The media descend on Houston for "The Response" -- the Texas governor's prayer rally and likely precursor to a run for president
AUSTIN, TX -- Most politicos here in Texas agree on two things. First, Gov. Rick Perry is going to run for president and will be a formidable candidate. Second, the "national call to prayer" that Perry dreamed up last year (dubbed "The Response"), which takes place tomorrow in Houston's Reliant Stadium, was not intended to be part of his campaign. Well, it's going to be anyway. National media are right now descending on Houston, drawn by the expectation that Perry will be a major player in the Republican primaries and by the novelty of the big event. It's not every candidate that holds a stadium rally for a day of prayer and fasting.
Perry is, as "The Response" would suggest, a serious religious conservative, who is embraced by the Tea Party movement. He's also the nation's longest-serving governor, and has the great good fortune of overseeing a state whose economy is doing much better than that of any other. When he gets in the race, his message will be about jobs and how to create them. His spokesman told me this morning, "Gov. Perry's four principals are: don't spend all the money; keep taxes low; impose fair regulations; and limit lawsuits. Government should get out of the way and let the private sector create jobs."
But that's not the message that's likely to ring out in Reliant Stadium tomorrow. One reason why some national Republicans wince when they think about Rick Perry is that the image he'll be presenting tomorrow is much different than his economic one. He'll be surrounded with prominent culture warriors such as James Dobson of Focus on the Family, Richard Land of the Southern Baptist Convention, and the Rev. Donald Wildmon of the American Family Association. The worry among some strategists is that this might frighten off moderates and hurt Perry in a general election.
We may find out. Right now, I'm off to eat my weight in ribs at Iron Works BBQ, then on to Houston. I'll file some blog posts tomorrow during the (gulp) seven-hours of fasting and prayer, then probably a wrap-up in the evening. In the meantime -- after the jump -- a quick Q & A about Perry and "The Response":
What is "The Response"?
"The Response" is a "solemn gathering of prayer and fasting for our nation." It is not a political event. Perry has held prayer events in the past, and is thought to have scheduled this one before he decided (probably) to run for president.
What is "The Response" responding to?
It is responding to the generally lousy state of things in this country -- politically, morally, spiritually. Per the organizers, "According to the Bible, the answer to a nation in such crisis is to gather in humility and repentence and ask God to intervene. The Response will be a historic gathering of people from across the nation to pray and fast for America." If you can't make it to Houston, it will also be simulcast in 1,100 churches in all 50 states.
Is Perry going to declare his candidacy?
No. But he is going to speak (at around 11:30 a.m. or so, I'm reliably informed). And although there is no formal political element to this event, there will certainly be an informal political element because so many reporters covering the presidential race will be attendance and will write about it in those terms.
Has Perry said anything about "The Response"?
In fact, he has. Here's a video clip of him laying it all out:
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.
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.
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.
It’s not easy fitting 1.2 million annual visitors onto an island of 330,000 residents.
Iceland may be beautiful, but it’s dangerously close to full. This is the message currently filtering out from the North Atlantic island as it struggles to absorb unprecedented numbers of visitors. Last year, the nation hosted 1.26 million tourists, a staggering number for a chilly island whose population barely scrapes past 330,000 citizens.
Those numbers are powered partly by a “Game of Thrones Effect” that has seen fans of the TV series flock to its shooting locations. The 2010 eruption of the Eyjafjallajökull volcano, which has since become a tourist attraction, also helped to push up its profile as a vacation spot—perversely so, given that the eruption initially led to 107,000 flights across Europe being canceled. Given the rocky waters the country has been sailing through since the 2008 financial crisis, the revenue brought in by this spike in tourism is no doubt welcome. But the sheer volume of visitors to what was until recent decades a remote part of the world is still causing major stress. So how can Iceland keep welcoming people while making sure it isn’t trampled underfoot?
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.
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.”
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.
The commons outside of Cortina D’Ampezzo are governed by a medieval property-rights system that has almost completely disappeared from the rest of Europe.
When tourists arrive at Cortina d’Ampezzo, “medieval” is probably not the first word that comes to their minds. This wealthy town 80 miles north of Venice, a posh destination in the Italian Alps, regularly hosts Alpine Skiing World Cup races and is a popular vacation choice both for wealthy foreigners and Italian celebrities. When looking for a place to set Vacanze di Natale (“Christmas Holidays”), a classic Italian movie franchise that satirizes the eccentricities of the rich, the writers picked Cortina.
Yet, the town still manages a portion of its land with a system that dates back to the 11th century. The system is one of collective property, overseen by heads of family—making it one of the last places in Europe where most women are formally barred from inheriting and controlling land.
When new countries rise to power, the transition can end badly, often in war. Harvard’s Graham Allison has argued in The Atlantic that “judging by the historical record, war is more likely than not” between the United States, the world’s current reigning superpower, and China, a rising military and economic force. There is considerable debate on this point, but American pundits and presidential candidates often talk as if China were already an American adversary; Donald Trump has warned, for example, that China will “take us down.” Yet few in the United States seem worried about Asia’s other rising giant, India.
To the contrary, there’s a temptation to support India, a like-minded democracy, as a counterweight against the growing power of authoritarian China. But if American leaders feel confident India can accumulate power without becoming an antagonist, can they find a way to make the same true for China?