The University of California has backed off its benighted plan for a new "improved" logo. Normally I would say a lot about that, but it will keep for a day or two. Back to today's news:
Over the years I've occasionally remarked that I belong to "my" version of the NRA. That would be the AOPA -- the Aircraft Owners and Pilots Association, of which I've been a loyal dues-paying member for many years and many of whose activities I support. Its magazine, AOPA Pilot, is one of my several "favorite" publications -- along with the Atlantic, China Daily, All About Beer, the Redlands Daily Facts, and so on.
The one thing I don't like about AOPA is its NRA-like, no-compromise, absolutist-absolutism on certain issues of public policy. In much of the world, governments or transport ministries impose "user fees" for takeoffs and landings, some air-traffic control services, and so on. According to the AOPA, there cannot ever be any fees of this sort, of any level, for any service, at any time, or else America is on the way to the hell of Hayek-style serfdom.
The merits of the user fee debate are not my point right now. (Summary of the AOPA side: non-airline aviation activity already "pays its way" through the quite hefty tax imposed on each gallon of airplane fuel, plus providing all kinds of ancillary benefits to the country. I agree about the benefits and that the American aviation scene is the envy of the world.) Rather it is to introduce a comparison between AOPA and the real NRA. This comes from my friend Garrett Gruener, a successful Bay Area entrepreneur and venture capitalist who is also a longtime pilot. In the 1990s he even took an around-the-world trip, with his wife and daughter, in their turboprop airplane. He writes:
I had an interesting conversation with my Republican, gun loving [colleague] after the Aurora massacre. I said to him that I have my NRA in AOPA - they are very effective on the Hill and zealous in the defense of my right to fly, even to a point of being more uncompromising than I would prefer.
The difference is the overwhelming focus on safety. I feel that AOPA is the FAA's partner in trying to reduce the number of fatalities in aviation, while the NRA never gets beyond "guns don't kill...".
My colleague agreed there was a difference, although I'm not sure he saw any fault in the NRA's stance. He went on to say that NRA discussions are dominated by a fear that the Gov't is going to take their guns away, and hence there is little bandwidth left for a sensible conversation on how to avoid future massacres. Given the huge and ongoing carnage in America from guns, seems to me it is time for the NRA to publicly commit themselves to reducing the body count.
What Gruener says about the AOPA rings true to my experience. The only thing the AOPA talks about more than user fees is safety, and the individual and system-wide changes that can reduce the accident level.
NRA, that's the test. Let's hear you, now, join the rest of the country in saying "Enough!" and working with your "responsible gun owners" on bringing that about. That's what "my" NRA does. Otherwise... well, otherwise the NRA deserves an all-out assault from people sick of having children slaughtered.
Update. Here's what the real NRA has contributed to the discussion today. There is zero mention of the Newtown shooting on its blog. And here, as of 13 hours after the shooting, are the most recent entries on its @NRA Twitter feed:
Update An obvious and constructive implication of Garrett Gruener's argument is that the ongoing discussion should be about gun safety, which any reasonable person should be in favor of, versus gun control, a phrase that provokes all-out immediate hostility from a significant number of Americans.
James Fallows is a national correspondent for The Atlantic and has written for the magazine since the late 1970s. He has reported extensively from outside the United States and once worked as President Carter's chief speechwriter. His latest book is China Airborne.
To date, more than 50 women have accused Bill Cosby of sexual misconduct. Constand was the first. In January of 2005 she told police that a year earlier, Cosby had touched and penetrated her after drugging her. A prosecutor decided against proceeding with the case, and Constand followed up with a civil suit that resulted in a 2006 settlement. After that came an accelerating drip of women making allegations about incidents spanning a wide swath of Cosby’s career, from Kristina Ruehli (1965) to Chloe Goins (2008).
For toymakers like Lego, where is the line between making products children love and telling kids how they should play?
Two years ago, a 7-year-old girl named Charlotte wrote a letter to the toymaker Lego with a straightforward request.
“I love Legos,” she wrote, “but I don’t like that there are more lego boy people and barely any lego girls.” The girls in the Lego universe, Charlotte had noticed, seemed preoccupied with sitting at home, going to the beach, and shopping—while the boys had jobs, saved people, and went on adventures.
Charlotte, Lego acknowledged, had a point. “It’s fair,” said Michael McNally, a Lego spokesman who says the company receives letters from kids all the time. “Why wouldn’t there be more female representation?”
Years before Charlotte sent her letter, Lego was already keenly focused on how girls perceived the brand. It was 2008 when the toymaker decided to gather global data about who buys Legos. What they found was startling. In the United States, roughly 90 percent of Lego sets being sold were intended for boys. In other words, there was a huge untapped market of girls who weren’t building with Legos.
Speculation about how Ramsay Bolton might die reveals the challenges of devising a cathartic TV death—and illuminates a larger issue facing the series.
Warning: Season 6 spoilers abound.
Ever since Ramsay Bolton revealed himself as Westeros’s villain-in-chief, Game of Thrones fans have wanted him dead. He first appeared in season two disguised as a Northern ally sent to help Theon Greyjoy but quickly turned out to be a lunatic whose appetite for cruelty only grew as the series progressed. (Last year, Atlantic readers voted him the actual worst character on television.) After several colorful and nauseating years of rape, torture, murder, and bad visual puns, speculation about the Bolton bastard’s looming death has reached its peak this sixth season. But “Will Ramsay die this season?” also gives way to a slightly more complicated question: “How should Ramsay die?”
Narcissism, disagreeableness, grandiosity—a psychologist investigates how Trump’s extraordinary personality might shape his possible presidency.
In 2006, Donald Trump made plans to purchase the Menie Estate, near Aberdeen, Scotland, aiming to convert the dunes and grassland into a luxury golf resort. He and the estate’s owner, Tom Griffin, sat down to discuss the transaction at the Cock & Bull restaurant. Griffin recalls that Trump was a hard-nosed negotiator, reluctant to give in on even the tiniest details. But, as Michael D’Antonio writes in his recent biography of Trump, Never Enough, Griffin’s most vivid recollection of the evening pertains to the theatrics. It was as if the golden-haired guest sitting across the table were an actor playing a part on the London stage.
“It was Donald Trump playing Donald Trump,” Griffin observed. There was something unreal about it.
In recent years, the idea that educators should be teaching kids qualities like grit and self-control has caught on. Successful strategies, though, are hard to come by.
In 2013, for the first time, a majority of public-school students in this country—51 percent, to be precise—fell below the federal government’s low-income cutoff, meaning they were eligible for a free or subsidized school lunch. It was a powerful symbolic moment—an inescapable reminder that the challenge of teaching low-income children has become the central issue in American education.
The truth, as many American teachers know firsthand, is that low-income children can be harder to educate than children from more-comfortable backgrounds. Educators often struggle to motivate them, to calm them down, to connect with them. This doesn’t mean they’re impossible to teach, of course; plenty of kids who grow up in poverty are thriving in the classroom. But two decades of national attention have done little or nothing to close the achievement gap between poor students and their better-off peers.
Whatever banking’s post-recession connotations may be, the historian William Goetzmann argues that monetary innovations have always played a critical role in developing civilization.
The title of the financial historian William Goetzmann’s new book is hard to argue with: Money Changes Everything.
In his book, Goetzmann, a professor of finance and the director of the International Center for Finance at the Yale School of Management, has documented how financial innovations—from the invention of money to capital markets—have always played a critical role in developing every culture around the world. In the fallout from the Great Recession, it’s been commonplace to vilify those working in the financial-services industry. But Goetzmann argues that finance is a worthwhile endeavor, beyond just earning a ton of money: Its innovations have made the growth of human civilization possible.
LBJ led crucial legislation in 1965, changing the demographics of the U.S. But it offers a difficult model for future presidents to follow.
Nearly every new American president of the modern era has viewed the nation’s immigration policies as deeply flawed. Yet few of these modern executives have been willing to make immigration reform—one of the most dangerous issues in American politics—central to their agenda. Even fewer have had a measure of success doing so. Even the most dramatic and successful of all—Lyndon Johnson’s landmark 1965 reform—came with high political costs and uneven results. Yet, Johnson’s battle for reform underscores the way immigration policy can be a potent political tool and offers a model for future presidents.
Today, as in the past, efforts to significantly revise U.S. immigration laws and policies have divided even the most unified party coalitions. Campaigns for sweeping reform in this arena have regularly followed a tortured path of false starts, prolonged negotiation, and frustrating stalemate. And when non-incremental reforms have passed, rival goals and interests have complicated enactment. The result has been legislation that is typically unpopular among ordinary citizens and stakeholder groups alike, and which often places new and sometimes competing policy demands on the government. These dynamics—intraparty conflicts, elusive problem definition, difficult compromises, and unpopular outcomes—have typically frustrated most American presidents.
Bernie Sanders is contesting the Democratic primary to the end, just as Hillary Clinton did eight years ago—but that parallel has its limits.
In May of 2008, two Democrats were somehow still fighting over the nomination. The stronger of the two had a comfortable lead in delegates and made calls to unify the party. But the weaker contender, buoyed by a loyal base, refused to give up. It got awkward.
The difference in 2016, of course, is Hillary Clinton’s position in the drama. She played the spoiler eight years ago, refusing to concede to Barack Obama in a primary that dragged into June, to the consternation of party elders. (They were nervously eyeing John McCain, who had pluckily sewn up his nomination by late February). But this year, she is the candidate ascendant, impatient to wrap up this whole Bernie Sanders business and take on Donald Trump.
Start in the weeks after birth, with equal leave for parents of any gender.
Though the words “parental leave” appear regularly in press releases and news articles, most companies and employees still think and talk primarily about maternity leave: time for a new mother to recover from childbirth, breastfeed her infant, and—unwittingly—become an expert in family management.
“My husband doesn’t know what size shoe my kid wears.” “My husband doesn’t know what time the baby naps.” “My husband doesn’t have the daycare number stored in his phone.”
These were just a few of the things mothers responded when asked how they divide household responsibility in their family. I’d posed the question because I was writing a book about what moms can do to keep their careers on track during pregnancy and parenthood, and I wanted to incorporate some tactical advice. Millions of women want a partner who is an equal partner. What can they do to get one?
For centuries, philosophers and theologians have almost unanimously held that civilization as we know it depends on a widespread belief in free will—and that losing this belief could be calamitous. Our codes of ethics, for example, assume that we can freely choose between right and wrong. In the Christian tradition, this is known as “moral liberty”—the capacity to discern and pursue the good, instead of merely being compelled by appetites and desires. The great Enlightenment philosopher Immanuel Kant reaffirmed this link between freedom and goodness. If we are not free to choose, he argued, then it would make no sense to say we ought to choose the path of righteousness.
Today, the assumption of free will runs through every aspect of American politics, from welfare provision to criminal law. It permeates the popular culture and underpins the American dream—the belief that anyone can make something of themselves no matter what their start in life. As Barack Obama wrote in The Audacity of Hope, American “values are rooted in a basic optimism about life and a faith in free will.”