Even if it doesn't last, Europeans are showing a sense of continental solidarity at a time when it's badly needed.
French President Sarkozy attends a funeral ceremony for the French soldiers killed by a gunman in incidents thought to be connected to the school shooting / Reuters
French security forces today arrested a man suspected of shooting four people at a Jewish school in Toulouse earlier this week, as well as carrying out earlier shootings of French soldiers. The suspect has claimed affiliation with al-Qaeda. This is a story that doubtless will develop and take on new dimensions in the coming days and weeks. One remarkable aspect of the coverage of the past few days, however, has been the sense of solidarity within Europe as the French police hunted for the killer.
"We are all Americans," ran Le Monde's famous headline on September 12, 2001. Solidarity is a common response to tragedy. But European coverage of the French shootings evinces more than mere sympathy: many outlets are portraying the violence as an attack on European values, and thus a European problem to solve. In a year when the European community has seen more than its fair share of finger-pointing and national stereotyping, this perhaps fleeting sense of collective responsibility and common identity is an interesting moment.
Papers all over Europe picked up French philosopher and public figure Bernard-Henri Lévy's op-ed on the incident. "Stand up, when children are massacred!" ran the German headline in Die Welt over Lévy's piece. Spanish paper El Paísopted for, "After the Toulouse killing: all united against anti-Semitism."
The individual offerings were still more telling."Terrorism in France is an attack on Europe's freedom," argued Michael Stürmer in Die Welt.
Terror is no party, no sect, no army, but a method to spread fear and dread, to cripple the soul and control the public realm. [...] In this discipline Europe still has much to learn, without paranoia and panic [...] No one should think that Germany is immune to such a crime. We have thus far largely been spared. Much has been intercepted in advance. Sometimes we, and especially the authorities, have simply been lucky. There is no guarantee that it will remain that way in the future. Is all this a French concern or something that concerns Europe as a whole, because it threatens the European way of life?
This is similar to the responses in other papers. "Is Europe returning to political violence?" askedEl País, opening up the sensitive question. This particular debate prompt seemed to link the French shootings with other instances of right-wing nationalist violence across Europe: the attack on Senegalese traders in Florence by a member of Italy's far-right, and the case of Anders Breivik in Norway. Now that the suspect has claimed membership in al-Qaeda, the contours of this particular debate seem likely to change.
Yet the sense of common mourning and common problem-solving, as expressed in the past few days, does not seem to have been wholly predicated on a certain conception of the shooter's identity. For one thing, several prominent articles, including one particularly simple and forceful one by Günther Nonnenmacher for the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, suggested as early as Monday that this attack seemed likely to be linked to Islamic terrorism -- this theory was hardly unknown as the other articles were being written and published.
"The children who died in the massacre in Toulouse are not 'other' people's children, of another land and another country," wrote Joanne Favro for the Italian La Stampa. "Our children are also victims. Killed by a monster that overruns not only France but also Italy, Europe, and the world." Italian minister of education Francesco Profumo clearly agreed, asking for a minute of silence on Tuesday to "reflect" on "intolerance." This theme, he said, "goes beyond the borders of France and even Europe," but should be examined particularly carefully by "the countries of the E.U." He also noted that schools play "a primary role in the formation of consciences."
The call to action was echoed in an editorial in Austria's prominent Wiener Zeitung as well, though again with some mention of the European far right, which thus far appears to be uninvolved in this case.
The gruesome series of murders in France should awaken Europe as a whole. In Hungary, Prime Minister Viktor Orban is serving nationalist circles, and extreme right party Jobbik, resting at 20 percent in the polls, is openly anti-Semitic -- and willing to resort to violence.
In the Netherlands the government depends on a far-right party. In Denmark and France the nationalist parties are extremely strong, and in Austria the FPÖ [Freedom Party of Austria] lies in second place in the polls.
Everywhere in Europe, where ruling parties strive with speeches and actions to pull the voters of such parties to their side and make intolerable concessions, society radicalises.
It remains to be seen whether the vision of France's shootings, as indicative of a broader European problem, will persist as we learn more about the shooter. One thing, however, seems clear. Europe may have its problems, and the E.U. may well show further signs of fracture in the coming months. But what has been appearing in the European media are the unmistakable signs of a common European identity and a sense of common responsibility for social problems and violent intolerance. This sort of language -- particularly at this level of strength and clarity -- was extremely rare only a few decades ago.
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 8th.
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.
Some researchers believe that the microbiome may play a role in regulating how people think and feel.
By now, the idea that gut bacteria affects a person’s health is not revolutionary. Many people know that these microbes influence digestion, allergies, and metabolism. The trend has become almost commonplace: New books appear regularly detailing precisely which diet will lead to optimum bacterial health.
But these microbes’ reach may extend much further, into the human brains. A growing group of researchers around the world are investigating how the microbiome, as this bacterial ecosystem is known, regulates how people think and feel. Scientists have found evidence that this assemblage—about a thousand different species of bacteria, trillions of cells that together weigh between one and three pounds—could play a crucial role in autism, anxiety, depression, and other disorders.
Services like Tinder and Hinge are no longer shiny new toys, and some users are starting to find them more frustrating than fun.
“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.
In the Republican nominee’s nostalgia-fueled campaign, older voters see their last chance to bring back the 1950s. But he could be starting to lose them, too.
PANAMA CITY, Florida—The crowd at the Donald Trump rally was a sea of gray and white. They hobbled on walkers and canes into the massive outdoor amphitheater, searching for a place to sit on the lawn.
They were old enough to remember a different America—an America that was great. A place of strength and confidence, where men were men and women were women, where people respected the flag and their elders and prayed to God. That was not the America they saw today.
“I am 72 years old, and I have seen our country absolutely fall apart,” Jim Smith, a gray-haired grandfather with an eagle on his T-shirt, told me. Smith retired to the beach after a career in the Army that took him all over the world; at one point, he worked for NATO running logistics in Bosnia. But today, he did not like what he saw all around him.
The president’s final appearance on the whimsical late-night show indulged in some humor, but for the most part it made a case for seriousness.
The Choice, Frontline’s quadrennial documentary about the two final candidates who have become the major-party presidential nominees, made a remarkable argument this cycle around. Donald Trump’s candidacy, the documentary suggested, may have arisen as a result of some jokes made by President Obama. During the height of Trump’s birther phase in 2011, Obama gave a speech at the White House Correspondents’ Dinner, laying into Trump with joke after joke.
“It just kept going and going,” recalled Trump’s now-campaign staffer, Omarosa Manigault, “and he just kept hammering him. And I thought, ‘Oh, Barack Obama is starting something that I don’t know if he’ll be able to finish.’” Trump’s fellow adviser, Roger Stone, agreed: “I think that is the night that he resolves to run for president. I think that he is kind of motivated by it. ‘Maybe I’ll just run. Maybe I’ll show them all.’”
“As a rule Hitler comparisons are not about fairness. They have a political purpose.”
In September, a New York Times review of a new biography of Adolf Hitler was shared so widely that the 1,000-page book shot up Amazon’s bestseller list. But many people weren’t sharing the article because of what they’d learned about Hitler. The chatter was about the man never mentioned, lurking just between the lines.
The Times book critic, Michiko Kakutani, listed several factors that had helped Hitler rise from a ridiculed rabble-rouser to a nightmarish dictator. She noted that the German leader was an eccentric but compelling speaker who whipped up massive crowds at theatrical rallies, that he was endlessly untruthful and compounded his lies via the latest technologies, that he was an egomaniac who trumpeted slogans about how he alone could make Germany great again and restore law and order, that he exploited economic troubles and popular frustration with political gridlock, that he viewed the world in Darwinian terms and had a thoroughly dark vision of the state of his country, that his opponents and reluctant allies repeatedly downplayed the danger of his demagoguery.
The rise of Donald Trump has left the speaker of the House, and the Republican Party, in an almost impossible situation.
What happens to the Republican Party after November 8, particularly if Donald Trump loses? One clue comes from a recent Bloomberg Poll: When asked which leader better represents their view what the Republican Party should stand for, 51 percent of likely voters who lean Republican or identify as Republican picked Trump, while 33 percent picked House Speaker Paul Ryan (15 percent said they weren’t sure.)
Paul Ryan: The highest ranking Republican elected official, the former vice presidential standard bearer, perhaps the leading elected policy intellectual in the GOP, who is now being attacked regularly by the party’s current presidential standard bearer; who has Breitbart.com calling him a secret supporter of Hillary Clinton, and Sean Hannity calling him a “saboteur” who needs to be replaced; who has both conservative Freedom Caucus members and other discontented Trump-supporting colleagues ripping him and threatening to vote against him when the vote for Speaker occurs on the House floor on January 3 next. The Paul Ryan, who has struggled manfully to walk the fine line between Trump supporters and Trump himself, getting distance from Trump without renouncing him, and who has tried even harder to turn the focus to the policy plans of his House party.
In the 1970s, a new wave of post-Watergate liberals stopped fighting monopoly power. The result is an increasingly dangerous political system.
It was January 1975, and the Watergate Babies had arrived in Washington looking for blood. The Watergate Babies—as the recently elected Democratic congressmen were known—were young, idealistic liberals who had been swept into office on a promise to clean up government, end the war in Vietnam, and rid the nation’s capital of the kind of corruption and dirty politics the Nixon White House had wrought. Richard Nixon himself had resigned just a few months earlier in August. But the Watergate Babies didn’t just campaign against Nixon; they took on the Democratic establishment, too. Newly elected Representative George Miller of California, then just 29 years old, announced, “We came here to take the Bastille.”
Just why was Tom Hanks dancing in a black-and-orange suit on Saturday Night Live so funny?
This weekend’s episode of Saturday Night Live offered a mini masterpiece: a gloriously silly Halloween-themed piece revolving around a “Haunted Elevator” ride and its unusual star attraction. Beck Bennett and Kate McKinnon played a couple looking for spooky thrills who instead found something far more bewildering: a pumpkin-suited man who would randomly appear alongside two cheerful skeletons and perform a dance routine. “Who are you?” asked a frustrated Bennett after the man (played by Tom Hanks) appeared for the second time. “I’m David Pumpkins!” came the reply.
McKinnon followed up: “Yeah, and David Pumpkins is … ?”
Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump prepare for the final sprint to Election Day.
It’s Monday, October 24—the election is now less than three 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: