White House Press Secretary conveyed the U.S.' disappointment in China during a conversation with reporters yesterday. (Evan Vucci/AP)
In the understatement of the day, the United States is unhappy with the recent developments of the Edward Snowden situation. Just three days ago, Washington was in negotiations with Hong Kong to file a warrant for Snowden's arrest, a process which the U.S. hoped would lead to Snowden's eventual repatriation. Now, Snowden is sitting in Moscow's Sheremetyevo Airport, presumably awaiting transit to his eventual destination. Though the U.S. doesn't know where Snowden will end up, it's widely assumed that he'll settle in a country -- like Ecuador -- which will not willingly extradite him back to his homeland.
In the meantime, Washington has begun to lash out at those responsible for this debacle -- namely the Chinese. As Beijing's involvement in Snowden's case becomes more clear, the U.S. government has accused China of damaging trust between the two countries, particularly after the successful conclusion to a recent summit between Xi Jinping and Barack Obama in California. Beijing, for its part, is tickled with how these events transpired. The Global Times, a state-owned newspaper known for its nationalistic stance, said that Washington was finally getting its comeuppance.
Before the U.S.-China blame game kicks into high gear, it's worth considering how the Snowden affair looks from China, a country which has seen a fair number of its citizens seek political refuge in the United States. When the security firm Mandiant reported in February that China systematically hacked into American corporate and military secrets from an unmarked building in Shanghai, Beijing countered with accusations that the U.S. is just as guilty of cyber espionage. Now, thanks to Snowden's NSA revelations, we know that this accusation is true.
Along these lines, the developments in Snowden's case bring up an interesting thought experiment: What if Edward Snowden were Chinese? Comparisons between the U.S. and China are always fraught with problems, given the differences in the two countries' political and legal systems. But is there much doubt that the U.S. media would have portrayed a Chinese Snowden as anything other than as a brave dissident? Moreover, the U.S. government would consider him a powerful intelligence asset and an enduring symbol of freedom, and the idea that Washington would willingly allow for his extradition back to China would be unthinkable. The United States has long considered itself (with much justification) as a haven for political exiles -- it just isn't used to having an exile of its own. It's easy to understand why the Global Times -- in words that surely represent Beijing's official sentiment -- think Washington's pursuit of Snowden represents a double standard.
The question of fairness aside, wouldn't it have just been simpler for China to step aside from the extradition process and let Snowden return to the United States? Not exactly. A long, drawn-out negotiation over Snowden's extradition would have the potential of turning into a messy squabble between China and the U.S., one that could potentially be more damaging than Hong Kong's decision to let Snowden go. Speaking to the Los Angeles Times, China expert Cheng Li cited the case of Fang Lizhi, a dissident whose one-year detention in Beijing's U.S. Embassy, following his involvement in 1989's Tiananmen Square protests, led to sustained tension between China and the U.S. The experience with Fang no doubt played a part in China's decision last year to let Chen Guangcheng move to the United States after only a brief stay in the embassy.
With his flight to Moscow, Edward Snowden has suddenly become someone else's problem, and the U.S.-China relationship will likely go back, in practical terms, to where it was before. But the basic calculus between the two countries has changed: American accusations of Chinese wrongdoing will no longer have the same weight they once did. If Edward Snowden has one legacy, this is it.
Rubio needed to make a good impression at tonight's debate after the great robot glitch debacle of 2016 last time around. It doesn't look like he made any viral-worthy missteps tonight. Rubio also seemed notably aggressive in some of his attacks, particularly against Ted Cruz.
The GOP presidential candidate—and at least two of his rivals—are acting as if the meaning of the Constitution changes depending on the timing of the next election.
Antonin Scalia is dead. Is it legitimate for the Republican-controlled Senate to refrain from confirming a replacement for the late Supreme Court justice until a new president is elected, as Ted Cruz, Marco Rubio, Ben Carson and others on the right have urged? Or does the Senate have an obligation to approve a qualified nominee put forth by President Obama, as many on the left argued as soon as news of the death broke?
The debate on Twitter was instantaneous. “The Democrat-controlled Senate confirmed Ronald Reagan's nominee to the Court, Anthony Kennedy, in his last year in office: 1988,” the liberal journalist Glenn Greenwald observed. Jim Antle, a paleoconservative, retorted with a Robert Bork reference, writing, “And it wouldn't quite have been in his final year if first choice had been confirmed in 1987.”
A passionate, complex conservative, Scalia forever changed how Americans think about original intent. Both liberals and conservatives now play by Scalia’s rules.
In 1996, Antonin Scalia assessed the legacy of the great liberal Justice William Brennan: “He is probably the most influential justice of the century.” Depending on future events, the legacy of the great conservative Scalia—who died Saturday at 79—may eclipse that of Brennan.
Scalia’s death is a monumental event; a Supreme Court without him is difficult to imagine. His legacy is so large and complex that it will take weeks simply to catalogue the questions he leaves behind.
By all accounts, in private Scalia was a figure of considerable charm to liberals and conservatives alike. As a public man, he was by turns impish, saturnine, quarrelsome, and penetrating. He set the terms of debate in the law in not one but two areas: the interpretation of statutes (which is the bulk of the Court’s docket) and the application of an 18th-century Constitution for 20th- and 21st-century needs. In statutory construction, he emphasized the text and the text alone. Before his ascendancy, it had been customary to infer the “intent” of the legislature from committee reports and statements by the measure’s sponsors. Scalia would not have that—only the words of the statute were law, he insisted; a reviewing court should apply only them. Though Scalia called his approach a modest one, the austere textual creed had the effect of placing judges at the center of the complex world of federal statutes. That said, it must be added that his background in the law of administrative agencies made him a careful reader—which a textualist ought to be. In cases with no ideological valence, it was clear that his colleagues often looked to him for legal guidance.
Fredrickson, a leading researcher of positive emotions at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, presents scientific evidence to argue that love is not what we think it is. It is not a long-lasting, continually present emotion that sustains a marriage; it is not the yearning and passion that characterizes young love; and it is not the blood-tie of kinship.
Rather, it is what she calls a "micro-moment of positivity resonance." She means that love is a connection, characterized by a flood of positive emotions, which you share with another person—any other person—whom you happen to connect with in the course of your day. You can experience these micro-moments with your romantic partner, child, or close friend. But you can also fall in love, however momentarily, with less likely candidates, like a stranger on the street, a colleague at work, or an attendant at a grocery store. Louis Armstrong put it best in "It's a Wonderful World" when he sang, "I see friends shaking hands, sayin 'how do you do?' / They're really sayin', 'I love you.'"
The passing of Antonin Scalia roils the presidential campaign and could leave the Supreme Court deadlocked until 2017. Will the Senate even consider a replacement nominated by President Obama?
The sudden death of Antonin Scalia, an associate justice of the United States Supreme Court, on Saturday morning will shake up American politics like few events in recent memory, reshaping the 2016 presidential campaign and potentially leaving the Supreme Court deadlocked for more than a year.
In the short term, President Obama will have to decide who to nominate to replace the voluble conservative jurist, and the Republican-led Senate will have to decide whether to even consider the president’s pick in the heat of the election campaign. Majority Leader Mitch McConnell immediately signaled that an Obama nominee would not get a vote this year. “The American people should have a voice in the selection of their next Supreme Court justice,” the Kentucky Republican said in a statement. “Therefore, this vacancy should not be filled until we have a new president.” CNN reported Saturday evening that Obama intends to nominate a new Supreme Court justice, setting up a potential confrontation with Republicans that would play out both on Capitol Hill and on the campaign trail.
The current moment in politics came about slowly, not suddenly, but it doesn't make it any less of a national emergency.
When I was a kid, all I knew about Michael Jackson was that he was crazy. He had a monkey named Bubbles and some kind of oxygen chamber and he used to be black but he made himself white and he was nuts. That was Michael Jackson in full. Wacko Jacko.
After all, as a kid, you know you are changing, but the world seems static. If Michael Jackson is crazy it is inconceivable that he was ever not crazy in the same way it’s hard to imagine your parents as children because they’ve always been so old. One of the hardest lessons of childhood is reckoning with the instability of the world. And the earlier it comes, through death or divorce or whatever upheaval that can be visited on children, the harder it is to take. Maybe that’s all it is to grow up in the end.
The president called the late Supreme Court justice, who died Saturday, a “brilliant legal mind,” and said he plans to name a successor—likely setting up a fight with Senate Republicans.
President Obama called Justice Antonin Scalia, who died suddenly on Saturday at the age of 79, a “brilliant legal mind with an energetic style, incisive wit, and colorful opinions,” and said he intends to fulfill his constitutional responsibility and nominate a successor in due time.
“He influenced a generation of judges, lawyers, and, students, and profoundly shaped the legal landscape,” Obama said of Scalia. “He will no doubt be remembered as one of the most consequential judges and thinkers to serve on the Supreme Court.”
And, the president added: “Obviously, today is the time to remember Justice Scalia’s legacy. I plan to fulfill my constitutional responsibilities to nominate a successor in due time. There will be plenty of time for me to do so and for the Senate to fulfill its responsibility to give that person a fair hearing and timely vote.”
The number of American teens who excel at advanced math has surged. Why?
On a sultry evening last July, a tall, soft-spoken 17-year-old named David Stoner and nearly 600 other math whizzes from all over the world sat huddled in small groups around wicker bistro tables, talking in low voices and obsessively refreshing the browsers on their laptops. The air in the cavernous lobby of the Lotus Hotel Pang Suan Kaew in Chiang Mai, Thailand, was humid, recalls Stoner, whose light South Carolina accent warms his carefully chosen words. The tension in the room made it seem especially heavy, like the atmosphere at a high-stakes poker tournament.
Stoner and five teammates were representing the United States in the 56th International Mathematical Olympiad. They figured they’d done pretty well over the two days of competition. God knows, they’d trained hard. Stoner, like his teammates, had endured a grueling regime for more than a year—practicing tricky problems over breakfast before school and taking on more problems late into the evening after he completed the homework for his college-level math classes. Sometimes, he sketched out proofs on the large dry-erase board his dad had installed in his bedroom. Most nights, he put himself to sleep reading books like New Problems in Euclidean Geometry and An Introduction to Diophantine Equations.
Today’s empires are born on the web, and exert tremendous power in the material world.
Mark Zuckerberg hasn’t had the best week.
First, Facebook’s Free Basics platform was effectively banned in India. Then, a high-profile member of Facebook’s board of directors, the venture capitalist Marc Andreessen, sounded off about the decision to his nearly half-a-million Twitter followers with a stunning comment.
“Anti-colonialism has been economically catastrophic for the Indian people for decades,” Andreessen wrote. “Why stop now?”
After that, the Internet went nuts.
Andreessen deleted his tweet, apologized, and underscored that he is “100 percent opposed to colonialism” and “100 percent in favor of independence and freedom.” Zuckerberg, Facebook’s CEO, followed up with his own Facebook post to say Andreessen’s comment was “deeply upsetting” to him, and not representative of the way he thinks “at all.”
Jim Gilmore joins Chris Christie and Carly Fiorina, and leaves the race after a poor showing in New Hampshire.
Jim Gilmore’s candidacy this year was improbable—but even more improbable was the minor cult of personality that developed around it.
The former Virginia governor never had a chance. Not, like, in the sense of Lindsey Graham, a candidate with national standing but no path to the presidency. More in the George Pataki sense: a guy who had no real business in race, but was running anyway. Except that Gilmore made Pataki look like a juggernaut. Also, Pataki saw the writing on the wall and had the sense to drop out in late December. Gilmore soldiered on, and ended up as the last of the truly longshots to leave.
The result was that Gilmore turned into a sort of folk hero. Not for voters, mind you—he managed only 12 votes in Iowa and 125 in New Hampshire, and his campaign was funded largely by loans from himself. Because of his low support in the polls, Gilmore only made the cut for the very first kid’s-table debate in August, and then again for the undercard in late January. Other than that, he was shut out completely.