When the People's Republic begins its once-per-decade power handoff tomorrow, here's where to find clues as to the country's future.
Now that the U.S. election is behind us, time to turn to the next most important political transition in years: the Chinese Communist Party's 18th Congress. Seventeen congresses have gone by and hardly anyone has paid much attention, including most Chinese themselves. This time is a little different.
Beyond the usual pageantry and effusive praise of the CCP record since the time of Chairman Mao, surrounding this congress is a great deal of intrigue. For starters, consider the characters in the drama, which has become ripe for the kind of meme-worthy moments that marked the American election. Will Premier Wen Jiabao unexpectedly stray from his script and make a spirited denial of his family wealth? (What is your effective tax rate, premier?) Will we play a drinking game for every time Hu Jintao says "scientific development" or "harmonious society" during his speech? Will Bo Xilai photo-bomb the entire show? Will there be a sartorial rogue that dares to stride onstage in a silver suit and yellow tie? (I hear Zhang Dejiang's got quite the wardrobe).
Silliness aside, this question will be most important of all: what will be at stake for China's political and economic future?
If we're looking for compelling answers, we likely won't find them in Chinese rhetoric. American politicians tell stories; Chinese politicians wade through turgid theoretical treatises. The stilted and robotic nature of Chinese political discourse stands in stark contrast to President Obama's soaring speeches. But for the CCP and Chinese in general, politics and language are so deeply linked that understanding political rhetoric is crucial.
Take this excerpt of a speech I translated that was given by the outgoing president, Hu Jintao, in July this year. Dubbed the "7.23" speech for the day it aired, it is now getting prime real estate on the official 18th party congress coverage sites, implying its significance in shaping the backbone of Hu's legacy. In it, the terms "unwaveringly" appears three times and has since been turned into a political neologism along the lines of "three unwavers". For students of Chinese modern history, this follows in the footsteps of the "two whatevers" of Hua Guofeng, the once-designated successor to Mao Zedong. It was a formulation meant to defend the path Mao laid out for China, even after his death. As history would have it, Mao lost and Deng Xiaoping won. Hu said:
Socialism with Chinese characteristics is the banner of contemporary China's progress, and is also the banner under which a united Communist Party and nation strive for. We must unwaveringly maintain socialism with Chinese characteristics, based on the important thought guidance of Deng Xiaoping theory and Three Represents and the thorough implementation of the Scientific Development Concept. We must firmly grasp our work and the urgency of execution, so that over the next five years, we can decisively plant the foundations for realizing our objective of comprehensively building a moderately well-off society by 2020; and that by mid-century, we will have fully achieved socialist modernization.
We must unwaveringly walk the correct path that has long been paved by the Communist Party and Chinese people through practical experience, no matter the fear of risks and no matter the temptation to stray. Thought liberalization remains the ultimate powerful intellectual weapon that promotes the party's and the people's unfinished enterprise. Reform and opening up has always been, and continues to be, the powerful driving force for the development of the party and Chinese people. We must unwaveringly push forward reform and opening up, never becoming rigid, never stagnant. Unite all strength that can be united, muster all positive factors that can be mustered, and brim with confidence to overcome all challenges and risks in the road ahead.
May Confucius bless you, and bless the People's Republic of China.
Okay, so I made up the closing sentence, but the rest is authentic Chinese-politics speak. There will be seven more days of this, and I am ready. You should be too.
The political event formally begins on November 8 and is expected to last about a week, at which time the main event will take place: the official unveiling of China's new leaders. Over the course of the week, I will be providing regular updates on the congress, so keep an eye on this space.
Damien Ma is a fellow at the Paulson Institute, where he focuses on investment and policy programs, and on the Institute's research and think-tank activities. Previously, he was a lead China analyst at Eurasia Group, a political risk research and advisory firm.
For decades the Man of Steel has failed to find his groove, thanks to a continual misunderstanding of his strengths.
Superman should be invincible. Since his car-smashing debut in 1938, he’s starred in at least one regular monthly comic, three blockbuster films, and four television shows. His crest is recognized across the globe, his supporting cast is legendary, and anybody even vaguely familiar with comics can recount the broad strokes of his origin. (The writer Grant Morrison accomplished it in eight words: “Doomed Planet. Desperate Scientists. Last Hope. Kindly Couple.”) He’s the first of the superheroes, a genre that’s grown into a modern mass-media juggernaut.
And yet, for a character who gains his power from the light of the sun, Superman is curiously eclipsed by other heroes. According to numbers provided by Diamond Distributors, the long-running Superman comic sold only 55,000 copies a month in 2015, down from around 70,000 in 2010—a mediocre showing even for the famously anemic comic-book market. That’s significantly less than his colleague Batman, who last year moved issues at a comparatively brisk 150,000 a month. Mass media hasn’t been much kinder: The longest-running Superman television show, 2001’s Smallville, kept him out of his iconic suit for a decade. Superman Returns recouped its budget at the box office, but proved mostly forgettable.2013’s Man of Steel drew sharp criticism from critics and audiences alike for its bleak tone and rampaging finale. Trailers for the sequel, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, have shifted the focus (and top billing) to the Dark Knight. Worst of all, conventional wisdom puts the blame on Superman himself. He’s boring, people say; he’s unrelatable, nothing like the Marvel characters dominating the sales charts and the box office. More than anything, he seems embarrassing. Look at him. Truth? Justice? He wears his underwear on the outside.
The charismatic senator’s candidacy was flying high—until he hit turbulence at Saturday’s debate. Will it stall his surge?
MANCHESTER, New Hampshire—Until Saturday’s debate, it was clear that this was Marco Rubio’s moment.
The moment he had waited for, planned for, anticipated for months, for years: It was happening. He had surged into a strong third-place finish in Iowa, outpacing the polls and nearly passing second-place Donald Trump. He’d ridden into New Hampshire on a full head of steam, drawing bigger and bigger crowds at every stop, ticking steadily up into second in most polls, behind the still-dominant Trump. The other candidates were training their fire on him, hoping to stop the golden boy in his tracks.
And then, in the debate, he faced the test he knew was imminent. They came right at him. First it was the moderator, David Muir of ABC News, leveling the accusation put forth by his rivals: that Rubio was merely a good talker with nothing to show for it, just like another eloquent, inexperienced young senator, Barack Obama.
Like it or not, their halftime booking is a reminder they're the biggest youngish rock band going.
It seems like a sign of some sort of existential crisis that Coldplay will play the halftime show of the 50th Super Bowl, but I’m not sure whose crisis it is or what it’s about. Should people worry about the famously tough sport of football giving airtime to the biggest soft-rockers of the millennium? Should they lament that America’s favorite championship has been conquered by the Brits? Should they fret about whether Chris Martin will be able to find a confetti gun big enough to cake each and every seat in San Jose’s Levi’s Stadium with rainbow confetti?
Probably no, no, and no. Regarding the macho/wimpy dichotomy: The pop likes of Madonna, Katy Perry, and Beyoncé have, in some critics’ words, queered the halftime show irrevocably; intentionally or not, Coldplay can continue the tradition. (Remember that 40 Year Old Virgin “How I know you’re gay” banter about them?) As for xenophobic concerns: The Who, U2, Paul McCartney, and The Rolling Stones have all headlined in the past. As for the logistics, one imagines that Coldplay’s got excellent colored-paper technology stockpiled from its previous arena tours.
Hillary Clinton’s realistic attitude is the only thing that can effect change in today’s political climate.
Bernie Sanders and Ted Cruz have something in common. Both have an electoral strategy predicated on the ability of a purist candidate to revolutionize the electorate—bringing droves of chronic non-voters to the polls because at last they have a choice, not an echo—and along the way transforming the political system. Sanders can point to his large crowds and impressive, even astonishing, success at tapping into a small-donor base that exceeds, in breadth and depth, the remarkable one built in 2008 by Barack Obama. Cruz points to his extraordinarily sophisticated voter-identification operation, one that certainly seemed to do the trick in Iowa.
But is there any real evidence that there is a hidden “sleeper cell” of potential voters who are waiting for the signal to emerge and transform the electorate? No. Small-donor contributions are meaningful and a sign of underlying enthusiasm among a slice of the electorate, but they represent a tiny sliver even of that slice; Ron Paul’s success at fundraising (and his big crowds at rallies) misled many analysts into believing that he would make a strong showing in Republican primaries when he ran for president. He flopped.
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.
The championship game descends on a city failing to deal with questions of affordability and inclusion.
SAN FRANCISCO—The protest kicked off just a few feet from Super Bowl City, the commercial playground behind security fences on the Embarcadero, where football fans were milling about drinking beer, noshing on $18 bacon cheeseburgers, and lining up for a ride on a zip line down Market Street.
The protesters held up big green camping tents painted with slogans such as “End the Class War” and “Stop Stealing Our Homes,” and chanted phrases blaming San Francisco Mayor Ed Lee for a whole range of problems, including the catchy “Hey Hey, Mayor Lee, No Penalty for Poverty.” They blocked the sidewalk, battling with tourists, joggers, and city workers, some of whom were trying to wheel their bikes through the crowd to get to the ferries that would take them home.
Thenew Daily Show host, Trevor Noah, is smooth and charming, but he hasn’t found his edge.
It’s a psychic law of the American workplace: By the time you give your notice, you’ve already left. You’ve checked out, and for the days or weeks that remain, a kind of placeholder-you, a you-cipher, will be doing your job. It’s a law that applies equally to dog walkers, accountants, and spoof TV anchormen. Jon Stewart announced that he was quitting The Daily Show in February 2015, but he stuck around until early August, and those last months had a restless, frazzled, long-lingering feel. A smell of ashes was in the air. The host himself suddenly looked quite old: beaky, pique-y, hollow-cheeky. For 16 years he had shaken his bells, jumped and jangled in his little host’s chair, the only man on TV who could caper while sitting behind a desk. Flash back to his first episode as the Daily Show host, succeeding Craig Kilborn: January 11, 1999, Stewart with floppy, luscious black hair, twitching in a new suit (“I feel like this is my bar mitzvah … I have a rash like you wouldn’t believe.”) while he interviews Michael J. Fox.
In honor of the just-begun new Chinese Year of the Monkey, and in keeping with the Chinese fondness for numbering discussions—the Three Represents of Jiang Zemin, the Four Comprehensives of Xi Jinping—here are some number-based assessments of last night’s ABC Republican debate. Please also see the Atlantic’sgroup liveblog from last night, anchored by David Graham; and Molly Ball’s post about the travails of Marco Rubio.
The One Opening Screwup
The jumble of candidates coming out through the tunnel, Big Game-style, was an appropriately weird start to a weird evening. At most live events I’ve been part of, including those the Atlantic puts on, someone from the production staff (sometimes me) is standing one inch out of camera range. That person has a hand on the shoulder of the guest about to be called on stage, and gives a gentle push and says “Go!” when the moment comes. Presumably ABC had such a handler at the off-camera end of the tunnel but not at the other end, to keep people moving onto the stage. Thus the strange Carson-Trump-Bush-Kasich pileup in the tunnel.
The three leading candidates—Trump, Cruz, and Rubio—stumbled, as the governors in the race made their presence felt.
When is it bad to be a frontrunner? During a presidential debate three days before the New Hampshire primary, evidently. At Saturday night’s forum in Manchester, Marco Rubio, Ted Cruz, and Donald Trump all hit rough patches, while three often-overshadowed governors—Chris Christie, Jeb Bush, and John Kasich—delivered some of their strongest moments of the campaign so far.
Rubio, surging nationwide and in New Hampshire, believed he had a target pinned to his back coming in, and he was right. Christie was the hatchet man, coming after Rubio in the earliest moments of the debate and never letting up. (At one point, Christie even pivoted from responding to an attack by John Kasich to slam Rubio.) Christie jabbed that Rubio, as a senator, doesn’t have the executive experience needed to be president, citing Barack Obama as a cautionary tale. Rubio was ready with an answer to that: “This notion that Barack Obama doesn't know what he's doing?” he said. “He knows exactly what he's doing.” Rubio isn’t the only candidate to suggest that Obama is more evil genius than bumbling fool—Ted Cruz has done the same—but the crowd wasn’t buying it. Maybe Rubio’s phrasing was just too clever.
The armed standoff in Burns, Oregon, is a perfect case study for why all defendants need excellent representation—and why the current criminal-justice state is no panacea.
In the early hours of the morning, law professors wonder whether anything we do makes the world a better place.
Today, I feel pretty sure that the answer is yes. That’s because, on January 28, I awoke to a televised image of Ammon Bundy’s lawyer, Mike Arnold of Eugene, Oregon, reading a statement urging the other Malheur protesters to stand down. Arnold is a former student of mine. So is Tiffany Harris of Portland, who represents Shawna Cox, the 59-year-old woman who was arrested in the car with LaVoy Finicum, the militant spokesman who was shot during a traffic stop near the occupied Malheur National Wildlife Refuge.
I couldn’t be prouder.
That’s not because I like their clients. I taught Mike and Tiffany during 16 happy years at the University of Oregon School of Law. During that time, I also taught students who had grown up on ranches in the eastern desert, on farms in the state’s irrigated south, on hippie settlements on the rain-drenched Oregon coast, on the state’s Indian reservations, in the Willamette Valley wine country, and in the sophisticated urban areas around Portland. Oregon, a state the size of Italy, supports a population roughly half the size of New York City. Much of the state is desert or forest; its ecosystems are exquisite but fragile. It is a place that needs careful tending. And by and large, those who live there take that responsibility seriously. Land-policy issues—and there are many—tend to be resolved through painstaking negotiations among local farmers and ranchers, Indian tribes, urban dwellers, and state and local governments.