newyorker--2020-11-16--The Underground Movement Trying to Topple the North Korean Regime

We left the restaurant at 1 A.M .
When Adrian turned his phone on , it was filled with urgent messages from members of his group who feared for his safety .
He put me in a taxi , and walked off through Times Square .
Adrian was born in 1984 in Tijuana , where his parents had immigrated from South Korea .
His father was a Tae Kwon Do master who converted to Christianity and became a missionary .
The family moved to San Diego when Adrian was six , but his father founded an orphanage in Mexico to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ supplies and helping to give aid to the homeless .
Later , he conducted relief missions in Haiti and the Dominican Republic .
According to those who knew Adrian at the time , his motivations seemed less religious than humanitarian .
Adrian , like his father , taught Tae Kwon Do and is a practicing Christian , but , when I asked him about his faith , he said , “ I make it a rule not to discuss personal beliefs .
I am more concerned about freedom of belief.
” At Yale @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of North Koreans .
In 2003 , while visiting Los Angeles , Adrian , then a junior , was sitting with Paul ( PK ) Kim , a standup comic eight years older , at a café called Blink , on Wilshire Boulevard .
They had met when Adrian invited PK to a campus event , and they often discussed starting an organization to help North Koreans .
One of them looked up at the café ’ s sign , and decided to take the “ B ” out of the name and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Korea .
It was launched early the next year , at the Korean American Students Conference at Yale , which Adrian had organized .
LINK was “ ninety per cent Adrian , ” PK told me ; he became less involved after a couple of years .
LINK sought out college students who , PK said , “ need to be a part of something .
So many young people join fraternities .
They don ’ t want to be alone.
” Adrian told me , “ I built LINK on Xanga , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ among Asian Americans , where he had been active since 1999 .
( PK said , “ Asians were Internet addicts more than most other groups.
” ) Travelling to two or three college campuses a week , Adrian would change into his one “ crappy suit , ” and give presentations about the horrors of life in North Korea , sometimes screening the documentary film “ Seoul Train , ” which follows defectors escaping to China .
Adrian got Asian American singers , rappers , and dance crews to accompany his presentations @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Korean American actor who has appeared on the Netflix sitcom “ Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt , ” met Adrian at a KASCON event in 2005 , when Lee was an undergraduate at the University of California at Berkeley .
“ If you spend three hours with Adrian , he makes you want to become a better person , do things you never thought about doing , ” Lee told me .
Lee helped start a chapter of LINK at Berkeley , and eventually he and Adrian travelled to South Korea to volunteer for an @ @ @ @ @ @ @ tried to raise awareness of the suffering of North Koreans .
“ You don ’ t really call someone to say , ‘ Hey , you know what ’ s going on in the world that is messed up ?
’ ” Lee said .
“ He was that person I could do that with.
” Adrian dropped out of Yale in his senior year , and set up LINK ’ s ad-hoc headquarters above Kyoro Books , in Manhattan ’ s Koreatown , before moving it to Washington , D.C. By then @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
A close friend who helped get LINK off the ground told me , “ Adrian knew that sometimes you have to work outside a diplomatic norm in order to reach something meaningful.
” Since the U.S. Administration could change every four years , the North Korean regime found it easy to wait it out and maintain the status quo .
Adrian admired people who effected great change ; among them were Ahn Chang-ho , an early leader of the Korean independence movement , whom Adrian compared to Thomas Jefferson , and Martin @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s interpretation of the Good Samaritan parable , which tells us , when confronted with someone in need , to ask not “ If I stop to help this man , what will happen to me ?
” but “ If I don ’ t stop to help this man , what will happen to him ?
” In 2004 , George W. Bush signed the North Korean Human Rights Act , which made North Koreans broadly eligible for political asylum in the U.S. Two years later , Adrian and two other @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in northeast China , where they met four women and two teen-age boys who had escaped from North Korea and were hiding in an underground shelter .
If the defectors were caught by Chinese authorities , they might be returned to North Korea , where they would be imprisoned in labor camps and risk execution .
Adrian and the LINK workers accompanied them on a twenty-hour train ride to Shenyang , the site of the nearest U.S. consulate , to apply for asylum .
But the consular officers turned them away , telling @ @ @ @ @ @ @ had likely been tapped by the Chinese government , to go instead to the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees in Beijing , some four hundred miles away .
Adrian got in touch with the U.S. Embassy in Beijing , which also directed him to the U.N.H.C.R .
Finally , Adrian hired a van for the other LINK members and the defectors , while he travelled by plane .
Chinese police stopped the van on the highway and arrested everyone inside .
Adrian was arrested in a hotel in Beijing , and he @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for about a week before being deported ; the North Koreans were detained for more than six months .
After much pressure from LINK and other activist groups , the defectors were eventually freed and they flew to South Korea .
Adrian called the actions of the U.S. consulate “ unacceptable and shameful.
” In 2007 , he wrote on the Web site Freekorea.us , “ My experiences in December showed me that three years after the North Korean Human Rights Act has passed , nothing has changed on the ground for North @ @ @ @ @ @ @ envoy under Bush , says that Adrian was an “ effective and ardent advocate.
” By then , LINK had a hundred chapters worldwide .
Yet Adrian ’ s experience in China had shifted something in him ; in 2008 , he abruptly resigned from the group .
According to a journalist who knew him at the time , Adrian appeared to be severing ties with his former life .
Adrian told the journalist that he was leaving D.C. and changing his phone number .
The journalist wondered if Adrian was going to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Adrian began styling himself to look older ; he grew a beard , and slicked his hair back .
He told a friend , “ No one ’ s gon na listen to a twenty-something-year-old.
” That year , Adrian started a think tank called the Joseon Institute , to generate a plan for a civil society in North Korea should the regime collapse .
Adrian pointed out to me that North Korea lacked independent courts , accountable police , informed citizens , N.G.O.s , and a free press .
There isn @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Institute ’ s work beyond its now defunct Web site , which lists a board of advisers that includes a British Member of Parliament and former leaders of Mongolia and Libya .
Mustafa A. G. Abushagur , a former Deputy Prime Minister of Libya , who spent thirty-one years in exile because of his opposition to Muammar Qaddafi , described Adrian as “ genuine ” and as being interested in the parallels between Kim Jong Un and Qaddafi .
He said , “ Adrian knew I had been in the opposition for a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ might be able to help him.
” Adrian continued to work behind the scenes .
In 2009 , at a LINK benefit , the journalist Lisa Ling , whose sister Laura was detained in North Korea while reporting along the border and held for a hundred and forty days , thanked Adrian for helping to free her sister .
( Neither Lisa nor Laura responded to a request for an interview . )
Between 2009 and 2012 , Adrian served as a TED fellow ; he also spent a year at Princeton ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Emeka Okafor , who co-founded the TED fellowship program , told me , “ Adrian was not excitable .
He was a doer .
He understood what it really took to deal with a certain regime , and was not starry-eyed about it.
” Adrian travelled to Libya during the revolution , and after the fall of Qaddafi he and an activist and TED fellow named Suleiman Bakhit worked on medical services for civilian casualties .
Yet Adrian found the world of N.G.O.s and advocacy groups unsatisfying .
“ We have all collectively @ @ @ @ @ @ @ me .
For years , the U.N. ’ s General Assembly and the Human Rights Council have voted to adopt resolutions condemning the human-rights violations of the North Korean regime .
In 2014 , U.N. investigators concluded , “ The gravity , scale and nature of these violations reveal a state that does not have any parallel in the contemporary world.
” In January of this year , when Human Rights Watch published its latest world report , John Sifton , the director of Asia Advocacy , said , “ The people of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ face the daily threat of imprisonment , torture , sexual abuse , and execution—and it ’ s been this way since 1948.
” The summits with Donald Trump and South Korea ’ s President , Moon Jae-in , have , if anything , made things worse .
The U.N. Security Council has fifteen members .
In December , 2019 , eight of them supported a meeting to discuss North Korea ’ s human-rights abuses , as the council has done in the past .
In order to proceed , a ninth member was @ @ @ @ @ @ @ declined .
“ Raising awareness through college lectures , tours , concerts , and bake sales wasn ’ t enough , ” Adrian told me .
“ Rescuing refugees through the underground work in China and Southeast Asia wasn ’ t enough .
Advocacy , trying to convince governments to change their policies to do the right thing , wasn ’ t enough .
So then what was left was direct action.
” In 2010 , Adrian started Cheollima Civil Defense , but he did not make its existence known to the public @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Pegasus , and during these years he listed his title as managing director of Pegasus Strategies L.L.C .
In 2014 , Adrian sent me a message asking for advice about a “ project to prepare new infrastructure for a new North Korea.
” Five years later , at Dallas BBQ , he explained that he had been trying to recruit me for Cheollima Civil Defense , now known as Free Joseon .
He said , “ I ’ ve been preparing for fifteen years .
I ’ ve been vetting people , interviewing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Some within this field are motivated by career .
Some by narcissism .
Some truly believe in the better world .
And those are the ones I was looking for.
” Because I had risked my life to tell the truth about North Korea , Adrian seemed to view me as someone who shared his heartbreak about the country .
On January 1 , 2015 , Adrian stopped posting on social media .
His last tweet was a quote from Korea ’ s 1919 Declaration of Independence : “ Behold !
A new @ @ @ @ @ @ @ !
The age of might has receded , and the age of morality has arrived.
” His last opinion piece had run the previous month , in The Atlantic , about the film “ The Interview , ” a slapstick tale of two white American heroes killing an evil dictator and saving North Korea , which allegedly prompted the North Korean government to hack the computers of Sony , which had made the film .
( North Korea denied this , but called the attack “ righteous.
” ) Many people found “ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of the most powerful country in the world entertaining itself at the expense of one of the most devastated .
Adrian wrote , “ The day will soon come when North Koreans are finally free , and liberated concentration camp survivors will have to learn that the world was more interested in the oddities of the oppressors than the torment of the oppressed.
” Two of the people I met at the restaurant were from the West .
They had become involved with the group , in part , because they felt that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ on North Korea—journalists , policymakers , and academics—frequently misrepresented how its society functioned .
“ There is no other subject area where the majority of the scholars in the subject do not speak the language , ” one of them told me .
The testimony of prominent defectors goes unheeded , because they often don ’ t speak English , and live under assumed identities .
The third person was from North Korea .
The member met Adrian around 2008 , in Seoul , where the member had defected ; they discussed ways @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , who , the member said , are like “ frogs inside a well.
” They ’ re curious about the outside , but even the most privileged members of the society are held back by their lack of understanding of the world .
“ We needed an action-oriented network internationally , and Adrian fit the bill , ” the member said .
“ He focussed on making friends in the West.
” The other member added , “ Adrian actually did , as a non-North Korean , what I had only ever @ @ @ @ @ @ @ his life without advertising it.
” By 2014 , the two members had joined the group .
“ It ’ s not like there was any salary , a title , headquarters , or a badge .
But we have a strategy and a vision , ” one of them said .
“ There is no one else , no other entity in the world , that is working to represent the North Korean people , as opposed to the North Korean state.
” Adrian wrote the first draft of the group ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ members revised it .
The document was crafted to appeal to conservatives and liberals , defectors and those still inside North Korea , Koreans and non-Koreans .
“ We are not anti-unification or pro-unification , ” a Free Joseon member told me .
Adrian borrowed from other declarations of independence , including that of the United States .
He also took a line from the Chinese national anthem : “ Arise !
Arise , ye who refuse to be slaves !
” In the spring of 2017 , between forty and fifty members @ @ @ @ @ @ @ City .
They settled on a number of priorities , among them rescuing prominent North Koreans .
In recent years , about a thousand diplomats , leaders of the Workers ’ Party of Korea , doctors , and other citizens who were considered loyal to the regime have defected .
Because these élites are under greater scrutiny than the general population , they require elaborate arrangements to flee the country .
Once they defect , they connect Free Joseon to other élites .
Often , when such defectors make it out , they @ @ @ @ @ @ @ becomes widely known , their family members in North Korea may be killed .
The “ generational penalty , ” which was instituted by Kim Il Sung , the original Great Leader , extends for three generations .
In 2018 , the acting Ambassador to Italy and his wife fled the North Korean Embassy in Rome and went into hiding , reportedly in Seoul .
Their teen-age daughter was repatriated to North Korea , and has not been heard from since .
“ That is what keeps North Koreans in place .
To @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to be prepared to be responsible for the death of someone you love , ” one of the Free Joseon members told me .
“ That is why there can not be an internal uprising in North Korea .
That is why the group came into being.
” Other Free Joseon operations were aimed at demystifying the Kim family .
On March 11 , 2019 , a few weeks after the Madrid Embassy incident , members of Free Joseon spray-painted the wall of the North Korean Embassy in Kuala Lumpur with the words @ @ @ @ @ @ @ shall rise , ” as well as the Free Joseon logo .
Nine days later , they released a video of a person removing framed portraits of the previous Great Leaders , the father and grandfather of Kim Jong Un , from a wall of the Madrid Embassy , and smashing them on the ground .
These images are sacred in North Korea , and defacing them is unthinkable to average citizens .
Sung-Yoon Lee , a professor of Korean studies at Tufts ’ Fletcher School , told me , “ That taboo @ @ @ @ @ @ @ historical powerful symbolism here.
” One of the Free Joseon members said , “ The whole point of the group was to be a public symbol , so that North Koreans abroad and internally could see that there was hope in resisting .
”

Free Joseon relied on resources that included “pro-bono labor, credit cards, and attempting things no government would risk,” Adrian told me. However, to set up a provisional government, the group also needed recognition. According to Adrian, “The plan was to have ambassadors and a cabinet in place.” He said that Free Joseon had initially received tacit support from members of the F.B.I. But then, he insisted, U.S. officials had turned on the group. (The F.B.I. declined to comment.) Within days of the Washington Post report, the Spanish court had the names of men involved in the raid. In the end, Adrian said, “the U.S. government sided with North Korea.”
We left the restaurant at 1 A.M. When Adrian turned his phone on, it was filled with urgent messages from members of his group who feared for his safety. He put me in a taxi, and walked off through Times Square.
Adrian began texting me nearly every night. He was in hiding, but I did not ask him where, since I assumed that our messages were being surveilled. Despite the circumstances, he never appeared panicked. He wrote in lofty, vague paragraphs, but when he described Free Joseon’s goals for freeing North Koreans from persecution he was precise and single-minded. “I don’t have a particular passion for North Korea, beyond that it’s culturally accessible to me and I am culturally equipped to advocate for it,” he told me. “It’s just the worst place on earth, and a symbol of what man’s ingenuity and tenacity can achieve when organized for evil.”
Adrian was born in 1984 in Tijuana, where his parents had immigrated from South Korea. His father was a Tae Kwon Do master who converted to Christianity and became a missionary. The family moved to San Diego when Adrian was six, but his father founded an orphanage in Mexico to which Adrian often returned, delivering donated supplies and helping to give aid to the homeless. Later, he conducted relief missions in Haiti and the Dominican Republic. According to those who knew Adrian at the time, his motivations seemed less religious than humanitarian. Adrian, like his father, taught Tae Kwon Do and is a practicing Christian, but, when I asked him about his faith, he said, “I make it a rule not to discuss personal beliefs. I am more concerned about freedom of belief.”
At Yale, Adrian became interested in the plight of North Koreans. In 2003, while visiting Los Angeles, Adrian, then a junior, was sitting with Paul (PK) Kim, a standup comic eight years older, at a café called Blink, on Wilshire Boulevard. They had met when Adrian invited PK to a campus event, and they often discussed starting an organization to help North Koreans. One of them looked up at the café’s sign, and decided to take the “B” out of the name and call the new group LINK—Liberty in North Korea. It was launched early the next year, at the Korean American Students Conference at Yale, which Adrian had organized.
LINK was “ninety per cent Adrian,” PK told me; he became less involved after a couple of years. LINK sought out college students who, PK said, “need to be a part of something. So many young people join fraternities. They don’t want to be alone.” Adrian told me, “I built LINK on Xanga,” a blog-based social network then popular among Asian Americans, where he had been active since 1999. (PK said, “Asians were Internet addicts more than most other groups.”) Travelling to two or three college campuses a week, Adrian would change into his one “crappy suit,” and give presentations about the horrors of life in North Korea, sometimes screening the documentary film “Seoul Train,” which follows defectors escaping to China. Adrian got Asian American singers, rappers, and dance crews to accompany his presentations.
Ki Hong Lee, a thirty-four-year-old Korean American actor who has appeared on the Netflix sitcom “Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt,” met Adrian at a KASCON event in 2005, when Lee was an undergraduate at the University of California at Berkeley. “If you spend three hours with Adrian, he makes you want to become a better person, do things you never thought about doing,” Lee told me. Lee helped start a chapter of LINK at Berkeley, and eventually he and Adrian travelled to South Korea to volunteer for an outreach program called Project Sunshine, which tried to raise awareness of the suffering of North Koreans. “You don’t really call someone to say, ‘Hey, you know what’s going on in the world that is messed up?’ ” Lee said. “He was that person I could do that with.”
Adrian dropped out of Yale in his senior year, and set up LINK’s ad-hoc headquarters above Koryo Books, in Manhattan’s Koreatown, before moving it to Washington, D.C. By then, there were nearly seventy local chapters. A close friend who helped get LINK off the ground told me, “Adrian knew that sometimes you have to work outside a diplomatic norm in order to reach something meaningful.” Since the U.S. Administration could change every four years, the North Korean regime found it easy to wait it out and maintain the status quo. Adrian admired people who effected great change; among them were Ahn Chang-ho, an early leader of the Korean independence movement, whom Adrian compared to Thomas Jefferson, and Martin Luther King, Jr. Adrian loved King’s interpretation of the Good Samaritan parable, which tells us, when confronted with someone in need, to ask not “If I stop to help this man, what will happen to me?” but “If I don’t stop to help this man, what will happen to him?”
In 2004, George W. Bush signed the North Korean Human Rights Act, which made North Koreans broadly eligible for political asylum in the U.S. Two years later, Adrian and two other members of LINK travelled to Yanji, in northeast China, where they met four women and two teen-age boys who had escaped from North Korea and were hiding in an underground shelter. If the defectors were caught by Chinese authorities, they might be returned to North Korea, where they would be imprisoned in labor camps and risk execution. Adrian and the LINK workers accompanied them on a twenty-hour train ride to Shenyang, the site of the nearest U.S. consulate, to apply for asylum. But the consular officers turned them away, telling Adrian, over a phone line that had likely been tapped by the Chinese government, to go instead to the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees in Beijing, some four hundred miles away. Adrian got in touch with the U.S. Embassy in Beijing, which also directed him to the U.N.H.C.R. Finally, Adrian hired a van for the other LINK members and the defectors, while he travelled by plane. Chinese police stopped the van on the highway and arrested everyone inside. Adrian was arrested in a hotel in Beijing, and he and the other LINK members were jailed for about a week before being deported; the North Koreans were detained for more than six months. After much pressure from LINK and other activist groups, the defectors were eventually freed and they flew to South Korea. Adrian called the actions of the U.S. consulate “unacceptable and shameful.” In 2007, he wrote on the Web site Freekorea.us, “My experiences in December showed me that three years after the North Korean Human Rights Act has passed, nothing has changed on the ground for North Koreans.”
Jay Lefkowitz, the special envoy under Bush, says that Adrian was an “effective and ardent advocate.” By then, LINK had a hundred chapters worldwide. Yet Adrian’s experience in China had shifted something in him; in 2008, he abruptly resigned from the group. According to a journalist who knew him at the time, Adrian appeared to be severing ties with his former life. Adrian told the journalist that he was leaving D.C. and changing his phone number. The journalist wondered if Adrian was going to enter politics or get involved in intelligence. Adrian began styling himself to look older; he grew a beard, and slicked his hair back. He told a friend, “No one’s gonna listen to a twenty-something-year-old.”
That year, Adrian started a think tank called the Joseon Institute, to generate a plan for a civil society in North Korea should the regime collapse. Adrian pointed out to me that North Korea lacked independent courts, accountable police, informed citizens, N.G.O.s, and a free press. There isn’t much evidence of the Joseon Institute’s work beyond its now defunct Web site, which lists a board of advisers that includes a British Member of Parliament and former leaders of Mongolia and Libya. Mustafa A. G. Abushagur, a former Deputy Prime Minister of Libya, who spent thirty-one years in exile because of his opposition to Muammar Qaddafi, described Adrian as “genuine” and as being interested in the parallels between Kim Jong Un and Qaddafi. He said, “Adrian knew I had been in the opposition for a long time, and thought that experience might be able to help him.” Adrian continued to work behind the scenes. In 2009, at a LINK benefit, the journalist Lisa Ling, whose sister Laura was detained in North Korea while reporting along the border and held for a hundred and forty days, thanked Adrian for helping to free her sister. (Neither Lisa nor Laura responded to a request for an interview.)
Between 2009 and 2012, Adrian served as a TED fellow; he also spent a year at Princeton’s Center for Information Technology Policy. Emeka Okafor, who co-founded the TED fellowship program, told me, “Adrian was not excitable. He was a doer. He understood what it really took to deal with a certain regime, and was not starry-eyed about it.” Adrian travelled to Libya during the revolution, and after the fall of Qaddafi he and an activist and TED fellow named Suleiman Bakhit worked on medical services for civilian casualties.
Yet Adrian found the world of N.G.O.s and advocacy groups unsatisfying. “We have all collectively accomplished almost nothing,” he told me. For years, the U.N.’s General Assembly and the Human Rights Council have voted to adopt resolutions condemning the human-rights violations of the North Korean regime. In 2014, U.N. investigators concluded, “The gravity, scale and nature of these violations reveal a state that does not have any parallel in the contemporary world.” In January of this year, when Human Rights Watch published its latest world report, John Sifton, the director of Asia Advocacy, said, “The people of North Korea suffer under constant surveillance and face the daily threat of imprisonment, torture, sexual abuse, and execution—and it’s been this way since 1948.” The summits with Donald Trump and South Korea’s President, Moon Jae-in, have, if anything, made things worse. The U.N. Security Council has fifteen members. In December, 2019, eight of them supported a meeting to discuss North Korea’s human-rights abuses, as the council has done in the past. In order to proceed, a ninth member was needed to sign on; the U.S. declined.
“Raising awareness through college lectures, tours, concerts, and bake sales wasn’t enough,” Adrian told me. “Rescuing refugees through the underground work in China and Southeast Asia wasn’t enough. Advocacy, trying to convince governments to change their policies to do the right thing, wasn’t enough. So then what was left was direct action.” In 2010, Adrian started Cheollima Civil Defense, but he did not make its existence known to the public. Cheollima is the Korean equivalent of Pegasus, and during these years he listed his title as managing director of Pegasus Strategies L.L.C.
In 2014, Adrian sent me a message asking for advice about a “project to prepare new infrastructure for a new North Korea.” Five years later, at Dallas BBQ, he explained that he had been trying to recruit me for Cheollima Civil Defense, now known as Free Joseon. He said, “I’ve been preparing for fifteen years. I’ve been vetting people, interviewing them for a job, essentially. Some within this field are motivated by career. Some by narcissism. Some truly believe in the better world. And those are the ones I was looking for.” Because I had risked my life to tell the truth about North Korea, Adrian seemed to view me as someone who shared his heartbreak about the country.
On January 1, 2015, Adrian stopped posting on social media. His last tweet was a quote from Korea’s 1919 Declaration of Independence: “Behold! A new world is approaching before our very eyes! The age of might has receded, and the age of morality has arrived.” His last opinion piece had run the previous month, in The Atlantic, about the film “The Interview,” a slapstick tale of two white American heroes killing an evil dictator and saving North Korea, which allegedly prompted the North Korean government to hack the computers of Sony, which had made the film. (North Korea denied this, but called the attack “righteous.”) Many people found “The Interview” distasteful, a case of the most powerful country in the world entertaining itself at the expense of one of the most devastated. Adrian wrote, “The day will soon come when North Koreans are finally free, and liberated concentration camp survivors will have to learn that the world was more interested in the oddities of the oppressors than the torment of the oppressed.”
In June, 2019, I flew to Europe to meet with two members of Free Joseon and a friend of the group. We met at a dingy, empty Chinese restaurant in a city I promised not to name. (According to Lee Wolosky, Adrian’s lawyer and the former special envoy for the closure of the Guantánamo detention facility, the F.B.I. has informed him that agents of the North Korean government have been ordered to kill Adrian and other members of the group.) Free Joseon mostly organizes outside the Korean Peninsula. There are thirty-three thousand defectors in South Korea, but Ko Young Hwan, who worked for North Korea’s ministry of foreign affairs from 1978 until he defected, in 1991, told me that, because South Korea doesn’t recognize North Korea as a sovereign nation, citizens can face legal consequences for proposing governments-in-exile. Relations between the two Koreas often vary according to which party controls the South Korean government. The current administration, led by Moon Jae-in, promotes engagement with North Korea, and defectors fear losing their new citizenship by agitating against the country.
“Throwing a knife pretty well is a long way from being a surgeon.” Cartoon by Frank Cotham Copy link to cartoon Copy link to cartoon Shop Shop
Two of the people I met at the restaurant were from the West. They had become involved with the group, in part, because they felt that people who were thought of as experts on North Korea—journalists, policymakers, and academics—frequently misrepresented how its society functioned. “There is no other subject area where the majority of the scholars in the subject do not speak the language,” one of them told me. The testimony of prominent defectors goes unheeded, because they often don’t speak English, and live under assumed identities.
The third person was from North Korea. The member met Adrian around 2008, in Seoul, where the member had defected; they discussed ways to liberate the people of North Korea, who, the member said, are like “frogs inside a well.” They’re curious about the outside, but even the most privileged members of the society are held back by their lack of understanding of the world. “We needed an action-oriented network internationally, and Adrian fit the bill,” the member said. “He focussed on making friends in the West.” The other member added, “Adrian actually did, as a non-North Korean, what I had only ever seen North Korean refugees do: risk his life without advertising it.”
By 2014, the two members had joined the group. “It’s not like there was any salary, a title, headquarters, or a badge. But we have a strategy and a vision,” one of them said. “There is no one else, no other entity in the world, that is working to represent the North Korean people, as opposed to the North Korean state.” Adrian wrote the first draft of the group’s declaration of independence, and other members revised it. The document was crafted to appeal to conservatives and liberals, defectors and those still inside North Korea, Koreans and non-Koreans. “We are not anti-unification or pro-unification,” a Free Joseon member told me. Adrian borrowed from other declarations of independence, including that of the United States. He also took a line from the Chinese national anthem: “Arise! Arise, ye who refuse to be slaves!”


newyorker--2020-11-16--Kadir Nelson’s “Election Results”

Kadir Nelson’s “Election Results”

We ’ re near the close of a year that hosted a global pandemic , a spate of wildfires , a national movement for racial justice , and perhaps the most dreaded election in memory .
But Kadir Nelson captures , in his latest cover , some of the hope that has crept onto the scene .
We recently spoke to the artist about the image and his dreams for the future .
You paint some scenes with multiple characters and others , like this one , with lone figures .
What are the constraints when an image is built @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s most important is communicating the feeling behind the image , and , in this instance , less is more .
The sole figure forces the viewer to focus on the idea that I ’ m trying to convey .
That idea is about hope and promise , but it ’ s also about work—the work it took to achieve the results of this election , and the work we ’ ll have to do in the months and years to come .
The blue iris flower in the girl ’ s hair @ @ @ @ @ @ @ gesture to the work that needs to be done .
You use the same medium , oil paint , that painters have used for centuries .
Which era in art history most inspires you ?
And why do you draw from classical paintings , rather than from more contemporary sources ?
I ’ m very inspired by art from ancient Egypt , the Renaissance , and the early-twentieth-century period in Europe and America .
I ’ m interested in symbolism and fine craftsmanship , which is perhaps why I gravitate toward the classic @ @ @ @ @ @ @ see where contemporary art will go , as so many new artists are coming of age during these challenging times .
What are your own hopes ?
I hope the world will safely open up once again after the pandemic has passed .
I hope for certainty and finality with our recent election and for a peaceful transition .
And I hope that young girls around the country and the world will learn and accept that there are no barriers they can ’ t overcome .
Sometimes all we need to know is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ possible .
See below for more covers that marked progress and change :

We’re near the close of a year that hosted a global pandemic, a spate of wildfires, a national movement for racial justice, and perhaps the most dreaded election in memory. But Kadir Nelson captures, in his latest cover, some of the hope that has crept onto the scene. We recently spoke to the artist about the image and his dreams for the future.
You paint some scenes with multiple characters and others, like this one, with lone figures. What are the constraints when an image is built on just one character?
What’s most important is communicating the feeling behind the image, and, in this instance, less is more. The sole figure forces the viewer to focus on the idea that I’m trying to convey. That idea is about hope and promise, but it’s also about work—the work it took to achieve the results of this election, and the work we’ll have to do in the months and years to come. The blue iris flower in the girl’s hair represents hope, and her rolled-up sleeves gesture to the work that needs to be done.
You use the same medium, oil paint, that painters have used for centuries. Which era in art history most inspires you? And why do you draw from classical paintings, rather than from more contemporary sources?
I’m very inspired by art from ancient Egypt, the Renaissance, and the early-twentieth-century period in Europe and America. I’m interested in symbolism and fine craftsmanship, which is perhaps why I gravitate toward the classic. But I’m eager to see where contemporary art will go, as so many new artists are coming of age during these challenging times.
What are your own hopes?
I hope the world will safely open up once again after the pandemic has passed. I hope for certainty and finality with our recent election and for a peaceful transition. And I hope that young girls around the country and the world will learn and accept that there are no barriers they can’t overcome. Sometimes all we need to know is that what we want to achieve is possible.
See below for more covers that marked progress and change:


The Mail

Hua Hsu ’ s piece on Asian American voters raises many interesting points , but it mentions only briefly an important element of history that may have had a bearing on the lack of voter turnout that Hsu discusses ( “ Bloc by Bloc , ” November 2nd ) .
From the late eighteenth century until the middle of the twentieth century , the naturalization of Asian immigrants was against the law in the U.S .
The bar against citizenship began with the Naturalization Act of 1870 , which initially applied only to Chinese immigrants .
In 1910 , however @ @ @ @ @ @ @ act prohibited the naturalization of any Asian .
Chinese immigrants were only permitted to apply for citizenship with the passage of the Magnuson Act , in 1943 .
Other Asian immigrants had to wait for the McCarran-Walter Act , a decade later , to have the same opportunity .
Both acts established stringent quotas on immigration from Asia .
These long-standing barriers delayed most Asian immigrants in gaining the right to vote , and they may well have shaped some Asian Americans ’ voting habits during the decades that followed .
Given the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ four years , this history seems too important to elide .
Hsu ’ s piece is an informative profile of the political sympathies of specific pockets of the Asian American population , but I worry that readers will surmise that most undecided Asian American voters might easily be persuaded to favor Republican candidates .
The existing record of Asian American voting preferences provides some evidence to the contrary .
Exit polls from the 2008 , 2012 , and 2016 elections show that most Asian Americans who voted did so in support of Democratic @ @ @ @ @ @ @ who cast votes in the 2012 Presidential election chose Obama , for instance . )
Although it is certainly true that Asian American electoral participation varies by ethnicity , among other factors , the existence of a large group of liberal-voting Asian Americans should not be given short shrift .
Barack Obama ’ s memoir of how the Affordable Care Act was passed illuminated the origins of a policy that has affected me profoundly ( “ The Health of a Nation , ” November 2nd ) .
I am a career commercial fisherman @ @ @ @ @ @ @ started working , fishermen and merchant mariners like me had federally supported health coverage through a scheme that had existed for decades .
That scheme was terminated , in 1981 , by Ronald Reagan .
For a time , I bought private insurance , but eventually it became too expensive for my seasonally fluctuating income .
When A.C.A .
insurance became available , I quickly signed up .
A year later , I had a heart attack , and needed a cardiac stent .
The plan I obtained through the health-insurance exchange covered @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a result , my wife and I were able to keep our home , our truck , and our fishing boat .
I am now seventy .
This summer , I spent a hundred and ten days on the ocean .
No one gets where they are without the help of others .
It was a pleasure to read this piece , which illustrated in such detail how I was helped by folks I will never get to meet .
Letters should be sent with the writer ’ s name , address , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ themail @ newyorker.com .
Letters may be edited for length and clarity , and may be published in any medium .
We regret that owing to the volume of correspondence we can not reply to every letter .

What’s in a Vote?
Hua Hsu’s piece on Asian American voters raises many interesting points, but it mentions only briefly an important element of history that may have had a bearing on the lack of voter turnout that Hsu discusses (“Bloc by Bloc,” November 2nd). From the late eighteenth century until the middle of the twentieth century, the naturalization of Asian immigrants was against the law in the U.S. The bar against citizenship began with the Naturalization Act of 1870, which initially applied only to Chinese immigrants. In 1910, however, the Supreme Court held that the act prohibited the naturalization of any Asian.
Chinese immigrants were only permitted to apply for citizenship with the passage of the Magnuson Act, in 1943. Other Asian immigrants had to wait for the McCarran-Walter Act, a decade later, to have the same opportunity. Both acts established stringent quotas on immigration from Asia. These long-standing barriers delayed most Asian immigrants in gaining the right to vote, and they may well have shaped some Asian Americans’ voting habits during the decades that followed. Given the proliferation of anti-immigrant rhetoric in the past four years, this history seems too important to elide.
Joan E. Thompson
Golden Valley, Minn.
Hsu’s piece is an informative profile of the political sympathies of specific pockets of the Asian American population, but I worry that readers will surmise that most undecided Asian American voters might easily be persuaded to favor Republican candidates. The existing record of Asian American voting preferences provides some evidence to the contrary. Exit polls from the 2008, 2012, and 2016 elections show that most Asian Americans who voted did so in support of Democratic candidates. (Three-quarters of Asian Americans who cast votes in the 2012 Presidential election chose Obama, for instance.) Although it is certainly true that Asian American electoral participation varies by ethnicity, among other factors, the existence of a large group of liberal-voting Asian Americans should not be given short shrift.
Michael Allen
Brooklyn, N.Y.
Obamacare and Me
Barack Obama’s memoir of how the Affordable Care Act was passed illuminated the origins of a policy that has affected me profoundly (“The Health of a Nation,” November 2nd). I am a career commercial fisherman. In the nineteen-seventies, when I started working, fishermen and merchant mariners like me had federally supported health coverage through a scheme that had existed for decades. That scheme was terminated, in 1981, by Ronald Reagan. For a time, I bought private insurance, but eventually it became too expensive for my seasonally fluctuating income.
When A.C.A. insurance became available, I quickly signed up. A year later, I had a heart attack, and needed a cardiac stent. The plan I obtained through the health-insurance exchange covered my extensive medical bills and, as a result, my wife and I were able to keep our home, our truck, and our fishing boat. I am now seventy. This summer, I spent a hundred and ten days on the ocean. No one gets where they are without the help of others. It was a pleasure to read this piece, which illustrated in such detail how I was helped by folks I will never get to meet.
Ken Bates
Eureka, Calif.
•
Letters should be sent with the writer’s name, address, and daytime phone number via e-mail to themail@newyorker.com. Letters may be edited for length and clarity, and may be published in any medium. We regret that owing to the volume of correspondence we cannot reply to every letter.


newyorker--2020-11-16--Briefly Noted Book Reviews

Briefly Noted Book Reviews

Recasting the Vote , by Cathleen D. Cahill ( North Carolina ) .
This spirited history situates the campaign for female suffrage within the broader narrative of civil rights .
In 1920 , the Nineteenth Amendment gave the vote to white women but not to millions of Black , Native American , Hispanic , and Chinese women , many of whom were active in the cause .
White suffragists were often quick to exclude their Black colleagues from rallies , yet racism failed to stop women of color from using the movement to amplify their voices , enriching it in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ focus links the battle for enfranchisement to currents of exclusion and empowerment that continue to shape the vote today .
What Becomes a Legend Most , by Philip Gefter ( Harper ) .
“ I trust performances , ” Richard Avedon wrote .
“ Stripping them away doesn ’ t necessarily get you closer to anything.
” This biography explores the paradoxes of Avedon ’ s sixty-year career as a fashion and portrait photographer .
Avedon worried that his commercial work would deny him artistic recognition , at a time when many did @ @ @ @ @ @ @ A control freak who became famous for capturing spontaneity , he pushed boundaries with nude images of Rudolf Nureyev , Allen Ginsberg , and members of Warhol ’ s Factory , while pursuing psychoanalysis—and two ill-fated marriages—to suppress his homosexual desires .
His stark style made his images of models and celebrities iconic , but some of his most moving portraits are of his dying father , whom he felt he could never please .
The War of the Poor , by Éric Vuillard , translated from the French by Mark Polizzotti ( @ @ @ @ @ @ @ artful blend of history and fiction centers on the figure of Thomas Müntzer , a Catholic priest from Saxony who , in 1524 , led the German Peasants ’ War .
Vuillard goes light on context , skipping through time from one popular uprising to another in cinematic bursts of image and action , and knitting things together with a muscular , angry commentary on “ the great sophisms of power.
” He never forces analogies with the present , but the uprisings he describes feel like part of a war destined to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ inequalities .
The Office of Historical Corrections , by Danielle Evans ( Riverhead ) .
In these six assured short stories and one novella , women , mostly Black , undergo moments of trial and transition .
Evans uses outré imaginative elements ( a government fact-checking agency called the Institute for Public History , a death in an artistically rendered volcano ) but grounds her narratives in the familiar—family illnesses , fraught relationships with exes , complicated reckonings with race .
The title novella , in which two Black women confront a historical @ @ @ @ @ @ @ story about a white college student facing consequences for wearing a bikini emblazoned with the Confederate flag offer particular insight into the wearying , often violent effects of racism on the minds and bodies of Black Americans .

Recasting the Vote, by Cathleen D. Cahill (North Carolina). This spirited history situates the campaign for female suffrage within the broader narrative of civil rights. In 1920, the Nineteenth Amendment gave the vote to white women but not to millions of Black, Native American, Hispanic, and Chinese women, many of whom were active in the cause. White suffragists were often quick to exclude their Black colleagues from rallies, yet racism failed to stop women of color from using the movement to amplify their voices, enriching it in the process. Cahill’s widened focus links the battle for enfranchisement to currents of exclusion and empowerment that continue to shape the vote today.
What Becomes a Legend Most, by Philip Gefter (Harper). “I trust performances,” Richard Avedon wrote. “Stripping them away doesn’t necessarily get you closer to anything.” This biography explores the paradoxes of Avedon’s sixty-year career as a fashion and portrait photographer. Avedon worried that his commercial work would deny him artistic recognition, at a time when many did not consider photography a real art. A control freak who became famous for capturing spontaneity, he pushed boundaries with nude images of Rudolf Nureyev, Allen Ginsberg, and members of Warhol’s Factory, while pursuing psychoanalysis—and two ill-fated marriages—to suppress his homosexual desires. His stark style made his images of models and celebrities iconic, but some of his most moving portraits are of his dying father, whom he felt he could never please.
The War of the Poor, by Éric Vuillard, translated from the French by Mark Polizzotti (Other Press). This compact, artful blend of history and fiction centers on the figure of Thomas Müntzer, a Catholic priest from Saxony who, in 1524, led the German Peasants’ War. Vuillard goes light on context, skipping through time from one popular uprising to another in cinematic bursts of image and action, and knitting things together with a muscular, angry commentary on “the great sophisms of power.” He never forces analogies with the present, but the uprisings he describes feel like part of a war destined to rage in any era beset by gross inequalities.
The Office of Historical Corrections, by Danielle Evans (Riverhead). In these six assured short stories and one novella, women, mostly Black, undergo moments of trial and transition. Evans uses outré imaginative elements (a government fact-checking agency called the Institute for Public History, a death in an artistically rendered volcano) but grounds her narratives in the familiar—family illnesses, fraught relationships with exes, complicated reckonings with race. The title novella, in which two Black women confront a historical mystery in rural Wisconsin, and a story about a white college student facing consequences for wearing a bikini emblazoned with the Confederate flag offer particular insight into the wearying, often violent effects of racism on the minds and bodies of Black Americans.


newyorker--2020-11-16--How Paul Celan Reconceived Language for a Post-Holocaust World

In a dream state or trance , I read the lines over and over , instilling them permanently in my memory .
It was as if the poem opened up and I entered into it .
I felt “ him , ” that presence , whoever he might be , “ unseen ” and yet “ real.
” The poem features one of Celan ’ s signature neologisms .
In German , it ’ s ichten , which doesn ’ t look any more natural than the English but shows that we ’ re dealing with a verb in the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the first-person-singular pronoun—something like “ they became I ’ s , ” that is , selves .
The last line echoes Genesis : “ Let there be light.
” As I repeated the poem , I suddenly understood it—more , I felt it—as a vision of a second Creation , a coming of the Messiah , when those who have been annihilated ( the original is vernichtet , exterminated ) might be reborn , through the cleansing of the world .
From his iconic “ Deathfugue , ” one of the first poems @ @ @ @ @ @ @ recognized as a benchmark of twentieth-century European poetry , to cryptic later works such as the poem above , all of Celan ’ s poetry is elliptical , ambiguous , resisting easy interpretation .
Perhaps for this reason , it has been singularly compelling to critics and translators , who often speak of Celan ’ s work in quasi-religious terms .
Felstiner said that , when he first encountered the poems , he knew he ’ d have to immerse himself in them “ before doing anything else.
” Pierre Joris , in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Threshold Speech ” ( Farrar , Straus & Giroux ) , his new translation of Celan ’ s first four published books , writes that hearing Celan ’ s poetry read aloud , at the age of fifteen , set him on a path that he followed for fifty years .
Celan , like his poetry , eludes the usual terms of categorization .
He was born Paul Antschel in 1920 to German-speaking Jewish parents in Czernowitz ( now Chernivtsi ) .
Until the fall of the Habsburg Empire , in 1918 , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the province of Bukovina ; now it was part of Romania .
Before Celan turned twenty , it would be annexed by the Soviet Union .
Both of Celan ’ s parents were murdered by the Nazis ; he was imprisoned in labor camps .
After the war , he lived briefly in Bucharest and Vienna before settling in Paris .
Though he wrote almost exclusively in German , he can not properly be called a German poet : his loyalty was to the language , not the nation .
“ Only one @ @ @ @ @ @ @ amid all losses : language , ” Celan once said .
But that language , sullied by Nazi propaganda , hate speech , and euphemism , was not immediately usable for poetry : “ It had to go through its own lack of answers , through terrifying silence , through the thousand darknesses of murderous speech.
” Celan cleansed the language by breaking it down , bringing it back to its roots , creating a radical strangeness in expression and tone .
Drawing on the vocabulary of such fields as botany , ornithology @ @ @ @ @ @ @ on medieval or dialect words that had fallen out of use , he invented a new form of German , reconceiving the language for the world after Auschwitz .
Adding to the linguistic layers , his later works incorporate gibberish as well as foreign phrases .
The commentaries accompanying his poetry in the definitive German edition , some of which Joris includes in his translation , run to hundreds of pages .
No translation can ever encompass the multiplicity of meanings embedded in these hybrid , polyglot , often arcane poems ; the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is always true , but it is particularly difficult with work as fundamentally ambiguous as Celan ’ s .
Joris imagines his translations as akin to the medical diagrams that reproduce cross-sections of anatomy on plastic overlays , allowing the student to leaf forward and backward to add or subtract levels of detail .
“ All books of translations should be such palimpsests , ” he writes , with “ layers upon layers of unstable , shifting , tentative , other-languaged versions.
” Joris has already translated Celan ’ s final five volumes @ @ @ @ @ @ @ called “ Breathturn Into Timestead ” ( 2014 ) , incorporating words from the titles of the individual books .
The appearance of “ Memory Rose Into Threshold Speech , ” coinciding with the centennial of Celan ’ s birth , as well as with the fiftieth anniversary of his death—he drowned himself in the Seine , one rainy week in April—now brings into English all the poems , nearly six hundred , that the poet collected during his lifetime , in the order in which he arranged them .
( The exception @ @ @ @ @ @ @ published in Vienna in 1948 , which printing errors forced him to withdraw ; he used some of those poems in his next book . )
Not only are many poems available in English for the first time but English readers also now have the opportunity to read Celan ’ s individual collections in their entirety , as he intended them to be read .
What Celan demands of his reader , Joris has written , is “ to weave the threads of the individual poems into a text that is the cycle @ @ @ @ @ @ @ gives us the threads : we have to do the weaving—an invitation to a new kind of reading.
” After Celan returned to Czernowitz for the summer , the outbreak of the Second World War trapped him there .
He enrolled in Romance studies at the local university , which he was able to continue under Soviet occupation the following year .
All that came to an end on July 6 , 1941 , when German and Romanian Nazi troops invaded .
They burned the city ’ s Great Synagogue , murdering nearly @ @ @ @ @ @ @ three thousand by the end of August .
In October , a ghetto was created for Jews who were allowed to remain temporarily , including Celan and his parents .
The rest were deported .
“ What the life of a Jew was during the war years , I need not mention , ” Celan later told a German magazine .
( When asked about his camp experience , Celan would respond with a single word , “ Shovelling !
” ) His parents were deported during a wave of roundups in June @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Celan was on the night of their arrest—possibly in a hideout where he had tried to persuade them to join him , or with a friend—but , when he came home in the morning , they were gone .
His reprieve lasted only a few weeks : in July he was deported to a labor camp in the south of Romania .
A few months later , he learned of his father ’ s death .
His mother was shot the following winter .
Snow and lead , symbols of her murder , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ Deathfugue , ” with its unsettling , incantatory depiction of a concentration camp , was first published in 1947 , in a Bucharest literary magazine .
One of the best-known works of postwar German literature , it may have persuaded Theodor Adorno to reconsider his famous pronouncement that writing poetry after Auschwitz was “ barbaric.
” Felstiner called it “ the ‘ Guernica ’ of postwar European literature , ” comparing its impact to Wilfred Owen ’ s “ Dulce et Decorum Est ” or Yeats ’ s “ Easter 1916.
” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ nameless , stands for all the camps , the prisoners ’ suffering depicted through the unforgettable image of “ black milk ” : In phrases that circle back around in fugue-like patterns , the poem tells of a commandant who orders the prisoners to work as the camp orchestra plays : “ He calls out play death more sweetly death is a master from Deutschland / he calls scrape those fiddles more darkly then as smoke you ’ ll rise in the air.
” The only people named are Margarete—the commandant ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Goethe ’ s “ Faust ” —and Shulamit , a figure in the poem whose name stems from the Song of Songs and whose “ ashen hair ” contrasts with Margarete ’ s golden tresses .
The only other proper noun is “ Deutschland , ” which many translators , Joris included , have chosen to leave in the original .
“ Those two syllables grip the rhythm better than ‘ Germany , ’ ” Felstiner explained .
Each of his early poems , Celan wrote to an editor in 1946 , was @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ ve now written my last poem.
” The work included an elegy in the form of a Romanian folk song— “ Aspen tree , your leaves gaze white into the dark .
/ My mother ’ s hair ne ’ er turned white ” —and lyrics and prose poems in Romanian .
He also adopted the name Celan , an anagram of “ Ancel , ” the Romanian form of Antschel .
After two years working as a translator in Bucharest , he left Romania and its language for good .
“ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ speak one ’ s own truth , ” he told a friend who asked how he could still write in German after the war .
“ In a foreign tongue the poet lies.
” Celan ’ s poetry , particularly in the early volumes collected in “ Memory Rose Into Threshold Speech , ” is written insistently in search of a listener .
Some of these poems can be read as responses to such writers as Kafka and Rilke , but often the “ you ” to whom the poems speak has no @ @ @ @ @ @ @ reader , or the poet himself .
More than a dozen of the poems in the book “ Poppy and Memory ” ( 1952 ) , including the well-known “ Corona ” and “ Count the Almonds , ” address a lover , the Austrian poet Ingeborg Bachmann .
The relationship began in Vienna in 1948 and continued for about a year via mail , then picked up again for a few more years in the late fifties .
The correspondence between the two poets , published last year in an English translation @ @ @ @ @ @ @ reveals that they shared an almost spiritual connection that may have been overwhelming to them both ; passionate exchanges are followed by brief , stuttering lines or even by years of silence .

Once, while reading the poetry of Paul Celan, I had an experience I can describe only as mystical. It was about twenty years ago, and I was working at a job that required me to stay very late one or two nights a week. On one of those nights, trying to keep myself awake, I started browsing in John Felstiner’s “Selected Poems and Prose of Paul Celan.” My eye came to rest on an almost impossibly brief poem:
Once,
I heard him,
he was washing the world,
unseen, nightlong,
real. One and infinite,
annihilated,
they I’d. Light was. Salvation.
In a dream state or trance, I read the lines over and over, instilling them permanently in my memory. It was as if the poem opened up and I entered into it. I felt “him,” that presence, whoever he might be, “unseen” and yet “real.” The poem features one of Celan’s signature neologisms. In German, it’s ichten, which doesn’t look any more natural than the English but shows that we’re dealing with a verb in the past tense, constructed from ich, the first-person-singular pronoun—something like “they became I’s,” that is, selves. The last line echoes Genesis: “Let there be light.” As I repeated the poem, I suddenly understood it—more, I felt it—as a vision of a second Creation, a coming of the Messiah, when those who have been annihilated (the original is vernichtet, exterminated) might be reborn, through the cleansing of the world.
From his iconic “Deathfugue,” one of the first poems published about the Nazi camps and now recognized as a benchmark of twentieth-century European poetry, to cryptic later works such as the poem above, all of Celan’s poetry is elliptical, ambiguous, resisting easy interpretation. Perhaps for this reason, it has been singularly compelling to critics and translators, who often speak of Celan’s work in quasi-religious terms. Felstiner said that, when he first encountered the poems, he knew he’d have to immerse himself in them “before doing anything else.” Pierre Joris, in the introduction to “Memory Rose Into Threshold Speech” (Farrar, Straus & Giroux), his new translation of Celan’s first four published books, writes that hearing Celan’s poetry read aloud, at the age of fifteen, set him on a path that he followed for fifty years.
Celan, like his poetry, eludes the usual terms of categorization. He was born Paul Antschel in 1920 to German-speaking Jewish parents in Czernowitz (now Chernivtsi). Until the fall of the Habsburg Empire, in 1918, the city had been the capital of the province of Bukovina; now it was part of Romania. Before Celan turned twenty, it would be annexed by the Soviet Union. Both of Celan’s parents were murdered by the Nazis; he was imprisoned in labor camps. After the war, he lived briefly in Bucharest and Vienna before settling in Paris. Though he wrote almost exclusively in German, he cannot properly be called a German poet: his loyalty was to the language, not the nation.
“Only one thing remained reachable, close and secure amid all losses: language,” Celan once said. But that language, sullied by Nazi propaganda, hate speech, and euphemism, was not immediately usable for poetry: “It had to go through its own lack of answers, through terrifying silence, through the thousand darknesses of murderous speech.” Celan cleansed the language by breaking it down, bringing it back to its roots, creating a radical strangeness in expression and tone. Drawing on the vocabulary of such fields as botany, ornithology, geology, and mineralogy, and on medieval or dialect words that had fallen out of use, he invented a new form of German, reconceiving the language for the world after Auschwitz. Adding to the linguistic layers, his later works incorporate gibberish as well as foreign phrases. The commentaries accompanying his poetry in the definitive German edition, some of which Joris includes in his translation, run to hundreds of pages.
No translation can ever encompass the multiplicity of meanings embedded in these hybrid, polyglot, often arcane poems; the translator must choose an interpretation. This is always true, but it is particularly difficult with work as fundamentally ambiguous as Celan’s. Joris imagines his translations as akin to the medical diagrams that reproduce cross-sections of anatomy on plastic overlays, allowing the student to leaf forward and backward to add or subtract levels of detail. “All books of translations should be such palimpsests,” he writes, with “layers upon layers of unstable, shifting, tentative, other-languaged versions.”
Joris has already translated Celan’s final five volumes of poetry in a collection that he called “Breathturn Into Timestead” (2014), incorporating words from the titles of the individual books. The appearance of “Memory Rose Into Threshold Speech,” coinciding with the centennial of Celan’s birth, as well as with the fiftieth anniversary of his death—he drowned himself in the Seine, one rainy week in April—now brings into English all the poems, nearly six hundred, that the poet collected during his lifetime, in the order in which he arranged them. (The exception is Celan’s first collection, published in Vienna in 1948, which printing errors forced him to withdraw; he used some of those poems in his next book.) Not only are many poems available in English for the first time but English readers also now have the opportunity to read Celan’s individual collections in their entirety, as he intended them to be read. What Celan demands of his reader, Joris has written, is “to weave the threads of the individual poems into a text that is the cycle or book of poems. The poet gives us the threads: we have to do the weaving—an invitation to a new kind of reading.”
Celan grew up with a multilingualism natural to a region where borders were erased and redrawn like pencil lines. “It was a landscape where both people and books lived,” he recalled. After a few years at a Hebrew grade school, he attended Romanian high schools, studying Italian, Latin, and Greek, and immersing himself in German literary classics. On November 9, 1938, the date now known as Kristallnacht, he was on his way to France, where he intended to prepare for medical studies. His train passed through Berlin as the pogrom was taking place, and he later wrote of seeing smoke that “already belonged to tomorrow.”
After Celan returned to Czernowitz for the summer, the outbreak of the Second World War trapped him there. He enrolled in Romance studies at the local university, which he was able to continue under Soviet occupation the following year. All that came to an end on July 6, 1941, when German and Romanian Nazi troops invaded. They burned the city’s Great Synagogue, murdering nearly seven hundred Jews within three days and three thousand by the end of August. In October, a ghetto was created for Jews who were allowed to remain temporarily, including Celan and his parents. The rest were deported.
“What the life of a Jew was during the war years, I need not mention,” Celan later told a German magazine. (When asked about his camp experience, Celan would respond with a single word, “Shovelling!”) His parents were deported during a wave of roundups in June, 1942. It is unclear where Celan was on the night of their arrest—possibly in a hideout where he had tried to persuade them to join him, or with a friend—but, when he came home in the morning, they were gone. His reprieve lasted only a few weeks: in July he was deported to a labor camp in the south of Romania. A few months later, he learned of his father’s death. His mother was shot the following winter. Snow and lead, symbols of her murder, became a constant in his poetry.
“Deathfugue,” with its unsettling, incantatory depiction of a concentration camp, was first published in 1947, in a Bucharest literary magazine. One of the best-known works of postwar German literature, it may have persuaded Theodor Adorno to reconsider his famous pronouncement that writing poetry after Auschwitz was “barbaric.” Felstiner called it “the ‘Guernica’ of postwar European literature,” comparing its impact to Wilfred Owen’s “Dulce et Decorum Est” or Yeats’s “Easter 1916.” The camp in the poem, left nameless, stands for all the camps, the prisoners’ suffering depicted through the unforgettable image of “black milk”:


newyorker--2020-11-16--Cazzie David’s Existential Dread

Cazzie David’s Existential Dread

It was a scorching day in Los Angeles , the heat rising from the pavement in a near-audible sizzle , but the writer Cazzie David was not about to put on sunglasses .
“ I ’ m the sort of person who , if I put on sunglasses , I ’ m afraid everyone will be , like , ‘ Oh , she thinks she looks cool , ’ ” she said , grimacing .
David , who is twenty-six , slight , and dark-haired , with the kind of sardonic manner associated more with the East Coast than the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ her sweatshirt .
“ Why did I wear long sleeves ?
That ’ s so stupid , ” she muttered .
She took it off , and then , squinting over her surgical mask , she was ready to enter a graveyard .
David was at Hollywood Forever , an L.A. cemetery in which laypeople rest side by side with celebrities , lending the serene grounds—palm trees , swan-filled ponds , the occasional peacock—a kitschy glamour .
“ I ’ ve never really spent time in a graveyard , ” David said .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ of “ Seinfeld ” and the creator and star of HBO ’ s “ Curb Your Enthusiasm , ” may be our era ’ s preëminent icon of unease .
“ My grandparents all died when I was young , and my parents didn ’ t want me and my sister to come to the funerals , ” she said .
“ They thought it would be too disturbing .
Instead , they would do these things with us , like release flowers into the ocean.
” She paused .
“ It would @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to the funerals !
” Pointing to a black marble headstone , she said , “ How cute is this couple , though ?
” The slab was laser-engraved with the photographic image of a man and a woman , cheek to cheek , she in a beret , he with his hair slicked back , nineteen-thirties style .
“ I wonder if this is from the time they died or from when they were young ?
” She made her way over an expanse of lawn , searching for a shady spot @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
“ Oh , my God , did I just step on a grave ?
” she asked .
David has recently published a book of humorous essays about being young , self-doubting , and anxious .
“ I find it kind of impossible to ignore the more looming aspects of being alive , ” she said .
“ I ’ ve always had anxiety , but when I was a freshman in college ” —at Emerson , in Boston— “ I had a sort of mental breakdown .
I was looking at @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was , like , ‘ How do I even exist ?
How do our cells make us people ?
What does it all mean ?
’ ” She attended an outpatient program , which helped her get over the episode , but existential dread—which , as she describes in her book , can make one “ panicked to the point where your bones are rattling in your body so fast you can ’ t feel them vibrate ” —still dogs her .
“ It definitely ruins every part of life you ’ re @ @ @ @ @ @ @ said .
She laughed : “ Obviously , at the same time , I know how completely unimportant and unoriginal I am when I have these thoughts.
” With the advent of COVID , David moved into her father ’ s house , in Pacific Palisades , to “ make sure everybody was protected , because I was afraid my family was too stupid to take care of itself .
I ’ m just slightly less stupid .
I was in charge of sanitizing produce , which meant I could have easily killed @ @ @ @ @ @ @ on , “ My dad and I are very similar in terms of our worries about sickness and death , but then there ’ s a whole other set of fears and insecurities that he would never be able to understand .
Like when you throw in something like growing up with social media while being a girl.
” She took a swig of water from her canteen .
“ My dad might go to a party and think , ‘ Everybody here is smarter and more successful than me , ’ but @ @ @ @ @ @ @ it ’ s like socializing every second with everyone who ’ s designed to make me feel the worst about myself : my exes ’ new girlfriends , people who have the career I want , Kylie Jenner.
” She began to walk down the cemetery path again .
“ I take breaks from Instagram , and , of course , it helps so much , ” she said .
“ But I have this fear that , if I don ’ t check my phone constantly , I would be publicly humiliated @ @ @ @ @ @ @ it.
” Stepping over a trail of ants rushing along a pavement ( “ Do you know that some ants can live for up to thirty years ?
That always makes me feel guilty about killing them ” ) , David headed toward a pond .
She came across the grave of Johnny Ramone ( né Cummings ) , whose headstone is topped by a bronze statue of the musician , shredding on his guitar , with his motorcycle jacket and signature bowl-cut hairdo .
“ This is so sick !
” she @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
“ Do you think he would have liked this grave ?
It ’ s a little cartoony , maybe .
I wonder if I would like a grave like this.
” ♦

Cazzie David Illustration by João Fazenda
It was a scorching day in Los Angeles, the heat rising from the pavement in a near-audible sizzle, but the writer Cazzie David was not about to put on sunglasses. “I’m the sort of person who, if I put on sunglasses, I’m afraid everyone will be, like, ‘Oh, she thinks she looks cool,’ ” she said, grimacing. David, who is twenty-six, slight, and dark-haired, with the kind of sardonic manner associated more with the East Coast than the West, tugged at the hem of her sweatshirt. “Why did I wear long sleeves? That’s so stupid,” she muttered. She took it off, and then, squinting over her surgical mask, she was ready to enter a graveyard.
David was at Hollywood Forever, an L.A. cemetery in which laypeople rest side by side with celebrities, lending the serene grounds—palm trees, swan-filled ponds, the occasional peacock—a kitschy glamour. “I’ve never really spent time in a graveyard,” David said. Her father, Larry, the co-creator of “Seinfeld” and the creator and star of HBO’s “Curb Your Enthusiasm,” may be our era’s preëminent icon of unease. “My grandparents all died when I was young, and my parents didn’t want me and my sister to come to the funerals,” she said. “They thought it would be too disturbing. Instead, they would do these things with us, like release flowers into the ocean.” She paused. “It would have probably been healthier to just go to the funerals!” Pointing to a black marble headstone, she said, “How cute is this couple, though?” The slab was laser-engraved with the photographic image of a man and a woman, cheek to cheek, she in a beret, he with his hair slicked back, nineteen-thirties style. “I wonder if this is from the time they died or from when they were young?” She made her way over an expanse of lawn, searching for a shady spot to sit down, then stopped abruptly. “Oh, my God, did I just step on a grave?” she asked.
David has recently published a book of humorous essays about being young, self-doubting, and anxious. “I find it kind of impossible to ignore the more looming aspects of being alive,” she said. “I’ve always had anxiety, but when I was a freshman in college”—at Emerson, in Boston—“I had a sort of mental breakdown. I was looking at my own eyeballs in the mirror and was, like, ‘How do I even exist? How do our cells make us people? What does it all mean?’ ” She attended an outpatient program, which helped her get over the episode, but existential dread—which, as she describes in her book, can make one “panicked to the point where your bones are rattling in your body so fast you can’t feel them vibrate”—still dogs her. “It definitely ruins every part of life you’re supposed to be enjoying,” she said. She laughed: “Obviously, at the same time, I know how completely unimportant and unoriginal I am when I have these thoughts.”
With the advent of COVID, David moved into her father’s house, in Pacific Palisades, to “make sure everybody was protected, because I was afraid my family was too stupid to take care of itself. I’m just slightly less stupid. I was in charge of sanitizing produce, which meant I could have easily killed my dad with bleach.” She went on, “My dad and I are very similar in terms of our worries about sickness and death, but then there’s a whole other set of fears and insecurities that he would never be able to understand. Like when you throw in something like growing up with social media while being a girl.” She took a swig of water from her canteen. “My dad might go to a party and think, ‘Everybody here is smarter and more successful than me,’ but, when I go on Instagram, it’s like socializing every second with everyone who’s designed to make me feel the worst about myself: my exes’ new girlfriends, people who have the career I want, Kylie Jenner.” She began to walk down the cemetery path again. “I take breaks from Instagram, and, of course, it helps so much,” she said. “But I have this fear that, if I don’t check my phone constantly, I would be publicly humiliated somehow and I wouldn’t know it.”
Stepping over a trail of ants rushing along a pavement (“Do you know that some ants can live for up to thirty years? That always makes me feel guilty about killing them”), David headed toward a pond. She came across the grave of Johnny Ramone (né Cummings), whose headstone is topped by a bronze statue of the musician, shredding on his guitar, with his motorcycle jacket and signature bowl-cut hairdo. “This is so sick!” she said, enthusiastically. She stepped back. “Do you think he would have liked this grave? It’s a little cartoony, maybe. I wonder if I would like a grave like this.” ♦


newyorker--2020-11-16--The Mystery of the 7 Train’s Broken Windows

In August , a mysterious and selective chaos descended upon the No .
7 subway line .
Late-night trains were arriving at their last stop , in distant Queens , with broken windows .
Most 7 trains consist of eleven cars .
In one particular train , all the windows had been broken in two cars , for a total of forty-three windows .
This is not a common problem .
Sometimes rowdy baseball fans will break a window or two , but nobody could remember breakage on such a scale .
In a few weeks of repeated incidents , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ three hundred and five .
When vandalism occurs in a car , the entire train is taken out of service .
In the case of the 7 , trains needing attention descend a ramp from the elevated tracks at the Queens end of the line , cross a train yard , and enter a maintenance facility known as “ the barn.
” This building is like a huge performance space , about seven hundred and fifty feet long , about forty feet high at the peak of its skylights , and wide enough @ @ @ @ @ @ @ on parallel tracks .
Usually , when you enter a subway car , you ’ re at the height of its doors .
In the barn , you see it from wheel level up , which makes it look taller and more awesome .
Workers use portable fibreglass stairsteps to enter the cars .
Balwant Ramoutar , the superintendent of the facility , grew up in Guyana , has a West Indian accent , and wears a white hard hat bearing a black “ 7 ” inside a purple circle .
“ The @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , ” he said recently , to a temporarily hard-hatted visitor .
“ At one time , eight consists ” —segments five or six cars long— “ among the forty-six No .
7 trains were out of service .
Usually during morning rush hour we send a train every ninety seconds .
This is a busy line .
In one month , the No .
7 trains usually run a total of about 1.9 million miles.
” With trains out of service because of broken windows , the total mileage was considerably lower @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ I always get asked about the name—I ’ m no relation ” ) have the title of car inspector , and both began working at the barn of the 7 train fourteen years ago .
Morales is big and has a broad face ; Gambino is slighter , with a narrow face .
Both wear T-shirts , light zip-up fleeces , and dark trousers , and both radiate unflappability .
When the trains with broken windows started showing up , Gambino and Morales fixed them .
“ A window can take two @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Gambino said .
“ The window frames are aluminum , the setscrews that hold them in place are steel , and sometimes the screws have reacted chemically with the frames , and you need to drill them out .
That takes time.
” “ The guy who did the vandalism must have used a hammer , ” Morales said .
“ It ’ s impossible to bust those windows with just your fist .
They ’ re ballistic safety glass , they don ’ t shatter .
Actually , they ’ re two @ @ @ @ @ @ @ plastic laminate in between .
Lifting them out or putting them in , we needed other workers to help , because they ’ re heavy.
” “ Some days it was funny , the guy would only break two or three windows , ” Gambino said .
“ I guess it depended on his mood.
” The names of some of the different windows in subway cars are : full-picture windows ( the main windows in the middle ) , half-picture windows ( the same as full-picture , except smaller , to leave @ @ @ @ @ @ @ windows ( oval , self-explanatory ) , vent windows ( long and narrow , ditto ) , and motorman ’ s-vision windows .
Motormen need to be able to see , the tunnels are sometimes freezing , and many trains , like the 7 , travel above ground , on elevated tracks , for part of their route .
A motorman looks through extra-expensive glass with heating filaments in it to melt the ice and frost .
For a while , the 7 ’ s windows were being broken so fast that the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Pennsylvania , forty-six miles north of Philadelphia , could not keep up with replacements .
At the moment , police are following leads , including a man seen briefly in a surveillance video .
He is average-looking—young , dark-haired , and slim , wearing a blue T-shirt and a black bandanna for a mask , and he carries a small backpack , maybe to hold the putative hammer .
Recently , the 7 has been running without problems , and it achieved an almost-best-in-city mark of six hundred and nineteen thousand miles M.D.B.F.
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ between failures.
” During this respite period , Trumbauersville has ramped up production , and new windows have refilled the tall , neatly labelled plywood shelves in the barn ’ s supply room .
The investigation is ongoing .
The window damage cost the Transportation Authority about a third of a million dollars .
Fewer windows have been broken on the 7 train since September .
“ The guy disappeared , who knows why ?
” Gambino said .
“ Maybe he decided to get a real job.
” ♦

In August, a mysterious and selective chaos descended upon the No. 7 subway line. Late-night trains were arriving at their last stop, in distant Queens, with broken windows. Most 7 trains consist of eleven cars. In one particular train, all the windows had been broken in two cars, for a total of forty-three windows. This is not a common problem. Sometimes rowdy baseball fans will break a window or two, but nobody could remember breakage on such a scale. In a few weeks of repeated incidents, the count of broken windows mounted to three hundred and five.
When vandalism occurs in a car, the entire train is taken out of service. In the case of the 7, trains needing attention descend a ramp from the elevated tracks at the Queens end of the line, cross a train yard, and enter a maintenance facility known as “the barn.” This building is like a huge performance space, about seven hundred and fifty feet long, about forty feet high at the peak of its skylights, and wide enough to fit five subway trains, parked on parallel tracks. Usually, when you enter a subway car, you’re at the height of its doors. In the barn, you see it from wheel level up, which makes it look taller and more awesome. Workers use portable fibreglass stairsteps to enter the cars.
Balwant Ramoutar, the superintendent of the facility, grew up in Guyana, has a West Indian accent, and wears a white hard hat bearing a black “7” inside a purple circle. “The broken windows were a very big job,” he said recently, to a temporarily hard-hatted visitor. “At one time, eight consists”—segments five or six cars long—“among the forty-six No. 7 trains were out of service. Usually during morning rush hour we send a train every ninety seconds. This is a busy line. In one month, the No. 7 trains usually run a total of about 1.9 million miles.” With trains out of service because of broken windows, the total mileage was considerably lower.
José Morales and Frank Gambino (“I always get asked about the name—I’m no relation”) have the title of car inspector, and both began working at the barn of the 7 train fourteen years ago. Morales is big and has a broad face; Gambino is slighter, with a narrow face. Both wear T-shirts, light zip-up fleeces, and dark trousers, and both radiate unflappability. When the trains with broken windows started showing up, Gambino and Morales fixed them. “A window can take two, three hours to replace,” Gambino said. “The window frames are aluminum, the setscrews that hold them in place are steel, and sometimes the screws have reacted chemically with the frames, and you need to drill them out. That takes time.”
“The guy who did the vandalism must have used a hammer,” Morales said. “It’s impossible to bust those windows with just your fist. They’re ballistic safety glass, they don’t shatter. Actually, they’re two panes thick, with a sheet of plastic laminate in between. Lifting them out or putting them in, we needed other workers to help, because they’re heavy.”
“Big deal, you were in labor for nineteen hours. I’m sure it was no picnic for me, either.” Cartoon by Barbara Smaller Copy link to cartoon Copy link to cartoon Shop Shop
“Some days it was funny, the guy would only break two or three windows,” Gambino said. “I guess it depended on his mood.”
The names of some of the different windows in subway cars are: full-picture windows (the main windows in the middle), half-picture windows (the same as full-picture, except smaller, to leave room for the vents), door windows (oval, self-explanatory), vent windows (long and narrow, ditto), and motorman’s-vision windows. Motormen need to be able to see, the tunnels are sometimes freezing, and many trains, like the 7, travel above ground, on elevated tracks, for part of their route. A motorman looks through extra-expensive glass with heating filaments in it to melt the ice and frost. For a while, the 7’s windows were being broken so fast that the manufacturer, a company in Trumbauersville, Pennsylvania, forty-six miles north of Philadelphia, could not keep up with replacements.
At the moment, police are following leads, including a man seen briefly in a surveillance video. He is average-looking—young, dark-haired, and slim, wearing a blue T-shirt and a black bandanna for a mask, and he carries a small backpack, maybe to hold the putative hammer. Recently, the 7 has been running without problems, and it achieved an almost-best-in-city mark of six hundred and nineteen thousand miles M.D.B.F., which stands for “mean distance between failures.” During this respite period, Trumbauersville has ramped up production, and new windows have refilled the tall, neatly labelled plywood shelves in the barn’s supply room.
The investigation is ongoing. The window damage cost the Transportation Authority about a third of a million dollars. Fewer windows have been broken on the 7 train since September. “The guy disappeared, who knows why?” Gambino said. “Maybe he decided to get a real job.” ♦


newyorker--2020-11-16--A Philadelphia Local Is Unamused by the Fuss

“ This is ridiculous , ” she said .
The day was warm and balmy , and about three hundred Biden supporters were there to insist that every vote be counted .
A few feet away , hemmed into a barricade cage , about twenty Trump supporters stood , waving Trump flags and being jeered by the Biden group .
The Biden supporters had a d.j.
, and the music was loud .
Earlier , there had been a particularly good run of Whitney Houston and James Brown and the “ Cha Cha Slide.
” Even one of the Trump @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
“ I tell you the truth , I don ’ t see the point , ” Palagruto said .
“ They count every vote either way .
It ’ s the law .
Not that I ’ m against protest , but I think , C ’ mon .
They ’ re counting the votes !
It took me an extra hour to get home because of traffic.
” She had just finished her shift at a nearby hospital , where she works as a lab technician .
From about fifty feet @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Bread , she watched the scene .
“ They ’ re gon na count the votes whether you ’ re chanting or not !
” she yelled , cupping her hands around her mouth .
“ They ’ re counting ’ em !
Now go home !
” Palagruto has an accent so acute— “ gon na ” was “ go-won-a ” —and an attitude so Philly-specific that , if the city ever wanted a no-B.S .
tourism spokesperson , no one but her would suffice .
Come to Philly , she ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
No one cares .
She ’ d been dropped off earlier by her husband .
“ I jumped out of the car .
He won ’ t come here because he ’ s afraid of everything , ” she joked .
Since the election , he ’ d been talking about voter fraud , but Palagruto wasn ’ t having it .
“ He ’ s what I would call naïve .
He ’ s not stupid , he just believes a lot of stuff .
He doesn ’ t look anything @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ ll listen to your pain if you can back it up.
’ ” Down the street , a pair of women were making “ Every Vote Counts ” signs on the sidewalk .
A man walked by wearing a “ Leave Philly Alone ” T-shirt .
The chanting of “ Count every vote !
” got louder .
Someone was beating a drum .
“ And you know why I ’ m annoyed , too ?
” Palagruto said .
“ Because my house had a flood .
Somebody flushed the toilet @ @ @ @ @ @ @ you hear it stop after you flush , right ?
But who listens ?
So somebody flushed it , we went to bed , and it overflowed the whole eight or ten hours we were sleeping !
I ’ m laughing now , because what are you gon na do ?
” A river of bicycle cops flowed by .
Three helicopters hovered , their rotors rattling like a lunatic washing machine .
“ So the water was in the floor , ” she continued , “ and the ceiling .
It built @ @ @ @ @ @ @ eventually got too heavy , and in the morning the upstairs was downstairs .
So they put us in a hotel , and guess where it is ?
Across the street from City Hall !
” First , there ’ d been the protests following the police killing of Walter Wallace , Jr. , and now this .
“ I can ’ t go outside at night , because there ’ s curfews , ” she said .
“ And you can ’ t go to Wawa .
There ’ s no food @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Who wants to cook at a hotel ?
” At the barricades , Trump supporters waved signs that read “ Stop the Cheat.
” These signs had been printed professionally , indicating a possibility that they ’ d been printed before Election Day .
“ You can ’ t cheat , ” Palagruto said .
“ You go down , you sign your name , you vote , you put it in the box .
What do these people think ?
” She added that her husband , her daughter-in-law , and her @ @ @ @ @ @ @ poll workers .
“ There are , like , seven states that take ballots up to three days after .
This is not new .
So why are you complaining now ?
” She had no patience for the Trump people , but the Biden people , she felt , were misguided : “ You know what , if they want to protest for different , other things , rights and all that , I ’ m all for it .
But everybody voted already !
” She went on , “ I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the last few years there ’ s too much crime , everyone has a gun , every single day.
” She asked a correspondent if he was from here ; he said no .
“ Then what are you doing here ?
” she asked .
“ I just feel like , you know , I have sons , too .
It makes you worry , too , because every single day , this one ’ s shot , that one ’ s shot .
They ’ re shooting each other .
Why @ @ @ @ @ @ @ when you ’ re marching ?
How ’ bout this : Hire a security guard for every block .
How about that ?
There ’ s a lot of things you can do .
I don ’ t understand it .
I would do it different.
” ♦ Read More About the 2020 Election • William Barr is the one Administration official with the power to stop Donald Trump and his attempted coup .
• Trump has survived impeachment , twenty-six sexual-misconduct accusations , and thousands of lawsuits .
His luck may well @ @ @ @ @ @ @ elected the next President .
• With litigation unlikely to change the outcome of the election , Republicans are looking to strategies that might remain even after rebuffs both at the polls and in court .
• We have to talk about what happened under the Trump Presidency and how we can prevent it from happening again .
• If 2020 has demonstrated anything , it is the need to rebalance the economy to benefit the working class—and there are many ways a Biden Administration can start .
• Sign up for our @ @ @ @ @ @ @ our reporters and columnists .

It was about 5 p.m. on November 5th. Inside the Convention Center in Philadelphia, the votes that would determine the Presidential election were being counted. Outside, Anne Palagruto, in her burgundy medical scrubs, was over it. The noise was too much. The closed streets were tying the city in knots.
“This is ridiculous,” she said.
The day was warm and balmy, and about three hundred Biden supporters were there to insist that every vote be counted. A few feet away, hemmed into a barricade cage, about twenty Trump supporters stood, waving Trump flags and being jeered by the Biden group. The Biden supporters had a d.j., and the music was loud. Earlier, there had been a particularly good run of Whitney Houston and James Brown and the “Cha Cha Slide.” Even one of the Trump people had been dancing to that one.
“I tell you the truth, I don’t see the point,” Palagruto said. “They count every vote either way. It’s the law. Not that I’m against protest, but I think, C’mon. They’re counting the votes! It took me an extra hour to get home because of traffic.” She had just finished her shift at a nearby hospital, where she works as a lab technician. From about fifty feet away, in front of a Panera Bread, she watched the scene. “They’re gonna count the votes whether you’re chanting or not!” she yelled, cupping her hands around her mouth. “They’re counting ’em! Now go home!”
Palagruto has an accent so acute—“gonna” was “go-won-a”—and an attitude so Philly-specific that, if the city ever wanted a no-B.S. tourism spokesperson, no one but her would suffice. Come to Philly, she’d say. Or don’t. No one cares.
She’d been dropped off earlier by her husband. “I jumped out of the car. He won’t come here because he’s afraid of everything,” she joked. Since the election, he’d been talking about voter fraud, but Palagruto wasn’t having it. “He’s what I would call naïve. He’s not stupid, he just believes a lot of stuff. He doesn’t look anything up. I say, ‘I’ll listen to your pain if you can back it up.’ ”
Down the street, a pair of women were making “Every Vote Counts” signs on the sidewalk. A man walked by wearing a “Leave Philly Alone” T-shirt. The chanting of “Count every vote!” got louder. Someone was beating a drum.
“And you know why I’m annoyed, too?” Palagruto said. “Because my house had a flood. Somebody flushed the toilet. They tell you, make sure you hear it stop after you flush, right? But who listens? So somebody flushed it, we went to bed, and it overflowed the whole eight or ten hours we were sleeping! I’m laughing now, because what are you gonna do?”
A river of bicycle cops flowed by. Three helicopters hovered, their rotors rattling like a lunatic washing machine.
“So the water was in the floor,” she continued, “and the ceiling. It built up like a fish tank, and eventually got too heavy, and in the morning the upstairs was downstairs. So they put us in a hotel, and guess where it is? Across the street from City Hall!”
First, there’d been the protests following the police killing of Walter Wallace, Jr., and now this. “I can’t go outside at night, because there’s curfews,” she said. “And you can’t go to Wawa. There’s no food. So I have to cook. Who wants to cook at a hotel?”
At the barricades, Trump supporters waved signs that read “Stop the Cheat.” These signs had been printed professionally, indicating a possibility that they’d been printed before Election Day.
“You can’t cheat,” Palagruto said. “You go down, you sign your name, you vote, you put it in the box. What do these people think?” She added that her husband, her daughter-in-law, and her daughter-in-law’s mother had all been poll workers. “There are, like, seven states that take ballots up to three days after. This is not new. So why are you complaining now?”
She had no patience for the Trump people, but the Biden people, she felt, were misguided: “You know what, if they want to protest for different, other things, rights and all that, I’m all for it. But everybody voted already!”
She went on, “I used to like living here. But the last few years there’s too much crime, everyone has a gun, every single day.” She asked a correspondent if he was from here; he said no.
“Then what are you doing here?” she asked. “I just feel like, you know, I have sons, too. It makes you worry, too, because every single day, this one’s shot, that one’s shot. They’re shooting each other. Why don’t you fix that, when you’re marching? How ’bout this: Hire a security guard for every block. How about that? There’s a lot of things you can do. I don’t understand it. I would do it different.” ♦
Read More About the 2020 Election


newyorker--2020-11-16--“Back from the Cannery,” by Kirmen Uribe

Our grandmother worked at the cannery .
And our mother and aunts .
They were workers , not housewives .
Or were that , too .
I liked that smell they brought home when they came in from work .
That smell of fish , perspiration , and brine .
Though they all hated it .
The smell that ’ s so hard to wash off and forget .
The women at our house worked in the cannery and , afterward , at home .
They cleaned anchovies at the kitchen table .
While I played around underneath it .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ give me a taste .
Even sandwiches were anchovy ones or tuna fish .
I preferred that to sausage or chocolate .
Even though my friends laughed at me .
Those were some different times .
Back then the women sang in the canneries , and their bosses gave them leave if they had to breastfeed the baby .
The women took their breaks together .
In their work clothes , leaning against the stone wall taking the sun or smoking , eyes closed .
They had a peaceful moment that way , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ children .
Today , quite a few years later , I close my eyes , too , wanting to find that peaceful moment of theirs .
I open my mouth , expectantly maybe , for a woman ’ s hand to give me the gift of an anchovy fillet .
The gift arrived over the kitchen table .
While I was playing underneath it .
Alone , because they had to work .

Audio: Read, in English, by the translator, and, in the original Basque, by the author.
Our grandmother worked at the cannery.
And our mother and aunts.
They were workers, not housewives.
Or were that, too.
I liked that smell they brought home
when they came in from work.
That smell of fish, perspiration, and brine.
Though they all hated it.
The smell that’s so hard to wash off and forget.
The women at our house worked in the cannery
and, afterward, at home.
They cleaned anchovies at the kitchen table.
While I played around underneath it.
If I was lucky they’d give me a taste.
Even sandwiches were anchovy ones or tuna fish.
I preferred that to sausage or chocolate.
Even though my friends laughed at me.
Those were some different times.
Back then the women sang in the canneries,
and their bosses gave them leave
if they had to breastfeed the baby.
The women took their breaks together.
In their work clothes, leaning against the stone wall
taking the sun or smoking, eyes closed.
They had a peaceful moment that way,
and forgot about work,
husbands and children.
Today, quite a few years later,
I close my eyes, too,
wanting to find that peaceful moment of theirs.
I open my mouth, expectantly maybe,
for a woman’s hand to give me the gift
of an anchovy fillet.
The gift arrived over the kitchen table.
While I was playing underneath it.
Alone, because they had to work.