newyorker--2020-07-15--Jeff Sessions’s Defeat in Alabama, a Final Insult from Donald Trump

It is impossible to describe Donald Trump ’ s political rise without including the role of Jeff Sessions , the former U.S. senator from Alabama who was practicing Trumpism in Washington well before Trump had a Twitter account or had even heard of Barack Obama ’ s birth certificate .
The relationship was cemented during a phone call between Sessions and Steve Bannon , Trump ’ s campaign adviser , in February , 2016 .
At the time , Sessions was considering whether to become the first sitting senator to put on a Make America Great Again hat and endorse @ @ @ @ @ @ @ his two decades in the Senate , Sessions had advocated anti-immigrant , protectionist policies and opposed civil- and voting-rights protections , all while denying that he could ever possibly be racist .
Trump had spray-tanned Sessions ’ s politics and taken them national .
“ Trump is a great advocate for our ideas , ” Sessions told Bannon , according to the journalist Joshua Green ’ s book “ Devil ’ s Bargain.
” “ But can he win ?
” “ One hundred per cent , ” Bannon said .
“ If @ @ @ @ @ @ @ personify this stuff , there ’ s not a doubt in my mind.
” After Trump won the Presidency , Sessions , whose views had often left him sidelined in Washington , found himself at the height of power .
This wasn ’ t just some cynical political arrangement , either—Sessions displayed all the signs of a true believer .
His reward was the Attorney General ’ s office , his dream job , a kind of cosmic revenge on the town that , in 1986 , had rejected his nomination to a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of prosecuting civil-rights activists and making racist comments .
During the first half of Trump ’ s term , Sessions was arguably the President ’ s most effective Cabinet member , separating families at the border , removing federal oversight of dysfunctional police departments , holding back the Washington consensus on criminal-justice reform , getting out of the way of Republican-led states that wanted to restrict voting and to gerrymander their maps .
Before the rise of William Barr , it was hard to imagine an Attorney General better suited to Trump ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for all the reasons that Trump and Sessions came together , one decision drove them apart .
In March , 2017 , Sessions recused himself from the Russia investigation .
Sessions deemed the act a legal necessity , but Trump considered it a supreme betrayal .
Even as Sessions continued to deliver on Trump ’ s agenda—continued , in many ways , to define Trump ’ s agenda—what followed was a more-than-year-long spectacle : a President publicly bullying , belittling , and bemoaning his own Attorney General .
“ I have never seen @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” Trump tweeted , in August , 2018 .
“ Our A.G. is scared stiff and Missing in Action.
” A few months later , immediately after the midterm elections , Trump fired him .
In 2014 , Sessions won reëlection to the Senate with more than ninety-seven per cent of the vote—Democrats didn ’ t bother fielding an opponent .
His old seat is up in 2020 , and he decided , last year , at the age of seventy-two , to enter the Republican primary for it , to try to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
His loyalty to Trump appeared unbroken , and yet voters—Trump won Alabama by twenty-eight points in 2016—questioned it at every turn .
“ Let me just tell you , ” Sessions told a crowd in Guntersville , in January , explaining his recusal decision , according to the Times .
“ There are rules in the Department of Justice .
There are regulations in the Department of Justice.
” “ You wobbled !
” a woman in the crowd said .
“ You wobbled !
” In March , Sessions managed to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ voting .
He attracted thirty-one per cent of the vote , enough to best Bradley Byrne , a three-term U.S. representative who took the more genteel Republican path toward Trumpism—first revulsion , then thrall—and also Roy Moore , the former Alabama Supreme Court judge whose catastrophic campaign in the 2017 special election to replace Sessions had handed the seat to a Democrat , Doug Jones .
( The Washington Post reported allegations that Moore made sexual advances on teen-age girls when he was in his thirties . )
Sessions did enough to force @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the first-place finisher , Tommy Tuberville , a first-time candidate well known in the state as the former head coach of the Auburn University football team .
“ The three things that are important in Alabama are faith , football , and politics—and not necessarily in that order , ” Bill Britt , the editor-in-chief of the Alabama Political Reporter , told me .
Tuberville checked all those boxes .
His gridiron reputation did much of the work , then he promised devotion to both God and Trump and let very little else @ @ @ @ @ @ @ specifics , get in the way .
“ Tommy Tuberville is where he is today because he was the coach of the Auburn University football team—the only reason there was a runoff between him and Sessions is that he wasn ’ t Alabama ’ s football coach , ” Britt said .
“ If you ask him a policy question , as we have on numerous occasions , it comes back to ‘ I support the President.
’ He has , generally , no policy positions.
” Between March and the runoff , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ bond with the President .
Trump wasn ’ t having it .
“ Alabama , do not trust Jeff Sessions , ” Trump tweeted in May .
“ He let our Country down.
” In a reply to Trump ’ s tweet , Sessions , once again , attempted to explain his recusal decision .
“ Look , I know your anger , but recusal was required by law , ” Sessions wrote .
“ I did my duty & you ’ re damn fortunate I did .
It protected the rule of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Your personal feelings don ’ t dictate who Alabama picks as their senator , the people of Alabama do.
” According to a recent profile of Sessions by Elaina Plott , in the New York Times Magazine , that tweet was the product of around a hundred e-mails between a dozen of Sessions ’ s advisers .
Plott ’ s profile captures a man whose politics and psychology seemed to be collapsing in on themselves .
“ It was segregated , so we had those , we had advantages from .
.
.
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ years in the small town of Camden , Alabama , toward the end of the Jim Crow era .
“ I don ’ t know , I don ’ t know , ” he said .
“ I ’ m at a loss , actually .
I haven ’ t quite got — figured that out yet.
” As the runoff date neared , Sessions kept trying to bait Tuberville , to draw him out , criticizing the ex-coach for refusing to hold a debate .
But Tuberville stuck to his strategy : @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , Sessions got trounced .
Tuberville won the runoff by more than twenty points , and now becomes the heavy favorite to win in November .
Jones , the Democratic incumbent , is well funded , and has been an energetic senator during his short tenure .
But , if Trump wins Alabama by a margin similar to the one he enjoyed in 2016 , splitting all those tickets will be a monumental task .
In any case , Trump ’ s interest in the race seemed primarily to be about continuing to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ him out of Washington ; now he wanted to bury him .
Cam Ward , a conservative state senator who came up in Alabama ’ s Republican politics just as Sessions was ascending to the Senate , in the late nineties , still admires Sessions , and thinks people in the state do , too .
“ I don ’ t think this was so much an indictment on Jeff Sessions so much as it ’ s just the time that we ’ re in , ” Ward said .
“ I think @ @ @ @ @ @ @ That election changed all our norms .
The old notion of being a gentleman , and reserved , and above getting down in the dirt—that ’ s out the door.
” Britt made a different point .
“ The reason Sessions ran is to secure his legacy , to reclaim it , ” he said .
“ But the damage is done .
For however long the history is written about Jeff Sessions , it will forever be that Trump fired him , and Trump criticized him , and that people thought that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” Ward was being generous , but both explanations of Sessions ’ s downfall sounded right to me .
In 2016 , Sessions had asked Bannon if Trump could win ; he should have asked what Trump would demand .
Getting down in the dirt is now a requirement for serving in the executive branch of the United States government .
Sessions , in one key instance , wouldn ’ t do it .
“ If I do this endorsement and it doesn ’ t work , ” Sessions had told Bannon in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ end of my career in the Republican Party.
” He did the endorsement , and it did work .
His career in the Republican Party has ended anyway .

It is impossible to describe Donald Trump’s political rise without including the role of Jeff Sessions, the former U.S. senator from Alabama who was practicing Trumpism in Washington well before Trump had a Twitter account or had even heard of Barack Obama’s birth certificate. The relationship was cemented during a phone call between Sessions and Steve Bannon, Trump’s campaign adviser, in February, 2016. At the time, Sessions was considering whether to become the first sitting senator to put on a Make America Great Again hat and endorse Trump’s Presidential bid. During his two decades in the Senate, Sessions had advocated anti-immigrant, protectionist policies and opposed civil- and voting-rights protections, all while denying that he could ever possibly be racist. Trump had spray-tanned Sessions’s politics and taken them national. “Trump is a great advocate for our ideas,” Sessions told Bannon, according to the journalist Joshua Green’s book “Devil’s Bargain.” “But can he win?”
“One hundred per cent,” Bannon said. “If he can stick to your message and personify this stuff, there’s not a doubt in my mind.”
After Trump won the Presidency, Sessions, whose views had often left him sidelined in Washington, found himself at the height of power. This wasn’t just some cynical political arrangement, either—Sessions displayed all the signs of a true believer. His reward was the Attorney General’s office, his dream job, a kind of cosmic revenge on the town that, in 1986, had rejected his nomination to a federal judgeship after hearing about his record of prosecuting civil-rights activists and making racist comments. During the first half of Trump’s term, Sessions was arguably the President’s most effective Cabinet member, separating families at the border, removing federal oversight of dysfunctional police departments, holding back the Washington consensus on criminal-justice reform, getting out of the way of Republican-led states that wanted to restrict voting and to gerrymander their maps. Before the rise of William Barr, it was hard to imagine an Attorney General better suited to Trump’s purposes.
And, yet, for all the reasons that Trump and Sessions came together, one decision drove them apart. In March, 2017, Sessions recused himself from the Russia investigation. Sessions deemed the act a legal necessity, but Trump considered it a supreme betrayal. Even as Sessions continued to deliver on Trump’s agenda—continued, in many ways, to define Trump’s agenda—what followed was a more-than-year-long spectacle: a President publicly bullying, belittling, and bemoaning his own Attorney General. “I have never seen anything so Rigged in my life,” Trump tweeted, in August, 2018. “Our A.G. is scared stiff and Missing in Action.” A few months later, immediately after the midterm elections, Trump fired him.
In 2014, Sessions won reëlection to the Senate with more than ninety-seven per cent of the vote—Democrats didn’t bother fielding an opponent. His old seat is up in 2020, and he decided, last year, at the age of seventy-two, to enter the Republican primary for it, to try to regain some of what he has lost. His loyalty to Trump appeared unbroken, and yet voters—Trump won Alabama by twenty-eight points in 2016—questioned it at every turn. “Let me just tell you,” Sessions told a crowd in Guntersville, in January, explaining his recusal decision, according to the Times. “There are rules in the Department of Justice. There are regulations in the Department of Justice.”
“You wobbled!” a woman in the crowd said. “You wobbled!”
In March, Sessions managed to finish second in the first round of voting. He attracted thirty-one per cent of the vote, enough to best Bradley Byrne, a three-term U.S. representative who took the more genteel Republican path toward Trumpism—first revulsion, then thrall—and also Roy Moore, the former Alabama Supreme Court judge whose catastrophic campaign in the 2017 special election to replace Sessions had handed the seat to a Democrat, Doug Jones. (The Washington Post reported allegations that Moore made sexual advances on teen-age girls when he was in his thirties.) Sessions did enough to force a runoff, on Tuesday, with the first-place finisher, Tommy Tuberville, a first-time candidate well known in the state as the former head coach of the Auburn University football team.
“The three things that are important in Alabama are faith, football, and politics—and not necessarily in that order,” Bill Britt, the editor-in-chief of the Alabama Political Reporter, told me. Tuberville checked all those boxes. His gridiron reputation did much of the work, then he promised devotion to both God and Trump and let very little else, in terms of policy or political specifics, get in the way. “Tommy Tuberville is where he is today because he was the coach of the Auburn University football team—the only reason there was a runoff between him and Sessions is that he wasn’t Alabama’s football coach,” Britt said. “If you ask him a policy question, as we have on numerous occasions, it comes back to ‘I support the President.’ He has, generally, no policy positions.”
Between March and the runoff, Sessions continued to try to reëstablish his bond with the President. Trump wasn’t having it. “Alabama, do not trust Jeff Sessions,” Trump tweeted in May. “He let our Country down.” In a reply to Trump’s tweet, Sessions, once again, attempted to explain his recusal decision. “Look, I know your anger, but recusal was required by law,” Sessions wrote. “I did my duty & you’re damn fortunate I did. It protected the rule of law & resulted in your exoneration. Your personal feelings don’t dictate who Alabama picks as their senator, the people of Alabama do.”
According to a recent profile of Sessions by Elaina Plott, in the New York Times Magazine, that tweet was the product of around a hundred e-mails between a dozen of Sessions’s advisers. Plott’s profile captures a man whose politics and psychology seemed to be collapsing in on themselves. “It was segregated, so we had those, we had advantages from . . .” Sessions told Plott of his childhood years in the small town of Camden, Alabama, toward the end of the Jim Crow era. “I don’t know, I don’t know,” he said. “I’m at a loss, actually. I haven’t quite got — figured that out yet.” As the runoff date neared, Sessions kept trying to bait Tuberville, to draw him out, criticizing the ex-coach for refusing to hold a debate. But Tuberville stuck to his strategy: essentially, ignoring Sessions.
On Tuesday, Sessions got trounced. Tuberville won the runoff by more than twenty points, and now becomes the heavy favorite to win in November. Jones, the Democratic incumbent, is well funded, and has been an energetic senator during his short tenure. But, if Trump wins Alabama by a margin similar to the one he enjoyed in 2016, splitting all those tickets will be a monumental task. In any case, Trump’s interest in the race seemed primarily to be about continuing to punish Sessions. He had already cast him out of Washington; now he wanted to bury him.
Cam Ward, a conservative state senator who came up in Alabama’s Republican politics just as Sessions was ascending to the Senate, in the late nineties, still admires Sessions, and thinks people in the state do, too. “I don’t think this was so much an indictment on Jeff Sessions so much as it’s just the time that we’re in,” Ward said. “I think 2016 changed a lot of things. That election changed all our norms. The old notion of being a gentleman, and reserved, and above getting down in the dirt—that’s out the door.”
Britt made a different point. “The reason Sessions ran is to secure his legacy, to reclaim it,” he said. “But the damage is done. For however long the history is written about Jeff Sessions, it will forever be that Trump fired him, and Trump criticized him, and that people thought that he didn’t support the President.”
Ward was being generous, but both explanations of Sessions’s downfall sounded right to me. In 2016, Sessions had asked Bannon if Trump could win; he should have asked what Trump would demand. Getting down in the dirt is now a requirement for serving in the executive branch of the United States government. Sessions, in one key instance, wouldn’t do it. “If I do this endorsement and it doesn’t work,” Sessions had told Bannon in 2016, “it’s the end of my career in the Republican Party.” He did the endorsement, and it did work. His career in the Republican Party has ended anyway.


newyorker--2020-07-15--Al Capone’s Tax Returns

Al Capone’s Tax Returns

After a career of violent crime , Al Capone was finally convicted and jailed for income-tax evasion , in 1932 @ @ @ @ @ don ’ t realize is that Capone could easily have got away with that crime @ @ @ @ @ not done such an incredibly bad job on his tax returns .
Those returns have @ @ @ @ @ the first time .

After a career of violent crime, Al Capone was finally convicted and jailed for income-tax evasion, in 1932. But what most people don’t realize is that Capone could easily have got away with that crime, too, had he not done such an incredibly bad job on his tax returns. Those returns have now been made public for the first time.


newyorker--2020-07-15--Trump Claims Biden Could Never Have a Pandemic As Big As His

WASHINGTON , D.C. ( The Borowitz Report ) —Trying out a new line of attack against the former Vice-President , @ @ @ @ @ that Joe Biden could never have a pandemic as big as his .
“ Biden @ @ @ @ @ and had all the time in the world to have a pandemic , ” Trump @ @ @ @ @ his pandemic ?
” By contrast , Trump asserted , “ In just a few @ @ @ @ @ built the biggest pandemic this country has seen in a hundred years.
” “ People @ @ @ @ @ about my pandemic for generations to come , ” Trump said .
“ What did @ @ @ @ @ flu ?
What a joke.
” Trump said that Biden ’ s failure to have @ @ @ @ @ home about ” makes him a “ terrible choice ” to be President .
“ @ @ @ @ @ and built an amazing pandemic , but if Biden gets in , all that goes @ @ @ @ @ .

WASHINGTON, D.C.(The Borowitz Report)—Trying out a new line of attack against the former Vice-President, Donald Trump said on Wednesday that Joe Biden could never have a pandemic as big as his.
“Biden was Vice-President for eight years and had all the time in the world to have a pandemic,” Trump said. “Where was his pandemic?”
By contrast, Trump asserted, “In just a few months, I’ve built the biggest pandemic this country has seen in a hundred years.”
“People are going to be talking about my pandemic for generations to come,” Trump said. “What did Biden ever have? Swine flu? What a joke.”
Trump said that Biden’s failure to have “any pandemic worth writing home about” makes him a “terrible choice” to be President.
“I’ve worked hard and built an amazing pandemic, but if Biden gets in, all that goes away,” he warned.


newyorker--2020-07-17--What to Stream: “Jayhawkers,” a Thrillingly Analytical Drama of Wilt Chamberlain’s College Years

Making a good historical drama has a built-in element of difficulty : the need for apt and well-crafted settings and costumes .
But what ’ s far more important to successful examples of the genre is the presence of apt ideas .
In this regard , Kevin Willmott ’ s “ Jayhawkers ” ( streaming on Amazon Prime ) , from 2014 , is an exemplary , even thrilling , historical drama .
( Willmott , who directed “ C.S.A .
: The Confederate States of America , ” from 2006 , also co-wrote “ Chi-Raq , ” “ BlacKkKlansman @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” with Spike Lee . )
“ Jayhawkers ” is centered on the college years of one of the greatest of all basketball players , Wilt Chamberlain , at the University of Kansas at Lawrence , from 1955 to 1958 , where he became nationally famous while playing for the school .
From the start , the film ( which Willmott produced , directed , and co-wrote with Scott Richardson ) vibrates with intellectual energy , including regarding the art of basketball itself .
Its first scene is a brief prologue , set @ @ @ @ @ @ @ competitive University of Kansas player named Forrest ( Phog ) Allen speaks with his athletic supervisor—James Naismith , the inventor of the game—about his plan to become a basketball coach .
Naismith scoffs at the notion , declaring that the game can ’ t be coached .
Cut to 1954 , when Allen ( played by Kip Niven ) , now the head coach of the University of Kansas ’ s men ’ s varsity team , gets word from a scout about a dominant high-school player from Philadelphia , the young Chamberlain @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Allen brings the university ’ s chancellor , Franklin Murphy ( Jay Karnes ) , into the recruiting effort , and it ’ s a politically charged one .
All of the university ’ s officials are white ; Chamberlain is Black ( Allen and other staffers refer to him as “ colored ” and “ Negro ” ) , and he ’ s being vigorously recruited by more than a hundred schools .
He has ruled out playing in the South , and the politics of racism , both in law and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of the school ’ s own efforts to woo him .
Unlike many teams at the time , Kansas ’ s was already integrated : Chamberlain would be joining another Black varsity player , Maurice King ( Joseph Lee Anderson ) .
When Chamberlain arrives in Lawrence for a visit , Allen makes sure that Chamberlain spends time with prominent members of the city ’ s Black community who are also alumni—and they give him a warm , calm , and earnest earful , making clear that , in the effort to keep @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the team , the university , even the town , will make concessions that will empower him to bring about changes in race relations at large .
It ’ s clear that these conversations are key in Chamberlain ’ s decision to play for Kansas and live in Lawrence .
The racial dynamics at play are echoed in the story of another of the film ’ s characters drawn from life , a Black music student at the university named Nathan Davis ( Trai Byers ) , who also serves as the film @ @ @ @ @ @ @ saxophonist , whose white professor threatens to throw him out of school for playing “ boogie-woogie , ” i.e.
, jazz .
The real-life Nathan Davis wrote and performed the score for “ Jayhawkers ” ; he was in fact a student at Kansas at the same time as Chamberlain , a jazz enthusiast , and—as the movie shows—they became fast friends .
( Davis had an illustrious career as a performer , recording with such musicians as Eric Dolphy , Woody Shaw , and Larry Young , and as a professor , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ University of Pittsburgh . )
Stopping at a diner near the school soon after his arrival in Lawrence , Chamberlain faces discrimination—the owner tries to force him to eat in the kitchen and tells Allen that , as a result , he ’ s going to leave the university .
In response , Allen , Murphy , and other administrators seek a special accommodation for him from the town ’ s businesses .
( Murphy calls it “ integration one man at a time.
” ) Chamberlain , in turn , warms to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ leader .
He openly risks and defies scandal when he is seen in public on a date at a movie theatre with a young white woman .
He takes dramatic action at the theatre when the management tries to force him ( and not her ) to the “ crows ’ nest ” —the balcony , the only section open to Black people .
As a local radio d.j.
, he plays a recording by Davis and openly twits , on the air , the professor who insulted his friend .
Yet Allen @ @ @ @ @ @ @ locally ; when the team goes on the road—to , for instance , a championship game in Dallas—they ’ re subjected to the cruelties and the dangers of Jim Crow .
( The team ’ s police escort to the arena , as Chamberlain sagely notes , isn ’ t a mark of honor . )
Basketball in “ Jayhawkers ” is viewed with intense analytical focus , with great attention to strategy and the fine points of the sport , culminating in a mighty dramatic sequence of a single game unfolding at @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
For that matter , all of the subjects woven into the drama are treated substantially and considered in detail—especially the politics of race and of the nascent , and widely resisted , civil-rights movement .
The movie ’ s approach to jazz is knowing and loving , and there ’ s plenty of music performed on camera as well as on the soundtrack , with a keen perspective on the changes that the genre was undergoing at the time .
Even university politics and the relationship of town and gown are put @ @ @ @ @ @ @ with its labyrinthine rules regarding student athletes , its old-fashioned rules regarding basketball itself , and its efforts to limit Chamberlain ’ s dominance of the game , is on scathing display .
The analytical focus is matched by the long cast of characters , whose own stories—whether extensively dramatized or lightly sketched—lend the film a vast scope , a sense of inextricable connection to the wider world , along with its personal drama .
( Langston Hughes , played by Walter Coppage , even figures in the narrative . )
The seminal @ @ @ @ @ @ @ methods are central to the movie , as is his relationship with Chamberlain—though he is forced out of his coaching job ( at the mandatory retirement age of seventy ) and replaced by his assistant , Dick Harp ( Blake Robbins ) , before ever getting to coach his new star recruit in a game .
“ Jayhawkers ” teems with expressive and nuanced dialogue , with glances and winks and quiet interactions that conjure a thick , complex , and vital social fabric .
Willmott parses the vigorous and populous action in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ expressive , high-contrast black-and-white palette that is itself also an analytical device—as well as , seemingly , a practical one .
He spends little time ( and , likely , had little money to spend ) re-creating large settings , such as university arenas , to period specifications ; instead , he films such grand spectacles as the climactic on-court showdown in deeply shadowed images that parse the turmoil and isolate its salient components .
Along with the ideas that go into historical dramas , the genre bears an implicit , overarching idea @ @ @ @ @ @ @ : the question of the filmmakers ’ access to , and relationship with , a given film ’ s historical events .
In this regard , too , “ Jayhawkers ” is exemplary : Willmott , a Kansas native , is a professor at the University of Kansas at Lawrence .
It ’ s not necessary to know this before watching the film ( I didn ’ t ) ; the movie ’ s dramatic richness , intellectual depth , intimate passion , and political fervor are all immediately present .
Nonetheless , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ rooted personal experience , incorporating archival research and the collective memory of shared community lore .
It ’ s a first-person movie about the historical record as inextricably linked to the inner life , and about how to get both onto the screen together .

Making a good historical drama has a built-in element of difficulty: the need for apt and well-crafted settings and costumes. But what’s far more important to successful examples of the genre is the presence of apt ideas. In this regard, Kevin Willmott’s “Jayhawkers” (streaming on Amazon Prime), from 2014, is an exemplary, even thrilling, historical drama. (Willmott, who directed “C.S.A.: The Confederate States of America,” from 2006, also co-wrote “Chi-Raq,” “BlacKkKlansman,” and “Da 5 Bloods” with Spike Lee.) “Jayhawkers” is centered on the college years of one of the greatest of all basketball players, Wilt Chamberlain, at the University of Kansas at Lawrence, from 1955 to 1958, where he became nationally famous while playing for the school. From the start, the film (which Willmott produced, directed, and co-wrote with Scott Richardson) vibrates with intellectual energy, including regarding the art of basketball itself. Its first scene is a brief prologue, set in 1907, in which a fiercely competitive University of Kansas player named Forrest (Phog) Allen speaks with his athletic supervisor—James Naismith, the inventor of the game—about his plan to become a basketball coach. Naismith scoffs at the notion, declaring that the game can’t be coached.
Cut to 1954, when Allen (played by Kip Niven), now the head coach of the University of Kansas’s men’s varsity team, gets word from a scout about a dominant high-school player from Philadelphia, the young Chamberlain (played by Justin Wesley). Allen brings the university’s chancellor, Franklin Murphy (Jay Karnes), into the recruiting effort, and it’s a politically charged one. All of the university’s officials are white; Chamberlain is Black (Allen and other staffers refer to him as “colored” and “Negro”), and he’s being vigorously recruited by more than a hundred schools. He has ruled out playing in the South, and the politics of racism, both in law and in practice, are at the core of the school’s own efforts to woo him. Unlike many teams at the time, Kansas’s was already integrated: Chamberlain would be joining another Black varsity player, Maurice King (Joseph Lee Anderson). When Chamberlain arrives in Lawrence for a visit, Allen makes sure that Chamberlain spends time with prominent members of the city’s Black community who are also alumni—and they give him a warm, calm, and earnest earful, making clear that, in the effort to keep him happy at the school and on the team, the university, even the town, will make concessions that will empower him to bring about changes in race relations at large. It’s clear that these conversations are key in Chamberlain’s decision to play for Kansas and live in Lawrence.
The racial dynamics at play are echoed in the story of another of the film’s characters drawn from life, a Black music student at the university named Nathan Davis (Trai Byers), who also serves as the film’s narrator. He is a saxophonist, whose white professor threatens to throw him out of school for playing “boogie-woogie,” i.e., jazz. The real-life Nathan Davis wrote and performed the score for “Jayhawkers”; he was in fact a student at Kansas at the same time as Chamberlain, a jazz enthusiast, and—as the movie shows—they became fast friends. (Davis had an illustrious career as a performer, recording with such musicians as Eric Dolphy, Woody Shaw, and Larry Young, and as a professor, heading the Jazz Studies Department at the University of Pittsburgh.)
Stopping at a diner near the school soon after his arrival in Lawrence, Chamberlain faces discrimination—the owner tries to force him to eat in the kitchen and tells Allen that, as a result, he’s going to leave the university. In response, Allen, Murphy, and other administrators seek a special accommodation for him from the town’s businesses. (Murphy calls it “integration one man at a time.”) Chamberlain, in turn, warms to his newfound power as an unofficial civil-rights leader. He openly risks and defies scandal when he is seen in public on a date at a movie theatre with a young white woman. He takes dramatic action at the theatre when the management tries to force him (and not her) to the “crows’ nest”—the balcony, the only section open to Black people. As a local radio d.j., he plays a recording by Davis and openly twits, on the air, the professor who insulted his friend. Yet Allen and the school can protect Chamberlain only locally; when the team goes on the road—to, for instance, a championship game in Dallas—they’re subjected to the cruelties and the dangers of Jim Crow. (The team’s police escort to the arena, as Chamberlain sagely notes, isn’t a mark of honor.)
Basketball in “Jayhawkers” is viewed with intense analytical focus, with great attention to strategy and the fine points of the sport, culminating in a mighty dramatic sequence of a single game unfolding at great length, from beginning to end. For that matter, all of the subjects woven into the drama are treated substantially and considered in detail—especially the politics of race and of the nascent, and widely resisted, civil-rights movement. The movie’s approach to jazz is knowing and loving, and there’s plenty of music performed on camera as well as on the soundtrack, with a keen perspective on the changes that the genre was undergoing at the time. Even university politics and the relationship of town and gown are put into sharp perspective. The N.C.A.A., with its labyrinthine rules regarding student athletes, its old-fashioned rules regarding basketball itself, and its efforts to limit Chamberlain’s dominance of the game, is on scathing display.
The analytical focus is matched by the long cast of characters, whose own stories—whether extensively dramatized or lightly sketched—lend the film a vast scope, a sense of inextricable connection to the wider world, along with its personal drama. (Langston Hughes, played by Walter Coppage, even figures in the narrative.) The seminal coach Allen’s idiosyncratic personality and methods are central to the movie, as is his relationship with Chamberlain—though he is forced out of his coaching job (at the mandatory retirement age of seventy) and replaced by his assistant, Dick Harp (Blake Robbins), before ever getting to coach his new star recruit in a game.
“Jayhawkers” teems with expressive and nuanced dialogue, with glances and winks and quiet interactions that conjure a thick, complex, and vital social fabric. Willmott parses the vigorous and populous action in spare images, filmed in an intensely expressive, high-contrast black-and-white palette that is itself also an analytical device—as well as, seemingly, a practical one. He spends little time (and, likely, had little money to spend) re-creating large settings, such as university arenas, to period specifications; instead, he films such grand spectacles as the climactic on-court showdown in deeply shadowed images that parse the turmoil and isolate its salient components.
Along with the ideas that go into historical dramas, the genre bears an implicit, overarching idea that inheres in the filmmakers’ responsibility: the question of the filmmakers’ access to, and relationship with, a given film’s historical events. In this regard, too, “Jayhawkers” is exemplary: Willmott, a Kansas native, is a professor at the University of Kansas at Lawrence. It’s not necessary to know this before watching the film (I didn’t); the movie’s dramatic richness, intellectual depth, intimate passion, and political fervor are all immediately present. Nonetheless, the film catches the undertones of deeply rooted personal experience, incorporating archival research and the collective memory of shared community lore. It’s a first-person movie about the historical record as inextricably linked to the inner life, and about how to get both onto the screen together.


newyorker--2020-07-16--Trump’s Losing, So When Are Republican Candidates Going to Abandon Him?

On Wednesday afternoon , the latest batch of polls in the Presidential campaign were released , and they showed an increasingly grim picture for Donald Trump .
The NBC News/Wall Street Journal survey had Joe Biden up by eleven points .
Fifty per cent of those surveyed said that there was “ no chance ” they would support Trump .
The Quinnipiac University poll showed an even wider national lead for Biden , of fifteen points .
Trump ’ s job-approval rating had sunk to thirty-six per cent , and a daunting sixty per cent of Americans disapproved of his @ @ @ @ @ @ @ no upside , no silver lining , no encouraging trend hidden somewhere in this survey for the President , ” Tim Malloy , the Quinnipiac polling analyst who oversaw the study , said .
A few hours later , Trump ousted his campaign manager , Brad Parscale—or , rather , had his son-in-law , Jared Kushner , do so .
His new campaign manager is Bill Stepien , a New Jersey operative and former Trump White House political director best known for his role in former New Jersey Governor Chris Christie ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to having a big and very important second win together , ” the President tweeted , shortly before 9 P.M .
Reaction was swift , and withering .
“ Brad ’ s not the one going off-message .
Brad ’ s not the one refusing to wear a mask , ” a senior White House official told CNN , lambasting Trump .
“ He ’ s not focussed .
Everyone has told him that .
Nothing has changed.
” The political analyst Amy Walter said , “ The campaign manager isn ’ t @ @ @ @ @ @ @ candidate.
” Of course , she was right : Trump ’ s summer slump is real , and it is his own fault .
Parscale did not tell Trump to downplay the threat of the coronavirus , or to deny its deadliness .
He did not force Trump to undercut America ’ s scientists and public-health officials .
He did not demand that America open back up for business in the midst of an untreatable plague .
He was merely an extremely well-compensated cheerleader for the President ’ s reckless actions .
Now @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , the country has come to a new awareness that there will be no return to normalcy this fall .
Many of America ’ s largest school districts announced this week that they will not welcome students back to classrooms in September .
Trump ’ s own head of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention , Dr. Robert Redfield , said this week that this fall may be “ one of the most difficult times ” that the country has ever confronted .
With little more than a hundred days left until @ @ @ @ @ @ @ rage , denial , bluster , or attacks has been able to obliterate this unpleasant reality of the President ’ s making .
One of the enduring mysteries of this most unusual of campaign seasons is why Trump ’ s precarious reëlection bid has not affected his standing with the Republican politicians who will be on the ballot alongside him .
In the past , a historically unpopular President plummeting in the polls would have caused a slew of panicking pols to distance themselves .
In July of 1980 , when Jimmy Carter @ @ @ @ @ @ @ twenties and he hovered just under forty per cent in the polls in his race against Ronald Reagan , Carter even gave a speech in which he volunteered to stay away from Democratic members ’ districts if they thought that his campaigning for them would hurt their chances .
It didn ’ t work , of course , and when Carter was defeated by Reagan his party lost twenty-nine seats in the House and control of the Senate .
But the vast majority of Republicans this time are not abandoning Trump ; some @ @ @ @ @ @ @ their embrace of the President , a political choice that speaks loudly to the current moment .
Part of it is that Trump is an unusually vengeful politician , one who is obsessed with loyalty and who does not hesitate to go after members of his party who cross him .
On Tuesday night , Trump and his inner circle crowed when his former Attorney General , Jeff Sessions , was soundly defeated in a Republican primary in Alabama , a humiliating end to his bid to win back the Senate seat that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s Cabinet .
Sessions , who committed the unpardonable sin—to Trump—of recusing himself from the Russia investigation , had been the first senator to endorse Trump , back in 2016 .
Even after being fired by the President , Sessions continued to publicly suck up to Trump during his comeback bid .
A few weeks ago , when Trump ’ s mid-pandemic return to the campaign trail , in Tulsa , Oklahoma , bombed , Sessions blithely praised the President for his “ masterful ” performance and “ winning message.
” But @ @ @ @ @ @ @ who endorsed Sessions ’ s opponent and bad-mouthed his former A.G. as “ a disaster who let us all down.
” After the vote , Trump exulted in Sessions ’ s defeat .
So did Trump ’ s close adviser Stephen Miller , the young immigration hawk who owes his career to Sessions .
Asked on Wednesday about Sessions ’ s loss , as he strolled across the White House driveway , Miller called it a “ great victory for the country , a great victory for the President.
” Fear alone , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s going on with Republicans .
Not every state is Alabama , where Trump will win in November no matter what .
Trump has been sagging even in reliably red states , such as Georgia and Texas—a Democratic Presidential candidate has not won the latter state since Carter , in 1976—where surveys now show Biden more or less even with Trump .
The Dallas Morning News wrote the other day that “ Trump represents a bigger threat to fellow Republicans than any GOP nominee in forty-four years.
” As coronavirus cases spike in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Dallas and Houston , who have long been the G.O.P.
’ s bedrock in the state , appear to be souring on the President .
Yet Senator John Cornyn , a mild-mannered Republican-establishment type never previously seen as a Trumpite , has chosen to respond to his increasingly uphill reëlection challenge in Texas by becoming one of the President ’ s more ardent public defenders .
He ’ s tweeting more .
He ’ s trolling .
He told Texans to go out and drink some Corona beer and not to panic about @ @ @ @ @ @ @ him Mini-Don .
There are plenty of other Republican officeholders like him .
The best , or at least most vivid , explanation for this phenomenon that I ’ ve seen is a recent piece in Rolling Stone by the Republican strategist Tim Miller , an adviser to Jeb Bush ’ s doomed 2016 Presidential campaign who became a fervent Never Trumper .
Miller asked nine G.O.P.-consultant friends who are still welcome in the Party why the “ dumpster fire ” that is the Trump 2020 campaign has not caused their Republican candidates @ @ @ @ @ @ @ are two options , you can be on this hell ship , or you can be in the water drowning , ” one told Miller .
Miller ’ s report from the U.S.S .
Hellship suggests that the trapped sailors are well aware of how badly Trump is faring but are unable to bail out—especially in competitive elections , where the Party can ill afford to lose any Republican votes .
In rural Texas , one of Miller ’ s informants pointed out , “ Trump gets like Saddam Hussein level numbers here.
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ in order to win statewide .
Loyalty to Trump among such voters now outweighs any policy position , which means that catering to them requires Cornyn to strike a hard pro-Trump line , even if it further alienates the suburban moderates now wavering on the President .
“ No dissent is tolerated , ” a consultant in another state told Miller .
And , besides , another strategist told him , the election is all about Trump—there ’ s no use pretending otherwise .
Their observations are strikingly similar to a conversation that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Republican pollster , whose clients are running in competitive states .
I asked him whether , given the bad and worsening poll numbers , we might soon see his candidates running away from the President .
“ I don ’ t think so , ” he said , citing the Trump Twitter curse .
“ He stirs up his base all the time , so you can ’ t take a position to reach out to the independents who have trouble with his persona , because the Republican Trump base will turn on @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the Hellship sails on .

On Wednesday afternoon, the latest batch of polls in the Presidential campaign were released, and they showed an increasingly grim picture for Donald Trump. The NBC News/Wall Street Journal survey had Joe Biden up by eleven points. Fifty per cent of those surveyed said that there was “no chance” they would support Trump. The Quinnipiac University poll showed an even wider national lead for Biden, of fifteen points. Trump’s job-approval rating had sunk to thirty-six per cent, and a daunting sixty per cent of Americans disapproved of his performance in office. “There is no upside, no silver lining, no encouraging trend hidden somewhere in this survey for the President,” Tim Malloy, the Quinnipiac polling analyst who oversaw the study, said. A few hours later, Trump ousted his campaign manager, Brad Parscale—or, rather, had his son-in-law, Jared Kushner, do so. His new campaign manager is Bill Stepien, a New Jersey operative and former Trump White House political director best known for his role in former New Jersey Governor Chris Christie’s Bridgegate scandal. “I look forward to having a big and very important second win together,” the President tweeted, shortly before 9 P.M.
Reaction was swift, and withering. “Brad’s not the one going off message. Brad’s not the one refusing to wear a mask,” a senior White House official told CNN, lambasting Trump. “He’s not focussed. Everyone has told him that. Nothing has changed.” The political analyst Amy Walter said, “The campaign manager isn’t the problem. The problem is the candidate.” Of course, she was right: Trump’s summer slump is real, and it is his own fault.
Parscale did not tell Trump to downplay the threat of the coronavirus, or to deny its deadliness. He did not force Trump to undercut America’s scientists and public-health officials. He did not demand that America open back up for business in the midst of an untreatable plague. He was merely an extremely well-compensated cheerleader for the President’s reckless actions. Now, with cases rising in forty-one states, the country has come to a new awareness that there will be no return to normalcy this fall. Many of America’s largest school districts announced this week that they will not welcome students back to classrooms in September. Trump’s own head of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, Dr. Robert Redfield, said this week that this fall may be “one of the most difficult times” that the country has ever confronted. With little more than a hundred days left until the election, no amount of Trumpian rage, denial, bluster, or attacks has been able to obliterate this unpleasant reality of the President’s making.
One of the enduring mysteries of this most unusual of campaign seasons is why Trump’s precarious reëlection bid has not affected his standing with the Republican politicians who will be on the ballot alongside him. In the past, a historically unpopular President plummeting in the polls would have caused a slew of panicking pols to distance themselves. In July of 1980, when Jimmy Carter’s popularity sank into the low twenties and he hovered just under forty per cent in the polls in his race against Ronald Reagan, Carter even gave a speech in which he volunteered to stay away from Democratic members’ districts if they thought that his campaigning for them would hurt their chances. It didn’t work, of course, and when Carter was defeated by Reagan his party lost twenty-nine seats in the House and control of the Senate.
But the vast majority of Republicans this time are not abandoning Trump; some are even choosing to double down on their embrace of the President, a political choice that speaks loudly to the current moment. Part of it is that Trump is an unusually vengeful politician, one who is obsessed with loyalty and who does not hesitate to go after members of his party who cross him. On Tuesday night, Trump and his inner circle crowed when his former Attorney General, Jeff Sessions, was soundly defeated in a Republican primary in Alabama, a humiliating end to his bid to win back the Senate seat that he gave up to serve in Trump’s Cabinet. Sessions, who committed the unpardonable sin—to Trump—of recusing himself from the Russia investigation, had been the first senator to endorse Trump, back in 2016. Even after being fired by the President, Sessions continued to publicly suck up to Trump during his comeback bid. A few weeks ago, when Trump’s mid-pandemic return to the campaign trail, in Tulsa, Oklahoma, bombed, Sessions blithely praised the President for his “masterful” performance and “winning message.” But that was not enough for Trump, who endorsed Sessions’s opponent and bad-mouthed his former A.G. as “a disaster who let us all down.” After the vote, Trump exulted in Sessions’s defeat. So did Trump’s close adviser Stephen Miller, the young immigration hawk who owes his career to Sessions. Asked on Wednesday about Sessions’s loss, as he strolled across the White House driveway, Miller called it a “great victory for the country, a great victory for the President.”
Fear alone, however, does not explain what’s going on with Republicans. Not every state is Alabama, where Trump will win in November no matter what. Trump has been sagging even in reliably red states, such as Georgia and Texas—a Democratic Presidential candidate has not won the latter state since Carter, in 1976—where surveys now show Biden more or less even with Trump. The Dallas Morning News wrote the other day that “Trump represents a bigger threat to fellow Republicans than any GOP nominee in forty-four years.” As coronavirus cases spike in Texas, the crucial suburban voters in Dallas and Houston, who have long been the G.O.P.’s bedrock in the state, appear to be souring on the President. Yet Senator John Cornyn, a mild-mannered Republican-establishment type never previously seen as a Trumpite, has chosen to respond to his increasingly uphill reëlection challenge in Texas by becoming one of the President’s more ardent public defenders. He’s tweeting more. He’s trolling. He told Texans to go out and drink some Corona beer and not to panic about the disease. Democrats are now calling him Mini-Don. There are plenty of other Republican officeholders like him.
The best, or at least most vivid, explanation for this phenomenon that I’ve seen is a recent piece in Rolling Stone by the Republican strategist Tim Miller, an adviser to Jeb Bush’s doomed 2016 Presidential campaign who became a fervent Never Trumper. Miller asked nine G.O.P.-consultant friends who are still welcome in the Party why the “dumpster fire” that is the Trump 2020 campaign has not caused their Republican candidates to abandon the President. “There are two options, you can be on this hell ship, or you can be in the water drowning,” one told Miller. Miller’s report from the U.S.S. Hellship suggests that the trapped sailors are well aware of how badly Trump is faring but are unable to bail out—especially in competitive elections, where the Party can ill afford to lose any Republican votes. In rural Texas, one of Miller’s informants pointed out, “Trump gets like Saddam Hussein level numbers here.” Cornyn desperately needs those Trump superfans in order to win statewide. Loyalty to Trump among such voters now outweighs any policy position, which means that catering to them requires Cornyn to strike a hard pro-Trump line, even if it further alienates the suburban moderates now wavering on the President. “No dissent is tolerated,” a consultant in another state told Miller. And, besides, another strategist told him, the election is all about Trump—there’s no use pretending otherwise. Their observations are strikingly similar to a conversation that I had last month with a veteran Republican pollster, whose clients are running in competitive states. I asked him whether, given the bad and worsening poll numbers, we might soon see his candidates running away from the President. “I don’t think so,” he said, citing the Trump Twitter curse. “He stirs up his base all the time, so you can’t take a position to reach out to the independents who have trouble with his persona, because the Republican Trump base will turn on you in a second.” And so the Hellship sails on.
There are many other factors, of course, ranging from the fight that has already begun for control over the post-Trump Republican Party to the default partisanship that makes Republicans believe that sticking with Trump, no matter how disastrous his decisions may be or how distasteful they find his fulminations, is better than the Democratic alternative.
Another factor to consider is the spectre of 2016. There are many politicians who remain convinced that, with Trump having pulled off a historic upset once before, he can somehow make the improbable happen again, polls be damned. The President is clearly in this camp, but so are a number of Democrats scarred by the false confidence of four years ago. “I don’t believe these numbers,” Debbie Dingell, a representative from the swing state of Michigan, told an online Democratic event recently, after yet another set of polls came out showing Biden well ahead in her must-win state. Dingell, who has taken to calling herself Debbie Downer, comes by her skepticism legitimately, having warned the Hillary Clinton campaign, unsuccessfully, that it was in trouble in Michigan in 2016, despite polls that showed Clinton comfortably ahead. A new Monmouth University survey suggests that, in Pennsylvania, there are many people who agree with Dingell. Although the poll showed Biden leading Trump by thirteen points in the state—which, like Michigan, is another Democratic electoral must-win—fifty-seven per cent of voters said that they believed there was a hidden pro-Trump vote that was not turning up in the surveys. “The specter of a secret Trump vote looms large in 2020,” the survey’s director, Patrick Murray, concluded.
Perhaps it is fitting that the fate of President Trump, a Presidential liar for the ages, should come down to the question of whether large numbers of Americans are lying to pollsters about their support for him. Either way, there is a lesson here. Imagine if Republicans lose this fall because they would not, or could not, believe that their fellow-citizens might actually be telling the truth?


newyorker--2020-07-16--Georgia Governor Orders Statewide Ban on Science

ATLANTA ( The Borowitz Report ) —In his latest response to the coronavirus pandemic , Georgia ’ s governor , Brian Kemp , has issued a sweeping statewide ban on science .
“ Over the past few weeks , scientific information has been spreading throughout the state of Georgia like wildfire , ” Kemp said .
“ We need to flatten the truth curve.
” Under the executive order , Georgians can be fined as much as five hundred dollars for visiting Web sites containing evidence-based information .
Additionally , Kemp is issuing a stay-at-home order for all Georgians planning @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
The governor said that Georgians could once again visit the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention Web site “ as soon as the rest of its data has been safely removed.
” Kemp ’ s zero-tolerance policy on science drew strong praise from his Republican colleague Donald J. Trump .
“ Congratulations to Brian Kemp for having the guts to get tough on science , unlike those beauties Andrew Cuomo , Jay Inslee , and that woman from Michigan , ” he tweeted .
Trump ’ s support has reportedly emboldened Kemp @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a statewide ban on integers .

ATLANTA (The Borowitz Report)—In his latest response to the coronavirus pandemic, Georgia’s governor, Brian Kemp, has issued a sweeping statewide ban on science.
“Over the past few weeks, scientific information has been spreading throughout the state of Georgia like wildfire,” Kemp said. “We need to flatten the truth curve.”
Under the executive order, Georgians can be fined as much as five hundred dollars for visiting Web sites containing evidence-based information.
Additionally, Kemp is issuing a stay-at-home order for all Georgians planning a trip to a library or bookstore.
The governor said that Georgians could once again visit the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention Web site “as soon as the rest of its data has been safely removed.”
Kemp’s zero-tolerance policy on science drew strong praise from his Republican colleague Donald J. Trump.
“Congratulations to Brian Kemp for having the guts to get tough on science, unlike those beauties Andrew Cuomo, Jay Inslee, and that woman from Michigan,” he tweeted.
Trump’s support has reportedly emboldened Kemp, who is said to be considering a statewide ban on integers.


newyorker--2020-07-16--How a Poultry Mogul Is Profiting from the Pandemic

Meatpacking and poultry-processing jobs have always been dangerous , and COVID-19 has exacerbated the risks .
This spring , infection @ @ @ @ @ Mountaire , one of the largest poultry producers , that it stopped disclosing the numbers @ @ @ @ @ , Ronald Cameron , is one of Trump ’ s biggest donors .
Jane Mayer @ @ @ @ @ writer , joins Dorothy Wickenden to discuss conditions at the company ’ s plants and @ @ @ @ @ coronavirus crisis to strip workers of their protections .

Download a transcript.
Photograph by Kristoffer Tripplaar / Sipa / AP
Meatpacking and poultry-processing jobs have always been dangerous, and COVID-19 has exacerbated the risks. This spring, infection rates climbed so high at Mountaire, one of the largest poultry producers, that it stopped disclosing the numbers. Mountaire’s owner, Ronald Cameron, is one of Trump’s biggest donors. Jane Mayer, a New Yorker staff writer, joins Dorothy Wickenden to discuss conditions at the company’s plants and how Cameron is leveraging the coronavirus crisis to strip workers of their protections.


newyorker--2020-07-16--The President Is Shilling Beans

The President Is Shilling Beans

The President and his daughter Ivanka have been using their social-media accounts to advertise canned beans .
On Twitter , she posed with a can of Goya black beans in her right hand , her left hand held as though cradling an imaginary cloud beneath the product .
On Instagram , he sat at the Resolute Desk in the Oval Office , stars , stripes , and gold velvet curtains behind him , and Goya products arrayed in front of him .
He held both thumbs up .
In between attacking Joe Biden and the Times and touting his success @ @ @ @ @ @ @ tweeted , “ .
@ GoyaFoods is doing GREAT .
The Radical Left smear machine backfired , people are buying like crazy !
” The First Family is fighting back against calls for a boycott of Goya after the company ’ s C.E.O.
, Robert Unanue , praised the President during a White House event last week .
“ This one ’ s got everything : the Trump family , using official office to promote a private business , rewarding political allies with business help from the White House , ” Noah Bookbinder @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Responsibility and Ethics in Washington , a watchdog group , tweeted .
“ So much corruption in one post , and likely a violation of ethics rules.
” ( According to the Department of Justice , “ An employee ’ s position or title should not be used to coerce ; to endorse any product , service or enterprise ; or to give the appearance of governmental sanction.
” ) But corruption may not be the best term to describe this spectacle .
The word implies something illicit , hidden from the public @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” in political discourse , is usually “ transparency.
” The Trumps are , without a doubt , corrupting the Presidency in the sense that they are changing it beyond recognition , but they are doing it in plain view .
On the face of it , the shilling for beans is trolling .
Like Trump ’ s lies , it ’ s a demonstration of power—he is saying , in effect , No matter how absurd , how blatantly false , how clearly spiteful and meaningless my statement or picture or post @ @ @ @ @ @ @ but to engage with it , because I am the President .
Here , he wins every time : we do engage with his latest outrage , because ignoring it is the worse option .
As abuse of power goes , though , advertising Goya is almost negligible : smaller than the Ukraine scandal , or making pandemic aid to states conditional on loyalty and gratitude to the President , or threatening to withhold funding to school districts that do not reopen for in-person instruction .
We ’ ve learned to move past @ @ @ @ @ @ @ as a protection racket and extortion machine—and we ’ ll move past Goya , too .
But where will that take us ?
When I ’ m at a loss for words to describe our political reality , I look to the work of Bálint Magyar .
He is the Hungarian sociologist who has pioneered and systematized a language that political science can use to describe contemporary demagogues and the regimes they create .
More than a decade ago , he described the Mafia state , a distinct political system built around a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ A year and a half ago , he told me that Trump acts “ like a Mafia boss without a Mafia ” : he couldn ’ t turn the United States into a Mafia state , but he was acting as though he could .
Since then , the U.S. has devolved in ways we couldn ’ t have imagined , and Magyar has continued his research on post-Communist autocracies , which , in turn , continue to offer ways to examine the American Presidency .
Magyar ’ s new book , co-authored @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Anatomy of Post-Communist Regimes : A Conceptual Framework.
” It contains , among other insights , a critique of how we usually talk about and measure corruption .
Magyar and Madlovics write that the problem with measurements used by , say , Transparency International , which produces an annual index of perceived corruption , is that the index assumes that corruption represents a departure from a norm : “ They understand the state by its formal identity : as dominantly an institution of the public good , with some subordinates who deviate from @ @ @ @ @ @ @ requesting or accepting bribes and appointing cronies without a legitimate basis.
” This view of corruption fails when confronted with a government to which corruption is central , or in which corruption is not voluntary but coercive—where the corrupt relationship is forced by one partner upon the other .
In other words , conventional measures of corruption are not applicable to the U.S. under Trump .
Corruption is no longer deviant in this country : it is instead the defining characteristic of this Presidency .
The U.S. is still a long way from @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Mafia state .
The pattern of relationships created by the Administration , however , points to what Magyar and Madlovics call “ top-down state capture , ” in which the people in charge instrumentalize the apparatus of the state for their own gain .
This kind of state capture leads to a “ criminal state pattern , ” where corrupt relationships imposed from the top become permanent and unavoidable .
The term “ criminal state pattern ” is extraordinary even to contemplate at this moment , when , in the wake of nationwide @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is questioning established notions of crime , criminality , and their opposite : the police .
On the day of Trump ’ s Instagram post , the Times published a compilation of videos of New York City police attacking protesters , the agents of the state menacing and beating people for exercising their political rights .
Such incidents have been documented all over the country , in keeping with the rhetoric and behavior of the head of state .
The President and the First Daughter hawking the canned beans of one of their @ @ @ @ @ @ @ streets and a preventable pandemic rages unchecked through vast swathes of the population is what a criminal state looks like .
It ’ s cruel , ridiculous , disgusting .
And the President gives it two thumbs up .

The President and his daughter Ivanka have been using their social-media accounts to advertise canned beans. On Twitter, she posed with a can of Goya black beans in her right hand, her left hand held as though cradling an imaginary cloud beneath the product. On Instagram, he sat at the Resolute Desk in the Oval Office, stars, stripes, and gold velvet curtains behind him, and Goya products arrayed in front of him. He held both thumbs up. In between attacking Joe Biden and the Times and touting his success at fighting the MS-13 gang, Trump tweeted, “.@GoyaFoods is doing GREAT. The Radical Left smear machine backfired, people are buying like crazy!” The First Family is fighting back against calls for a boycott of Goya after the company’s C.E.O., Robert Unanue, praised the President during a White House event last week.
“This one’s got everything: the Trump family, using official office to promote a private business, rewarding political allies with business help from the White House,” Noah Bookbinder, the executive director of Citizens for Responsibility and Ethics in Washington, a watchdog group, tweeted. “So much corruption in one post, and likely a violation of ethics rules.” (According to the Department of Justice, “An employee’s position or title should not be used to coerce; to endorse any product, service or enterprise; or to give the appearance of governmental sanction.”) But corruption may not be the best term to describe this spectacle. The word implies something illicit, hidden from the public; the remedy for “corruption,” in political discourse, is usually “transparency.” The Trumps are, without a doubt, corrupting the Presidency in the sense that they are changing it beyond recognition, but they are doing it in plain view.
On the face of it, the shilling for beans is trolling. Like Trump’s lies, it’s a demonstration of power—he is saying, in effect, No matter how absurd, how blatantly false, how clearly spiteful and meaningless my statement or picture or post might be, you have no choice but to engage with it, because I am the President. Here, he wins every time: we do engage with his latest outrage, because ignoring it is the worse option.
As abuse of power goes, though, advertising Goya is almost negligible: smaller than the Ukraine scandal, or making pandemic aid to states conditional on loyalty and gratitude to the President, or threatening to withhold funding to school districts that do not reopen for in-person instruction. We’ve learned to move past Trump’s use of the Presidency as a protection racket and extortion machine—and we’ll move past Goya, too. But where will that take us?
When I’m at a loss for words to describe our political reality, I look to the work of Bálint Magyar. He is the Hungarian sociologist who has pioneered and systematized a language that political science can use to describe contemporary demagogues and the regimes they create. More than a decade ago, he described the Mafia state, a distinct political system built around a patron who distributes money and power. A year and a half ago, he told me that Trump acts “like a Mafia boss without a Mafia”: he couldn’t turn the United States into a Mafia state, but he was acting as though he could.
Since then, the U.S. has devolved in ways we couldn’t have imagined, and Magyar has continued his research on post-Communist autocracies, which, in turn, continue to offer ways to examine the American Presidency. Magyar’s new book, co-authored with Bálint Madlovics, is “The Anatomy of Post-Communist Regimes: A Conceptual Framework.” It contains, among other insights, a critique of how we usually talk about and measure corruption. Magyar and Madlovics write that the problem with measurements used by, say, Transparency International, which produces an annual index of perceived corruption, is that the index assumes that corruption represents a departure from a norm: “They understand the state by its formal identity: as dominantly an institution of the public good, with some subordinates who deviate from that purpose and abuse their position by requesting or accepting bribes and appointing cronies without a legitimate basis.” This view of corruption fails when confronted with a government to which corruption is central, or in which corruption is not voluntary but coercive—where the corrupt relationship is forced by one partner upon the other. In other words, conventional measures of corruption are not applicable to the U.S. under Trump. Corruption is no longer deviant in this country: it is instead the defining characteristic of this Presidency.
The U.S. is still a long way from meeting Magyar’s definition of a Mafia state. The pattern of relationships created by the Administration, however, points to what Magyar and Madlovics call “top-down state capture,” in which the people in charge instrumentalize the apparatus of the state for their own gain. This kind of state capture leads to a “criminal state pattern,” where corrupt relationships imposed from the top become permanent and unavoidable.
The term “criminal state pattern” is extraordinary even to contemplate at this moment, when, in the wake of nationwide Black Lives Matter protests, our society is questioning established notions of crime, criminality, and their opposite: the police. On the day of Trump’s Instagram post, the Times published a compilation of videos of New York City police attacking protesters, the agents of the state menacing and beating people for exercising their political rights. Such incidents have been documented all over the country, in keeping with the rhetoric and behavior of the head of state. The President and the First Daughter hawking the canned beans of one of their supporters while police attack protesters in the streets and a preventable pandemic rages unchecked through vast swathes of the population is what a criminal state looks like. It’s cruel, ridiculous, disgusting. And the President gives it two thumbs up.


newyorker--2020-07-17--Should You Cancel Yourself? A Quiz

Should You Cancel Yourself? A Quiz

Trending in cancel culture this week is # selfcancelation—deactivating yourself as a preëmptive strike .
But how do you know when it ’ s time ?
Please check off all that apply , and then tally up your final score to find out .
1 .
I recently messaged a friend of color whom I hadn ’ t spoken to in years to ask , “ How are you doing ?
” Add 10 points .
( If you used a smiley-face emoji darker than you are , add 10 more . )
2 .
I have posted the meme @ @ @ @ @ @ @ cancel.
” Add 10 points .
3 .
In the past few weeks , I have shared pictures , articles , or quotes of/by Roxane Gay , Ibram X. Kendi , Al Sharpton , R.B.G.
, A.O.C.
, or any Obama .
Minus 10 points each .
4 .
I have added the comment “ Love this^ , ” “ This^ , ” “ So much this^ , ” or “ Amen , Brother^ ” to a progressive-themed social-media post .
Add 10 points for each caret .
5 .
I ’ ve @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s worth of my own social-media posts looking for tragic costume choices from my past .
Add 10 points .
If you have to ask “ Does this count as blackface ?
” add 30 more .
6 .
I ’ ve recently posted a selfie in which I am wearing a “ Cuomosexual ” T-shirt .
Add 10 points .
7 .
I go to urban protests to take pictures and videos with younger , cooler , multicultural people who would never usually hang out with me .
Add 10 points .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ when I read the words “ urban ” or “ multicultural ” in the previous sentence .
Add 20 points each .
9 .
I post pictures and videos of myself at Brooklyn protests , even though I don ’ t live in Brooklyn and had never previously been there .
Add 20 points .
( For any item made of kente cloth and worn in said pictures and videos , add 20 more . )
10 .
I ’ ve recently paid for , liked , praised , shared , or retweeted @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , J. K. Rowling , R. Kelly , Ryan Adams , Roseanne Barr , Matt Lauer , Bill Cosby , Charlie Rose , Kanye , Don Cherry , or Aunt Jemima .
Add 10 points each .
11 .
When in doubt , I guess rather than ask about preferred gender pronouns .
Once corrected , I forget immediately .
Add 20 points .
12 .
I bought “ How to Be an Antiracist , ” “ Between the World and Me , ” “ White Fragility , ” “ So You Want @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Beloved , ” or “ Act Like a Lady , Think Like a Man.
” Minus 10 points each ; add 50 for the last one .
0-10 points : You may have a future as a sensitivity counsellor .
11-30 points : Step away from social media and read all those books ( except the one by Steve Harvey , who hasn ’ t read it himself ) .
31-60 points : If you leave the country now , you might still have a career .
61+ points : Why are you @ @ @

Trending in cancel culture this week is #selfcancelation—deactivating yourself as a preëmptive strike. But how do you know when it’s time? Please check off all that apply, and then tally up your final score to find out.
1. I recently messaged a friend of color whom I hadn’t spoken to in years to ask, “How are you doing?” Add 10 points. (If you used a smiley-face emoji darker than you are, add 10 more.)
2. I have posted the meme “Justin Trudeau is too cute to cancel.” Add 10 points.
3. In the past few weeks, I have shared pictures, articles, or quotes of/by Roxane Gay, Ibram X. Kendi, Al Sharpton, R.B.G., A.O.C., or any Obama. Minus 10 points each.
4. I have added the comment “Love this^,” “This^,” “So much this^,” or “Amen, Brother^” to a progressive-themed social-media post. Add 10 points for each caret.
5. I’ve spent hours digging through a decade’s worth of my own social-media posts looking for tragic costume choices from my past. Add 10 points. If you have to ask “Does this count as blackface?” add 30 more.
6. I’ve recently posted a selfie in which I am wearing a “Cuomosexual” T-shirt. Add 10 points.
7. I go to urban protests to take pictures and videos with younger, cooler, multicultural people who would never usually hang out with me. Add 10 points.
8. I didn’t flinch when I read the words “urban” or “multicultural” in the previous sentence. Add 20 points each.
9. I post pictures and videos of myself at Brooklyn protests, even though I don’t live in Brooklyn and had never previously been there. Add 20 points. (For any item made of kente cloth and worn in said pictures and videos, add 20 more.)
10. I’ve recently paid for, liked, praised, shared, or retweeted anything by Louis C.K., Louis Farrakhan, J. K. Rowling, R. Kelly, Ryan Adams, Roseanne Barr, Matt Lauer, Bill Cosby, Charlie Rose, Kanye, Don Cherry, or Aunt Jemima. Add 10 points each.
11. When in doubt, I guess rather than ask about preferred gender pronouns. Once corrected, I forget immediately. Add 20 points.
12. I bought “How to Be an Antiracist,” “Between the World and Me,” “White Fragility,” “So You Want to Talk About Race,” “Beloved,” or “Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man.” Minus 10 points each; add 50 for the last one.
YOUR SCORE
0-10 points: You may have a future as a sensitivity counsellor.
11-30 points: Step away from social media and read all those books (except the one by Steve Harvey, who hasn’t read it himself).
31-60 points: If you leave the country now, you might still have a career.
61+ points: Why are you still here?


newyorker--2020-07-17--Ethiopian Tradition for the Vegan-Curious, at Ras Plant Based

Many of the recipes that the chef Romeo Regalli uses in the kitchen at Ras Plant Based—the restaurant that he and his wife , Milka , opened in Crown Heights in March—have been passed down through generations .
A number of them came from Romeo ’ s grandmother , a passionate home cook who died last year , in Ethiopia , at the age of a hundred and four .
Yet the dish that seems most likely to have a long , storied history , Mama ’ s Tofu , traces its origins only as far back as May , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ from Addis Ababa , a photo of what she had made for dinner .
“ I was , like , ‘ Oh , my God , that looks so good !
’ ” Romeo recalled the other day .
She rattled off the ingredients : tofu , tomatoes , onions , and jalapeños .
After she mailed him a batch of her homemade spice mix ( the exact contents of which he keeps tight to his chest ) , Romeo made an approximation , and promptly added it to the menu .
The @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the restaurant ’ s ethos : dynamic , adaptable , rooted in but by no means bound by tradition .
Romeo and Milka , who were both born in Ethiopia , met while working at Milka ’ s mother ’ s Ethiopian restaurant , Awash , on the Upper West Side , and had long wanted to open a place of their own , with a vegan menu .
Although meat figures prominently in Ethiopian cuisine , vegan dishes are common , too ; for more than a hundred and fifty days a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ animal products , in accordance with religious fasting .
The couple wanted to both feature their favorite fasting dishes and rejigger typical meat preparations with substitutes like crumbled pea protein , to “ cater to those who are trying to transition to a vegan life style , ” Romeo explained .
Ras Plant Based was up and running for all of a week before the pandemic forced the Regallis to close the dining room they had worked so hard to get ready , commissioning colorful murals and arranging patio-style furniture for a breezy @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and shifting to takeout meant paring down the menu and reducing their hours .
They have recently added limited outdoor seating , but a playful brunch menu , offering cauliflower wings and waffles and Ethiopian breakfast classics , remains on hold for now .
Even in an abridged form , Ras is an exciting addition to Franklin Avenue ’ s ever-bustling restaurant row .
Flaky sambusas ( the Ethiopian equivalent to what ’ s called a samosa in South Asia and elsewhere ) , stuffed with either lentils or chopped cabbage , onion @ @ @ @ @ @ @ per order .
As soon as their slightly honeyed , deep-fried scent hit my nose the other night , I knew that I should have added at least a half-dozen to my takeout cart ; that thought was confirmed after I dipped them into Ras ’ s glossy-red awaze , a saucy paste usually made with berbere ( Ethiopia ’ s national spice mix , which includes chili pepper , ginger , basil , and fenugreek ) that here releases a balanced , slow-building heat .
For a cold dish called fitfit , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ flatbread of Ethiopia , made from a deliciously sour fermented teff-flour dough—is torn into pieces and combined with tomato , onion , and jalapeño , all doused in a puckery lime vinaigrette .
More injera , rolled into squishy cigars , to be unfurled for scooping , comes with a vegan sampler platter , which showcases an array of fasting dishes , including missir , long-simmered red lentils complexly layered with more of the secret spice mix ( I picked up cardamom ) , and fasolia , a slick tangle of string beans @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
In two iterations of tibs , for which beef is usually both fried and stewed with onions and berbere , the meat is replaced by seitan and cremini mushrooms , respectively , the former bearing a texture as satisfying as pork belly , the latter with an earthiness enhanced by sprigs of rosemary .
Both are wonderful sopped up with more injera or with turmeric-stained steamed rice laced with fresh black pepper .
Both are worthy of ancestral legacy—and how lucky we are to be welcomed into this family .
( Dishes @ @ @ @ @ @ @

Many of the recipes that the chef Romeo Regalli uses in the kitchen at Ras Plant Based—the restaurant that he and his wife, Milka, opened in Crown Heights in March—have been passed down through generations. A number of them came from Romeo’s grandmother, a passionate home cook who died last year, in Ethiopia, at the age of a hundred and four. Yet the dish that seems most likely to have a long, storied history, Mama’s Tofu, traces its origins only as far back as May, when Romeo’s mother texted, from Addis Ababa, a photo of what she had made for dinner. “I was, like, ‘Oh, my God, that looks so good!’ ” Romeo recalled the other day. She rattled off the ingredients: tofu, tomatoes, onions, and jalapeños. After she mailed him a batch of her homemade spice mix (the exact contents of which he keeps tight to his chest), Romeo made an approximation, and promptly added it to the menu.
The story behind Mama’s Tofu reflects the restaurant’s ethos: dynamic, adaptable, rooted in but by no means bound by tradition. Romeo and Milka, who were both born in Ethiopia, met while working at Milka’s mother’s Ethiopian restaurant, Awash, on the Upper West Side, and had long wanted to open a place of their own, with a vegan menu. Although meat figures prominently in Ethiopian cuisine, vegan dishes are common, too; for more than a hundred and fifty days a year, Ethiopian Orthodox Christians abstain from animal products, in accordance with religious fasting. The couple wanted to both feature their favorite fasting dishes and rejigger typical meat preparations with substitutes like crumbled pea protein, to “cater to those who are trying to transition to a vegan life style,” Romeo explained.
Romeo and Milka Regalli, who describe themselves as passionate about vegetables, wanted to both showcase their favorite fasting dishes and offer vegan iterations of common meat preparations. Photograph by Bubi Canal for The New Yorker
Ras Plant Based was up and running for all of a week before the pandemic forced the Regallis to close the dining room they had worked so hard to get ready, commissioning colorful murals and arranging patio-style furniture for a breezy al-fresco vibe. Cutting back on staff and shifting to takeout meant paring down the menu and reducing their hours. They have recently added limited outdoor seating, but a playful brunch menu, offering cauliflower wings and waffles and Ethiopian breakfast classics, remains on hold for now.
Even in an abridged form, Ras is an exciting addition to Franklin Avenue’s ever-bustling restaurant row. Flaky sambusas (the Ethiopian equivalent to what’s called a samosa in South Asia and elsewhere), stuffed with either lentils or chopped cabbage, onion, and bell pepper, come two per order. As soon as their slightly honeyed, deep-fried scent hit my nose the other night, I knew that I should have added at least a half-dozen to my takeout cart; that thought was confirmed after I dipped them into Ras’s glossy-red awaze, a saucy paste usually made with berbere (Ethiopia’s national spice mix, which includes chili pepper, ginger, basil, and fenugreek) that here releases a balanced, slow-building heat.
An avocado salad with diced tomato, onion, and jalapeño, in a lime vinaigrette. Photograph by Bubi Canal for The New Yorker
For a cold dish called fitfit, house-made injera—the porous, slightly sticky national flatbread of Ethiopia, made from a deliciously sour fermented teff-flour dough—is torn into pieces and combined with tomato, onion, and jalapeño, all doused in a puckery lime vinaigrette. More injera, rolled into squishy cigars, to be unfurled for scooping, comes with a vegan sampler platter, which showcases an array of fasting dishes, including missir, long-simmered red lentils complexly layered with more of the secret spice mix (I picked up cardamom), and fasolia, a slick tangle of string beans and carrots slow-cooked until silky and sweet.
In two iterations of tibs, for which beef is usually both fried and stewed with onions and berbere, the meat is replaced by seitan and cremini mushrooms, respectively, the former bearing a texture as satisfying as pork belly, the latter with an earthiness enhanced by sprigs of rosemary. Both are wonderful sopped up with more injera or with turmeric-stained steamed rice laced with fresh black pepper. Both are worthy of ancestral legacy—and how lucky we are to be welcomed into this family. (Dishes $5-$19.) ♦


newyorker--2020-07-17--How a Coalition of New York Activists Revealed Police-Department Secrets

It has been more than eight years since a New York City police officer shot Constance Malcolm ’ s son to death as he stood in a bathroom in their home , in the Bronx .
Ramarley Graham was eighteen .
His grandmother and his younger brother , who was six , were standing nearby at the time .
Officers later said they believed that Graham had a gun .
But a lengthy search of the apartment revealed no weapon .
Malcolm , a nurse ’ s aide , returned from work that day to find that police had cordoned @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s Wakefield section .
When she asked to get into her house , a police supervisor suggested that she needed to go to the local precinct .
He didn ’ t say why .
At the station house , she overheard a plainclothes officer mention a homicide .
Then her mother was brought in , escorted by police .
“ She was crying and she just blurted out , ‘ They killed Marley , ’ ” Malcolm recalled .
Her mother , Patricia Hartley , who was fifty-eight years old and weighed @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the precinct for almost seven hours that night .
“ They tried to convince her that Ramarley had a gun .
She told them , ‘ I know my grandson , ’ ” Malcolm said .
Hartley later told how she had tried to reach Graham after he was shot .
She could see his legs trembling in the bathroom doorway .
Police forcibly restrained her and wrestled her cell phone away .
One officer threatened to shoot her as well , she said .
The police version of what happened evolved over @ @ @ @ @ @ @ had followed Graham from a nearby bodega suspected of drug activity .
Officials first claimed that Graham had run from police after being ordered to stop .
But a video showed him walking into his building , glancing over his shoulder as he did so .
Police officials also initially said that Graham had been shot following a struggle with an officer .
But Police Commissioner Ray Kelly later acknowledged that there “ was no contact.
” The officer fired , officials said , because Graham had failed to respond to his order @ @ @ @ @ @ @ be reaching into his waistband .
The bullet struck the young man in the chest .
According to police , a bag of marijuana was later found in the bathroom ’ s toilet .
After Graham was killed , an unnamed official gave the media details of his police record , which included charges for marijuana dealing and burglary .
Most of the charges had been dismissed and were therefore supposed to be sealed .
But Malcolm could learn little about the past performance record of Richard Haste , the officer who had @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Haste had a troubled history .
“ It came from the precinct , someone leaked it , ” Malcolm , who is forty-eight , told me .
“ He was reckless.
” But her efforts to see those records , even with a lawyer ’ s help , were thwarted , because of a New York state law known as Section 50-A .
Enacted in 1976 , the law declared that police disciplinary records could only be released with the officer ’ s permission or by court order .
Nestled deep in the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the law made New York one of only three states , along with California and Delaware , where law-enforcement-personnel records , in particular , were confidential .
( California amended its law in 2018 . )
When Malcolm spoke to other relatives of victims of police violence , she learned that they , too , had been blocked from seeing officer records because of 50-A .
“ All the mothers and families I met afterward , they hit the same brick wall , ” Malcolm said .
“ It was the same thing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ block , this 50-A .
We couldn ’ t get information unless it was leaked.
” Haste was initially indicted for manslaughter , but a judge dismissed the charges on a technicality .
A second grand jury declined to indict him .
A federal investigation of possible civil-rights violations found insufficient evidence .
( The city agreed , in 2015 , to pay Malcolm and her family $ 3.9 million to settle her lawsuit for her son ’ s death . )
Five years after Graham was killed , an internal police-department trial @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , and Haste was allowed to resign .
Two days later , an insider leaked Haste ’ s disciplinary record .
It showed that from September , 2009 , to October , 2010 , six cases had been lodged against Haste with the city ’ s Civilian Complaint Review Board , including ten separate allegations , among them the use of physical force , pepper spray , and offensive language .
That kind of record should have kept Haste off the streets , Malcolm said .
“ These are the things the community @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
“ These are the people serving us .
They are supposed to serve and protect.
” Of all New York City Mayor Bill de Blasio ’ s missteps in dealing with his police force , his willingness to allow the department to block access to information on officer misconduct is the most confounding .
It ’ s out of synch with de Blasio ’ s own rhetoric about openness in government .
As New York City ’ s public advocate , from 2010 to 2013 , de Blasio was a vocal critic @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of transparency .
A report released by his office in 2013 gave the N.Y.P.D .
an F for failing to make records available and for its faulty handling of freedom-of-information requests .
As a mayoral candidate , de Blasio pledged to promote transparency in his administration .
But soon after his election , he was criticized for backsliding on several transparency fronts , including the disclosure of police records .
Section 50-A was an arcane and little-known legal provision until de Blasio ’ s administration raised its profile by widening its application .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ stopped releasing notices of personnel orders , including summaries of disciplinary actions taken against members of the police force .
The practice had been in place for decades , long after 50-A was enacted , and had been allowed under far more pro-police mayors , including Michael Bloomberg and Rudy Giuliani .
This was the kind of unforced error that politicians are supposed to avoid .
By the time de Blasio took office , in January , 2014 , legal challenges to 50-A were already under way .
In 2011 , the New @ @ @ @ @ @ @ lawsuit against the police department in state court , in an effort to compel the department to release some disciplinary opinions and decisions , with the names of the officers redacted .
“ Our argument was that 50-A should have allowed for redacted information and not serve as a barrier to that information becoming public , ” Michael Sisitzky , an attorney who leads the N.Y.C.L.U.
’ s campaign on police transparency and accountability , said .
At first , the debate over 50-A was largely waged among criminal-justice-system insiders .
That changed @ @ @ @ @ @ @ plainclothes police officer killed Eric Garner , on Staten Island , putting him in a choke hold that the police department had long banned from use .
As Black Lives Matter protests swept the city , news organizations reported that Daniel Pantaleo , the officer who killed Garner , had been the target of prior C.C.R.B .
misconduct complaints .
After taking part in one of those demonstrations , Cynthia Conti-Cook , a staff attorney at the Legal Aid Society , decided to try to pry loose Pantaleo ’ s history of complaints @ @ @ @ @ @ @ While the N.Y.C.L.U.
’ s case sought redacted records in an effort to analyze how police disciplinary decisions were made , Conti-Cook wanted to show how officers like Pantaleo , with histories of civilian-abuse complaints , were allowed to remain on the job .
“ People needed to know whether Pantaleo had presented the N.Y.P.D .
with a red flag and to what extent the city was responsible for Eric Garner ’ s death , ” Conti-Cook told me .

It has been more than eight years since a New York City police officer shot Constance Malcolm’s son to death as he stood in a bathroom in their home, in the Bronx. Ramarley Graham was eighteen. His grandmother and his younger brother, who was six, were standing nearby at the time. Officers later said they believed that Graham had a gun. But a lengthy search of the apartment revealed no weapon.
Malcolm, a nurse’s aide, returned from work that day to find that police had cordoned off her block, in the borough’s Wakefield section. When she asked to get into her house, a police supervisor suggested that she needed to go to the local precinct. He didn’t say why. At the station house, she overheard a plainclothes officer mention a homicide. Then her mother was brought in, escorted by police. “She was crying and she just blurted out, ‘They killed Marley,’ ” Malcolm recalled.
Her mother, Patricia Hartley, who was fifty-eight years old and weighed just eighty-five pounds, was held at the precinct for almost seven hours that night. “They tried to convince her that Ramarley had a gun. She told them, ‘I know my grandson,’ ” Malcolm said. Hartley later told how she had tried to reach Graham after he was shot. She could see his legs trembling in the bathroom doorway. Police forcibly restrained her and wrestled her cell phone away. One officer threatened to shoot her as well, she said.
The police version of what happened evolved over the following days. Four narcotics officers had followed Graham from a nearby bodega suspected of drug activity. Officials first claimed that Graham had run from police after being ordered to stop. But a video showed him walking into his building, glancing over his shoulder as he did so. Police officials also initially said that Graham had been shot following a struggle with an officer. But Police Commissioner Ray Kelly later acknowledged that there “was no contact.” The officer fired, officials said, because Graham had failed to respond to his order to show his hands and appeared to be reaching into his waistband. The bullet struck the young man in the chest. According to police, a bag of marijuana was later found in the bathroom’s toilet.
After Graham was killed, an unnamed official gave the media details of his police record, which included charges for marijuana dealing and burglary. Most of the charges had been dismissed and were therefore supposed to be sealed. But Malcolm could learn little about the past performance record of Richard Haste, the officer who had shot Graham. Malcolm heard rumors that Haste had a troubled history. “It came from the precinct, someone leaked it,” Malcolm, who is forty-eight, told me. “He was reckless.” But her efforts to see those records, even with a lawyer’s help, were thwarted, because of a New York state law known as Section 50-A. Enacted in 1976, the law declared that police disciplinary records could only be released with the officer’s permission or by court order. Nestled deep in the state’s Civil Rights Law, the law made New York one of only three states, along with California and Delaware, where law-enforcement-personnel records, in particular, were confidential. (California amended its law in 2018.)
When Malcolm spoke to other relatives of victims of police violence, she learned that they, too, had been blocked from seeing officer records because of 50-A. “All the mothers and families I met afterward, they hit the same brick wall,” Malcolm said. “It was the same thing over and over, the same stumbling block, this 50-A. We couldn’t get information unless it was leaked.”
Haste was initially indicted for manslaughter, but a judge dismissed the charges on a technicality. A second grand jury declined to indict him. A federal investigation of possible civil-rights violations found insufficient evidence. (The city agreed, in 2015, to pay Malcolm and her family $3.9 million to settle her lawsuit for her son’s death.) Five years after Graham was killed, an internal police-department trial found Haste guilty of using poor judgment, and Haste was allowed to resign.
Two days later, an insider leaked Haste’s disciplinary record. It showed that from September, 2009, to October, 2010, six cases had been lodged against Haste with the city’s Civilian Complaint Review Board, including ten separate allegations, among them the use of physical force, pepper spray, and offensive language. That kind of record should have kept Haste off the streets, Malcolm said. “These are the things the community needs to know,” she said. “These are the people serving us. They are supposed to serve and protect.”
Of all New York City Mayor Bill de Blasio’s missteps in dealing with his police force, his willingness to allow the department to block access to information on officer misconduct is the most confounding. It’s out of synch with de Blasio’s own rhetoric about openness in government. As New York City’s public advocate, from 2010 to 2013, de Blasio was a vocal critic of the police department’s lack of transparency. A report released by his office in 2013 gave the N.Y.P.D. an F for failing to make records available and for its faulty handling of freedom-of-information requests.
As a mayoral candidate, de Blasio pledged to promote transparency in his administration. But soon after his election, he was criticized for backsliding on several transparency fronts, including the disclosure of police records. Section 50-A was an arcane and little-known legal provision until de Blasio’s administration raised its profile by widening its application. In 2016, the police department abruptly stopped releasing notices of personnel orders, including summaries of disciplinary actions taken against members of the police force. The practice had been in place for decades, long after 50-A was enacted, and had been allowed under far more pro-police mayors, including Michael Bloomberg and Rudy Giuliani. This was the kind of unforced error that politicians are supposed to avoid.
By the time de Blasio took office, in January, 2014, legal challenges to 50-A were already under way. In 2011, the New York Civil Liberties Union had filed a lawsuit against the police department in state court, in an effort to compel the department to release some disciplinary opinions and decisions, with the names of the officers redacted. “Our argument was that 50-A should have allowed for redacted information and not serve as a barrier to that information becoming public,” Michael Sisitzky, an attorney who leads the N.Y.C.L.U.’s campaign on police transparency and accountability, said.
At first, the debate over 50-A was largely waged among criminal-justice-system insiders. That changed in July, 2014, when a plainclothes police officer killed Eric Garner, on Staten Island, putting him in a choke hold that the police department had long banned from use. As Black Lives Matter protests swept the city, news organizations reported that Daniel Pantaleo, the officer who killed Garner, had been the target of prior C.C.R.B. misconduct complaints.
After taking part in one of those demonstrations, Cynthia Conti-Cook, a staff attorney at the Legal Aid Society, decided to try to pry loose Pantaleo’s history of complaints by directly challenging 50-A in court. While the N.Y.C.L.U.’s case sought redacted records in an effort to analyze how police disciplinary decisions were made, Conti-Cook wanted to show how officers like Pantaleo, with histories of civilian-abuse complaints, were allowed to remain on the job. “People needed to know whether Pantaleo had presented the N.Y.P.D. with a red flag and to what extent the city was responsible for Eric Garner’s death,” Conti-Cook told me.
Conti-Cook, who is thirty-eight, has long focussed on ways to provide greater transparency on police misbehavior. Her legal efforts, she said, were inspired by her father, Jack Cook, a former college professor who was active with the Catholic Worker Movement and who served two years in prison after he refused military induction during the Vietnam War. While incarcerated, Cook spent time in solitary confinement for leading a protest. Conti-Cook keeps a copy of his indictment on her wall. “It’s there to remind me that there is a person and a family behind every legal caption,” she said.
On December 3, 2014, a Staten Island grand jury declined to indict Pantaleo. Two weeks later, Conti-Cook filed a freedom-of-information request with the C.C.R.B. for records of complaints against the officer. City agencies often take months to respond to records requests. This one took less than a week. On Christmas Eve, agency lawyers denied the request, citing 50-A. Conti-Cook then filed suit, seeking to compel the agency to comply and arguing that the existence of prior civilian complaints against Pantaleo made it a matter of public concern. On July 17, 2015, the first anniversary of Garner’s death, a State Supreme Court judge in Manhattan upheld her right to a summary of the complaints. But de Blasio’s law department appealed and an appellate court later ruled against her.