newyorker--2020-11-03--Donald Trump’s 2020 Superspreader Campaign: A Diary

In Lansing , for his first rally , Trump added leather gloves to his blue overcoat .
He looked cold , as did the MAGA-masked white people arrayed behind him .
Trump read the clichéd tripe on his teleprompter about the greatness of Michigan and its auto plants and its Motown music , then interjected unscripted commentaries .
Most of the official program—at this and all of his rallies—is just the same old untrue Trump stories , repeated over and over .
About the “ China virus , ” and the greatest economy in the history of the world , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s done for veterans and the Second Amendment .
The interjections are where Trump makes news , by saying some new silly or outrageous or offensive thing .
In Lansing , this was a riff in which he appealed , once again , to the suburban women whom he has been courting to no avail .
Trump seemed incredulous that his nineteen-fifties-vintage pitch to these “ housewives ” hasn ’ t succeeded .
“ Your husbands , they want to get back to work , right ?
” he said .
“ We @ @ @ @ @ @ @ work.
” For a few minutes , this was much discussed on Twitter , until the next Trump provocation , of which there were many—such as Trump attacking Michigan ’ s Governor , Gretchen Whitmer , and questioning whether the plotters accused of planning to kidnap Whitmer and storm the state capitol had actually been plotting anything .
At the end of the rally , Trump lumbered around the stage as the Village People ’ s “ Y.M.C.A.
” played , pumping his fists and doing a bit of a dance .
He @ @ @ @ @ @ @ hits , and a version of this dance went viral a week ago , with teen-age girls mocking him on TikTok and everything .
But Trump is immune to embarrassment .
As long as people are talking about his dance , he will keep doing it .
All publicity is still good publicity to the Donald .
Nothing has come to represent the Trump era more than his late-night and early-morning Twitter rants , signs not only of his fragile , undisciplined ego but also of the hold he has managed to maintain @ @ @ @ @ @ @ no news cycle without Trump .
Is it really possible it could all be over in a matter of days ?
What would it be like to wake up and not have to read some deranged or dangerous or merely nasty thing that the President has said ?
Biden has taken to promising explicitly that this will be the case .
“ If I ’ m elected , you won ’ t have to worry about my tweets , ” he ’ s started saying .
As much as anything , voting for @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a decision by Americans to shrink the Presidency back into its pre-Trump space in the national psyche .
The President ’ s schedule called for him to go to Arizona for two rallies and then on to Florida , where , the next day , he and Biden would both be in Tampa .
Trump draws large , enthusiastic crowds in most of these places , but I still wonder whether these rallies may be hurting him as much as they are helping him .
For one thing , there are the headlines @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , about furious local officials who want them stopped amid the pandemic .
And there is the jarring incongruity of thousands of Trump supporters packed closely together while coronavirus cases , hospitalizations , and deaths are spiking around the country—often most sharply in the states where Trump is holding the rallies .
In Wisconsin , where Trump had held a rally the day before , the main headline in the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel on Wednesday morning was about another awful milestone : a day of record deaths in the state , even as @ @ @ @ @ @ @ governor “ open it up.
” “ Worst Day Yet , Again , ” the paper said .
In Omaha , on Tuesday night , Trump had left behind hundreds of supporters at the airfield where he held his rally ; when too few shuttle buses showed up to take them to their cars , many walked nearly four miles in the freezing cold .
Several were taken to local hospitals with hypothermia .
The headlines , needless to say , were not about Trump making Nebraska great again .
The chaos and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ so that Trump could stage an ego-gratifying party for himself , seemed like a metaphor for his entire Presidency .
My morning check of the election-projection sites—which I wish did not exist after the trauma of 2016 , but they do , so of course I have not resisted looking at them—showed that , over the past few days , Biden had ticked up two points on FiveThirtyEight , which predicts he now has an eighty-eight-per-cent chance of winning .
The RealClearPolitics average had Biden up nationally by seven points .
In previous @ @ @ @ @ @ @ as close as 0.4 percentage points of the final results ( Bush-Kerry , in 2004 , and Trump-Clinton , four years ago ) and been off by as much as four ( Obama-Romney , in 2012 ) .
So Biden could win by as little as three points—or as much as eleven .
A nail-biter , in other words , or a landslide .
Which is not really much help at all .
A new Washington Post poll in Wisconsin , on Wednesday , had Biden up by seventeen points .
But that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ it ?
Around 1 P.M. local time , Air Force One pulled up on the tarmac in Bullhead City , Arizona .
“ Macho Man ” was playing as the crowd waited for Trump .
For four years , his insistence on a playlist heavy on the Village People has simply been one of those ridiculous things about a Trump rally .
The man knows no irony .
The song may have originated as a gay anthem , but to Trump it is just a celebration of his alpha-maleness .
“ You ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ President !
” Trump said , after a long rant about Biden ’ s flaws .
Then there was a riff on his own hair , and how it ’ s his real hair , and how it was so windy out , and then Trump took a red “ Make America Great Again ” hat from someone and put it on .
Is this what passes for macho among his supporters ?
Soon , Trump reached the Hillary Clinton-bashing part of the rally , now a nostalgic hit of his tough-guy act @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is that , when Trump mentions his 2016 opponent , he praises Clinton as smarter and sharper than Biden , whom Trump invariably portrays as a senile , dribbling idiot .
“ Isn ’ t it nice to have a President that doesn ’ t need a teleprompter ?
” Trump said .
“ We love Trump , ” the crowd responded .
That , of course , is the part of every rally that Trump loves the most , and which often leads him to claim that no President , not even @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ever got crowds like his .
Speaking of crowds , Trump wanted his audience to know that this one was much bigger than what “ Barack Hussein Obama ” had when he campaigned against Trump on Tuesday .
Trump , four years later , is still obsessed with Obama .
Obama , in recent days , has landed some real scorchers on Trump .
“ He ’ s jealous of COVID ’ s media coverage , ” the former President has been saying .
Obama has taken particular delight in mocking Trump ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Did nobody come to his birthday party when he was a kid ?
” Trump , for his part , rarely has such crisp one-liners .
He is like a standup comedian without the jokes , who just talks and talks and talks .
Instead of comedy , he has name-calling : Biden is stupid , sleepy , spent .
“ If you have to fight somebody , that ’ s your dream fight , ” Trump said , of Biden , at his Arizona rally .
This , inevitably , led to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was that he , Trump , “ got impeached over a telephone call , ” while no one was taking seriously the real corruption of the Biden family .
As the President went on and on about this , there were only sparse cheers from the crowd , though several times throughout the week I had seen them chant “ Lock him up !
Lock him up !
, ” even if it wasn ’ t clear what they thought Biden should be locked up for .
I thought of Senator Ted Cruz @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Jonathan Swan , after the two watched the second debate together .
Cruz told Swan that he didn ’ t think Trump ’ s rants about Hunter Biden and corruption would move a single vote .
Biden ’ s theme in Florida is the same one he has had for months : Trump has failed to deal with the pandemic .
This is a primary reason that Biden is competitive in the state , where polls suggest that some senior citizens who backed Trump four years ago have shifted toward Biden , a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ should be willing to die in order to help America ’ s economy bounce back .
“ He is doing nothing , ” Biden said , in Florida .
“ Donald Trump has waved the white flag , abandoned our families , and surrendered to the virus.
” Over at his Tampa rally , Trump said he was beating the virus , not giving up in the face of it .
“ You know the bottom line , though ?
” the President said .
“ You ’ re gon na get better @ @ @ @ @ @ @ better.
” In Trump ’ s telling , there are no victims of the disease , only winners like himself .
“ If I can get better , anybody can get better , ” he said .
“ And I got better fast.
” On Thursday night , Trump ’ s son Donald , Jr. , was on Fox News with Laura Ingraham , one of the Trumps ’ favorite prime-time hosts .
He told Ingraham that , in fact , coronavirus deaths had dwindled to “ almost nothing , ” on a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a record for new cases and more than a thousand Americans died of the virus .
Ingraham did not challenge him .
Trump had three rallies planned on this last preëlection Friday , in Michigan , Wisconsin , and Minnesota , the only state he was to visit in the final week that he did not win four years ago .
The day started in Michigan ’ s Oakland County , where Trump seemed delighted when he spotted Ingraham and told the crowd that the Fox host would be following him around for @ @ @ @ @ @ @ groupie who had been invited to join the road show for Trump ’ s aging-rocker tour .
But he seemed shocked that Ingraham was wearing a mask .
“ I ’ ve never seen you in a mask , ” he said .
He chided her for being “ politically correct.
” It was a revealing moment : Trump clearly does not think that someone might wear a mask to protect themselves in the midst of an escalating pandemic , not even on a day which set a record high of nearly a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ about the politics , about the election , about him .
An hour after the rally , I could not stop thinking about the most remarkable moment from it : Trump accusing U.S. doctors of artificially inflating the number of COVID deaths in order to somehow collect money .
“ You know , our doctors get more money if somebody dies from COVID , ” he claimed .
“ You know that , right ?
” He even joked about it , imagining himself , I guess , as a doctor pulling off @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ‘ when in doubt , choose COVID.
’ .
.
.
You get , like , two thousand dollars more .
It ’ s true.
” I can not think of a better illustration of Trump ’ s cynical world view : everything is a scam , corrupt , not on the level .
“ It ’ s true , ” he said , over and over—which , of course , was one of many tells that it was not .
As I was reflecting on this , Trump had already flown to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , Wisconsin .
“ You are so lucky I am your President , ” Trump said , as I turned on the live stream .
It was jarring to see the packed crowd , many not in masks , and to realize how badly the hospitals in Wisconsin are doing—overwhelmed with patients , in a crisis that Trump says does not exist .
State officials have called it a “ nightmare scenario.
” Nonetheless , one of the biggest cheers came when Trump said , “ Hey , governor , you ’ ve @ @ @ @ @ @ @ When Trump bragged about how quickly he got better from COVID , the crowd chanted , “ Superman !
Superman !
” The President loved it .
While Trump was talking , an e-mail came into my in-box : the Times ’ nightly coronavirus briefing .
“ The worst week yet , ” the headline read .
The President seemed much more subdued , low-energy even .
Was it the small crowd size ?
The bad polls ?
Even his nasty asides about Nancy Pelosi and Biden and fake news sounded less gleeful @ @ @ @ @ @ @ new target , a surprising one : the Supreme Court , which he has filled with three appointees , creating a new six-to-three conservative majority .
Earlier in the week , Trump had been ebullient over Barrett ’ s confirmation so close to the election .
But , in a recent ruling , the Justices—minus Barrett , who did not participate—had voted to allow the counting of absentee ballots received after Election Day in North Carolina , in accordance with the state ’ s laws .
Trump saw it as a betrayal .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ , horrible decision that they made .
.
.
.
This is a horrible thing the Supreme Court has done to our country , ” he said .
“ We have to know who won ” on Election Night , he insisted , though counting has never before been completed on Election Night .
He warned of “ bedlam ” in the country as it waits for results , in what seemed more than a little like a self-fulfilling prophecy .

My morning check of the election-projection sites—which I wish did not exist after the trauma of 2016, but they do, so of course I have not resisted looking at them—showed that, over the past few days, Biden had ticked up two points on FiveThirtyEight, which predicts he now has an eighty-eight-per-cent chance of winning. The RealClearPolitics average had Biden up nationally by seven points. In previous campaigns, the RealClearPolitics average has been as close as 0.4 percentage points of the final results (Bush-Kerry, in 2004, and Trump-Clinton, four years ago) and been off by as much as four (Obama-Romney, in 2012). So Biden could win by as little as three points—or as much as eleven. A nail-biter, in other words, or a landslide. Which is not really much help at all. A new Washington Post poll in Wisconsin, on Wednesday, had Biden up by seventeen points. But that can’t be right, can it?
Around 1 P.M. local time, Air Force One pulled up on the tarmac in Bullhead City, Arizona. “Macho Man” was playing as the crowd waited for Trump. For four years, his insistence on a playlist heavy on the Village People has simply been one of those ridiculous things about a Trump rally. The man knows no irony. The song may have originated as a gay anthem, but to Trump it is just a celebration of his alpha-maleness. “You’re so lucky I’m your President!” Trump said, after a long rant about Biden’s flaws. Then there was a riff on his own hair, and how it’s his real hair, and how it was so windy out, and then Trump took a red “Make America Great Again” hat from someone and put it on. Is this what passes for macho among his supporters?
Soon, Trump reached the Hillary Clinton-bashing part of the rally, now a nostalgic hit of his tough-guy act. The only new twist these days is that, when Trump mentions his 2016 opponent, he praises Clinton as smarter and sharper than Biden, whom Trump invariably portrays as a senile, dribbling idiot. “Isn’t it nice to have a President that doesn’t need a teleprompter?” Trump said. “We love Trump,” the crowd responded. That, of course, is the part of every rally that Trump loves the most, and which often leads him to claim that no President, not even the Republican icon Ronald Reagan, has ever got crowds like his. Speaking of crowds, Trump wanted his audience to know that this one was much bigger than what “Barack Hussein Obama” had when he campaigned against Trump on Tuesday. Trump, four years later, is still obsessed with Obama.
Obama, in recent days, has landed some real scorchers on Trump. “He’s jealous of COVID’s media coverage,” the former President has been saying. Obama has taken particular delight in mocking Trump’s obsession with crowd size: “Did nobody come to his birthday party when he was a kid?” Trump, for his part, rarely has such crisp one-liners. He is like a standup comedian without the jokes, who just talks and talks and talks. Instead of comedy, he has name-calling: Biden is stupid, sleepy, spent. “If you have to fight somebody, that’s your dream fight,” Trump said, of Biden, at his Arizona rally. This, inevitably, led to another long discourse about how unfair it was that he, Trump, “got impeached over a telephone call,” while no one was taking seriously the real corruption of the Biden family. As the President went on and on about this, there were only sparse cheers from the crowd, though several times throughout the week I had seen them chant “Lock him up! Lock him up!,” even if it wasn’t clear what they thought Biden should be locked up for. I thought of Senator Ted Cruz’s comment to the Axios reporter Jonathan Swan, after the two watched the second debate together. Cruz told Swan that he didn’t think Trump’s rants about Hunter Biden and corruption would move a single vote.
Thursday, October 29th
With five days to go until the election, Trump and Biden were both going to Florida, for duelling rallies in Tampa. The race there is too close to call, and the country is haunted by the idea of another post-election recount in Florida, as in 2000. The difference between now and then is that, two decades ago, both candidates were (a) shocked that a Presidential election had come down to a tie and (b) eager to reassure Americans after a partisan, rancorous recount. When it was over, Al Gore gave a gracious concession speech. George W. Bush gave a gracious acceptance speech. We should be so lucky this time.
Biden’s theme in Florida is the same one he has had for months: Trump has failed to deal with the pandemic. This is a primary reason that Biden is competitive in the state, where polls suggest that some senior citizens who backed Trump four years ago have shifted toward Biden, a Democrat whose message is not that they should be willing to die in order to help America’s economy bounce back. “He is doing nothing,” Biden said, in Florida. “Donald Trump has waved the white flag, abandoned our families, and surrendered to the virus.”
Over at his Tampa rally, Trump said he was beating the virus, not giving up in the face of it. “You know the bottom line, though?” the President said. “You’re gonna get better. You’re gonna get better.” In Trump’s telling, there are no victims of the disease, only winners like himself. “If I can get better, anybody can get better,” he said. “And I got better fast.”
On Thursday night, Trump’s son Donald, Jr., was on Fox News with Laura Ingraham, one of the Trumps’ favorite prime-time hosts. He told Ingraham that, in fact, coronavirus deaths had dwindled to “almost nothing,” on a day when the U.S. once again hit a record for new cases and more than a thousand Americans died of the virus. Ingraham did not challenge him.
Friday, October 30th
No question that Trump is worried. Turns out he can’t sleep, either. He is doomscrolling and anxiety-tweeting overnight, just like the rest of the country. At 2:34 a.m., he tweeted, “MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN. VOTE!” At 2:37 a.m., he tweeted, “#Bidencrimefamily.” At 2:40 a.m., he tweeted, “Biden will destroy the United States Supreme Court.” Soon after that, he was ranting about a Biden plan for the Supreme Court so diabolical that it would apparently involve not only a packed court but a “REVOLVING COURT,” whatever that is. The time stamp on the tweet was 2:57 a.m. I guess it’s sort of comforting to know that he, too, is having nightmares about the election. But, no matter what tangents Trump goes off on in his final week as a candidate for President, he invariably returns to the coronavirus. This morning, shortly after eight, he agreed with Don, Jr., that deaths are “WAY DOWN.” I still have a hard time imagining that this is a good message to be taking to the voters.
Trump had three rallies planned on this last preëlection Friday, in Michigan, Wisconsin, and Minnesota, the only state he was to visit in the final week that he did not win four years ago. The day started in Michigan’s Oakland County, where Trump seemed delighted when he spotted Ingraham and told the crowd that the Fox host would be following him around for Friday’s rallies, like a groupie who had been invited to join the road show for Trump’s aging-rocker tour. But he seemed shocked that Ingraham was wearing a mask. “I’ve never seen you in a mask,” he said. He chided her for being “politically correct.” It was a revealing moment: Trump clearly does not think that someone might wear a mask to protect themselves in the midst of an escalating pandemic, not even on a day which set a record high of nearly a hundred thousand new cases. Everything is about the politics, about the election, about him.
An hour after the rally, I could not stop thinking about the most remarkable moment from it: Trump accusing U.S. doctors of artificially inflating the number of COVID deaths in order to somehow collect money. “You know, our doctors get more money if somebody dies from COVID,” he claimed. “You know that, right?” He even joked about it, imagining himself, I guess, as a doctor pulling off this scam: “With us, ‘when in doubt, choose COVID.’ . . . You get, like, two thousand dollars more. It’s true.” I cannot think of a better illustration of Trump’s cynical world view: everything is a scam, corrupt, not on the level. “It’s true,” he said, over and over—which, of course, was one of many tells that it was not.
As I was reflecting on this, Trump had already flown to his next stop, in Green Bay, Wisconsin. “You are so lucky I am your President,” Trump said, as I turned on the live stream. It was jarring to see the packed crowd, many not in masks, and to realize how badly the hospitals in Wisconsin are doing—overwhelmed with patients, in a crisis that Trump says does not exist. State officials have called it a “nightmare scenario.” Nonetheless, one of the biggest cheers came when Trump said, “Hey, governor, you’ve got to open up your state.” When Trump bragged about how quickly he got better from COVID, the crowd chanted, “Superman! Superman!” The President loved it. While Trump was talking, an e-mail came into my in-box: the Times’ nightly coronavirus briefing. “The worst week yet,” the headline read.
Saturday, October 31st
On Halloween, Trump arrived before noon for the first of four rallies in Pennsylvania. The event was staged in front of the headquarters where George Washington planned the crossing of the Delaware River, which saved his Army from what looked like certain defeat, in late 1776. “Three days from now, this is the state that will save the American Dream,” Trump said. But Trump is still behind—narrowly—in Pennsylvania, and the rally was in Bucks County, home of the type of Republican suburban women who have been deserting him.
The President seemed much more subdued, low-energy even. Was it the small crowd size? The bad polls? Even his nasty asides about Nancy Pelosi and Biden and fake news sounded less gleeful than usual. He did have a new target, a surprising one: the Supreme Court, which he has filled with three appointees, creating a new six-to-three conservative majority. Earlier in the week, Trump had been ebullient over Barrett’s confirmation so close to the election. But, in a recent ruling, the Justices—minus Barrett, who did not participate—had voted to allow the counting of absentee ballots received after Election Day in North Carolina, in accordance with the state’s laws. Trump saw it as a betrayal. “That is a terrible, political, horrible decision that they made. . . . This is a horrible thing the Supreme Court has done to our country,” he said. “We have to know who won” on Election Night, he insisted, though counting has never before been completed on Election Night. He warned of “bedlam” in the country as it waits for results, in what seemed more than a little like a self-fulfilling prophecy.
While he was speaking, I checked, and the FiveThirtyEight election forecast had ticked up a notch: to a ninety-per-cent chance that Biden would win. Maybe Trump had checked, as well. In fact, Trump’s approval rating—the metric that experts consider to be the best guide to where the vote will actually end up—is almost exactly the same as Trump’s vote share in the polls, standing at 44.2 per cent in the FiveThirtyEight average, almost exactly where it was in early September. Is it possible that the October Surprise is that there wasn’t one?
Sunday, November 1st
Trump began the day in Michigan, in the wind, rain, and snow, saying he was not a “diva” while complaining that his staff had failed to set up the stage correctly to shield him from the awful weather. He was wearing his overcoat and the gloves again, but it wasn’t enough. “It’s freezing out here,” the President complained. He would repeat the self-pitying shtick as the day went on, in other frigid locations across the Midwest. I never once heard him express any concern for the frozen crowds who had to show up, sometimes hours before he arrived, to make it through security and wait for him in the cold that he could not take without grousing even for a few minutes. On Saturday night, in Pennsylvania, supporters were reportedly left stranded, again, after the final Trump rally of the evening—as they had been in Omaha earlier in the week—while Trump flew home on Air Force One.
With the election so near, the Biden bashing has got louder and cruder. “There’s no way you’re putting that guy in—I don’t believe it,” Trump said. He can’t believe it’s over; therefore, it must not be. Still, Trump hailed a final preëlection poll that came out late Saturday from the Des Moines Register; it showed him with a seven-point lead in Iowa, after other surveys had found Biden competitive in the state, which Trump won easily four years ago. For Trump, the polls that are good for him are terrific, and those that are bad for him are fake. “Great Red Wave,” he repeated, like an incantation. “They’re very worried. They’re very worried,” he said, of the Democrats. “They don’t get it. They still don’t get it.”
Trump is growing more frantic as the voting approaches. A few days ago, in Michigan, he had attacked Democratic congresswomen of color, female journalists, and refugees—eliciting boos from the crowd at their mere mention. This time, back in Michigan, Trump amped up his smear against the congresswomen. He claimed that Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez stole two million dollars out of her campaign. He said that Ilhan Omar has been illegally “harvesting ballots,” and that she will be placed “in charge of immigration” if Biden wins. He called for the Justice Department to investigate them. “These people are maniacs who don’t like our country,” he said.
As for Biden, Trump is now calling him not just “a dummy” but “a dummy and a half,” whatever that is supposed to mean. Biden is no longer merely in favor of lockdowns; now, Trump claims, he plans “to imprison you in your home.” In Georgia, at the fourth stop of his day, Trump put on a faux-Biden act, mocking his approach to the virus: “I want the lockdown. I want to follow science.” Imagine your 2015 self being told that “I want to follow science” would end up as a taunt in a Presidential race—and the incumbent President would be doing the taunting. The crowd seemed to love it, and, really, that was the hardest part of all of this to take.
As this pandemic-era Presidential campaign has stumbled to a finish, I watched people laugh and cheer every day as Trump ridiculed Dr. Anthony Fauci and other public-health experts who had counselled him not to hold his rallies in the first place. In a scathing interview with the Washington Post which came out over the weekend, the government’s top infectious-disease expert had finally let loose on the White House’s failed response to the pandemic. The country is “in for a whole lot of hurt,” Fauci said. “All the stars are aligned in the wrong place. . . . You could not possibly be positioned more poorly.”


newyorker--2020-11-02--What If This Election Ends in Another Bush v. Gore?

A constitutional crisis is not merely an instance of the Constitution being disobeyed or going unenforced .
It is , rather , a much more confounding situation , in which two branches of government are in an active conflict with each other but our constitutional rules and norms do not tell us how to resolve it .
There was a true constitutional crisis around the Presidential election of 1876 , when neither Samuel J. Tilden , a Democrat , nor Rutherford B. Hayes , a Republican , won a majority of the Electoral College .
( Tilden won the popular @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Carolina , and Louisiana , where vote counts were close and products of manipulation , rival Democratic and Republican electors attempted to get Congress to recognize their votes .
To end a months-long political conflict , which was marked by intimidation , disenfranchisement , and threats of violence , Congress appointed a bipartisan electoral commission , consisting of members of each house and the Supreme Court .
The commission reached an ugly compromise , to withdraw federal troops from the South , effectively ending Reconstruction , in exchange for awarding the disputed states @ @ @ @ @ @ @ became President .
No electoral conflict approached the level of that of the 1876 election until 2000 , when , as many recall , the Presidency came down to the vote count in Florida , which was too close to call and spawned recounts in several counties .
Three weeks after Election Day , while recounts were still ongoing , Florida ’ s Republican secretary of state , Katherine Harris , certified a win , by a margin of five hundred and thirty-seven votes , for George W. Bush , handing him enough @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Al Gore then sued in Florida court to request that the recounts continue .
On December 8th , the Florida Supreme Court ordered a statewide manual recount of “ undervotes , ” ballots for which the machine count had not recorded votes because of so-called hanging chads .
Bush immediately asked the U.S. Supreme Court to reverse that decision .
The Court held that recounting only “ undervotes ” and failing to have uniform standards for counting contested ballots violated the Equal Protection Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment , with seven Justices @ @ @ @ @ @ @ dissent of the four liberal Justices , the Court ’ s majority also ordered an end to the recount , rather than sending the case back to the Florida court to establish acceptable standards .
This remedy fuelled the widespread belief that the Court decided the Presidential election : it meant that Harris ’ s previous certification of Bush as the winner in Florida would make Bush the President-elect .
Gore accepted the Supreme Court ’ s decision and conceded the election to Bush .
If he had not stood down and had @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , perhaps by returning to Florida courts to ask for a new and improved recount and urging Democrats to reject the Court ’ s resolution of the matter , then we might have been headed for a genuine constitutional crisis .
Many found it unseemly , and even outrageous , for a Presidential election to be resolved by the Supreme Court , particularly when the Justices were divided sharply , five-to-four , along partisan lines .
But , in retrospect , the Court ’ s order , when coupled with Gore ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ it—insured that a crisis was avoided .
The following year , a review of the ballots by a consortium of news organizations found that Bush would have won narrowly even if the Court had allowed the Florida recount to continue .
This fall , myriad cases about states ’ voting arrangements—including the swing states of Arizona , Florida , Georgia , Iowa , Michigan , Minnesota , Nevada , North Carolina , Pennsylvania , Texas , and Wisconsin—have created an unnerving sense of legal cacophony as Election Day approaches .
But , so @ @ @ @ @ @ @ contentious but resolvable conflicts about access to voting , given concerns about the dangers of in-person voting and the delays in the postal system .
The battles have been about deadlines for registering to vote , mailing ballots , and receiving ballots to be counted , and about who may vote absentee , distribute absentee-ballot applications , collect ballots , or serve as poll-workers .
There have been questions about electronic-ballot delivery , curbside or drive-thru voting , openly carrying firearms at polling places , and even about whether voters must wear masks @ @ @ @ @ @ @ place the Texas governor ’ s polling-place exception to his statewide mask mandate , after Democrats challenged it as a discriminatory burden on Black and Latino voters , who are more likely to be harmed by the coronavirus and to face long lines at the polls . )
In general , the cases have reflected an acceptance , by both Democrats and Republicans , that increased voting is likely to benefit Democratic candidates .
In some states , officials have attempted to make voting easier or safer , and Republicans have sued to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ other states , officials have attempted to limit voting options , sometimes citing the risk of fraud , and Democrats have sued to object to those restrictions .
State and federal courts have been adjudicating these conflicts case by case , and litigants have been recognizing the courts ’ orders , despite extreme partisan disagreements about their merit .
More than fifteen of these cases have reached the Supreme Court , where the results so far , in the form of unsigned orders , have been about evenly split between favoring Democrats and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Court left in place the North Carolina Board of Elections ’ decision to extend the state ’ s deadline for receiving absentee ballots from November 6th to November 12th .
Three conservative Justices—Clarence Thomas , Samuel Alito , and Neil Gorsuch—dissented , with the latter two explaining that because the elections clause , in Article I of the Constitution , says that the “ legislature ” prescribes the “ times , places and manner of holding elections , ” it was unconstitutional for the state ’ s Board of Elections to alter the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
This theory depends on the questionable assumption that the legislature had not validly delegated authority regarding deadlines to the Board of Elections under state law—an assumption apparently not shared by the majority , which was silent on the reasons for its order .
The Court also denied , without dissents , Republicans ’ request for expedited consideration of whether the Pennsylvania Supreme Court acted unconstitutionally in extending that state ’ s deadline for receipt of absentee ballots from November 3rd to November 6th .
But Thomas , Alito , and Gorsuch did @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the ballots received after Election Day , and suggested that the Court might well consider the case and eventually order that those votes not be counted .
The conservative Justices ’ comments effectively invited Republicans to demand that ballots eligible voters have cast , relying on the rules and procedures that the state gave them , be thrown out , in order to remedy an alleged constitutional violation by a branch of state government .
In recent weeks , the Supreme Court decided against Democrats in Wisconsin , rejecting a federal district court @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s deadline for receiving absentee ballots from November 3rd to November 9th .
The Court also allowed Alabama ’ s secretary of state to ban curbside voting , in which voters in cars would have handed their ballots to poll workers , and allowed South Carolina and Alabama to require a witness ’ s signature on a voter ’ s absentee ballot .
If there is a pattern to these decisions , it is that the Supreme Court is leaving states to determine their own election rules and rejecting federal courts ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ballots that arrive after Election Day will be counted in some states but not in others , a disparity that is discomfiting though perhaps not unconstitutional .
Any pattern , however , predates the participation of Justice Amy Coney Barrett , who was sworn in just days before the Court ’ s decisions on North Carolina and Pennsylvania and opted not to take part in them .
Barrett could side with Thomas , Alito , and Gorsuch in the position they took on Pennsylvania ’ s absentee ballots , but the Chief Justice @ @ @ @ @ @ @ conceivably pick off another conservative colleague to make a majority .
The possibility that candidates may seek to flip narrow vote margins in swing states through court rulings on how to count ballots revives memories of Bush v. Gore and raises the prospect of the Court once again playing a decisive role in the election .
Justice Antonin Scalia , who once famously told critics of Bush v. Gore to “ get over it , ” said on CNN , in 2012 , that , once the litigants came to the Court , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ decided in the case was “ not a hard one ” : “ whether the Presidency would be decided by the Florida Supreme Court or the United States Supreme Court.
” Of course , the Supreme Court can ’ t decide the election if the parties don ’ t take their disputes to court .
But there is little chance of Trump not asking the Court for a decision , given his statement that he wanted Barrett seated by the election because “ I think this will end up in the Supreme Court.
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ disclaimer—that the Court ’ s “ consideration is limited to the present circumstances ” —has often been read to mean that it was not intended to have value as precedent .
But Justice Brett Kavanaugh favorably cited Bush v. Gore in his concurring opinion in the Wisconsin absentee-ballot deadline case , in order to underline “ the important federal judicial role in reviewing state-court decisions about state law in a federal Presidential election.
” This statement raised alarms that at least some conservative Justices are prepared to second-guess state-court decisions on state election @ @ @ @ @ @ @ much as the Court reversed the Florida Supreme Court ’ s recount decision and decided the 2000 election for Bush .
( It happens that Kavanaugh , Barrett , and Roberts all worked as lawyers for Bush in the election litigation in 2000 . )
The Court has already agreed to hear a case about the lawfulness of Arizona ’ s refusal to count provisional ballots cast in person on Election Day outside of the voter ’ s own precinct , and its limitation on who may collect a voter ’ s early @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , we may also see emergency requests in vote-count cases reach the Court .
But , if Bush v. Gore stands for any real legal principle that could come into play in the disputes , it is that a state may not use counting methods that are arbitrary , non-uniform , or unclear , nor treat similarly situated voters differently .
Even those who have reviled the case for twenty years shouldn ’ t assume that this principle must favor Republicans ; in fact , it could well be used by Democrats to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ It is difficult not to fixate on Tuesday , November 3rd , as the day when we elect the next President .
But our votes on Tuesday technically do not decide the Presidency ; rather , they decide the makeup of the Electoral College , which will meet on December 14th for the state electors to vote .
The President will not be officially chosen until January 6th , when , according to the Twelfth Amendment , Vice-President Mike Pence , as President of the Senate , will preside over a joint session @ @ @ @ @ @ @ open all the certificates and the votes shall then be counted.
” Much could go wrong in any of those intervals , and chaos may ensue , in the counting of votes , the certifications of results , the appointments of electors , and congressional agreement on the winner .
A federal statute enacted in the wake of the election crisis of 1876 says that if a state makes its “ final determination of any controversy or contest concerning the appointment of all or any of the electors ” by December 8th , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ appointments as “ conclusive.
” ( This is known as the “ safe harbor.
” ) But , in a recent paper , my Harvard Law School colleague Cass Sunstein concluded that , even so , federal law “ almost certainly allows Congress to refuse to count votes that are a product of fraud.
” If Trump alleged that Joe Biden had fraudulently won a state and urged Congress to reject a state ’ s electoral votes , then , as Sunstein writes , “ we could easily imagine real chaos in Washington.
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ over how to count the Electoral College votes , then that scenario would certainly rise to the level of a true constitutional crisis .
The 2000 election ended in crisis aversion , when Democrats made a difficult decision to swallow a bitter pill rather than fight on after the Supreme Court rendered its decision .
But since then , and particularly after the past four years , there is far more animosity among citizens and far less public confidence in our democracy , the rule of law , and the Supreme Court .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ take conflict to the streets .
Some of those who are primed to feel robbed and cheated have guns , and the man who will remain President for at least several more months may stoke unrest and dispatch unwelcome federal force into states in response to protests .
Though the Supreme Court might view itself as providing resolution in disarray , any major election-related decision is less likely to calm than to fuel social conflict .
Should combustible events following this election ultimately require one of the parties to act in order to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ more likely than Trump to call on his broader sense of duty to do so .
Understanding this , too , is a reason to hope that Biden will win a clear path to the Presidency , and that the coming days do not take us to the brink .
Read More About the 2020 Election • The fall and rise of Kamala Harris .
• When a sitting President threatens to delay a sacrosanct American ritual like an election , you should listen .
• To understand the path Donald Trump has @ @ @ @ @ @ @ at what he has provided the executive class .
• What happens if Trump fights the election results ?
• The refusal by Mitch McConnell to rein in Trump is looking riskier than ever .
• Sign up for our election newsletter for insight and analysis from our reporters and columnists .

During Donald Trump’s Presidency, we have called political events “constitutional crises” far more often than in any period in memory. Before 2016, the term was used rarely, and the last time there was concern about a possible constitutional crisis was in the aftermath of the Presidential election of 2000, which culminated in the Supreme Court’s Bush v. Gore decision, more than a month after Election Day. As we approach the decision’s twentieth anniversary, with a President who has promised to take the election results to the Court, we may be facing a possible repeat of those events—and perhaps a genuine constitutional crisis around the Presidential election, which could prove much more chaotic and difficult to resolve.
A constitutional crisis is not merely an instance of the Constitution being disobeyed or going unenforced. It is, rather, a much more confounding situation, in which two branches of government are in an active conflict with each other but our constitutional rules and norms do not tell us how to resolve it. There was a true constitutional crisis around the Presidential election of 1876, when neither Samuel J. Tilden, a Democrat, nor Rutherford B. Hayes, a Republican, won a majority of the Electoral College. (Tilden won the popular vote.) In Florida, South Carolina, and Louisiana, where vote counts were close and products of manipulation, rival Democratic and Republican electors attempted to get Congress to recognize their votes. To end a months-long political conflict, which was marked by intimidation, disenfranchisement, and threats of violence, Congress appointed a bipartisan electoral commission, consisting of members of each house and the Supreme Court. The commission reached an ugly compromise, to withdraw federal troops from the South, effectively ending Reconstruction, in exchange for awarding the disputed states’ electoral votes to Hayes, who became President.
No electoral conflict approached the level of that of the 1876 election until 2000, when, as many recall, the Presidency came down to the vote count in Florida, which was too close to call and spawned recounts in several counties. Three weeks after Election Day, while recounts were still ongoing, Florida’s Republican secretary of state, Katherine Harris, certified a win, by a margin of five hundred and thirty-seven votes, for George W. Bush, handing him enough Electoral College votes to win the Presidency. Al Gore then sued in Florida court to request that the recounts continue. On December 8th, the Florida Supreme Court ordered a statewide manual recount of “undervotes,” ballots for which the machine count had not recorded votes because of so-called hanging chads. Bush immediately asked the U.S. Supreme Court to reverse that decision. The Court held that recounting only “undervotes” and failing to have uniform standards for counting contested ballots violated the Equal Protection Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment, with seven Justices agreeing on the merits. Over the dissent of the four liberal Justices, the Court’s majority also ordered an end to the recount, rather than sending the case back to the Florida court to establish acceptable standards. This remedy fuelled the widespread belief that the Court decided the Presidential election: it meant that Harris’s previous certification of Bush as the winner in Florida would make Bush the President-elect.
Gore accepted the Supreme Court’s decision and conceded the election to Bush. If he had not stood down and had instead pressed a claim to the Presidency, perhaps by returning to Florida courts to ask for a new and improved recount and urging Democrats to reject the Court’s resolution of the matter, then we might have been headed for a genuine constitutional crisis. Many found it unseemly, and even outrageous, for a Presidential election to be resolved by the Supreme Court, particularly when the Justices were divided sharply, five-to-four, along partisan lines. But, in retrospect, the Court’s order, when coupled with Gore’s response—and the public’s acceptance of it—insured that a crisis was avoided. The following year, a review of the ballots by a consortium of news organizations found that Bush would have won narrowly even if the Court had allowed the Florida recount to continue.
This fall, myriad cases about states’ voting arrangements—including the swing states of Arizona, Florida, Georgia, Iowa, Michigan, Minnesota, Nevada, North Carolina, Pennsylvania, Texas, and Wisconsin—have created an unnerving sense of legal cacophony as Election Day approaches. But, so far, the legal fights have been contentious but resolvable conflicts about access to voting, given concerns about the dangers of in-person voting and the delays in the postal system. The battles have been about deadlines for registering to vote, mailing ballots, and receiving ballots to be counted, and about who may vote absentee, distribute absentee-ballot applications, collect ballots, or serve as poll-workers. There have been questions about electronic-ballot delivery, curbside or drive-thru voting, openly carrying firearms at polling places, and even about whether voters must wear masks. (The Fifth Circuit left in place the Texas governor’s polling-place exception to his statewide mask mandate, after Democrats challenged it as a discriminatory burden on Black and Latino voters, who are more likely to be harmed by the coronavirus and to face long lines at the polls.) In general, the cases have reflected an acceptance, by both Democrats and Republicans, that increased voting is likely to benefit Democratic candidates. In some states, officials have attempted to make voting easier or safer, and Republicans have sued to have those moves declared unlawful. In other states, officials have attempted to limit voting options, sometimes citing the risk of fraud, and Democrats have sued to object to those restrictions. State and federal courts have been adjudicating these conflicts case by case, and litigants have been recognizing the courts’ orders, despite extreme partisan disagreements about their merit.
More than fifteen of these cases have reached the Supreme Court, where the results so far, in the form of unsigned orders, have been about evenly split between favoring Democrats and favoring Republicans. Last week, the Court left in place the North Carolina Board of Elections’ decision to extend the state’s deadline for receiving absentee ballots from November 6th to November 12th. Three conservative Justices—Clarence Thomas, Samuel Alito, and Neil Gorsuch—dissented, with the latter two explaining that because the elections clause, in Article I of the Constitution, says that the “legislature” prescribes the “times, places and manner of holding elections,” it was unconstitutional for the state’s Board of Elections to alter the deadline that the state legislature had set. This theory depends on the questionable assumption that the legislature had not validly delegated authority regarding deadlines to the Board of Elections under state law—an assumption apparently not shared by the majority, which was silent on the reasons for its order. The Court also denied, without dissents, Republicans’ request for expedited consideration of whether the Pennsylvania Supreme Court acted unconstitutionally in extending that state’s deadline for receipt of absentee ballots from November 3rd to November 6th. But Thomas, Alito, and Gorsuch did note Pennsylvania officials’ intent to segregate the ballots received after Election Day, and suggested that the Court might well consider the case and eventually order that those votes not be counted. The conservative Justices’ comments effectively invited Republicans to demand that ballots eligible voters have cast, relying on the rules and procedures that the state gave them, be thrown out, in order to remedy an alleged constitutional violation by a branch of state government.
In recent weeks, the Supreme Court decided against Democrats in Wisconsin, rejecting a federal district court’s decision to extend the state’s deadline for receiving absentee ballots from November 3rd to November 9th. The Court also allowed Alabama’s secretary of state to ban curbside voting, in which voters in cars would have handed their ballots to poll workers, and allowed South Carolina and Alabama to require a witness’s signature on a voter’s absentee ballot. If there is a pattern to these decisions, it is that the Supreme Court is leaving states to determine their own election rules and rejecting federal courts’ modifications of them. That means that ballots that arrive after Election Day will be counted in some states but not in others, a disparity that is discomfiting though perhaps not unconstitutional. Any pattern, however, predates the participation of Justice Amy Coney Barrett, who was sworn in just days before the Court’s decisions on North Carolina and Pennsylvania and opted not to take part in them. Barrett could side with Thomas, Alito, and Gorsuch in the position they took on Pennsylvania’s absentee ballots, but the Chief Justice likely would not, and he could conceivably pick off another conservative colleague to make a majority.
The possibility that candidates may seek to flip narrow vote margins in swing states through court rulings on how to count ballots revives memories of Bush v. Gore and raises the prospect of the Court once again playing a decisive role in the election. Justice Antonin Scalia, who once famously told critics of Bush v. Gore to “get over it,” said on CNN, in 2012, that, once the litigants came to the Court, “the only question” to be decided in the case was “not a hard one”: “whether the Presidency would be decided by the Florida Supreme Court or the United States Supreme Court.” Of course, the Supreme Court can’t decide the election if the parties don’t take their disputes to court. But there is little chance of Trump not asking the Court for a decision, given his statement that he wanted Barrett seated by the election because “I think this will end up in the Supreme Court.”
Bush v. Gore’s famous disclaimer—that the Court’s “consideration is limited to the present circumstances”—has often been read to mean that it was not intended to have value as precedent. But Justice Brett Kavanaugh favorably cited Bush v. Gore in his concurring opinion in the Wisconsin absentee-ballot deadline case, in order to underline “the important federal judicial role in reviewing state-court decisions about state law in a federal Presidential election.” This statement raised alarms that at least some conservative Justices are prepared to second-guess state-court decisions on state election law to Trump’s benefit, much as the Court reversed the Florida Supreme Court’s recount decision and decided the 2000 election for Bush. (It happens that Kavanaugh, Barrett, and Roberts all worked as lawyers for Bush in the election litigation in 2000.) The Court has already agreed to hear a case about the lawfulness of Arizona’s refusal to count provisional ballots cast in person on Election Day outside of the voter’s own precinct, and its limitation on who may collect a voter’s early ballot. As soon as this week, we may also see emergency requests in vote-count cases reach the Court. But, if Bush v. Gore stands for any real legal principle that could come into play in the disputes, it is that a state may not use counting methods that are arbitrary, non-uniform, or unclear, nor treat similarly situated voters differently. Even those who have reviled the case for twenty years shouldn’t assume that this principle must favor Republicans; in fact, it could well be used by Democrats to challenge state vote-counting irregularities if needed.
It is difficult not to fixate on Tuesday, November 3rd, as the day when we elect the next President. But our votes on Tuesday technically do not decide the Presidency; rather, they decide the makeup of the Electoral College, which will meet on December 14th for the state electors to vote. The President will not be officially chosen until January 6th, when, according to the Twelfth Amendment, Vice-President Mike Pence, as President of the Senate, will preside over a joint session of Congress, where he will “open all the certificates and the votes shall then be counted.” Much could go wrong in any of those intervals, and chaos may ensue, in the counting of votes, the certifications of results, the appointments of electors, and congressional agreement on the winner. A federal statute enacted in the wake of the election crisis of 1876 says that if a state makes its “final determination of any controversy or contest concerning the appointment of all or any of the electors” by December 8th, then Congress must treat the electors’ appointments as “conclusive.” (This is known as the “safe harbor.”) But, in a recent paper, my Harvard Law School colleague Cass Sunstein concluded that, even so, federal law “almost certainly allows Congress to refuse to count votes that are a product of fraud.” If Trump alleged that Joe Biden had fraudulently won a state and urged Congress to reject a state’s electoral votes, then, as Sunstein writes, “we could easily imagine real chaos in Washington.” Should Congress arrive at an impasse over how to count the Electoral College votes, then that scenario would certainly rise to the level of a true constitutional crisis.
A constitutional crisis can be an early stage on the road to constitutional failure. The ultimate failure of a constitution is, of course, civil war. The possibility of violence haunts the coming days and months, particularly in light of polls that show that at least a third of Americans, both Republicans and Democrats, believe that violence is justified if the other party’s candidate wins the election. In the battleground state of Texas, on Friday, Trump supporters in trucks surrounded a Biden campaign bus on the highway, and Trump tweeted a video of it with the comment “I LOVE TEXAS.” Storefronts in major cities across the country have been boarded up in preparation for Election Day mayhem.
The 2000 election ended in crisis aversion, when Democrats made a difficult decision to swallow a bitter pill rather than fight on after the Supreme Court rendered its decision. But since then, and particularly after the past four years, there is far more animosity among citizens and far less public confidence in our democracy, the rule of law, and the Supreme Court. This time, many appear ready to take conflict to the streets. Some of those who are primed to feel robbed and cheated have guns, and the man who will remain President for at least several more months may stoke unrest and dispatch unwelcome federal force into states in response to protests. Though the Supreme Court might view itself as providing resolution in disarray, any major election-related decision is less likely to calm than to fuel social conflict. Should combustible events following this election ultimately require one of the parties to act in order to avert a crisis, Biden is overwhelmingly more likely than Trump to call on his broader sense of duty to do so. Understanding this, too, is a reason to hope that Biden will win a clear path to the Presidency, and that the coming days do not take us to the brink.
Read More About the 2020 Election


newyorker--2020-11-02--A Vote-Tripling Project Is Betting That Non-Voters Will Vote if a Friend Asks Them to

In 2016 , Robert Reynolds , then a recent graduate of Harvard ’ s Kennedy School of Government , was working at a behavioral-science consulting firm , in Washington , D.C. , that was trying to nudge people into doing some of the pro-social things they professed to want to do—such as giving to charity or eating healthily or staying in college—but just as often did not do .
A Democrat who ’ d been raised in rural southeastern Montana , Reynolds had been involved in social-justice causes , but his work experience had been , up to that point @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of Donald Trump , and an abrupt shift in Reynolds ’ s priorities .
He found himself thinking about his younger brother Nicky , a reliably Democratic-voting “ hippie dude , ” whose “ diehard leftie ” friends had not voted in 2016 .
It was “ because today ’ s non-voters lean liberal , ” Reynolds wrote in a 2017 article for the Harvard Kennedy School Review , that “ America ’ s right wing controls every branch of our government.
” His new mission was to harness the power of America @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to co-found an organization called Vote Tripling , which is spending three and a half million dollars in the week leading up to the election to do something that is simple and , the evidence suggests , quite effective .
It has hired people to stand outside polling places in ten cities—at the required legal limit for electioneering and at a six-foot social distance for protection against the coronavirus—and ask people who ’ ve just voted if they will call or text three friends or family members to remind them to vote .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ them to name which three and maybe to text them then and there .
( The cities that Vote Tripling has targeted are Atlanta , Charlotte , Detroit , Greensboro , Winston-Salem , Las Vegas , Philadelphia , Phoenix , San Antonio , and Tucson ; other organizations are using the vote-tripling approach elsewhere . )
Reynolds calls this “ a very bite-size , ” and therefore manageable , “ pledge to mobilize your friends to vote.
” Door-to-door canvassers are often told either to ask people to sign a pledge to vote @ @ @ @ @ @ @ plan—whether they know where their polling place is and how they will get there .
But when he did canvassing himself , Reynolds sometimes felt these tactics came off as a bit condescending , subtly suggesting a lack of trust in the voters ’ likelihood to follow through and actually cast a ballot .
By contrast , he thinks that the text-three-friends approach signals “ we depend on you , you ’ re powerful ” —a message that could be all the more meaningful when directed at young , low-income voters , or @ @ @ @ @ @ @ tributes to their clout might feel novel .
And the friend-to-friend aspect is crucial : “ When we talk to our friends , we don ’ t need scripts or guidance .
We have years of knowledge baked into our minds about the ways to talk to them .
No matter how hard I try , you ’ re going to be way better than I am at getting your friends to vote.
” Door-to-door canvassing works—and the Trump campaign is relying heavily on it this time around .
( Last week , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that its “ ground game is unmatched ” and posted a video of Eric Trump knocking on what it said was its one-millionth door in Nevada . )
But many volunteers aren ’ t crazy about doing it , especially in the pandemic .
( That doesn ’ t bother the Trump campaign ; Eric and the family he was shown visiting were all unmasked . )
Moreover , in an hour of door-knocking , canvassers might actually get to speak with just four people , whereas with polling-place vote-tripling , according to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ twenty people in an hour and persuades on average thirteen of them to contact three other people .
That ’ s thirty-nine voter contacts for an hour ’ s worth of work .
Vote-tripling efforts don ’ t have to happen only at the polls .
Political campaigns can also use the strategy of asking people by text for the names of three friends they will nudge to vote ( just the first names ) and then send a text right before Election Day to say , for instance , “ Hey Margaret @ @ @ @ @ @ @ now , will you remind Felix , Lucy , and Talia to vote ?
” Reynolds sees an advantage to the poll-based approach , though , as long as greeters buttonhole people on their way out .
“ People are grumpy on the way in ; they don ’ t like being pestered , ” he said .
“ But , on the way out , they are enthusiastic , they ’ re glowing , they have their ‘ I voted ’ sticker on .
This is perhaps the best moment in four @ @ @ @ @ @ @ civic action.
” Pilot projects that his organization did in 2020 primary elections showed that about sixty-five per cent of voters who are asked to contact three people they know actually do it .
Vote-tripling is relatively new , and it hasn ’ t been extensively studied by academics .
But a new paper co-authored by Donald Green , a political scientist at Columbia University and an expert on get-out-the-vote strategies , found that the “ estimated effects of friend-to-friend encouragement to vote ” —in this case , using a mobile phone app @ @ @ @ @ @ @ robust.
” A study published in February by Green and Oliver McClellan , a doctoral student , looked at a more elaborate and specific project aimed at increasing turnout by leveraging people ’ s social networks .
This project , organized by a nonpartisan group called Turnout Nation and implemented in San Francisco , in a suburb of Denver , and in precincts near Oberlin College , in Ohio , and Wesleyan University , in Connecticut , recruited so-called captains .
They contacted people in their social networks—neighbors , friends , co-workers , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in person , to remind them to vote in the next municipal election , in November , 2019 .
Green and McClellan found an increase in voter turnout rates of 13.2 percentage points , a fairly remarkable figure , given that most get-out-the-vote endeavors produce results of a few percentage points or less .
That includes , Green and McClellan write , calls organized by commercial phone banks , text messages from campaigns , and “ Facebook ’ s acclaimed daylong G.O.T.V .
campaigns that show users whether their friends have voted.
” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ effects among those who answer the door , ” but , since comparatively few do , those effects are usually reduced to something on the order of three percentage points .
Lara Putnam , a historian at the University of Pittsburgh who has been studying grassroots movements in the Trump era , generally thinks that organizations should begin building political engagement earlier , not with G.O.T.V .
efforts that make a difference mainly at the margins .
“ That means doing a whole spectrum of things , from offering better civic education for @ @ @ @ @ @ @ people running down-ballot campaigns—for school board , town council , ” which , she said , the Republican Party has been very good at and the Democrats have been “ really awful ” at .
“ If you give up competing for those offices , which can also bring volunteers and voters and candidates into the process , ” she said , “ you stop being able to say , ‘ This is what a Democrat looks like in central Pennsylvania or rural Iowa.
’ ” Still , she thinks that the vote-tripling @ @ @ @ @ @ @ particularly in swing states such as Pennsylvania , where , she said , campaigns are “ blowing up people ’ s phones right now with messages to vote .
A text from a friend is much less likely to be ignored.
” One challenge with friend-to-friend strategies like voter-tripling , Green told me , is “ the birds-of-a-feather tendency.
” So-called high-propensity voters “ tend to know other high-propensity voters , and you need to know low-propensity voters for this to work.
” But in Reynolds ’ s view , activists like him @ @ @ @ @ @ @ communicators , because they are always grabbing people by the lapels , metaphorically speaking , to tell them this is the most important election ever .
“ Whereas , if the message comes from a traditionally disengaged person , you ’ re like , holy shit , this time it ’ s different.
” A few years ago , he found a resonant Abraham Lincoln quote from 1840 that he likes to cite for journalists : “ Watch on the doubtful voters , and from time to time , have them talked to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ most confidence.
” Maybe the most doubtful voter in your life is someone who ’ s newly eligible to cast a ballot and has yet to make it a regular practice .
“ Because voting is shown to be a habit-forming thing , ” Green told me , “ what you do to bring low-propensity voters to the polls on Tuesday can have long-term repercussions—can affect whether that person thinks of themselves as a voter .
The idea is that you ’ re setting in motion a long-term process , especially for a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ I called Reynolds ’ s brother Nicky , who is now twenty-five and lives in the San Fernando Valley , in California .
He had his ballot filled out and was planning to bring it to a drop-off box near him , one of four hundred in Los Angeles County .
And his friends ?
He ’ d checked in with them , too .
“ Four years ago , two of those guys didn ’ t even vote , ” he said .
“ They were planning on it , but they @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” This year , they ’ d already voted .

In 2016, Robert Reynolds, then a recent graduate of Harvard’s Kennedy School of Government, was working at a behavioral-science consulting firm, in Washington, D.C., that was trying to nudge people into doing some of the pro-social things they professed to want to do—such as giving to charity or eating healthily or staying in college—but just as often did not do. A Democrat who’d been raised in rural southeastern Montana, Reynolds had been involved in social-justice causes, but his work experience had been, up to that point, apolitical. Then came the election of Donald Trump, and an abrupt shift in Reynolds’s priorities. He found himself thinking about his younger brother Nicky, a reliably Democratic-voting “hippie dude,” whose “diehard leftie” friends had not voted in 2016. It was “because today’s non-voters lean liberal,” Reynolds wrote in a 2017 article for the Harvard Kennedy School Review, that “America’s right wing controls every branch of our government.” His new mission was to harness the power of America’s Nickys.
Reynolds went on to co-found an organization called Vote Tripling, which is spending three and a half million dollars in the week leading up to the election to do something that is simple and, the evidence suggests, quite effective. It has hired people to stand outside polling places in ten cities—at the required legal limit for electioneering and at a six-foot social distance for protection against the coronavirus—and ask people who’ve just voted if they will call or text three friends or family members to remind them to vote. If they agree, the worker prompts them to name which three and maybe to text them then and there. (The cities that Vote Tripling has targeted are Atlanta, Charlotte, Detroit, Greensboro, Winston-Salem, Las Vegas, Philadelphia, Phoenix, San Antonio, and Tucson; other organizations are using the vote-tripling approach elsewhere.) Reynolds calls this “a very bite-size,” and therefore manageable, “pledge to mobilize your friends to vote.”
Door-to-door canvassers are often told either to ask people to sign a pledge to vote or to inquire if they have a plan—whether they know where their polling place is and how they will get there. But when he did canvassing himself, Reynolds sometimes felt these tactics came off as a bit condescending, subtly suggesting a lack of trust in the voters’ likelihood to follow through and actually cast a ballot. By contrast, he thinks that the text-three-friends approach signals “we depend on you, you’re powerful”—a message that could be all the more meaningful when directed at young, low-income voters, or otherwise disengaged ones, for whom such tributes to their clout might feel novel.
And the friend-to-friend aspect is crucial: “When we talk to our friends, we don’t need scripts or guidance. We have years of knowledge baked into our minds about the ways to talk to them. No matter how hard I try, you’re going to be way better than I am at getting your friends to vote.” Door-to-door canvassing works—and the Trump campaign is relying heavily on it this time around. (Last week, a spokesperson for the Trump campaign tweeted that its “ground game is unmatched” and posted a video of Eric Trump knocking on what it said was its one-millionth door in Nevada.) But many volunteers aren’t crazy about doing it, especially in the pandemic. (That doesn’t bother the Trump campaign; Eric and the family he was shown visiting were all unmasked.) Moreover, in an hour of door-knocking, canvassers might actually get to speak with just four people, whereas with polling-place vote-tripling, according to Reynolds, a greeter typically talks to twenty people in an hour and persuades on average thirteen of them to contact three other people. That’s thirty-nine voter contacts for an hour’s worth of work.
Vote-tripling efforts don’t have to happen only at the polls. Political campaigns can also use the strategy of asking people by text for the names of three friends they will nudge to vote (just the first names) and then send a text right before Election Day to say, for instance, “Hey Margaret! Election Day is tomorrow. Right now, will you remind Felix, Lucy, and Talia to vote?” Reynolds sees an advantage to the poll-based approach, though, as long as greeters buttonhole people on their way out. “People are grumpy on the way in; they don’t like being pestered,” he said. “But, on the way out, they are enthusiastic, they’re glowing, they have their ‘I voted’ sticker on. This is perhaps the best moment in four years to get people to take a civic action.” Pilot projects that his organization did in 2020 primary elections showed that about sixty-five per cent of voters who are asked to contact three people they know actually do it.
Vote-tripling is relatively new, and it hasn’t been extensively studied by academics. But a new paper co-authored by Donald Green, a political scientist at Columbia University and an expert on get-out-the-vote strategies, found that the “estimated effects of friend-to-friend encouragement to vote”—in this case, using a mobile phone app called Outvote—“are large and statistically robust.” A study published in February by Green and Oliver McClellan, a doctoral student, looked at a more elaborate and specific project aimed at increasing turnout by leveraging people’s social networks. This project, organized by a nonpartisan group called Turnout Nation and implemented in San Francisco, in a suburb of Denver, and in precincts near Oberlin College, in Ohio, and Wesleyan University, in Connecticut, recruited so-called captains. They contacted people in their social networks—neighbors, friends, co-workers, and relatives—often more than once and often in person, to remind them to vote in the next municipal election, in November, 2019. Green and McClellan found an increase in voter turnout rates of 13.2 percentage points, a fairly remarkable figure, given that most get-out-the-vote endeavors produce results of a few percentage points or less. That includes, Green and McClellan write, calls organized by commercial phone banks, text messages from campaigns, and “Facebook’s acclaimed daylong G.O.T.V. campaigns that show users whether their friends have voted.” Door-to-door canvassing efforts “sometimes produce strong effects among those who answer the door,” but, since comparatively few do, those effects are usually reduced to something on the order of three percentage points.
Lara Putnam, a historian at the University of Pittsburgh who has been studying grassroots movements in the Trump era, generally thinks that organizations should begin building political engagement earlier, not with G.O.T.V. efforts that make a difference mainly at the margins. “That means doing a whole spectrum of things, from offering better civic education for young people to providing resources to support people running down-ballot campaigns—for school board, town council,” which, she said, the Republican Party has been very good at and the Democrats have been “really awful” at. “If you give up competing for those offices, which can also bring volunteers and voters and candidates into the process,” she said, “you stop being able to say, ‘This is what a Democrat looks like in central Pennsylvania or rural Iowa.’ ” Still, she thinks that the vote-tripling approach is likely to be helpful, particularly in swing states such as Pennsylvania, where, she said, campaigns are “blowing up people’s phones right now with messages to vote. A text from a friend is much less likely to be ignored.”
One challenge with friend-to-friend strategies like voter-tripling, Green told me, is “the birds-of-a-feather tendency.” So-called high-propensity voters “tend to know other high-propensity voters, and you need to know low-propensity voters for this to work.”
But in Reynolds’s view, activists like him aren’t necessarily the most persuasive communicators, because they are always grabbing people by the lapels, metaphorically speaking, to tell them this is the most important election ever. “Whereas, if the message comes from a traditionally disengaged person, you’re like, holy shit, this time it’s different.” A few years ago, he found a resonant Abraham Lincoln quote from 1840 that he likes to cite for journalists: “Watch on the doubtful voters, and from time to time, have them talked to by those in whom they have the most confidence.”
Maybe the most doubtful voter in your life is someone who’s newly eligible to cast a ballot and has yet to make it a regular practice. “Because voting is shown to be a habit-forming thing,” Green told me, “what you do to bring low-propensity voters to the polls on Tuesday can have long-term repercussions—can affect whether that person thinks of themselves as a voter. The idea is that you’re setting in motion a long-term process, especially for a young person.”
On Sunday night, I called Reynolds’s brother Nicky, who is now twenty-five and lives in the San Fernando Valley, in California. He had his ballot filled out and was planning to bring it to a drop-off box near him, one of four hundred in Los Angeles County. And his friends? He’d checked in with them, too. “Four years ago, two of those guys didn’t even vote,” he said. “They were planning on it, but they just didn’t get it done.” This year, they’d already voted.


newyorker--2020-11-02--Poll Shows Most Democrats Have Taken Advantage of Early Drinking

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA ( The Borowitz Report ) —A new poll indicates that the vast majority of Democratic voters have taken advantage of early drinking ahead of the 2020 election .
In contrast to 2016 , when many Democrats did not begin drinking in earnest until well into Election Night , the poll indicates that these same voters started consuming alcohol days and even weeks before November 3rd .
“ By the time I started drinking in 2016 , it was too late for me to fully anesthetize myself , ” Harland Dorrinson , an Arizona Democrat who started @ @ @ @ @ @ @ That ’ s why I went for the early-drinking option.
” According to the poll , white wine , long considered a favorite of certain Democratic constituencies , was the choice of only twenty-four per cent of the early drinkers , while vodka , scotch , and other spirits garnered the support of a whopping fifty-nine per cent .
The surging support for hard liquor is an indication that Democrats are taking early drinking more seriously than they did in 2016 , experts say .
Carol Foyler , a Pennsylvania voter who began @ @ @ @ @ @ @ she had not stocked enough alcohol in her home in 2016 but was better prepared this year .
“ I made a plan to drink , ” she said .

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA (The Borowitz Report)—A new poll indicates that the vast majority of Democratic voters have taken advantage of early drinking ahead of the 2020 election.
In contrast to 2016, when many Democrats did not begin drinking in earnest until well into Election Night, the poll indicates that these same voters started consuming alcohol days and even weeks before November 3rd.
“By the time I started drinking in 2016, it was too late for me to fully anesthetize myself,” Harland Dorrinson, an Arizona Democrat who started drinking last Thursday, said. “That’s why I went for the early-drinking option.”
According to the poll, white wine, long considered a favorite of certain Democratic constituencies, was the choice of only twenty-four per cent of the early drinkers, while vodka, scotch, and other spirits garnered the support of a whopping fifty-nine per cent.
The surging support for hard liquor is an indication that Democrats are taking early drinking more seriously than they did in 2016, experts say.
Carol Foyler, a Pennsylvania voter who began early drinking in September, said that she had not stocked enough alcohol in her home in 2016 but was better prepared this year. “I made a plan to drink,” she said.
Read More Satire from the Borowitz Report


newyorker--2020-11-02--An Unexpected Encounter with Trump Supporters in Georgia

A week ago , Joe Biden came to Atlanta , where I live , for a drive-in rally .
Among the several hundred attendees was a Black man named Ed—a retired salesman who , like most of the Biden supporters at the event , was wearing a mask .
“ I ’ m here because my father was in World War II , and it ’ s reported that this President said that those that served in the military were ‘ losers ’ and ‘ suckers , ’ ” Ed told me .
“ That hit me hard.
” Ed @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and a large blue placard that read “ VOTE DEMOCRATIC.
” “ He ’ s a racist , ” he said , referring to Trump .
“ I have no respect for him.
” I met Ed near a separate crowd at the Biden rally : Trump supporters , many of whom arrived early to tout their support for the President , chanting “ Four more years !
” and shouting questions about a laptop belonging to Joe Biden ’ s son Hunter .
One young man was in costume as a shirtless @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a photo reportedly found on the computer in question .
This group , maybe a hundred strong , was predominantly white .
Initially , a street effectively divided the Trump and Biden supporters , but Ed crossed it , walking toward the Trump camp , and I followed him .
Ed raised his hands in victory as he strode among his political opponents .
He let out a joyous yawp .
“ Let ’ s go !
” he shouted .
A chant of “ Four more years !
” grew louder .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ : “ He ’ s racist as hell !
” He was undaunted by the hostility this triggered ; if anything , he might have been enjoying it .
A middle-aged white man in Trump duds and a mask stood watching , and , after a few minutes , approached me .
He seemed to think that Ed and I were in cahoots .
“ You think you ’ re cool , with your stupid fucking friend ?
” he said .
I had an audio recorder with me , which I held @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for his name , explaining that I was a reporter .
He told me that it was Steve Allen .
I asked him what the problem was .
Partly , he said , it was Ed .
And me .
“ You guys , like , fucking pushing shit , but then , when it comes down to it .
.
.
right ?
You want to antagonize , but you ’ re a fucking little faggot.
” I ’ ve reported from Trump rallies before ; Allen ’ s rhetoric , though @ @ @ @ @ @ @ I reminded him that I was a reporter and that what he said might be published .
I added that I was standing in a public place and again asked what his problem was .
“ You , ” he said .
“ You ’ re a fucking little wise-ass.
” I asked if I could take a picture of him , and he gave me the bird as I snapped it .
Then , leaning quite close , he said , “ I ’ ll punch your fucking face.
” Meanwhile , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ shouting at Ed , “ Black Lives MAGA.
” “ You ’ re damn right we do , ” Ed replied .
“ B.L.M .
is a Communist organization , ” another white man , in sunglasses with a Confederate emblem , said .
Allen continued standing close to me , muttering about ways he could hurt me .
It can be hard to differentiate bluster from real threats , particularly when the possible blusterer is behind a mask , but he seemed capable of making good on his promises .
Then a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
I had spoken to her a week before , while reporting a story about the state of the races in Georgia .
Her name is Debbie Dooley , and she ’ s a local Tea Party activist .
I first talked with Dooley a few years ago , at the suggestion of a friend of my mother ’ s , a lobbyist who works on environmental issues—Dooley , an advocate for solar power , had become an unlikely ally .
I gave her a side hug and motioned toward Allen , addressing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of what he ’ d been saying .
She looked shocked , and confused .
So did Allen .
“ That ’ s my boyfriend , Jason , ” Dooley said .
“ Jason , ” she said , turning to the man .
“ Did you really say that to Charles ?
” She proceeded to scold him a bit , telling him to be nice to me .
I went elsewhere , but Jason found me a little later .
“ My mask was irritating my beard , ” he said @ @ @ @ @ @ @ And I ’ m really sweating in this flannel shirt.
” I reminded him what he ’ d called me .
“ Did I say that ?
” he said , laughing .
“ I don ’ t think I said that .
Why would I say that ?
” He went on , “ I don ’ t really like all this politics stuff .
It just makes people crazy.
” He ’ d only come because of Dooley , he said .
He was once “ a cage fighter , ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ t have hit me .
I told him I appreciated that , and said I hoped it applied to other people , too .
Dooley spotted me as I headed to my car , and walked up to me .
“ I can ’ t wait until this election is over , ” she said .
I saw a truck pause in the road , and several Trump supporters climbed out ; one of them stumbled and fell on his way to the curb , and a few folks on the Biden side @ @ @ @ @ @ @ speaking shortly afterward .
Most of it was hard to make out over the honking horns and the shouting , but I heard him repeat the word “ opportunity .
”

A week ago, Joe Biden came to Atlanta, where I live, for a drive-in rally. Among the several hundred attendees was a Black man named Ed—a retired salesman who, like most of the Biden supporters at the event, was wearing a mask. “I’m here because my father was in World War II, and it’s reported that this President said that those that served in the military were ‘losers’ and ‘suckers,’ ” Ed told me. “That hit me hard.” Ed was wearing camo pants and desert boots and a large blue placard that read “VOTE DEMOCRATIC.” “He’s a racist,” he said, referring to Trump. “I have no respect for him.”
I met Ed near a separate crowd at the Biden rally: Trump supporters, many of whom arrived early to tout their support for the President, chanting “Four more years!” and shouting questions about a laptop belonging to Joe Biden’s son Hunter. One young man was in costume as a shirtless Hunter Biden, a look derived from a photo reportedly found on the computer in question. This group, maybe a hundred strong, was predominantly white. Initially, a street effectively divided the Trump and Biden supporters, but Ed crossed it, walking toward the Trump camp, and I followed him.
Ed raised his hands in victory as he strode among his political opponents. He let out a joyous yawp. “Let’s go!” he shouted. A chant of “Four more years!” grew louder. Ed raised his voice through his mask: “He’s racist as hell!” He was undaunted by the hostility this triggered; if anything, he might have been enjoying it. A middle-aged white man in Trump duds and a mask stood watching, and, after a few minutes, approached me. He seemed to think that Ed and I were in cahoots. “You think you’re cool, with your stupid fucking friend?” he said.
I had an audio recorder with me, which I held near the man as I asked him for his name, explaining that I was a reporter. He told me that it was Steve Allen. I asked him what the problem was. Partly, he said, it was Ed. And me. “You guys, like, fucking pushing shit, but then, when it comes down to it . . . right? You want to antagonize, but you’re a fucking little faggot.”
I’ve reported from Trump rallies before; Allen’s rhetoric, though reprehensible, was not especially surprising. I reminded him that I was a reporter and that what he said might be published. I added that I was standing in a public place and again asked what his problem was. “You,” he said. “You’re a fucking little wise-ass.” I asked if I could take a picture of him, and he gave me the bird as I snapped it. Then, leaning quite close, he said, “I’ll punch your fucking face.” Meanwhile, an older man near us had begun shouting at Ed, “Black Lives MAGA.” “You’re damn right we do,” Ed replied. “B.L.M. is a Communist organization,” another white man, in sunglasses with a Confederate emblem, said. Allen continued standing close to me, muttering about ways he could hurt me. It can be hard to differentiate bluster from real threats, particularly when the possible blusterer is behind a mask, but he seemed capable of making good on his promises.
Then a woman approached, and I recognized her. I had spoken to her a week before, while reporting a story about the state of the races in Georgia. Her name is Debbie Dooley, and she’s a local Tea Party activist. I first talked with Dooley a few years ago, at the suggestion of a friend of my mother’s, a lobbyist who works on environmental issues—Dooley, an advocate for solar power, had become an unlikely ally.
I gave her a side hug and motioned toward Allen, addressing him by name and describing a bit of what he’d been saying. She looked shocked, and confused. So did Allen. “That’s my boyfriend, Jason,” Dooley said. “Jason,” she said, turning to the man. “Did you really say that to Charles?” She proceeded to scold him a bit, telling him to be nice to me.
I went elsewhere, but Jason found me a little later. “My mask was irritating my beard,” he said, by way of explanation. “And I’m really sweating in this flannel shirt.” I reminded him what he’d called me. “Did I say that?” he said, laughing. “I don’t think I said that. Why would I say that?” He went on, “I don’t really like all this politics stuff. It just makes people crazy.” He’d only come because of Dooley, he said. He was once “a cage fighter,” he added, but he wouldn’t have hit me. I told him I appreciated that, and said I hoped it applied to other people, too.
Dooley spotted me as I headed to my car, and walked up to me. “I can’t wait until this election is over,” she said. I saw a truck pause in the road, and several Trump supporters climbed out; one of them stumbled and fell on his way to the curb, and a few folks on the Biden side of the street laughed. Biden started speaking shortly afterward. Most of it was hard to make out over the honking horns and the shouting, but I heard him repeat the word “opportunity.”


newyorker--2020-11-02--Remaking the Federal Courts

Remaking the Federal Courts

Donald Trump has changed the ideological cast of our entire federal court system , appointing the most appellate-court judges in @ @ @ @ @ Carter , along with three conservative Justices to the Supreme Court .
Jeannie Suk Gersen @ @ @ @ @ a professor at Harvard Law School , unpacks the complicated question of court-packing .
Joe @ @ @ @ @ with the strategy , she thinks , is smart politics .
The Supreme Court ’ @ @ @ @ @ want to see Congress mess with the number of Justices on the Court or the @ @ @ @ @ David Remnick .
“ So they now also understand .
.
.
that they ’ @ @ @ @ @ idea that the institution can change without their being able to control it .
”

Photograph from Alamy
Donald Trump has changed the ideological cast of our entire federal court system, appointing the most appellate-court judges in a single term since Jimmy Carter, along with three conservative Justices to the Supreme Court. Jeannie Suk Gersen, a contributing writer and a professor at Harvard Law School, unpacks the complicated question of court-packing. Joe Biden’s cautious engagement with the strategy, she thinks, is smart politics. The Supreme Court’s members “do not want to see Congress mess with the number of Justices on the Court or the terms,” she tells David Remnick. “So they now also understand . . . that they’re being watched with an idea that the institution can change without their being able to control it.”