There was no red carpet, but Sarah Palin still stole the show. Now her supporters want to know: Will she run?
PELLA, IOWA -- Late in the afternoon, Democrats and other non-fans of Sarah Palin cleared out of downtown as a horde of supporters (and journalists) descended on the historic Pella Opera House for the Iowa premiere of "The Undefeated," filmmaker Steve Bannon's biographical movie of Palin. Just after 5 p.m., Palin and her husband, Todd, both smiling and dressed casually in jeans, arrived and ambled down Franklin Street greeting well-wishers. The event had the air of a revival; supporters had come from as far away as Dallas and were rapturous at the sight of their shepherd.
Earlier in the day, Palin's daughter had let slip in a television interview that her mother had made up her mind about a presidential run--but didn't say which way she was going to go. Before the heading into the theater, Palin spoke to reporters, but she didn't let on much either: "I told Bristol, too, what is talked about on the fishing boat stays on the fishing boat."
Then it was on to the show. Bannon made brief remarks about the making of "The Undefeated" and paid homage both to Pella's and to Palin's authenticity: "The hard-worn bricks outside the Pella Opera House are all the red carpet she needs." After a prayer, the Pledge of Allegiance, and spirited renditions of "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" and "This is My Country," the lights went down and the movie began. The crowd thrilled to the celebration of their hero and seemed pumped up by the film's dramatic imagery--volcanoes, earthquakes, snipers, ferocious lions, and clip after clip of Palin fighting back against her sundry enemies. (Subtlety isn't part of the Bannon arsenal.) When Palin, in the film, declared "We are an exceptional country and that is not something to apologize for," the audience broke into whoops and cheers.
Then the lights when up, and the director, producers, and star took the stage to a standing ovation. Palin gave a brief, peppy stump speech and took a few swipes at the "lamestream media" before leading the crowd out of the theater and around the block to a giant barbecue (that, from the looks of it, attracted several hundred more revelers). Everyone look relaxed and happy and very pleased to be there.
There were, among the audience, I discovered, several--gasp!--liberals. To Bannon, this was good news. He told me that he hopes his film will inspire independents, conservatives and liberals to support Palin--and there are indeed aspects of Palin's career that could do so. But the liberals I spoke to afterward weren't yet persuaded. "I wasn't blown away," said Pat Schacherer, a young Pellan who'd scored tickets from a friend's mother and revealed that many of his like-minded college buddies had attended and were similarly unpersuaded. "The film lacked substance." Most of the crowd, however, seemed to love it.
Palin appears to have come to Pella primarily to support Bannon's film and cheer on her supporters. She didn't drop any overt hints about the presidency that I picked up on, besides pledging to devote "110 percent" to Iowa if she did run. Even so, crowd members kept approaching her and urging her to run, and after seeing the film, those feelings seemed only to intensify. There can be little doubt that if she does decide to run, Palin won't lack for committed Iowans. Several that I spoke to were skipping the barbecue to attend Tea Party caucus training sessions.
One of them, Craig Bergman, a burly, cowboy-hatted gentleman from Des Moines, was plainly inspired by what he saw. He sought out Palin's aide, Rebecca Mansour, and, grinning widely, exclaimed, "Now all she has to do is run!" I asked if he thought she would. "Look, there has never been a weaker field," he told me. "If she doesn't run, we're going to nominate one of the three stooges--Romney, Pawlenty, or Perry--and they're going to lose to Obama. That will ruin the party." The people around us nodded in agreement. I departed thinking that if Palin gets in, she'll have many energetic supporters--and that if she doesn't, she'll draw one heck of a backlash.
Trump’s gravest responsibility is to defend the United States from foreign attack—and he’s done nothing to fulfill it.
As the rest of America mourns the victims of the Parkland, Florida, massacre, President Trump took to Twitter.
Not for him the rituals of grief. He is too consumed by rage and resentment. He interrupted his holidaying schedule at Mar-a-Lago only briefly, for a visit to a hospital where some of the shooting victims were treated. He posed afterward for a grinning thumbs-up photo op. Pain at another’s heartbreak—that emotion is for losers, apparently.
Having failed at one presidential duty, to speak for the nation at times of national tragedy, Trump resumed shirking an even more supreme task: defending the nation against foreign attack.
Last week, Special Counsel Robert Mueller indicted 13 Russian persons and three entities that conspired to violate federal election law, to the benefit of Trump and Republican congressional candidates. This is not the whole of the story by any means. This Mueller indictment references only Russian operations on Facebook. It does not deal with the weaponization of hacked information via WikiLeaks. Or the reports that the Russians funneled millions of dollars of election spending through the NRA’s political action committees. But this indictment does show enough to answer some questions about the scale and methods of the Russian intervention—and pose a new question, the most important of them all.
The president tried to distance himself from the story of Russian interference—and in the process, thrust himself right back into the center of the narrative.
Donald Trump didn’t have any control over the decision by Russia’s Internet Research Agency to mount what it called “information warfare against the United States of America.” As the indictment released on Friday stated, the effort began in 2014, long before Trump was a declared candidate—much less a serious one—for office.
But by refusing to take information warfare seriously—in an attempt to distance himself from it and any questions it might raise about the legitimacy of his election—the president has paradoxically made the story about himself again and again.
This solipsism was on display Saturday and Sunday morning, as Trump, at Mar-a-Lago and far from the strictures and structures of the White House, unleashed his most aggressive and scattered tweetstorm in some time. In theory, the things he said were designed to push the story away from himself and downplay any connection. In practice, he forced himself into the middle of the story, inextricably linking himself to it.
A new study explores a strange paradox: In countries that empower women, they are less likely to choose math and science professions.
Though their numbers are growing, only 27 percent of all students taking the AP Computer Science exam in the United States are female. The gender gap only grows worse from there: Just 18 percent of American computer-science college degrees go to women. This is in the United States, where many college men proudly describe themselves as “male feminists” and girls are taught they can be anything they want to be.
Meanwhile, in Algeria, 41 percent of college graduates in the fields of science, technology, engineering, and math—or “STEM,” as its known—are female. There, employment discrimination against women is rife and women are often pressured to make amends with their abusive husbands.
According to a report I covered a few years ago, Jordan, Qatar, and the United Arab Emirates were the only three countries in which boys are significantly less likely to feel comfortable working on math problems than girls are. In all of the other nations surveyed, girls were more likely to say they feel “helpless while performing a math problem.”
How the United States lost the faith of its citizens—and what it can do to win them back
For years, the residents of Oxford, Massachusetts, seethed with anger at the company that controlled the local water supply. The company, locals complained, charged inflated prices and provided terrible service. But unless the town’s residents wanted to get by without running water, they had to pay up, again and again.
The people of Oxford resolved to buy the company out. At a town meeting in the local high-school auditorium, an overwhelming majority of residents voted to raise the millions of dollars that would be required for the purchase. It took years, but in May 2014, the deal was nearly done: One last vote stood between the small town and its long-awaited goal.
The Trump-era GOP cares more about the national origin and race of immigrants than the methods they used to enter the United States.
A few weeks ago, the contours of an immigration compromise looked clear: Republicans would let the “dreamers” stay. Democrats would let Trump build his wall. Both sides would swallow something their bases found distasteful in order to get the thing their bases cared about most.
Since then, Trump has blown up the deal. He announced on Wednesday that he would legalize the “dreamers,” undocumented immigrants brought to the U.S. as children, only if Democrats funded his wall and ended the visa lottery and “chain migration.” He would support a path to citizenship for undocumented immigrants only if Congress brought the number of legal immigrants down.
There’s an irony here, which was pointed out to me by CATO Institute immigration analyst David Bier. Until recently, Republican politicians drew a bright line between illegal immigration, which they claimed to hate, and legal immigration, which they claimed to love. Florida Senator Marco Rubio launched his presidential campaign at the Freedom Tower, Miami’s Ellis Island. Texas senator Ted Cruz, who in 2013 proposed a five-fold increase in the number of H1B visas for highly skilled immigrants, declared in April 2015 that, “There is no stronger advocate for legal immigration in the U.S. Senate than I am.” Mitt Romney promised in 2007 that, “We’re going to end illegal immigration to protect legal immigration.”
The director Ryan Coogler's addition to the Marvel pantheon is a superb genre film—and quite a bit more.
Note: Although this review avoids plot spoilers, it does discuss the thematic elements of the film at some length.
After an animated introduction to the fictional African kingdom of Wakanda, Black Panther opens in Oakland in 1992. This may seem an odd choice, but it is in fact quite apt. The film’s director, Ryan Coogler, got his start in the city, having been born there in 1986. His filmmaking career has its roots there, too, as it was the setting for his debut feature, Fruitvale Station.
A bunch of schoolboys (a fictionalized young Coogler perhaps among them) play pickup hoops on a court with a milk-crate basket. But in the tall apartment building above them two black radicals are plotting a robbery. There’s a knock on the door and one of the men looks through the peephole: “Two Grace Jones–lookin’ chicks—with spears!” I won’t recount the rest of the scene, except to note that the commingling of two very different iterations of the term “Black Panther”—the comic-book hero and the revolutionary organization, ironically established just months apart in 1966—is in no way accidental, and it will inform everything that follows.
Outrage mobs are chipping away at democracy, one meaningless debate at a time.
The mob was unusually vociferous, even for Twitter. After the California-born ice skater Mirai Nagasu became the first American woman to land a triple axel at the Olympics, the New York Times writer Bari Weiss commented “Immigrants: They get the job done.”
What followed that innocuous tweet was one of the sillier, manufactured controversies I have ever seen on Twitter. Twitter’s socially conscious denizens probably only realized they should be outraged at Weiss after they saw other people being outraged, as is so often the case. Outside of Twitter, some of Weiss’s Times colleagues were also offended by the tweet—and even hurt by it. The critics’objection was that Nagasu isn’t herself an immigrant, but rather the child of immigrants, and so calling her one was an example of “perpetual othering.”
Tech analysts are prone to predicting utopia or dystopia. They’re worse at imagining the side effects of a firm's success.
The U.S economy is in the midst of a wrenching technological transformation that is fundamentally changing the way people sleep, work, eat, shop, love, read, and interact.
At least, that’s one interpretation.
A second story of this age of technological transformation says that it’s mostly a facade—that the last 30 years have been a productivity bust and little has changed in everyday life, aside from the way everyone reads and watches videos. People wanted flying cars and got Netflix binges instead.
Let’s call these the Disrupt Story and the Dud Story of technology. When a new company, app, or platform emerges, it’s common for analysts to divide into camps—Disrupt vs. Dud—with some yelping that the new thing will change everything and others yawning with the expectation that traditionalism will win out.
The special counsel indicted the Russian nationals and three Russian entities for allegedly interfering in the 2016 presidential election, the Department of Justice announced Friday.
On Friday, February 16, Deputy Attorney General Rod Rosentein announced that the special counsel, Robert Mueller, had indicted 13 Russian nationals and three Russian entities on charges that including conspiracy to defraud the United States, conspiracy to commit wire fraud and bank fraud, and aggravated identity theft. This is the full text of that indictment.
The biggest success of the new Marvel film isn’t representation, but its contemplation of identity, responsibility, and the future of a diaspora in an interconnected world.
This article contains light spoilers.
Blackness invites speculation. The very idea of a global African diaspora creates the most fertile of grounds for a field of what-ifs. What if European enslavers and colonizers had never ventured into the African continent? More intriguing yet: What if African nations and peoples had successfully rebuffed generations of plunder and theft? What if the Zulu had won the wars against the Voortrekkers and the British, and a confederation of Bantu people had risen up and smashed Belgian rule? What if the Transatlantic children of the mother continent had been allowed to remain, building their empires with the bounties of the cradle of civilization?
These are the questions that vibrate beneath the vibranium bedrock of Marvel’s Black Panther, due out in theaters this week. The basic premise of a superpowered king fighting crime in a futuristic feline-themed suit is the kind of fresh-off-the-panel action absurdity that marks today’s comic-book movies. But, on a deeper level, the fictional African nation of Wakanda is the same Atlantean archetype that has always haunted this diaspora. And like all variations on that archetypal story, Black Panther is a fantasy about black power.