Earlier this week, Pope Francis plucked two lucky 5th graders from Perugia out of a crowd in Vatican City to ride along with him in the Popemobile. This was just the latest of the Holy See's "Dancing in the Dark" moments; earlier this year, Francis stopped the three-ton Mercedes to give an ecstatic Argentine priest from his old Archdiocese a lift through St. Peter's Square.
The Popemobile, despite its unimaginative moniker, is a modern iteration of the sedia gestatoria, a throne of sorts upon which popes were once ferried on the shoulders of a dozen or so papal footmen. Since the introduction of the Popemobile some 80 years ago, the vehicle of the pontiff has often symbolized the intricacies of the post.
They nod to the realities of the position's import—bulletproof glass and armor plating became standard in most of the pontiff's transports after the 1981 assassination attempt on Pope John Paul II. The geographical reach of the Catholic world is also embodied by the global fleet of Popemobiles—regular host countries like Mexico and Chile have their own papamóvil at the ready.
Yet one could argue that Pope Francis, being Pope Francis, has not overlooked what many would consider a commonplace aspect of being the Holy See and has found a way to connect the Popemobile to his doctrines.
So far, he has changed the dynamic not only by picking up strangers, but also by eschewing some of the traditional vanity plates of the Popemobile and choosing a five-year-old Ford Focus as his go-to ride. Pope Francis has done away with the modified throne aspect of the car in some models, and even ditched his Mercedes to adopt a second-hand 30-year-old Renault with 190,000 miles on it for personal sojourns within Vatican City.
The new car was in fact a gift to Francis from a 70-year-old priest from northern Italy, Father Renzo Zocca. Zocca previously wrote the pontiff a letter saying he had used the same car for decades and wanted to give it as a symbolic gift after the pope's comments on humility.
Other times, Pope Francis forgets the Popemobile entirely and just walks or hitches rides with others. Last month, Pope Francis opted to catch the bus with cardinals and bishops to a retreat outside of Rome, rather than take his own ride. He carried his own bags.
To the chagrin of his security detail, Pope Francis has made a more frequent habit of riding in an open air vehicle, reflecting a desire for more engagement. (Last week, he jumped off the Popemobile after his sermon to take Palm Sunday selfies with the crowd.) The pontiff rode in one such car to and from Easter celebrations earlier today in Vatican City, where he spoke to the 150,000 tourists and pilgrims.
In his address, Pope Francis made pleas for peace in places like Syria and Ukraine, but also decried the poverty that violence creates.
This article is from the archive of our partner The Wire.
Inside ABC’s tonally bizarro update of the seminal 1987 romantic drama Dirty Dancing are about four different projects trying to get out. There’s the most obvious one, a frame-by-frame remake of the original that’s as awkward and ill-conceived as Gus Van Sant’s 1997 carbon copy of Psycho. There’s the one Abigail Breslin’s starring in, an emotionally textured and realistic coming-of-age story about a clumsy but engaging wallflower. There’s a musical, in which Breslin and Nicole Scherzinger mime along to their own singing voices in a strange dance rehearsal while half-heartedly exploring the idea that power emanates from the vagina. And there’s the most compelling story, a Wide Sargasso Sea-inspired spinoff starring Debra Messing as a lonely housewife coming to terms with the turbulent depths of her own desire.
The condition has long been considered untreatable. Experts can spot it in a child as young as 3 or 4. But a new clinical approach offers hope.
This is a good day, Samantha tells me: 10 on a scale of 10. We’re sitting in a conference room at the San Marcos Treatment Center, just south of Austin, Texas, a space that has witnessed countless difficult conversations between troubled children, their worried parents, and clinical therapists. But today promises unalloyed joy. Samantha’s mother is visiting from Idaho, as she does every six weeks, which means lunch off campus and an excursion to Target. The girl needs supplies: new jeans, yoga pants, nail polish.
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At 11, Samantha is just over 5 feet tall and has wavy black hair and a steady gaze. She flashes a smile when I ask about her favorite subject (history), and grimaces when I ask about her least favorite (math). She seems poised and cheerful, a normal preteen. But when we steer into uncomfortable territory—the events that led her to this juvenile-treatment facility nearly 2,000 miles from her family—Samantha hesitates and looks down at her hands. “I wanted the whole world to myself,” she says. “So I made a whole entire book about how to hurt people.”
She lived with us for 56 years. She raised me and my siblings without pay. I was 11, a typical American kid, before I realized who she was.
The ashes filled a black plastic box about the size of a toaster. It weighed three and a half pounds. I put it in a canvas tote bag and packed it in my suitcase this past July for the transpacific flight to Manila. From there I would travel by car to a rural village. When I arrived, I would hand over all that was left of the woman who had spent 56 years as a slave in my family’s household.
The president’s business tells lawmakers it is too difficult to track all its foreign revenue in accordance with constitutional requirements, and it hasn’t asked Congress for a permission slip.
Days before taking office, Donald Trump said his company would donate all profits from foreign governments to the U.S. Treasury, part of an effort to avoid even the appearance of a conflict with the Constitution’s emoluments clause.
Now, however, the Trump Organization is telling Congress that determining exactly how much of its profits come from foreign governments is simply more trouble than it’s worth.
In response to a document request from the House Oversight Committee, Trump’s company sent a copy of an eight-page pamphlet detailing how it plans to track payments it receives from foreign governments at the firm’s many hotels, golf courses, and restaurants across the globe. But while the Trump Organization said it would set aside all money it collects from customers that identify themselves as representing a foreign government, it would not undertake a more intensive effort to determine if a payment would violate the Constitution’s prohibition on public office holders accepting an “emolument” from a foreign state.
A recent push for diversity has been blamed for weak print sales, but the company’s decades-old business practices are the true culprit.
Marvel Comics has been having a rough time lately. Readers and critics met last year’s Civil War 2—a blockbuster crossover event (and aspiritual tie-in to the year’s big Marvel movie)—with disinterest and scorn. Two years of plummeting print comics sales culminated in a February during which only one series managed to sell over 50,000 copies. Three crossover events designed to pump up excitement came and went with little fanfare, while the lead-up to 2017’s blockbuster crossover Secret Empire—where a fascist Captain America subverts and conquers the United States—sparked such a negative response that the company later put out a statement imploring readers to buy the whole thing before judging it. On March 30, a battered Marvel decided to try and get to the bottom of the problem with a retailer summit—and promptly stuck its foot in its mouth.
For a number of reasons, natural and human, people have abandoned many places around the world.
For a number of reasons, natural and human, people have evacuated or otherwise abandoned many places around the world—large and small, old and new. Gathering images of deserted areas into a single photo essay, one can get a sense of what the world might look like if humans were to suddenly vanish from the planet. Collected here are recent scenes from abandoned construction projects, industrial disaster zones, blighted urban neighborhoods, towns where residents left to escape violence or natural disasters, derelict Olympic venues, ghost towns, and more.
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 story of a decades-long lead-poisoning lawsuit in New Orleans illustrates how the toxin destroys black families and communities alike.
Casey Billieson was fighting against the world.
Hers was a charge carried by many mothers: moving mountains to make the best future for her two sons. But the mountains she faced were taller than most. To start, she had to raise her boys in the Lafitte housing projects in Treme, near the epicenter of a crime wave in New Orleans. In the spring of 1994, like mothers in violent cities the world over, Billieson anticipated the bloom in murders the thaw would bring. Fueled by the drug trade and a rising scourge of police corruption and brutality, violence rose to unseen levels that year, and the city’s murder rate surged to the highest in the country.
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People with preexisting conditions could face sharply higher costs in some states if the legislation was enacted, the Congressional Budget Office reported Wednesday.
The House-passed Republican health-care bill would leave 23 million more people uninsured over a decade and could dramatically increase costs for people with preexisting conditions in many states, the Congressional Budget Office projected in a highly-anticipated analysis released Wednesday afternoon.