is dangerous and unethical. She wrote in an e-mail that the local campaign’s “full-scale organizing program” was “helping everyday people plug into our campaign in ways they’re most comfortable with.” Stange, referring to a Politico article, said that, in the past several months, the Trump campaign had knocked on roughly a million doors a week; the Biden campaign had knocked on none. “You can’t win this state without knocking on doors,” he told me.
When I visited the G.O.P. office, the day before Trump’s visit to Scranton, Stange stood behind a counter, wearing a gray wool suit. Campaign workers, mostly thick-waisted white men in MAGA hats and shorts, unpacked boxes of Trump-Pence placards. Owing to the pandemic, Tom Wolf, the state’s Democratic governor, had placed limitations on public gatherings, which frustrated the campaign workers. “Typically, we’d have twenty thousand people,” Stange said. “But we’re only allowed to register two hundred and fifty.” At the office, no one was wearing a mask, including Stange. When I asked about this, he pulled a red-white-and-blue “Trump” mask from his briefcase. “We respect the virus,” he said. I asked what the policy was for door-knockers: Did the campaign leave it up to their volunteers to decide whether or not to wear a mask? “Yeah, um, we do,” Stange said, though he added that he thought wearing one was the “respectful thing” to do. “Like I said, we respect the virus.”
In Pennsylvania, Republican registration is outpacing that of Democrats. Since 2016, the G.O.P. has added more than a hundred thousand registered voters in the state, while the Democrats have lost eighty thousand. The precise meaning of these numbers is somewhat contentious. Democratic strategists point out that their party has registered more first-time voters, and that, over all, Democrats still have about seven hundred thousand more registered members in the state than Republicans do. Still, by any measure, local Republicans have eroded the traditional Democratic lead, mostly by picking off Democrats who have become disaffected. This pattern has been mirrored in other battleground states, such as North Carolina and Florida, where Republicans appear to be closing historic gaps in registration.
In Pennsylvania, the trend is most pronounced in its northeastern corner. In Lackawanna County, registered Democrats have historically outnumbered Republicans three to one, but, over the past several years, the margin has dwindled to two to one, according to Chris Patrick, the local Democratic chair. “To see this flip in this area is extraordinary,” Christopher Borick, a political analyst at Muhlenberg College, in Allentown, told me. Many of the defectors are white voters without college educations. “Even before 2016, you have lifelong white working-class voters in both northeastern and southwestern Pennsylvania who have a ‘D’ on their registration but have been voting for Republicans,” Borick said. Catholic voters in the region are also leaving the Democratic Party, largely because of the Party’s increasingly liberal stance on reproductive rights. “Now you’ve got an Irish Catholic Presidential candidate struggling to win his own town and his own county,” Borick said. (He thought that the recent death of Ruth Bader Ginsburg, and the possibility that a Trump appointee would move to restrict abortion access, might cause more Catholics to defect, though it might also motivate Democratic turnout. “For those voters concerned above all with reproductive rights on both sides, it’s probably a reinforcing issue,” he said.) Cognetti, the Scranton mayor, told me that residents have also become more skeptical of institutions and more sympathetic to Trump’s self-presentation as an outsider. “Basically, every institution of authority in Pennsylvania has let people down in some way in the last decade,” she said. “The sex scandals at Penn State and in the Catholic Church, along with elected officials all over the state going to jail. The absolute crumbling of trust in authority is real, and that can’t be ignored.”
In 2016, the Republican Party noticed that many of these voters, even those who remained registered as Democrats, voted for Trump in large numbers. After the election, the Party began an intensive outreach program, involving canvassing, mailers, and targeted advertising. “We have seen, over time, the Republican ground game be more effective in Pennsylvania,” Borick told me, and this has resulted in an uptick in Republican registrations. Registration is a Party’s most powerful tool, Borick added: the G.O.P. will now be able to remain in touch with these newly registered voters in the lead-up to the election, coördinate getting them to polling stations, and encourage them to vote for down-ballot Republicans. Local Party leaders also hope that, more subjectively, the registrations will shift residents’ political identity, encouraging them to think of themselves not as independent-minded Democrats but as Republicans, and thus cementing their loyalty in the long term.
The day after I visited the Republican headquarters, I drove to Old Forge, fifteen minutes outside of Scranton, where Trump was holding his rally, at a building-supply store. Hundreds of people packed the streets outside. A d.j. spun “God Bless the U.S.A.” at full volume on the side of the road. “I don’t care who you are,” he announced into a microphone. “President Trump, the most powerful man in the world, is coming to Old Forge.” Stange, still in a suit, despite the August heat, stood nearby, sipping a Red Bull.
Outside Valley Auto Parts, I met a nineteen-year-old named Mackenzie Mitchko, who was attending the rally with her mother. She wore Gucci sunglasses and a tie-dyed “Make America Great Again” T-shirt, and waved a flag that featured a sketch of Trump and the slogan “Fuck your feelings.” “A friend gave it to me, when he heard we were coming to this rally,” she told me. Her family had been longtime Democrats, but, a decade ago, the factory where Mitchko’s mother worked, making CDs and DVDs, moved to Mexico, and her job disappeared. In 2015, the family heard Trump speak, and was attracted to his promises to protect workers. Last fall, when Mitchko was attending college at Concordia, in Bronxville, New York, she felt that the other students there scorned her support for Trump. “I didn’t talk much about how I felt about the President there, because people told me I was uneducated,” she said. This only entrenched her beliefs. After finishing her first year, she left college, in part because she felt out of place politically, and decided to stay home and study to become a dental hygienist. Earlier this year, she switched her registration from Democrat to Republican. This is the first Presidential election in which she is old enough to vote.