newyorker--2020-06-10--Minnesota’s Decades-Long Failure to Confront Police Abuse

On July 7 , 2016 , Mark Dayton made a statement that no modern governor of Minnesota had uttered before , helping shift public opinion on the still-nascent Black Lives Matter movement .
Dayton said that a black man who was killed the previous night by police would be alive if he were white .
An officer in a suburb of St. Paul had shot Philando Castile , a thirty-two-year-old school-cafeteria worker , killing him during a routine traffic stop .
“ Would this have happened if those passengers , the driver and the passengers , were white ?
I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , ” Dayton said at a press conference .
“ I ’ m forced to confront , and I think all of us in Minnesota are forced to confront , that this kind of racism exists and that it ’ s incumbent upon all of us to vow that we ’ re going to do whatever we can to see that it doesn ’ t happen , doesn ’ t continue to happen.
” The governor ’ s statement gave hope to black political leaders and local activists that their decades-old experiences of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s largely white upper echelons of political power .
Castile ’ s death prompted the first widespread calls in modern Minnesotan history for the state legislature to pass wide-ranging policing reforms .
The state ’ s handful of black lawmakers—a total of three in the State House and Senate at the time—began leading conversations in the legislature about the need for significant changes in local law enforcement .
Four months later , in November , 2016 , the effort foundered after Republicans , bolstered by Donald Trump ’ s candidacy for President @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and expanded their House majority .
Downplaying the need to reform police , Republicans introduced legislation to crack down on Black Lives Matter demonstrations , including allowing cities to sue protesters to recover the costs of policing their demonstrations .
Four years later , the state finds itself in a painful and familiar place .
On Memorial Day , the police killing of George Floyd , like that of Castile , was captured on video and posted online .
Floyd ’ s murder touched off the largest mass demonstrations against police brutality and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a quarter century .
More than ten thousand demonstrators have been arrested in dozens of cities .
The turmoil in Minneapolis challenges the myth of Minnesotan exceptionalism , the widely held belief that the state ’ s innovative spirit and progressive policies have created a shining example for how other states should run .
The Twin Cities region has long been described as a paradox .
Minneapolis-St. Paul and its surrounding suburbs are home to more than 3.4 million people and one of the wealthiest metropolitan areas in the country , with good @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , and a low cost of living that all , theoretically , add up to a high quality of life .
But academics , political leaders of color , and activists say this has primarily been true only for white Minnesotans .
The state remains one of the least diverse in the country , and the Twin Cities metropolitan area has grown more racially segregated since the turn of the twenty-first century , despite a history of welcoming refugees and immigrants from East Africa , Vietnam , and Central America .
Off and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ ve worked as a journalist in Minnesota , first as an intern for the St. Paul Pioneer Press during summer of 2010 , before my senior year in college .
For two months , I lived on the West Bank of the University of Minnesota campus , blocks from Cedar-Riverside , a largely Somali-American neighborhood .
After growing up in Las Vegas , Nevada , one of the country ’ s most diverse cities , and graduating from the University of Nevada , Reno , in 2011 , I reported for three @ @ @ @ @ @ @ business and the California economy for the Los Angeles Times .
Eager to return to Minnesota , I took a job with the Star Tribune to cover state politics and government in 2014 .
The wide range of cultures represented here , as well as the beautiful summers , attracted me .
I was sold on the promise of Minnesota .
But the longer I ’ ve lived here the more glaring the state ’ s racial blind spots have become , even among the most progressive-minded white Minnesotans .
As many transplants @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
If you ’ re a person of color who grew up in less white environments , you might suddenly notice your race affecting how others treat you .
During a press conference in 2015 , a former State Senate majority leader responded to a question I posed by asking , “ How long have you been here ?
” Capitol dwellers told me that I didn ’ t “ look like a political reporter.
” Once , a person seemingly lost in the complex mistook me for a janitor as I left @ @ @ @ @ @ @ my car .
The moment caught me so off guard I barely had a chance to fully register what about my appearance—other than my skin tone—would have prompted it .
The regularity of moments like these , some obviously racially rooted , others less so , made the Capitol ’ s gilded and marbled corridors feel like an uninviting and intimidating place to be a person of color .
Nonetheless , I endeavored to shed light on the experience of nonwhite Minnesotans through political reporting .
I explored the various ways in which @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , have been historically excluded from the levers of power in state politics and government .
Candidates of color , even those running as Democrats , face institutional hurdles from a political structure that favors white incumbents , for reasons ranging from lack of access to donors to the threat of political ostracism if they run against Party-endorsed candidates .
The demographic changes that have already occurred in other parts of the country arrived only recently in Minnesota .
In 1990 , Minnesota was ninety-four per cent white ; three decades later , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the population .
Even as people of color have arrived , they have failed to acquire political power commensurate to their numbers .
Last year , the Minnesota legislature swore in its most diverse body ever .
Yet lawmakers of color hold only twenty-one of the two hundred and one seats .
All together , they could fit in a high-school classroom .
Ninety per cent of the members of the legislature remain white .
In recent years , the relationship between communities of color and the state ’ s largely white media @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 22nd , black activists on a citizen advisory committee tried to bar journalists from covering a public meeting , citing the historical representation of their communities in the state ’ s media .
The episode subsided after city leaders said that they would urge members of the advisory body that they should follow the requirements of the state ’ s public-meeting law .
Since the nineteen-sixties , black residents have been demanding a wide-ranging overhaul of law-enforcement agencies , including community policing , civilian oversight , improved training , and stronger accountability .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ governors and lawmakers have exacerbated mistrust of the police .
In 1999 , Rich Stanek , a former Minneapolis police captain and State House Republican , led a successful effort to revoke a law requiring Minneapolis and St. Paul police officers to live in the cities in which they worked .
Nearly twenty years later , in 2015 , about twenty-two per cent of St. Paul police officers called the capital city home , and , this year , roughly seven per cent of Minneapolis officers live in the city ; many commute @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Anoka , and exurbs , like the neighboring city of Hudson , Wisconsin .

On July 7, 2016, Mark Dayton made a statement that no modern governor of Minnesota had uttered before, helping shift public opinion on the still-nascent Black Lives Matter movement. Dayton said that a black man who was killed the previous night by police would be alive if he were white. An officer in a suburb of St. Paul had shot Philando Castile, a thirty-two-year-old school-cafeteria worker, killing him during a routine traffic stop. “Would this have happened if those passengers, the driver and the passengers, were white? I don’t think it would have,” Dayton said at a press conference. “I’m forced to confront, and I think all of us in Minnesota are forced to confront, that this kind of racism exists and that it’s incumbent upon all of us to vow that we’re going to do whatever we can to see that it doesn’t happen, doesn’t continue to happen.”
The governor’s statement gave hope to black political leaders and local activists that their decades-old experiences of systemic racism had finally penetrated the state’s largely white upper echelons of political power. Castile’s death prompted the first widespread calls in modern Minnesotan history for the state legislature to pass wide-ranging policing reforms. The state’s handful of black lawmakers—a total of three in the State House and Senate at the time—began leading conversations in the legislature about the need for significant changes in local law enforcement. Four months later, in November, 2016, the effort foundered after Republicans, bolstered by Donald Trump’s candidacy for President, reclaimed control of the State Senate and expanded their House majority. Downplaying the need to reform police, Republicans introduced legislation to crack down on Black Lives Matter demonstrations, including allowing cities to sue protesters to recover the costs of policing their demonstrations.
Four years later, the state finds itself in a painful and familiar place. On Memorial Day, the police killing of George Floyd, like that of Castile, was captured on video and posted online. Floyd’s murder touched off the largest mass demonstrations against police brutality and systemic racism in the United States in a quarter century. More than ten thousand demonstrators have been arrested in dozens of cities.
The turmoil in Minneapolis challenges the myth of Minnesotan exceptionalism, the widely held belief that the state’s innovative spirit and progressive policies have created a shining example for how other states should run. The Twin Cities region has long been described as a paradox. Minneapolis-St. Paul and its surrounding suburbs are home to more than 3.4 million people and one of the wealthiest metropolitan areas in the country, with good schools, verdant parks, well-paying jobs, and a low cost of living that all, theoretically, add up to a high quality of life. But academics, political leaders of color, and activists say this has primarily been true only for white Minnesotans. The state remains one of the least diverse in the country, and the Twin Cities metropolitan area has grown more racially segregated since the turn of the twenty-first century, despite a history of welcoming refugees and immigrants from East Africa, Vietnam, and Central America.
Off and on for the last decade, I’ve worked as a journalist in Minnesota, first as an intern for the St. Paul Pioneer Press during summer of 2010, before my senior year in college. For two months, I lived on the West Bank of the University of Minnesota campus, blocks from Cedar-Riverside, a largely Somali-American neighborhood. After growing up in Las Vegas, Nevada, one of the country’s most diverse cities, and graduating from the University of Nevada, Reno, in 2011, I reported for three years in Los Angeles, mostly covering business and the California economy for the Los Angeles Times. Eager to return to Minnesota, I took a job with the Star Tribune to cover state politics and government in 2014. The wide range of cultures represented here, as well as the beautiful summers, attracted me. I was sold on the promise of Minnesota.
But the longer I’ve lived here the more glaring the state’s racial blind spots have become, even among the most progressive-minded white Minnesotans. As many transplants learn, Minnesotans are tough to befriend. If you’re a person of color who grew up in less white environments, you might suddenly notice your race affecting how others treat you. During a press conference in 2015, a former State Senate majority leader responded to a question I posed by asking, “How long have you been here?” Capitol dwellers told me that I didn’t “look like a political reporter.” Once, a person seemingly lost in the complex mistook me for a janitor as I left work late one night and walked to my car. The moment caught me so off guard I barely had a chance to fully register what about my appearance—other than my skin tone—would have prompted it. The regularity of moments like these, some obviously racially rooted, others less so, made the Capitol’s gilded and marbled corridors feel like an uninviting and intimidating place to be a person of color.
Nonetheless, I endeavored to shed light on the experience of nonwhite Minnesotans through political reporting. I explored the various ways in which people of color, particularly black Minnesotans, have been historically excluded from the levers of power in state politics and government. Candidates of color, even those running as Democrats, face institutional hurdles from a political structure that favors white incumbents, for reasons ranging from lack of access to donors to the threat of political ostracism if they run against Party-endorsed candidates.
The demographic changes that have already occurred in other parts of the country arrived only recently in Minnesota. In 1990, Minnesota was ninety-four per cent white; three decades later, whites make up eighty-four per cent of the population. Even as people of color have arrived, they have failed to acquire political power commensurate to their numbers. Last year, the Minnesota legislature swore in its most diverse body ever. Yet lawmakers of color hold only twenty-one of the two hundred and one seats. All together, they could fit in a high-school classroom. Ninety per cent of the members of the legislature remain white. In recent years, the relationship between communities of color and the state’s largely white media have deteriorated, too. On January 22nd, black activists on a citizen advisory committee tried to bar journalists from covering a public meeting, citing the historical representation of their communities in the state’s media. The episode subsided after city leaders said that they would urge members of the advisory body that they should follow the requirements of the state’s public-meeting law.
Since the nineteen-sixties, black residents have been demanding a wide-ranging overhaul of law-enforcement agencies, including community policing, civilian oversight, improved training, and stronger accountability. Instead, policies enacted by G.O.P. governors and lawmakers have exacerbated mistrust of the police. In 1999, Rich Stanek, a former Minneapolis police captain and State House Republican, led a successful effort to revoke a law requiring Minneapolis and St. Paul police officers to live in the cities in which they worked. Nearly twenty years later, in 2015, about twenty-two per cent of St. Paul police officers called the capital city home, and, this year, roughly seven per cent of Minneapolis officers live in the city; many commute from largely white suburbs, such as Anoka, and exurbs, like the neighboring city of Hudson, Wisconsin.
When Democrats last took full control of the Minnesota government, in 2013, they enacted a series of progressive milestones, including the legalization of same-sex marriage, the passage of a tax on the wealthy, and the boosting of the minimum wage with future increases tied to inflation. Still, ambitious reforms championed by legislators of colors, ranging from policing to education, struggled to gain broad support—no major police reforms were enacted. Joe Soss, a University of Minnesota professor who studies poverty and racial inequality, said that progressive policies championed by Democrats failed to address bias. “What you had were generous policies that helped white people buy homes, help protect white people, invest in white communities, and lifted them up higher than people who were left out,” Soss told me. “When it comes to power in the state and in the Twin Cities, people of color have continued to be very marginalized.”
Two police shootings created public pressure for reforms. In 2015, a Minneapolis police officer killed Jamar Clark, a twenty-four-year-old African-American who worked for a local trucking firm. An officer claimed that Clark tried to take his weapon and, in the ensuing struggle, another officer shot Clark. Some witnesses said Clark was handcuffed at the time. Weeks of protests ensued. The Hennepin County Attorney, Mike Freeman, ruled the shooting justified and declined to press charges. In 2016, Philando Castile informed the officer who pulled him over, Jeronimo Yanez, that he had a handgun, which he had a license to carry, but Yanez panicked and fired seven shots at Castile. Castile’s girlfriend, Diamond Reynolds, who was in the car with her four-year-old daughter, broadcast his final moments on Facebook Live. Reynolds said Castile was reaching for his wallet, not his gun. Yanez was later acquitted of all charges by a jury.


newyorker--2020-06-10--The Athenian Plague, a Cautionary Tale of Democracy’s Fragility

“ Future ages will wonder at us , as the present age wonders at us now , ” Pericles , the great Athenian statesman , declared in his funeral oration , a celebrated speech in the winter of 431–430 B.C.E .
He wasn ’ t wrong .
We continue to admire Athens ’ s architectural splendor , stage its tragedies and comedies , and marvel , especially , at much that its democracy ( the world ’ s first ) wrought : participatory government , equal treatment before the law in private disputes , a distaste for class consciousness , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ tolerance about others ’ personal lives .
But soon after Pericles gave that prideful speech , the original democracy got sick .
In 430–429 B.C.E.
, Athens was devastated by a mysterious epidemic , which reared its head again a few years later .
Tens of thousands of people died , perhaps as many as one-third of Athenians .
Society was ravaged , and the military , which was in the early stages of a brutal twenty-seven-year war against Sparta , was debilitated for many years .
The catastrophe contributed to Athens ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , by the loutish Spartans , who tore down the city ’ s walls and imposed a short-lived but murderous oligarchy .
Among those who died from this plague were Pericles and two of his sons .
Millennia later , the plague reminds us that the legacy of the eternal “ wonder ” of Athens contains within it a cautionary tale : the failure of democratic society to cope with a lethal epidemic .
The model of how democracy began is also a study in how it can founder and fall .
Most @ @ @ @ @ @ @ comes from the brilliant Athenian historian Thucydides , widely viewed by classicists as the single best source on Athens in the age of Pericles .
He would not be surprised to find his book being read today , during the coronavirus lockdown .
“ My work is not a piece of writing designed to meet the taste of an immediate public , ” he wrote , with zero modesty , “ but was done to last forever.
” Thucydides was a worldly Athenian general , whose “ History of the Peloponnesian War ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ conflict between democratic Athens and militaristic Sparta .
The book , although unfinished , established him as the founder of the systematic study of international relations .
It was translated into English in 1628 by Thomas Hobbes , and has since been cited by heads of state from Woodrow Wilson to Xi Jinping .
In a book packed with battle , conquest , and massacre , Thucydides ’ account of the plague is especially horrifying .
A seasoned , hard-bitten warrior , he was , for once , at a loss : “ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to give a general picture of this disease ; and as for the suffering of individuals , they seemed almost beyond the capacity of human nature to endure.
” Thucydides himself got the plague but survived , as he coolly notes in passing .
Nobody knows what the plague was , although classically minded epidemiologists still debate its cause .
It might have been smallpox , a fungal poisoning called ergotism , or something worse .
In 1985 , a New England Journal of Medicine article argued that it was a combination of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Thucydides syndrome.
” A 1994 article in the American Journal of Epidemiology rejected that diagnosis , proposing , instead , typhus , anthrax , or perhaps “ a potentially explosive respiratory agent.
” Whatever it was , it was a horror .
As Thucydides recorded with clinical detail , people suddenly felt their heads begin to burn , their eyes redden , their tongues and mouths bleed .
Next came coughing , stomach pain , diarrhea , and “ vomiting of every kind of bile that has been given a name by the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ with pustules and ulcers , while the stricken plunged into the city ’ s water tanks trying to slake an unquenchable thirst—possibly contaminating the water supply .
Most died after about a week .
The city was blanketed with corpses .
Athenians were already packed into the city as a wartime measure , and frightened people fleeing the countryside crowded it even further , creating conditions we now know are ripe for contagion .
Athenian doctors bore the brunt : “ Terrible .
.
.
was the sight of people dying like sheep @ @ @ @ @ @ @ result of nursing others.
” Neither medicine nor quackery helped .
Nor did consulting the oracles or praying in the temples , futile pieties which Thucydides dismissively noted were soon discarded .
Pericles ’ stirring funeral oration is among the most famous passages of Thucydides .
The statesman praised Athens for its freedom and democratic deliberations , while defending its increasingly oppressive empire .
( Athens was only a democracy for adult , male citizens of Athenian descent , not for women or slaves , or for foreigners living under imperial rule .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ during the First World War , London buses carried posters with passages from the speech ; in 2012 , a memorial in central London to the R.A.F .
Bomber Command was engraved with a quote from it .
But Thucydides ’ chronicle of what happened just after Pericles ’ funeral oration is unsparing—and should be as enduring as the speech itself .
“ The catastrophe was so overwhelming that men , not knowing what would happen next to them , became indifferent to every rule of religion or of law , ” Thucydides @ @ @ @ @ @ @ expecting to live long enough to face punishment for crimes , plunged into “ a state of unprecedented lawlessness.
” They could not even bother to lay their dead to rest respectably .
Instead , survivors looked for already burning funeral pyres , adding friends and relatives to the blaze .
And with the spectre of mortality looming at all times , they lived only for “ the pleasure of the moment and everything that might conceivably contribute to that pleasure .
No fear of god or law of man had a restraining @ @ @ @ @ @ @ on their Spartan enemies , spreading dark rumors of poisoned reservoirs .
Yet Thucydides swiftly dismissed such speculation .
After all , Athens was a naval power , an imperial capital , and a trading city whose fleets ranged across the ancient world ; the contagion , he wrote , probably spread from Ethiopia to Libya to Persia before finally reaching Greece , where Athens—a global port for commercial ships—was its first stop .
And , once it arrived , its damage knew no bounds , doing terrible harm to democracy itself .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” written several decades after the plague , Socrates warned that democracy would decay into tyranny ; Thucydides recorded it sliding into discord , folly , and demagoguery .
Only someone of Pericles ’ intelligence and integrity , Thucydides wrote , “ could respect the liberty of the people and at the same time hold them in check.
” His death left Athenian democracy in the hands of self-serving scoundrels such as Alcibiades , who later promoted an oligarchic coup , and bellicose demagogues such as Cleon , whom Thucydides scorned as “ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of his character.
” For anyone hopeful that democracy is the best system for coping with the current coronavirus pandemic , the Athenian disaster stands as a chilling admonition .
As Plato knew , political regimes are as fragile as any other human structure , and all fall in time .
The plague devastated Athens for many years—Thucydides reckoned it took fifteen years to recover—but his account suggests that the damage to democracy lasted far longer .
The stakes of our own vulnerability are no different .
This is a sobering history , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the plague while under lockdown , I sometimes found the frosty old historian oddly heartening .
He was too scrupulous to blame the epidemic on the Spartans—an ancient reproach to those today who try to pin blame on foreign rivals .
Politicians in search of scapegoats would be wise to recall Pericles , who said , before the plague , “ What I fear is not the enemy ’ s strength , but our own mistakes.
” Thucydides maintained a rationalist ’ s sensibility even in wartime and plague .
Unlike some Athenian @ @ @ @ @ @ @ nor divine retribution in the epidemic .
The plague was just a plague .
Surviving the disease , he carefully “ set down the symptoms , knowledge of which will enable it to be recognized , if it should ever break out again.
” His ancient empirical analysis of catastrophe offers a jot of hope , if not wonder : for as long as there have been plagues , there have been people , scared but tenacious , using reason to try to learn from them .

“Future ages will wonder at us, as the present age wonders at us now,” Pericles, the great Athenian statesman, declared in his funeral oration, a celebrated speech in the winter of 431–430 B.C.E. He wasn’t wrong. We continue to admire Athens’s architectural splendor, stage its tragedies and comedies, and marvel, especially, at much that its democracy (the world’s first) wrought: participatory government, equal treatment before the law in private disputes, a distaste for class consciousness, juries made up of citizens, and tolerance about others’ personal lives.
But soon after Pericles gave that prideful speech, the original democracy got sick. In 430–429 B.C.E., Athens was devastated by a mysterious epidemic, which reared its head again a few years later. Tens of thousands of people died, perhaps as many as one-third of Athenians. Society was ravaged, and the military, which was in the early stages of a brutal twenty-seven-year war against Sparta, was debilitated for many years. The catastrophe contributed to Athens’s shattering defeat, in 404 B.C.E., by the loutish Spartans, who tore down the city’s walls and imposed a short-lived but murderous oligarchy. Among those who died from this plague were Pericles and two of his sons.
Millennia later, the plague reminds us that the legacy of the eternal “wonder” of Athens contains within it a cautionary tale: the failure of democratic society to cope with a lethal epidemic. The model of how democracy began is also a study in how it can founder and fall.
Most of what we know about the plague comes from the brilliant Athenian historian Thucydides, widely viewed by classicists as the single best source on Athens in the age of Pericles. He would not be surprised to find his book being read today, during the coronavirus lockdown. “My work is not a piece of writing designed to meet the taste of an immediate public,” he wrote, with zero modesty, “but was done to last forever.”
Thucydides was a worldly Athenian general, whose “History of the Peloponnesian War” is a cold-eyed account of the ruinous conflict between democratic Athens and militaristic Sparta. The book, although unfinished, established him as the founder of the systematic study of international relations. It was translated into English in 1628 by Thomas Hobbes, and has since been cited by heads of state from Woodrow Wilson to Xi Jinping.
In a book packed with battle, conquest, and massacre, Thucydides’ account of the plague is especially horrifying. A seasoned, hard-bitten warrior, he was, for once, at a loss: “Words indeed fail one when one tries to give a general picture of this disease; and as for the suffering of individuals, they seemed almost beyond the capacity of human nature to endure.” Thucydides himself got the plague but survived, as he coolly notes in passing.
Nobody knows what the plague was, although classically minded epidemiologists still debate its cause. It might have been smallpox, a fungal poisoning called ergotism, or something worse. In 1985, a New England Journal of Medicine article argued that it was a combination of influenza and staphylococcus, dubbed “the Thucydides syndrome.” A 1994 article in the American Journal of Epidemiology rejected that diagnosis, proposing, instead, typhus, anthrax, or perhaps “a potentially explosive respiratory agent.”
Whatever it was, it was a horror. As Thucydides recorded with clinical detail, people suddenly felt their heads begin to burn, their eyes redden, their tongues and mouths bleed. Next came coughing, stomach pain, diarrhea, and “vomiting of every kind of bile that has been given a name by the medical profession.” The skin turned reddish with pustules and ulcers, while the stricken plunged into the city’s water tanks trying to slake an unquenchable thirst—possibly contaminating the water supply. Most died after about a week. The city was blanketed with corpses.
Athenians were already packed into the city as a wartime measure, and frightened people fleeing the countryside crowded it even further, creating conditions we now know are ripe for contagion. Athenian doctors bore the brunt: “Terrible . . . was the sight of people dying like sheep through having caught the disease as a result of nursing others.” Neither medicine nor quackery helped. Nor did consulting the oracles or praying in the temples, futile pieties which Thucydides dismissively noted were soon discarded.
Pericles’ stirring funeral oration is among the most famous passages of Thucydides. The statesman praised Athens for its freedom and democratic deliberations, while defending its increasingly oppressive empire. (Athens was only a democracy for adult, male citizens of Athenian descent, not for women or slaves, or for foreigners living under imperial rule.) This message has been remembered: during the First World War, London buses carried posters with passages from the speech; in 2012, a memorial in central London to the R.A.F. Bomber Command was engraved with a quote from it.
But Thucydides’ chronicle of what happened just after Pericles’ funeral oration is unsparing—and should be as enduring as the speech itself. “The catastrophe was so overwhelming that men, not knowing what would happen next to them, became indifferent to every rule of religion or of law,” Thucydides wrote. Orderly Athenians, no longer expecting to live long enough to face punishment for crimes, plunged into “a state of unprecedented lawlessness.” They could not even bother to lay their dead to rest respectably. Instead, survivors looked for already burning funeral pyres, adding friends and relatives to the blaze. And with the spectre of mortality looming at all times, they lived only for “the pleasure of the moment and everything that might conceivably contribute to that pleasure. No fear of god or law of man had a restraining influence.”
Many Athenians blamed the calamity on their Spartan enemies, spreading dark rumors of poisoned reservoirs. Yet Thucydides swiftly dismissed such speculation. After all, Athens was a naval power, an imperial capital, and a trading city whose fleets ranged across the ancient world; the contagion, he wrote, probably spread from Ethiopia to Libya to Persia before finally reaching Greece, where Athens—a global port for commercial ships—was its first stop.
And, once it arrived, its damage knew no bounds, doing terrible harm to democracy itself. In Plato’s “Republic,” written several decades after the plague, Socrates warned that democracy would decay into tyranny; Thucydides recorded it sliding into discord, folly, and demagoguery. Only someone of Pericles’ intelligence and integrity, Thucydides wrote, “could respect the liberty of the people and at the same time hold them in check.” His death left Athenian democracy in the hands of self-serving scoundrels such as Alcibiades, who later promoted an oligarchic coup, and bellicose demagogues such as Cleon, whom Thucydides scorned as “remarkable among the Athenians for the violence of his character.”
For anyone hopeful that democracy is the best system for coping with the current coronavirus pandemic, the Athenian disaster stands as a chilling admonition. As Plato knew, political regimes are as fragile as any other human structure, and all fall in time. The plague devastated Athens for many years—Thucydides reckoned it took fifteen years to recover—but his account suggests that the damage to democracy lasted far longer. The stakes of our own vulnerability are no different.
This is a sobering history, but, reading Thucydides’ account of the plague while under lockdown, I sometimes found the frosty old historian oddly heartening. He was too scrupulous to blame the epidemic on the Spartans—an ancient reproach to those today who try to pin blame on foreign rivals. Politicians in search of scapegoats would be wise to recall Pericles, who said, before the plague, “What I fear is not the enemy’s strength, but our own mistakes.”
Thucydides maintained a rationalist’s sensibility even in wartime and plague. Unlike some Athenian dramatists, he saw neither metaphorical significance nor divine retribution in the epidemic. The plague was just a plague. Surviving the disease, he carefully “set down the symptoms, knowledge of which will enable it to be recognized, if it should ever break out again.” His ancient empirical analysis of catastrophe offers a jot of hope, if not wonder: for as long as there have been plagues, there have been people, scared but tenacious, using reason to try to learn from them.


newyorker--2020-06-11--The Lyrics to “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” Adapted by Your Orthopedist to Inform You of Telehealth

The Lyrics to “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” Adapted by Your Orthopedist to Inform You of Telehealth Openings

Won ’ t you come see about bones ?
I ’ ll be alone , as we are only doing emergency procedures in office during this period .
Dancing , you know it , baby , can result in serious hyperextension .
Does it hurt when you dance ?
How about when you just do that fake kind of dancing that your partner hates , because you look like a toddler on the toilet ?
Tell me your troubles and doubts , and also specifically what motions tend to aggravate your sciatic nerve .
Giving me everything inside and out @ @ @ @ @ @ @ feasible without an in-person consultation .
Love ’ s strange , so real in the dark , but please be mindful that ninety per cent of orthopedic injuries occur in the dark .
A night light can help .
Think of the tender things that we were working on : namely , your visceral fascia .
Slow change may pull us apart , as may lockdown orders , the state of the economy , and your hypermobility disorder .
When the light gets into your heart , baby , that is an X @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ t you forget about me : I do telehealth now .
Our online portal is less complicated than it appears to be based on the e-mail that we sent you , from the e-mail address 65729234aueghd @ orth2zx3423.biz .
Don ’ t , don ’ t , don ’ t , don ’ t—don ’ t you forget about me , or the exercises that I e-mailed you numerous times .
Please confirm that you have received them and , if you have not , check your junk folder for any outstanding @ @ @ @ @ @ @ you stand above me ?
And really reach ?
Clicking without pain is O.K.—clicking with pain is a sign that you should modify this particular exercise .
Look my way , never love me , as that would not be appropriate , from a HIPAA-compliance perspective .
Rain keeps falling , rain keeps falling , and if I remember correctly you sustained your first orthopedic injury slipping on a wet sidewalk .
You really took a tumble .
Down , down , down you went again , when we attempted a set of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ me ?
A lot of my patients don ’ t , which is weird , because I am a person they previously saw twice a week , every week , for three to six weeks , and to whom they narrated the entirety of their office and familial sagas as I massaged their kneecaps .
Call my name or walk on by , but , ideally , do both at the same time , as I am testing your ability to balance different neuro-operative skills simultaneously .
Rain keeps falling , rain keeps @ @ @ @ @ @ @ down .
As mentioned , please take care .
I have no idea why the weather is like this right now , but that doesn ’ t make conditions any less hazardous for you .
Hey , hey , hey , hey !
Ooh , who is your primary-care physician and why have I not received a referral ?
Can you please call to see about the holdup ?
I can not legally treat you without a valid and up-to-date referral .
The fact that this arcane system helps no one and results @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and insurance companies does not change anything , unfortunately .
Don ’ t you try and pretend that you haven ’ t seen my multiple messages about telehealth availability .
Our practice has embedded a read receipt in all our correspondence , and we know that you have opened our e-mails .
We also know that you have “ liked ” several photos of our practitioners ’ pets on our Instagram account .
It ’ s my feeling we ’ ll win in the end and that you will schedule an appointment simply @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Vanity and Security are the names of our TheraBands .
If you choose to schedule a telehealth appointment , we will gladly mail you one or both , depending on your resistance capacity .
Don ’ t you forget about me .
I ’ ll be alone , dancing—you know it , baby .
Going to take you apart only in the sense that your discs will have more breathing room after this simple traction exercise .
I ’ ll put us back together at heart , baby , but you have @ @ @ @ @ @ @ so please consult the exercise sheet I have resent you !
I say , “ Lala la la lala la latissimus dorsi will not release itself.
” We know that orthopedic health care may not seem like something you can get remotely , and to that we say , “ Your husband ’ s Zoom karaoke league .
”

Won’t you come see about bones?
I’ll be alone, as we are only doing emergency procedures in office during this period.
Dancing, you know it, baby, can result in serious hyperextension. Does it hurt when you dance? How about when you just do that fake kind of dancing that your partner hates, because you look like a toddler on the toilet?
Tell me your troubles and doubts, and also specifically what motions tend to aggravate your sciatic nerve.
Giving me everything inside and out, at least as much as is feasible without an in-person consultation.
Love’s strange, so real in the dark, but please be mindful that ninety per cent of orthopedic injuries occur in the dark. A night light can help.
Think of the tender things that we were working on: namely, your visceral fascia.
Slow change may pull us apart, as may lockdown orders, the state of the economy, and your hypermobility disorder.
When the light gets into your heart, baby, that is an X ray—please do not be alarmed.
Don’t you forget about me: I do telehealth now. Our online portal is less complicated than it appears to be based on the e-mail that we sent you, from the e-mail address 65729234aueghd@orth2zx3423.biz.
Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t—don’t you forget about me, or the exercises that I e-mailed you numerous times. Please confirm that you have received them and, if you have not, check your junk folder for any outstanding messages from 65729234aueghd@orth2zx3423.biz.
Will you stand above me? And really reach? Clicking without pain is O.K.—clicking with pain is a sign that you should modify this particular exercise.
Look my way, never love me, as that would not be appropriate, from a HIPAA-compliance perspective.
Rain keeps falling, rain keeps falling, and if I remember correctly you sustained your first orthopedic injury slipping on a wet sidewalk. You really took a tumble.
Down, down, down you went again, when we attempted a set of hip-knee stability squats.
Will you recognize me? A lot of my patients don’t, which is weird, because I am a person they previously saw twice a week, every week, for three to six weeks, and to whom they narrated the entirety of their office and familial sagas as I massaged their kneecaps.
Call my name or walk on by, but, ideally, do both at the same time, as I am testing your ability to balance different neuro-operative skills simultaneously.
Rain keeps falling, rain keeps falling down, down, down, down. As mentioned, please take care. I have no idea why the weather is like this right now, but that doesn’t make conditions any less hazardous for you.
Hey, hey, hey, hey! Ooh, who is your primary-care physician and why have I not received a referral? Can you please call to see about the holdup? I cannot legally treat you without a valid and up-to-date referral. The fact that this arcane system helps no one and results in significantly larger costs for both patients and insurance companies does not change anything, unfortunately.
Don’t you try and pretend that you haven’t seen my multiple messages about telehealth availability. Our practice has embedded a read receipt in all our correspondence, and we know that you have opened our e-mails. We also know that you have “liked” several photos of our practitioners’ pets on our Instagram account.
It’s my feeling we’ll win in the end and that you will schedule an appointment simply to get us to stop sending e-mails.
Vanity and Security are the names of our TheraBands. If you choose to schedule a telehealth appointment, we will gladly mail you one or both, depending on your resistance capacity.
Don’t you forget about me. I’ll be alone, dancing—you know it, baby. Going to take you apart only in the sense that your discs will have more breathing room after this simple traction exercise.
I’ll put us back together at heart, baby, but you have to do your part as well, so please consult the exercise sheet I have resent you!
I say, “Lala la la lala la latissimus dorsi will not release itself.” We know that orthopedic health care may not seem like something you can get remotely, and to that we say, “Your husband’s Zoom karaoke league.”


newyorker--2020-06-11--Is There a Religious Left?

Is There a Religious Left?

“ In the name of Jesus , this flag has to come down.
” So begins one of the most consequential sermons of the twenty-first century .
Bree Newsome , a thirty-year-old artist from North Carolina , was a few dozen feet above the ground , scaling a flagpole in front of the South Carolina State House .
Police officers were hollering up at her , demanding that she come down , but she kept climbing , and kept preaching : “ You come against me with hatred and oppression and violence .
I come against you in the name @ @ @ @ @ @ @ today.
” Newsome had been thinking about that Confederate flag for some time .
Her ancestors had been enslaved in South Carolina , and she had heard stories from her grandmother about the violence perpetrated by the Ku Klux Klan in Greenville .
Then , on June 17 , 2015 , a white supremacist murdered nine black parishioners during a Bible study at a church in Charleston , and Newsome decided it was time for the flag to come down .
Ten days later , after meeting with other activists—including one who had @ @ @ @ @ @ @ few lampposts , she climbed the thirty-foot pole outside the State House , reciting the Lord ’ s Prayer and the Twenty-seventh Psalm as she rose higher and higher , removed the flag , and returned it to the ground , where a crowd applauded and the police arrested her .
Newsome spent about seven hours in jail ; the Confederate flag was restored before she had even been released .
But , by the second week of July , after millions of Americans had seen photographs or footage of her climb , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the flag from the capitol , and , in the years that followed , many other Confederate memorials and statues have come down around the country .
The daughter of a Baptist preacher who was once the dean of the Howard University School of Divinity , Newsome came by her faith and her preaching honestly , yet almost all of the publicity that followed her act of civil disobedience stripped her protest of its theological tenor .
Such is the fate of much of the activism of the so-called religious left : if @ @ @ @ @ @ @ by broader causes and coalitions ; if it fails , it is forgotten .
For all the opprobrium directed at the religious right , the activism of religious leftists suffers a different fate , alternately ignored and fetishized , trotted out every election cycle with a tone befitting the Second Coming : always just about to happen .
This year ’ s Presidential race is the most obvious occasion for the new book “ American Prophets : The Religious Roots of Progressive Politics and the Ongoing Fight for the Soul of the Country @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
“ American Prophets ” begins where Jenkins himself began as a religion reporter : in the fall of 2011 , at the Occupy Wall Street protest in Boston ’ s Dewey Square , an offshoot of the gathering in New York City ’ s Zuccotti Park .
Jenkins was freelancing for Religion News Service , a kind of faith-oriented Associated Press , and his first assignment was to cover the spiritual aspects of O.W.S .
When Jenkins arrived at Dewey Square , he heard protesters singing hymns , and followed their voices @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was representative of the role he argues religion played in the movement : from the beginning , there were interfaith prayer services , protest chaplains , and supplies donated by local religious groups .
Over the next few years , Jenkins chased stories like that one for R.N.S.
, as well as for the Center for American Progress ’ s now defunct ThinkProgress .
His book is a collection of that reporting , not really the history or systematics promised by his title but a series of portraits of people he argues are @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” a term Jenkins acknowledges that even some of his own profile subjects would reject , despite his almost definition-less definition : “ an amorphous , ever-changing group of progressive , faith-based advocates , strategists , and political operatives.
” As a result , “ American Prophets ” is actually a kind of contemporary “ Lives of the Saints ” —a series of profiles of admirable leftist activists whose politics are motivated by their faith .
Whether those portraits constitute a collective is not only a problem for Jenkins , as a writer @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , as citizens .
It ’ s difficult to say which came first , the religious left or the religious right .
In the nineteenth century , the abolitionist cause was championed by Christians—although many others , going all the way back to the apostle Paul , had defended slavery on theological grounds , and continued to do so even after Emancipation .
Some historians identify the Social Gospel movement of the early twentieth century as the real origin of leftist religious politicking , since it applied Christian ethics to a range of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of the Social Gospel demanded structural remedies for poverty , addiction , child labor , crime , and other injustices .
The organizing they did on behalf of welfare , temperance , labor reforms , and public safety prompted a backlash by conservatives , who came together to oppose first the New Deal and then evolution , communism , contraception , pornography , gays , and abortion .
It ’ s a surprising prologue for the contemporary political landscape , where the religious left seems to mobilize chiefly in response to the work @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to many faiths , but he begins with a Catholic activist , Sister Carol Keehan , who , in addition to being a nun with the Daughters of Charity , was the head of the Catholic Health Association of the United States .
In that capacity , she applied her background in nursing and health-care finance to the management of about six hundred hospitals and sixteen hundred other health facilities across the country , and , beginning in 2009 , helped draft and lobby for the passage of the Affordable Care Act .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ even after the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops came out against it , not only whipping Catholic legislators in Congress but writing newspaper editorials about how the bill reflected Catholic principles and challenging the bishops who tried to portray the bill as pro-abortion .
So consequential was her activism that Sister Carol received one of the pens that President Barack Obama used to sign the A.C.A .
into law .
Such legislative victories are few and far between in “ American Prophets.
” More common is the experience of the interfaith group Moral @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Collins in 2017 , pleading with her to protect the A.C.A.
’ s individual mandate .
Ignoring the nine Christian , Jewish , Buddhist , and Unitarian Universalist clergy arrested for occupying her congressional office , Collins ultimately voted for the Republican tax bill that killed the mandate , claiming she had secured protections for the insurance provision , although ultimately jeopardizing the health care of eighty thousand Mainers and millions of other Americans .
Those nine clergy who were arrested were part of the Maine incarnation of an activist movement started four @ @ @ @ @ @ @ by the Reverend William Barber II .
Barber , a Disciples of Christ minister , had watched as Republicans , having taken control of both state houses and the governor ’ s mansion in North Carolina , enacted a conservative agenda that radically changed his home state : cutting unemployment benefits , rejecting the Medicaid expansion , eliminating low-income tax credits , curtailing voting rights , and slashing education and environmental budgets .
On April 29 , 2013 , Barber led several dozen people to the state legislature , which was in session @ @ @ @ @ @ @ We have no other choice but to assemble in the people ’ s house where these bills are being presented , argued , and voted upon , ” Barber wrote in a public statement that accompanied the first Moral Mondays protest , “ in hopes that God will move in the hearts of our legislators , as he moved in the heart of Pharaoh to let His people go.
” Seventeen people were arrested that day ; by the end of that year ’ s legislative session , the number had risen to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the next year , there were Moral Mondays groups gathering around the nation .

“In the name of Jesus, this flag has to come down.” So begins one of the most consequential sermons of the twenty-first century. Bree Newsome, a thirty-year-old artist from North Carolina, was a few dozen feet above the ground, scaling a flagpole in front of the South Carolina State House. Police officers were hollering up at her, demanding that she come down, but she kept climbing, and kept preaching: “You come against me with hatred and oppression and violence. I come against you in the name of God. This flag comes down today.”
Newsome had been thinking about that Confederate flag for some time. Her ancestors had been enslaved in South Carolina, and she had heard stories from her grandmother about the violence perpetrated by the Ku Klux Klan in Greenville. Then, on June 17, 2015, a white supremacist murdered nine black parishioners during a Bible study at a church in Charleston, and Newsome decided it was time for the flag to come down. Ten days later, after meeting with other activists—including one who had scaled trees for Greenpeace—and practicing on a few lampposts, she climbed the thirty-foot pole outside the State House, reciting the Lord’s Prayer and the Twenty-seventh Psalm as she rose higher and higher, removed the flag, and returned it to the ground, where a crowd applauded and the police arrested her. Newsome spent about seven hours in jail; the Confederate flag was restored before she had even been released. But, by the second week of July, after millions of Americans had seen photographs or footage of her climb, the state legislature voted to permanently remove the flag from the capitol, and, in the years that followed, many other Confederate memorials and statues have come down around the country.
The daughter of a Baptist preacher who was once the dean of the Howard University School of Divinity, Newsome came by her faith and her preaching honestly, yet almost all of the publicity that followed her act of civil disobedience stripped her protest of its theological tenor. Such is the fate of much of the activism of the so-called religious left: if it is successful, it is subsumed by broader causes and coalitions; if it fails, it is forgotten. For all the opprobrium directed at the religious right, the activism of religious leftists suffers a different fate, alternately ignored and fetishized, trotted out every election cycle with a tone befitting the Second Coming: always just about to happen. This year’s Presidential race is the most obvious occasion for the new book “American Prophets: The Religious Roots of Progressive Politics and the Ongoing Fight for the Soul of the Country,” by the reporter Jack Jenkins.
“American Prophets” begins where Jenkins himself began as a religion reporter: in the fall of 2011, at the Occupy Wall Street protest in Boston’s Dewey Square, an offshoot of the gathering in New York City’s Zuccotti Park. Jenkins was freelancing for Religion News Service, a kind of faith-oriented Associated Press, and his first assignment was to cover the spiritual aspects of O.W.S. When Jenkins arrived at Dewey Square, he heard protesters singing hymns, and followed their voices to the sacred-space tent. That space was representative of the role he argues religion played in the movement: from the beginning, there were interfaith prayer services, protest chaplains, and supplies donated by local religious groups.
Over the next few years, Jenkins chased stories like that one for R.N.S., as well as for the Center for American Progress’s now defunct ThinkProgress. His book is a collection of that reporting, not really the history or systematics promised by his title but a series of portraits of people he argues are part of the “religious left,” a term Jenkins acknowledges that even some of his own profile subjects would reject, despite his almost definition-less definition: “an amorphous, ever-changing group of progressive, faith-based advocates, strategists, and political operatives.” As a result, “American Prophets” is actually a kind of contemporary “Lives of the Saints”—a series of profiles of admirable leftist activists whose politics are motivated by their faith. Whether those portraits constitute a collective is not only a problem for Jenkins, as a writer, but for the rest of us, as citizens.
It’s difficult to say which came first, the religious left or the religious right. In the nineteenth century, the abolitionist cause was championed by Christians—although many others, going all the way back to the apostle Paul, had defended slavery on theological grounds, and continued to do so even after Emancipation. Some historians identify the Social Gospel movement of the early twentieth century as the real origin of leftist religious politicking, since it applied Christian ethics to a range of issues rather than just one. Evangelists of the Social Gospel demanded structural remedies for poverty, addiction, child labor, crime, and other injustices. The organizing they did on behalf of welfare, temperance, labor reforms, and public safety prompted a backlash by conservatives, who came together to oppose first the New Deal and then evolution, communism, contraception, pornography, gays, and abortion. It’s a surprising prologue for the contemporary political landscape, where the religious left seems to mobilize chiefly in response to the work of the religious right.
Jenkins attends to many faiths, but he begins with a Catholic activist, Sister Carol Keehan, who, in addition to being a nun with the Daughters of Charity, was the head of the Catholic Health Association of the United States. In that capacity, she applied her background in nursing and health-care finance to the management of about six hundred hospitals and sixteen hundred other health facilities across the country, and, beginning in 2009, helped draft and lobby for the passage of the Affordable Care Act. She continued to fight for the bill even after the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops came out against it, not only whipping Catholic legislators in Congress but writing newspaper editorials about how the bill reflected Catholic principles and challenging the bishops who tried to portray the bill as pro-abortion. So consequential was her activism that Sister Carol received one of the pens that President Barack Obama used to sign the A.C.A. into law.
Such legislative victories are few and far between in “American Prophets.” More common is the experience of the interfaith group Moral Movement Maine, which protested Senator Susan Collins in 2017, pleading with her to protect the A.C.A.’s individual mandate. Ignoring the nine Christian, Jewish, Buddhist, and Unitarian Universalist clergy arrested for occupying her congressional office, Collins ultimately voted for the Republican tax bill that killed the mandate, claiming she had secured protections for the insurance provision, although ultimately jeopardizing the health care of eighty thousand Mainers and millions of other Americans.
Those nine clergy who were arrested were part of the Maine incarnation of an activist movement started four years earlier, in North Carolina, by the Reverend William Barber II. Barber, a Disciples of Christ minister, had watched as Republicans, having taken control of both state houses and the governor’s mansion in North Carolina, enacted a conservative agenda that radically changed his home state: cutting unemployment benefits, rejecting the Medicaid expansion, eliminating low-income tax credits, curtailing voting rights, and slashing education and environmental budgets. On April 29, 2013, Barber led several dozen people to the state legislature, which was in session, and interrupted its deliberations. “We have no other choice but to assemble in the people’s house where these bills are being presented, argued, and voted upon,” Barber wrote in a public statement that accompanied the first Moral Mondays protest, “in hopes that God will move in the hearts of our legislators, as he moved in the heart of Pharaoh to let His people go.” Seventeen people were arrested that day; by the end of that year’s legislative session, the number had risen to roughly a thousand, and, by the next year, there were Moral Mondays groups gathering around the nation.
Barber probably has the largest following of any of the figures in “American Prophets.” As Jenkins observes, it is rare for members of the religious left to become national figures the way that many conservative Christians have. That difference is both cause and effect of a weaker centralized movement, but it also reflects the extent to which activism on the religious left is sometimes grounded in local issues. Take Chase Iron Eyes and Dr. Sara Jumping Eagle, a married couple who helped lead the protests against the Dakota Access pipeline. Standing Rock would eventually host more than ten thousand protesters from all over the country, but for Iron Eyes it was where he grew up, sacred land he’d long tried to defend. Jumping Eagle was one of the four hundred people arrested at Standing Rock, and one of many who saw the pipeline not only as an environmental threat but a spiritual one.
Concern for the environment is shared by many religious people across faith traditions, yet their environmentalism is often presented as a strictly scientific conviction rather than also a theological commitment. It’s far more common to hear references to the religious left in conversations about immigration and poverty. Jenkins reports on the work of the New Sanctuary Movement, highlighting clergy like the Reverend Alison Harrington, whose Presbyterian church in Tucson provided weeks of safe haven to Daniel Neyoy Ruiz, a thirty-six-year-old Mexican immigrant who had no criminal record but was stopped for a broken tailpipe, and then threatened with deportation. More than a thousand faith communities are now affiliated with the movement, providing safety from immigration raids, organizing marches and vigils for immigration reform, and sheltering dozens of immigrants every year. Because the sanctuary is a literal religious space, it is harder to ignore the faith-based nature of this work.


newyorker--2020-06-12--What the W.H.O. Meant to Say About Asymptomatic People Spreading the Coronavirus

Despite what members of the public may have heard earlier this week , on cable news , social media , or in video snippets of a few opaque sentences spoken by a World Health Organization official at a press briefing on Monday , the W.H.O .
did not announce , report , or discover that people who are infected with the SARS-CoV-2 virus but have no symptoms hardly ever transmit it to others .
( Some headlines left the impression that such people aren ’ t contagious at all . )
They can and do spread the disease , and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Michael Ryan , an Irish epidemiologist and a veteran of two Ebola epidemics and the campaign to eradicate polio , who is leading the W.H.O.
’ s response to COVID-19 , said on Tuesday , “ It ’ s clear that both symptomatic and asymptomatic individuals are part of the transmission cycle.
” Ryan was speaking at a Facebook Live event that the W.H.O .
had hastily convened to offer a “ clarification ” of remarks that his colleague Maria Van Kerkhove , an American epidemiologist who is the team ’ s lead @ @ @ @ @ @ @ before , in which , out of context , she seemed to say that such transmission was “ very rare , ” inspiring the startling headlines .
There had been a “ misunderstanding , ” Van Kerkhove said at the event ; there was no new statement or policy , whatever the impression .
“ Maybe we didn ’ t use the most elegant words , ” Ryan said .
That is an understatement .
The words were terribly misleading , and epidemiologists were concerned that they might drive people to think that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for those who clearly have symptoms .
On Wednesday , Dr. Anthony Fauci , the director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases , went on “ Good Morning America ” to say that the idea that asymptomatic people were only rarely contagious is “ not correct.
” But , in part because the comments came in the midst of the drive to reopen , others seized on them .
“ Good News !
People who catch coronavirus but have no symptoms rarely spread the disease , ” Senator Rand Paul @ @ @ @ @ @ @ back to school does not require millions of test kits.
” In fact , it does .
Although the over-all numbers of new deaths and cases are down in the United States , they are rising or even spiking in certain states , such as Arizona , the Carolinas , Florida , Tennessee , Texas , and some parts of California .
And that is even before the full effect of gatherings and protests ( and mass arrests ) over the past two weeks , if any , can be registered .
It @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , to head off or blunt a second wave—which actually might keep schools from reopening .
The source of the confusion is an answer that Van Kerkhove gave to a question from Reuters about new findings from Singapore which indicate that a strikingly high number of people with COVID-19 are asymptomatic—perhaps as many as half .
( That conclusion came as Singapore increased testing . )
Van Kerkhove began with a disquisition on whether people who think they are asymptomatic are really asymptomatic or whether they have very mild symptoms or ones that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ She also noted that there is a distinction between truly asymptomatic infected people , who never experience any effects , and presymptomatic infected people , who eventually feel something .
Then , without quite clarifying which kind of asymptomatic person she was talking about , she brought up some “ reports ” from unnamed W.H.O .
member countries that have engaged in “ detailed contact tracing ” of asymptomatic people and are “ not finding secondary transmission onward ” ; however , much of that information was unpublished , she said , and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and the W.H.O .
was “ trying to get more information from countries to truly answer this question.
” In that very preliminary , narrow context , she said , it “ still appears to be rare that an asymptomatic individual transmits onward.
” But , as she said in the Facebook event , she did not mean that this applied “ globally.
” She was talking only about “ a small subset of studies ” ; like Ryan , she noted that asymptomatic people can transmit the disease .
Van Kerkhove was @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ asymptomatic ” being applied too broadly ; in the midst of a pandemic , though , it needed to be better expressed .
The larger damage was done when she combined that observation about terminology with what came across as a general statement about who is contagious .
In doing so , she undermined the message that , for example , people should wear masks in public even if they don ’ t think they are ill. ( After all , as she herself acknowledged , they are the people who define @ @ @ @ @ @ @ especially harmful because , as both she and Ryan noted in the Facebook event , studies have shown that an infected person ’ s “ viral load ” —the amount of SARS-CoV-2 in their body—seems to be highest around the time that symptoms first appear .
This raises the possibility that people who appear to be asymptomatic but are , in fact , presymptomatic may be particularly contagious .
Also , the virus is present in the upper respiratory tract , so it appears that it can spread simply through , as Ryan @ @ @ @ @ @ @ singing , speaking loudly , exertion , maybe in a gym .
.
.
shouting in a night club because you can ’ t hear your friend.
” ( Coughing and sneezing , of course , are likely to spread virus-bearing droplets farther through the air , which is a reason that symptomatic patients could infect more people ; an unanswered question is how much each group drives the pandemic . )
Someone might go to a restaurant “ feeling O.K.
, ” but their “ viral load could be actually quite high.
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ showing how the virus spread from table to table in a restaurant in China , the initial patient didn ’ t report symptoms until hours after having eaten there . )
Ryan emphasized that this was a reason for wearing masks .
“ There is this period of time when , you know , even a professor of infectious diseases themselves wouldn ’ t know that I ’ m getting COVID , ” Ryan said .
“ There is that hours or days in which you ’ re not that unwell , or @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ re not aware of your status , and it ’ s because the disease can spread at that moment that the disease is so contagious .
That ’ s why it ’ s spread around the world in such an uncontained way .
It ’ s because it ’ s hard to stop this virus.
” But it can be stopped .
There was an important , and perhaps promising , observation wrapped in the confusion of Van Kerkhove ’ s initial comments : if some contact-tracing studies are showing that asymptomatic @ @ @ @ @ @ @ infecting many others , why aren ’ t they ?
Is it because they live in countries where people have been wearing masks , are rigorous about social distancing , or are largely in complete shutdown ?
Is it because of the speed of the contact tracing itself , or other measures those countries are taking ?
If it means that there are measures short of lockdown to keep people without symptoms from being major drivers of the pandemic , that could also be very good to know .
An obvious lesson from @ @ @ @ @ @ @ must communicate better .
The Times , in a report on the Facebook event , quoted scientists who worry that the W.H.O .
has fallen behind in synthesizing the latest and best research on the disease .
An example is its delay in issuing guidance on broad mask-wearing , which it did just last week .
When the first outbreaks emerged in China , the W.H.O .
was slow even to confirm that the coronavirus could spread from person to person rather than from animals to people .
At the Facebook Live event @ @ @ @ @ @ @ enduring uncertainty on many questions about the virus , told viewers that it is still “ early days.
” Undoubtedly , in terms of humanity ’ s relationship with the coronavirus , it is .
But , with more than four hundred thousand people dead around the world , some hundred and thirteen thousand of them in the United States , it ’ s beginning to feel a bit late to be making such mistakes in the public-health messaging .

Despite what members of the public may have heard earlier this week, on cable news, social media, or in video snippets of a few opaque sentences spoken by a World Health Organization official at a press briefing on Monday, the W.H.O. did not announce, report, or discover that people who are infected with the SARS-CoV-2 virus but have no symptoms hardly ever transmit it to others. (Some headlines left the impression that such people aren’t contagious at all.) They can and do spread the disease, and the W.H.O. knows it. As Michael Ryan, an Irish epidemiologist and a veteran of two Ebola epidemics and the campaign to eradicate polio, who is leading the W.H.O.’s response to COVID-19, said on Tuesday, “It’s clear that both symptomatic and asymptomatic individuals are part of the transmission cycle.” Ryan was speaking at a Facebook Live event that the W.H.O. had hastily convened to offer a “clarification” of remarks that his colleague Maria Van Kerkhove, an American epidemiologist who is the team’s lead technical consultant, had made the day before, in which, out of context, she seemed to say that such transmission was “very rare,” inspiring the startling headlines. There had been a “misunderstanding,” Van Kerkhove said at the event; there was no new statement or policy, whatever the impression. “Maybe we didn’t use the most elegant words,” Ryan said.
That is an understatement. The words were terribly misleading, and epidemiologists were concerned that they might drive people to think that social distancing and masks only make sense for those who clearly have symptoms. On Wednesday, Dr. Anthony Fauci, the director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases, went on “Good Morning America” to say that the idea that asymptomatic people were only rarely contagious is “not correct.” But, in part because the comments came in the midst of the drive to reopen, others seized on them. “Good News! People who catch coronavirus but have no symptoms rarely spread the disease,” Senator Rand Paul tweeted. “Translation: sending kids back to school does not require millions of test kits.” In fact, it does. Although the over-all numbers of new deaths and cases are down in the United States, they are rising or even spiking in certain states, such as Arizona, the Carolinas, Florida, Tennessee, Texas, and some parts of California. And that is even before the full effect of gatherings and protests (and mass arrests) over the past two weeks, if any, can be registered. It is precisely the moment to test aggressively, to head off or blunt a second wave—which actually might keep schools from reopening.
The source of the confusion is an answer that Van Kerkhove gave to a question from Reuters about new findings from Singapore which indicate that a strikingly high number of people with COVID-19 are asymptomatic—perhaps as many as half. (That conclusion came as Singapore increased testing.) Van Kerkhove began with a disquisition on whether people who think they are asymptomatic are really asymptomatic or whether they have very mild symptoms or ones that are “not quote-unquote COVID symptoms.” She also noted that there is a distinction between truly asymptomatic infected people, who never experience any effects, and presymptomatic infected people, who eventually feel something. Then, without quite clarifying which kind of asymptomatic person she was talking about, she brought up some “reports” from unnamed W.H.O. member countries that have engaged in “detailed contact tracing” of asymptomatic people and are “not finding secondary transmission onward”; however, much of that information was unpublished, she said, and thus neither peer-reviewed nor publicly available, and the W.H.O. was “trying to get more information from countries to truly answer this question.” In that very preliminary, narrow context, she said, it “still appears to be rare that an asymptomatic individual transmits onward.” But, as she said in the Facebook event, she did not mean that this applied “globally.” She was talking only about “a small subset of studies”; like Ryan, she noted that asymptomatic people can transmit the disease.
Van Kerkhove was making a useful point about the term “asymptomatic” being applied too broadly; in the midst of a pandemic, though, it needed to be better expressed. The larger damage was done when she combined that observation about terminology with what came across as a general statement about who is contagious. In doing so, she undermined the message that, for example, people should wear masks in public even if they don’t think they are ill. (After all, as she herself acknowledged, they are the people who define themselves as asymptomatic.) This was especially harmful because, as both she and Ryan noted in the Facebook event, studies have shown that an infected person’s “viral load”—the amount of SARS-CoV-2 in their body—seems to be highest around the time that symptoms first appear. This raises the possibility that people who appear to be asymptomatic but are, in fact, presymptomatic may be particularly contagious.
Also, the virus is present in the upper respiratory tract, so it appears that it can spread simply through, as Ryan put it during the event, “singing, speaking loudly, exertion, maybe in a gym . . . shouting in a night club because you can’t hear your friend.” (Coughing and sneezing, of course, are likely to spread virus-bearing droplets farther through the air, which is a reason that symptomatic patients could infect more people; an unanswered question is how much each group drives the pandemic.) Someone might go to a restaurant “feeling O.K.,” but their “viral load could be actually quite high.” (In a key epidemiological study showing how the virus spread from table to table in a restaurant in China, the initial patient didn’t report symptoms until hours after having eaten there.) Ryan emphasized that this was a reason for wearing masks. “There is this period of time when, you know, even a professor of infectious diseases themselves wouldn’t know that I’m getting COVID,” Ryan said. “There is that hours or days in which you’re not that unwell, or you could be becoming unwell, you’re not aware of your status, and it’s because the disease can spread at that moment that the disease is so contagious. That’s why it’s spread around the world in such an uncontained way. It’s because it’s hard to stop this virus.”
But it can be stopped. There was an important, and perhaps promising, observation wrapped in the confusion of Van Kerkhove’s initial comments: if some contact-tracing studies are showing that asymptomatic people in certain places aren’t infecting many others, why aren’t they? Is it because they live in countries where people have been wearing masks, are rigorous about social distancing, or are largely in complete shutdown? Is it because of the speed of the contact tracing itself, or other measures those countries are taking? If it means that there are measures short of lockdown to keep people without symptoms from being major drivers of the pandemic, that could also be very good to know.
An obvious lesson from the episode is that the W.H.O. must communicate better. The Times, in a report on the Facebook event, quoted scientists who worry that the W.H.O. has fallen behind in synthesizing the latest and best research on the disease. An example is its delay in issuing guidance on broad mask-wearing, which it did just last week. When the first outbreaks emerged in China, the W.H.O. was slow even to confirm that the coronavirus could spread from person to person rather than from animals to people. At the Facebook Live event, Van Kerkhove, referring to the enduring uncertainty on many questions about the virus, told viewers that it is still “early days.” Undoubtedly, in terms of humanity’s relationship with the coronavirus, it is. But, with more than four hundred thousand people dead around the world, some hundred and thirteen thousand of them in the United States, it’s beginning to feel a bit late to be making such mistakes in the public-health messaging.
It can be painful for the W.H.O.’s supporters to make such criticisms, given that the organization and the approach to collaborative global problem-solving that it represents, is under attack from President Trump, who decries it as a tool of China and threatens to withdraw financial support. And it is hardly the only organization that has made missteps at a volatile and tense time; the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, to cite a domestic example, has, too, particularly in the area of testing. But the W.H.O. needs to be held accountable by those who recognize its value; trust is an asset that has to be guarded. And the W.H.O. is almost uniquely positioned to play a role in answering an overriding question: Why does the virus seem to be affecting different continents, countries, regions, and populations, even similarly situated ones, differently? (Another question that would benefit from international perspectives, as the pandemic stretches on, concerns the safest ways for people to participate in their countries’ political processes, from protesting to going to the polls.) Meanwhile, though, we have learned that, with some effort, we can flatten curves and save lives. “There’s enough stoppability in the virus—it’s not so transmissible that you cannot suppress,” Ryan said. “You can’t throw up your hands.” Or, for the moment, take off your mask in a crowded public place, even if you feel just fine.
A Guide to the Coronavirus


newyorker--2020-06-12--Trump Hates Losers, So Why Is He Refighting the Civil War—on the Losing Side?

It was a small moment in a week of craziness , but there is nothing like the rage of Donald Trump when a media outlet publishes a poll proclaiming him an almost-certain loser .
There is , after all , no bigger insult in his vocabulary .
The “ fake news ” are “ sick losers , ” Trump said the other day .
Mitt Romney is a “ LOSER.
” The protesters calling for racial justice in the streets are “ lowlifes and losers.
” Not him .
When CNN released a national survey showing Trump trailing Joe Biden @ @ @ @ @ @ @ hard-to-surmount fourteen points , Trump ordered his campaign to respond .
It did , on Wednesday , with almost comical bluster : a letter in which the campaign ’ s lawyers demanded that CNN not only retract the poll but also apologize for running it .
This is petty-tyrant stuff .
In response , CNN ’ s general counsel , David Vigilante , mocked the President .
“ To my knowledge , this is the first time in its forty-year history that CNN had been threatened with legal action because an American politician @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s polling results , ” Vigilante wrote .
( What a name for a lawyer guarding the First Amendment in these times . )
“ To the extent we have received legal threats from political leaders in the past , they have typically come from countries like Venezuela or other regimes where there is little or no respect for a free and independent media.
” Trump can not change the numbers by sending in his lawyers , of course .
The CNN poll merely found what the other national surveys have documented in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the President ’ s standing as crises proliferate and his leadership is called further into question .
A Gallup Poll , released on Wednesday , found that Trump ’ s approval rating had plunged ten points in a single month .
The veteran election analyst Charlie Cook told me that he could not remember a bigger fall .
“ It just put an exclamation point on what we were seeing elsewhere : he ’ s dropping , ” Cook said .
The combined impact of Trump ’ s botched handling of the coronavirus @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and now his divisive , inflammatory response to national protests over police brutality and racial injustice have sent the President tumbling back to his “ bedrock , ” as Cook put it : a political base of somewhere between thirty-five and forty per cent of Americans who seem willing to back Trump no matter what .
If the President stays on this course , he will lose .
The polls are hardly the week ’ s only unpleasant reality for the President .
Several striking comments by his advisers in recent days portray @ @ @ @ @ @ @ campaign , in big trouble .
On Tuesday , Anthony Fauci , the government ’ s top infectious-disease specialist—for Trump and for all Presidents going back to Ronald Reagan—warned that the coronavirus pandemic , which has now claimed nearly a hundred and fifteen thousand Americans , is still rampaging .
“ It isn ’ t over yet , ” Fauci said , and , indeed , in twenty-one states , from Arizona to Oregon , cases are still rising .
On Wednesday , the Trump-appointed chairman of the Federal Reserve , Jerome Powell @ @ @ @ @ @ @ fallout stemming from pandemic shutdowns would persist for years to come .
“ This is the biggest economic shock , in the U.S. and the world , really , in living memory , ” Powell said .
On Thursday , the Trump-appointed chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff , General Mark Milley , warned of the dangerous politicization of the U.S. military and apologized for appearing in his combat fatigues alongside Trump last week , during a Bible-wielding photo op , minutes before which National Guard troops and U.S. Park Police violently @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and firing flash grenades , chemical spray , and smoke .
“ I should not have been there , ” Milley said .
“ My presence in that moment and in that environment created a perception of the military involved in domestic politics , ” he added .
“ It was a mistake.
” As with the CNN poll he did not like , Trump ’ s response to his own government ’ s warnings was to deny or dismiss them—to create his own reality when confronted with the unpleasant fact that the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to crisis .
Vigilante ’ s comparison to crisis-torn Venezuela , in other words , was painfully apt .
When I read it , I immediately thought of an extraordinary encounter on the streets of Washington that I witnessed last week , during protests of George Floyd ’ s killing .
Not content just to have Milley march alongside him to a photo op , Trump had demanded a heavily militarized response to the crowds protesting outside the White House and in cities nationwide .
In addition to thirteen hundred members of the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ five thousand National Guard troops were deployed to the city from eleven states , along with heavily armed federal law-enforcement officers , from prison guards and border-patrol agents to T.S.A .
workers .
The downtown area near the White House was cordoned off at checkpoints by armored Humvees and gun-wielding troops who refused to identify themselves or even , in many cases , their unit .
On the night of June 3rd , two days after Trump held his photo op there , I watched protesters confront two lines of troops in front @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , across the square from the White House .
Outraged at having been characterized as lawless rioters by the President , they tried to talk to individual soldiers and the whatever-they-ares in unmarked uniforms , who refused to speak to them or even look them in the eye .
The deployment of such a military force to face a bunch of peaceful , sign-bearing , mask-wearing kids looked to me as though it was happening in Caracas , not the capital of the United States .
Amid the uproar , one protester ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ You did it , ” the protester shouted , as he pointed at the young National Guardsmen standing a few inches away from him .
“ It wasn ’ t the politicians .
It wasn ’ t ‘ socialism.
’ No , it was your fucking fascist parade that you got over here .
You guys look more like Venezuela than the U.S. right now.
” And then he added , with a dramatic flourish not lost on anyone viewing the painfully un-American scene , “ I should know : I was @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Venezuela .
You look like Venezuela !
” From ordering in the military to bludgeoning the media , Trump has certainly been doing a pretty good impersonation of a hack dictator .
In the two weeks since Floyd ’ s killing ignited a profound national conversation about America ’ s terrible legacy of racism , the President ’ s contribution to this dialogue has been to consistently misrepresent what is happening as an outbreak of lawless anarchy that he is heroically cleaning up , as part of his newly rebranded “ LAW & @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , Trump , being Trump , has tried to tweet his way through the interlocking crises .
It has not worked .
On Tuesday , he began the day with a post suggesting that a septuagenarian protester who had been pushed to the ground by Buffalo police and suffered a serious head injury was somehow an Antifa conspiracist who did it to make the police look bad—an absurd conspiracy theory , which had just aired on Trump ’ s new favorite TV channel , the One America News Network .
On Capitol Hill @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Republican senators desperately sought to avoid comment on another incendiary Trump tweet .
This time , they contorted themselves so foolishly that they would have been better off simply saying something , anything , instead of ridiculously pretending not to have anything to say about something so reprehensible and stupid .
Burgess Everett , a Politico reporter , took to showing a printed-out copy of the tweet to senators when they claimed not to be familiar with it .
So did Manu Raju , of CNN , who elicited a gem from Ron @ @ @ @ @ @ @ tried to read him the tweet .
“ I would rather not hear it , ” Johnson said , as he ducked into an elevator , which might as well be the official new motto of the Senate G.O.P .
when it comes to Donald Trump .

It was a small moment in a week of craziness, but there is nothing like the rage of Donald Trump when a media outlet publishes a poll proclaiming him an almost-certain loser. There is, after all, no bigger insult in his vocabulary. The “fake news” are “sick losers,” Trump said the other day. Mitt Romney is a “LOSER.” The protesters calling for racial justice in the streets are “lowlifes and losers.” Not him. When CNN released a national survey showing Trump trailing Joe Biden in the general election, by a hard-to-surmount fourteen points, Trump ordered his campaign to respond. It did, on Wednesday, with almost comical bluster: a letter in which the campaign’s lawyers demanded that CNN not only retract the poll but also apologize for running it. This is petty-tyrant stuff. In response, CNN’s general counsel, David Vigilante, mocked the President. “To my knowledge, this is the first time in its forty-year history that CNN had been threatened with legal action because an American politician or campaign did not like CNN’s polling results,” Vigilante wrote. (What a name for a lawyer guarding the First Amendment in these times.) “To the extent we have received legal threats from political leaders in the past, they have typically come from countries like Venezuela or other regimes where there is little or no respect for a free and independent media.”
Trump cannot change the numbers by sending in his lawyers, of course. The CNN poll merely found what the other national surveys have documented in recent weeks: a persistent decline in the President’s standing as crises proliferate and his leadership is called further into question. A Gallup Poll, released on Wednesday, found that Trump’s approval rating had plunged ten points in a single month. The veteran election analyst Charlie Cook told me that he could not remember a bigger fall. “It just put an exclamation point on what we were seeing elsewhere: he’s dropping,” Cook said. The combined impact of Trump’s botched handling of the coronavirus pandemic, the concurrent economic crisis, and now his divisive, inflammatory response to national protests over police brutality and racial injustice have sent the President tumbling back to his “bedrock,” as Cook put it: a political base of somewhere between thirty-five and forty per cent of Americans who seem willing to back Trump no matter what. If the President stays on this course, he will lose.
The polls are hardly the week’s only unpleasant reality for the President. Several striking comments by his advisers in recent days portray a country, not just a political campaign, in big trouble. On Tuesday, Anthony Fauci, the government’s top infectious-disease specialist—for Trump and for all Presidents going back to Ronald Reagan—warned that the coronavirus pandemic, which has now claimed nearly a hundred and fifteen thousand Americans, is still rampaging. “It isn’t over yet,” Fauci said, and, indeed, in twenty-one states, from Arizona to Oregon, cases are still rising. On Wednesday, the Trump-appointed chairman of the Federal Reserve, Jerome Powell, warned that high unemployment and economic fallout stemming from pandemic shutdowns would persist for years to come. “This is the biggest economic shock, in the U.S. and the world, really, in living memory,” Powell said. On Thursday, the Trump-appointed chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Mark Milley, warned of the dangerous politicization of the U.S. military and apologized for appearing in his combat fatigues alongside Trump last week, during a Bible-wielding photo op, minutes before which National Guard troops and U.S. Park Police violently cleared the square of peaceful protesters—beating some and firing flash grenades, chemical spray, and smoke. “I should not have been there,” Milley said. “My presence in that moment and in that environment created a perception of the military involved in domestic politics,” he added. “It was a mistake.” As with the CNN poll he did not like, Trump’s response to his own government’s warnings was to deny or dismiss them—to create his own reality when confronted with the unpleasant fact that the country he leads is lurching from crisis to crisis.
Vigilante’s comparison to crisis-torn Venezuela, in other words, was painfully apt. When I read it, I immediately thought of an extraordinary encounter on the streets of Washington that I witnessed last week, during protests of George Floyd’s killing. Not content just to have Milley march alongside him to a photo op, Trump had demanded a heavily militarized response to the crowds protesting outside the White House and in cities nationwide. In addition to thirteen hundred members of the Washington, D.C., National Guard, five thousand National Guard troops were deployed to the city from eleven states, along with heavily armed federal law-enforcement officers, from prison guards and border-patrol agents to T.S.A. workers. The downtown area near the White House was cordoned off at checkpoints by armored Humvees and gun-wielding troops who refused to identify themselves or even, in many cases, their unit.
On the night of June 3rd, two days after Trump held his photo op there, I watched protesters confront two lines of troops in front of St. John’s Episcopal Church, across the square from the White House. Outraged at having been characterized as lawless rioters by the President, they tried to talk to individual soldiers and the whatever-they-ares in unmarked uniforms, who refused to speak to them or even look them in the eye. The deployment of such a military force to face a bunch of peaceful, sign-bearing, mask-wearing kids looked to me as though it was happening in Caracas, not the capital of the United States. Amid the uproar, one protester’s voice rose above the others. “You did it,” the protester shouted, as he pointed at the young National Guardsmen standing a few inches away from him. “It wasn’t the politicians. It wasn’t ‘socialism.’ No, it was your fucking fascist parade that you got over here. You guys look more like Venezuela than the U.S. right now.” And then he added, with a dramatic flourish not lost on anyone viewing the painfully un-American scene, “I should know: I was born there. I was born in Venezuela. You look like Venezuela!”
From ordering in the military to bludgeoning the media, Trump has certainly been doing a pretty good impersonation of a hack dictator. In the two weeks since Floyd’s killing ignited a profound national conversation about America’s terrible legacy of racism, the President’s contribution to this dialogue has been to consistently misrepresent what is happening as an outbreak of lawless anarchy that he is heroically cleaning up, as part of his newly rebranded “LAW & ORDER” campaign.
Mostly, though, Trump, being Trump, has tried to tweet his way through the interlocking crises. It has not worked. On Tuesday, he began the day with a post suggesting that a septuagenarian protester who had been pushed to the ground by Buffalo police and suffered a serious head injury was somehow an Antifa conspiracist who did it to make the police look bad—an absurd conspiracy theory, which had just aired on Trump’s new favorite TV channel, the One America News Network.
On Capitol Hill, a by-now-familiar dance quickly began as Republican senators desperately sought to avoid comment on another incendiary Trump tweet. This time, they contorted themselves so foolishly that they would have been better off simply saying something, anything, instead of ridiculously pretending not to have anything to say about something so reprehensible and stupid. Burgess Everett, a Politico reporter, took to showing a printed-out copy of the tweet to senators when they claimed not to be familiar with it. So did Manu Raju, of CNN, who elicited a gem from Ron Johnson, of Wisconsin, when he tried to read him the tweet. “I would rather not hear it,” Johnson said, as he ducked into an elevator, which might as well be the official new motto of the Senate G.O.P. when it comes to Donald Trump.
They would rather not hear it because, of course, as a senior White House official told one reporter, the tweet speaks for itself. Res ipsa loquitur. It sure does. Trump, in all things, speaks for himself. It’s just that what he says is often so bizarre, alarming, false, and politically problematic that it is hard to process. It has been especially so in recent days, as the country has found itself in need of a leader but stuck with a loudmouth wannabe strongman.
On Wednesday, with Washington still in a furious buzz over the President’s attack on the brutalized senior citizen, Trump distracted from that distraction by deciding to tweet in favor of keeping certain U.S. military bases named for Confederate generals, in what appeared to be a spectacularly ill-timed intervention on behalf of traitorous slaveholders who lost the Civil War. Trump could not have seemed more out of step with the moment. A few hours after that tweet, with the country experiencing a rare outbreak of bipartisanship on the subject of racism, protesters toppled a statue of Jefferson Davis in Richmond, Virginia, while Nascar announced that it was banning all displays of the Confederate flag. On Capitol Hill, on Thursday morning, even the normally quiescent Senate Republicans on the Armed Services Committee suggested that Trump had gone too far and approved, by voice vote, a proposal by the liberal Senator Elizabeth Warren that would require the U.S. military to rename all bases which currently honor Confederate officers within three years. That vote, striking as it was, was quickly overshadowed by an even more consequential rebuke of the President: Milley’s extraordinary statement repudiating his participation in Trump’s militarized photo op. Trump, for once, was silent. At least, for a few hours.
I know it is hard to remember all the crazy things that happen in the course of a week in Trump’s America, but I will try hard to remember this one: a week when I saw troops in the streets and worried about a years-long economic crisis; a week when an untamed pandemic killed up to a thousand Americans a day; a week when massive nationwide protests suggested that our dysfunctional, gridlocked political system might finally actually do something about the plague of police brutality and systemic racism. And then there was the President, who chose to spend the week refighting the Civil War—on the losing side. This, too, I will remember, and so, dear reader, should you.
Race, Policing, and Black Lives Matter Protests