thenation--2020-06-18--Latinxs Don’t Need to Speak Spanish

Latinxs Don’t Need to Speak Spanish

Like many Latinxs raised in the United States , I ’ ve taken shit for not speaking perfect Spanish .
Mexicans even have a word for someone like me—someone born to a Mexican family north of the border , who speaks Spanish with an accent .
Pocho .
In its simplest sense , pocho ( literally meaning “ faded ” ) describes an Americanized Mexican .
It ’ s not a compliment , but like any Mexican slur , it gets equal use as an insult and as a term of endearment .
Growing up , I even found comfort @ @ @ @ @ @ @ I rarely had to explain myself to other Mexican Americans at school .
Instead , it was always white kids who took it upon themselves to police my race and ethnicity .
“ You ’ re not really Mexican , ” they would say when I spoke stilted Spanish .
In Latinx spaces , especially online , there ’ s a growing consensus arguing that knowledge of the Spanish language isn ’ t a prerequisite for Latinx identity .
It ’ s sometimes spilled into the wider public .
Last fall , Representative @ @ @ @ @ @ @ speaking Spanish in front of an audience .
( After the congresswoman ’ s recent conversation with the Puerto Rican rapper Residente , one Latina journalist commented on Twitter , “ Her pocha Spanish is so relatable to me.
” ) And in the most recent Democratic primary , after TV pundits repeatedly questioned Julián Castro ’ s identity because he didn ’ t speak Spanish , the former San Antonio mayor lamented that the media treated it as “ the only variable as to whether somebody is Latino or not , which @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” The ability to speak Spanish , he told The Washington Post , “ is just one part of the overall connection to the Latino community.
” This discourse has resonated with many Americanized Latinxs .
But missing from this discourse about Latinx identity is the reality of people who never spoke Spanish to begin with .
After all , Spanish—like English—is a colonizing tongue .
Today , across Latin America , millions instead primarily speak Indigenous languages .
For these people , the consequences of not speaking traditional Spanish fluently can be @ @ @ @ @ @ @ change , political violence , and migration patterns have uprooted these communities from their homes , many of these same people now face similarly oppressive environments within Latinx communities in the United States .
Hilaria Cruz , like me , was singled out by other students in grade school for not speaking Spanish .
Cruz , however , was born and raised in Mexico .
She grew up in the country ’ s mountainous southwestern region , living in a community of Chatino people , an Indigenous group that has inhabited the peaks @ @ @ @ @ @ @ years .
As a child , she spoke a rare form of the Chatino language with her family ; it wasn ’ t until she was 8 that she heard Spanish for the first time .
Her parents wanted her to get a formal education , and since Mexico offered no schools in Native languages at the time , her family walked five hours into the nearest mestizo town ( “ mestizo , ” in a simplified sense , means a mix of native and Spanish culture ) .
At her school , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the few Chatino students , shouting racial slurs at them : “ Indi*s !
Indi*s !
” Cruz , now an assistant professor in the department of Comparative Humanities at the University of Louisville , has studied how the Spanish imposed their language on Native people in Mexico .
She says that soldiers , missionaries , and interpreters traveled North America throughout the 16th and 17th centuries creating maps .
When the Spanish reached the mountains in modern day Oaxaca , they asked the people living there for their name and language .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ qne-a tnya-e , and their language was Chaq-f tnya-b .
The Spanish heard “ Chatino.
” They christened a town in one of the canyons and called it San Juan Quiahije , the same town that Cruz walked five hours from so she could attend school .
Five hundred years later , the town still resembles a colonial frontier in many ways : Native people face blatant discrimination , and the language barrier prevents their access to many social services .
For Cruz , the most fundamental institutions of the state—the schools , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Spanish .
Cruz is not alone .
In Mexico , millions of citizens speak Nahuatl , Mixteco , Zapoteco , and over 280 other native languages ( including over 40,000 Chatino speakers ) .
In Paraguay , Guaraní shares status with Spanish as the official language .
In Guatemala , people speak over 20 different Mayan languages .
In northern Colombia , the village of San Basilio de Palenque was founded by escaped African slaves , and today their descendants speak Palenquero , a blend of Portuguese and Kikongo , a Bantu language @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Americas , repression and colonial violence didn ’ t end with European rule .
Cruz recalls that in the mountains where she grew up , Spanish-speaking landowners constantly push to expand their farms into Native land , often with bloodshed .
In the Amazon basin , illegal logging and gold mining have constantly encroached on Indigenous peoples ’ lands .
Along with deforestation and violence , the land grabbers may have recently brought the coronavirus to some isolated Native groups in Brazil .
During the civil wars in El Salvador and Guatemala in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ against Maya and other Indigenous people .
In recent years , severe violence , climate change–fueled drought , and entrenched poverty have forced hundreds of thousands of Native people to leave their communities , especially in Central America .
Many have made their way north to the United States , meaning that the brunt of the repression the US government has enacted on the border since 2014 has largely fallen on Indigenous people : In the last two years , five of the seven migrant children who died in US custody have come @ @ @ @ @ @ @ detention centers across the country , lawyers have described a translation crisis , as both the government and NGOs fail to find translators for Native people in their court proceedings .
For Indigenous people who successfully immigrate to the United States , the presumption that Latinxs all speak Spanish can have serious repercussions .
With the spread of Covid-19 , the stakes are even higher .
For example , few informative resources on proper hygiene and social distancing exist in Indigenous languages ( though there have been some valiant efforts ) .
If @ @ @ @ @ @ @ across the country may incorrectly call in Spanish interpreters .
In 2008 , a Chatino woman named Cirila Baltazar Cruz ( no relation to Hilaria Cruz ) gave birth in Mississippi , but had her baby torn out of her arms by child protective services , after the Spanish-language translator incorrectly interpreted the mother ’ s description of her living conditions .
It took over a year—and a Southern Poverty Law Center legal case—for her to get custody of her daughter back .
Indigenous people and Afro-Latinxs also face a structural racism that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ Latino ” communities in the United States , in which immigrants who speak Native languages are often ostracized .
Scholars have a term for this latter form of racism : linguistic discrimination .
Spanish-speaking ability in a country like Mexico , or English-speaking ability in a country like the United States , can work like skin tone : a gradient that correlates—with heartbreaking consistency—to wealth , educational access , and even life expectancy .
Afro-Latinxs also endure intense racism that often centers on language .
In the United States , Cardi B—who @ @ @ @ @ @ @ facing racism for her accent in English , and facing bigoted challenges to her blackness simply because she speaks Spanish .
Even in Spanish-speaking countries , Dominicans ( a majority-black population ) often face prejudice because of their accents , which get unfairly criticized as “ deficient ” Spanish .
( Meanwhile , Hatian Creole speakers in the Dominican Republic face often brutal exclusion for not speaking Spanish at all . )
“ Stereotypes about language and stereotypes about racial categories get co-naturalized—they get constructed together , ” says Jonathan Rosa , a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Rosa says that linguistic discrimination doesn ’ t affect only foreign or minority languages—in the United States , racists have often criticized African American Vernacular .
“ Language is never too far from the picture when you talk about any racialized population , ” he says .
“ That population ’ s language is always stereotyped as linguistically deficient.
” There ’ s irony in the fact that many people in this country will call both Cruz and me “ Hispanic ” or “ Latino.
” If Latin Americans speak many different languages—and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” of what makes someone Latinx , as Castro says—what , then , actually defines Latinx identity ?
What do I , in California with my Spanglish and my quesadillas , have in common with a Mapuche person in southern Chile speaking Mapudungun and eating milcao ?
At the offices of the Mixteco/Indigena Community Organizing Project , or MICOP , Indigenous identity in the context of Latinidad , or “ Latino-ness , ” is a critical part of everyday work .
On any given day in MICOP ’ s headquarters , on California @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is filled with the sounds of Mixteco , English , and Spanish as people go about their work building political power among Mixteco immigrants , especially among California ’ s farmworkers .
MICOP was founded to help strengthen Mixtec and Indigenous community living in Ventura County .
( While Mixteco people are native to southwestern Mexico , tens of thousands of Mixtecos migrated to the United States in the 1980s and ’ 90s . )
Genieve Flores-Haro , the associate director of MICOP , says that one of the fundamental challenges the organization @ @ @ @ @ @ @ concept of Latinidad : “ If you ask certain members of my staff , they ’ ll say , ‘ Oh yeah , I ’ m Hispanic ’ ; others will say , ‘ I ’ m Latino , Latinx.
’ Then others members will say , ‘ No .
I am not Latino , Latinx .
I am Indigenous .
And then there ’ s another sect that takes that even further and says , ‘ No , I am not even Indigenous .
I ’ m Native.
’ ” When I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ says she “ finds it a little silly ” that people in the United States use “ Latina ” to refer to her .
In the states , the people who called themselves “ Latino ” were the same people who in Mexico asked her to go back to her community to find them a muchacha , a maid .
“ The only thing they thought Indigenous people were good for was to be servants .
So when I get grouped with these people , I don ’ t take it really seriously @ @ @ @ @ @ @ very different experience , even though I now speak fluent Spanish.
” Cruz ’ s attitude is mirrored by many Native people with a Latin American heritage living in the United States .
While Americanized Latinxs often wave a broad , ostensibly inclusionary banner of Latinidad , many Native people and Afro-Latinxs maintain a more separatist attitude : Why search for a place of belonging among one ’ s own oppressors ?
Such groups have promoted the idea of the abolition , of Latinidad , which many see as a white supremacist construct @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that both buries racial violence and erases black and Native experiences .
When I ask Cruz about what should be done , she says she ’ s not focused on identity as much as the practical issues such as health care , which has been made all the more serious during the pandemic .
“ It doesn ’ t feel like an imposition to me , ” she says of Latindad .
“ But it does bother me that there ’ s not a recognition of the existence of linguistic diversity in [ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ same reason , when Indigenous people seek access to medical care , that doctors and nurses will be completely ignorant and call a Spanish interpreter .
And if the patients can ’ t understand the Spanish interpreter , then they don ’ t get help .
”

Like many Latinxs raised in the United States, I’ve taken shit for not speaking perfect Spanish. Mexicans even have a word for someone like me—someone born to a Mexican family north of the border, who speaks Spanish with an accent. Pocho. In its simplest sense, pocho (literally meaning “faded”) describes an Americanized Mexican. It’s not a compliment, but like any Mexican slur, it gets equal use as an insult and as a term of endearment. Growing up, I even found comfort in the word. In California, I rarely had to explain myself to other Mexican Americans at school. Instead, it was always white kids who took it upon themselves to police my race and ethnicity. “You’re not really Mexican,” they would say when I spoke stilted Spanish.
In Latinx spaces, especially online, there’s a growing consensus arguing that knowledge of the Spanish language isn’t a prerequisite for Latinx identity. It’s sometimes spilled into the wider public. Last fall, Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez spoke candidly about her nerves speaking Spanish in front of an audience. (After the congresswoman’s recent conversation with the Puerto Rican rapper Residente, one Latina journalist commented on Twitter, “Her pocha Spanish is so relatable to me.”) And in the most recent Democratic primary, after TV pundits repeatedly questioned Julián Castro’s identity because he didn’t speak Spanish, the former San Antonio mayor lamented that the media treated it as “the only variable as to whether somebody is Latino or not, which is completely out of line with reality.” The ability to speak Spanish, he told The Washington Post, “is just one part of the overall connection to the Latino community.”
This discourse has resonated with many Americanized Latinxs. But missing from this discourse about Latinx identity is the reality of people who never spoke Spanish to begin with. After all, Spanish—like English—is a colonizing tongue. Today, across Latin America, millions instead primarily speak Indigenous languages. For these people, the consequences of not speaking traditional Spanish fluently can be serious and dangerous. And as climate change, political violence, and migration patterns have uprooted these communities from their homes, many of these same people now face similarly oppressive environments within Latinx communities in the United States.
Hilaria Cruz, like me, was singled out by other students in grade school for not speaking Spanish. Cruz, however, was born and raised in Mexico. She grew up in the country’s mountainous southwestern region, living in a community of Chatino people, an Indigenous group that has inhabited the peaks and canyons of Oaxaca for thousands of years. As a child, she spoke a rare form of the Chatino language with her family; it wasn’t until she was 8 that she heard Spanish for the first time. Her parents wanted her to get a formal education, and since Mexico offered no schools in Native languages at the time, her family walked five hours into the nearest mestizo town (“mestizo,” in a simplified sense, means a mix of native and Spanish culture). At her school, the children would form mobs and chase the few Chatino students, shouting racial slurs at them: “Indi*s! Indi*s!” Popular "swipe left below to view more authors"Swipe → The Evisceration of a Public University The Evisceration of a Public University Lisa M. Corrigan The Patronizing Moralism of David Brooks The Patronizing Moralism of David Brooks Chris Lehmann “The Blind Side” Was Always Trash “The Blind Side” Was Always Trash Dave Zirin A Grim Chronicle of Trump’s Corrupt Public Life A Grim Chronicle of Trump’s Corrupt Public Life Chris Lehmann Popular "swipe left below to view more authors"Swipe → The Evisceration of a Public University The Evisceration of a Public University Lisa M. Corrigan The Patronizing Moralism of David Brooks The Patronizing Moralism of David Brooks Chris Lehmann “The Blind Side” Was Always Trash “The Blind Side” Was Always Trash Dave Zirin A Grim Chronicle of Trump’s Corrupt Public Life A Grim Chronicle of Trump’s Corrupt Public Life Chris Lehmann
Cruz, now an assistant professor in the department of Comparative Humanities at the University of Louisville, has studied how the Spanish imposed their language on Native people in Mexico. She says that soldiers, missionaries, and interpreters traveled North America throughout the 16th and 17th centuries creating maps. When the Spanish reached the mountains in modern day Oaxaca, they asked the people living there for their name and language. They responded that they were called the qne-a tnya-e, and their language was Chaq-f tnya-b. The Spanish heard “Chatino.” They christened a town in one of the canyons and called it San Juan Quiahije, the same town that Cruz walked five hours from so she could attend school. Five hundred years later, the town still resembles a colonial frontier in many ways: Native people face blatant discrimination, and the language barrier prevents their access to many social services. For Cruz, the most fundamental institutions of the state—the schools, the courts, the hospitals—all existed in Spanish.
Cruz is not alone. In Mexico, millions of citizens speak Nahuatl, Mixteco, Zapoteco, and over 280 other native languages (including over 40,000 Chatino speakers). In Paraguay, Guaraní shares status with Spanish as the official language. In Guatemala, people speak over 20 different Mayan languages. In northern Colombia, the village of San Basilio de Palenque was founded by escaped African slaves, and today their descendants speak Palenquero, a blend of Portuguese and Kikongo, a Bantu language.
For many Indigenous people across the Americas, repression and colonial violence didn’t end with European rule. Cruz recalls that in the mountains where she grew up, Spanish-speaking landowners constantly push to expand their farms into Native land, often with bloodshed. In the Amazon basin, illegal logging and gold mining have constantly encroached on Indigenous peoples’ lands. Along with deforestation and violence, the land grabbers may have recently brought the coronavirus to some isolated Native groups in Brazil. During the civil wars in El Salvador and Guatemala in the 1980s, US-backed regimes committed genocide against Maya and other Indigenous people. Current Issue View our current issue
In recent years, severe violence, climate change–fueled drought, and entrenched poverty have forced hundreds of thousands of Native people to leave their communities, especially in Central America. Many have made their way north to the United States, meaning that the brunt of the repression the US government has enacted on the border since 2014 has largely fallen on Indigenous people: In the last two years, five of the seven migrant children who died in US custody have come from Indigenous communities, and in immigrant detention centers across the country, lawyers have described a translation crisis, as both the government and NGOs fail to find translators for Native people in their court proceedings.
For Indigenous people who successfully immigrate to the United States, the presumption that Latinxs all speak Spanish can have serious repercussions. With the spread of Covid-19, the stakes are even higher. For example, few informative resources on proper hygiene and social distancing exist in Indigenous languages (though there have been some valiant efforts). If Native people need emergency care, hospitals across the country may incorrectly call in Spanish interpreters. In 2008, a Chatino woman named Cirila Baltazar Cruz (no relation to Hilaria Cruz) gave birth in Mississippi, but had her baby torn out of her arms by child protective services, after the Spanish-language translator incorrectly interpreted the mother’s description of her living conditions. It took over a year—and a Southern Poverty Law Center legal case—for her to get custody of her daughter back.
Indigenous people and Afro-Latinxs also face a structural racism that reaches across Latin America and extends into “Latino” communities in the United States, in which immigrants who speak Native languages are often ostracized. Scholars have a term for this latter form of racism: linguistic discrimination. Spanish-speaking ability in a country like Mexico, or English-speaking ability in a country like the United States, can work like skin tone: a gradient that correlates—with heartbreaking consistency—to wealth, educational access, and even life expectancy.
Afro-Latinxs also endure intense racism that often centers on language. In the United States, Cardi B—who is a Dominican Afro-Latina—has spoken out about facing racism for her accent in English, and facing bigoted challenges to her blackness simply because she speaks Spanish. Even in Spanish-speaking countries, Dominicans (a majority-black population) often face prejudice because of their accents, which get unfairly criticized as “deficient” Spanish. (Meanwhile, Hatian Creole speakers in the Dominican Republic face often brutal exclusion for not speaking Spanish at all.)
“Stereotypes about language and stereotypes about racial categories get co-naturalized—they get constructed together,” says Jonathan Rosa, a professor of education at Stanford University. Rosa says that linguistic discrimination doesn’t affect only foreign or minority languages—in the United States, racists have often criticized African American Vernacular. “Language is never too far from the picture when you talk about any racialized population,” he says. “That population’s language is always stereotyped as linguistically deficient.”
There’s irony in the fact that many people in this country will call both Cruz and me “Hispanic” or “Latino.” If Latin Americans speak many different languages—and if language is only “one part” of what makes someone Latinx, as Castro says—what, then, actually defines Latinx identity? What do I, in California with my Spanglish and my quesadillas, have in common with a Mapuche person in southern Chile speaking Mapudungun and eating milcao?
At the offices of the Mixteco/Indigena Community Organizing Project, or MICOP, Indigenous identity in the context of Latinidad, or “Latino-ness,” is a critical part of everyday work. On any given day in MICOP’s headquarters, on California’s central coast, the office is filled with the sounds of Mixteco, English, and Spanish as people go about their work building political power among Mixteco immigrants, especially among California’s farmworkers. MICOP was founded to help strengthen Mixtec and Indigenous community living in Ventura County. (While Mixteco people are native to southwestern Mexico, tens of thousands of Mixtecos migrated to the United States in the 1980s and ’90s.)
Genieve Flores-Haro, the associate director of MICOP, says that one of the fundamental challenges the organization faces is how to work with the concept of Latinidad: “If you ask certain members of my staff, they’ll say, ‘Oh yeah, I’m Hispanic’; others will say, ‘I’m Latino, Latinx.’ Then others members will say, ‘No. I am not Latino, Latinx. I am Indigenous. And then there’s another sect that takes that even further and says, ‘No, I am not even Indigenous. I’m Native.’”
When I ask her about it, Hilaria Cruz says she “finds it a little silly” that people in the United States use “Latina” to refer to her. In the states, the people who called themselves “Latino” were the same people who in Mexico asked her to go back to her community to find them a muchacha, a maid. “The only thing they thought Indigenous people were good for was to be servants. So when I get grouped with these people, I don’t take it really seriously. I know I come from a very different experience, even though I now speak fluent Spanish.”
Cruz’s attitude is mirrored by many Native people with a Latin American heritage living in the United States. While Americanized Latinxs often wave a broad, ostensibly inclusionary banner of Latinidad, many Native people and Afro-Latinxs maintain a more separatist attitude: Why search for a place of belonging among one’s own oppressors? Such groups have promoted the idea of the abolition, of Latinidad, which many see as a white supremacist construct, and an empty form of solidarity that both buries racial violence and erases black and Native experiences.
When I ask Cruz about what should be done, she says she’s not focused on identity as much as the practical issues such as health care, which has been made all the more serious during the pandemic. “It doesn’t feel like an imposition to me,” she says of Latindad. “But it does bother me that there’s not a recognition of the existence of linguistic diversity in [Latin America]. This is the same reason, when Indigenous people seek access to medical care, that doctors and nurses will be completely ignorant and call a Spanish interpreter. And if the patients can’t understand the Spanish interpreter, then they don’t get help.”
This post has been updated.


thenation--2020-06-18--The Covid-19 Vaccine Should Belong to the People

Within weeks , President Donald Trump is expected to announce a short list of promising Covid-19 vaccine candidates .
As part of its Operation Warp Speed program , the Trump administration has given Big Pharma billions of dollars to expedite vaccine development , but provided little assurance that corporations will not profiteer .
This raises a crucial question : If we get a safe and effective vaccine , will everyone be able to afford it ?
The idea that some people would not receive a vaccine was once unthinkable .
In a now legendary story , Jonas Salk developed the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ away for free .
An interviewer once asked Salk who owned the patent for his polio vaccine .
He responded , “ Well , the people , I would say .
There is no patent.
” Salk was incredulous .
“ Could you patent the sun ?
” Since then , pharmaceutical corporations have patented the medical equivalent of the moon and the stars .
Patent monopolies have fueled the current drug pricing crisis , and they may block access to any future Covid-19 vaccine .
Consider the case of Moderna , the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the National Institutes of Health .
Moderna brags about its “ broad and deep patent estate ” on its website .
The company has been granted over a hundred patent monopolies globally .
If its vaccine proves safe and effective , Moderna ’ s monopolies will allow the corporation to set an exorbitant price .
Monopolies will also allow Moderna to block other manufacturers from supplying the vaccine .
It could throttle supply .
The decision would rest with Stéphane Bancel , the CEO of Moderna .
Will Bancel be a hero like @ @ @ @ @ @ @ trained scientists around the world to shore up supply .
Bancel , on the other hand , has watched as Wall Street investors pumped his corporation ’ s stock price and made him a billionaire .
Bancel has vaguely pledged to set a price in line with other respiratory vaccines—which cost up to $ 800—and flatly said , “ We won ’ t have enough supply at the global level.
” Despite this , Bancel has refused to relinquish his corporation ’ s monopolies .
The public should get a say .
Like @ @ @ @ @ @ @ public dollars .
His corporation received millions in funding as early as 2013 to help develop its new way of making vaccines .
Federal scientists helped design the new Covid-19 vaccine and are now running the critical human tests .
The government also just gave $ 483 million to scale manufacturing .
The public is paying at every stage for this potential vaccine—and so many others .
All five candidates Trump is expected to short-list have benefited from public funding .
Fortunately , we do not have to wait for Big Pharma to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ benevolent .
We can force executives to be like Salk .
The US government has the authority , under existing law , to break patent monopolies .
In exchange for a modest royalty , the government can and should allow any manufacturer to produce promising Covid-19 medicines .
The government threatened to use the approach to lower prices for a critical antibiotic when letters containing anthrax spores were sent to media outlets and the offices of Democratic Senators Tom Daschle and Patrick Leahy in 2001 .
The government should also require companies to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ production for promising medicines .
All contracts should safeguard affordability and availability for all .
The pharmaceutical industry ’ s principal objection to this approach would be its potential impact on innovation .
We understand the need for medical innovation more than most .
One of us was diagnosed at age 32 with ALS , a debilitating disease with a life expectancy of three to four years after diagnosis .
The industry claims that without extravagant rewards , there would be no extravagant effort .
But that story ignores just how deeply corporations @ @ @ @ @ @ @ The National Institutes of Health alone spends $ 41 billion annually advancing medical research .
Congress has appropriated billions more for Covid-19 work .
Yet the corporations who benefit from this investment will be under no obligation to act in the public interest .
When Salk developed the polio vaccine , President Dwight Eisenhower said he was a “ benefactor to mankind.
” His work was “ in the highest tradition of selfless and dedicated medical research.
” Salk taught us that vaccines belong to the people .
It is time we claim @ @ @ @

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Within weeks, President Donald Trump is expected to announce a short list of promising Covid-19 vaccine candidates. As part of its Operation Warp Speed program, the Trump administration has given Big Pharma billions of dollars to expedite vaccine development, but provided little assurance that corporations will not profiteer. This raises a crucial question: If we get a safe and effective vaccine, will everyone be able to afford it?
The idea that some people would not receive a vaccine was once unthinkable. In a now legendary story, Jonas Salk developed the polio vaccine in 1955—and then gave it away for free. An interviewer once asked Salk who owned the patent for his polio vaccine. He responded, “Well, the people, I would say. There is no patent.” Salk was incredulous. “Could you patent the sun?”
Since then, pharmaceutical corporations have patented the medical equivalent of the moon and the stars. Patent monopolies have fueled the current drug pricing crisis, and they may block access to any future Covid-19 vaccine.
Consider the case of Moderna, the biotechnology company developing a short-listed vaccine with the National Institutes of Health. Moderna brags about its “broad and deep patent estate” on its website. The company has been granted over a hundred patent monopolies globally. If its vaccine proves safe and effective, Moderna’s monopolies will allow the corporation to set an exorbitant price. Monopolies will also allow Moderna to block other manufacturers from supplying the vaccine. It could throttle supply. The decision would rest with Stéphane Bancel, the CEO of Moderna.
Will Bancel be a hero like Salk? Salk refused a monopoly and trained scientists around the world to shore up supply. Bancel, on the other hand, has watched as Wall Street investors pumped his corporation’s stock price and made him a billionaire. Bancel has vaguely pledged to set a price in line with other respiratory vaccines—which cost up to $800—and flatly said, “We won’t have enough supply at the global level.” Despite this, Bancel has refused to relinquish his corporation’s monopolies.
The public should get a say. Like Salk, Bancel has benefited greatly from public dollars. His corporation received millions in funding as early as 2013 to help develop its new way of making vaccines. Federal scientists helped design the new Covid-19 vaccine and are now running the critical human tests. The government also just gave $483 million to scale manufacturing. The public is paying at every stage for this potential vaccine—and so many others. All five candidates Trump is expected to short-list have benefited from public funding.
Fortunately, we do not have to wait for Big Pharma to find it in its heart to be benevolent. We can force executives to be like Salk. The US government has the authority, under existing law, to break patent monopolies. In exchange for a modest royalty, the government can and should allow any manufacturer to produce promising Covid-19 medicines. The government threatened to use the approach to lower prices for a critical antibiotic when letters containing anthrax spores were sent to media outlets and the offices of Democratic Senators Tom Daschle and Patrick Leahy in 2001. The government should also require companies to share know-how, and ramp up public production for promising medicines. All contracts should safeguard affordability and availability for all. Current Issue View our current issue
The pharmaceutical industry’s principal objection to this approach would be its potential impact on innovation. We understand the need for medical innovation more than most. One of us was diagnosed at age 32 with ALS, a debilitating disease with a life expectancy of three to four years after diagnosis. The industry claims that without extravagant rewards, there would be no extravagant effort. But that story ignores just how deeply corporations like Moderna rely on public science. The National Institutes of Health alone spends $41 billion annually advancing medical research. Congress has appropriated billions more for Covid-19 work. Yet the corporations who benefit from this investment will be under no obligation to act in the public interest.
When Salk developed the polio vaccine, President Dwight Eisenhower said he was a “benefactor to mankind.” His work was “in the highest tradition of selfless and dedicated medical research.” Salk taught us that vaccines belong to the people.
It is time we claim them as ours.


thenation--2020-06-19--ICE Detention Centers Are Covid-19 Hotbeds

The Signal : After savaging the United States ’ largest cities , the Covid-19 pandemic continues to race through incarcerated populations .
The New York Times reports that the country ’ s five largest clusters of infections are all inside prisons .
And since many states are still doing only minimal testing of prisoners , there are sure to be many more people behind bars with Covid-19 who haven ’ t yet been counted .
And it ’ s not only state prisons that are seeing shockingly high rates .
The Eloy Detention Center in Arizona , where several hundred @ @ @ @ @ @ @ has seen a more than 400 percent increase in the number of positive test results this past week .
While some of that may be due to an expansion in testing , it is also surely related to the fact that poor conditions in immigrant detention facilities allow the novel coronavirus to spread at a breakneck pace .
These conditions are detailed in a lawsuit filed last week that seeks to secure the release of medically vulnerable immigrant detainees from Eloy and another nearby facility , La Palma .
“ Infectious disease specialists @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , no conditions of confinement in carceral settings can adequately manage the serious risk of harm for medically vulnerable individuals during the Covid-19 pandemic , ” notes the lawsuit .
“ Even with improved conditions , Petitioners live in pods , or ‘ tanks , ’ and sleep in bunk beds , sharing common spaces and medical facilities with hundreds of other detainees .
Even in improved conditions , Petitioners are forced to share necessities like showers , telephones , and sinks with dozens of others.
” The pandemic seems to be picking @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , too—especially in the Sunbelt .
Mike Pence took his turn at manning the Noise machine by desperately trying to convince governors , on a conference call , that their numbers were heading in the right direction .
As part of their everything-is-back-to-normal strategy , the GOP-led Senate and the White House are also balking at extending expanded unemployment payments past July , and showing little enthusiasm for implementing other forms of financial help to lower-income Americans .
Yet despite the Trump administration ’ s distractions , many state , city , and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the ongoing severity of both the public health crisis and the economic meltdown it has triggered .
And so , with the feds going AWOL , state and local governments are looking for their own creative interventions to help residents weather the storm .
Some governments have launched their own eviction and utility cutoff moratoriums ; others have bypassed the feds and set up their own small business loan programs , tax deferrals , and other financial relief .
California is considering a program that would give tenants who are behind on rent @ @ @ @ @ @ @ rent , with the state assuming the risk by giving landlords tax breaks equal to the value of the unpaid rent .
The little town of Tenino , Wash. , went down a particularly imaginative route .
Economically hard-pressed locals are now being given up to $ 300 per month in scrip , a form of alternative currency that takes the form of thin wooden blocks printed with a design on top .
Tenino ’ s scrip can be used to purchase goods and services within city limits .
It ’ s a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ were sometimes paid in scrip they could only spend at company stores—as well as , in a more progressive context , self-help communities during the 19th century and the Great Depression .
( The Depression is when Tenino last experimented with scrip , too . )
It ’ s not just individuals who need help right now , however .
Cities and states are also hemorrhaging cash , and without assistance many will soon begin service reductions and mass layoffs of their own employees .
Yet the US Senate and the Trump administration @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for helping out .
Earlier this spring , McConnell flirted with the notion of forcing states to declare bankruptcy .
Recently , GOP state lawmakers and the influential conservative coordinating body , the American Legislative Exchange Council , have urged Congress to block additional aid to the states .
When small towns like Tenino decide to protect their economic well-being by launching local purchasing tools , the result may be scrip or other alternative forms of local purchasing vouchers .
But what if a bigger entity—a state , for example—were pushed into creating @ @ @ @ @ @ @ you ’ d have a de facto currency .
It ’ s not as outlandish as it sounds .
During the last financial crisis , in July 2009 , California temporarily issued IOUs to vendors , taxpayers , and local governments instead of cash .
This only lasted a few weeks , but financial analysts at the time compared the IOUs—officially called “ warrants ” —to a nascent separate currency .
In 2009 , California was the world ’ s eighth-largest economy ; today , it is the fifth-largest .
If it did @ @ @ @ @ @ @ government functions in the face of a federal financial blockade against blue states , it would have a good shot at making it work .
And since the state also passed a law allowing for the use of “ alternative currencies ” in 2015 , it would have some legal rationale for doing so .
Maybe it could even create a financial system that other , smaller states , would want to buy into .
Given the current tenor of federal politics , we must imagine new ways to use state and local @ @ @ @ @ @ @ week ’ s other Signal : Think locally , and dream big .

The Signal: After savaging the United States’ largest cities, the Covid-19 pandemic continues to race through incarcerated populations. The New York Times reports that the country’s five largest clusters of infections are all inside prisons. And since many states are still doing only minimal testing of prisoners, there are sure to be many more people behind bars with Covid-19 who haven’t yet been counted.
And it’s not only state prisons that are seeing shockingly high rates. The Eloy Detention Center in Arizona, where several hundred immigrants are being held by ICE, has seen a more than 400 percent increase in the number of positive test results this past week. While some of that may be due to an expansion in testing, it is also surely related to the fact that poor conditions in immigrant detention facilities allow the novel coronavirus to spread at a breakneck pace.
These conditions are detailed in a lawsuit filed last week that seeks to secure the release of medically vulnerable immigrant detainees from Eloy and another nearby facility, La Palma. “Infectious disease specialists warn that while conditions may be improved, no conditions of confinement in carceral settings can adequately manage the serious risk of harm for medically vulnerable individuals during the Covid-19 pandemic,” notes the lawsuit. “Even with improved conditions, Petitioners live in pods, or ‘tanks,’ and sleep in bunk beds, sharing common spaces and medical facilities with hundreds of other detainees. Even in improved conditions, Petitioners are forced to share necessities like showers, telephones, and sinks with dozens of others.”
The pandemic seems to be picking up steam again in the non-incarcerated community, too—especially in the Sunbelt. Mike Pence took his turn at manning the Noise machine by desperately trying to convince governors, on a conference call, that their numbers were heading in the right direction. As part of their everything-is-back-to-normal strategy, the GOP-led Senate and the White House are also balking at extending expanded unemployment payments past July, and showing little enthusiasm for implementing other forms of financial help to lower-income Americans. Related Article Checking Off Stephen Miller’s Wish List Sasha Abramsky
Yet despite the Trump administration’s distractions, many state, city, and county officials are all too aware of the ongoing severity of both the public health crisis and the economic meltdown it has triggered. And so, with the feds going AWOL, state and local governments are looking for their own creative interventions to help residents weather the storm. Popular "swipe left below to view more authors"Swipe → The Evisceration of a Public University The Evisceration of a Public University Lisa M. Corrigan The Patronizing Moralism of David Brooks The Patronizing Moralism of David Brooks Chris Lehmann “The Blind Side” Was Always Trash “The Blind Side” Was Always Trash Dave Zirin A Grim Chronicle of Trump’s Corrupt Public Life A Grim Chronicle of Trump’s Corrupt Public Life Chris Lehmann Popular "swipe left below to view more authors"Swipe → The Evisceration of a Public University The Evisceration of a Public University Lisa M. Corrigan The Patronizing Moralism of David Brooks The Patronizing Moralism of David Brooks Chris Lehmann “The Blind Side” Was Always Trash “The Blind Side” Was Always Trash Dave Zirin A Grim Chronicle of Trump’s Corrupt Public Life A Grim Chronicle of Trump’s Corrupt Public Life Chris Lehmann
Some governments have launched their own eviction and utility cutoff moratoriums; others have bypassed the feds and set up their own small business loan programs, tax deferrals, and other financial relief. California is considering a program that would give tenants who are behind on rent more than a decade to pay back rent, with the state assuming the risk by giving landlords tax breaks equal to the value of the unpaid rent.
The little town of Tenino, Wash., went down a particularly imaginative route. Economically hard-pressed locals are now being given up to $300 per month in scrip, a form of alternative currency that takes the form of thin wooden blocks printed with a design on top. Tenino’s scrip can be used to purchase goods and services within city limits. It’s a model familiar to turn-of-the-20th-century company towns—where employees were sometimes paid in scrip they could only spend at company stores—as well as, in a more progressive context, self-help communities during the 19th century and the Great Depression. (The Depression is when Tenino last experimented with scrip, too.) Current Issue View our current issue
It’s not just individuals who need help right now, however. Cities and states are also hemorrhaging cash, and without assistance many will soon begin service reductions and mass layoffs of their own employees. Yet the US Senate and the Trump administration, once again, show little enthusiasm for helping out. Earlier this spring, McConnell flirted with the notion of forcing states to declare bankruptcy. Recently, GOP state lawmakers and the influential conservative coordinating body, the American Legislative Exchange Council, have urged Congress to block additional aid to the states.
When small towns like Tenino decide to protect their economic well-being by launching local purchasing tools, the result may be scrip or other alternative forms of local purchasing vouchers. But what if a bigger entity—a state, for example—were pushed into creating its own? At that point, you’d have a de facto currency.
It’s not as outlandish as it sounds. During the last financial crisis, in July 2009, California temporarily issued IOUs to vendors, taxpayers, and local governments instead of cash. This only lasted a few weeks, but financial analysts at the time compared the IOUs—officially called “warrants”—to a nascent separate currency.
In 2009, California was the world’s eighth-largest economy; today, it is the fifth-largest. If it did set up a new currency to float government functions in the face of a federal financial blockade against blue states, it would have a good shot at making it work. And since the state also passed a law allowing for the use of “alternative currencies” in 2015, it would have some legal rationale for doing so. Maybe it could even create a financial system that other, smaller states, would want to buy into.
Given the current tenor of federal politics, we must imagine new ways to use state and local power compassionately. That’s this week’s other Signal: Think locally, and dream big.


thenation--2020-06-19--Systemic Racism Is Social Dynamite

Systemic Racism Is Social Dynamite

When Minneapolis erupted in flames following the modern-day lynching of George Floyd , both local officials and protesters were quick to blame outside agitators and infiltrators for looting and destruction of property .
Determined to lift the cry for racial justice above scenes of a city on fire , millions of people mobilized to march and hold peaceful vigils in cities and small towns around the world .
But now that the flames have subsided , we should consider again their source .
The fires that were blamed on a few bad actors can be traced to decades of bad @ @ @ @ @ @ @ crisis , an economic depression , and a lynching caught on tape .
Our only hope of putting them out for good is uniting across lines of race , creed , and political ideology to reconstruct democracy in America .
In an interview published after his assassination , Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. observed , “ A Negro who has finished high school often watches his white classmates go out into the job market and earn $ 100 a week , while he , because he is black , is expected to work @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of the blatant inequality that a black man faced in 1968 , King explained , “ there is a tremendous hostility and resentment that only a difference in race keeps him out of an adequate job.
” More than half a century later , racial inequalities in America persist—and by some measures have worsened .
In a recent analysis conducted by the Federal Reserve Bank of Minneapolis , economists concluded that “ no progress has been made in reducing income and wealth inequalities between black and white households over the past 70 years.
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ inequality , they also noted that “ close to half of all American households have less wealth today in real terms than the median household had in 1970.
” Closely tied to wealth inequality in America is the racial disparity in access to health care .
Health insurance in America is largely tied to employment—a crisis even before the pandemic .
Covid-19-related unemployment especially slashed jobs for low-wage workers .
Those fortunate to have health care coverage lost it .
And among those who remain employed , black and Latino people often have @ @ @ @ @ @ @ insurance or benefits .
Despite Obamacare , which is still threatened , nearly twice as many African Americans as whites remained uninsured in 2017—11 percent versus 6 percent .
The Black Lives Matter Protests Are a Tipping Point in US History Even in the Darkest Days of Trump ’ s Misrule , Hope Is Still Alive The US Government Kills Black People with Impunity Both at Home and Abroad More in this series While African Americans know from experience that we must often work twice as hard to do half as well as @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that our communities have long been over-policed and disproportionately prosecuted .
From the “ vagrancy laws ” that led to convict leasing after Reconstruction to the new Jim Crow of 21st century policing and mass incarceration , American justice has criminalized the very people left behind by American inequality .
The burden of a racist criminal justice system weighs on our communities , reinforcing economic disparity through the collateral consequences of criminal convictions , and impacting health through increased stress .
Long before the current recession , Covid-19 , and a lynching caught @ @ @ @ @ @ @ had felt the pressure of economic inequality , health disparities , and a racist criminal justice system .
When we heard George Floyd cry , “ I can ’ t breath , ” while Derek Chauvin choked the life out of him , we heard a desperation that is all too familiar .
Many have cited King ’ s call for peaceful demonstrations , but in that same interview , when he named the intersecting injustices of racial injustice , King also named the source of the flames that threaten to consume us @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , ” he said .
Whatever sparks lit the dynamite then , as now , generations of public policy created it .
Only a conscientious effort to address inequality by reconstructing our common life will prevent the flames from erupting again .
Social justice and real progress are the only absolute guarantees of riot prevention .
We know what is required to address inequality , and we already have the resources to do it .
The Poor People ’ s Campaign : A National Call for Moral Revival has outlined an agenda that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ guaranteed income , universal access to health care , and communities safe from militarized policing and the prosecutorial practices of mass incarceration .
If we roll back the Trump administration ’ s tax cuts , ensure that the wealthy in this country pay their fair share , and take hundreds of billions of dollars from the bloated Defense Department budget , we could pay for all of these things now .
We do not lack the policies or the resources , but rather the political will to dismantle the social dynamite that threatens @ @ @ @ @ @ @ June 20 , 2020 , hundreds of national advocacy groups and grassroots social justice organizations are uniting for a mass digital Poor People ’ s Assembly and Moral March on Washington .
From every corner of this nation , the people who have been most directly impacted by systemic racism and poverty will tell their own stories and outline the agenda that can reconstruct American democracy .
In the midst of a crucial election year , as legitimate protest against racial injustice continues , we are coming together to demand that everyone who @ @ @ @ @ @ @ say clearly whether they are committed to dismantling the social dynamite that threatens to destroy us all .

Rev. Dr. William J. Barber II, Dr. Mary Bassett

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When Minneapolis erupted in flames following the modern-day lynching of George Floyd, both local officials and protesters were quick to blame outside agitators and infiltrators for looting and destruction of property. Determined to lift the cry for racial justice above scenes of a city on fire, millions of people mobilized to march and hold peaceful vigils in cities and small towns around the world. But now that the flames have subsided, we should consider again their source. The fires that were blamed on a few bad actors can be traced to decades of bad policy that collided with a public health crisis, an economic depression, and a lynching caught on tape. Our only hope of putting them out for good is uniting across lines of race, creed, and political ideology to reconstruct democracy in America.
In an interview published after his assassination, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. observed, “A Negro who has finished high school often watches his white classmates go out into the job market and earn $100 a week, while he, because he is black, is expected to work for $40 a week.” Because of the blatant inequality that a black man faced in 1968, King explained, “there is a tremendous hostility and resentment that only a difference in race keeps him out of an adequate job.”
More than half a century later, racial inequalities in America persist—and by some measures have worsened. In a recent analysis conducted by the Federal Reserve Bank of Minneapolis, economists concluded that “no progress has been made in reducing income and wealth inequalities between black and white households over the past 70 years.” Looking at the broader picture of inequality, they also noted that “close to half of all American households have less wealth today in real terms than the median household had in 1970.”
Closely tied to wealth inequality in America is the racial disparity in access to health care. Health insurance in America is largely tied to employment—a crisis even before the pandemic. Covid-19-related unemployment especially slashed jobs for low-wage workers. Those fortunate to have health care coverage lost it. And among those who remain employed, black and Latino people often have low-wage jobs that do not come with insurance or benefits. Despite Obamacare, which is still threatened, nearly twice as many African Americans as whites remained uninsured in 2017—11 percent versus 6 percent. Anti-Racism Activism Can a White Curator Do Justice to African Art? Todd Cronan and Charles Palermo Colin Kaepernick’s Defense of Black Studies Dave Zirin Jubilee Justice Regenerative Farming: Tackling Racism With Rice Laura Flanders
While African Americans know from experience that we must often work twice as hard to do half as well as our white neighbors, we also know that our communities have long been over-policed and disproportionately prosecuted. From the “vagrancy laws” that led to convict leasing after Reconstruction to the new Jim Crow of 21st century policing and mass incarceration, American justice has criminalized the very people left behind by American inequality. The burden of a racist criminal justice system weighs on our communities, reinforcing economic disparity through the collateral consequences of criminal convictions, and impacting health through increased stress.
Long before the current recession, Covid-19, and a lynching caught on tape, black people in American had felt the pressure of economic inequality, health disparities, and a racist criminal justice system. When we heard George Floyd cry, “I can’t breath,” while Derek Chauvin choked the life out of him, we heard a desperation that is all too familiar.
Many have cited King’s call for peaceful demonstrations, but in that same interview, when he named the intersecting injustices of racial injustice, King also named the source of the flames that threaten to consume us. “This situation is social dynamite,” he said. Current Issue View our current issue
Whatever sparks lit the dynamite then, as now, generations of public policy created it. Only a conscientious effort to address inequality by reconstructing our common life will prevent the flames from erupting again.
Social justice and real progress are the only absolute guarantees of riot prevention. We know what is required to address inequality, and we already have the resources to do it. The Poor People’s Campaign: A National Call for Moral Revival has outlined an agenda that would guarantee every American living wages and guaranteed income, universal access to health care, and communities safe from militarized policing and the prosecutorial practices of mass incarceration. If we roll back the Trump administration’s tax cuts, ensure that the wealthy in this country pay their fair share, and take hundreds of billions of dollars from the bloated Defense Department budget, we could pay for all of these things now. We do not lack the policies or the resources, but rather the political will to dismantle the social dynamite that threatens us all.
This is why on June 20, 2020, hundreds of national advocacy groups and grassroots social justice organizations are uniting for a mass digital Poor People’s Assembly and Moral March on Washington. From every corner of this nation, the people who have been most directly impacted by systemic racism and poverty will tell their own stories and outline the agenda that can reconstruct American democracy. In the midst of a crucial election year, as legitimate protest against racial injustice continues, we are coming together to demand that everyone who wants to represent us in public life say clearly whether they are committed to dismantling the social dynamite that threatens to destroy us all.


thenation--2020-06-19--Charles Booker Is the Democrat With the Best Chance of Beating Mitch McConnell

Charles Booker has electrified Kentucky politics with a US Senate campaign that upsets expectations , rejects conventional wisdom , and articulates a way to do what no Democrat has ever done : defeat Mitch McConnell in a November election .
That ’ s why the progressive legislator from Louisville , who promises to campaign “ from the hood to the holler ” for economic , social , and racial justice , now has a real chance of beating the pick of DC insiders for the party ’ s nomination in one of the highest-profile Senate contests of 2020 .
A @ @ @ @ @ @ @ at 44 percent versus 36 percent for retired Marine fighter pilot and Democratic primary candidate Amy McGrath , whose “ unimaginative and uninspiring ” campaign has , in the words of the Louisville Courier-Journal , “ fallen flat in these final weeks of the campaign.
” What ’ s playing out in Kentucky is a story of the power of insurgent politics in the volatile 2020 campaign season .
When Booker entered the primary race against McGrath—a defeated congressional candidate who was recruited by Senate minority leader Chuck Schumer to take on McConnell—he @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , and little buzz among pundits who barely mentioned his candidacy .
The African American legislator quickly distinguished himself as a fearless contender who took bold stands—for impeachment , Medicare for All , and a Green New Deal—and an able campaigner who has delighted in touring the far corners of a state that still elects Democratic governors but has not put a Democrat in the Senate since Bill Clinton was president .
Marching with # BlackLivesMatter activists in Louisville and standing with laid-off coal miners in Harlan County , Booker has mounted a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the June 23 election approached , something clicked .
Vermont Senator Bernie Sanders heard an echo of his campaign ’ s “ Not me , us !
” message and endorsed Booker .
So did Representatives Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez and Ayanna Pressley , as well as progressive groups and unions .
On Thursday , Massachusetts Senator Elizabeth Warren added her support , announcing that she is proud to “ join his fight to root out corruption , dismantle systemic racism , and make big , structural change.
” Booker has also collected endorsements from @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the Louisville Courier-Journal and the Lexington Herald-Leader ; popular sports commentator Matt Jones ; legislative leaders from across the state ; former Kentucky secretary of state Alison Lundergan Grimes ( who ran against McConnell in 2014 ) ; and former state attorney general Greg Stumbo .
As the final days before the primary ticked down , Booker got another boost with the Thursday release of the Data for Progress poll that put him eight points ahead of McGrath .
The top-line numbers were significant , but that wasn ’ t the poll ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ The Civiqs survey of 898 registered voters showed the powerful and enormously well-funded majority leader leading .
But in hypothetical contests between McConnell and his leading Democratic rivals , McGrath trailed McConnell 53-33 .
Booker ran better , narrowing McConnell ’ s lead to 52-38 .
Notably , McGrath runs behind presumptive Democratic presidential nominee Joe Biden ’ s numbers in the poll , and Booker does a bit better than Biden .
This is significant because , while McGrath lost a high-profile congressional race in 2018 , Booker is a rising star @ @ @ @ @ @ @ getting to know .
Booker ’ s supporters point to these details as evidence of his potential to build a multiracial , urban-and-rural coalition that says , “ It ’ s time to take back what ’ s ours and transform our system.
” The prospect that Booker could win the nomination puts a new demand on McGrath and national Democrats .
Progressive groups are urging McGrath , who has raised more than $ 40 million from across the country for the race against McConnell , to commit to using surplus cash to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ she does not win the primary .
Early June financial reports showed that roughly $ 19 million of McGrath ’ s $ 40 million haul remained unspent .
“ People across America gave millions to Amy McGrath trusting that their money would be spent ousting Mitch McConnell , ” explains Joe Dinkin , the national campaigns director for the Working Families Party .
“ As the race tightens , McGrath owes her contributors an assurance that she ’ ll use their funds to take on the obstructionist Senate Majority Leader no matter who @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” the Progressive Change Campaign Committee notes in a statement , “ if McGrath were to lose , she could use excess cash raised for the primary on independent expenditures to defeat McConnell—running one herself or donating to other independent efforts .
All grassroots donations of $ 2,800 or less count as primary election funds .
She would be required to return general election money to donors , but that is estimated to be less than $ 2 million of her cash and could be accompanied with a note urging donors to support @ @ @ @ @ @ @ says , “ Donors don ’ t want their money going into a slush fund for McGrath ’ s future campaigns or to bonuses for losing consultants .
They don ’ t even want their money returned .
They want to defeat one of the worst senators in history , Mitch McConnell .
”

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Charles Booker has electrified Kentucky politics with a US Senate campaign that upsets expectations, rejects conventional wisdom, and articulates a way to do what no Democrat has ever done: defeat Mitch McConnell in a November election. That’s why the progressive legislator from Louisville, who promises to campaign “from the hood to the holler” for economic, social, and racial justice, now has a real chance of beating the pick of DC insiders for the party’s nomination in one of the highest-profile Senate contests of 2020.
A fresh Data for Progress poll puts Booker at 44 percent versus 36 percent for retired Marine fighter pilot and Democratic primary candidate Amy McGrath, whose “unimaginative and uninspiring” campaign has, in the words of the Louisville Courier-Journal, “fallen flat in these final weeks of the campaign.”
What’s playing out in Kentucky is a story of the power of insurgent politics in the volatile 2020 campaign season.
When Booker entered the primary race against McGrath—a defeated congressional candidate who was recruited by Senate minority leader Chuck Schumer to take on McConnell—he had little name recognition, little money, and little buzz among pundits who barely mentioned his candidacy. The African American legislator quickly distinguished himself as a fearless contender who took bold stands—for impeachment, Medicare for All, and a Green New Deal—and an able campaigner who has delighted in touring the far corners of a state that still elects Democratic governors but has not put a Democrat in the Senate since Bill Clinton was president.
Marching with #BlackLivesMatter activists in Louisville and standing with laid-off coal miners in Harlan County, Booker has mounted a campaign that bluntly declares:
And as the June 23 election approached, something clicked. Vermont Senator Bernie Sanders heard an echo of his campaign’s “Not me, us!” message and endorsed Booker. So did Representatives Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez and Ayanna Pressley, as well as progressive groups and unions. On Thursday, Massachusetts Senator Elizabeth Warren added her support, announcing that she is proud to “join his fight to root out corruption, dismantle systemic racism, and make big, structural change.”
Booker has also collected endorsements from Kentucky’s two largest newspapers, the Louisville Courier-Journal and the Lexington Herald-Leader; popular sports commentator Matt Jones; legislative leaders from across the state; former Kentucky secretary of state Alison Lundergan Grimes (who ran against McConnell in 2014); and former state attorney general Greg Stumbo. As the final days before the primary ticked down, Booker got another boost with the Thursday release of the Data for Progress poll that put him eight points ahead of McGrath.
The top-line numbers were significant, but that wasn’t the poll’s only good news for Booker. The Civiqs survey of 898 registered voters showed the powerful and enormously well-funded majority leader leading. But in hypothetical contests between McConnell and his leading Democratic rivals, McGrath trailed McConnell 53-33. Booker ran better, narrowing McConnell’s lead to 52-38. Notably, McGrath runs behind presumptive Democratic presidential nominee Joe Biden’s numbers in the poll, and Booker does a bit better than Biden.
This is significant because, while McGrath lost a high-profile congressional race in 2018, Booker is a rising star whom a lot of Kentuckians are still getting to know. Booker’s supporters point to these details as evidence of his potential to build a multiracial, urban-and-rural coalition that says, “It’s time to take back what’s ours and transform our system.”
The prospect that Booker could win the nomination puts a new demand on McGrath and national Democrats. Current Issue View our current issue
Progressive groups are urging McGrath, who has raised more than $40 million from across the country for the race against McConnell, to commit to using surplus cash to help beat the majority leader even if she does not win the primary. Early June financial reports showed that roughly $19 million of McGrath’s $40 million haul remained unspent.
“People across America gave millions to Amy McGrath trusting that their money would be spent ousting Mitch McConnell,” explains Joe Dinkin, the national campaigns director for the Working Families Party. “As the race tightens, McGrath owes her contributors an assurance that she’ll use their funds to take on the obstructionist Senate Majority Leader no matter who wins on Tuesday.”
“Legally,” the Progressive Change Campaign Committee notes in a statement, “if McGrath were to lose, she could use excess cash raised for the primary on independent expenditures to defeat McConnell—running one herself or donating to other independent efforts. All grassroots donations of $2,800 or less count as primary election funds. She would be required to return general election money to donors, but that is estimated to be less than $2 million of her cash and could be accompanied with a note urging donors to support anti-McConnell efforts.”
PCCC cofounder Stephanie Taylor says, “Donors don’t want their money going into a slush fund for McGrath’s future campaigns or to bonuses for losing consultants. They don’t even want their money returned. They want to defeat one of the worst senators in history, Mitch McConnell.”


thenation--2020-06-19--Minneapolis Public Schools Abolished Their Police First

On June 7 , the Minneapolis City Council announced its plan to disband the police force , setting off a wave of national coverage and support , with some cities , like Seattle , launching efforts to do the same , while others began taking steps to redirect money set aside for police into community resources .
The movement to defund the police has had unprecedented support across the country , as citizens in several states call for abolishing or diminishing the police presence rather than reforming the police .
And while the city of Minneapolis is now considered a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ acknowledged is its public school system , which has been several steps ahead .
Schools in Minneapolis had already made the decision to cut ties with the Minnesota Police Department ( MPD ) in the aftermath of George Floyd ’ s death .
On May 27 , the University of Minnesota–Twin Cities announced that it would be severely limiting its contact with the MPD and would no longer have police work security at football games and concerts .
On June 2 , the city ’ s public school board unanimously approved a resolution @ @ @ @ @ @ @ with the MPD that allowed officers on campus as school security .
Both decisions were largely driven by student pressure and were the result of several years of student activism .
This story was produced for Student Nation , a section devoted to highlighting campus activism and student movements from students in their own words .
For more Student Nation , check out our archive .
Are you a student with a campus activism story ?
Send questions and pitches to Samantha Schuyler at samantha @ thenation.com .
The Student Nation program is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Puffin Foundation .
According to Kim Ellison , the chair of the Minneapolis board of education for Minneapolis public schools , the Minneapolis school board was already hesitant to renew its three-year contract with the MPD in August after several complaints from students and staff about the police presence on campus .
After George Floyd was killed by Minnesota police , however , the board knew it could no longer allow police on campus .
“ We will no longer be funding the Minnesota police and there will no longer be police presence @ @ @ @ @ @ @ not share our values , ” Ellison told The Nation .
“ Our budget to the police was $ 1.3 million last year alone .
We ’ re now hoping to redirect those funds into our schools and our community.
” According to Ellison , several other school districts both in Minneapolis and outside the state have reached out to the Minneapolis school board saying they are also interested in removing police from their campus .
In K-12 schools , increased police presence on campus has been linked to the school-to-prison-pipeline , a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ heavily policed public schools that use a “ zero-tolerance ” punitive policy are funneled into juvenile detention centers at rapid rates .
For this reason , many educational experts believe that reducing the police presence on campus will also reduce crime .
“ In recent years the school-to-prison pipeline has been expanding because schools are installing things like metal detectors and broadening relationships with cops , ” K Agbebiyi , a social worker and abolitionist organizer based in New York , told The Nation .
“ This leads to kids being funneled into @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and affects black and low income students the most.
” In Minneapolis , many students feel that removing police from the campus will make them feel more safe .
Nathaniel Greene , a black junior at Washburn High School and a student representative on the Minneapolis Board of Education , told The Nation that students in the city have been advocating the removal of police for many years and were instrumental in the district ’ s recent successes .
Greene said he ’ s very glad that his school will be removing Student @ @ @ @ @ @ @ law enforcement officers that act as security guards on campus .
“ I just can ’ t imagine a positive school climate with SROs in it at any school in the district , but especially in Minneapolis , ” Greene said .
“ In the three months we ’ ve been out of school , students have been pepper-sprayed and teargassed by the police or have seen the National Guard or the KKK rolling down their neighborhood .
Police presence doesn ’ t make any of us feel safer , and I ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ deal with it in school.
” Students at the University of Minnesota–Twin Cities ( UMN ) feel similarly .
After George Floyd was killed by Minnesota police officers , UMN student body president Jael Kerandi e-mailed the president of her university demanding that the school cut ties with the Minnesota police .
The letter received more than 2,000 signatures within 24 hours , and the university eventually agreed to the demand by severing several ties with UMPD .
“ The trend and history of the MPD is not in line with values and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ as the University of Minnesota , ” Kerandi explained to The Nation .
“ All too often black students have felt uncomfortable with police presence .
The catalyst was the murder of George Floyd and the countless lives that have been lost senselessly and needlessly at the murderous hands of police officers .
Enough is enough.
” “ I feel this was a wise decision from our current student body president , Jael Kerandi , a black woman who understands the magnitude of their increased presence on a campus this large , ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , said of the university ’ s decision to cut ties with local police .
“ There is a long history of harassment and police brutality on campus especially toward black students , and allowing them to carry firearms , when the school doesn ’ t allow anyone who steps foot on campus property to possess a weapon or firearm is quite counterintuitive to the school ’ s policy .
By erasing ties between the MPD and UMPD on campus , students of color , especially black students , can feel a little @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in Minnesota seem to view the defunding or removal of police from campus as a success , some administrators feel there are still some hurdles ahead .
“ As a board , we ’ ve definitely been wondering what to do next year if a fight breaks out or a student brings a weapon to school , for example , ” Ellison said .
“ Part of our resolution mandates that the superintendent comes up with a plan to reallocate funds so that we can find ways to handle these situations without the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ board , students have largely driven conversations about removing police from schools .
In the wake of the Minneapolis school board ’ s decision to defund the police , Portland public schools also decided to remove police from campus on June 4 .
This decision was the culmination of an 18-month , largely student-driven campaign .
At Princeton University , students similarly organized to convince the administration to cut several ties with on-campus police officers .
And on June 16 , Columbus City Schools announced that it will be holding off on renewing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ students and families .
As this wave continues , community groups who have long demanded cutting schools ’ ties with police have found their demands gaining renewed strength .
Meyiya Coleman , a Chicago youth organizer , told Chalkbeat Chicago that Minneapolis Public School ’ s decision created the perfect moment to reassert their demands .
“ Now is the time , ” she said .

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On June 7, the Minneapolis City Council announced its plan to disband the police force, setting off a wave of national coverage and support, with some cities, like Seattle, launching efforts to do the same, while others began taking steps to redirect money set aside for police into community resources.
The movement to defund the police has had unprecedented support across the country, as citizens in several states call for abolishing or diminishing the police presence rather than reforming the police. And while the city of Minneapolis is now considered a vanguard in this national effort, less acknowledged is its public school system, which has been several steps ahead.
Schools in Minneapolis had already made the decision to cut ties with the Minnesota Police Department (MPD) in the aftermath of George Floyd’s death. On May 27, the University of Minnesota–Twin Cities announced that it would be severely limiting its contact with the MPD and would no longer have police work security at football games and concerts. On June 2, the city’s public school board unanimously approved a resolution to end the district’s contract with the MPD that allowed officers on campus as school security.
Both decisions were largely driven by student pressure and were the result of several years of student activism. This story was produced for Student Nation, a section devoted to highlighting campus activism and student movements from students in their own words. For more Student Nation, check out our archive. Are you a student with a campus activism story? Send questions and pitches to Samantha Schuyler at [email protected]. The Student Nation program is made possible through generous funding from The Puffin Foundation.
According to Kim Ellison, the chair of the Minneapolis board of education for Minneapolis public schools, the Minneapolis school board was already hesitant to renew its three-year contract with the MPD in August after several complaints from students and staff about the police presence on campus. After George Floyd was killed by Minnesota police, however, the board knew it could no longer allow police on campus.
“We will no longer be funding the Minnesota police and there will no longer be police presence on campus, as the MPD does not share our values,” Ellison told The Nation. “Our budget to the police was $1.3 million last year alone. We’re now hoping to redirect those funds into our schools and our community.”
According to Ellison, several other school districts both in Minneapolis and outside the state have reached out to the Minneapolis school board saying they are also interested in removing police from their campus. Popular "swipe left below to view more authors"Swipe → The Evisceration of a Public University The Evisceration of a Public University Lisa M. Corrigan The Patronizing Moralism of David Brooks The Patronizing Moralism of David Brooks Chris Lehmann “The Blind Side” Was Always Trash “The Blind Side” Was Always Trash Dave Zirin A Grim Chronicle of Trump’s Corrupt Public Life A Grim Chronicle of Trump’s Corrupt Public Life Chris Lehmann Popular "swipe left below to view more authors"Swipe → The Evisceration of a Public University The Evisceration of a Public University Lisa M. Corrigan The Patronizing Moralism of David Brooks The Patronizing Moralism of David Brooks Chris Lehmann “The Blind Side” Was Always Trash “The Blind Side” Was Always Trash Dave Zirin A Grim Chronicle of Trump’s Corrupt Public Life A Grim Chronicle of Trump’s Corrupt Public Life Chris Lehmann Current Issue View our current issue
In K-12 schools, increased police presence on campus has been linked to the school-to-prison-pipeline, a disturbing trend where children in low-income and heavily policed public schools that use a “zero-tolerance” punitive policy are funneled into juvenile detention centers at rapid rates. For this reason, many educational experts believe that reducing the police presence on campus will also reduce crime.
“In recent years the school-to-prison pipeline has been expanding because schools are installing things like metal detectors and broadening relationships with cops,” K Agbebiyi, a social worker and abolitionist organizer based in New York, told The Nation. “This leads to kids being funneled into the system a lot more rapidly, and affects black and low income students the most.”
In Minneapolis, many students feel that removing police from the campus will make them feel more safe. Nathaniel Greene, a black junior at Washburn High School and a student representative on the Minneapolis Board of Education, told The Nation that students in the city have been advocating the removal of police for many years and were instrumental in the district’s recent successes. Greene said he’s very glad that his school will be removing Student Resource Officers (SROs), sworn law enforcement officers that act as security guards on campus.
“I just can’t imagine a positive school climate with SROs in it at any school in the district, but especially in Minneapolis,” Greene said. “In the three months we’ve been out of school, students have been pepper-sprayed and teargassed by the police or have seen the National Guard or the KKK rolling down their neighborhood. Police presence doesn’t make any of us feel safer, and I’m glad we no longer have to deal with it in school.”
Students at the University of Minnesota–Twin Cities (UMN) feel similarly. After George Floyd was killed by Minnesota police officers, UMN student body president Jael Kerandi e-mailed the president of her university demanding that the school cut ties with the Minnesota police. The letter received more than 2,000 signatures within 24 hours, and the university eventually agreed to the demand by severing several ties with UMPD.
“The trend and history of the MPD is not in line with values and ethics of a land grant institution such as the University of Minnesota,” Kerandi explained to The Nation. “All too often black students have felt uncomfortable with police presence. The catalyst was the murder of George Floyd and the countless lives that have been lost senselessly and needlessly at the murderous hands of police officers. Enough is enough.”
“I feel this was a wise decision from our current student body president, Jael Kerandi, a black woman who understands the magnitude of their increased presence on a campus this large,” Angela Twumasi, a sophomore at UMN, said of the university’s decision to cut ties with local police. “There is a long history of harassment and police brutality on campus especially toward black students, and allowing them to carry firearms, when the school doesn’t allow anyone who steps foot on campus property to possess a weapon or firearm is quite counterintuitive to the school’s policy. By erasing ties between the MPD and UMPD on campus, students of color, especially black students, can feel a little safer on campus.”
Though many students in Minnesota seem to view the defunding or removal of police from campus as a success, some administrators feel there are still some hurdles ahead. “As a board, we’ve definitely been wondering what to do next year if a fight breaks out or a student brings a weapon to school, for example,” Ellison said. “Part of our resolution mandates that the superintendent comes up with a plan to reallocate funds so that we can find ways to handle these situations without the police as a community.”
Across the board, students have largely driven conversations about removing police from schools. In the wake of the Minneapolis school board’s decision to defund the police, Portland public schools also decided to remove police from campus on June 4. This decision was the culmination of an 18-month, largely student-driven campaign. At Princeton University, students similarly organized to convince the administration to cut several ties with on-campus police officers. And on June 16, Columbus City Schools announced that it will be holding off on renewing its contract with police after demands from students and families.
As this wave continues, community groups who have long demanded cutting schools’ ties with police have found their demands gaining renewed strength. Meyiya Coleman, a Chicago youth organizer, told Chalkbeat Chicago that Minneapolis Public School’s decision created the perfect moment to reassert their demands. “Now is the time,” she said.