theguardian--2020-01-18--‘You have to stand up to illegitimate authority’: what veteran abortion activists can teach us in th

‘You have to stand up to illegitimate authority’: what veteran abortion activists can teach us in the Trump era

The telephone sat in the dormitory hallway , and when it rang it might have been for any of the residents – young women in their teens and early 20s , all students at the University of Chicago .
Calls came from family and friends and boyfriends , from colleagues and classmates and clubs .
But sometimes the voice at the end of the line would ask for “ Jane ” .
This was 1965 , and in Chicago the social justice movement was gathering pace – a new era that encompassed civil rights , student rights , women ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in Vietnam .
Among those involved was Heather Booth , a 19-year-old social sciences student from New York .
Booth had spent the summer of 1964 in Mississippi , volunteering as part of the Freedom Summer project , an attempt to register as many African American voters as possible .
It was an experience that had galvanised her and taught some valuable lessons : “ One is that if you organise , even in what seem like the most hopeless circumstances , you can change the world , ” she says .
“ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ stand up to illegitimate authority.
” Back in Chicago , her reputation as an underground organiser now well-rooted , she was approached by a friend with a quite different problem : his sister was pregnant , not ready to have a child and nearly suicidal .
She wanted an abortion , which was then illegal across the US .
Booth was startled .
“ I hadn ’ t ever thought of the issue before , ” she recalls .
“ But I said I ’ d try to find a doctor for her.
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ the civil rights movement and identified Dr TRM Howard as potentially sympathetic .
A former civil rights leader from Mississippi , he had relocated to Chicago after his name appeared on a Ku Klux Klan death list .
They talked over the phone .
“ I found out the terms and made an arrangement , and didn ’ t really think much more about it , ” she remembers .
“ But then word must have spread , and a little while later someone else called , and then a little while later @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was a far greater need than I had appreciated.
” For three years , Booth ran a one-woman illegal abortion service – first from her university dormitory , and then from her Chicago apartment .
Keen to keep the process as anonymous as possible , she told prospective callers to ask for Jane , choosing the moniker simply because “ it was a very common name , nondescript ” , she says .
“ And then the name stuck.
” Pregnancy in the 1960s brought a number of limitations and complications for women @ @ @ @ @ @ @ time that Jane started , you still could be fired from some jobs if you were pregnant , ” Booth explains .
“ There were jobs that wouldn ’ t hire you if you had children .
There certainly were families that would throw out their kids if they were pregnant and not married.
” Many resorted to extreme measures , paying for backstreet abortions , or attempting to perform the procedure themselves “ using coat hangers or lye [ sodium hydroxide ] or throwing themselves off a building or ‘ falling ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Because they couldn ’ t imagine going on , even if it meant risking their life.
” As her service grew , Booth ’ s ambition was for something different .
“ I decided that we needed to create a system , ” she says .
“ A women ’ s culture , reflecting what the women needed , and said that they wanted.
” She came to an agreement with Dr Howard , negotiating his fee from $ 500 for a single procedure to two or three abortions for the same price @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , talking to the women beforehand about what they might expect , and afterwards to see how their experience had been .
Booth herself had received no sex education , and had no experience of pregnancy or abortion ; in the late 60s , women across America were increasingly coming to know and understand their own bodies .
If she was concerned about the illegality of what she was doing , or by the rapidly growing number of women , Booth tried not to let it be a deterrent .
“ Life at @ @ @ @ @ @ @ engagements and movement activities , and so many unexpected things .
It was as if democracy and society was becoming more alive in many different arenas .
I probably was also somewhat scared and frightened .
But in so much of what I ’ ve ever done in my life , I was sort of scared and frightened – at the start at least .
And I think it ’ s true for many people , especially young women , who wonder , ‘ Will I know enough ?
Will I be good @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s needed ?
’ ” By 1968 , the need had grown unmanageable .
By then working , studying , newly married and expecting her first child , Booth elected to transfer “ Jane ” to a group of volunteers she knew from her political work .
She coached them in her counselling methods before handing over her contacts .
Jane changed substantially from this point .
Howard was no longer involved , replaced by another practitioner named Mike , and the clientele had begun to shift , too .
As abortion @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and Hawaii , the wealthier , white college students who had been the mainstay of Booth ’ s service began to travel for their procedures .
In Chicago , Jane increasingly catered to poorer , predominantly African American communities on the west and south sides of the city .
“ Word of us spread throughout the city , ” recalls Laura Kaplan , who joined the group at this time , and later authored The Story Of Jane : The Legendary Underground Feminist Abortion Service .
“ Because once we took over , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , or what you could afford , and we never turned anybody away.
” The group kept no records , no paper trail of names or numbers , but Kaplan estimates that over the course of four years , Jane performed 11,000 procedures , averaging payment of around $ 40 to $ 50 per abortion .
The organisation became more efficient : with a large network of volunteers , they were able to set up a hotline , putting up posters in dorm rooms and phone booths that read “ Pregnant ?
Don @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Jane ” and the phone number 643-3844 .
They procured an answering machine “ the size of a suitcase , reel-to-reel ” and set it up in the home of a volunteer .
They established a “ front house ” , which served as a reception for clients who would then be driven to a different apartment for the abortion .
What happened next seems radical now , but for the women of Jane it felt more like an evolution .
“ Over time , several things happened and coincided , ” Booth @ @ @ @ @ @ @ many women were coming through , Mike couldn ’ t really handle it all himself .
Number two : the women were watching the procedures being done , and they saw how it could be done .
Number three : Mike was willing to teach them how to assist or even do the procedures .
And four : Mike told the women that he wasn ’ t actually a doctor.
” Mike , it transpired , had simply learned how to perform abortions from a doctor who worked for the Mob .
By @ @ @ @ @ @ @ abandoned and the women of Jane had begun to perform the abortions themselves .
It was cheaper and allowed the experience to be more woman-focused .
But in early May 1972 , the sister-in-law of a woman who had come to Jane for an abortion reported the group to the local police , and they were duly raided .
Officers followed the driver taking women from the front house to an apartment in a high rise in the Chicago neighbourhood of South Shore .
“ And they got off the elevator , homicide @ @ @ @ @ @ @ coats and shiny shoes , ” Kaplan says , “ looking for ‘ the man and the money ’ .
And there was no man , and there was not much money , either.
” The group scrambled to bail out the seven members who were arrested , and to cater to the 300 women still waiting for abortions .
They contacted clinics in New York and Washington , which agreed to perform the procedures for free , with Jane covering the women ’ s transport .
The following January , with the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ legalisation of abortion across the US , the charges against the women of Jane were quietly dropped .
“ It was about three months later that we decided to disband , ” recalls Kaplan .
“ Quite frankly , we were burned out and we were lucky – we hadn ’ t killed anybody , so let ’ s get out while the going is good.
” Kaplan is 69 now and still politically active .
At her home in upstate New York , where vegetables push through the winter ground and her @ @ @ @ @ @ @ fire , she talks about her current causes – immigration and the local library among them .
It was her involvement with Jane that set her on this path .
“ It changed my life completely , ” she says .
“ I had always seen myself as a political person , but the thing about being in Jane , for all of us , is that we really learned we were competent people .
We created the world we wanted to live in .
And it was separate from the real world @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” Booth , too , has pursued a life of political organising .
At 74 , she has had a career encompassing the role of strategic adviser on a national campaign for immigration reform , the campaign to pass Barack Obama ’ s first budget , and director of the NAACP National Voter Fund , which in 2000 helped increase African American voter turnout by more than a million .
Today , she is fighting to lower prescription drug prices , going up against the big pharmaceutical companies .
Her role in every @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ supporting others who were in the leadership , helping them find their voice , their confidence , to stand up , speak up ” .
Now , with a presidential election just months away and the recent erosions of US abortion law , women who are fighting battles that Booth hoped had been won in the 60s are asking for her help again .
In 2019 , seven US states took action to effectively ban abortion , and others severely reduced access .
In Alabama , where 93 % of counties have @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a law that meant practitioners could face life imprisonment .
Six US states have only one abortion clinic , and 27 cities and much of the country ’ s rural areas qualify as “ abortion deserts ” where women would need to travel more than 100 miles to reach a clinic .
Texas is one of these deserts .
Across west Texas and the Panhandle , home to over a million people , the nearest clinic is now 250 miles away .
In 2013 , the state introduced House Bill 2 , resulting @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of its abortion clinics – before the key provisions were struck down by the Supreme Court three years later .
Today the state – the second largest by both geography and population – has just 22 abortion clinics for 29 million people .
Find yourself unable or unwilling to continue with a pregnancy in Texas today and your options are limited .
Even if you can find a way to make a 500‑mile round trip and take time off work or school , a 2017 law bans private insurance companies from covering the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ also requires that before a termination a woman must undergo a transvaginal ultrasound , then 24 hours must elapse before her procedure .
Both should be performed by the same physician .
Anti-abortion campaigners maintain that this brings it into line with regulations governing other surgeries .
Initiatives such as Plan C , which helps women buy medication online safely for a self-managed termination , bring their own risks ( infection , an incomplete abortion ) .
And that option is unavailable to the many women who do not possess a credit card @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a parcel through the mail .
A 2015 study found that some 100,000 women in the state had , in a variety of ways , at one time tried to induce an abortion .
On a warm Sunday afternoon in San Antonio , five of the members of the Lilith Fund gather around a table outside a branch of Starbucks .
That morning , they held a fundraising event at the home of a local supporter – discussing their work in reproductive healthcare over coffee and baked goods .
The event was busier @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in all , though in recent times they have noticed a steady increase in supporter numbers .
“ Unfortunately , it does sometimes take horrible things happening in our political climate , ” says Amanda Beatriz Williams , the group ’ s executive director .
“ People say , ‘ What can we do ?
’ And luckily we have a lot of answers.
” The Lilith Fund is the oldest abortion fund in Texas , serving the state ’ s central and southern regions .
Founded in 2001 by a group of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ by a series of garage sales that raised $ 10,000 to open a hotline .
Now it is funded through a combination of grants and donations , and was able to assist 26 % of the 6,050 women who called the hotline in 2018 .
Women call only once their abortion appointment has been made ; and it is often the clinic that encourages a woman to call once they know the cost .
“ They leave a voicemail , ” explains Shae Ward , the hotline coordinator .
“ And if we @ @ @ @ @ @ @ we ’ ll call them back that same day.
” The daily budget is $ 2,500 .
The average caller is 13-14 weeks pregnant .
A second trimester abortion costs $ 800-1,200 .
“ And so I have to determine who we can fund , and who unfortunately we ’ re not able to.
” They weigh up factors such as domestic violence or homelessness , alongside gestation and appointment date .
“ If your procedure is the next day , we ’ re gon na try and get you in , ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ voucher system , redeemable at the clinic , but they have become accustomed to that fact that only a fraction will redeem the vouchers .
“ It ’ s for a number of reasons , ” explains Williams .
” We can only afford to cover partial costs – so they ’ re often left to come up with the rest .
And some are able to , and some aren ’ t .
Or they couldn ’ t get to the clinic , or whatever barriers they couldn ’ t overcome.
” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is the pressure of deciding women ’ s fates , the need to fundraise , and the constant heel-nip of new anti-abortion legislation .
In some east Texas cities , they tell me , the fund has been called a “ criminal organisation ” .
The volunteers rely heavily on one another for emotional support .
But they remain hopeful .
All are under 40 , and see reason for optimism in the younger generation ’ s support for reproductive rights .
“ Something I ’ ve noticed a lot in this past @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , ” says Williams .
She has come to see storytelling as a fierce strategy in the fight ; the more women share their personal experiences of termination , the more she feels people will connect on a human level .
Williams herself had an abortion at 19 , and it was part of what motivated her to work in reproductive healthcare , though it took nearly seven years of working in the movement before she felt confident enough to share her experience .
“ I actually shared my story for the first @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Supreme Court during one of the big rallies in 2016 , ” she says , recalling the successful campaign to overturn House Bill 2 .
“ There is a YouTube of it .
I was full of tears .
It was hard for me , but what really changed my life was the outpouring of support I got.
” She keeps a photo on her desk from that day , which shows her on the courtroom steps , wiping away her tears .
“ And there ’ s a bunch of people behind @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , “ it ’ s just the literal image of people behind me that ’ s everything .
And of course the Supreme Court is behind me , too .
And we won.
” The City Hall stands in downtown McAllen , a community of some 142,000 at the point where Texas butts up against the Mexican border .
On a hot midweek afternoon the street is quiet ; cars slide by slowly , and sunlight blinks off shop windows displaying tuxedos and fancy dresses and party paraphernalia .
Until 1993 , the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ hospital , where in 1977 a young woman named Rosie Jimenez died following complications from a backstreet abortion – the first woman to die after the introduction of the Hyde amendment , which barred the use of federal funds to pay for abortion .
Today , McAllen is home to the only remaining abortion clinic in the Rio Grande Valley – a low , unassuming building almost opposite City Hall .
A few mornings each week , protesters stand outside its doors , waving banners and shouting at the medical staff and women @ @ @ @ @ @ @ harass women going there , throwing out statements like , ‘ Abortion gives breast cancer , ’ ” says Iris Reyes , community organiser for the local branch of the National Latina Institute for Reproductive Health .
“ Or , ‘ Your womb will become used to you having an abortion so you won ’ t be able to parent later in life.
’ ” The Latina Institute plays a crucial role here , turning up in schools and homes and community centres to discuss smear tests , mammograms and abortions , lobbying @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the valley .
The average annual household income here is about $ 40,000 , though some work for just $ 2 an hour , and many , particularly female domestic workers , fall victim to wage theft .
It is strongly religious , mainly Spanish-speaking , and many of the residents do not have US citizenship papers .
All of this creates a unique set of barriers to women who find themselves pregnant in difficult circumstances .
A clinic abortion costs about $ 500 .
While documented women might be able to head @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of buying abortion pills in Mexico , this is not a risk the undocumented can take .
Beyond McAllen , the nearest clinic is in San Antonio , four hours ’ drive and an immigration checkpoint away .
Little wonder that some women seek abortion pills available under the counter at some of the region ’ s flea markets , unregulated and unmanaged .
The clinic is only licensed to perform abortions up to 16 weeks , which is too late for some .
There is no public transport and many women can @ @ @ @ @ @ @ buy a pregnancy test .
“ By the time [ some ] women go to the abortion clinic , they ’ re often past 20 weeks , ” explains Samantha Herrera , a translator who works with the Latina Institute .
For undocumented women , there are other deterrents : immigration force vans often park up outside the clinic , and a new law requires women to show ID before they can access abortion There is another , more sinister obstacle nearby , too .
Just a block from the abortion clinic stands @ @ @ @ @ @ @ low-level , anonymous building .
Herrera tells me it is in fact a “ false clinic ” staffed by anti-abortion campaigners , who will from time to time walk up the street to the real clinic wearing “ white coats as if they were doctors , showing up in scrubs , pretending to be medical people .
But they ’ re just regular volunteers with no medical background.
” Their purpose is to convince women to go to the McAllen Pregnancy Center .
“ They will say things like , ‘ This isn @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , it ’ s over here , we ’ ll walk you over… ’ ” Inside they will perform a false ultrasound “ that shows they are more advanced in their pregnancy ” and therefore unable to have an abortion .
This is one of a number of Crisis Pregnancy Centers across the US – buildings that mimic medical clinics , and are designed to attract women seeking low-cost abortions .
Their funding comes in part from the millions of federal dollars directed into abstinence-only sex-education programmes .
In July 2017 , President @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Prevention programme , and allocated $ 3m to CPCs .
CPCs are not illegal , though their status is complicated , and many argue that they are unethical .
As they are not medical practices and do not charge for services , they are not subject to regulation .
Legal action taken against CPCs has largely focused on false advertising practices .
For the staff and volunteers at the Latina Institute , meanwhile , the work is relentless : the previous day they provided training at a community centre ; this evening they @ @ @ @ @ @ @ they have a presence at every rally , on religious radio stations , on television , and often head to Austin to lobby the state government .
“ Our organisation is not only pro-choice , ” says associate director Lucy Ceballos Félix , “ we ’ re pro-women.
” Their aim is to increase the number of clinics in Texas , but more urgently simply to keep this one open .
“ If the clinic closes here , there is no access , ” says Herrera .
“ Women can not go south @ @ @ @ @ @ @ go north .
And then there ’ s nothing left but home remedies , and they end up in hospital.
” Around the table , the three women look exasperated .
On her laptop , Ceballos Félix scrolls through a list of proposed Texas legislation that would further impede abortion access , reading out the names of the bills and explaining each one in increasingly rapid Spanish .
She pauses and exhales .
“ I ’ m very passionate about this , ” she says .
“ We can ’ t continue to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ We mobilise .
We educate ourselves .
We fight for our rights.
” Last year , Heather Booth headed from her home in Washington to Georgia to tell , once again , the story of Jane .
It was a disheartening moment , to consider that more than 50 years after she began her underground abortion service in Chicago , America might once again be returning to a more repressive time .
Many fights are having to be refought .
“ There are more than 200 members of Senate and Congress , Republicans @ @ @ @ @ @ @ statement saying they want the Supreme Court to revisit and potentially overturn Roe v Wade , ” she says .
That means vigilance and action from everyone , in and outside the government , who wants to defend it .
Booth talks about the restrictions to abortion access , and the cuts to funding for Planned Parenthood – brought about because the organisation continues to provide information about abortion .
“ It ’ s limiting reproductive health in the US , ” she says .
“ And pregnancy-related deaths increase when reproductive health @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to give talks , to lend her support to campaigning groups , to stand up , speak up once again .
“ It is a very intense , almost knife-edge moment , ” she says .
“ So many things are at stake.
” • Laura Barton presents the Archive on 4 documentary Call Jane At 643 3844 on BBC Radio 4 on Saturday 18 January at 8pm .
If you would like your comment on this piece to be considered for Weekend magazine ’ s letters page , please email weekend @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ( not for publication ) .

The telephone sat in the dormitory hallway, and when it rang it might have been for any of the residents – young women in their teens and early 20s, all students at the University of Chicago. Calls came from family and friends and boyfriends, from colleagues and classmates and clubs. But sometimes the voice at the end of the line would ask for “Jane”.
This was 1965, and in Chicago the social justice movement was gathering pace – a new era that encompassed civil rights, student rights, women’s rights and resistance to the war in Vietnam. Among those involved was Heather Booth, a 19-year-old social sciences student from New York. Booth had spent the summer of 1964 in Mississippi, volunteering as part of the Freedom Summer project, an attempt to register as many African American voters as possible. It was an experience that had galvanised her and taught some valuable lessons: “One is that if you organise, even in what seem like the most hopeless circumstances, you can change the world,” she says. “Number two: sometimes you have to stand up to illegitimate authority.”
Back in Chicago, her reputation as an underground organiser now well-rooted, she was approached by a friend with a quite different problem: his sister was pregnant, not ready to have a child and nearly suicidal. She wanted an abortion, which was then illegal across the US. Booth was startled. “I hadn’t ever thought of the issue before,” she recalls. “But I said I’d try to find a doctor for her.”
Booth approached the medical committee for the civil rights movement and identified Dr TRM Howard as potentially sympathetic. A former civil rights leader from Mississippi, he had relocated to Chicago after his name appeared on a Ku Klux Klan death list. They talked over the phone. “I found out the terms and made an arrangement, and didn’t really think much more about it,” she remembers. “But then word must have spread, and a little while later someone else called, and then a little while later someone else. And I realised there was a far greater need than I had appreciated.”
More than 200 Republicans are saying they want the Supreme Court to revisit and potentially overturn Roe v Wade
For three years, Booth ran a one-woman illegal abortion service – first from her university dormitory, and then from her Chicago apartment. Keen to keep the process as anonymous as possible, she told prospective callers to ask for Jane, choosing the moniker simply because “it was a very common name, nondescript”, she says. “And then the name stuck.”
Pregnancy in the 1960s brought a number of limitations and complications for women’s lives. “At the time that Jane started, you still could be fired from some jobs if you were pregnant,” Booth explains. “There were jobs that wouldn’t hire you if you had children. There certainly were families that would throw out their kids if they were pregnant and not married.” Many resorted to extreme measures, paying for backstreet abortions, or attempting to perform the procedure themselves “using coat hangers or lye [sodium hydroxide] or throwing themselves off a building or ‘falling’ downstairs”, Booth says. “Because they couldn’t imagine going on, even if it meant risking their life.”
As her service grew, Booth’s ambition was for something different. “I decided that we needed to create a system,” she says. “A women’s culture, reflecting what the women needed, and said that they wanted.” She came to an agreement with Dr Howard, negotiating his fee from $500 for a single procedure to two or three abortions for the same price. She also introduced a counselling element, talking to the women beforehand about what they might expect, and afterwards to see how their experience had been. Booth herself had received no sex education, and had no experience of pregnancy or abortion; in the late 60s, women across America were increasingly coming to know and understand their own bodies.
If she was concerned about the illegality of what she was doing, or by the rapidly growing number of women, Booth tried not to let it be a deterrent. “Life at that moment was filled with so many engagements and movement activities, and so many unexpected things. It was as if democracy and society was becoming more alive in many different arenas. I probably was also somewhat scared and frightened. But in so much of what I’ve ever done in my life, I was sort of scared and frightened – at the start at least. And I think it’s true for many people, especially young women, who wonder, ‘Will I know enough? Will I be good enough? Can I do just what’s needed?’”
‘If you organise, you can change the world,’ says Heather Booth, who established the ‘Jane’ underground abortion service. Photograph: Jared Soares/The Guardian
By 1968, the need had grown unmanageable. By then working, studying, newly married and expecting her first child, Booth elected to transfer “Jane” to a group of volunteers she knew from her political work. She coached them in her counselling methods before handing over her contacts.
Jane changed substantially from this point. Howard was no longer involved, replaced by another practitioner named Mike, and the clientele had begun to shift, too. As abortion became legal in Colorado, New York and Hawaii, the wealthier, white college students who had been the mainstay of Booth’s service began to travel for their procedures. In Chicago, Jane increasingly catered to poorer, predominantly African American communities on the west and south sides of the city.
“Word of us spread throughout the city,” recalls Laura Kaplan, who joined the group at this time, and later authored The Story Of Jane: The Legendary Underground Feminist Abortion Service. “Because once we took over, we lowered the price to $100, or what you could afford, and we never turned anybody away.” The group kept no records, no paper trail of names or numbers, but Kaplan estimates that over the course of four years, Jane performed 11,000 procedures, averaging payment of around $40 to $50 per abortion.
The organisation became more efficient: with a large network of volunteers, they were able to set up a hotline, putting up posters in dorm rooms and phone booths that read “Pregnant? Don’t want to be? Call Jane” and the phone number 643-3844. They procured an answering machine “the size of a suitcase, reel-to-reel” and set it up in the home of a volunteer. They established a “front house”, which served as a reception for clients who would then be driven to a different apartment for the abortion.
What happened next seems radical now, but for the women of Jane it felt more like an evolution. “Over time, several things happened and coincided,” Booth explains. “Number one: so many women were coming through, Mike couldn’t really handle it all himself. Number two: the women were watching the procedures being done, and they saw how it could be done. Number three: Mike was willing to teach them how to assist or even do the procedures. And four: Mike told the women that he wasn’t actually a doctor.” Mike, it transpired, had simply learned how to perform abortions from a doctor who worked for the Mob. By 1971, the doctor model had been abandoned and the women of Jane had begun to perform the abortions themselves. It was cheaper and allowed the experience to be more woman-focused.
Being in Jane changed my life completely. We were like a feminist Wakanda, separate from the real world
But in early May 1972, the sister-in-law of a woman who had come to Jane for an abortion reported the group to the local police, and they were duly raided. Officers followed the driver taking women from the front house to an apartment in a high rise in the Chicago neighbourhood of South Shore. “And they got off the elevator, homicide squad guys, giant men in trench coats and shiny shoes,” Kaplan says, “looking for ‘the man and the money’. And there was no man, and there was not much money, either.”
The group scrambled to bail out the seven members who were arrested, and to cater to the 300 women still waiting for abortions. They contacted clinics in New York and Washington, which agreed to perform the procedures for free, with Jane covering the women’s transport.
The following January, with the ruling of Roe v Wade and the legalisation of abortion across the US, the charges against the women of Jane were quietly dropped. “It was about three months later that we decided to disband,” recalls Kaplan. “Quite frankly, we were burned out and we were lucky – we hadn’t killed anybody, so let’s get out while the going is good.”
Kaplan is 69 now and still politically active. At her home in upstate New York, where vegetables push through the winter ground and her dog, Gilda, snores by the fire, she talks about her current causes – immigration and the local library among them. It was her involvement with Jane that set her on this path. “It changed my life completely,” she says. “I had always seen myself as a political person, but the thing about being in Jane, for all of us, is that we really learned we were competent people. We created the world we wanted to live in. And it was separate from the real world. We were like a feminist Wakanda.”
Booth, too, has pursued a life of political organising. At 74, she has had a career encompassing the role of strategic adviser on a national campaign for immigration reform, the campaign to pass Barack Obama’s first budget, and director of the NAACP National Voter Fund, which in 2000 helped increase African American voter turnout by more than a million. Today, she is fighting to lower prescription drug prices, going up against the big pharmaceutical companies. Her role in every instance, she says, has been “supporting others who were in the leadership, helping them find their voice, their confidence, to stand up, speak up”. Now, with a presidential election just months away and the recent erosions of US abortion law, women who are fighting battles that Booth hoped had been won in the 60s are asking for her help again.
In 2019, seven US states took action to effectively ban abortion, and others severely reduced access. In Alabama, where 93% of counties have no abortion clinics, the governor signed a law that meant practitioners could face life imprisonment. Six US states have only one abortion clinic, and 27 cities and much of the country’s rural areas qualify as “abortion deserts” where women would need to travel more than 100 miles to reach a clinic.
Texas is one of these deserts. Across west Texas and the Panhandle, home to over a million people, the nearest clinic is now 250 miles away. In 2013, the state introduced House Bill 2, resulting in the closure of more than half of its abortion clinics – before the key provisions were struck down by the Supreme Court three years later. Today the state – the second largest by both geography and population – has just 22 abortion clinics for 29 million people.
Find yourself unable or unwilling to continue with a pregnancy in Texas today and your options are limited. Even if you can find a way to make a 500‑mile round trip and take time off work or school , a 2017 law bans private insurance companies from covering the cost of an abortion. State law also requires that before a termination a woman must undergo a transvaginal ultrasound, then 24 hours must elapse before her procedure. Both should be performed by the same physician. Anti-abortion campaigners maintain that this brings it into line with regulations governing other surgeries.
Initiatives such as Plan C, which helps women buy medication online safely for a self-managed termination, bring their own risks (infection, an incomplete abortion). And that option is unavailable to the many women who do not possess a credit card, or who cannot securely receive a parcel through the mail. A 2015 study found that some 100,000 women in the state had, in a variety of ways, at one time tried to induce an abortion.
An anti-abortion billboard in the parking lot of the only clinic in Texas’s Rio Grande valley. Photograph: Veronica G Cardenas/The Guardian
On a warm Sunday afternoon in San Antonio, five of the members of the Lilith Fund gather around a table outside a branch of Starbucks. That morning, they held a fundraising event at the home of a local supporter – discussing their work in reproductive healthcare over coffee and baked goods. The event was busier than they had expected – 35 people in all, though in recent times they have noticed a steady increase in supporter numbers. “Unfortunately, it does sometimes take horrible things happening in our political climate,” says Amanda Beatriz Williams, the group’s executive director. “People say, ‘What can we do?’ And luckily we have a lot of answers.”
The Lilith Fund is the oldest abortion fund in Texas, serving the state’s central and southern regions. Founded in 2001 by a group of Austin-based activists, it was initially funded by a series of garage sales that raised $10,000 to open a hotline. Now it is funded through a combination of grants and donations, and was able to assist 26% of the 6,050 women who called the hotline in 2018. Women call only once their abortion appointment has been made; and it is often the clinic that encourages a woman to call once they know the cost.
Protesters harass women going to the clinic, throwing out statements like, ‘You won’t be able to parent later in life’
“They leave a voicemail,” explains Shae Ward, the hotline coordinator. “And if we’re able to fund them, we’ll call them back that same day.” The daily budget is $2,500. The average caller is 13-14 weeks pregnant. A second trimester abortion costs $800-1,200. “And so I have to determine who we can fund, and who unfortunately we’re not able to.” They weigh up factors such as domestic violence or homelessness, alongside gestation and appointment date. “If your procedure is the next day, we’re gonna try and get you in,” Ward says.
The fund operates a voucher system, redeemable at the clinic, but they have become accustomed to that fact that only a fraction will redeem the vouchers. “It’s for a number of reasons,” explains Williams. ”We can only afford to cover partial costs – so they’re often left to come up with the rest. And some are able to, and some aren’t. Or they couldn’t get to the clinic, or whatever barriers they couldn’t overcome.”
It is a heavy responsibility. There is the pressure of deciding women’s fates, the need to fundraise, and the constant heel-nip of new anti-abortion legislation. In some east Texas cities, they tell me, the fund has been called a “criminal organisation”. The volunteers rely heavily on one another for emotional support.
But they remain hopeful. All are under 40, and see reason for optimism in the younger generation’s support for reproductive rights. “Something I’ve noticed a lot in this past decade is people sharing their abortion stories,” says Williams. She has come to see storytelling as a fierce strategy in the fight; the more women share their personal experiences of termination, the more she feels people will connect on a human level.
Williams herself had an abortion at 19, and it was part of what motivated her to work in reproductive healthcare, though it took nearly seven years of working in the movement before she felt confident enough to share her experience. “I actually shared my story for the first time publicly on the steps of the Supreme Court during one of the big rallies in 2016,” she says, recalling the successful campaign to overturn House Bill 2. “There is a YouTube of it. I was full of tears. It was hard for me, but what really changed my life was the outpouring of support I got.”
She keeps a photo on her desk from that day, which shows her on the courtroom steps, wiping away her tears. “And there’s a bunch of people behind me, and… ” her voice catches, “it’s just the literal image of people behind me that’s everything. And of course the Supreme Court is behind me, too. And we won.”
The City Hall stands in downtown McAllen, a community of some 142,000 at the point where Texas butts up against the Mexican border. On a hot midweek afternoon the street is quiet; cars slide by slowly, and sunlight blinks off shop windows displaying tuxedos and fancy dresses and party paraphernalia. Until 1993, the same spot was occupied by the city hospital, where in 1977 a young woman named Rosie Jimenez died following complications from a backstreet abortion – the first woman to die after the introduction of the Hyde amendment, which barred the use of federal funds to pay for abortion. Today, McAllen is home to the only remaining abortion clinic in the Rio Grande Valley – a low, unassuming building almost opposite City Hall. A few mornings each week, protesters stand outside its doors, waving banners and shouting at the medical staff and women arriving for their appointments. “They harass women going there, throwing out statements like, ‘Abortion gives breast cancer,’” says Iris Reyes, community organiser for the local branch of the National Latina Institute for Reproductive Health. “Or, ‘Your womb will become used to you having an abortion so you won’t be able to parent later in life.’”
The Latina Institute plays a crucial role here, turning up in schools and homes and community centres to discuss smear tests, mammograms and abortions, lobbying to improve the lives of women in the valley. The average annual household income here is about $40,000, though some work for just $2 an hour, and many, particularly female domestic workers, fall victim to wage theft. It is strongly religious, mainly Spanish-speaking, and many of the residents do not have US citizenship papers.
Iris Reyes, an organiser with Texas’s National Latina Institute for Reproductive Health. Photograph: Veronica G Cardenas/The Guardian
All of this creates a unique set of barriers to women who find themselves pregnant in difficult circumstances. A clinic abortion costs about $500. While documented women might be able to head over the border for the cheaper option of buying abortion pills in Mexico, this is not a risk the undocumented can take. Beyond McAllen, the nearest clinic is in San Antonio, four hours’ drive and an immigration checkpoint away. Little wonder that some women seek abortion pills available under the counter at some of the region’s flea markets, unregulated and unmanaged. The clinic is only licensed to perform abortions up to 16 weeks, which is too late for some. There is no public transport and many women cannot easily get to a pharmacy to buy a pregnancy test. “By the time [some] women go to the abortion clinic, they’re often past 20 weeks,” explains Samantha Herrera, who works as a freelance translator in the RGV area. For undocumented women, there are other deterrents: immigration force vans often park up outside the clinic, and a new law requires women to show ID before they can access abortion
There is another, more sinister obstacle nearby, too. Just a block from the abortion clinic stands the McAllen Pregnancy Center – a similar low-level, anonymous building. Herrera tells me it is in fact a “false clinic” staffed by anti-abortion campaigners, who will from time to time walk up the street to the real clinic wearing “white coats as if they were doctors, showing up in scrubs, pretending to be medical people. But they’re just regular volunteers with no medical background.” Their purpose is to convince women to go to the McAllen Pregnancy Center. “They will say things like, ‘This isn’t where you made your appointment, it’s over here, we’ll walk you over…’” Inside they will perform a false ultrasound “that shows they are more advanced in their pregnancy” and therefore unable to have an abortion.
We can’t continue to live with our arms folded. We mobilise. We educate ourselves. We fight for our lives
This is one of a number of Crisis Pregnancy Centers across the US – buildings that mimic medical clinics, and are designed to attract women seeking low-cost abortions. Their funding comes in part from the millions of federal dollars directed into abstinence-only sex-education programmes. In July 2017, President Trump halted funding for the Teen Pregnancy Prevention programme, and allocated $3m to CPCs.
CPCs are not illegal, though their status is complicated, and many argue that they are unethical. As they are not medical practices and do not charge for services, they are not subject to regulation. Legal action taken against CPCs has largely focused on false advertising practices.
For the staff and volunteers at the Latina Institute, meanwhile, the work is relentless: the previous day they provided training at a community centre; this evening they will hold a meeting in Alamo; they have a presence at every rally, on religious radio stations, on television, and often head to Austin to lobby the state government. “Our organisation is not only pro-choice,” says associate director Lucy Ceballos Félix, “we’re pro-women.” Their aim is to increase the number of clinics in Texas, but more urgently simply to keep this one open. “If the clinic closes here, there is no access,” says Herrera. “Women cannot go south to Mexico and they can’t go north. And then there’s nothing left but home remedies, and they end up in hospital.”
Around the table, the three women look exasperated. On her laptop, Ceballos Félix scrolls through a list of proposed Texas legislation that would further impede abortion access, reading out the names of the bills and explaining each one in increasingly rapid Spanish. She pauses and exhales. “I’m very passionate about this,” she says. “We can’t continue to live just with our arms folded. We mobilise. We educate ourselves. We fight for our rights.”
Last year, Heather Booth headed from her home in Washington to Georgia to tell, once again, the story of Jane. It was a disheartening moment, to consider that more than 50 years after she began her underground abortion service in Chicago, America might once again be returning to a more repressive time. Many fights are having to be refought. “There are more than 200 members of Senate and Congress, Republicans, who’ve just signed a statement saying they want the Supreme Court to revisit and potentially overturn Roe v Wade,” she says. That means vigilance and action from everyone, in and outside the government, who wants to defend it.
Booth talks about the restrictions to abortion access, and the cuts to funding for Planned Parenthood – brought about because the organisation continues to provide information about abortion. “It’s limiting reproductive health in the US,” she says. “And pregnancy-related deaths increase when reproductive health is restricted.” Increasingly she is asked to give talks, to lend her support to campaigning groups, to stand up, speak up once again. “It is a very intense, almost knife-edge moment,” she says. “So many things are at stake.”
Laura Barton presents the Archive on 4 documentary Call Jane At 643 3844 on BBC Radio 4 on Saturday 18 January at 8pm.
If you would like your comment on this piece to be considered for Weekend magazine’s letters page, please email weekend@theguardian.com, including your name and address (not for publication).


theguardian--2020-01-19--Rudy Giuliani once had a real chance of becoming president – and he blew it

If things had gone a little differently , Rudy Giuliani might have been elected president in 2008 .
The former New York City mayor turned Donald Trump stooge led polling in the Republican primaries for almost a year , and was seen as someone who could defeat Hillary Clinton – then the presumptive Democratic nominee – in key metropolitan areas .
Giuliani , still riding a wave of good feeling from his handling of the 9/11 attacks , was raising serious amounts of cash , and was the best-known of the Republican candidates .
He had a very real chance @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Giuliani ’ s campaign collapsed in chaotic fashion , and he became a political irrelevance – until re-emerging a decade later as Donald Trump ’ s lawyer , mouthpiece , bungling envoy to Ukraine and a central character in the third impeachment of an American president .
It ’ s hard to imagine now , but at the end of 2006 , Giuliani was the most popular politician in the country .
In March 2007 , after Giuliani formally announced his White House campaign , he was the early favorite to win the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ support nationwide .
( John McCain , the eventual nominee , was second with 20 % . )
Giuliani maintained that lead throughout the year , and raised the most money .
Armed with a campaign slogan that read like the responses to a word-association examination – “ Tested .
Ready .
Now ” – Giuliani seemed destined to represent the Republican party in the November 2008 election .
“ When Rudy Giuliani entered the race he was seen as the frontrunner , ” said Capri Cafaro , a former minority leader of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ at the American University school of public affairs .
Oprah Winfrey had dubbed Giuliani “ America ’ s mayor ” following the 9/11 attacks – a moniker that stuck – while Time magazine went further , naming Giuliani its person of the year for 2001 and branding him “ mayor of the world ” .
Cafaro said : “ His strength predominantly came from being seen as America ’ s mayor – in light of this being just a few years after 9/11 .
[ He was ] playing to his strengths : @ @ @ @ @ @ @ being able to rise to the occasion as a leader.
” Giuliani wasn ’ t shy of leaning into that , which led to mockery as he launched his campaign .
“ When he decided to run for president he was being laughed at by the late-night comedians for answering every question by mentioning 9/11 , ” said Robert Polner , who covered Giuliani ’ s mayoralty as a reporter for Newsday , and later edited a book on Giuliani : America ’ s Mayor , America ’ s President ?
It wasn @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Joe Biden , then running – for the second time – to be the Democratic nominee , mused of Giuliani : “ There ’ s only three things he mentions in a sentence : a noun , a verb and 9/11.
” The Onion ran a piece with the headline : “ Giuliani to run for president of 9/11 ” .
“ He was still trying to ride his fame and convert that into primary votes , ” Polner said .
“ [ But ] he had no real plan as to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ president.
” Giuliani was still leading the polls in the summer of 2007 , six months out from the first Republican vote in Iowa .
But he hit an unexpected problem , in the form of a man dressed in a chicken suit – the “ Iowa Chicken ” – who tirelessly followed Giuliani around in protest at him skipping the Ames straw poll , a traditional barometer of the Republican primary race .
That wasn ’ t the end of Giuliani ’ s Iowa troubles .
He decided , essentially , to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ did not place much stock in second-to-vote New Hampshire .
Instead Giuliani pinned his hopes on Florida .
Many people saw this as a bad decision , including the Guardian ’ s then Washington correspondent , Ewen MacAskill .
“ History will show the unconventional , and ultimately catastrophic , strategy to be one of the biggest miscalculations in US campaign history , ” MacAskill wrote in 2008 , as Giuliani ’ s campaign collapsed around him .
“ One that has brought Giuliani ’ s ambitions to be the 44th US president @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s Florida gameplan was based on the idea that for some Republicans elsewhere , he just wasn ’ t conservative enough .
Giuliani , by this point , was on his third marriage – he has since completed his third divorce – and as mayor of New York had embraced positions that were anathema to socially conservative Republican supporters .
In Florida , at least , there was a diaspora of ex-New Yorkers , and some supportive centrist primary voters .
But his past might well have doomed him nationally .
Cafaro said @ @ @ @ @ @ @ he failed is not necessarily because he decided to focus on one or two major primaries , but because he was seen as being out of step with the values of the Republican primary voter.
” He said : “ As someone who was pro-choice , and had been married three times , somebody who was from New York , somebody that was a little bit more lenient on some of the social issues , including civil unions for same-sex partnerships , so those things were not embraced in that primary .
I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ him.
” Also stacked against Giuliani : his lack of focus .
When he lost the 1989 election for New York mayor , Giuliani spent the next four years , according to Polner , “ meeting with people , studying different aspects of the city , and preparing to become a politician ” .
That period of reflection and strategizing worked – Giuliani defeated the Democrat David Dinkins in 1993 – but he failed to apply it in 2008 .
“ When he jumped in for president , it seemed more like impulse @ @ @ @ @ @ @ on the fumes ” of being mayor on 9/11 , Polner said .
“ He hadn ’ t established a base or network of Republicans in key states , and he didn ’ t have any well-developed positions on where he wanted to take the country or the party.
” People noticed .
In the Iowa caucuses , on 3 January 2008 , Giuliani came sixth out of seven candidates .
It was no cause to panic – after all , he had all but ignored Iowa .
But then came New Hampshire @ @ @ @ @ @ @ primary , the key to Giuliani ’ s grand plan , was on 29 January .
He came a distant third .
It was over .
Giuliani threw in the towel the next day , and endorsed McCain .
“ Giuliani has a history of kind of overestimating his political appeal , and also overreaching , ” Polner said .
“ He ’ s a guy who really craves relevance and attention , and the media spotlight – and power really.
” Giuliani had got attention and the media spotlight , for a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ mayor , being the mayor of the world , had counted for nought .
His dream of being president had ended – but his presence at the top of US politics was far from over .

If things had gone a little differently, Rudy Giuliani might have been elected president in 2008.
The former New York City mayor turned Donald Trump stooge led polling in the Republican primaries for almost a year, and was seen as someone who could defeat Hillary Clinton – then the presumptive Democratic nominee – in key metropolitan areas.
Giuliani, still riding a wave of good feeling from his handling of the 9/11 attacks, was raising serious amounts of cash, and was the best-known of the Republican candidates. He had a very real chance of succeeding George W Bush.
But Giuliani’s campaign collapsed in chaotic fashion, and he became a political irrelevance – until re-emerging a decade later as Donald Trump’s lawyer, mouthpiece, bungling envoy to Ukraine and a central character in the third impeachment of an American president.
It’s hard to imagine now, but at the end of 2006, Giuliani was the most popular politician in the country. In March 2007, after Giuliani formally announced his White House campaign, he was the early favorite to win the Republican primary contest, with 44% support nationwide. (John McCain, the eventual nominee, was second with 20%.) Giuliani maintained that lead throughout the year, and raised the most money.
Armed with a campaign slogan that read like the responses to a word-association examination – “Tested. Ready. Now” – Giuliani seemed destined to represent the Republican party in the November 2008 election.
“When Rudy Giuliani entered the race he was seen as the frontrunner,” said Capri Cafaro, a former minority leader of the Ohio senate and an adjunct professor at the American University school of public affairs. Oprah Winfrey had dubbed Giuliani “America’s mayor” following the 9/11 attacks – a moniker that stuck – while Time magazine went further, naming Giuliani its person of the year for 2001 and branding him “mayor of the world”.
Cafaro said: “His strength predominantly came from being seen as America’s mayor – in light of this being just a few years after 9/11. [He was] playing to his strengths: his strengths in national security and essentially being able to rise to the occasion as a leader.”
Giuliani wasn’t shy of leaning into that, which led to mockery as he launched his campaign.
“When he decided to run for president he was being laughed at by the late-night comedians for answering every question by mentioning 9/11,” said Robert Polner, who covered Giuliani’s mayoralty as a reporter for Newsday, and later edited a book on Giuliani: America’s Mayor, America’s President?
Giuliani with Bush and fire commissioner Thomas Van Essen just after the 9/11 attacks in 2001. Photograph: Doug Mills/AP
It wasn’t just late-night comics poking fun. Joe Biden, then running – for the second time – to be the Democratic nominee, mused of Giuliani: “There’s only three things he mentions in a sentence: a noun, a verb and 9/11.” The Onion ran a piece with the headline: “Giuliani to run for president of 9/11”.
“He was still trying to ride his fame and convert that into primary votes,” Polner said. “[But] he had no real plan as to what he would do if he was president.”
Giuliani was still leading the polls in the summer of 2007, six months out from the first Republican vote in Iowa. But he hit an unexpected problem, in the form of a man dressed in a chicken suit – the “Iowa Chicken” – who tirelessly followed Giuliani around in protest at him skipping the Ames straw poll, a traditional barometer of the Republican primary race.
That wasn’t the end of Giuliani’s Iowa troubles. He decided, essentially, to skip the first state to vote and did not place much stock in second-to-vote New Hampshire. Instead Giuliani pinned his hopes on Florida.
Many people saw this as a bad decision, including the Guardian’s then Washington correspondent, Ewen MacAskill.
“History will show the unconventional, and ultimately catastrophic, strategy to be one of the biggest miscalculations in US campaign history,” MacAskill wrote in 2008, as Giuliani’s campaign collapsed around him. “One that has brought Giuliani’s ambitions to be the 44th US president to a humiliating end.”
Giuliani’s Florida gameplan was based on the idea that for some Republicans elsewhere, he just wasn’t conservative enough. Giuliani, by this point, was on his third marriage – he has since completed his third divorce – and as mayor of New York had embraced positions that were anathema to socially conservative Republican supporters. In Florida, at least, there was a diaspora of ex-New Yorkers, and some supportive centrist primary voters.
But his past might well have doomed him nationally.
Cafaro said: “One of the reasons why he failed is not necessarily because he decided to focus on one or two major primaries, but because he was seen as being out of step with the values of the Republican primary voter.”
He said: “As someone who was pro-choice, and had been married three times, somebody who was from New York, somebody that was a little bit more lenient on some of the social issues, including civil unions for same-sex partnerships, so those things were not embraced in that primary. I think that’s really what hurt him.”
Also stacked against Giuliani: his lack of focus. When he lost the 1989 election for New York mayor, Giuliani spent the next four years, according to Polner, “meeting with people, studying different aspects of the city, and preparing to become a politician”. That period of reflection and strategizing worked – Giuliani defeated the Democrat David Dinkins in 1993 – but he failed to apply it in 2008.
“When he jumped in for president, it seemed more like impulse power, and he was just running on the fumes” of being mayor on 9/11, Polner said.
In this picture from October 2003, Giuliani supports Arnold Schwarzenegger in his bid to become California’s governor. Photograph: Stephan Savoia/AP
“He hadn’t established a base or network of Republicans in key states, and he didn’t have any well-developed positions on where he wanted to take the country or the party.”
People noticed. In the Iowa caucuses, on 3 January 2008, Giuliani came sixth out of seven candidates. It was no cause to panic – after all, he had all but ignored Iowa. But then came New Hampshire. Giuliani came fourth.
The Florida primary, the key to Giuliani’s grand plan, was on 29 January. He came a distant third. It was over. Giuliani threw in the towel the next day, and endorsed McCain.
“Giuliani has a history of kind of overestimating his political appeal, and also overreaching,” Polner said. “He’s a guy who really craves relevance and attention, and the media spotlight – and power really.”
Giuliani had got attention and the media spotlight, for a while, yet being America’s mayor, being the mayor of the world, had counted for nought. His dream of being president had ended – but his presence at the top of US politics was far from over.


theguardian--2020-01-19--A Very Stable Genius review: dysfunction and disaster at the court of King Donald

A Very Stable Genius review : dysfunction and disaster at the court of King Donald A Very Stable Genius review : dysfunction and disaster at the court of King Donald In January 2018 , Michael Wolff ’ s Fire and Fury made headlines as it depicted a president out of control and a White House that careened from crisis to crisis .
Donald Trump threatened legal action against author and publisher .
He also lauded himself and his electoral college victory : “ I think that would qualify as not smart , but genius … and a very stable genius @ @ @ @ @ @ @ outburst confirmed what many already feared .
In the aftermath of the firing of FBI director James Comey in May 2017 , Rod Rosenstein , then deputy attorney general , reportedly weighed secretly recording the president with an eye to removing him from office under the 25th amendment .
Now Philip Rucker and Carol Leonnig of the Washington Post offer A Very Stable Genius .
As befitting Pulitzer winners for investigative reporting , their book is richly sourced and highly readable .
It sheds new light on how the 45th president tests the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ patience and dignity of those who work for or with him .
It is not just another Trump tell-all or third-party confessional .
It is unsettling , not salacious .
Trump himself was quick to criticize the book , calling its authors “ two third rate Washington Post reporters ” .
In a tweet on Saturday night , the president said the book was “ all for the purpose of demeaning and belittling a President who is getting great things done for our Country , at a record clip ” .
Rucker and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ over immigration and the attempt to replace John Kelly with Chris Christie as White House chief of staff .
It also closely examines the scrum between Bill Barr , the attorney general , and Bob Mueller over Barr ’ s handling of the special counsel ’ s report on Russian election interference and links between Trump and Moscow .
Trump ’ s West Wing is tantamount to a family business and everything is personal .
Jared Kushner and Ivanka Trump obtain security clearances because they are kin .
After publicly punting the issue @ @ @ @ @ @ @ applying pressure privately .
“ I wish we could make this go away , ” he reportedly told Kelly .
“ This is a problem.
” Said differently , protocols and national security were treated as impediments , not safeguards , when Javanka got involved .
When Trump cuts Kelly loose , Kushner and Ivanka are depicted as coveting the job .
Their ambitions go unfulfilled but they continue to lurk in the background .
Told by Rudy Giuliani that Trump wants him as his chief of staff , Christie asks why he @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ t leaving .
For record , as a federal prosecutor Christie sent Charlie Kushner , Jared ’ s father , to prison for “ one of the most loathsome , disgusting crimes ” on Christie ’ s watch .
“ Why the fuck am I going to take this job ?
” the former New Jersey governor exclaims .
“ You guys are nuts .
I ’ m not going in there.
” Still , Ivanka purportedly telephoned Christie ’ s wife , Pat , to assure her bygones would be bygones @ @ @ @ @ @ @ A Very Stable Genius also chronicles the back and forth between Trump ’ s lawyers and the special counsel ’ s office and the interplay between Barr and Mueller .
Under George HW Bush , Barr was attorney general and Mueller headed the criminal division at the justice department .
The two men were friends .
Yet when Barr rolled out his summary of Mueller ’ s report , Leonnig and Rucker write , the special counsel “ looked as if he ’ d been slapped ” .
When Mueller sent a rebuttal @ @ @ @ @ @ @ summary , Barr was “ pissed ” , thought the letter “ nasty ” and felt personally “ betrayed ” .
Barr and Mueller spoke by phone , a tense conversation that ended on “ an uplifting note.
” As for Trump and name-calling , nothing has changed .
As a candidate , he mocked John McCain , a gold star family , a Latino judge and a disabled reporter .
Life at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue has not alloyed that spirit .
At a meeting in the Pentagon ’ s inner sanctum , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Trump derided America ’ s generals as “ dopes and babies ” .
He added : “ I wouldn ’ t go to war with you people.
” Debasement was a coin of the realm .
When Kirstjen Nielsen , secretary of homeland security and a Kelly deputy , balked at Trump ’ s demands on immigration , he berated her looks and height .
For good measure , according to the authors , Trump would call her at 5am , just for the sake of harassment .
After James Mattis advised Trump @ @ @ @ @ @ @ secretary , Trump moved his departure up two months .
At a cabinet meeting , the president bragged that he had “ essentially ” fired the four-star general .
For the president , policy differences invariably exploded into a matter of honor .
Mattis ’ s resignation letter omitted any praise for the commander-in-chief .
“ Because you have the right to have a secretary of defense whose views are better aligned with yours , ” he wrote , “ I believe it is right for me to step down.
” Likewise , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s replacement as national security adviser , for his mien and wardrobe .
The scholarly McMaster was always on borrowed time .
Says one of McMaster ’ s aides , Trump “ doesn ’ t fire people … he tortures them until they ’ re willing to quit.
” Clearly , Trumpworld has its share of casualties .
Paul Manafort , a campaign manager , and Michael Cohen , a lawyer , sit imprisoned .
Flynn and Roger Stone , a longtime political confidante , await sentencing .
Trump ’ s allergy @ @ @ @ @ @ @ contention he doesn ’ t know Lev Parnas is belied by video and email .
The US now admits 11 troops attacked by Iran ’ s missiles were treated for concussions .
Leonnig and Rucker quote Bill Galston of the Brookings Institution , who says Trump “ appears to be daring the rest of the political system to stop him – and if it doesn ’ t he ’ ll go further .
The law has no force without people who are willing to enforce it.
” As the Senate marches toward an @ @ @ @ @ @ @ election ticks on , truer words have seldom been spoken .

In January 2018, Michael Wolff’s Fire and Fury made headlines as it depicted a president out of control and a White House that careened from crisis to crisis. Donald Trump threatened legal action against author and publisher. He also lauded himself and his electoral college victory: “I think that would qualify as not smart, but genius … and a very stable genius at that!”
Trump’s outburst confirmed what many already feared. In the aftermath of the firing of FBI director James Comey in May 2017, Rod Rosenstein, then deputy attorney general, reportedly weighed secretly recording the president with an eye to removing him from office under the 25th amendment.
Now Philip Rucker and Carol Leonnig of the Washington Post offer A Very Stable Genius. As befitting Pulitzer winners for investigative reporting, their book is richly sourced and highly readable.
It sheds new light on how the 45th president tests the boundaries of the office while trying the patience and dignity of those who work for or with him. It is not just another Trump tell-all or third-party confessional. It is unsettling, not salacious.
Trump himself was quick to criticize the book, calling its authors “two third rate Washington Post reporters”. In a tweet on Saturday night, the president said the book was “all for the purpose of demeaning and belittling a President who is getting great things done for our Country, at a record clip”.
Rucker and Leonnig lift the curtain on internal battles over immigration and the attempt to replace John Kelly with Chris Christie as White House chief of staff. It also closely examines the scrum between Bill Barr, the attorney general, and Bob Mueller over Barr’s handling of the special counsel’s report on Russian election interference and links between Trump and Moscow.
Trump’s West Wing is tantamount to a family business and everything is personal
Trump’s West Wing is tantamount to a family business and everything is personal. Jared Kushner and Ivanka Trump obtain security clearances because they are kin.
After publicly punting the issue to Kelly, Trump is described as applying pressure privately. “I wish we could make this go away,” he reportedly told Kelly. “This is a problem.” Said differently, protocols and national security were treated as impediments, not safeguards, when Javanka got involved.
When Trump cuts Kelly loose, Kushner and Ivanka are depicted as coveting the job. Their ambitions go unfulfilled but they continue to lurk in the background.
Told by Rudy Giuliani that Trump wants him as his chief of staff, Christie asks why he would want the job if Kushner isn’t leaving. For record, as a federal prosecutor Christie sent Charlie Kushner, Jared’s father, to prison for “one of the most loathsome, disgusting crimes” on Christie’s watch.
“Why the fuck am I going to take this job?” the former New Jersey governor exclaims. “You guys are nuts. I’m not going in there.”
Still, Ivanka purportedly telephoned Christie’s wife, Pat, to assure her bygones would be bygones. It didn’t work.
A Very Stable Genius also chronicles the back and forth between Trump’s lawyers and the special counsel’s office and the interplay between Barr and Mueller. Under George HW Bush, Barr was attorney general and Mueller headed the criminal division at the justice department. The two men were friends.
Yet when Barr rolled out his summary of Mueller’s report, Leonnig and Rucker write, the special counsel “looked as if he’d been slapped”. When Mueller sent a rebuttal letter, objecting to Barr’s summary, Barr was “pissed”, thought the letter “nasty” and felt personally “betrayed”. Barr and Mueller spoke by phone, a tense conversation that ended on “an uplifting note.”
As for Trump and name-calling, nothing has changed. As a candidate, he mocked John McCain, a gold star family, a Latino judge and a disabled reporter. Life at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue has not allayed that spirit.
At a meeting in the Pentagon’s inner sanctum, the “Tank”, the draft-dodging Trump derided America’s generals as “dopes and babies”. He added: “I wouldn’t go to war with you people.” Debasement was a coin of the realm.
When Kirstjen Nielsen, secretary of homeland security and a Kelly deputy, balked at Trump’s demands on immigration, he berated her looks and height. For good measure, according to the authors, Trump would call her at 5am, just for the sake of harassment.
After James Mattis advised Trump of his intent to resign as defense secretary, Trump moved his departure up two months. At a cabinet meeting, the president bragged that he had “essentially” fired the four-star general. For the president, policy differences invariably exploded into a matter of honor.
Trump speaks to the media while James Mattis minds his own business, in the cabinet room at the White House. Photograph: Leah Millis/Reuters
Mattis’s resignation letter omitted any praise for the commander-in-chief. “Because you have the right to have a secretary of defense whose views are better aligned with yours,” he wrote, “I believe it is right for me to step down.”
Likewise, Trump mocked HR McMaster, Michael Flynn’s replacement as national security adviser, for his mien and wardrobe. The scholarly McMaster was always on borrowed time.
Says one of McMaster’s aides, Trump “doesn’t fire people … he tortures them until they’re willing to quit.”
Clearly, Trumpworld has its share of casualties. Paul Manafort, a campaign manager, and Michael Cohen, a lawyer, sit imprisoned. Flynn and Roger Stone, a longtime political confidante, await sentencing.
Trump’s allergy to reality remains on display. His contention he doesn’t know Lev Parnas is belied by video and email. The US now admits 11 troops attacked by Iran’s missiles were treated for concussions.
Leonnig and Rucker quote Bill Galston of the Brookings Institution, who says Trump “appears to be daring the rest of the political system to stop him – and if it doesn’t he’ll go further. The law has no force without people who are willing to enforce it.”
As the Senate marches toward an impeachment trial and the countdown to the election ticks on, truer words have seldom been spoken.


theguardian--2020-01-19--Trump legal team calls impeachment 'brazen' attempt to overturn election

Donald Trump ’ s legal team has delivered a fiery response to impeachment summons from the Senate , calling the two articles passed by the House “ a dangerous attack on the right of the American people to freely choose their president ” .
“ This is a brazen and unlawful attempt to overturn the results of the 2016 election and interfere with the 2020 election , now just months away , ” the lawyers said on Saturday , also claiming the charges against the president were invalid as they did not concern a crime .
Impeachment is a political @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Under the US constitution , the president can be removed if found guilty of whatever lawmakers consider to be “ high crimes and misdemeanours ” .
Trump is charged with abusing his power and obstructing Congress .
On Saturday , House impeachment managers outlined their view of the case against Trump in a 111-page legal brief of their own .
It pulls together private and public testimony of a dozen witnesses , ambassadors and national security officials at high levels of government .
In a joint statement , the seven managers led by @ @ @ @ @ @ @ said their case was “ simple , the facts are indisputable , and the evidence is overwhelming : President Trump abused the power of his office to solicit foreign interference in our elections for his own personal political gain , thereby jeopardising our national security , the integrity of our elections , and our democracy ” .
“ And when the president got caught , he tried to cover it up by obstructing the House ’ s investigation into his misconduct.
” Trump ’ s legal team , led by White House counsel @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Sekulow , is challenging the impeachment on both procedural and constitutional grounds , claiming Trump has been mistreated by House Democrats and that he did nothing wrong .
Trump will file a more detailed legal brief on Monday , and the House will be able to respond to the Trump filing on Tuesday .
The case hinges on a 25 July phone call with Ukrainian leader Volodymyr Zelenskiy , in which Trump asked his counterpart to do him a “ favour ” and investigate both a conspiracy theory concerning election interference and ties @ @ @ @ @ @ @ son , Hunter Biden , and the eastern European country .
Biden remains a possible Democratic candidate for president .
At the time of the Ukraine call , Trump was withholding from Kyiv nearly $ 400m of military aid and the prospect of a White House meeting for Zelenskiy .
Trump ’ s legal team for the Senate trial , starting on Tuesday , will also include Ken Starr , whose investigation led to the impeachment of Bill Clinton , and former Harvard professor , Alan Dershowitz .
Both have been fixtures on @ @ @ @ @ @ @ have echoed warnings from Senate majority leader Mitch McConnell that the lawyers must be sensitive to staid Senate traditions and not use the sharp rhetoric exhibited during House proceedings last year .
Many observers suggest the slow nature of the trial will prove a turnoff to the American public , boosting Trump ’ s hopes of surviving unscathed .
Others report that the president wants to add fire and TV knowhow to the team mounting his defence .
White House lawyers succeeded in blocking Trump from adding House Republicans to his team , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ against picking Dershowitz .
They are concerned about the professor ’ s association with Jeffrey Epstein , the financier who killed himself in a New York jail last summer while awaiting trial on sex trafficking charges .
Dershowitz has said he will deliver constitutional arguments defending Trump from allegations he abused his power and obstructed Congress .
Former New York mayor and current Trump lawyer Rudy Giuliani told the AP the president had a “ top-notch ” team and insisted he was not disappointed to be excluded .
Giuliani , who many in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to impeachment over Ukraine , said his focus would be on being a potential witness .
On Friday , House Democrats released documents , text messages , audio recordings and photos turned over by Lev Parnas , a Giuliani associate indicted on campaign finance charges .
The release included photos of the Soviet-born businessman posing with Giuliani , Trump and Donald Trump Jr .
Messages between Parnas and a staffer for Devin Nunes , a congressman and Trump ally , were also released .
Parnas appeared to be connecting the staffer to Ukrainian @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the Bidens .
The documents also raised more questions about the security of Marie Yovanovitch , a former ambassador to Ukraine who testified in House impeachment proceedings .
An unidentified individual with a Belgian country code appeared to describe Yovanovitch ’ s movements .
The document release followed the announcement by the Government Accountability Office that the White House violated federal law by withholding congressionally approved security aid .
The White House said it did not have to follow decisions by the GAO because it is an arm of Congress .
White House @ @ @ @ @ @ @ aid to Kyiv .
But the GAO report and Parnas documents intensified the pressure senators have been under to call more witnesses for the trial .
The White House has instructed officials to disregard subpoenas seeking testimony or information .
On Saturday Lisa Murkowski of Alaska , a moderate Republican wooed by Democrats , told reporters she was comfortable waiting to decide if more information was needed until after hearing arguments from House managers and attorneys for Trump and questions from other senators .
Trump seems certain to survive the Senate trial , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to convict and remove him and Republicans remain in line behind him .
In their statement on Saturday , the House impeachment managers said senators “ must accept and fulfil the responsibility placed on them by the framers of our constitution and the oaths they have just taken to do impartial justice .
They must conduct a fair trial – fair to the president and fair to the American people ” .

Martin Pengelly in New York and agencies

Donald Trump’s legal team has delivered a fiery response to impeachment summons from the Senate, calling the two articles passed by the House “a dangerous attack on the right of the American people to freely choose their president”.
“This is a brazen and unlawful attempt to overturn the results of the 2016 election and interfere with the 2020 election, now just months away,” the lawyers said on Saturday, also claiming the charges against the president were invalid as they did not concern a crime.
Impeachment is a political process, not a criminal one. Under the US constitution, the president can be removed if found guilty of whatever lawmakers consider to be “high crimes and misdemeanours”. Trump is charged with abusing his power and obstructing Congress.
On Saturday, House impeachment managers outlined their view of the case against Trump in a 111-page legal brief of their own. It pulls together private and public testimony of a dozen witnesses, ambassadors and national security officials at high levels of government.
In a joint statement, the seven managers led by the Democratic intelligence committee chair Adam Schiff said their case was “simple, the facts are indisputable, and the evidence is overwhelming: President Trump abused the power of his office to solicit foreign interference in our elections for his own personal political gain, thereby jeopardising our national security, the integrity of our elections, and our democracy”.
“And when the president got caught, he tried to cover it up by obstructing the House’s investigation into his misconduct.”
Trump’s legal team, led by White House counsel Pat Cipollone and Trump personal lawyer Jay Sekulow, is challenging the impeachment on both procedural and constitutional grounds, claiming Trump has been mistreated by House Democrats and that he did nothing wrong.
Trump will file a more detailed legal brief on Monday, and the House will be able to respond to the Trump filing on Tuesday.
The case hinges on a 25 July phone call with Ukrainian leader Volodymyr Zelenskiy, in which Trump asked his counterpart to do him a “favour” and investigate both a conspiracy theory concerning election interference and ties between former vice-president Joe Biden and his son, Hunter Biden, and the eastern European country.
Biden remains a possible Democratic candidate for president. At the time of the Ukraine call, Trump was withholding from Kyiv nearly $400m of military aid and the prospect of a White House meeting for Zelenskiy.
Trump’s legal team for the Senate trial, starting on Tuesday,will also include Ken Starr, whose investigation led to the impeachment of Bill Clinton, and former Harvard professor, Alan Dershowitz.
Both have been fixtures on Fox News. Some in the administration have echoed warnings from Senate majority leader Mitch McConnell that the lawyers must be sensitive to staid Senate traditions and not use the sharp rhetoric exhibited during House proceedings last year.
Many observers suggest the slow nature of the trial will prove a turnoff to the American public, boosting Trump’s hopes of surviving unscathed. Others report that the president wants to add fire and TV knowhow to the team mounting his defence.
White House lawyers succeeded in blocking Trump from adding House Republicans to his team, the AP reported, but also advised against picking Dershowitz. They are concerned about the professor’s association with Jeffrey Epstein, the financier who killed himself in a New York jail last summer while awaiting trial on sex trafficking charges.
Dershowitz has said he will deliver constitutional arguments defending Trump from allegations he abused his power and obstructed Congress.
Former New York mayor and current Trump lawyer Rudy Giuliani told the AP the president had a “top-notch” team and insisted he was not disappointed to be excluded. Giuliani, who many in the White House blame for leading Trump to impeachment over Ukraine, said his focus would be on being a potential witness.
On Friday, House Democrats released documents, text messages, audio recordings and photos turned over by Lev Parnas, a Giuliani associate indicted on campaign finance charges. The release included photos of the Soviet-born businessman posing with Giuliani, Trump and Donald Trump Jr.
Rudy Giuliani, left, with Lev Parnas at the Trump Hotel in Washington in September. Photograph: Reuters Staff/Reuters
Messages between Parnas and a staffer for Devin Nunes, a congressman and Trump ally, were also released. Parnas appeared to be connecting the staffer to Ukrainian officials who pushed unfounded corruption allegations against the Bidens.
The documents also raised more questions about the security of Marie Yovanovitch, a former ambassador to Ukraine who testified in House impeachment proceedings. An unidentified individual with a Belgian country code appeared to describe Yovanovitch’s movements.
The document release followed the announcement by the Government Accountability Office that the White House violated federal law by withholding congressionally approved security aid.
The White House said it did not have to follow decisions by the GAO because it is an arm of Congress. White House officials noted that Trump did send the aid to Kyiv.
But the GAO report and Parnas documents intensified the pressure senators have been under to call more witnesses for the trial. The White House has instructed officials to disregard subpoenas seeking testimony or information.
On Saturday Lisa Murkowski of Alaska, a moderate Republican wooed by Democrats, told reporters she was comfortable waiting to decide if more information was needed until after hearing arguments from House managers and attorneys for Trump and questions from other senators.
Trump seems certain to survive the Senate trial, as a two-thirds majority will be needed to convict and remove him and Republicans remain in line behind him.
In their statement on Saturday, the House impeachment managers said senators “must accept and fulfill the responsibility placed on them by the framers of our constitution and the oaths they have just taken to do impartial justice. They must conduct a fair trial – fair to the president and fair to the American people”.


theguardian--2020-01-19--Trump is on trial for abusing his power – the Davos elites should join him | Robert Reich

As the Senate debates Donald Trump ’ s future , chief executives , financiers and politicians will descend on Davos in the Swiss Alps for their annual self-congratulatory defense of global capitalism .
The events are not unrelated .
Trump is charged with abusing his power .
Capitalism ’ s global elite is under assault for abusing its power as well : fueling inequality , fostering corruption and doing squat about climate change .
Chief executives of the largest global corporations are raking in more money and at a larger multiple of their workers ’ pay than at any time @ @ @ @ @ @ @ leading financiers are pocketing even more .
The 26 richest people on Earth now own as much as the 3.8 billion who form the poorer half of the planet ’ s population .
Concentrated wealth on this scale invites corruption .
Across the world , big money is buying off politicians to procure favors that further enlarge the wealth of those at the top , while siphoning off resources from everyone else .
Corruption makes it impossible to fight stagnant wages , climate change or any other problem facing the vast majority of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ require some sacrifice by the rich .
Popular anger is boiling over against elites seen as irredeemably greedy , corrupt and indifferent to the plight of most people struggling to get by .
The anger has fueled uprisings in Chile , Spain , Ecuador , Lebanon , Egypt and Bolivia ; environmental protests in the UK , Germany , Austria , France and New Zealand ; and xenophobic politics in the US , the UK , Brazil and Hungary .
Trump ’ s support comes largely from America ’ s working class whose @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , whose jobs are less secure than ever and whose political voice has been drowned out by big money .
Although Trump has given corporations and Wall Street everything they ’ ve wanted and nothing has trickled down to his supporters , he has convinced those supporters he ’ s on their side by channeling their rage on to foreigners , immigrants , minorities and “ deep state ” bureaucrats .
It seems strangely appropriate , therefore , that the theme of this year ’ s Davos conclave is “ stakeholder capitalism ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ responsibility to their workers , communities and the environment as well as to their shareholders .
Expect endless speeches touting the “ long-term ” benefits of stakeholder capitalism to corporate bottom lines : happy workers are more productive .
A growing middle class can buy more goods and services .
Climate change is beginning to cost a bundle in terms of environmental calamities and insurance , so it must be stopped .
All true , but the assembled CEOs know they ’ ll get richer far quicker if they boost equity values in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ shares of stock , suppressing wages , fighting unions , resisting environmental regulations and buying off politicians for tax cuts and subsidies .
This has been their strategy for three decades , and it ’ s about to get worse .
Three researchers – Daniel Greenwald at MIT ’ s Sloan School , Martin Lettau at Berkeley and Sydney Ludvigson at NYU – found that between 1952 and 1988 , economic growth accounted for 92 % of the rise in equity values .
But since 1989 most of the increase has come from @ @ @ @ @ @ @ from labor compensation ” .
In other words , from workers .
What this means is that in order for the stock market to do as well in coming years , either economic growth has to accelerate markedly ( highly unlikely ) , or chief executives will have to siphon off even more of the gains from growth from workers and other stakeholders to their shareholders .
This is likely to require even more downward pressure on wages , more payoffs to politicians for tax cuts and subsidies and further rollbacks of environmental @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the prevailing discontent .
There will be no mention at Davos of any of this , nor of the increasing political and economic power of these elites and the diminishing power of average workers and citizens around the world .
Nothing will be achieved in the Swiss Alps because the growing global discontent has yet to affect the bottom lines of the corporations and financial institutions whose leaders are assembling to congratulate themselves on their wealth , influence and benevolence .
Trump , meanwhile , is likely to be acquitted by Senate Republicans @ @ @ @ @ @ @ they will ignore his flagrantly unconstitutional acts .
Trump plans to speak at Davos , by the way : an impeached president addressing world economic leaders while being tried in the Senate .
He ’ ll probably boast about the stock market , bully and lie , as usual .
One thing he won ’ t say is that the whatever-it-takes abuses of economic and political power such as he and much of his audience are engaged in threaten to destroy capitalism , democracy and the planet .
• None Robert Reich , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is professor of public policy at the University of California at Berkeley and the author of Saving Capitalism : For the Many , Not the Few and The Common Good .
His next book , The System : Who Rigged It , How We Fix It , will be out in March .
He is a columnist for Guardian US

As the Senate debates Donald Trump’s future, chief executives, financiers and politicians will descend on Davos in the Swiss Alps for their annual self-congratulatory defense of global capitalism.
The events are not unrelated. Trump is charged with abusing his power. Capitalism’s global elite is under assault for abusing its power as well: fueling inequality, fostering corruption and doing squat about climate change.
Chief executives of the largest global corporations are raking in more money and at a larger multiple of their workers’ pay than at any time in history. The world’s leading financiers are pocketing even more. The 26 richest people on Earth now own as much as the 3.8 billion who form the poorer half of the planet’s population.
Concentrated wealth on this scale invites corruption. Across the world, big money is buying off politicians to procure favors that further enlarge the wealth of those at the top, while siphoning off resources from everyone else.
Corruption makes it impossible to fight stagnant wages, climate change or any other problem facing the vast majority of the world’s population that would require some sacrifice by the rich.
Popular anger is boiling over against elites seen as irredeemably greedy, corrupt and indifferent
Popular anger is boiling over against elites seen as irredeemably greedy, corrupt and indifferent to the plight of most people struggling to get by. The anger has fueled uprisings in Chile, Spain, Ecuador, Lebanon, Egypt and Bolivia; environmental protests in the UK, Germany, Austria, France and New Zealand; and xenophobic politics in the US, the UK, Brazil and Hungary.
Trump’s support comes largely from America’s working class whose wages haven’t risen in decades, whose jobs are less secure than ever and whose political voice has been drowned out by big money.
Although Trump has given corporations and Wall Street everything they’ve wanted and nothing has trickled down to his supporters, he has convinced those supporters he’s on their side by channeling their rage on to foreigners, immigrants, minorities and “deep state” bureaucrats.
It seems strangely appropriate, therefore, that the theme of this year’s Davos conclave is “stakeholder capitalism” – the idea that corporations have a responsibility to their workers, communities and the environment as well as to their shareholders.
Expect endless speeches touting the “long-term” benefits of stakeholder capitalism to corporate bottom lines: happy workers are more productive. A growing middle class can buy more goods and services. Climate change is beginning to cost a bundle in terms of environmental calamities and insurance, so it must be stopped.
All true, but the assembled CEOs know they’ll get richer far quicker if they boost equity values in the short term by buying back their shares of stock, suppressing wages, fighting unions, resisting environmental regulations and buying off politicians for tax cuts and subsidies.
This has been their strategy for three decades, and it’s about to get worse. Three researchers – Daniel Greenwald at MIT’s Sloan School, Martin Lettau at Berkeley and Sydney Ludvigson at NYU – found that between 1952 and 1988, economic growth accounted for 92% of the rise in equity values. But since 1989 most of the increase has come from “reallocated rents to shareholders and away from labor compensation”. In other words, from workers.
What this means is that in order for the stock market to do as well in coming years, either economic growth has to accelerate markedly (highly unlikely), or chief executives will have to siphon off even more of the gains from growth from workers and other stakeholders to their shareholders.
This is likely to require even more downward pressure on wages, more payoffs to politicians for tax cuts and subsidies and further rollbacks of environmental regulations. All of which will worsen the prevailing discontent.
There will be no mention at Davos of any of this, nor of the increasing political and economic power of these elites and the diminishing power of average workers and citizens around the world.
Nothing will be achieved in the Swiss Alps because the growing global discontent has yet to affect the bottom lines of the corporations and financial institutions whose leaders are assembling to congratulate themselves on their wealth, influence and benevolence.
Trump, meanwhile, is likely to be acquitted by Senate Republicans who are so cowardly and unprincipled that they will ignore his flagrantly unconstitutional acts.
Trump plans to speak at Davos, by the way: an impeached president addressing world economic leaders while being tried in the Senate. He’ll probably boast about the stock market, bully and lie, as usual.
One thing he won’t say is that the whatever-it-takes abuses of economic and political power such as he and much of his audience are engaged in threaten to destroy capitalism, democracy and the planet.