newyorker--2020-08-22--The Complicated Ethics of Keeping a COVID-19 Patient Breathing

At the height of the coronavirus pandemic in New York City , Dr. Brian Mitzman led the team at N.Y.U .
Winthrop hospital , in Long Island , that oversees tracheostomies , meaning that it was his job to decide how to keep the sickest ventilated COVID-19 patients breathing .
All patients on a ventilator initially have air delivered to them via an endotracheal tube , which is inserted through the mouth and into the windpipe .
The procedure usually requires patients to be unconscious—often , for two or three weeks .
Many of these patients do not survive .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ the three-week point , the protocol is to perform a tracheostomy .
A trach , in medical argot , is a tube surgically inserted through the throat .
Trachs allow most patients to wake up .
Over time , this is better for the body , so much so that Mitzman and his colleagues at N.Y.U .
believe that “ traching ” some of the hospital ’ s COVID-19 patients as early as possible—up to sixteen days earlier than advised—has saved lives .
Under normal conditions , a tracheostomy is a straightforward and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the question of whom to trach , and when , has presented doctors with one of their most difficult rationing decisions—how best to ration themselves .
The idea of traching COVID-19 patients early is contentious .
( During the SARS outbreak , in 2003 , doctors and nurses who performed tracheostomies increased their chances of infection by a factor of four . )
The typical tracheostomy is a super-spreading event .
While a patient is on a ventilator , a surgeon cuts a hole in the throat .
As a result , air @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , and saliva through the incision , aerosolizing the virus .
In late March , researchers in Israel conducted a simulation of a similar procedure , using fluorescent markers to represent viral droplets .
The doctors and nurses who participated wore the personal protective equipment recommended by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and the World Health Organization : N95 respirators , eye protection , gowns , and gloves .
Yet , after the procedure , when illuminated under a black light , their hair glowed with constellations of fluorescent particles .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ of the participants , even those who wore face shields , exhibited direct skin contact—usually right below their jawlines .
In April , Mitzman ’ s hospital received two COVID-19 patients with remarkably similar profiles , as though they were medical twins .
Both were otherwise healthy men in their fifties , fathers from the local community .
Both were put immediately on a ventilator , and , soon , an ECMO machine , an external device that mechanically pumps oxygen into the blood .
“ Their prognosis was very bad , ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ two of the sickest patients in the hospital , at certain points .
When you have this disease , and you require a ventilator and ECMO , your chance at survival is likely less than ten per cent.
” He faced a choice : traching the men early might help , but it would put those who were treating them at higher risk , which could then lead to its own cascading spread of the virus .
“ Would these trachs really be helping the patients ?
It seemed like it would , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ doctors really be safe ?
We didn ’ t know.
” What was worth risking for two patients who were unlikely to survive , anyway ?
Doctors risk their lives when performing many COVID-19 interventions ; they increase their risk of exposure by merely showing up at the hospital .
Endotracheal intubations , for example , are also super-spreading events , but by the time a patient needs one the choice is clear : do it or let the patient die .
The benefits of early tracheostomy , on the other hand , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of the pandemic , the American Academy of Otolaryngology—Head and Neck Surgery , a major professional group in the field , recommended waiting at least two to three weeks before inserting a trach .
Patients tend to be less contagious at this point .
It also eliminates useless exposures ; after three weeks , the patients who are going to die will probably already be dead .
In the spring , Robert Cerfolio , the chief of hospital operations for N.Y.U .
Langone Health , was making surgical rounds when he encountered a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ with thick secretions , a common but life-threatening complication for intubated COVID-19 patients .
He asked the nurses and respiratory therapists why they hadn ’ t intervened .
They told him that they were not allowed to ; the patient could still be shedding the virus , and the procedure could spread it .
Cerfolio made a decision : disregard the guidelines .
He wanted his staff to behave as they would for any other , non-contagious patient .
Recently , Cerfolio told me that the situation reminded him of the AIDS epidemic @ @ @ @ @ @ @ on patients who were H.I.V.-positive .
“ Twenty years later , not many people got AIDS from operating on them , not unless you ’ re a real idiot , ” he said .
( Unlike COVID-19 , however , H.I.V .
is not transmitted through the air . )
Cerfolio was sitting in his office in Kips Bay , where a flat-screen showed live feeds of nine different operating rooms .
The day he changed the hospital ’ s policy , he said , colleagues at other institutions called to accuse him @ @ @ @ @ @ @ doctors refused to participate .
They saw it as reckless .
“ We get paid a hell of a lot more money than firemen and policemen—a hell of a lot more with a couple of zeros after it—and part of that ’ s the responsibility of being a professional , ” Cerfolio said .
“ So I draw the line that , if it can help the patient , it ’ s incumbent on us to do it.
” When I spoke with Cerfolio , Mitzman joined us , and Cerfolio , who @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was a millennial .
“ Technically , ” Mitzman said , shaking his head .
“ Unfortunately.
” ( He was born in 1985 . )
“ That ’ s O.K.
, ” Cerfolio said .
“ I love the millennials !
” But he worries that doctors of that generation place too much of an emphasis on risk avoidance .
“ They draw the line in a very different place than I do , ” he said .
Mitzman admitted that he needed to overcome his fear , both of the virus @ @ @ @ @ @ @ didn ’ t want to put his team at risk for nothing .
He told Cerfolio that he had developed his own risk-assessment tool : if the patient was his own father , what would he do ?
The test naturally favored one course of action .
It meant that , for the twin patients at his hospital , he proceeded with the trachs .
I first spoke to Mitzman this past spring , at the peak of the pandemic in New York .
He has two children under the age of four @ @ @ @ @ @ @ his wife , at their grandparents ’ house , in order to not expose themselves to him .
His hours were long , and he and his colleagues were emotionally drained in ways that they ’ d never experienced .
They were also scared .
“ We ’ re not volunteers , ” he said .
“ People are doing this because it ’ s their job and they have to , and it is terrifying.
” In New York , the crisis in the intensive-care wards has subsided .
Mitzman , who @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , recently left for a new job at the University of Utah .
But as New York prepares for future waves of the coronavirus , and as hospitals in California and Florida and across the Southwest have plunged fully into their own crises , doctors are reëvaluating the techniques that they have used to fight the virus thus far .
One of the most fundamental questions—how to keep a patient breathing—has prompted a reassessment of the early tracheostomy .
The emerging consensus is earlier intervention .
“ What we were told is basically @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , ” Benjamin Braslow , a chief of emergency surgery in the University of Pennsylvania Health System , told me .
Susannah Hills , an airway surgeon , is part of a tracheostomy team at Columbia University Irving Medical Center .
The team , when it formed at the start of the pandemic , decided to avoid early trachs .
As the coronavirus made its way to the United States , Hills studied data from early surges around the world .
One report , out of a hospital in China , said that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to a COVID-19-positive patient undergoing sinus surgery had become infected , although it is not known whether they contracted the virus during the procedure .
An ear-nose-and-throat surgeon in Italy gave a lecture about the alarming rates of COVID-19 among the country ’ s doctors—and of resulting deaths .
Nobody had great data , but the anecdotal reports that Hills ’ s team read indicated that a surgeon who did enough tracheostomies would almost certainly catch the virus .
And one of the first papers out of Wuhan , based on a small @ @ @ @ @ @ @ per cent of ventilated patients were dying , anyway .
Hills ’ s team has conducted almost two hundred tracheostomies , but usually after at least two weeks .
“ We have to take care of the patients , and they are our priority , but you also have to be around to take care of the patients that keep coming , ” Hills said .
“ We had no idea when this was going to stop .
”

At the height of the coronavirus pandemic in New York City, Dr. Brian Mitzman led the team at N.Y.U. Winthrop hospital, in Long Island, that oversees tracheostomies, meaning that it was his job to decide how to keep the sickest ventilated COVID-19 patients breathing. All patients on a ventilator initially have air delivered to them via an endotracheal tube, which is inserted through the mouth and into the windpipe. The procedure usually requires patients to be unconscious—often, for two or three weeks. Many of these patients do not survive. For those that do, at around the three-week point, the protocol is to perform a tracheostomy. A trach, in medical argot, is a tube surgically inserted through the throat. Trachs allow most patients to wake up. Over time, this is better for the body, so much so that Mitzman and his colleagues at N.Y.U. believe that “traching” some of the hospital’s COVID-19 patients as early as possible—up to sixteen days earlier than advised—has saved lives. Under normal conditions, a tracheostomy is a straightforward and uncontroversial procedure. During the pandemic, the question of whom to trach, and when, has presented doctors with one of their most difficult rationing decisions—how best to ration themselves.
The idea of traching COVID-19 patients early is contentious. (During the SARS outbreak, in 2003, doctors and nurses who performed tracheostomies increased their chances of infection by a factor of four.) The typical tracheostomy is a super-spreading event. While a patient is on a ventilator, a surgeon cuts a hole in the throat. As a result, air from the lungs sprays blood, mucus, and saliva through the incision, aerosolizing the virus. In late March, researchers in Israel conducted a simulation of a similar procedure, using fluorescent markers to represent viral droplets. The doctors and nurses who participated wore the personal protective equipment recommended by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and the World Health Organization: N95 respirators, eye protection, gowns, and gloves. Yet, after the procedure, when illuminated under a black light, their hair glowed with constellations of fluorescent particles. Their shoes lit up. Almost all of the participants, even those who wore face shields, exhibited direct skin contact—usually right below their jawlines.
In April, Mitzman’s hospital received two COVID-19 patients with remarkably similar profiles, as though they were medical twins. Both were otherwise healthy men in their fifties, fathers from the local community. Both were put immediately on a ventilator, and, soon, an ECMO machine, an external device that mechanically pumps oxygen into the blood. “Their prognosis was very bad,” Mitzman said. “These were probably two of the sickest patients in the hospital, at certain points. When you have this disease, and you require a ventilator and ECMO, your chance at survival is likely less than ten per cent.” He faced a choice: traching the men early might help, but it would put those who were treating them at higher risk, which could then lead to its own cascading spread of the virus. “Would these trachs really be helping the patients? It seemed like it would,” Mitzman said. “Would the doctors really be safe? We didn’t know.” What was worth risking for two patients who were unlikely to survive, anyway?
Doctors risk their lives when performing many COVID-19 interventions; they increase their risk of exposure by merely showing up at the hospital. Endotracheal intubations, for example, are also super-spreading events, but by the time a patient needs one the choice is clear: do it or let the patient die. The benefits of early tracheostomy, on the other hand, are more ambiguous. At the start of the pandemic, the American Academy of Otolaryngology—Head and Neck Surgery, a major professional group in the field, recommended waiting at least two to three weeks before inserting a trach. Patients tend to be less contagious at this point. It also eliminates useless exposures; after three weeks, the patients who are going to die will probably already be dead. In the spring, Robert Cerfolio, the chief of hospital operations for N.Y.U. Langone Health, was making surgical rounds when he encountered a patient whose mouth-inserted breathing tube was plugging with thick secretions, a common but life-threatening complication for intubated COVID-19 patients. He asked the nurses and respiratory therapists why they hadn’t intervened. They told him that they were not allowed to; the patient could still be shedding the virus, and the procedure could spread it. Cerfolio made a decision: disregard the guidelines. He wanted his staff to behave as they would for any other, non-contagious patient.
Recently, Cerfolio told me that the situation reminded him of the AIDS epidemic, when some surgeons refused to operate on patients who were H.I.V.-positive. “Twenty years later, not many people got AIDS from operating on them, not unless you’re a real idiot,” he said. (Unlike COVID-19, however, H.I.V. is not transmitted through the air.) Cerfolio was sitting in his office in Kips Bay, where a flat-screen showed live feeds of nine different operating rooms. The day he changed the hospital’s policy, he said, colleagues at other institutions called to accuse him of malpractice. Some of his own doctors refused to participate. They saw it as reckless. “We get paid a hell of a lot more money than firemen and policemen—a hell of a lot more with a couple of zeros after it—and part of that’s the responsibility of being a professional,” Cerfolio said. “So I draw the line that, if it can help the patient, it’s incumbent on us to do it.”
When I spoke with Cerfolio, Mitzman joined us, and Cerfolio, who is fifty-eight, asked Mitzman if he was a millennial. “Technically,” Mitzman said, shaking his head. “Unfortunately.” (He was born in 1985.)
“That’s O.K.,” Cerfolio said. “I love the millennials!” But he worries that doctors of that generation place too much of an emphasis on risk avoidance. “They draw the line in a very different place than I do,” he said.
Mitzman admitted that he needed to overcome his fear, both of the virus and of being needlessly reckless; he didn’t want to put his team at risk for nothing. He told Cerfolio that he had developed his own risk-assessment tool: if the patient was his own father, what would he do? The test naturally favored one course of action. It meant that, for the twin patients at his hospital, he proceeded with the trachs.
I first spoke to Mitzman this past spring, at the peak of the pandemic in New York. He has two children under the age of four, who were staying, along with his wife, at their grandparents’ house, in order to not expose themselves to him. His hours were long, and he and his colleagues were emotionally drained in ways that they’d never experienced. They were also scared. “We’re not volunteers,” he said. “People are doing this because it’s their job and they have to, and it is terrifying.”
In New York, the crisis in the intensive-care wards has subsided. Mitzman, who is a cancer surgeon in non-plague times, recently left for a new job at the University of Utah. But as New York prepares for future waves of the coronavirus, and as hospitals in California and Florida and across the Southwest have plunged fully into their own crises, doctors are reëvaluating the techniques that they have used to fight the virus thus far. One of the most fundamental questions—how to keep a patient breathing—has prompted a reassessment of the early tracheostomy. The emerging consensus is earlier intervention. “What we were told is basically the opposite of what we do now,” Benjamin Braslow, a chief of emergency surgery in the University of Pennsylvania Health System, told me.
Susannah Hills, an airway surgeon, is part of a tracheostomy team at Columbia University Irving Medical Center. The team, when it formed at the start of the pandemic, decided to avoid early trachs. As the coronavirus made its way to the United States, Hills studied data from early surges around the world. One report, out of a hospital in China, said that fourteen medical professionals who had provided care to a COVID-19-positive patient undergoing sinus surgery had become infected, although it is not known whether they contracted the virus during the procedure. An ear-nose-and-throat surgeon in Italy gave a lecture about the alarming rates of COVID-19 among the country’s doctors—and of resulting deaths. Nobody had great data, but the anecdotal reports that Hills’s team read indicated that a surgeon who did enough tracheostomies would almost certainly catch the virus. And one of the first papers out of Wuhan, based on a small group of patients, indicated that ninety-seven per cent of ventilated patients were dying, anyway. Hills’s team has conducted almost two hundred tracheostomies, but usually after at least two weeks. “We have to take care of the patients, and they are our priority, but you also have to be around to take care of the patients that keep coming,” Hills said. “We had no idea when this was going to stop.”
Hospitals around the world have been forced into wrenching decisions. Tom Routledge, a surgeon at Guy’s and St. Thomas’ Hospitals in London, told me that, in May, some surgical teams there decided to put off most procedures that could aerosolize the virus. Still, he said, “the risk to colleagues has been brutally and tragically borne out.” To protect staff members with comorbidities, the hospitals made another uncomfortable choice. “When a high-risk procedure needs to be done,” he said, “we try to put together a scratch team that is relatively safe—younger, whiter, fitter, and, best of all, nurses or doctors who have had the virus and who we hope have some sort of immunity.” Routledge himself tested positive for the virus in April; he is now regularly on call to replace more vulnerable colleagues.
In the U.S., at the start of the pandemic, decisions to perform early tracheostomies were affected by material shortages. (Hills told me that an initial lack of P.P.E. contributed to her team’s concerns about performing the procedure early on.) But tracheostomies have also been shown to reduce the amount of time that a patient needs to spend on a ventilator, freeing up scarce resources. “We had shortages of ventilators. We had shortages of medicines to put them to sleep,” Cerfolio recalled. “We didn’t run out of anything at N.Y.U., but we were friggin’ close a couple of times.”
Doctors were also operating in a type of fog. Reliable data was scarce. The first papers on health-care-provider safety have only recently begun to appear in medical journals. Mark Neuman, a doctor and researcher at the University of Pennsylvania, said that early reports have been encouraging. He is one of the leaders of intubateCOVID, a worldwide data project that tracks intubations during the pandemic, and he is interested in how much of a risk such procedures pose to health-care providers. The project has found that P.P.E., in particular, has greatly reduced infections. “There’s no question this is extremely high-risk,” Neuman said. “But, with P.P.E., the early signals show that the actual risk may not be much more elevated above the usual population.” He also concluded that patient safety and doctor safety “is not a zero-sum game.” Doctors were finding techniques for treating COVID-19 patients that were safer and just as effective.


newyorker--2020-08-22--What Was Missing from the Postmaster General’s Senate Testimony

Friday morning ’ s appearance by the Postmaster General , Louis DeJoy , before the Senate Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs Committee had the feel of a Zoom office meeting in which every participant feels the need to speak but no one has time to listen .
Senators appeared onscreen from scattered offices that were apparently unenhanced by Room Rater shaming , while DeJoy stood before flags and a Postal Service logo , speaking in business jargon that reflected his long career as a logistics-company executive .
The Kefauver or Watergate hearings this was not , and yet , in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ vague talking points from DeJoy , the hearing provided startling insights into why the U.S .
Postal Service may fail American democracy at this hour of crisis , and what must be addressed if people planning to vote by mail in November are to have high confidence that their ballots will be counted .
DeJoy is a longtime Republican and a Trump donor who took office in June , quickly reorganizing the Postal Service ’ s leadership and implementing new work rules that soon caused a slowdown in performance—a slowdown that has persisted @ @ @ @ @ @ @ testimony on Friday .
The hearing ’ s ostensible purpose was to investigate why this happened , how it will be fixed , and , above all , how the public can be assured that the Post Office will facilitate timely , reliable voting by mail this fall , when , owing to the pandemic , many more Americans are expected to cast ballots through the mail than ever before .
Yet the hearing was often as notable for the questions that weren ’ t asked as for the ones that were .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ his rehearsed points , and he duly pledged that the Postal Service is “ diligently working to assure the American public and to assure a successful election.
” More helpfully , he testified that he was “ extremely , highly confident ” that the service would deliver ballots to election offices on time in November—if voters mailed them at least seven days before the deadline to have their votes counted .
( The deadline varies from state to state , but many local laws may encourage voters to mail ballots much closer to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the event that voters wait too long , DeJoy implied , they may be disenfranchised . )
DeJoy decried what he called the “ insinuation ” by Democrats and media skeptics that , because he has a record as a political ally of Donald Trump , he might shape postal operations to favor the President ’ s reëlection .
He said this was “ frankly outrageous.
” It required Senator Mitt Romney , Republican of Utah , to remind DeJoy that the reason people worry about such dirty tricks is that Trump has @ @ @ @ @ @ @ he worries that it will favor Democrats , has claimed without evidence that it is susceptible to significant fraud , and has said that he might withhold funding for the Postal Service precisely because doing so might inhibit it .
With an ally like Trump , and with recent evidence of mail slowdowns , why would anyone take as a given that DeJoy was on the up and up ?
Judging by their scripts , Democratic senators came to the hearing with two objectives : to press DeJoy to disclose more details about @ @ @ @ @ @ @ its negative effects on postal performance , and to demand that he reverse—not merely suspend , as he had previously pledged to do—the removal of postal boxes and sorting machines which has been under way this summer .
DeJoy stonewalled demands by Democrats for data and transparency on these issues , and parried questions about the removal of boxes and equipment by arguing that these reductions had been going on for years and were incidental to on-time performance .
Senator Gary Peters , Democrat of Michigan , noted that the removal of mail-sorting @ @ @ @ @ @ @ at a time when his office is being flooded by complaints of slow delivery of medicines and other vital mail .
He asked DeJoy directly if he would reinstall any machines that had previously been removed .
“ There ’ s no intention to do that , ” DeJoy answered .
“ They ’ re not needed.
” He said the sorters that had been removed were only being used at about a third of their capacity .
At a time when the Postal Service is failing badly across the nation to meet @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the removal of any sorting machines , especially in states that may be closely contested in the upcoming election , can hardly be defended .
Yet the focus by Democrats and some media outlets on disappearing sorters and postal boxes ( seven hundred of the iconic blue street boxes have been removed since he took office , DeJoy testified on Friday , out of a total of a hundred and forty thousand nationwide ) looks like a distraction from two deeper problems at the Post Office , both of which seem more likely @ @ @ @ @ @ @ mail-in voting will be this fall .
The first problem is the ongoing , measurable decline in delivery performance that has been caused by DeJoy ’ s hasty management reforms .
DeJoy testified that by trying to implement a demanding program of on-time trucking operations , he failed to anticipate that the new schedules would fall out of synch with mail-production operations .
“ Certainly there was a slowdown in the mail when our production did not meet the schedule , ” he conceded .
He estimated that his botched program caused a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
DeJoy said that the disruption should have been fixed within days , but it had , in fact , lasted several weeks .
He pledged to address it , but senators on the committee did not press him on how he would do so , or exactly when , or on how the mere suspension of his policies would rapidly improve performance in time for the election .
DeJoy said that he would add resources to election-focussed operations beginning in October , but it wasn ’ t clear why he would wait @ @ @ @ @ @ @ come from , or why anyone should have confidence that his plans would work .
The nationwide decline in performance caused by DeJoy ’ s summer reforms is certainly consequential—senators from both parties read powerful letters from constituents who have been deprived of medication and other essentials because of slow mail—but that screwup is interacting with another crisis , one that DeJoy inherited and which did not attract much comment during Friday ’ s hearing .
This is the impact of the coronavirus pandemic on the postal workforce and the service ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ particularly in cities that have been hit hard by the virus , and which have large African-American populations .
Romney asked whether current mail delays are greater in some areas of the country than in others .
The Postmaster General answered that “ urban areas ” have suffered the greatest impact , because of “ the intimidation of the coronavirus , which scares our workers.
” He said that “ employee availability , ” meaning the number of people expected to turn up to work every day , had fallen about four per @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that “ when you can go into some of these what I would say hotspots—Philadelphia , Detroit—there ’ s as much as twenty , twenty-five per cent.
” In Philadelphia , he said , there are days when the Post Office is short two hundred letter carriers .
“ When the American people see two , three days that they haven ’ t seen their carrier , that ’ s an issue , ” DeJoy said , with understatement .

Friday morning’s appearance by the Postmaster General, Louis DeJoy, before the Senate Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs Committee had the feel of a Zoom office meeting in which every participant feels the need to speak but no one has time to listen. Senators appeared onscreen from scattered offices that were apparently unenhanced by Room Rater shaming, while DeJoy stood before flags and a Postal Service logo, speaking in business jargon that reflected his long career as a logistics-company executive. The Kefauver or Watergate hearings this was not, and yet, in between political speeches by the senators and vague talking points from DeJoy, the hearing provided startling insights into why the U.S. Postal Service may fail American democracy at this hour of crisis, and what must be addressed if people planning to vote by mail in November are to have high confidence that their ballots will be counted.
DeJoy is a longtime Republican and a Trump donor who took office in June, quickly reorganizing the Postal Service’s leadership and implementing new work rules that soon caused a slowdown in performance—a slowdown that has persisted until now, he admitted in his testimony on Friday. The hearing’s ostensible purpose was to investigate why this happened, how it will be fixed, and, above all, how the public can be assured that the Post Office will facilitate timely, reliable voting by mail this fall, when, owing to the pandemic, many more Americans are expected to cast ballots through the mail than ever before. Yet the hearing was often as notable for the questions that weren’t asked as for the ones that were.
Republican senators often invited DeJoy to deliver his rehearsed points, and he duly pledged that the Postal Service is “diligently working to assure the American public and to assure a successful election.” More helpfully, he testified that he was “extremely, highly confident” that the service would deliver ballots to election offices on time in November—if voters mailed them at least seven days before the deadline to have their votes counted. (The deadline varies from state to state, but many local laws may encourage voters to mail ballots much closer to the deadline than seven days; in the event that voters wait too long, DeJoy implied, they may be disenfranchised.)
DeJoy decried what he called the “insinuation” by Democrats and media skeptics that, because he has a record as a political ally of Donald Trump, he might shape postal operations to favor the President’s reëlection. He said this was “frankly outrageous.” It required Senator Mitt Romney, Republican of Utah, to remind DeJoy that the reason people worry about such dirty tricks is that Trump has repeatedly denounced mail-in voting, has said he worries that it will favor Democrats, has claimed without evidence that it is susceptible to significant fraud, and has said that he might withhold funding for the Postal Service precisely because doing so might inhibit it. With an ally like Trump, and with recent evidence of mail slowdowns, why would anyone take as a given that DeJoy was on the up and up?
Judging by their scripts, Democratic senators came to the hearing with two objectives: to press DeJoy to disclose more details about the management overhaul that he implemented and its negative effects on postal performance, and to demand that he reverse—not merely suspend, as he had previously pledged to do—the removal of postal boxes and sorting machines which has been under way this summer. DeJoy stonewalled demands by Democrats for data and transparency on these issues, and parried questions about the removal of boxes and equipment by arguing that these reductions had been going on for years and were incidental to on-time performance.
Senator Gary Peters, Democrat of Michigan, noted that the removal of mail-sorting machines in his battleground state was happening at a time when his office is being flooded by complaints of slow delivery of medicines and other vital mail. He asked DeJoy directly if he would reinstall any machines that had previously been removed. “There’s no intention to do that,” DeJoy answered. “They’re not needed.” He said the sorters that had been removed were only being used at about a third of their capacity.
At a time when the Postal Service is failing badly across the nation to meet its own standards for on-time delivery, the removal of any sorting machines, especially in states that may be closely contested in the upcoming election, can hardly be defended. Yet the focus by Democrats and some media outlets on disappearing sorters and postal boxes (seven hundred of the iconic blue street boxes have been removed since he took office, DeJoy testified on Friday, out of a total of a hundred and forty thousand nationwide) looks like a distraction from two deeper problems at the Post Office, both of which seem more likely to determine how much of a mess mail-in voting will be this fall.
The first problem is the ongoing, measurable decline in delivery performance that has been caused by DeJoy’s hasty management reforms. DeJoy testified that by trying to implement a demanding program of on-time trucking operations, he failed to anticipate that the new schedules would fall out of synch with mail-production operations. “Certainly there was a slowdown in the mail when our production did not meet the schedule,” he conceded. He estimated that his botched program caused a “four-or-five-per-cent hit” to mail-delivery times.
DeJoy said that the disruption should have been fixed within days, but it had, in fact, lasted several weeks. He pledged to address it, but senators on the committee did not press him on how he would do so, or exactly when, or on how the mere suspension of his policies would rapidly improve performance in time for the election. DeJoy said that he would add resources to election-focussed operations beginning in October, but it wasn’t clear why he would wait so long, where the resources would come from, or why anyone should have confidence that his plans would work.
The nationwide decline in performance caused by DeJoy’s summer reforms is certainly consequential—senators from both parties read powerful letters from constituents who have been deprived of medication and other essentials because of slow mail—but that screwup is interacting with another crisis, one that DeJoy inherited and which did not attract much comment during Friday’s hearing. This is the impact of the coronavirus pandemic on the postal workforce and the service’s ability to deliver mail on time, particularly in cities that have been hit hard by the virus, and which have large African-American populations.
Romney asked whether current mail delays are greater in some areas of the country than in others. The Postmaster General answered that “urban areas” have suffered the greatest impact, because of “the intimidation of the coronavirus, which scares our workers.” He said that “employee availability,” meaning the number of people expected to turn up to work every day, had fallen about four per cent nationwide during the pandemic, but that “when you can go into some of these what I would say hotspots—Philadelphia, Detroit—there’s as much as twenty, twenty-five per cent.”
In Philadelphia, he said, there are days when the Post Office is short two hundred letter carriers. “When the American people see two, three days that they haven’t seen their carrier, that’s an issue,” DeJoy said, with understatement.
According to quarterly performance reports for Detroit released on August 10th, which cover the period from April through June, on-time delivery of single-piece first-class mail collapsed by about twenty per cent, compared to the previous quarter. DeJoy testified that there “at least twenty” cities coping with “descending levels of consequence” for mail performance because of the coronavirus, although he did not name any cities other than Philadelphia and Detroit, which happen to be centers of large African-American populations whose voting will be decisive to the Presidential-election results in their battleground states.
If these pandemic-linked service deficits are not addressed by November, and if, therefore, delivery times in heavily African-American cities are much slower than in whiter, rural areas, the net effect may be large-scale voter suppression of Black citizens in an election heavily influenced by mail-in voting.


newyorker--2020-08-22--The Miracle of Breeding a Panda Cub During a Pandemic

In a year of tortured politics , nationwide protests , and a highly contagious pandemic , our troubled republic finally has something to celebrate .
Washington , D.C. , has a panda cub .
Mei Xiang , a mellow matriarch who weighs in at two hundred and thirty pounds , gave birth to a tiny , hairless pink cub weighing just ounces , at 6:35 P.M. Friday , at the National Zoo .
The wee panda , the size of a butter stick , introduced itself with a howling squawk .
The birth defied the zoological odds—Mei ’ s advanced @ @ @ @ @ @ @ partner panda , Tian Tian , to figure out how to mate , the zoo ’ s inability to extract fresh sperm from him fast , and , especially , the many complications from the COVID-19 pandemic .
A week after the pandemic forced the National Zoo to close , on March 14th , Mei began to ovulate .
Most of the zoo ’ s staff were ordered to stay at home or reduce hours .
In a race against time , a small team of reproduction specialists—all willing to risk the rules @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to artificially inseminate Mei , knowing that it probably wouldn ’ t work .
“ It ’ s overcoming the odds , and if there was ever a need for a sense of overcoming the odds , it ’ s now , ” Brandie Smith , the zoo ’ s deputy director , told me .
“ People need this .
It ’ s the story of hope , and the story of success , and the story of joy.
” The average lifespan of a panda—the world ’ s rarest and most @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in the wild , according to the World Wildlife Fund .
( The panda is its logo . )
Mei is twenty-two years old .
“ Given her age , she had less than one-per-cent chance of giving birth , ” Smith said .
Only one older panda in recorded history—anywhere in the world—has had a cub .
She was twenty-three ; she lived in China , the homeland of the world ’ s pandas .
Pandas are notoriously poor at reproduction , which is one of the many reasons they were long @ @ @ @ @ @ @ than two thousand in the wild .
To encourage sex , panda handlers in China have even tried giving males Viagra and showing them “ panda porn ” —videos of other pandas having sex—to the breeding pairs .
Females only go into estrus once a year—and only for twenty-four to seventy-two hours .
Unlike with humans , and many other mammals , including leopards , gazelles , and antelope , zoologists do not know how to induce or manipulate pandas ’ fertility cycles .
“ We have to wait for nature to take @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , one of the zoo ’ s veterinary specialists in species preservation , told me .
This year ’ s timing couldn ’ t have been worse .
Helping a panda reproduce is labor-intensive .
Just determining if and when Mei goes into estrus is tricky , and even harder during a pandemic .
The zoo has to collect her urine—with a syringe off whatever surface she pees on , when the two-hundred-and-thirty-pound bear isn ’ t looking—to test her hormone levels at the endocrinology laboratory .
This year , her hormones peaked @ @ @ @ @ @ @ The zoo veterinary team had to move fast , because mating wasn ’ t possible .
In 2004 , when Mei hit puberty , the zoo tried to get her and Tian Tian to breed naturally .
But Tian kept pushing Mei ’ s body down , rather than lifting it up to penetrate properly .
The zoo got creative .
It built wooden platforms and tried plastic cylinders to boost her body into the right position .
But the two giant bears never did consummate .
So the zoo , which has @ @ @ @ @ @ @ study the reproduction and the preservation of the species , turned to artificial insemination .
In the past , trying to get Mei pregnant has required two teams employing the same equipment and catheters used for intrauterine insemination of humans—with a catch .
“ These are wild animals , ” Comizzoli , who leads the operation , said .
“ You have to sedate them .
They are big carnivores.
” One team would sedate Tian and extract fresh semen .
“ Always better to get fresh semen , whatever the species , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ artificially inseminated an elephant , noted .
A second team would anesthetize Mei , empty her bladder with one catheter , then deposit the semen in her uterus with another .
Pandas also have notoriously small uteruses .
“ It goes extremely fast , ” he said .
“ It takes a matter of minutes to inject the semen.
” The pandemic changed all that .
The zoo assembled only one , smaller team .
“ This year , we wanted to minimize the number of procedures , so we had to go @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , ” Comizzoli said .
It had been there for five years .
To help widen the genetic pool , the zoo has in the past inseminated frozen semen from pandas in China as well as Tian ’ s semen—double inseminations to increase the odds of a pregnancy .
( Some artificial inseminations in China have used semen frozen from pandas who have since died . )
But the three cubs Mei has produced since 2005 have all been from Tian ’ s fresh semen .
The zoo ’ s team risked their @ @ @ @ @ @ @ cells—from the billions the zoo has stored—hoping that one would reach and fertilize the one or two eggs that Mei produced .
The zoo was skeptical .
“ The truth is that we know , in terms of biology , that after the age of twenty , it ’ s pretty advanced for reproduction , ” he said .
“ Our female is at that time of life when , yes , there are less chances of carrying a healthy fetus.
” Even at a younger age , Mei ’ s offspring had @ @ @ @ @ @ @ cubs have survived .
But on August 14th , Mei let zookeepers do a rare ultrasound in exchange for some of her beloved honey water ; she usually balks at the latter stage of a pregnancy or pseudo-pregnancy ( of which she has had several ) .
It revealed fetal tissue .
“ We are totally surprised , ” zoo spokeswoman Pamela Baker-Masson said , in an announcement .
“ Reproductively speaking , this is like a miracle.
” The pregnancy was big news across Washington , too .
Views on the zoo @ @ @ @ @ @ @ twelve hundred per cent .
On Friday , after news got out that she was in labor , the system repeatedly crashed .
Since China gifted the first pair of pandas to the United States , in 1972 , the bears have become the city ’ s unofficial but beloved symbol—replacing both the donkeys and elephants that symbolize the parties that rule ( at least technically ) from the capital .
Over the past week , the zoo set up a nursery , complete with three incubators , outside Mei ’ s nesting @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of her having twins—and rejecting one .
Twice , she has given birth to two cubs and one has died .
Panda mothers often will nurse and pay attention to only one cub .
The contingency plan was to keep one in the incubator and try to swap it every few hours to let her nurse both .
“ If she has two , our plan is to swap , ” Smith told me .
“ You have to sneak up on a giant panda and reach your hand under her belly and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
This is a bear that can crush a femur .
It ’ s a dangerous endeavor.
” If Mei refused to nurse one of the cubs , then the zoo would hand-raise it until it was viable on its own .
The previous cub , the mischievous and spirited Bei Bei , had a twin , but it soon died despite the zoo ’ s efforts .

In a year of tortured politics, nationwide protests, and a highly contagious pandemic, our troubled republic finally has something to celebrate. Washington, D.C., has a panda cub. Mei Xiang, a mellow matriarch who weighs in at two hundred and thirty pounds, gave birth to a tiny, hairless pink cub weighing just ounces, at 6:35 P.M. Friday, at the National Zoo. The wee panda, the size of a butter stick, introduced itself with a howling squawk. The birth defied the zoological odds—Mei’s advanced age, the life-long failure of her partner panda, Tian Tian, to figure out how to mate, the zoo’s inability to extract fresh sperm from him fast, and, especially, the many complications from the COVID-19 pandemic. A week after the pandemic forced the National Zoo to close, on March 14th, Mei began to ovulate. Most of the zoo’s staff were ordered to stay at home or reduce hours. In a race against time, a small team of reproduction specialists—all willing to risk the rules of social distancing—thawed eight hundred million sperm to artificially inseminate Mei, knowing that it probably wouldn’t work. “It’s overcoming the odds, and if there was ever a need for a sense of overcoming the odds, it’s now,” Brandie Smith, the zoo’s deputy director, told me. “People need this. It’s the story of hope, and the story of success, and the story of joy.”
The average lifespan of a panda—the world’s rarest and most endearing bear—is between fourteen and twenty years in the wild, according to the World Wildlife Fund. (The panda is its logo.) Mei is twenty-two years old. “Given her age, she had less than one-per-cent chance of giving birth,” Smith said. Only one older panda in recorded history—anywhere in the world—has had a cub. She was twenty-three; she lived in China, the homeland of the world’s pandas.
Pandas are notoriously poor at reproduction, which is one of the many reasons they were long endangered. Today, there are less than two thousand in the wild. To encourage sex, panda handlers in China have even tried giving males Viagra and showing them “panda porn”—videos of other pandas having sex—to the breeding pairs. Females only go into estrus once a year—and only for twenty-four to seventy-two hours. Unlike with humans, and many other mammals, including leopards, gazelles, and antelope, zoologists do not know how to induce or manipulate pandas’ fertility cycles. “We have to wait for nature to take its course,” Dr. Pierre Comizzoli, one of the zoo’s veterinary specialists in species preservation, told me.
This year’s timing couldn’t have been worse. Helping a panda reproduce is labor-intensive. Just determining if and when Mei goes into estrus is tricky, and even harder during a pandemic. The zoo has to collect her urine—with a syringe off whatever surface she pees on, when the two-hundred-and-thirty-pound bear isn’t looking—to test her hormone levels at the endocrinology laboratory. This year, her hormones peaked on March 22nd, during lockdown.
The zoo veterinary team had to move fast, because mating wasn’t possible. In 2004, when Mei hit puberty, the zoo tried to get her and Tian Tian to breed naturally. But Tian kept pushing Mei’s body down, rather than lifting it up to penetrate properly. The zoo got creative. It built wooden platforms and tried plastic cylinders to boost her body into the right position. But the two giant bears never did consummate. So the zoo, which has pandas, in large part, to study the reproduction and the preservation of the species, turned to artificial insemination.
In the past, trying to get Mei pregnant has required two teams employing the same equipment and catheters used for intrauterine insemination of humans—with a catch. “These are wild animals,” Comizzoli, who leads the operation, said. “You have to sedate them. They are big carnivores.” One team would sedate Tian and extract fresh semen. “Always better to get fresh semen, whatever the species,” Comizzoli, who has also successfully artificially inseminated an elephant, noted. A second team would anesthetize Mei, empty her bladder with one catheter, then deposit the semen in her uterus with another. Pandas also have notoriously small uteruses. “It goes extremely fast,” he said. “It takes a matter of minutes to inject the semen.”
The pandemic changed all that. The zoo assembled only one, smaller team. “This year, we wanted to minimize the number of procedures, so we had to go with frozen semen in our cryopreservation bank,” Comizzoli said. It had been there for five years. To help widen the genetic pool, the zoo has in the past inseminated frozen semen from pandas in China as well as Tian’s semen—double inseminations to increase the odds of a pregnancy. (Some artificial inseminations in China have used semen frozen from pandas who have since died.) But the three cubs Mei has produced since 2005 have all been from Tian’s fresh semen.
The zoo’s team risked their lives to inseminate eight hundred million sperm cells—from the billions the zoo has stored—hoping that one would reach and fertilize the one or two eggs that Mei produced. The zoo was skeptical. “The truth is that we know, in terms of biology, that after the age of twenty, it’s pretty advanced for reproduction,” he said. “Our female is at that time of life when, yes, there are less chances of carrying a healthy fetus.” Even at a younger age, Mei’s offspring had problems; only three of her six cubs have survived.
Mei Xiang, after giving birth to her panda cub. Photograph from AP / Shutterstock
But on August 14th, Mei let zookeepers do a rare ultrasound in exchange for some of her beloved honey water; she usually balks at the latter stage of a pregnancy or pseudo-pregnancy (of which she has had several). It revealed fetal tissue. “We are totally surprised,” zoo spokeswoman Pamela Baker-Masson said, in an announcement. “Reproductively speaking, this is like a miracle.” The pregnancy was big news across Washington, too. Views on the zoo’s popular panda cam soared by twelve hundred per cent. On Friday, after news got out that she was in labor, the system repeatedly crashed.
Since China gifted the first pair of pandas to the United States, in 1972, the bears have become the city’s unofficial but beloved symbol—replacing both the donkeys and elephants that symbolize the parties that rule (at least technically) from the capital. Over the past week, the zoo set up a nursery, complete with three incubators, outside Mei’s nesting den. They prepared for the possibility of her having twins—and rejecting one. Twice, she has given birth to two cubs and one has died. Panda mothers often will nurse and pay attention to only one cub.
The contingency plan was to keep one in the incubator and try to swap it every few hours to let her nurse both. “If she has two, our plan is to swap,” Smith told me. “You have to sneak up on a giant panda and reach your hand under her belly and take one of the cubs off her. This is a bear that can crush a femur. It’s a dangerous endeavor.” If Mei refused to nurse one of the cubs, then the zoo would hand-raise it until it was viable on its own. The previous cub, the mischievous and spirited Bei Bei, had a twin, but it soon died despite the zoo’s efforts.
The future of Washington’s pandas is uncertain. The new cub—whose gender may not be known for weeks—arrived in the midst of contract negotiations with China. The pandas are technically owned by China and leased to the zoo. Mei and Tian originally cost a million dollars a year; now the zoo pays half a million annually. Each cub has to be turned over to China by its fourth birthday, under the zoo’s existing agreement with China. Bei Bei, an adventurous bear who dared fate by climbing high into trees even after he reached two hundred pounds, went back last November. The current lease on Mei and Tian expires on December 7th. The National Zoo, one of the few free animal parks in the United States, has to raise the funds to pay its panda fees to China, plus cover the costs of facilities, staff, food, and panda health care—including artificial insemination. Each panda eats some forty pounds of bamboo a day. For all the celebrating, the new cub was also bittersweet for Washington. “No matter what, this will be Mei’s last cub. It’s the end of an era,” Smith told me. “We’re a little melancholy because these pandas have meant so much to the city, to the zoo, and to us as individuals.”


newyorker--2020-08-22--When June Jordan and Buckminster Fuller Tried to Redesign Harlem

In July of 1964 , on the Upper East Side of Manhattan , Thomas Gilligan , a white off‐duty police officer , shot and killed James Powell , a Black teen-ager .
Uprisings erupted in Harlem and Bedford-Stuyvesant , which lasted six nights and then ignited protests across the nation .
In the foreword to her book “ Civil Wars , ” the Black feminist writer and activist June Jordan wrote that , in the aftermath of the protests , “ I realized I now was filled with hatred for everything and everyone white .
Almost simultaneously it came to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ lasted , would mean I had lost the point .
.
.
.
I resolved not to run on hatred but , instead , to use what I loved , words , for the sake of the people I loved .
However , beyond my people , I did not know the content of my love : what was I for ?
” Jordan immediately provided an answer by throwing herself into what she called “ a collaborative architectural redesign of Harlem , ” in which she joined forces with the architect R. @ @ @ @ @ @ @ dome .
Jordan and Fuller called their collaboration “ Skyrise for Harlem ” : a plan for public housing that was attuned to the well-being of two hundred and fifty thousand of the neighborhood ’ s residents , most of them Black .
The project may have seemed a left turn for Jordan , who came to prominence through her essays and poetry .
But she had always conceived of her work as falling under the umbrella of environmental design— “ that is , ” she explained , “ in general , an @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of the world.
” Architecture , in particular , had long been a source of sustenance for the young artist .
Four years earlier , Jordan was an exhausted twenty-four-year-old mother of a toddler living in a housing project in Queens .
A friend who was trying to convince her to take a much-needed vacation dropped by with picture books about Greece in tow .
It was a “ fantastic visual inundation , ” Jordan later wrote .
“ It was in this way that I began to think about architecture.
” She @ @ @ @ @ @ @ week , she left her two-year-old son in the care of her husband and took the bus into Manhattan to the Donnell Library , where she sat for hours in the downstairs reading room , poring over books about architecture and design : Le Corbusier , Isamu Noguchi , the Bauhaus , and Fuller , a visionary of affordable , sustainable housing .
Jordan wrote , “ Fuller ’ s thinking weighed upon my own as a hunch yet to be gambled on the American landscape where daily , deathly polarization of peoples @ @ @ @ @ @ @ white violence escalated against Black life.
” The uprisings coincided with a turbulent period in Jordan ’ s life .
A week after the riots , Jordan ’ s husband wrote to say that he wouldn ’ t be returning to their home ; Jordan , increasingly destitute , sent her son to his grandparents .
She wrote to Fuller , he responded almost immediately , and they spent several months drafting “ Skyrise for Harlem , ” a plan for a neighborhood where residents had long been subjected to constant policing , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Their plan would transform Harlem without displacing any of its existing residents , who often became the collateral damage of “ urban renewal ” ( or what Jordan and others called “ Negro removal ” ) .
Urban renewal involves the designation of certain areas as “ blight ” —a term disproportionately applied to low-income Black and brown communities—in order to justify demolition of existing structures and authorize new building .
The practice was exemplified by Robert Moses , whose now-infamous Cross Bronx Expressway , for example , relied on denying the rich @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , which were then destroyed by the highway ’ s construction .
In contrast with urban-renewal projects that devalued Black and brown populations , Fuller and Jordan ’ s design sought to transform the environment in service of Harlem ’ s residents .
The plan was ambitious , but drastic measures were required .
“ Partial renovation is not enough , ” Jordan wrote .
“ A half century of despair requires exorcism.
” Columns installed in backyards would act as stilts so that construction of fifteen fireproof , conical towers could take @ @ @ @ @ @ @ would contain new dwelling space—light-filled apartments of twelve-hundred square feet , each equipped with a balcony and parking spot—as well as studios , concert halls , theatres , athletic fields , and recreational space .
Parking ramps and suspension bridges would cut through the towers , and green space and collective leisure areas would be expanded .
After construction was completed , the residents who lived in the buildings below would simply move up to the improved units .
After residents had settled into their new units , the old units would be @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for recreation , parking and so forth.
” The proposal—with its emphasis on cars and highways and high-rise public housing—shared certain tendencies with Moses ’ s visions .
But what critically distinguished “ Skyrise for Harlem ” from urban-renewal projects , in addition to its commitment to resisting displacement , was the emphasis on residents ’ imaginations .
This was a plan attentive to the creative possibilities of interior life and social space .
“ Every room has a view , ” Jordan wrote , noting that views would offer a counterpoint to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ might look onto the river and dream a while .
Under her married name , Meyer , Jordan wrote about “ Skyrise for Harlem ” in the April , 1965 , issue of Esquire .
Jordan chaffed against Esquire ’ s stipulations .
“ The limitation of 2500 words seems to me arbitrary and acceptable only if it becomes possible to adequately condense to a poetry of form the verbal aspect of the piece , ” she wrote to Fuller , emphasizing the project ’ s allegiance to radical imagination .
In the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ role in the project—perhaps to seize on the celebrity of her collaborator , who had appeared on the cover of Time the previous year .
“ Fuller ’ s design , ” “ Fuller ’ s circular decked towers , ” “ Fuller ’ s solution , ” Jordan wrote .
Still , their shared enthusiasm for the transformative potential of design comes through : “ There is no evading architecture , no meaningful denial of our position .
You can build to defend the endurance of man , to protect his existence @ @ @ @ @ @ @ can not build for these purposes merely in spasmodic response to past and present crises , for then crisis , like the poor , will be with us always.
” Jordan submitted the article under the headline “ Skyrise for Harlem , ” but the editors replaced it with one of their own , “ Instant Slum Clearance , ” which encapsulated precisely the dominant urban-planning idea that Jordan and Fuller ’ s design rejected : that Black residents were a form of contamination who had to be removed for a neighborhood to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Buckminster Fuller designs a total solution to an American dilemma : here , for instance , is how it would work in Harlem ” —clinched the project ’ s attribution to Fuller and reversed Jordan ’ s guiding question , “ What was I for ?
” It cast the plan from one motivated by the love of a particular place into one preoccupied with a generalized violence .
The check from Esquire arrived on December 24 , 1964 .
“ I pleaded with the bank to cash the check , immediately , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to the airport to pick up her son , who made it home just in time for Christmas .
“ Skyrise for Harlem ” never made it off the page .
Although Jordan insisted that the pair fully expected the plan to be carried out , its fate was hardly an anomaly for Fuller , whose spectacular ideas regularly outpaced his commitment to seeing them through .
Unlike many of Fuller ’ s other brainstorms , however , engagements with “ Skyrise ” have been scattershot .
A few sources have covered the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
A 1965 article in the Southern Illinoisan , Fuller ’ s local newspaper , described the proposal , giving sole credit to Fuller .
The Whitney ’ s exhibition “ Buckminster Fuller : Starting with the Universe , ” from 2008 , included the blueprint by Fuller ’ s associate Shoji Sadao that appeared alongside the Esquire article , with no mention of Jordan .
Jordan wrote about the project ’ s genesis and her frustration with Esquire ’ s editorial changes in “ Civil Wars .
”

In July of 1964, on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, Thomas Gilligan, a white off‐duty police officer, shot and killed James Powell, a Black teen-ager. Uprisings erupted in Harlem and Bedford-Stuyvesant, which lasted six nights and then ignited protests across the nation. In the foreword to her book “Civil Wars,” the Black feminist writer and activist June Jordan wrote that, in the aftermath of the protests, “I realized I now was filled with hatred for everything and everyone white. Almost simultaneously it came to me that this condition, if it lasted, would mean I had lost the point. . . . I resolved not to run on hatred but, instead, to use what I loved, words, for the sake of the people I loved. However, beyond my people, I did not know the content of my love: what was I for?”
Jordan immediately provided an answer by throwing herself into what she called “a collaborative architectural redesign of Harlem,” in which she joined forces with the architect R. Buckminster Fuller, champion of the geodesic dome. Jordan and Fuller called their collaboration “Skyrise for Harlem”: a plan for public housing that was attuned to the well-being of two hundred and fifty thousand of the neighborhood’s residents, most of them Black. The project may have seemed a left turn for Jordan, who came to prominence through her essays and poetry. But she had always conceived of her work as falling under the umbrella of environmental design—“that is,” she explained, “in general, an effort to contribute to the positive changing of the world.”
Architecture, in particular, had long been a source of sustenance for the young artist. Four years earlier, Jordan was an exhausted twenty-four-year-old mother of a toddler living in a housing project in Queens. A friend who was trying to convince her to take a much-needed vacation dropped by with picture books about Greece in tow. It was a “fantastic visual inundation,” Jordan later wrote. “It was in this way that I began to think about architecture.” She began a weekly routine. Once a week, she left her two-year-old son in the care of her husband and took the bus into Manhattan to the Donnell Library, where she sat for hours in the downstairs reading room, poring over books about architecture and design: Le Corbusier, Isamu Noguchi, the Bauhaus, and Fuller, a visionary of affordable, sustainable housing. Jordan wrote, “Fuller’s thinking weighed upon my own as a hunch yet to be gambled on the American landscape where daily, deathly polarization of peoples according to skin gained in horror as white violence escalated against Black life.”
The uprisings coincided with a turbulent period in Jordan’s life. A week after the riots, Jordan’s husband wrote to say that he wouldn’t be returning to their home; Jordan, increasingly destitute, sent her son to his grandparents. She wrote to Fuller, he responded almost immediately, and they spent several months drafting “Skyrise for Harlem,” a plan for a neighborhood where residents had long been subjected to constant policing, cramped quarters, and dilapidated schools. Their plan would transform Harlem without displacing any of its existing residents, who often became the collateral damage of “urban renewal” (or what Jordan and others called “Negro removal”). Urban renewal involves the designation of certain areas as “blight”—a term disproportionately applied to low-income Black and brown communities—in order to justify demolition of existing structures and authorize new building. The practice was exemplified by Robert Moses, whose now-infamous Cross Bronx Expressway, for example, relied on denying the rich cultural networks and microeconomies of East Tremont, which were then destroyed by the highway’s construction.
In contrast with urban-renewal projects that devalued Black and brown populations, Fuller and Jordan’s design sought to transform the environment in service of Harlem’s residents. The plan was ambitious, but drastic measures were required. “Partial renovation is not enough,” Jordan wrote. “A half century of despair requires exorcism.” Columns installed in backyards would act as stilts so that construction of fifteen fireproof, conical towers could take place above existing buildings. These towers would contain new dwelling space—light-filled apartments of twelve-hundred square feet, each equipped with a balcony and parking spot—as well as studios, concert halls, theatres, athletic fields, and recreational space. Parking ramps and suspension bridges would cut through the towers, and green space and collective leisure areas would be expanded. After construction was completed, the residents who lived in the buildings below would simply move up to the improved units. After residents had settled into their new units, the old units would be “converted into communal, open space for recreation, parking and so forth.”
The proposal—with its emphasis on cars and highways and high-rise public housing—shared certain tendencies with Moses’s visions. But what critically distinguished “Skyrise for Harlem” from urban-renewal projects, in addition to its commitment to resisting displacement, was the emphasis on residents’ imaginations. This was a plan attentive to the creative possibilities of interior life and social space. “Every room has a view,” Jordan wrote, noting that views would offer a counterpoint to the city’s density; residents might look onto the river and dream a while.
Under her married name, Meyer, Jordan wrote about “Skyrise for Harlem” in the April, 1965, issue of Esquire. Jordan chaffed against Esquire’s stipulations. “The limitation of 2500 words seems to me arbitrary and acceptable only if it becomes possible to adequately condense to a poetry of form the verbal aspect of the piece,” she wrote to Fuller, emphasizing the project’s allegiance to radical imagination. In the article, Jordan omitted her own integral role in the project—perhaps to seize on the celebrity of her collaborator, who had appeared on the cover of Time the previous year. “Fuller’s design,” “Fuller’s circular decked towers,” “Fuller’s solution,” Jordan wrote. Still, their shared enthusiasm for the transformative potential of design comes through: “There is no evading architecture, no meaningful denial of our position. You can build to defend the endurance of man, to protect his existence, to illuminate it. But you cannot build for these purposes merely in spasmodic response to past and present crises, for then crisis, like the poor, will be with us always.”
Jordan submitted the article under the headline “Skyrise for Harlem,” but the editors replaced it with one of their own, “Instant Slum Clearance,” which encapsulated precisely the dominant urban-planning idea that Jordan and Fuller’s design rejected: that Black residents were a form of contamination who had to be removed for a neighborhood to flourish. The subtitle—“R. Buckminster Fuller designs a total solution to an American dilemma: here, for instance, is how it would work in Harlem”—clinched the project’s attribution to Fuller and reversed Jordan’s guiding question, “What was I for?” It cast the plan from one motivated by the love of a particular place into one preoccupied with a generalized violence.
The check from Esquire arrived on December 24, 1964. “I pleaded with the bank to cash the check, immediately,” Jordan recalled. Then she headed to the airport to pick up her son, who made it home just in time for Christmas.
“Skyrise for Harlem” never made it off the page. Although Jordan insisted that the pair fully expected the plan to be carried out, its fate was hardly an anomaly for Fuller, whose spectacular ideas regularly outpaced his commitment to seeing them through. Unlike many of Fuller’s other brainstorms, however, engagements with “Skyrise” have been scattershot. A few sources have covered the project, without giving credit to Jordan. A 1965 article in the Southern Illinoisan, Fuller’s local newspaper, described the proposal, giving sole credit to Fuller. The Whitney’s exhibition “Buckminster Fuller: Starting with the Universe,” from 2008, included the blueprint by Fuller’s associate Shoji Sadao that appeared alongside the Esquire article, with no mention of Jordan. Jordan wrote about the project’s genesis and her frustration with Esquire’s editorial changes in “Civil Wars.”
The June Jordan Papers, at Harvard’s Schlesinger Library, contain the project’s most robust documentation. Based on their collaboration, Fuller wrote Jordan’s letter of recommendation for a Prix de Rome, which awarded her a fellowship in environmental design. In Rome, Jordan began research for what would become “Okay Now,” a still-unpublished novel that imagines a radical farming commune in Ruleville, Mississippi. Though Jordan—who, in 1973, was admitted to the Yale School of Art and Architecture—eventually moved away from the conventional study of design, her work bears out a sustained allegiance to design as a metamorphic practice. From “Okay Now” to her newspaper reporting to her memoir, “Soldier: A Poet’s Childhood,” from 2000, Jordan’s writing is characterized by deep attention to the entanglements of the built environment and social meaning, and a dedication to bringing about a spatial order where Black people could, as she wrote in a letter to Fuller, participate “in the birth of their own reality.”
Though “Skyrise for Harlem” wasn’t built, it wasn’t a failure; it was part of Jordan’s larger, lifelong literary project, and one that speaks with resonant clarity in this summer of uprisings against police brutality and other forms of anti-Black racism. What she called her “poetics of form” contested racist metaphors that linked Black people to blight. (Moses’s plan for the Cross Bronx Expressway, for example, mobilized a bundle of racist ideas in order to garner support for his project.) The world that produced the urgent need for a “Skyrise for Harlem” was the same one that foreclosed its realization. But as the geography professor and prison abolitionist Ruth Wilson Gilmore has written, “What the world will become already exists in fragments and pieces, experiments and possibilities.” The fragments of Jordan’s experiment might be sutured to our own broken-open moment.


newyorker--2020-08-23--Sunday Reading: Fashionable Minds

Sunday Reading: Fashionable Minds

Fashion has always been about the latest trends , but compelling and inventive design ultimately transcends era .
In 2013 , Kelefa Sanneh published a New Yorker profile of Dapper Dan , a Harlem couturier whose work influenced a generation of hip-hop legends .
The designer ’ s rogue creations restyled brand-name iconography from luxury houses such as Gucci and Louis Vuitton into custom-tailored jackets and other clothing .
( “ It was like wearing a Rolls-Royce on your back—it was so cocky , ” a stylist told Sanneh . )
His designs ushered in a renaissance in hip-hop style @ @ @ @ @ @ @ influence the reinvention of Europe ’ s design houses at the turn of the century .
This week , we ’ re bringing you a selection of pieces on the world of fashion and how it influences our culture .
In “ Some Clothes of One ’ s Own , ” Ingrid Sischy explores the radical simplicity of Miuccia Prada ’ s designs .
In “ Heavy Threads , ” Salman Rushdie recalls his introduction to British fashion , in the nineteen-sixties , when he lived above a legendary boutique .
In “ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Als writes about the edgy influence of the performance artist and muse Leigh Bowery .
Malcolm McLaren , the late manager of the Sex Pistols , chronicles the fashionable anarchy of the late nineteeen-seventies , and Winthrop Sargeant , in a piece from 1958 , describes the innovative fashion photography of Richard Avedon .
In “ Tavi Says , ” Lizzie Widdicombe examines the surreal life of the teen-age fashion blogger Tavi Gevinson .
Janet Flanner recounts how Coco Chanel helped liberate women from the corset and transformed high design , and Lois @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , considers the differences between Hollywood and East Coast fashion .
In “ The Divine Marquise , ” Judith Thurman contemplates the outré style of the Belle Époque fashion priestess Marchesa Luisa Casati .
Finally , in “ The Fashionable Mind , ” Kennedy Fraser explores the influence of style on American culture and society .
We hope that these pieces add some enchantment to your weekend .
Miuccia Prada was a woman of progressive ideals before she took over her family ’ s business , and there ’ s still a radical @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Bowery died , he was hailed as an influence on everyone from Vivienne Westwood to Lucian Freud .
Is there a reason that a style or an attitude becomes a fashion ?
The differences between East Coast and West Coast clothes .
Luisa Casati ’ s Belle Époque fetishes and perverse costumes no longer seem so outré .
Fashion is good for business , but in the long run may prove very bad for life .

Photograph by Jed Share / Getty
Fashion has always been about the latest trends, but compelling and inventive design ultimately transcends era. In 2013, Kelefa Sanneh published a New Yorker profile of Dapper Dan, a Harlem couturier whose work influenced a generation of hip-hop legends. The designer’s rogue creations restyled brand-name iconography from luxury houses such as Gucci and Louis Vuitton into custom-tailored jackets and other clothing. (“It was like wearing a Rolls-Royce on your back—it was so cocky,” a stylist told Sanneh.) His designs ushered in a renaissance in hip-hop style in the nineteen-nineties, and would help influence the reinvention of Europe’s design houses at the turn of the century.
This week, we’re bringing you a selection of pieces on the world of fashion and how it influences our culture. In “Some Clothes of One’s Own,” Ingrid Sischy explores the radical simplicity of Miuccia Prada’s designs. In “Heavy Threads,” Salman Rushdie recalls his introduction to British fashion, in the nineteen-sixties, when he lived above a legendary boutique. In “Life as a Look,” Hilton Als writes about the edgy influence of the performance artist and muse Leigh Bowery. Malcolm McLaren, the late manager of the Sex Pistols, chronicles the fashionable anarchy of the late nineteeen-seventies, and Winthrop Sargeant, in a piece from 1958, describes the innovative fashion photography of Richard Avedon. In “Tavi Says,” Lizzie Widdicombe examines the surreal life of the teen-age fashion blogger Tavi Gevinson. Janet Flanner recounts how Coco Chanel helped liberate women from the corset and transformed high design, and Lois Long, in a piece from 1936, considers the differences between Hollywood and East Coast fashion. In “The Divine Marquise,” Judith Thurman contemplates the outré style of the Belle Époque fashion priestess Marchesa Luisa Casati. Finally, in “The Fashionable Mind,” Kennedy Fraser explores the influence of style on American culture and society. We hope that these pieces add some enchantment to your weekend.
— Erin Overbey, archive editor
Photographs by Top left: Glen E. Friedman; center bottom: Carmine Donofrio/Getty; all others: courtesy Dapper Dan
How a hip-hop legend remixed name-brand fashion.
Miuccia Prada was a woman of progressive ideals before she took over her family’s business, and there’s still a radical dream in her designs.
Photograph by David Graves / Shutterstock
My sixties education in cool.
Photograph by Janette Beckman / Getty
When Leigh Bowery died, he was hailed as an influence on everyone from Vivienne Westwood to Lucian Freud.
Is there a reason that a style or an attitude becomes a fashion?
How Richard Avedon redefined fashion, glamour, and femininity.
Photographs by Josef Astor
Fashion dictates from a fourteen-year-old.
Coco Chanel’s revolutionary style.
The differences between East Coast and West Coast clothes.
Courtesy Casati Archives
Luisa Casati’s Belle Époque fetishes and perverse costumes no longer seem so outré.
Photograph from Corbis / Getty
Fashion is good for business, but in the long run may prove very bad for life.


newyorker--2020-08-23--The Cryptic Crossword: No. 80

The Cryptic Crossword: No. 80

Some clues have been edited for clarity .
Subscribers can find explanations of the original puzzle ’ s answers in @ @ @

Some clues have been edited for clarity. Subscribers can find explanations of the original puzzle’s answers in our archive.


newyorker--2020-08-23--Will This Be Joe Biden’s F.D.R. Moment?

Will This Be Joe Biden’s F.D.R. Moment?

Joe Biden has been playing it safe during the coronavirus pandemic , but Evan Osnos got the chance to sit down with the nominee in person .
It was too hot to sit outside , but the campaign staff didn ’ t want an outsider in Biden ’ s home , so the interview took place in a small house on the property that Biden ’ s late mother stayed in .
In a wide-ranging conversation , Biden compares his position—should he win—to that of Franklin Roosevelt : taking office during a disaster , he argues , he would have @ @ @ @ @ @ @ agenda , but driven by pragmatism rather than ideology .
( He was not comparing himself to Roosevelt , he hastened to add . )
While the country is ever more partisan , Biden describes his centrism and his propensity for off-the-cuff remarks as an advantage .
“ The good news is the bad news , ” he told Osnos .
“ Everybody knows me , and you guys know me , the good and bad .
.
.
.
It ’ s kind of hard to pin a label on someone that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
To make me out to be a revolutionary , it ’ s awful hard to do .
Conversely , it ’ s awful hard to make me out to be a right-wing , very conservative Democrat .
”

Photograph by Win McNamee / Getty
Joe Biden has been playing it safe during the coronavirus pandemic, but Evan Osnos got the chance to sit down with the nominee in person. It was too hot to sit outside, but the campaign staff didn’t want an outsider in Biden’s home, so the interview took place in a small house on the property that Biden’s late mother stayed in. In a wide-ranging conversation, Biden compares his position—should he win—to that of Franklin Roosevelt: taking office during a disaster, he argues, he would have an opportunity to effect a hugely ambitious agenda, but driven by pragmatism rather than ideology. (He was not comparing himself to Roosevelt, he hastened to add.) While the country is ever more partisan, Biden describes his centrism and his propensity for off-the-cuff remarks as an advantage. “The good news is the bad news,” he told Osnos. “Everybody knows me, and you guys know me, the good and bad. . . . It’s kind of hard to pin a label on someone that’s inconsistent with who they are. To make me out to be a revolutionary, it’s awful hard to do. Conversely, it’s awful hard to make me out to be a right-wing, very conservative Democrat.”


newyorker--2020-08-23--Can Biden’s Center Hold?

Can Biden’s Center Hold?

“ Welcome to my mom ’ s house , ” Joe Biden called from the bottom of the stairs , an instant before his sweep of white hair rose into view .
The former Vice-President of the United States and the Democratic nominee for President reached the second floor of a cottage at the foot of his property in Greenville , Delaware , a wooded , well-to-do suburb of Wilmington .
He wore a trim blue dress shirt , sleeves rolled to the elbows , a pen tucked between the buttons , and a bright-white N95 mask .
It was @ @ @ @ @ @ @ death toll from the coronavirus pandemic was approaching a hundred and fifty thousand , three times as many lives as America lost in Vietnam ; the economy had crumbled faster than at any other time in the nation ’ s history ; in Portland , Oregon , federal agents in unmarked uniforms were tear-gassing protesters , whom Donald Trump called “ sick and deranged Anarchists & Agitators.
” On Twitter that day , Trump warned that the demonstrators would “ destroy our American cities , and worse , if Sleepy Joe Biden , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ won .
Markets would crash and cities would burn.
” The man who stands between Americans and four more years of Trump lives with his wife , Jill , on four sloping acres that overlook a small lake .
These days , the Biden place feels as solemn and secluded as an abbey .
To avoid contagion , Biden ’ s advisers had put me in a carriage house , a hundred yards from the house where the family lives .
The cottage , styled in Celtic themes ( green shutters , a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , doubles as a command post for the Secret Service , and large men with holstered guns stalked in and out .
Biden settled into an armchair across the room from me and splayed his hands , a socially distanced salute .
“ The docs keep it really tight , ” he explained .
Later that afternoon , the Bidens were due on Capitol Hill , to pay their respects to the recently deceased John Lewis , of Georgia , a civil-rights icon who endured a fractured skull at the hands of state @ @ @ @ @ @ @ rising to the House of Representatives and becoming known as the “ conscience of Congress.
” It would be a rare excursion .
Since the Covid shutdown began , in March , Biden had circulated mostly between his back porch , where he convened fund-raisers on Zoom , a gym upstairs , and the basement rec room , where he sat for TV interviews in front of a bookcase and a folded flag .
The campaign apparatus had scattered into the homes of some twenty-three hundred employees .
Biden seemed pleased to have @ @ @ @ @ @ @ question , he explained the origins of the cottage .
When his father , Joe , Sr. , fell ill , in 2002 , Biden renovated the basement of the main house and moved his parents in .
“ God love him , he lasted for about six months , ” he said .
“ I thought my mom would stay.
” She had other ideas .
( Biden ’ s mother , the former Jean Finnegan , plays a formidable role in his recounting of family history .
In grammar school , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for stuttering , and his mother , a devout Catholic , told her , “ If you ever speak to my son like that again , I ’ ll come back and rip that bonnet off your head.
” ) After Jean became a widow , Biden said , she offered him a proposition : “ She said , ‘ Joey , if you build me a house , I ’ ll move in here.
’ I said , ‘ Honey , I don ’ t have the money to build you a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ know you don ’ t. ’ She said , ‘ But I talked to your brothers and sister .
Sell my house and build me an apartment.
’ ” For years , Biden , who relied on his government salary , was among the least prosperous members of the United States Senate .
( In the two years after he left the Vice-Presidency , the Bidens earned more than fifteen million dollars , from speeches , teaching , and book deals . )
Biden renovated an old garage and his mother moved in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and she ’ d be in that chair downstairs , facing the fireplace , watching television , ” he said .
“ There ’ d always be a caregiver on the stool , and she ’ d be hearing her confession.
” Joe Biden has been a “ public man , ” as he puts it—holding office , giving interviews , dispensing anecdotes—for five decades .
I last interviewed him , mostly about foreign affairs , in 2014 , when he was in the White House and Donald Trump was hosting Season 14 @ @ @ @ @ @ @ seventy-seven years old , and he looks thinner than he did six years ago , but not markedly so .
His verbiage is as meandering as ever .
James Comey , the former F.B.I .
director , once wrote that the typical Biden conversation originated in “ Direction A ” before “ heading in Direction Z.
” ( In December , Biden ’ s campaign released a doctor ’ s summary of his medical records , which pronounced him a “ healthy , vigorous ” man of his age . )
The implications @ @ @ @ @ @ @ another , hover over the Presidential race .
Trump took office as the oldest President in history ; he is now seventy-four .
To deflect questions about his mental acuity , he and his allies present Biden as senile , a theme that dominates right-wing TV and Twitter .
Biden sees little of it ; he doesn ’ t look at social media .
If there is something big , his staff will include a tweet in the morning roundup of news that he reads on his phone .
But , he said @ @ @ @ @ @ @ at a lot of the comments .
I spend the time trying to focus on the trouble people are in right now.
” By the end of August , ten weeks before the election , Biden led Trump by an average of at least eight percentage points .
But no earthly inhabitant expected an ordinary end to the campaign .
Some polls showed the race tightening , and Trump and the G.O.P .
held a persistent advantage in perceptions of their handling of the economy .
“ I feel good about where we @ @ @ @ @ @ @ But I know that it ’ s going to get really , really ugly.
” As Trump disputed the legitimacy of mail-in voting , his Postmaster General was brazenly cutting service in ways that could prevent ballots from being counted .
Trump ’ s campaign was trying to deter Black voters , running commercials claiming that , as one put it , Biden had “ destroyed millions of Black lives ” ; Republican operatives were helping Kanye West , the pro-Trump hip-hop star , get on the ballot in multiple states .
Meanwhile @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in 2016 , Russians were working to damage Trump ’ s opponent , this time with phone recordings edited to support the canard that Biden had used the Vice-Presidency to help his son Hunter make money in Ukraine .
For a front-runner , Biden was hardly sanguine .
“ I am worried about them screwing around with the election outcome , ” he said .
“ When the hell have you heard a President say , ‘ I ’ m not sure I ’ ll accept the outcome ’ ?
” The trials @ @ @ @ @ @ @ most basic stories we Americans tell ourselves .
The world ’ s richest , most powerful country has botched even rudimentary responses to the pandemic—finding masks , making tests—and some agencies have proved to be so antiquated and starved of resources that they ’ ve used fax machines to share data .
The White House offered policies that read like mock Kafka ; even as people were advised against dining out , it was proposing a corporate tax break on business meals .
On Fox News in April , Jared Kushner , the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the leaders of the coronavirus response , declared the Administration ’ s effort “ a great success story.
” Since then , at least a hundred and ten thousand more people have died .
And , in the midst of the pandemic , the death of George Floyd under a policeman ’ s knee opened a second epochal turn in American history—a reckoning with the entrenched hierarchy of power , which Isabel Wilkerson , in her new book , “ Caste , ” calls “ the wordless usher in a darkened theater , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ guiding us to our assigned seats.
” Biden believes that Trump ’ s failures of leadership , particularly in the pandemic , have become clear even to steadfast Republican advocates .
“ Everybody knows , even people supporting him : This is all about his self-interest .
It ’ s all about him , ” he told me .
“ It has had profound impacts on people ’ s ability to live their life.
” Still , it might not suffice to change voters ’ minds .
When Biden characterizes Trump ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ culpable or deplorable .
“ They think that they will be materially better off if he ’ s President , ” he said .
“ He has gotten through , I think , to some degree—to about forty per cent—saying , ‘ The Democrats are socialists .
They ’ re here to take away everything you have .
’ ”

Biden has expressed frustration with young people’s tepid participation in elections. Last year, he griped that, as Trump won in 2016, “they sat home, didn’t get involved.” Yet, when we spoke recently, he took pains to sound more conciliatory. “This generation has really been screwed,” he said. “These were really the most open, the least prejudiced, the brightest, the best-educated generation in American history. And what’s happening? They end up with 9/11, they end up with a war, they end up with the Great Recession, and then they end up with this. This generation deserves help in the middle of this crisis.”
In the spring, Biden began describing himself as a “transition candidate,” explaining, “We have not given a bench to younger people in the Party, the opportunity to have the focus and be in focus for the rest of the country. There’s an incredible group of talented, newer, younger people.” Ben Rhodes, an adviser to Obama in the White House, said, “It’s actually a really powerful idea. It says, ‘I’m a seventy-seven-year-old white man, who was a senator for thirty years, and I understand both those limitations and the nature of this country.’ Because, no matter what he does, he cannot completely understand the frustration of people in the streets. That’s not a criticism. It’s just a reality.” A senior Obama Administration official observed that Biden’s acknowledgment also contained a subtler message: “This country needs to just chill the fuck out and have a boring President.”
To Varshini Prakash, a twenty-seven-year-old co-founder of the Sunrise Movement, an organization that presses for action on climate change, Biden recognized the urgency of showing more than rhetorical interest in the young left. “You have a Presidential candidate who essentially staked his career on advocating incremental solutions,” she told me. “Then he finds himself at this moment where people are fed up with much of the status quo he represents—an economic system that has reigned supreme for forty years, that he was part of advocating for, but also health, climate, gun violence, immigration. All of these have reached a fever pitch. I think COVID-19 was the moment that pushed it over the edge, where he recognized if he doesn’t have a way to meet his incrementalism with the level of transformative change that people are crying out for, he’s going to be in deep trouble.”
For the ride to Lewis’s memorial, Biden boarded an armored black S.U.V. He had changed from campaign-from-home attire into mourning clothes—a crisp white shirt, dark suit and tie, and black mask. At the Capitol Rotunda, he and Jill were met by Nancy Pelosi, whom they hadn’t seen since the lockdowns began. They huddled in conversation, and then the Bidens approached Lewis’s flag-draped casket, which rested on the spot where Abraham Lincoln lay in state, a century and a half ago. Like others, Biden had challenged Republicans to honor Lewis by restoring the Voting Rights Act—to “protect the sacred right to vote that he was willing to die for,” as Biden put it. The law had served as a check on racial discrimination at the polls from 1965 to 2013, when the Supreme Court ruled that conditions no longer required it. Since then, Republicans in many states have expanded efforts to bar voters through specious requirements; in the Senate, McConnell has blocked bills seeking to restore the act.
In the preceding days, Lewis’s casket had retraced an arc of the Black freedom struggle, beginning in his home town of Troy, Alabama, crossing the Edmund Pettus Bridge, in Selma, and stopping at the newly christened Black Lives Matter Plaza, near the White House. At the Capitol, Biden laid his hand on the casket and made the sign of the cross.
Trump, for his part, had skipped the memorial. Lewis once declared that he was not a “legitimate President,” to which Trump responded, in an unsubtle slur, that Lewis’s congressional district was “crime infested.” Under pressure to say something, Trump had tweeted, on the way back from golf, that he was saddened, and that “Melania and I send our prayers to he and his family.”
In the Presidential race, the upheavals of 2020 have afforded Trump abundant opportunities to look racist and inept, while sparing Biden, a famously loose-lipped campaigner, the risks of slogging through a full schedule. His aides disputed suggestions that they have been purposely allowing Trump to hog the spotlight, but, in May, Biden said frankly, “The more he talks, the better off I am.”
Reticence has never been Biden’s default mode. Even in Washington, the windbag Mecca, he distinguished himself. When Obama, newly elected to the Senate, heard Biden hold forth in a meeting of the Foreign Relations Committee, he passed an aide a three-word note: “Shoot. Me. Now.” A former longtime staffer recalled that he learned to flex his knees during the boss’s speeches to avoid fainting. Biden knows his reputation and sometimes jokes about it. When his microphone once malfunctioned during a television interview, he said, “They do this to me at the White House all the time.”
Biden’s conspicuous appetite for human connection was likely a big factor in his primary victory. Pete Buttigieg, one of his opponents, observed Biden backstage before a debate. “Some candidates would be talking to each other,” he told me. “Some candidates would be talking almost to themselves.” But Biden was kibbitzing with the stagehands or trying to buck up the newcomer candidates. “I think any human being who’s around is somebody that he’s equally happy to engage and talk to and listen to,” Buttigieg said.
Biden vacillates between embracing the image of a kindly grandfather and bridling at it. When, in 2015, the late-night host Stephen Colbert referred to him on the air as a “nice old man,” Biden called him the next day, Colbert told me: “He goes, ‘Listen, buddy, you call me a nice old man one more time and I will personally come down there and kick your ass.’ I laughed, and he laughed. I said, ‘Don’t worry. I won’t call you a nice old man, because clearly you’re not that nice.’ ”
“And no matter how many times they got it redelivered they were never home to receive the package.” Cartoon by Drew Panckeri Copy link to cartoon Copy link to cartoon Shop Shop
In truth, Biden’s effusiveness has always disguised a prickly side. Among staff, he is known for giving support to talented people without connections, but he can also be curt and demanding, leaving the menial work of fund-raising to others. He sometimes lavishes more gratitude on strangers who want selfies than on aides who have spent years keeping him in office. Jeff Connaughton, a disenchanted former aide, once called Biden an “egomaniacal autocrat.” But Connaughton, who became a lobbyist, also admired Biden’s contempt for the corrupting glad-handing of Washington. “Biden never lifted a finger for me or for one of my clients,” he wrote, in his book, “The Payoff.” “Unlike most of Congress, he hardly ever schmoozed with the Permanent Class. He did the best he could to stay as far away from it as possible.”
For all his longevity in Washington, Biden has never quite belonged to the technocratic élite. To the dominant Democrats—the Clinton and Obama circles—he was too mawkish with the Scranton Joe routine, too transparent in his ambition. Biden is the first Democratic nominee without an Ivy League degree since Walter Mondale, in 1984. In a milieu of Rhodes Scholars and former professors, he is thin-skinned about condescension, real and imagined. When Obama chose him as his running mate, he said, “I want your point of view, Joe. I just want it in ten-minute increments, not sixty-minute increments.” Biden chafed, telling David Axelrod, Obama’s chief strategist, “I still think I’d be the best President.” But, after a year of observing Obama, Biden told Axelrod that he had been mistaken: “The right guy won, and I’m just really proud to be associated with him.”
Biden’s insecurities fed a certain openness and vulnerability. Even after decades in national office, he talked to anyone in reach, partly because he was trawling for what others knew and he did not. The senior Obama Administration official, who periodically briefed Biden, recalled, “He would talk for ninety per cent of the conversation. And yet he always picked something up. At the end, we’d get up and walk out, and he’d clap me on the back: ‘Great talk.’ And I’d be a bit dazed.” The official added, “So the question is which Joe Biden governs: The one that is sincerely open and searching for the perspectives that will help him be more effective? Or the Joe Biden that will talk at you because he thinks he has enough words and expertise to muscle through any situation?”
In the usual telling, Joseph Robinette Biden, Jr., is a product of the Silent Generation, the cohort of cautious Americans born between the Great Depression and the end of the Second World War, who were too young to have fought overseas and too old to lead the counterculture. To be born in America in 1942 as a white heterosexual male was, generally speaking, to win a cosmic lottery. Because of low birth rates during the Depression and the war, the generation was exceptionally small—the first in American history to be smaller than the one before it. Its members enjoyed more attention and resources from their parents, smaller class sizes, and high rates of college admission. The New Deal and the G.I. Bill gave them benefits, loans, and federal work programs, which thrust millions of white Americans into the middle class. The sociologist Elwood Carlson, assessing their fortunes in his book “The Lucky Few,” described an age when American companies expanded workforces, built pensions, and distributed stock—a combination that produced “the financially luckiest generation of the twentieth century.”
Their advantages shaped their ideas about government, money, race, and opportunity. They were a homogeneous lot; nearly nine out of ten were white and born in the United States. They tended, as Carlson put it, to “view their successes in life as their own achievements, rather than thinking in terms of the social context that made their success possible.” In politics, their right wing included “the most conservative Republicans of any generation in the twentieth century.”
Biden fit the mold in some respects and defied it in others. The eldest of four siblings, he was ten when his father, out of a job, moved the family to Delaware, where he cleaned boilers and sold used cars. Joe was a middling but popular student at Archmere Academy, a private day school; to defray his tuition, he worked on a grounds crew. While at the University of Delaware, he played football and worked one summer as a lifeguard at a public pool, where he came to know young Black men who lived in a nearby housing project. Brett Gadsden, a historian at Northwestern University who grew up near Wilmington and has written about its racial politics, describes the city as suspended between North and South—closer to New York City than to Raleigh, but still so segregated that African diplomats, driving through on the way to Washington, were sometimes denied service at rest stops. “There’s probably a metaphorical lesson in the fact that Biden hails from a place that has this mythical reputation as a middle-ground state,” Gadsden told me. “It’s emblematic of a kind of imagined center.”
Biden played bit parts in protests against segregation, including walking out of a Wilmington diner that refused to serve a Black classmate in 1961 and picketing the segregated Rialto movie theatre the following year. Later, he sometimes exaggerated his role (“I marched”), but in 2013, during a ceremony commemorating the march in Selma, Biden expressed remorse that he had not done more. “I was involved in my state, in a small way, which was still fighting the lingering vestiges of Jim Crow,” Biden told the audience, “but I regret and, although it’s not part of what I’m supposed to say, apologize. It took me forty-eight years to get here. I should’ve been here.”