newyorker--2020-02-20--Andy Byford’s Last Day with New York’s Transit System

New York suffered a strange gut punch recently .
Andy Byford , the president of the New York City Transit Authority , which runs the subways and buses , quietly announced his resignation .
“ DEVASTATED , ” the City Council speaker , Corey Johnson , tweeted .
Transit activists , transit executives , disability-rights advocates , labor leaders , bus and subway workers , good-government gadflies , and straphangers from every borough expressed shock and dismay .
Many New Yorkers , including the mayor , Bill De Blasio , wondered wanly if Byford could be persuaded to stay .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ Daglian , the executive director of the Permanent Citizens Advisory Committee to the Metropolitan Transportation Authority , said , “ When was the last time an average New Yorker on the street knew the name of the head of a transit agency ?
” It really was an unusual blow .
I profiled Byford in 2018 , when he was new on the job , and watched him work the trains and stations , always wearing his nametag , eagerly introducing himself to startled riders and staff .
He ’ s whippety , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and he had arrived at a nadir of subway misery , when only fifty-eight per cent of the trains ran on time , which was by far the worst performance of any American city .
New Yorkers were abandoning the subway in droves .
Byford turned that around .
On-time performance is now above eighty per cent , and subway ridership has increased in each of the past six months .
He would show up at community meetings in every corner of the city , absorbing people ’ s anger and promising improvements @ @ @ @ @ @ @ started calling him Train Daddy .
Stickers began to appear around town , with Byford ’ s grinning face plastered on the front of a train , Thomas the Tank Engine-style , under a banner , “ Train Daddy Loves You Very Much.
” Beyond his popularity , Byford had a long-term master plan to redesign the bus networks and dramatically modernize the subways—adding thousands of new cars and a revamped signal system—that was widely hailed by business and planning groups concerned about the future of New York .
So why did he @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Governor Andrew Cuomo .
It may seem odd , and that ’ s because it is , that New York City ’ s mass-transit system is run from the governor ’ s office , in faraway Albany .
The original subway companies were private and ran their trains through land leased from the city .
Those firms went under in the Great Depression , and the city took over operations .
Then , in 1968 , with the city contemplating a system expansion , Governor Nelson Rockefeller , a natural-born empire builder , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ state all in , created the Metropolitan Transportation Authority , which would be financed by the state , the city , the farepayers , and the federal government but would be under Albany ’ s control .
The power grab worked .
The buses and subways were consigned to New York City Transit , which operates under the M.T.A .
Mayors were largely sidelined , and governors turned out to be , in most cases , distracted and unreliable administrators .
George Pataki , for example , who was in office from 1995 @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s budget , doubling the agency ’ s debt and initiating a slide in maintenance that continued until recently .
Andrew Cuomo seemed to have little interest in mass transit during his first term .
He often mocked the M.T.A .
as a bloated , incompetent bureaucracy , which has a certain basis in fact .
But then , in his second term , the governor got deeply involved in a push to finish the first , three-station section of the long-awaited Second Avenue Subway , on the Upper East Side , which @ @ @ @ @ @ @ In a new book , “ Last Subway : The Long Wait for the Next Train in New York City , ” the political scientist and urban planner Philip Mark Plotch argues that Cuomo forced a calamitous transfer of resources to the project and away from routine subway operations and maintenance , which helped precipitate a meltdown throughout the system later that year .
In any case , that crisis , known as the Summer of Hell for its sweltering breakdowns , delays , and repeated derailments , got Cuomo ’ s attention @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the world ’ s most highly regarded transit experts , a tireless self-described nerd with experience in systems on three continents—Byford .
“ My job is to make the politicians look good , ” Byford told me .
He had worked for some doozies , including the late Rob Ford , the brawling , crack-smoking mayor of Toronto .
By contrast , Mayor De Blasio was easy .
Six months into the job , Byford still hadn ’ t spoken to him .
Of course , he wasn ’ t really working for @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , was genuinely interested in seeing the system modernized , particularly if he got credit for it .
Byford , to take one example , did a deep dive into track-speed restrictions .
He found colossal inefficiencies arising from , among other things , an old disciplinary system with its incentives screwed on backward , which caused trains to be driven more and more slowly .
In partnership with the unions , he set about rationalizing the speeds , which soon had a tonic effect on the system ’ s on-time performance .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ board of the New York Post about how he , along with an “ outside consultant , ” had got to the bottom of the track-speed problem and fixed it .
In May of 2018 , when Byford was about to formally present to the M.T.A .
his long-term transit plan for New York , in a comprehensive bound booklet complete with projected costs—forty billion dollars over ten years—he was reportedly told that Cuomo had changed his mind and did not want to see any numbers , which meant that the booklets had @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , didn ’ t like hearing about the number of years that the plan projected it would take to fully modernize the subway ’ s ancient signal system .
( He came to favor a cheaper , more futuristic technology that is used in cell phones but has little relevance to train signalling . )
The governor also took to intervening in major subway-engineering projects , such as the repair of the L train ’ s tunnel under the East River .
He would bring in “ outside consultants , ” who had @ @ @ @ @ @ @ be done .
Cuomo wants to fix the subways , but seemingly on a political schedule , which is only logical—he ’ s a politician .
Indeed , he achieved a major political victory , last year , with the passage of a highly progressive congestion-pricing bill .
Starting next year , most vehicles entering Manhattan ’ s central business district will be charged fees , and most of the money collected will go toward mass transit .
This will be the first such scheme in an American city .
The system will @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the M.T.A.
, which to some analysts means that the city has now given to Albany even more power over its vital systems—in this case , control of its streets .
Mayor De Blasio , who was running for President at the time , signed off on the plan without much discussion .
Byford was enthusiastic about congestion pricing , and he did not openly complain about Cuomo ’ s various interventions .
But neither did he praise all of Cuomo ’ s ideas—in some cases , he was suspected of skepticism .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ public profile did not sit well with the governor ’ s office , and the contrast between Byford ’ s transparent , open-door management style and Cuomo ’ s more controlling approach was probably not appreciated .
The governor ’ s office even suggested to the Times that Byford was in the habit of trying to grab credit for achievements that were rightly the governor ’ s .
The Brooklyn writer who came up with Train Daddy told an interviewer that he did so because he “ really liked what Byford was doing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ needed some recognition and love in light of that bastard Cuomo treating him like shit.
” Then , last year , Cuomo brought in yet another set of consultants who , in short order , produced a report recommending a wholesale restructuring of the M.T.A .
Cuomo liked the plan and ordered that it be implemented .
The job of the New York City Transit Authority ’ s president would shrink drastically .
Byford would lose control of his big projects , including signal replacement , which will require the most astute and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ construction of seventy new elevators at stations currently inaccessible to the disabled .
Byford , only two years into the work , submitted a painfully buoyant letter of resignation .
He had built a good team and wished New York all the best .
On Tuesday , he told me , “ It has been an honor and a privilege to run New York City Transit , ” adding , “ I wish it hadn ’ t ended this way , and so soon.
” His last day is Friday .

New York suffered a strange gut punch recently. Andy Byford, the president of the New York City Transit Authority, which runs the subways and buses, quietly announced his resignation. “DEVASTATED,” the City Council speaker, Corey Johnson, tweeted. Transit activists, transit executives, disability-rights advocates, labor leaders, bus and subway workers, good-government gadflies, and straphangers from every borough expressed shock and dismay. Many New Yorkers, including the mayor, Bill de Blasio, wondered wanly if Byford could be persuaded to stay. (He could not.) Lisa Daglian, the executive director of the Permanent Citizens Advisory Committee to the Metropolitan Transportation Authority, said, “When was the last time an average New Yorker on the street knew the name of the head of a transit agency?” It really was an unusual blow.
I profiled Byford in 2018, when he was new on the job, and watched him work the trains and stations, always wearing his nametag, eagerly introducing himself to startled riders and staff. He’s whippety, British, in his early fifties, and he had arrived at a nadir of subway misery, when only fifty-eight per cent of the trains ran on time, which was by far the worst performance of any American city. New Yorkers were abandoning the subway in droves.
Byford turned that around. On-time performance is now above eighty per cent, and subway ridership has increased in each of the past six months. He would show up at community meetings in every corner of the city, absorbing people’s anger and promising improvements. He was so accessible, people started calling him Train Daddy. Stickers began to appear around town, with Byford’s grinning face plastered on the front of a train, Thomas the Tank Engine-style, under a banner, “Train Daddy Loves You Very Much.” Beyond his popularity, Byford had a long-term master plan to redesign the bus networks and dramatically modernize the subways—adding thousands of new cars and a revamped signal system—that was widely hailed by business and planning groups concerned about the future of New York.
So why did he go? The answer seems to be Governor Andrew Cuomo. It may seem odd, and that’s because it is, that New York City’s mass-transit system is run from the governor’s office, in faraway Albany. The original subway companies were private and ran their trains through land leased from the city. Those firms went under in the Great Depression, and the city took over operations. Then, in 1968, with the city contemplating a system expansion, Governor Nelson Rockefeller, a natural-born empire builder, saw his chance and, declaring the state all in, created the Metropolitan Transportation Authority, which would be financed by the state, the city, the farepayers, and the federal government but would be under Albany’s control. The power grab worked. The buses and subways were consigned to New York City Transit, which operates under the M.T.A. Mayors were largely sidelined, and governors turned out to be, in most cases, distracted and unreliable administrators. George Pataki, for example, who was in office from 1995 to 2006, pillaged the M.T.A.’s budget, doubling the agency’s debt and initiating a slide in maintenance that continued until recently.
Andrew Cuomo seemed to have little interest in mass transit during his first term. He often mocked the M.T.A. as a bloated, incompetent bureaucracy, which has a certain basis in fact. But then, in his second term, the governor got deeply involved in a push to finish the first, three-station section of the long-awaited Second Avenue Subway, on the Upper East Side, which opened at the beginning of 2017. In a new book, “Last Subway: The Long Wait for the Next Train in New York City,” the political scientist and urban planner Philip Mark Plotch argues that Cuomo forced a calamitous transfer of resources to the project and away from routine subway operations and maintenance, which helped precipitate a meltdown throughout the system later that year. In any case, that crisis, known as the Summer of Hell for its sweltering breakdowns, delays, and repeated derailments, got Cuomo’s attention and led him to hire one of the world’s most highly regarded transit experts, a tireless self-described nerd with experience in systems on three continents—Byford.
“My job is to make the politicians look good,” Byford told me. He had worked for some doozies, including the late Rob Ford, the brawling, crack-smoking mayor of Toronto. By contrast, Mayor de Blasio was easy. Six months into the job, Byford still hadn’t spoken to him. Of course, he wasn’t really working for the mayor. Cuomo, at least, was genuinely interested in seeing the system modernized, particularly if he got credit for it. Byford, to take one example, did a deep dive into track-speed restrictions. He found colossal inefficiencies arising from, among other things, an old disciplinary system with its incentives screwed on backward, which caused trains to be driven more and more slowly. In partnership with the unions, he set about rationalizing the speeds, which soon had a tonic effect on the system’s on-time performance. Cuomo was later recorded telling the editorial board of the New York Post about how he, along with an “outside consultant,” had got to the bottom of the track-speed problem and fixed it.
In May of 2018, when Byford was about to formally present to the M.T.A. his long-term transit plan for New York, in a comprehensive bound booklet complete with projected costs—forty billion dollars over ten years—he was reportedly told that Cuomo had changed his mind and did not want to see any numbers, which meant that the booklets had to be scrapped. Cuomo, similarly, didn’t like hearing about the number of years that the plan projected it would take to fully modernize the subway’s ancient signal system. (He came to favor a cheaper, more futuristic technology that is used in cell phones but has little relevance to train signalling.) The governor also took to intervening in major subway-engineering projects, such as the repair of the L train’s tunnel under the East River. He would bring in “outside consultants,” who had different ideas about how the work should be done. Cuomo wants to fix the subways, but seemingly on a political schedule, which is only logical—he’s a politician.
Indeed, he achieved a major political victory, last year, with the passage of a highly progressive congestion-pricing bill. Starting next year, most vehicles entering Manhattan’s central business district will be charged fees, and most of the money collected will go toward mass transit. This will be the first such scheme in an American city. The system will be run and the fees collected by the M.T.A., which to some analysts means that the city has now given to Albany even more power over its vital systems—in this case, control of its streets. Mayor de Blasio, who was running for President at the time, signed off on the plan without much discussion.
Byford was enthusiastic about congestion pricing, and he did not openly complain about Cuomo’s various interventions. But neither did he praise all of Cuomo’s ideas—in some cases, he was suspected of skepticism. There were also reports that his high public profile did not sit well with the governor’s office, and the contrast between Byford’s transparent, open-door management style and Cuomo’s more controlling approach was probably not appreciated. The governor’s office even suggested to the Times that Byford was in the habit of trying to grab credit for achievements that were rightly the governor’s. The Brooklyn writer who came up with Train Daddy told an interviewer that he did so because he “really liked what Byford was doing . . . and felt like he needed some recognition and love in light of that bastard Cuomo treating him like shit.”
Then, last year, Cuomo brought in yet another set of consultants who, in short order, produced a report recommending a wholesale restructuring of the M.T.A. Cuomo liked the plan and ordered that it be implemented. The job of the New York City Transit Authority’s president would shrink drastically. Byford would lose control of his big projects, including signal replacement, which will require the most astute and dogged management to succeed, and the construction of seventy new elevators at stations currently inaccessible to the disabled. Byford, only two years into the work, submitted a painfully buoyant letter of resignation. He had built a good team and wished New York all the best. On Tuesday, he told me, “It has been an honor and a privilege to run New York City Transit,” adding, “I wish it hadn’t ended this way, and so soon.” His last day is Friday.


newyorker--2020-02-21--“Cause for Alarm!,” a Film Noir That Feels Accidentally Feminist

Most of us who love film noir and have seen all the classics are tantalized by the hard little gems that turn up now and then—lost or forgotten noirs that are sometimes as atmospheric as the better-known ones .
In his essay “ Notes on Film Noir , ” from 1972 , the director Paul Schrader argues that , measured by “ median level of artistry , ” the noir cycle of the nineteen-forties and fifties represented Hollywood at its most creative : “ Picked at random , a film noir is likely to be a better made film than @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , Western , and so on.
” When a noir obscurity shows up on TCM , or is restored under the auspices of the indispensable Film Noir Foundation and screened at one of its Noir City festivals around the country , chances are it will be well worth seeing .
It ’ s likely to be a B movie—so many noirs were—but that won ’ t mean it ’ s any less appealing .
Noirs were ideally suited to low budgets and low lighting , tight editing and short running times , stolen @ @ @ @ @ @ @ some meandering Internet path not long ago—I ’ ve since forgotten what I was searching for—I came upon a nifty little suburban noir from 1951 , “ Cause for Alarm !
, ” which is now streaming on Amazon Prime Video .
Directed by Tay Garnett ( “ The Postman Always Rings Twice ” ) , it stars the excellent Loretta Young as a housewife , Ellen Jones , tormented by her sadistic invalid husband ( Barry Sullivan ) .
Though it was written and directed by men , “ Cause for Alarm @ @ @ @ @ @ @ accidental feminism—a cry for help sent telepathically from the fifties .
( Maybe the uncredited writing contribution from Dorothy Kingsley helped . )
The film takes as its subject a husband ’ s sinister campaign to undermine his wife ’ s perception of reality , but the setting is more conventional and ostensibly benign than that of , say , “ Gaslight ” —not a crepuscular Victorian mansion but a neat , tidy house in a sun-bleached California suburb .
In that bright , smug milieu , Ellen is trapped and watched—by the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ even the cute but insistent little boy who keeps dropping by with his toy TV and six-shooters .
Like the men in other noirs who ’ ve been accused of crimes they didn ’ t commit , Ellen ’ s reasonable actions attract suspicion , but , in her case , a maddening condescension , too .
A notary who comes to the house to see her husband tells her , “ He warned me that I ’ d get some resistance from you ” but that “ I wasn ’ t to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a tense , suspenseful movie , with a wry twist at the end , but it ’ s also , in its way , a sharp-eyed study of the feminine mystique .

Most of us who love film noir and have seen all the classics are tantalized by the hard little gems that turn up now and then—lost or forgotten noirs that are sometimes as atmospheric as the better-known ones. In his essay “Notes on Film Noir,” from 1972, the director Paul Schrader argues that, measured by “median level of artistry,” the noir cycle of the nineteen-forties and fifties represented Hollywood at its most creative: “Picked at random, a film noir is likely to be a better made film than a randomly selected silent comedy, musical, Western, and so on.” When a noir obscurity shows up on TCM, or is restored under the auspices of the indispensable Film Noir Foundation and screened at one of its Noir City festivals around the country, chances are it will be well worth seeing. It’s likely to be a B movie—so many noirs were—but that won’t mean it’s any less appealing. Noirs were ideally suited to low budgets and low lighting, tight editing and short running times, stolen shots on city streets.
Led down some meandering Internet path not long ago—I’ve since forgotten what I was searching for—I came upon a nifty little suburban noir from 1951, “Cause for Alarm!,” which is now streaming on Amazon Prime Video. Directed by Tay Garnett (“The Postman Always Rings Twice”), it stars the excellent Loretta Young as a housewife, Ellen Jones, tormented by her sadistic invalid husband (Barry Sullivan). Though it was written and directed by men, “Cause for Alarm!” feels like a work of accidental feminism—a cry for help sent telepathically from the fifties. (Maybe the uncredited writing contribution from Dorothy Kingsley helped.) The film takes as its subject a husband’s sinister campaign to undermine his wife’s perception of reality, but the setting is more conventional and ostensibly benign than that of, say, “Gaslight”—not a crepuscular Victorian mansion but a neat, tidy house in a sun-bleached California suburb. In that bright, smug milieu, Ellen is trapped and watched—by the nosy neighbor, the officious postman, even the cute but insistent little boy who keeps dropping by with his toy TV and six-shooters. Like the men in other noirs who’ve been accused of crimes they didn’t commit, Ellen’s reasonable actions attract suspicion, but, in her case, a maddening condescension, too. A notary who comes to the house to see her husband tells her, “He warned me that I’d get some resistance from you” but that “I wasn’t to take you seriously.” It’s a tense, suspenseful movie, with a wry twist at the end, but it’s also, in its way, a sharp-eyed study of the feminine mystique.


newyorker--2020-02-21--Stephen Miller, the Immigration Extremist in the White House

Donald Trump began his Presidential bid , in 2015 , with an infamous speech , at Trump Tower , in which he said , of Mexican immigrants , “ They ’ re bringing drugs .
They ’ re bringing crime .
They ’ re rapists.
” But it was not until a former aide to Jeff Sessions joined Trump ’ s campaign that his rhetoric coalesced into policy .
How did one adviser come to have such a disproportionate influence on the Administration ’ s platform ?
Jonathan Blitzer reports on the rise of Stephen Miller .
Plus , Simon @ @ @ @ @ @ @ who play war games to help them predict and contain geopolitical conflicts .
And Michael Schulman sits down with Pam Grier , the first action heroine of blaxploitation cinema , to talk about her singular career in Hollywood .
Jonathan Blitzer examines how one adviser turned Trump ’ s xenophobic rhetoric into a set of hard-line policies .
Rolling the Dice in a Battle with Russia War-gaming is an old and low-tech tool , but officers and diplomats still turn to it to model today ’ s most complex geopolitical situations .
Outrageous @ @ @ @ @ @ @ star of “ Foxy Brown ” helped change the way black lives were presented onscreen .

Illustration by Golden Cosmos
Donald Trump began his Presidential bid, in 2015, with an infamous speech, at Trump Tower, in which he said, of Mexican immigrants, “They’re bringing drugs. They’re bringing crime. They’re rapists.” But it was not until a former aide to Jeff Sessions joined Trump’s campaign that his rhetoric coalesced into policy. How did one adviser come to have such a disproportionate influence on the Administration’s platform? Jonathan Blitzer reports on the rise of Stephen Miller. Plus, Simon Parkin joins a group of foreign-policy experts who play war games to help them predict and contain geopolitical conflicts. And Michael Schulman sits down with Pam Grier, the first action heroine of blaxploitation cinema, to talk about her singular career in Hollywood.
Stephen Miller, the Architect of Trump’s Immigration Plan
Jonathan Blitzer examines how one adviser turned Trump’s xenophobic rhetoric into a set of hard-line policies.
Rolling the Dice in a Battle with Russia
War-gaming is an old and low-tech tool, but officers and diplomats still turn to it to model today’s most complex geopolitical situations.
Pam Grier, from Blaxploitation to Black Excellence
Outrageous, raunchy, and empowered, the star of “Foxy Brown” helped change the way black lives were presented onscreen.


newyorker--2020-02-21--Powerful Crystals for People in Their Thirties

My name is Crystil Kristyl , and I ’ m the owner of Crystil Kristyl ’ s Crystals , the first shop with stones , gems , and jewels specifically for people in their thirties .
These magically imbued geomorphs have powers you can actually use in your everyday life , as long as you are no longer in your twenties .
Here are just some of the talismans I have scattered on my shelves and floor and the supernatural abilities that they will grant you , a person who is not twenty-nine anymore : Amethyst The power to be @ @ @ @ @ @ @ have one drink without having a full hangover the next morning .
Rose Quartz The power to resist trolling your ex ’ s wedding photos from your burner social-media account , which , oops , was actually your main account , whose handle is your full name .
Onyx The power to not be labelled a freelancer at your full-time job so that your employer has to provide health care .
Jade For immunity to being called “ cringe ” by Gen-Z VSCO girls online .
Sapphire To be in your thirties and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Topaz The seerlike vision to have already binged all the shows everybody ’ s talking about , like the one with the business family , or the dragon one that you think got cancelled ?
Or did it just , like , stop ?
You will know for sure when you wear topaz !
Regular Small Rock The power to throw this at someone who ’ s staring at you on the subway or someone who ’ s making a big deal about reading a book on there .
So manifest yourself at @ @ @ @ @ @ @ as you can summon the energy to get here .
Totally fine if that takes weeks .
I get it—it ’ s cold !
See you in June !

My name is Crystil Kristyl, and I’m the owner of Crystil Kristyl’s Crystals, the first shop with stones, gems, and jewels specifically for people in their thirties. These magically imbued geomorphs have powers you can actually use in your everyday life, as long as you are no longer in your twenties.
Here are just some of the talismans I have scattered on my shelves and floor and the supernatural abilities that they will grant you, a person who is not twenty-nine anymore:
Amethyst
The power to be in your thirties and go out and have one drink without having a full hangover the next morning.
Rose Quartz
The power to resist trolling your ex’s wedding photos from your burner social-media account, which, oops, was actually your main account, whose handle is your full name.
Onyx
The power to not be labelled a freelancer at your full-time job so that your employer has to provide health care.
Jade
For immunity to being called “cringe” by Gen-Z VSCO girls online.
Sapphire
To be in your thirties and even know what VSCO girls are.
Topaz
The seerlike vision to have already binged all the shows everybody’s talking about, like the one with the business family, or the dragon one that you think got cancelled? Or did it just, like, stop? You will know for sure when you wear topaz!
Regular Small Rock
The power to throw this at someone who’s staring at you on the subway or someone who’s making a big deal about reading a book on there.
So manifest yourself at Crystil Kristyl’s Crystals as soon as you can summon the energy to get here. Totally fine if that takes weeks. I get it—it’s cold!
See you in June!


newyorker--2020-02-21--The Delegate Math Now Favors Bernie Sanders

The most significant development in the Democratic primary over the past few days wasn ’ t Wednesday night ’ s slugfest of a debate in Las Vegas , entertaining as that was for anybody not in Michael Bloomberg ’ s camp .
It was the publication of three separate opinion polls that showed Bernie Sanders with a substantial lead over the other candidates in California , which votes on Super Tuesday , March 3rd , now less than two weeks away .
The poll findings are important not only because California , the most populous state in the nation , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ sixteen pledged delegates—more than a tenth of the over-all total of 3,979 .
The polls reflect how the Sanders campaign is growing in strength , ahead of the biggest day of the primary , and they also illustrate how the rules for allocating delegates could work to his advantage .
Together , these factors place him in what is potentially a very strong position , even as the primary process is still at what seems like an early stage .
One of the three surveys , from Public Policy Institute of California , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ advantage of eighteen points—thirty-two per cent to fourteen per cent—over the second-place candidate , Joe Biden .
In the other two surveys—from Monmouth University and SurveyUSA —Sanders ’ s lead was smaller but still notable : seven points and four points , respectively .
It ’ s unwise to place much credence on the results of a single poll , of course .
But if you combine all three of the surveys and weight them according to their sample size , two key findings emerge : Sanders has about 27.4 per cent of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ candidates to cross the threshold of fifteen per cent are Biden and Bloomberg .
( They both did it narrowly . )
Sanders ’ s ability to forge such a big lead in California reflects his strength among progressives , young voters , and minority voters , particularly Latinos—a coalition that may well lead him to victory in Saturday ’ s caucuses in Nevada .
( He ’ s comfortably ahead in the latest polls there , too . )
But the divided nature of his opposition and the fact that only two @ @ @ @ @ @ @ are also important .
Given the way the primary is structured , this could end up greatly amplifying Sanders ’ s victory , in terms of delegates awarded to him .
A key point to remember is that in California , as in many other states , the Democratic Party has decided that candidates won ’ t be allocated any delegates unless they receive fifteen per cent of the vote in a particular congressional district or fifteen per cent of the statewide vote .
( Two hundred and seventy-two of the delegates are @ @ @ @ @ @ @ hundred and forty-four are tied to the statewide vote . )
To see how this system could work , imagine that the actual results in California replicated the findings of the Monmouth poll , which came out on Thursday .
( That ’ s not likely , but the exercise is illustrative . )
Elizabeth Warren , who was at ten per cent , and Pete Buttigieg , who was at nine per cent , could end with virtually no delegates at all .
Meanwhile , Sanders , who was at twenty-four per @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in second place , at seventeen per cent , would receive an outsized allocation .
“ As the poll currently stands , it ’ s possible that only two or three candidates reach viability in any given congressional district , ” Patrick Murray , the director of the Monmouth University Polling Institute , explained in releasing the new survey .
“ That would enable Sanders to rack up half the delegates or more while only earning one-quarter of the total vote.
” There wouldn ’ t be anything untoward about such an outcome @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of the primaries have been laid down , and they apply equally to all of the candidates .
But if you extrapolate from California to other states where Sanders is rising in the polls and the rules for allocating delegates are similar , it ’ s easy to see why many professional observers—inside and outside of the campaigns—believe that , by the end of Super Tuesday , Sanders may have racked up an irreversible lead in the number of pledged delegates .
“ Since the contests in Iowa and New Hampshire primaries .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ large lead over the rest of the field across Super Tuesday states , ” Mitch Stewart and Dan Kanninen , two staffers on the Bloomberg campaign , wrote in a controversial campaign memo that was leaked just before Wednesday ’ s debate .
“ As the race stands today , Sanders is poised to leave Super Tuesday with an over-400 delegate lead versus his next closest competitor a likely insurmountable advantage , ” the memo warned .
The other campaigns rightly slammed the leaking of this document as a brazen effort to put @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Amy Klobuchar—Bloomberg ’ s rivals in the moderate lane—to leave the race .
After Bloomberg ’ s pitiful performance in the debate , it is perhaps he who should be considering an early exit .
But the delegate math can ’ t be swept aside .
The independent Web site FiveThirtyEight—whose forecasting model for the primary takes into account the latest polls and the method of allocating delegates , as well as other factors—also shows Sanders taking a lead of more than three hundred delegates over his nearest rival by the end of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ this analysis is based on recent trends continuing , which may not happen .
A strong showing for Biden in Nevada , followed by a big victory in South Carolina , could alter the dynamic , as could a sizable bounce for Warren , after her strong performance in Wednesday ’ s debate .
Even absent some major new development , Sanders is far from assured of getting a majority of the pledged delegates at the end of the process .
Unless his vote share increases substantially from where it currently is in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ decisive result seems like a stretch .
Right now , though , the senator appears to have a very good chance of having a plurality of delegates going into the Milwaukee convention .

The most significant development in the Democratic primary over the past few days wasn’t Wednesday night’s slugfest of a debate in Las Vegas, entertaining as that was for anybody not in Michael Bloomberg’s camp. It was the publication of three separate opinion polls that showed Bernie Sanders with a substantial lead over the other candidates in California, which votes on Super Tuesday, March 3rd, now less than two weeks away.
The poll findings are important not only because California, the most populous state in the nation, carries a prize of four hundred and sixteen pledged delegates—more than a tenth of the over-all total of 3,979. The polls reflect how the Sanders campaign is growing in strength, ahead of the biggest day of the primary, and they also illustrate how the rules for allocating delegates could work to his advantage. Together, these factors place him in what is potentially a very strong position, even as the primary process is still at what seems like an early stage.
One of the three surveys, from Public Policy Institute of California, showed the Vermont senator with a whopping advantage of eighteen points—thirty-two per cent to fourteen per cent—over the second-place candidate, Joe Biden. In the other two surveys—from Monmouth University and SurveyUSA —Sanders’s lead was smaller but still notable: seven points and four points, respectively.
It’s unwise to place much credence on the results of a single poll, of course. But if you combine all three of the surveys and weight them according to their sample size, two key findings emerge: Sanders has about 27.4 per cent of the vote, and the only other candidates to cross the threshold of fifteen per cent are Biden and Bloomberg. (They both did it narrowly.)
Sanders’s ability to forge such a big lead in California reflects his strength among progressives, young voters, and minority voters, particularly Latinos—a coalition that may well lead him to victory in Saturday’s caucuses in Nevada. (He’s comfortably ahead in the latest polls there, too.) But the divided nature of his opposition and the fact that only two other candidates are at fifteen per cent are also important. Given the way the primary is structured, this could end up greatly amplifying Sanders’s victory, in terms of delegates awarded to him.
A key point to remember is that in California, as in many other states, the Democratic Party has decided that candidates won’t be allocated any delegates unless they receive fifteen per cent of the vote in a particular congressional district or fifteen per cent of the statewide vote. (Two hundred and seventy-two of the delegates are attached to individual districts, and a hundred and forty-four are tied to the statewide vote.)
To see how this system could work, imagine that the actual results in California replicated the findings of the Monmouth poll, which came out on Thursday. (That’s not likely, but the exercise is illustrative.) Elizabeth Warren, who was at ten per cent, and Pete Buttigieg, who was at nine per cent, could end with virtually no delegates at all. Meanwhile, Sanders, who was at twenty-four per cent, and Biden, who was in second place, at seventeen per cent, would receive an outsized allocation. “As the poll currently stands, it’s possible that only two or three candidates reach viability in any given congressional district,” Patrick Murray, the director of the Monmouth University Polling Institute, explained in releasing the new survey. “That would enable Sanders to rack up half the delegates or more while only earning one-quarter of the total vote.”
There wouldn’t be anything untoward about such an outcome. It simply reflects how the rules of the primaries have been laid down, and they apply equally to all of the candidates. But if you extrapolate from California to other states where Sanders is rising in the polls and the rules for allocating delegates are similar, it’s easy to see why many professional observers—inside and outside of the campaigns—believe that, by the end of Super Tuesday, Sanders may have racked up an irreversible lead in the number of pledged delegates.
“Since the contests in Iowa and New Hampshire primaries . . . Sanders has opened up a large lead over the rest of the field across Super Tuesday states,” Mitch Stewart and Dan Kanninen, two staffers on the Bloomberg campaign, wrote in a controversial campaign memo that was leaked just before Wednesday’s debate. “As the race stands today, Sanders is poised to leave Super Tuesday with an over-400 delegate lead versus his next closest competitor a likely insurmountable advantage,” the memo warned.
The other campaigns rightly slammed the leaking of this document as a brazen effort to put pressure on Biden, Buttigieg, and Amy Klobuchar—Bloomberg’s rivals in the moderate lane—to leave the race. After Bloomberg’s pitiful performance in the debate, it is perhaps he who should be considering an early exit. But the delegate math can’t be swept aside. The independent Web site FiveThirtyEight—whose forecasting model for the primary takes into account the latest polls and the method of allocating delegates, as well as other factors—also shows Sanders taking a lead of more than three hundred delegates over his nearest rival by the end of Super Tuesday.
To be sure, this analysis is based on recent trends continuing, which may not happen. A strong showing for Biden in Nevada, followed by a big victory in South Carolina, could alter the dynamic, as could a sizable bounce for Warren, after her strong performance in Wednesday’s debate. Even absent some major new development, Sanders is far from assured of getting a majority of the pledged delegates at the end of the process. Unless his vote share increases substantially from where it currently is in the polls, Sanders achieving such a decisive result seems like a stretch. Right now, though, the senator appears to have a very good chance of having a plurality of delegates going into the Milwaukee convention.


newyorker--2020-02-21--What Bernie Sanders Is Doing Differently to Win Over Latino Voters

The caucuses will be the most decisive test yet of Latino support for Sanders , who ran well behind Hillary Clinton among Latino voters in 2016 .
Chuck Rocha , a senior adviser to Sanders who also worked for the senator in 2016 , said that Sanders has crafted an entirely new strategy to engage Latino voters in 2020 .
Last June , his campaign opened its first Nevada office in East Las Vegas , a largely Latino neighborhood .
Sanders has since expanded his operation to include eleven offices statewide and has hired two hundred employees , of which @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the campaign ’ s events centered around soccer or tamales are a testament to its “ cultural competency.
” “ Anybody who knows anything about the Latino community knows that there are a few things that really draw us together , ” Rocha said .
“ Some of it is food , a lot of it is music , and a lot of it is our family.
” Sanders nonetheless faces challenges .
The Culinary Workers Union , a majority-Latino group that represents , among others , casino cooks and housekeepers , declined @ @ @ @ @ @ @ caucuses this year .
Yet it has engaged in an active campaign against Sanders , spreading information among its fifty-seven thousand members , in Spanish and English , about how Sanders ’ s government-run health-care program could “ end ” their Culinary Health Fund .
The Sanders campaign claims strong support among culinary workers , whom they have been courting for weeks , but it is unclear how this quarrel will ultimately play out in the caucuses .
Like the other candidates , Sanders will need to convince Latino voters outside of the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for him .
Equis Research estimates that sixty per cent of registered Latino voters in Nevada must be persuaded to vote .
“ The case has to be made among many Latinos for why voting is an actionable step , especially with the history of marginalization , ” Mindy Romero , the director of the California Civic Engagement Project , said .
“ Otherwise people will wonder , ‘ Why should I participate when I don ’ t even know if this politician is going to do something for me ?
’ ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Vegas office is located between a hair salon and a women ’ s health clinic in a drab strip mall .
Outside , dozens of volunteers mingled , ate tacos , and sipped Mexican hibiscus water .
Inside , the walls were adorned with Mexican paper cutouts , including papel picado banners and colored paper fans , along with Bernie signs , Post-its , and hand-written placards , detailing the do ’ s and don ’ ts of canvassing .
Campaign workers and field organizers arrived in groups and described the number of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ voters had repeatedly expressed confusion about the caucus process .
As a newly trained phone banker took a stab making his first calls , Rocha praised the operation .
A self-described “ third-generation Texas Mexican , ” who wears cowboy hats and has a distinct Texas accent , Rocha spent decades as a union organizer before starting a political-consulting firm in Washington .
“ In most campaigns I ’ ve ever worked in , the Latino vote is an afterthought , ” he said .
“ We have done things very differently.
” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ from 2016 .
The Sanders campaign needed to invest not just heavily , but also early , in the Latino community .
The campaign tries to avoid hierarchy and turf battles ; it does not have a “ Latino department.
” Instead , Latinos fill positions that range from national political director to volunteers .
A major difference this time is that Sanders is a household name .
“ We didn ’ t know the senator would have the longevity , ” Rocha said .
Other candidates in the race have taken note @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , but have been unable to match his infrastructure in Nevada .
The Latino Sanders supporters that I spoke to said that he saw them as more than a monolithic voting bloc—that he saw nuances in their concerns , which extend to issues other than immigration .
They said they felt respected by his campaign , and praised it for not treating them as second-class citizens .
This week ’ s Equis Research poll also showed that Sanders has a substantial lead in favorability among Latinos in states such as California , Texas @ @ @ @ @ @ @ long time , people have said that the answer to the Latino vote is to pay attention and show consistent interest , ” Roberto Suro , a professor of public policy at the University of Southern California , told me .
“ If the diagnosis is true , then there is a possibility that Sanders has gotten an answer here.
” In Iowa , where Latinos make up just six per cent of the population , the campaign invested over a million dollars in outreach efforts to them .
It has tripled that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ eight months , the campaign has been mailing Bernie flyers , both in English and Spanish , to voters ’ homes .
Bilingual campaign workers have knocked on thousands of doors .
Last December , Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez , of New York , held a town hall , in Spanish , in Las Vegas , which proved to be a crowd-pleaser .
The Sanders campaign ’ s first Spanish-language television ad , called “ Nuestro Futuro , ” aired earlier this year , and focussed on the candidate ’ s family story : @ @ @ @ @ @ @ United States from Poland , with little money and no knowledge of English .
“ We know what the formula to win over the Latino vote is , but it does have to be sincere and sustained , ” Mindy Romero said .
“ Sanders is talking about politics , but he ’ s also talking about equity , fairness , fighting for people .
You don ’ t hear a lot of candidates saying that , very few are doing this kind of work among the community , and he ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ago , when early voting started in Nevada , Sanders held a rally at a public high-school in central Las Vegas .
Make the Road , a grassroots Latino organization , which recently endorsed him , helped organize the event .
As more than a thousand people poured into the school ’ s main hall , four mariachis made their way to the stage .
The musicians , who were in their teens , wore matching sequin outfits and bashfully introduced themselves as “ Clave 702.
” After the quartet played several songs @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Road to the risers behind the stage .
They waved dozens of campaign signs , inscribed with messages such as , “ # Housing not Handcuffs , ” “ # Cancel the Debt , ” and “ Families Belong Together.
” Chants of “ Se ve , se siente , Bernie presidente !
” and “ Sí se puede , ” echoed through the hall .
After several other speakers , José Macías , a founding organizer of Make the Road , introduced “ el candidato Bernie Sanders !
” The senator stepped @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , thanked the speakers , stared around the room and said , “ Brothers and sisters , this is what democracy looks like.
” The crowd roared .
Sanders called on the audience ’ s support to defeat a President “ who is trying to divide our people up based on the color of their skin , or where they were born , or their religion , or their sexual orientation.
” His movement , Sanders said , would prove victorious by doing the opposite : “ bringing working people together.
” After @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to the street , to lead a march toward the closest polling station , which was less than a mile from the school .
Swarmed by hundreds of people , he walked on , occasionally clapping .
The crowd chanted , “ This is what democracy looks like !
”

On Presidents’ Day, Daniel Parra met a group of friends at Eldorado High School, in East Las Vegas. The Bernie Sanders campaign was holding a soccer tournament there that a friend of Parra’s had posted about on Snapchat. Under a bright morning sun, with Frenchman Mountain soaring in the background, some forty mostly Latino soccer aficionados gathered on one of the school’s fields. Many of the players had brought their parents, brothers, and sisters along, and spectators sat on the scorched grass beneath the branches of an ash tree. A Mexican woman in her sixties with an ice-cream cart and two taco venders with a spread of carnitas, asado, and pastor would soon be selling food, as arranged by the campaign. Dozens of cobalt-blue Bernie signs, including one that read “Unidos con Bernie,” fluttered on the field’s wire fence. Parra, who is nineteen, tall, and slender, spoke with conviction about his support for Sanders. He hoped to transfer to Colorado State University from the community college he was attending nearby, and said that the senator’s promise of making university tuition free resonated strongly with him. But something else had drawn him to the field that morning. “I see that he’s actually trying to look after the smaller communities, not just going after the big audience,” Parra said. “Doing something like this means a lot to people like us, because we don’t really get looked upon.”
Before the game, Jose La Luz, a Puerto Rican labor activist and Sanders surrogate, called on the players to crowd around him. La Luz has been urging Latinos across the country to support Sanders, and had flown in from Texas that morning. “Buenos días!” he said to the players. Half awake, many of them failed to reply. “I can’t hear you! Buenos días!” he insisted, prompting a louder response. La Luz is sixty-nine, with slicked-back hair and a salt-and-pepper mustache. He wore dark glasses and a blue linen jacket, and had a turquoise ring on each hand. His fervor, and the Mexican slang he wove into his Spanish remarks, prompted chuckles among the attendees. “We’ve gathered this morning because we’re going to see who scores the most goals for Tío Bernie,” La Luz said. He called for a show of hands to see how many players were old enough to vote. About a dozen raised their arms. “And who will you vote for?” he asked. “Bernie!” they exclaimed in unison. “For Tío Bernie,” he asserted. “Because he is our candidate.” After La Luz announced that a “very important” person was on his way, the crowd broke into whispers. Could it be Bernie? If not him, who? La Luz said that he wanted to make sure their guest would get a proper welcome. “I want us to receive him with a strong and warm Latin-American applause!” he said, gradually lifting his booming voice. “A strong and warm Mexican applause! A strong and warm Central American applause! Because we’re proud to be Latinos, and the Latino vote will decide this election!”
The players dispersed, and within minutes, Bill de Blasio, the Mayor of New York, walked onto the field. “O.K., let’s bring it in, bring it in,” La Luz said, in English this time. Parra and his friends approached the Mayor, although none of them knew who he was. De Blasio smiled widely and joined the crowd in a raucous greeting. “Se puede?” La Luz asked. “Si, se puede!” they responded. The mayor kicked off his remarks in Spanish. “Thank you so much, everyone. It’s an honor to be here,” he said, with a strong accent and a flicker of formality that seemed odd for the occasion. “Can I speak in English for a little bit?” The players nodded. Early voting had begun that weekend in Nevada, and the Sanders campaign had chosen Eldorado because it was within blocks of a polling location. De Blasio urged the players to go vote after the game. “You are, right now, the most important people in the United States of America. Because what is going to happen in Nevada, in these few days, could very well decide who is going to be the next President of the United States,” he said. “I came all the way from New York City to tell you this.”
De Blasio’s appearance before such a small crowd reflected the Sanders campaign’s methodical approach to attracting Latino voters. Days before the Iowa caucus, it tested the idea of holding a soccer tournament, in Des Moines. The campaign also targeted the four Spanish-language satellite caucuses that Democratic Party officials had organized in the state for the first time. Sanders earned the support of four hundred and thirty out of the four hundred and eighty-three people who voted. He went on to win more than sixty per cent of the vote in the state’s predominantly Latino precincts. In Nevada, an Equis Research poll released this week found that Sanders had by far the highest net-favorability rating among Latino voters who are registered as Democrats. Sixty per cent rated Sanders positively, while Joe Biden was a distant second, at twenty per cent. Elizabeth Warren, who was at four per cent in an Equis poll in December, had surged to nineteen per cent.
In the weeks leading up to Saturday’s caucuses, many candidates have stepped up their courting efforts of Nevada’s Latinos, who make up an estimated twenty per cent of the state’s registered voters. There has been a sudden uptick in Spanish television ads, and contenders for the nomination have been meeting with multiple mobilization groups, including the Culinary Workers Union and Mi Familia Vota. Last week, Pete Buttigieg, Amy Klobuchar, and Tom Steyer were tested on their knowledge of Latin American politics in interviews hosted by Telemundo. When they were asked if they could name the Mexican President, Steyer said, “I forget,” and Klobuchar offered a straight “No.” Only Buttigieg knew the answer. Yet, despite his adroitness and enviable Spanish skills, the former mayor of South Bend, Indiana, along with every other candidate, trails Sanders in polls of Latino voters.
The caucuses will be the most decisive test yet of Latino support for Sanders, who ran well behind Hillary Clinton among Latino voters in 2016. Chuck Rocha, a senior adviser to Sanders who also worked for the senator in 2016, said that Sanders has crafted an entirely new strategy to engage Latino voters in 2020. Last June, his campaign opened its first Nevada office in East Las Vegas, a largely Latino neighborhood. Sanders has since expanded his operation to include eleven offices statewide and has hired two hundred employees, of which seventy-six are Latino. Rocha said that the campaign’s events centered around soccer or tamales are a testament to its “cultural competency.” “Anybody who knows anything about the Latino community knows that there are a few things that really draw us together,” Rocha said. “Some of it is food, a lot of it is music, and a lot of it is our family.”
Sanders nonetheless faces challenges. The Culinary Workers Union, a majority-Latino group that represents, among others, casino cooks and housekeepers, declined to endorse a political candidate in the caucuses this year. Yet it has engaged in an active campaign against Sanders, spreading information among its fifty-seven thousand members, in Spanish and English, about how Sanders’s government-run health-care program could “end” their Culinary Health Fund. The Sanders campaign claims strong support among culinary workers, whom they have been courting for weeks, but it is unclear how this quarrel will ultimately play out in the caucuses. Like the other candidates, Sanders will need to convince Latino voters outside of the Culinary Union to show up to caucus for him. Equis Research estimates that sixty per cent of registered Latino voters in Nevada must be persuaded to vote. “The case has to be made among many Latinos for why voting is an actionable step, especially with the history of marginalization,” Mindy Romero, the director of the California Civic Engagement Project, said. “Otherwise people will wonder, ‘Why should I participate when I don’t even know if this politician is going to do something for me?’ ”
The Sanders campaign’s East Las Vegas office is located between a hair salon and a women’s health clinic in a drab strip mall. Outside, dozens of volunteers mingled, ate tacos, and sipped Mexican hibiscus water. Inside, the walls were adorned with Mexican paper cutouts, including papel picado banners and colored paper fans, along with Bernie signs, Post-its, and hand-written placards, detailing the do’s and don’ts of canvassing. Campaign workers and field organizers arrived in groups and described the number of people they had reached and reported that voters had repeatedly expressed confusion about the caucus process. As a newly trained phone banker took a stab making his first calls, Rocha praised the operation. A self-described “third-generation Texas Mexican,” who wears cowboy hats and has a distinct Texas accent, Rocha spent decades as a union organizer before starting a political-consulting firm in Washington. “In most campaigns I’ve ever worked in, the Latino vote is an afterthought,” he said. “We have done things very differently.”
Rocha said that he drew important lessons from 2016. The Sanders campaign needed to invest not just heavily, but also early, in the Latino community. The campaign tries to avoid hierarchy and turf battles; it does not have a “Latino department.” Instead, Latinos fill positions that range from national political director to volunteers. A major difference this time is that Sanders is a household name. “We didn’t know the senator would have the longevity,” Rocha said. Other candidates in the race have taken note of Sanders’s strategy among Latinos, but have been unable to match his infrastructure in Nevada. The Latino Sanders supporters that I spoke to said that he saw them as more than a monolithic voting bloc—that he saw nuances in their concerns, which extend to issues other than immigration. They said they felt respected by his campaign, and praised it for not treating them as second-class citizens. This week’s Equis Research poll also showed that Sanders has a substantial lead in favorability among Latinos in states such as California, Texas, and Virginia. “For a long time, people have said that the answer to the Latino vote is to pay attention and show consistent interest,” Roberto Suro, a professor of public policy at the University of Southern California, told me. “If the diagnosis is true, then there is a possibility that Sanders has gotten an answer here.”
In Iowa, where Latinos make up just six per cent of the population, the campaign invested over a million dollars in outreach efforts to them. It has tripled that spending in Nevada. For the past eight months, the campaign has been mailing Bernie flyers, both in English and Spanish, to voters’ homes. Bilingual campaign workers have knocked on thousands of doors. Last December, Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, of New York, held a town hall, in Spanish, in Las Vegas, which proved to be a crowd-pleaser. The Sanders campaign’s first Spanish-language television ad, called “Nuestro Futuro,” aired earlier this year, and focussed on the candidate’s family story: his father’s arrival to the United States from Poland, with little money and no knowledge of English. “We know what the formula to win over the Latino vote is, but it does have to be sincere and sustained,” Mindy Romero said. “Sanders is talking about politics, but he’s also talking about equity, fairness, fighting for people. You don’t hear a lot of candidates saying that, very few are doing this kind of work among the community, and he’s also benefitting from that.”
A week ago, when early voting started in Nevada, Sanders held a rally at a public high school in central Las Vegas. Make the Road Action, a grassroots Latino organization, which recently endorsed him, helped organize the event. As more than a thousand people poured into the school’s main hall, four mariachis made their way to the stage. The musicians, who were in their teens, wore matching sequin outfits and bashfully introduced themselves as “Clave 702.” After the quartet played several songs, organizers escorted members of Make the Road Action to the risers behind the stage. They waved dozens of campaign signs, inscribed with messages such as, “#Housing not Handcuffs,” “#Cancel the Debt,” and “Families Belong Together.” Chants of “Se ve, se siente, Bernie presidente!” and “Sí se puede” echoed through the hall. After several other speakers, José Macías, a founding organizer of Make the Road Action, introduced “el candidato Bernie Sanders!” The senator stepped up to the stage, hugged Macías, thanked the speakers, stared around the room and said, “Brothers and sisters, this is what democracy looks like.” The crowd roared. Sanders called on the audience’s support to defeat a President “who is trying to divide our people up based on the color of their skin, or where they were born, or their religion, or their sexual orientation.” His movement, Sanders said, would prove victorious by doing the opposite: “bringing working people together.” After his speech, Sanders made his way to the street, to lead a march toward the closest polling station, which was less than a mile from the school. Swarmed by hundreds of people, he walked on, occasionally clapping. The crowd chanted, “This is what democracy looks like!”
A few feet behind Sanders were Ezequiel and Ulises Romero, twins in their teens, who were waving a large Mexican flag. Ulises said that he found Sanders’s proposals for free college and universal health care most compelling. “I like he’s supporting marijuana, I’m straight on for that!” his brother said, smiling. Ezequiel explained that their father had immigrated from Veracruz, Mexico, three decades ago, and that he often worried about his mother’s health. “You never know, she’s always complaining!” he said. Luz Narváez, a retired teacher from Puerto Rico, who was walking ahead of the twins, told me that she was mostly concerned about her home town. “My Puerto Rico is in need,” she said. “Let’s hope Bernie will help us.” She said that Puerto Ricans were being humiliated by the Trump Administration. “We have the citizenship, but it’s barely worth anything,” she said, her eyes watering. “They always look down on us, they confuse us with others, and it doesn’t matter to them.” At the front of the crowd was Nelly Tobón, a woman in her thirties from Michoacán, Mexico, who was keeping an eye out for her five-year-old girls. They were scampering, letting their costume butterfly wings flow freely. “He’s the only one giving us a reason to unite," Tobón said.
After voting, members of the crowd walked a few blocks to the Make the Road Action local headquarters. Folding tables and chairs filled the parking lot in front of the office, garlands hung from the light poles, and arrangements of paper cempasúchil, or Mexican marigolds, adorned each table. Several food stands served tamales, corn on the cob, esquites, tacos, frijoles, and red rice. Belem Orozco, a single mother in her twenties, told me that she was a volunteer with Make the Road Action who had travelled from Allentown, Pennsylvania, for the event. A DACA recipient, Orozco was born in Mexico and had migrated north with her family in the early two thousands. “I think other candidates are dealing with us how they usually do, which is just tokens,” she said. “Bernie sees us. Especially with the current President right now, who is essentially dehumanizing us, he brings the human back in us.” She said that, as an undocumented person, she had dealt with uncertainty for her entire life. “I definitely want to see Bernie in office, because we believe that he will finally bring some peace of mind to immigrant folks like myself,” she said. “We’re not fighting for him, we’re fighting with him.”


newyorker--2020-02-21--Reading a Lost Wartime Letter from Albert Camus in 2020

Some writers speak to us through the window of their time—we need to get back to where they once belonged to truly focus on the shape of their ideas—and a few speak to us permanently , jumping , with wormhole-like fluidity , from their time into ours .
The latter are an unpredictable bunch , and their presence doesn ’ t seem to depend on a certain quality of thought as much as on a kind of lucidity of spirit .
We have to work hard , for instance , to make sense of Jean-Paul Sartre ’ s philosophical writings @ @ @ @ @ @ @ theory and contemporary French politics .
Reading them is ( rewarding ) work .
But Albert Camus , Sartre ’ s great colleague and rival , still speaks to us directly , even though his time is as remote from ours as Sartre ’ s .
Camus was not a broad thinker—or even , in a sense , an original one—but he earned the quality that kids used to describe , admiringly , as “ deep.
” ( As in “ Leonard Cohen is deep.
” ) What he said on every subject @ @ @ @ @ @ @ usually right .
We read him as our contemporary , and he rarely lets us down .
He is still hugely popular , as his daughter , Catherine , said not long ago , because he writes not in an attempt to find the plot in history and get in on the right side of it but in the name of history ’ s victims .
This thought is set in motion by the discovery , last year , in France , of a previously unknown letter by Camus , found in the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ biographer and scholar Vincent Duclert , which Camus had sent from Paris to London sometime in 1943 .
Unsigned but instantly identifiable by tone and context , it is headed “ From a Resisting Intellectual ” and was excerpted by the newspaper Le Figaro last month ; with the agreement of Catherine Camus , it also appears in a new book , by Duclert , about her father .
It ’ s an odd letter and very French : a sonorous philosophical account of the crisis of the French Resistance and its future @ @ @ @ @ @ @ inter-Resistance solidarity , and yet a letter that , though intently rooted in its own time , nonetheless manages , with eerie prescience , to speak to some of the quarrels of our own .
Camus , a French-Algerian by birth , spent the war first in Lyon , where he wrote drafts of his novel “ The Stranger , ” and then in Paris , where he wrote editorials for the underground Resistance journal Combat .
( Indeed , the tone and style of the letter is so close to that of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ as his . )
The shape of the circumstance is well known .
The Resistance , in a complicated pattern , was ostensibly led from London by a right-wing military leader , de Gaulle , but fought in France by a coalition of conservative , Catholic , patriotic , and fiercely anti-Nazi forces—along with a restless and suspicious assembly of Republican “ liberal ” forces , including old-time socialists , supported by a strong component of Communists who , having sat out the beginning of the war , at the time of the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ into armed resistance once the Soviet Union was invaded .
In the letter , Camus writes first of the foundering of the “ élite ” —the intellectual and administrative and even military class who were the pride of French meritocracy .
He begins on a note of balanced , even-eyed vision that , difficult to maintain at the best of times , was heroically hard to keep at a moment of such , well , existential stress .
“ Here I very briefly summarize the feelings of a French intellectual , ” he @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the current situation as it can be observed from within the interior .
To put it plainly , one ’ s first feelings would be those of anguish .
My deep conviction is that the form of war that metropolitan France has adopted , and in which we are all engaged , can lead either to the rebirth of this people or to its definitive fall.
” The failings of that élite were , it seemed , responsible for the “ strange defeat ” of France , as the historian Marc Bloch put @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Matisse , the French generals were “ the professors of Beaux-Arts ” —i.e.
, part of the same blind administrative cadre . )
How could one think of this élite now , the letter asks , and how ought it to reconstitute itself after the war was won—if it was won ?
A nation dies , Camus writes , because its élite melts , literally .
But that élite can be remade not from the traditional class of administrative exam-passers but from a new élite of the resisters , whose expertise is rooted @ @ @ @ @ @ @ keep their reality about them .
He complains that direct and armed resistance within France has not as yet been met with military action from outside—overestimating , perhaps , the resources of the French Army in exile but impatient for the “ second front ” that had long been promised but was delivered only in June of 1944 .
On what foundation can the future of France be built ?
Torn between the American and Soviet models—at a moment when the prestige of the Soviet Union , due to the success of its @ @ @ @ @ @ @ an all-time high—Camus speaks up for Russia and its social experiment but says delicately that France can only “ admit with difficulty the idea of a preponderant State where all liberty would disappear.
” He writes that , while we have to seek social justice of the kind that the Soviets at least pretended to pursue , claims of personal liberty can not be scanted or treated as secondary .
Critical of an ascendant American power that he identifies as “ a future that far too much resembles the past , ” and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of liberty , justice is put deliberately to one side , ” Camus goes on to insist , nonetheless , on the centrality of liberty as the essential protector of history ’ s victims .
What , then , is the ideology of the French Resistance ?
“ If we have a doctrine to formulate , ” he writes , “ it would be one of a balance of justice and of liberty , certainly difficult to realize , but outside of which nothing can be done.
” Justice and liberty : what @ @ @ @ @ @ @ more fatuous ?
But , with Camus , a simplicity of speech can never conceal the significance , the high stakes , of his articulation .
Tempted by the Soviet model , he nonetheless refuses it , recognizing it as too brutal and monolithic ; presented with what was perceived as a Western imperialist model that seemed to offer more of the same path that had led France to its downfall , he calls for a revolution in justice , along with a perpetual renewal of freedom .
In Camus ’ s vision—which @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Gaulle , who had other , less philosophical things to worry about—justice , including economic justice , is meaningless without an equally passionate commitment to liberty .
These truths are , or ought to be , easy enough for us to affirm today .
To do so at the height of the war—when rhetoric and political exigencies could and did lead many otherwise intelligent people to either slavish allegiance to Stalin or , still worse , collaboration with the Nazis—took Camusian clarity .
It wasn ’ t easy to say all this at @ @ @ @ @ @ @ are Camus ’ s perpetual themes : the need for liberty not as a commonplace cliché but as a condition that fills our lives ; the freedom to think for ourselves and not be stampeded by mass approval ; the dangerous grip that the abstractions of ideology can have on us ; the responsibility to see injustice clearly and to have the courage to fight it ; the readiness to conclude , as Camus ’ s character Jean Tarrou , from his novel “ The Plague , ” does , that “ there @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and it ’ s up to us , so far as possible , not to join forces with the pestilences.
” And all of them still need to be heard , again and again .

In Albert Camus’s vision, justice is meaningless without an equally passionate commitment to liberty. Photograph by Loomis Dean / The LIFE Picture Collection / Getty
Some writers speak to us through the window of their time—we need to get back to where they once belonged to truly focus on the shape of their ideas—and a few speak to us permanently, jumping, with wormhole-like fluidity, from their time into ours. The latter are an unpredictable bunch, and their presence doesn’t seem to depend on a certain quality of thought as much as on a kind of lucidity of spirit. We have to work hard, for instance, to make sense of Jean-Paul Sartre’s philosophical writings, with their odd brew of German theory and contemporary French politics. Reading them is (rewarding) work. But Albert Camus, Sartre’s great colleague and rival, still speaks to us directly, even though his time is as remote from ours as Sartre’s. Camus was not a broad thinker—or even, in a sense, an original one—but he earned the quality that kids used to describe, admiringly, as “deep.” (As in “Leonard Cohen is deep.”) What he said on every subject was always simple and profound, and usually right. We read him as our contemporary, and he rarely lets us down. He is still hugely popular, as his daughter, Catherine, said not long ago, because he writes not in an attempt to find the plot in history and get in on the right side of it but in the name of history’s victims.
This thought is set in motion by the discovery, last year, in France, of a previously unknown letter by Camus, found in the archives of Charles de Gaulle by the biographer and scholar Vincent Duclert, which Camus had sent from Paris to London sometime in 1943. Unsigned but instantly identifiable by tone and context, it is headed “From a Resisting Intellectual” and was excerpted by the newspaper Le Figaro last month; with the agreement of Catherine Camus, it also appears in a new book, by Duclert, about her father. It’s an odd letter and very French: a sonorous philosophical account of the crisis of the French Resistance and its future, stepping delicately through various minefields of inter-Resistance solidarity, and yet a letter that, though intently rooted in its own time, nonetheless manages, with eerie prescience, to speak to some of the quarrels of our own.
Camus, a French-Algerian by birth, spent the war first in Lyon, where he wrote drafts of his novel “The Stranger,” and then in Paris, where he wrote editorials for the underground Resistance journal Combat. (Indeed, the tone and style of the letter is so close to that of the editorials that it instantly jumps out as his.) The shape of the circumstance is well known. The Resistance, in a complicated pattern, was ostensibly led from London by a right-wing military leader, de Gaulle, but fought in France by a coalition of conservative, Catholic, patriotic, and fiercely anti-Nazi forces—along with a restless and suspicious assembly of Republican “liberal” forces, including old-time socialists, supported by a strong component of Communists who, having sat out the beginning of the war, at the time of the Stalin-Hitler pact, came fiercely and bravely into armed resistance once the Soviet Union was invaded.
In the letter, Camus writes first of the foundering of the “élite”—the intellectual and administrative and even military class who were the pride of French meritocracy. He begins on a note of balanced, even-eyed vision that, difficult to maintain at the best of times, was heroically hard to keep at a moment of such, well, existential stress. “Here I very briefly summarize the feelings of a French intellectual,” he writes, “in the face of the current situation as it can be observed from within the interior. To put it plainly, one’s first feelings would be those of anguish. My deep conviction is that the form of war that metropolitan France has adopted, and in which we are all engaged, can lead either to the rebirth of this people or to its definitive fall.”
The failings of that élite were, it seemed, responsible for the “strange defeat” of France, as the historian Marc Bloch put it. (As Picasso remarked to Matisse, the French generals were “the professors of Beaux-Arts”—i.e., part of the same blind administrative cadre.) How could one think of this élite now, the letter asks, and how ought it to reconstitute itself after the war was won—if it was won? A nation dies, Camus writes, because its élite melts, literally. But that élite can be remade not from the traditional class of administrative exam-passers but from a new élite of the resisters, whose expertise is rooted in “real experience” and who keep their reality about them. He complains that direct and armed resistance within France has not as yet been met with military action from outside—overestimating, perhaps, the resources of the French Army in exile but impatient for the “second front” that had long been promised but was delivered only in June of 1944.
On what foundation can the future of France be built? Torn between the American and Soviet models—at a moment when the prestige of the Soviet Union, due to the success of its Army against the Nazis, was at an all-time high—Camus speaks up for Russia and its social experiment but says delicately that France can only “admit with difficulty the idea of a preponderant State where all liberty would disappear.” He writes that, while we have to seek social justice of the kind that the Soviets at least pretended to pursue, claims of personal liberty cannot be scanted or treated as secondary. Critical of an ascendant American power that he identifies as “a future that far too much resembles the past,” and in which, “under the pretext of liberty, justice is put deliberately to one side,” Camus goes on to insist, nonetheless, on the centrality of liberty as the essential protector of history’s victims. What, then, is the ideology of the French Resistance? “If we have a doctrine to formulate,” he writes, “it would be one of a balance of justice and of liberty, certainly difficult to realize, but outside of which nothing can be done.”
Justice and liberty: what demands could be more basic, even more fatuous? But, with Camus, a simplicity of speech can never conceal the significance, the high stakes, of his articulation. Tempted by the Soviet model, he nonetheless refuses it, recognizing it as too brutal and monolithic; presented with what was perceived as a Western imperialist model that seemed to offer more of the same path that had led France to its downfall, he calls for a revolution in justice, along with a perpetual renewal of freedom. In Camus’s vision—which he no doubt shared fruitlessly with de Gaulle, who had other, less philosophical things to worry about—justice, including economic justice, is meaningless without an equally passionate commitment to liberty.
These truths are, or ought to be, easy enough for us to affirm today. To do so at the height of the war—when rhetoric and political exigencies could and did lead many otherwise intelligent people to either slavish allegiance to Stalin or, still worse, collaboration with the Nazis—took Camusian clarity. It wasn’t easy to say all this at a moment of crisis. Yet these are Camus’s perpetual themes: the need for liberty not as a commonplace cliché but as a condition that fills our lives; the freedom to think for ourselves and not be stampeded by mass approval; the dangerous grip that the abstractions of ideology can have on us; the responsibility to see injustice clearly and to have the courage to fight it; the readiness to conclude, as Camus’s character Jean Tarrou, from his novel “The Plague,” does, that “there are pestilences and there are victims, and it’s up to us, so far as possible, not to join forces with the pestilences.” And all of them still need to be heard, again and again.
The leading Camus scholar Robert Zaretsky wrote not long ago about how newly relevant Camus’s existentialism, once safely part of the past, can seem in our current crisis. The existentialists, Zaretsky points out, attach a crucial rider to the usual claims we make for moral universality: “We must also accept that other choices by other people in the same situation can be equally good and equally defensible.” Humanity itself is what we have to fight for—accepting all the compromises and half-measures that are essential to human existence, and neither condemning them too readily nor forgiving them too easily.
Camus reveals himself, in his way, as that most horrible of things, a centrist. But centrism is a necessary condition, if a very bad name, for the simple effort of turning one’s head around to see the whole horizon. Seeking the middle on every question is foolish; being centered to see the world as it is, just essential sense. At the time Camus wrote his letter, resistance was not a self-congratulatory rhetorical position but a life-or-death risk taken every day. And yet he was still prepared to put his life on the line for the view that there is no one line to follow in life.
Camus believed, even in extremis, that an educated élite, meaning merely a concert of committed minds, renewed by lived experience, was essential to a sane society. Reading him now—at a time when we need to be reminded again that every attempted depreciation of civil liberty as secondary or inessential to our progress is obscene, when every attempt to seal off our idea of liberation from an ideal of social justice is doomed—Camus, the “resisting intellectual,” demonstrates that the modesty of a political program need not be a barrier to the heroism of the deeds it inspires.


newyorker--2020-02-21--Harry Reid Misses George W. Bush and Always Kind of Liked Bernie Sanders

Harry Reid was rarely accused of being charismatic in his public life .
But he told people what he thought .
He called George W. Bush a “ loser , ” Clarence Thomas an “ embarrassment , ” and Alan Greenspan a “ hack.
” He was first elected to represent Nevada in the Senate in 1986 , and he became the top Democrat in the chamber eighteen years later , at a harrowing moment for his party .
In 2004 , Democrats not only failed to prevent Bush ’ s reëlection but lost seats in the House and in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in this campaign , political capital , ” Bush said at the time .
“ And now I intend to spend it.
” Reid helped beat back Bush ’ s attempts to privatize Social Security , and then led Senate Democrats through the election of Barack Obama and the passage of the most consequential series of liberal laws enacted in half a century : the Affordable Care Act , the economic stimulus , the Dodd-Frank financial-reform bill , the auto bailout .
He opted not to seek reëlection in 2016 , after suffering @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Washington just as Donald Trump arrived .
In 2018 , he was given a diagnosis of pancreatic cancer .
Reid grew up in the boom-and-bust town of Searchlight , Nevada , well after the bust occurred .
His father was a miner , and his family ’ s home was built out of creosote-soaked railroad ties .
“ We had a little tree in our yard for a while , ” Reid wrote in his memoir , from 2008 .
“ It died.
” In 1977 , he was appointed head of the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ no one wanted .
As the story goes , he spent the next four years tangling with Mafia wise guys .
During an F.B.I .
sting that he helped arrange , in 1978 , he famously yelled at a businessman , “ You son of a bitch , you tried to bribe me !
” Then he tried to choke the man .
The Nevada caucuses , on Saturday , will be the third contest of the 2020 Presidential nomination race .
On Wednesday , I joined a parade of journalists who came @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in the office he keeps in the well-appointed bowels of the Bellagio hotel and casino , in Las Vegas .
Seated behind his desk , he wore a black fedora and a pinstripe suit .
If the outfit was a wink at the mobsters he helped push out of Vegas , he didn ’ t say .
When I extended my hand in greeting , he offered a clenched fist .
We fist bumped .
During an hour-long conversation , which has been edited and condensed , we spoke about the election , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ impeachment , and U.F.O.s .
Reid is eighty and uses a wheelchair , but he still answers questions nimbly , in his gravelly , deadpan voice .
“ I don ’ t know what my notoriety was , but I had a good time working my caucus , ” he said , of his time in the Senate .
“ I think we got a lot of things done.
” There are two ways that Democrats seem to talk about Donald Trump .
One way is as a historically weak opponent , whose @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , whose party is coming off big losses in a midterm election .
The other way is as a very strong incumbent , overseeing a growing economy , raising huge sums of money , and willing to do anything to stay in power .
Which of those views do you subscribe to ?
I think it ’ s a mixture .
I believe that Trump is not doomed to lose .
I think that he could win .
I hope he doesn ’ t .
I don ’ t think he will .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ granted .
And that ’ s why you have to have a campaign that ’ s based upon more than just how bad Trump is .
It has to be a campaign that relates to what people care about .
Young people care about climate .
Everybody cares about health care , which has been so damaged by the Republicans whacking Obamacare every chance they get .
So we have to talk about issues that are important to people in America , not how bad Trump is .
You filled out your early-voting @ @ @ @ @ @ @ we got an early caucus out here , I have never taken a position in a primary .
Never .
Not when Obama was there—my dear friend .
Not when Hillary was there .
I ’ ve never gotten involved .
I don ’ t intend to .
You ’ re responsible for Nevada going third in our current primary system— Should be first , but here ’ s where we are .
Well , I ’ m wondering if you think the current system is working .
Is this the best way @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ?
I think that the present system is not good—with the debacle we had an Iowa .
And the vote we had in New Hampshire .
Those are not the two places we should start .
Because those two states do not represent America .
They ’ re states that are white .
We should have the early vote be a state like Nevada that is diverse , that is a state where organized labor is strong , a state where we have other things that other people can relate to .
For @ @ @ @ @ @ @ No .
1 place in the country for tourism .
But in every state in the union , one of the top economic drivers is tourism .
So Nevada is a really good place to start .
Does the fact that Iowa and New Hampshire are so white explain why the Democrats are now down to an all-white group of candidates ?
Well , I don ’ t think you can blame it on Kamala Harris being dumb or having a terrible campaign .
Same with Cory Booker .
His mom lives in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ I think that those two states just really make it difficult for a person of color to get traction .
They could here .
Does the prospect of a drawn out race in the primary trouble you ?
No .
I think competition is good , whether it ’ s in a soccer match or in a campaign .
I think it ’ s important that we have some competition .
You ’ ve criticized Medicare for All and the Green New Deal as unpassable .
But you ’ ve also criticized Congress @ @ @ @ @ @ @ be limited in what they propose based on what could work in a dysfunctional environment ?
Because I think we have a situation where Democrats could take control of the Senate .
I think that ’ s not a stretch .
I think we ’ re gon na win in Colorado , win in Arizona , we ’ re gon na win New Hampshire .
I think we have a real shot in North Carolina .
I think that Doug Jones is going to surprise people in Alabama .
So I think we @ @ @ @ @ @ @ spite of what the Republicans have done to it , with a little bit of good luck , we can take away some of the damage they ’ ve done .
But with Medicare for All , specifically , if passage were assured , would you think it was a good idea ?
Medicare for All—take , for example , here in Nevada .
The very large , powerful , sixty-thousand-member Culinary Union came out saying not only no , but hell no .
They don ’ t like it .
Medicare for @ @ @ @ @ @ @ plans that people bargained for and have had for a long , long time .
Medicare for All—I ’ ve spoken out against it in the past , I ’ m speaking on it again .
I ’ m not going to live in some hypothetical world where we have no problems getting things passed .
It ’ s a lousy way to approach health care .

Harry Reid was rarely accused of being charismatic in his public life. But he told people what he thought. He called George W. Bush a “loser,” Clarence Thomas an “embarrassment,” and Alan Greenspan a “hack.” He was first elected to represent Nevada in the Senate in 1986, and he became the top Democrat in the chamber eighteen years later, at a harrowing moment for his party. In 2004, Democrats not only failed to prevent Bush’s reëlection but lost seats in the House and in the Senate. “I earned capital in this campaign, political capital,” Bush said at the time. “And now I intend to spend it.” Reid helped beat back Bush’s attempts to privatize Social Security, and then led Senate Democrats through the election of Barack Obama and the passage of the most consequential series of liberal laws enacted in half a century: the Affordable Care Act, the economic stimulus, the Dodd-Frank financial-reform bill, the auto bailout. He opted not to seek reëlection in 2016, after suffering a freak gym accident, and left Washington just as Donald Trump arrived. In 2018, he was given a diagnosis of pancreatic cancer.
Reid grew up in the boom-and-bust town of Searchlight, Nevada, well after the bust occurred. His father was a miner, and his family’s home was built out of creosote-soaked railroad ties. “We had a little tree in our yard for a while,” Reid wrote in his memoir, from 2008. “It died.” In 1977, he was appointed head of the Nevada Gaming Commission, a job that no one wanted. As the story goes, he spent the next four years tangling with Mafia wise guys. During an F.B.I. sting that he helped arrange, in 1978, he famously yelled at a businessman, “You son of a bitch, you tried to bribe me!” Then he tried to choke the man.
The Nevada caucuses, on Saturday, will be the third contest of the 2020 Presidential nomination race. On Wednesday, I joined a parade of journalists who came in for an audience with Reid, in the office he keeps in the well-appointed bowels of the Bellagio hotel and casino, in Las Vegas. Seated behind his desk, he wore a black fedora and a pin-striped suit. If the outfit was a wink at the mobsters he helped push out of Vegas, he didn’t say. When I extended my hand in greeting, he offered a clenched fist. We fist bumped. During an hour-long conversation, which has been edited and condensed, we spoke about the election, the Democratic Party, the Senate, impeachment, and U.F.O.s. Reid is eighty and uses a wheelchair, but he still answers questions nimbly, in his gravelly, deadpan voice. “I don’t know what my notoriety was, but I had a good time working my caucus,” he said, of his time in the Senate. “I think we got a lot of things done.”
There are two ways that Democrats seem to talk about Donald Trump. One way is as a historically weak opponent, whose behavior turns off large numbers of voters, whose party is coming off big losses in a midterm election. The other way is as a very strong incumbent, overseeing a growing economy, raising huge sums of money, and willing to do anything to stay in power. Which of those views do you subscribe to?
I think it’s a mixture. I believe that Trump is not doomed to lose. I think that he could win. I hope he doesn’t. I don’t think he will. But we cannot take it for granted. And that’s why you have to have a campaign that’s based upon more than just how bad Trump is. It has to be a campaign that relates to what people care about. Young people care about climate. Everybody cares about health care, which has been so damaged by the Republicans whacking Obamacare every chance they get. So we have to talk about issues that are important to people in America, not how bad Trump is.
You filled out your early-voting caucus card uncommitted. Why?
Since we got an early caucus out here, I have never taken a position in a primary. Never. Not when Obama was there—my dear friend. Not when Hillary was there. I’ve never gotten involved. I don’t intend to.
You’re responsible for Nevada going third in our current primary system—
Should be first, but here’s where we are.
Well, I’m wondering if you think the current system is working. Is this the best way for the Democrats to pick a nominee?
I think that the present system is not good—with the debacle we had an Iowa. And the vote we had in New Hampshire. Those are not the two places we should start. Because those two states do not represent America. They’re states that are white. We should have the early vote be a state like Nevada that is diverse, that is a state where organized labor is strong, a state where we have other things that other people can relate to. For example, tourism. We are the No. 1 place in the country for tourism. But in every state in the union, one of the top economic drivers is tourism. So Nevada is a really good place to start.
Does the fact that Iowa and New Hampshire are so white explain why the Democrats are now down to an all-white group of candidates?
Well, I don’t think you can blame it on Kamala Harris being dumb or having a terrible campaign. Same with Cory Booker. His mom lives in Nevada, his dad died here. I think that those two states just really make it difficult for a person of color to get traction. They could here.
Does the prospect of a drawn out race in the primary trouble you?
No. I think competition is good, whether it’s in a soccer match or in a campaign. I think it’s important that we have some competition.
You’ve criticized Medicare for All and the Green New Deal as unpassable. But you’ve also criticized Congress for being dysfunctional. Why should Democrats be limited in what they propose based on what could work in a dysfunctional environment?
Because I think we have a situation where Democrats could take control of the Senate. I think that’s not a stretch. I think we’re gonna win in Colorado, win in Arizona, we’re gonna win New Hampshire. I think we have a real shot in North Carolina. I think that Doug Jones is going to surprise people in Alabama. So I think we can retake the Senate. And in spite of what the Republicans have done to it, with a little bit of good luck, we can take away some of the damage they’ve done.
But with Medicare for All, specifically, if passage were assured, would you think it was a good idea?
Medicare for All—take, for example, here in Nevada. The very large, powerful, sixty-thousand-member Culinary Union came out saying not only no, but hell no. They don’t like it. Medicare for All takes away a lot of insurance plans that people bargained for and have had for a long, long time. Medicare for All—I’ve spoken out against it in the past, I’m speaking on it again. I’m not going to live in some hypothetical world where we have no problems getting things passed. It’s a lousy way to approach health care.
One argument that Bernie Sanders makes is that, if he’s elected, he will compel Congress to act on his agenda by deploying his supporters in the home districts and states of lawmakers. Do you think that kind of pressure strategy that Sanders is talking about—would that work on senators?
Well, it may have happened in the past, I just don’t know when. The President can take an issue and deal with one issue. But to think you can change the whole direction of the Party by having grassroots strength? I just don’t think it’s possible.
You said you think that the chances are good for Democrats to take back the Senate. Does the nominee at the top of the ticket change that outlook?
I think anyone that gets the nomination, people will focus on, can that person beat Trump, and the answer is yes. Any poll you can find, you can have any of the Presidential Democrat wannabes, they all beat Trump.
But do they help down the ticket?
We hear this every Presidential election cycle. At least every one I’ve been involved in for these many decades. “The Party is moving too far to the left. It’s just terrible. What are we going to do about it?” Well, when the primaries are over, the candidate moves back to the middle. That’s how it works out.
Hillary Clinton was recently quoted saying that no one in the Senate likes Bernie Sanders. Is that true?
I don’t know why Hillary said that. I always try to agree with Hillary, but I always kind of liked Bernie. He wasn’t treated well in the House. When he came to the Senate, I went out of my way to make sure he felt comfortable. And I think he did. I gave him good committee assignments. So I like Bernie. He never caused me any trouble.