The staff of Mother Jones is, once again, rounding up the heroes and monsters of the past year. Importantly, this is a completely non-exhaustive and subjective list, giving our reporters a chance to write about something that brought joy or discontent. Enjoy.

Is there any good and normal way to be on social media? It seems like a silly thing to ponder. But against the backdrop of increasingly unhealthy platforms, all the clamoring for our attention with aggressive algorithms and useless information, the question can be clarifying. What the hell are we still doing on this? Is there any hope online?

One affirmative answer could be: Amanda Petrusich.

Now, it isn’t surprising that the writing talents of a staff writer at the New Yorker extend to social media. But discovering Petrusich’s Instagram is like encountering a refuge from artifice. And after stumbling upon her account a little over a year ago—a period that saw a string of not-so-gentle moments in my own life—it’s Petrusich’s window into the private plateaus and valleys of life after her husband, Bret Stetka, suddenly died in 2022 that repeatedly hit me like a brick ever since.

The result has been, to my mind, a rare meditation on grief that avoids the typical trappings of the genre: frustrating platitudes, the insistence that it’s All! Going! To! Be! Okay! That such refreshing authenticity takes place on a platform otherwise teeming with performance makes it all the more extraordinary, each caption seemingly inviting followers to join her on the strange path of bearing it all.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by amandapetrusich (@amandapetrusich)

This applies to Pestrusich’s posts about the acute difficulties of single parenthood to all the small joys that make it that much easier to endure. The occasional martini, the thrill of a sunset after a slog of toddler illnesses, a terrific coffee mug. You see it when Petrusich expresses gratitude for community, even when loss feels everywhere. Because here is an Instagram page that isn’t trying to sell me anything; there are no buttons to smash or sponsored tote bags to purchase. None of it is excessive or performative. It’s just real stuff about hard shit, which in 2024 on Instagram is close to a miracle.

You may not know Petrusich personally. You may not even be familiar with her New Yorker criticism. But follow her on Instagram and you can’t help but root for her. So I reached out to her, the one good and honest Instagram user, about all this. Here she is below in her own words:

I can’t identify the exact moment I stumbled upon your Instagram. But I recall being immediately taken by your openness—what felt, to me, this rare invitation into private corners of grief. Can you take me through your decision process or willingness to be public about your experience?

I started seeing a trauma therapist right after Bret died, when I was still in a state of acute shock and disorientation. I would sit on his little beige couch, unshowered, in the same disgusting sweatshirt I’d been wearing for who knows how long, and he would take his glasses on and off and command me, over and over again, to grieve. At the time, I found this approach aggressive, nearly ridiculous—I was grieving! All I was fucking doing was grieving! Yet I eventually came to understand that directive—grieve—as crushingly profound. Grief is an active process and you have to participate in it with purpose and clarity. Otherwise, your body will do its best to fight the feeling off, like a virus. 

“There’s a funny kind of freedom in being blown apart. Perfection is impossible, and also far less appealing.”

The whole culture of grief, insomuch as there is a culture of grief in America, is hyper-fixated on survival, on ideas of triumph and subjugation, moving on and getting over it. I’m not sure any of those things are possible or even desirable. That way of thinking also leads to a funny kind of binary: Either you’re okay or you’re not okay. Whereas the reality of grief is that you will be both very okay and very not okay. I think maybe the way that I post on Instagram sort of speaks to that duality a little—you know, here’s a picture of a record I love, and here’s a really good martini, and here’s my kid doing something cute, and now I am sad again, and here’s another record, etc. Grief is braided into my life. That works for me—letting it in rather than pushing it out.

In the beginning, I was trying to understand my own loneliness, too. I was living in the woods with a cat and a baby, both beloved and glorious creatures, but also nonverbal, needy, mysterious—the only words my daughter knew at the time were “Mama,” “Dada,” and “wow.” I had never lived on my own before. Bret and I had recently moved from Brooklyn to the Hudson Valley, near where I was born and brought up, but all of my closest friends were still an hour away in the city. Even before Bret died, it had felt like an unusually cloistered and quiet moment in our lives. There were random pandemic restrictions in place. We had a newborn; I was working from home. Then the person I’d spent almost every day of the last 20 years with was gone, quickly and irrevocably, as though he had fallen through a trapdoor. Instagram is not an ideal platform for earnest emoting, but it was easy and immediate and available on my phone. I wanted to be honest about what I was feeling because I was hungry for connection and because not being honest felt antithetical to the work of grief. It has also been useful for me in terms of eradicating or at least softening my own shame about feeling sad.

From afar, you seem to write and think about all of this with such remarkable ease. Personally, I really struggle to get real with my emotions when writing; I find myself constantly reverting to weird forms of self-deprecation. How do you get there? 

Gosh, that’s incredibly kind—thank you. One thing I’ve learned in my career as a critic is that art only works if it’s true. It just has to be true. Over time, I’ve come to recognize tenderness and vulnerability as things I consistently value and seek out in other people’s work, and I think that has made it a little easier for me to embrace them in my own writing, though there are definitely times where I feel sheepish or embarrassed about being so…present. But for me, losing Bret was so raw—so transformative, so terrifying, so inexplicable, so overwhelming—that I just became disinterested in anything that felt too careful or mediated or false. Because, you know, life is completely insane! I think a lot about a line from Paul Simon’s “Graceland,” a perfect song about yearning and ache and hope, where he sings, “Losing love is like a window to your heart / Everybody sees you’re blown apart.” There’s a funny kind of freedom in being blown apart. Perfection is impossible, and also far less appealing. Once you’ve lived through catastrophe, it’s easier to be, like, “Oh, who cares!” about almost everything else, including potentially embarrassing yourself.

“Losing Bret was so raw— so transformative, so terrifying, so inexplicable, so overwhelming —that I just became disinterested in anything that felt too careful or mediated or false.”

What have the responses been to your posts on grief and losing your husband?

Just extraordinary. I am assuming most people follow me because they have read my music criticism in the New Yorker, not because they know what happened to my family, but it’s been beautiful to see how many really hang in there for the other stuff, too. Grief is a universal experience, but we’re all so ill-equipped to navigate it, and especially to navigate it alone. Yet there are very few places where we can navigate it together.

I’m a magazine writer; I’m not an influencer or a therapist. I never imagined that I would be involved in any sort of public dialogue about grief. But it really helps to hold our darkest and most lonesome feelings with other people, especially in ways that maybe aren’t overly prescriptive or results-oriented. Sometimes it’s useful just to pipe up and say: “This sucks. This hurts and feels bad. If you are also in the weeds, I’m here and I get it.” I am so stupidly grateful to have connected with so many grieving people via social media, a medium we all recognize as generally toxic and fucked. I joke around that there should be a grief support program similar in structure to AA, where you get a sponsor, you work the steps, you take it one day at a time. When you need to, you go to a meeting and sit in a folding chair and drink stale coffee and eat supermarket cookies, and tell your story to people who have also gone through it. Maybe when you make it a year out—a milestone for every grieving person I know—someone hands you a little chip that you can hold in your hand. In the US, the average bereavement leave is three to five days, which is so cruel, it’s almost hilarious. I mean, that’s not even gonna get you to the funeral. Outside of a religious context, there are just not enough systems or rituals in place to help people who are unmoored and hurting.

“My daughter was only 13 months old when Bret died. Taking care of a baby alone through that early period of grief was by far the hardest thing I have ever done. It was impossible, actually. Yet it happened…I am so proud of both of us for making it through that first year.”

As a parent of a young kid myself, I have also greatly appreciated your willingness to get real about how difficult some moments can be. More so than any mom influencer, Big Little Feelings caption, etc. How has your experience with motherhood played into your writing?

For one, I am perpetually and grievously sleep-deprived, which I fear gives everything I write a kind of psychedelic quiver. Like grief, I think parenthood is an experience that makes you more open, more human, more complicated, more exposed. Those are all really good things for art. But of course, both grief and parenthood can be totally obliterating. It can make you feel like a stupid cartoon, sobbing while cramming yet another load of laundry into the machine or changing another diaper in the middle of the night.

In my experience, both motherhood and grief are also invisible burdens, a weight you carry that no one else sees. Both are exhausting. I still struggle with effectively explaining the experience of having a full-time job and also solo parenting a toddler—most people simply can’t wrap their heads around the math. I do not have any organically occurring free time. All of my free time is bought and sacrificed for. But my daughter has nonetheless made me a better writer. (It goes without saying that she has made me a better person.) It’s a cliché and wildly corny, but kids teach you so much about joy, wonder, curiosity, hope, and the comfort of sacrifice. (Having a child is certainly not the only way to learn those things—there are many other ways.) And the act of caregiving is profound and life-changing work, even if the culture does not necessarily frame it that way.

My daughter was only 13 months old when Bret died. Taking care of a baby alone through that early period of grief was by far the hardest thing I have ever done. It was impossible, actually. Yet it happened. I felt empty, devastated, ruined, lost, absent, brittle, utterly destroyed. But of course, she still needed me, and in a very primal and immediate way. I am so proud of both of us for making it through that first year.

Talking about grief and trauma tends to see a lot of clichés—and it’s one of the main reasons I’ve avoided writing about my own traumas. Have there been any models for you?

I am a huge fan of Anderson Cooper’s podcast, All There Is, and especially his conversation with Stephen Colbert (full disclosure, I was a guest on the show’s second season). Nick Cave is just remarkable on grief; his book Faith, Hope, and Carnage and also his newsletter, The Red Hand Files, are about as good as it gets when it comes to making sense of pain. My dear friend Matthew Schnipper has a book coming out soon about the loss of his son, Renzo; he wrote a piece about grief and music for the New Yorker that’s just unbelievably good. Rob Sheffield’s Love Is A Mix Tape and Jayson Greene’s Once More We Saw Stars are books by friends that I loved long before I suddenly understood them in a different way. It’s less explicitly about grief, and it’s not writing, but I am thoroughly and consistently moved by Tabitha Soren’s photography, which conveys a great deal about loss and ephemerality, violence, and survival.

Back in September, amid simmering tensions between South Korean President Yoon Suk Yeol and the country’s parliament, opposition leader Lee Jae-myung issued a warning: Yoon and his allies were preparing to declare martial law.

The claim was roundly dismissed as alarmist, the irresponsible stuff of conspiracy theories—even by some of Lee’s supporters. But the warning was prescient. On Tuesday, Yoon shocked the world by carrying out exactly what had been warned, declaring that martial law was necessary to save South Korea from “anti-state forces.”

The action instantly prompted scenes of chaos to unfold, with stunned lawmakers, and thousands of ordinary citizens, mobilizing to protest the declaration. Hours later, a unanimous parliamentary vote forced Yoon to back down. Still, his fate remains uncertain. Many are increasingly concerned that Yoon could reinstate martial law once more. Meanwhile, immense crowds continue to gather in Seoul, demanding Yoon’s removal.

As a Korean American watching some 7,000 miles away, the scenes have engendered a rare mix of relatability and pride. I say rare because my own relationship with the country of my parents is a bit strange. My dad discouraged me from learning Korean, having immigrated at 19 and endured ugly bits of racism at school and later in his sheet metal career; my mom, who very much still considers herself Korean first, taught me at a young age that the US is an international bully. Dad’s influence ultimately won. Though I’ve visited Seoul many times, I don’t speak the language and couldn’t care less about the pop culture everyone else in the world seems to increasingly enjoy.

It’s against this personal backdrop that I quickly noticed an unexpected current undergirding the demonstrations against Yoon: one of joy, even revelry, with protesters spanning generations: ajummas, ajushees, halumnis, haksengs. Then there were videos of soldiers apologizing to protesters. The nation’s largest labor union declared an indefinite strike, events I simply can’t envision here. It’s a palpable adrenaline that seems foreign to the current stupor I feel about things closer to home. And a surprising envy came over me. What was it about South Korea that could produce such a robust protest culture?

I reached out to Namhee Lee, a UCLA professor of modern Korean history, to learn more.

What was your initial reaction to the martial law announcement? Were you in contact with anyone on the ground during those six hours?

My sister happens to live in Korea still, so I was able to talk to her very shortly [after it began] because she was also in complete shock and disbelief. My first reaction was complete shock. There had been some rumblings on the part of the Democratic Party [the opposition party in South Korea] that martial law might be on the way. But the suggestion was completely shut down by conservative forces, including the presidential office. I dismissed it as well, thinking that that could not possibly be the case.

But one mistake I think some are making now is dismissing Yoon’s actions as simply “crazy,” the product of a nutcase, and therefore it can’t happen again. But this clearly did not come out of the blue; people had warned us of this very situation three months ago. This is not something that was done out of a volatile character. In fact, there’s something much more systematic and more dangerous going on—and people need to remain vigilant of the real possibility of another coup attempt.

“These soldiers know what could happen in history and that they could be later condemned as betraying the nation. They’ve learned from history, to be cautious in terms of violence, and actually consider how their actions would be judged in the future.”

That’s interesting because I think the perception in the US is that because the declaration of martial law had been so brief, things in South Korea are fine now, and the protesters won.

I’m hoping that will be the case. But vigilance is key. South Korea is one of the thriving democracies in the world and its citizens have been so active, to the point where people say that South Koreans possess a so-called “protest gene.” Take a look at the soldiers who were deployed to the National Assembly, asking for protesters’ forgiveness. These soldiers had learned what could happen in history and that they could be later condemned as betraying the nation. They’ve learned from history, to be cautious in terms of violence, and actually consider how their actions would be judged in the future.

Of course, in Gwangju, where hundreds were killed in a student-led uprising for democracy, that did not happen. [You can learn more about the deadly episode here.]

Yes, many have alluded to the memory of Gwangju this week.  How do these memories play into the current protests?

Many of the individual citizens who went out to the National Assembly this week reminded themselves that this is what the people of Gwangju people must have confronted. Yes, the events this week largely stayed peaceful. But when the citizens first rushed out, they remembered Gwangju and therefore knew that there was a possibility things could turn violent, that the situation could have easily turned into one of the many massacres in Korean history.

The Korean public knows that the Gwangju protests were ultimately right in the end. And this knowledge and memory play strongly into the actions of citizens today. The Gwangju Uprising went on to spur a persistent democratization movement through the 1980s, which eventually helped change the constitution to make it possible for South Korea to enjoy the kind of thriving democracy it is today. But Korea’s history with effective democratic protests can be traced even further than Gwangju: the April 19 Uprising of the 1960s that helped topple the autocratic regime of President Syngman Rhee, the March 1 movement protesting Japanese colonial rule, etc. Then flashback to more recent times to the candlelight vigils of 2016 and 2017 that helped remove President Park Geun-hye. 

“As a historian, I thank those people for producing these kinds of films. And I thank people like Han Kang for her crucial literature.”

I can’t help but wonder, in the face of our own wannabe authoritarian, if Americans lack historical context. Is it different in South Korea? Do educators prioritize history in a way that seems lacking here?

I don’t want to claim that Koreans are any different from other people. But what’s different in South Korea is precisely the fact that Koreans have been able to experience firsthand that they have the power to topple authoritarian regimes.

But I don’t necessarily think it’d be accurate to say that it’s Korean public education that pushes this. This education is really happening outside in a much more public arena, especially in terms of cultural output. Take a look at Han Kang, the recent Nobel Prize winner. Her works directly concern historical trauma and historical memory. Human Acts is even specifically about the atrocities in Gwangju. There has also been a surge of hugely popular TV dramas dealing with these very topics, including the film 1987: When the Day Comes which centered on the June Democratic Uprising. As a historian, I thank those people for producing these kinds of films. And I thank people like Han Kang for her crucial literature.

But I want to underscore that it would be a mistake to think that it’s some kind of exceptionalism among South Koreans. We have our own problems and cycles of anti-democratic leadership. We are just as politically burned by the right as we are by the left. But it’s the fresh memory of historical trauma—and perhaps more importantly, the victories of uprisings— that contribute to this very high level of political awareness and political consciousness in South Korea.

Another remarkable feature: The indefinite strike announced by Korea’s largest labor union. Can you help us understand the power of organized labor in everyday Korean society and how that’s being leveraged in this moment?

It’s important to understand the history here. The Korean Confederation of Trade Unions (KCTU) was born out of a social movement. We need to go back to 1987, when there was a massive uprising with millions pouring into the streets demanding political reform. They won, the leader at the time stepped down, and a direct presidential election took place. But soon after, workers staged another spectacular uprising, which is now referred to as the Great Worker Struggle, where two-thirds of the country’s biggest industries went on strike. So you have to understand that there has always been this very close alliance between the democratization movement and the labor movement in South Korea. Therefore it’s not surprising to see KCTU taking action in this moment.

Alright, so I’ve been to Korea six times, with three of those visits having taken place as an adult. During each of those visits, even as a child, I have clear memories of political protests being commonplace across Seoul. I specifically remember being taken aback by the number of older Koreans participating in them. A lot of this felt antithetical to the stereotype many Americans hold toward East Asian countries: that they’re placid, quiet, eager to please. And I think many watching the events unfold right now are surprised by that upending of a stereotype.

Placid? I mean, nothing could be further from the truth. Korea has a long history of protest, going back to the colonial period, the March 1 movement, and so forth. And you have to remember that these all happened when social media was not even around. Throughout history, during crucial moments, Koreans have been at the forefront of protests. Just take the fact that South Korea is probably the only country in the world to have specific names for generations based on the protests of their time. Yuk-sahn, Yushin, the 386 generation, etc.

One thing that I’ve noticed about these protests is how festive they appear to be.

Yes but this is a drastic change from the protest culture of the 1980s—thank god you were not there. It was a life and death for many of the people who participated in political protests. Sexual abuse during interrogations, extremely grave situations with riot soldiers, plain-clothes security forces, so much brutality.

But a major shift happened in 2008 during the protests against the conservative president’s decision to allow beef imported by the United States into the country despite serious mad cow disease concerns. That’s when the composition of protesters began to change drastically. It wasn’t just the usual labor unions and social movement organizations coming out. Mothers with baby strollers, hobby groups, and ordinary citizens concerned about their health. That’s the moment when South Korean protesting changed completely. And we saw this once again during the candlelight protests, where a more festive nature took hold with singers and entertainment among the protesters.

Amid the escalating debate over whether to release a highly damaging report into allegations that he had sex with a minor, Matt Gaetz on Thursday announced that he was withdrawing from consideration to become President-elect Donald Trump’s attorney general.

“While the momentum was strong, it is clear that my confirmation was unfairly becoming a distraction to the critical work of the Trump/Vance Transition,” Gaetz wrote on social media. “There is no time to waste on a needlessly protracted Washington scuffle, thus I’ll be withdrawing my name from consideration to serve as Attorney General. Trump’s DOJ must be in place and ready on Day 1.”

The surprise announcement comes one day after the House Ethics Committee failed to agree to release the long-awaited results of the report surrounding Gaetz’s sexual relationships and payments to several women, including at least one minor. Trump shocked even close allies by tapping Gaetz for the role and was reportedly phoning members of Congress as recently as this week to rally support for the disgraced Florida Republican.

Those who have opposed the report’s release, including Republican House Speaker Mike Johnson, have argued that such a move would set a poor precedent since Gaetz, who resigned shortly after Trump announced his intention to appoint him, is technically no longer a sitting member of Congress.

“I remain fully committed to see that Donald J. Trump is the most successful President in history,” Gaetz continued. “I will forever be honored that President Trump nominated me to lead the Department of Justice and I’m certain he will Save America.”

Amid the escalating debate over whether to release a highly damaging report into allegations that he had sex with a minor, Matt Gaetz on Thursday announced that he was withdrawing from consideration to become President-elect Donald Trump’s attorney general.

“While the momentum was strong, it is clear that my confirmation was unfairly becoming a distraction to the critical work of the Trump/Vance Transition,” Gaetz wrote on social media. “There is no time to waste on a needlessly protracted Washington scuffle, thus I’ll be withdrawing my name from consideration to serve as Attorney General. Trump’s DOJ must be in place and ready on Day 1.”

The surprise announcement comes one day after the House Ethics Committee failed to agree to release the long-awaited results of the report surrounding Gaetz’s sexual relationships and payments to several women, including at least one minor. Trump shocked even close allies by tapping Gaetz for the role and was reportedly phoning members of Congress as recently as this week to rally support for the disgraced Florida Republican.

Those who have opposed the report’s release, including Republican House Speaker Mike Johnson, have argued that such a move would set a poor precedent since Gaetz, who resigned shortly after Trump announced his intention to appoint him, is technically no longer a sitting member of Congress.

“I remain fully committed to see that Donald J. Trump is the most successful President in history,” Gaetz continued. “I will forever be honored that President Trump nominated me to lead the Department of Justice and I’m certain he will Save America.”

Rep. Matt Gaetz, one of Donald Trump’s most outspoken supporters in Congress, is the president-elect’s pick for attorney general, a stunning choice that builds upon Trump’s long-held views of the Justice Department as an extension of his White House.

As my colleague Stephanie Mencimer wrote in a 2019 profile, the Florida Republican has made something of a political career trolling everyone from food stamp recipients to Michael Cohen. Gaetz’s controversial career, which he largely secured thanks to family connections, gave way to becoming a staunch Trump loyalist and all-around suck-up. “Matt Gaetz is living proof that Veep was less parody and more prophecy,” as Steve Schmidt said.

But as he now sits on the cusp of becoming the next attorney general under a White House threatening to prosecute its enemies—from Nancy Pelosi to the media—it’s also worth noting that Gaetz is a terrible lawyer. From Stephanie:

Meanwhile, after graduating from William & Mary Law School in 2007, Matt Gaetz went to work for a politically connected firm in Fort Walton Beach, near Niceville. He toiled away on pedestrian legal matters befitting a junior associate in a region whose biggest city, Pensacola, is home to barely 50,000 people. He filed a debt collection suit against an elderly woman who couldn’t pay the home care firm owned by Gaetz’s dad. Matt also represented a homeowners’ association fighting the county over the placement of a beach volleyball net. And he sued the “red fish chix,” two professional fisherwomen accused of absconding with a $50,000 boat belonging to a local restaurant that had hired them to promote it.

Less than a year into his job, he also became one of the firm’s clients. One night in October 2008, Gaetz was driving his dad’s BMW home from a nightclub on Okaloosa Island when a sheriff’s deputy pulled him over for speeding. (Gaetz’s driving record is the subject of many jokes in his district. In 2014, he rear-ended one of his constituents while talking on his cellphone.)

Gaetz’s nomination comes as the latest in a shocking series of poorly qualified picks for the next administration that includes Tulsi Gabbard for director of national intelligence, a Fox News host (Defense), and Kristi Noem (Homeland Security).

Elon Musk’s election bets paid off the instant Donald Trump was reelected. But, even as the richest man in the world sits on the edge of enormous political power, Musk can’t seem to escape the essential fabric of his being: a deeply unlikable personality.

According to multiple reports, Musk is everywhere you turn at Mar-a-Lago, from the resort’s gift shop to nearly every meeting and meal with president-elect Trump. That constant presence has also extended to social media, where Musk calls himself the “First Buddy” and appears in photos with Trump’s grandchildren. All this, paired with the tech billionaire’s apparent inability to keep an opinion private, has proven so overbearing, that NBC News reports Trump insiders are fed up with Musk’s relentless efforts to force what they see as a personal agenda.

Such descriptions aren’t exactly surprising to anyone who has been forced to pay attention to Musk’s antics over the years; the tech billionaire is as known for his wealth as he is for his rabid, trolling behavior.

But while Trump appears intent on rewarding Musk for his enthusiastic backing in the 2024 election, such early reports of irritation within Trump’s circle—already infamous for its infighting and toxicity—don’t bode well for Musk’s standing. One quote from NBC appears to at least hint at such shaky ground:

“He’s behaving as if he’s a co-president and making sure everyone knows it,” one source said, adding that Musk is “sure taking lots of credit for the president’s victory. Bragging about America PAC and X to anyone who will listen.

“He’s trying to make President Trump feel indebted to him. And the president is indebted to no one.”

Another source told Politico that “Elon is getting a little big for his britches.”

Time will tell if Trump gets tired of a billionaire try-hard hanging on too long, especially if that billionaire continues injecting himself into every corner of the next administration. But the president-elect is a notoriously mercurial man—and I struggle to think of anyone more profoundly irritating—and unfunny—than Elon Musk.

Rep. Matt Gaetz, one of Donald Trump’s most outspoken supporters in Congress, is the president-elect’s pick for attorney general, a stunning choice that builds upon Trump’s long-held views of the Justice Department as an extension of his White House.

As my colleague Stephanie Mencimer wrote in a 2019 profile, the Florida Republican has made something of a political career trolling everyone from food stamp recipients to Michael Cohen. Gaetz’s controversial career, which he largely secured thanks to family connections, gave way to becoming a staunch Trump loyalist and all-around suck-up. “Matt Gaetz is living proof that Veep was less parody and more prophecy,” as Steve Schmidt said.

But as he now sits on the cusp of becoming the next attorney general under a White House threatening to prosecute its enemies—from Nancy Pelosi to the media—it’s also worth noting that Gaetz is a terrible lawyer. From Stephanie:

Meanwhile, after graduating from William & Mary Law School in 2007, Matt Gaetz went to work for a politically connected firm in Fort Walton Beach, near Niceville. He toiled away on pedestrian legal matters befitting a junior associate in a region whose biggest city, Pensacola, is home to barely 50,000 people. He filed a debt collection suit against an elderly woman who couldn’t pay the home care firm owned by Gaetz’s dad. Matt also represented a homeowners’ association fighting the county over the placement of a beach volleyball net. And he sued the “red fish chix,” two professional fisherwomen accused of absconding with a $50,000 boat belonging to a local restaurant that had hired them to promote it.

Less than a year into his job, he also became one of the firm’s clients. One night in October 2008, Gaetz was driving his dad’s BMW home from a nightclub on Okaloosa Island when a sheriff’s deputy pulled him over for speeding. (Gaetz’s driving record is the subject of many jokes in his district. In 2014, he rear-ended one of his constituents while talking on his cellphone.)

Gaetz’s nomination comes as the latest in a shocking series of poorly qualified picks for the next administration that includes Tulsi Gabbard for director of national intelligence, a Fox News host (Defense), and Kristi Noem (Homeland Security).

Elon Musk’s election bets paid off the instant Donald Trump was reelected. But, even as the richest man in the world sits on the edge of enormous political power, Musk can’t seem to escape the essential fabric of his being: a deeply unlikable personality.

According to multiple reports, Musk is everywhere you turn at Mar-a-Lago, from the resort’s gift shop to nearly every meeting and meal with president-elect Trump. That constant presence has also extended to social media, where Musk calls himself the “First Buddy” and appears in photos with Trump’s grandchildren. All this, paired with the tech billionaire’s apparent inability to keep an opinion private, has proven so overbearing, that NBC News reports Trump insiders are fed up with Musk’s relentless efforts to force what they see as a personal agenda.

Such descriptions aren’t exactly surprising to anyone who has been forced to pay attention to Musk’s antics over the years; the tech billionaire is as known for his wealth as he is for his rabid, trolling behavior.

But while Trump appears intent on rewarding Musk for his enthusiastic backing in the 2024 election, such early reports of irritation within Trump’s circle—already infamous for its infighting and toxicity—don’t bode well for Musk’s standing. One quote from NBC appears to at least hint at such shaky ground:

“He’s behaving as if he’s a co-president and making sure everyone knows it,” one source said, adding that Musk is “sure taking lots of credit for the president’s victory. Bragging about America PAC and X to anyone who will listen.

“He’s trying to make President Trump feel indebted to him. And the president is indebted to no one.”

Another source told Politico that “Elon is getting a little big for his britches.”

Time will tell if Trump gets tired of a billionaire try-hard hanging on too long, especially if that billionaire continues injecting himself into every corner of the next administration. But the president-elect is a notoriously mercurial man—and I struggle to think of anyone more profoundly irritating—and unfunny—than Elon Musk.

Voters in swing states who received notice of a $1 million check from Elon Musk should know two things: Simple luck is not how this happened—and you are now on the hook to be an official spokesperson for Musk’s America super PAC.

That’s according to a lawyer for the tech billionaire, who acknowledged in court on Monday amid a lawsuit alleging that the contest is an illegal lottery, that recipients are not randomly selected. The claim comes despite Musk’s initial description of the contest when it was first announced last month.

“I have a surprise for you,” Musk had said at a pro-Trump event in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. “Which is that we are going to be awarding 1 million dollars, randomly, to people who have signed the petition, every day from now until the election.”

The announcement quickly drew the attention of Justice Department officials who warned that the scheme may violate federal law prohibiting paying people to register to vote. After a brief pause, Musk’s super PAC resumed the controversial payouts, which prompted the current lawsuit from Philadelphia District Attorney Larry Krasner seeking to block the contest before Election Day.

“There is no prize to be won,” Chris Gober, an attorney for Musk, said at Monday’s hearing. “Instead recipients must fulfill contractual obligations to serve as a spokesperson for the PAC.”

That’s probably news for the 14 recipients, nearly all of whom NBC News reports are either registered Republicans or Republican-leaning.

While a judge on Monday rejected Musk’s bid to move the lawsuit to federal court, the giveaways are unlikely to be stopped before Tuesday. But what’s the ROI on a $1 million a day to voters already primed to vote Trump? Perhaps evidence to back your anti-democratic belief that American voters can be bought.

In the final stretch of an election season teeming with ugly moments, from the racist and vulgar to the sexist and crude, Donald Trump on Thursday managed to do what he always does: outdo himself.

“Let’s put her with a rifle standing there with nine barrels shooting at her,” Trump said at an event with Tucker Carlson. “Okay, let’s see how she feels about it. You know when the guns are trained on her face.”

The subject of this violent comment was Liz Cheney, perhaps the most high-profile Republican to support Trump’s Democratic opponent, Kamala Harris, and Trump made this statement amid endless evidence of the dangers he poses should he return to the White House. In this instance, Trump was slamming Cheney for being a “radical war-hawk” and suggesting she should be subjected to a taste of combat. But this use of such visceral imagery comes as he continues to threaten to prosecute his perceived enemies. This summer he promoted a social media post calling for Cheney to be placed on trial for treason before a military tribunal.

The Harris campaign and other Trump critics mischaracterized Trump’s comment as a call to put Cheney before a firing squad.

“This is how dictators destroy free nations,” Cheney responded on X. “They threaten those who speak against them with death. We cannot entrust our country and our freedom to a petty, vindictive, cruel, unstable man who wants to be a tyrant.”

Meanwhile, mainstream news outlets are still chewing over whether President Joe Biden may or may not have called Trump’s supporters “garbage” in response to a comedian at a recent Trump rally describing Puerto Rico as a “floating island of garbage.” This morning, there was more quibbling over a report that the White House may have altered a transcript of Biden’s “garbage” dig. Given that Trump has often dehumanized and demonized his political foes and their supporters, saying they’re “scum,” the attention paid to Biden’s remark—which he clarified after the fact—is misplaced.

Trump’s menacing language—a constant for almost a decade—rarely draws the notice that Garbage-gate has received. To call this imbalance typical both-sidesism fails to adequately convey the failures of the media in 2024.

We’re all a bit desensitized. But the use of such violent rhetoric by hideous men within reach of the White House should still shock us. Anything less, well, is garbage.

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 abandoned his 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

— Ruha Benjamin (@ruha9) October 1, 2024

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

— Ruha Benjamin (@ruha9) October 1, 2024

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 supposedly a 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:

@cbsmornings

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.”

♬ original sound – CBS Mornings

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 supposedly a 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:

@cbsmornings

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.”

♬ original sound – CBS Mornings

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.