The trial of Bo Xilai, indicted for bribery and abuse of power, is scheduled to begin Thursday in Jinan, Shandong Province. Jason Lee/Reuters
For an event whose outcome is all but assured, the Bo Xilai trial -- scheduled to begin in Jinan on Thursday -- arrives with an unusual amount of fanfare. Bo is accused of bribery and abuse of power, and without question will be found guilty and sentenced to prison, probably for a very long time. The conviction will conclude one of China's most dazzling political careers -- as well as one of its most spectacular downfalls. As the Party Secretary of Chongqing, the dashing Bo engineered a populist revival of Mao-era culture as well as cracked down on organized crime, becoming a star destined for higher office. But a scandal involving the poisoning death of a British businessman, a crime for which Bo's wife was found guilty, led to Bo's expulsion from the Communist Party and ultimate indictment.
In the predictable world of Chinese criminal justice, Bo's conviction is assured. But that doesn't mean that his trial will be a dull, perfunctory exercise. In fact, there are plenty of reasons for the top levels of the Chinese government to be nervous -- and that alone makes the proceedings worth paying attention to.
Typically, Chinese officials indicted for corruption attract little public sympathy. But Bo isn't just any politician. Months after his expulsion from the Communist Party and banishment from public life, Bo still commands significant grassroots support throughout the country. In an effort to clamp down on pro-Bo sentiment, the Chinese government has threatened and intimidated supportive bloggers into silence. Clearly, Beijing wants the trial to come and go without anyone making a fuss. But the government has to be careful; an unjustly harsh verdict may inflame Bo's supporters, causing a public relations headache that the Communist Party wants desperately to avoid.
There's also the question of what Bo will say and do in the courthouse. In Chinese jurisprudence, there's usually no reason for defendants to put up much of a fight, since they're almost certainly going to be found guilty anyway. But the circumstances of Bo's trial are different. According to the Wall Street Journal, Bo apparently believes that the charges against him are unfair, and that his wife Gu Kailai -- already guilty of the murder of Neil Heywood -- is more to blame. For her part, Gu is willing to testify against her husband if it helps protect their son, a law student in the United States, and avoid further legal trouble herself. Given this situation, Bo may find it in his interest to fight the charges, even if it means risking a lengthier prison sentence if he fails to persuade the judges of his innocence.
(It's worth noting that Gu has other problems, too: Heywood's family in the U.K. now wants financial compensation for his death, but even they have begun fighting amongst themselves. A Hollywood screenwriter couldn't make this up.)
Then there's the raucous, chaotic nature of major political trials in China, where condemned leaders don't always go gently into the night. Chen Xitong, the former Beijing mayor convicted of corruption in the 1990s, told his judge that "if you sentence me to prison, you'd better get 300 coffins ready." Jiang Qing was once China's most powerful woman, who, as Mao Zedong's wife, ruled the country as the leader of the "Gang of Four." During her trial in the early 1980s, Jiang screamed at and ridiculed the court, referring to a female judge as "a bitch." The smooth, urbane Bo doesn't seem like the sort to have an outburst in court; but if he acts out, it would not be unprecedented in the history of Chinese jurisprudence.
What does the Bo Xilai trial say about China? On the surface, not much. Those hoping that Bo's trial will usher in a period of "rule of law" in China will probably be disappointed. But the rise and fall of Bo Xilai, reflects a new era in Chinese politics, where regional politicians can leverage social media to leverage nationwide, grassroots support. Rather than being a distraction in what would otherwise be an ordinary government corruption trial, Bo Xilai's very celebrity is the detail that keeps Beijing's leaders up at night.
The plight of non-tenured professors is widely known, but what about the impact they have on the students they’re hired to instruct?
Imagine meeting your English professor by the trunk of her car for office hours, where she doles out information like a taco vendor in a food truck. Or getting an e-mail error message when you write your former biology professor asking for a recommendation because she is no longer employed at the same college. Or attending an afternoon lecture in which your anthropology professor seems a little distracted because he doesn’t have enough money for bus fare. This is an increasingly widespread reality of college education.
Many students—and parents who foot the bills—may assume that all college professors are adequately compensated professionals with a distinct arrangement in which they have a job for life. In actuality those are just tenured professors, who represent less than a quarter of all college faculty. Odds are that students will be taught by professors with less job security and lower pay than those tenured employees, which research shows results in diminished services for students.
In any case, people have probably heard the phrase in reference to something gone awry at work or in life. In either setting, when the shit does hit the fan, people will tend to look to the most competent person in the room to take over.
And too bad for that person. A new paper by a team of researchers from Duke University, University of Georgia, and University of Colorado looks at not only how extremely competent people are treated by their co-workers and peers, but how those people feel when, at crucial moments, everyone turns to them. They find that responsible employees are not terribly pleased about this dynamic either.
New research confirms what they say about nice guys.
Smile at the customer. Bake cookies for your colleagues. Sing your subordinates’ praises. Share credit. Listen. Empathize. Don’t drive the last dollar out of a deal. Leave the last doughnut for someone else.
Sneer at the customer. Keep your colleagues on edge. Claim credit. Speak first. Put your feet on the table. Withhold approval. Instill fear. Interrupt. Ask for more. And by all means, take that last doughnut. You deserve it.
Follow one of those paths, the success literature tells us, and you’ll go far. Follow the other, and you’ll die powerless and broke. The only question is, which is which?
Of all the issues that preoccupy the modern mind—Nature or nurture? Is there life in outer space? Why can’t America field a decent soccer team?—it’s hard to think of one that has attracted so much water-cooler philosophizing yet so little scientific inquiry. Does it pay to be nice? Or is there an advantage to being a jerk?
Science: Humblebragging doesn’t work. If you want to brag, just brag. Even better, just complain.
"Nothing is more deceitful," said Darcy, "than the appearance of humility. It is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes an indirect boast." - Jane Austen
Praise and sympathy: They are two of life’s essentials, the oxygen and carbon dioxide of social interaction. The first is most directly elicited by bragging, and the second, by complaining. The humblebrag—e.g. I’m exhausted from Memorial Day weekend; it’s soooo hard to get out of Nantucket—sits at the center of these competing needs. It is a boast in sheepish clothing, kvelling dressed in kvetch. And, like nearly all forms of multi-tasking, the drive to satisfy two goals at once typically results in double-failure.
The Islamic State is no mere collection of psychopaths. It is a religious group with carefully considered beliefs, among them that it is a key agent of the coming apocalypse. Here’s what that means for its strategy—and for how to stop it.
What is the Islamic State?
Where did it come from, and what are its intentions? The simplicity of these questions can be deceiving, and few Western leaders seem to know the answers. In December, The New York Times published confidential comments by Major General Michael K. Nagata, the Special Operations commander for the United States in the Middle East, admitting that he had hardly begun figuring out the Islamic State’s appeal. “We have not defeated the idea,” he said. “We do not even understand the idea.” In the past year, President Obama has referred to the Islamic State, variously, as “not Islamic” and as al-Qaeda’s “jayvee team,” statements that reflected confusion about the group, and may have contributed to significant strategic errors.
Orr: “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace. My name is Tyrion Lannister.”
At last! I know I speak for quite a few book readers when I say that pretty much the only thing that kept me going through the eleventy thousand discursive, digressive pages of George R. R. Martin’s fifth tome, A Dance With Dragons, was the promise of Tyrion finally meeting up with Daenerys Targaryen. And, of course, after eleventy thousand pages, it never happened. So on behalf of myself and everyone else who sacrificed sleep, work, family, and friends waiting for this moment, let me say thank you, David Benioff and D. B. Weiss. Bonus points for what seemed to be a cameo by Strong Belwas (a book character who was written out of the show) as the nameless fighter who freed Tyrion from his chains.
With Ben & Jerry’s ice cream and a Cajun concert, the Democratic socialist from Vermont formally kicks off his presidential campaign in typically atypical fashion.
Updated May 26, 2015, 6:35 p.m.
Bernie Sanders is an unconventional candidate, and he’s launching his presidential campaign in a typically unorthodox fashion. Sanders held his “kickoff” event Tuesday in his hometown of Burlington, Vermont. It was a rally, but it was pitched more like a festival, complete with free ice cream from Ben & Jerry’s and a performance by “Mango Jam”—a Vermont-based, six-piece dance band that plays a combination of Zydeco, Cajun, and Caribbean music.
The lure of live music, Phish Food, and a beautiful setting on the banks of Lake Champlain drew a crowd that appeared to number in the thousands, but there was a larger point to this political theater. Like other underdogs before him, Sanders is trying to demonstrate he can mount a plausible campaign for the presidency without wooing the billionaires upon which most of the leading contenders will be dependent. He didn’t bring in Ben Cohen and Jerry Greenfield only to serve their iconic ice cream—the two have long advocated on behalf of liberal causes, including campaign-finance reform (or as they call it, “Get the Dough Out of Politics!”). Sanders needs to motivate activists and small-dollar donors, and he’s hoping this kind of alternative kickoff can set the tone.
A preoccupation with safety has stripped childhood of independence, risk taking, and discovery—without making it safer. A new kind of playground points to a better solution.
Atrio of boys tramps alongthe length of a wooden fence, back and forth, shouting like carnival barkers. “The Land! It opens in half an hour.” Down a path and across a grassy square, 5-year-old Dylan can hear them through the window of his nana’s front room. He tries to figure out what half an hour is and whether he can wait that long. When the heavy gate finally swings open, Dylan, the boys, and about a dozen other children race directly to their favorite spots, although it’s hard to see how they navigate so expertly amid the chaos. “Is this a junkyard?” asks my 5-year-old son, Gideon, who has come with me to visit. “Not exactly,” I tell him, although it’s inspired by one. The Land is a playground that takes up nearly an acre at the far end of a quiet housing development in North Wales. It’s only two years old but has no marks of newness and could just as well have been here for decades. The ground is muddy in spots and, at one end, slopes down steeply to a creek where a big, faded plastic boat that most people would have thrown away is wedged into the bank. The center of the playground is dominated by a high pile of tires that is growing ever smaller as a redheaded girl and her friend roll them down the hill and into the creek. “Why are you rolling tires into the water?” my son asks. “Because we are,” the girl replies.
Bernie Sanders announces his run on May 26, and he’ll be closely followed by Republican George Pataki and Democrat Martin O’Malley.
In Burlington on Tuesday, Vermont Senator Bernie Sanders kicks off his presidential campaign in style. Specifically, Bernie style: There will be free Ben & Jerry’s ice cream and a Vermont zydeco band.
Technically speaking, this is just a ceremonial event. But a lot has changed since Sanders made the formal announcement that he was running, during a hasty April 30 press conference outside the press conference. Though the press has tended to present Sanders as essentially a loveable crank, he’s gained impressive momentum since then. His share of polls, while still some 50 points behind Hillary Clinton, has risen sharply. (Indeed, he has more support than Republicans Lindsey Graham, Bobby Jindal, Carly Fiorina, and John Kasich combined.)
For many intellectually disabled people, large campuses or farmsteads may be better options than small group homes. But new state laws could make it hard for big facilities to survive.
In December 2014, I watched 24-year-old Andrew Parles fit wood shapes into a simple puzzle in the new vocational building at the Bancroft Lakeside Campus, a residential program in New Jersey that serves 47 adults with autism and intellectual disabilities. The task wasn’t challenging for Andrew, but his team was taking it slow: Andrew was still recovering from surgery after detaching his own retinas through years of self-injurious behavior. A staff member stood nearby—not hovering, exactly, but close enough to intervene if Andrew suddenly started to hit himself in the head. His mother, Lisa, was hopeful that he’d soon able to participate in the programs he had enjoyed before his surgery: working in Lakeside’s greenhouse, painting in the art studio, delivering food for Meals on Wheels.