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Watching the Giant Sequoias Die Print
Written by <a href="index.php?option=com_comprofiler&task=userProfile&user=54098"><span class="small">Kelsey Lahr, Slate</span></a>   
Friday, 24 April 2020 08:11

Lahr writes: "Watching the trees I love die has made me rethink what hope means this far into climate change."

Sequoia National Forest. (photo: Vicente Villamón/flickr)
Sequoia National Forest. (photo: Vicente Villamón/flickr)


Watching the Giant Sequoias Die

By Kelsey Lahr, Slate

24 April 20


Watching the trees I love die has made me rethink what hope means this far into climate change.

ach week this summer I snapped pictures of giant sequoias. Each week I documented their sparse, browning needles. They were dying. I was trying to track it. 

Giant sequoias are special; they are both incomprehensibly massive and ancient. Reaching upward of 250 feet tall and over 100 feet in circumference, sequoias are among the largest living things on Earth. They can live to be 3,000 years old, which means that some giant sequoias alive today were here when King Solomon ruled Israel, Zoroaster prophesied, and the Mayan civilization arose. Of course they weren’t actually there in ancient Israel, Persia, or Central America—because sequoias are also rare, found only in about 75 isolated groves on the western slope of California’s Sierra Nevada. But statistics like those don’t even begin to convey what makes giant sequoias special. You have to be there, to feel just how small you are, to see the Sierra sunshine illuminate a sequoia’s cinnamon-red trunk, to really understand. In the summertime, I get to work among these trees. For the past 12 years, I’ve worked as a seasonal ranger in Yosemite National Park, leading visitors through the Mariposa Grove of Giant Sequoias, in the park’s south end, pointing out all the ways these trees are extraordinary. 

“Giant sequoias are so good at surviving that you almost never see a dead standing sequoia,” I used to tell visitors. “They keep living and growing for thousands of years, until they finally get too top-heavy for their shallow root systems to support. Then they topple over.” I don’t say that anymore. 

Because now giant sequoias are starting to die where they stand. And it’s been my job to document it. Last summer, our park botanist requested a photo log of declining sequoia health. So each week when I was out in the field, I took pictures of several groups of dying sequoias, snapping photos from the same GPS point each time. Then I carefully labeled each photo with the date and location and dropped it into a folder on the park’s internal network. These photos won’t do anything to save the trees. But it seems important, somehow, to provide our grandchildren with some kind of record of the time we realized we might be losing the largest trees on Earth. 

Giant sequoia mortality is complicated and, as with all facets of science, attribution is difficult. But climate change is one suspect—it appears to be affecting giant sequoia survival in other parts of their range. Perhaps this mortality is due to drought and heat, the direct effects of climate change in this region. Maybe it’s some kinds of beetles, some species of which are proliferating at exponential rates in warmer temperatures, unmolested by the cold snaps we used to get around here that once kept their numbers in check. Maybe it’s something else altogether. It’s almost certainly a combination of factors. I don’t know exactly what’s going on; I only know that some groups of sequoias are visibly dying now, and they weren’t just a few years ago. 

In graduate school I studied climate change communication—the ways in which scientists, institutions, and laypeople perceive and talk about climate change. The received wisdom in this field holds that climate change is difficult to see because it happens gradually, making it imperceptible on a day-to-day scale. This is why, according to the experts, lots of people don’t believe it’s happening. Maybe that used to be true, but I don’t think it’s true anymore. Trees are dying, and people notice. Australia has gone up in flames, leading to the death of 1 billion animals, and people notice. Some part of California is likely to be on fire at any given time, and people notice. Droughts stretch on for years here in the American West, and people notice. Back east and along the Gulf Coast, hurricanes and flooding are ramping up, and people notice. 

In fact, now more Americans than ever understand that climate change is happening. Seven in 10 believe it is. That’s not to say they all understand the scientific reality that human activity is the cause of climate change—some surveys shows that barely more than half of Americans believe the scientific consensus that human-caused greenhouse gas emissions are to blame. And most won’t do much about it, even if they realize it’s happening and realize our emissions are causing it. One poll conducted in 2018 found that 70 percent of Americans would be unwilling to contribute just $10 a month, the cost of a Netflix subscription, to combat climate change. 


I didn’t need a poll to tell me that. Just look at our behavior. Last May, the United Nations released a report on the massive extinction currently underway due to human activity. I wasn’t all that surprised, but some part of me thought that maybe the tragic report would spur some kind of conservation action. Instead, within months of the report’s release, humans were intentionally burning the Amazon. Here in the United States, the Trump administration proposed rollbacks to the Endangered Species Act, nixed greenhouse gas emissions limits, greenlit oil drilling projects in sensitive Arctic habitat, loosened restrictions on the fossil fuel industry, and much, much more. We are never going to wake up, I realized. 

There are moments when I think maybe we will wake up. In September, 6 million people around the world participated in global climate protests. Anger was welling up and spilling into action, and I felt more hopeful than I had in a long time, even as I continued to snap pictures of ailing sequoias. But now, only a few months later, our attention is elsewhere. As a pandemic radically alters our day-to-day lives, it’s unsurprising that nearly every headline is about the coronavirus. But climate change continues to have serious impacts on just about every ecosystem on Earth. It will take long-term focus and the ability to reckon with multiple crises at once, along with sustained public outcry, to put enough pressure on our existing political and economic systems to force them to change. Maybe we’ll see that kind of long-lasting focus and outcry at some point in the future, but we’re not seeing it yet. And while the all-consuming pandemic will presumably end at some point, there will inevitably be another crisis, another election, another distraction, to suck our attention away from the climate catastrophe. So now I’m trying to come to terms with the fact that I will spend the rest of my life watching the world I love burn up, one beautiful species after another going up in flames. 

Nate Stephenson, an ecologist with the U.S. Geological Survey who has spent his career studying giant sequoias, isn’t so sure the trees are doomed. “Over 3,000 years, a tree has gone through a lot of environmental changes,” he says when I ask him if he thinks sequoias will survive climate change. “But we could start leaving the realm of a 3,000-year-old tree’s experience. Maybe we already have. I don’t know. But if you push hard enough, you can probably break their resilience.” He says he doesn’t know what’s killing the trees I photographed in the Mariposa Grove last summer; it could be lots of other things besides climate change effects. Stephenson is a scientist, and he had to get permission from his agency to talk to me in the first place. So he’s cautious—very cautious—about making any claims he can’t back up directly with very specific scientific evidence. And the future, he notes, “is impossible to predict,” not only because of the complexities of climate science but also because of the unpredictability of human behavior and technological advances. We could find a geoengineering solution to climate change, he suggests. So many things are possible. 

“But do you think sequoias are resilient enough that there’s still time for us to figure those things out?” I ask. “Can these trees really hang on that long?” 

He pauses. “Maybe.” 

That optimism—the hope that giant sequoias might just be OK—is the optimism of a scientist who doesn’t yet have the models or the data to predict what will happen. It’s the optimism of someone who is cautious about making definitive claims without hard evidence. “I’ve stopped pretending that I can predict the future,” he says. 

But me, I’m not a scientist—I have the freedom to look at the society around me and write about what I see and what I fear the future will look like. I don’t need hard data to back up my fears; my fears are driven by something more intuitive. And when I look at a dying sequoia and a dozen fires burning across California and a hundred burning across Australia and record-breaking flooding back east and an utter lack of any responsible action to do something about any of it—I am willing to predict that fragile species like giant sequoias are doomed. Or at least, I am willing to say out loud that I’m afraid this will happen and that I believe my fear is realistic. 

Last fall, Jonathan Franzen came to pretty much the same conclusion in a much-hated essay about the meaning of hope in the era of climate change. “If you care about the planet, and about the people and animals who live on it, there are two ways to think about this,” Franzen writes. “You can keep on hoping that catastrophe is preventable, and feel ever more frustrated or enraged by the world’s inaction. Or you can accept that disaster is coming, and begin to rethink what it means to have hope.” For Franzen, hope at this late date means focusing on the small, specific thing you love, be it a species, a place, or an institution, and taking whatever small, specific actions you can to forestall its demise. Put your energy into the “smaller, more local battles that you have some realistic hope of winning,” he says. By Franzen’s lights, stopping or reversing climate change is not a winnable battle. 

Climate scientists hated the essay, many taking to Twitter to express their dismay at Franzen’s nihilism and take issue with the scientific claims he made. As Myles Allen, the “relevant lead author” of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change’s special report pointed out months before Franzen’s essay came out, climate change is complicated. Yes, it’s true that there’s a certain amount of warming that we’ve already bought into and that climate change’s effects are already being felt. It’s also true that it is not an on/off switch, clicking on if we overshoot a certain warming threshold or staying off if we don’t. “Climate change is not so much an emergency as a festering injustice,” he writes. “Every half a degree of warming matters.” In which case, every battle to curb every ounce of emitted carbon is a battle worth fighting, and giving into nihilism because we aren’t going to solve the whole thing is probably counterproductive. 

I don’t pretend to be a climate scientist like Allen or an ecologist like Stephenson. Maybe that’s why Franzen’s essay resonated with me. Just like him, when I look at the current state of affairs, I have no hope, or at least no hope for fragile species like giant sequoias. Climate change might not turn out to be a global apocalypse, universally awful for every human alive in a century, especially if we start fighting those battles against every ounce of carbon. But even if life goes on for humanity, and even if it goes on relatively comfortably for most people, my hunch is that it will probably be a life without giant sequoias, because I’m willing to predict that we aren’t going to do enough in time to save beautiful, vulnerable species that don’t necessarily serve human needs directly. That’s not a life I want, and it’s not a life I want for my great-grandchildren. But it’s probably the life they’ll get, and that leaves me hopeless. Like Franzen, the reason for my pessimism is not scientific so much as anthropological. When I consider the total lack of meaningful policy action on climate change, and the fact that Americans will spend $10 a month on streaming services but not on climate change mitigation, I don’t find any reasons for hope. 

But this is not what I tell visitors to the Mariposa Grove of Giant Sequoias. I tell them about the threats these trees face. I even tell them that some are dying for reasons we don’t completely understand but that are probably related to climate change. But I also tell them it’s not too late to save them. “Anything you can do that’s good for the environment, that helps us start to address climate change, will also help giant sequoias,” I say at the conclusion of each guided walk through the grove. “Things like recycling, walking or biking or taking public transit instead of driving, simply consuming less stuff—these are small steps every one of us can take. It’s probably also time to start thinking about much larger steps we can take as a global society, to restructure the way we live, in order to start to address the climate crisis. I don’t know if we’ll do enough in time to save giant sequoias.” And here’s where the big lie comes: “But Yosemite gets about 5 million visitors a year, and it does give me a lot of hope to think about what would happen if each of those visitors started making some of these changes in their day-to-day lives. It could go a long way toward making sure that our children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren get to live in a world with giant sequoias.” 

Here is why I lie: I don’t have to be a climate scientist to know that 5 million people recycling isn’t going to do much to save giant sequoias. But I have a master’s degree in climate change communication, and I know that you can’t leave people hopeless. You have to give them specific actions they can take, and you have to let them know those actions matter. Otherwise they get hopeless and they don’t do anything at all. And even if 5 million people recycling isn’t going to save giant sequoias, isn’t it better than 5 million people not recycling? 

But maybe the important thing, at this point, is to give up on the illusion that what we have to do is recycle. Maybe the important thing is getting people to understand what is at stake, and to feel the weight of all we stand to lose and all we have already lost. Take, for example, the woman from Germany who approached me after attending a program I gave in the Mariposa Grove. She was weeping. “My whole life I’ve wanted to see these trees,” she said. “They are so, so beautiful and we are killing them! We have to do something!” Precisely. We have to do something. We have to do something. We don’t just need 5 million individuals recycling or biking or switching to energy-efficient lightbulbs. We don’t just need 5 million individuals doing anything. We need many millions of people coming together with sustained attention and outrage to demand that our lawmakers and corporations do what they have to do to put an end to this tragic status quo. It could happen. But it hasn’t yet. 

Without that kind of collective outrage, we’re stuck with individual actions like recycling. And I’m not convinced that recycling—or anything else I do in my daily life—will matter in the long run for giant sequoias, or any of the millions of other species that are threatened by climate change; the problem is so massive that it’s far, far beyond the scope of individual action. But action is all we have, and for now, as we wait for collective outrage to foment into coordinated collective action, we’re stuck with the small steps of personal action. Nate Stephenson seems to have reached the same conclusion. “I went through my personal crisis,” he told me, describing his realization several decades ago that ecosystems can no longer be preserved or restored to their pristine conditions due to the rapidity of climate change and the far reach of human influence. “It took years,” he said. “But I’ve come to a degree of peace about that.” Where can that peace be found? For Stephenson, the answer is research. He has the skills to study changing ecosystems, to research the ways sequoias responded to the latest drought in order to predict how they might respond in a hotter, drier future. Armed with that information, he can help land management agencies like the National Park Service adapt to coming changes. But I’m not a scientist, and I don’t have those skills. All I have is a cheap point-and-shoot camera to document dying sequoias and the chance to tell visitors every day that their actions matter. It’s a message I don’t entirely buy. But doing something has to be better than doing nothing—I have to believe that. And maybe that is its own form of hope. 

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If Kim Jong Un Dies, His Younger Sister Is Primed to Take Over Print
Written by <a href="index.php?option=com_comprofiler&task=userProfile&user=54092"><span class="small">Donald Kirk, The Daily Beast</span></a>   
Thursday, 23 April 2020 12:27

Kirk writes: "The debutante - slender, smiling, gracious - seemed to be so very different from her porcine brother. But now that his health is in question, and amid conflicting reports that he could be at death's door, his little sister may well be first in line to carry on the family dynasty."

Kim Yo Jung, the youngest sister of Kim Jung Un. (photo: Jorge Silva/Getty)
Kim Yo Jung, the youngest sister of Kim Jung Un. (photo: Jorge Silva/Getty)


If Kim Jong Un Dies, His Younger Sister Is Primed to Take Over

By Donald Kirk, The Daily Beast

23 April 20


She’s been the rising political star in a dynasty where other would-be heirs to the Kim dynasty wound up dead.

he Winter Olympics of 2018 were Kim Yo Jong's international coming out party. The world’s press gushed about the younger sister of North Korean Supreme Leader Kim Jong Un. The debutante—slender, smiling, gracious—seemed to be so very different from her porcine brother. But now that his health is in question, and amid conflicting reports that he could be at death’s door, his little sister may well be first in line to carry on the family dynasty.

Sister and brother have been close for years. She has advised on key events in the North Korean capital of Pyongyang, encouraging construction of modern apartments, ski slopes, even an amusement park, but it was during those Olympics that she shone as a major figure before the world. It was then, at a luncheon meeting in the Blue House, the center of power in South Korea, that she gracefully handed the South’s President Moon Jae-in a handwritten note from her brother suggesting they get together for a summit.

As a Blue House spokesman described the encounter, Kim Yo Jong embellished the written verbiage with polite words of her own. Big brother hoped they could get together sooner rather than later, at the “earliest convenience,” she said. Moon, who had been looking for reconciliation with the North, was thrilled. “Let’s create the environment for that to happen,” was his all-too-eager response.

Sister and brother have been close for years. She has advised on key events in the North Korean capital of Pyongyang, encouraging construction of modern apartments, ski slopes, even an amusement park, but it was during those Olympics that she shone as a major figure before the world. It was then, at a luncheon meeting in the Blue House, the center of power in South Korea, that she gracefully handed the South’s President Moon Jae-in a handwritten note from her brother suggesting they get together for a summit.

As a Blue House spokesman described the encounter, Kim Yo Jong embellished the written verbiage with polite words of her own. Big brother hoped they could get together sooner rather than later, at the “earliest convenience,” she said. Moon, who had been looking for reconciliation with the North, was thrilled. “Let’s create the environment for that to happen,” was his all-too-eager response.

Ah, those were the days. Now, after all those summits between Moon and Kim—and between U.S. President Donald Trump and Kim—the atmosphere has cooled again while both Koreas struggle through the coronavirus pandemic that may also have caught Kim in its feverish grip. More than ever, Yo Jong is looking like Jong Un’s most obvious heir apparent, and while she may not be overly qualified to rule, she has this: she survived her brother’s bloody family purges. 

Kim Yo Jong is  young—she’s 31— but she’s older than her brother was when he inherited absolute power from their father in December 2011, just shy of his 28th birthday. And Yo Jong is a familiar face to North Koreans. Big brother has been promoting her as a visible number two for years now. If Jong Un succumbs to the kind of cardiovascular issues that are inevitable for one who’s 5’7”, tips the scales at 300 pounds according to South Korean intelligence, is a chain smoker, drinks heavily, and works hard, few other contenders have his little sister’s high profile.

Previous contenders for the throne, or would-be powers behind it, have not fared well. Jang Song Thaek, his father’s sister’s husband, had an inside track on power during the later days of Kim Jong Il’s rule. After Jong Il died, Jang was fully expected to advise young Jong Un on the ways and wiles of governance. But less than two years after Kim Jong Un took power, he had Uncle Jang charged with corruption and power-grabbing, beaten, dragged before a judge, and executed. Kim also had his older half brother, who’d been living a playboyish life in Macao,  snuffed with VX nerve agent in 2017.

Bruce Bennett, who follows Korea for the Rand Corporation, believes Kim may want his sister to keep the seat of power warm for when his son is ready to take charge. But the boy was born in 2010, date uncertain, so Kim Yo Jong’s regency would be pretty long. Kim may believe his sister is a safer bet as successor-in-waiting because in his view she “would not be able to take over the government herself,” says Bennett, unlike the highly qualified, deceased, Jang Song Thaek. 

Kim Yo Jong was named an alternate member of the politburo at her brother’s last publicized appearance on April 12.  She rose to that position after having been authorized to make public statements in her own name criticizing South Korea for bowing to Washington’s wishes about demands for an end to the North’s nuclear and missile program.

As quoted in the North Korean state media, this lissome young woman could be a tough cookie—not exactly the charmer she had appeared when she and Moon met during the Olympics. 

When South Korea leveled official criticism at the North’s recent missile tests, Yo Jong fired back, "The South side is …  fond of joint military exercises and it is preoccupied with all the disgusting acts like purchasing ultra-modern military hardware.”  She did not mention South Korea’s President Moon Jae-in by name but called the Blue House, the center of presidential power, “a mere child”—like “a  child dreading fire” whose behavior was “so perfectly foolish.”

"They meant they need to get militarily prepared but we should be discouraged from military exercises,” she declared in a flight of verbiage worthy of the North’s best rhetoricians. “Such a gangster-like assertion can never be expected from those with normal way of thinking."

It would have been impossible for Kim Yo Jong to utter such caustic words had Kim not wanted to push her into the spotlight and move her up the hierarchy. Among her official positions Kim Yo Jong has served as vice director of the propaganda and agitation department of the Workers’ Party and was elected last year to the Supreme People’s Assembly, the North’s rubber stamp parliament.

All that background may not qualify her in a male-dominated society, but she does carry on the sacrosanct “Paektu line.” That’s the blood relationship to her grandfather,  Kim Il Sung, who was installed by the Soviet Union as North Korea’s first leader after World War II and ruled for nearly 50 years, and to her father, Kim Jong Il, mythologized by North Korea as born in a cabin on sacred Mount Paektu, the Korean peninsula’s highest peak and a former hideout for guerrillas battling Japanese colonial rule.

“The logical successor will be Kim Yo Jong,” says Evans Revere, a long-time diplomat dealing with North Korea at the U.S. embassy in Seoul and the State Department.  “She is a member of the Kim family.  Clearly, she is being groomed for greater responsibilities, as evidenced by her recent promotions, her elevated public profile, and her self-confident, almost cocky, comments.”

Bruce Klingner, northeast Asia expert at the Heritage Foundation, observes “the usual assessment would be that a ‘Confucian Korean culture’ would never choose a woman” but “Kim Yo Jong has gained prominence.” Kim Jong Un “may have designated her since she is likely the only person he trusts. If she were chosen, the regime would emphasize the continuity of the Paektu bloodline.”

Others, however, doubt the elite surrounding Kim would be in a mood to accept her except, perhaps, as a figurehead.

“I doubt she could consolidate power like her brother and father did,” says Dan Pinkston, long-time North Korea analyst, now a professor at Troy University here. “Maybe she could be part of collective leadership, but I don't think it would be sustainable.”

If Kim “is seriously sick or dies tomorrow,” says Choi Jin-wook, a North Korea expert and former director at the Korea Institute of National Unification,  “leadership would go almost automatically to Choi Young Hae, deputy chairman of the state council.” Kim Yo Jong may be “a legitimate successor and Kim Il Sung’s granddaughter, but she is not quite ready for the supreme power.” 

More likely, Choi predicts, “there will be a power vacuum and some instability.” It’s exactly that possibility, however, that suggests that Kim Yo Jong may be the one to rise above quarreling factions in the armed forces and the party.

Bruce Bechtol, author of numerous books and papers on North Korea’s leadership, puts it this way: “Her power base will be even weaker than KJU when he first started. Plus, there has been no preparation for this move. That said, if he dies, there may be no other alternative.” Yes, Kim has an older brother, Kim Jong Chul, 38, born to the same mother, but he’s “known to be gay and has no support in the party or the army.”

Then too, says Bruce Bennett, “I have also heard that the senior North Korean elites are done with the Kim family. “ Disillusioned by Kim Jong Un’s failure to accomplish “many things he has attempted, like sanctions relief,” says Bennett, they may be happy to let the remaining Kims  “die of COVID-19 as the cover story to allow someone else to take leadership in North Korea.” 

Whatever happens, there’s no doubt that Kim Jong Un’s lifestyle is catching up with him. If he’s not in “grave danger,” as one report put it, he may still be seriously ill. At 36, “Kim is grossly overweight and likely suffers from a number of serious chronic health issues, including cardiovascular problems,” says retired U.S. diplomat David Straub. “These problems are exacerbated by the enormous stress he is constantly under as the leader of a rogue state and under constant threat from within his own state as well.” 

All of which means that little sister, her big brother’s understudy, may be rehearsing for center stage. “It's hard to imagine a woman being the real leader of a regime as macho as North Korea's,” says Straub, “but it's conceivable that top male power players there might, in a pinch, agree on installing her as the symbolic leader."

If some of her public remarks are any clue, however, she may reject the symbolism and prove to be every bit as ruthless as her megalomaniacal brother.

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RSN: Some Progressives Are in Denial About Trump's Fascist Momentum Print
Written by <a href="index.php?option=com_comprofiler&task=userProfile&user=48990"><span class="small">Norman Solomon, Reader Supported News</span></a>   
Thursday, 23 April 2020 11:59

Solomon writes: "We're all in trouble. Trumpism has started to feel normal."

Armed conservative protesters rally at the state capitol in Lansing, Michigan, April 15, 2020. (photo: Jeff Kowalsky)
Armed conservative protesters rally at the state capitol in Lansing, Michigan, April 15, 2020. (photo: Jeff Kowalsky)


Some Progressives Are in Denial About Trump's Fascist Momentum

By Norman Solomon, Reader Supported News

23 April 20

 

wo years after Donald Trump won the presidency, the author of “How Fascism Works” assessed him in a video. “It might seem like an exaggeration to call Trump a fascist,” Yale professor Jason Stanley said. “I mean, he’s not calling for a genocide or imprisoning his own people without due process. But . . . if you use history and philosophy as a guide, it’s easy to see parallels between Trump’s words and those of the most reviled fascists in history. That scares me, and it should scare you too.”

Drawing on his decade of studying fascist propaganda, Stanley concluded: “If you’re not worried about encroaching fascism in America, before long it will start to feel normal. And when that happens, we’re all in trouble.”

We’re all in trouble.

Trumpism has started to feel normal. Trump stands a good chance of winning re-election in November. And his odds have improved because the Democratic Party is expected to nominate an abysmal candidate.

For ample good reasons, many progressives disdain Joe Biden. He has a long record as a corporate servant, ally of racial injustice and avid supporter of the military-industrial complex. Now, in the midst of the coronavirus pandemic, he scarcely seems able to articulate anything worthwhile.

In short, as the two contenders with a chance to win the presidential race, Biden and Trump are offering a choice between neo-liberalism and neo-fascism.

To hear a small but significant portion of the U.S. left tell it these days, that’s not a meaningful choice. Some say preventing the re-election of Trump isn’t important. That amounts to ignoring political reality, an evasion with potentially vast consequences.

“We should make no mistake,” longtime progressive journalist Juan González said days ago, “that this country is edging closer and closer to neo-fascist authoritarianism.”

That reality doesn’t stop some on the left from evading it -- preferring to conflate the two major parties to a degree akin to denial. 

Earlier this month, I listened to a discussion that included an eminent left author who flatly declared that on “all major issues” there is “no real difference between the Democratic and Republican parties.” A preposterous claim.

Soon afterward, I read an article by an editor at a high-quality left magazine that displayed odd complacency about whether or not Trump gets a second term: “The most likely outcome if he wins re-election is not a crude dictatorship, but further erosion of civil liberties within the existing political framework. Opposition parties and media will still be able to function. The people who suffer the worst forms of oppression under Trump will be the immigrants and ethnic minorities whose rights are routinely violated under Republican and Democratic presidencies alike.”

Really? It won’t matter to “immigrants and ethnic minorities” whether Trump is president for another four years?

When there’s a genuine threat of sliding into fascism, the left has an overarching responsibility to fight against the momentum of the extreme right. Sometimes that requires a broad coalition.

The left in France was correct when, in 2017, it united with a corporate centrist to defeat neo-fascist National Front candidate Marine Le Pen in the runoff election for president. In 2020, for the United States, the dangers are no less grave.

It’s true that leading “moderate” Democrats and even some self-described “progressives” have routinely functioned as enablers for the rightward tilt of national politics -- a bad dynamic that has continued on Capitol Hill in the midst of the pandemic under leadership from Nancy Pelosi and Chuck Schumer. Not wanting to seem obstructionist often ends up being helpful to right-wing agendas.

But here’s a key point: People who deny or downplay the real threat of neo-fascism consolidating itself via Trump’s re-election are, in effect, serving as enablers for the forces of the virulent extreme right that already controls so much of the U.S. government.

“It’s important to remember that right now, the issue of greatest urgency is to get rid of the malignancy in the White House,” Noam Chomsky said in an interview last week. “If we don’t do that, everything else pales into insignificance. To keep this for another four years means racing to the abyss on global warming, possibly reaching irreversible tipping points, sharply increasing the threat of nuclear war, stuffing the judiciary with young, ultra-right, mostly unqualified lawyers who will guarantee that anything to the left of Attila the Hun can’t survive for a generation, and on and on. This is top priority.”

In that video interview with The Intercept, Chomsky added: “There’s a thing called arithmetic. You can debate a lot of things, but not arithmetic. Failure to vote for Biden in this election in a swing state amounts to voting for Trump. Takes one vote away from the opposition, same as adding one vote to Trump. So, if you decide you want to vote for the destruction of organized human life on Earth. . . then do it openly. . . . But that’s the meaning of ‘Never Biden.’”

In “How Fascism Works,” Professor Stanley addressed “fascist politics” -- and repeatedly used that term when describing the Trump-led Republican Party.

For those in the USA who recoil at applying such a phrase to today, preferring to call it hyperbole, Stanley’s book sheds clear light on an insidious process that normalizes and obscures: “Normalization of fascist ideology, by definition, would make charges of ‘fascism’ seem like an overreaction, even in societies whose norms are transforming along these worrisome lines. Normalization means precisely that encroaching ideologically extreme conditions are not recognized as such because they have come to seem normal. The charge of fascism will always seem extreme; normalization means that the goalposts for the legitimate use of ‘extreme’ terminology continually move.”

Meanwhile, Stanley wrote, “Fascist politics exchanges reality for the pronouncements of a single individual, or perhaps a political party. Regular and repeated obvious lying is part of the process by which fascist politics destroys the information space. A fascist leader can replace truth with power, ultimately lying without consequence. By replacing the world with a person, fascist politics makes us unable to assess arguments by a common standard. The fascist politician possesses specific techniques to destroy information spaces and break down reality.”

Sound familiar?



Norman Solomon is co-founder and national director of RootsAction.org. He was a Bernie Sanders delegate from California to the 2016 Democratic National Convention. Solomon is the author of a dozen books including “War Made Easy: How Presidents and Pundits Keep Spinning Us to Death.”

Reader Supported News is the Publication of Origin for this work. Permission to republish is freely granted with credit and a link back to Reader Supported News.

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FOCUS: Coronavirus Has Made Incarceration a Potential Death Sentence Print
Written by <a href="index.php?option=com_comprofiler&task=userProfile&user=54090"><span class="small">Jesse Jackson, The Chicago Sun Times</span></a>   
Thursday, 23 April 2020 11:18

Jackson writes: "There is no defense. Clearly, at the federal and state level, prison officials should speed the release of nonviolent offenders, of the elderly and the vulnerable. Universal testing is an imperative."

Corrections health experts have been urging prison administrators to plan for coronavirus. (photo: Just One Film/Getty)
Corrections health experts have been urging prison administrators to plan for coronavirus. (photo: Just One Film/Getty)


Coronavirus Has Made Incarceration a Potential Death Sentence

By Jesse Jackson, The Chicago Sun Times

23 April 20


Prisons should be a priority for supplies, for tests, and for early release of as many inmates as possible, particularly the elderly and the vulnerable.

his week, the New York Times featured the story of how the coronavirus savaged the Federal Correctional Complex in Oakdale, Louisiana. On March 28, Patrick Jones, 49, serving a 27-year sentence for possession of crack cocaine with the intent to distribute, became the first federal inmate to die of the virus.

Barely three weeks later, seven inmates had died, at least 100 inmates and staff members had been infected, with more than 20 hospitalized — and an entire community terrorized. The prisoners died, unreported, unknown, their bodies essentially owned by the federal government that imprisoned them.

According to corrections officers there, the warden was slow to act, saying that “we live in the South and it’s warm here. We won’t have any problems,” a haunting illustration of the dangers of loose rhetoric and tall tales from the president, amplified on social media.

The horrors of the Andover, New Jersey nursing home — with at least 70 residents dead and dozens more testing positive — has dramatized the vulnerability of the elderly in nursing homes, where over 7,000 have died. Our grossly overpopulated prisons and jails are quickly becoming the next centers to be ravaged by the disease.

Cook County Jail, the largest in the country, is already one of the nation’s largest sources of infections, with more confirmed cases than the USS Theodore Roosevelt or the New Rochelle, New York cluster. Four inmates are dead and 215 have tested positive, as have 191 correctional officers and 34 other sheriff’s office employees. One employee just died.

We know the most about Cook County because Sheriff Tom Dart has been the most open. Many are suffering and dying of COVID-19 because sheriff’s offices around the country have not been very open and are not testing. The jail is overwhelmed. The sheriff and jail workers need more hands on deck. For every shift change, the virus is recycled in the community.

A state prison in Ohio is now the largest reported source of coronavirus infection in the United States. I called President Trump and urged him to make testing, tracing and social distancing a priority for those in jails, nursing homes and prisons. The workers, inmates and communities where the workers live all need help.

In Ohio, 2,300 prisoners in three prisons have tested positive. In prisons and jails across the country, inmates locked up for nonviolent crimes or while awaiting trial, and older, vulnerable inmates near the end of their term, among others, sit in terror, fearful that they face a death sentence.

Prisons and jails are virtual petri dishes for the virus. Social distancing is impossible. Soap and water are often not available.

Correctional officers have no choice but to mix with inmates. Many inmates are poor, often with health problems — asthma, diabetes, heart conditions, stress — that make them more vulnerable to the virus.

Prisons and jails have begun — although far too slowly — to react. Cook County Jail has reduced its population from 10,000 to 4,200, partly because of bail reform, some from courts sentencing fewer nonviolent offenders to prison, some from early release. Soap and disinfectants have been made available. Those with symptoms are isolated from the general population. Visitors and volunteers are not allowed, often at great psychic cost to inmates.

Facilities are cleaned more frequently. In some prisons, inmates have been locked in their cells for 22 hours a day to limit human interactions.

But — as is true for the general population — testing is often not available. Too few are tested too seldom. That puts not only prisoners but corrections officers and their families, and the people they interact with at risk.

Not surprisingly, prison uprisings have begun, as terrorized inmates demand protection and more information. Corrections officers have joined in lawsuits to get adequate protective equipment, information, and testing. Too often, it is too little and too late.

There is no defense. Clearly, at the federal and state level, prison officials should speed the release of nonviolent offenders, of the elderly and the vulnerable. Universal testing is an imperative. Prisoners need more access to soap and water. And both prisoners and corrections officials need protective gear — from masks to gloves — and, most of all, information on how to protect themselves.

Donald Trump informed me that he had made his son-in-law, Jared Kushner, the point person on prison reform. The time for aggressive action is long past. Prisons should be made a priority for supplies, for tests, and for early release of as many inmates as possible, particularly the elderly and the vulnerable.

If the pandemic continues to spread through prisons, the toll in lives will soar.

As the pandemic exposes once more, it is a moral outrage that the U.S. locks up more people than any other country, including China. Prisoners are disproportionately poor and people of color, too often victims of institutionalized racism that still puts African American young men at greater risk of being stopped by police, charged, and jailed if convicted.

Even without the virus, that is a disgrace. Now the virus is turning incarceration into a potential death sentence.

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We Can't Let Trump Roll Back 50 Years of Environmental Progress Print
Written by <a href="index.php?option=com_comprofiler&task=userProfile&user=54082"><span class="small">Elizabeth Southerland, Guardian UK</span></a>   
Thursday, 23 April 2020 08:36

Southerland writes: "The Trump EPA has repealed or weakened almost 100 environmental regulations, even when affected industries have not objected to the rules. The number and speed of these repeals puts us in uncharted territory."

Environmental activists in Chicago protest President Donald Trump's decision to withdraw the US from the Paris Climate Agreement, June 2, 2017. (photo: Christopher Dilts/AP)
Environmental activists in Chicago protest President Donald Trump's decision to withdraw the US from the Paris Climate Agreement, June 2, 2017. (photo: Christopher Dilts/AP)


We Can't Let Trump Roll Back 50 Years of Environmental Progress

By Elizabeth Southerland, Guardian UK

23 April 20


I worked for the EPA for 33 years. We can’t let this administration obliterate half a century of environmental progress

n the first Earth Day in 1970, millions of Americans took to the streets to demand clean air, water and land, and advocate for a healthier and more sustainable environment. By the end of the year, the US Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) was founded.

Within 10 years, Congress had passed many of the major environmental laws that protect us to this day. The EPA and other agencies worked to improve the quality of our air and water; clean up contaminated land; curb toxic chemicals; and reduce the greenhouse gas emissions that contribute to climate change.

April 22 is the 50th anniversary of Earth Day. We are at another historic juncture. The world faces environmental and public health challenges that earlier celebrators of Earth Day would have found difficult to imagine.

Over the past four years, the Trump administration has reversed or rolled back many policies that protected Americans’ health and environment. Under this administration, the EPA has been transformed from an agency of environmental protection to an accommodating servant of special interests.

The Trump EPA has repealed or weakened almost 100 environmental regulations, even when affected industries have not objected to the rules. The number and speed of these repeals puts us in uncharted territory. Critical public health and worker protections are being rolled back solely to maximize corporate profits.

We cannot allow 50 years of hard-won environmental progress to be reversed in just four years.

These rollbacks and efforts to weaken the rules will have real-life, measurable impacts, including increased illnesses and premature deaths. The repeal of air quality rules has increased air pollution, causing more respiratory illnesses and heart disease and accelerating the effects of climate change.

The rollback of water quality rules has endangered drinking water, fisheries and recreational waters that support the health and economies of communities throughout the country. The failure to adequately fund cleanups at Superfund sites has left communities with contaminated land, fenced off from any beneficial use for years as remediation is delayed.

Invariably, the worst impacts on health fall on low-income people and communities of color, who are often immediately downstream and downwind of deregulated industries.

By August 2017, it was clear that EPA leadership had little regard for the expertise and historical knowledge of its career employees. That’s when I made the decision to publicly protest against the Trump administration when resigning from the agency after 33 years of service.

I was gratified to find common voice with many of my former EPA colleagues through the newly created Environmental Protection Network (EPN); within three years, the EPN has grown into a national network of more than 500 EPA alumni who volunteer their time, expertise and experience to push back against this administration’s efforts to undermine public health and environmental protections.

EPN has documented some of the most serious public health and environmental impacts of the regulatory rollbacks and proposed budget cuts of the past four years in a Trump Environmental Record. Among the most egregious are this administration’s decisions to:

  • Replace the Obama Clean Power Plan, which limited harmful emissions from power plants, with a rule that is projected to significantly increase exposure to fine particles and ozone in the air. More people, especially those living in frontline communities, will have heart attacks; suffer from asthma, bronchitis and other respiratory diseases; and miss days of work and school because of illness.

  • Replace the Obama Clean Water Rule with a rule that removes federal water quality protections from a significant portion of the country’s streams and wetlands. The new rule will reduce flood control and impair drinking water, fisheries, and recreational use of waters in communities throughout the US. Many streams and wetlands, no longer protected, will be lost forever when filled or drained for economic development.

  • Set a drinking water standard for the toxic chemical perchlorate at an indefensibly high level in order to eliminate the need for regulation. Perchlorate disrupts the normal function of the thyroid in children and adults and causes development problems in fetuses.

  • Roll back successful clean car regulations and fuel economy standards, which reduced greenhouse gas (GHG) emissions, improved air quality and increased fuel economy. The rollback is projected to increase GHG emissions by 1.5bn metric tons through 2040, contributing to the destructive impacts of climate change, and resulting in 18,500 more premature deaths by 2050.

  • Propose the “censored science” rule that would prohibit EPA from using public health studies to set air and water quality standards unless participants waive their rights to privacy. This action would effectively eliminate agency use of key health studies that underlie clean air and water regulations, undermining current standards and hampering development of future standards.

President Trump often brags that he is boosting the economy through deregulation. But cutting costs for corporations is shortsighted at best. Deregulation translates into more pollution of our air, land and water, and allows climate change to go unchecked. It comes with a huge price tag: increased health costs; lost work days as more people get sick; and devastating wildfires, floods and prolonged droughts caused by a warming planet.

Actions by the Trump administration over the past four years have set us back. But we will not let this administration obliterate 50 years of environmental and public health progress. We owe that to the generation that will celebrate the 100th anniversary of Earth Day in 2070.

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