There isn't a more urgent crisis than putting the long-term jobless back to work
(Reuters)
Jobs! The economy added 236,000 of them in February, which is good. And, as my colleague Derek Thompson points out, it added more construction jobs than at any time since March of 2007, which is even better. After all, housing is what makes recoveries go boom.
But let's be honest. Even with our nascent housing recovery, the overall recovery is still leaving behind far too many for far too long. People looking for work for 6-months or longer -- the long-term unemployed -- jumped by 89,000 last month. It's been three years since the labor market bottomed, but the long-term unemployment rate is still higher than it's been at any point since 1948. Technically-speaking, we're still in a deep hole.
Well, that's not quite true. The hole is depressingly deep for the long-term unemployed, but not so much for others. We increasingly have a bifurcated labor market. As I pointed out back in December, the Boston Fed has found that the job market looks normal for people who have been out of work for less than 6-months, and horribly dysfunctional for people who have been out of work longer than that. It doesn't matter how old you are, or the industry you are in, or even how much education you have -- the only thing that matters, as far as employers are concerned, is how long you have been unemployed.
Why?
It's about loss of skills, loss of trust, and loss of networks. The longer people are out of work, the more they presumably forget. That's the loss of skills. But even if that's not actually true, and it might not be, employers assume it is -- there's a stigma to being out of work that long. That's the loss of trust. Now, that's particularly hard for the long-term unemployed to overcome since being unemployed for so long hurts the kind of professional networks that are often so important to finding a job. The only way for the long-term unemployed to get a job is to already have one. It's a vicious catch-22.
In other words, the long-term unemployed are at the back of the jobs line. And it's quite a long line. As you can see below, the job calculator from the Hamilton Project estimates it would take us 8 years to get back to full employment at our current 3-month average of 190,000 jobs-a-month. The long-term unemployed will be unemployable by then.
It gets worse. As the Bipartisan Policy Center points out, the sequester cuts long-term unemployment benefits by 10 percent. (And if you think those benefits are disincentivizing them from finding work, ask yourself why there hasn't been any shift in the Beveridge Curve for the shorter-term unemployed, who also get benefits).
What is to be done? Well, as Megan McArdle argues, the easiest way to put the long-term unemployed to work is ... to directly put them back to work. In other words, the federal government should become a hirer-of-last-resort for the long-term jobless -- or, at the very least, create a hiring preference for them. It's probably the fiscally conservative thing to do. Long-term unemployment isn't just an individual tragedy; it's a collective one too. Left to linger, it decreases our productive capacity and increases the strain on our safety net.
It's no time to turn to the deficit. Not when so many people are still waiting for the recovery to show up for them.
Liberland is a self-proclaimed country located between Croatia and Serbia that was created to be a libertarian paradise in the heart of Eastern Europe.
A Hillary Clinton presidential victory promises to usher in a new age of public misogyny.
Get ready for the era of The Bitch.
If Hillary Clinton wins the White House in November, it will be a historic moment, the smashing of the preeminent glass ceiling in American public life. A mere 240 years after this nation’s founding, a woman will occupy its top office. America’s daughters will at last have living, breathing, pantsuit-wearing proof that they too can grow up to be president.
A Clinton victory also promises to usher in four-to-eight years of the kind of down-and-dirty public misogyny you might expect from a stag party at Roger Ailes’s house.
You know it’s coming. As hyperpartisanship, grievance politics, and garden-variety rage shift from America’s first black commander-in-chief onto its first female one, so too will the focus of political bigotry. Some of it will be driven by genuine gender grievance or discomfort among some at being led by a woman. But in plenty of other cases, slamming Hillary as a bitch, a c**t (Thanks, Scott Baio!), or a menopausal nut-job (an enduringly popular theme on Twitter) will simply be an easy-peasy shortcut for dismissing her and delegitimizing her presidency.
Southern Louisiana is drowning again. No one seems to care.
Wide stretches of southern Louisiana are once again flooded with more than two feet of water. Downpours have again damaged or ruined tens of thousands of homes, driving thousands into shelters and leaving many people homeless and some dead. State leaders have declared the situation “historic” and “unprecedented,” and the federal government has, yet again, declared a major disaster in the region.
The images coming from Baton Rouge and its surrounding low-lying areas, of submerged homes and streets turned into rivers, inevitably call to mind the tragic aftermath of Hurricane Katrina.
Only this time, most people might not have heard about it.
The Louisiana floods, which the American Red Cross on Wednesday labeled “the worst natural disaster to strike the United States since Superstorm Sandy,” have not dominated cable news nor the front pages of newspapers. President Obama, other than signing a disaster declaration, hasn’t bothered to interrupt his Martha’s Vineyard vacation of golf and fund-raisers to address the suffering residents of the Gulf. Hillary Clinton has mentioned the floods only in a single tweet, and Donald Trump has said nothing about them at all.
The world of GOP intellectuals and policymakers has been upended by Donald Trump. What is there to do but carry on?
PALO ALTO, Calif.—A few minutes into the conservative policy seminar, the economist John Cochrane made a point of clarification. “This is not,” he specified, “advice for a Trump administration.”
At Cochrane’s elbow, George Shultz, the former secretary of state, muttered, “God help us.”
Shultz, the Republican elder statesman and veteran of the Nixon and Reagan administrations, had spent the preceding months assembling a far-reaching book of policy recommendations on matters domestic and foreign on behalf of the Hoover Institution at Stanford University. He commissioned a decorated group of experts—men and women with gaudy constellations of letters after their names, generals and ambassadors and national-security experts—to pen chapters outlining their vision for such topics as health-care reform, banking legislation, counterterrorism strategy, and the U.S. posture toward Asia. On Monday, the group summoned a group of reporters here for a special summit to unveil these policy ideas—grandly titled Blueprint for America—to the world.
The talk-radio host’s unintentionally dissonant diagnosis of what threatens America.
This week on the Rush Limbaugh program, amid monologues extolling Donald Trump and attacking Hillary Clinton, America’s most popular talk-radio host took time to answer a question from a caller: “You've been telling us for decades now, ‘Don't panic. I'll tell you when to panic.’ Well, what I want to know is what form should that panic take, and also what your criteria are for invoking this pandemonium?”
Limbaugh offered a serious answer. “If panic means conceding that we've lost, then I'm not there,” he said. “And I don't mean this presidential race, I mean the country.”
He went on to explain why he’s optimistic that he and his listeners won’t “lose the country” for good.
“I'm Reaganesque in this,” he began, adding that “I think that immorality on a large-scale will ultimately implode on itself. Now, Reagan offered that belief about communism, and specifically the Soviet Union. He was adamant that something as immoral and heinous as Soviet communism could not survive. At some point, it would destroy itself because it would eat itself alive, it would destroy the food chain, that is, the people necessary to sustain it. It just couldn't last and survive.”
As people move to warmer climates and cities, small towns throughout the region are weathering decline.
NEW CANAAN, Conn.—The house is a perfect Colonial, white with green shutters, with five bedrooms, a pool, and a spacious lawn. A decade ago, it would have flown off the market. These days, Candace Blackwood isn’t sure she can sell it anytime soon.
“We have a glut of inventory,” Blackwood, a real estate agent with Berkshire Hathaway, told me, guiding her Mercedes through the leafy roads of this Connecticut suburb. “The number of days homes stay on the market has increased, and people are getting so desperate they’re renting out their homes.”
This has little to do with the housing market broadly speaking: In cities like New York, San Francisco, and Boston,prices are rising and homes are sold within days of listing. Rather, it’s a sign that suburban neighborhoods straight out of Mad Men are no longer as in-demand as they once were. Around Boston, for example, 51 towns and suburbs started the year withprice declines while the city’s prices skyrocketed. Indeed, as Blackwood drives me through this picturesque New England town just an hour from New York, we pass dozens of for-sale and for-rent signs outside home set back from the road. These are homes that, one day, might have been on any family’s dream list, back when suburbs were where everyone wanted to live and there were dozens of companies to work for nearby. Median home values in Fairfield County, where New Canaan is located, are down 21 percent from their peak in 2003, according to Zillow; for the state as a whole median home values are down 18 percent from their 2004 peak. By contrast, home values nationwide are down just 5 percent from their 2005 peak. In urban areas, they are up—often substantially; in Boston, Charlotte, Portland, San Francisco, and Seattle, prices this year have set record highs.
The up-and-coming filmmaker is under intense scrutiny for rape charges leveled against him 17 years ago. Here’s why this debate is necessary.
When it comes to sexual assault, legal vindication isn’t the same thing as moral vindication. Being cleared of wrongdoing by the judicial system—which time and time again has been proven to reliably and systemically fail the victims of sexual violence—is an achievement that comes with a fairly low bar.
With this in mind, the current rehashing of a 17-year-old case, in which an 18-year-old woman accused the filmmaker Nate Parker and his college roommate-turned-writing-partner Jean Celestin of raping her while all three were students at Penn State, is not only appropriate, but necessary.
Parker, directed, produced, and stars in the upcoming film TheBirth of a Nation, a drama about the 1831 slave rebellion led by Nat Turner. The film is not only Parker’s directorial debut, but also his most critically acclaimed work to date, and earlier this year the movie became the most expensive film ever purchased at Sundance after Fox Searchlight paid $17.5 million for it.
After the Olympics, both winners and losers are prone to emotional crashes.
On August 21, more than 11,000 Olympic athletes will leave Rio, some carrying medals, others lugging the weight of falling short of expectations. Despite their varying degrees of success, many will have the same surprise waiting for them back home: a feeling that life suddenly seems ordinary.
This emotional drop, in its most acute form, might be called post-Olympic depression—or, to borrow a phrase from the sports psychologist Scott Goldman, the director of the Performance Psychology Center at the University of Michigan, an under-recovery.
“Think about the rollercoaster ride prior to the Olympics, and just how fast and hectic that mad dash is,” Goldman says. “This ninety-mile-per-hour or hundred-mile-per-hour ride comes to a screeching halt the second the Olympics are over. … [The athletes] are just exhausted; it was such an onslaught to their system. And when it’s all said and done, they’re just physiologically depleted, as well as psychologically.”
A controversy over anti-Israel statements in the Movement for Black Lives political platform shows the long history of tension between Jews and blacks in the U.S.
Last Thursday, the Movement for Black Lives got together for an emergency conference call. One week after the drafting committee released its political platform—a long document that covers everything from U.S. policing to education reform to mass incarceration—the activists felt they needed another “deep internal discussion,” as they called it, on one small section toward the end: their statement on Israel and Palestine.
Of all the positions included in the platform, this is the one that has generated the most backlash. The conflict is largely one of language: Jewish groups have been most upset about its use of the words “genocide” and “apartheid” to describe Israel’s actions against the Palestinians, describing the terms as “offensive and odious.” Some progressive, social-justice-oriented organizations have condemned the statements in part; others have condemned the movement in full. Church groups have repudiated it. Jews of color have struggled with it. In the wake of what should have been a powerful moment, black activists have found themselves at odds with the one group that may have been most ready to support them as allies.
After a federal court struck down the state’s strict voting law as racially discriminatory, Republicans are trying to restrict voting at the county level.
DURHAM, N.C.—Bill Brian Jr. already sounded weary, and the meeting hadn’t even started. It was 5 p.m. Wednesday at the county office-building, and a typically sleepy meeting of the county board of elections had turned into a marquee event. Around 100 people had shown up to hear the three-person commission decide how early voting would work, and the board had already been forced to move the meeting to a much larger space.
Brian, the board’s chair, mentioned the “flood of emails” he’d received, and announced that he’d allow citizens to speak briefly. “Please try to be civil,” he said with a sigh. Over the next 40 minutes, a long line of county residents—including veteran activists, operatives, and assorted gadflies—stood up and delivered their thoughts on early voting. There were students who wanted polling locations on campus. One man wanted a location nearer to the bus terminal. Another railed against opponents of voter ID rules, describing them as “racist” for believing that blacks would be less able or willing to navigate them. The chair of the county Republican Party said he didn’t care how much early voting there was, but pleaded for an end to Sunday voting, which he saw as an affront to God. Several others were just as insistent about the need for polls to be open on the Sabbath; others pointed out that some denominations kept different Sabbaths.
What do you do when you’re competing for a country that might disappear? You dance.
There are plenty of ways to celebrate victory at the Olympics: You can do the Lightning Bolt like Usain Bolt. You can do various things with your fingers like Michael Phelps. You can brag on Twitter. But rarely has anyone danced like David Katoatau did this week in Rio. And what’s remarkable about his dancing is that Katoatau didn’t win anything. The weightlifter from the Pacific island nation of Kiribati finished sixth in the men’s 105-kilogram Group B final. He’s dancing because he’s not sure what else he can do at this point to help his sinking, storm-battered country.
These weightlifting celebrations just keep getting better and better.