thenation--2020-10-26--Trump’s Message of Covid-19 Happy Talk Amounts to Surrender

Donald Trump has been predicting the imminent disappearance of Covid-19 ever since the outbreak of the pandemic at the beginning of the year .
During Thursday night ’ s debate , he reiterated his claim that the pandemic was almost over .
“ We ’ re rounding the corner , ” Trump claimed .
“ It ’ s going away.
” Citing his own bout with the coronavirus , Trump claimed that new therapeutic drugs amounted to a cure .
“ I can tell you from personal experience , I was in the hospital , ” Trump said .
“ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
And I will tell you that I had something that they gave me , a therapeutic , I guess they would call it .
Some people could say it was a cure , but I was in for a short period of time .
And I got better very fast or I wouldn ’ t be here tonight .
And now they say I ’ m immune .
Whether it ’ s four months or a lifetime , nobody ’ s been able to say that , but I ’ m immune @ @ @ @ @ @ @ better.
” Trump ’ s claim that “ we ’ re rounding the corner ” deserves to be remembered as one of the classic examples of presidential happy talk in the face of catastrophe .
It ranks with Herbert Hoover ’ s 1930 boast that the United States had , after six months of recession , “ passed the worst ” and with Lyndon Johnson ’ s 1966 promise that the nation would soon see the “ light at the end of the tunnel ” in the Vietnam War .
Like Hoover and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ boosterism , trapped by an inability to acknowledge a painful reality , and vulnerable to an electorate that will judge repeated failed promises .
The causes of Trump ’ s plight are manifold .
They include Trump ’ s personal propensity for positive thinking , his unwillingness to heed expert advice when it goes against the wishes of powerful business interests who are hostile to an extended lockdown , and his desire to please grassroots right-wing activists who oppose mask wearing .
These factors combined with Trump ’ s incompetence have created a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to the Covid-19 virus .
The Trump White House is increasingly edging toward the idea that the spread of the virus can ’ t be slowed down but only mitigated by therapeutic drugs until a vaccine is found .
The ‘ Dark Winter ’ of Covid-19 Overshadows the Debate Trump Keeps Slinging Mud , but This Time It ’ s Not Sticking As The New York Times reported on Sunday , senior White House officials have been intrigued by the Great Barrington Declaration , described as “ a scientific treatise that calls for @ @ @ @ @ @ @ order to achieve herd immunity—the point at which enough people have been infected to stall transmission of the pathogen in the community.
” Written by heterodox experts from Stanford University , Harvard , and Oxford , the Great Barrington Declaration was formulated at a gathering hosted by a libertarian think tank partially funded by the Charles Koch Institute .
According to The New York Times , while senior White House officials “ have denied advocating this approach , they have praised the ideas in the declaration .
The message is aligned with Mr. @ @ @ @ @ @ @ campaign trail to lockdowns , even as the country grapples with renewed surges of the virus.
” Speaking at a rally in Lumberton , N.C. , on Saturday , Trump sounded like a man who was aggrieved by the fact he still had to pay attention to the pandemic .
He clearly regards the pandemic as an unfair political cudgel used against him .
“ They ’ d prolong the pandemic , ” Trump said .
“ That ’ s all I hear about now .
That ’ s all I hear .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ Covid , Covid , Covid , Covid , Covid .
A plane goes down , 500 people dead , they don ’ t talk about it .
Covid , Covid , Covid .
By the way , on November 4th , you won ’ t hear about it anymore .
Covid .
Covid.
” As always , Trump ’ s statement is factually bizarre .
There hasn ’ t been a plane crash that killed more than 500 people since the terrorist attacks of September 11 , 2001 , an event that did @ @ @ @ @ @ @ attention .
Prior to that , the last crash with an excess of 500 casualties was in 1985 in Japan .
Covid-19 deaths have been trending up over the last week , a sign that the winter surge is starting .
On the day Trump made his comments , nearly 900 Americans died from Covid-19 .
Trump ’ s habit of holding large rallies , where many of his followers are not wearing masks , is itself making the pandemic worse .
As USA Today reports : On Sunday , White House chief @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ We are not going to control the pandemic .
We are going to control the fact that we get vaccines , therapeutics and other mitigation areas.
” CNN host Jake Tapper pushed Meadows on this point , asking , “ Why not get control of the pandemic ?
” Meadows responded , “ Because it is a contagious virus just like the flu.
” Pressed again by Tapper , Meadows finally said , “ We are making efforts to contain it.
” Later on Sunday , the White House admitted that at @ @ @ @ @ @ @ President Mike Pence had tested positive for Covid-19 .
Normally , Pence would go under quarantine in such a situation , but the White House deemed him an essential worker .
Pence ’ s continued campaigning in these circumstances is in line with the larger White House message of stoic acceptance of the pandemic as simply a fact of life .
Trump ’ s message of resignation to the pandemic is hurting his reelection bid .
As The New York Times reports , “ Voters remain deeply concerned about the virus , with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ feared the worst of Covid-19 was still to come , and just 37 percent saying they believed the worst was over .
Among voters over 65 , a bloc that has drifted away from Mr. Trump , the difference was even starker : Fifty-six percent said they worried the worst was still to come , and only 29 percent said the opposite.
” These numbers on Covid-19 help explain Trump ’ s inability to change the dynamics in the national polls .
If the bungling of the pandemic is a major factor in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ victory will have come at a steep price .
Even if Biden wins , Trump will remain president until January 20 .
That means the current failed policies will continue for another three months , with the winter surge leading to tens of thousands more unnecessary deaths .
A Biden presidency will be facing a pandemic much larger and harder to contain than what exists even now .
With a little over a week before the election , it is clear that if Trump goes down , he ’ ll drag many others @ @ @

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Donald Trump has been predicting the imminent disappearance of Covid-19 ever since the outbreak of the pandemic at the beginning of the year. During Thursday night’s debate, he reiterated his claim that the pandemic was almost over. “We’re rounding the corner,” Trump claimed. “It’s going away.” Citing his own bout with the coronavirus, Trump claimed that new therapeutic drugs amounted to a cure. “I can tell you from personal experience, I was in the hospital,” Trump said. “I had it and I got better. And I will tell you that I had something that they gave me, a therapeutic, I guess they would call it. Some people could say it was a cure, but I was in for a short period of time. And I got better very fast or I wouldn’t be here tonight. And now they say I’m immune. Whether it’s four months or a lifetime, nobody’s been able to say that, but I’m immune. More and more people are getting better.”
Trump’s claim that “we’re rounding the corner” deserves to be remembered as one of the classic examples of presidential happy talk in the face of catastrophe. It ranks with Herbert Hoover’s 1930 boast that the United States had, after six months of recession, “passed the worst” and with Lyndon Johnson’s 1966 promise that the nation would soon see the “light at the end of the tunnel” in the Vietnam War.
Like Hoover and Johnson, Trump is a prisoner of boosterism, trapped by an inability to acknowledge a painful reality, and vulnerable to an electorate that will judge repeated failed promises. The causes of Trump’s plight are manifold. They include his personal propensity for positive thinking, his unwillingness to heed expert advice when it goes against the wishes of powerful business interests who are hostile to an extended lockdown, and his desire to please grassroots right-wing activists who oppose mask wearing.
These factors combined with Trump’s incompetence have created a situation where his administration has effectively surrendered to the Covid-19 virus. The Trump White House is increasingly edging toward the idea that the spread of the virus can’t be slowed down but only mitigated by therapeutic drugs until a vaccine is found. More From Jeet Heer The Indigenous Roots of Robbie Robertson’s Rock and Roll Revolution August 14, 2023 Why Does This Racist Keep Getting Silicon Valley Money? August 11, 2023 When Phallocrats Go Limp August 4, 2023
As The New York Times reported on Sunday, senior White House officials have been intrigued by the Great Barrington Declaration, described as “a scientific treatise that calls for allowing the coronavirus to spread naturally in order to achieve herd immunity—the point at which enough people have been infected to stall transmission of the pathogen in the community.”
Written by heterodox experts from Stanford University, Harvard, and Oxford, the Great Barrington Declaration was formulated at a gathering hosted by a libertarian think tank partially funded by the Charles Koch Institute. According to The New York Times, while senior White House officials “have denied advocating this approach, they have praised the ideas in the declaration. The message is aligned with Mr. Trump’s vocal opposition on the campaign trail to lockdowns, even as the country grapples with renewed surges of the virus.”
Speaking at a rally in Lumberton, N.C., on Saturday, Trump sounded like a man who was aggrieved by the fact that he still had to pay attention to the pandemic. He clearly regards the pandemic as an unfair political cudgel used against him. “They’d prolong the pandemic,” Trump said. “That’s all I hear about now. That’s all I hear. You turn on television. Covid, Covid, Covid, Covid, Covid, Covid. A plane goes down, 500 people dead, they don’t talk about it. Covid, Covid, Covid. By the way, on November 4th, you won’t hear about it anymore. Covid. Covid.” 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 How the “Brooks Brothers Riot” Set the Stage for Insurrection How the “Brooks Brothers Riot” Set the Stage for Insurrection 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 How the “Brooks Brothers Riot” Set the Stage for Insurrection How the “Brooks Brothers Riot” Set the Stage for Insurrection Chris Lehmann Current Issue View our current issue
As always, Trump’s statement is factually bizarre. There hasn’t been a plane crash that killed more than 500 people since the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001, an event that did not suffer from a lack of media attention. Prior to that, the last crash with an excess of 500 casualties was in 1985 in Japan. Covid-19 deaths have been trending up over the last week, a sign that the winter surge is starting. On the day Trump made his comments, nearly 900 Americans died from Covid-19.
Trump’s habit of holding large rallies, where many of his followers are not wearing masks, is itself making the pandemic worse. As USA Today reports:
As President Donald Trump jetted across the country holding campaign rallies during the past two months, he didn’t just defy state orders and federal health guidelines. He left a trail of coronavirus outbreaks in his wake. The president has participated in nearly three dozen rallies since mid-August, all but two at airport hangars. A USA TODAY analysis shows COVID-19 cases grew at a faster rate than before after at least five of those rallies in the following counties: Blue Earth, Minnesota; Lackawanna, Pennsylvania; Marathon, Wisconsin; Dauphin, Pennsylvania; and Beltrami, Minnesota.
On Sunday, White House chief of staff Mark Meadows told CNN, “We are not going to control the pandemic. We are going to control the fact that we get vaccines, therapeutics and other mitigation areas.” CNN host Jake Tapper pushed Meadows on this point, asking, “Why not get control of the pandemic?” Meadows responded, “Because it is a contagious virus just like the flu.” Pressed again by Tapper, Meadows finally said, “We are making efforts to contain it.”
Later on Sunday, the White House admitted that at least five aides and advisers to Vice President Mike Pence had tested positive for Covid-19. Normally, Pence would go under quarantine in such a situation, but the White House deemed him an essential worker. Pence’s continued campaigning in these circumstances is in line with the larger White House message of stoic acceptance of the pandemic as simply a fact of life.
Trump’s message of resignation to the pandemic is hurting his reelection bid. As The New York Times reports, “Voters remain deeply concerned about the virus, with 51 percent of those sampled saying they feared the worst of Covid-19 was still to come, and just 37 percent saying they believed the worst was over. Among voters over 65, a bloc that has drifted away from Mr. Trump, the difference was even starker: Fifty-six percent said they worried the worst was still to come, and only 29 percent said the opposite.” These numbers on Covid-19 help explain Trump’s inability to change the dynamics in the national polls.
If the bungling of the pandemic is a major factor in defeating Trump, Joe Biden’s victory will have come at a steep price. Even if Biden wins, Trump will remain president until January 20. That means the current failed policies will continue for another three months, with the winter surge leading to tens of thousands more unnecessary deaths. A Biden presidency will be facing a pandemic much larger and harder to contain than what exists even now.
With a little over a week before the election, it is clear that if Trump goes down, he’ll drag many others with him.


thenation--2020-10-27--Want to Win Rural Voters? Fight Big Ag.

Want to Win Rural Voters? Fight Big Ag.

Wisconsin dairy farmer Sarah Lloyd believes she has the answer to a question that has convulsed the Democratic Party for the past four years .
“ People from the coasts are always like , ‘ What ’ s going on with Wisconsin ?
How could they have possibly voted for Obama and then voted for Trump ?
’ ” she asks , putting on a falsetto to conjure the hysteria she often hears in such voices .
On a chilly , overcast October afternoon , she lays out her theory at the 400-cow Columbia County farm she runs with her @ @ @ @ @ @ @ shuttering after years of unsustainably low milk prices .
A Democrat with a PhD in rural sociology , this third-generation farmer believes her party is sorely out of touch with an issue that resonates deeply in conservative heartland communities : countering the monopolistic level of corporate power that has emerged in agribusiness over the past 40 years .
This piece was produced by the Food and Environment Reporting Network , a nonprofit news organization .
“ As the companies become bigger and more consolidated , it limits our ability to negotiate in the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ which shows up in higher prices for our inputs ” —seed , feed , fertilizer , tractor equipment , and so on .
“ It ’ s squeezing producers on all sides and making it difficult to stay afloat .
We ’ re like little ants compared to these companies.
” The GOP has not adequately addressed the issue either , she says , leaving an opening for Democrats .
“ Rural voters are like , ‘ Give us something we can work with here.
’ ” President Barack Obama vowed to do @ @ @ @ @ @ @ He promised to enforce the Packers and Stockyards Act , 1920s-era antitrust legislation designed to put reins on meat companies that were racking up profits while farming families weathered oppressive levels of debt and the constant threat of bankruptcy .
The law took aim at an early form of vertical integration in the livestock industry , in which companies were able to manipulate prices by controlling the production and the distribution of meat .
A century later , the consolidation of the meatpacking industry in the hands of a few immensely profitable transnational @ @ @ @ @ @ @ comparison .
The law remains on the books , but over the years government oversight has grown exceedingly lax .
After his election , Obama dispatched Secretary of Agriculture Tom Vilsack , the former governor of Iowa , to conduct a series of high-profile workshops on industry consolidation with farmers across the country .
Lloyd recalls genuine excitement in rural corners that meaningful change was imminent .
It turned out to be a “ dog-and-pony show , ” she says .
“ The Obama administration came out swinging and said they were going @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the issue and try to create a level playing field .
Nothing happened.
” Rather than revive the project of dismantling the food-and-ag monopolies , Democratic nominee Joe Biden ’ s approach to agriculture has consisted largely of pummeling Trump over his trade war with China and the economic pain it has inflicted on farmers .
This summer , he told attendees of a virtual rally in Wisconsin , where dairy farms are shutting down at a rate of nearly two per day and farmer suicides are on the rise , that “ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was to blame .
While this has become a media mantra , the message may not resonate in rural communities the way the Democratic establishment seems to think .
Bill Bullard , the CEO of the Ranchers-Cattlemen Action Legal Fund , a conservative group working to stop anticompetitive practices in the meatpacking industry , says that ’ s because many farmers and ranchers favor protective tariffs .
Free trade agreements have saturated the market with cheap imports , driving down the prices US farmers receive for their goods and promoting overproduction , he @ @ @ @ @ @ @ multinational agribusinesses ” —it lowers costs , ensuring higher profits— “ but it ’ s contrary to the economic interest of America ’ s farmers and ranchers and the rural communities they support , ” says Bullard .
“ Free trade keeps prices below the cost of production .
That ’ s why the average age of the American farmer is steadily increasing—young people can ’ t afford to get into the industry.
” Bullard ’ s group is a Second Amendment–touting , anti-abortion bunch , but on this issue they ’ re @ @ @ @ @ @ @ who view free trade as a euphemism for consolidation .
“ The trade deals that have gone forward in both Republican and Democratic administrations are basically deals bought and paid for by corporations so they can move their capital around more easily , ” Lloyd says .
She points out that Bernie Sanders ’ s “ going-after-the-big-guys ” approach , as she puts it , helped him win every county in Wisconsin outside Milwaukee in the 2016 primary .
She draws an unflattering contrast with the Biden campaign ’ s approach .
“ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ on the trail for Biden [ in farm country ] is Tom Vilsack.
” She says the former ag secretary , now the CEO of the US Dairy Export Council , is squarely in the corporate corner , his million-dollar salary unpopular with struggling dairy farmers .
“ He ’ s not offering anything new , ” says Lloyd .
“ He ’ s all about export markets and supporting consolidation , not anything that would actually support farmers and their families.
” Economists view industries with a “ concentration ratio ” —defined @ @ @ @ @ @ @ largest companies—of 40 percent or more as anticompetitive , which covers most of agriculture .
It ’ s happened at an astonishing speed .
In 1986 , the market share for the four largest poultry processors was 35 percent ; by 2015 , it was 58 percent .
The market share of the biggest hog processors grew from 33 percent in 1976 to 70 percent 2015 .
The effect has been most pronounced in the beef industry , in which the concentration ratio ballooned from 25 percent in 1977 to 85 percent in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in the two biggest seed markets : Corn had an 85 percent concentration ratio by 2015 ; soybeans , 76 percent .
Agrochemical concentration was 84 percent by 2017 .
Corporate consolidation in retail food distribution and equipment manufacturing has also risen to dangerous levels recently , with both at around 40 percent concentration .
Decades of mergers and vertical integration have left producers with little competitive leverage to shop around for chicken feed or choose which company they sell their hogs to .
As a result , US farmers receive less than @ @ @ @ @ @ @ on food , a number that has dropped about 20 percent since the USDA began publishing such statistics in the 1990s .
People aren ’ t eating less—seed companies , agrochemical suppliers , food processors , and other corporations along the supply chain are taking a bigger chunk of the food dollar .
And many of those firms are owned by foreign conglomerates , including the largest American pork company , Smithfield Foods ( purchased by a Chinese group in 2013 ) , JBS USA ( a subsidiary of the world ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ São Paulo , Brazil ) , and Monsanto ( now owned by the Swiss chemical giant Bayer ) .
It ’ s a picture that doesn ’ t quite jibe with President Trump ’ s made-in-America ethos .
In the current climate , some disaffected Republican farmers are starting to jump ship .
On a Wednesday afternoon in August , Vice President Mike Pence ’ s plane touched down in Des Moines , where he was headlining a rally to launch the Farmers and Ranchers for Trump Coalition .
Overlooking the airfield was @ @ @ @ @ @ @ red constituency has some beef with the administration : “ Trump ’ s Policies Cause Farm Bankruptcies , ” it read .
The same message greeted Pence on a billboard at the Iowa Fairgrounds where he was to speak .
Chris Gibbs , the Ohio soybean grower behind the billboards , hopes to help his fellow farmers make the leap .
Earlier this year , Gibbs , a lifelong Republican who voted for Trump in 2016 , founded Rural America 2020 , an advocacy group aimed at “ creating a safe space for @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in a different direction , ” he says .
It would give license to people like Gibbs , who is now an independent and plans to vote for Biden .
The group has targeted voters in six largely rural swing states—Iowa , Minnesota , Wisconsin , Michigan , Ohio and Pennsylvania—with radio ads , a social media campaign , billboards , banners pulled by airplanes above Trump rallies , and a website where Republican farmers who have changed teams can upload video testimonials about their conversion .
“ We ’ re a permission @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the intense social pressure to remain loyal to Trump in ag circles .
“ Creating a safe space means they can see that their friends , neighbors , and people from church are also changing their mind.
” He , too , sees market concentration as an inflection point that might give reluctant farmers a leftward push .
“ We need to have a national conversation about consolidation in our food chain , ” he says .
The president has authorized a record $ 46 billion in subsidy payments this year to keep @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ hush money.
” He says , “ Farmers have become trapped .
They ’ re in a situation where they can ’ t get away from Trump , because he ’ s got the keys to their financial survival.
” But he warns of a revolt on the horizon .
“ Agriculture is like a sleeping giant .
It ’ s slow to awaken , but when it does , the ground shakes.
” Evidence of an agricultural exodus from the Republican Party is mixed at best .
Gibbs ’ s group @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , an agriculture news site ( DTN stands for Data Transmission Network ) , that found an 18-point drop in farmers planning to vote for Trump between April and August this year .
And he points to Fox News polling this summer that showed a pronounced contraction of Trump support among rural voters—after winning rural districts by 26 points in 2016 , his lead over Biden was only nine points .
However , a DTN/PF.com poll in late September showed Trump ’ s lead among rural voters at 17 percent .
And Farm @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is hogwash : According to its polling , the percentage of farmers planning to vote for Trump has remained steady at 75 percent or above for the past year .
The publication ’ s most recent poll , in August , showed Trump at 82 percent , while only 13 percent planned to vote for Biden .
Joe Maxwell , the president of Family Farm Action , acknowledges that most farmers and rural voters will continue to back a GOP ticket because of social issues .
But he believes that the least rigidly @ @ @ @ @ @ @ if the Democratic party seized on corporate power as a top concern—a slice that wouldn ’ t turn all rural districts blue by any stretch , but might prove decisive in key swing states .
Rural America Doesn ’ t Have to Starve to Death Maxwell , the former lieutenant governor of Missouri , a fourth-generation hog farmer , and perhaps the country ’ s foremost advocate for antitrust enforcement in agriculture , has data to back up the assertion .
This summer , Family Farm Action joined several other advocacy groups to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ driving rural voters and the messaging that would most persuade them at the ballot box .
Few ranked as high as corporate power .
Eighty-one percent said they ’ d be more likely to vote for a candidate who acknowledged that “ a handful of corporate monopolies now run our entire food system , ” and promised to institute “ a moratorium on factory farms and corporate monopolies in food and agriculture.
” Ninety-six percent agreed with the statement : “ We need to halt the takeover of our farms by foreign corporations.
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ mantle because both are “ in bed with big [ ag ] , ” says Maxwell .
“ They don ’ t want to talk about it , ” despite there being “ almost civil unrest among cattle producers , ” he says .
In the broader reckoning over corporate power in America , the agriculture industry has received relatively little scrutiny from policy-makers—nothing like the spectacle playing out in Washington with the tech monopolies .
The Trump administration has made gestures—the Department of Justice has pursued several agrobusinesses for anti-competitive practices—though Maxwell @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a harbinger of systemic change .
“ There are bolder actions they could make as evidence that they ’ re sincere and aren ’ t just trying to get headlines to calm the concerns out here in rural America , ” he says .
On the other side of the aisle , Senator Cory Booker of New Jersey has sponsored the Farm System Reform Act , which would make comprehensive reforms to realign the playing field in favor of farmers , rather than corporations ( it has languished in Congress for the past @ @ @ @ @ @ @ saw a flurry of discussion about reining in ag monopolies , led by Senators Bernie Sanders and Elizabeth Warren .
It faded , however , along with their campaigns .
So as much as the issue resonates with farmers—a small , but electorally important constituency—it is scarcely on the November ballot .
A rare congressional candidate staking her name to the cause is Democrat Julie Oliver , a veteran of the health care industry who is running against incumbent Republican Representative Roger Williams , a former car dealership owner , in Texas ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ land between Austin and Dallas .
Neither has a strong connection to agriculture , but by attempting to forge one on the campaign trail , Oliver is hoping to differentiate herself in the eyes of conservatives who wouldn ’ t ordinarily give a feminist from Austin ( her campaign sells “ Smash the Patriarchy ” T-shirts ) a second look , and garner a few extra votes to put her over the top .
She ’ s neck-and-neck with Williams in the latest polling .
“ We really need enforcement of the Packers @ @ @ @ @ @ @ price manipulation , ” says Oliver , who organized a roundtable event on YouTube this summer with Jim Hightower , a former Texas agriculture commissioner and a titan of rural progressive politics .
She points out that Wan Long , CEO of the Chinese conglomerate that owns Smithfield Foods , earns $ 291 million per year—roughly $ 800,000 per day .
“ He ’ s not hurting , but ranchers in Lampasas are.
” It ’ s the kind of talk that perks up a Texas cattle broker who doesn ’ t want @ @ @ @ @ @ @ sell to a lot of these companies who are part of the problem.
” A lifelong Republican who now considers himself a conservative-leaning independent , the broker plans to vote for Oliver because of her focus on enforcing antitrust rules .
( Concerning her car-dealer opponent ’ s view on the Packers and Stockyards Act , he says , “ I don ’ t think he knows much about it.
” ) The meatpackers have become so big that suppliers have lost most of their leverage .
“ There ’ s no negotiating @ @ @ @ @ @ @ have to compete for the cattle , ” he says .
This was especially stark with Covid-19 , when meatpacking plants cut production due to workers falling ill .
The retail price of beef went up 25 percent on the presumption of a meat shortage , but the increase in price was not passed on to ranchers , whose income per pound dropped 17 percent .
“ The typical profit margin for a packer is somewhere between $ 100 and $ 200 a head [ of cattle ] , ” says the broker @ @ @ @ @ @ @ $ 1,000 a head , because of the difference between what they were selling the meat for and what they were buying it for.
” Lawmakers on both sides of the aisle have since put forward bills to level the playing field in the cattle market , but none have moved forward .
Even Oliver ’ s smash-the-patriarchy rhetoric won ’ t dissuade this straitlaced Texan from voting for her .
“ White men have had more than 200 years to run this country , and in my opinion there ’ s a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ wrong , ” he says .
“ Maybe it ’ s time for a few women to run the damn thing.
” Like ag policy reform , that cause will not be found at the top of the ticket in November .
But the seeds are there , simmering , as the Democratic Party charts its future course .

Wisconsin dairy farmer Sarah Lloyd believes she has the answer to a question that has convulsed the Democratic Party for the past four years. “People from the coasts are always like, ‘What’s going on with Wisconsin? How could they have possibly voted for Obama and then voted for Trump?’” she asks, putting on a falsetto to conjure the hysteria she often hears in such voices. On a chilly, overcast October afternoon, she lays out her theory at the 400-cow Columbia County farm she runs with her husband, which the couple recently considered shuttering after years of unsustainably low milk prices. A Democrat with a PhD in rural sociology, this third-generation farmer believes her party is sorely out of touch with an issue that resonates deeply in conservative heartland communities: countering the monopolistic level of corporate power that has emerged in agribusiness over the past 40 years. This piece was produced by the Food and Environment Reporting Network, a nonprofit news organization.
“As the companies become bigger and more consolidated, it limits our ability to negotiate in the marketplace,” Lloyd explains, “which shows up in higher prices for our inputs”—seed, feed, fertilizer, tractor equipment, and so on. “It’s squeezing producers on all sides and making it difficult to stay afloat. We’re like little ants compared to these companies.” The GOP has not adequately addressed the issue either, she says, leaving an opening for Democrats. “Rural voters are like, ‘Give us something we can work with here.’”
President Barack Obama vowed to do exactly that during his 2008 campaign. He promised to enforce the Packers and Stockyards Act, 1920s-era antitrust legislation designed to put reins on meat companies that were racking up profits while farming families weathered oppressive levels of debt and the constant threat of bankruptcy. The law took aim at an early form of vertical integration in the livestock industry, in which companies were able to manipulate prices by controlling the production and the distribution of meat. A century later, the consolidation of the meatpacking industry in the hands of a few immensely profitable transnational corporations makes the 1920s seem quaint in comparison.
The law remains on the books, but over the years government oversight has grown exceedingly lax. After his election, Obama dispatched Secretary of Agriculture Tom Vilsack, the former governor of Iowa, to conduct a series of high-profile workshops on industry consolidation with farmers across the country. Lloyd recalls genuine excitement in rural corners that meaningful change was imminent. It turned out to be a “dog-and-pony show,” she says. “The Obama administration came out swinging and said they were going to get the DOJ to dig into the issue and try to create a level playing field. Nothing happened.”
While Democratic nominee Joe Biden’s platform discusses strengthening antitrust enforcement in agriculture, his approach to rural voters has consisted largely of pummeling Trump over his trade war with China and the economic pain it has inflicted on farmers. This summer, he told attendees of a virtual rally in Wisconsin, where dairy farms are shutting down at a rate of nearly two per day and farmer suicides are on the rise, that “Trump’s unmitigated tariff disaster” was to blame. While this has become a media mantra, the message may not resonate in rural communities the way the Democratic establishment seems to think. 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 How the “Brooks Brothers Riot” Set the Stage for Insurrection How the “Brooks Brothers Riot” Set the Stage for Insurrection 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 How the “Brooks Brothers Riot” Set the Stage for Insurrection How the “Brooks Brothers Riot” Set the Stage for Insurrection Chris Lehmann
Bill Bullard, the CEO of the Ranchers-Cattlemen Action Legal Fund, a conservative group working to stop anticompetitive practices in the meatpacking industry, says that’s because many farmers and ranchers favor protective tariffs. Free trade agreements have saturated the market with cheap imports, driving down the prices US farmers receive for their goods and promoting overproduction, he says.
“That is good for multinational agribusinesses”—it lowers costs, ensuring higher profits—“but it’s contrary to the economic interest of America’s farmers and ranchers and the rural communities they support,” says Bullard. “Free trade keeps prices below the cost of production. That’s why the average age of the American farmer is steadily increasing—young people can’t afford to get into the industry.” Current Issue View our current issue
Bullard’s group is a Second Amendment–touting, anti-abortion bunch, but on this issue they’re aligned with rural Democrats like Lloyd, who view free trade as a euphemism for consolidation. “The trade deals that have gone forward in both Republican and Democratic administrations are basically deals bought and paid for by corporations so they can move their capital around more easily,” Lloyd says. She points out that Bernie Sanders’s “going-after-the-big-guys” approach, as she puts it, helped him win every county in Wisconsin outside Milwaukee in the 2016 primary.
She draws an unflattering contrast with the Biden campaign’s approach. “The only person I’ve seen on the trail for Biden [in farm country] is Tom Vilsack.” She says the former ag secretary, now the CEO of the US Dairy Export Council, is squarely in the corporate corner, his million-dollar salary unpopular with struggling dairy farmers. “He’s not offering anything new,” says Lloyd. “He’s all about export markets and supporting consolidation, not anything that would actually support farmers and their families.”
Economists view industries with a “concentration ratio”—defined as the market share of the four largest companies—of 40 percent or more as anticompetitive, which covers most of agriculture. It’s happened at an astonishing speed. In 1986, the market share for the four largest poultry processors was 35 percent; by 2015, it was 58 percent. The market share of the biggest hog processors grew from 33 percent in 1976 to 70 percent 2015. The effect has been most pronounced in the beef industry, in which the concentration ratio ballooned from 25 percent in 1977 to 85 percent in 2015. The trajectories have been similar in the two biggest seed markets: Corn had an 85 percent concentration ratio by 2015; soybeans, 76 percent. Agrochemical concentration was 84 percent by 2017. Corporate consolidation in retail food distribution and equipment manufacturing has also risen to dangerous levels recently, with both at around 40 percent concentration.
Decades of mergers and vertical integration have left producers with little competitive leverage to shop around for chicken feed or choose which company they sell their hogs to. As a result, US farmers receive less than 15 cents of every dollar Americans spend on food, a number that has dropped about 20 percent since the USDA began publishing such statistics in the 1990s. People aren’t eating less—seed companies, agrochemical suppliers, food processors, and other corporations along the supply chain are taking a bigger chunk of the food dollar. And many of those firms are owned by foreign conglomerates, including the largest American pork company, Smithfield Foods (purchased by a Chinese group in 2013), JBS USA (a subsidiary of the world’s largest meatpacker, which is based in São Paulo, Brazil), and Monsanto (now owned by the Swiss chemical giant Bayer). It’s a picture that doesn’t quite jibe with President Trump’s made-in-America ethos.
In the current climate, some disaffected Republican farmers are starting to jump ship. On a Wednesday afternoon in August, Vice President Mike Pence’s plane touched down in Des Moines, where he was headlining a rally to launch the Farmers and Ranchers for Trump Coalition. Overlooking the airfield was a billboard that suggested that this reliably red constituency has some beef with the administration: “Trump’s Policies Cause Farm Bankruptcies,” it read. The same message greeted Pence on a billboard at the Iowa Fairgrounds where he was to speak.
Chris Gibbs, the Ohio soybean grower behind the billboards, hopes to help his fellow farmers make the leap. Earlier this year, Gibbs, a lifelong Republican who voted for Trump in 2016, founded Rural America 2020, an advocacy group aimed at “creating a safe space for rural America to speak out and go in a different direction,” he says. It would give license to people like Gibbs, who is now an independent and plans to vote for Biden. The group has targeted voters in six largely rural swing states—Iowa, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan, Ohio and Pennsylvania—with radio ads, a social media campaign, billboards, banners pulled by airplanes above Trump rallies, and a website where Republican farmers who have changed teams can upload video testimonials about their conversion. “We’re a permission campaign,” says Gibbs, noting the intense social pressure to remain loyal to Trump in ag circles. “Creating a safe space means they can see that their friends, neighbors, and people from church are also changing their mind.”
He, too, sees market concentration as an inflection point that might give reluctant farmers a leftward push. “We need to have a national conversation about consolidation in our food chain,” he says. The president has authorized a record $46 billion in subsidy payments this year to keep farmers afloat, which Gibbs views as “hush money.” He says, “Farmers have become trapped. They’re in a situation where they can’t get away from Trump, because he’s got the keys to their financial survival.” But he warns of a revolt on the horizon. “Agriculture is like a sleeping giant. It’s slow to awaken, but when it does, the ground shakes.”
Evidence of an agricultural exodus from the Republican Party is mixed at best. Gibbs’s group touts an August poll by DTN/Progressive Farmer, an agriculture news site (DTN stands for Data Transmission Network), that found an 18-point drop in farmers planning to vote for Trump between April and August this year. And he points to Fox News polling this summer that showed a pronounced contraction of Trump support among rural voters—after winning rural districts by 26 points in 2016, his lead over Biden was only nine points. However, a DTN/PF.com poll in late September showed Trump’s lead among rural voters at 17 percent. And Farm Journal says the notion of shrinking support is hogwash: According to its polling, the percentage of farmers planning to vote for Trump has remained steady at 75 percent or above for the past year. The publication’s most recent poll, in August, showed Trump at 82 percent, while only 13 percent planned to vote for Biden.
Joe Maxwell, the president of Family Farm Action, acknowledges that most farmers and rural voters will continue to back a GOP ticket because of social issues. But he believes that the least rigidly conservative among them could be picked off if the Democratic party seized on corporate power as a top concern—a slice that wouldn’t turn all rural districts blue by any stretch, but might prove decisive in key swing states. Related Article Rural America Doesn’t Have to Starve to Death Nick Shaxson
Maxwell, the former lieutenant governor of Missouri, a fourth-generation hog farmer, and perhaps the country’s foremost advocate for antitrust enforcement in agriculture, has data to back up the assertion. This summer, Family Farm Action joined several other advocacy groups to conduct a comprehensive poll on the issues driving rural voters and the messaging that would most persuade them at the ballot box. Few ranked as high as corporate power. Eighty-one percent said they’d be more likely to vote for a candidate who acknowledged that “a handful of corporate monopolies now run our entire food system,” and promised to institute “a moratorium on factory farms and corporate monopolies in food and agriculture.” Ninety-six percent agreed with the statement: “We need to halt the takeover of our farms by foreign corporations.”
Neither party has pursued the anti-corporate mantle because both are “in bed with big [ag],” says Maxwell. “They don’t want to talk about it,” despite there being “almost civil unrest among cattle producers,” he says.
In the broader reckoning over corporate power in America, the agriculture industry has received relatively little scrutiny from policy-makers—nothing like the spectacle playing out in Washington with the tech monopolies. The Trump administration has made gestures—the Department of Justice has pursued several agrobusinesses for anti-competitive practices—though Maxwell isn’t convinced that these are a harbinger of systemic change. “There are bolder actions they could make as evidence that they’re sincere and aren’t just trying to get headlines to calm the concerns out here in rural America,” he says. On the other side of the aisle, Senator Cory Booker of New Jersey has sponsored the Farm System Reform Act, which would make comprehensive reforms to realign the playing field in favor of farmers, rather than corporations (it has languished in Congress for the past year). And the Democratic primary saw a flurry of discussion about reining in ag monopolies, led by Senators Bernie Sanders and Elizabeth Warren. It faded, however, along with their campaigns. So as much as the issue resonates with farmers—a small, but electorally important constituency—it is scarcely on the November ballot.
A rare congressional candidate staking her name to the cause is Democrat Julie Oliver, a veteran of the health care industry who is running against incumbent Republican Representative Roger Williams, a former car dealership owner, in Texas’ 25th district, which covers the farm land between Austin and Dallas. Neither has a strong connection to agriculture, but by attempting to forge one on the campaign trail, Oliver is hoping to differentiate herself in the eyes of conservatives who wouldn’t ordinarily give a feminist from Austin (her campaign sells “Smash the Patriarchy” T-shirts) a second look, and garner a few extra votes to put her over the top. She’s neck-and-neck with Williams in the latest polling.
“We really need enforcement of the Packers and Stockyards Act because there is major price manipulation,” says Oliver, who organized a roundtable event on YouTube this summer with Jim Hightower, a former Texas agriculture commissioner and a titan of rural progressive politics. She points out that Wan Long, CEO of the Chinese conglomerate that owns Smithfield Foods, earns $291 million per year—roughly $800,000 per day. “He’s not hurting, but ranchers in Lampasas are.”
It’s the kind of talk that perks up a Texas cattle broker who doesn’t want his real name used because “I sell to a lot of these companies who are part of the problem.” A lifelong Republican who now considers himself a conservative-leaning independent, the broker plans to vote for Oliver because of her focus on enforcing antitrust rules. (Concerning her car-dealer opponent’s view on the Packers and Stockyards Act, he says, “I don’t think he knows much about it.”) The meatpackers have become so big that suppliers have lost most of their leverage. “There’s no negotiating anymore, because they don’t have to compete for the cattle,” he says.
This was especially stark with Covid-19, when meatpacking plants cut production due to workers falling ill. The retail price of beef went up 25 percent on the presumption of a meat shortage, but the increase in price was not passed on to ranchers, whose income per pound dropped 17 percent. “The typical profit margin for a packer is somewhere between $100 and $200 a head [of cattle],” says the broker. “This spring it skyrocketed to $1,000 a head, because of the difference between what they were selling the meat for and what they were buying it for.” Lawmakers on both sides of the aisle have since put forward bills to level the playing field in the cattle market, but none have moved forward.
Even Oliver’s smash-the-patriarchy rhetoric won’t dissuade this straitlaced Texan from voting for her. “White men have had more than 200 years to run this country, and in my opinion there’s a lot of things we’re doing wrong,” he says. “Maybe it’s time for a few women to run the damn thing.” Like ag policy reform, that cause will not be found at the top of the ticket in November. But the seeds are there, simmering, as the Democratic Party charts its future course.


thenation--2020-10-27--A Soundscape of Pure Empathy

A Soundscape of Pure Empathy

When she talks about her music , the Welsh artist Kelly Lee Owens often invokes her experience training as an auxiliary nurse at a lung cancer ward in Manchester , England , as a teenager .
Her patients were the ones who encouraged her to pursue the creative path she ’ s on now .
“ They were kind of like my career advisers , ” she told The Guardian .
“ They had this unique perspective , of having their lives threatened by something out of their control , so I respected all of their words of advice.
” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ worked in record stores , played bass in the band The History of Apple Pie , and got a few tips from the London electronic artists Daniel Avery and Ghost Culture .
Her self-titled debut album , Kelly Lee Owens , felt like a final curtain reveal after all that preparation , unveiling a dreamy , parsimonious approach that trickled out like ASMR for the auditory cortex .
The songs incorporated a range of electronic styles , but they were tied together by a soothing , palliative quality .
Owens also funnels her @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Inner Song .
However , her sonic calculus has changed this time as she opts for brooding tones and ominous textures .
The opener , “ Arpeggi , ” is a cover of a Radiohead song—one that ’ s been in the ether a lot these days , with a gorgeous version by Lianne La Hava released recently .
Owens ’ s take is made up of restless synth arpeggios beating down like raindrops .
Its sparseness and fastidiousness still sound like her , but the mood is angstier and more layered than @ @ @ @ @ @ @ spill into new territory .
Right now , it ’ s easy to discern in any piece of art the gravity of the current moment .
Things seem to mirror the dysphoria of quarantine , even though it might just be our brains applying meaning to ambiguous works as if they were Rorschach tests .
Still , there is an arc that Owens captures on Inner Song ; the individual tracks cover what she calls “ the hardest three years of my life , ” relevant to any transition out of a dark @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a songwriter , but she has always avoided heavy-handedness by keeping her lyrics allusive , delivering quick observations through light , wispy vocals .
She takes her cues from ambient artists , focusing on space and atmosphere rather than direct message or meaning .
Because of both its personal undertones and its abstractions , Inner Song carries more intimacy and emotional weight than her debut , landing in a place that feels connected to a universal need to rise from bleakness .
Even as it touches on ecological devastation and political uncertainty , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , allowing her to extend her sounds and technique as a producer while achieving a quiet complexity that adds undeniable depth to her body of work .
When Owens does brush on ever-present anxieties , the approach is subtle .
“ MELT !
” is one of the album ’ s most upbeat entries , even though she has said it ’ s meant to evoke the dread of climate change .
The song is built around a sample of what she ’ s called “ melting glacial ice , ” swatches of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ice-skating.
” These elements aren ’ t exactly easy to pick up ; they ’ re blended in the mix , and what stands out instead are the scant lyrics .
“ Ice , while you sleep , while you breathe , ” Owens whispers over and over again .
Although the pace is brisk , there ’ s something meditative in the repetition , which unspools like a mantra that can either quell the fear that comes with thinking about climate change or remind us of our apathy as the ice caps @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ruminative quality through instrumental songs like the steely “ Flow ” or “ Jeanette , ” bright with choirs of synths .
Even when she isn ’ t working with lyrics , her approach to production is to build slowly but meticulously , and much of the album has the attribute of a slow , steady current that can move you in a completely different direction before you even notice .
On “ Corner of My Sky , ” Owens fashions an enigmatic sonic backdrop fit for the low bellows of her fellow @ @ @ @ @ @ @ neatly onto the album , both in terms of his sound as well as for the figure he cuts as a pioneer of the avant-garde .
Owens said when the song was released that she asked him to “ delve into his Welsh heritage and tell the story of the land via spoken-word , poetry , and song , ” and Cale obliged , offering naturalistic imagery that ’ s a little hallucinatory .
In an interview with The Guardian this year , Owens joked , “ Let ’ s just say with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Sky , ’ that might be what microdosing mushrooms sounds like.
” At its core , the song is interested in roots , origins , and histories , almost as if Owens and Cale wanted to imagine what the beginning of time might have sounded like and , in the process , untangle the cataclysmic disasters of today .
That circuitousness reflects Owens ’ s progression toward a clearer state of self-understanding on the album , and it also highlights the music ’ s individual passages from dark , sulking moodiness to sudden @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Corner of My Sky , ” she moves on to “ Night , ” one of Inner Song ’ s standouts , made blissful through her beatific vocalizations .
Some of the album ’ s least interesting moments seem like repetitions of past formulas .
“ Re-Wild ” is undeniably pretty , driven by Owens ’ s dream-pop tendencies .
However , it misses the brute force of “ MELT !
” and “ Corner of My Sky ” and comes across as almost too innocuous ; its message of release and restoration @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Wake Up ” goes further , thanks to tiny glitches and beeping synth lines , but it ’ s one of the few times her lyrics actually get in the way .
Owens offers a breathy warning of too many hours spent on the apps , seemingly urging the extremely online among us to be more present : “ Swipe to the next frame / Swipe to the next face , another new face / Never pausing to take it in / Always avoiding your sense of dread.
” As gentle as her @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the clunkiest message on the record .
Still , Owens ’ s careful hand works more often than not , and the album ’ s appeal lies in how understated it is .
She doesn ’ t make a spectacle out of her apocalyptic musings or warp her observations into preachy declarations ; her music never feels didactic or overly prescriptive .
Instead , Inner Song ’ s subjectivity becomes a strength , allowing listeners to walk away with what they wish from it .
The music feels inextricably bound up with Owens @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , only here she ’ s found a way to let people process their pain and create a space to regenerate .

This article appears in the December 14/21, 2020 issue.
When she talks about her music, the Welsh artist Kelly Lee Owens often invokes her experience training as an auxiliary nurse at a lung cancer ward in Manchester, England, as a teenager. Her patients were the ones who encouraged her to pursue the creative path she’s on now. “They were kind of like my career advisers,” she told The Guardian. “They had this unique perspective, of having their lives threatened by something out of their control, so I respected all of their words of advice.”
After leaving nursing in 2009, Owens worked in record stores, played bass in the band The History of Apple Pie, and got a few tips from the London electronic artists Daniel Avery and Ghost Culture. Her self-titled debut album, Kelly Lee Owens, felt like a final curtain reveal after all that preparation, unveiling a dreamy, parsimonious approach that trickled out like ASMR for the auditory cortex. The songs incorporated a range of electronic styles, but they were tied together by a soothing, palliative quality.
Owens also funnels her personal experiences into her sophomore album, Inner Song. However, her sonic calculus has changed this time as she opts for brooding tones and ominous textures. The opener, “Arpeggi,” is a cover of a Radiohead song—one that’s been in the ether a lot these days, with a gorgeous version by Lianne La Havas released recently. Owens’s take is made up of restless synth arpeggios beating down like raindrops. Its sparseness and fastidiousness still sound like her, but the mood is angstier and more layered than before, allowing her technical skill to spill into new territory.
Right now, it’s easy to discern in any piece of art the gravity of the current moment. Things seem to mirror the dysphoria of quarantine, even though it might just be our brains applying meaning to ambiguous works as if they were Rorschach tests. Still, there is an arc that Owens captures on Inner Song; the individual tracks cover what she calls “the hardest three years of my life,” relevant to any transition out of a dark place.
Owens is a singer and a songwriter, but she has always avoided heavy-handedness by keeping her lyrics allusive, delivering quick observations through light, wispy vocals. She takes her cues from ambient artists, focusing on space and atmosphere rather than direct message or meaning. Because of both its personal undertones and its abstractions, Inner Song carries more intimacy and emotional weight than her debut, landing in a place that feels connected to a universal need to rise from bleakness. Even as it touches on ecological devastation and political uncertainty, the album is understated and beautifully self-possessed, allowing her to extend her sounds and technique as a producer while achieving a quiet complexity that adds undeniable depth to her body of work.
When Owens does brush on ever-present anxieties, the approach is subtle. “Melt!” is one of the album’s most upbeat entries, even though she has said it’s meant to evoke the dread of climate change. The song is built around a sample of what she’s called “melting glacial ice,” swatches of techno, and the sound of “ice-skating.” These elements aren’t exactly easy to pick up; they’re blended in the mix, and what stands out instead are the scant lyrics. “Ice, while you sleep, while you breathe,” Owens whispers over and over again. Although the pace is brisk, there’s something meditative in the repetition, which unspools like a mantra that can either quell the fear that comes with thinking about climate change or remind us of our apathy as the ice caps continue to wither. Owens recreates that ruminative quality through instrumental songs like the steely “Flow” or “Jeanette,” bright with choirs of synths. Even when she isn’t working with lyrics, her approach to production is to build slowly but meticulously, and much of the album has the attribute of a slow, steady current that can move you in a completely different direction before you even notice. 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 How the “Brooks Brothers Riot” Set the Stage for Insurrection How the “Brooks Brothers Riot” Set the Stage for Insurrection 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 How the “Brooks Brothers Riot” Set the Stage for Insurrection How the “Brooks Brothers Riot” Set the Stage for Insurrection Chris Lehmann
On “Corner of My Sky,” Owens fashions an enigmatic sonic backdrop fit for the low bellows of her fellow Welsh artist John Cale. He slides neatly onto the album, both in terms of his sound as well as for the figure he cuts as a pioneer of the avant-garde. Owens said when the song was released that she asked him to “delve into his Welsh heritage and tell the story of the land via spoken-word, poetry, and song,” and Cale obliged, offering naturalistic imagery that’s a little hallucinatory. In an interview with The Guardian this year, Owens joked, “Let’s just say with the track, ‘Corner of My Sky,’ that might be what microdosing mushrooms sounds like.”
At its core, the song is interested in roots, origins, and histories, almost as if Owens and Cale wanted to imagine what the beginning of time might have sounded like and, in the process, untangle the cataclysmic disasters of today. That circuitousness reflects Owens’s progression toward a clearer state of self-understanding on the album, and it also highlights the music’s individual passages from dark, sulking moodiness to sudden luminosity. After the intensity of “Corner of My Sky,” she moves on to “Night,” one of Inner Song’s standouts, made blissful through her beatific vocalizations.
Some of the album’s least interesting moments seem like repetitions of past formulas. “Re-Wild” is undeniably pretty, driven by Owens’s dream-pop tendencies. However, it misses the brute force of “Melt!” and “Corner of My Sky” and comes across as almost too innocuous; its message of release and restoration gets lost in the shuffle. “Wake-Up” goes further, thanks to tiny glitches and beeping synth lines, but it’s one of the few times her lyrics actually get in the way. Owens offers a breathy warning of too many hours spent on the apps, seemingly urging the extremely online among us to be more present: “Swipe to the next frame / Swipe to the next face, another new face / Never pausing to take it in / Always avoiding your sense of dread.” As gentle as her delivery is here, it’s the clunkiest message on the record.
Still, Owens’s careful hand works more often than not, and the album’s appeal lies in how understated it is. She doesn’t make a spectacle out of her apocalyptic musings or warp her observations into preachy declarations; her music never feels didactic or overly prescriptive. Instead, Inner Song’s subjectivity becomes a strength, allowing listeners to walk away with what they wish from it. The music feels inextricably bound up with Owens’s years of caring for others, only here she’s found a way to let people process their pain and create a space to regenerate.


thenation--2020-10-27--International Students Don’t Want to Study in the US Anymore

In July , close to a million international students in the United States learned how much can change in eight days .
When the Trump administration released its short-lived immigration directive on July 6 , proposing unprecedented legal restrictions on academic visa holders in the country , international students—both in the country and outside of it— were forced into action .
Fearing deportation , those in the country waited for updates from their schools and reconsidered travel plans .
Those overseas followed the news from a spectrum of time zones , trying to make sense of their educational plans .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ Zhang , saw the future of their homes being thrown into uncertainty , leaving them , as Zhang described , “ distraught and freaked out.
” Sheltering at her boyfriend ’ s house in Austin , Tex.
, where she has been since Princeton sent students home in mid-March , Zhang learned that if she was unable to take in-person classes in the fall—which , under the proposed policy , she couldn ’ t do because Princeton ’ s campus would be closed to seniors—she would have to leave the country .
With @ @ @ @ @ @ @ taking a minimum of 40 hours , she was dismayed .
“ There ’ s definitely a sense of existential dread , ” she told me in July .
“ The lack of agency in this sort of situation is very difficult to bear.
” The policy was reversed a week later , but not without leaving a lasting impact on international students across the world .
This story was produced for Student Nation , a section devoted to highlighting campus activism and student movements from students in their own words .
For @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 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 made possible through generous funding from The Puffin Foundation .
As the coronavirus continues to spread , its tangible impacts on global movement—such as travel restrictions and consulate closures—continue to trouble the nation ’ s international students as they have since March .
What has changed in the last few months , in large part due to the US Immigration and Customs Enforcement policy @ @ @ @ @ @ @ but difficult question for institutions and individuals alike : What value do international students bring to the US education system , and what do our answers say about the country and the people who choose to make a life here ?
Even before the July policy , the Trump administration was rolling out new visa restrictions that significantly impacted international students , and more are being proposed .
In June , Trump suspended the issuance of new work visas , including H-1B and J-1 visas , in a move that left many researchers @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
In early September , Trump revoked the visas of more than 1,000 Chinese students on the grounds that the State Department had deemed them as “ high risk ” for alleged ties to the Chinese military , although some of these ties proved to be dubious .
Most recently , it has proposed new rules limiting international students ’ time spent in English language training , how often a student can change degree programs , and the validity of an academic visa—which , until now , was indefinite as long as a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ four years , shorter than the average PhD program .
The effect of these rolling announcements— with some that stick and others that don ’ t—has put international students in a state of constant anxiety , fearing their futures could change at any moment .
“ My heart is racing just putting myself back in time , ” tweeted Ana Maria Porras , an incoming assistant professor in the Department of Biomedical Engineering at the University of Florida , on September 25 .
Originally from Bucaramanga , Colombia , she obtained her bachelor @ @ @ @ @ @ @ doctorate degrees in the United States over the past 13 years .
“ What would I have done had these rules been in effect .
Would I have come to the US ?
Would I have stayed for graduate school ?
Did I choose correctly in deciding to obtain a faculty position here ?
” Porras is not alone in questioning whether , for international students , it is worthwhile pursuing a life in the country at all .
“ Lately , I ’ ve been having a lot of mixed feelings about @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Guo , an incoming international student at Pomona College .
Calling from her bedroom in Hong Kong in July , she told me that she ’ d decided to pursue a gap year when Pomona announced a fully virtual fall semester .
( Though the July policy was rescinded for students who already had their visas , the same did not extend to new students—such as international freshmen like Guo—who were unable to obtain the required documents to enter the country . )
Princeton senior Zhang , who has spent the last seven @ @ @ @ @ @ @ experienced a similar disappointment .
She recalled a winter day from 2013 , when she sat at a seminar table at Phillips Exeter Academy discussing ambition and the idea of home with 12 classmates .
Leaning back in her chair and looking out the window , she listened as some of her American classmates—chiefly those from major metropolitan areas such as New York City—talked about their dreams and the places they lived overlapped .
“ And I just thought , ” Zhang said , “ I don ’ t think I ’ ll @ @ @ @ @ @ @ she may not be able to stay in the United States after graduation , however , she has begun looking into other options , including the United Kingdom .
As some predict a drop in international student enrollment due to the aftershocks of the pandemic , a looming uncertainty hovers over the country ’ s educational institutions .
Despite all their outreach to foreign students , what if these students no longer come—and if they don ’ t , what will American campuses look like in the future ?
“ They are not @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” Kylee Marshall , an adjunct faculty member at Brigham Young University , told me back in July when the ICE policy was still on the table .
“ They enrich the experience that other students have—and that ’ s what ’ s been on my mind the most.
” When the ICE policy was first announced , Marshall was one of dozens of faculty members at BYU who opened their courses to international students needing an in-person class to legally remain in the country .
Given the multicultural nature of her seminar @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , race and power ” by studying family structures around the world , she thought it “ made a lot of sense ” for her to offer room for international students .
“ It ’ s been really cool to watch people rally together to make this work , ” she added .
Guo , miles away in Hong Kong , had alluded to the same , describing virtual meet-and-greets she attended all summer with other Pomona freshmen .
“ I think the collective trouble increases the sense of camaraderie among us , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ days in which international students clamored to find a solution , many of their domestic classmates stepped up to advocate for their friends through social media , e-mail listservs and petitions on major platforms across the internet .
“ Class-swap ” initiatives—in which domestic students volunteered to give their in-person class seats to their international peers—circulated online ; one such Google sheet attracted contributors from 56 schools before becoming a website within days .
The rapid mobilization came as no surprise in a time when , for many students , collective action is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ moment when schools across the nation are reckoning with how deep-rooted issues , such as anti-Black racism , impact their students in disproportionate ways .
While talking to undergraduates from various schools , I learned that much of this solidarity stems from meaningful personal experiences .
Daniel Li , a junior at Carnegie Mellon University , wrote to me about the summer he worked in a lab as a lone freshman .
Making new friends was tough , he said , until he met a PhD student from India whose kindness and friendship @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ Rohan was the one who made me feel welcome , ” Li wrote .
“ He is certainly a valued part of my community and story.
” Remembering Rohan ’ s contribution to his college life especially in a time of “ shared uncertainty , ” he added , “ I want to support our international peers .
None of our communities would be the same without them.
” Sean Zatz , a sophomore at Princeton , believes his friendship with a Chinese classmate , Tony , helped him grow “ into @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Their classmate , Austin Davis , shared similar experiences with his Portuguese roommate , Edoardo , whose “ unfailing positivity and deep intellectual convictions ” helped make his freshman year “ as [ good ] as it could be.
” The sentiment goes both ways .
Despite not being able to meet them in person until next year , Guo said that she has enjoyed meeting her other classmates—both domestic and international—through group chats and Zoom calls .
“ They ’ re such a great group of people , ” she said , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ how kind her classmates have been , articles and petitions that defend the enrollment of international students by emphasizing their economic contributions make her second-guess how welcoming her future home will be .
International students ’ economic impact is a convincing argument to make in favor of letting them stay : According to a report by the Association of International Educators , these students contributed $ 41 billion to the US economy in 2018 .
It ’ s a sum that , during a time of economic crisis , the country can ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ it ’ s a narrative that unfairly reduces international students to potential profit .
On July 9 , an assistant professor in computer science at Bucknell University , Chris Dancy , joined a rising chorus on social media by raising a simple point .
“ Maybe we should focus on treating these students as humans , ” he tweeted , “ instead of economic entities.
” In an e-mail , Dancy wrote that the emphasis on economic value “ dehumanizes ” students , drawing an analogy with how concepts like tokenism have painted @ @ @ @ @ @ @ he is a US citizen , he wrote that for him , the issue feels personal : Not only has he taught and done research with international scholars in the past , but , as a first-generation college graduate who was “ one of a handful ” of Black students in his field , he has witnessed how sweeping generalizations can cheapen the complexity of students ’ experiences within higher education .
Many international students do pay full tuition , which is often higher for nonresident and out-of-state students .
Yet this population @ @ @ @ @ @ @ from their home governments or work multiple campus jobs to support their life overseas .
Some even receive full financial aid , most often at wealthier , private institutions such as Harvard and Massachusetts Institute of Technology , the two schools that sued the government over the now-rescinded ICE policy from July .
( The case was resolved before it was even discussed in court . )
But as the 2020 election approaches , accompanied by a growing wave of changes in immigration policy , the nation ’ s international students—many of whom @ @ @ @ @ @ @ much greater anxieties in mind .
In light of the emotional and human costs of this uncertainty , the economics and numbers of the narrative seem beside the point .

In July, close to a million international students in the United States learned how much can change in eight days. When the Trump administration released its short-lived immigration directive on July 6, proposing unprecedented legal restrictions on academic visa holders in the country, international students—both in the country and outside of it— were forced into action.
Fearing deportation, those in the country waited for updates from their schools and reconsidered travel plans. Those overseas followed the news from a spectrum of time zones, trying to make sense of their educational plans. Many, like Princeton University senior Joanna Zhang, saw the future of their homes being thrown into uncertainty, leaving them, as Zhang described, “distraught and freaked out.”
Sheltering at her boyfriend’s house in Austin, Tex., where she has been since Princeton sent students home in mid-March, Zhang learned that if she was unable to take in-person classes in the fall—which, under the proposed policy, she couldn’t do because Princeton’s campus would be closed to seniors—she would have to leave the country. With reasonably priced journeys back home to Australia taking a minimum of 40 hours, she was dismayed. “There’s definitely a sense of existential dread,” she told me in July. “The lack of agency in this sort of situation is very difficult to bear.”
The policy was reversed a week later, but not without leaving a lasting impact on international students across the world. 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.
As the coronavirus continues to spread, its tangible impacts on global movement—such as travel restrictions and consulate closures—continue to trouble the nation’s international students as they have since March. What has changed in the last few months, in large part due to the US Immigration and Customs Enforcement policy, is the unveiling of an important but difficult question for institutions and individuals alike: What value do international students bring to the US education system, and what do our answers say about the country and the people who choose to make a life here?
Even before the July policy, the Trump administration was rolling out new visa restrictions that significantly impacted international students, and more are being proposed. In June, Trump suspended the issuance of new work visas, including H-1B and J-1 visas, in a move that left many researchers stranded or forced to leave their jobs. In early September, Trump revoked the visas of more than 1,000 Chinese students on the grounds that the State Department had deemed them as “high risk” for alleged ties to the Chinese military, although some of these ties proved to be dubious. Most recently, it has proposed new rules limiting international students’ time spent in English language training, how often a student can change degree programs, and the validity of an academic visa—which, until now, was indefinite as long as a student was enrolled in a US school—to four years, shorter than the average PhD program.
The effect of these rolling announcements— with some that stick and others that don’t—has put international students in a state of constant anxiety, fearing their futures could change at any moment.
“My heart is racing just putting myself back in time,” tweeted Ana Maria Porras, an incoming assistant professor in the Department of Biomedical Engineering at the University of Florida, on September 25. Originally from Bucaramanga, Colombia, she obtained her bachelor’s, master’s and doctorate degrees in the United States over the past 13 years. “What would I have done had these rules been in effect. Would I have come to the US? Would I have stayed for graduate school? Did I choose correctly in deciding to obtain a faculty position here?”
Porras is not alone in questioning whether, for international students, it is worthwhile pursuing a life in the country at all. “Lately, I’ve been having a lot of mixed feelings about the United States,” said Hannah Guo, an incoming international student at Pomona College. Calling from her bedroom in Hong Kong in July, she told me that she’d decided to pursue a gap year when Pomona announced a fully virtual fall semester. (Though the July policy was rescinded for students who already had their visas, the same did not extend to new students—such as international freshmen like Guo—who were unable to obtain the required documents to enter the country.)
Princeton senior Zhang, who has spent the last seven years in the United States, has experienced a similar disappointment. She recalled a winter day from 2013, when she sat at a seminar table at Phillips Exeter Academy discussing ambition and the idea of home with 12 classmates. Leaning back in her chair and looking out the window, she listened as some of her American classmates—chiefly those from major metropolitan areas such as New York City—talked about their dreams and the places they lived overlapped.
“And I just thought,” Zhang said, “I don’t think I’ll ever live at home again.” Knowing she may not be able to stay in the United States after graduation, however, she has begun looking into other options, including the United Kingdom.
As some predict a drop in international student enrollment due to the aftershocks of the pandemic, a looming uncertainty hovers over the country’s educational institutions. Despite all their outreach to foreign students, what if these students no longer come—and if they don’t, what will American campuses look like in the future?
“They are not only wanted here, but needed,” Kylee Marshall, an adjunct faculty member at Brigham Young University, told me back in July when the ICE policy was still on the table. “They enrich the experience that other students have—and that’s what’s been on my mind the most.”
When the ICE policy was first announced, Marshall was one of dozens of faculty members at BYU who opened their courses to international students needing an in-person class to legally remain in the country. Given the multicultural nature of her seminar, which explores topics of “ethnicity, race and power” by studying family structures around the world, she thought it “made a lot of sense” for her to offer room for international students.
“It’s been really cool to watch people rally together to make this work,” she added. Guo, miles away in Hong Kong, had alluded to the same, describing virtual meet-and-greets she attended all summer with other Pomona freshmen. “I think the collective trouble increases the sense of camaraderie among us,” she said.
During the eight days in which international students clamored to find a solution, many of their domestic classmates stepped up to advocate for their friends through social media, e-mail listservs and petitions on major platforms across the internet. “Class-swap” initiatives—in which domestic students volunteered to give their in-person class seats to their international peers—circulated online; one such Google sheet attracted contributors from 56 schools before becoming a website within days.
The rapid mobilization came as no surprise in a time when, for many students, collective action is best organized through the Internet—especially in a moment when schools across the nation are reckoning with how deep-rooted issues, such as anti-Black racism, impact their students in disproportionate ways.
While talking to undergraduates from various schools, I learned that much of this solidarity stems from meaningful personal experiences. Daniel Li, a junior at Carnegie Mellon University, wrote to me about the summer he worked in a lab as a lone freshman. Making new friends was tough, he said, until he met a PhD student from India whose kindness and friendship completely transformed Daniel’s summer.
“Rohan was the one who made me feel welcome,” Li wrote. “He is certainly a valued part of my community and story.” Remembering Rohan’s contribution to his college life especially in a time of “shared uncertainty,” he added, “I want to support our international peers. None of our communities would be the same without them.”
Sean Zatz, a sophomore at Princeton, believes his friendship with a Chinese classmate, Tony, helped him grow “into a more understanding and mature person.” Their classmate, Austin Davis, shared similar experiences with his Portuguese roommate, Edoardo, whose “unfailing positivity and deep intellectual convictions” helped make his freshman year “as [good] as it could be.”
The sentiment goes both ways. Despite not being able to meet them in person until next year, Guo said that she has enjoyed meeting her other classmates—both domestic and international—through group chats and Zoom calls. “They’re such a great group of people,” she said, “and so diverse.”
Yet despite how kind her classmates have been, articles and petitions that defend the enrollment of international students by emphasizing their economic contributions make her second-guess how welcoming her future home will be.
International students’ economic impact is a convincing argument to make in favor of letting them stay: According to a report by the Association of International Educators, these students contributed $41 billion to the US economy in 2018. It’s a sum that, during a time of economic crisis, the country can’t afford to lose.
Still, it’s a narrative that unfairly reduces international students to potential profit. On July 9, an assistant professor in computer science at Bucknell University, Chris Dancy, joined a rising chorus on social media by raising a simple point. “Maybe we should focus on treating these students as humans,” he tweeted, “instead of economic entities.”
In an e-mail, Dancy wrote that the emphasis on economic value “dehumanizes” students, drawing an analogy with how concepts like tokenism have painted one-dimensional portraits of minority students. Although he is a US citizen, he wrote that for him, the issue feels personal: Not only has he taught and done research with international scholars in the past, but, as a first-generation college graduate who was “one of a handful” of Black students in his field, he has witnessed how sweeping generalizations can cheapen the complexity of students’ experiences within higher education.
Many international students do pay full tuition, which is often higher for nonresident and out-of-state students. Yet this population also includes those who receive substantial grants from their home governments or work multiple campus jobs to support their life overseas. Some even receive full financial aid, most often at wealthier, private institutions such as Harvard and Massachusetts Institute of Technology, the two schools that sued the government over the now-rescinded ICE policy from July. (The case was resolved before it was even discussed in court.)
But as the 2020 election approaches, accompanied by a growing wave of changes in immigration policy, the nation’s international students—many of whom are now unsure where to go next—have much greater anxieties in mind. In light of the emotional and human costs of this uncertainty, the economics and numbers of the narrative seem beside the point.