Greek Prime Minister George Papandreou hasn't exactly saved Europe, but could anyone have done much better?
Papandreou delivers a speech to the Panhellenic Socialist Movement parliamentary group in Athens / Reuters
This has not been Greek Prime Minister George Papandreou's best week. First he surprised a bunch of people -- including fellow European leaders who were bailing his country out -- by announcing a referendum on whether or not the help would be accepted. Then, in the resulting furor, came the next announcement: Just kidding! The referendum, which some feared could add that extra bit of instability that Europe doesn't need, has been cancelled.
If the first move made him look undiplomatic -- unmindful of the stakes, or the incredible risks that other countries were making on Greece's behalf -- the second move, especially because it was first announced by his finance minister, made him look weak. But his irritated allies are only part of the problem: Papandreou is now inches away from being ousted at home, facing a very tight confidence vote Friday evening. Reuters is reporting Papandreou saying privately, in a cabinet meeting, that he might stand down after building a coalition with the opposition. If he doesn't do that, his opponents might simply call for an election.
And yet, surveying the wreckage, one still wonders: did Papandreou do any worse than anyone else might have done in his position? Was he doomed from the start?
It's a familiar debate in politics and an even more familiar one among historians. Which counts for more: men or circumstances? Choices, or the framework that determines them? Papandreou came into power promising reform, and that's exactly what his government set about trying to enact. It was hardly their fault that, in the course of setting the books straight, they found that predecessors had lied for years about the government's finances.
It's hard to see how anyone could have gracefully navigated through the competing interests in Greece and Europe right now. Greek citizens are having none of the austerity measures Papandreou has imposed under pressure from Germany: aside from protests in the streets, there have been, for example, the trash collector strikes, leaving garbage in stinking piles all over Athens. Plenty of citizens seem to think the strings-attached bailouts from Europe are pointless, as Greece will have to default anyway. Meanwhile the European community wants more discipline still. And it needs Greece to take the money on the table: fears are rampant about a domino effect, Greece's troubles are increasing investors' fears about Italy, and so forth.
It's not quite that all of Papandreou's European peers want one thing while all of his constituents want another. Plenty of Papandreou's own party members, for example, were outraged by his referendum idea, feeling he risked Greek stability for a political trick. Reuters, at least, tracked down an ordinary shopkeeper with the same opinion.
As the BBC points out, despite anger over austerity measures, "A recent opinion poll in a newspaper showed 70% [of Greeks] wanted to remain within the eurozone."
But that, actually, was precisely Papandreou's point, many say, in calling for the referendum. One popular reading of the referendum gimmick is, as The Wall Street Journal's Terence Roth put it, that Papandreou's "solution" to opposition intransigence and public outcry was to "call the bluff." In other words, what he was really saying was something like: 'Okay, guys. You really want to sink this ship? Sink it. I dare you. And if you don't, shut up.'
It's too soon to tell for sure, but it looks like that may have backfired big time. Here's the quote from Antonis Samaras, leader of the opposing New Democracy party:
I am wondering: Mr. Papandreou almost destroyed Greece and Europe, the euro, the international stock markets, his own party in order to ensure what? So that he could blackmail me and the Greek public? Or to ensure what I had already said several days ago; that I accept the bailout agreement as unavoidable?
Not exactly an ideal sound bite to have on the airwaves.
So we'll see what happens with this confidence vote tonight. At least one expert -- Michael Thumann, writing out of Istanbul for German paper Die Zeit -- thinks Papandreou's finished regardless of the outcome. He calls this week's 180-degree turns "suicidal."
Perhaps that's true. If so, the real verdict won't come tonight, but a few decades down the line, and even then there will be a degree of provisionality. With a little more context, will historians decide the decisive factor was the hand Papandreou was dealt, or the way he played it? After all, people do stupid, suicidal things with bad hands all the time, and it looks a lot like boldness and brilliance if it works. But in politics as in poker, people tend to care less about strategy than outcome.
A dustup between Megyn Kelly and Newt Gingrich shows why Donald Trump and the Republican Party are struggling to retain the support of women.
The 2016 presidential campaign kicked off in earnest with a clash between Megyn Kelly and Donald Trump over gender and conservatism at the first GOP debate, and now there’s another Kelly moment to bookend the race.
Newt Gingrich, a top Trump surrogate, was on Kelly’s Fox News show Tuesday night, jousting with her in a tense exchange stretching over nearly eight minutes. Things got off to a promising start when Gingrich declared that there were two “parallel universes”—one in which Trump is losing and one in which he is winning. (There is data, at least, to support the existence of the former universe.) After a skirmish over whether polls are accurate, Kelly suggested that Trump had been hurt by the video in which he boasts about sexually assaulting women and the nearly a dozen accusations lodged against him by women since. Gingrich was furious, embarking on a mansplaining riff in which he compared the press to Pravda and Izvestia for, in his view, overcovering the allegations.
With the candidate flailing in the polls, some on the right are wondering if a better version of the man wouldn’t be winning. But that kinder, gentler Trump would’ve lost in the primaries.
Last week, Peggy Noonan argued in the Wall Street Journal that an outsider like Donald Trump could’ve won handily this year, touting skepticism of free trade and immigration, if only he was more sane, or less erratic and prone to nasty insults:
Sane Donald Trump would have looked at a dubious, anxious and therefore standoffish Republican establishment and not insulted them, diminished them, done tweetstorms against them. Instead he would have said, “Come into my tent. It’s a new one, I admit, but it’s yuge and has gold faucets and there’s a place just for you. What do you need? That I be less excitable and dramatic? Done. That I not act, toward women, like a pig? Done, and I accept your critique. That I explain the moral and practical underpinnings of my stand on refugees from terror nations? I’d be happy to. My well-hidden secret is that I love everyone and hear the common rhythm of their beating hearts.” Sane Donald Trump would have given an anxious country more ease, not more anxiety. He would have demonstrated that he can govern himself. He would have suggested through his actions, while still being entertaining, funny and outsize, that yes, he understands the stakes and yes, since America is always claiming to be the leader of the world—We are No. 1!—a certain attendant gravity is required of one who’d be its leader.
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When Amy Winehouse’s Back to Black arrived in 2006, it was hailed for carving out a space in mainstream pop music for recreations of ’50s and ’60s soul. The past 10 years of Adele and Lana Del Rey, “Blurred Lines” and “Stay With Me,” Mark Ronson at the Super Bowl and Mark Ronson executive producing Lady Gaga’s latest album, testify to Winehouse’s influence—or at least testify to the fact that she presaged a shift in public tastes.
So it might be expected that a decade later, with the sound of Back to Black—the horns, the woodwinds, the wandering bass lines, the crackling analogue drum tones—once again familiar, the album might sound less vibrant than it once did. No, no, no. Back to Black remains a singular classic thanks less to the traditions it harkened back to than to Winehouse herself—her voice, yes, but also her crushingly honest point of view.
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It’s Wednesday, October 26—the election is now less than two weeks away. Hillary Clinton holds a lead against Donald Trump, according to RealClearPolitics’ polling average. We’ll bring you the latest updates from the trail as events unfold. Also see our continuing coverage:
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“Apocalypse” seems like a bit much. I thought that last fall when Vanity Fair titled Nancy Jo Sales’s article on dating apps “Tinder and the Dawn of the ‘Dating Apocalypse’” and I thought it again this month when Hinge, another dating app, advertised its relaunch with a site called “thedatingapocalypse.com,” borrowing the phrase from Sales’s article, which apparently caused the company shame and was partially responsible for their effort to become, as they put it, a “relationship app.”
Despite the difficulties of modern dating, if there is an imminent apocalypse, I believe it will be spurred by something else. I don’t believe technology has distracted us from real human connection. I don’t believe hookup culture has infected our brains and turned us into soulless sex-hungry swipe monsters. And yet. It doesn’t do to pretend that dating in the app era hasn’t changed.
A society that glorifies metrics leaves little room for human imperfections.
A century ago, a man named Frederick Winslow Taylor changed the way workers work. In his book The Principles of Scientific Management, Taylor made the case that companies needed to be pragmatic and methodical in their efforts to boost productivity. By observing employees’ performance and whittling down the time and effort involved in doing each task, he argued, management could ensure that their workers shoveled ore, inspected bicycle bearings, and did other sorts of “crude and elementary” work as efficiently as possible. “Soldiering”—a common term in the day for the manual laborer’s loafing—would no longer be possible under the rigors of the new system, Taylor wrote.
The principles of data-driven planning first laid out by Taylor—whom the management guru Peter Drucker once called the “Isaac Newton … of the science of work”—have transformed the modern workplace, as managers have followed his approach of assessing and adopting new processes that squeeze greater amounts of productive labor from their employees. And as the metrics have become more precise in their detail, their focus has shifted beyond the tasks themselves and onto the workers doing those tasks, evaluating a broad range of their qualities (including their personality traits) and tying corporate carrots and sticks—hires, promotions, terminations—to those ratings.
Trump’s greatest gift to the GOP may be the distraction he’s provided from other party meltdowns.
Even though 2016 appears to be the year of painful, public disqualification from higher office, you may be forgiven for not noticing the extraordinary implosion of New Jersey Governor Chris Christie. After all, the Trump surrogate and White House Transition chair has benefitted from his early endorsement of the Republican presidential nominee in unusual fashion: Christie’s power in the Grand Ole Party has decreased, rather than increased. The likelihood of a plum position in the Trump administration—Attorney General, perhaps, since Christie was spurned as the Republican running mate—is decidedly dim, what with the presently apocalyptic predictions about November 8.
Instead, Trump’s gift to Christie has been shadow: the top Republican’s national meltdown has obscured that of the one-time rising Republican star and sitting New Jersey governor. But make no mistake—Christie’s is a fall of epic proportions, precipitated by an unfathomably petty revenge plot. The contrast of the two, the top-heavy-ness of the fallout compared to the insignificance of the initial transgression, would be comic, were it not so tragic. Remember that in November of 2012, Governor Christie had a 72 percent approval rating. Today, it stands at 21 percent.
Evangelicals at the school are tired of politics—and the party that gave them Trump.
LYNCHBURG, Va.—When Jerry Falwell founded Liberty University in 1971, he dreamed of transforming the United States. As heput it, “We’re turning out moral revolutionaries.”
Forty-five years later, the school formerly known as Liberty Baptist College has become a kingmaker and bellwether in the Republican Party. Politicians routinely make pit stops in Lynchburg; Ted Cruz even launched his ill-fated presidential campaign from Liberty’s campus in March of 2015.
That’s why it was such a big deal when, two weeks ago, a group of Liberty students put out a letter explaining why they’re standing against the Republican presidential nominee. Jerry Falwell Jr., who has run the school since his father died in 2007, announced his support for Donald Trump back in January, and he has since spoken on the candidate’s behalf in interviews and at events. “We are Liberty students who are disappointed with President Falwell’s endorsement and are tired of being associated with one of the worst presidential candidates in American history,” the students wrote. “Donald Trump does not represent our values and we want nothing to do with him.”
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It seems almost farcical that the 2016 presidential campaign has become a referendum on misogyny at a moment when the United States is poised to elect its first woman president.
Not that this is surprising, exactly.
There’s a long tradition of politics clashing spectacularly with perceived gender norms around election time, and the stakes often seem highest when women are about to make history.
Today’s political dialogue—which often merely consists of opposing sides shouting over one another—echoes another contentious era in American politics, when women fought for the right to vote. Then and now, a mix of political tension and new-fangled publishing technology produced an environment ripe for creating and distributing political imagery. The meme-ification of women’s roles in society—in civic life and at home—has been central to an advocacy tradition that far precedes slogans like, “Life’s a bitch, don’t elect one,” or “A woman’s place is in the White House.”