newyorker--2020-04-25--My Father’s Voice from Paris

My Father’s Voice from Paris

It is evening here in Hawaii , and morning in Paris , where my parents are , both of them infected with what is almost certainly COVID-19 .
My mother suffered symptoms first but has come out unscathed .
When I call , as I do twice a day , she answers the phone by saying , “ Nurse Ratched , how may I help you ?
” My father has been struck by the illness far more severely .
His temperature is a hundred and four degrees , and still neither of my parents has managed to see a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ father sounds frail and frightened and , occasionally , incoherent .
“ Promise me , ” I say , “ if your breathing gets worse , you ’ ll call the paramedics.
” “ Yes , ” he says , though I don ’ t believe him .
“ But then what ?
” he asks .
“ The problem is , you go in and you don ’ t come out.
” Again , I can hear that fear , which shakes me more than his coughing , his thin voice , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ My father is seventy-six years old .
In ordinary times , he would be in a hospital with an I.V .
in his arm , and I would be somewhere over the Atlantic , on my way to look after him .
But now all I can think to do is call my friends in Paris and ask for their help .
Over the following days , these friends , who have problems of their own , arrange a medical exam for my father ; they march across the city to leave food @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to say hello and introduce themselves , and offer whatever they can to a pair of sick , housebound strangers .
In the mornings , when I wake up , I call to say good night .
My mom is always the same , always unflappable , bright , and funny .
When it ’ s night here , I call to see how my dad has slept and how he ’ s feeling .
The answer is never encouraging .
He is constantly thirsty .
His skin hurts .
He has no @ @ @ @ @ @ @ me terrible stories like they ’ re brief comedies : “ He was a very bad patient .
I found him on the floor of the bathroom and had to slide him out on a bathmat like a sled.
” My dad gets on the phone and sounds increasingly strange .
“ At least you don ’ t live in the skin of your ancient grandfather , ” he says , which is not the kind of thing I ’ ve ever heard him say .
When I ask what he means , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ listen to him trying to control his breath , my infant daughter studies me with her outsized eyes .
I wonder when she ’ ll see her grandfather again , and I force my mind away from the obvious question that follows .
Throughout these days , I am making my way through “ Orphic Paris , ” Henri Cole ’ s portrait of the city and of his time living there .
I suspect I ’ d love the book even in the best of times , but , under the current @ @ @ @ @ @ @ speaking to my father , or listening to him .
My father , who loves Paris more than any other place on earth .
My parents first visited the city in 1968 , on their honeymoon .
Since they retired , fifteen years ago , they ’ ve rented a small apartment in the Latin Quarter for a few months each winter .
My mother is busy and happy in the city , but my father ’ s feelings for it border on the spiritual .
He ’ s never had many close @ @ @ @ @ @ @ has become a companion .
Like Cole , my father spends much of his time alone—in cafés , walking , visiting museums .
Even if he would never admit this to me , I ’ m certain that he ’ s often lonely there .
Maybe it is not the devastating variety of loneliness but something gentler , the kind we feel when we can not fully inhabit a place we love .
“ Orphic Paris ” is often tinged with that same kind of loneliness , though Cole , like my father @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
He writes , “ I hate having to apologize for , or defend , my inwardness .
It was the American poet Marianne Moore who said that solitude was the cure for loneliness.
” Before the coronavirus shut Paris down , my father spent hours watching men play pétanque in the park .
I knew he ’ d love to join them , and I often encouraged him to do so .
He always rejected the idea , and I quickly retreated .
It was too dizzying to try to do for @ @ @ @ @ @ @ me when I was a boy , what I may one day do for my daughter : go on , play with the others .
Reading Cole , I keep seeing my father .
That “ Orphic Paris ” begins in a city threatened by avian flu only magnifies the confusion .
“ The expensive medication Tamiflu is not yet available , ” Cole writes , “ except to those already afflicted with the deadly virus.
” I sleep so little now .
The more exhausted I become , the more trouble I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ It ’ s as if Cole is recounting not his own memories , observations , and desires but my father ’ s .
Meanwhile , my father soaks his sheets with sweat .
No matter what he does , he can not get enough water .
He tells me that he doesn ’ t know what is and is not a hallucination , what he ’ s said to me and what he hasn ’ t .
In a text message , he sends a single comma .
One morning ( though now @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , he says , “ It ’ s as if everything has been stolen .
From us , from you , from the city .
But thank you , thank you.
” “ For your friends , ” he says .
“ They sent a doctor .
They brought ice cream .
They keep writing and calling.
” On the Rue du Cardinal Lemoine , not so far from where my parents are holed up , there is a woman who leans out her window and dangles a can from a string .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ to the street .
Mostly , she wants cigarettes .
Sometimes bread .
When I ’ m in Paris , I stay in an apartment nearby , and have bought her cigarettes on occasion , but , mostly , like everyone else in the neighborhood , I ignore her .
It ’ s been more than a year since I ’ ve heard this woman ’ s adamant voice , yet , as I come to the end of Cole ’ s memoir , I hear it constantly .
I dreamed of her @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , like my parents , like so many in the city , is locked away , half mad , alone , dangling a pail to the streets , begging for help ?
The metaphor is too obvious .
It makes me cringe .
Not knowing what else to do to help my father , I make a small package for him .
Powdered electrolytes , to quench his thirst .
Granola bars , for energy .
An old paperback edition of “ Down and Out in Paris and London , ” to make @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Orphic Paris ” with my notes and markings .
For a moment , I hesitate before packing the book .
I don ’ t want to give up such a beautiful thing , which in reading I ’ ve made part of my father .
But I drop it in , seal the box , and hand it over , so that it can make the very journey I can not .
Cole ends his book with a list of brief paragraphs , each beginning , “ J ’ aime.
” He loves @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , expressions and objects .
One of his loves is Rilke .
“ J ’ aime Rilke , ” Cole writes .
“ His poems speak in a low , calm voice .
He says in his Book of Hours , ‘ Let everything happen to you : beauty and terror .
/ Just keep going .
No feeling is final.
’ ” The man who owns the little postal shop in town is so kind when I tell him where and why I want to send my odd collection of objects .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ as he meticulously prepares the package .
He insists on giving me a discount .
I drive back home to my wife and daughter and imagine my father looking out over the city he loves , reading Cole quoting those familiar lines from Rilke .
My father who , when I speak to him before bed , tells me that he has eaten a bowl of ice cream , and that his fever has fallen to a hundred and one .
Just keep going , I think .
Just keep going .

It is evening here in Hawaii, and morning in Paris, where my parents are, both of them infected with what is almost certainly COVID-19. My mother suffered symptoms first but has come out unscathed. When I call, as I do twice a day, she answers the phone by saying, “Nurse Ratched, how may I help you?” My father has been struck by the illness far more severely. His temperature is a hundred and four degrees, and still neither of my parents has managed to see a doctor.
On the phone, my father sounds frail and frightened and, occasionally, incoherent. “Promise me,” I say, “if your breathing gets worse, you’ll call the paramedics.” “Yes,” he says, though I don’t believe him. “But then what?” he asks. “The problem is, you go in and you don’t come out.” Again, I can hear that fear, which shakes me more than his coughing, his thin voice, or his inability to finish words.
My father is seventy-six years old. In ordinary times, he would be in a hospital with an I.V. in his arm, and I would be somewhere over the Atlantic, on my way to look after him. But now all I can think to do is call my friends in Paris and ask for their help. Over the following days, these friends, who have problems of their own, arrange a medical exam for my father; they march across the city to leave food on my parents’ doorstep, call to say hello and introduce themselves, and offer whatever they can to a pair of sick, housebound strangers.
In the mornings, when I wake up, I call to say good night. My mom is always the same, always unflappable, bright, and funny. When it’s night here, I call to see how my dad has slept and how he’s feeling. The answer is never encouraging. He is constantly thirsty. His skin hurts. He has no desire to eat. My mom tells me terrible stories like they’re brief comedies: “He was a very bad patient. I found him on the floor of the bathroom and had to slide him out on a bathmat like a sled.”
My dad gets on the phone and sounds increasingly strange. “At least you don’t live in the skin of your ancient grandfather,” he says, which is not the kind of thing I’ve ever heard him say. When I ask what he means, he starts to cough. As I listen to him trying to control his breath, my infant daughter studies me with her outsized eyes. I wonder when she’ll see her grandfather again, and I force my mind away from the obvious question that follows.
Throughout these days, I am making my way through “Orphic Paris,” Henri Cole’s portrait of the city and of his time living there. I suspect I’d love the book even in the best of times, but, under the current circumstances, it is becoming something like speaking to my father, or listening to him. My father, who loves Paris more than any other place on earth.
My parents first visited the city in 1968, on their honeymoon. Since they retired, fifteen years ago, they’ve rented a small apartment in the Latin Quarter for a few months each winter. My mother is busy and happy in the city, but my father’s feelings for it border on the spiritual. He’s never had many close friends, and I think Paris itself has become a companion. Like Cole, my father spends much of his time alone—in cafés, walking, visiting museums. Even if he would never admit this to me, I’m certain that he’s often lonely there. Maybe it is not the devastating variety of loneliness but something gentler, the kind we feel when we cannot fully inhabit a place we love. “Orphic Paris” is often tinged with that same kind of loneliness, though Cole, like my father, does not characterize it that way. He writes, “I hate having to apologize for, or defend, my inwardness. It was the American poet Marianne Moore who said that solitude was the cure for loneliness.”
Before the coronavirus shut Paris down, my father spent hours watching men play pétanque in the park. I knew he’d love to join them, and I often encouraged him to do so. He always rejected the idea, and I quickly retreated. It was too dizzying to try to do for him what he so often did for me when I was a boy, what I may one day do for my daughter: go on, play with the others.
Reading Cole, I keep seeing my father. That “Orphic Paris” begins in a city threatened by avian flu only magnifies the confusion. “The expensive medication Tamiflu is not yet available,” Cole writes, “except to those already afflicted with the deadly virus.” I sleep so little now. The more exhausted I become, the more trouble I have distinguishing one mind from another. It’s as if Cole is recounting not his own memories, observations, and desires but my father’s.
Meanwhile, my father soaks his sheets with sweat. No matter what he does, he cannot get enough water. He tells me that he doesn’t know what is and is not a hallucination, what he’s said to me and what he hasn’t. In a text message, he sends a single comma. One morning (though now I can’t remember whose), he says, “It’s as if everything has been stolen. From us, from you, from the city. But thank you, thank you.”
“For what?” I ask.
“For your friends,” he says. “They sent a doctor. They brought ice cream. They keep writing and calling.”
On the Rue du Cardinal Lemoine, not so far from where my parents are holed up, there is a woman who leans out her window and dangles a can from a string. At all hours, she calls out to the street. Mostly, she wants cigarettes. Sometimes bread. When I’m in Paris, I stay in an apartment nearby, and have bought her cigarettes on occasion, but, mostly, like everyone else in the neighborhood, I ignore her.
It’s been more than a year since I’ve heard this woman’s adamant voice, yet, as I come to the end of Cole’s memoir, I hear it constantly. I dreamed of her last night. Why? Because she, like my parents, like so many in the city, is locked away, half mad, alone, dangling a pail to the streets, begging for help? The metaphor is too obvious. It makes me cringe.
Not knowing what else to do to help my father, I make a small package for him. Powdered electrolytes, to quench his thirst. Granola bars, for energy. An old paperback edition of “Down and Out in Paris and London,” to make him laugh. The copy of “Orphic Paris” with my notes and markings. For a moment, I hesitate before packing the book. I don’t want to give up such a beautiful thing, which in reading I’ve made part of my father. But I drop it in, seal the box, and hand it over, so that it can make the very journey I cannot.
Cole ends his book with a list of brief paragraphs, each beginning, “J’aime.” He loves poets and friends, gestures and places, expressions and objects. One of his loves is Rilke. “J’aime Rilke,” Cole writes. “His poems speak in a low, calm voice. He says in his Book of Hours, ‘Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror. / Just keep going. No feeling is final.’ ”
The man who owns the little postal shop in town is so kind when I tell him where and why I want to send my odd collection of objects. He’s wearing blue latex gloves as he meticulously prepares the package. He insists on giving me a discount.
I drive back home to my wife and daughter and imagine my father looking out over the city he loves, reading Cole quoting those familiar lines from Rilke. My father who, when I speak to him before bed, tells me that he has eaten a bowl of ice cream, and that his fever has fallen to a hundred and one. Just keep going, I think. Just keep going.


newyorker--2020-04-25--In North Korea, the Fourth Man Could Be a Woman

The conventional wisdom is that a woman could never ascend to the leadership of North Korea , a country stuck in a time warp of passé fashions , hairdos , music , and social mores .
A toxic mix of Confucianism and totalitarianism indentures women to their husbands , to their in-laws , and , ultimately , to a male-dominated regime .
With a few exceptions ( the best known being the vice foreign minister , Choe Son Hui ) , North Korea ’ s senior cadres are almost entirely male .
The Supreme People ’ s Assembly—which currently has @ @ @ @ @ @ @ set aside twenty per cent of its seats for women , but the percentage has frequently dipped lower .
And the primary function of these token deputies seems to be to brighten the optics , by wearing the jewel-toned , floor-length Korean gowns best known by the South Korean term hanbok .
Since 1948 , North Korea has been ruled by three men—the founder , his son , and his grandson—but , nevertheless , it is now conceivable that the fourth man will be a woman .
That is because , with reports @ @ @ @ @ @ @ health , the most obvious successor is his thirtysomething sister , Kim Yo Jong .
Kim Jong Un was a conspicuous no-show at ceremonies marking his grandfather ’ s birthday , on April 15th—the most important holiday in the North Korean calendar and an event that he has never missed since becoming leader , in 2011 .
A series of missile tests scheduled to coincide with the holiday went off without the customary footage of Kim watching from a viewing stand or peering through binoculars .
North Korea ’ s official news agency @ @ @ @ @ @ @ his purported activities ( such as greetings and birthday messages sent to allies ) , but no reliable photographs of him have emerged since April 11th .
Last week , CNN reported that he was in “ grave danger , ” after having undergone surgery ( an assertion echoed by a report from a Japanese magazine on Saturday that claimed he was brain dead after a failed operation to insert a stent ) , while the Daily NK , a respected online newspaper based in Seoul , said that he was recovering after @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to be wrong , ’ ’ the paper concluded , on Friday .
Until “ state media provides decisive evidence of his whereabouts and well-being , rumors will thus likely continue to emerge—and uncertainty will prevail.
” So far , that hasn ’ t happened .
The same day , Reuters reported that China had dispatched a team to North Korea , which included medical personnel .
Saturday was another holiday , marking the founding of North Korea ’ s armed services , and Kim Jong Un was missing from North Korea ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ according to South Korea ’ s Yonhap News Service .
Although much news about North Korea proves to be inaccurate—North Korean officials who vanish without explanation , and others who are thought to have been executed , frequently show up months later in meetings or parades—these reports make clear that North Korea needs to have a contingency plan for succession .
In the background of all this intrigue is the coronavirus crisis .
Although North Korea implausibly claims to have no cases , the threat of contagion could be a reason that Kim @ @ @ @ @ @ @ his youth—he is believed to be thirty-six—he is a heavy smoker and drinker who moves like a man decades older , with labored breathing and a limp .
According to a biography published last year , Anna Fifield ’ s “ The Great Successor , ” medical experts who analyzed publicly available footage of the leader , who stands five feet seven inches , estimated his weight at one point to be three hundred pounds .
“ If something happens , Kim Yo Jong is the logical successor , ’ ’ Sue Mi @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for the C.I.A.
, told me .
“ It is an open question whether North Korean élites would accept a woman , but they would have a more difficult time accepting somebody outside the Kim family.
’ ’ Kim Yo Jong is the youngest known grandchild of Kim Il Sung , carrying what North Koreans revere as a pure bloodline that originated on Mount Paektu , a volcano on the border with China , which is the mythical birthplace of the Korean people .
She was reportedly a favorite of her father , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 1994 until his death , in 2011 , and who , according to a former Russian official , Konstantin Pulikovsky , may have had a more enlightened attitude toward women than some of the North Korean élite .
Pulikovsky , who travelled with Kim Jong Il by train and later wrote a memoir about the experience , told interviewers that the leader praised the intelligence of his daughter , while deriding his sons as “ idle blockheads.
” If you look at the dynasty ’ s family tree , it appears that there @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and females , but many have been exiled or purged , or worse ; Kim ’ s oldest half brother , Kim Jong Nam , was assassinated in Malaysia , in 2017 .
Kim Jong Il had seven children with four different women , but Yo Jong and Jong Un were born to the same mother , and spent at least part of their childhood together with another brother in Bern , Switzerland , where they attended elementary school under the guise of being the children of a North Korean diplomat .
Yo @ @ @ @ @ @ @ until Kim Jong Il ’ s funeral procession , in Pyongyang , on December 28 , 2011 .
A pale , slim , almost waif-like figure , she was so little known that analysts at first speculated that she might be Kim Jong Un ’ s wife .
She subsequently started popping up in official videos , moving gradually from the background to center stage .
She made a well-publicized international début when she attended the opening of the 2018 Olympics , in Pyeongchang , South Korea , upstaging the dour U.S. representative @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the title in the South Korean media of the “ North Korean Ivanka Trump.
” ( “ They marveled at her barely-there makeup and her lack of bling .
They commented on her plain black outfits and simple purse .
They noted the flower-shaped clip that kept her hair back in a no-nonsense style , ’ ’ is how the Washington Post reviewed her reception . )
Unlike Kim Jong Un ’ s wife , the glamorous Ri Sol Ju , Yo Jong appears in public wearing ladylike heels and dark suits , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ has often been seen in meetings carrying gifts , taking notes , or fetching pens for her brother .
At the Hanoi summit with President Trump last year , she held an ashtray to collect his cigarette butts—a subservient but crucial task , since the North Koreans are compulsive about not leaving behind any trace of leadership DNA .
Nonetheless , the official titles conferred on Yo Jong leave little doubt that she is on the ascent .
In 2014 , she was identified as the deputy director of the ruling Workers Party @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
In 2017 , she was made an alternate member of the Politburo , reportedly only the second woman ever to hold that position .
( The first was Kim Kyong Hui , Kim Jong Il ’ s sister . )
More tellingly , the official KCNA news service ran a March 22nd statement attributed to her , thanking Donald Trump for a letter in which he offered coöperation in fighting the coronavirus .
In the statement , she praised Trump for sending the letter at a time when “ big difficulties and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ developing ties ” between the countries .

The conventional wisdom is that a woman could never ascend to the leadership of North Korea, a country stuck in a time warp of passé fashions, hairdos, music, and social mores. A toxic mix of Confucianism and totalitarianism indentures women to their husbands, to their in-laws, and, ultimately, to a male-dominated regime. With a few exceptions (the best known being the vice foreign minister, Choe Son Hui), North Korea’s senior cadres are almost entirely male. The Supreme People’s Assembly—which currently has six hundred and eighty-seven members—is supposed to set aside twenty per cent of its seats for women, but the percentage has frequently dipped lower. And the primary function of these token deputies seems to be to brighten the optics, by wearing the jewel-toned, floor-length Korean gowns best known by the South Korean term hanbok. Since 1948, North Korea has been ruled by three men—the founder, his son, and his grandson—but, nevertheless, it is now conceivable that the fourth man will be a woman. That is because, with reports that Kim Jong Un is in failing health, the most obvious successor is his thirtysomething sister, Kim Yo Jong.
Kim Jong Un was a conspicuous no-show at ceremonies marking his grandfather’s birthday, on April 15th—the most important holiday on the North Korean calendar and an event that he has never missed since becoming leader, in 2011. A series of missile tests scheduled to coincide with the holiday went off without the customary footage of Kim watching from a viewing stand or peering through binoculars. North Korea’s official news agency, KCNA, continues to report on his purported activities (such as greetings and birthday messages sent to allies), but no reliable photographs of him have emerged since April 11th.
Last week, CNN reported that he was in “grave danger,” after having undergone surgery (an assertion echoed by a report from a Japanese magazine on Saturday that claimed he was brain-dead after a failed operation to insert a stent), while the Daily NK, a respected online newspaper based in Seoul, said that he was recovering after a cardiovascular procedure. “Something seems to be wrong,’’ the paper concluded, on Friday. Until “state media provides decisive evidence of his whereabouts and well-being, rumors will thus likely continue to emerge—and uncertainty will prevail.” So far, that hasn’t happened. The same day, Reuters reported that China had dispatched a team to North Korea that included medical personnel. Saturday was another holiday, marking the founding of North Korea’s armed services, and Kim Jong Un was missing from North Korea’s television coverage of the ceremonies, according to South Korea’s Yonhap News Service. Although much news about North Korea proves to be inaccurate—North Korean officials who vanish without explanation, and others who are thought to have been executed, frequently show up months later in meetings or parades—these reports make clear that North Korea needs to have a contingency plan for succession.
In the background of all this intrigue is the coronavirus crisis. Although North Korea implausibly claims to have no cases, the threat of contagion could be a reason that Kim has made no public appearances. Despite his youth—he is believed to be thirty-six—he is a heavy smoker and drinker who moves like a man decades older, with labored breathing and a limp. According to a biography published last year, Anna Fifield’s “The Great Successor,” medical experts who analyzed publicly available footage of the leader, who stands five feet seven inches, estimated his weight at one point to be three hundred pounds.
“If something happens, Kim Yo Jong is the logical successor,’’ Sue Mi Terry, a former North Korea analyst for the C.I.A., told me. “It is an open question whether North Korean élites would accept a woman, but they would have a more difficult time accepting somebody outside the Kim family.’’ Kim Yo Jong is the youngest known grandchild of Kim Il Sung, carrying what North Koreans revere as a pure bloodline that originated on Mount Paektu, a volcano on the border with China, which is the mythical birthplace of the Korean people. She was reportedly a favorite of her father, Kim Jong Il, who ruled from 1994 until his death, in 2011, and who, according to a former Russian official, Konstantin Pulikovsky, may have had a more enlightened attitude toward women than some of the North Korean élite. Pulikovsky, who travelled with Kim Jong Il by train and later wrote a memoir about the experience, told interviewers that the leader praised the intelligence of his daughter, while deriding his sons as “idle blockheads.”
If you look at the dynasty’s family tree, it appears that there are a number of Kims, males and females, but many have been exiled or purged, or worse; Kim’s oldest half brother, Kim Jong Nam, was assassinated in Malaysia, in 2017. Kim Jong Il had seven children with four women, but Yo Jong and Jong Un were born to the same mother, and spent at least part of their childhood together with another brother in Bern, Switzerland, where they attended elementary school under the guise of being the children of a North Korean diplomat.
Yo Jong didn’t attract much attention until Kim Jong Il’s funeral procession, in Pyongyang, on December 28, 2011. A pale, slim, almost waif-like figure, she was so little known that analysts at first speculated that she might be Kim Jong Un’s wife. She subsequently started popping up in official videos, moving gradually from the background to center stage. She made a well-publicized international début when she attended the opening of the 2018 Olympics, in Pyeongchang, South Korea, upstaging the dour U.S. representative, Vice-President Mike Pence, and earning the title in the South Korean media of “North Korean Ivanka Trump.” (“They marveled at her barely-there makeup and her lack of bling. They commented on her plain black outfits and simple purse. They noted the flower-shaped clip that kept her hair back in a no-nonsense style’’ is how the Washington Post reviewed her reception.)
Unlike Kim Jong Un’s wife, the glamorous Ri Sol Ju, Yo Jong appears in public wearing ladylike heels and dark suits, with an occasional pussy-bow blouse. She has often been seen in meetings carrying gifts, taking notes, or fetching pens for her brother. At the Hanoi summit with President Trump last year, she held an ashtray to collect his cigarette butts—a subservient but crucial task, since the North Koreans are compulsive about not leaving behind any trace of leadership DNA. Nonetheless, the official titles conferred on Yo Jong leave little doubt that she is on the ascent. In 2014, she was identified as the deputy director of the ruling Workers Party’s department of propaganda and agitation. In 2017, she was made an alternate member of the Politburo, reportedly only the second woman ever to hold that position. (The first was Kim Kyong Hui, Kim Jong Il’s sister.) More tellingly, the official KCNA news service ran a March 22nd statement attributed to her, thanking Donald Trump for a letter in which he offered coöperation in fighting the coronavirus. In the statement, she praised Trump for sending the letter at a time when “big difficulties and challenges lie ahead in the way of developing ties” between the countries.
“She has gotten a lot more serious,’’ Michael Madden, a government consultant on North Korea who manages the Web site North Korea Leadership Watch, said. “When you see footage of her on the receiving lines, she is smiling, a nice, friendly young woman, but when she is out of those lines, the smile vanishes and she even looks like Kim Jong Il.’’
Like other members of the ruling family, Yo Jong is at once a highly public figure and a cipher. Her year of birth is variously given as 1987, 1988, or 1989. Some reports claim that her husband is the son of Choe Ryong Hae, the ceremonial head of state. Choe, the second most powerful man in North Korea, is another contender as successor, perhaps in a joint leadership with Kim Yo Jong herself. Others say it’s more likely that her husband is another relative of Choe’s, perhaps his nephew. She apparently has a young child, and people who met her at the 2018 Olympics thought that she was either a few months pregnant or had recently given birth.
As for her education and qualifications, she is thought to have returned to Europe for her studies, perhaps joining a coterie of North Korean princelings who, Michael Madden believes, were living in a building that the regime owns in Paris’s Sixteenth Arrondissement. She later acquired a degree from Kim Il Sung University, either in engineering or computer science. If, in fact, she is on tap to be the next leader, expect to see North Korea’s propagandists hurriedly churning out praise of her intellect, character, and accomplishments. They had to do the same with Kim Jong Un, who was in his mid-twenties, with a negligible résumé, when he emerged as his ailing father’s successor, about two years before his death.


newyorker--2020-04-25--Experts Believe the Coronavirus Could Be Defeated with the Twenty-fifth Amendment

WASHINGTON ( The Borowitz Report ) —In a possible breakthrough that Americans have been hoping for , experts believe that the coronavirus could be defeated by the Twenty-fifth Amendment to the United States Constitution .
The experts , from the fields of science , public health , government , and law , were uniformly enthusiastic in their conviction that the Twenty-fifth Amendment is the single most powerful weapon that the nation currently has to vanquish the coronavirus .
“ Researchers are hard at work developing therapeutics and vaccines , but it will be some time before those solutions are viable @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and professor at the University of Minnesota , said .
“ The Twenty-fifth Amendment is ready to go right now.
” Although much about the coronavirus remains unknown , Logsdon said , “ We ’ re learned a lot about some of the conditions that enable it to thrive , like incompetence , laziness , and ignorance .
The Twenty-fifth Amendment eradicates all three of those conditions .
It ’ s like constitutional Lysol.
” Logsdon acknowledged that using the Twenty-fifth Amendment has raised some concerns , since it has never been used @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , “ I can think of no better human to use it on .
”

WASHINGTON (The Borowitz Report)—In a possible breakthrough that Americans have been hoping for, experts believe that the coronavirus could be defeated by the Twenty-fifth Amendment to the United States Constitution.
The experts, from the fields of science, public health, government, and law, were uniformly enthusiastic in their conviction that the Twenty-fifth Amendment is the single most powerful weapon that the nation currently has to vanquish the coronavirus.
“Researchers are hard at work developing therapeutics and vaccines, but it will be some time before those solutions are viable,” Davis Logsdon, a doctor and professor at the University of Minnesota, said. “The Twenty-fifth Amendment is ready to go right now.”
Although much about the coronavirus remains unknown, Logsdon said, “We’ve learned a lot about some of the conditions that enable it to thrive, like incompetence, laziness, and ignorance. The Twenty-fifth Amendment eradicates all three of those conditions. It’s like constitutional Lysol.”
Logsdon acknowledged that using the Twenty-fifth Amendment has raised some concerns, since it has never been used before on a human, but added, “I can think of no better human to use it on.”


newyorker--2020-04-26--Seattle’s Leaders Let Scientists Take the Lead. New York’s Did Not

The first diagnosis of the coronavirus in the United States occurred in mid-January , in a Seattle suburb not far from the hospital where Dr. Francis Riedo , an infectious-disease specialist , works .
When he heard the patient ’ s details—a thirty-five-year-old man had walked into an urgent-care clinic with a cough and a slight fever , and told doctors that he ’ d just returned from Wuhan , China—Riedo said to himself , “ It ’ s begun.
” For more than a week , Riedo had been e-mailing with a group of colleagues who included Seattle ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Washington State ’ s senior health officer , as well as hundreds of epidemiologists from around the country ; many of them , like Riedo , had trained at the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention , in Atlanta , in a program known as the Epidemic Intelligence Service .
Alumni of the E.I.S .
are considered America ’ s shock troops in combatting disease outbreaks .
The program has more than three thousand graduates , and many now work in state and local governments across the country .
“ It ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ but for saving people , ” Riedo told me .
“ If you have a question , or need to understand the local politics somewhere , or need a hand during an outbreak—if you reach out to the E.I.S .
network , they ’ ll drop everything to help.
” Riedo is the medical director for infectious disease at EvergreenHealth , a hospital in Kirkland , just east of Seattle .
Upon learning of the first domestic diagnosis , he told his staff—from emergency-room nurses to receptionists—that , from then on , everything @ @ @ @ @ @ @ what they did .
One of the E.I.S.
’ s core principles is that a pandemic is a communications emergency as much as a medical crisis .
Members of the public entering the hospital , Riedo told his staff , must be asked if they had travelled out of the country ; if someone had respiratory trouble , staff needed to collect as much information as possible about the patient ’ s recent interactions with other people , including where they had taken place .
You never know , Riedo explained , which @ @ @ @ @ @ @ There are so many terrifying possibilities in a pandemic ; information brings relief .
A national shortage of diagnostic kits for the new coronavirus meant that only people who had recently visited China were eligible for testing .
Even as EvergreenHealth ’ s beds began filling with cases of flulike symptoms—including a patient from Life Care , a nursing home two miles away—the hospital ’ s doctors were unable to test them for the new disease , because none of the sufferers had been to China or been in contact with anyone who @ @ @ @ @ @ @ as the hospital ’ s patients complained of aches , fevers , and breathing problems—and exhibited symptoms associated with COVID-19 , such as “ glassy ” patches in X-rays of their lungs—none of them were evaluated for the disease .
Riedo wanted to start warning people that evidence of an outbreak was growing , but he had only suspicions , not facts .
At the end of February , the C.D.C .
began allowing the testing of patients with unexplained respiratory-tract infections or “ fever and/or symptoms of acute respiratory illness.
” Riedo @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the local department of health .
If he sent her swabs from two patients who had needed ventilators but had tested negative for influenza and other common respiratory diseases , would she test them for COVID-19 ?
At that point , there had been only sixteen detections of the coronavirus in the U.S. , and only the one in Washington State .
“ I can ’ t remember why we picked those two patients , ” Riedo told me .
“ I was sure they ’ d be negative .
But we thought @ @ @ @ @ @ @ data , and it was a way to make sure the testing lab was working.
” The health official told him to send the samples to her lab .
Riedo remembered that other local researchers had been conducting a project called the Seattle Flu Study .
For months , they had collected nasal swabs from volunteers , to better understand how influenza spread through the community .
During the previous few weeks , the researchers , in quiet violation of C.D.C .
guidance , had jury-rigged a coronavirus test in their lab and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
They had just found a positive hit : a high-school student in a suburb twenty-eight miles from Seattle , with no recent history of foreign travel and no known interactions with anyone from China .
The boy wasn ’ t seriously ill ; if the researchers hadn ’ t done the test , the infection probably never would have been detected .
The genetic sequence of the boy ’ s virus was unnervingly similar to that of the man with the first known case , even though the researchers couldn ’ t @ @ @ @ @ @ @ frightening implication was that the coronavirus was already so widespread that contagion was passing invisibly among community members .
At seven-forty that evening , Riedo got a call from his friend at the public-health lab .
Both of the samples he had sent were positive .
Riedo sent over swabs from nine other EvergreenHealth patients .
Eight were positive .
Riedo grabbed the patients ’ charts and saw that seven of them had come from the Life Care nursing home .
It didn ’ t make any sense : nursing-home residents don ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ just family members and staff .
Riedo sent in more samples .
Most of the patients tested positive , including a woman who had been told that she had pneumonia , another woman who had complained of sweating and clammy hands , and a man in his fifties with serious respiratory problems .
For three days , dozens of that man ’ s family members had sat at his bedside in the hospital , coming in and out of the building and going from home to work , visiting restaurants and shaking people @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and others to COVID-19 .
At that moment , there were no known U.S. coronavirus fatalities .
Schools , restaurants , and workplaces were open .
Stock markets were near all-time highs .
But when Riedo stopped to calculate how many of his hospital employees had been exposed to the coronavirus he had to quit when his list surpassed two hundred people .
“ If we sent all of those workers home for two weeks , which is what the C.D.C .
was recommending , we ’ d have to shut down the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
He felt like a man who , having casually swatted at a buzzing insect , suddenly realized that he was beneath a beehive .
The next day , the man with all the family visitors died .
It was America ’ s first known COVID-19 death .
Riedo called his wife .
“ I told her I didn ’ t know when I would be coming home , ” he said to me .
“ And then I started e-mailing everyone I knew to say we were past containment .
It had @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of possibilities and persuasion , not of certainties or hard proof .
“ Being approximately right most of the time is better than being precisely right occasionally , ” the Scottish epidemiologist John Cowden wrote , in 2010 .
“ You can only be sure when to act in retrospect.
” Epidemiologists must persuade people to upend their lives—to forgo travel and socializing , to submit themselves to blood draws and immunization shots—even when there ’ s scant evidence that they ’ re directly at risk .
Epidemiologists also must learn how to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ shifts .
The recommendations that public-health professionals make at the beginning of an emergency—there ’ s no need to wear masks ; children can ’ t become seriously ill—often change as hypotheses are disproved , new experiments occur , and a virus mutates .
The C.D.C.
’ s Field Epidemiology Manual , which devotes an entire chapter to communication during a health emergency , indicates that there should be a lead spokesperson whom the public gets to know—familiarity breeds trust .
The spokesperson should have a “ Single Overriding Health Communication Objective , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” which should be repeated at the beginning and the end of any communication with the public .
After the opening SOHCO , the spokesperson should “ acknowledge concerns and express understanding of how those affected by the illnesses or injuries are probably feeling.
” Such a gesture of empathy establishes common ground with scared and dubious citizens—who , because of their mistrust , can be at the highest risk for transmission .
The spokesperson should make special efforts to explain both what is known and what is unknown .
Transparency is essential @ @ @ @ @ @ @ officials must “ not over-reassure or overpromise .
”

At that moment, there were no known U.S. coronavirus fatalities. Schools, restaurants, and workplaces were open. Stock markets were near all-time highs. But when Riedo stopped to calculate how many of his hospital employees had been exposed to the coronavirus he had to quit when his list surpassed two hundred people. “If we sent all of those workers home for two weeks, which is what the C.D.C. was recommending, we’d have to shut down the entire hospital,” he told me. He felt like a man who, having casually swatted at a buzzing insect, suddenly realized that he was beneath a beehive.
The next day, the man with all the family visitors died. It was America’s first known COVID-19 death. Riedo called his wife. “I told her I didn’t know when I would be coming home,” he said to me. “And then I started e-mailing everyone I knew to say we were past containment. It had already escaped.”
Epidemiology is a science of possibilities and persuasion, not of certainties or hard proof. “Being approximately right most of the time is better than being precisely right occasionally,” the Scottish epidemiologist John Cowden wrote, in 2010. “You can only be sure when to act in retrospect.” Epidemiologists must persuade people to upend their lives—to forgo travel and socializing, to submit themselves to blood draws and immunization shots—even when there’s scant evidence that they’re directly at risk.
Epidemiologists also must learn how to maintain their persuasiveness even as their advice shifts. The recommendations that public-health professionals make at the beginning of an emergency—there’s no need to wear masks; children can’t become seriously ill—often change as hypotheses are disproved, new experiments occur, and a virus mutates. The C.D.C.’s Field Epidemiology Manual, which devotes an entire chapter to communication during a health emergency, indicates that there should be a lead spokesperson whom the public gets to know—familiarity breeds trust. The spokesperson should have a “Single Overriding Health Communication Objective, or SOHCO (pronounced sock-O),” which should be repeated at the beginning and the end of any communication with the public. After the opening SOHCO, the spokesperson should “acknowledge concerns and express understanding of how those affected by the illnesses or injuries are probably feeling.” Such a gesture of empathy establishes common ground with scared and dubious citizens—who, because of their mistrust, can be at the highest risk for transmission. The spokesperson should make special efforts to explain both what is known and what is unknown. Transparency is essential, the field manual says, and officials must “not over-reassure or overpromise.”
The lead spokesperson should be a scientist. Dr. Richard Besser, a former acting C.D.C. director and an E.I.S. alumnus, explained to me, “If you have a politician on the stage, there’s a very real risk that half the nation is going to do the opposite of what they say.” During the H1N1 outbreak of 2009—which caused some twelve thousand American deaths, infections in every state, and seven hundred school closings—Besser and his successor at the C.D.C., Dr. Tom Frieden, gave more than a hundred press briefings. President Barack Obama spoke publicly about the outbreak only a few times, and generally limited himself to telling people to heed scientific experts and promising not to let politics distort the government’s response. “The Bush Administration did a good job of creating the infrastructure so that we can respond,” Obama said at the start of the pandemic, and then echoed the SOHCO by urging families, “Wash your hands when you shake hands. Cover your mouth when you cough. I know it sounds trivial, but it makes a huge difference.”At no time did Obama recommend particular medical treatments, nor did he forecast specifics about when the pandemic would end.
Whereas the C.D.C. protocol encourages politicians to practice restraint, it invites the lead scientific spokesperson to demonstrate his or her advice ostentatiously, and to be a living example of the importance of, say, wearing a mask or getting a shot. When polio inoculations began, in the nineteen-fifties, many people worried that they were unsafe, so New York City’s commissioner of health—who happened to be married to the E.I.S.’s founder—invited reporters to watch schoolchildren getting injections. She also enlisted Elvis to publicly get his shot.
E.I.S. personnel in the field have carried boxes of masks and gloves to distribute to pilots, flight attendants, journalists, and health workers—supplies that may not be needed by the recipients but emphasize how important universal compliance is. When Besser gave briefings during the H1N1 pandemic, he sometimes started by describing how he had recently soaped up his fingers, or pointedly waited until everyone was away from the microphone before taking the stage. At the time, there was almost no chance that Besser and his colleagues were at immediate risk of contracting H1N1. “To maintain trust, you have to be as honest as possible, and make damn sure that everyone walks the walk,” Besser told me. “If we order people to wear masks, then every C.D.C. official must wear a mask in public. If we order hand washing, then we let the cameras see us washing our hands. We’re trying to do something nearly impossible, which is get people to take an outbreak seriously when, for most Americans, they don’t know anyone who’s sick and, if the plan works, they’ll never meet anyone who’s sick.”
Public-health officials say that American culture poses special challenges. Our freedoms to assemble, to speak our minds, to ignore good advice, and to second-guess authority can facilitate the spread of a virus. “We’re not China—we can’t order people to stay inside,” Besser said. “Democracy is a great thing, but it means, for something like COVID-19, we have to persuade people to coöperate if we want to save their lives.”
On February 28th, around the time that Riedo learned of the COVID-19 cluster at the Life Care nursing home, the news was also relayed to another E.I.S. alum, Dr. Jeff Duchin, the top public-health physician for Seattle and surrounding King County. To Duchin, the cluster suggested that there was already an area-wide outbreak. He told Dow Constantine, the King County Executive, that it was time to start considering restrictions on public gatherings and telling residents to stay home. This advice struck Constantine as possibly crazy. There were only two dozen COVID-19 diagnoses in the entire nation. Life looked normal. How could people be persuaded to stop going to bars, much less to work, just because a handful of old people were sick?
Constantine told me, “Jeff recognized what he was asking for was impractical. He said if we advised social distancing right away there would be zero acceptance. And so the question was: What can we say today so that people will be ready to hear what we need to say tomorrow?” In e-mails and phone calls, the men began playing a game: What was the most extreme advice they could give that people wouldn’t scoff at? Considering what would likely be happening four days from then, what would they regret not having said?
“Of course he’s home. He’s a snail.” Cartoon by Amy Hwang Copy link to cartoon Copy link to cartoon Shop Shop
Even for public-health professionals, the trade-offs were painful to contemplate. At a meeting of public-health supervisors and E.I.S. officials in Seattle, an analyst became emotional when describing the likely consequences of shutting Seattle’s schools. Thousands of kids relied on schools for breakfast and lunch, or received medicine like insulin from school nurses. If schools closed, some of those students would likely go hungry; others might get sick, or even die. Everyone also knew that, if the city shut down, domestic-violence incidents would rise. And what about the medical providers who would have to stop working, because they had to stay home with young kids? “It was overwhelming,” one E.I.S. official told me. “Every single decision had a million ripples.”
Yet the burdens caused by closing the schools could make an enormous difference in curtailing the spread of the virus: all kinds of parents would have to stay home. In 2019, Seattle had closed schools for five days after a series of snowstorms. Afterward, the Seattle Flu Study discovered that traffic in some areas had nearly disappeared, public-transit use had tumbled, and the transmission of influenza had dropped.
Constantine thought that announcing school closings was a potent communication strategy for reaching even people who weren’t parents, because it forced the community to see the coronavirus crisis in a different light. “We’re accustomed to schools closing when something really serious happens,” Constantine told me. “It was a way to speed up people’s perceptions—to send a message they could understand.”
While the logistics of classroom closures were being worked out, Constantine contacted Brad Smith, the president of Microsoft—which is headquartered in Redmond, east of Seattle—and asked him to consider ordering employees to work from home. “Microsoft is a big deal here,” Constantine told me. “I thought if they told everyone to stay home it could shift how the state was thinking—make the pandemic real.” Microsoft, as a tech company, was poised to switch quickly to remote work, and could demonstrate to other businesses that the transition could occur smoothly. On March 4th, with only twelve known COVID-19 fatalities across the nation and no diagnoses among Microsoft workers, the company told employees to stay home if they could. Smith told me, “King County has a strong reputation for excellent public-health experts, and the worst thing we could have done is substitute our judgment for the expertise of people who have devoted their lives to serving the public.” Amazon, which is also headquartered in the area, told many of its local employees to work from home as well. “That’s a hundred thousand people suddenly staying home,” one Seattle resident told me. “From commute traffic alone, you knew something big had happened.”


newyorker--2020-04-26--Pandemic Protests and Politics

Pandemic Protests and Politics

In late March , it became evident in the states holding Democratic primaries and other elections in April that , because of the coronavirus , it could be irresponsible to have voters cast ballots in person .
Some states announced that they would postpone their elections , while Ohio ( which had already done so ) joined Alaska and Wyoming in moving to vote almost entirely by mail .
Tony Evers , the Democratic governor of Wisconsin , sought to expand the use of mail-in ballots , but Republicans controlling the state legislature blocked him , arguing that the plan @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and was , in any event , unnecessary .
“ You are incredibly safe to go out , ” the Assembly speaker , Robin Vos , assured the electorate .
The standoff inspired lawsuits , and , on April 6th , the day before the vote , the U.S. Supreme Court ruled , 5–4 , not to allow Wisconsin voters extra time to mail their ballots .
( All the conservative Justices opposed giving extra time ; all the liberal Justices supported it . )
Ruth Bader Ginsburg wrote , in a dissent @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that an election staged amid a pandemic would not be much different from an ordinary one “ boggles the mind.
” The images from Election Day are indelible : Vos turned up as a volunteer poll worker , swathed in a protective gown , mask , and gloves , as citizens in homemade masks or with no protection at all lined up for blocks in some precincts , separated by the requisite two yards .
The election ’ s implementation was a fiasco .
Milwaukee had planned to operate a hundred and eighty @ @ @ @ @ @ @ owing to a dearth of volunteers , and more than ten thousand mail-in ballots requested by voters across the state never reached them , according to the Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel .
Last week , the city ’ s health commissioner announced that seven people had apparently contracted the coronavirus while participating in the vote .
The 2020 election is the first Presidential campaign in U.S. history to be upended by a deadly virus , and this comes on top of the burdens created by the divisive , reckless candidacy of Donald Trump .
There @ @ @ @ @ @ @ seem to welcome the pandemic ’ s strains on our democratic institutions .
On April 17th , the President surpassed himself in cynical opportunism and self-contradiction when he tweeted out support for incipient protests against stay-at-home orders issued by Democratic governors—orders that aligned with the policy of the Trump Administration and the advice of its public-health experts .
J .
B. Pritzker , the governor of Illinois , said that Trump , by urging his Twitter following to “ LIBERATE ” Minnesota , Michigan , and Virginia , and by persisting with such @ @ @ @ @ @ @ violence.
” The right-wing Michigan Freedom Fund , supported in part by the family of Betsy DeVos , Trump ’ s Education Secretary , promoted a protest in Lansing that attracted several thousand people , including some toting assault-style rifles .
Trump ’ s political aims seem apparent : with the economy in free fall , and his approval numbers soft , he is rousing his loyalists , particularly in swing states , counting on them—and a hoped-for economic rebound—to deliver a victory come November .
Americans love a good revolt , and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ incendiary talk-radio hosts , such as Alex Jones , of Infowars , may appeal to some peaceable citizens fed up with confinement or chafing at the encroachments on civil liberties required by the quasi-quarantines .
But , if Trump continues to run a populist campaign premised on jump-starting the economy in defiance of the advice of scientists and doctors , he will be fighting uphill—seven out of ten Americans say that it is more important to stay home to thwart the coronavirus than it is to return to work .
Last week , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Georgia , took Trump ’ s cue and announced a plan to reopen hair salons , bowling alleys , tattoo parlors , movie theatres , and restaurants , even though public-health specialists believe that such a move would be premature , because COVID-19 cases in Georgia haven ’ t declined sufficiently .
When experts denounced Kemp ’ s plan , Trump flummoxed Republicans by joining them .
Still , support for opening businesses quickly remains greater among Republicans than among Democrats or independents , and there is a danger that , in response @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the nation ’ s recovery by lifting restrictions too soon .
The Administration has also failed abjectly to provide enough tests to map the spread of the virus and the rates of recovery among those infected , depriving all governors and mayors of a vital means to manage risk while trying to revive jobs and businesses .
Unable to stage his trademark rallies , Trump has been forced to relocate his reëlection campaign to the White House press room , where , in the absence of fervent fans , his mixtape of sober @ @ @ @ @ @ @ reporters , and irresponsible touts of miracle cures—on Thursday , he speculated about injecting disinfectant—doesn ’ t play so well .
The President ’ s inconsistency and unreliability may at last be catching up with him : only a quarter of Americans , and just half of Republicans , say that they trust what he says about the pandemic .
But polls also indicate that he remains ahead or competitive in the states he won in 2016 .
The Democratic Party leadership has unified swiftly around Joe Biden , and yet on many @ @ @ @ @ @ @ cycle , while Trump vacuums up attention .
Right now , voters are the Democratic Party ’ s greatest asset ; they have been turning out in droves and knocking off Republican incumbents with impressive regularity since 2018 , even when their candidates are uninspiring .
In Wisconsin , on April 7th , Democrats chose Biden over Bernie Sanders , as had been expected .
But the voters stunned forecasters by electing a liberal justice to the Wisconsin Supreme Court , defeating an incumbent whom Trump had endorsed and narrowing the court ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ justices are scheduled to decide before November whether to sanction a Republican-backed plan to purge two hundred thousand people from Wisconsin ’ s voter rolls because they failed to respond to a letter inquiring about their addresses .
( Trump won the state in 2016 by fewer than twenty-three thousand votes . )
The proposed purge is part of a long-standing effort by conservative lawyers and activists to establish voting restrictions that disproportionately hurt Democrats .
Trump recently called mail-in voting “ a terrible thing.
” Perhaps the pandemic will have receded by @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ t , there is little reason to think that the President or his allies will surrender their positions .
If homebound , frustrated Americans want a cause to rally around , they might consider demanding the right to vote without having to risk their lives .
♦

Illustration by João Fazenda
In late March, it became evident in the states holding Democratic primaries and other elections in April that, because of the coronavirus, it could be irresponsible to have voters cast ballots in person. Some states announced that they would postpone their elections, while Ohio (which had already done so) joined Alaska and Wyoming in moving to vote almost entirely by mail. Tony Evers, the Democratic governor of Wisconsin, sought to expand the use of mail-in ballots, but Republicans controlling the state legislature blocked him, arguing that the plan was unworkable, might foster fraud, and was, in any event, unnecessary. “You are incredibly safe to go out,” the Assembly speaker, Robin Vos, assured the electorate.
The standoff inspired lawsuits, and, on April 6th, the day before the vote, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled, 5–4, not to allow Wisconsin voters extra time to mail their ballots. (All the conservative Justices opposed giving extra time; all the liberal Justices supported it.) Ruth Bader Ginsburg wrote, in a dissent, that the majority’s belief that an election staged amid a pandemic would not be much different from an ordinary one “boggles the mind.” The images from Election Day are indelible: Vos turned up as a volunteer poll worker, swathed in a protective gown, mask, and gloves, as citizens in homemade masks or with no protection at all lined up for blocks in some precincts, separated by the requisite two yards. The election’s implementation was a fiasco. Milwaukee had planned to operate a hundred and eighty polling places but opened only five, owing to a dearth of volunteers, and more than ten thousand mail-in ballots requested by voters across the state never reached them, according to the Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel. Last week, the city’s health commissioner announced that seven people had apparently contracted the coronavirus while participating in the vote.
The 2020 election is the first Presidential campaign in U.S. history to be upended by a deadly virus, and this comes on top of the burdens created by the divisive, reckless candidacy of Donald Trump. There are days when Trump and his backers seem to welcome the pandemic’s strains on our democratic institutions. On April 17th, the President surpassed himself in cynical opportunism and self-contradiction when he tweeted out support for incipient protests against stay-at-home orders issued by Democratic governors—orders that aligned with the policy of the Trump Administration and the advice of its public-health experts. J. B. Pritzker, the governor of Illinois, said that Trump, by urging his Twitter following to “LIBERATE” Minnesota, Michigan, and Virginia, and by persisting with such incitement, has been “fomenting some violence.” The right-wing Michigan Freedom Fund, supported in part by the family of Betsy DeVos, Trump’s Education Secretary, promoted a protest in Lansing that attracted several thousand people, including some toting assault-style rifles. Trump’s political aims seem apparent: with the economy in free fall, and his approval numbers soft, he is rousing his loyalists, particularly in swing states, counting on them—and a hoped-for economic rebound—to deliver a victory come November.
Americans love a good revolt, and the protests stoked by conservative networks and incendiary talk-radio hosts, such as Alex Jones, of Infowars, may appeal to some peaceable citizens fed up with confinement or chafing at the encroachments on civil liberties required by the quasi-quarantines. But, if Trump continues to run a populist campaign premised on jump-starting the economy in defiance of the advice of scientists and doctors, he will be fighting uphill—seven out of ten Americans say that it is more important to stay home to thwart the coronavirus than it is to return to work. Last week, Brian Kemp, the Republican governor of Georgia, took Trump’s cue and announced a plan to reopen hair salons, bowling alleys, tattoo parlors, movie theatres, and restaurants, even though public-health specialists believe that such a move would be premature, because COVID-19 cases in Georgia haven’t declined sufficiently. When experts denounced Kemp’s plan, Trump flummoxed Republicans by joining them. Still, support for opening businesses quickly remains greater among Republicans than among Democrats or independents, and there is a danger that, in response, Republican governors and mayors may jeopardize the nation’s recovery by lifting restrictions too soon. The Administration has also failed abjectly to provide enough tests to map the spread of the virus and the rates of recovery among those infected, depriving all governors and mayors of a vital means to manage risk while trying to revive jobs and businesses.
Unable to stage his trademark rallies, Trump has been forced to relocate his reëlection campaign to the White House press room, where, in the absence of fervent fans, his mixtape of sober reflections, false boasts, rants against reporters, and irresponsible touts of miracle cures—on Thursday, he speculated about injecting disinfectant—doesn’t play so well. The President’s inconsistency and unreliability may at last be catching up with him: only a quarter of Americans, and just half of Republicans, say that they trust what he says about the pandemic. But polls also indicate that he remains ahead or competitive in the states he won in 2016. The Democratic Party leadership has unified swiftly around Joe Biden, and yet on many days he barely surfaces in the news cycle, while Trump vacuums up attention.
Right now, voters are the Democratic Party’s greatest asset; they have been turning out in droves and knocking off Republican incumbents with impressive regularity since 2018, even when their candidates are uninspiring. In Wisconsin, on April 7th, Democrats chose Biden over Bernie Sanders, as had been expected. But the voters stunned forecasters by electing a liberal justice to the Wisconsin Supreme Court, defeating an incumbent whom Trump had endorsed and narrowing the court’s conservative majority to one. The justices are scheduled to decide before November whether to sanction a Republican-backed plan to purge two hundred thousand people from Wisconsin’s voter rolls because they failed to respond to a letter inquiring about their addresses. (Trump won the state in 2016 by fewer than twenty-three thousand votes.) The proposed purge is part of a long-standing effort by conservative lawyers and activists to establish voting restrictions that disproportionately hurt Democrats. Trump recently called mail-in voting “a terrible thing.” Perhaps the pandemic will have receded by November, but, if it hasn’t, there is little reason to think that the President or his allies will surrender their positions. If homebound, frustrated Americans want a cause to rally around, they might consider demanding the right to vote without having to risk their lives. ♦
A Guide to the Coronavirus


newyorker--2020-04-26--Did John Bolton Outfox Himself on His Own Tell-All Book?

During the impeachment investigation , John Bolton , President Trump ’ s onetime national-security adviser , played a cagey game with Congress .
He dropped hints suggesting that he knew a great deal about the President ’ s dealings with Ukraine—information that would have been highly relevant to the investigation .
He also had a big deal with Simon & Schuster for a tell-all about his time in the Trump Administration , and the book had a tantalizing title : “ The Room Where It Happened : A White House Memoir.
” Bolton dodged testifying before either the House or @ @ @ @ @ @ @ disclosures for the book-buying public .
But Bolton may have outfoxed himself .
Like anyone with access to classified information , he signed a prepublication-review agreement .
Each government agency that allowed Bolton access to its information—and , in the case of a national-security adviser , that would have been virtually all of them—has the right to review his manuscript and to excise purportedly improper disclosures .
Bolton left the government on bad terms with Trump , and it looks like the Administration may be taking revenge through the review process .
Charles @ @ @ @ @ @ @ has already complained about how the Administration is delaying and revising Bolton ’ s book , and his publication date has already slipped from March to May .
But there ’ s no guarantee that the review process will even be finished by May , either .
( Cooper and a spokeswoman for Simon & Schuster declined to comment . )
House investigators asked Bolton to testify last year , but he said he would do so only if a court ordered him to .
The Democrats leading the probe declined to enter @ @ @ @ @ @ @ so the House voted for impeachment without hearing his testimony .
At the last moment , Bolton said that he would comply with a subpoena to testify before the Senate trial , but the Republican majority refused to call any witnesses .
So Bolton made it through the Ukraine investigation without having to reveal what was in his book .
Still , if he had testified , most of his story would already be out in the open , and the Administration would have no grounds to claim that it was still classified @ @ @ @ @ @ @ testimony to Congress .
In other words , by ducking public testimony , Bolton protected the commercial value of his book , but he left himself at the mercy of the prepublication-review process .
That may turn out to have been a bad bet .
The key legal precedent involving prepublication-review agreements involves the book “ Decent Interval , ” by Frank Snepp , who was a strategy analyst for the C.I.A .
at the U.S. Embassy in Saigon when that city fell to the North Vietnamese .
Snepp had signed a contract @ @ @ @ @ @ @ his books for classified information prior to their release , but in 1977 he went ahead and published “ Decent Interval , ” a devastating critique of the agency ’ s handling of the end of the war , without doing so .
In 1980 , the Supreme Court ruled that the government could not withdraw Snepp ’ s book from circulation , but it could impose a “ constructive trust ” on his earnings from the book .
The Snepp case established the law as it remains today .
If you publish @ @ @ @ @ @ @ agreement , even if it turns out that the book includes no improper disclosures , the government will take your publisher ’ s advance and any other revenue you earn from the book .
( For example , the government has sought to obtain Edward Snowden ’ s book revenues , because he , too , failed to comply with a prepublication-review agreement . )
I have firsthand experience with this rule .
From 1987 to 1990 , I worked as a prosecutor in the Iran-Contra investigation , a complicated scandal involving the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ government of Iran , and the use of the proceeds to help anti-Sandinista rebels in Nicaragua .
I signed two prepublication-review agreements : one with the C.I.A .
and one with my boss , Lawrence Walsh , the independent counsel .
When I wrote a book about my experiences , I submitted it to both the agency and Walsh for review .
The C.I.A .
promptly approved it , without any changes , but Walsh refused to either approve or disapprove the manuscript .
If I had gone ahead and published without his @ @ @ @ @ @ @ my advance and future earnings from the book .
So Penguin Books , my publisher , and I , who were represented by Robert Baron , Aaron Marcu , and Martin Garbus , sued Walsh in federal court in New York for a declaratory judgment that we had a right to publish .
Judge John Keenan ruled in our favor , finding that I made no improper disclosures , and my book , “ Opening Arguments : A Young Lawyer ’ s First Case—United States v. Oliver North , ” was published in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ primer on prepublication-review agreements . )
Bolton now faces a similar dilemma .
He can publish the book with the redactions which have apparently been demanded by the Trump Administration .
Some books by former government employees have been published with whole sections blacked out .
Alternatively , he can do what I did : go to court and challenge the Trump Administration ’ s treatment of the book as unreasonable .
This is a tough road , because most judges defer to executive-branch officials about what ’ s classified , and court @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , to be resolved .
Bolton may yet resolve his dispute with the Administration and publish a largely unredacted book next month .
And it may also turn out that it would have been better for Bolton ’ s reputation , and for the public interest , for him to have done his civic duty and testified before Congress in the first place .

During the impeachment investigation, John Bolton, President Trump’s onetime national-security adviser, played a cagey game with Congress. He dropped hints suggesting that he knew a great deal about the President’s dealings with Ukraine—information that would have been highly relevant to the investigation. He also had a big deal with Simon & Schuster for a tell-all about his time in the Trump Administration, and the book had a tantalizing title: “The Room Where It Happened: A White House Memoir.” Bolton dodged testifying before either the House or the Senate, thus preserving his news-making disclosures for the book-buying public.
But Bolton may have outfoxed himself. Like anyone with access to classified information, he signed a prepublication-review agreement. Each government agency that allowed Bolton access to its information—and, in the case of a national-security adviser, that would have been virtually all of them—has the right to review his manuscript and to excise purportedly improper disclosures. Bolton left the government on bad terms with Trump, and it looks like the Administration may be taking revenge through the review process. Charles Cooper, Bolton’s lawyer, has already complained about how the Administration is delaying and revising Bolton’s book, and his publication date has already slipped from March to May. But there’s no guarantee that the review process will even be finished by May, either. (Cooper and a spokeswoman for Simon & Schuster declined to comment.)
House investigators asked Bolton to testify last year, but he said he would do so only if a court ordered him to. The Democrats leading the probe declined to enter into lengthy court battles with witnesses, so the House voted for impeachment without hearing his testimony. At the last moment, Bolton said that he would comply with a subpoena to testify before the Senate trial, but the Republican majority refused to call any witnesses. So Bolton made it through the Ukraine investigation without having to reveal what was in his book. Still, if he had testified, most of his story would already be out in the open, and the Administration would have no grounds to claim that it was still classified since he had already revealed it in testimony to Congress. In other words, by ducking public testimony, Bolton protected the commercial value of his book, but he left himself at the mercy of the prepublication-review process. That may turn out to have been a bad bet.
The key legal precedent involving prepublication-review agreements involves the book “Decent Interval,” by Frank Snepp, who was a strategy analyst for the C.I.A. at the U.S. Embassy in Saigon when that city fell to the North Vietnamese. Snepp had signed a contract allowing the agency to review any of his books for classified information prior to their release, but in 1977 he went ahead and published “Decent Interval,” a devastating critique of the agency’s handling of the end of the war, without doing so. In 1980, the Supreme Court ruled that the government could not withdraw Snepp’s book from circulation, but it could impose a “constructive trust” on his earnings from the book. The Snepp case established the law as it remains today. If you publish a book in violation of a prepublication-review agreement, even if it turns out that the book includes no improper disclosures, the government will take your publisher’s advance and any other revenue you earn from the book. (For example, the government has sought to obtain Edward Snowden’s book revenues, because he, too, failed to comply with a prepublication-review agreement.)
I have firsthand experience with this rule. From 1987 to 1990, I worked as a prosecutor in the Iran-Contra investigation, a complicated scandal involving the secret sale of American weapons to the government of Iran, and the use of the proceeds to help anti-Sandinista rebels in Nicaragua. I signed two prepublication-review agreements: one with the C.I.A. and one with my boss, Lawrence Walsh, the independent counsel. When I wrote a book about my experiences, I submitted it to both the agency and Walsh for review. The C.I.A. promptly approved it, without any changes, but Walsh refused to either approve or disapprove the manuscript. If I had gone ahead and published without his approval, I risked the loss of my advance and future earnings from the book. So Penguin Books, my publisher, and I, who were represented by Robert Baron , Aaron Marcu, and Martin Garbus, sued Walsh in federal court in New York for a declaratory judgment that we had a right to publish. Judge John Keenan ruled in our favor, finding that I made no improper disclosures, and my book, “Opening Arguments: A Young Lawyer’s First Case—United States v. Oliver North,” was published in 1991. (Here is a good primer on prepublication-review agreements. )
Bolton now faces a similar dilemma. He can publish the book with the redactions which have apparently been demanded by the Trump Administration. Some books by former government employees have been published with whole sections blacked out. Alternatively, he can do what I did: go to court and challenge the Trump Administration’s treatment of the book as unreasonable. This is a tough road, because most judges defer to executive-branch officials about what’s classified, and court cases take months, if not years, to be resolved.
Bolton may yet resolve his dispute with the Administration and publish a largely unredacted book next month. And it may also turn out that it would have been better for Bolton’s reputation, and for the public interest, for him to have done his civic duty and testified before Congress in the first place.


newyorker--2020-04-26--Sunday Reading: In Appreciation of New York City

Since the outbreak of COVID-19 , New York City has undergone a series of dramatic changes .
Many of the museums , cultural institutions , and other landmarks that make this city such an exhilarating place to live have been forced to shut down .
It can be easy to find ourselves wondering whether city life will ever return to normal .
This week , we ’ re bringing you a selection of pieces—an appreciation , of sorts—about New York City and some of the places and people that make it such a special town .
In “ Ever Higher @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the top of the Empire State Building on the eve of its completion , in 1931 .
( “ What ’ s it like that high up ?
Well , Bryant Park is a pancake , the Statue of Liberty is something to throw at a cat.
” ) In “ Street Life , ” Joseph Mitchell writes about his love of exploring the city ’ s varied neighborhoods .
( “ I wasn ’ t born here , I wasn ’ t a native , but I might as well have been @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ Mozzarella Story , ” Calvin Trillin chronicles his appreciation for the cheese made by the owners of Joe ’ s Dairy , a small shop in the South Village .
In “ The Book Refuge , ” Janet Malcolm visits with the three sisters who own Argosy Bookshop , the fabled rare-book store in midtown .
In “ The Grocery Store Where Produce Meets Politics , ” Alexandra Schwartz examines the chaotic communal ethos of the Park Slope Food Co-op , one of the biggest food coöperatives in the country .
Finally @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” Ian Frazier investigates the mystery behind a family-owned cherry factory in Brooklyn .
We hope that these pieces offer a welcome distraction for you this weekend .
A report from the top of the Empire State Building .
Becoming part of the city .
Three sisters keep a family business going .
First the red bees arrived ; then the Brooklyn cherry factory ’ s dark secret came to light .
The legendary Park Slope Food Co-op carries sustainable food , low prices , and New Yorkers ’ opinions in bulk .

Since the outbreak of COVID-19, New York City has undergone a series of dramatic changes. Many of the museums, cultural institutions, and other landmarks that make this city such an exhilarating place to live have been forced to shut down. It can be easy to find ourselves wondering whether city life will ever return to normal. This week, we’re bringing you a selection of pieces—an appreciation, of sorts—about New York City and some of the places and people that make it such a special town. In “Ever Higher,” James Thurber takes us to the top of the Empire State Building on the eve of its completion, in 1931. (“What’s it like that high up? Well, Bryant Park is a pancake, the Statue of Liberty is something to throw at a cat.”) In “Street Life,” Joseph Mitchell writes about his love of exploring the city’s varied neighborhoods. (“I wasn’t born here, I wasn’t a native, but I might as well have been: I belonged here.”) In “Mozzarella Story,” Calvin Trillin chronicles his appreciation for the cheese made by the owners of Joe’s Dairy, a small shop in the South Village. In “The Book Refuge,” Janet Malcolm visits with the three sisters who own Argosy Bookshop, the fabled rare-book store in midtown. In “The Grocery Store Where Produce Meets Politics,” Alexandra Schwartz examines the chaotic communal ethos of the Park Slope Food Co-op, one of the biggest food coöperatives in the country. Finally, in “The Maraschino Mogul,” Ian Frazier investigates the mystery behind a family-owned cherry factory in Brooklyn. We hope that these pieces offer a welcome distraction for you this weekend.
—David Remnick
A report from the top of the Empire State Building.
Photograph by Therese Mitchell / Courtesy Nora Mitchell Sanborn
Becoming part of the city.
Three sisters keep a family business going.
First the red bees arrived; then the Brooklyn cherry factory’s dark secret came to light.
Photograph by James and Karla Murray
A cheese ritual.
The legendary Park Slope Food Co-op carries sustainable food, low prices, and New Yorkers’ opinions in bulk.


newyorker--2020-04-26--Tori Amos Believes the Muses Can Help

Tori Amos Believes the Muses Can Help

At age five , the singer and pianist Tori Amos was the youngest student ever accepted into the Peabody Institute , a music and dance conservatory at Johns Hopkins University .
By eleven , she ’ d been dismissed , mostly for her disinclination to sight-read sheet music .
Instead , she came of age performing show tunes and standards in the piano bars and hotel lounges of Washington , D.C .
Her father , the Reverend Dr. Edison McKinley Amos , was her first manager .
“ With his clerical collar secure above the cross pinned to his lapel @ @ @ @ @ @ @ restaurant and bar on M Street , ” she writes in her new memoir , “ Resistance.
” In the nineteen-eighties , Amos moved to Los Angeles to pursue a career in music , forming a short-lived synth-pop band , Y Kant Tori Read .
Amos is featured on the cover of the band ’ s only album , wearing a bustier and elbow-length black gloves , holding a sword , with her red hair teased high and wild .
After the band ’ s dissolution , Amos went to England to work @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Earthquakes , ” a dark , gripping record about the burdens and ecstasies of being a woman at the end of the twentieth century .
It was a bold and personal reaction to the pressure she felt to behave in a way that might placate men .
Fourteen more albums followed .
Amos has always been a fearless political writer ; “ Me and a Gun , ” from “ Little Earthquakes , ” is a frank , harrowing , and autobiographical account of violent rape , one of the first songs directly @ @ @ @ @ @ @ audience .
Her new book explores how she developed and nurtured that voice .
On a Friday afternoon , during a slightly more normal time , Amos and I met at her sunny apartment in Tribeca .
She had recently arrived in New York from the U.K. , where she lives with her husband , the English sound engineer Mark Hawley , and their daughter , Tash .
In conversation , Amos was kind , earnest , and deeply impassioned .
The question of how musicians should react to political realities has been @ @ @ @ @ @ @ long time .
Her vantage on the world—she has been travelling and performing for more than three decades—has left her worried about the future .
“ Something ’ s happening right before our eyes , ” she said .
“ How do we make a living as artists and express what we feel we need to express ?
” We sat together in Tash ’ s bedroom and discussed Amos ’ s experiences performing in Russia , her childhood in Washington , her relationship to her creative muses—there are eleven of them—and what @ @ @ @ @ @ @ York shortly after 9/11 .
A few weeks later , just as the coronavirus had begun to shut down the country , we spoke again , on the phone .
Those conversations have been combined , edited , and condensed .
Fifteen years ago , you released your first book , “ Piece by Piece , ” a memoir co-written with the music journalist Ann Powers .
What made you feel as if it might be time for a second ?
My editor said , “ I think it ’ s time , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to write by yourself.
” Which is a very different thing than working with one of the great music journalists—it ’ s very different when you ’ re staring at a blank page alone .
My editor was curious about my story , and particularly my time in Washington , D.C .
When I first got a job there , I was thirteen , America didn ’ t want war , and Jimmy Carter was President .
But a country can change .
I watched it change , from the piano bars .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ deals .
In the book I call it “ the liquid handshake.
” I was watching legal corruption , and I was observing it from a very particular viewpoint .
I couldn ’ t vote in 1980 , but I had friends who could , and it amazed me how people would talk themselves into whatever they wanted to talk themselves into .
You began playing those piano bars along M Street , accompanied by your father , a Methodist reverend , when you were just a teen-ager .
Thirteen is an intense @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in the citadel of American politics .
Do you remember beginning to form a conception of “ country , ” and of how that idea might relate to art ?
I was being taught history by a wonderful man—I think his name was Dr. Marlow—at Richard Montgomery High School .
I was being taught the three branches of government , but I wasn ’ t being taught about the Federalist Society , I wasn ’ t being taught about legal criminality .
I started to observe it as a teen-ager .
Once I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ up in hairspray and Aqua Net , I got away from it .
After the 2016 election , other musicians would find me and say , “ How are we here ?
” They were reading people like Masha Gessen , who are asking questions about authoritarianism .
The question for me is : Does an artist have a responsibility when democracy is on the line ?
That ’ s my question for all artists , and the answer is different for each one .
I get e-mails from people talking to me @ @ @ @ @ @ @ them are just exhausted by the doom and gloom of it all .
And they ’ re considering , you know , just giving up .
When you ’ re just overloaded on news , it can be demoralizing .
This is where artists and writers have the ability to step in and really give people what they need .
Sometimes the point is to make something that gives people joy , so that they have a break from the panic .
I really think that even in the darkest of times , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ some kind of spiritual manna—or , as the British would say , the bloody bollocks to move forward and not get stuck .
That ’ s something that I think we ’ ve all gone through—the feeling of “ What ’ s the use ?
” I ’ m here to light that match and get you off your ass .
I think all artists are being called at this time .
You talk a lot in the book about how failure has shaped you , beginning in 1974 , when you were @ @ @ @ @ @ @ You were only eleven .
Years later , in 1988 , you had another failure , when your first record , “ Y Kant Tori Read , ” didn ’ t exactly work out the way you ’ d hoped .
God knows what would have happened if that had been a success .
I left L.A.—I was sent by the record company to England—and I started writing “ Little Earthquakes.
” Doug Morris was running Atlantic Records at the time , and he believed that Max Hole , who was the head @ @ @ @ @ @ @ side of the label , would understand “ Little Earthquakes.
” Doug ’ s idea about cross-continental collaboration was not a given template , but his instinct proved to be accurate .
It took me four years to really write about my betrayal of my instrument .
My daughter , Tash , and her friends will come out to dinner with my husband and me , and they ’ ll sit around and ask me questions about music .
They talk about the envy , and they talk about the depression .
What @ @ @ @ @ @ @ It took me a big failure.
” Nobody cared .
I was just a blip on Billboard , you know ?
It didn ’ t really stop anybody ’ s day .
But it struck me down to the ground .
It takes time .
You might be looking at somebody your age who knows their writer ’ s voice , who has found it—and that can be very difficult .
I wanted to talk about that difficulty in the book , because we lose a lot of artists in this vulnerable place @ @ @ @ @ @ @ even a calling to the language of music , but if that isn ’ t nurtured , Amanda , then it can get stunted .
Mozart comes around once every gazillion years .
There are a lot of good musicians out there who need mentors—they need to be taught how to practice , and how to change “ practice ” from a pejorative into an adventure .
Which is not an easy thing !

At age five, the singer and pianist Tori Amos was the youngest student ever accepted into the Peabody Institute, a music and dance conservatory at Johns Hopkins University. By eleven, she’d been dismissed, mostly for her disinclination to sight-read sheet music. Instead, she came of age performing show tunes and standards in the piano bars and hotel lounges of Washington, D.C. Her father, the Reverend Dr. Edison McKinley Amos, was her first manager. “With his clerical collar secure above the cross pinned to his lapel, we asked to play at every restaurant and bar on M Street,” she writes in her new memoir, “Resistance.”
In the nineteen-eighties, Amos moved to Los Angeles to pursue a career in music, forming a short-lived synth-pop band, Y Kant Tori Read. Amos is featured on the cover of the band’s only album, wearing a bustier and elbow-length black gloves, holding a sword, with her red hair teased high and wild. After the band’s dissolution, Amos went to England to work on her solo début, “Little Earthquakes,” a dark, gripping record about the burdens and ecstasies of being a woman at the end of the twentieth century. It was a bold and personal reaction to the pressure she felt to behave in a way that might placate men. Fourteen more albums followed.
Amos has always been a fearless political writer; “Me and a Gun,” from “Little Earthquakes,” is a frank, harrowing, and autobiographical account of violent rape, one of the first songs directly addressing sexual assault to reach a wide audience. Her new book explores how she developed and nurtured that voice. On a Friday afternoon, during a slightly more normal time, Amos and I met at her sunny apartment in Tribeca. She had recently arrived in New York from the U.K., where she lives with her husband, the English sound engineer Mark Hawley, and their daughter, Tash. In conversation, Amos was kind, earnest, and deeply impassioned. The question of how musicians should react to political realities has been on Amos’s mind for a long time. Her vantage on the world—she has been travelling and performing for more than three decades—has left her worried about the future. “Something’s happening right before our eyes,” she said. “How do we make a living as artists and express what we feel we need to express?” We sat together in Tash’s bedroom and discussed Amos’s experiences performing in Russia, her childhood in Washington, her relationship to her creative muses—there are eleven of them—and what it was like to perform in New York shortly after 9/11. A few weeks later, just as the coronavirus had begun to shut down the country, we spoke again, on the phone. Those conversations have been combined, edited, and condensed.
Fifteen years ago, you released your first book, “Piece by Piece,” a memoir co-written with the music journalist Ann Powers. What made you feel as if it might be time for a second?
My editor said, “I think it’s time, and I think you’re ready to write by yourself.” Which is a very different thing than working with one of the great music journalists—it’s very different when you’re staring at a blank page alone. My editor was curious about my story, and particularly my time in Washington, D.C. When I first got a job there, I was thirteen, America didn’t want war, and Jimmy Carter was President. But a country can change. I watched it change, from the piano bars. That was where the lobbyists did their deals. In the book I call it “the liquid handshake.” I was watching legal corruption, and I was observing it from a very particular viewpoint. I couldn’t vote in 1980, but I had friends who could, and it amazed me how people would talk themselves into whatever they wanted to talk themselves into.
You began playing those piano bars along M Street, accompanied by your father, a Methodist reverend, when you were just a teen-ager. Thirteen is an intense and formative age, and you were in the citadel of American politics. Do you remember beginning to form a conception of “country,” and of how that idea might relate to art?
I was being taught history by a wonderful man—I think his name was Dr. Marlow—at Richard Montgomery High School. I was being taught the three branches of government, but I wasn’t being taught about the Federalist Society, I wasn’t being taught about legal criminality. I started to observe it as a teen-ager. Once I moved to L.A., and got caught up in hairspray and Aqua Net, I got away from it. After the 2016 election, other musicians would find me and say, “How are we here?” They were reading people like Masha Gessen, who are asking questions about authoritarianism. The question for me is: Does an artist have a responsibility when democracy is on the line? That’s my question for all artists, and the answer is different for each one.
I get e-mails from people talking to me about their experiences, and some of them are just exhausted by the doom and gloom of it all. And they’re considering, you know, just giving up. When you’re just overloaded on news, it can be demoralizing. This is where artists and writers have the ability to step in and really give people what they need. Sometimes the point is to make something that gives people joy, so that they have a break from the panic. I really think that even in the darkest of times, our ancestors got something from art, some kind of spiritual manna—or, as the British would say, the bloody bollocks to move forward and not get stuck. That’s something that I think we’ve all gone through—the feeling of “What’s the use?” I’m here to light that match and get you off your ass. I think all artists are being called at this time.
You talk a lot in the book about how failure has shaped you, beginning in 1974, when you were kicked out of the Peabody Conservatory. You were only eleven. Years later, in 1988, you had another failure, when your first record, “Y Kant Tori Read,” didn’t exactly work out the way you’d hoped.
God knows what would have happened if that had been a success. I left L.A.—I was sent by the record company to England—and I started writing “Little Earthquakes.” Doug Morris was running Atlantic Records at the time, and he believed that Max Hole, who was the head of East West Records, the U.K. side of the label, would understand “Little Earthquakes.” Doug’s idea about cross-continental collaboration was not a given template, but his instinct proved to be accurate. It took me four years to really write about my betrayal of my instrument.
My daughter, Tash, and her friends will come out to dinner with my husband and me, and they’ll sit around and ask me questions about music. They talk about the envy, and they talk about the depression. What I say to them is, “It took me a big failure.” Nobody cared. I was just a blip on Billboard, you know? It didn’t really stop anybody’s day. But it struck me down to the ground. It takes time. You might be looking at somebody your age who knows their writer’s voice, who has found it—and that can be very difficult. I wanted to talk about that difficulty in the book, because we lose a lot of artists in this vulnerable place. Somebody might have ability, or even a calling to the language of music, but if that isn’t nurtured, Amanda, then it can get stunted. Mozart comes around once every gazillion years. There are a lot of good musicians out there who need mentors—they need to be taught how to practice, and how to change “practice” from a pejorative into an adventure. Which is not an easy thing!