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Trump’s 9/11 plans include hosting a boxing match with “no holds barred commentary”

Despite Donald Trump’s new claims about firefighters pulling him to safety on 9/11, his big plans for observing the 20th anniversary of that day don’t appear to be honoring first responders or even those we lost. Instead, he’ll be getting ready to rumble.

The ex-president will host the Triller Fight Club heavyweight boxing match between Evander Holyfield and Vitor Belfort on Saturday, Sept. 11, FITE announced on Tuesday. The fight between two UFC heavyweight champions is set to take place in Florida, where Trump has primarily resided since leaving the White House in January.

“I love great fighters and great fights. I look forward to seeing both this Saturday night and sharing my thoughts ringside. You won’t want to miss this special event,” Trump said in a press release shared by Variety.


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The former president as well as his son, Donald Trump Jr., or Don Jr., will both provide ringside, “alternative No Holds Barred commentary” throughout the fight. Trump has previously hosted boxing matches at his casinos in the 1980s and 1990s.

You’ll note that in FITE’s tweet announcing Trump’s presence at the upcoming match tags his son, Don Jr., but not the ousted 45th president, himself. That’s because, in case you’ve forgotten, as FITE seems to have, Trump’s Twitter was permanently suspended after he used it to encourage his supporters to stage an insurrection at the Capitol after losing the 2020 presidential election.

As you’ll recall, after nearly four years of spreading massive amounts of misinformation and lies about everything from COVID and immigration to the outcome and integrity of the 2020 election, for weeks, Trump refused to concede and facilitate an orderly transition of power with the incoming Biden administration. 

This nightmarish saga led to one of the darkest days in modern American history, when his supporters stormed the Capitol, resulting in several injuries and deaths. The terror of Jan. 6 reminded some onlookers of the fear that engulfed the nation on 9/11.

The Holyfield vs. Belfort fight set for Saturday has been plagued with complications even prior to the announcement that it will be a Trump family affair. Belfort was originally set to fight Oscar De La Hoya, who had to drop out after testing positive for COVID-19 on Sept. 3. Other fights scheduled for this Saturday include Anderson Silva v. Tito Ortiz, David Haye v. Joe Fournier and Andy Vences v. Jono Carroll. 

The gendered burden to “Just Get on the Pill”: “That is not reproductive freedom. It’s the opposite”

Somewhere over the course of decades of fighting for the right to use birth control, and later, the right to access it from health providers, we may have forgotten to ask those who use it whether it works for them.

In University of Oregon professor Krystale Littlejohn’s newly released book, “Just Get On the Pill,” Littlejohn explores what she calls “the uneven burden of reproductive politics.” This entails the cultural and societal pressures women face when they’re told to “just get on the pill,” or really any hormonal birth control method, and therefore assume sole responsibility for preventing pregnancy — no matter the cost to them.

Over the course of hundreds of interviews, originally part of a study with Stanford and UC Berkeley about why women don’t always use birth control when they want to prevent pregnancy, Littlejohn recalls seeing universal threads in the diverse interviewees’ stories. Parents, friends, doctors, and certainly, partners who all had their own convenient reasons for not wanting to use condoms, implicitly or explicitly pushed each of these women to get on birth control.

While Littlejohn notes that hormonal contraception can be a vital and empowering resource for those who freely choose it, based on different social contexts, it can also be a part of denying women agency, autonomy and even safety. Using long-term hormonal birth control methods can make women more susceptible to STDs if sexual partners use this as an excuse to not wear condoms, or even more susceptible to unintended pregnancy, if birth control is used inconsistently and without a condom. 


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Our public conversation around birth control has fixated for so long on a rights framework, for example, fighting just to get employers and insurers to cover contraceptives, Littlejohn notes in “Just Get On the Pill.” Somewhere along the way, we forgot to ask people who use hormonal birth control whether they feel safe and supported in doing so, or whether the side effects they experience are manageable. And certainly, we forgot to engage in a collective conversation on condom etiquette and safety.

“The real message here is reproductive autonomy has to be at the center of our discussions and thinking about birth control and pregnancy prevention,” Littlejohn told Salon. “People should absolutely have access to birth control so they have the freedom to manage fertility as they want to, and of course they should not be pressured to do so.”

In an interview on her new book, Littlejohn discussed the surprising and upsetting revelations of hundreds of interviews with women about sex and birth control, the invisible gendered labor of managing birth control side effects, what sex-positive parents are and aren’t getting right, and more.

At one point you cite a surprising statistic: 65% of women have never bought their own condoms. When did it first occur to you that we assign genders to condoms and birth control pills?

I want to say it was the third time reading the transcript — the team interviewed over 100 women, and it produced thousands of pages of transcripts. Over the course of several years, doing my analysis, I realized with bodies and birth control there’s a really important phenomenon taking place that I just wasn’t as trained to be as attuned to. I realized this is the story I want to tell — the ideas about bodies and gender that are fundamentally shaping how people behave around birth control, having these really negative consequences. So, I wish I could say, “I went in knowing this was important!” But instead, it only came up through reading the transcripts, having these interviews, and that’s the power of sociology.

Many of the interviews seamlessly blend together. At what point did you start to see universal threads in these diverse women’s experiences with compulsory birth control use?

I saw that pretty immediately, as I was reading over the transcripts and this came up over and over again. In terms of the interviews, for context on the structure, we asked women in the study to start with the first partner they had sexual intercourse with, and about every single partner after that, their experiences with pregnancy, birth control, abortion, orgasm. We tried to get as full of a history as we could, and what I noticed is how many people, partner after partner, would just not wear condoms, partners resisting condoms, telling them they should “just get on the pill,” having parents telling them they should get on birth control, friends telling them to. 

It just was this really pervasive phenomenon. I just remembered talking about it often, not just in my research but folks in my life, to tell them how frustrating their experiences were, and hear so many people in my circle just hear how much it resonated with them too.

Your book puts into words something so relatable to pregnant-capable people: that pregnancy prevention is a form of labor that, like a lot of domestic labor, falls on our shoulders. As you were conducting these interviews, is that an idea that resonated with a lot of women you interviewed?

They absolutely talked about frustrations with having to be the ones to prevent pregnancy, they talked about frustration with their partners not understanding how much work it was to prevent pregnancy. Whether that’s trying to go to the clinic to get their birth control method, having to take it every day, dealing with side effects — there was a lot of frustration around this uneven burden they face. 

And as I was writing this book, what came up is this is absolutely gendered, and public health has often encouraged cis women to get on birth control, but there are pressures folks face across the gender spectrum if they can get pregnant. [People of all genders] experience those pressures but also don’t get their needs met, because we only talk about cis women and cis men, and it’s also cis women who have to carry the burden.

So it was striking to see how many women and people felt frustrated with the uneven gender division of labor in their lives, and also disappointing how many partners were letting them down by not stepping up to take responsibility for preventing pregnancy, or pressuring them to use prescription birth control, or people taking off condoms when they’d agreed to use condoms. It was upsetting for me as a researcher who was learning about people’s experiences, to see how much pain was involved, and the labor they had to do was intense and isn’t given enough attention.

A few years ago, a study of male hormonal birth control pills was canceled when the male subjects started to experience side effects people who take “female” birth control pills often experience daily. How do you see this in relation to your book? Is weathering the side effects of birth control a form of labor we assign along gendered lines?

There is this expectation that women should have to put up with the side effects they experience if they want to prevent pregnancy, that’s just what they’re expected to do without a focus on what that means. And for many of the people I interviewed, when they experienced side effects, they stayed on their birth control. They didn’t just stop their methods, although my research does show dissatisfaction is a big part of why many women do stop using birth control methods. 

When we talk about the burdens of using methods and managing side effects, it’s really important to highlight just how much effort and work goes into that. People talked about taking their pill at night so if they had nausea they didn’t have to deal with it during the daytime. They talked about the different methods or strategies they might have to use to try and manage their emotional side effects when they had challenges with their emotions in relationships and at work. These side effects weren’t trivial. People talked about feeling fundamentally affected, their self-esteem, relationships, ability to experience their sexuality in a way that felt freeing, if they had to deal with spotting all the time. 

There’s this gendered history of when women complain about things, they might be hysterical or overreacting. There are people out there who want to help people use birth control, but need to take seriously the complaints and challenges that they have using these methods. I believe in the power of birth control, and it’s incredibly important to help people achieve their fertility and reproductive goals. But I also think it’s important to think about what it means for them, how it affects their lives if they’re not having the best experience, so we can understand how to support them.

Contrary to prevailing narratives, your book asserts everyone should have access to birth control, but taking it isn’t inherently “empowering” based on the social contexts that push us to do so. Is it possible to challenge barriers to access contraception, and also openly discuss societal pressures to put women on birth control? What are some of the shortcomings in the conversation around birth control from our reproductive rights framework?

We have to highlight how important contraception is for people, but make sure we’re always thinking about the conditions under which people are using those methods. If we think about this historically, contraceptives themselves are incredibly powerful, but we know they’ve been used in really coercive and horrific ways. When you have these practices that pressure people to use birth control methods, that is not reproductive freedom. It’s the opposite of what these methods are supposed to be used for, to create the lives they want. 

Reproductive rights and courts, like right now, have failed to give people access to rights, and often violated people’s rights. We see this in Texas right now. Reproductive justice focuses on rights, health and justice, and gets us to recognize how courts have failed marginalized people, and how compulsory, forced sterilization laws were upheld by the Supreme Court. We always have to be thinking about justice, not just what is legal and what is a part of people’s rights, but also what is a just outcome. Even as people have the right to access birth control in this country, it doesn’t mean our approach to their experience is just.

Speaking of reproductive justice, race and birth control habits were a very interesting part of your book. How does your book subvert racist ideas that people of some races experience higher rates of unwanted pregnancy because of carelessness?

Racism can really get hidden in public health and social messaging around unintended pregnancy. There are racial differences in rates of unintended pregnancy, there are class differences in who is more likely. You end up with these messages that get explicitly communicated, where you have people saying Black women, Latinas, poor women are just being irresponsible. They’re more likely to have unintended pregnancies because they just can’t commit to using birth control regularly, or their communities are more open to having unintended pregnancies. 

It’s really important to consider their contexts, and the contexts in which people experience pregnancy prevention methods are rife with gender inequality. From that perspective, it’s not just contraceptive mistakes, that marginalized women are just not using birth control or not thinking about their fertility goals. You find they’re facing partners just like women of all backgrounds who can be resistant to wearing condoms. They have to make these choices around what to do about that, and it might seem like the only thing to do is just get on the pill in response to that. But the women in the study, especially Black women — many didn’t believe they had to be on the pill. They wanted their partners to use condoms. They were very interested in protecting themselves from disease, so they didn’t believe they had to “just get on the pill” to protect themselves from pregnancy, and didn’t believe it just has to be their responsibility to prevent pregnancy. 

So the book really challenges the ideas we have about what happens for Black women in particular and low-income women, when they experience an unwanted pregnancy. Rather than just thinking about lack of contraceptive use and individual women making individual decisions cast as careless, it’s really important to think of the gendered context they live in, that are fundamentally shaping their experiences with partners who are refusing to use condoms. Our social approach says that’s not a big deal because women should just be on the pill anyway, until you interrogate that assumption. Sometimes [not using the pill] leads to pregnancies that are undesired, but it doesn’t mean they were behaving carelessly — it’s a reflection of gender inequality.

Some interviewees recount partners agreeing to use a condom and then removing it. More recently, there’s been a lot of conversation about how this is a form of sexual assault. The subjects who recount this happening to them don’t seem to realize this — do you think the lacking public education about sexual health options can also contribute to making women unsafe?

The interviews were conducted between 2009 and 2011, before there was a more public discourse around partners removing condoms during sex without consent. And the vast majority of people in the study saw it as something that was just this annoying thing partners did, not something that was a form of sexual violence. I can only think of one woman in the study who explicitly called her partner out on that, and she told him she only wanted to have sex with him if he wore a condom, though he took the condom off without telling her. She only realized after. 

When she called him out and said he had assaulted her, he just laughed it off. Literally. It’s one of those things where the discourse for most women wasn’t there for them to recognize this is a form of sexual violence. So, instead, they just saw it as annoyances. Even in those cases like the woman I just mentioned, she did recognize it as sexual violence, but her partner just rejected her right to bodily autonomy, and said he didn’t assault her when he in fact did.

We could do a great deal of positive work if people could understand that nonconsensual condom removal is sexual violence, and partners shouldn’t do it. When it happens, that’s a violation, instead of treating it as just “boys being boys” and not being able to control themselves.

Some of your interviews were highly upsetting to read, including when an interviewee recalls how her partner called her a bitch for not wanting to go on birth control, or all the excuses male partners had for not wearing condoms, and not accepting responsibility for unwanted pregnancy. In conducting these interviews, was it ever just really, personally upsetting to hear these stories?

This is definitely the kind of project where I sometimes just needed to take a step away from the data because it was hard to hear about people having these nonconsensual sexual interactions, and with partners they really cared about. That was really heavy and hard to grapple with, as well as how their partners would dismiss their experiences, or laugh about assaulting somebody — those kinds of things were really hard. 

I am a researcher and I’ve been doing this research for more than 10 years now, but I’m also a human, and reading about people’s humanity being violated in really egregious ways, that we overlook or don’t know are going on in society, was often heart-wrenching, especially that it’s not something we talk about. That was the hardest part of this work — to see violence be normalized as this everyday experience. But it made it even more important that I told these stories, for other people with these experiences, highlighting that that’s unjust.

There were some parents in your book with very progressive views of adolescent sexual activity, who were very supportive of getting their children birth control or abortions. Yet you also rightly point out that while this may have been well-meaning, it reinforces how we pin all responsibility for pregnancy prevention on women. What can parents who want to support sexually active teens do better?

As I was working on the book, it was striking how many parents might have believed they were doing the right thing by just getting their daughters to get on prescription birth control. But they were in fact making it harder for their daughters to protect themselves from disease, and pregnancy, because they could have been better suited for using condoms.

For parents who are trying to help their children have healthy sex lives, a key thing is to make sure their children are aware of all the birth control methods that are out there instead of gendering birth control and assuming that condoms have to be tied to a particular body. They also have a right to expect partners to use condoms. For parents trying to teach their boys and kids who can get others pregnant, teach them condoms are important to use and they should take responsibility for that rather than on their partners to do all the work to prevent pregnancy. They have a big role to play in doing so. 

Changing the language around birth control, gendering condoms, calling them male and female condoms, is really counterproductive, and can seem trivial, but it’s not. If someone is regularly referring to the condom as male, people will make associations about who that is for. So, using “internal” or “external” condom makes it so people of all genders can use condom, and there’s no reason to assume a particular condom has to belong to a particular gender. We need to have conversations about what empowerment in sexuality looks like, what respect in sexual relationships look like, so people can know about their rights and safety in sexual interactions.

“Wildhood” is a Two-Spirit liberation: “I’m done with Indigenous and queer characters that are sad”

Bretten Hannam is a Two-Spirit, non-binary Mi’kmaq person, whose film, “Wildhood,” about Link (Phillip Lewitski), a Two-Spirit Mi’kmaq teenager, is having its World Premiere at the Toronto International Film Festival this week. The feature is expanded from Hannam’s 2019 award-winning short, “Wildfire.” 

The film takes a road movie narrative as Link, and his younger half-brother, Travis (Avary Winters-Anthony), flee their abusive father, Arvin (Joel Thomas Hynes), and search for Link’s absent mother, Sarah (Savonna Spracklin), who, until recently, Link believed to be dead. On their journey, they encounter Pasmay (the scene-stealing Joshua Odjick), a Two-Spirit, as well as Smokey (Michael Greyeyes), a baker, along with other Indigenous folks who help Link and Travis.

The film is an auspicious feature debut. Hannam displays a real sensitivity in telling a story about community and family. Link is an angry, impulsive teenager — he often speaks and acts before he thinks — but he is searching for a sense of belonging, questioning his family, his sexuality and his Indigenous identity. 


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Hannam spoke with Salon about “Wildhood” and the Two-Spirit and Mi’kmaq communities.

Given how few Two-Spirited Indigenous filmmakers there are, what drove you to become a filmmaker? 

I’ve always been a storyteller, even when I was young, I would make up stories. Most people would just say I was a liar. [laughs] I have always been into creative expression — usually with writing or drawing. I went to the Nova Scotia College of Art and Design, and I studied painting and drawing. I didn’t want to study film. I wanted to study fine arts. But when I began to engage in that process, someone encouraged me to check out the film program, so that is how I got into it. It ties back to when I was growing up, I watched a lot of movies — but none of them were queer. And the only Indigenous stuff was in the Westerns my dad would watch, and the [actors] were, by and large, not Indigenous people. As I started to make short films, they were inherently queer or Native Indigenous stories, and as I figured out my identity and my community, and where I fit, there were a lot of dissenting voices from different directions — “You can’t do that” — and that makes me want to prove them wrong.

The film is very much about feelings of shame, and worthlessness, but also freedom and independence. What decisions did you make regarding the characters?

It is easy when you’re dealing with this type of story to become too heavy, or dwell in melodrama, but the goal was to play characters who are real and complex and occasionally contradictory. People are fascinating, and characters should also be fascinating and have those layers. There was a lot that went into building up their backstories — who they were, and where they came from. I created these young people who have all these things going on inside of them — Link is angry, and has shame, guilt, and feeling that he’s not enough. Pasmay has similar issues, or stones in his shoe, but they are different aspects. So, it becomes more how do these individual characters deal with those difficult feelings? Everyone had different tactics to deal with being sad, or bummed out, or pissed off. They are both internal, but Pasmay tends to joke more, and Travis has no filter, so those tactics bring the characters to life. Part of that is working with the actors and talking about how they relate to the character and see how they can draw things from their own life and adjust scenes to align with their realities and experiences. I’m done with Indigenous and queer characters that are sad or hard all the time. 

The film examines issues of identity and belonging — to a family, to the Mi’kmaq people, and to the LGBTQ/Two-Spirit community. Can you talk about these intertwined themes?

The Mi’kmaq approach is more holistic than separate labels and separated out parts of an identity. Two-Spirit identity is an intersection of the relationship to land, gender, sexuality, ceremony, and culture. It’s hard in English to summarize or speak about those things succinctly. For Link going on this journey, he is finding out where he fits in all of these aspects, and what it means to be part of a community. There’s a word, tami wettabeksi, which means “where I spring from.” Finding his mother is literally where he comes from; the connection to his ancestors and culture inform who he is and answer questions he doesn’t know he has. Alongside of that there are the gender and sexual identities that are developing, and his relationship with Travis and Pasmay, the family unit he is developing. These are microcosms and macrocosms of community.

Family units are very damaged in “Wildhood.” What can you say about this dynamic Link, Travis, and Pasmay form? There is the biological family and the chosen family.

To me those things align well — the family you are born into and the family you choose, or you find. In this situation, there is a little overlap. He’s taken Travis and left with the good things and found other good things. We call that etuaptmumk, which means seeing two ways. Pasmay’s family are not seen, but they are felt through him. Link and Travis become his actual family. He tries to joke about [his estranged family], or brush It off casually, or convince himself it’s not important. But there is an example of family within the film that is multigenerational, and features a lot of openness and sharing. Compare that to what the boys have — they have the same thing: they share food, sit, and tease each other.

The film introduces viewers into the Mi’kmaq world. How did you incorporate the Mi’kmaq people in the film, and how did Indigenous representation inform “Wildhood”?

Mi’kmaq have been here for over 14,000 years. The lands and animals have provided everything from language, culture, ceremony, and song and that is what builds up to now. The act of shooting here, and being on the land, is rooted in the people. The language as well, it contains the worldview of the people. It’s not like English. One word can explain a complex idea. There are nine ways to say, “I see a red chair.” Most of the language is words that are happening now. There is no “table,” but “tabling.” It’s being that thing, or in the process of being, so that very notion is rooted in all of the approaches and ways of learning. Pasmay teaches Link dancing, and different people teach him different lessons — so he’s rebuked for misgendering someone, or how he interacts with the elder is a big component of that relationship. It’s all about relationships.

I appreciated that you build some real sexual tension between Link and Pasmay. Can you discuss your depiction of the queer content and sexuality? 

It’s not a coming out story; it’s about Link understanding who he is and the world around him. This is not something to be ignored, or something to build the table around. It’s another part of who he is. He likes dirt bikes, he is quick to anger, and he’s gay. He’s a young person and still figuring things out. Link is not aware of things, whereas Travis, even with one eye, can see how Link and Pasmay interact. It’s very subtle and understated, but there a lot of looks. 

I also want to talk about the depiction of masculinity in the film. Link is an angry young man who is impulsive and questioning his identity. He has a bad dad, a wounded brother, and a tolerant uncle. He meets Pasmay, who is tender, supportive, and protective, and Smokey, a kind stranger. Can you talk about the representations of the male characters in the film? 

Gender identity from a Mi’kmaq perspective. The word for man is jinm, and the word for woman is e’pit. But what they mean — Jinm has a root in the word “the one who does the paddling” and e’pit means “to sit in the canoe and navigate.” Those ideas of man and woman are colonial. They are imported ideas. Looking at what Two-Spirit people do, and what gender roles are, and things become much blurrier. I love to challenge the notion of what people find to be acceptable masculinity. It’s a lot harder to be vulnerable than it is to be macho. In this film, there is a moment when they are speaking openly and emotionally about their history and backstory. I think that’s nice to see — not that I like to see people cry but — seeing Two-Spirit male-body characters to be open to those emotions and share them and share them with each other rather than that “man up” attitude and toxic masculinity. Who has more courage and bravery in them to be themselves? Is it the straight-acting or appearing musclebound hunk guy or the effeminate guy marching to his own f**king tune? There’s one that is going to get s**t but continues on, and one who passes and continues lives life undisturbed more or less. Of course, people are dynamic, but . . .

“Wildhood” moves from a claustrophobic trailer to wide open land and waters. The visuals in the film express the character’s emotions. What can you say about the use of space in the film?

Link grows up in a trailer in the rural area but doesn’t know Mi’kmaq. He doesn’t know language and is not exposed to culture, or the queer world. It’s a small contained world he lives in. He crosses a bridge into this new world of mostly open spaces. They are on land in the open under the sky. They will go into places — a nightclub that is a cave situation — to find things, or learn lessons, and discover where they are going next. But by and large, the characters are free, not stuck in a box. Just like identity in my opinion. If you are going to pick a label for yourself, that’s fine, that’s your choice, your power. But if other people try to pick a label, or stuff you into a box, seldom do you fit, and occasionally, you will burst out, burn stuff down, and run away. There is a whole world and experiences that opens up. As the film progresses, there is more on the land. People think there is nothing there, but it’s quite the opposite. It’s very full — there are hundreds of different plants and trees and animals. When you see these animals and things close up, you realize it was all around you all the time. They are still in the same world, but Link is not in that box anymore.

Trump’s new 9/11 story includes “two big firemen” pulling him to safety

Former president Donald Trump on Tuesday night claimed he was pulled to safety by “two big firemen” after 9/11 when he “heard creaks” at Ground Zero and predicted a nearby building would collapse — which it never did.

“We were hearing creaks, I’ve never forgotten it, it was I think the United States Steel Building it was called at the time, and it’s 50 stories tall, and we heard creaks,” Trump told Newsmax. “I said ‘that building is going to come down,’ and two big firemen grabbed me, and grabbed other people, and they just moved out of that area. Never came down but I never heard a noise like that. And it was a scary situation, but the job they did was so incredible, the first responders.”

Trump also repeated longstanding claims that he helped out after the attacks — which he’s never proven — but Vice News notes that his story about the “two big firemen” appears to be brand new.


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“On 9/11 itself, Trump indicated that he watched that attack from afar—and actually made sure to note that the Twin Towers’ collapse meant he now owned the tallest building in lower Manhattan,” Vice News reports. “Though Trump did go down near Ground Zero in the days after the attack, there’s no evidence that he helped—and some evidence that he didn’t follow through on promises to help.”

Also Tuesday, Trump sparked outrage by revealing plans to provide commentary for a boxing match on Saturday’s 20th anniversary of 9/11.

Watch the Newsmax clip below:

Your memory of 9/11 is probably wrong

In my first recollection, the boom and the rumble when the plane hit the first tower were ominous. In that version of events, my husband was stepping out of the subway when he saw the plane hit the second tower, and I called him on his cellphone.

But that’s not how it happened.

I did hear, from our little apartment on the other side of the river in Brooklyn, something odd that Tuesday morning. But I thought nothing of it until a coworker emailed that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. My husband was running late to his job in the West Village; so by the time he got out of the subway, both towers were already on fire. And neither of us yet owned a cellphone.

I know these things, when I focus in a little harder on what I know to be true about my life back then, but the memories feel authentic. That day — especially those earliest hours of it — has been chronicled, packaged, interpreted and misinterpreted so exhaustively over the past two decades that it’s easy to remember things we only saw on television, or heard about later. It’s easy to remember things that didn’t happen at all.

In recent years, there’s been a growing interest in the so-called Mandela effect, the phenomenon of a collective but incorrect memory, (or, as conspiracy theorists allege, a memory of events from an alternate reality). The term was coined in 2009, when writer Fiona Broome realized her detailed memory of the death of Nelson Mandela was impossible. Mandela was, in fact, still alive at the time.

Memory is a highly suggestible thing. Writing in Salon back in 2018, Dr. Jack Debeic observed, “Memories are biological phenomena and as such are dynamic… Reactivated memories are susceptible to modification.” And, as he noted, traumatic memories create their own unique conditions and considerations. A collective trauma can create a blurry narrative.

In a study published in the Journal of Experimental Psychology, 2,100 Americans from across the country were asked how they learned of the 9/11 attacks (“flashbulb memories”) and the facts of it (“event memories”) one week, 11 months, 25 months and 119 months after the events. Researchers found that “Inconsistent flashbulb memories were more likely to be repeated rather than corrected over the 10-year period.” Roughly 40% of respondents changed their personal stories over time, and then stuck to the changed version. Study author William Hirst told Time back in 2015, “You begin to weave a very coherent story. And when you have a structured, coherent story, it’s retained for a very long period of time.” If the memory doesn’t make sense, make a different one.


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But along with the simple and inevitable fallibility of the human mind, there’s the intentional bending of reality in the aftermath of a catastrophe. We’ve seen it recently in the wake of the events at the Capitol on January 6. And we’ve seen it in the storytelling and myth-making around 9/11.

In 2015, Donald Trump claimed that he had seen a video of “thousands and thousands” of Muslims “cheering” in Jersey City as the towers came down. Fox News’ Steve Doocy then corroborated the assertion, saying, “I actually remember things like that… According to my neighbors, they saw it with their own two eyes, there were people celebrating. I also remember there was video on television.”

No such video aired, or has ever been found. “The reports of widespread celebrating were not true. Simply not true,” New Jersey acting governor Donald DiFrancesco told ABC News in 2015,

In a similarly warped retelling of events, former New York City mayor and airport grooming aficionado Rudy Giuliani had to apologize to Hillary Clinton in 2016 after confidently stating that “I heard her say that she was there that day. I was there that day. I don’t remember seeing Hillary Clinton there.” While no doubt Giuliani was deeply preoccupied with bigger concerns at the time, Clinton never claimed to be in New York on 9/11 — and there are photos of her side by side with Giuliani touring lower Manhattan the day after. Confronted with the evidence, Giuliani chalked up his claim to a “mistake.”

Somewhere in the gray area between mistakes and misinformation sit the urban legends and conspiracy theories. The bizarre falsehoods about the nature of the attacks and who was behind them have bubbled up and intensified over the years, while the creepy folktales have merely evolved. Have you heard the one about the kindly Muslim who, in repayment for an act of kindness from a stranger, cautioned that friend of a friend of your aunt’s not to go downtown that fateful morning? Versions of the apocryphal tale date back to at least World War II, and have more lately morphed to sinister warnings of terrorist attacks that never materialized. It’s so banal yet so portentous, it feels like the sort of thing you remember happening to somebody you knew. It also carries the aura of a folktale, one in which charity is rewarded with a life spared.

And then there’s the fill-in-the-blanks kind of 9/11 story, the half-remembered, half-imagined one. Of the nearly three thousand people who were killed on that day, the remains of 1,106 have never been recovered. None is a greater enigma than Sneha Anne Philip.

Phillp was an internal-medicine intern who lived with her husband in Battery Park City. The last confirmed sighting of her was on September 10, 2001, shopping at nearby department store Century 21. Security footage shows a woman who resembles her in her building’s lobby on the morning of the attacks, minutes before the first plane hit. After her disappearance, details of drinking, marital problems and a habit of frequenting lesbian bars and staying out all night emerged. Then, in 2012, there was the postcard sent to the confessional art project PostSecret. An image of the burning towers, and the message, “Everyone who knew me before 9/11 believes I’m dead.”

Did Philip heroically run toward the towers that morning to help the countless injured, and then die in the ensuing carnage? Did she meet an even darker fate the night before? Or did she decide in those anxious first moments to seize a seemingly impossible opportunity and create a new life? Officially, she was declared dead in 2008, counted among the victims of the attack. But how she is remembered, the events of her life that shaped her, depend on what you believe. The truth is rarely clearcut; memory is too subjective for that. Just because you don’t remember something, it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. And just because you do remember it, it doesn’t mean that it did.

I am not a journal writer, but ten days after 9/11, I tried to write down everything that I could recollect about the day. “I must have eaten lunch and dinner; I must have bathed the baby and read her stories, but I don’t remember,” I wrote, adding, “what I remember is the smell as I fell asleep.” Not even two weeks after this intense experience, I had already forgotten so much of it.

In time, I would replace the forgotten with new, unreliable memories, creating a day that exists to some extent only in my imagination. But I still vividly remember that smell; it’s burned into my mind. When I think about it, it’s like I’m right back there. A bright Tuesday morning. Primary day. My bagel and coffee. My baby sleeping fitfully in the crib next to the bed. A sudden noise. And it feels as real as if it happened today.

Withholding sex is not the answer to abortion bans: The spectacle of celebrity “pro-choice” activism

However helpless Texas’ near-total abortion ban may make us feel, there are actually a lot of ways to help Texans get care. Unfortunately, there are also a lot of ways to not help. And we can always count on white celebrities to offer their well-meaning but clueless suggestions in their infinite, cringe-inducing predictability. 

The day after the abortion ban took effect, beloved singer and actress Bette Midler was fired up with outrage as many of us were. She responded by taking to Twitter with what we can call, well, an idea:

“I suggest that all women refuse to have sex with men until they are guaranteed the right to choose by Congress,” Midler wrote

Apparently, this strategy seemed to appeal to a select group.

“Lysistrata for modern times,” actor Jane Lynch replied.

Beauty Youtuber Bailey Sarian chimed in, “The least you could do is link a good vibrator for the ladies, then I’m sure this could work.”

The concept of a sex strike isn’t new. As Lynch points out, one of the earliest references to women withholding sex as leverage to try and sway men is in Aristophanes’ comedy “Lysistrata.” In the play, one woman tries to end the years-long Peloponnesian War between Greek city-states by convincing the women to deny sex to all the men of the land, which is supposedly the only thing any of the men truly want.

One could perhaps excuse this sort of reductive, gender-essentialist thinking because a man wrote it in 411 BC, but even this was insultingly limited for its time. After all, we’re talking about the ancient Greeks, who had codified same-sex relationships as a sort of rite of passage for its boys and men. But even if everyone abided by such heteronormative definitions, calling for such “strikes” is just embarrassingly out of touch and glib — all the more so when matters are so grave in Texas, and soon, the rest of the country.

On Sept. 1, the Supreme Court allowed Texas’ SB8 to take effect, effectively banning and criminalizing abortion in the state before most people are able to know they’re pregnant, or get an abortion. SB8 goes the extra mile beyond your typical abortion ban, and deputizes people across the country as a citizen police force to stalk, surveil and sue people who have or help people have abortions, to possibly win at least $10,000 from these lawsuits.

Put simply, SB8 is a nightmare for pregnant people and those who help them, like the abortion clinics that will shutter across the state because of this law. It places people who provide abortions, people who have abortions, and even those who experience miscarriage but are suspected of self-inducing their miscarriage, at risk of criminalization — or, hey, if they’re lucky, just exorbitant legal fees. The success of SB8 signals that the Supreme Court will enable similar bans like this in other states, across the country.

And we can expect more “sex strikes” and other ineffectual viral activism attempts from white celebrities to follow suit. After all, Midler isn’t the first one to respond to cruel and dehumanizing abortion policymaking with a proposed sex strike. 

In 2019, Alyssa Milano, the actor and activist who’s long ruffled feathers over problematic, white feminist antics, called for one too, in response to the signing of a Georgia abortion ban. Georgia’s law, which banned abortion care at six weeks, was ultimately blocked from taking effect, and Milano’s “organizing” stunt faded into a cesspool of rightfully mocking memes, too.

Spoiler alert: sex strikes are useless

It’s not exactly clear why anyone would believe sex strikes challenge abortion bans or help those affected by abortion bans in any way. Perhaps the thinking here is that the strike will somehow work its way up to anti-abortion Texan state legislators or Congress members. And thus deprived, they will suddenly . . . reverse their actions? Obviously not.

For starters, these men will almost certainly never face the consequences of their legislation, simply because the women in their lives won’t have to. Abortion bans notoriously only victimize poor people and disproportionately people of color, not rich, white Republican men’s wives or mistresses, whose abortions will almost certainly be bankrolled. And plenty of anti-abortion legislators aren’t just cishet men, but are also often white women, who are more than happy to participate in controlling the reproduction of low-income people of color.

These “strikes” also notably do nothing to actually help people affected by abortion bans, who need financial assistance and practical support to be able to travel to get abortion care where it’s legal, or have medication abortion shipped to them.

On top of being unhelpful, “sex strikes” also raise serious questions about white “feminist” celebrities’ understanding of sex as being solely for the enjoyment of straight men and not women. This sort of hollow gesture politicking bizarrely positions sex as a tool to use to please men, or something to withhold from them for bad behavior, rather than an empowering experience that all partners should equally and freely desire and enjoy. Sex, by the terms of white celebrity sex strikers, is a means for feminine manipulation, and the only way for cis women to gain power or basic rights in society.

The radical power of sexual pleasure

These proposed sex strikes should also raise eyebrows about why, exactly, white celebrities seem to assume so many women are having sexual relationships with anti-abortion men who need persuading in the first place. Let’s be real: Men who don’t think women and pregnant people own their own bodies don’t exactly sound like generous, ideal lovers.

That said, there is a pervasive sense of whiteness and white, liberal femininity emitted by these strikes. By ignoring the reality of the people who are disproportionately affected by these bans, this then appears to call on white women, specifically, to make the supposedly great sacrifice of dumping anti-abortion lovers for some surface-level political statement. 


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The sex strike also elucidates a key difference between liberal, white, celebrity feminism and reproductive justice, a framework originally pioneered by Black women to understand reproductive and sexual health, as well as pregnancy and parenting, from an all-encompassing, intersectional lens. Reproductive justice demands more than the legal right to abortion. Among other rights, resources and supports, this framework also understands sexual pleasure for all as fundamental, rather than a performative bargaining chip. Sex and pleasure for those who enjoy it can cultivate radical joy, which frankly does more to protest and undermine heteronormative, patriarchal power structures than sex strikes. 

The conception of a form of “protest” like the sex strike is one of several recurring consequences of celebrity activism that doesn’t involve input from those affected by the horrific oppression du jour. Not unlike the blank black squares that flooded Instagram last summer, sex strikes are uniquely, comically out of touch and ineffectual, purporting to make a very public sacrifice that no one really asked for. 

The pitfalls of celebrity activism that doesn’t listen

What pregnant people in Texas, and the many states with radically anti-abortion legislatures do need is financial support, and organizing for legislative change. Actor Jameela Jamil, for example, might have shared information about the federal Women’s Health Protection Act, rather than an inadvertently transphobic tweet about forcing all men to undergo state-mandated vasectomies. After all, contrary to the old adage that abortion politics would be different if men could get abortions, trans men do have abortions, and often face more barriers to get care than cis women face. For what it’s worth, forced sterilizations are just as cruel and dehumanizing as forced births, no matter someone’s gender.

Speaking of unhelpful, actually quite harmful white feminist slogans and talking points on Texas’ abortion ban, Milano has taken to calling Texas the “Texas Taliban.”  The insinuation here is that the state’s abortion ban — which, again, could very soon spread to dozens of other states — is based on something foreign, that it isn’t a product of decades of home-grown, American evangelical extremism. Policing and criminalizing pregnancy has been a pretty distinctly western and eventually American pursuit for generations now, contrary to the racist idea that any and all expressions of patriarchal control necessarily come from supposedly backwards, brown cultures.

Ultimately, the embarrassment and overall harm of sex strikes, or pithy but reductive memes about men controlling women’s bodies, could easily be avoided by just asking Texan abortion providers and funds what is (and isn’t) helpful. Do they need cash assistance, or signal boosts about the resources they provide? Do they need increased public awareness for a specific bill or upcoming rally? What are the most accurate, inclusive and destigmatizing ways we can talk about abortion?

Believe it or not, Texas abortion funds, who have long worked against tremendous odds to help disproportionately poor, people of color get abortion care, have yet to ask anyone to help out by going celibate. Instead, funds and organizers have been asking the public to pay attention to their work and the barriers they face for years, long before this current crisis was finally deemed worthy of mainstream media attention. To survive the war on bodily autonomy and reproductive freedom that’s ramping up all around us, we should take our cues from organizers, rather than, say, Milano, Jamil or Midler.

Kellyanne Conway refuses to quit Air Force Academy board, demands Biden fire her

Former Donald Trump senior advisor Kellyanne Conway announced on Wednesday that she was refusing to resign from a military post and that President Joe Biden would have to fire her.

Conway’s announcement came after Biden gave Conway a 6 p.m. Wednesday deadline to resign or be fired.

“I will let others evaluate whether they think Kellyanne Conway and Sean Spicer and others were qualified, or not political, to serve on these boards, but the President’s qualification requirements are not your party registration, they are whether you’re qualified to serve and whether you’re aligned with the values of this administration,” White House press secretary Jen Psaki said.


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In a letter posted to Twitter, Conway made it clear she is not aligned with the values of the administration, complaining about Biden’s poll numbers, the rise in COVID cases, jobs, inflation, drugs, and Afghanistan.

“I’m not resigning, but you should,” Conway said defiantly.

California recall shows Republicans will never give up the Big Lie

Fox News is stirring concerns that the California recall election may be in need of an audit – a conservative tactic now being widely used to discredit Democratic wins throughout the country. 

During a Tuesday broadcast of Fox News’ “Outnumbered,” Fox Nation host Tomi Lahren argued that “the only thing that will save Gavin Newsom is voter fraud.”

“So as they say, stay woke, pay attention to the voter fraud going on in California, because it’s going to have big consequences not only for that state, but for upcoming elections,” she added. 

Newsom “knows that mail-in ballots, which by definition lack any form of voter ID, cannot be verified,” echoed Fox News host Tucker Carlson last week. “Those [sic] kind of ballots overwhelmingly benefit his party because they abet voter fraud.”

The main promulgator of the GOP’s Big Lie about the myth of voter fraud, Donald Trump, has even jumped in on the action. 

“It’s probably rigged,” Trump, who baselessly blamed California for his 2016 popular vote loss, said about the recall during an interview on Newsmax. “They’re sending out all ballots ― the ballots are mail-out, mail-in ballots. I guess you even have a case where you can make your own ballot. When that happens nobody’s going to win except these Democrats.”

The growing right-wing message, reported on by Media Matters for America, comes as numerous polls put incumbent Gov. Gavin Newsom way ahead of all of his challengers. 

According to AP News, election security experts are already calling on California to conduct a recall, even when all the ballots have yet to be collected. 

“It is critical to recognize that the release of the Dominion software into the wild has increased the risk to the security of California elections to the point that emergency action is warranted,” the experts wrote to the secretary of state’s office. Election offices throughout 30 different states use Dominion’s equipment. 


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Back in August, proprietary copies of Dominion’s software were distributed at an event hosted by Trump-supporting pillow salesman Mike Lindell, according to The Guardian. The copies originated from Mesa County, Colorado, and Antrim County, Michigan – both of which saw Trump-backed challenges to the 2020 election results.  

“We told election officials, essentially, that you should assume this information is already out there,” Matt Masterson, a Trump election security official, told The Guardian. “Now we know it is, and we don’t know what [hackers] are going to do with it.”

The experts – which include cybersecurity researchers, computer scientists, and election technology experts – are demanding that California implement a “”risk-limiting audit,” AP noted, a statistical method used to compare actual and reported election results. 

In response to their letter, Jenna Dresner, a spokeswoman for Secretary of State Shirley Weber, outlined myriad ways in which California sets heightened election security requirements, which includes routine testing and physical security policies. “California has the strictest and most comprehensive voting system testing, use, and requirements in the country, and it was designed to withstand potential threats,” Dresner told AP.

Dominion is reportedly aware that its software images have been made public, but it maintained that the development does not pose a significant security threat.

“So you agree, Republicans are just like the Taliban?”: Texas lawmaker mocked for odd comparison

A Republican lawmaker in the Texas House of Representatives was recently ridiculed for seemingly boasting that abortion is so immoral that even the Taliban prohibits the practice. 

His comments come in response to a Houston Chronicle op-ed headlined “Texas law rewarding abortion tattlers resembles Taliban more than America,” which castigates a new Texas law that effectively puts a $10,000 “bounty” on abortion providers and incentivizes private citizens to file lawsuits against bad actors. 

Replying to the article, Rep. Matt Schaefer, who served in Afghanistan, recently tweeted: “FACT: Even the Taliban oppose abortion.”

The lawmaker quickly received a torrent of criticism and mockery online. 

Posting a picture of Schaefer’s face, the USA Singers tweeted: “This is the face of a Republican who is so devoid of brains, he thinks that having beliefs aligned with the Taliban is a good thing. Congratulations, Matt Schaefer. You’re a talibangelical maniac, a regressive extremist, and a big fu*king dummy.”

“Fact,” Ned Pyle, a principal program manager at Microsoft, echoed, “matt schaefer can only achieve sexual release by humiliating himself on twitter.”

“This does not mean what you think it means,” added Rabia Chaudry, an attorney and a New York Times best-selling author.

Schaefer, a Baptist who assumed office back in 2013, has a well-established history of opposing abortion. 

The year he was first elected, Schaefer approved S.B. 5, a measure that restricted abortions after 20 weeks of pregnancy and required all abortion providers to be registered with nearby hospitals. In 2015, Schaefer likewise introduced an amendment to an abortion bill, with the amendment prohibiting abortion of fetuses that have genetic abnormalities after 20 weeks. His amendment, which was ultimately tacked onto bill, also heightened reporting requirements for abortion clinics throughout the state. 

“We should value what God values, and that’s the life of the unborn,” Schaefer said at the time.

Despite his self-proclaimed virtue, Schaefer now appears to be comparing his religious values with those of the Taliban. 

As Kendall Brown, a writer and healthcare advocate, wrote in response to his tweet: “So you agree, Republicans are just like the Taliban?”

Drawing on this same irony, podcast host Jeff Dwoskin chimed: “Than [sic] go join the Taliban Matt Schaefer if you love them so much and they match your values,” podcast host. “Apply to ISIS while you’re at it they probably also hate the same things as you.”

TrumpWorld’s Brazilian vacation: Does Jair Bolsonaro plan his own Big Lie?

Right-wing political figures from the U.S., including prominent allies of Donald Trump, have flocked to Brazil in recent weeks in an effort to aid President Jair Bolsonaro, sometimes called the “Trump of the Tropics,” who faces a battle for his political life next year. Amid sliding poll numbers and large public protests, Bolsonaro has even reportedly flirted with the prospect of a military coup (as, allegedly, Trump also did).

The Conservative Political Action Conference (CPAC) held a special event in Brazil over the weekend that was clearly meant to bolster Bolsonaro’s re-election prospects and was attended by Donald Trump Jr., former Trump campaign spokesman Jason Miller and Rep. Mark Green, R-Tenn., among others. 

A still-unexplained event occurred during TrumpWorld’s tropical vacation as Miller, the former Trump mouthpiece turned failed-MAGA-app creator, claimed that he had been “questioned for three hours at the airport in Brasilia.”

While the news was initially reported by The Daily Mail and other outlets as Miller being “detained,” Miller admitted he had never been arrested, when questioned directly by New York magazine’s Olivia Nuzzi. 

Yet the spin continued. In a subsequent tweet, CPAC chair Matt Schlapp sought the moral high ground. “As our @CPAC delegation prepares to come back to America, the whole world will be watching to make sure that no renegade arm of the Judiciary in Brazil breaches the travel or speech rights of those who traveled to Brazil to rally for Freedom with our friends and allies,” he wrote. 

As of this writing, Miller — a frequent Fox News guest since leaving the Trump campaign — was safely back on U.S. soil. 


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In recent months, the Brazilian and American right have appeared to grow closer, especially in the wake of Trump’s defeat last November. One key point of connection is Eduardo Bolsonaro, the president’s son, who is a friend and close ally of former Trump adviser Steve Bannon. In 2019, the younger Bolsonaro took a position with Bannon’s ominously named group “The Movement,” which sought to spread Trumpist far-right ideology around the globe. 

Eduardo Bolsonaro, who is also close to Matt Schlapp and members of the Trump family, has also turned up at right-wing political gatherings in the United States in recent months. 

“He’s the third son of the ‘Trump of the Tropics,’ of President Jair Bolsonaro,” Bannon said, introducing Eduardo Bolsonaro at Mike Lindell’s August “cyber symposium” event in South Dakota. Bannon went on to claim that Jair Bolsonaro will win next year’s Brazilian election “unless it’s stolen by — guess what? The machines!” Lindell, standing alongside, echoed him: “The machines!” 

Jair Bolsonaro already appears to be emulating the Trump 2020 playbook by claiming voter fraud — in an election that hasn’t happened. He has asserted that Brazil’s voting process is fatally corrupt and compromised, and has floated the possibility that he may not leave his post if defeated at the ballot box. 

Right-wing Bolsonaro supporters have held daily protests in an effort to abolish or shut down the nation’s Supreme Court, in what many observers have described as the prelude to a coup. 

Schlapp was asked by Salon if CPAC’s event in Brazil was meant to fuel right-wing frustration and provoke a Jan. 6-style insurrection in a foreign country, and whether that reflects a global campaign against democracy, as some critics have suggested. He responded, “Are you at a bar?”

Greg Abbott is not ignorant — he’s a liar: Why the difference matters for the future of democracy

So often progressives, many of us missing the school days of gold stars on our spelling quizzes, love nothing more than to dunk on Republicans for saying stupid stuff. And boy, don’t conservatives know how to weaponize that “um, actually” gene they trigger against us? Take, for instance, Texas Gov. Greg Abbott. Like most ambitious Republicans, he is a consummate troll who is happy to say seemingly dumb things to attract liberal outrage, attention which bolsters his fame and credibility in the eyes of the right. (He likely learned well from his fellow Texas Republican, skilled troll Sen. Ted Cruz.) Playing dumb, for right-wingers, is often the smartest move you can make. 

And so, with depressing predictability, Abbott said some foolish things on Tuesday, when a reporter asked him why he would force a victim of rape or incest to carry the pregnancy to term. Abbott started by insisting the law “provides at least 6 weeks for a person to be able to get an abortion.” This is flat-out untrue, unless Texas has some secret access to time travel technology, because the ban kicks in a mere four weeks after the actual conception and only two weeks after the typical missed period date. (“Six weeks” refers to the time since the first date of the last missed period, which is easier to measure than the moment sperm hit egg.) He then went on to insist that rape victims don’t need abortion, because “rape is a crime,” which is a little like saying gunshot victims don’t need hospital care because shooting people is a crime. He then insisted that the state will “eliminate all rapists from the streets of Texas,” which seems like the thing they should have already been doing if it’s as easy as all that. 


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The A students of left saw these comments and immediately diagnosed their source as ignorance, as if Abbott’s problem is that he slept through high school biology, and not that he’s a glib liar. Even the usually more astute Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, D-N.Y., stepped into the trap, stating on CNN that Abbott “speaks from such a place of deep ignorance,” and “I’m sorry we have to break down Biology 101 on national television.” 

To be fair to Ocasio-Cortez, she is speaking to a national audience that keeps hearing the term “six weeks” and doesn’t understand that pregnant people have, at most, two weeks to navigate the byzantine Texas law to obtain an abortion. Using this as a moment to educate viewers probably felt like a priority over talking about how Abbott is a lying troll. 

Still, it’s frustrating to see Abbott’s rhetoric framed as ignorance instead of sadistic lying, because, frankly, that lets the people behind this law off the hook. Ignorance is a forgiveable sin, easily corrected with education. But most of the folks involved with writing and passing anti-abortion laws understand biological facts and standard medical practice perfectly well. Indeed, they leverage that knowledge to craft clever laws that sound reasonable on their face, but actually make providing safe abortion impossible. For instance, the last time Texas tried to ban abortion, they did so by requiring abortion providers to have hospital admitting privileges, which sounds reasonable to the average person. What peeople in the know — including the law’s drafters — understood, however, is that abortion doctors couldn’t get hospital privileges. Hospitals only give such privileges to doctors who actually admit patients, and abortion doctors don’t do that, because abortion is a safe outpatient procedure akin to getting a cavity drilled. 

It’s the same story with the latest ban. The people behind it are playing a little game. They know the media will use the standard medical terminology “six weeks.” That sounds like a long time, but patients actually have, if they’re very lucky, only two weeks.That kind of media manipulation is not a matter of being dumb, but being both clever and deeply evil. 

We know that Abbott is deliberately lying, and not just dumb, for a couple of reasons. For one, he says “at least six weeks,” when he knows full well that “six weeks” refers to the cut-off, not the baseline. (And, again, that’s six weeks since the beginning of the last period, not actually six weeks gestation.) Even if he doesn’t know the first thing about menstrual cycles, we can rest assured he knows the difference between a floor and a ceiling. Second of all, that crap about eliminating all rape is so dumb that literally no one who says something like that can believe it. Remember, Abbott successfully sued the person whose negligence left him in a wheelchair. He understands full well that legal justice is not the same thing as erasing the physical effects of an injury. Watching a rapist go to jail doesn’t ameliorate the pain of forced childbirth.


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Whether or not anti-choicers are liars or just ignorant may not seem like a meaningful distinction, but in reality, it’s crucial to understand the difference.

For one thing, it’s important to remember that conservatives deliberately say dumb things in order to attract dunks, because it allows them to play the victim of liberal know-it-alls. So understanding that they act out of malice and not genuine stupidity can help liberals avoid taking the bait. 

Even more importantly, anti-choicers have, for decades, successfully exploited stereotypes that they are dim-witted Bible-huggers to escape responsibility from some truly heinous behavior. Take, for instance, a 2014 case in which the Supreme Court struck down a Massachussetts law giving abortion patients a 35-foot buffer zone to walk to a clinic without being harassed by anti-choice protesters. The lawyers for the protesters portrayed their clients as simple-minded but sweet grandmothers whose desire to “counsel” young women should be indulged. In reality, the protesters who surround the clinic are resentful bullies who are only too happy to talk about abortion patients like they’re sluts and who sneeringly denounce women for wanting “to have their careers [and] their education.” Their motives weren’t gentle ignorance, but unvarnished sadism. 

And most importantly of all, there’s danger in ascribing to stupidity what is born from enmity, which is the threat of underestimating your opponents. The Texas abortion ban isn’t something that idiot anti-choicers stumbled into by accident. It was carefully crafted by highly educated, intelligent people who spent years researching ways to overturn Roe v. Wade while pretending that’s not what they did. They are manipulative and diabolical, and have had incredible success, despite holding views that are wildly unpopular. It may feel good to write such people off as “ignorant,” but that is the last thing they are. They’re smart as hell, and that is why they’re so dangerous. 

Kristi Noem vows to outdo Texas abortion ban, signs executive order restricting abortion medications

South Dakota Gov. Kristi Noem, a Republican, signed an executive order on Tuesday restricting abortion medication after directing her “unborn child advocate” to find ways to “immediately review” Texas’ new near-total abortion ban and “make sure we have the strongest pro-life laws on the books” after conservatives emboldened by the Supreme Court’s refusal to block the law launched a new push to crack down on abortion access.

Noem’s top legal adviser, Mark Miller, was deployed to find areas where the state’s abortion laws could be “tightened to mimic or go beyond” the Texas ban, according to the Argus-Leader. On Tuesday, the governor took her first step to tighten the state’s laws, restricting telemedicine abortions and abortion medications. The executive order bans abortion medication from “being provided via courier, delivery, telemedicine, or mail service” and on state grounds or in schools. It also requires that abortion medication only be prescribed or provided after an in-person examination by a doctor licensed in the state.

Texas lawmakers passed similar legislation separate from the so-called “heartbeat” ban to restrict abortion medication access earlier this month that is now awaiting Gov. Greg Abbott’s signature. Noem in her order called on the state legislature to codify the restrictions into law next term.


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The Food and Drug Administration previously required the abortion medication Mifepristone to be dispensed by a certified medical provider but earlier this year suspended enforcement of the in-person requirement to reduce the risk of Covid spread amid the pandemic.

“The Biden Administration is continuing to overstep its authority and suppress legislatures that are standing up for the unborn to pass strong pro-life laws. They are working right now to make it easier to end the life of an unborn child via telemedicine abortion. That is not going to happen in South Dakota,” Noem argued in a statement. “I will continue working with the legislature and my Unborn Child Advocate (Mark Miller) to ensure that South Dakota remains a strong pro-life state.”

Reproductive health advocates called Noem’s order an attack on reproductive freedom.

“We know most South Dakotans support the right to safe, legal abortion, but Noem is following a vocal minority that is attacking abortion, contraception, and comprehensive sexual education in this country,” Kristin Hayward of the Planned Parenthood Minnesota, North Dakota, South Dakota Action Fund told the Argus Leader.

South Dakota already only has just one clinic in the entire state that regularly performs abortions and 39% of abortions last year were done through medication, according to the Associated Press. Reproductive health advocates warned that the order would disproportionately impact rural residents who live far from an abortion provider.

“Having an abortion is a private medical decision, one that is protected under the U.S. Constitution, and it’s disappointing that Gov. Noem continues to insert herself into the patient-doctor relationship,” Janna Farley, a spokesperson for the American Civil Liberties Union of South Dakota, told the outlet. “It’s clear that the attacks on our abortion rights are not letting up in South Dakota.”

Noem is one of a growing number of Republican state officials who have seized on the Supreme Court’s abdication in the Texas case to push for a similar ban. The Texas law bans all abortion with no exemptions for survivors of rape or incest before most women know they are pregnant. Unlike other bans that have been struck down by the courts, the Texas law would be enforced by a vigilante-style system that allows nearly anyone to sue any abortion provider or anyone who helps a woman get an abortion, including relatives or cab drivers, and win at least $10,000 with no penalty if the suit fails.

The Supreme Court is also set to hear arguments over a Mississippi law that bans nearly all abortions this fall that advocates worry could result in the increasingly right-wing court overturning Roe v. Wade.

Two-thirds of Americans back the Roe decision, according to a recent Quinnipiac poll. Amid the rise of draconian abortion restrictions in the United States, other countries in the Americas have been moving the opposite direction. Argentina last year legalized abortion and Mexico’s Supreme Court on Tuesday ruled that the country’s criminalization of abortion was unconstitutional, which advocates believe will reverberate across Latin America. Meanwhile, Canada has allowed an abortion at any stage of pregnancy for decades.

The Supreme Court refused to immediately block the Texas law on procedural grounds, meaning that law will still be reviewed by the courts in the future. But abortion clinics in Texas have already been forced to turn women away, which advocates fear will not reduce the number of abortions but instead force women without the resources to seek an abortion out of state to resort to risky procedures.

Attorney General Merrick Garland on Monday vowed to “protect” women seeking an abortion in Texas using a 1994 law that ensures access to abortion clinics, though that law is limited to threats and physical obstruction that may prevent women from gaining access to a facility.

“We will not tolerate violence against those seeking to obtain or provide reproductive health services,” Garland said. “The department will provide support from federal law enforcement when an abortion clinic or reproductive health center is under attack.”

President Joe Biden called the Texas law “un-American” and vowed a “whole-of-government effort” to respond to the ban.

“The Texas law will significantly impair women’s access to the health care they need, particularly for communities of color and individuals with low incomes,” Biden said in a statement, adding that “this extreme Texas law blatantly violates the constitutional right established under Roe v. Wade and upheld as precedent for nearly half a century.”

The war on women returns: How GOP governors may doom Republicans in Congress

Back in 2012, Republicans were on one of their tears against women’s rights, thinking that it was the ticket to win the election and oust President Barack Obama from office. They decided to attack contraception, confirming once again that their alleged love for the fetus was really all about restricting reproductive freedom.

The U.S. House Committee on Oversight and Government Reform held committee hearings and insulted the women who testified about the medical need for contraception. Rush Limbaugh grossly derided one of them on his national radio show, calling a woman named Sandra Fluke a “slut” who is “having so much sex she [couldn’t] afford her own birth control pills … having so much sex, it’s amazing she can still walk.” Ever the classy fellow, Limbaugh added, “If we are going to pay for your contraceptives, and thus pay for you to have sex, we want something for it, and I’ll tell you what it is. We want you to post the videos online so we can all watch.” (And that was just for starters.) One of their top donors, Foster Freiss, went on television and claimed that in his day, a woman just used aspirin for birth control — by putting it between her knees. Haha! And perhaps the most famous quote of that entire campaign season came from a GOP Senate candidate from Missouri named Todd Akin who was asked about his stance that rape and incest survivors should be forced to bear the child of their rapist and said this:

Well you know, people always want to try to make that as one of those things, well how do you, how do you slice this particularly tough sort of ethical question. First of all, from what I understand from doctors, that’s really rare. If it’s a legitimate rape, the female body has ways to try to shut that whole thing down.

He later walked back the biologically illiterate comment (and then walked back the walk-back two years later) but it was too late. The Republican “War on Women” was a decisive factor in Obama’s re-election and the Democrats gained seats in both the Senate and the House that year.

Republicans famously performed an electoral “autopsy” after that election in which, among other things, they acknowledged that their reputation as witless misogynists was hurting the party’s image. But the party completely ignored that analysis and went on to elect Donald Trump, a man credibly accused of numerous sexual assaults who was even caught on tape crudely bragging about it.

And as you have no doubt heard, despite their losses in the last two elections, they are at it again.


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Aided by the Trump Supreme Court majority of far-right conservative Catholic justices, the state of Texas passed a law banning abortion after six weeks with no exception for rape or incest. And the governor of Texas decided to emulate the great examples of Akin, Limbaugh and Freiss by demonstrating his ignorance of human biology, saying that rape victims will have “at least” six weeks to get an abortion (not true, and absurd on its face) and then issuing this fatuous declaration he apparently believed would be reassuring to assault victims:

Let’s make something very clear, rape is a crime, and Texas will work tirelessly to make sure that we eliminate all rapists from the streets of Texas by aggressively going out and arresting them and prosecuting them and getting them off the streets. So, goal No. 1 in the state of Texas is to eliminate rape, so that no woman, no person, will be a victim of rape.

What a great solution. I wonder why they didn’t think of this before?

This time the party has gotten very creative with this new law, which turns private citizens into vigilantes and bounty hunters in order to circumvent federal jurisdiction, And you can expect this clever gambit to become law in many Republican-led states. South Dakota Gov. Kristi Noem is considering a similar law and went a step further by issuing an executive order restricting telemedicine abortions and abortion medication. Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis said he’s going to take a look at it and the state legislature is already moving on it.

The Wall Street Journal profiled the Machiavellian legal thinker who came up with the idea to enforce the abortion ban through the civil courts by enlisting the public to file suit. His name is Jonathan F. Mitchell, a former clerk for Justice Antonin Scalia who worked for former Texas Gov. Rick Perry and was tapped for a position with the Trump administration, although his nomination never came up for a vote. He is also, of course, heavily involved with the Federalist Society. According to the Journal:

In 2018, Mr. Mitchell drafted “The Writ-of-Erasure Fallacy,” a Virginia Law Review article that articulated the legal theories that would eventually find their way into the Texas abortion law. The article was a deep dive into the subject of judicial review and raised the idea that when a court rules a statute unconstitutional, the law isn’t erased from the books and could be modified to allow for “private enforcement.” He described how laws could be constructed to “enable private litigants to enforce a statute even after a federal district court has enjoined the executive from enforcing it,” without going in-depth about the applicability to abortion laws.

Ed Kilgore at New York magazine reports that Mitchell worked with an anti-abortion extremist pastor in east Texas named Mark Lee Dickson who promoted the idea of towns calling themselves “sanctuaries for the unborn” and giving citizens the power to legally harass providers, including pharmacies that sell Plan B contraceptives. Mitchell and Dickson did a trial run of this legal strategy in Lubbock, Texas, where a federal judge ruled that he had no power to enjoin private citizens. That success laid the groundwork for the state law that the Supreme Court majority washed its hands of last week.

None of this really all that unprecedented, as Kilgore noted:

The idea is reminiscent of the White Citizens’ Council model of fighting desegregation during the Civil Rights era: Once defeated in the courts, white supremacists switched to nonofficial harassment of civil rights workers, threats of terrorism, and essentially (white) community-based civil disobedience.

Unfortunately, this time the Supreme Court is on the wrong side of history and the state governments are using this legal end run to, as Chief Justice John Roberts wrote in his dissent, “avoid responsibility for its laws.” It’s a neat trick but one that could end up being too clever by half if Republicans continue to repeat their mistake in believing that everyone in America is as primitively misogynist as they are. One gets the sense that some of them, at least, understand this.

The silence from most national GOP officials has been deafening. Unfortunately, there’s not much they can do about it. By empowering fanatics in the states to go their own way, they’ve completely lost control of the issue. 

The rise of harm reduction in the war on drugs

The war on drugs may profess to be waged against narcotics, but it overwhelmingly targets people — a view increasingly shared by experts on drug use. Nora Volkow, director of the National Institute on Drug Abuse, touched on this recently when she wrote about addiction stigma in STAT, noting that “societal norms surrounding drug use and addiction continue to be informed by myths and misconceptions.”

Starting in the 1980s, a rowdy group of individuals began advocating for a different approach to drug policy called harm reduction. These activists, researchers, social workers, attorneys, and others, from a myriad of different backgrounds, have focused on the harms of drug use — not the drugs alone.

Maia Szalavitz’s new book “Undoing Drugs: The Untold Story of Harm Reduction and the Future of Addiction” is an in-depth history of a powerful idea, exploring many angles of drug policy, including prescription drug use, supervised consumption, and legalizing cannabis. Throughout, she also details the racial inequities and social justice tensions that have defined the drug war.

Szalavitz, a science journalist, unwraps the many layers of harm reduction, a philosophy that has also been adopted in approaching sex work, restorative justice, Covid-19, and other areas. When it comes to illicit substances, harm reduction runs the gamut from sterile syringe access programs to supervised drug injection rooms to distributing the opioid-overdose antidote naloxone.

Depending on who you ask, harm reduction has many different definitions, including “radical empathy” which requires “meeting people where they’re at.” Szalavitz offers multiple interpretations, but writes that, simply: “Harm reduction applies the core of the Hippocratic oath — first, do no harm — to addiction treatment and drug policy. This takes the focus off of psychoactive drug use itself.”

Tracing the roots of the movement, Szalavitz introduces us to characters like the “Goddess of Harm Reduction” and the “Johnny Appleseed of Needles,” whose lives are dedicated to spreading evidence-based practices of harm reduction. Some advocates were arrested, ostracized by friends and family, or lost their lives to overdose.

For years, the U.S. government rejected harm reduction services, even going so far as to ban federal funding for needle exchange programs. But now there are jobs, conferences, and nonprofit organizations committed to harm reduction. And in President Joe Biden’s budget for the 2022 fiscal year, $30 million has been earmarked for services like syringe access, the first time Congress has appropriated funds specifically for harm reduction, according to The New York Times.

Szalavitz follows the evolution of the movement, beginning with her own story in New York in the 1980s. Addicted to opioids during the height of the U.S. HIV/AIDS epidemic, the young writer had no clue that sharing syringes could spread the deadly new virus that was already killing so many. Yet between 55 and 60 percent of people who use intravenous drugs at the time were positive with the virus.

Ideally, of course, people who inject drugs should never share syringes. Doing so can spread bloodborne pathogens like HIV and hepatitis C. But ideal situations don’t always exist in the world of street narcotics. So some public health agencies, such as the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, began recommending a middle ground: If you must reuse a syringe, properly disinfect it using bleach and clean water, which by some estimations can greatly reduce the chances of contracting HIV (though certain sources say otherwise).

Before that knowledge became more widely known, a friend’s girlfriend taught Szalavitz this trick to lower her risk of infection, setting her life on a completely different course. She credits this fortuitous acquaintance with saving her life.

Szalavitz became enraged that no one had given her this simple advice. Why had she not encountered a public health campaign blasting this information to all who needed to hear it? But back then, Szalavitz says, few in government seemed to care about people who use drugs. “It didn’t seem fair or right to see anyone as being that worthless,” Szalavitz writes. “I needed to know,” she adds, “how to keep others from suffering the fate I’d only narrowly avoided.”

Thus began a three-decade reporting career on harm reduction, drug policy, and crucially, science, that has spanned, as she likes to put it, “from High Times to The New York Times” (and includes Undark). In this book, she interviewed hundreds of people to catalog the first- and second-hand accounts of people who have helped bring harm reduction into the public consciousness.

The book takes us from Vancouver, Canada and San Francisco, California, to Liverpool, England. Throughout are gossipy details about regular people: their broken relationships and personal dramas, their allegiances and falling outs. This isn’t the book’s main focus, but is a reminder that every movement involves a decent share of infighting and argument, tiny tests that demonstrate the resiliency of an idea.

To make harm reduction work, its progenitors needed to rely on strong research. In 1987 several drug activists in Liverpool started The Mersey Drugs Journal, where they documented local efforts and helped put the term “harm reduction” on the map. Because their ideas reached beyond the borders of Merseyside County, the publication was renamed The International Journal of Drug Policy. Currently issued by Dutch publishing monolith Elsevier, the peer-reviewed journal has an impact factor of 5.0 (meaning it is often cited by other researchers) and is indexed in 11 international databases.

By “emphasizing conducting research on its efforts, harm reduction created an enormous intellectual obstacle for its opponents,” Szalavitz writes. “After all, if studies show that a policy doesn’t reduce harm, it can’t be part of harm reduction. And how can you oppose a policy that works?”

Szalavitz has often been witness to harm reduction history, including an important 1991 court case that paved the way for legalizing syringe access in New York. It began in March of that year with the arrest of eight demonstrators from the AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power, commonly known as ACT UP, a grassroots political group that fought to end the HIV/AIDS crisis through civil disobedience. They were about to hand out sterile syringes on a Lower East Side intersection when the police swarmed the crowd and handcuffed the activists, charging them with needle possession.

Reporting for local outlets, Szalavitz witnessed the arrests and much of the trial, with opposing sides offering evidence for and against syringe access. Testifying for the defense was the city’s former health commissioner, Stephen Joseph, who had notably clashed with ACT UP on numerous occasions. But this time he agreed with them, describing their actions as “courageous,” and drew a parallel to 19th-century British physician John Snow, who traced a cholera outbreak to a single London water pump, similar to how ACT UP activists traced HIV to unsterile injection needles and sought to eliminate the source of infection.

The defense also presented evidence that syringe access programs reduce the transmission of infectious disease and encourage people who use drugs to enter treatment. One witness “noted that the U.S. was nearly alone in the developed world in rejecting needle exchange,” and pointed to supportive data from the Netherlands, the United Kingdom and Australia. As Szalavitz writes, there was “no scientific evidence that needle exchange caused harm — all of the existing data showed the opposite.”

Without refuting evidence, the prosecution lost their case and the door opened for needle exchange programs to be legalized in New York. Decades later, the data is even stronger for syringe access, a practice that has been championed by the CDC, the American Medical Association, and the World Health Organization.

Yet the fight for harm reduction is far from over. In mid-July, the Atlantic City Council voted to shut down New Jersey’s largest needle exchange program, ignoring the objections of the city’s health director and many other healthcare professionals. A similar scenario played out this year in Scott County, Indiana, which was the epicenter of a devastating HIV outbreak in 2015. Experts say a syringe program helped put a lid on the outbreak. Yet in June, Scott County commissioners voted to end the program.

And in July, President Biden tapped former West Virginia health commissioner Dr. Rahul Gupta to be director of the Office of National Drug Control Policy. But some have criticized Gupta’s failure while commissioner to protect syringe access in West Virginia, which has consistently had the highest rate of overdose deaths in the U.S. in recent years, according to the CDC. The state severely restricted syringe exchange earlier this year, amid an HIV outbreak the CDC described as the “most concerning” in the country.

June 17, 2021 marked the 50th anniversary of the War on Drugs, in which President Richard Nixon declared drug abuse “public enemy number one.” Yet last year was by far the most deadly period in American history for drug overdoses. More than 92,000 people lost their lives, according to preliminary data from the CDC. This in spite of more than $1 trillion spent over four decades by the United States to enforce its drug policy.

The harm reduction movement offers a vastly different approach. It has also acknowledged, Szalavitz notes, that the drug war is historically documented to be deeply rooted in racism, not science, and has been disproportionately waged against people of color. “The essence of harm reduction,” Szalavitz, writes, “is compassion and respect for the inherent dignity and value of human life.”

“A philosophy and strategy developed by drug users and researchers for drug users, however improbably,” she continues, has “gone global — and proved to be a gift to public health.”

* * *

Troy Farah is an independent journalist from Southwest California. His reporting on science, drug policy, and public health has appeared in Wired, The Guardian, Discover Magazine, Vice, and others. He co-hosts the drug policy podcast Narcotica. Follow him on Twitter @filth_filler.

This article was originally published on Undark. Read the original article.

3 ways to prevent the next mass power outage

Hurricane Ida, one of the strongest storms to hit the U.S. on record, intensified so rapidly before hitting New Orleans that city officials did not have enough time to issue a mandatory evacuation order. Limited exit routes from the city meant that people would have been stuck in traffic on the highway when the storm came. Those who stayed in the city and surrounding area were hit by 150-mile-per-hour winds and heavy rains that knocked out power to almost 1 million homes and businesses in Louisiana and Mississippi on Monday. By Thursday afternoon, in the midst of the blazing heat wave, Entergy, the utility that serves most of the region, reported that only 18 percent of its system had been restored.

At the same time that stronger, wetter storms like Ida are exposing the dangerous weaknesses of the U.S. electricity grid, the clearest pathways to stop the effects of climate change from getting worse all involve people becoming more and more reliant on it — for example, by trading gas-powered cars for electric ones, or using renewable electricity to heat homes. As demand for electricity grows, experts say that the way utilities and policymakers address grid resilience, which is largely reactive rather than preventative, has to change.

“The reality is, our infrastructure is built for the climate of the past, and we keep rebuilding it by incremental improvements,” said Roshi Nateghi, an assistant professor of industrial engineering at Purdue University. “And that’s just not gonna cut it.”

Resilience is a slippery word. There’s no universally agreed-upon way to define or measure it. Experts say it’s unrealistic to expect a grid that never has outages, but there are at least three different kinds of solutions that Nateghi and others point to that could help our electricity system withstand stronger storms and, in the inevitable case of an outage, ensure that communities get the minimal service needed to remain safe.

The first begins with what we’ll call the old, incremental way of thinking — a focus on the physical infrastructure that makes up the grid. The scale of the damage wrought by Ida was severe. Entergy reported that within its transmission system — the high-voltage poles and wires that deliver electricity from power plants to the distribution lines that serve customers’ neighborhoods — more than 200 wires and 200 substations had been put out of service by the storm. In its distribution system, about 10,000 poles, 13,000 wires, and 2,000 transformers were damaged or destroyed. 

There’s a lot utilities can do to minimize this kind of damage during storms. They can design systems to withstand stronger winds by using stronger wires supported by poles spaced more closely together. They can replace wooden poles with concrete and steel, and be diligent about trimming trees nearby. But Nateghi said these kinds of fixes are piecemeal and may be more expensive in the long term than an often-debated solution with high upfront costs — burying power lines underground. “It’s always argued to be really expensive,” said Nateghi, who said that when you look at the full costs of these disasters, many of which enter the billions, it might not seem as expensive. Buried lines are protected from wind and can be insulated from flooding. The downside is that they are harder to access for repairs. 

Logan Burke, the executive director of New Orleans-based nonprofit the Alliance for Affordable Energy, said there have been conversations about burying lines in New Orleans for decades. Part of the problem is that the cost of burying lines would likely get passed on to customers through their electric bills, and that the city, and Louisiana at large, has extreme levels of poverty and high energy burdens. Half of the low-income households in New Orleans spend more than 10 percent of their income on energy, according to a 2016 report, and a quarter spend more than 19 percent, compared to a national average energy burden of 3.5 percent.

“The hesitance to burying lines is, how do we do this in a way that people can afford?” said Burke. Unless the federal infrastructure bill, or a reconciliation bill, provides additional dollars for that kind of project, she said, it’s simply not an option for Louisiana.

The bipartisan infrastructure bill that the Senate passed in early August contained $65 billion for the power grid, with $10 billion to $12 billion specifically for building new transmission lines. The Biden administration also announced last month that it is making nearly $5 billion available through the Federal Emergency Management Agency for projects that improve community resilience to extreme weather.

The second possible solution, which is cheaper than burying lines and something that utilities can take advantage of today, is using predictive computer modeling to identify where the biggest weaknesses in their systems are in order to make those incremental improvements more strategically. Nateghi and other academic researchers have published methods that use meteorological models of climate impacts and translate them into potential infrastructure damage to predict which areas are most likely to lose power. As part of her doctoral research, Nateghi worked with utilities in the southeast to incorporate such models into their planning and said they were able to cut costs and fare better in future storms. Farzad Ferdowsi, an assistant professor of electrical and computer engineering at the University of Louisiana who has worked with Entergy, agreed that one of the things the company could do to improve resilience is more comprehensive modeling. 

But regardless, the grid will sometimes fail in one way or another. That’s why Burke thinks it’s more important to shift the conversation around resilience away from utilities to people. “We think it’s so important to be thinking about how to help people stay safe in their homes or where they’re sheltering, and that includes things like distributed solar and storage,” she said. New Orleans has a lot of rooftop solar, but most of it isn’t paired with batteries, which would allow it to provide power when the larger grid goes down. Burke imagines homes and community-based organizations like libraries, churches, and schools that have solar and storage systems that could be connected to form “neighborhood reliability corridors.” They would be able to operate as microgrids, independently from Entergy’s system, and allow communities to access cooling and other basic electricity needs in the aftermath of storms. 

Entergy has forcefully fought proposals to allow for more locally produced and controlled electricity in New Orleans, instead convincing the city council to allow it to build a new gas-fired power plant in the city on the grounds of improved resilience during storms. That plant didn’t keep the power on during Ida because of damage to transmission and distribution lines. The company was able to start it up on Wednesday morning and provide power to a small part of New Orleans East, but most of the city is still blacked out, and Entergy has not yet provided estimates for when power will be restored.

“We expect to complete assessing all damage today, and then we can begin providing estimated restoration times for customers,” said Deanna Rodriguez, Entergy New Orleans’ president and CEO, during a press conference on Thursday morning.

Entergy can earn a rate of return on big capital investments like power plants, while locally produced solar would eat away at its profits. Like in other cities, Burke said that in the last month she has heard lots of calls for a public power utility that wouldn’t be subject to profit-motivated decision making. But she’s not very optimistic about a future for public power in New Orleans. 

“New Orleans only has one Fortune 500 company, and it is Entergy,” she said. “They wield political power, they fund a lot of nonprofits. The kind of power that they have is fairly unmatched in the state. And so a movement to municipalize has a big heavy barrier up against it.”

Anti-maskers and anti-vaxxers now present a real threat of violence

Not all opponents of mask mandates and anti-vaccine activists are alike. They constitute a diverse and heterogeneous group. But a certain segment of the anti-maskers and anti-vaxxers comprise extremists who represent a violent and nefarious influence in our country as we work to defeat this seemingly endless pandemic. 

There is a small but loud and forceful group of people who object to wearing masks. Studies indicate that those people generally believe they are ineffective and are violating their civil liberties. Some of those people are increasingly behaving in violent and dangerous ways.  

As early as July 2020, the Retail Industry Leaders Association expressed alarm over the number of instances of hostility and violence experienced by front-line employees. That same month, a survey of McDonald’s employees showed that 44% had experienced verbal or physical abuse from customers not wearing masks. 

These repeated incidents necessitated the CDC to offer new guidance for retailers and restaurants on how to prevent workplace violence from customers. These suggestions included installing panic buttons and cameras, and recognizing the signs that angry customers might be on the verge of violence. 

Things since then have only worsened. 

 In June 2021, a customer shot and killed a cashier and wounded a sheriff’s deputy at a supermarket after an argument about face masks.  

In August 2021, Christopher Key, who calls himself the “vaccine police,” live streamed himself and his “Missouri Crew” entering a Walmart Supercenter. The group was targeting the pharmacists who they believe should be “executed” for administering the COVID-19 vaccine. They berated the workers, informing them they have been put “on notice” and that “if they give one more vaccine … they can be hung up … and executed.”

The group brought with them “sworn affidavits” that supposedly proved that 45,000 people had died within days of being vaccinated against COVID-19. That belief is based on a lawsuit filed by a group called America’s Frontline Doctors (AFLD), recently described in a Time magazine expose as “the 21st-century, digital version of snake-oil salesmen.” AFLD was founded by Dr. Simone Gold, who was arrested for her participation in the U.S. Capitol insurrection on Jan. 6, 2021.  

A COVID-19 drive-through testing and vaccination site in Georgia was recently forced to shut down after being threatened by a group of anti-vax protesters. Reports indicated that the health care workers were harassed via email and on social media.  

Health care workers have repeatedly faced threats for promoting vaccines, especially prominent public health experts like Dr. Anthony Fauci and Dr. Peter Hotez. Both have faced serious death threats. A man was arrested for allegedly sending threatening messages to Dr. Fauci, saying that he and his family would be “dragged into the street, beaten to death and set on fire.” Dr. Hotez notes that the threats faced by health care workers have created “an unprecedented culture of antiscience intimidation.” 

Three men recently ambushed the principal of a school in Arizona. They brought plastic handcuffs, ready to perform a “citizen’s arrest.” They were upset about the “injustice” of the principal asking a child to quarantine because of possible exposure to COVID-19. One of the men, Kelly Walker, a well-known anti-masker, live-streamed the event on his business Instagram page.  

That same victimized principal described some of the death threats she has been receiving, including this ominous warning: “Next time it will be a barrel pointed at your Nazi face.”  

There is also evidence that extremist groups such as the Proud Boys are behind some of the anti-mask organizing. As some experts have noted, “violence is at the heart” of their ideology.   

At a recent school board meeting in Florida, a woman stated that anyone who believes in vaccines or mask mandates in schools is a “demonic entity” and bears “the mark of the beast.” She then warned that “all of us Christians are sticking together to take them all out” adding that “all the police officers that kick us out … will also be going down with them.” 

Not all anti-maskers and anti-vaxxers will become violent. But these cases illustrate the propensity of some to threaten and erupt into violence as they attempt to overwhelm others with their positions. 

It may be easy to laugh off or dismiss these incidents, but minimizing or denying the potential violence associated with these groups and individuals is a grave mistake. Pretending it does not exist is irresponsible and gives implicit permission for further violence and destruction.

 

Norman Solomon on what the media won’t say: “The American people live in a warfare state”

Who wants to be the last person to die in a war? 

Last week, Maj. Gen. Chris Donahue, commander of the U.S. Army 82nd Airborne Division, XVIII Airborne Corps, “became the last U.S. soldier to board the final C-17 transport plane flight out of Afghanistan a minute before midnight on Monday,” as a Reuters report described the moment:

Taken with a night vision device, the ghostly green and black image of the general striding toward the aircraft waiting on the tarmac at Kabul’s Hamid Karzai Airport was released by the Pentagon hours after the United States ended its 20-year military presence in Afghanistan.

As a moment in history, the image of Donahue’s departure could be cast alongside that of a Soviet general, who led an armored column across the Friendship Bridge to Uzbekistan, when the Red Army made its final exit from Afghanistan in 1989.

America’s 20-year war in Afghanistan is now technically over.

There are still hundreds of American civilians in Afghanistan. Undoubtedly, there are still American covert operatives in Afghanistan from the CIA and other agencies. The thousands of Afghans who fought alongside American and allied forces or otherwise aided them are still trying to escape the Taliban, who now control the country and will likely pursue deadly reprisals.

So much blood and treasure was spilled and spent in Afghanistan by the United States during 20 years of war. At least 2,456 U.S. service members were killed, along with an estimated 3,846 contractors and Department of Defense civilians. At least 66,000 members of the Afghan military and police were killed, fighting for a government that finally collapsed almost overnight. during the war. At an extreme low-end estimate, at least 47,000 Afghan civilians were also killed during the war.

Back home in the United States, the consequences may have been worse. More than 30,000 veterans and active-duty U.S. military personnel are estimated to have died from suicide during the years of the Afghan conflict. Many thousands of veterans who served in Afghanistan and Iraq will require lifelong care for the emotional and physical injuries they suffered.

The Afghanistan war cost the American people at least $2 trillion. That amount will increase significantly from the interest paid on the massive debt incurred by the war over the next few decades.

America’s ugly withdrawal from Afghanistan leaves behind many “what ifs” that will haunt the nation’s collective memory for years to come. For example, what if the terrorist attacks of 9/11 had been treated as a law enforcement problem and not a military crisis that led to the invasion of Afghanistan and Iraq? (Especially since the latter nation had no connection to al-Qaida or the 9/11 attacks.)

What role did the War on Terror and its thousands of U.S. casualties (disproportionately concentrated in the Rust Belt and the American South) play in the election of Donald Trump and the rise of American neofascism? Would Trump ever have become president if there had been no endless war in the Middle East? 

The withdrawal from Afghanistan also illustrates how poorly America’s collective memory reflects facts and history. Too many members of the media and political classes, still haunted by the ghosts of Vietnam, the Afghan retreat is being invoked as somehow equivalent to the fall of Saigon in 1975. It is not.

The perhaps-apocryphal warning from a Taliban commander to the U.S. and its allies, “You have the watches but we have the time” — also attributed to legendary North Vietnamese general Vo Nguyen — has been repeated ad nauseam during these last few weeks as providing some secret wisdom explaining why the U.S. was defeated by the Taliban. But in the real world, the outcomes of war are more complicated than any single explanation, however pithy, can encompass. 

Our political climate of hyper-partisanship has created dueling narratives about Joe Biden and the American defeat in Afghanistan. From one point of view, this moment is akin to British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain’s concessions to Adolf Hitler, which (in some historical accounts) led to the beginning of World War II. On the other extreme, the withdrawal from Afghanistan is being presented as an example of Biden’s mature leadership, something only he could have achieved, and all failures are the fault of his immediate predecessor.

Truth and reality, as it almost always does, lies somewhere outside or between those extremes. These first drafts of history about America’s retreat from Afghanistan are very much works in progress.

As writer and cultural critic Gore Vidal once observed, “We are the United States of Amnesia, we learn nothing because we remember nothing.” To that point, the American people will not be asked to make sense of Afghanistan and the War on Terror in the context of a much larger history. (And if they were asked, would not generally be able to answer, or interested in doing so).

Here is the central question that is being avoided: What does all this illustrate or exemplify? The answer: America is addicted to war. Since the end of World War II, the country has been involved in dozens of conflicts and interventions around the world. In that sense, America’s war in Afghanistan is part of a much older and much longer story.

To discuss both that longer story and the one before us now, I recently had a conversation with author, activist and journalist Norman Solomon (a frequent contributor to Salon). He is the author of many books including “War Made Easy: How Presidents and Pundits Keep Spinning Us to Death” and “Made Love, Got War: Close Encounters with America’s Warfare State.” Solomon is the national director and co-founder of the online activist initiative RootsAction.org and executive director of the Institute for Public Accuracy,

In this conversation, Solomon explains how he believes the American people are propagandized into supporting war by political leaders, the mainstream news media and other elites. He also reflects on how Afghanistan, Iraq and the larger War on Terror have been counterproductive on their own terms — leaving the American people less safe and less secure — as well as profoundly immoral and ruinously expensive.

He explains how human rights and justice demand that the American people learn to practice radical empathy for the Afghan people and others around the world who have suffered immeasurably from American military power. Toward the end of this conversation, Solomon explains that the lives of average Americans could be greatly improved if the U.S. did not spend vast sums of money on a military machine used almost entirely for destructive ends.

As a whole, the news media and the pundit class are generalists and professional “smart people.” They have little specific policy expertise on America’s forever wars or the Middle East, yet are presented as authoritative voices on that subject and too many others. How does the business of “expertise” and “punditry” actually work?

The qualification is largely that you have some type of institutional credential or be in a powerful position in Washington. You also have to stay more or less within the parameters of the bipartisan consensus about American politics, especially in terms of foreign policy.

What is verboten in such conversations?

In terms of U.S. foreign and military policy, there is a type of mass media housekeeping seal of approval. It is not completely monolithic. There are cracks in the wall. However, just because there are cracks does not somehow mean that the wall no longer exists.

The essence of propaganda is repetition. I believe there is a paradigm, a rule where there’s terrain that the corporate media tends to be very comfortable having discourse and debate on and within. Essentially, the mass media are part of the war-making apparatus. 

How do you make sense of this public rehabilitation project for the likes of George W. Bush and Donald Rumsfeld, two of the most prominent figures who made the decisions that led to these disastrous wars?

Consider all the praise, for example, that was visited on the late Donald Rumsfeld during his obituary period. There were so many members of the mainstream American news media who just basically licked Rumsfeld’s boots when he was giving his daily briefings during the war. Top journalists in the United States, on camera, were saying to Rumsfeld that he was like a “rock star,” that he was a “stud,” because he was articulating U.S. policy so well during those first weeks of the bombing of Afghanistan. I think of that spectacle all the time, where the media bows down to the warmakers in this country.

I also think about, for instance, a seven-year-old girl I met in 2009 at a refugee camp in Kabul. She had been sleeping one night in her home in southern Afghanistan, in the Helmand Valley, when U.S. bombs fell on her neighborhood and she lost an arm. I’m standing in the refugee camp talking with her and her father through an interpreter. She’s turning so her lack of one arm won’t be evident. It would be like somebody with missing front teeth, putting a hand up to the mouth. It was so painful. I asked her about her experiences. There was almost no food in the camp. These were hundreds of people who had been bombed out from their rural homes by the U.S. military. They came to Kabul, and they had hardly any food. And I thought to myself, my own government has the money to bomb these people.

The press is supposed to help the public understand current events so they can make better decisions about government, policy and leadership. But relatively few in the mainstream news media gave extensive coverage to the “Afghanistan Papers,” which were leaked not long ago and extensively documented that the war in Afghanistan had been lost for years. There is much fake surprise about the sudden end of the war and the Taliban taking over so quickly. The United States government knew of this highly probable outcome some time ago.

There is tremendous conformity-pressure. Being ahead of the discernment curve is very rarely a career enhancement. Whereas going with the herd, or being a little ahead of the curve but not going too far out on a limb, is a winning strategy for so many people who have risen through the ranks in mass media — and for that matter in government.

Napoleon said that it’s not necessary to censor the news. It’s more efficient to delay it until it no longer matters. In terms of the dead, it no longer matters. The last mistake is chalked up as in fact being just an error. But people who are going deeper in the analysis are saying, “There’s a fundamental dynamic here.”

We, the American people, live in a warfare state. As President Dwight Eisenhower warned as he was leaving office, we have a military-industrial complex. It’s striking how rarely we even hear that term being uttered by a prominent Democratic or Republican leader in Washington. It’s almost verboten.

Being truthful and candid is very important if we’re going to change the public discourse. Part of that involves widening the ways of evaluating a war, beyond the question of: Is it “winnable”? More importantly, was it justified? Was it moral? Another way to state this is to ask: Should these wars have even been fought in the first place? It is very difficult to find people in high media positions who raise the deeper questions.

There is such a thing as human decency. There’s something called, if you will, morality. There is international law — but that’s virtually off the table when it comes to discourse in Washington among the powerful.

A thought experiment: What would coverage of America’s war in Afghanistan look like if it was told from the perspective of the average person in that country?

I’ve been thinking a lot about that in the last few weeks, especially as the anniversaries are rolling around the beginning of the so-called War on Terror. And even setting aside the fact that for many people in other countries, America’s supposed war on terrorism means terrorizing them, the experience gap is humongous. If we drop bombs on people, they’re not going to figure that the United States meant well, so therefore all is forgiven. If the United States experienced what other countries have experienced because of U.S. war-making, we would be second to none in self-righteousness and claiming victimhood status.

People in other countries, especially the ones that the U.S. has frequently bombed these last few decades, are mostly treated as non-people by the American people and the mass media. It is very rare to have any human connection provided about other human beings when they’re at the other end of America’s weaponry. It’s all about us.

I certainly am sad about all of the US soldiers who’ve died and been maimed and suffered PTSD. I am also sad about the grief felt by their families. At the same time, there were other people involved in these wars who are rarely noted when we summarize the cost of war. In the United States we are acculturated to the idea that the country goes to war and the people we kill and maim and terrorize don’t matter. It’s so horrible that maybe we don’t want to face it.

How do we better explain to the American people the role of profiteering by private interests and big business in the country’s wars?

When we hear that the war in Afghanistan was a “failure,” it really depends on what vantage point one is talking about. Every war is a colossal success for the military-industrial complex and huge numbers of Pentagon contractors. We call it the “defense industry.” That is a benign term.

I’m not against a defense budget. Too bad we don’t have one! We have a military budget that’s so much larger than a genuine defense budget would be. The profit-taking is enormous.

Where does the $700-something billion a year from the Pentagon go? Add in nuclear weapons and other items that are outside the Pentagon budget, and the number rises to $1 trillion. So much of that money is just going to these huge corporations. How often do we see a serious examination in the mainstream news media of the corporations that are making a killing, literally and figuratively, from the misery and death that’s part of the U.S. warfare state?

How has war been sold to the American people by the country’s leaders? What narratives are used to propagandize them into supporting American empire and war-making?

It is not supposed to be acknowledged that an empire exists. I really believe in breaking the silence. Some of the ways that war is sold to the American people are that if this war is wrong, the media will tell us. Or here is another one: If this war is wrong then Congress will stop it.

Here are some others: We’re getting the truth from our leaders and politicians. We’re fighting for freedom. They are terrorists, we aren’t. We can’t withdraw now because so many Americans have already died. The motives of our leaders are for the most part fairly pure.

These are messages that are not usually stated in such bold terms. The most powerful messaging is just implicit. It’s assumed.

Predictably, many on the right are summoning up the old narrative: “If we don’t fight the Taliban and the terrorists over there, then we are going to have to fight them here.” How do you push back?

It’s hard to refute such an absurd claim. It is boilerplate and we have been hearing it since Vietnam. The narrative then was: “Do you want to fight the communists in Southeast Asia or on the U.S. border?” The same type of preposterous thing was said by Reagan administration officials about the war in Nicaragua. We had to support the murderous Contras in Nicaragua during the 1980s, who were waging war against the elected Sandinista government, because if we didn’t fight them there, they’d end up on the Texas border.

Can anybody make a strong case that the United States has been made safer from the last 20 years of the so-called war on terror? The U.S. government has claimed that for 20 years that it is fighting terrorism by making war on people in one country after another. Yet the desire of people to kill Americans has been greatly exacerbated by the reality that Americans have been killing the very people they love. It is illogical to think that we are made safer by making enemies.

There is also the rhetorical move when discussing terrorism and the Middle East after 9/11, where a public voice summons up the question: Why do they hate us? Why do they hate America? Why do they hate our values? We’re a force for good! That rhetoric is intended to silence critical thinking about these questions of U.S. foreign policy.

Terrorism is wrong. Blowing people up is wrong. That’s a given. But at the same time, when the U.S. government, as a matter of policy and intentional action, bombs and kills people in other countries, it is a perverse form of psychological exceptionalism to think that such acts are not going to make people angry and seek revenge.

Soon after the six-week Gulf war ended in 1991, Gen. Colin Powell, who was at the time chair of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, was asked about the death toll among the Iraqi people during that U.S.-led war. On the same day the Pentagon had publicly estimated that the U.S. in those six weeks had killed 100,000 Iraqi people, the vast majority of them civilians, Colin Powell literally said, “It’s really not a number I’m terribly interested in.”

How do you explain to the average American what their life would be like if the country did not spend so much on so-called national defense?

Paraphrasing President Eisenhower, every bomb, every bullet and every tank is in a real sense a theft from the children of the world. It’s true in 2021. The military budget in its current form is theft. In this country we are spending literally a few billion dollars a day on the military, one way or the other. From the polling data it is very clear that most Americans want to cut the military budget.

If national security is defined as military strength, then we’re not acculturated to thinking about real national security as related to better public schools, improving infrastructure, the environment, the global climate emergency, poverty, health care and creating a stronger social safety net and improving social democracy overall, as compared to what we have now.

This is not a “defense” budget. This is not “defense” spending. This is kleptocracy corporate enrichment spending. To call things by their right names would be absolutely revolutionary in this country.

Has the mainstream news media ever seen a war they didn’t like?

If there’s a deep division on Capitol Hill within or between the two parties, then the mass media, to some significant extent, might be against it. Again, war is framed around the question, “Is it winnable?”

Ultimately, that is the wrong question. Even now there are critics of the Afghanistan war saying, “It was a terrible idea. It could have never been won.” I can reasonably conclude that the seven-year-old girl I met with one arm didn’t really care if the U.S. won or lost. She didn’t care that Barack Obama was a Democrat overseeing the air war that took one of her arms.

From deer and dogs to rats and mink, COVID-19 has spread to the animal world

For six months out of the year, Dr. Jenessa Gjeltema has a very diverse and unusual roster of patients. The assistant professor of zoological medicine at University of California, Davis provides clinical work for hundreds and hundreds of animals at the Sacramento Zoo, from lions and giraffes to poison dart frogs and two-toed sloths. It doesn’t take long to intuit that she cares very deeply for each animal, which is why she was concerned when a meerkat became very sick during the early months of the COVID-19 pandemic.

“The meerkat presented with bloody nasal discharge coming out of its face and was in respiratory distress,” Gjeltema recalled. “It was just at the start of the pandemic, when we were getting significant amounts of community spread in our local area, and I was very concerned because we didn’t know as much as we do now about how the virus behaves in humans, much less all of the animals that were in our collection.”

Fortunately the meerkat was not infected and, after being comprehensively treated by medical experts, made a full recovery. Even so, the anxiety that she felt during this incident still clearly lingers with Gjeltema. 

“It’s challenging to work with less than perfect knowledge,” she told Salon.

The knowledge we have today about animals and COVID-19 remains quite imperfect, although it has become less so than when Gjeltema had to assist the hapless meerkat. The story of the COVID-19 pandemic centers around a narrative of animal-to-human transition: The prevailing scientific theory is that it originated in a horseshoe bat, reached another animal through one or many “spillover events” (transmissions) and eventually got to a human host. 

Yet zoo animals aren’t the only ones who seem to be catching the novel coronavirus. White-tailed deer in both Ohio and Michigan recently tested positive for SARS-CoV-2 antibodies, indicating previous infections. We know that companion animals like cats and dogs can develop COVID-19, while mink farmers are at risk of losing their entire industry because COVID-19 is virulent within that species. 

There are two questions that logically emerge from the broader subject of COVID-19 and animals: The first is how this poses a threat to humans. The second is what it means for the animals themselves.

Currently, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) says that it is unlikely but not impossible for an animal to infect a human with SARS-CoV-2. Even though SARS-CoV-2 likely originated in bats, there is no evidence of any animal species playing a significant role in spreading COVID-19 among people. Nevertheless, the CDC advises people to avoid interacting with unfamiliar wildlife and to enforce vigilant personal hygiene standards after they make contact with strange animals.

Lyndsay Cole, a spokesperson for an Agriculture Department agency known as the Animal and Plant Health Inspection Service (APHIS), elaborated specifically on SARS-CoV-2 and white-tailed deer, which are widely and densely distributed through most of the United States. Scientists know for sure that SARS-CoV-2 antibodies exist in wild white-tailed deer, but they are unclear about how they were exposed to the virus and what impact this exposure will have for the deer, humans and other animals.

“There is no evidence that animals, including deer, are playing a significant role in the spread of SARS-CoV-2 to people,” Cole told Salon by email, later adding that “there have been no reports of deer showing clinical signs of infection with the virus.” Notably, the tests on the white-tailed deer samples looked for SARS-CoV-2 antibodies rather than the virus itself, which limits how much we know about the nature of what those deer are experiencing.

Lori Ann Burd, the environmental health director at the Center for Biological Diversity, explained that experts are concerned about mink because their behavior makes them susceptible to both developing infections and carrying them to other wildlife.

“Mink are extremely wide-ranging naturally, and they’re quite solitary,” Burd told Salon, noting that this makes mink extremely stressed when confined to the compact conditions of a mink farm. Indeed, such cramped conditions weaken their immune system and make them susceptible to respiratory diseases like COVID-19. As notoriously intelligent animals, mink can figure out how to escape from captivity and return to the wild, meaning that if they were previously infected by their human handlers, they could spread the disease to other wildlife and create a hotbed for new COVID-19 mutations. There is also the risk that previously infected mink could spread the disease to uninfected people at the farms.

And what about man’s best friend, the ever-loyal dog? Sadly there is evidence that our canine companions can die from COVID-19, as Americans learned after Buddy the German shepherd died last year. At the same time, as with other animals, there is no evidence that dogs are major carriers of the disease or particularly likely to be harmed if exposed to it. Health experts agree that it would be cruel and unnecessary for ordinary dog owners to feel unsafe around their companions.

If international statistics are to be believed, cats have more reason to worry about COVID-19 than their supposed rivals. The World Organisation for Animal Health reported that as of last month there were 102 outbreaks of SARS-CoV-2 infections among cats, compared to only 90 among dogs. (They are also more likely to get seriously ill.) Mink had the most outbreaks with 358 while multiple outbreaks were also reported among tigers, lions, pumas and snow leopards.


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While scientists are not entirely clear about why certain animals are more likely to get infected than others, one prevailing theory is that it may have something to do with the ACE2 “receptor” (short for angiotensin-converting enzyme 2), a protein that serves as an entry point for SARS-CoV-2 to penetrate human cells. As a study published last year noted, it is possible to list animals that may or may not be more likely to be infected by the coronavirus based on their structure of these proteins.

The most vulnerable species to COVID-19 were catarrhine primates — a group that include chimpanzees, bonobos, Western lowland gorillas, olive baboons and Sumatran orangutans — but the scientists compiled a database with 410 vertebrates, including 252 mammals, to determine which ones had an ACE2 receptor that was likely to help the SARS-CoV-2 virus. They labeled as “high” risk animals like white-tailed deer, the Chinese hamster, the beluga whale, the giant anteater and the muskrat. At “medium” risk were golden hamsters, wild yak, jaguars, hippopotamuses and American bison. Giant pandas, polar bears, red foxes, dingos and horses were determined to be at “low” risk, while guinea pigs, harbor seals, striped hyenas, Northern elephant seals and Jamaican fruit-eating bats were deemed at “very low” risk.

This information is helpful to Gjeltema, who told Salon that when managing the zoological collection she is particularly worried about primates. At the same time, she is also worried about the exotic felines because of their higher susceptibility, and the otters because they are closely related to mink,  and their bats (for obvious reasons).

When all is said and done, Gjeltema says she has kept her zoo safe by following the basic premises of the CDC’s guidelines for humans.

“For example, we have established social distancing as much as possible,” Gjeltema explained. “We have all of our keepers wearing face masks. We don’t have members of the public interfacing near any of our susceptible animals. Obviously, good hygiene. We have close monitoring.”

When it comes to keeping animals safe from COVID-19, and people safe from animals who might have it, Gjeltema at least knows that those ideas will work.

FX’s “Impeachment” doesn’t acquit itself well, despite a humanizing portrayal by Beanie Feldstein

A fleeting detail in the sixth episode of “Impeachment: American Crime Story” succinctly captures what Monica Lewinsky must have been feeling when she realizes how much trouble she’s in: She’s sitting in hotel room, surrounded by FBI agents, when one of them, played by Colin Hanks, offers her some water. She accepts the crystal tumbler, placing it on a glass coffee table.

Director Ryan Murphy (aided by director of photography Simon Dennis) shoots this moment from beneath the table, granting the audience the perspective of someone underwater. That means we gaze upward at this shocked, frightened young woman gazing into the cut glass, looking like she’s drowning or, if not that, as if she’d like to.

All of this takes but a few seconds to play within the seven hours provided for review, but within that space Beanie Feldstein fills a canvas with her interpretation of Lewinsky’s fear. What happens to Feldstein’s Monica in that room is a nightmare, part of a 12-hour stretch during which federal agents aggressively intimidated and threatened her to come clean about her relationship with then-president Bill Clinton (Clive Owen).

Today liberals view the Clinton affair as one of the best-known examples of an abuse of power differentials in politics and the workplace. Episode 6 demonstrates this point with clarity. For most of the hour Lewinsky and the friend who sells her out, Linda Tripp (Sarah Paulson) are badgered or ordered around by men. Eventually Monica’s mother (Mira Sorvino) arrives to comfort her daughter, but her father and his lawyer, reached in a phone call, are the only people the agents listen to and take seriously.

From that point onward, it is men who shape the story surrounding these women. (Knowing that “Impeachment: American Crime Story” originally was based on workplace masturbator Jeffrey Toobin‘s book “A Vast Conspiracy: The Real Story of the Sex Scandal That Nearly Brought Down a President,” which the network optioned back in 2017, adds a note of irony to this aspect of the story.)  Male journalists write Lewinsky as an opportunist. Men who knew her in high school and college come forward to offer their opinion that she’s a stalker. But Tripp doesn’t come out cleanly, either. Comedians make her a laughingstock, playing up her size and her looks. “Saturday Night Live” put John Goodman in a wig and a dress for a sketch parodying one of the lunchtime conversations she had with Lewinsky during which she earned the younger woman’s trust.

This becomes the hour in which Feldstein and Sarah Burgess, who wrote the episode, most plainly delineates the point of this “American Crime Story” installment – at least, what one presumes it to be.

It’s also the sixth installment in a 10-part examination of the systemic misogyny that destroyed Monica Lewinsky’s reputation, which is the real problem. Getting to that essential episode asks us to endure five hours during which the aim of “Impeachment” is never as clear or certain. Between its hopscotch through various perspectives and chronological touchstones in Clinton’s presidency as they relate to Kenneth Starr’s investigation, it feels disjointed.

At times you may question whether the other actors realize they’re in the same show as Feldstein or whether that show is a drama or a dark comedy. This is how extensively the actors are flogging their part in a history that much of its audience has lived, and whose main players are still key players on the nation’s political stage. When a boorish official asks for an opinion on an angle from a youngster who goes by Kavanaugh you may wince less due to the name recognition than noticing you’re being manipulated into that reaction.

More than five and a half years has transpired since “The People v. O.J. Simpson” set the tone for Murphy’s “American Crime Story” anthology series, transforming the most celebrated murder case of the modern era into a parable about race, fame, class and wealth. “The Assassination of Gianni Versace” sought to view America’s fraught relationship with queer culture through a lens of obsession, with each portraying the media as complicit in perpetuating bigotry through editorial choices and coverage.

“Impeachment” does something similar while reappraising the Clinton affair through Lewinsky’s point of view, consistent with the #MeToo era’s achievement in baring the power differential between Clinton and a 20-something intern.

Lewinsky also has a producer credit, which partly explains the sympathetic rendering of her character against the cartoonish scripting that went into fleshing out Clinton accuser Paula Jones (Annaleigh Ashford) and Tripp. For her part Ashford calls forth a surefooted performance in the midst of a ham assortment, including an impersonation of Susan Carpenter-McMillan by Judith Light that’s more worthy of a drag competition than a limited series.

Paulson’s take, meanwhile, is simply puzzling. She recently insisted that her goal was to lend Tripp a note of humanity in order to help us understand why she would betray the trust of a woman many years her junior, both in age and experience.

By the close of the first seven hours of “Impeachment,” it is still not clear if she ever accomplishes this. Watching Paulson act against her synthetic proboscis and jowls becomes its own fascinating diversion, especially during the first two or three hours when she and other players such as Billy Eichner’s Matt Drudge and Cobie Smulders’ Ann Coulter establish the flavor of partisan tension permeating 1990s Washington D.C.

That costuming also helps us understand the extent by which “Impeachment” fails to meet the bar set by previous “American Crime Story” installments.

It all comes down to viewing one through the strands of a wig and another by a nose, one of several. If Paulson’s work in “The People v. O.J. Simpson: American Crime Story” was a tour de force despite her having to contend with a series of impressively frightening wigs, the extensive prosthetics she wears in “Impeachment” smother her efforts before they can breach the latex gummed on to her face.

But the fault doesn’t rest with Paulson or the makeup department; both the actor and the cosmetics artists that constructed Tripp’s likeness around her are merely doing the best they can with material given them. Over-the-top dialogue is Murphy signature, so one comes to expect lines such as “That stain is white gold!” to roll out of the mouth of someone like Margo Martindale with the smoothness of a bowling ball rocketing towards a strike. Many of them do. Few weave together in a way that expands the character profiles of the people saying them or those they’re speaking about.

Tripp is the most wretched exhibit of this, written as someone captive to envy – hungry for recognition more than respect, eager to be recognized as a D.C. insider – and little more. Beyond that and a few scenes of her miserably blending SlimFast shakes or chewing one of her sad frozen dinners, all she has is work gossip and the excitement a too-eager Monica brings into her small life. We already assumed that about Linda Tripp; Paulson merely adds her own lace and ruffles to that picture.


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Interiority informs nothing about “Impeachment” or its personalities, you see. Everything lies in the exteriors – the prosthetics, the precise approximation of a famous person’s timbre or manner of speech. Smulders does a fabulous job with Coulter in this regard, but her impressive act might be attributable in part to the fact that Coulter herself is a caricature.

Less excusable is Owen’s obvious effort to maintain his vocal impersonation of Clinton at the expense of his physicality. He may have the man’s inflections down cold, but the rest of him becomes petrified wood. But at least he has more to do onscreen than Edie Falco’s Hillary Clinton, given barely enough screen time to notice she’s there.

Loading huge names into these ripped-from-the-headlines takes is central to the “American Crime Story” brand. We accept this. But “Impeachment” presents a case where the screen stars are so overwhelmed by production’s devotion to excess and maximal interpretation of recent history that its key lessons are largely negated. Lewinsky, through Feldstein, may be the only one to emerge more fully acquitted in the public’s perception.

Many of us decided years ago that Lewinsky has gone through enough; adding our own suffering to the equation by sitting through this show won’t change the #MeToo era’s perception of what the script posits through the show’s version of George Conway. “Having sex with an office girl is not a high crime or misdemeanor,” he tells Smulders’ Coulter. 

Her response to Conway might as well double as an indictment of the show itself. She says, “You’ve become a bore.”

“Impeachment: American Crime Story” premieres Tuesday, Sept. 7 at 10 p.m. on FX.

Telemedicine abortions offer cheaper options but may also undermine critical clinics

Allison Hansen had just gone through a breakup with her boyfriend last year when she discovered she was pregnant. She already had an 8-year-old son and did not want another child.

Hansen called the Planned Parenthood facility near her home in Savannah, Georgia, to inquire about abortion services and was told the procedure would cost $500 and require four to six hours at the clinic.

Hansen didn’t have that kind of time. Her son was at home, attending school online, and needed supervision. While Googling for alternatives, she came across Carafem — a nonprofit that delivers abortion pills to a patient’s home after a telemedicine visit for $375 or less.

“It just seemed almost too good to be true,” Hansen recalled.

Patients like Hansen have benefited from a quiet but monumental shift in abortion access enabled by the covid-19 pandemic. In July 2020, in response to advocates’ concerns about the risks posed by in-person visits in a pandemic, a federal court placed on hold a long-standing FDA rule that required mifepristone — the first pill in a two-step regimen used in medical abortions — to be dispensed in clinics. After the Trump administration appealed that decision, the conservative-majority Supreme Court agreed to reinstate the rule, with Chief Justice John Roberts writing that courts should defer to government experts who set the rules. The Biden administration put the rule back on hold in April during the remaining public health emergency and said it is reviewing the agency’s restriction.

In the meantime, telemedicine abortion operations are growing in some places, although not in such states as Texas and Alabama with strict laws designed to curb or end abortions.

 

A new slate of digital abortion options like Just the Pill, Hey Jane, Abortion on Demand and Choix proliferated, mailing abortion pills to patients in many states after a telemedicine visit. Carafem, which had been mailing the pills to patients in Georgia before the pandemic as part of a research project, streamlined its process for patients who are eligible for medical abortions.

These services can be a lifeline for patients who haven’t hit the 10- or 11-week threshold typically used for medical abortion and who can’t get to a clinic or need a less expensive choice. But reproductive health advocates worry that telemedicine abortion options don’t reach the patients who need it the most because they live in states with laws that actively discourage abortions and have made in-clinic care harder to access. At the same time, these new options could be endangering brick-and-mortar clinics by siphoning away the first-trimester visits that make up more than 90% of abortions.

“If [clinics] lose a considerable amount of the clientele for first-trimester abortions, they might have to close, or some of them will,” said Carole Joffe, a professor focusing on reproductive health at the University of California-San Francisco and co-author of “Obstacle Course: The Everyday Struggle to Get an Abortion in America.” “Potentially, we see people needing second-trimester procedures, not to mention even later ones, with literally nowhere to go.”

Many clinics, which charge higher prices to support the costs of running a building and providing security, are closing around the country amid an avalanche of state restrictions. That is especially true of independent clinics, which perform 58% of abortions, according to the Abortion Care Network, an association of independent providers. Since 2012, the number of independent abortion clinics has dropped by 34%.

Concerns about access to abortion deepened this week when a Texas law took effect banning abortions after six weeks of pregnancy and a divided Supreme Court did not block it, at least for now. The court is also scheduled to hear a case this term on Mississippi’s 15-week abortion ban. If the justices allow either state law to stand, it would likely lead other states to further restrict abortion, forcing patients in many conservative states across the South, Midwest and West to travel for services or seek out overseas options like Aid Access, according to Mary Ziegler, a Florida State University law professor who focuses on legal issues surrounding reproductive health and sexuality.

“If you’re in New York or California or Boston, you can get abortion pills online, you can go to a clinic — there are tons of options. Whereas if you’re in a state like Alabama, you’re probably going to be worried that you can’t do any of those things,” Ziegler said.

Carafem, which operates clinics in Georgia, Illinois, Tennessee and Maryland, began mailing abortion pills to patients in Georgia in 2019 when it joined the TelAbortion Study, an ongoing project run by the reproductive health nonprofit Gynuity that received federal permission to study the safety of telemedicine abortions. Over four years, abortion providers mailed 1,390 medication packages to patients in 13 states and Washington, D.C. Researchers reported that 95% of tracked participants had a complete abortion without a procedure. They reported 10 serious adverse events, including five cases of patients needing blood transfusions, none of which could have been avoided by an in-person visit, the researchers said. Participants made 70 unplanned visits to emergency rooms or urgent care centers.

Anti-abortion advocates, however, stress that medical abortion should require in-person exams.

“Women deserve excellent health care, and excellent health care does not involve talking to someone online,” said Dr. Christina Francis, board chair of the American Association of Pro-Life Obstetricians and Gynecologists. “It involves actually being seen and being evaluated to make sure that if she’s going to make this decision, she’s an appropriate candidate to make this decision and she’s not putting herself at severe risk by taking these medications.”

Many states require in-person counseling or ultrasounds before an abortion, forcing patients to make more than one trip to a clinic. In 19 states, laws require a physician who prescribes a medical abortion to be physically present when the medication is administered.

Alabama is one of those states. “I use telemedicine all the time because I’m a full-spectrum OB-GYN,” said Dr. Sanithia Williams, an abortion provider at Alabama Women’s Center for Reproductive Alternatives in Huntsville. “But for the abortion portion of my practice, it just is completely nonexistent.”

Even in states with relatively few abortion restrictions, patients with medical risk factors, unreliable periods, unsafe living situations or pregnancies beyond 11 weeks generally can’t get care online. “There will always be a need for clinic-based health care,” said Melissa Grant, chief operations officer of Carafem. “This is not a panacea.”

On a Thursday morning in late June, Leah Coplon, a certified nurse midwife, sat down in the Augusta office of Maine Family Planning for a televisit with a patient seeking an abortion who was in her home miles away. The young patient nodded and messaged her boyfriend, telling him to go buy her menstrual pads, as Coplon ran through a detailed list of warning signs like excessive bleeding that should prompt a call to the clinic or trip to an emergency room. “This is all very rare, but I’ve got to tell you the scary things. That’s my job,” Coplon said, the blue light of the monitor reflecting off her glasses.

For uninsured patients, the out-of-pocket cost for a telemedicine visit like this is $500, about average for brick-and-mortar clinics.

Maine is among a minority of states that cover abortions under Medicaid. The state also requires private plans to cover abortion if they cover prenatal care. Yet even here, with 8% of the population uninsured, cost is the biggest barrier Coplon’s patients face, she said. To meet the needs of low-income patients, clinics like hers haven’t raised their out-of-pocket rates in years. If the price of abortion had kept pace with medical inflation, a procedure that cost $200 in 1974 would cost $2,686 today, according to a Bloomberg Businessweek calculation last year.

Maine Family Planning has 18 locations across the sprawling, mostly rural state. In 2014, it became one of the first clinics to launch a telehealth pilot program. When covid struck, providers like Coplon used existing telemedicine equipment to shift to a “no-test” protocol, bypassing ultrasounds and blood tests that research shows can be safely skipped in order to minimize contact with patients.

For many patients choosing between a clinic and an online service, cost will be a deciding factor — and that concerns Dr. Jamie Phifer, founder of Abortion on Demand, which serves patients in 20 states and Washington, D.C. Like many other digital options, Phifer’s service does not take insurance, but she worries her low out-of-pocket price — $239, or less than half of what a typical clinic charges — could put abortion clinics out of business.

“I am very worried that in-person clinics are already bearing the brunt of the challenges of abortion access,” Phifer said. “They already have to hire security and deal with protesters, and they have been on the ground working for access for 50 years, longer than I have been around.”

Phifer, who lost her job as a primary care doctor following a profile of her work on Abortion on Demand in a magazine, plans to donate 60% of the profits from her business to the Abortion Care Network to support brick-and-mortar clinics.

“I didn’t want to contribute to creating a two-tiered system,” Phifer said.

“Nobody joins a cult. They join a group of friends”: What went down in the “Sarah Lawrence cult”

What do you think of when you see the word “cult”? A bunch of Manson girls wending their way toward Cielo drive? A Peoples Temple flock forced into suicide in Jonestown? What you probably don’t think of is a bunch of kids from a prestigious liberal arts college being manipulated by the dad of a fellow student.

When writers Ezra Marcus and James D. Walsh published “The Stolen Kids of Sarah Lawrence” in New York magazine in 2019, an immediate flurry of attention followed. The story — of a charismatic, just-released-from-prison parent who reportedly manipulated, blackmailed, abused and ultimately divided a group of friends — seemed like a tabloid-ready tale. But it was not sensational. It was instead an object lesson in the life cycle of an harmful relationship, and how vulnerable anyone can become.The story led to a development deal from Amazon, and an indictment for sex trafficking and extortion for the man at the center of it, Larry Ray.

And now, one of the former members of the group, Daniel Barban Levin, has written his account of what went on during those tumultuous, painful years of his young adulthood. It’s an intense tale of coercion, humiliation, gaslighting and physical torment. It’s also one of hard-won survival, and creating a life after the unimaginable. Salon spoke to Barban Levin recently via Zoom about writing his way to a new narrative, when he knew he had to walk away, why nobody sets out to join a cult — and what really happened at Slonim Woods 9, the name of a dormitory on Sarah Lawrence’s campus from which Barban Levin took his memoir title.

As always, our conversation has been edited and condensed for clarity.

It takes a lot of courage to make yourself vulnerable again, to relive that experience writing about it.

The process of writing the book did a few things for me. I had gone through an experience that seems explicitly designed around telling a new story for me about who I was and what my memories even were.

The man who abused me was such a talented storyteller that he could convince you that something that wasn’t real was real. Writing was not only about telling my story as I remember it and believe it. I spent a year writing this, and every day of writing it I had to make the claim that my account matters and is valid. I’m staking my flag in my own credibility, and I’m saying I trust myself. Then also even further, it’s kind of an attempt to trust other people, just to give people my story and hope that they will believe me.

You talk about this man who was such a skillful manipulator and storyteller and disruptor of reality. When you think about him now, how would you answer the question “who is Larry Ray?”

That’s a really hard question to answer. I will say that for a lot of the time that I was in his presence, that I was actively being tortured even, in those moments, I was asking myself that question. There were a lot of answers, and it was unclear to me where those answers were coming from and what was real and what wasn’t. He was a father, he was supposedly a Marine, he was supposedly an intelligence officer. He had shown me photos of himself with George H. W. Bush and Gorbachev and they looked like pals, so there were all those things.

The process of trying to answer that question, to arrive at a clear definitive answer to who is this man, or even what are his intentions, was for me kind of a trap. If you spend your energy trying to figure out who your abuser is or if they’re a good person, you’re not leaving. The thing on the other side of the scale that outweighs everything is, he was the person who was hurting me and I didn’t deserve that.


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What this book illuminates so clearly to people who have not been in what we would characterize as cults, or in abusive relationships, is they don’t start out abusive. You don’t get into them because you think, “I would like to be tormented and abused.” How did it start for you, where you became drawn in with this person?

Nobody joins a cult. They join a group of friends or they join a self-help group or whatever it is. But nobody says, “Oh, this is a cult and I can’t wait to get involved.”

In my experience, this is my friend’s dad who just showed up at our dorm. We were on the meal plan, eating the not very good college food, and he showed up and was buying us fancy takeout. He said, “Come have some pasta,” and that’s hard to say no to and is innocuous. Then between there and me being in his apartment in Manhattan living there with all my friends and him torturing me is many, many steps. It’s a slow burn, bringing out the frog in boiling water kind of thing. I tried to lay out in the book all of those steps, and how you get from A to Z . You don’t encounter someone who’s obviously an abuser and then stick around.

One of the first things that happens is building intimacy and building trust.

In some ways I think I was vulnerable to that kind of insidious intimacy because of my age. When you’re 18, 19, 20, you’re doing what you’re supposed to be doing, which is questioning. You’re looking back on where you grew up, how you grew up, what it means to be a person or be an adult, to make an impact in the world. You’re questioning those roots and you’re trying to grow your own branches. That’s a really tender and potentially really productive place to be. But in this very specific instance, if someone wants to, they can slip in and leverage that vulnerability.

It’s very common in abusive relationships in cults like this, or in any kind of a cultic relationship, for someone to do what’s called love bombing, where they show up and then they make you feel fantastic, they make you feel relieved. All of your things that you were worried about, your questions — in my case about my masculinity, about my body, about my sexuality, about how to be a good person. This person was saying, “You don’t have to ask those questions anymore or feel that you’re shouting them into a void, because I will answer them.” I also happened to grow up in a place where therapy wasn’t really a thing that we would do, so I didn’t feel that I had some nonjudgmental third party to go to, to ask these questions. He made himself that person.

That’s how you get to this escalation of slowly changing your reality.

One of the things I came away with was an understanding of how tenuous our attachment to our reality is. We currently live in a world, in a country, where people believe very different versions of reality than we might believe. It feels it’s conceivable that someone could think that clear historical events occurred completely differently than we think they did. This was an experience with a man who was able to make me question what had actually happened an hour ago, a year ago, ten years ago. Part of that was just that slow burn of manipulation and the pressure, the abuse. There was also peer pressure, and me seeing my social group believe these things made me want to believe them.

It reminds me of the dynamics in abusive families, where there is no one to check your reality against. You were going along with things and that part of your brain that was saying, “This is weird,” wasn’t speaking out.

It makes me wish that everyone had a version of that checklist that I just happened upon later on and to hold it up against not just if you’re in an abusive group, but even in the abusive relationship or what you suspect might be. I had been able to say to myself, “Well, the fact that it feels impossible to question or dissent or talk about what’s happening here, and that in itself is a real problem.”

What I was thinking in my head was, “Okay, my friends are going along with this, they even seem to be supporting it as they’re actively sitting around watching me be abused. Maybe it’s supposed to be something that’s good. At the same time, I also know that I’ve been in that position and I’m pretending I feel okay with what’s happening. So are they doing that?” But it was impossible for us to check in because there was this constant fear that the other person wouldn’t. The consequences were too high if they didn’t agree with you and they would go straight to your abuser and say, “This person has turned against you.”

You had situations where people, including you, were singled out, humiliated, attacked, confronted. I want to ask you about that, because there are so many choices that you had to make as a narrator. You, taking control of the story as an author, had to decide, “How do I tell this story?”

I decided early on in the process of writing this that shame is a tool that men like this use to keep people that they’ve hurt quiet. If I embraced who I was, who I am — which is someone who experienced this abuse, who survived and who is here now to stand by my account — if I took that shame and turned it inside out and made it my power, then I could live. But continuing to hide and to let the shame that was really him, that was his voice, dictate how I live my life and what story I told about myself, then I would never really get to fully live my own life.

It’s about owning the story rather than rewriting it or reinterpreting it.

It’s an act of trying to believe that if I tell people what happened to me, they won’t look at me with disgust or hold me at arm’s length. The people who love me now will still love me after they read the book. I am not alone, and in fact, after telling my story, maybe will be even less alone.

It has now been two years since this story first published. It had an immediate impact when it was published. It became a criminal investigation, a case that is still going on. What was the reaction directly to you after this came out?

When I was first contacted by the New York Magazine reporters, I had been hiding for many years, truly in fear that someone from this group would show up and try and bring me back or something. That fear, I managed to bottle up over time. At first, I was afraid every time I walked around the corner, and that got less severe.

I got contacted by these reporters, and I had told myself that surely the group — maybe it had fallen apart or it had changed. I was still afraid that Larry was around. They told me not only did it still exist, but that the story they were reporting at first was that my friend had apparently poisoned some people in our college. I think most people, if they got that call, would be shocked and wouldn’t know how to react. But I knew exactly what they were talking about and that it wasn’t true because I’d heard the exact accusation told many, many times when it was within that group.

It became my responsibility suddenly to protect my friends from the abuse leaking out beyond the confines of the room where it had always happened into the world and affecting her life. So I told the story to them and was candid about it. It felt like suddenly I was exposing myself. I was speaking out against the man who I had believed for a long time if I even said something negative about him in private, he would somehow know and show up and hurt me. It felt to me like if people don’t believe me, then I’ve just fully put my head on the chopping block, but okay, I’ve protected my friend. If they do believe me, then in fact, I may be a little bit more safe.

When the indictment happened, it did feel at least partially an immense relief that something had come from this, that I had been believed not just by people but by maybe the justice system. It made me feel a little safer.

The narrative so often in stories of crime or abuse or cults is to look at the leader, to look at the perpetrator. You don’t do that. You don’t try to explain him or understand him or delve into the why of him. I’m sure that that was a choice.

I found for a long time that I could not engage with the type of content that I’ve seen out there, in which people depict cults and true crime things and thrillers that try to deal with this. My experience has been that our obsession with cult leaders, with the horrible, monstrous outliers of humanity, and our obsession with the abuse that the victims have suffered over the victims themselves, made it impossible for me in the process of coming out of this to see myself inside the word “cult.” There are all these cultural connotations around what a cult is that that makes it very other. When we imagine a cult victim, we don’t imagine a person really, or certainly not a person we know. I was so afraid to admit what had happened to me because it felt like I would become a freak, for lack of a better word.

I wanted to, as best as I could, normalize the experience and to expose how one gets pulled into this, how it’s a result of not particularly unfamiliar social dynamics. I didn’t want to put the abuser up on a pedestal and then say, “Oh, look at this,” because people seem to do that with these people, like, “Look at how incredible and strange they are, In fact, he’s just a sick human being who’s very ill, you know?

It’s been nine years. What is your life like now?

I was always a writer, and so the time in between, I was still writing. I lived in New York for a while. I got offered a job in New Hampshire taking care of Robert Frost’s house and I did that for a while. Then I got into grad school and jumped at the opportunity to move as far away from the East Coast as possible. It has given me a breathing room to just have space. I went to grad school for writing out here in Southern California, and now I live in L.A. I’m very lucky to have a great group of friends out here and to have a pretty full life. A lot of the past couple of years has been living inside of the retelling of this story, which is its own kind of re-traumatization to weather and survive. 

Are you following the case and the key people involved in it, or have you distanced yourself from that narrative?

It’s hard to get away from, because there are all kinds of people in my life — well-meaning people — who will let me know when something’s happening. I feel aware of the major things that have gone on. I’m certainly conscious of every time the trial is pushed back. A lot of space in my brain is taken up with just anticipating that trial and what it means.

This is not obviously a self-help guide, this is not a how-to. But I’m sure when you talk to people, they ask you, “What are some of the red flags that I should maybe pay attention to?”

There is a set of things if we’re really just looking for red flags. We’re talking about really familiar dynamics, but just taken to their most toxic extremes. What a cult is, it’s many different things. It can be a group that’s focused on a leader who’s alive and that leader isn’t accountable to a higher authority, but that can be what a political party is also, in its worst form. It could be just a group that’s focused on bringing in new members, which sounds like a club, but if you push that too far, it’s a cult. It could be a group that discourages dissent, but that could be the worst form of a government. Or it could claim an exalted status for itself and its leadership, which sounds like a religion, but again, taken to the extreme.

All of these things, they exist in other facets of our social lives, but it’s just when they’re turned so far that they wipe out every other aspect of just being a regular human being that they become this toxic thing.

It brings me to the question of, how did I answer that question for myself at the time? How did I feel that what was going on was wrong enough that I had a clear enough answer that I could step away?

I got into this because I didn’t feel like I had any outlets where I could be really open and vulnerable about what felt to me like the messy questions that I had never gotten to talk about with anyone. If I could change the world, it would be to make a world where people feel like it’s possible to be more open and that the people that they’re open with will be compassionate and that shame will not come into the picture.

The way that I left was to finally arrive at trusting my body enough, that it was telling me I couldn’t endure this anymore and it hurt. I had been ignoring myself for a very long time because I thought that this man knew me better than I did. Finally, the answer was just, I am right about me.

I would say to people, the best you can do is to just trust yourself. If it feels bad, step away and just try that out. If you feel like it’s going to be a disaster for you to leave, then that’s a pretty clear red flag that it’s not a good situation. You should be able to leave. That’s the best answer I can give to that, I think.

 

The pathetic plight of TV’s catfished women

Netflix’s “Clickbait” and Hulu’s “Nine Perfect Strangers” don’t seem to share a lot on the surface — the former is a twisty thriller about a local family man’s apparent death-by-viral-video; the latter is a psychedelic mystery set at a creepy wellness resort. But they do have one thing in common: the portrayal of hapless, pathetic single women as the victims of predatory online catfishing

Fictionalized catfishing storylines can make for such compelling storytelling that onscreen portrayals of this phenomenon are almost the “clickbait” of streaming these days. Real-life catfishing on dating sites is the subject of MTV’s beloved reality show, “Catfish,” in which its hosts travel across the country helping everyday, unsuspecting Americans decipher whether their online suitors are who they say they are. Part of the timeless allure of onscreen depictions of catfishing is the opportunity to present what we see in “Clickbait” and “Nine Perfect Strangers” — the pitiful spectacle of sad, often crazy, lonely single women being deceived in their desperation for companionship.

On Hulu’s adaptation of Liane Moriarty’s “Nine Perfect Strangers,” Melissa McCarthy plays Frances Welty, a bestselling romance novelist who journeys to the Tranquillum resort to heal her broken heart. Frances was recently duped by a man she met online and fell in love with, who ghosted her shortly after accepting thousands of dollars from her for his fake son’s equally fake, life-saving surgery. 

As the show progresses, and with the help of psychedelic drugs, Frances gradually seems to heal, become more confident and move past the guy who hurt her. But her progress doesn’t exactly override how we’re first introduced to her — as a woman whose singleness and devotion to romantic ideals made her so unhappy and desperate as to be swindled by the first internet stranger to pay attention to her. Because Frances is portrayed by the irresistibly charming McCarthy, she’s ultimately likable, spirited and sympathetic, but her character still feels like a cautionary tale of the supposed, inevitable tragedy and clownery that come with being an aging single woman.

On Netflix’s “Clickbait,” catfishing takes on a far more signifcant and fatal role. At the beginning of “Clickbait,” we’re initially sold on the idea of Nick, played by Adrien Grenier (best known for “Entourage” or aka the most hated boyfriend in America from “Devil Wears Prada”), as the perfect all-around family man. That’s until a rash of dating profiles under his name and image are discovered across several apps and platforms, and his wife and family are left to parse through the pieces of his double life after he’s killed.

But as the show winds down, the truth eventually comes to light that one of Nick’s dour and lonely female co-workers had stolen his photos and other files from his computer to create the dating apps, and catfish dozens upon dozens of women while posing as Nick. The somehow remarkably technologically adept older woman, Dawn (Becca Lish), even managed to pull off deep-fakes, altering her voice to sound like a man to some of the women she talked to. 

The women Dawn catfished are meant to be peripheral on this show, which is adamantly focused on uncovering the identity of Nick’s killer. But it’s clear being catfished has carried tremendous impact on their lives. In one of the more shocking revelations, a woman took her own life as a result of encouragement from Dawn posing as Nick, ultimately setting off the chain of events that leads to Nick’s death. 

In addition to this victim, Emma Beesly (Jessie Collins) is the most notable face of the show’s many catfished women, because of the extent of her obsession with “Nick.” After the actual Nick’s death, Beesly travels up from Los Angeles to the Bay Area where Nick’s family resides, telling her airline that she and Nick had been engaged prior to her death. We later learn her intimate “flashbacks” with Nick are delusions stemming from sexting sessions with Dawn. However physically and emotionally real her relationship with “Nick” may have been to her, she’d never even met him, and all of it was actually in her head. Surprise, surprise — she’s yet another woman so bitter with her single status that she becomes crazy and delusional.

You’d think based on stories like these that victims of catfishing are exclusively desperate, lonely women. Yet, in real life, men are more likely to be catfished than women. In 2018, 43% of surveyed men said they’d been catfished, compared to just 28% of women. After all, it’s Nev Shulman’s own experience getting fooled that inspired the movie and then subsequent TV series (and now a podcast!) “Catfish.” He wasn’t looking for romance, and he was all told, a pretty plugged-in young man when he was taken in. And then there’s the Notre Dame linebacker Manti Te’o who claims he was catfished, although there are still lingering doubts if he helped to perpetuate the hoax of a fake girlfriend who died of leukemia. Also, just ask any man on any dating app ever.


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On the flip side, the ones who are doing the catfishing are not so easily pigeonholed as those needing more love in their lives. Despite how the catfishing culprit of “Clickbait” is revealed to be an old woman who’s so bored and dissatisfied with her childless, grandchildless life as to steal a man’s identity, one in three men report perpetrating catfishing compared with just one in four of women. 

Neither “Clickbait” nor “Nine Perfect Strangers” attempt to present themselves as accurate, true-to-life depictions of catfishing. But wittingly or not, both capitalize on the trope of single women as desperately lonely and pathetic, thus more susceptible to delusion and predation – when we have ample evidence that catfishing victims are not always single, lovelorn women.

Frances in “Nine Perfect Strangers” is a wealthy and commercially successful novelist, yet we’re led to believe that because she’s an unmarried woman, her life is dissatisfying. In “Clickbait,” our glimpses into Emma’s life aren’t particularly exciting or joyful. But unlike what we see onscreen, most single, adult women in the real world don’t regard online boyfriends as the cure-all solution to broader problems in their lives. 

The depiction of Dawn as necessarily unhappy, nasty and perverted because she doesn’t have kids, and therefore has nothing else going on in her life, is even more problematic. Is this how “Clickbait” expects us to perceive child-free women when they grow older — as psychopathic, perhaps even dangerous?

Neither “Clickbait” nor “Nine Perfect Strangers” are tagged as comedies. Yet, there’s certainly some level of comedic subtext in the treatment of their catfishing victims. On these shows, catfished women are pitiful, gullible, and decisively single — and for these reasons, they’re the butt of the joke.

Was the cheeseburger actually invented in Louisville, Kentucky?

To this day, the origins of the hamburger are contentiously debated. 

Some say that it’s the invention of German immigrants who, once they reached American soil, ate frikadelle, pan-fried meatballs made of minced pork and beef, on a small sliced roll. Those meatballs were the undeniable precursor for the Hamburg steak, a ground beef patty originally flecked with bone marrow and kidneys, which sold for 11 cents at Delmonico’s Restaurant starting in 1837. 

Athens, Texas, has long laid claim to the burger’s invention (the town’s water tower simply reads: “Hamburgers”), while in a slightly passive-aggressive move, Tulsa, Oklahoma, proclaimed itself “The Real Birthplace of the Hamburger” because it’s believed that the first burger on a yeast bun may have been served there. 

In 1977, Jane and Michael Stern wrote for New York Magazine that Louis Lunch, a small lunch wagon-turned-greasy spoon diner in New Haven, claimed to have created the sandwich through patented “New England thriftiness,” which saw the original owner, Louis Lassen, grinding up leftover steak, forming it into square patties and serving it on toast. 

“The dish actually had no name until some rowdy sailors from Hamburg named the meat on a bun after themselves years later,” the Sterns wrote. They then noted that “all this history is subject to dispute.” 

One assertion, however, that I never questioned was that the first place to gild the simple hamburger with a slice of golden-yellow cheese was located practically in my backyard. That is, until now. 

I moved to Louisville, Kentucky, to attend Bellarmine University, a Catholic liberal arts college tucked in a largely residential neighborhood. I don’t remember much about my original campus tour, but I do remember the guide — a communications major whose broad smile seemed powered by the two iced coffees she carried — walking us down into the refurbished university dining hall. 


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“The food here is actually pretty good,” she said, gesturing vaguely at the verdant salad bar. 

“But” — and at this point she lowered her tone to an almost-conspiratorial whisper — “the place that invented the freaking cheeseburger is just up on that hill.” 

One of the dads on the tour asked if the burger was any good and she shrugged, the ice cubes in her coffees rattling gently against the interior of the plastic cups. “I never got to try it,” she said. “It was called Kaelin’s. They’re gone now, but apparently they were great.” 

I loved this bit of trivia and loosely clung to it for years. 

After a while, Louisville sort of became my adopted hometown and swapping fun facts about the city was a way of demonstrating a kind of belonging, I suppose, in a place where lifelong residents are pretty close-knit. Like, sure, I didn’t go to high school here, but did you know Louisville used to make like 90 percent of the disco balls in the United States? Our parents didn’t take first communion together, but what do you think about the legend of the Pope Lick Monster

I was recently showing a family friend’s daughter the Bellarmine campus and, much like the very caffeinated tour guide I’d once had, I gestured up the hill and said, “Hey, see that restaurant up there? They invented the cheeseburger.” 

She raised an eyebrow and, before returning to scrolling Instagram, asked; “Are you sure?” 

I was not. 

* * *

In 1934, Carl Kaelin, a failed chicken farmer and former whiskey bootlegger, scraped together $680 and, alongside his wife Margaret, opened an eponymous family restaurant. That same year, they started selling a cheeseburger — a pressed beef patty topped with American cheese and served between a yeast bun — for 15 cents, and the mythologizing began. 

Throughout the years, numerous publications, from Southern Living to Louisville’s Courier Journal, repeated the claim, as did TODAY Show co-host Al Roker, who used to also host the popular Food Network program “Roker on the Road.” Often this was done with a slight wink — much like the hamburger, there were other contenders for the title of inventor. But local pride surrounding the idea that, for better or worse, a dish that was emblematic of American culinary identity had been crafted here was strong. 

Kaelin’s had another claim to fame. As the Courier Journal reported, Carl Kaelin was friends with Kentucky Fried Chicken founder Harland Sanders before the Colonel launched his 11-spice recipe that went on to earn international fame. Kaelin’s daughter, Irma Raque, told the publication that she remembers when Sanders approached her father about selling his fried chicken at their restaurant.

“He came to my daddy on a Christmas morning,” Raque said. “We were opening gifts, and he knocked on the back door. Mother answered and she said, ‘Pappy Sanders, what are you doing here? It’s Christmas.’

“He said, ‘I’ve got a deal to make you rich.'”

For decades, Kaelin’s sold Sanders’ chicken at their restaurant and even went on to open a second location, aptly called Kaelin’s Kentucky Fried Chicken. The family, however, did not invest in Sanders’ franchise idea. As Tommy Raque, Irma’s son, told the Chicago Tribune in 1992, “Granddad couldn’t see putting 10,000 bucks into it. If he only had, I might not be standing here, frying cheeseburgers.”

But, as Raque told the Tribune, Carl Kaelin never saw himself as a figure who existed in the shadow of Harlan Sanders. Proud of his own place in American history, Kaelin used to boast that he would give several thousand dollars to anyone who could disprove his claim that he was the first restaurant offering cheeseburgers. 

During his lifetime, no one took up the challenge. 

After Carl’s death in 1978, Raque kept things running until she eventually sold in the early 2000s. The restaurant then changed hands several times before operating as a loosely Irish-themed sports bar called Mulligan’s for five years, before finally shutting down in 2009 — at that point, seemingly for good. 

When I attended school, the building was just a tired-looking, empty shell. However, the bronze plaque that had long been posted on the exterior, reading “Kaelin’s: Birthplace of the Cheeseburger,” was still affixed to the south-facing wall. 

* * *

Stephen Hacker, a food historian and author of “Lost Restaurants of Louisville,” doesn’t believe the cheeseburger was invented here, though, he said in a recent phone call, he hates to “burst anyone’s burger bubble.”

“I did research for my book and there’s an image of a menu from 1928 for O’Dell’s in Los Angeles,” Hacker said. “And it offers a cheeseburger. And then I found a little later, in Pasadena, The Rite Spot and — and this is a little flimsy to me — a 1964 TIME Magazine article suggested they were the inventor of the cheeseburger.” 

Hacker said that for awhile, he thought that perhaps Kaelin’s was the first restaurant in the city, or even the region, to create the cheeseburger, but when perusing through the Courier Journal’s own archives, there was a 1932 advertisement for The Little Tavern — which he described as a “White Castle knock-off” — that stated they had cheeseburgers on the menu. That would have been two years before Kaelin’s even opened their doors. 

“And I mean, I understand why they would have said that — it’s promotion, it’s notoriety,” Hacker said. “I will say, as a longtime Louisville resident, the idea that the cheeseburger was invented here, by the Kaelins, was very cemented into the local lore.” 

And so it remains, to a certain extent. 

I ran a (very unscientific) Twitter poll leading up to the long weekend asking Louisville residents whether they thought the cheeseburger was actually invented at Kaelin’s, and a little over half of the 130 folks who responded said they did. Bellarmine University retweeted the poll with the caption, “We believe,” followed by a burger emoji. 

And why wouldn’t you want to believe? 

The cheeseburger is a marker of American identity. It simultaneously symbolizes commercial excess —  when viewed through the lens of the supersized Big Mac — and a kind of scrappy frugality when boiled down to its basic parts: minced meat, a simple bun and processed cheese with a low melting point. It’s a reliable choice on both steakhouse and diner menus. It’s a food of comfort (when I had my first “real break up” in high school, I remember my mom driving me for a late-night Wendy’s cheeseburger) and backyard celebration. Bad cheeseburgers are hard to make and good ones are divine. Who wouldn’t want to have a slice of that history? 

Put another way, no one is scrambling to lay claim to the invention of the turkey sandwich. 

In 2018, a trio of restaurant owners — Bill DuBourg, Chris Fenton and Matt Skaggs — moved into the old Kaelin’s space and opened a new burger joint called 80/20 at Kaelin’s. “A lot of people think we’re reopening Kaelin’s, and we’re not reopening Kaelin’s,” DuBourg said in an interview with the Courier Journal. “We’re kind of paying homage to what Kaelin’s originally was, but we’re bringing it into the new age.”

They cleaned up the “Birthplace of the Cheeseburger” plaque, but note on their website that “this claim to fame is argued amongst historians and the real origins are unconfirmed for the record books.”

Their throwback burger, called Kaelin’s Original Cheeseburger, features a slightly-crisped 4-ounce patty on a potato bun with melty American cheese, Dusseldorf mustard, onions and pickles. It’s pretty stellar — enough so that, when writing this story, I found myself craving one the entire time. 

After a couple hours of writing on Friday, I pulled into the Kaelin’s lot to grab one and a chocolate milkshake. While waiting for my order, I saw a man leaving with a couple of takeout bags. He said his son was in town from college and he’d ordered four burgers; he’d eat one and his son would eat three. 

I asked what he thought about the claims that the original Kaelin’s had invented the cheeseburger and he thought for a moment before sort of laughing and lifting the to-go bags into his front seat. “I don’t know about that,” he said. “But they make a damn good burger now.” 

And I suppose that being one of the first is still a damn good story.

Flora, fauna, and … funga? The case for a third “F”

I n 1999, Giuliana Furci developed a profound interest in fungi. They were everywhere, and the 20-year-old took particular joy in the multiformity of mushrooms: small and button-shaped; tall and umbrella-like; bulging, with crimson red caps topped with white flakes. But Furci also quickly realized that these fungi went largely ignored in Chile, where there were few guidebooks and an almost total lack of policies and resources to legally protect them from over-harvesting, land exploitation, and deforestation.

Determined to correct this, Furci wrote a field guide for Chilean fungi and set up the Fungi Foundation — a nonprofit dedicated to fungi conservation for which she is the executive director. In 2010, she took an even bigger step: Allied with other environmental nonprofits, Furci put forward a proposal for the Chilean government to systematically assess how large new developments such as housing, dams, and highways affect fungi. In 2012, the motion passed and Chile became the first country in the world to protect fungi by law.

Chile is unique in its legal commitment to these spore-producing organisms. As a taxonomic group, fungi are both ubiquitous and diverse, including molds, yeast, mushrooms, and a variety of other organisms. They are also largely neglected in global conservation efforts. Of the estimated 2.2 to 3.8 million species of fungi on Earth, approximately 450 have been assessed by the International Union for Conservation of Nature for inclusion on its Red List of Threatened Species, a large-scale effort to catalog the conservation status of species across the globe. Groups like mammals, birds, and amphibians have been completely or almost completely assessed, while fungi account for less than a percent of all assessments to date.

Policymakers and biodiversity institutions agree that fungi are fundamental to rich and sustainable ecosystems, but few institutions have taken direct steps to explicitly include these organisms in their policy frameworks. One reason: People tend to prefer large charismatic creatures, says Axel Hochkirch, a professor of biodiversity conservation at the University of Trier in Germany. Whales, rhinos, and elephants capture the collective imagination and foster a sense of empathy, he says, driving interest, money, and resources into fighting for their preservation. Fungi have historically been associated with disease, death, and decay, especially in the Western world, says Gregory Mueller, chief scientist and vice president of science at the Chicago Botanic Garden.

Fungi face an additional challenge. After decades of being classified as plants, in the late 1960s biologists recognized that they needed their own separate kingdom. But this recognition has been slow to seep into policy. Popularized by Carl Linnaeus in the 18th century, the term “flora and fauna” no longer includes fungi, but mycologists argue that the term lives on in environmental laws, international biodiversity conventions, and treaties, allowing fungi to be overlooked in policy frameworks and making it challenging for conservationists to obtain legal environmental protections for this diverse and ecologically important kingdom.

In response, a small team of fungal experts and legal scholars have banded together to try and tilt public and legal discourse in favor of fungal conservation. The team aims to add another “F” — funga — to upcoming high-impact reports, declarations, conventions, and treaties that would otherwise focus on “flora and fauna.” One of their chief goals is to get fungi explicitly included in the upcoming Convention on Biological Diversity, a United Nations multilateral agreement and one of the most influential conservation initiatives in the world, whose next meeting is now scheduled to take place in Kunming, China in October.

“Government, people, institutions still think of biodiversity in terms of ‘flora and fauna,'” says David Minter, president of the European Mycological Association. “And that, of course, absolutely excludes fungi — it’s so pervasive.”

Until relatively recently, fungi could belong to only one of two scientific categories: plants or animals. Given that fungi are non-motile organisms often anchored to the soil, they were scientifically classified as plants. But they also differ from plants in significant ways — notably fungi reproduce via spores rather than with flowers and seeds and lack basic structures that plants have, including stamens and pistils. Because of this, for decades fungi were generally considered more primitive and were referred to as “lower” plants.

In 1969, the ecologist Robert Whittaker published a paper challenging the binary classification model, proposing, instead, a five-part classification system that included fungi as its own kingdom. (Later models have included even more kingdoms.) In Whittaker’s system, fungi’s lack of chlorophyll, its general inability to photosynthesize, and its distinct cell wall composition — made from the same substance as insect exoskeletons — made them a unique kingdom of life, more similar to animals than plants.

Fungi establish deeply symbiotic relationships with trees and other plants through intricate underground networks of thread-like filamentous structures, which improve access to water and nutrients for the plants in exchange for carbohydrates. Fungi also decompose leaves, rocks, and other organic materials, turning them into soil, which create the foundation for other organisms to thrive on.

“Their symbiotic nature is very important, and they are the organisms that actually create ecosystems. Without fungi, you just have separate components,” says Furci. As a result, omitting fungi from conservation initiatives has had dire consequences on the world’s ecosystems, experts say. And despite a lack of data, scientists know enough to say that many species of fungi face similar environmental risks as plants and animals, given their susceptibility to climate change, land exploitation, pollution, and deforestation.

Overharvesting of prized mushrooms is also a problem. For example, in Northern Sicily, the white ferula — a girthy, eggshell-colored mushroom noted for its delicious flavor — was the first fungi placed on the IUCN Red List. Found in an area spanning no more than 39 square miles and frequently picked by mushroom hunters, the white ferula is currently teetering on the brink of extinction, with no formal legislation to protect it in the wild.

Large institutions shaping conservation efforts around the world are aware that fungi play an indispensable ecological role. “There is no question that fungi are fundamental to biodiversity,” the Convention on Biological Diversity said in an emailed response provided by information officer Johan Hedlund. “Fungi are vital for ecosystem functioning, aiding in the decomposition and nutrient cycling within our biosphere,” they added. The response acknowledged that the agreement “has no direct policy or strategy in place for the conservation of fungi,” but said the convention’s efforts to preserve habitat indirectly protect fungal species.

The Global Soil Partnership, an initiative launched by the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations in 2011 to improve sustainability of soils around the world, also considers fungi essential for building healthy and biodiverse ecosystems but has “no specific action for conservation of fungi,” says Rosa Cuevas, a soil scientist with the partnership. Rather, the team is working on a broader, all-encompassing initiative to improve below-ground sustainability.

Similarly, the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora (CITES), a multilateral environmental agreement that took effect in 1975, has no fungi on its lists of protected species, said spokesperson Francisco Pérez. In 2002, a resolution was passed by parties to the conventions stating that fungi are covered by it and can indeed be included on the lists of protected species. Despite a discussion of caterpillar fungus during a workshop on the trade in medicinal plants at the 2012 CITES meeting, however, none of the 183 member states have come forward with a proposal so far. This is likely because countries lack knowledge about which fungi are endangered in a way that is pertinent to international trade, says Ronald Orenstein, a zoologist, lawyer, and consultant for Humane Society International, whom he represents as an observer at CITES meetings.

Even the U.S. Endangered Species Act, among the strongest laws for protecting biodiversity passed by any nation, does not explicitly mention fungi. However, this omission likely arose out of a lack of knowledge and understanding about fungi at the time of writing the legislation in 1973, says James Lendemer, a lichenologist at the New York Botanical Garden. He notes that at least two lichens — composite organisms that form from a stable symbiotic fusion of fungi with algae, cyanobacteria, or both — are currently protected by the act. “Clearly, it was intended to apply to all organisms,” he says, or at the very least all macroscopic lifeforms.

In some cases, the reason for this institutional neglect boils down to a simple fact: Policymakers worry that explicitly including fungi in conventions and reports could set a dangerous precedent for other similarly neglected biological kingdoms, such as protists, archaea, and bacteria. In carving out species-specific conservation policies, initiatives “run the risk of conflicting and interfering with one another, resulting in stagnation and no progress on anything,” the Convention on Biological Diversity said in their written response to questions.

Similarly, formally recognizing fungi within the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species would open up the possibility for other amendments within the treaty that could influence far more controversial trade-related regulations, including ivory, says Orenstein. “You enter this years-long, very difficult, very — in my opinion — dangerous process of opening the whole treaty up for amendment,” he says. “And I think most people don’t want to do that.”

* * *

The past decade has witnessed a fungal explosion in popular culture, including best-selling books like Merlin Sheldrake’s “Entangled Life” (“an ebullient and ambitious exploration of a subject that surrounds us,” wrote a reviewer for The New York Times last year); the rise of fungi-based products like faux leather; and the establishment of fungal committees and associations across the world.

Emboldened by this momentum, Furci and Mueller have joined with legal experts to push for fungi-related language in important biodiversity reports, documents, treaties, and conventions. Adding a third F, they hope, will help build the necessary political leverage for a legal roadmap that would directly protect fungi in the long run. Recently, members of the team published a letter in Science, calling on all countries attending the Convention on Biological Diversity meeting to explicitly mention fungi — both large above-ground species and elusive, often microscopic, below-ground species — in their target goals. (Last week, the IUCN and Re:wild, a nonprofit formerly known as Global Wildlife Conservation, announced a commitment “to incorporate fungi in conservation strategies with rare and endangered plants and animals.”)

“When the language is there, someone — meaning policymakers or domestic level advocates, campaigners — will invoke it in litigation, in legislation,” says César Rodríguez Garavito, faculty director of the Center for Human Rights and Global justice at New York University, who is leading the legal aspects of the team’s strategy.

But some are skeptical that a species-specific approach to fungal conservation is the most beneficial strategy. Policies that focus on one species in isolation can sometimes be myopic and self-defeating, says Anders Dahlberg, a professor of mycology at the Swedish University of Agricultural Sciences in Uppsala. In Sweden, for instance, legislation bans the picking of at least five species of mushrooms, but there are other, far more serious threats to fungi populations that are still authorized, like clearing trees and land exploitation. In his view, species-specific laws are meaningless without protection for the broader habitats in which these species grow.

In the case of Chile, Dahlberg says that while it may work for some countries, it’s not clear whether the recent law is a desirable model for others to emulate. A misguided approach could fail to recognize that the greatest threats to fungal species lie at the habitat level — including deforestation, loss of plant biodiversity, and climate change — and thereby require a habitat-level approach, he says.

Others argue that even if fungi did get more recognition, there would still be another systemic problem to be addressed. The field of mycology is starved for resources — with few experts, volunteers, trained assessors, and little funding to actually carry out the kind of large-scale assessments and monitoring necessary to enact meaningful change, says Mueller. This dearth of resources also results in gaps of knowledge that make it hard to devise strategies to protect fungi in the first place, says Tim Hirsch, deputy director at the Global Biodiversity Information Facility, a database documenting biodiversity around the world. “It’s a bit of a chicken and egg,” he says. “To drive the evidence there needs to be some push from those who are using the evidence to get more information together.”

Fungi are also notoriously elusive: They mostly lay underground, sprout unpredictably, and their intricately tangled networks can make them difficult to individuate as single specimens. This means that while people’s understanding of fungi has significantly improved over the past decade, research on fungi can often be long, exploratory, and, by consequence, expensive, says Mueller.

Despite the challenges, Mueller sees the present moment as a turning point in fungi history. Scientists and the general public alike are increasingly pushing for stronger environmental protections, and new technologies, such as crowd-sourcing applications and inexpensive genetic sequencing tools, could make fungal research cheaper, more accessible, and more rigorous. These are positive developments, says Mueller, for an “independent, mega-diverse branch of life that plays all these incredibly important roles and needs to be treated as such.”

* * *

UPDATE: A previous version of this piece imprecisely referred to Johan Hedlund as a spokesperson for the United Nations Convention on Biological Diversity. While he is an information officer working in a U.N. media office, and provided a statement prepared by unnamed representatives of the Convention, he does not speak for the convention himself.

Jonathan Moens is a freelance journalist based in Rome. His work has appeared in Yale Environment 360, Inside Climate News, and Spectrum.

This article was originally published on Undark. Read the original article.