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FOCUS: A Disappearance, a Body, and What It Takes to Make the News Print
Written by <a href="index.php?option=com_comprofiler&task=userProfile&user=7517"><span class="small">Nick Turse, TomDispatch</span></a>   
Monday, 09 October 2017 11:55

Turse writes: "Foreign correspondents are almost never alone in our work. We're almost always dependent on locals, often many of them, if we want to have any hope of getting the story. It was never truer for me than on that day when I was attempting to cover an ongoing ethnic cleansing campaign in South Sudan."

People seen outside their camps on April 2, 2017 in Juba, Sudan. (photo: Natalia Jidovanu/Le Pictorium/Barcroft Images/Getty Images)
People seen outside their camps on April 2, 2017 in Juba, Sudan. (photo: Natalia Jidovanu/Le Pictorium/Barcroft Images/Getty Images)


A Disappearance, a Body, and What It Takes to Make the News

By Nick Turse, TomDispatch

09 October 17

 


We tend to think of them as separate and distinct wars: the war in Afghanistan, the war in Iraq.  Yet it’s not hard to trace the ways in which America’s knee-jerk overreaction to the terrorist attack of 9/11 and the “preemptive” invasion of Iraq that followed in 2003 destabilized whole regions, spreading conflict like the plague. One war begot another, often right next door, just as the war in Iraq seemed to spill into neighboring Syria and set off its demolition, too. The infamous “surge” of more than 20,000 additional U.S. troops into Iraq in 2007 only accelerated the flight of Iraqis from their homes: more than a million of them were displaced within that country, while close to a million more crossed the border into Syria.

Those Iraqi refugees generally had more money than their Syrian counterparts. With their arrival, schools and hospitals became overcrowded, food prices in Damascus rose 30% and rents 150%. Hard-pressed Syrians moved to run-down neighborhoods in Damascus, finding themselves second-class citizens in their own capital. As the number of refugees only increased, UNHCR, the U.N. Refugee Agency, found itself desperately overstretched, with money enough to help only with housing or food, not both. Poor Iraqi widows and single mothers eventually slid into the sex trade. Women danced in nightclubs where impoverished mothers sold their little girls into one-night “marriages” to high-rolling tourists from the Gulf states. And things only got worse.  Such misery is contagious.

Syrian President Bashar al-Assad, having opened borders to Iraqis, feared the subversion of his own regime. He had always run a tight ship, much like his fallen autocratic neighbor Saddam Hussein.  With the surge of Iraqis into Damascus, he doubled down.  When I worked in the city in 2008, you could smell surveillance in the air. The same guy lounging in different neighborhoods. The lock picked. Papers rifled. A camera gone. The rising sense of something worse about to happen. The shadow of the war in Iraq fell across Damascus like a prediction. Less than three years later, in March 2011, peaceful protests began after 15 young boys were arrested and tortured -- a 13 year-old died -- for having written graffiti in support of the Arab Spring. Assad responded with deadly force and, by July, civil war was underway. To date, at least 465,000 Syrians have been killed, one million injured, and 12 million -- half the country’s population -- displaced like the Iraqis before them.

As for the U.S.: in 2016, we dropped 12,192 bombs on Syria although we are not officially at war with that country. That’s more than the 12,095 bombs we dropped that same year on Iraq, with which we are no longer at war, and more than we have dropped on any country since the war in Vietnam.  It’s all about the unlimited license the war on terror has given the U.S. military.  We now bomb “terrorists” wherever we “see” them (often among civilians), and currently not just in Syria and Iraq but also in Afghanistan, Yemen, Pakistan, Libya, and Somalia. Donald Trump, during his first six months in office, set an all-time presidential record, dropping 20,650 bombs on seven Muslim countries for reasons he did not explain, even as he nearly doubled the number of civilians being killed. And he’s just getting started.

TomDispatch managing editor Nick Turse brings us back to ground level today, as he writes about the courageous unsung local people, the “fixers,” who make possible the faraway work of journalists like him and the prize-winning Canadian reporter Deborah Campbell whose extraordinary new book he discusses. Full disclosure: I’m a colleague and friend of both Nick and Campbell, whose riveting book takes you deep into the eerie police state that was Damascus before the bombs began to fall in Syria.

-Ann Jones, TomDispatch


The Journalist and the Fixer
Who Makes the Story Possible?

e were already roaring down the road when the young man called to me over his shoulder. There was a woman seated between us on the motorbike and with the distance, his accent, the rushing air, and the engine noise, it took a moment for me to decipher what he had just said: We might have enough gas to get to Bamurye and back.

I had spent the previous hour attempting to convince someone to take me on this ride while simultaneously weighing the ethics of the expedition, putting together a makeshift security plan, and negotiating a price.  Other motorbike drivers warned that it would be a one-way trip. “If you go, you don’t come back,” more than one of them told me. I insisted we turn around immediately.

Once, I believed journalists roamed the world reporting stories on their own.  Presumably, somebody edited the articles, but a lone byline meant that the foreign correspondent was the sole author of the reporting.  Then I became a journalist and quickly learned the truth.  Foreign correspondents are almost never alone in our work.  We’re almost always dependent on locals, often many of them, if we want to have any hope of getting the story.  It was never truer for me than on that day when I was attempting to cover an ongoing ethnic cleansing campaign in South Sudan.

As the motorbike driver was topping off the tank with gasoline from a plastic water bottle, I had a final chance to think things over.  We were going to cross the border from Uganda into South Sudan so I could gather evidence of a murder by government troops in a village garrisoned by those same soldiers.  The driver hailed from one of the ethnic groups being targeted by South Sudan’s army.  If we were found by soldiers, he would likely be the first of us killed.  The woman, Salina Sunday, was my guide.  She was confident that she would be safe and didn’t show an ounce of fear, even though women were being raped and killed as part of the ethnic cleansing campaign churning through the southlands of South Sudan, including her home village, Bamurye. 

Within minutes we were off again to find, if we were fortunate, the mutilated body of the murder victim; if we were unfortunate, his killers as well.  I had met Sunday barely more than an hour earlier.  I had laid eyes on the driver for the first time only minutes before we left.  They were strangers and I was risking their lives for my work, for “my” story.

The Fix is In   

When it comes to overseas newsgathering, it’s the “fixers,” those resourceful, wired-in locals who know all the right people, who often make it possible.  Then there are the generous local reporters, translators, guides, drivers, sources, informants of every sort, local friends, friends of friends, and sometimes -- as in that trip of mine to Bamurye (recently recounted in full in the Columbia Journalism Review) -- courageous strangers, too.  Those women and men are the true, if unsung, heroes behind the bylines of so many foreign correspondents.  They’re the ones who ensure that, however imperfectly, we at least have a glimpse of what’s happening in far-off, sometimes perilous places about which we would otherwise be clueless.   

So when the great Iona Craig dons a black abaya and niqab, inserts her “brown tinted contact lenses to cover [her] green foreigner eyes,” and blows the lid off a botched U.S. Navy SEAL raid in Yemen that killed at least six women and 10 children, she does it with the aid of fixer-friends.  They are the ones who make the arrangements; who drive and translate; who, in short, risk their lives for her, for the story -- and for you.  When Pulitzer Prize-winning photojournalist Daniel Berehulak produces an instantly iconic New York Times exposé of the brutal war on drugs launched by Philippine President Rodrigo Duterte, veteran journalist and uber-fixer Rica Concepcion is also behind it.

If you read the reporting of the New Yorker’s Jon Lee Anderson, Leila Fadel (then of the Washington Post), or Nancy Youssef (then of McClatchy) on Libya, you likely benefited from the work of fixer Suliman Ali Zway.  Eyder Peralta’s powerful report on a doctor’s strike at Kenya’s Kiambu County Hospital that you heard earlier this year?  The late Jacque Ooko, a veteran journalist who worked as National Public Radio’s bureau assistant in Nairobi, got Peralta in the door.  And that August 19, 2017, front-page tour de force by Ellen Barry of the New York Times about a murder in a village in India?  You can thank her colleague Suhasini for it, too.

Canadian journalist Deborah Campbell is no different.  Like so many foreign correspondents, she’s also leaned on fixers.  Unlike most of us in the trade, however, she’s written a beautiful book-length love letter to one of them -- her vivid, captivating A Disappearance in Damascus: Friendship and Survival in the Shadow of War.  Campbell’s award-winning memoir-and-more offers a unique window into the life and work of foreign correspondents and the relationships they forge with those they rely on to help them do their jobs. 

Unlike the New York Times’s Jeffrey Gettleman, whose recent Love, Africa: A Memoir of Romance, War, and Survival oddly fixates on both his ardor for his girlfriend-turned-wife and his infidelity -- “As we tumbled into bed, a firefight erupted... We didn’t stop” -- the love in Campbell’s book has nothing to do with eros.  Nor is it an obsession with place, though Campbell’s affection for the beauty she finds in Syria is evident.  Instead, what drives A Disappearance in Damascus is the story of the deep bonds of friendship that formed between Campbell and her fixer in Syria, a remarkable Iraqi refugee named Ahlam.  While Gettleman’s book is sold as “a tale of passion,” the burning desire in Campbell’s pages is most felt when, in the second half of the book, she launches a relentless search for her fixer and friend after Ahlam disappears without a trace.

Campbell, a self-described “immersive journalist,” traveled to Damascus in 2007 to cover the deluge of Iraqis flooding into Syria as a result of the American invasion of their country and the carnage that followed.  There, she found the resilient Ahlam, elevated to a position of leadership in the Iraqi refugee community by popular acclaim.  She was a charismatic figure who exuded confidence, knew all the right people, and got the job done -- the very qualities that make for a top-flight fixer.  While supporting her husband and two children, fixing for Campbell and other journalists, and solving the problems of beleaguered refugees, Ahlam even managed to set up a school for displaced girls.  It’s little wonder that Campbell took to her and that those two strong, driven women became close friends.

The power of their personal bond, the blessing of their friendship, however, turned out to be a curse as well.  When Ahlam was suddenly disappeared by the Syrian regime, Campbell became convinced that she had been targeted because of their work together.  Ahlam had, in fact, aided journalists from al Jazeera, the Wall Street Journal, the BBC, and other media outlets, worked for multiple foreign aid groups, and even the U.S. military (in Iraq), which meant that there were myriad reasons why the Syrian government might have arrested her.  Still, Campbell couldn’t shake a deep-seated feeling that she was at fault.

In a profession typified by countless anxieties, fear for your fixer (or driver or source) is a special one that may manifest itself in an acidic churn deep in your gut or racing thoughts that you can’t slow down as you stare up through your mosquito net at a wobbling ceiling fan.  Have you endangered the people who devoted themselves to helping you do your job?  Have you potentially sacrificed their welfare, perhaps their lives, for a story?  As Campbell puts it:

“I could accept the knowledge that nothing I wrote or would ever write would change a thing and that the world would continue to create and destroy and create and destroy as it always did. I could accept living without a relationship. I would still be okay. What I could not accept was Ahlam being gone. It was unthinkable that she had been missing for almost seven weeks. Unthinkable that she could be lost and never heard from again. Unthinkable that I could do nothing."

It called to my mind a time when a driver-turned-friend of mine was smacked around and taken away by angry government officials.  I’ve never forgotten my fear for him and the abject sense of powerlessness that went with it.  It’s a special type of anxiety that, I suspect, many foreign correspondents have experienced.  (My driver was luckily released a short time later, a far different outcome than Ahlam’s arrest.)

Campbell responds to her friend’s disappearance by utilizing the very skills that make her a great journalist and begins to investigate just what happened.  At times, it turns her book into a first-class detective story and, for that very reason, provides a useful primer on how reporters practice their craft. 

For those who know anything about the sparse literature on the subject, A Disappearance in Damascus calls to mind perhaps the most iconic tale of this type -- another story rooted in platonic love, deep affection, and the sense of responsibility that grows between a journalist and a fixer (even if that fixer was officially a “stringer”).  

“I began the search for my friend Dith Pran in April of 1975.  Unable to protect him when the Khmer Rouge troops ordered Cambodians to evacuate their cities, I had watched him disappear into the interior of Cambodia, which would become a death camp for millions,” wrote New York Times reporter Sydney Schanberg.  “Pran had saved my life the day of the occupation, and the shadow of my failure to keep him safe -- to do what he had done for me -- was to follow me for four and a half years.” 

That magazine-article-turned-book -- both titled “The Death and Life of Dith Pran” -- and the movie adaptation, The Killing Fields, chronicled Pran’s long journey as he navigated and survived the unthinkable horror of the Cambodian autogenocide and also stands as a testament to his enduring friendship with Schanberg.  A Disappearance in Damascus brings to mind some of the same themes of friendship and responsibility, raises some of the same questions about duty and loyalty, and evokes some of the same emotions, though I won’t give away whether Ahlam, like Pran, makes it out alive.  In war -- or even its shadow -- nothing is certain.  (At least until you read the book.)

Someone Has to Open the Door

When they meet again in 1979, after Pran has survived the unimaginable and trekked through Cambodia’s killing fields to safety beyond the Thai border, Schanberg asks his friend if he can ever forgive him.  “Nothing to forgive,” Pran replies, offering him something like complete absolution. 

Not all relationships with fixers, of course, blossom into Schanberg-Pran, Campbell-Ahlam love stories.  And not all fixers are fantastic and fearless.  There are the incompetent ones and the lazy ones and those allergic to schedules.  Others come to see you as a bottomless wallet -- and who can blame them, given our privilege and relative riches?  But this can lead to unrealistic expectations, as it once did for me, when I received an email from a fixer I’d worked with many times asking for a stipend of $500 per month in (more or less) perpetuity.  And that, in turn, can result in hurt feelings when you explain that you simply can’t do it.  These are, thankfully, the exceptions.

While largely unknown to the public, fixers might finally be getting some much-deserved recognition -- albeit in small ways.  A Disappearance in Damascus is a shining example.  These days, foreign correspondents seem to be acknowledging those who helped them more openly, offering warm tributes to and remembrances of their fixers.  Perhaps this is evidence, as reporter Aaron Schachter put it, of a greater willingness to admit the “dirty little secret of foreign correspondents: We don't do our own stunts.”  Late last year, Roads & Kingdoms, a digital magazine “publishing longform dispatches, interviews, and global ephemera,” began a series called “Unbylined” in which fixers from Mexico to Haiti, Afghanistan to Libya, get their say through thoughtful interviews focused on their craft.

Still, even fixers are just part of the story.  Where would foreign correspondents be without great drivers?  Probably stranded on some wretched stretch of road.  I can’t count the number of times I’ve stayed too long doing interviews, leaving my driver to try to make up the time to the river before the last ferry departs for the day or get off a dangerous road before dark.  These are the guys who know all the shortcuts, the complex language of car horns, and how to make good time on bad roads.  Along with them, depending on where you travel, there are the motorbike drivers and the men and women who pilot boats, as well as those who fly the puddle jumpers and helicopters that get you where you’re going.  And that’s just to begin a list. 

There are precious few Africans (or Afghans or Iraqis, for that matter) of much depth in Jeffrey Gettleman’s Love, Africa -- another in a list of reasons the book has been panned by many and excoriated in his own newspaper’s book review.  But in his discussion of “Commander Peacock” (the man’s own nom de guerre), an Ethiopian who is treated as a person and not simply a prop, Gettleman offers up important insights into what he calls “the transitive property of trust.”  He observes:

“Reporters deposit their lives in it all the time. People I’d trusted had hooked me up with people they’d trusted who hooked me up with people they’d trusted. Peacock and I were simply two terminal points on a long line drawn by trust.”

This form of faith -- based on a sequence of relationships -- is often key to overseas reporting, but it isn’t the only type of journalistic trust to be found out there.  There’s trust of another sort, trust that’s earned, like that between Schanberg and Pran or Campbell and Ahlam.  And then there’s the trust that’s freely given, a faith that you can only hope someday to be worthy of. 

That’s the trust of the Salina Sundays of this world, of those ordinary people who exhibit extraordinary courage, place their confidence in you, and even risk their lives because they believe in what you’re doing, in the stories you hope to tell.

When I met Sunday -- a gimlet-eyed, middle-aged woman with a strong bearing -- on what she reckoned was a somewhat safer road, she was setting off into South Sudan on a difficult journey to try to salvage a few of her belongings for what she expected would be a long exile in Uganda.  She was in desperate circumstances, homeless, a woman without a country.  Still, she took the time to stop and speak with a stranger. And she told me about a friend who had been murdered by rampaging South Sudanese troops, a man whose corpse she had only recently seen by the side of the road. 

I asked if she would guide me to him and she readily agreed.  In the midst of an unfolding tragedy, that is, she upended her plans and decided without hesitation to lead a foreigner she had just met down a more dangerous path, literally and figuratively.  She didn’t know a thing about me -- not whether I could get a story published or had any hope of doing justice to this particular horror or would even bother to write about it.  But she made a leap of faith and put her life on the line for the sake of my story -- and so for me as well. 

I tried to live up to her confidence, to make the risk she took worthwhile.  I think this is a common experience for many journalists.  You feel a deep responsibility to the people you interview and to your fixers, drivers, and translators -- to everyone, that is, who sacrifices and takes chances to make your work possible. 

I don’t know what Salina Sunday would think about the stories I’ve written, but I hope she would approve.  She wanted the world to know just what had happened in Bamurye, what South Sudan’s soldiers had done to her friend.  She wanted people overseas to grasp the grim nature of the war in her homeland.  It’s exactly what drove Ahlam in her work for Deborah Campbell, the reason she took risks to tell stories that could turn her into a target.  “Someone,” the Iraqi-refugee-turned-fixer said, “has to open the door and show the world what is happening.”  



Nick Turse is the managing editor of TomDispatch, a fellow at the Nation Institute, and a contributing writer for the Intercept. He recently covered ethnic cleansing by government forces in South Sudan for Harper’s Magazine and the Columbia Journalism Review. His latest book is Next Time They’ll Come to Count the Dead: War and Survival in South Sudan. His website is NickTurse.com. This article was reported in partnership with the Investigative Fund at the Nation Institute.

Follow TomDispatch on Twitter and join us on Facebook. Check out the newest Dispatch Book, Alfred McCoy's In the Shadows of the American Century: The Rise and Decline of U.S. Global Power, as well as John Dower's The Violent American Century: War and Terror Since World War II, John Feffer's dystopian novel Splinterlands, Nick Turse’s Next Time They’ll Come to Count the Dead, and Tom Engelhardt's Shadow Government: Surveillance, Secret Wars, and a Global Security State in a Single-Superpower World.

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FOCUS: Mike Pence Has Become Trump's Pathetic Culture War Prop Print
Written by <a href="index.php?option=com_comprofiler&task=userProfile&user=38548"><span class="small">Mark Joseph Stern, Slate</span></a>   
Monday, 09 October 2017 10:56

Stern writes: "Mike Pence started out as a powerful veep. He's now Trump's pathetic culture war pawn."

Vice President Mike Pence speaks at a campaign rally for 
Sen. Luther Strange on Sept. 25, 2017 in Birmingham, Alabama. (photo: Getty Images)
Vice President Mike Pence speaks at a campaign rally for Sen. Luther Strange on Sept. 25, 2017 in Birmingham, Alabama. (photo: Getty Images)


Mike Pence Has Become Trump's Pathetic Culture War Prop

By Mark Joseph Stern, Slate

09 October 17


Mike Pence started out as a powerful veep. He's now Trump's pathetic culture war pawn.

n Sunday afternoon, Vice President Mike Pence walked out of an NFL game after several San Francisco 49ers players knelt during the national anthem to protest police brutality. This “spontaneous” move had been planned in advance. Shortly after Pence’s walkout, NBC News’ Vaughn Hillyard reported that the vice president’s press pool had been told ahead of time that he might leave early. President Donald Trump then confirmed via Twitter that he had directed Pence to walk out “if any players kneeled, disrespecting our country.” Given that players from the 49ers, Colin Kaepernick’s favorite team, have kneeled before every game this year, this entire incident appears to have been a pricey, pre-planned stunt designed to fuel the flames of Trump’s crusade against the NFL.

It’s not surprising that Trump would seek to prolong a racially charged dispute in which he believes he holds the upper hand. It is more startling to see him deploy his vice president as a pawn in a culture war of his own creation. Pence did not take this job to perform demeaning tasks for the pleasure of his boss; he was expected to use his ties to the GOP establishment to help push Trump’s agenda through Congress. But following the administration’s failure to repeal and replace Obamacare, Trump seems to be repurposing Pence—and, in the process, testing the limits of his loyalty.

The bond between Trump and Pence has never been especially strong. Trump resisted choosing the former Indiana governor and congressman as his running mate, finally assenting to his selection at the behest of then-campaign chairman Paul Manafort. (Remember that guy?) Even then, Trump tried to drop Pence after he’d been offered the position. Pence performed ably in the role of generic Republican, shoring up support among those who doubted Trump’s GOP bona fides. After the election, Pence fulfilled an important role, leading a presidential transition team that included future national security adviser Mike Flynn.

It’s still not clear whether Pence knew at the time that Flynn had spoken to the Russian ambassador about the possibility that the U.S. might ease sanctions against Vladimir Putin et al. Pence first denied the sanctions conversation had occurred, then claimed Flynn had misled him. In reality, Trump also misled his veep; the president knew Flynn had lied to Pence, but didn’t inform his vice president for weeks. Although he kept quiet in public, Pence was reportedly furious that Trump had kept him in the dark and had allowed him to state a falsehood on TV. Basically, he was mad that Trump had used him.

Since assuming office, Pence has performed three primary duties: representing Trump overseas, fundraising, and lobbying Congress. It’s this last job Trump cares about the most. It’s also the area where Pence has had the least success. Yes, the vice president has cast several tie-breaking votes in the Senate, including one to confirm Secretary of Education Betsy DeVos and another to let states defund Planned Parenthood. But Pence was also supposed to secure votes for Obamacare repeal, serving as the Trump administration’s man on the hill during negotiations.

He had some success early on, persuading a majority of the House Freedom Caucus to vote in favor of the American Health Care Act. But his efforts quickly sputtered in the Senate. Pence attended almost every closed-door Tuesday lunch with GOP senators to reassure agnostic moderates that repeal would not decimate their states’ Medicaid programs. He held a dinner with conservative hard-liners to assuage their concerns about the wisdom of repeal-and-replace; he gave a speech at the Ohio Republican Party state dinner that was clearly designed to push Sen. Rob Portman into the yes column; and he attended a meeting of the National Governors Association to pressure Republican governors into supporting the Senate’s repeal plan. When Ohio Gov. John Kasich refused to budge, Pence attacked him with two blatant falsehoods. The vice president went through this whole process again in September, stumping for Graham-Cassidy in purple states and bashing Republican defectors, including Sen. John McCain, as Obamacare supporters.

This role was not a comfortable one for the vice president. Pence is not, by nature, a team player or a glad-hander. He spent his 12 years in the House of Representatives playing up his Christian conservative credentials by introducing symbolic bills and resolutions that went nowhere. Having failed to accomplish anything independently, he then bucked his own party on major votes like Medicare Part D, No Child Left Behind, and the 2008 bank bailout. Pence ran for governor in 2012 because he realized his path to the White House would not run through the House. He then spent four years mostly signing legislation handed to him by a Republican state legislature. Michael Leppert, an Indiana lobbyist, told me Pence rarely “drove through agenda items of his own. He was very much trying to stay out of trouble. And he didn’t do that very well.” To that end, Leppert mentioned a draconian anti-abortion measure, signed by Pence, which was later struck down as unconstitutional.

“He could have worked with the legislature to make the bill less extreme,” Leppert said. “Instead, he sat back, let it come to him, and signed it—then took all the abuse for a bill that wasn’t really his. He didn’t manage the legislature, and he let ideology trump pragmatism.”

Pence vied for the vice presidency not because he was eager to serve Trump, but because he was poised to lose reelection. By 2016, he was quite unpopular in Indiana; his defense of an anti-LGBTQ “religious liberty” law was especially ignominious to the state. He faced a rematch with centrist Democrat John Gregg, who nearly beat him in 2012. Gregg and Pence were virtually tied in the months before Trump plucked Pence out of the race. In May, Gregg—an old friend and law school classmate of Pence—told me the vice president likely felt embarrassed by Trump. Pence knew, however, that running alongside the reality TV personality would bring him to the national stage, and would transform him into an early 2020 frontrunner if Trump lost.

When Trump won, he understandably expected Pence to prove his usefulness by securing congressional victories. Pence has certainly served as a loyal foot soldier, refusing to speak a cross word about his boss and vigorously supporting his legislative priorities. But he also over-promised and under-delivered, particularly on health care. Publicly, Trump has never reprimanded Pence for his botched role in the Obamacare debacle. But it’s difficult to believe the president was not infuriated by Pence’s obvious ineffectiveness. What, after all, is Pence good for if he cannot secure Republican votes on the Hill?

We now have one possible answer to that question. On Sunday, Trump used Pence for the undignified purpose of reigniting his NFL flame war, a publicity stunt the vice president would never have come up with on his own. Pence is a reactionary, to be sure, but not an easily triggered provocateur like Trump; when theatergoers booed him at a performance of Hamilton, he defended their right to do so. Now, however, Trump is auditioning his second-in-command for a new role as a prop in the grudges he fosters to keep his white-working class base satiated. Trump may be punishing Pence for his past failures, or demanding proof of loyalty, or both. Regardless, Sunday’s charade is surely a new low point for the vice president. Pence teamed up with Trump to gain power and prestige in Washington. Less than nine months into his tenure, he is humiliating himself for the entertainment of a crowd that never much cared for him to begin with.


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They Can't Repeal Obamacare, So They'll Just Make Sure It Doesn't Work Print
Written by <a href="index.php?option=com_comprofiler&task=userProfile&user=11104"><span class="small">Charles Pierce, Esquire</span></a>   
Monday, 09 October 2017 08:42

Pierce writes: "Donald Trump is determined to undermine Barack Obama's legacy."

Donald Trump. (photo: Getty Images)
Donald Trump. (photo: Getty Images)


They Can't Repeal Obamacare, So They'll Just Make Sure It Doesn't Work

By Charles Pierce, Esquire

09 October 17


Donald Trump is determined to undermine Barack Obama's legacy.

he mock heroics of the Never Trump performance artists in the Congress continue apace. Every now and again, they throw another vote to keep the Affordable Care Act alive, but they do nothing to stop the ongoing sabotage deliberately designed to make the Act fail out in the country. This is true even in states with two Republican senators—like, say, Iowa. From The Washington Post:

For months, officials in Republican-controlled Iowa had sought federal permission to revitalize their ailing health-insurance marketplace. Then President Trump read about the request in a newspaper story and called the federal director weighing the application. Trump's message in late August was clear, according to individuals who spoke on the condition of anonymity to discuss private conversations: Tell Iowa no.

Hey, Senator Chuck? Senator Joni? He's playing you like he played all those landscapers and designers he stiffed through the years. Good morning, suckers.

HHS has told its regional administrators not to even meet with on-the-ground organizations about enrollment. The late decision, which department spokesman Matt Lloyd said was made because such groups organize and implement events "with their own agenda," left leaders of grass-roots organizations feeling stranded.
"I don't think it's too much to ask the agency tasked with outreach and enrollment to be involved with that," said Roy Mitchell, executive director for the Mississippi Health Advocacy Program, which receives no federal funding for its ACA efforts. "There's money for HHS to fly around on private jets, but there's not money and resources to do outreach in Mississippi."

Well-played, Roy Mitchell.

And I would note to young master Lloyd: It is not an "agenda" to try and make sure a duly enacted statute actually works. In fact, it's what your boss swore to do. Honest. I was standing right there and the Hugest Crowd In Recorded History heard him, too. Of course, he is still an Angry Toddler. (H/T Quinn Cummings.)

It was a Wall Street Journal article about Iowa's request that provoked Trump's ire, according to an individual briefed on the exchange. The story detailed how officials had just submitted the application for a Section 1332 waiver — a provision that allows states to adjust how they are implementing the ACA as long as they can prove it would not translate into lost or less-affordable coverage. Iowa's aim was to foster more competition and better prices. The story said other states hoping to stabilize their situations were watching closely. Trump first tried to reach Price, the individual recounted, but the secretary was traveling in Asia and unavailable. The president then called Seema Verma, administrator of the Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services, the agency charged with authorizing or rejecting Section 1332 applications. CMS had been working closely with Iowa as it fine-tuned its submission. State Insurance Commissioner Doug Ommen has repeatedly described the "Iowa Stopgap Measure" as critical to expanding marketplace options there. The plan would abolish the ACA exchange there and convert consumer subsidies into a type of GOP-styled tax credit. New financial buffers would help insurers handle customers with particularly high medical expenses. Without the measure, "over 20,000 middle class farmers, early retirees and self-employed Iowans will likely either go uninsured or leave Iowa," Ommen warned in a Sept. 19 statement.

They're screwing Oklahoma this way, too. Rubes.


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DeVos Defends Trump: "Would a Moron Hire Me?" Print
Written by <a href="index.php?option=com_comprofiler&task=userProfile&user=9160"><span class="small">Andy Borowitz, The New Yorker</span></a>   
Sunday, 08 October 2017 13:05

Borowitz writes: "'My intelligence can be very intimidating," DeVos said. 'And if Donald Trump was a moron, he would not want to be around people who are intelligenter than him.'"

Betsy DeVos. (photo: Alex Brandon/AP)
Betsy DeVos. (photo: Alex Brandon/AP)


DeVos Defends Trump: "Would a Moron Hire Me?"

By Andy Borowitz, The New Yorker

08 October 17

 

The article below is satire. Andy Borowitz is an American comedian and New York Times-bestselling author who satirizes the news for his column, "The Borowitz Report."


ecretary of Education Betsy DeVos offered a spirited defense of her boss’s intelligence on Friday, bluntly asking reporters, “Would a moron hire me?”

“My intelligence can be very intimidating,” DeVos said. “And if Donald Trump was a moron, he would not want to be around people who are intelligenter than him.”

As evidence that Trump does not feel inferior around highly intelligent people, DeVos singled out other members of Trump’s Cabinet. "Leave me out of it for a second,” she said. “If Donald Trump was such a blithering idiot, why would he have hired Rick Perry?”

“Jared Kushner is also super smart,” she added. “He doesn’t even work on Saturdays because he’s a Jewish person and whatnot, but he doesn’t have to because of his huge brain and all. He’s so smart I have a nickname for him. I call him Smart Jared.”

Arguing that only a “very smart person would hire such very smart persons,” DeVos said, “Think about it. Rick Perry, Jared Kushner, and me. Wouldn’t Donald Trump have to be pretty smart to hire four people like that?”


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America's Gun Fantasy Print
Sunday, 08 October 2017 13:03

Andersen writes: "Very, very few of the guns in America are used for hunting. Americans who own guns today keep arsenals in a way people did not 40 years ago. It seems plain to me that that's because they - not all, but many - have given themselves over to fantasies."

The Supreme Court ruled Monday on a case involving 
whether those convicted of domestic violence can own guns. (photo: Shutterstock)
The Supreme Court ruled Monday on a case involving whether those convicted of domestic violence can own guns. (photo: Shutterstock)


America's Gun Fantasy

By Kurt Andersen, Slate

08 October 17


Three percent of the nation owns half the firearms—to prepare for an ultraviolent showdown that exists only in their imagination.

Excerpt reprinted from Fantasyland: How America Went Haywire: A 500-Year History copyright © 2017 by Kurt Andersen. With permission from the publisher, Random House. All rights reserved.


ne set of fantasies has had more current, awful, undeniable real-world consequences than any other: the one that recast owning guns as among the most important rights, as American liberty and individualism incarnate. During my lifetime, the love of guns has become a fetish.

As a little kid, I was perpetually armed with cap guns until I graduated to BB guns and then, at YMCA summer camp and a great-uncle’s farm, to .22 rifles. One of my fondest childhood memories is my dad and me turning an old 3-inch pipe into an improvised cherry bomb–powered mortar to fire tennis balls at grazing cows 50 yards away. One of my older brother’s fondest childhood memories is ordering me to run across the backyard so he could shoot me with a BB gun from 30 yards and watch me crumple in pain to the ground, which he excitedly said at the time “was just like a movie.” As an adult, I’ve enjoyed hunting turkey and shooting skeet, always feeling a little like Daniel Boone or Lord Grantham. And when my wife went to China and got to fire an Uzi at a shooting range, I was very jealous.

I get the fun of guns, and of the various fantasies that shooting makes possible.

But. Oh, but. I thought of my BB gun escapade not long ago, when I read an essay by the poet Gregory Orr. Just days before Orr’s piece was published, on a firing range outside Las Vegas, a 9-year-old had lost control of her fully automatic Uzi and shot her instructor dead. Orr is my brother’s age. When he was 12, the age my brother was when he shot me with a BB on purpose, Orr accidentally shot and killed his little brother while they were hunting. “To hunt,” Orr wrote, “to fire a gun is to have your imagination tangled up with fantasies of power. A fatal accident makes a mockery of these fantasies.”

Still, hunting isn’t pure fantasy: You shoot a pheasant or a deer, and you eat it. But over the past few decades, Americans have lost their taste for hunting. Only 15 percent of us now say we ever hunt, less than half as many as in the 1970s. In any given year, maybe a third of those hunters among us, 5 percent of Americans, actually slog through fields and forests with rifles and shotguns.

In fact, fewer of us now own any kind of gun for any reason—even as the number of guns has increased phenomenally. In the 1970s about half of Americans had a gun, and it was almost always just a gun, one on average. Today only about a quarter of Americans own guns—but the average owner has three or four. Fewer than 8 million people, only 3 percent of all American adults, own roughly half the guns. Members of that tiny minority of superenthusiasts own an average of 17 guns apiece. (These data come from NORC at the University of Chicago’s 2015 General Social Survey, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service’s 2011 survey, the Congressional Research Service, the Federal Reserve, research by Florida State University criminologist Gary Kleck, and a survey conducted in 2015 by Harvard and Northeastern University researchers.)

Let me put a finer point on what I’m saying. Very, very few of the guns in America are used for hunting. Americans who own guns today keep arsenals in a way people did not 40 years ago. It seems plain to me that that’s because they—not all, but many—have given themselves over to fantasies.

The way I did as a child and still do when I shoot, they imagine they’re militiamen, pioneers, Wild West cowboys, soldiers, characters they’ve watched all their lives in movies and on TV, heroes and antiheroes played by Clint Eastwood and Mel Gibson and the Rock, like Davy Crockett or Butch or Sundance or Rambo or Neo (or Ellen Ripley or Sarah Connor). They’re like children playing with lightsabers, except they believe they’re prepared to fight off real-life aliens (from the Middle East, from Mexico) and storm troopers, and their state-of-the-art weapons actually wound and kill. Why did gangsters and wannabe gangsters start holding and firing their handguns sideways, parallel to the ground, even though that compromises their aim and control? Because it looks cool, and it began looking cool after filmmakers started directing actors to do it, originally in the ’60s, constantly by the ’90s. (It also made it easier to frame the gun and the actor’s face in the same tight shot.) Why are Americans buying semi-automatic AR-15s and rifles like it more than any other style, 1.5 million each year? Because holding and shooting one makes them feel cooler, more like commandos. For the same reason, half the states now require no license for people to carry their guns openly in public places. It’s the same reason, really, that a third of the vehicles sold in America are pickups and four-wheel-drive Walter Mitty–mobiles, even though three-quarters of four-wheel-drive off-road vehicles never go off road. It’s even the reason blue jeans became the American uniform after the 1960s. We are actors in a 24/7 tableau vivant, schlubs playing the parts of heroic tough guys.

Spectacular mass killings happen in America far more often than anywhere else, and not just because we make massacre-perfect weapons so easy to buy. Such killers are also engaged in role play and are motivated by our besetting national dream of overnight fame. The experts say that most mass killers are not psychotics or paranoid schizophrenics entirely in the throes of clinical delusion; rather, they’re citizens of Fantasyland, unhappy people with flaws and failures they blame on others, the system, the elitists, the world. They worry those resentments into sensational fantasies of paramilitary vengeance, and they know that acting out those fantasies will make a big splash and force the rest of us to pay attention to them for the first time.

Beyond the free-floating American myths underlying law-abiding American gun love—the frontier, badass individualism, action movies—there are the specific frightened scenarios driving the die-hard ferocity concerning gun regulation.

The least fantastical is the idea that if a criminal threatens or attacks tomorrow, you want a gun handy to kill him. Being prepared for a showdown with a bad guy is the main reason gun owners give for owning one, and in the surveys that answer has doubled since the 1990s. During the same period, the chance of an American actually having such an encounter has decreased by half. In New York City, where restrictions on owning and carrying guns are among the strictest in the United States, the chance of being murdered is 81 percent less than it was in 1990.

Keeping a handgun for protection may be foolish, but it’s not irrational. Even though violent crime has dramatically declined, in a country where every fourth person owns a gun, the hankering to be armed is understandable. Each of us runs life-and-death cost-benefit calculations differently. Every year, according to the Justice Department’s massive Crime Victimization Surveys, about 1 in 6,000 Americans display or fire a gun in self-defense during an attempted robbery or assault. But the dozens of new state laws that practically itch for make-my-day citizen showdowns—concealed carry, “stand your ground”—have been driven much more by fantasy and hysteria than by reason and prudence.

But beyond the prospect of protecting oneself against random attacks—and by the way, among the million-plus Americans interviewed in 10 years of Crime Victimization Surveys, exactly one sexual assault victim used a gun in self-defense—several outlandish scenarios and pure fantasies drive the politics of gun control. One newer fantasy has it that in the face of an attack by jihadi terrorists, armed random civilians will save the day. Another is the fantasy that patriots will be obliged to become terrorist rebels, like Americans did in 1776 and 1861, this time to defend liberty against the U.S. government before it fully reveals itself as a tyrannical fascist-socialist-globalist regime and tries to confiscate every private gun.

This uprising scenario, when it appeared in the 1960s, stirred people only on the farthest fringes of American politics. It is now deep in the mainstream, thanks in large measure to the work of the National Rifle Association and its affiliated hysterics. How did that happen?

When the founders wrote the Constitution, they envisioned a very small permanent national military. If Americans needed to fight wars, the states would assemble their militias. And so the Second Amendment: “A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.” For more than two centuries, the Supreme Court avoided making any sweeping decision about what the Second Amendment meant. It just didn’t come up that much. Increasingly it seemed an artifact of another time.

The court OK’d prohibiting certain kinds of firearms, such as sawed-off shotguns. In 1980 a decision passingly noted that the Second Amendment guarantees an individual’s right to have a gun only if it bears “some reasonable relationship to the preservation or efficiency of a well regulated militia.” But thereafter the constitutional can got kicked farther down the road. States and cities that wanted to restrict gun ownership did, and occasionally Congress enacted modest regulations. Meanwhile people who loved owning guns could indulge their love in the United States more freely and fully than almost anywhere else on Earth.

But after the NRA’s apoplectic-fantasist faction took control in the late 1970s, it turned its dial up to 11 and kept it there, becoming the center of a powerful new political movement that opposed any and all regulation of firearms—the types and numbers of guns and accessories and ammo people could buy, who could buy them and how easily, registration, licensing, even a requirement to use safety locks. Nevertheless Congress in the 1990s managed to enact two laws—one requiring most gun buyers to pass an FBI background check to screen out criminals and another banning the manufacture of certain semi-automatic guns and of magazines that hold more than 10 rounds.

In response, the NRA sent a particularly hysterical, 2,600-word fundraising letter to its members. “President Clinton’s army of anti-gun government agents continues to intimidate and harass law-abiding citizens,” as in “Waco and the Branch Davidians.” Today they’re poking into a weapons cache; tomorrow they’ll be taking away everyone’s “right to free speech, free practice of religion, and every other freedom in the Bill of Rights.” The new assault weapons ban “gives jackbooted Government thugs more power to take away our constitutional rights, break in our doors, seize our guns, destroy our property and even injure and kill us. … Not too long ago, it was unthinkable for federal agents wearing Nazi bucket helmets and black storm trooper uniforms to attack law-abiding citizens.”

The letter was signed by Wayne LaPierre, the NRA’s CEO. Growing up, LaPierre wasn’t a young outdoorsman but a nerd, a politics nerd, and not even a conservative one. At 22, he volunteered for the George McGovern presidential campaign, then went to work for a Democrat in the Virginia state Legislature. From there, he happened to get a low-level lobbying job with the NRA in 1978, right after its extremist faction had taken over—and in 1991, he became CEO.

The 1995 jackbooted-government-thugs letter was the moment the NRA inarguably settled in deepest Fantasyland. It seemed demented even to Republicans, dozens of whom had voted for the assault weapons ban in Congress. Former President George H.W. Bush resigned from the NRA in protest. Just days after the letter went out, the anti–gun-regulation activist Timothy McVeigh blew up the Oklahoma City federal building.

LaPierre and the gun rights zealots, however, did not rethink or walk it back. Although they dominated the political process concerning gun regulation, that wasn’t enough. They sought total victory, unequivocal and unambiguous. They needed to convince a majority of the Supreme Court to ratify their new everybody’s-a-freelance-militiaman interpretation of the Second Amendment once and for all. In the 1990s that still seemed improbable. No less a figure than Chief Justice Warren Burger, a conservative appointed by Nixon, complained after he retired that the Second Amendment “has been the subject of one of the greatest pieces of fraud—I repeat the word fraud—on the American public by special interest groups that I have ever seen in my lifetime.”

But the winds were with the gun lobbyists. When the ban on semi-automatic weapons expired in 2004, it was not renewed. Even more amazingly, what Chief Justice Burger had denounced as a fraud in the 1990s had become respectable jurisprudence by the 2000s. In cases in 2008 and 2010, the Supreme Court finally agreed to decide the fundamental meaning of the Second Amendment. Four of the justices still interpreted it the old way. In the 2010 case, for instance, Justice Stephen Breyer wrote an opinion noting that back in 1791, “the Framers did not write the Second Amendment in order to protect a private right of armed self defense. There has been, and is, no consensus that the right is, or was, ‘fundamental.’”

But in both cases, five justices went with the new reading. Now our Constitution does indeed guarantee each one of us the right to own firearms. We can argue all we want about how different guns were in the 1790s, when it took a minute to fire three shots, and about the correlation between the numbers of guns and gun deaths in the contemporary world, and how Australia’s 1996 roundup program worked. Those debates are academic, however. In this instance, the Constitution apparently is a suicide pact, and not just metaphorically.

So that’s how we got here. The NRA has won. Yet the group and its compatriots seem no less paranoid or angry, still convinced that tyranny is right around the corner and that federal agents are coming for their guns. The wholesale confiscation of guns was never seriously bruited in the United States. Through the 1980s, even most conservatives considered the fear of confiscation to be screwball paranoia, relegated to self-published tracts like Behold a Pale Horse, which imagined a “patriot data bank” kept by the government, “consist[ing] of information collected about American patriots, men and women who are most likely to resist the destruction of our Constitution and the formation of the totalitarian police state under the New World Order.” Now, however, thanks to the NRA, it’s the rare Republican leader who doesn’t encourage the confiscation fantasy.

LaPierre says that FBI background checks “are just the first step in their long march to destroying our Second Amendment–protected rights.” Thus the NRA made sure that current federal law requires that the record of every gun buyer who goes through a background check be destroyed. Nevertheless one of LaPierre’s lobbyists has noted that if the government did maintain “a database or a registration of Americans who are exercising a constitutional right”—that’d be “just like [if] they … maintain a database of all Methodists, all Baptists, all people of different religious or ethnic backgrounds.” Extreme American gun love really is a lot like American religious faith.

So one unlikely possibility—a federal registry—leads to a supremely implausible fantasy: confiscation of guns. And that leads to an even more fantastical narrative. After the full police-state erasure of liberty, in the final SHTF dream, well-armed Americans will be obliged to launch an uprising against the U.S. government.

This chain of fantasies and ones like it have become respectable. It was a milestone when, at the beginning of this century, the NRA’s president—a movie star famous for playing 19th-century American soldiers—ended a speech to his members by urging them “to defeat the divisive forces that would take freedom away,” then lifted a replica of a Revolutionary War rifle and snarled “fighting words for everyone within the sound of my voice to hear and to heed … ‘From my cold, dead hands!’” In other words, Charlton Heston was saying: You’ll have to kill me if you try to take away my guns.

After that, the threat of armed insurrection became more explicit. Instead of ignoring or wishing away the first half of the Second Amendment, as it had always done, the gun rights movement embraced the idea that civilians needed guns for paramilitary purposes. And finally the Supreme Court agreed. One of the decisive opinions, written by Justice Antonin Scalia, says that the Second Amendment allows everybody to have guns so that they can spontaneously form militias when necessary—that is, to make “the able-bodied men of a nation … better able to resist tyranny,” to join an armed “resistance to … the depredations of a tyrannical government,” to shoot and kill members of a U.S. “standing army” they don’t like. Scalia acknowledged that such a contingency is absurd, given that in this day and age “a militia, to be as effective as militias in the 18th century, would require sophisticated arms” and “that no amount of small arms could be useful against modern-day bombers and tanks.” But so be it: The Constitution gives every American the right to amass an arsenal to prepare to enact that doomed fantasy.

(The relentless propagation of the confiscation fantasy paved the way both for the revised new understanding of the Second Amendment and for our 300 million–gun stockpile. Both in turn make really meaningful gun control in the United States impossible: At this point, short of amending the Constitution and buying up guns—that is, fairly confiscating them, as Australia did—what else would do the trick? But doing any such thing, of course, is now a total political fantasy.)

Are the gun zealots like dogs who catch the car but don’t want to stop barking and snarling? Or the child who threatens to hold his breath until he dies? Despite their essentially total victory, they demand more: the freedom to fire dozens of rounds without reloading; to carry guns anywhere they please, like cops or soldiers; a still greener green light to shoot people if they feel threatened. They have to look hard for things that still outrage them, such as the bureaucratic protocol that prevented military veterans of “marked subnormal intelligence, or mental illness” from passing FBI background checks to buy guns. Or the Arms Trade Treaty adopted by the U.N. in 2013 to monitor the international weapons business and reduce the flow to bad actors, such as terrorists. “The tyrants and dictators at the United Nations will stop at nothing,” LaPierre said, “to register, ban and, eventually, confiscate firearms owned by law-abiding Americans.” The U.S. Senate refused to ratify the treaty.

Reasonable people hoped that after the massacre in 2012 of the 20 first-graders and six adults at the Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut, the delirium might begin to break. The killer’s mother, who home-schooled him, “had a survivalist philosophy, which is why she was stockpiling guns,” according to her sister-in-law. The stockpile consisted of seven firearms, including the rifle with which her son murdered her. To murder the children and teachers, he used her semi-automatic “modern sporting rifle”—that’s the term preferred by the national gun industry trade association, which happens to be headquartered right there in Newtown. The killer brought 22 high-capacity 30-round magazines with him to the school.

All the guns had been legally purchased by his mom. According to a Connecticut state report, she “seemed unaware of any potential detrimental impact of providing unfettered access to firearms to their son,” even near the end, “when [she] noted that he would not leave the house and seemed despondent.” Yet the sister-in-law defended her on this count—she “wasn’t one to deny reality. She would have sought psychiatric help for her son had she felt he needed it.”

She wasn’t one to deny reality. Right after the massacre and ever since, conspiracists have fantasized alternate realities about what happened. Maybe it involved an international banking scandal, and maybe Israeli intelligence was involved, but in any case the killings and cover-up were obviously undertaken by the government and media to gin up support for gun regulation. Some (such as Alex Jones) decided it hadn’t actually happened at all, that it was all … a staged fantasy, with actors playing grieving parents on TV. Or else the shooter was a hireling, a pawn, a Manchurian Candidate or a Lee Harvey Oswald. The father of one of the murdered children devotes himself to debunking the Sandy Hook conspiracy theories; in 2016 one of the pro-gun fantasists was indicted in Florida for threatening to kill him.

Two months later, the same day President Trump addressed the right wing’s big annual Conservative Political Action Conference, so did Wayne LaPierre. They had completely won. So how could he keep the madness going? By presenting an even crazier new fantasy of armed patriots’ self-defense. “Right now,” LaPierre told them, “we face a gathering of forces that are willing to use violence against us … some of the most radical political elements there are. Anarchists, Marxists, communists, and the whole rest of the left-wing socialist brigade.” Does he know this is madness? After 39 years with the NRA, is he really itching for an actual civil war, or are his horrific movie-trailer visions just good for business? “Make no mistake, if the violent left brings their terror … into our homes, they will be met with … full force of American freedom in the hands of the American people, and we will win.”


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