newyorker--2020-08-27--The Day Malcolm X Was Killed

The Day Malcolm X Was Killed

At 2 P.M. on Sunday , February 21 , 1965 , Malcolm X arrived at the Audubon Ballroom , in Harlem , to give a speech .
Malcolm was thirty-nine , tall and serious , with a dark suit and a new beard , and he was in the midst of remaking himself .
He had recently left the Nation of Islam , the Black-Muslim group that had nurtured his rise to prominence .
He was in Harlem to launch the Organization of Afro-American Unity , a new , secular group that he hoped would allow him to engage in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the Nation—which was both rigidly devout and expressly militant—had made difficult .
He envisioned the event as an afternoon of rousing rhetoric for a diverse crowd : a reverend campaigning for school desegregation would give opening remarks .
At most of Malcolm ’ s rallies , security guards frisked guests before they entered , but Malcolm worried that this would scare off the younger , better-educated , non-Muslim attendees that he hoped to attract to his new organization .
Despite the potential dangers , he had called off the body searches , which @ @ @ @ @ @ @ I felt something that was ominous in the air , ” Benjamin 2X Goodman , one of Malcolm ’ s assistants , told me , years later .
“ It was like an invisible weight sitting on my shoulder , on my back.
” Malcolm had been the national spokesman of the Nation of Islam , and had become famous as a fierce and eloquent advocate of Black Nationalism .
But , over the past few years , he had come to see the group ’ s leader , Elijah Muhammad , as @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of his teachings—among them , that white people were all “ blue-eyed devils.
” In addition to the O.A.A.U.
, Malcolm had founded Muslim Mosque , Inc. , a group that would allow his followers to explore more orthodox versions of Sunni Islam .
He had grown tired of being pigeonholed as a violent agitator , and had begun to forge connections with the nonviolent civil-rights movement , which he had previously spurned .
He attended a secret meeting of civil-rights leaders at the home of the actor Sidney Poitier , where he @ @ @ @ @ @ @ relations to the United Nations .
He travelled to Selma , Alabama , in solidarity with Martin Luther King , Jr. , ’ s push for voting rights there , and met with his wife , Coretta .
This transformation was not appreciated among the ranks of the Nation .
His split with the group had been public and ugly , and there were rumors that his old colleagues were plotting to have him killed .
At the Audubon , four hundred people filed into the hall .
Betty Shabazz , Malcolm ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ twins , shouldered her way onto a bench with their four neatly groomed daughters .
Backstage , Malcolm learned that the opening act had cancelled , setting a vein pulsing in his forehead .
He sent out Goodman , his assistant , to open for him instead .
Goodman stood behind a plywood rostrum , in front of a pastoral scene leftover from another event .
“ I began talking about a captain of a ship heading toward the destination , ” he said .
As he spoke , he scanned the crowd @ @ @ @ @ @ @ two dark-skinned men sitting with their coats folded over their arms .
He knew them to be Muslims , because of their appearance , but he didn ’ t recognize them .
“ The thing that attracted me about them was their silence , ” he told me .
“ It was like a silence within a silence.
” Malcolm had walked onto the podium behind Goodman without him noticing .
After a few minutes , he gave the signal— “ Make it plain , ” he said—and Goodman yielded the floor .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ , when I introduced him , brought him to the podium , I said , ‘ I now introduce to you a man that would give his life for his people.
’ ” Malcolm walked to center stage and shuffled some notecards in his hand .
“ As-Salaam Alaikum .
.
.
.
” he said in a hoarse voice .
Suddenly , four rows back , two men began to tussle , one shouting , “ Get your hands out of my pocket.
” An attendee later told me that she thought @ @ @ @ @ @ @ rowdy drunks.
” Then , near the back , a man struck a match , lit a strip of photographic film protruding from a rolled-up sock , and heaved it underhand .
The mock smoke bomb fizzled to the floor , releasing noxious smoke , and a woman screamed .
Two security men moved toward the disturbance , leaving their posts in front of the stage .
Malcolm moved to impose order , stepping from behind the podium with his arms raised and exposing the full length of his body .
“ Now @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , ” he said .
“ Hold it , hold it , hold it.
” In an instant , William 25X Bradley , a member of the Newark mosque of the Nation of Islam , charged the stage in a slight crouch from the fourth row .
He aimed a sawed-off shotgun at Malcolm ’ s chest and pulled the trigger .
The blast lifted Malcolm backward off his feet and over a pair of wooden chairs .
Seven of the buckshot pellets dug a series of craters above his navel .
A @ @ @ @ @ @ @ his thumb and index finger .
The main pellet punctured Malcolm ’ s aorta .
Soon after , two other men drew pistols and ran to the stage .
Thomas Hayer , a twenty-two-year-old member of the Newark Mosque , fired insurance rounds at the prostrate Malcolm , hitting him in his left ankle .
Leon Davis , another young member , shot two 9-mm rounds , hitting his thighs .
A tape recorder on the podium caught what it could of the drama before the physics of the blasts shut down its @ @ @ @ @ @ @ were backstage when the shots were fired .
Sara Mitchell , an assistant who also worked as a receptionist at The New Yorker , heard a “ terrible sound ” and hid behind a radiator .
Goodman hit the floor .
“ I knew exactly what had happened on the stage , ” he told me .
“ I knew , because the feeling—that weighty feeling that I had—just left.
” Soon after , someone opened the door , and Goodman saw Malcolm lying on the stage .
The hand of his twisted @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a defiant street pose .
“ I saw that his eyes were fixed , you know , open , ” Goodman said .
“ And his mouth was like he was slightly gasping .
And those people were trying to revive him , but I knew it was no use .
I just knew it.
” Malcolm had once credited the Nation with saving his life .
He grew up in Lansing , Michigan , and spent a troubled youth engaged in criminal enterprises like drug-dealing and racketeering .
But in prison , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of the Nation , and wrote a letter to Elijah Muhammad , pledging his loyalty .
Since then , he had maintained a tough , analytical approach to all matters except those pertaining to his religious beliefs , some of which were eccentric .
Members of the Nation believed that white people were “ Satans ” ; a key mythology supporting this conclusion was that the white race , a so-called “ race of devils , ” had been created by Black scientists in an experiment started by a man named Yacub some @ @ @ @ @ @ @ there would be a global war—or Armageddon—in which Africans vanquished the devils .
Another exotic teaching held that a heavily armed spaceship called the “ Mother of Planes , ” probably built by the Japanese , circled the Earth constantly .
The group ’ s founder , W. D. Fard , was believed to be the human incarnation of Allah .
( Fard claimed to come from Mecca , though , according to police records , he seems to have been a white con-artist from New Zealand who had spent time in San @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Muhammad was believed to be his divine Messenger .

At 2 P.M. on Sunday, February 21, 1965, Malcolm X arrived at the Audubon Ballroom, in Harlem, to give a speech. Malcolm was thirty-nine, tall and serious, with a dark suit and a new beard, and he was in the midst of remaking himself. He had recently left the Nation of Islam, the Black-Muslim group that had nurtured his rise to prominence. He was in Harlem to launch the Organization of Afro-American Unity, a new, secular group that he hoped would allow him to engage in mainstream civil-rights activism in a way that the Nation—which was both rigidly devout and expressly militant—had made difficult. He envisioned the event as an afternoon of rousing rhetoric for a diverse crowd: a reverend campaigning for school desegregation would give opening remarks. At most of Malcolm’s rallies, security guards frisked guests before they entered, but Malcolm worried that this would scare off the younger, better-educated, non-Muslim attendees that he hoped to attract to his new organization. Despite the potential dangers, he had called off the body searches, which set his advisers on edge. “I felt something that was ominous in the air,” Benjamin 2X Goodman, one of Malcolm’s assistants, told me, years later. “It was like an invisible weight sitting on my shoulder, on my back.”
Malcolm had been the national spokesman of the Nation of Islam, and had become famous as a fierce and eloquent advocate of Black Nationalism. But, over the past few years, he had come to see the group’s leader, Elijah Muhammad, as a charlatan, and had grown skeptical of his teachings—among them, that white people were all “blue-eyed devils.” In addition to the O.A.A.U., Malcolm had founded Muslim Mosque, Inc., a group that would allow his followers to explore more orthodox versions of Sunni Islam. He had grown tired of being pigeonholed as a violent agitator, and had begun to forge connections with the nonviolent civil-rights movement, which he had previously spurned. He attended a secret meeting of civil-rights leaders at the home of the actor Sidney Poitier, where he proposed working together to bring American race relations to the United Nations. He travelled to Selma, Alabama, in solidarity with Martin Luther King, Jr.,’s push for voting rights there, and met with his wife, Coretta. This transformation was not appreciated among the ranks of the Nation. His split with the group had been public and ugly, and there were rumors that his old colleagues were plotting to have him killed.
At the Audubon, four hundred people filed into the hall. Betty Shabazz, Malcolm’s wife, who was pregnant with twins, shouldered her way onto a bench with their four neatly groomed daughters. Backstage, Malcolm learned that the opening act had cancelled, setting a vein pulsing in his forehead. He sent out Goodman, his assistant, to open for him instead. Goodman stood behind a plywood rostrum, in front of a pastoral scene leftover from another event. “I began talking about a captain of a ship heading toward the destination,” he said. As he spoke, he scanned the crowd. Near the front, he saw two dark-skinned men sitting with their coats folded over their arms. He knew them to be Muslims, because of their appearance, but he didn’t recognize them. “The thing that attracted me about them was their silence,” he told me. “It was like a silence within a silence.” Malcolm had walked onto the podium behind Goodman without him noticing. After a few minutes, he gave the signal—“Make it plain,” he said—and Goodman yielded the floor. He told me later, “Strange, when I introduced him, brought him to the podium, I said, ‘I now introduce to you a man that would give his life for his people.’ ”
Malcolm walked to center stage and shuffled some notecards in his hand. “As-Salaam Alaikum. . . .” he said in a hoarse voice. Suddenly, four rows back, two men began to tussle, one shouting, “Get your hands out of my pocket.” An attendee later told me that she thought it was the outburst of “some rowdy drunks.” Then, near the back, a man struck a match, lit a strip of photographic film protruding from a rolled-up sock, and heaved it underhand. The mock smoke bomb fizzled to the floor, releasing noxious smoke, and a woman screamed. Two security men moved toward the disturbance, leaving their posts in front of the stage. Malcolm moved to impose order, stepping from behind the podium with his arms raised and exposing the full length of his body. “Now, now, brothers break it up,” he said. “Hold it, hold it, hold it.”
In an instant, William 25X Bradley, a member of the Newark mosque of the Nation of Islam, charged the stage in a slight crouch from the fourth row. He aimed a sawed-off shotgun at Malcolm’s chest and pulled the trigger. The blast lifted Malcolm backward off his feet and over a pair of wooden chairs. Seven of the buckshot pellets dug a series of craters above his navel. A piece of shrapnel tore the web between his thumb and index finger. The main pellet punctured Malcolm’s aorta. Soon after, two other men drew pistols and ran to the stage. Thomas Hayer, a twenty-two-year-old member of the Newark Mosque, fired insurance rounds at the prostrate Malcolm, hitting him in his left ankle. Leon Davis, another young member, shot two 9-mm rounds, hitting his thighs. A tape recorder on the podium caught what it could of the drama before the physics of the blasts shut down its revolving reels.
Malcolm’s advisers were backstage when the shots were fired. Sara Mitchell, an assistant who also worked as a receptionist at The New Yorker, heard a “terrible sound” and hid behind a radiator. Goodman hit the floor. “I knew exactly what had happened on the stage,” he told me. “I knew, because the feeling—that weighty feeling that I had—just left.” Soon after, someone opened the door, and Goodman saw Malcolm lying on the stage. The hand of his twisted right arm grasped at his belt in a defiant street pose. “I saw that his eyes were fixed, you know, open,” Goodman said. “And his mouth was like he was slightly gasping. And those people were trying to revive him, but I knew it was no use. I just knew it.”
Malcolm had once credited the Nation with saving his life. He grew up in Lansing, Michigan, and spent a troubled youth engaged in criminal enterprises like drug-dealing and racketeering. But in prison, in 1948, he discovered the teachings of the Nation, and wrote a letter to Elijah Muhammad, pledging his loyalty. Since then, he had maintained a tough, analytical approach to all matters except those pertaining to his religious beliefs, some of which were eccentric. Members of the Nation believed that white people were “Satans”; a key mythology supporting this conclusion was that the white race, a so-called “race of devils,” had been created by Black scientists in an experiment started by a man named Yacub some sixty-six hundred years ago. Eventually, there would be a global war—or Armageddon—in which Africans vanquished the devils. Another exotic teaching held that a heavily armed spaceship called the “Mother of Planes,” probably built by the Japanese, circled the Earth constantly. The group’s founder, W. D. Fard, was believed to be the human incarnation of Allah. (Fard claimed to come from Mecca, though, according to police records, he seems to have been a white con-artist from New Zealand who had spent time in San Quentin for selling narcotics.) Elijah Muhammad was believed to be his divine Messenger.
Malcolm defended these beliefs as no stranger than, say, the Virgin Birth or Jesus’ resurrection. But after a dozen years as a disciple, he began to harbor doubts about the group’s leader. There had long been rumors of Muhammad’s illicit behavior, including that he had impregnated one of his secretaries out of wedlock. In February, 1963, worried by these whisperings, Malcolm went to speak to Muhammad’s son, Wallace, who had been anointed at birth as Muhammad’s successor. Wallace confirmed that, indeed, Muhammad had fathered children with several young secretaries, and had then denied the paternity and kicked the women out of the Nation for premarital sex. More shockingly, Wallace told Malcolm that he doubted his father’s divinity. As the group’s future leader, Wallace had been schooled by orthodox Sunni Muslim clerics; he no longer believed that Fard was God. “He said that it was the Messenger himself who started teaching that the Savior was Allah, but that the Messenger knows that the Savior himself wasn’t Allah,” Malcolm later said. “He frightened me with this!”
Malcolm X, in 1964. Photograph by Herman Hiller / New York World-Telegram & Sun / Library of Congress
As a minister, Malcolm had faithfully informed the Messenger of every development related to the sect. So, soon after the meeting, he confronted Muhammad about his adultery. Muhammad reportedly likened himself to the Bible’s adulterous David, drunken Noah, and incestuous Lot, saying, “I have to fulfill all of those things.” But, after the meeting, Malcolm continued to discuss Muhammad’s moral failings with his associates, making him a threat. Word was passed to curtail coverage of Malcolm in Muhammad Speaks, the sect’s widely circulated newspaper. Goons from other mosques began to harass Malcolm and Betty with telephone death threats at all hours of the night, and to drive by Malcolm’s gatherings in bold attempts to intimidate him. In 1963, after speaking out of turn about the assassination of John F. Kennedy (he referred to it as “chickens coming home to roost”), Malcolm was suspended from the Nation for ninety days. It seemed clear that he would not be invited back into the fold, and, in March, 1964, he announced that he was leaving the Nation.
After the split, Malcolm went through an intense period of deprogramming. He took a pilgrimage to Mecca, where he embraced traditional Sunni teachings, and sent letters denouncing Muhammad as a “religious faker.” “I shall never rest until I have undone the harm I did to so many well‐meaning, innocent Negroes who through my own evangelistic zeal now believe in him even more fanatically and more blindly than I did,” he wrote, in a letter reprinted in the Times. He became critical of women’s diminished role in the Nation. He disavowed Black separatism, and gained confidence that a cross-racial coalition could work together to fight a broad range of evils, including racism, colonialism, and the ravages of capitalism. He also came to be troubled by the Nation’s longstanding, secret relationship with the Ku Klux Klan. In 1961, Malcolm had been forced to attend a meeting where Klansmen proposed working together to assassinate Martin Luther King, Jr. (Malcolm declined.) Muhammad also hoped that the Klan might help the Nation procure a plot of land in the South and induce Black people to move there, thereby giving credence to both groups’ vision of separate ethno-states. In a memo dated three weeks before Malcolm’s death, the F.B.I. noted that Malcolm’s “next line of attack” may be to make public that Muhammad is “in some way affiliated with the KKK.” And, seven days before his death, Malcolm threatened to expose the relationship. “There are some things involving the Black Muslim movement which, when they come to light, will shock you,” he said.
Muhammad, meanwhile, was growing impatient with Malcolm. In a secret meeting with his captains, in September, 1964, he complained that the “chief hypocrite” had “mudwashed” him, and suggested that he be “made to go away.” Jeremiah X, a minister from Philadelphia who attended, told me that the order went out to do Malcolm “terminal bodily harm.” After this, Nation assassins made several bold attempts on Malcolm’s life. His car was tailed at high speeds in Los Angeles, and police had to scare off attackers in New York. In January, Malcolm was with a journalist named Chuck Stone at a hotel in Chicago. When they got off the elevator on Malcolm’s floor, Stone was first to turn the corner. “There was a short, Black guy in a three-quarter length coat, standing in the corridor with a sawed-off shotgun,” Stone told me. “The gunman turned around and ran down the steps. If Malcolm had been first around the corner. . .” On February 14, 1965, in the early morning hours, men from Mosque No. 7, Malcolm’s old mosque in Harlem, threw Molotov cocktails through the windows of his home in Queens. Malcolm was awakened when the bombs exploded, and he managed to escort Betty and their children outside to safety.
These near hits were not appreciated at Chicago headquarters, and a deadline was set: Malcolm was to be eliminated by Saviour’s Day, a holiday commemorating the birth of the sect’s founder, on February 26th. The task fell to the Newark mosque, whose goon squad included several accomplished bank robbers with access to caches of pistols, rifles, shotguns, and other weapons. (During an interview in a restaurant, one former member told me, “I have an ice pick in my glove compartment right now.”) The head minister, James Shabazz, called a meeting of squad members at the mosque’s restaurant. He had taken note of Malcolm’s scheduled appearance at the Audubon Ballroom, shortly before Saviour’s Day. “It’ll be a good time to kill that hypocrite,” he told the group. The mission was assigned to Hayer, Davis, and to Bradley—who had trained as a Green Beret and was known as the most cold-blooded member of the squad. “James gave them the idea that Friday night,” a former member of the squad, who asked to be identified as Talib, told me. “He said, ‘You get there early, two brothers sit down in the back and the other three that are going to shoot, sit down in front. He outlined that the brothers in the back were to create a disturbance soon as [Malcolm] walked out. ‘Make sure everybody turn their heads. Then, that’s when you hit him. And the crowd will be your getaway.’ ”
At the Audubon Ballroom, Gene Roberts, a twenty-six-year-old member of Malcolm’s security detail, had been relieved of his post in front of the rostrum and was standing in the back of the hall. Roberts was a trusted guard—disciplined in checking avenues of escape and quick to detect danger—but he was also an undercover cop. There were so few Black police officers that the department’s Bureau of Special Services and Investigations, or BOSSI, had recruited him directly out of the Navy and rushed him onto the street to infiltrate Malcolm’s group. “I had no weapon, no I.D.,” Roberts recalled. “Nobody in the department probably knew who I was, except my control officer.” He had been motivated to join because of his ideological disdain for the Black leader. “I had heard a couple of Malcolm X’s speeches when he was in the Nation. And I didn’t particularly care for him,” he said. “I was one of those middle-class blacks that had a half-ass education.”
Roberts was part of a broad government operation to spy on Malcolm. The F.B.I. had started a counter-intelligence program, later formalized as part of COINTELPRO, that aimed to disrupt “the coalition of militant Black Nationalist groups” and to mount a campaign of “discrediting” their leaders; it implored agents to “prevent the rise of a ‘messiah’ who could unify, and electrify, the militant black nationalist movement.” The Bureau was tracking Malcolm’s movements, tapping his communications, and paying informants to report on the inner workings of his organizations. The F.B.I. also had sources inside the Nation of Islam, at the national headquarters, and at the Harlem and Newark mosques. The government had stimulated the split between Malcolm and Elijah Muhammad, monitored its development, and encouraged its escalation. Through its sources, the Bureau also had advance knowledge of the unfolding attempt on Malcolm’s life, and likely knew of its rough schedule. (On the afternoon of the shooting, the Bureau had several informants sitting in the Audubon Ballroom. After Malcolm was shot, one rushed to a payphone to inform his handler.) The C.I.A. was monitoring Malcolm’s international movements. The agencies communicated little, and none of the informants knew of the others’ existence.


newyorker--2020-08-27--Mike Pence’s Big Lie About Trump and the Coronavirus at the Republican National Convention

From the opening of their Convention on Monday , the Republicans have been propagating a huge falsehood about the coronavirus pandemic .
Amy Ford , a nurse from West Virginia , got things going when she said , “ As a health-care professional , I can tell you without hesitation , Donald Trump ’ s quick action and leadership saved thousands of lives during COVID-19.
” Carefully edited videos and other testimonials have been used to reinforce this bogus narrative , but the ultimate rewriting of history was left to Vice-President Mike Pence , whose speech on Wednesday night from @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to a travesty of the truth .
A good deal of Pence ’ s speech was devoted to over-the-top attacks on Joe Biden , whom he described as “ a Trojan horse for the radical left , ” a supporter of “ open borders , ” and “ a cheerleader for Communist China.
” But he also defended Trump ’ s response to the coronavirus , claiming he has overseen “ the greatest national mobilization since World War Two.
” In Pence ’ s telling , “ President Trump marshalled the full resources @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
He directed us to forge a seamless partnership with governors across America in both political parties.
” Under his leadership , the Administration reinvented testing , coördinated the delivery of billions of pieces of personal protective equipment , and “ enacted an economic rescue package that saved fifty million American jobs.
” The great irony , and outrage , of Pence ’ s speech is that , as the head of the White House ’ s coronavirus task force since February , he ’ s had a unique and closeup view of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ pandemic : the constant belittling of the virus ’ s threat ; the claims that it would go away of its own accord ; the quack remedies , including injecting disinfectant into stricken patients ; the squabbling with governors , even Republican ones , who called out the inadequacy of his actions ; the urging of states to reopen their economies even as they failed to meet the guidelines that Pence ’ s task force had laid down ; the months of defiant refusal to wear a mask ; and , in the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ up on the whole thing and move on .
Pence didn ’ t mention any of these things , of course .
He focussed on the one significant policy decision Trump made early—to ban travel from China .
Of course , the Vice-President didn ’ t point out that the ban was only a partial one—more than forty thousand people subsequently entered the United States on flights from China .
And the first confirmed cases in New York , where the virus has killed more than thirty-two thousand people , arrived from Europe @ @ @ @ @ @ @ his speech , Pence presented Trump as everything he isn ’ t : engaged , diligent , and dedicated solely to acting in the interests of the American people .
“ In a city known for talkers , President Trump is a doer , ” he said with an impressively straight face .
“ Few Presidents have brought more independence , energy , or determination to that office.
” With the national death toll approaching a hundred and eighty thousand , it seems unlikely that Pence ’ s speech will have much impact @ @ @ @ @ @ @ reality with their own eyes .
One poll published earlier this week showed that Trump ’ s approval rating for his handling of the pandemic has dropped to thirty-one per cent .
Still , Wednesday ’ s address will go down in history as a memorable example of how establishment Republicans like Pence have utterly capitulated to Trump , debasing themselves and their party in the process , and , ultimately , betraying the country , which , in its hour of crisis , deserved honesty rather than pro-Trump spin .
Sadly , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Behind the scenes at the White House , according to an extensively reported article that Politico published on Wednesday , he has sometimes been “ a force for moderation and fact-based decision making ” on the coronavirus .
In mid-March , for instance , he and other members of the task force went to Trump in the Oval Office and pressed him to approve nationwide guidelines for social distancing .
However , the Politico piece also detailed how Pence slowed down the Administration ’ s response by allowing officials with no health expertise @ @ @ @ @ @ @ force ’ s deliberations , and how he “ felt pressure to appease Trump.
” “ Mike is the ultimate good soldier , ” one Administration official was quoted as saying .
“ He ’ s not going to be pounding his fist on the table demanding change .
.
.
.
That ’ s not Mike Pence.
” In public , Pence continued to exalt Trump even as it became clear that a public-health catastrophe was unfolding .
“ Mr .
President , with your leadership , the American people are beginning @ @ @ @ @ @ @ at a White House ceremony in April .
In June , as case numbers were surging in California , Florida , and Texas , he claimed on “ Face the Nation ” that the country was “ in a much better place to respond ” because of “ the leadership that President Trump has provided.
” Last week , as the death toll passed a hundred and seventy thousand , he told “ Good Morning America , ” “ I couldn ’ t be more proud of the leadership President Trump has provided @ @ @ @ @ @ @ pandemic.
” Wednesday night ’ s speech represented merely a continuation of this theme .
After repeatedly praising Trump ’ s leadership , Pence dismissed Biden ’ s statement last week that there was no miracle in the offing to end the pandemic .
“ America is a nation of miracles , ” Pence said .
“ We ’ re on track to have the world ’ s first safe , effective coronavirus vaccine by the end of this year .
After all the sacrifice in this year like no other—all the hardship—we @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Perhaps the most remarkable thing about Pence ’ s bowing and scraping to Trump is that he seems to revel in it .
In an interview with the Times , his chief of staff , Marc Short , said Pence has studied previous Vice-Presidencies , and he “ exemplifies servant leadership.
” Even in these twisted days , when Trump ’ s takeover of the G.O.P .
seems virtually complete , it isn ’ t every elected Republican who would like to go in the history books as the forty-fifth President ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ he demonstrated on Wednesday night , when he once again acted as Trump ’ s lickspittle , Pence seems to fill the role naturally .

From the opening of their Convention on Monday, the Republicans have been propagating a huge falsehood about the coronavirus pandemic. Amy Ford, a nurse from West Virginia, got things going when she said, “As a health-care professional, I can tell you without hesitation, Donald Trump’s quick action and leadership saved thousands of lives during COVID-19.” Carefully edited videos and other testimonials have been used to reinforce this bogus narrative, but the ultimate rewriting of history was left to Vice-President Mike Pence, whose speech on Wednesday night from Fort McHenry, in Baltimore, amounted to a travesty of the truth.
A good deal of Pence’s speech was devoted to over-the-top attacks on Joe Biden, whom he described as “a Trojan horse for the radical left,” a supporter of “open borders,” and “a cheerleader for Communist China.” But he also defended Trump’s response to the coronavirus, claiming he has overseen “the greatest national mobilization since World War Two.” In Pence’s telling, “President Trump marshalled the full resources of our federal government from the outset. He directed us to forge a seamless partnership with governors across America in both political parties.” Under his leadership, the Administration reinvented testing, coördinated the delivery of billions of pieces of personal protective equipment, and “enacted an economic rescue package that saved fifty million American jobs.”
The great irony, and outrage, of Pence’s speech is that, as the head of the White House’s coronavirus task force since February, he’s had a unique and closeup view of Trump’s actual response to the pandemic: the constant belittling of the virus’s threat; the claims that it would go away of its own accord; the quack remedies, including injecting disinfectant into stricken patients; the squabbling with governors, even Republican ones, who called out the inadequacy of his actions; the urging of states to reopen their economies even as they failed to meet the guidelines that Pence’s task force had laid down; the months of defiant refusal to wear a mask; and, in the end, the decision to effectively give up on the whole thing and move on.
Pence didn’t mention any of these things, of course. He focussed on the one significant policy decision Trump made early—to ban travel from China. Of course, the Vice-President didn’t point out that the ban was only a partial one—more than forty thousand people subsequently entered the United States on flights from China. And the first confirmed cases in New York, where the virus has killed more than thirty-two thousand people, arrived from Europe, not Asia. Nevertheless, throughout his speech, Pence presented Trump as everything he isn’t: engaged, diligent, and dedicated solely to acting in the interests of the American people. “In a city known for talkers, President Trump is a doer,” he said with an impressively straight face. “Few Presidents have brought more independence, energy, or determination to that office.”
With the national death toll approaching a hundred and eighty thousand, it seems unlikely that Pence’s speech will have much impact on public opinion. Americans can see reality with their own eyes. One poll published earlier this week showed that Trump’s approval rating for his handling of the pandemic has dropped to thirty-one per cent. Still, Wednesday’s address will go down in history as a memorable example of how establishment Republicans like Pence have utterly capitulated to Trump, debasing themselves and their party in the process, and, ultimately, betraying the country, which, in its hour of crisis, deserved honesty rather than pro-Trump spin.
Sadly, Pence’s performance was predictable. Behind the scenes at the White House, according to an extensively reported article that Politico published on Wednesday, he has sometimes been “a force for moderation and fact-based decision making” on the coronavirus. In mid-March, for instance, he and other members of the task force went to Trump in the Oval Office and pressed him to approve nationwide guidelines for social distancing. However, the Politico piece also detailed how Pence slowed down the Administration’s response by allowing officials with no health expertise to play a role in the task force’s deliberations, and how he “felt pressure to appease Trump.” “Mike is the ultimate good soldier,” one Administration official was quoted as saying. “He’s not going to be pounding his fist on the table demanding change. . . . That’s not Mike Pence.”
In public, Pence continued to exalt Trump even as it became clear that a public-health catastrophe was unfolding. “Mr. President, with your leadership, the American people are beginning to step forward,” he said at a White House ceremony in April. In June, as case numbers were surging in California, Florida, and Texas, he claimed on “Face the Nation” that the country was “in a much better place to respond” because of “the leadership that President Trump has provided.” Last week, as the death toll passed a hundred and seventy thousand, he told “Good Morning America,” “I couldn’t be more proud of the leadership President Trump has provided from the early days of the coronavirus pandemic.”
Wednesday night’s speech represented merely a continuation of this theme. After repeatedly praising Trump’s leadership, Pence dismissed Biden’s statement last week that there was no miracle in the offing to end the pandemic. “America is a nation of miracles,” Pence said. “We’re on track to have the world’s first safe, effective coronavirus vaccine by the end of this year. After all the sacrifice in this year like no other—all the hardship—we are finding our way forward again.”
Perhaps the most remarkable thing about Pence’s bowing and scraping to Trump is that he seems to revel in it. In an interview with the Times, his chief of staff, Marc Short, said Pence has studied previous Vice-Presidencies, and he “exemplifies servant leadership.” Even in these twisted days, when Trump’s takeover of the G.O.P. seems virtually complete, it isn’t every elected Republican who would like to go in the history books as the forty-fifth President’s most loyal and obsequious servant. As he demonstrated on Wednesday night, when he once again acted as Trump’s lickspittle, Pence seems to fill the role naturally.


newyorker--2020-08-27--What to Stream: “The City,” a Challenging Classic Documentary of Visionary Urban Planning

In the late nineteen-fifties , the journalist Robert Drew developed a lightweight synch-sound camera that enabled filmmakers to plunge into the midst of the action they filmed .
The resulting revolution in documentary form—the creation of what ’ s called direct cinema and cinéma vérité—is essentially a change of genre .
Before Drew , documentaries were largely essays , driven by the substance of their voice-over narration and providing images that deterministically exemplified the spoken ideas ; afterward , they became something freer , the cinematic equivalent of creative nonfiction .
Yet , at their best , essay-documentaries in the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ confrontation , a sort of cinematic idealism that threw down the gauntlet of sociopolitical speculation .
One such film , “ The City , ” made for the 1939 New York World ’ s Fair ( and available on YouTube ) , suggests the mighty purview , the theoretical span , and the personal perspective that a film of this kind could embody—and that is often missing from many recent documentaries in spite of their technical freedoms .
“ The City , ” directed and filmed by Ralph Steiner and Willard Van Dyke @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , an urbanist who , as the most prominent of the “ housers , ” argued for affordable public housing as both a right and a necessity .
( Nora Caplan-Bricker recently wrote about Bauer for The New Yorker . )
The film had many cooks—Pare Lorentz wrote the outline , Henwar Rodakiewicz wrote the script , Aaron Copland wrote the musical score—and the voice-over commentary ( performed by the actor Morris Carnovsky , one of the founders of the Group Theatre ) was written by Lewis Mumford , who was then The @ @ @ @ @ @ @ In keeping with this prodigious array of talent , the film ’ s over-all design is enormously ambitious : in just a forty-three-minute span , it encapsulates an entire theory of social rise and fall as well as a grand and visionary remedy for the ills that it spotlights—while also providing revelatory glimpses of the life of its times .
“ The City ” makes the case for public housing by way of an even mightier urbanistic vision , the fervent advocacy of planned communities—decentralized small cities , organized around factories and other @ @ @ @ @ @ @ each with copious parks and recreational areas , shops , schools , and services , linked to one another by vast arrays of roads ( large and numerous enough to obviate traffic but landscaped , as parkways , to be as edifying as the towns themselves ) .
The film presents this comprehensive , top-down planning as a necessary measure in avoiding what it depicts as the inevitable degradation ( illustrated in a virtual cinematic parallel to the rise and fall of the city outlined in Plato ’ s Republic ) of living @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
The movie offers this stepwise vision of historical development and decline in five movements plus a coda .
The first segment is a vision of a lost paradise ; it ’ s a fulsome paean to the communal joys and practical wisdom of traditional small-town life in the eighteenth century—which is to say , it ’ s a series of dramatic reënactments , as if in a cinematic Colonial Williamsburg , with a sentimental view of agrarian life and local mores to match .
The second shows the degraded living conditions in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ their families living in its wooden shacks without running water , in appallingly heaped-up and unregulated urban waste zones .
( Mumford is sensitive to the degraded environment there , too : “ There ’ s poison in the air we breathe ; there ’ s poison in the river.
” ) From there , the movie shifts to the soaring energy of New York ’ s skyscrapers , which , from the start , are depicted in angles that make them appear overwhelming , confining , and oppressive , blotting out light @ @ @ @ @ @ @ commentary derides the mercenary ambition that they reflect : “ Follow the crowd , get the big money !
You make a pile and raise a pile !
” While glancing quickly and ruefully at the city ’ s children playing dangerously in alleys and streets , the cinematographers emphasize both the rigid uniformity and the menacing chaos of Manhattan crowds as they swarm to and from subway stations , the uniformity of rows and columns of desks in large offices and of typists typing away at them , the numbing monotony of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ office workers wait for time to pass , the nerve-racking stress of city traffic as a taxi meter ’ s fare mounts ever upward—and the tightly timed and tautly mechanized respite of hastily swallowed lunch-counter meals , edited in an ever-accelerating montage to evoke mental and physical stress .
Here , the movie yields giddy delights at odds with its narrowly focussed messaging : the peculiar luncheonette machinery that mass-produces pancakes and toast is a wonder to observe , the short-order sandwich makers have a gestural poetry of their own .
The filmmakers @ @ @ @ @ @ @ energy of the crowd , which they mark with the impatient jaywalker , the looming ambulance ; they also contrast ( though briefly ) that energy with the overlooked presence of poverty in its margins .
Still , it ’ s a psychologically enticing collage of faces and gestures , an unintentional compendium of urban portraiture that rewards freeze-frame viewing .
The movie ’ s rue nevertheless curdles to bile in such street-side scenes of buying and selling , of pugnacious negotiators poking each other in the chest as they make their pitches @ @ @ @ @ @ @ clear that what the filmmakers repudiate of city life isn ’ t just its physical combination of anarchy and uniformity but , all the more , its apparently nonproductive side—the speculators , the negotiators , the brokers , the middlemen who trade on the physical productivity of farmers and laborers alike .
And when , on a Sunday , the city ’ s business streets empty out ( as they indeed used to do ) , “ The City ” shows how city people endure their leisure—in traffic jams on narrow roads heading @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a catastrophic one-car accident .
The movie ’ s crowning sequence is the one of the planned community , which was filmed in two such places , in New Jersey and Maryland .
With their integration of workplaces and even local gardens into the fabric of the community , such neighborhoods-by-design are , Mumford says , akin to the “ old New England towns ” of the movie ’ s first part , “ a better kind of city , close to the soil once more.
” These mini-cities are high-tech—as illustrated by @ @ @ @ @ @ @ clean-lined architecture , and labor-saving machinery—but built upon an ideal of playful leisure : boating on a lake , golf and softball , roller-skating , swimming in a big pool , frolicking at the beach or the local pond .
There ’ s no clear sense here of independent activity or critical thought , of anything departing from the same cheerful unanimity that marks the New England town of the eighteenth century .
Its sense of harmonious order is chilling .
In the movie ’ s coda , the bright and airy spaces @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the grimly crowded dark city of shacks and piled-up chaos—and it similarly associates the model city with social progress and the unplanned city with social ills .
In his commentary , Mumford says , of the mighty modern metropolis , “ Can we afford all this disorder—the hospitals , the jails , the reformatories , the wasted years of childhood ?
” and sings the praises of planning itself : “ Order has come—order and life together.
” The absolute contrast , in “ The City , ” between “ disorder ” and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ virulent sort that ’ s deployed by advocates of repressive law enforcement and by governments that seek to enforce uniformity of opinion , suppress dissent , and impose traditional mores .
Yet for all its tendentious claims , “ The City ” has the virtue of laying its ideas , its priorities , and its choices on the line .
It challenges and even defies viewers to reckon with its overtly selective observations and assertions , to map them onto their own experiences and negotiate the newly defined intellectual terrain .
There ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , ” nothing to suggest , as many documentaries do today , that its images were passively gathered in a stance of neutral “ observation.
” Its foregrounding of theoretical engagement and blunt verbal and visual rhetoric is a salutary reminder that what documentaries document , first of all and above all , are ideas .

In the late nineteen-fifties, the journalist Robert Drew developed a lightweight synch-sound camera that enabled filmmakers to plunge into the midst of the action they filmed. The resulting revolution in documentary form—the creation of what’s called direct cinema and cinéma vérité—is essentially a change of genre. Before Drew, documentaries were largely essays, driven by the substance of their voice-over narration and providing images that deterministically exemplified the spoken ideas; afterward, they became something freer, the cinematic equivalent of creative nonfiction. Yet, at their best, essay-documentaries in the pre-Drew era offered an element of intellectual confrontation, a sort of cinematic idealism that threw down the gauntlet of sociopolitical speculation. One such film, “The City,” made for the 1939 New York World’s Fair (and available on YouTube), suggests the mighty purview, the theoretical span, and the personal perspective that a film of this kind could embody—and that is often missing from many recent documentaries in spite of their technical freedoms.
“The City,” directed and filmed by Ralph Steiner and Willard Van Dyke, is the brainchild of Catherine Bauer, an urbanist who, as the most prominent of the “housers,” argued for affordable public housing as both a right and a necessity. (Nora Caplan-Bricker recently wrote about Bauer for The New Yorker.) The film had many cooks—Pare Lorentz wrote the outline, Henwar Rodakiewicz wrote the script, Aaron Copland wrote the musical score—and the voice-over commentary (performed by the actor Morris Carnovsky, one of the founders of the Group Theatre) was written by Lewis Mumford, who was then The New Yorker’s architecture critic. In keeping with this prodigious array of talent, the film’s over-all design is enormously ambitious: in just a forty-three-minute span, it encapsulates an entire theory of social rise and fall as well as a grand and visionary remedy for the ills that it spotlights—while also providing revelatory glimpses of the life of its times.
“The City” makes the case for public housing by way of an even mightier urbanistic vision, the fervent advocacy of planned communities—decentralized small cities, organized around factories and other work sites and sources of employment, each with copious parks and recreational areas, shops, schools, and services, linked to one another by vast arrays of roads (large and numerous enough to obviate traffic but landscaped, as parkways, to be as edifying as the towns themselves). The film presents this comprehensive, top-down planning as a necessary measure in avoiding what it depicts as the inevitable degradation (illustrated in a virtual cinematic parallel to the rise and fall of the city outlined in Plato’s Republic) of living conditions in unplanned cities and their suburbs. The movie offers this stepwise vision of historical development and decline in five movements plus a coda. The first segment is a vision of a lost paradise; it’s a fulsome paean to the communal joys and practical wisdom of traditional small-town life in the eighteenth century—which is to say, it’s a series of dramatic reënactments, as if in a cinematic Colonial Williamsburg, with a sentimental view of agrarian life and local mores to match. The second shows the degraded living conditions in a factory-centered industrial mill city—Pittsburgh—with workers and their families living in its wooden shacks without running water, in appallingly heaped-up and unregulated urban waste zones. (Mumford is sensitive to the degraded environment there, too: “There’s poison in the air we breathe; there’s poison in the river.”) From there, the movie shifts to the soaring energy of New York’s skyscrapers, which, from the start, are depicted in angles that make them appear overwhelming, confining, and oppressive, blotting out light and sky, while Mumford’s commentary derides the mercenary ambition that they reflect: “Follow the crowd, get the big money! You make a pile and raise a pile!”
While glancing quickly and ruefully at the city’s children playing dangerously in alleys and streets, the cinematographers emphasize both the rigid uniformity and the menacing chaos of Manhattan crowds as they swarm to and from subway stations, the uniformity of rows and columns of desks in large offices and of typists typing away at them, the numbing monotony of office tasks, the boredom that makes office workers wait for time to pass, the nerve-racking stress of city traffic as a taxi meter’s fare mounts ever upward—and the tightly timed and tautly mechanized respite of hastily swallowed lunch-counter meals, edited in an ever-accelerating montage to evoke mental and physical stress. Here, the movie yields giddy delights at odds with its narrowly focussed messaging: the peculiar luncheonette machinery that mass-produces pancakes and toast is a wonder to observe, the short-order sandwich makers have a gestural poetry of their own.
The filmmakers have a keen disdain for the sheer energy of the crowd, which they mark with the impatient jaywalker, the looming ambulance; they also contrast (though briefly) that energy with the overlooked presence of poverty in its margins. Still, it’s a psychologically enticing collage of faces and gestures, an unintentional compendium of urban portraiture that rewards freeze-frame viewing. The movie’s rue nevertheless curdles to bile in such street-side scenes of buying and selling, of pugnacious negotiators poking each other in the chest as they make their pitches or their demands. It’s clear that what the filmmakers repudiate of city life isn’t just its physical combination of anarchy and uniformity but, all the more, its apparently nonproductive side—the speculators, the negotiators, the brokers, the middlemen who trade on the physical productivity of farmers and laborers alike. And when, on a Sunday, the city’s business streets empty out (as they indeed used to do), “The City” shows how city people endure their leisure—in traffic jams on narrow roads heading out of the city, culminating in a catastrophic one-car accident.
The movie’s crowning sequence is the one of the planned community, which was filmed in two such places, in New Jersey and Maryland. With their integration of workplaces and even local gardens into the fabric of the community, such neighborhoods-by-design are, Mumford says, akin to the “old New England towns” of the movie’s first part, “a better kind of city, close to the soil once more.” These mini-cities are high-tech—as illustrated by airplanes and modern factories, hard-edged and clean-lined architecture, and labor-saving machinery—but built upon an ideal of playful leisure: boating on a lake, golf and softball, roller-skating, swimming in a big pool, frolicking at the beach or the local pond. There’s no clear sense here of independent activity or critical thought, of anything departing from the same cheerful unanimity that marks the New England town of the eighteenth century. Its sense of harmonious order is chilling.
In the movie’s coda, the bright and airy spaces of the model city are contrasted with the grimly crowded dark city of shacks and piled-up chaos—and it similarly associates the model city with social progress and the unplanned city with social ills. In his commentary, Mumford says, of the mighty modern metropolis, “Can we afford all this disorder—the hospitals, the jails, the reformatories, the wasted years of childhood?” and sings the praises of planning itself: “Order has come—order and life together.” The absolute contrast, in “The City,” between “disorder” and “order” is of the same virulent sort that’s deployed by advocates of repressive law enforcement and by governments that seek to enforce uniformity of opinion, suppress dissent, and impose traditional mores. Yet for all its tendentious claims, “The City” has the virtue of laying its ideas, its priorities, and its choices on the line. It challenges and even defies viewers to reckon with its overtly selective observations and assertions, to map them onto their own experiences and negotiate the newly defined intellectual terrain. There’s nothing coy about “The City,” nothing to suggest, as many documentaries do today, that its images were passively gathered in a stance of neutral “observation.” Its foregrounding of theoretical engagement and blunt verbal and visual rhetoric is a salutary reminder that what documentaries document, first of all and above all, are ideas.


newyorker--2020-08-26--On Climate Change, We’ve Run Out of Presidential Terms to Waste

Subscribers to The Climate Crisis newsletter received this piece in their in-boxes .
Sign up to receive future installments .
The working definition of the ongoing brain seizure that is 2020 is either that Coloradans are being told by state authorities to install smoke-resistant “ safe rooms ” in their houses , or that Californians now must weigh what kind of mask to wear .
An N95 mask helps to filter out harmful particulates from the wildfire smoke that is overwhelming the Golden State , but many come with an exhalation valve to keep the wearer from overheating—and that valve @ @ @ @ @ @ @ according to the ABC affiliate in San Francisco , “ There ’ s a pretty simple fix : you can wear a cloth or surgical mask over the N95.
” This is one of those terrifying moments in the early history of the global-warming era .
As of this writing , Hurricane Laura is headed for the coasts of Texas and Louisiana as a monster storm ; meanwhile , the West has been erupting in flames .
In California , a heat wave that had produced record-high temperatures ran into a dry storm @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , produced a tenth of the state ’ s average annual lightning discharges .
( Increase the planet ’ s temperature just a degree Celsius , by the way , and you increase lightning activity by about twelve per cent . )
Authorities told all forty million people in California to be prepared to evacuate—indeed , they told them to park their cars facing out of the driveway , in case they had to leave in seconds .
But the pandemic has made evacuation more complicated , because heading to a shelter might @ @ @ @ @ @ @ has left California ’ s firefighting force depleted , because the state relies on prison inmates , a group that has been hit especially hard by COVID-19 , to fill out its ranks .
And that ’ s just California .
The flooding crisis in China intensified again last week , as record amounts of water poured into the reservoir behind Three Gorges Dam .
Here ’ s what this means : if Joe Biden and Kamala Harris take over the White House , in January , they ’ re going to be @ @ @ @ @ @ @ crisis , not just the prospective dilemma that other Administrations have faced .
It ’ s not coming ; it ’ s here .
The luxury of moving slowly , the margin for zigging and zagging to accommodate various interests , has disappeared .
So , if the Democrats win , they will have to address the pandemic and the resulting economic dislocation , and tackle the climate mess all at the same time .
Any climate plan must be , in some way or another , the solution to the current widespread @ @ @ @ @ @ @ be easy , because , although the interests that keep us locked into the use of fossil-fuels are weakening , they remain strong .
A remarkable new investigation by the Guardian documented how the gas industry—utilities , drillers , and unions—is spending huge sums to insure that cities don ’ t start encouraging homeowners to use electricity .
( Part of the story documents the industry ’ s successful campaign to overwhelm efforts by activists in Seattle who are affiliated with 350.org , which I helped found . )
But the effort to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ House is growing : last week , even the veteran centrist John Podesta , who chaired Hillary Clinton ’ s 2016 Presidential campaign , was joining hands with the Sunrise Movement to demand a public pledge from the Biden team to shun oil-industry lobbyists and executives .
In a Democratic Administration , however , the role of unions would be as important as the power of companies—and , so far , the building trades have done what they can to block efforts to keep fossil fuels in the ground .
As Kate Aronoff @ @ @ @ @ @ @ week , “ establishment Democrats , but also relative progressives championing a so-called just transition , continue to treat the fossil fuel industry as a reliable source of well-paid union work instead of a rapidly sinking ship .
As a result , they ’ re mostly unprepared to rescue its passengers.
” This means , she points out , that Biden ( and climate policy ) likely would be blamed for the loss of jobs , even if it is the cratering economics of fossil fuel that is actually driving the shift .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ dropped from the Dow Jones Industrial Average after ninety-two years , overtaken by tech companies ; as recently as 2011 it was the biggest company on earth . )
“ Democrats have to be willing to build a generous safety net instead of catering to deficit hawks , ” Aronoff added .
“ And they have to start a frank conversation within the Democratic coalition about the fact that fossil fuel jobs are already disappearing.
” This isn ’ t impossible .
In fact , Amanda Little suggests , at Bloomberg Opinion , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ needs to be had across many industries : her example is beef , where new plant-based meat substitutes “ can buoy American farmers who have been struggling for years by helping them diversify their crops .
The key ingredients in plant-based meats are soy , dry peas , legumes and pulses .
As demand grows for alternative meats , so will demand for these crops.
” As Little notes , we ’ re growing thirty per cent more dry peas than in 2018 .
“ Instead of declaring a war on the meat @ @ @ @ @ @ @ its evolution .
They could emphasize that meat giants like Tyson Foods Inc. , JBS and Smithfield .
.
.
are themselves investing in a plant-based future.
” The point is clear : as Biden and Harris campaign for the future of our democracy this fall , they also have to lay the groundwork to fight for the future of our planet .
That message can be communicated to voters : Biden showed how to do it with a commercial that linked his love of his vintage Corvette to the future of electric @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and industrial pea cutlets will not save the climate ; but it ’ s crucial , right now , on the campaign trail , for politicians to help Americans understand the rapid and unsettling transition that physics implacably demands .
We ’ re out of Presidential terms to waste .
If there ’ s going to be effective American action on climate , it ’ s going to have to come from Joe Biden .
Antonia Juhasz is a freelance journalist who has covered the oil industry for years—she wrote the cover story @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , titled “ The End of Oil is Near , ” with a powerful sidebar on the Trump Administration ’ s efforts to bail out the industry .
She ’ s a 2020-2021 Bertha investigative-journalism fellow , working with an international cohort of journalists on fossil fuels , the climate crisis , and corporate power , and is the author of three books , most recently , “ Black Tide : the Devastating Impact of the Gulf Oil Spill.
” BP announced that it ’ s going to cut oil and natural-gas production @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Is this a capitulation to reality that will spread or an outlier that has them scoffing at ExxonMobil H.Q.
?
Are we really at an inflection point ?
We are , and BP ’ s announcement is significant .
It reflects reality : a public and its policymakers fed up with fossil fuels , making a whole lot of it simply unprofitable to produce—same for the companies that produce it .
This was true before COVID-19 , which has accelerated a process well underway .
It could be the beginning of the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that ’ s largely up to us .
BP ’ s announcement reveals important regulatory weaknesses .
European oil companies are forced to report and reconcile these losses in ways that Exxon and Chevron are not .
So as BP reported this month a whopping $ 16.8 billion losses , it also unveiled a new business model , [ more focussed on low-carbon technology ] that ’ s supposed to turn a profit .
That ’ s good .
But BP isn ’ t keeping its fossil fuels in the ground .
Rather @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and gas assets to other companies that continue to produce the fuels .
That ’ s bad .
If we want fossil fuels to remain undeveloped , we can ’ t rely on fossil-fuel companies .
Left to its own devices , in 2030 , BP still plans to devote two-thirds of its business to oil and gas .

Subscribers to The Climate Crisis newsletter received this piece in their in-boxes. Sign up to receive future installments.
The working definition of the ongoing brain seizure that is 2020 is either that Coloradans are being told by state authorities to install smoke-resistant “safe rooms” in their houses, or that Californians now must weigh what kind of mask to wear. An N95 mask helps to filter out harmful particulates from the wildfire smoke that is overwhelming the Golden State, but many come with an exhalation valve to keep the wearer from overheating—and that valve can spread the coronavirus. Luckily, according to the ABC affiliate in San Francisco, “There’s a pretty simple fix: you can wear a cloth or surgical mask over the N95.”
This is one of those terrifying moments in the early history of the global-warming era. As of this writing, Hurricane Laura is headed for the coasts of Texas and Louisiana as a monster storm; meanwhile, the West has been erupting in flames. In California, a heat wave that had produced record-high temperatures ran into a dry storm that, within a couple of days, produced a tenth of the state’s average annual lightning discharges. (Increase the planet’s temperature just a degree Celsius, by the way, and you increase lightning activity by about twelve per cent.) Authorities told all forty million people in California to be prepared to evacuate—indeed, they told them to park their cars facing out of the driveway, in case they had to leave in seconds. But the pandemic has made evacuation more complicated, because heading to a shelter might carry its own dangers, and it has left California’s firefighting force depleted, because the state relies on prison inmates, a group that has been hit especially hard by COVID-19, to fill out its ranks. And that’s just California. The flooding crisis in China intensified again last week, as record amounts of water poured into the reservoir behind Three Gorges Dam.
Here’s what this means: if Joe Biden and Kamala Harris take over the White House, in January, they’re going to be dealing with an immediate and overwhelming climate crisis, not just the prospective dilemma that other Administrations have faced. It’s not coming; it’s here. The luxury of moving slowly, the margin for zigging and zagging to accommodate various interests, has disappeared. So, if the Democrats win, they will have to address the pandemic and the resulting economic dislocation, and tackle the climate mess all at the same time. Any climate plan must be, in some way or another, the solution to the current widespread loss of jobs.
That will not be easy, because, although the interests that keep us locked into the use of fossil-fuels are weakening, they remain strong. A remarkable new investigation by the Guardian documented how the gas industry—utilities, drillers, and unions—is spending huge sums to insure that cities don’t start encouraging homeowners to use electricity. (Part of the story documents the industry’s successful campaign to overwhelm efforts by activists in Seattle who are affiliated with 350.org, which I helped found.) But the effort to keep fossil-fuel executives out of the White House is growing: last week, even the veteran centrist John Podesta, who chaired Hillary Clinton’s 2016 Presidential campaign, was joining hands with the Sunrise Movement to demand a public pledge from the Biden team to shun oil-industry lobbyists and executives. In a Democratic Administration, however, the role of unions would be as important as the power of companies—and, so far, the building trades have done what they can to block efforts to keep fossil fuels in the ground.
As Kate Aronoff wrote in The New Republic, last week, “establishment Democrats, but also relative progressives championing a so-called just transition, continue to treat the fossil fuel industry as a reliable source of well-paid union work instead of a rapidly sinking ship. As a result, they’re mostly unprepared to rescue its passengers.” This means, she points out, that Biden (and climate policy) likely would be blamed for the loss of jobs, even if it is the cratering economics of fossil fuel that is actually driving the shift. (On Monday night, ExxonMobil was dropped from the Dow Jones Industrial Average after ninety-two years, overtaken by tech companies; as recently as 2011 it was the biggest company on earth.) “Democrats have to be willing to build a generous safety net instead of catering to deficit hawks,” Aronoff added. “And they have to start a frank conversation within the Democratic coalition about the fact that fossil fuel jobs are already disappearing.”
This isn’t impossible. In fact, Amanda Little suggests, at Bloomberg Opinion, that it’s a conversation that needs to be had across many industries: her example is beef, where new plant-based meat substitutes “can buoy American farmers who have been struggling for years by helping them diversify their crops. The key ingredients in plant-based meats are soy, dry peas, legumes and pulses. As demand grows for alternative meats, so will demand for these crops.” As Little notes, we’re growing thirty per cent more dry peas than in 2018. “Instead of declaring a war on the meat industry, Biden and Harris should celebrate its evolution. They could emphasize that meat giants like Tyson Foods Inc., JBS and Smithfield . . . are themselves investing in a plant-based future.”
The point is clear: as Biden and Harris campaign for the future of our democracy this fall, they also have to lay the groundwork to fight for the future of our planet. That message can be communicated to voters: Biden showed how to do it with a commercial that linked his love of his vintage Corvette to the future of electric vehicles. No, electric sports cars and industrial pea cutlets will not save the climate; but it’s crucial, right now, on the campaign trail, for politicians to help Americans understand the rapid and unsettling transition that physics implacably demands. We’re out of Presidential terms to waste. If there’s going to be effective American action on climate, it’s going to have to come from Joe Biden.
Passing the Mic
Antonia Juhasz is a freelance journalist who has covered the oil industry for years—she wrote the cover story for the current issue of Sierra Magazine, titled “The End of Oil is Near,” with a powerful sidebar on the Trump Administration’s efforts to bail out the industry. She’s a 2020-2021 Bertha investigative-journalism fellow, working with an international cohort of journalists on fossil fuels, the climate crisis, and corporate power, and is the author of three books, most recently, “Black Tide: the Devastating Impact of the Gulf Oil Spill.”
BP announced that it’s going to cut oil and natural-gas production by forty per cent in a decade. Is this a capitulation to reality that will spread or an outlier that has them scoffing at ExxonMobil H.Q.? Are we really at an inflection point?
We are, and BP’s announcement is significant. It reflects reality: a public and its policymakers fed up with fossil fuels, making a whole lot of it simply unprofitable to produce—same for the companies that produce it. This was true before COVID-19, which has accelerated a process well underway. It could be the beginning of the end of the oil industry, but that’s largely up to us. BP’s announcement reveals important regulatory weaknesses. European oil companies are forced to report and reconcile these losses in ways that Exxon and Chevron are not. So as BP reported this month a whopping $16.8 billion losses, it also unveiled a new business model, [more focussed on low-carbon technology] that’s supposed to turn a profit. That’s good. But BP isn’t keeping its fossil fuels in the ground. Rather, it’s selling off oil and gas assets to other companies that continue to produce the fuels. That’s bad. If we want fossil fuels to remain undeveloped, we can’t rely on fossil-fuel companies. Left to its own devices, in 2030, BP still plans to devote two-thirds of its business to oil and gas.


newyorker--2020-08-26--The Ongoing Trauma of California’s Wildfires, in “Last Days at Paradise High”

When the filmmakers Emily Thomas and Derek Knowles arrived in Paradise , California , in the Sierra Nevada foothills , in December of 2018 , the town , Knowles said , “ looked like a war zone.
” Just a few weeks earlier , on November 8th , at around 8 A.M. , Paradise had received its first evacuation alert because of the surging Camp Fire .
By the end of the day , the town was destroyed .
The fire burned for another sixteen days .
A member of the county sheriff ’ s office told the San Francisco @ @ @ @ @ @ @ I don ’ t know what we are coming back to after this .
Probably a moonscape.
” Thomas and Knowles ’ s short documentary , “ Last Days at Paradise High , ” which follows several high-school seniors through the spring semester of that year , focusses not on the moment of the fire but on the process of coming back .
There ’ s a striking mix of normalcy and trauma in the film .
Zooming out from scenes from ordinary high-school life—morning announcements , orchestra practice—reveals that the students aren @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a building at the nearby Chico Municipal Airport that has been transformed into an ad-hoc substitute , with cubicle walls and tapestries serving as classroom dividers .
In one class discussion , on a day six months after the fire , a student says that it “ feels like it just happened.
“ Virginia Partain , an English teacher with a streak of magenta in her hair , says that she is sometimes envious of her friends who have moved away and don ’ t have to think about it .
In another @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the day of the disaster .
While driving her car , she says , “ I got a moment where I felt like I was in the fire again .
I literally saw flames by the side of the road , in my mind , you know ?
And I had that terror again , and then I just felt sad .
Just sad .
’ Cause I look around , and it ’ s not what I remember .
I ’ m tired .
The fire kind of burned a lot out @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of the school-day routine are intercut with sombre interviews , in which students address the camera directly .
( Sometimes the girls give interviews in pairs , with that special intimacy of teen-age best-friendship that borders on joint consciousness . )
They talk about what they left behind—one girl was only able to take her cell phone and the clothes she was wearing ; another laments the loss of her grandfather ’ s prayer shawls and letters , the few things he brought when he fled the Holocaust .
“ I ’ ve @ @ @ @ @ @ @ permanent , ” Anthony Hearn says , with a matter-of-factness of someone much older .
“ My town , I loved it .
But it ’ s gone.
” Their seriousness when talking about the fire plays against the visual reminders of their youth : Harmony Von Stockhausen , who talks about the mementos that she and her mother chose to take with them , also teeters , unpracticed , on towering high heels on her way to a formal dance ; Kody Lesch , who wants to hold onto his family ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ if the area will be livable should he have children of his own , has bug-bitten legs that suggest a summer spent playing in the grass .
Many of the students said that giving the interviews shown in the film “ felt like therapy , ” Thomas told me .
The simple relief and release that ’ s visible as these young people catalogue and grieve their losses fill an important gap in the public discussion of climate disasters .
These conflagrations occur on such a scale that it can be hard to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and the individual , human consequences .
Some of the film ’ s most striking moments come when the students express their awareness of being part of a news cycle .
One student recalls the camera crews that approached them during the weeks immediately following the fire .
Another is struck by how that attention dropped off over time , noting , “ It ’ s like those school shootings you never hear about , they happen all the time .
It ’ s , like , our town burnt down and hardly @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Knowles spent the better part of the year visiting and filming in and around Paradise , sometimes staying with their subjects in their new or temporary homes .
The Camp Fire had been “ covered prolifically , ” Knowles said , but they wanted to show “ the long wake that these climate disasters leave.
” Both filmmakers live in California , where wildfires have become both more destructive and more routine .
Knowles ’ s mother lives in Sonoma , a town in a Northern California county where there have been major @ @ @ @ @ @ @ As people live through these fires and the trauma unspools , these are not nice , linear stories , ” he said .
“ They take time to tell.
” On the day we spoke , Thomas had just driven to Lake Tahoe from her home in Oakland , not far from where the S.C.U .
Lightning Complex Fire and L.N.U .
Lightning Complex Fire , two of the largest wildfires in the state ’ s history , were burning .
“ The sky is orange , and there is ash falling everywhere @ @ @ @ @ @ @ It ’ s becoming an eerie part of the new normal in Northern California.
” The Camp Fire was the deadliest , and most expensive , fire in California ’ s history .
But as climate disasters increase in both number and intensity , such records don ’ t last for very long .
This summer , ongoing wildfires have burnt more than ninety thousand acres and displaced more than a hundred thousand people .
Last week , fires scorched the old-growth trees of Big Basin Redwoods State Park and forced the evacuation @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Cruz .
In a text , a friend in Sonoma County , who has had to evacuate her home several years in a row , told me that this year ’ s fires are also taking an emotional toll .
“ Fire less than 3 miles away .
My nerves are also shot from multiple days of heavy air traffic dropping fire retardant ( thank god for them ) .
I ’ ve never experienced anything like it , these planes are so large and so close they rattle the house.
” There @ @ @ @ @ @ @ at a climate catastrophe through the eyes of a group of teen-agers .
Knowles said that he was struck by the students ’ resilience and wisdom , even at a moment when it felt like “ the earth is moving beneath their feet.
” The students left them feeling , he said , “ as empowered as cynical about the direction of the world.
” Elizabeth Kolbert wrote , at the beginning of this year , that , in terms of fighting back against or entrenching the climate collapse , “ the twenty-twenties @ @ @ @ @ @ @ less permanent way.
” It is especially resonant , then , to watch these high-school seniors maneuver through a pivotal period , a time of major transitions , making decisions that will determine the shapes of their futures .

When the filmmakers Emily Thomas and Derek Knowles arrived in Paradise, California, in the Sierra Nevada foothills, in December of 2018, the town, Knowles said, “looked like a war zone.” Just a few weeks earlier, on November 8th, at around 8 A.M., Paradise had received its first evacuation alert because of the surging Camp Fire. By the end of the day, the town was destroyed. The fire burned for another sixteen days. A member of the county sheriff’s office told the San Francisco Chronicle, after the evacuation, “I don’t know what we are coming back to after this. Probably a moonscape.” Thomas and Knowles’s short documentary, “Last Days at Paradise High,” which follows several high-school seniors through the spring semester of that year, focusses not on the moment of the fire but on the process of coming back.
There’s a striking mix of normalcy and trauma in the film. Zooming out from scenes from ordinary high-school life—morning announcements, orchestra practice—reveals that the students aren’t in an ordinary school but a building at the nearby Chico Municipal Airport that has been transformed into an ad-hoc substitute, with cubicle walls and tapestries serving as classroom dividers. In one class discussion, on a day six months after the fire, a student says that it “feels like it just happened.“ Virginia Partain, an English teacher with a streak of magenta in her hair, says that she is sometimes envious of her friends who have moved away and don’t have to think about it. In another scene, Partain describes a flashback to the day of the disaster. While driving her car, she says, “I got a moment where I felt like I was in the fire again. I literally saw flames by the side of the road, in my mind, you know? And I had that terror again, and then I just felt sad. Just sad. ’Cause I look around, and it’s not what I remember. I’m tired. The fire kind of burned a lot out of me.”
Scenes from the bustle of the school-day routine are intercut with sombre interviews, in which students address the camera directly. (Sometimes the girls give interviews in pairs, with that special intimacy of teen-age best-friendship that borders on joint consciousness.) They talk about what they left behind—one girl was only able to take her cell phone and the clothes she was wearing; another laments the loss of her grandfather’s prayer shawls and letters, the few things he brought when he fled the Holocaust. “I’ve come to the conclusion that nothing is permanent,” Anthony Hearn says, with a matter-of-factness of someone much older. “My town, I loved it. But it’s gone.” Their seriousness when talking about the fire plays against the visual reminders of their youth: Harmony Von Stockhausen, who talks about the mementos that she and her mother chose to take with them, also teeters, unpracticed, on towering high heels on her way to a formal dance; Kody Lesch, who wants to hold onto his family’s scorched plot of land but wonders if the area will be livable should he have children of his own, has bug-bitten legs that suggest a summer spent playing in the grass.
Many of the students said that giving the interviews shown in the film “felt like therapy,” Thomas told me. The simple relief and release that’s visible as these young people catalogue and grieve their losses fill an important gap in the public discussion of climate disasters. These conflagrations occur on such a scale that it can be hard to keep sight of both the over-all destruction and the individual, human consequences.
Some of the film’s most striking moments come when the students express their awareness of being part of a news cycle. One student recalls the camera crews that approached them during the weeks immediately following the fire. Another is struck by how that attention dropped off over time, noting, “It’s like those school shootings you never hear about, they happen all the time. It’s, like, our town burnt down and hardly anybody knows or cares.” Thomas and Knowles spent the better part of the year visiting and filming in and around Paradise, sometimes staying with their subjects in their new or temporary homes. The Camp Fire had been “covered prolifically,” Knowles said, but they wanted to show “the long wake that these climate disasters leave.”
Both filmmakers live in California, where wildfires have become both more destructive and more routine. Knowles’s mother lives in Sonoma, a town in a Northern California county where there have been major fires for several years running. “As people live through these fires and the trauma unspools, these are not nice, linear stories,” he said. “They take time to tell.” On the day we spoke, Thomas had just driven to Lake Tahoe from her home in Oakland, not far from where the S.C.U. Lightning Complex Fire and L.N.U. Lightning Complex Fire, two of the largest wildfires in the state’s history, were burning. “The sky is orange, and there is ash falling everywhere,” she told me. “It’s becoming an eerie part of the new normal in Northern California.”
The Camp Fire was the deadliest, and most expensive, fire in California’s history. But as climate disasters increase in both number and intensity, such records don’t last for very long. This summer, ongoing wildfires have burnt more than ninety thousand acres and displaced more than a hundred thousand people. Last week, fires scorched the old-growth trees of Big Basin Redwoods State Park and forced the evacuation of the University of California, Santa Cruz. In a text, a friend in Sonoma County, who has had to evacuate her home several years in a row, told me that this year’s fires are also taking an emotional toll. “Fire less than 3 miles away. My nerves are also shot from multiple days of heavy air traffic dropping fire retardant (thank god for them). I’ve never experienced anything like it, these planes are so large and so close they rattle the house.”
There is both solace and gravity in looking at a climate catastrophe through the eyes of a group of teen-agers. Knowles said that he was struck by the students’ resilience and wisdom, even at a moment when it felt like “the earth is moving beneath their feet.” The students left them feeling, he said, “as empowered as cynical about the direction of the world.” Elizabeth Kolbert wrote, at the beginning of this year, that, in terms of fighting back against or entrenching the climate collapse, “the twenty-twenties will be consequential in a more or less permanent way.” It is especially resonant, then, to watch these high-school seniors maneuver through a pivotal period, a time of major transitions, making decisions that will determine the shapes of their futures.


newyorker--2020-08-26--Dear Pepper: Social Distancing and a Brotherly Snub

I ’ ve relaxed my strictness about pandemic protocol to the point where I ’ m comfortable having socially distant visits outdoors with small numbers of friends .
After months of isolation and worry , I feel that it should be time for me to start catching up with people .
The problem is that I have zero motivation to see anyone .
The social-distance visits I ’ ve had so far are just , well , exhausting .
It ’ s hard for me to concentrate on the nuances of my friends ’ lives—the nightmarish child-care scenarios , how @ @ @ @ @ @ @ who ’ s watching what on TV , endless bureaucratic adventures with filing for unemployment and figuring out health insurance , who ’ s taking the subway and for what reason , long-distance-dating drama , etc .
I tend to zone out when my friends are speaking , and to focus , instead , on wondering when it would be polite for me to go .
The worst thing is that I always leave the hangout after the requisite hour and a half feeling guilty that I hurt my friends ’ feelings—my disinterest @ @ @ @ @ @ @ If I were to follow my heart , I ’ d turn down most invitations .
To be quite honest , I ’ m happy staying in my apartment with my boyfriend , and seeing my immediate family or a very close friend once every few weeks .
I hate to admit it , but I really , really enjoy being a little bit alone .
I know , objectively , that I value my friends .
I also know that friendship takes work and that , since I ’ m comfortable with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ moment , I should put the work in now .
I fear that , if I don ’ t , I ’ ll risk losing the friendships that make my life interesting and varied .
Should I continue to push myself to see people ?
Or should I follow my id and just drop off the face of the earth ?
God knows I have a good excuse right now .
Each person can handle a finite number of good friends , and a finite number of acquaintances .
We are all learning @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , strange , multifaceted crisis .
I believe you may have learned that you have too many friends .
My advice : let go of the obligations that you feel toward your friends .
And be an even better friend to the ones you actually want to see .
You might have room for more friends at some point in the future .
But you can ’ t plan for that now .
All you can do now is focus on the details .
The view out your window , the space you @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in front of you , and your small circle of intimates .
Give yourself permission to enjoy these things .
I haven ’ t seen my twin brother—whom I ’ ll call Steve—since December .
We ’ d been planning to see each other at my wedding , in March , but my wedding was cancelled .
Steve lives in another state , a ten-hour drive from my wife—whom I ’ ll call Sylvie—and me .
( We did get married , just without a wedding . )
Sylvie and I made plans @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Steve ’ s city , so we could spend some time with him .
The house is large , with room for the three of us and Steve ’ s boyfriend—let ’ s call him Bill—to stay together and keep socially distant .
We are renting the house for a week .
Steve confirmed , back in March , before we rented the place , that he and Bill would both be able to join us .
Well , the trip is three days from now , and guess what ?
Steve just @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Apparently , Bill accidentally double-booked them—he made plans to go camping with friends .
I asked Steve if he and Bill ( or he alone ) could split the difference—spend half the week with us , and half with their friends .
But he seemed hesitant to answer , so I backed off .
It ’ s impossible to get a refund for the rental house .
Besides , Sylvie and I are both essential workers , and it was hard for us to coördinate this week of shared vacation .
It ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , but let me try : Should we tell Steve how hurt we are ?
Should we beg him to come , even though he obviously doesn ’ t want to ?
Should we cancel our trip , even though we won ’ t be able to afford to go anywhere else ?
We have no reason to visit Steve ’ s city , other than to see Steve , especially now that everything is closed .
Neither Sylvie nor I was looking forward to the ten-hour drive , or to the risks @ @ @ @ @ @ @ I know that there are more important things to worry about right now .
But this is what ’ s been consuming me .
First of all , yes , you should tell Steve that you ’ re hurt .
I think it will make you feel better .
And it will clue him in to what ’ s going on in your heart , in case he ’ s really that dense and doesn ’ t already know .
It sounds like you kind of begged him to come stay with you @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and he kind of said no .
You can try again .
But you can ’ t force him to change his mind , wrong as he was to cancel on you in this way .
As for travelling ten hours to his city to stay in an empty rental house , it seems like an unwieldy and unnecessary trip .
I personally think you should just stay home , and suffer the financial loss , unless there ’ s anything inside you and your wife that says you want to travel just @ @ @ @ @ @ @ sounds like you don ’ t .
I wouldn ’ t , either .
It ’ s clear that you care a lot about your brother .
Hopefully , he hasn ’ t been this selfish in the past , and won ’ t be this selfish in the future .
I urge you to protect yourself next time .
Maybe don ’ t be so selfless as to rent a house near him in hopes that he ’ ll come stay with you .
But be kind to him , too , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ( I am crossing my paw-fingers ) he returns your kindness .
The pain you ’ re feeling is valid and rational , so honor it—but try to look past it as well .
It ’ s quite possible that Steve is in some kind of trouble—emotionally , or in his relationship .
These are extremely hard times , and a lot of people are acting strangely for all kinds of reasons .
So it ’ s a good moment to be extra forgiving toward ourselves and our loved ones .
Stay in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ out for signs that he might need help .
Finally , I hope that you and Sylvie can still manage to have a nice week off .
Try not to think about Steve during your break from work .
If you can ’ t have a vacation with him , you can at least have a vacation from him .

Dear Pepper,
I’ve relaxed my strictness about pandemic protocol to the point where I’m comfortable having socially distant visits outdoors with small numbers of friends. After months of isolation and worry, I feel that it should be time for me to start catching up with people. The problem is that I have zero motivation to see anyone.
The social-distance visits I’ve had so far are just, well, exhausting. It’s hard for me to concentrate on the nuances of my friends’ lives—the nightmarish child-care scenarios, how people’s parents are coping, who’s watching what on TV, endless bureaucratic adventures with filing for unemployment and figuring out health insurance, who’s taking the subway and for what reason, long-distance-dating drama, etc.
I tend to zone out when my friends are speaking, and to focus, instead, on wondering when it would be polite for me to go. The worst thing is that I always leave the hangout after the requisite hour and a half feeling guilty that I hurt my friends’ feelings—my disinterest shows, I’m sure.
If I were to follow my heart, I’d turn down most invitations. To be quite honest, I’m happy staying in my apartment with my boyfriend, and seeing my immediate family or a very close friend once every few weeks. I hate to admit it, but I really, really enjoy being a little bit alone.
I know, objectively, that I value my friends. I also know that friendship takes work and that, since I’m comfortable with a certain amount of socializing at the moment, I should put the work in now. I fear that, if I don’t, I’ll risk losing the friendships that make my life interesting and varied.
Should I continue to push myself to see people? Or should I follow my id and just drop off the face of the earth? God knows I have a good excuse right now.
Sincerely,
Salt
Dear Salt,
Each person can handle a finite number of good friends, and a finite number of acquaintances.
We are all learning new things about ourselves during this long, strange, multifaceted crisis. I believe you may have learned that you have too many friends.
My advice: let go of the obligations that you feel toward your friends. And be an even better friend to the ones you actually want to see.
You might have room for more friends at some point in the future. But you can’t plan for that now. All you can do now is focus on the details. The view out your window, the space you share with your boyfriend, the work in front of you, and your small circle of intimates. Give yourself permission to enjoy these things.
Sincerely,
Pepper
Dear Pepper,
I haven’t seen my twin brother—whom I’ll call Steve—since December. We’d been planning to see each other at my wedding, in March, but my wedding was cancelled. Steve lives in another state, a ten-hour drive from my wife—whom I’ll call Sylvie—and me. (We did get married, just without a wedding.)
Sylvie and I made plans months ago to rent a house in Steve’s city, so we could spend some time with him. The house is large, with room for the three of us and Steve’s boyfriend—let’s call him Bill—to stay together and keep socially distant.
We are renting the house for a week. Steve confirmed, back in March, before we rented the place, that he and Bill would both be able to join us.
Well, the trip is three days from now, and guess what? Steve just breezily cancelled, via text message! Apparently, Bill accidentally double-booked them—he made plans to go camping with friends. I asked Steve if he and Bill (or he alone) could split the difference—spend half the week with us, and half with their friends. But he seemed hesitant to answer, so I backed off.
It’s impossible to get a refund for the rental house. Besides, Sylvie and I are both essential workers, and it was hard for us to coördinate this week of shared vacation.
It’s hard to formulate a question here, but let me try:
Should we tell Steve how hurt we are?
Should we beg him to come, even though he obviously doesn’t want to?
Should we cancel our trip, even though we won’t be able to afford to go anywhere else?
We have no reason to visit Steve’s city, other than to see Steve, especially now that everything is closed. Neither Sylvie nor I was looking forward to the ten-hour drive, or to the risks inherent in travel during a pandemic.
I know that there are more important things to worry about right now. But this is what’s been consuming me.
Sincerely,
Carlos
Dear Carlos,
First of all, yes, you should tell Steve that you’re hurt. I think it will make you feel better. And it will clue him in to what’s going on in your heart, in case he’s really that dense and doesn’t already know. It sounds like you kind of begged him to come stay with you for even part of the week, and he kind of said no. You can try again. But you can’t force him to change his mind, wrong as he was to cancel on you in this way.
As for travelling ten hours to his city to stay in an empty rental house, it seems like an unwieldy and unnecessary trip. I personally think you should just stay home, and suffer the financial loss, unless there’s anything inside you and your wife that says you want to travel just for the sake of travel. It sounds like you don’t. I wouldn’t, either.