Aye, Spy: During a joint press conference with German Chancellor Angela Merkel today, President Trump continued to claim that he’d been wiretapped by the previous administration. Sean Spicer, too, stuck to the story yesterday but offered no evidence, so it seems the White House is simply afraid to admit it was wrong. More substantiated spying allegations: The Justice Department indicted four Russian hackers and intelligence agents this week for their role in a cyberattack on Yahoo, and the charges provide insight into the methods—and international advantages—of America’s own spies.
Dealing With Health Issues: House Republicans are a little closer to passing their health-care bill: After meeting with Trump today, a group of conservative leaders say they’ll support the bill in exchange for pushing its Medicaid provisions further to the right. But many hardline conservatives still stand opposed, not to mention the Democrats who say it already makes too many cuts. One person still on the fence is Bob Woodson, an anti-poverty activist who’s spent years working with Paul Ryan—and though he’s worried Ryan’s new bill will hurt poor Americans, he still trusts the Speaker of the House.
The Nobel Prize-winning poet Derek Walcott died today at the age of 87. From our January/February 2010 issue, his poem “The Lost Empire”:
I see it all come about
again, the tasselled cortege, the clop of the tossing team
with funeral pom-poms, the sergeant major’s shout,
the stamp of boots, then the volley; there is no greater theme
than this chasm-deep surrendering of power
the whited eyes and robes of surrendering hordes,
red tunics, and the great names Sind, Turkistan, Cawnpore,
dust-dervishes and the Saharan silence afterwards.
When does adulthood begin? It’s a subjective question we’ve explored on many fronts. This reader entered adulthood in a painful and tragic way:
I was 20 and began working at the same factory as my father did. He was in maintenance as an industrial electrician. There had been a summer program for employees’ children and I worked out well enough that I was hired at the end of the summer. He was proud that I carried my weight.
However, three years into it and just after my 23rd birthday, my hand got caught in a take-up roll for a large paper machine and I was flung around like a rag doll. With both femurs and my left ulna, left radius, and left humerus broken, I spent months recovering.
But I kept a good attitude, believing falsely that I would be back to my normal self. My dad told me that he could never have had such a good attitude having gone through what I did.