What would you do if the world’s wealthiest man came knocking on your door? Ask for a buck? Let ’em in? Run from this clear sweepstakes door scam?
It’s a scenario that could very well happen in Pennsylvania, a state that has reportedly become an obsession for Elon Musk. So much so that the New York Times reports that the Tesla CEO, who is nearly “manic” about sending Donald Trump back to the White House, recently proposed going door-to-door in the Keystone State in order to gin up support for the former president. Musk is so deeply involved in Trump’s reelection campaign that the Times lists several alarming efforts the billionaire has made to assist the former president’s ambitions in recent months. One includes reportedly coordinating with the campaign to block damaging information from appearing on X.
That’s damning stuff. Still, it’s the potential of Musk frantically running around in Pennsylvania, jumping up and down for Trump at one’s doorstep, that feels especially unusual. It would mark an extraordinarily personal appeal but also, perhaps, a terrifying one, a political stunt lab-made to make it abundantly clear that this is the worst timeline.
All of this comes as Pennsylvania is widely considered to be the most critical battleground state of the 2024 election. This week alone, Barack Obama made it the first stop in his campaign tour for Kamala Harris, while Trump returned for two events, including one in Scranton, Pennsylvania. Meanwhile, Musk’s preoccupation with the state continues apace, with Gov. Josh Shapiro confirming that the Tesla CEO personally called him last weekend to talk jobs in western Pennsylvania. “We obviously didn’t talk about politics,” Shapiro said.
Correction, October 14: An earlier version misstated Pennsylvania’s nickname.
What would you do if the world’s wealthiest man came knocking on your door? Ask for a buck? Let ’em in? Run from this clear sweepstakes door scam?
It’s a scenario that could very well happen in Pennsylvania, a state that has reportedly become an obsession for Elon Musk. So much so that the New York Times reports that the Tesla CEO, who is nearly “manic” about sending Donald Trump back to the White House, recently proposed going door-to-door in the Buckeye State in order to gin up support for the former president. Musk is so deeply involved in Trump’s reelection campaign that the Times lists several alarming efforts the billionaire has made to assist the former president’s ambitions in recent months. One includes reportedly coordinating with the campaign to block damaging information from appearing on X.
That’s damning stuff. Still, it’s the potential of Musk frantically running around in Pennsylvania, jumping up and down for Trump at one’s doorstep, that feels especially unusual. It would mark an extraordinarily personal appeal but also, perhaps, a terrifying one, a political stunt lab-made to make it abundantly clear that this is the worst timeline.
All of this comes as Pennsylvania is widely considered to be the most critical battleground state of the 2024 election. This week alone, Barack Obama made it the first stop in his campaign tour for Kamala Harris, while Trump returned for two events, including one in Scranton, Pennsylvania. Meanwhile, Musk’s preoccupation with the state continues apace, with Gov. Josh Shapiro confirming that the Tesla CEO personally called him last weekend to talk jobs in western Pennsylvania. “We obviously didn’t talk about politics,” Shapiro said.
A spiral of lies and deliberate efforts to mislead parliament may have undone Boris Johnson’s premiership. But don’t expect the former Conservative prime minister of the United Kingdom, who is out promoting a forthcoming memoir, to have abandonedhis long-running mendacity.
In a Wednesday interview, Johnson said that he did not believe that Donald Trump ever intended to “overthrow the Constitution” by sowing deep mistrust in the 2020 election results and inciting his supporters on January 6.
“I personally don’t think he intended to overthrow the Constitution and what actually happened was the peaceful transfer of democratic power from one administration to another,” Johnson told Times Radio.
He also claimed that Trump’s refusal to accept the election results shouldn’t preclude another chance at the White House.
The remarks stand in stark contrast to the unequivocal condemnation Johnson expressed as prime minister in the immediate aftermath of January 6, an event Johnson decried as “disgraceful.”
“I believe what President Trump has been saying about that has been completely wrong and I unreservedly condemn encouraging people to behave in the disgraceful way that they did in the Capitol,” he said at the time, joining in nearly universal shock and condemnation of Trump from international leaders.
Of course, sudden bouts of amnesia regarding former president Trump are nothing new for conservative politicians. Nearly everyone in the Republican Party has similarly abandoned the criticisms they made of Trump on January 6 or in its wake as his sway on the party held strong. Similarly, there is a way in which Johnson’s latest defense could be a sign elite opinion in the UK is betting on Trump returning to power.
Or perhaps it’s much simpler than that. The famously cash-poor Johnson—who, besides having a lavish Oxfordshire manor to renovate, can’t seem to count how many children he has to feed—wants you to buy his book. And he’ll do whatever it takes to get the attention. “Them’s the breaks,” I guess.
As congratulations poured in for the recipients of this year’s MacArthur Award, Dr. Ruha Benjamin, a professor of African American studies at Princeton University, should have been celebrating a career-defining achievement. But the full story was a bit more complicated. Around the same time that she had been awarded one of the most prestigious prizes in intellectual circles, Dr. Benjamin was being chastised for pro-Palestine activism by her university.
She explained the context in a thread on X, which gained wide attention:
Princeton chose not to include my responses to their Qs about the #MacFellow award in this announcement—What it was like when I got the call? What the award means to me? What I’m working on now?—bc I asked them to accurately recount my response to Q1 or to not quote me at all. 1/ https://t.co/iKygbr4zfN
The thread publicized an ongoing conflict between Benjamin and her employer, which had opened an investigation into her involvement in an April protest in solidarity with pro-Palestinian student demonstrators. According to Benjamin, a “tense” phone call with university officials had taken place shortly before learning she had won a MacArthur grant, thus diluting the joy that comes with such an exceedingly rare achievement.
“Receiving this honor encourages me to continue beating that drum in my teaching, writing, and advocacy—that the many crises we face as people and planet are in part due to the fact that we are living inside the imagination of those who monopolize power and resources to benefit the few at the expense of the many,” she said in a post that included her response to Princeton’s question about the significance of a MacArthur fellowship for her scholarship.
I caught up with Benjamin to discuss Princeton’s investigation into her role in April’s protest, academia’s crackdown on speech, and the problems inside the “genteel” culture at the renowned university. Princeton University declined to comment. Our conversation has been edited for length and clarity.
Let’s go back to the protests from the spring. Tell me about the atmosphere at Princeton and what your experience was like at the time.
The biggest thing to understand about what we experienced at Princeton is that many individuals, many people outside of academia and perhaps some inside, are weaponizing Title VI of the federal anti-discrimination law, specifically as it relates to charges of antisemitism. They’re both weaponizing and watering down what antisemitism is in order to apply it to a whole host of speech acts and organizing. In the process of watering it down, it both loses its meaning and, rather ironically, it’s wielded against the very people who the word was intended to protect. The result is that faculty and students of color are being targeted through aggression.
“When I say chilling effect, it’s not just simply that individuals are scared; they’re being interrogated. They’re being punished.”
For example, at Princeton, we had a sit-in at Clio Hall back in April, where I was one of four faculty observers—all of whom were faculty of color—who went with students. Now, the four of us are being investigated by the university and targeted by those outside who don’t want to see anyone speaking up against the genocide or in support of the sanctity of all life, including Palestinian life. So I think that’s really the bigger climate, that anyone can be charged with being antisemitic using Title VI.
The last thing I’ll just point out is that the person who helped draft the definition of antisemitism is Kenneth Stern. He has been saying on the record now in op-eds and interviews, as the person who drafted the definition of antisemitism, that it is being weaponized and is creating a chilling effect on university campuses. I agree with that point: When everything becomes antisemitic, nothing is antisemitic, and it makes it much harder to fight antisemitism. At Princeton, I’ve heard directly from those who’ve been targeted, that students who were involved in April’s protest are being called in for questioning to talk about their friends and roommates. One of my colleagues, in the spring, brought his class on Palestine to the encampment. He has since been put on probation by the university. So when I say chilling effect, it’s not just simply that individuals are scared; they’re being interrogated. They’re being punished.
“Princeton is on the continuum of the way that different universities have approached crackdowns. There’s a lot of choreography where it feels like the institutions all hired the same consulting firm to show them how to approach [dissent].”
Tell me a little more about Princeton’s investigation.
The focus of the investigation, as it was told to me, was specifically about my role during the sit-in. I’ve gone on the record, along with the other faculty observers, in a written statement about what we observed. And what we observed contradicted the lies that the administration had claimed about what students were doing during the demonstration. They were essentially trying to determine if I led the students in. So the line of questioning is around what role I had during the sit-in. But the assumption is that it started with me.
I had a faculty companion with me who was meant to accompany me to balance out the conversation. And very early in the conversation, he had to interject and tell Princeton that they were assuming I was leading the students versus observing and supporting them. In this particular case, the students were arrested. That investigative call from the university happened the day before MacArthur informed me of the award.
Universities have significantly cracked down on dissent since last spring. Some now require registration for protests with student names; others have banned camping on school grounds. How should we view these new restrictions against academic freedom and the history of campus protests?
Princeton is on the continuum of the way that different universities have approached crackdowns. There is certainly a lot of choreography where it feels like the institutions all hired the same consulting firm to show them how to approach dissent. I noticed when we returned from break these signs on some of the green areas on campus, but specifically where the encampment had taken place.
These institutions are trying to balance the expectations of free expression and academic freedom, while also working very hard to make protest non-disruptive to campus life. But the very definition of a protest is that it should disrupt. Otherwise, as we say, it’s a parade. In terms of the history of campus protest, what students have historically done is to try and push universities to put their purse strings in line with their platitudes. That’s the case whether it was South Africa, fossil fuel divestment, etc.
Changes have only happened because students and allies disrupted business as usual. It wasn’t through polite conversation or panels or pure reason; it was because people said, “This is not normal, so we’re not going to act normally.” In some ways, these institutions are saying we don’t want to live up to our ideals, we put order over our ideals.
I feel like a lot of these crackdowns happen under the pretense of so-called neutrality to clamp down on voices that are deemed problematic. But a crackdown on speech is, by its very nature, far from neutral. How should we think about this disconnect?
Absolutely. I also agree that nonaction is a form of action. Not saying anything is implicit support for whatever the dominant narrative and status quo are. And as someone who studies science and technology, fields that really cling to the ideals of neutrality, this is where they get their authority from.
Purely as an academic, I see the way that claims of neutrality and objectivity are wielded in so many different ways. When institutions do it, it’s an extension of this because claims to neutrality are an attempt to maintain authority and power over those who are deemed not neutral. That distinction between claims that protesters are operating on pure passion, you know, it’s so subjective.
It’s called the God trick, right? The philosopher Donna Haraway talks about this God view that science attempts to maintain. That it has an omniscient view of everything. In many ways, the statements rolled out by our institutions are attempting the God trick that it stands above everything. “We’ll let others figure it out but we stand apart.” But that standing apart is a tacit support for whatever the status quo is. In this case, the current investments of our institutions in the war machine. So by saying we’re not getting involved in that, you’re saying we’re going to maintain those investments, regardless of the student opposition for it. And so I think it’s important for us to burst that bubble of insularity that those in authority constantly try to maintain by using neutrality as a power play.
Shifting gears to the thread that went viral this week. What was your initial reaction to realizing that Princeton had chosen not to include your responses in their announcement of your MacArthur award?
The Office of Communications reached out to me saying they had received the news from MacArthur and asked if they could interview me. So they sent me those three questions that I put online, and I wrote out my answers. And in writing the answers, I prefaced it by saying I know my answer to one puts you in a tricky position. But I would ask that if you can’t include the full context of that response, please don’t use any quotes from me in writing.
By then, I was 99 percent sure that they weren’t going to publish any of them. So I was not surprised at all that they didn’t. They were generous enough and wrote back after a few days to let me know that they had opted for option two, which is no quotes. And again, I know this wasn’t journalism. This is PR for the homepage of the university, and the point of that is to make the university look good. So I was under no sort of illusion that they were going to want to put anything in there that would cast doubt on the goodness of the university. There was no surprise.
Right. But your responses didn’t seem confrontational, to me, at least.
I think they were the most basic, almost watered-down responses. I mean, I didn’t tell them what I really think. [laughs]
The whole correspondence with them was totally polite. That’s Princeton’s way. They will suspend you—but very politely. Everything is very polite, that’s the thing. It’s not like what we saw at Columbia. If you saw the correspondence I had with them, they were very generous and I was very understanding.
That’s so interesting, your point that their response was unlike Columbia’s. Can you elaborate?
Princeton is known as the southernmost Ivy. It’s widely known to be the school where southern aristocrats sent their children during the antebellum years. It has a very genteel culture.
I was told early on when I got here—and I’ve been here over 10 years—that to get anything done here, you cannot be confrontational. That the university and its officials do not respond well to the way I operate. Like, “How dare you tweet such a mild thing!”
Has Princeton reached out since you tweeted those responses?
No, they have not reached out. I think that that’s typical, their idea to ignore [controversy], that it will go away. It goes back to what I said earlier. That the university believes that they stand above things.
“Such a backlash would be misplaced and perverse. Rather than looking to those who are trying to push the Democratic Party to live up to its ideals, we should be looking to the party itself and its own shortfalls: funding an unpopular war, occupation, and genocide.”
I can’t help but feel that universities—like some in the Democratic Party—seem to treat Gaza supporters like nothing more than a nuisance. Something to be dealt with. How are these attitudes, at the highest levels of academia and government, formed?
There are many ways to diagnose this issue. One way I think about it is that the framing of pro-Palestinian and anti-genocide protests is one single issue. An isolated issue that is unrelated to more domestic and relevant issues. But that is a faulty and even deadly framing. Even this week, with Hurricane Helene in North Carolina, FEMA has come on the record to say they have a shortfall in terms of not having the funds to help people stranded in the mountains of North Carolina—right after we sent $8.7 billion to Israel to continue bombing Lebanon and Gaza.
I believe that all things are connected. One of the most tangible ways they’re connected is the way we allocate money. So one of the things I highlight in my own research is that a budget is not just a budget. It is a moral document that tells us who and what we value.
The budget of a university is a moral document. So the same institutions that give so much lip service to producing young people that go out in the world and benefit society—that same institution has to care about their investments. One of the most basic things pro-Palestinian student protesters are asking for is transparency about where university funds are going. To me, that seems like the most basic obligation. I would like to know if my employer is benefiting from the deaths of tens of thousands of people, which in turn is a question about whether I am benefiting, right?
There’s a looming sense that if the election goes a certain way, grassroots movements that support Gaza are going to receive a ton of backlash. What’s behind that instinct and what would your response be to such an accusation?
Such a backlash is misplaced and perverse. Rather than looking to those who are trying to push the Democratic Party to live up to its ideals, we should be looking to the party itself and its own shortfalls: funding an unpopular war, occupation, and genocide. It’s analogous to say that people who bring up issues of racism are the ones who are creating division, rather than the racism itself.
So many of our social ills come from being angry at the people who are trying to call attention to the ills rather than the ills themselves. When it comes to the election, it’s really going to be misplaced. I think we have to push back and absolutely refuse any kind of blame.
As congratulations poured in for the recipients of this year’s MacArthur Award, Dr. Ruha Benjamin, a professor of African American studies at Princeton University, should have been celebrating a career-defining achievement. But the full story was a bit more complicated. Around the same time that she had been awarded one of the most prestigious prizes in intellectual circles, Dr. Benjamin was being chastised for pro-Palestine activism by her university.
She explained the context in a thread on X, which gained wide attention:
Princeton chose not to include my responses to their Qs about the #MacFellow award in this announcement—What it was like when I got the call? What the award means to me? What I’m working on now?—bc I asked them to accurately recount my response to Q1 or to not quote me at all. 1/ https://t.co/iKygbr4zfN
The thread publicized an ongoing conflict between Benjamin and her employer, which had opened an investigation into her involvement in an April protest in solidarity with pro-Palestinian student demonstrators. According to Benjamin, a “tense” phone call with university officials had taken place shortly before learning she had won a MacArthur grant, thus diluting the joy that comes with such an exceedingly rare achievement.
“Receiving this honor encourages me to continue beating that drum in my teaching, writing, and advocacy—that the many crises we face as people and planet are in part due to the fact that we are living inside the imagination of those who monopolize power and resources to benefit the few at the expense of the many,” she said in a post that included her response to Princeton’s question about the significance of a MacArthur fellowship for her scholarship.
I caught up with Benjamin to discuss Princeton’s investigation into her role in April’s protest, academia’s crackdown on speech, and the problems inside the “genteel” culture at the renowned university. Princeton University declined to comment. Our conversation has been edited for length and clarity.
Let’s go back to the protests from the spring. Tell me about the atmosphere at Princeton and what your experience was like at the time.
The biggest thing to understand about what we experienced at Princeton is that many individuals, many people outside of academia and perhaps some inside, are weaponizing Title VI of the federal anti-discrimination law, specifically as it relates to charges of antisemitism. They’re both weaponizing and watering down what antisemitism is in order to apply it to a whole host of speech acts and organizing. In the process of watering it down, it both loses its meaning and, rather ironically, it’s wielded against the very people who the word was intended to protect. The result is that faculty and students of color are being targeted through aggression.
“When I say chilling effect, it’s not just simply that individuals are scared; they’re being interrogated. They’re being punished.”
For example, at Princeton, we had a sit-in at Clio Hall back in April, where I was one of four faculty observers—all of whom were faculty of color—who went with students. Now, the four of us are being investigated by the university and targeted by those outside who don’t want to see anyone speaking up against the genocide or in support of the sanctity of all life, including Palestinian life. So I think that’s really the bigger climate, that anyone can be charged with being antisemitic using Title VI.
The last thing I’ll just point out is that the person who helped draft the definition of antisemitism is Kenneth Stern. He has been saying on the record now in op-eds and interviews, as the person who drafted the definition of antisemitism, that it is being weaponized and is creating a chilling effect on university campuses. I agree with that point: When everything becomes antisemitic, nothing is antisemitic, and it makes it much harder to fight antisemitism. At Princeton, I’ve heard directly from those who’ve been targeted, that students who were involved in April’s protest are being called in for questioning to talk about their friends and roommates. One of my colleagues, in the spring, brought his class on Palestine to the encampment. He has since been put on probation by the university. So when I say chilling effect, it’s not just simply that individuals are scared; they’re being interrogated. They’re being punished.
“Princeton is on the continuum of the way that different universities have approached crackdowns. There’s a lot of choreography where it feels like the institutions all hired the same consulting firm to show them how to approach [dissent].”
Tell me a little more about Princeton’s investigation.
The focus of the investigation, as it was told to me, was specifically about my role during the sit-in. I’ve gone on the record, along with the other faculty observers, in a written statement about what we observed. And what we observed contradicted the lies that the administration had claimed about what students were doing during the demonstration. They were essentially trying to determine if I led the students in. So the line of questioning is around what role I had during the sit-in. But the assumption is that it started with me.
I had a faculty companion with me who was meant to accompany me to balance out the conversation. And very early in the conversation, he had to interject and tell Princeton that they were assuming I was leading the students versus observing and supporting them. In this particular case, the students were arrested. That investigative call from the university happened the day before MacArthur informed me of the award.
Universities have significantly cracked down on dissent since last spring. Some now require registration for protests with student names; others have banned camping on school grounds. How should we view these new restrictions against academic freedom and the history of campus protests?
Princeton is on the continuum of the way that different universities have approached crackdowns. There is certainly a lot of choreography where it feels like the institutions all hired the same consulting firm to show them how to approach dissent. I noticed when we returned from break these signs on some of the green areas on campus, but specifically where the encampment had taken place.
These institutions are trying to balance the expectations of free expression and academic freedom, while also working very hard to make protest non-disruptive to campus life. But the very definition of a protest is that it should disrupt. Otherwise, as we say, it’s a parade. In terms of the history of campus protest, what students have historically done is to try and push universities to put their purse strings in line with their platitudes. That’s the case whether it was South Africa, fossil fuel divestment, etc.
Changes have only happened because students and allies disrupted business as usual. It wasn’t through polite conversation or panels or pure reason; it was because people said, “This is not normal, so we’re not going to act normally.” In some ways, these institutions are saying we don’t want to live up to our ideals, we put order over our ideals.
I feel like a lot of these crackdowns happen under the pretense of so-called neutrality to clamp down on voices that are deemed problematic. But a crackdown on speech is, by its very nature, far from neutral. How should we think about this disconnect?
Absolutely. I also agree that nonaction is a form of action. Not saying anything is implicit support for whatever the dominant narrative and status quo are. And as someone who studies science and technology, fields that really cling to the ideals of neutrality, this is where they get their authority from.
Purely as an academic, I see the way that claims of neutrality and objectivity are wielded in so many different ways. When institutions do it, it’s an extension of this because claims to neutrality are an attempt to maintain authority and power over those who are deemed not neutral. That distinction between claims that protesters are operating on pure passion, you know, it’s so subjective.
It’s called the God trick, right? The philosopher Donna Haraway talks about this God view that science attempts to maintain. That it has an omniscient view of everything. In many ways, the statements rolled out by our institutions are attempting the God trick that it stands above everything. “We’ll let others figure it out but we stand apart.” But that standing apart is a tacit support for whatever the status quo is. In this case, the current investments of our institutions in the war machine. So by saying we’re not getting involved in that, you’re saying we’re going to maintain those investments, regardless of the student opposition for it. And so I think it’s important for us to burst that bubble of insularity that those in authority constantly try to maintain by using neutrality as a power play.
Shifting gears to the thread that went viral this week. What was your initial reaction to realizing that Princeton had chosen not to include your responses in their announcement of your MacArthur award?
The Office of Communications reached out to me saying they had received the news from MacArthur and asked if they could interview me. So they sent me those three questions that I put online, and I wrote out my answers. And in writing the answers, I prefaced it by saying I know my answer to one puts you in a tricky position. But I would ask that if you can’t include the full context of that response, please don’t use any quotes from me in writing.
By then, I was 99 percent sure that they weren’t going to publish any of them. So I was not surprised at all that they didn’t. They were generous enough and wrote back after a few days to let me know that they had opted for option two, which is no quotes. And again, I know this wasn’t journalism. This is PR for the homepage of the university, and the point of that is to make the university look good. So I was under no sort of illusion that they were going to want to put anything in there that would cast doubt on the goodness of the university. There was no surprise.
Right. But your responses didn’t seem confrontational, to me, at least.
I think they were the most basic, almost watered-down responses. I mean, I didn’t tell them what I really think. [laughs]
The whole correspondence with them was totally polite. That’s Princeton’s way. They will suspend you—but very politely. Everything is very polite, that’s the thing. It’s not like what we saw at Columbia. If you saw the correspondence I had with them, they were very generous and I was very understanding.
That’s so interesting, your point that their response was unlike Columbia’s. Can you elaborate?
Princeton is known as the southernmost Ivy. It’s widely known to be the school where southern aristocrats sent their children during the antebellum years. It has a very genteel culture.
I was told early on when I got here—and I’ve been here over 10 years—that to get anything done here, you cannot be confrontational. That the university and its officials do not respond well to the way I operate. Like, “How dare you tweet such a mild thing!”
Has Princeton reached out since you tweeted those responses?
No, they have not reached out. I think that that’s typical, their idea to ignore [controversy], that it will go away. It goes back to what I said earlier. That the university believes that they stand above things.
“Such a backlash would be misplaced and perverse. Rather than looking to those who are trying to push the Democratic Party to live up to its ideals, we should be looking to the party itself and its own shortfalls: funding an unpopular war, occupation, and genocide.”
I can’t help but feel that universities—like some in the Democratic Party—seem to treat Gaza supporters like nothing more than a nuisance. Something to be dealt with. How are these attitudes, at the highest levels of academia and government, formed?
There are many ways to diagnose this issue. One way I think about it is that the framing of pro-Palestinian and anti-genocide protests is one single issue. An isolated issue that is unrelated to more domestic and relevant issues. But that is a faulty and even deadly framing. Even this week, with Hurricane Helene in North Carolina, FEMA has come on the record to say they have a shortfall in terms of not having the funds to help people stranded in the mountains of North Carolina—right after we sent $8.7 billion to Israel to continue bombing Lebanon and Gaza.
I believe that all things are connected. One of the most tangible ways they’re connected is the way we allocate money. So one of the things I highlight in my own research is that a budget is not just a budget. It is a moral document that tells us who and what we value.
The budget of a university is a moral document. So the same institutions that give so much lip service to producing young people that go out in the world and benefit society—that same institution has to care about their investments. One of the most basic things pro-Palestinian student protesters are asking for is transparency about where university funds are going. To me, that seems like the most basic obligation. I would like to know if my employer is benefiting from the deaths of tens of thousands of people, which in turn is a question about whether I am benefiting, right?
There’s a looming sense that if the election goes a certain way, grassroots movements that support Gaza are going to receive a ton of backlash. What’s behind that instinct and what would your response be to such an accusation?
Such a backlash is misplaced and perverse. Rather than looking to those who are trying to push the Democratic Party to live up to its ideals, we should be looking to the party itself and its own shortfalls: funding an unpopular war, occupation, and genocide. It’s analogous to say that people who bring up issues of racism are the ones who are creating division, rather than the racism itself.
So many of our social ills come from being angry at the people who are trying to call attention to the ills rather than the ills themselves. When it comes to the election, it’s really going to be misplaced. I think we have to push back and absolutely refuse any kind of blame.
Less than a week before Melania Trump is set to release her memoir, the former first lady appeared to break ranks.
“Melania Trump passionately defends abortion rights in upcoming memoir,” read the headline. The Guardian, which had obtained an early copy, went on to include excerpts that see Melania declaring it an “imperative” to guarantee a woman’s autonomy. “Restricting a woman’s right to choose whether to terminate an unwanted pregnancy is the same as denying her control over her own body,” she reportedly writes. “I have carried this belief with me throughout my entire adult life.”
These views, of course, appear in direct opposition to the extreme anti-abortion record of her husband, Donald Trump, as he seeks to return to the White House. They arrive as the former president, who frequently boasted of his singular role in helping to overturn Roe v. Wade, contorts himself on an issue that has proven electorally diabolical for Republicans.
So in comes Melania—and with her, one of the most persistent storylines of the Trump era: Donald Trump may be an extremist but the women around him are supposedlya moderating force. His wife in particular, with her projected sense of mystery and speculation that she is the silent victim of an awful man, has served as a convenient vehicle for this narrative.
If people do still indeed invest in the fiction that Melania is a covert champion of progressive values, that she is the defiant, least-awful member of MAGA, then haven’t the last eight years shown how useless she is?
It was a strange thing to believe in the first place. But with nearly a decade of evidence proving otherwise, it strikes me as equal parts baffling and damning that the narrative survives. In fact, countless people have posted the Guardian‘s excerpt without context on social media, as if it’s a bombshell. (The Guardian posted another excerpt this morning in which Melania claims she tried to convince Trump to abandon his administration’s family separation policy, again without much skepticism.)
Then, a familiar news cycle: National news outlets repeated both headlines. Here’s CBS News, airing the conclusion that this is an unmistakably pro-choice message from the former first lady:
Former First Lady Melania Trump voices support for abortion rights in her new memoir, saying there is “no room for compromise when it comes to this essential right that all women possess from birth. Individual freedom.”
Now to be clear, it may very well be true that Melania harbors secret pro-choice views. But should we care? The former first lady—who eagerly pushed pernicious birther lies about Barack Obama—has always been a willing contributor to her husband’s rot, a longstanding complicity that most recently featured Melania giving air to conspiracy theories surrounding Trump’s shooting. Experts have warned such partisan exploitation could lead to retaliatory violence.
But if people do still indeed invest in the fiction that Melania is a covert champion of more progressive values, that she is somehow the defiant, least-awful member of the MAGA kingdom, then haven’t the last eight years shown how feckless she is? After all, Roe is gone; family separations occurred but “I really don’t care, do u?”; and a return to the White House is all but certain to be far worse.
Still, fiction or not, there are books to sell and cryptic videos to film. Meanwhile, the media seems perfectly fine, even happy, to keep laundering this grift. Just apparently not for $250,000.
Less than a week before Melania Trump is set to release her memoir, the former first lady appeared to break ranks.
“Melania Trump passionately defends abortion rights in upcoming memoir,” read the headline. The Guardian, which had obtained an early copy, went on to include excerpts that see Melania declaring it an “imperative” to guarantee a woman’s autonomy. “Restricting a woman’s right to choose whether to terminate an unwanted pregnancy is the same as denying her control over her own body,” she reportedly writes. “I have carried this belief with me throughout my entire adult life.”
These views, of course, appear in direct opposition to the extreme anti-abortion record of her husband, Donald Trump, as he seeks to return to the White House. They arrive as the former president, who frequently boasted of his singular role in helping to overturn Roe v. Wade, contorts himself on an issue that has proven electorally diabolical for Republicans.
So in comes Melania—and with her, one of the most persistent storylines of the Trump era: Donald Trump may be an extremist but the women around him are supposedlya moderating force. His wife in particular, with her projected sense of mystery and speculation that she is the silent victim of an awful man, has served as a convenient vehicle for this narrative.
If people do still indeed invest in the fiction that Melania is a covert champion of progressive values, that she is the defiant, least-awful member of MAGA, then haven’t the last eight years shown how useless she is?
It was a strange thing to believe in the first place. But with nearly a decade of evidence proving otherwise, it strikes me as equal parts baffling and damning that the narrative survives. In fact, countless people have posted the Guardian‘s excerpt without context on social media, as if it’s a bombshell. (The Guardian posted another excerpt this morning in which Melania claims she tried to convince Trump to abandon his administration’s family separation policy, again without much skepticism.)
Then, a familiar news cycle: National news outlets repeated both headlines. Here’s CBS News, airing the conclusion that this is an unmistakably pro-choice message from the former first lady:
Former First Lady Melania Trump voices support for abortion rights in her new memoir, saying there is “no room for compromise when it comes to this essential right that all women possess from birth. Individual freedom.”
Now to be clear, it may very well be true that Melania harbors secret pro-choice views. But should we care? The former first lady—who eagerly pushed pernicious birther lies about Barack Obama—has always been a willing contributor to her husband’s rot, a longstanding complicity that most recently featured Melania giving air to conspiracy theories surrounding Trump’s shooting. Experts have warned such partisan exploitation could lead to retaliatory violence.
But if people do still indeed invest in the fiction that Melania is a covert champion of more progressive values, that she is somehow the defiant, least-awful member of the MAGA kingdom, then haven’t the last eight years shown how feckless she is? After all, Roe is gone; family separations occurred but “I really don’t care, do u?”; and a return to the White House is all but certain to be far worse.
Still, fiction or not, there are books to sell and cryptic videos to film. Meanwhile, the media seems perfectly fine, even happy, to keep laundering this grift. Just apparently not for $250,000.
In a wide-ranging interview on Tuesday, Vice President Kamala Harris was faced with a series of questions about her position on Israel’s war on Gaza, and specifically, whether her administration would see a shift in US policy.
But pressed for specifics at an event hosted by the National Association of Black Journalists, Harris repeatedly declined, opting largely to stick to familiar talking points that expressed support for a two-party solution and deals to secure the release of Israeli hostages and a ceasefire. In other words, Harris stuck closely to the party line—appearing in some moments slightly frustrated with follow-up questions from moderators, like this exchange with Politico‘s Eugene Daniels:
“You’ve gotten a lot of credit for emphasizing the humanity of Palestinians. But what I often hear from folks is that there is no policy change that either you or President Biden said you would do. Is there a policy change as president that you would do in our helping of Israel in this war?”
“We need to get this deal done,” Harris replied, “and we need to get it done immediately. And that is my position. And that is my policy.”
Daniels followed up.“But in the way that we send weapons and the way we interact as their ally, are there specific policy changes?”
Harris said that she was “entirely supportive” of the Biden administration’s decision to pause a shipment of weapons. She then quickly turned back to a need for a ceasefire agreement.
The line of questioning was the toughest Harris has faced on the issue, which remains a source of deep frustration among some Democratic voters over what they see as the party’s effort to push Gaza into the margins of political discourse. Harris’ answers on Tuesday, which relied heavily on boilerplate campaign points, are unlikely to quell that criticism.
For most Americans, the start of Donald Trump’s presidential career can be traced to those golden escalators, a 2015 Trump Tower spectacle that previewed much of the racism, lying, and vitriol that would come to define the political era ahead.
It was a campaign kickoff unlike anything that had been witnessed before, still referenced today to deride Trump’s ugly beginnings. “Here’s a 78-year-old billionaire who has not stopped whining about his problems since he rode down his golden escalator nine years ago,” former President Barack Obama said in his speech at the Democratic National Convention.
But what if you were 9 when that happened? What if incessant presidential whining was not only familiar, but perhaps all you’ve seen about America’s political landscape? What if, contrary to the popular slogan of 2016, this is normal?
For first-time voters in the 2024 election—11 by the time the white supremacist rally in Charlottesville, Virginia, rattled the country—that’s overwhelmingly the case. Yet, for all the familiarity with the politically absurd, it’s precisely this group’s relative youth during some of the most shocking and surreal moments of Trump’s first term that lends itself to the natural question: What parts struck a preteen at the time? Did the terms that rattled in adult brains for years—covfefe, Robert Mueller, Sharpie-gate, deep state—mean anything to a Trump-era kid?
Because a large chunk of my paycheck is earned by paying close attention to these shitstorm news cycles, I was curious what someone whose brain was developing instead of melting made of the 45th president’s time in office.
Put simply: What does an average teen think, remember, and make of Trump? And what would their knowledge, or lack of it, reveal about what the typical adult might miss about the last decade?
We caught up with three teen voters to find out what it means to grow up in the Trump era:
Eve, 18, Hawaii
In a few words, give me a sense of what you know about Donald Trump and how you, as a first-time voter, perceive him.
I was in the fifth grade when the 2016 election happened. I remember our teachers talking to us about the election, usually adding that it was a controversial topic, but none of us really understood why. My teachers would ask us questions like: “How do you feel about this? How do you feel about that?” But I felt like many of those conversations were a copy-and-paste job of what most of our parents were saying at the time.
I’d wonder, “Why did we freak out so much about that if I still go to school, I still do whatever?” I was too young to really see the changes and the effects of it.
For a long time, my political views—if I even had any as a kid—were based on my parents. I wanted to believe the opposite of what they believed. My dad is a Republican; he voted for Trump and will probably do so again this year.
That was a very confusing thing for me, because I would see crazy things about Trump supporters online. But as a kid, I’d look at my dad and know that he was such a nice person.
Like, I love my dad; I’m having dinner with him right now, and he’s, you know, a pretty kind guy. That was pretty confusing. My mom is pretty moderate and wanted to vote for [Robert F. Kennedy] Jr. this election.
How do you think she’ll vote now that RFK Jr. is out of the race?
I think she is going to vote for Trump. I’m pretty upset that Kennedy is out because I wanted to vote for him. I literally have a shirt that says, “Surfers for Kennedy,” on it. I was so excited to vote for someone who wasn’t Donald Trump or Kamala Harris. But now that he’s dropped out, I’m going to vote for Kamala.
Growing up in the age of Trump, how did adults around you speak of the former president?
It depended on where I was at the time. For example, if I went and hung out with my Aunt Jamie and Uncle C.J. in LA for the day, I would hear a very different perspective from what I had normally been around: the Megyn Kelly Show, Dan Bongino, super right-wing podcasts that my parents would listen to.
And then I would hang out with my aunt and uncle, and then they’d be like, those people are crazy. It opened my horizons a lot. My Aunt Jamie and Uncle C.J. have since shaped a lot of my political opinions now because they’re very good at talking to my family about politics without making it into a huge argument.
Now being in Hawaii, that’s also shaped my views a bit. I wouldn’t call Hawaiians anti-America, but you hear a lot of “I’m not voting in this election. I don’t care what happens on the mainland.”
As a kid, what was your typical reaction to this discourse?
It was crazy. It was so confusing. Everyone was talking about how things would be really bad if Trump won or how things would be really bad if Hillary (Clinton) won. I didn’t understand how someone who hadn’t even won yet could have so much influence on what was going on.
But once Trump did win, I saw no difference in my life. At the time, I was a kid growing up in Malibu, [California;] I had a pretty privileged life, right? I saw no difference in anything. And I’d wonder, “Why did we freak out so much about that if I still go to school, I still do whatever?” I was too young to really see the changes and the effects of it.
The only difference I noticed was that people were posting way more on social media.
What were some of your first memories of Trump’s White House?
This is going to be very niche, but when I was in fifth grade, I watched a lot of BuzzFeed videos. And I remember there was this one under their subcategory Ladylike that featured women wearing suits every day for a week. It was some kind of empowerment challenge. I had no clue it was going to feature anything on the election. But I’m watching it and halfway through the video, Trump wins the election at the time, and they did a whole section of these women crying.
I still remember sitting on my bed watching that and being like, “Oh, this might be bad. Like, if all these girls I watch all the time are upset, this might be bad.”
Did you know that Trump was impeached twice?
No, I didn’t know he was twice impeached, but I knew he was impeached. I’d heard about it.
“This is not normal” was a popular phrase during the 2016 election. I’m just curious: If you could choose to live in that supposedly pre-Trump era, do you think you’d want to?
That’s a good question. Honestly, I think anything before Trump would be pretty similar to now. At the end of the day, it’s still a question of whether you’re going to vote Republican or Democratic. There’s typically no real third-party choice. That’s how I kind of feel about this election. Like, I’m definitely going to vote for Kamala, but I’m not necessarily doing a ton of research on her, nor am I going to buy her merch or anything. I just know that it’s a situation where I definitely don’t want Trump to win.
When olds talk about a time in politics before Trump and what was “good” and “decent,” do we sound ancient?
I think maybe a little naive, because what are they really referring to? The time when the president was sleeping with Monica Lewinsky?
Do you think January 6 is one of the events where most people a generation from now will remember where they were when it happened?
Wait, January 6, like the riot, or January 6, when he became president?
The storming of the Capitol.
I actually do remember exactly where I was. I was sitting on a couch watching TV and wondering, “What is going on?” I remember it so vividly, because my dad, a Trump supporter, was even so upset about it. He’s also a police officer, and he’s, like, the No. 1 rule follower ever. I think it’s something people will remember for a long time.
When someone calls Trump dangerous, what does that mean to you, as someone who grew up during the era of Trump?
As I said before, I didn’t notice anything different about Trump in my daily life because I was so young. It’s not like I was paying taxes or anything.
I mean, I wouldn’t want to be alone in a room with him. But I don’t know if I would want to be alone with any male politician.
Are you alluding to the long list of sexual assault allegations against Trump?
Yes.
Are you familiar with any of the Trump kids? And if you are, who do you identify with the most?
I would say his granddaughter who recently spoke at the [Republican National Convention]? Because she’s around my age. Or maybe Barron? He seems more like a fly-under-the-radar type of guy. I remember there was some funny rumor about how he was on Roblox, the online gaming app, but then Melania took it away from him.
Mia, 19, California
In a few words, give me a sense of what you know about Donald Trump and how you, as a first-time voter, perceive him.
I know that he is a convicted felon and he is not a good person, right? Or at least in my opinion. He has said some very blatantly racist things; he has something of a cult following.
Growing up in the age of Trump, how did adults around you speak of the former president?
Oh, my parents were very anti-Trump. It was a lot of turning on the news and they’d say things like, “Oh dang, it’s Trump again.” There was never any praise, more concern that a real leader shouldn’t be acting this way.
I think I was too young to really understand what was so dangerous about Donald Trump.
What was your typical reaction to that discourse?Cringe?
I thought it was actually interesting, and I wanted to learn more about it. Especially because my parents would insist to me that they don’t usually react so strongly. It was a good learning experience, for sure.
What were some of your first memories of Trump’s White House?
Earliest? Well, I remember watching the election between him and Hillary. I woke up the morning Trump was elected and my dad was pissed—like, he was so angry. And I remember thinking, “Oh, this is not a good environment for us.”
When olds talk about a time in politics before Trump and what was “good” and “decent,” do we sound ancient? Naive?
It’s hard to imagine. Maybe not naive, but it does sound like a simpler, more civilized time when you didn’t have to worry about voting for a felon.
We’ve been raised to have certain ideas of what a democracy should be like, rather than, like, just voting for someone who’s not a terrible person. So it’s jarring going from that to this being our first election—and you don’t really have the option to explore the two choices.
Do you think January 6 is one of the events where most people a generation from now will remember where they were when it happened?
I was at home on the couch, and my dad turned on the TV and was like, “You have to watch this.” I definitely think it’ll be remembered years on. Even today, my friends will make jokes, “Where were you on January 6?” It’s such an iconic date.
When someone calls Trump dangerous, what did that mean to you, as someone who grew up during the era of Trump?
I think I was too young to really understand what was so dangerous about Donald Trump. I had heard and known that he was a threat to women’s rights and general equality overall. But I couldn’t have told you why.
Is there anything Trump did as president that you think was good?
I don’t think I could name a single thing. I have family in Ohio who’d say different.
Are you familiar with any of the Trump kids? And if you are, who do you identify with the most?
I’m trying to remember. He has a son, right? And the daughter is older? This is so bad. I don’t know.
Miles, 19, California
In a few words, give me a sense of what you know about Donald Trump and how you, as a first-time voter, perceive him.
I mean, Donald Trump has a reputation that speaks for itself. I view him as sort of the [former NBA player] Patrick Beverley of the political world. He always seems to butt his head in and isn’t afraid to mix it up with anyone. This alone wouldn’t be that bad, except for the fact that he doesn’t have the bite to back up the bark. Historically, he’s said some pretty wild things, but almost never fully backs them up.
Growing up in the age of Trump, how did adults around you speak of the former president?
I always heard mixed words of Trump. I mostly grew up in Livermore, which is one of the most conservative cities in the [San Francisco] Bay Area, although still not the majority. Most adults I knew spoke poorly of him, but there were always the few who were very excited when he did anything.
What was your typical reaction to that discourse?Cringe?
I never liked hearing political discussions growing up, so yes, cringe is a great way to describe my reaction to people talking about him. I never liked hearing about him or anything he did.
What were some of your first memories of Trump’s White House?
I don’t really remember much, but one thing I do remember a lot of was the online reactions and memes. It was so laughable that Trump even made it to the White House that people would make edits of him.
Did you know that Trump was impeached twice?
Yes, I did know that. He is the only president to have that happen, I believe.
“This is not normal” was a popular phrase during the 2016 election. I’m just curious: If you could choose to live in that supposedly pre-Trump era, do you think you’d want to?
If we define pre-Trump as pre-2016, then no, I would not like to live in it. Those were some pretty good years regarding music and early YouTube, but having to deal with 2008 would be pretty bad as an adult, I assume. While those years were fun, what came after has been a lot better for me and more fun.
When olds talk about a time in politics before Trump and what was “good” and “decent,” do we sound ancient? Naive?
I think they’re probably right. Today, there is a much bigger social media base in campaigns and it is so much easier to spread misinformation. Obviously, politics have always been dirty, but I feel as if it’s just gotten worse since Trump has been involved.
Do you think January 6 is one of the events where most people a generation from now will remember where they were when it happened?
Absolutely. I remember I was on a Zoom call for AP World History when I heard that news. It was just so unfathomable that something like that could even happen and is a huge historical moment in Trump’s legacy.
When someone calls Trump dangerous, what did that mean to you, as someone who grew up during the era of Trump?
As a white middle-class male, I never felt Trump was dangerous directly to me. I can’t speak for others on this matter, though; I know I’m not a group he would want to target.
Is there anything Trump did as president that you think was good?
I cannot think of anything off the top of my head that Trump did exceptionally.
Are you familiar with any of the Trump kids? And if you are, who do you identify with the most?
I can’t even name any of his kids off the top of my head.
The fantasy of a Taylor Swift endorsement is finally a reality—for Kamala Harris.
Shortly after the first presidential debate between the vice president and former President Donald Trump on Tuesday, the pop superstar made her support for Harris official on Instagram. Swift posted a photo from her Time magazine shoot featuring one of her cats, Benjamin Button—a clear dig at the “childless cat lady” attacks from Trump’s running mate, JD Vance.
The caption, which can be read in full below, referenced Trump’s false claim that he had accepted her endorsement back in August. “It brought me to the conclusion that I need to be very transparent about my actual plans for this election as a voter,” she wrote. “The simplest way to combat misinformation is with the truth.”
“I will be casting my vote for Kamala Harris and Tim Walz in the 2024 Presidential Election.”
The announcement is all but certain to infuriate the former president, particularly after his disappointing debate performance against Harris.
The opening minutes of the very first question of the first presidential debate between former President Donald Trump and Vice President Kamala Harris on Tuesday saw the former president alluding to a racist lie—which has been roundly debunked by law enforcement officials—about Haitian immigrants.
“You see what’s happening with towns throughout the United States,” Trump said in response to a question regarding his plans for the economy. “You look at Springfield, Ohio. You look at Aurora in Colorado. They are taking over the towns, they’re taking over buildings, they’re going in violently. These are the people that she and Biden let into our country.”
But that was just the mere mention of “Springfield, Ohio,” now shorthand for a virulent conspiracy theory that has swiftly captured the Republican Party in recent days. Later in the debate, Trump unleashed, fully leaning into the blatant racism by repeating the vile lie that immigrants, specifically those from Haiti, in far-flung corners of the US are eating pets.
“In Springfield, they’re eating the dogs, the people that came in,” Trump said. “They’re eating the cats. They’re eating the pets of the people that live there. And this is what’s happening in this country and it’s a shame.”
The remarks, by a former president and GOP presidential candidate, are evidence of the complete and total platforming of a viral lie, as it progressed from one single Facebook comment to far-right influencers, then to prominent members of Congress, and tonight, the presidential debate stage.
"They're eating the pets," says Donald Trump, repeating a debunked claim about immigrants in Springfield, Ohio.
“There have been no credible reports or specific claims of pets being harmed, injured or abused by individuals within the immigrant community,” police said on Monday. pic.twitter.com/wYs96Aekt1
It wasn’t particularly interesting, so I shrugged and accepted ignorance. With the GOP having transformed into a party of shitposters, I assumed I was out on a joke that, with God’s grace, would pass before my job required me to learn about something either racist or stupid—or probably both.
But, shortly after, a clue arrived in the form of a meme. Ah, I realized looking at an image Sen. Ted Cruz (R-Texas) posted on X, it would be both—racist and stupid—and I was going to have to understand it.
To start, it’s critical to note that the origins of these posts, from some of the highest levels of the US government, can seemingly be traced to a single falsehood. Here’s what happened. A participant of a random (exceedingly obscure) Facebook group that discusses local criminal activity in Springfield, Ohio, warned that a friend of their neighbor’s daughter had recently lost her cat, before describing an unfounded trend of Haitians eating cats they had found on the street. From there, a rumor started claiming that Haitian immigrants kidnapping and eating cats—a claim police have since roundly debunked—and quickly spread to the screenshots of some of the far-right’s most prominent figures, including Charlie Kirk, before landing in Elon Musk’s universe. (How no one stopped to question whether to believe a random Facebook post from the girlfriend-in-Canada telephone lineage of “neighbor’s daughter’s friend” is beyond my understanding.)
From there, it was JD Vance, the most embarrassingly online vice presidential candidate in history—with his long record of vilifying Haitian immigrants in his home state—who proved to be the accelerant in mainstreaming the lie within the GOP:
Months ago, I raised the issue of Haitian illegal immigrants draining social services and generally causing chaos all over Springfield, Ohio.
Reports now show that people have had their pets abducted and eaten by people who shouldn't be in this country. Where is our border czar? pic.twitter.com/rf0EDIeI5i
Now, it’s wholly unsurprising to see Donald Trump’s running mate seizing upon a racist lie; such behavior is effectively a requirement of Trump’s White House. But even after years of Republican fealty, the party’s gleeful embrace of it is something to behold. Do they truly believe that Haitian immigrants are roaming the streets in search of cats to eat? Of course they don’t. But this is what happens when a party funnels its ambitions into blatant racism.
It’s worth revisiting an old piece from my colleague Tim Murphy, on how the modern GOP has moved far past the dog whistle to pure racism:
Our politicians aren’t dog-whistling racism to win racist votes in a calculated game. They’re just racist. And realizing that is for the best. After all, the euphemisms politicians use are never just euphemisms. When racist white people talk about “the schools” or “the neighborhood,” those aren’t stand-ins for something deeper and more nefarious: Those are the deeper and more nefarious things, the load-bearing pillars of structural racism. This speech isn’t coded so much as it’s loaded.
It wasn’t particularly interesting, so I shrugged and accepted ignorance. With the GOP having transformed into a party of shitposters, I assumed I was out on a joke that, with God’s grace, would pass before my job required me to learn about something either racist or stupid—or probably both.
But, shortly after, a clue arrived in the form of a meme. Ah, I realized looking at an image Sen. Ted Cruz (R-Texas) posted on X, it would be both—racist and stupid—and I was going to have to understand it.
To start, it’s critical to note that the origins of these posts, from some of the highest levels of the US government, can seemingly be traced to a single falsehood. Here’s what happened. A participant of a random (exceedingly obscure) Facebook group that discusses local criminal activity in Springfield, Ohio, warned that a friend of their neighbor’s daughter had recently lost her cat, before describing an unfounded trend of Haitians eating cats they had found on the street. From there, a rumor started claiming that Haitian immigrants kidnapping and eating cats—a claim police have since roundly debunked—and quickly spread to the screenshots of some of the far-right’s most prominent figures, including Charlie Kirk, before landing in Elon Musk’s universe. (How no one stopped to question whether to believe a random Facebook post from the girlfriend-in-Canada telephone lineage of “neighbor’s daughter’s friend” is beyond my understanding.)
From there, it was JD Vance, the most embarrassingly online vice presidential candidate in history—with his long record of vilifying Haitian immigrants in his home state—who proved to be the accelerant in mainstreaming the lie within the GOP:
Months ago, I raised the issue of Haitian illegal immigrants draining social services and generally causing chaos all over Springfield, Ohio.
Reports now show that people have had their pets abducted and eaten by people who shouldn't be in this country. Where is our border czar? pic.twitter.com/rf0EDIeI5i
Now, it’s wholly unsurprising to see Donald Trump’s running mate seizing upon a racist lie; such behavior is effectively a requirement of Trump’s White House. But even after years of Republican fealty, the party’s gleeful embrace of it is something to behold. Do they truly believe that Haitian immigrants are roaming the streets in search of cats to eat? Of course they don’t. But this is what happens when a party funnels its ambitions into blatant racism.
It’s worth revisiting an old piece from my colleague Tim Murphy, on how the modern GOP has moved far past the dog whistle to pure racism:
Our politicians aren’t dog-whistling racism to win racist votes in a calculated game. They’re just racist. And realizing that is for the best. After all, the euphemisms politicians use are never just euphemisms. When racist white people talk about “the schools” or “the neighborhood,” those aren’t stand-ins for something deeper and more nefarious: Those are the deeper and more nefarious things, the load-bearing pillars of structural racism. This speech isn’t coded so much as it’s loaded.
Conservative oppositionto social safety nets is nothing new. But, as daycare costs continue to soar and the US Surgeon General warns that parents are dangerously overwhelmed, lawmakers on both sides of the aisle appear to agree that at least something needs to be done to help address the crisis.
Yet when faced with a simple question on the issue this week, Donald Trump and JD Vance stumbled profoundly, prompting many to wonder whether the Republican ticket had even bothered to think about child care affordability—again, one of the most acute problems facing the US economy—at all.
Just take a look. Here was Trump at the Economic Club of New York on Thursday, rambling through an incomprehensible, half-baked theory that foreign tariffs will solve the problem, easy-peasy—all while dodging the question of specific pieces of legislation he’d push to help make child care more affordable. Meanwhile, economists widely agree that sweeping tariffs would severely hurt world trade.
Vance managed to fare somewhat better the day before, at least acknowledging real pain points in the crisis, including requirements in some areas of the country that have made it overly burdensome to get a job as a child care worker. But as the Ohio senator has oft proven to do, it was his suggestion that grandparents pitch in that, once again, gave the impression of being wildly out of touch.
“One of the ways that you might be able to relieve a little bit of pressure on people who are paying so much for daycare is to make it so that grandma or grandpa wants to help out a little bit more,” Vance said at a Turning Point Action event in Mesa, Arizona, on Wednesday. “Or maybe there’s an aunt or uncle that wants to help out a little bit more. If that happens, you relieve some of the pressure on all the resources that we’re spending in daycare.”
The remarks build upon Vance’s recent assertion that the “whole purpose of the postmenopausal female” is to help raise young kids. (Those comments also saw Vance agreeing with an interviewer that an “unadvertised” benefit of marrying into an Indian family was the free labor of grandparents.)
The incoherent responses come amid the Harris-Walz campaign’s efforts to demonstrate how Trump’s return to the White House could hurt American families. But this week, it seemed that all Trump and Vance had to do was open their mouths.
Conservative oppositionto social safety nets is nothing new. But, as daycare costs continue to soar and the US Surgeon General warns that parents are dangerously overwhelmed, lawmakers on both sides of the aisle appear to agree that at least something needs to be done to help address the crisis.
Yet when faced with a simple question on the issue this week, Donald Trump and JD Vance stumbled profoundly, prompting many to wonder whether the Republican ticket had even bothered to think about child care affordability—again, one of the most acute problems facing the US economy—at all.
Just take a look. Here was Trump at the Economic Club of New York on Thursday, rambling through an incomprehensible, half-baked theory that foreign tariffs will solve the problem, easy-peasy—all while dodging the question of specific pieces of legislation he’d push to help make child care more affordable. Meanwhile, economists widely agree that sweeping tariffs would severely hurt world trade.
Vance managed to fare somewhat better the day before, at least acknowledging real pain points in the crisis, including requirements in some areas of the country that have made it overly burdensome to get a job as a child care worker. But as the Ohio senator has oft proven to do, it was his suggestion that grandparents pitch in that, once again, gave the impression of being wildly out of touch.
“One of the ways that you might be able to relieve a little bit of pressure on people who are paying so much for daycare is to make it so that grandma or grandpa wants to help out a little bit more,” Vance said at a Turning Point Action event in Mesa, Arizona, on Wednesday. “Or maybe there’s an aunt or uncle that wants to help out a little bit more. If that happens, you relieve some of the pressure on all the resources that we’re spending in daycare.”
The remarks build upon Vance’s recent assertion that the “whole purpose of the postmenopausal female” is to help raise young kids. (Those comments also saw Vance agreeing with an interviewer that an “unadvertised” benefit of marrying into an Indian family was the free labor of grandparents.)
The incoherent responses come amid the Harris-Walz campaign’s efforts to demonstrate how Trump’s return to the White House could hurt American families. But this week, it seemed that all Trump and Vance had to do was open their mouths.
Former PresidentDonald Trump’s appearance at the National Association of Black Journalists’ annual convention on Wednesday shocked audience members within its opening minutes, as the GOP presidential nominee insulted the moderators—three Black women—claiming their opening question was asked in a “horrible manner.” “You don’t even say, hello, how are you?” Trump said, taking clear offense to a question about his record of denigrating Black people.
And then, it only got worse.
“Are you with ABC?” Trump continued. “Because I think they’re a fake news network, a terrible network, and I think it’s disgraceful that I came here in good spirit.”
The tense exchange instantly set the tone of the question-and-answer session that featured Trump attacking Vice President Kamala Harris with racist characterizations. “I didn’t know she was Black until a number of years ago when she happened to turn Black and now she wants to be known as Black,” Trump said.
At one point, Trump, while insisting that he, as president, had “done so much for the Black community,” attacked the interviewers as “nasty” and a “disgrace.”
The remarks prompted repeated gasps from the audience, as the interviewers—Semafor’s Kadia Goba, ABC News’ Rachel Scott, and Fox News’ Harris Faulkner—continued asking the former president about pardoning Jan. 6 rioters. “If they’re innocent, I would pardon them,” he said. He did this while also claiming that Harris should take a cognitive test because she failed the bar exam. (Harris eventually passed and was admitted to the California bar in 1990.)
Trump also said: “A black job is anybody that has a job,” he said. “That’s what it is.” Again, the crowd gasped.
The announcement on Monday that Trump would appear at the convention sparked intense backlash, with some Black journalists arguing that the former president should not be invited over his long record of attacking Black women journalists.
Bobby Henry, chair of the National Newspaper Publishers Association, which represents more than 240 Black-owned newspapers, said before the event he opposed Trump’s appearance at the event because it “undermines the NABJ’s values of inclusion and solidarity and risks normalizing his damaging behavior.”
NABJ sought to quell the criticism, claiming that the interviewers would prepare questions about “the most pressing issues facing the Black community.” The NABJ added that Trump’s appearance did not amount to the group’s endorsement.
The NABJ is working on scheduling a similar discussion with Harris for September.
Could more money fix your life? I’m talking about obscene levels of wealth—the real fuck you money that affords seemingly endless advantages. Or is one’s proximity to capital actually a curse? The closer you are to it, the more it pains and threatens.
As a non-rich person with zero prospect of receiving generational wealth, the answer seems obvious: I could spit out a long list of reasons why extra cash eases the mind. But ask the Fletchers, the family at the center of Taffy Brodesser-Akner’s new novel, Long Island Compromise, and they’re likely to insist that their fortune is a ruinous “dybbuk” at the root of the family’s relentless traumas. It’s an attitude that prompts righteous scorn, with Brodesser-Akner using the Fletchers to lament everything from the erosion of the middle class torampant plastic surgery.
But Long Island Compromise is much more than a darkly humorous satire of the uberwealthy (though it is that, and deliciously so). The novel succeeds best when its protagonists grapple with the more universal, the hard stuff that even we plebs can relate to: Can one ever really escape their family? What if I can’t control what happens next?
Such questions loomed over me as Brodesser-Akner’s novel takes us through the stories of the Fletcher kids—Bernard (or Beamer), Nathan, and Jenny—three siblings bordering on early middle age. Each of them is a disaster, with various reasons to trace the blame for their screwed-up lives to their family’s extreme wealth and father’s misfortunes. Schadenfreude arrives many times. But my favorite moments always found me returning to those questions, refracting the Fletchers’ saga against my own messy corners, family trauma, and all that pathos-inducing stuff we relegate to therapy.
I caught up with Brodesser-Akner, coincidentally as she was driving on the Long Island Expressway on the final day of her book tour. What transpired was a generous conversation that spanned everything from shared trauma to Jimmy Buffett to the plague of private equity—and ended up landing on the joys of bearing witness.
The central arc of your new book takes inspiration from the real-life kidnapping of Jack Teich, a man you’ve known personally for most of your life. What about his story felt close to the central ideas of the novel? When did you realize his story could be the basis of a novel?
The impetus for this story was not a kidnapping. I wanted to tell the story about rich kids, and I wanted to figure out two things. The first is a question I’ve always had: Are you better off being from money and never feeling afraid? Or are you better off not being from money, figuring out how to survive on your own knowing that you can, but always knowing what it feels like for the bottom to fall out? The other question I had was: Can money actually buy you security? If the same money that brought you security also puts you in enough danger that you get kidnapped, but then you’re saved by ransom, which is money, what is the lesson? Can the money buy you security or not? These were the questions that were vexing me. When you’re writing, the bench you pull from—to use a sports metaphor—is the bench of your life. I knew someone who was kidnapped and that’s the thing that kept entering the story because all writers are horrible thieves of what they’ve seen in the world. At some point, I realized that I cannot pretend that I was someone who doesn’t know somebody who was kidnapped. So I reached out to my family friend, Jack Teich, and he very generously gave me his blessing to use the kidnapping.
That was a big question for me as I read this novel. Because we tend to see money as one of the quickest paths to freedom. But the Fletcher family, according to them at least, are so trapped by it. Should we see money as a curse or protection?
The answer is—yes.
I always have this fantasy that if I had money, I would be calm and living my best life. But I also ask myself where my own ambition came from, my own ability to do the thing I do, writing, which often involves taking risks. Because when anyone writes, they are being vulnerable. And I think if you don’t need to survive, meaning if you don’t need money, it is so much easier to not do that. So I began to wonder if my relative lack of money was a blessing. Because I know a lot of wealthy people who function and are ambitious. But I know more people without money who have those skills in droves.
“Every generation deals with trauma the best way that they know how, right?”
Oh, that makes me feel a lot better about life. Not that I have talent but hearing that is comforting.
I don’t even know if talent is real! Talent is not a thing I can quantify. What I keep wondering about lately is if talent is real—or is there a combination of willingness and humility that will get you the same results? I don’t like terms like “talent” the same way I don’t like terms like “inspiration” because they take out of your hands the ability to do the thing you need to do; they put it in someone else’s hand. And I gotta tell you, I can’t rely on those things. I have bills to pay.
Same! So, I actually read this book while in the process of writing up my will, which is a new experience for me—and I hate it. I come from a super middle-class family, immigrant parents. My dad worked in a sheet metal union for 40 years. Without giving away the ending of this book, I’m wondering: Is there some backup financial plan I should include in my will?
I was once interviewing Jimmy Buffett and we were talking about money, and the money that came out of him being this character sitting on a beach, writing the song “Margaritaville,” and smoking pot. And I said to him, “I am not sitting on a beach. I’m not smoking pot. I am working really, really hard. And I don’t have any money.” I had just started at the New York Times, I had success in my journalism career. And he said to me, “Do you have any children who are going to support you in your old age?” And I said, “Well, I just have these two small sons, and I don’t know what their futures will be.” He said, “No, no, I don’t mean that. I mean ‘Margaritaville’ is the child that supports me at my old age.” This was a long time ago, so I’m just paraphrasing here. That’s when I started thinking about things differently.
Back when I started this, there were a million magazines to write for. Now, freelance writers are getting 10 cents a word, if that, and they have basically no rights. It’s obscene.
What has happened is the disappearance of the middle class. It used to be in this country that you and I could be journalists. And if we’re good at it, and we work hard and we show up every day, we will get some money, and there will be something. There will be an apartment to give our kids. There will be something to write into your will. That doesn’t seem to be the case anymore.
I started this book, which talks about all this in particular, both to process these ideas myself and somewhat as a bid: a new aspect of my writing career that won’t make me afraid for my solvency. Now, all these questions are a matter of both risk tolerance and what an individual decides they need in the world. But we were one catastrophic illness away from ruin—and that’s what kept me up at night.
The Fletchers, the main family in your novel, are obsessed with the question of how their lives would have been different had Carl, the father, not been kidnapped. Why was that a theme that mattered to you?
I love this question. Because the book also asks the question, Who are the Fletchers without their money? One of the tricks our brains give us when we are troubled or traumatized is to indulge in the fantasy of: Who would I be if this didn’t happen to me? What would I have been like if I had money? What would you have been without the traumatic experiences?
The answer is you’ll never know that. The better answer is it doesn’t matter because that’s not one of the options.
I thought it was perfect that private equity (spoiler alert) is what destroys the Fletcher family’s main source of wealth. It comes for the middle class and even the richest of the rich. Are you trying to say that even the rich, despite all their winning, are doomed in America?
Private equity is so unstoppable that, yes, everyone is doomed. There’s always somebody richer, and when you get to the top, the richest person will be the most doomed because of how he destroyed everyone. (I was going to say he or she but who are we kidding?)
We are at the end of anybody caring about anybody but their own welfare. It’s been made clear to the working class that nobody cares about them, and the wealthy are so divorced from interacting with people who aren’t like them.
One of the book’s observations about the suburbs is that Middle Rock, the suburb that the Fletchers live in, used to be a place where people worked out of a common value that they had together, and now it would be so impossible. There were very, very wealthy people, and there were some middle-class people, and there were people on the lower end of the middle class who you might even be described as working class.
Now, you can’t even get into one of those suburbs unless you’re already extremely rich. It’s a depressing note on the economy, but it was very interesting to look at where we are—interesting and depressing to look at where we are.
I couldn’t help but wonder how things would have been different had Carl simply been allowed to talk about what happened to him. Could repression—not family wealth—be what really screwed up the Fletchers?
Every generation deals with trauma the best way that they know how, right? Carl is kidnapped before the DSM even had a post-traumatic stress diagnosis. So what I would say about the advice that Carl’s mother gives him after he’s returned from the kidnapping—“This didn’t happen to you. It happened to your body. Don’t let it in.”—is that she was doing the best she possibly could. Because what would someone who had seen the horrors of the Holocaust say? There were things that that generation had seen that were so horrific, there was no way to make sense of them. You just have to put them away. I grew up with Holocaust survivors who did not see the sense in talking about it. They didn’t see the sense in trying to understand; they only made sense of moving forward. By the time you get to the generation of the kids in the book, we have a better understanding, although a cynical one, of the way trauma works.
While I’ve been on this book tour, people have been asking a lot of questions about trauma. Some people, and they’re mostly my age, have asked what to do about young people they say overuse the word “trauma.” And I think that’s wrong. It’s really wrong to be dismissive of a younger generation, because those people have access, not just to all of our information but to seeing how we turned out, and they make different decisions based on what they see. And historically, this bears out, over and over.
We are all absolutely trying our best. Every single person I know is trying their best, but every person in this book is also trying their best. I think a certain amount of grace comes when everybody can look around and see that.
“In the end, when you live long enough to stop fighting where you’re from and you are just grateful that there have been other people to bear witness …There is no better solace for what you’ve been through than that.”
Both your first novel (Fleishman Is in Trouble) and Long Island Compromise appear to be occupied by the trauma of a missing parent, both in the kidnapping sense, and when parents are in the throes of depression, losing their sense of time and space to the point that their whereabouts are unknown. Do you feel like that is the theme you’ll keep coming back to in your writing?
That’s a great observation, and it’s a great question because I’ll tell you that I had no idea I was doing that. One of the most wonderful things about writing a book is that you think you know your writing, and then you hand in the book, and the machine begins. The marketing department starts writing descriptions, publicists start writing announcements. When you read those, that’s when you find out in a big way the things you wrote that you didn’t know that you were writing. I’m very interested in that.
The greatest thing about a book tour is that, at every stop, there’s someone there who tells me what my book is about. And number one, they were all right. Number two, I had no idea. And number three, what a joy, because books, once you write one, the minute it’s out there, it’s open for interpretation. It is not yours anymore. It’s someone else’s story to metabolize.
The unexpected joy of my life is to find out what I conveyed to them. [When I started writing Long Island Compromise] I thought I was writing about money. At the end, I was like, “Oh, this has a lot about trauma in it.” And the thing I sort of didn’t know until the end was that it would also have so much about what it means to be in a family. I thought that I was conveying, hopefully conveying accurately, what it’s like to be in a family. But actually, in the end, when you live long enough to stop fighting where you’re from and you are just grateful that there have been other people to bear witness with you as to what you’ve been through. There is no better solace for what you’ve been through than that.
This conversation has been edited for length and clarity.
“I revere this office, but I love my country more.”
The line was perhaps the defining takeaway of President Joe Biden’s Thursday night address to the nation, his first since announcing his decision to drop out of the presidential race. Even though the president had the personal ambition to run again, he understood, with piercing clarity, that the White House carried stakes that transcended his burning conviction that he could win in the November presidential election.
“It’s been the honor of my life to serve as your president,” he said from the Oval Office, “but defending democracy, which is at stake, I think it’s more important than any title.”
“I’ve decided the best way forward is to pass the torch to a new generation.”
The remarks, heartfelt and unifying in tone, appeared to succinctly punctuate a decades-long career devoted to public office. Biden continued by praising Vice President Kamala Harris, whom he had endorsed to replace him on the presidential ticket, calling Harris “tough” and “an incredible partner.” He also framed Harris as deeply consequential to maintaining US democracy.
“We have to decide: do we still believe in honesty, decency, respect, freedom, justice, and democracy? In this moment, can we see those we disagree with not as enemies but as fellow Americans? Can we do that? Does character in public life still matter?”
The prime-time address offered a sharp contrast from the dark and menacing message Donald Trump and his allies, including his running mate JD Vance, have offered to American voters over the last week—even with Trump’s brief attempt to appear to be a more unifying character since his assassination attempt.
“The great thing about America is here, kings and dictators do not rule; the people do,” Biden said on Wednesday. “History is in your hands. The power is in your hands. The idea of America lies in your hands. We just have to keep the faith and remember who we are.”
President Biden on X announced that he is ending his reelection bid, bowing to immense pressure to step aside following his disastrous debate performance late last month that led to near-constant questioning of his physical ability to campaign and mounting skepticism of his ability to defeat former President Donald Trump as polls worsened.
In a post on X, he said he would address the nation later this week.
In a separate post, Biden endorsed Vice President Kamala Harris as the nominee.
My fellow Democrats, I have decided not to accept the nomination and to focus all my energies on my duties as President for the remainder of my term. My very first decision as the party nominee in 2020 was to pick Kamala Harris as my Vice President. And it’s been the best… pic.twitter.com/x8DnvuImJV
The stunning decision immediately upends an already chaotic race in an election year many see as pivotal for American democracy. Though Biden’s campaign had emphasized that the president was still committed to remaining the party’s nominee despite his critics, scrambled efforts to reassure the party ultimately failed to resuscitate his bid. Donors fled and Democrats, including some of Biden’s most prominent allies, went public with their alarm. Polls showed increasing, widespread concern over Biden’s mental fitness. The assassination attempt on Trump appeared to deepen the contrast between Trump, defiant with a raised fist immediately after the shooting, and Biden.
Biden’s decision to withdraw ends nearly 50 years of public service that included a nearly four-decade tenure as a senator from Delaware and vice president to Barack Obama. As president, Biden successfully passed several monumental laws including the Inflation Reduction Act. His leadership is widely credited with steering the US through the end of the pandemic as well as stabilizing the country after January 6. But in addition to the issue of his age, foreign conflicts have dragged down Biden’s reputation, particularly as he stood steadfast in his support for Israel’s military operation in Gaza. For now, it is hard not to think of that mumbled line as he stared out dazed from the debate stage: “Look, if we finally beat Medicare...” But his legacy will be remembered far beyond it.
This is a developing story. Check back for updates.
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