Punk in the Big Apple is a subject that has been exhaustively—and some might say exhaustingly—documented over the years, yet a new reissue by the venerable Chicago crate diggers Numero Group accomplishes the mighty task of finding a fresh angle on the late 1970s scene. The set gathers the entire catalog of the short-lived boutique label Ork Records, founded in 1975 by the Warhol cohort, film buff and would-be impresario Terry Ork. It was primarily a vehicle for a band he was managing called Television, but he soon released foundational punk and postpunk singles by Television, Richard Hell and Alex Chilton with compelling obscurities by the Erasers, the Revelons and Prix. Spread across two CDs or five LPs, this modest catalog totaling 49 songs reveals a scene as it was coalescing and figuring out a new set of rules for rock ‘n’ roll. It’s easily one of the best reissues of 2015.

So what is this guy Link Cromwell doing on here? His pair of tunes stands out among the gritty, grotty punk anthems: “Crazy Like a Fox” is a folksy protest song about rejecting workaday conformity, more “Eve of Destruction” than “Blitzkrieg Bop.” And “Shock Me” is a jittery volt of garage rock energy, much rawer than the A-side but still not exactly the sound you associate with CBGB. Their inclusion on this set, however, is crucial. Both songs were recorded in the mid 1960s by a musician who would later have a profound impact on punk rock and in fact on all subsequent rock. Link Cromwell was actually the stage name of Lenny Kaye, who is one of the most influential men in rock history, even though most people have never heard the name.

Kaye recorded those two songs for his uncle Larry Kusik, who had written “Crazy Like a Fox” with Ritchie Adams. Both were professional songwriters and musicians, the former penning “Speak Softly Love” from “The Godfather” and the latter a member of the Fireflies and later the Archies. Link Cromwell was their attempt to cash in on the popularity of Barry McGuire’s “Eve of Destruction,” although “Crazy” barely sold a handful of copies. Kaye continued making music, forming a band called the Zoo and writing for “Rolling Stone,” “Crawdaddy” and “Fusion,” among other publications.

In the early 1970s he started playing electric guitar while his friend Patti Smith recited poetry. Eventually, the project cohered into the Patti Smith Group, which self-released its first single, “Piss Factory,” on their own Mer Records. It not only inspired the music of New York but also the business by which that music would be disseminated. Power to the people, indeed.

Perhaps even more crucially, in 1972 Kaye assembled a collection of garage-rock tunes from the 1960s, tightly wound rock anthems full of bristly defiance and angst and attitude by bands like the Thirteenth Floor Elevators, the Count Five, the Standells and the Electric Prunes. The psych explorations and hippie noodling of the late 1960s rendered that sound obsolete, but Kaye still heard something explosive and timeless in those Fuzztone guitar riffs and Farfisa organ rave-ups. He called his compilation “Nuggets: Original Artyfacts From the First Psychedelic Era 1965-1968,” and while its initial pressing wasn’t what you would call a blockbuster, the right bands heard it.

“Nuggets” was the foundation for punk rock in New York City and college rock in Athens. It was expanded in the late 1990s and fomented the garage rock revival that gave us the White Stripes, the Hives and Reigning Sound. Even today acts like Ty Segall, Royal Headache, Thee Oh Sees and Total Control owe a debt to “Nuggets.” It’s impossible to overstate the influence of that compilation, which arguably invented the concept of the reissue and possibly even the mixtape. Punk wouldn’t have existed without garage rock, and “New York, New York” wouldn’t exist without “Nuggets.”

Link Cromwell ended up on Ork because Terry Ork asked if he could reissue it—a request that reveals the influence of ‘60s garage rock on ‘70s punk.

Recently Kaye related the story to Salon: “One day Charles [Ball, who ran the business side of Ork Records] said to me, Can we put out your old ‘Crazy Like a Fox’ single? And I thought, why not? That’s how I got included in their great discography. My song is an anomaly because it’s not really from the time covered by the new Ork set.”

That certainly makes the song stand out. It connects this new punk scene with an older sound and style.

Absolutely. They all listened to “Nuggets.” In a weird way, “Nuggets” was a philosophical throwback to a time when rock ‘n’ roll was pretty open-ended and was still figuring itself out. I think that’s a good comparison to what was happening at CBGB at the time. Both were these interim periods when there are a lot of different stylistic things coming into the music and everybody’s having a good time putting them together in odd ways. So the bands that clustered around CBGB looked at the “Nuggets” album as a role model, I think. I grew up in that garage rock era, so I partook of that sense of experimentalism and excitement.

Were you surprised that “Nuggets” had so much resonance?

Well, the thing sold so few copies on its initial release! But it’s found a home among people who appreciated the spirit of the music. I suppose it was one of the templates of a kind of feeling within rock ‘n’ roll at the time that bands needed to rediscover their original motivations—why you make music in the first place. It’s not really to be professional musicians or to have a career, but to find a voice. Surely the bands on “Nuggets” and the bands at GBGB had that same spirit and were trying to return to what I call the original sin of rock ‘n’ roll. They were trying to find their own way.

Every generation seems to find “Nuggets” at a certain point, even now with the current wave of garage rock bands.

Two things about “Nuggets.” One, there is a sense of innovation and rediscovery within it. Second, it’s just great records. It’s not so much about the Fuzztone guitars and Farfisa organ as it is about these incredibly well-crafted and well-performed records. Even though they have a veneer of primitivism, they’re not as simple as they look. They’re unique. They come out of your speakers and they transcend genre. One of the things that I love about the Ork set is that it’s not as genre specific as people these days think of punk rock as being. When you say punk rock, the Ramones template comes to mind. But to me the bands on “Nuggets” were all over the place stylistically, and I think that’s true of the earlier bands at CBGB and the ones that Terry collected for his label. There are a lot of different kinds of music at work—a lot of people discovering themselves. And that’s what makes it worthy of its lavish presentation.

The Ork set definitely conveys a sense of community centered around Terry Ork, all of these bands orbiting around this very charismatic character.

It was a community. It was an underground collection of individuals who got to know each other and encouraged each other. That’s one of the things Terry was so good at—helping people become themselves. He certainly had that role in Television. He wasn’t much of a musician. He wasn’t even much of a businessman. For him to run a label was a stretch of his talent. But he took care of some of the practicalities, from finding his bands places to play to encouraging them once they got there. He was a good soul, a merry cherubic human. I never think of him as serious. When I think of him, I think of him as being somewhat mischievous.

And that seems to come through on the Ork set, even though he doesn’t play a note on it.

There was a certain playfulness, a sense of being far enough from the mainstream that you had no choice but to find your own path. All of these bands were essentially misfits, and that’s why the scene at CBGB could grow and develop unnoticed. No one was paying much attention, so people could take their time figuring out whatever new direction they wanted to follow or whatever new idiosyncrasies they wanted to adopt.

The focus is on these really intriguing bands, some of whom were caught in motion going on to the majors and some of whom would not be documented at all, like the Erasers. I wouldn’t have been able to enjoy the Erasers had it not been for Ork. It’s great to hear “Little Johnny Jewel” and “Blank Generation” and to hear Richard Hell moving away from Television to his solo vision. It’s great to hear Alex Chilton between incarnations. But really, for me, hearing some of these other bands is a great thing, because otherwise they might be forgotten by rock history.

One thing about “Nuggets” is that it’s not your top-shelf groups. Maybe some of them became big, like the Standells. But a lot of them were the also-rans. That’s where I like my rock ‘n’ roll arrow of interest points—toward those bands that are off to the side. In a way they tell the tale of the scene much more than the successful bands.

I think that’s what “Nuggets” instilled in me: this idea that you didn’t have to be the Beatles to make good or important music. You could be nobodies and still have an amazing song.

Exactly. The Beatles are at such a level, they’re just the Beatles. In a weird way they’re disconnected from their times. But you listen to some of those Merseybeat bands and you get a real sense of what it was like in Liverpool at a certain moment in time. As a rock historian, I like to see the oddballs. I’m doing a little investigating into New Orleans in the late ‘50s, and I know Little Richard and Fats Domino and all those guys. But when I find a piano player like Archibald or this guy I’m really into now, Roy Montell, who has a song called “That Mellow Saxophone,” that’s really the fun stuff. In some ways they’re more revelatory and insightful that the major players in the scene.

You were in Patti Smith’s band at the time, and her first single, “Hey Joe”/”Piss Factory,” was massively influential, even from a business standpoint. Releasing it on your own Mer Records label showed that you could do this on your own and on a smaller scale.

I understood how to do it. I loved the a cappella doo wop labels that record stores in the tri-state area were doing at the time. That was where independent labels began. You don’t have a route to the major labels, so you might as well put it out yourself. It’s not so different from today when people are making their own CDs and selling them at gigs. You can see what you sound like and figure yourself out. Out little Mer Records didn’t have any other releases, because we weren’t businesspeople. It was an experiment to try to create, if nothing else, a rare record of the future.

You’ve talked about artists coming into their own at CBGB, but it sounds like you had come into your own a bit earlier than most of the people on Ork Records. Did that give you a different perspective on punk?

I was probably four or five years older than most of those people, which is enough for a generation. I did serve my rock ‘n’ roll apprenticeship in the ‘60s. I was in what would be known as a garage band, and it was called the Zoo. I played mostly on the fraternity circuit, which stretched across Pennsylvania, New Jersey and New York. If you saw “Animal House,” then you saw the type of band I was in. We were playing “Shout” for 20 minutes while the fraternity brothers swam in beer. You played four sets a night. I remember when I played the Delta Kappa Epsilon house—the D Kaps, which was the football players’ house at Rutgers, where I went to school—they would give us an extra $25 if we didn’t take a break. So we were up to $125! It’s a great way to learn your craft and a good way to go through college. I always think of rock ‘n’ roll as my true major.

To play in the ‘60s, when the whole playing field was changing so radically, was amazing. My first band started at the end of ’64, and when the Zoo broke up in around ’67, there had already been quite an evolution in how the music was regarded. I think the same can be said for the early ‘70s into the late ‘70s. The whole sensibility of what rock ‘n’ roll could be and who could play it changed radically. I have to laugh when I remember when the Zoo started. There were a couple of British Invasion songs in our repertoire, but mostly it was songs like “What’d I Say” and “Whole Lotta Shakin’.” By the time we broke up, we were sitting on the floor cross-legged playing raga rock. That’s a pretty large leap. I never thought I would be continuing it after college, which is why my subsequent career is so amazing to me.

Was there a moment when you realized that you could make a career out of music?

Yeah, about a year ago. You just keep doing it until you realize you’ve made a life of it. It’s really something to have this Ork box come out. You realize what a long life it’s been. It’s quite a commemoration. I certainly didn’t see Ork Records as such a thing. It’s like somebody putting out records with your friends, people helping themselves. But now you look back and it’s really quite a body of work.

When Ork put the “Crazy Like a Fox” single out, how did it do? Did it sell particularly well?

The single has been released on so many compilation albums and has been rereleased many times, so it’s just amazing how little impact it ever makes. It’s a cool single, though. I just performed at the Ponderosa Stomp under the name Link Cromwell, and it was his first appearance in 49-and-a-half years. I’m pretty amazed by his longevity. The single has never been a hit, but it continues on. In a weird way, it’s my own tale. It’s the theme song that tells the story of my life. “While they’re working on the inside, I’m having fun on the outside.” The song gave me a sense of myself as a musician, as a performer, as someone who could be that “Crazy Like a Fox” person. And I’m grateful that Terry and Charles helped move it along its lifeline. And in retrospect, I think it’s just a good song—a tribute to my Uncle Larry, who was a great songwriter. “Speak Softly Love,” the theme from “The Godfather.” “A Time for Us” from “Romeo & Juliet.” He was a great encourager of me at a time when I needed a little bit of encouragement.

Did you ever consider “Crazy Like a Fox” for “Nuggets”?

No. I never would have been so self-serving as to put it on. In a way it’s not really a Nuggets-y song. It’s not a band coming out of nowhere. It hasn’t got a great Fuzztone guitar solo, which is probably de rigueur for “Nuggets.” But it’s still a very hooky song. I especially have an affection for the flip side, “Shock Me,” since the bass playing on it is my first instrumental appearance on record. I didn’t play on the A side, but I played bass on the B side while my uncle tootled along on harp. It ‘s just a great little slice of folk protest.

Now that you’ve dusted off Link Cromwell for Ponderosa Stomp, do you have any further plans for him?

I have no idea. Sometimes in my imagination I invent a little lifeline that Link Cromwell might have had, had that song been a hit. There would have been the lost years in the desert, and then he would have tried to stage a comeback and re-create that hit. But to be perfectly honest, I’m happy with the way things have turned out. If the song had been a chart success, my whole life would have been written differently. Everything happens for a reason.

The post Punk pioneer Lenny Kaye reflects back on “the original sin of rock ‘n’ roll” appeared first on Salon.com.

The water was at our backs, but everything still looked blue.

It was a Saturday, and the sky above the lake was shockingly clear. The breeze hurried the fluffy clouds along like an invisible, impatient dog walker trying to jostle a pack of Pomeranians past the more interesting signposts and fence posts: a brief stall, then a fluid push forward.

Usually, all that blue would have felt like a gift. That day, walking home from a particularly sad documentary interview, I wasn’t sure it was helping.

Outside of writing this newsletter, I work on radio documentaries with my partner, Stephen. They are creative projects with the sneaky ability to hollow you out sometimes, especially when the story requires you to watch someone move through a series of the hardest days of their life. Not every documentary I’ve worked on has gone that way. This one has.

I carried my messy notes as we walked slowly. Stephen carried a neatly packed bag lined with recorders, headphones and batteries. We were quiet, as we typically are after interviews that heavy, letting our thoughts jostle and cure until we reached a coffee shop — always a coffee shop — where we could log the tape and our first responses to it.

That was when I spotted the Little Free Library.

It stood outside a brick six-flat, also fittingly painted blue, and decorated with a few stickers: “Protect Native Plants,” a rocket ship from a regional space camp, several iridescent birds. Inside, wedged among some children’s CDs—the kind I imagine hip parents buy, with sock monkeys and mandolins on the covers—a book about angel investing and a sweet, self-published chapbook of nature poems, was a copy of “The Secret Garden.”

Eerily, I had made a note only a few days earlier to see whether the real library had it.

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As we dug through the shelves, one of the building’s residents emerged from the front door with the stride of a woman on a mission. She wore no-nonsense sneakers with pink swooshes and carried two FedEx boxes.

“That is very good!” she called as she breezed past.

I couldn’t tell whether she meant the jazz CD Stephen was holding or “The Secret Garden,” but I took it as permission nonetheless and slipped the book into my purse. I’ll return it to another Little Free Library when I’m finished.

At home, I put it on my bedside table, pausing to start the rice cooker on my way. 

I could say that lately I’ve been regarding the things I find nourishing with renewed appreciation. But that sounds more composed than I actually feel. What I really mean is that, in my downtime, I’ve been steeping myself in things I already know will bring me comfort.

This morning, I actually squealed when the library emailed to say my hold on “The Wind in the Willows”—a book I first read in sixth grade—was ready for pickup.

And, more nights than not lately, I’ve been making rice and eggs.

The bowl first entered my regular rotation in 2023, during the great feta-fried-egg boom, though I suspect its staying power has less to do with TikTok than with the state I was in when it found me. I was badly burned out: singed and shaky, waking so often with heart palpitations, sweaty palms and a vague sense of catastrophe that I became intimately acquainted with the way my apartment looked at 3 a.m. Every familiar object — the chair, the laundry basket, the glass of water beside the bed — seemed to acquire a slightly accusatory moonlit outline.

Getting better took a while. The thing that helped most was finding my own secret garden, a nearby bird sanctuary that crags out over Lake Michigan. Each day, I made the three-mile round trip to inspect the warblers, chipmunks and generally mysterious rustlings of the underbrush.

On my recent rereading of “The Secret Garden,” I was delighted by the moment when Mary, initially pale and peevish and uninterested in her breakfast, begins wandering the grounds with a jump rope in hand. The exercise and fresh air work their plain Victorian magic; soon she is ravenous for the porridge waiting at Misselthwaite Manor.

I understood completely. I would come home from the sanctuary hungry and make rice and eggs—if not that evening, then the following morning. Millennial porridge.

It’s funny, my mother used to look at me with an expression that was neither mocking nor exasperated, merely seasoned, and say, “Baby, not everything needs to be a production.”

This applied to rearranging my childhood bedroom furniture after reading about feng shui in a magazine, redoing my makeup when we were already late and, eventually, cooking. Once I learned what a roux was, I wanted every meal to have one. There was a period when dinner seemed to require a mother sauce, three pans and a 45-minute drive to the crunchy health-food store for microgreens that wilted almost immediately.

My mother, an excellent cook, understood repetition better. For years, I would come home from figure-skating practice bruised from falling, exhausted from trying not to fall and tender from the ambient heartache of being a teenager. She would make bowties in a light Parmesan sauce with peas, ham and an indecent amount of black pepper.

Surely she fed me other things. But when I remember that stretch of my life, I remember that bowl arriving again and again. What I failed to appreciate then was that familiarity was part of the offering. Having something good to return to is not a failure of imagination. Traversing the same landscape does not make it less beautiful.

My rice and eggs began with a feta-fried egg over steamed white rice. The rest accumulated slowly and, for the most part, logically: lemon zest for brightness, bacon for savory crunch, avocado for cool richness. Scallions and soy sauce arrived because I add them to almost everything, occasionally without proper cause. Red pepper flakes and everything bagel seasoning cover the remaining territory — heat, funk, nuttiness, crunch — in a few economical shakes.

At some point, the bowl was finished.

Naturally, I continued to interfere with it.

I swiped chili aioli over the top. I added enough hot sauce to drown out the lemon. I became overly generous with the bacon and avocado. I stirred miso butter into the rice, which was delicious but made the entire meal feel as though it had changed its name and moved to another neighborhood.

None of these were bad ideas. They simply were not my bowl.

There is a popular idea that good cooking is a matter of building flavor, and often it is. But it is also the quieter skill of noticing when the building is complete and putting down the hammer.

In my perfect version, the yolk breaks over the hot rice and mingles immediately with the lemon zest, becoming a kind of lazy hollandaise. The soy sauce deepens it; the bacon crackles; the avocado cools everything down. It costs only a few dollars a bowl, even with the avocado behaving like an avocado, but I feel rich when I eat it: nourished, complete and relieved that dinner did not need to become a production before it could take care of me.

Here is exactly how I make it.

This story originally appeared in The Bite, my weekly food newsletter for Salon. If you enjoyed it and would like more essays, recipes, technique explainers and interviews sent straight to your inbox, subscribe here.

The post It’s always rice and eggs appeared first on Salon.com.

Sri Lankan poet-turned-author Michael Ondaatje’s 1992 novel “The English Patient” is a lyrical, highly detailed exploration of love across the decades and how its sacred qualities overcome time and geography. Written in a fragmented, poetic style by Ondaatje, the novel tells the story of a World War II nurse named Hana (Juliette Binoche in the movie) caring for a severely burned man (played by Ralph Fiennes in the adaptation) suffering from amnesia. With the help of a thief named Caravaggio (Willem Dafoe) who has lost his thumbs, and a Sikh bomb expert (Naveen Andrews), the trio learn about the burned man, dubbed “the English patient,” and his past, which includes an affair with the beautiful and wealthy Katharine Clifton (Kristin Scott Thomas).

Because of Ondaatje’s specific writing style, director Anthony Minghella found the task of adapting the novel daunting: “Its gifts, in a way, are very elusive and are very much connected with the beauty of language, which is probably the thing that the film is least good at conveying.” Ondaatje worked on the script with Minghella, sharing the belief that most people seeing the movie never read the book in the first place. The book’s events happen over several years, and rather than focus on complex themes of national identity and the fluid connections between time and history, it made more sense for the movie to situate the love story between the English patient and Katharine as the primary narrative, with a parallel romance between nurse Hana and bomb expert Kip.

The film (which turns 30 this year) parcels out the mystery of the English patient’s identity over a near three-hour run time, whereas the book has no chronological structure and alternates between the past and the present, telling the patient’s story backward. The reader is an outside observer and learns about things in a realistic manner. No one can predict when a life-changing moment will happen in their lives and the same goes for Hana, the patient, and everyone else. Information is given to them and it takes several chapters for the reader, and the character, to understand the significance of that information.

Ondaatje, a Sri Lankan man living in Canada, makes multi­culturalism and the history of exoticizing the desert key themes in “The English Patient.” This is evident in the depiction of Kip, a Sikh man finding his way in the English world of colonialism. In the book, Kip loves the English and the West — so much so that he sings their songs and wears their clothes. The movie touches on these themes here and there, but in the book Kip is, at times, more important than the English patient himself.

Unlike the movie, where Kip meets Hana as he tries to defuse a minefield on the road she’s traveling, the novel shows him accidentally stumble upon her playing the piano at the villa where she’s been holed up since the novel’s first page. As the two grow closer, he tells her about his family and how he was expected to become a doctor but instead decided to enter the army and, through the mentorship of Lord Suffolk (a real-life person), became a bomb expert.

Several chapters are devoted to Kip’s stories of defusing bombs and saving English lives, all aided by Lord Suffolk’s encouragement. As Kip says, Lord Suffolk is the first person to treat him like a fellow Englishman and not a foreigner. However, when the atomic bomb is dropped on Hiroshima—illustrating how much time passes in the book compared to the movie— Kip becomes so wild with rage that he plans to shoot the patient, believing the unnamed man represents every evil the English and the West have committed against Asia. Kip feels that if Japan were a white country, those in charge would not have been so hasty to drop the bomb. The patient welcomes death, but Kip can’t pull the trigger. With the explosion of the atomic bomb, Kip’s belief system is literally shattered, leaving him to find a new path in life that, sadly, doesn’t include Hana.

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Kip is such a large part of the narrative that the novel even ends on his character. The movie ends with Hana and Kip parting because his job takes him to other areas of the country. They agree to meet again, but Kip completely discards his Western life. Years pass and Kip becomes the doctor his family wanted him to be. He is married and has two children. He says he received letters from Hana for a year, but never responded to them.

This bittersweet ending is paralleled alongside the story of the patient and Katharine. The love affair between the English patient, revealed as Hungarian cartographer László Almásy, and Katharine Clifton is told on-screen similarly to how it presents on the page, albeit in chronological order and as the overarching story. The pair meet and engage in a powerfully charged romance despite Katharine being married. Almásy and Katharine have a highly sexual affair with moments of extreme toxicity, trying to repel each other because of their awareness that outside forces are pulling them apart. Katharine takes her frustration out on Almásy in the novel by not only hitting him (also seen on screen), but throwing plates and stabbing him with forks. When people notice his plentiful bruises, Almásy makes up excuses, leading them to think he’s a klutz.

The couple’s affair is eventually discovered by Katharine’s jealous husband, Geoffrey (Colin Firth), who has been spying on her. Geoffrey, accompanied by his wife in a biplane, travels to Cairo in order to kill his competition and commit a murder/ suicide by crashing the airplane into the desert sand where Almásy, preparing to leave, is waiting. The crash kills Geoffrey and leaves Katharine severely wounded. Almásy shelters Katharine in a cave and goes off to get help, eventually evading arrest and stealing an airplane to rescue her.

Geoffrey is British Intelligence in the book and works as an aerial photographer. Because the intelligence agency knows of Almásy’s affair with Katharine, they assume Geoffrey’s death is suspicious and imprison Almásy as he tries to get help. His story then jumps ahead three months as he returns to the cave and finds Katharine dead. The movie shows this discovery as a tender moment, with only a few days passing and Almásy lying next to Katharine’s recently deceased body, stroking her hair. The book is more macabre, with Almásy making love to Katharine’s body, a final blending of life and death, love and sex, body and mind.

“The English Patient” was nominated for twelve Academy Awards and won nine, including Best Picture. The movie’s sweeping visuals and romantic love story evoked a sentiment similar to 1940s war romances. It was highly praised upon release, though contemporary audiences today place the moment in the “when Oscar gets it wrong” category due to a perceived lack of staying power and quality compared to fellow nominee “Fargo” (1996). Regardless, Minghella’s film is an utterly beautiful and roman­tic story, a daunting feat considering how equally beautiful, though different, its source material is.

Excerpted from “But Have You Read the Book? Romance Edition: 40 Love Stories That Inspired Our Favorite Films” by Kristen Lopez. Copyright © 2026. Available from Running Press, an imprint of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

The post The colonial reckoning “The English Patient” adaptation couldn’t capture appeared first on Salon.com.

The new federal Education Freedom Tax Credit will soon allow parents, including parents earning $500,000 a year or more, to send their children to private schools at public expense. In fact, many of them already send their children to private schools, and they will now be reimbursed by federal tax dollars.

According to the Department of Education, students “from a household with income not greater than 300% of the area’s median gross income qualify.” The EFTC, part of the One Big Beautiful Bill Act passed in 2025, defines “area” as any county, including those with median incomes upwards of $200,000. This encompasses an estimated 18 million school-aged children. EFTC funds will come from donations repaid in full by federal tax credits — money that would have been paid to the federal government in taxes but will now be diverted.

What will this taxpayer money be buying? In North Carolina, which has had a program broadly similar to the EFTC since 2014, 74% of the 143,998 private school students receiving state-funded scholarships had already been attending private schools. A Rand Corporation study of a similar Arizona program found that, just like North Carolina, nearly 75% of the 64,000 students who were awarded money had already been enrolled in private school, or were already being home-schooled, before participating in the program. According to the Brookings Institution, under Arizona’s Empowerment Scholarship Account program, “more advantaged communities are securing a highly disproportionate share of the funds” while “families in the poorest communities are the least likely” to get them.

Over the past five years, the number of states implementing some form of voucher or ESA program has swelled. A 2025 Brookings Institution analysis of six of them found that the problematic enrollment patterns prevalent in North Carolina and Arizona hold true for state programs in general.

Supporters see the EFTC as a remedy for what they often refer to as “failing public schools.” Conservative syndicated columnist Star Parker recently asserted that teachers unions have a “vice grip” on public schools and parents need the opportunity to get their children out of them. As evidence of America’s failures, she pointed to the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development’s Programme for International Student Assessment, an examination in reading, science and math given annually to 15-year-olds in 80 countries. “The US, she wrote, “ranks 18th behind Poland, Czechia, and Denmark.”

The statistics Parker cites put U.S. students in the top quantile. In 2022, out of 37 OECD countries, American students ranked sixth in reading, 13th in science and 28th in math. 

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While America’s education system has problems, these scores are hardly indicative of “failing public schools.” This is particularly true since, unlike most of the countries ranked by the OECD, the student body in major American school districts is overwhelmingly low-income and heavily immigrant. Moreover, our students have to contend with high levels of crime and violence in their neighborhoods; the U.S. has the seventh highest murder rate among the OECD countries. All of these problems inevitably drag down students’ test scores. 

Proponents of the EFTC assure concerned lawmakers and parents the move won’t harm public schools. Yet schools have many fixed costs, such as maintaining, repairing, heating and cooling school buildings, operating cafeterias and managing many administrative functions that cannot easily be scaled down when enrollment declines inevitably reduce funding. 

In 2018, one detailed study of the Los Angeles Unified School District found that 55% of its costs were fixed. While that figure is higher than most, school districts’ fixed costs have been found to be a third of overall district costs at minimum, and generally higher. Moreover, when students leave public schools for private academies, the students left behind are disproportionately special needs students who cost more to educate.

The EFTC’s supporters are correct that schools’ variable expenses — which is primarily the cost of educators and administrators — can be adjusted downward. But they often make this process sound simple and painless. At the Los Angeles Unified School District high school where I teach, this exact type of “adjustment” is happening for the 2026-2027 school year because of declining enrollment. The students’ process of losing teachers they had bonded with, come to trust and looked forward to having again is anything but painless. There were a lot of tears at my school on June 10, the last day of school, not just from students but from many teachers as well.

With messianic zeal, conservatives have long sold school choice programs as a way to liberate low-income and minority children from “failing” public schools. But state school choice programs have turned out just as teachers unions and other critics predicted — as little more than a way to subsidize well-off families whose kids are already in private schools, or who seek to place them there. 

For opponents of public education and teachers unions, these programs come with the added benefit of undermining public schools. The EFTC threatens to expand and accelerate this destructive process.

The post Trump’s great private school handout appeared first on Salon.com.

Donald Trump and Elon Musk recently made headlines over an issue we don’t typically associate with this president of the United States and a tech CEO: history. 

On July 22, Musk posted on X, the social media platform he owns, that his generative artificial intelligence model Grok would produce, by year’s end, a feature-length movie of “The Odyssey” that is “historically accurate and true to the art of Homer.” Two days later, Trump issued an executive order mandating that signage be placed on the exterior of Smithsonian Institution museums, alerting visitors to the “inaccurate information” conveyed in the displays within, and directing them to “locations and resources for accurate information regarding America’s history.” Striking in these two apparently unrelated episodes is one word in particular — accuracy — and important lessons museums and historians can learn to combat these attacks on the integrity of historical research.

There is an important, material connection between these incidents: AI. While frenemies Trump and Musk have a complicated relationship, both continue to be involved in a large-scale transformation of government by means of its fusion with corporate interests, and particularly with corporate investment in AI.

In the same week that the pair were ranting over historical “accuracy,” Michael Kratsios, the president’s science adviser, proposed overhauling the government’s approach to funding the sciences. His plan would leave that role to corporations and private philanthropists instead. Kratsios is not a scientist; his previous experience includes working at an investment fund run by Peter Thiel and for the Department of Government Efficiency under Musk. Among the priority areas Kratsios promotes for this new funding model are AI, quantum computing and robotics. And on the same day he introduced his proposal, Kratsios announced the winners of research grants from the Genesis Mission, the administration’s AI initiative.

While this push to redirect the country’s scientific research has incited alarm, reactions to interventions in the historical humanities have been more muted. Yet attacks on public museums and on creative retellings of historical narratives are just as dangerous to the health of this country’s democracy.

When he testified on July 21 before the Republican-led House Oversight Subcommittee on the perils of government intervention in the Smithsonian’s activities, David Blight, a professor of American history at Yale University, offered a righteous defense of his profession. Besides highlighting the need for close engagement with history to lead to richer understandings of the past, Blight said it was necessary to disturb the questionable stories — those supposedly incontestable truths that the Trump administration insists are more “accurate” — that have been ingrained in our cultural memory. “If we’re not careful,” he warned, “we will end up with what the great writer Toni Morrison called ‘statist history.’ And it will create what she called ‘sanctioned ignorance.’”

AI has become a blunt instrument in the enterprise to impose precisely this form of sanctioned ignorance about America’s past. The signs Trump proposed for the outside of the Smithsonian suggest vaguely that there is another, more “accurate” history to be found elsewhere, and generative AI is exactly what Musk is proposing to provide this. Taken together, their plans amount to a one-two punch, history in the hands of the corporate state. 

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The federal government’s prospective disinvestment in the sciences has long been the status quo for the humanities, with corporate foundations and private philanthropy providing the main funding sources. Media outlets have recently been reporting on partnerships between museums, historical image collections and AI firms. A recent Financial Times article pointed to the prevalence of AI companies throwing struggling museums a “lifeline” by promising to bring in new audiences attracted by the prospect of chatbot-led “personalized” tours, along with other glitzy experiments. 

It may be tempting to see value in projects such as the Schmidt Foundation — that’s Eric Schmidt of Google — funding a fellowship in AI at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, or the Musk Foundation’s support of the Scroll Prize to use AI in reconstructing ancient texts in the burnt scrolls of Herculaneum. But these projects are simply two among countless others that have been seeding AI into museums and historical research for well over a decade. Even more egregious is the case of AI companies buying  and destroying rare books en masse in the process of scanning them for data. In the context of the dire austerity we are witnessing, the juggernaut of tech money seems impossible to resist. But the public should know the dangers of ceding the precious work of peering into the past to those whose chief aims are to exploit it for data and build visions of our collective history to their own liking. 

It is a fact that AI is inherently incapable of producing an accurate image of the past. The data on which image recognition and generative models are based rely on statistics and probability to arbitrate the truth. Algorithmic mediation of the past means that the greatest weight will be given to what privileged institutions have already been able to preserve in the greatest numbers. 

In other words, AI is unable to treat evidence — or people — equally with context and knowledge of how that evidence relates to the inequities built into museums and image archives themselves. Yet the more space we grant to Big AI, in partnership with an authoritarian state, into institutions of historical research and public communication about history, the less able we will be to find our way toward historical accounts that have fallen into the cracks of algorithmic data sets. 

No amount of feeding them more data will make them better able to offer a vision of history that is more accurate to the past and an essential part of our striving toward a more equitable future. That fact alone threatens the future of democracy.

The post Trump and Musk both want to control America’s history appeared first on Salon.com.

The Democratic candidate for U.S. Senate in Texas is trying to turn a key talking point of his Republican opponent against him — alleging Attorney General Ken Paxton is guilty of the same type of voter fraud he has spent years trying to eliminate.

“As our state’s attorney general, Ken Paxton has gone on a voter fraud witch hunt,” state Rep. James Talarico, who is challenging Paxton in the race to replace U.S. Sen. John Cornyn, said during a campaign event in Houston. “Turns out, he was committing voter fraud the whole time, voting illegally in six elections in a row from the wrong address.”

Talarico’s comments come after ProPublica and The Texas Tribune revealed that Paxton moved out of the home he shared with his wife, state Sen. Angela Paxton, in 2024 but continued to vote using that address, including during the March Republican primary in which he beat Cornyn. Three election experts told the news organizations that Paxton may have broken state law. 

Last week, the Collin County Democratic Party filed a complaint with the Texas secretary of state, urging that office to investigate Paxton for election fraud.

Paxton has repeatedly declined to answer the newsrooms’ questions about his voter registration and residency. On Tuesday, he held a rare news conference to tout the endorsement of nearly two dozen sheriffs and attacked Talarico as soft on crime. Talarico denied the charge at his own news conference Wednesday, saying he’d voted for billions of dollars in law enforcement funding as a member of the Legislature. 

When a Dallas Morning News political writer asked Paxton why he voted in Collin County, the attorney general shook his head as a campaign aide interceded. 

“We’re just going to answer questions on law enforcement today,” the aide said.

Paxton’s office and campaign did not respond to similar questions on Thursday from ProPublica and the Tribune. They also did not answer questions about Talarico’s comments.

The fact that Paxton voted in six elections from an address at which he appears not to live may resonate with voters because it reinforces longstanding accusations by critics that he has used his office for personal gain, said Southern Methodist University political science professor Cal Jillson. That was the central theme of the Texas Legislature’s impeachment of Paxton in 2023 on charges of bribery and corruption. The state Senate voted to acquit Paxton.

“There’s been a whole series of legal challenges he’s been able to slip out of, but voters are at least vaguely aware of them,” Jillson said. The latest reporting about his voting practices “is just another example of playing fast and loose with a law you must be familiar with as attorney general,” Jillson said.

Texas law permits voters to temporarily cast ballots using an address where they do not reside, so long as they intend to return. Election lawyers told the newsrooms that it is unlikely Paxton could make such an argument given his ongoing public and acrimonious divorce. (Examples of reasons considered valid include attending an out-of-area college or serving in the military.)

It is unclear what will happen with the complaint filed against Paxton.  

State law requires the secretary to “promptly” refer complaints to the attorney general if “there is reasonable cause to suspect that criminal conduct occurred.” 

Secretary of State Jane Nelson’s last day in office was Friday, three days after the complaint was filed. Gov. Greg Abbott appointed one of his senior advisers, Robert Howden, to replace her. The office continues to decline to answer questions from reporters, but Collin County Democratic Party Vice Chair Mary Higbe said the secretary of state told her in an email Thursday that the complaint “remains under review by one of our staff attorneys.” 

The attorney general’s office has not responded to questions about whether it received the complaint or whether it would hire a special prosecutor to investigate it, given that it involves the attorney general himself.

The silence from the Republican-led state government suggests an effort to slow-walk investigating Paxton, said Jon Taylor, a political science professor at the University of Texas at San Antonio. He said that’s difficult to square with rhetoric by Paxton and the secretary of state’s office that securing Texas elections is a top priority.

“You push the idea that you’re going to be really tough on election wrongdoing, and yet here you are with allegations in which you seem to be uninterested in pursuing,” Taylor said. “That smacks of rank hypocrisy.”

This article first appeared on The Texas Tribune.

The post Ken Paxton has long crusaded against voter fraud. His Senate rival now accuses him of committing it. appeared first on Salon.com.

English writer and director Anthony Minghella has died at age 54, according to various news reports. It’s a sad and early departure for one of the best-loved figures in the British film industry. Minghella was chairman of the British Film Institute, where he had vowed to stem the outflow of British talent to the United States. He won the 1997 best-director Oscar for “The English Patient,” an international hit that launched a new wave of high-gloss, star-studded literary adaptations. His other films as a director included “Truly Madly Deeply” in 1990, “The Talented Mr. Ripley” in 1999 and “Cold Mountain” in 2003. Minghella apparently underwent surgery for a growth in his neck last week at Charing Cross Hospital in London. He had seemed to be recovering normally, but suffered a fatal hemorrhage early on Tuesday morning.

Minghella had recently completed a 90-minute pilot episode of “The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency,” a planned television series based on Alexander McCall Smith’s best-selling novels about a Botswanan female detective. The program is scheduled to premiere this weekend on BBC One in Britain, and has been acquired for U.S. broadcast by HBO. He was reportedly close to beginning production on his next film, “The Ninth Life of Louis Drax,” which he had adapted from Liz Jensen’s novel and was planning to shoot in California. It’s too early to know whether that film will be scrapped, or possibly made with another director.

I’ll set aside my own mixed assessment of Minghella’s work and observe that he had an unerring eye for projects that combined big-screen cinematic spectacle, a literary pedigree and wide appeal among upscale audiences. He saw himself first and foremost as a storyteller, and had few artistic pretensions. Unlike so many people in his trade, Minghella was universally well liked on both sides of the Atlantic. Former British prime minister Tony Blair, who worked with Minghella on a 1995 campaign video and became his friend, told the BBC: “Anthony Minghella was a wonderful human being, creative and brilliant, but still humble, gentle and a joy to be with. Whatever I did with him, personally or professionally, left me with complete admiration for him, as a character and as an artist of the highest caliber.”

The son of Italian immigrants who owned an ice cream factory, Minghella was born on the Isle of Wight in 1954. His brother Dominic and sister Edana both work as writers for British television. He is survived by his wife, the choreographer Carolyn Choa, and two children, one of them the actor Max Minghella, who appeared in “Syriana” and “Art School Confidential” and is now a student at Columbia University in New York.

The post Anthony Minghella, 1954-2008 appeared first on Salon.com.

Emma Waters was first introduced to readers of The New York Times in an April 2025 report titled “Trump’s White House assesses ways to persuade women to have more children.” The piece’s hero image is Waters, sitting on a couch with what appears to be a toddler while, blurred in the foreground, a pair of baby feet dangle into the frame. There is no getting around the fact that she looks incredibly smug. Perhaps any of us would be too if we were being funded and groomed as the next big policy star by the right-wing think tank behind Project 2025.

More than a year later, Waters is the subject of her very own New York Times profile. Mrs. Waters (she’s emphatic that the outlet identify her with this title; it normally goes with a default Ms.) has a lot of confident prescriptions for raising the birth rate without the use of assisted reproductive technology like in vitro fertilization. But when the piece was published, Waters was offended that its writer zeroed in on her domestic aptitude: “The profile made sure to note my homemade raw milk butter — a ‘MAHA elixir,’ as they called it — alongside our sourdough, Vivaldi’s ‘Four Seasons,’ and my request to be called ‘Mrs. Waters,’ Mrs. Waters wrote in a peevish Daily Wire editorial. “My actual work promoting root-cause care for infertility received less airtime.” 

It’s infuriating when a woman’s accomplishments outside the home are overlooked in favor of her homemaking bona fides. But what if that woman’s work, the work she believes was overlooked by The New York Times, is telling women like her that they should not work outside the home? Well, that is a conundrum that Mrs. Waters, in the interest of avoiding confrontation with her life’s cognitive dissonance, should probably learn to live with.

Waters’ new book, “Lead Like Jael: 7 Timeless Principles for Today’s Women of Faith,” published last March, is not the kind of book that The New York Times considers serious: self-helpish, sentimental, and authored by someone whose policy prescriptions are backed by very little real-world experience. But The Heritage Foundation is investing in Waters, offering a platform for her book, a new podcast, a salary on which to support her husband (currently in his last year of seminary school) and 2 — soon to be 3 — young daughters. 

Being anointed the new standard bearer for young woman conservatives might have been a really great gig 5 or 10 years ago, before young women conservatives realized that they are convenient smoke screens for a Republican agenda that no longer bothers to hide its anti-woman agenda. Before antifeminist tradwives and grandstanding edgelords alike began publicly sharing stories of what happened when they signed on as handmaidens for a regressive, misogynist worldview and then realized, little by little and then all at once, that they weren’t exempt from the regressive misogyny.

Canadian YouTuber Lauren Southern, for instance, was an early adopter of pick-me conservatism whose first video, posted when she was 19, was titled “Why I’m not a feminist.” Southern identified with the irreverent shock tactics that originated in online gaming before taking shape as a culture-war agenda; after her videos began spreading like norovirus, she was hired by Tenet Media, which was later revealed to be a Russian influence operation. 

Southern’s second act was tradwife. “I figured if I just follow the manual of look pretty, wear the right dress, quit my job, have babies, serve my husband, then I will be able to have this happy family life that so many people crave,” she told “On Point” host Meghna Chakrabarti in early 2026, when her memoir, “This is Not Real Life,” was published. Southern was one of the first high-profile women to try and square the circle of being both a godly wife and helpmeet, and the internet’s loudmouthed, outrageous Nazi queen. Her book is disarmingly honest — if not exactly remorseful — about the bleak results, which included drug addiction, mental-health breaks, and an alleged sexual assault involving Andrew Tate. 

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Then there’s former influencer Alice Llani, who started her channel, Alice and Fern, as a peek into the life of an earthy-crunchy, freebirthing, shoe-shunning tradwife. Via TikTok, Llani disseminated conspiracy-coded proto-MAHA fearmongering about sunscreen and vaccines; she shamed women who didn’t or couldn’t breastfeed; she proclaimed that no mother should take their children for pediatrician visits because pediatricians are all pedophiles. Married at 19, Llani was, by age 25, divorced from her controlling and allegedly abusive husband. She also had full custody of her baby and toddler and limited job prospects. “If any woman is considering being a tradwife and dedicating herself to a man,” she told Newsweek in 2024, “I would beg her not to and tell her she is worthy of achieving her own dreams and goals.” 

And there’s 27-year-old Ashley St. Clair, the former Turning Point USA brand ambassador and Elon Musk baby mama, who appeared on Fox News to fret about the declining birth rate and wrote a children’s book, “Elephants Are Not Birds,” with a clear anti-trans message. Since leaving MAGA, St. Clair has admitted on social media that she regrets her previous demonizing of the trans community and that Musk has slashed child-support payments, happily let his fanboys on X create deepfake porn images of her, and has little apparent interest in being a presence in his youngest child’s life. 

In many cases, these women aligned themselves with conservatism because they reveled in being loudly and proudly politically incorrect. “I was in love with the frisson of transgression,” said Anna, one of the disillusioned former believers profiled in Sam Adler-Bell’s March 2026 investigation “The women leaving the new right.” Anna’s thirst to luxuriate in racism, bigotry and woman hating meant supporting the flaccid alpha cope of JD Vance and Tucker Carlson who never missed a chance to paint women as crazy cat ladies who, by suffocating their true feminine nature, made themselves miserable; she told Adler-Bell that she believed she would be grandfathered into this thrillingly transgressive movement in exchange for a chunk of her dignity and self-respect. Instead she found herself biting her tongue around male peers with open contempt for women, existing conditionally in a space where sexism was no longer dressed up in the language of chivalry, protection and life-giving. 

Former podcaster Alex Kaschuta, who hosted a wealth of reactionary thought leaders on her show “Subversive,” told Adler-Bell that she saw her role as dispensing “this insider perspective on the dark side of female nature from . . . the rare self-aware member of the female sex.” It took the grave mistake of objecting to rank misogyny from her peers to confirm that whatever she wrote, whatever her accomplishments, whatever high-profile New Right icons she platformed on “Subversive” were not enough to overcome being a woman in a movement that believes women are property who must be reminded of their place, lest they forget.

For all these women, it took having terrible, even traumatizing experiences in these movements to make them realize that perhaps it’s not feminist claptrap to believe in equal rights and bodily autonomy. Waters has the confidence — if not the audience — of someone certain that her policy-wonk rigor is insurance against the fate of so many other conservative women thrown under the bus as soon as they became inconvenient.

Waters has taken comparisons to antifeminist activist Phyllis Schlafly as a compliment: After all, Schlafly was brilliant and confident and media savvy too. She was the most prominent antifeminist of her era, yet Schlafly couldn’t outmaneuver her core contradiction: A working mother famous for dissuading other women from working; an ambitious politico who told women that they should strive only to be good wives and mothers. It will be interesting to see what happens when Waters is no longer her family’s de facto breadwinner — when her husband, who is currently in seminary, graduates and assumes his rightful place as head of the family.

And though Waters is one of the Heritage Foundation’s current stars, she is also at odds with the organization’s increasingly radical flank, which includes president Kevin Roberts, chief economist E.J. Antoni, and Senior Research Fellow Scott Yenor, all of whom represent an ideological rift between classical conservatism and wingnut zealotry. In 2025, Roberts defended Tucker Carlson’s chummy interview with pocket Nazi Nick Fuentes and did not expect the pushback he received. Antoni’s nomination to head the Bureau of Labor Statistics was withdrawn in 2025 amid protest from both conservative and liberal economists, a history of sexually demeaning social-media insinuations, and a presence at the January 6 Capitol riots.

And Yenor is a well-known misogynist who has called professional women “medicated, meddlesome, and quarrelsome,” believes employers need to stop emasculating workplaces with consequences for sexual harassment or gender discrimination, and hopes to help repeal women’s suffrage. The Heritage Foundation’s growing tendency toward mask-off extremism threatens to expose its own fraudulence; the think tank’s “original scam,” wrote Paul Krugman, “was designed for a different era — a Reaganesque era in which plutocrats could discreetly leverage bigotry and intolerance to elect Republicans who then delivered deregulation and tax cuts.” 

That’s not great news for a woman like Waters who hopes, probably sincerely, that men and women can get past differences in the interest of getting that birth rate up. “At the center of every problem, there is a woman with too much power,” wrote Adler-Bell. And the more prominent Waters becomes, the more of a problem she’ll be.

Which is unfortunate, because there are moments in which Waters gets very close to some revelations about when and why women are valued. One of the 7 principles outlined in “Lead Like Jael” is that women seek out the wisdom and counsel of older women on marriage, children, and the Biblical feminine, which bucks the complementarian expectation that husbands guide women’s most important decisions. Elsewhere, she comes tantalizingly close to recognizing the sexism of expecting women alone to bear the brunt of managing reproduction.

Discussing the development of hormonal birth control for men, Waters points out that a study on men receiving regular injections had to be shelved due to the number of men who dropped out after experiencing side effects like acne, moodiness, and weight gain. Her conclusion is a little bizarre: For Waters, the fact that men could not handle the kind of side effects that women regularly experience on hormonal birth control was proof positive that hormonal birth control is inherently bad for women. (Rather than, say, proof of medicine’s prioritizing of men’s physical comfort.)

The platform given to Waters by the Heritage Foundation is prominent, but despite the efforts of The New York Times, her intended audience doesn’t seem to be interested. Or perhaps they’ve simply seen this show before, and already know how it ends. 

Schlafly, were she around today, would probably not be the wise mentor Waters conjures in “Lead Like Jael.” She would not tell Waters that the game she’s playing is rigged, or reveal that a woman can be a bright star in the conservative firmament only with the permission of men. It’s unlikely she’d talk about the cabinet appointment Ronald Reagan dangled in front of her as she worked tirelessly to get him elected, the cabinet appointment she never got. She would believe that Waters has to find out the hard way, just as she did.  

The post The conservative movement’s sporadic anointment of Gen-Z spokeswomen appeared first on Salon.com.

On July 16, Secretary of State Marco Rubio led a gathering of over 60 nations to discuss “political terrorism” by leftist organizations. Rubio, whom every Democratic senator voted to confirm, used dehumanizing language to describe the left, deeming them “enemies of civilization.” 

This was followed, on July 20, by the State Department issuing a 100-page report on Cuba’s connection to American leftists in an alleged “campaign of subversion against the United States.” As activists, artists and politicians in the U.S. begin to face increasing charges of communism and even terrorism by the current administration, there are lessons to be gleaned from mid-20th century America, and they are not solely confined to the McCarthy era.

One set of lessons comes from the life of Lillian Smith, the white Southern civil rights activist and best-selling author of “Strange Fruit,” who was the subject of a multi-decade surveillance project conducted by the FBI beginning in the early 1940s. Accused by agents of being a communist or at least a “fellow traveler,” the FBI compiled a 134-page file on Smith — longer than its file on Ernest Hemingway, and nearly as long as the one on John Steinbeck. 

Like many of the artists and activists being targeted today, Smith’s writings advocating peace and equality for all people made her a primary target of the state. From the pro-integration magazine South Today she edited in the 1930s and 1940s to her column in the Black-owned Chicago Defender to her seven books, both fiction and nonfiction, dealing with white supremacy and colonization, Smith challenged the status quo her entire life. 

Smith’s response when her friends and colleagues were threatened by the government offers us a model for our own actions now. Putting her career and reputation on the line, and risking more surveillance, Smith chose to place the safety and well-being of others first, and often paid the price: In addition to book bans and professional blackballing, she lost everything to arsonists in a 1955 fire, and dealt with frequent death threats and other attempted arsons.

In 1942, when one of the leaders of the House Un-American Activities Committee baselessly accused the famous educator and civil rights activist Mary McLeod Bethune of being a communist, Smith sprang into action. She crafted a letter to Congress defending her longtime friend. Bethune believed the letter helped exonerate her from the allegations for which no charges were formally brought, and she wrote to Smith personally to thank her, generously offering to set up an in-person meeting with First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt. 

The following year the FBI opened a file on Smith, keeping tabs on her travel, her friends and colleagues, and her publications. On the very first page, a memorandum addressed to FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover expressed concern over “a friend of Mrs. Franklin D. Roosevelt” who was known to be “a social uplifter in favor of the Negroes.” That was Smith.

By 1945, the bureau flagged news articles announcing that Smith had joined the Committee for Equal Justice for Recy Taylor, the Black woman whose white rapists were acquitted — twice — in Alabama. In further memos, agents seemed particularly interested in Smith’s association with the Southern Conference for Human Welfare, a group that promoted New Deal-like reforms, likely due to the unfounded allegations of SCHW serving as a communist front.

In August 1949, four years after the end of World War II, HUAC accused Paul Robeson, the artist and activist who was another of Smith’s longtime friends, of being a communist after he stated that Black Americans would not fight the Soviet Union in yet another war. Smith published one of the most empathetic pleas from any white writer of the time: “I cannot see how any white person who has a grain of sportsmanship in him can criticize any Negro, who, in confusion, has turned to communism for the answer that democracy has not yet given.” Communism may not have been the best answer, Smith continued, “but we white folks have not yet given Negroes in the South a better one. Until we do, I wish we had the grace to keep our mouths shut.”

Perhaps a testament to the persistence and power of her work, when the revised edition of Smith’s book “Killers of the Dream” was published in 1962, the FBI clipped an article from the Atlanta Journal announcing she would “be an honored guest at an autograph tea” for the book’s release. The column’s last sentence was undoubtedly the reason for its inclusion in the bureau’s files: “Mrs. MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR., was listed as one of the hostesses of the affair.”

The targeting of Smith — who herself was never a communist, and did not support the party — shows that in times of questionable politics, anyone can be put on a government list by simply advocating for basic human rights, equality and peace. The allegations rarely have anything to do with communism; the term is merely a scare tactic Republicans use when they begin to worry their power is in peril.

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The Trump administration isn’t being shy about naming names. Rubio’s own “enemies list,” which was included in the State Department report, targeted individuals and groups such as New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani (for not denouncing the Democratic Socialists of America’s tribute to Assata Shakur, who was convicted of killing a police office in 1973 before escaping to Cuba), journalist Amy Goodman (for attending the wedding of CodePink co-founder Jodie Evans to Neville Roy Singham, the tech tycoon and nonprofit funder who has been accused of financing Chinese propaganda), the Amazon Labor Union, Black Lives Matter, Democratic Socialists of America and the People’s Forum, a community center located in Manhattan. (Full disclosure: I have spoken at the People’s Forum, and I’m scheduled to speak there again this fall). 

As Rubio and the State Department try to dehumanize people who support human rights while ramping up programs to take legal actions against them, Americans with the most power and privilege must act by fighting on behalf of the persecuted, just like Lillian Smith did. 

Smith was committed to fighting hate, in all its forms, with art. Creativity helps form and inspire social movements, and Smith believed that art serves as spiritual and psychological nourishment for activists. She also believed in fighting oppression at the local level, knowing that small actions in our own communities are not only effective and immediate, but they also shut out the despair that often arises in the face of a seemingly unconquerable task. Much like her friend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Smith considered love as a generative force essential to overcoming hatred, and believed that the more each of us cultivate relationships based on loving kindness, the harder it would be for hate to prevail.

Noting both the profound sadness and farcical tragedy ahead “if those who are gifted stay silent,” Lillian Smith in 1951 hoped for a better future. It “seems to me a fine time to be alive, in this age of falling walls,” she asserted. “It is an age full of risks but the stakes are high and worth the risk.” 

The same holds true today.

The post A former FBI target has the playbook to fight Rubio’s enemies list appeared first on Salon.com.

Were she to run for the Democratic presidential nomination in 2028, Kamala Harris would enter the race with formidable advantages. Thanks to four years as vice president and two presidential bids, her name identification is universal, and she has demonstrated the ability to raise mounds of money. But she would not clear the field. 

The list of possible contenders for the Democratic nomination is a mile long and includes governors (California’s Gavin Newsom, Kentucky’s Andy Beshear, Maryland’s Wes Moore, Pennsylvania’s Josh Shapiro and Illinois’ J.B. Pritzker), lawmakers (Arizona Sens. Mark Kelly and Ruben Gallego, New York Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez and California Rep. Ro Khanna), former Transportation Secretary Pete Buttigieg and former Chicago mayor Rahm Emanuel, to name a few. In an Emerson College poll released July 23, Harris came in fifth with 8%, trailing Buttigieg (19%), Newsom (17%), Georgia Sen. Jon Ossoff (13%) and Ocasio-Cortez (13%). 

But as she weighs a third presidential bid, Harris stands to face a bigger and more formidable opponent: herself.

Harris was done dirty by the Biden White House. It was nothing short of political malpractice to handicap and undercut a loyal veep who, according to actuarial tables, could have easily been elevated to the Oval Office in the event of the aging president’s death. (Considering Joe Biden’s post-presidency diagnosis of aggressive metastatic cancer, his staff’s treatment of Harris looks even more outrageous in hindsight.) This was particularly true because, after enduring brutal press cycles in her first two years as vice president, Harris ended up becoming a secret weapon of sorts for Biden, passionate and nimble on the stump in defending reproductive rights in the wake of the 2022 Dobbs decision that overturned Roe v. Wade, and making skillful strides on the world stage.

But if she was not set up for success by the administration while in office, Harris now appears to be falling into a trap of her own making, even as she is “holding lengthy, closed-door meetings” with progressive activists and groups.

In a recent New York magazine feature, a supporter of the vice president — identified as someone “who had recently spoken with her and came away convinced [she] is running in 2028” — inadvertently revealed what, if accurate, looks likely to be her Achilles’ heel. “She is looking for where the wave is going and is determined to ride it,” they said.

Left unsaid was that this is what Harris has long been accused of doing — again and again. 

There’s a balance every politician must strike: retaining one’s authenticity while remaining open to recalibrating policy positions in response to new evidence or simply evolving, or to match shifts in the public mood. Some, like Biden, are particularly skilled at this. But charges of flip-flopping cling to other politicians like barnacles on a sailboat, becoming a drag on their campaigns and threatening long-term structural damage to their brand.

This is where Harris is at right now. Despite her national profile, there remains a nagging suspicion that she lacks an internal compass and the courage of her convictions. Since she was first elected to public office as San Francisco district attorney in 2003, she has sometimes shifted positions according to which rung of the political ladder she was climbing. 

As the junior senator from California, a progressive state, Harris was vocal in her support for Medicare for All. Famously, in a June 2019 Democratic presidential primary debate, she raised her hand when the moderator asked candidates if they would support eliminating private insurance. Her campaign quickly attempted to walk back her response, and she began softening her position by releasing a plan that called for expanding access to Medicare while maintaining private insurance options. As Biden’s running mate, she supported his position of expanding the Affordable Care Act. 

Harris’ shifts on healthcare, while anathema to some progressives, are easier to justify: Her core value of wanting universal healthcare didn’t change, she might explain, only her approach did. But her shift on fracking is much harder to square.

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During her 2020 presidential bid, Harris expressed support for an outright ban on fracking, and she brought along a record as California attorney general of investigating oil companies for environmental abuses. But in the face of heat from Donald Trump and Republicans, and needing to put Pennsylvania in the Democratic column on election night, Harris clumsily reversed her position while claiming her “values have not changed” and that she was “seeking consensus.” The explanation didn’t seem to ring true for many voters, and she lost Pennsylvania to Trump by 1.7%.

There have been other policy reversals as well, ranging from the death penalty and cash bail to marijuana and immigration, which have left her vulnerable to Republican attacks and made some Democrats wary. 

The New York magazine story indicated that Harris was blaming political consultants for her loss in 2024. “Her mindset is that I should have won,” a supporter told the outlet, “and I am going to do it my way because my way would have won, and it was all these consultants that were telling me to take this position or that position, and it was their fault.”

The problem is that this mindset further adds to the perception of Harris as a political opportunist, and should she eventually enter the primary, it will raise questions about her judgment and management that she will have to confront.

The Democratic Party has changed in the two years since her presidential campaign. The ideological fissures are more apparent, with democratic socialist candidates winning primaries — and elections, in the case of New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani, whom Harris notably called in June — and nearly two years into the Trump’s second term, the party has become much more restive and angry.

For 2028, Democrats aren’t wanting someone who is searching for a wave to ride to victory. They want someone to instead be that wave.

The post Kamala Harris’ biggest opponent in 2028? Herself appeared first on Salon.com.

Dorothy Westerinen celebrated the Fourth of July the way she usually does, by barbecuing and hanging out around the pool with her wife and close friends. But her relationship to America’s founding, particularly this year’s semiquincentennial, is far from usual. Through her late mother, Julia Jefferson Westerinen, Dorothy is a direct descendant of Thomas Jefferson, the third president and principal author of the Declaration of Independence, and Sally Hemings, the enslaved woman of African extraction who bore him children.

“My heritage was very much on my mind,” the 68-year-old Long Island, New York, resident said. “Although I didn’t share those thoughts with anybody, my friends all know my story.”

Many others do too. In 1998, scientific analysis of a DNA sample from Dorothy’s maternal uncle confirmed that her third great-grandfather, Eston, was Jefferson’s youngest child by Hemings.

“It’s common knowledge now among anybody,” said Art Westerinen, 64, the family historian and one of Dorothy’s three brothers. Case in point: In a viral video from 2024, an inebriated reality-television personality referred to herself grandiloquently as “Thomas Jefferson’s concubine.”

“There are still deniers, unfortunately,” Art said. “But, generally, it’s accepted as: ‘This is the truth.’”

Eston Hemings was born on May 21, 1808, and raised in slavery at Monticello, the Jefferson plantation in Virginia. Emancipated at 21, he moved to Ohio, then Wisconsin, where he and his half-Black, half-Jewish wife, Julia (née Isaacs), changed their last name to Jefferson and began passing for white. Eston’s decision led to estrangement from his brother Madison, the only one of the four surviving Jefferson-Hemings offspring to remain in the Black community.

“Eston cut off ties with his whole family,” Dorothy said. “I would cut my arm off first. But, you know, he — I mean, we — benefited from it, certainly.”

Unyoked from racial prejudices and prohibitions, Eston’s progeny prospered. Four generations later, the Westerinen children were growing up on Staten Island as mainstream white kids, free of stigma beyond maybe their surname of Finnish origin, which was considered exotic in a sea of Italian, Irish and Jewish last names.

But Dorothy and her youngest brother Marshall Westerinen, now 62, had another truth to be spoken — about their sexual identities. To the best of their knowledge, they are the only openly lesbian and gay direct descendants of Jefferson and Hemings. As they celebrate America’s 250th birthday, they are also contemplating the relevance of their orientation to the nation’s conception of itself.

I first met the Westerinen family in 1999 as a graduate student in New York City, writing my thesis on the rise of genetic genealogy. In the wake of their DNA test results, the family was all over the media. Somehow, I found their phone number, and Julia, the matriarch, graciously agreed to my request for an interview. Dorothy and Marshall, then 40 and 34, picked me up at the ferry landing on Staten Island and drove me to the family home where their mother and Shay Banks-Young, one of their African American cousins descended from Madison with whom they had just reunited, welcomed me. 

We all sat around the dining table for a lengthy discussion on racial identity. But my gaydar was also going off big-time around Dorothy and Marshall, news they found amusing when I told them recently. I did not broach the topic despite thinking it might be a meaningful angle to explore. There was no way to gauge the reaction in the room. It was a different time. While LGBTQ+ voices were far from silent, especially in a city like New York, the idea that their perspectives could inform broader conversations was not as widespread as it has become.

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Twenty-seven years later, ahead of the semiquincentennial, I reconnected with Dorothy and Marshall, who happily confirmed they are, and have for decades been, out and proud. “The two worlds have rarely met, in terms of being gay and also being a direct descendant,” Marshall said. “Not only because of the respective communities, but because of me and how I don’t really talk about it unless it comes up.”

The siblings do not regard themselves as activists for the LGBTQ+ or any other community, just people raised to be “accepting of everybody,” Dorothy said.

“Queer folks, and multiracial people are not going away, and rainbow families,” Marshall said. “Whether we’re quiet about it, or whether we’re activists, or whether we’re doing our own small part of keeping people aware or just being who we are, [it] is a political statement.”

What impact could Dorothy and Marshall’s existence as queer direct descendants of the Declaration’s author have on attitudes towards LGBTQ+ Americans in the present and future?

“You don’t know what your siblings are,” Art said. “Maybe they’re hiding something that they’re ashamed to admit because of who you are, what you put forth in the world.”

Nine percent of the U.S population openly identifies as LGBTQ, double the percentage fourteen years ago. Yet a Gallup poll released last month finds support among U.S. adults for LGBTQ+ issues in decline. The 62% of respondents who said they view same-sex relations as moral is the lowest since 2016. This backslide is most pronounced among Republicans, according to Gallup senior editor Jeffrey M. Jones: “Since 2022, the high point for Republicans, the share who say such relations are morally acceptable has fallen 21 points to 35%, compared with an eight-point decline among independents to 64% and no meaningful change among Democrats (now at 81%).”

Such polling did not exist at the time of the American Revolution, but historical records show queerness did. Many believe Jefferson’s frenemy Alexander Hamilton had obvious romantic inclinations toward John Laurens, a military strategist for George Washington. Whether Jefferson had any knowledge or opinion of Hamilton’s fondness for Laurens is unknown. The only tangible clue to Jefferson’s stance on queer sexuality in general is Bill 64, a piece of legislation he introduced to the Virginia Assembly in 1779 containing a proposal to reduce the punishment for sodomy from death to castration for men and nose-cutting for women. 

This was a liberal proposition for the era. It did not pass. But, while drafting it, had Jefferson considered the possibility that the flesh of his own flesh could one day suffer such mutilation?

“I’m not sure what they would have thought as far as having gay descendants,” Dorothy said of her distant grandparents. “Thomas Jefferson was a man of the world. I’m sure he knew gay people. Sally Hemings was enslaved, so I would think she’d be more empathetic because of being an outcast and an outsider.”

“There’s no way to know for sure, no way to even investigate,” Marshall added. “The categories didn’t exist as they do today.”

Five generations later, Dorothy said she has never concealed her orientation at Jefferson-Hemings family gatherings, often bringing her wife of over 35 years. “My partner came along with us to a lot of these events and stuff, and, you know, they gave her just as warm a hug as they did me,” she said, noting that some of her relatives are quite religious. “It didn’t seem to be an issue. But, again, I don’t know what people said behind closed doors.”

In recent decades, scholars and community leaders have turned up the volume on homophobia in the African American church, addressing debates such as opposition to the legalization of same-sex marriage. Some historians have also begun to examine the period of the American Revolution through an LGBTQ+ lens. 

Within the Jefferson-heritage establishment, race remains an issue. The Thomas Jefferson Foundation, which owns Monticello and runs its public educational programs, gradually came around to acknowledging the full subjecthood of Sally Hemings, to the chagrin of some visitors. “Indeed it is the Sally Hemmings [sic] show up there,” wrote one disgruntled tourist on the official Monticello Facebook page, also resenting the mention of queerness. “My guide even talked about LGBTQ rights on the last tour…Ridiculous.” 

A struggle also remains for Jefferson-Hemings descendants to gain the right to be buried in the Jefferson graveyard. The Monticello Association, comprised of Jefferson’s descendants from his wife, Martha Wayles Jefferson, controls the graveyard and voted overwhelmingly to ban Hemings descendants, as detailed in a personal essay by Salon contributor Lucian K. Truscott IV, a cousin of the Westerinens on the Jefferson side. The irony is that Sally was also Martha’s half-sister — the product of John Wayles’ relations with an enslaved woman — making her biological kin to the Monticello Association members, too.  

With the visibility of Dorothy, Marshall and future openly queer descendants, will a time come when LGBTQ+ perspectives are formally recognized at Monticello? The siblings are undecided.

“Whatever attention this brings,” Dorothy said, “I cannot be anything but myself.”

“Any family tree is going to be filled with colors,” Marshall added. “If you look hard enough.”

The post A founding father’s queer legacy appeared first on Salon.com.

From the Epstein files to gun rights to immigration enforcement, senior Justice Department officials keep running to Fox News to freelance policy and signal loyalty to Donald Trump. But in the process, they are also riling up the MAGA coalition. Each media appearance creates a new mess that career lawyers then have to clean up. At this point, the most responsible thing Attorney General Pam Bondi could do is confiscate the department’s television remotes and log everyone out of their social media accounts. But restraint has never been the MAGA brand.

Consider Jeanine Pirro, the former co-host of “The Five” on Fox News before she was confirmed as U.S. attorney for the District of Columbia. Pirro recently returned to her old network and vowed to arrest gun owners who bring firearms into the District, even if they are licensed elsewhere. “You bring a gun into the District, you mark my words, you’re going to jail,” she told Fox’s Martha MacCallum on Monday. “I don’t care if you have a license in another district and I don’t care if you’re a law-abiding gun owner somewhere else.”

The reaction was swift and furious on the right.

“What is Pirro talking about here, and why is a Fox anchor cheering her on?” asked conservative firearms reporter Stephen Gutowski. The National Association for Gun Rights decried Pirro’s warning as “unacceptable and intolerable comments by a sitting US attorney.” Right-wing gun hero Kyle Rittenhouse concluded that “Pirro should be fired.” 

The U.S. attorney’s stance also angered several Republican members of Congress.

“I bring a gun into the district every week… I have a license in Florida and DC to carry. And I will continue to carry to protect myself and others. Come and Take it!” Florida Republican Rep. Greg Stuebe said. “Second Amendment rights are not extinguished just because an American visits DC,” Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis posted on X.

Pirro eventually tried to clean up the mess on X, clarifying that D.C. law requires firearms to be licensed locally and that her office is focused on unlawful carrying. But the damage was done. A senior federal prosecutor had used a Fox News appearance to issue what sounded like a blanket threat to gun owners, contradicting both conservative orthodoxy and the administration’s own efforts to promote permitless carry and national reciprocity. 

The Fox News habit shows up again in the handling of the Epstein files, where senior officials seem desperate to minimize embarrassment to the powerful. Todd Blanche, the deputy attorney general and Trump’s former personal defense lawyer, went on the network this week to reassure viewers that partying with Jeffrey Epstein “is not a crime.” He offered this absolution in the context of revelations that CBS News’ new hire Peter Attia, a health and wellness influencer, appears more than 1,700 times in newly released Epstein documents. 

The Epstein files were supposed to be Trump’s transparency moment, a chance to finally reveal what powerful men knew about a serial sexual predator. Instead the president echoed Blanche’s sentiment from the Oval Office, declaring that it was “really time” for the country to move past Epstein. Podcast host Katie Miller, wife of White House deputy chief of staff Stephen Miller, dutifully dismissed the files as a “Democrat hoax.” FBI Director Kash Patel went even further, going on Fox News’ “Special Report” this week to declare that he was done with the Epstein matter entirely. This coordinated shrug comes as Trump’s inner circle keeps popping up in Epstein-adjacent reporting.

Meanwhile, Bondi’s Justice Department is hemorrhaging prosecutors, and nowhere is the crisis more visible than in Minnesota. The state’s U.S. Attorney’s office has been decimated, shrinking from 70 assistant federal prosecutors under Biden to as few as 17 now. The four prosecutors who spearheaded the $250 million Feeding Our Future fraud case all resigned within days of each other, joining more than a dozen others in resigning rather than defending an immigration enforcement campaign so aggressive and sloppy that federal judges are openly threatening contempt citations on a near-routine basis. 

The breaking point for many was the department’s refusal to open a civil rights investigation into the January killings of U.S. citizens Renee Nicole Good and Alex Pretti, who were fatally shot by federal immigration agents. Prosecutors raised alarms internally about the administration’s efforts to block state and local authorities from investigating the shootings as potential homicides, as well as about orders to rush through charges against defendants accused of assaulting federal officers without full investigations. One retiring attorney described it plainly: “This was the ultimate example of selective prosecution.”

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More than 300 former Justice Department attorneys have now urged Bondi to allow local investigators to do their jobs, warning that blocking state and local probes into possible violations of state law “poses a threat to the rule of law.”

While prosecutors are drowning in habeas corpus petitions and judges are losing patience, Bondi herself is finding time to go on Fox News and threaten journalists. Discussing the recent arrest of Don Lemon, who was charged with federal civil rights violations for entering an evangelical church in St. Paul to report on an anti-Immigration and Customs Enforcement protest, Bondi did not hedge or walk anything back. “We’re going to prosecute you, and you will be held accountable,” she said on “Hannity” this week. “Doesn’t matter if you’re a failed journalist with a camera in your hand, you can’t do it.” 

Chad Mizelle, a former top DOJ official, took to X to openly solicit “pro-Trump” lawyers for assistant U.S. attorney positions, asking applicants to support Trump’s “anti-crime agenda.” Stephen Miller amplified the call, declaring that “patriots” were needed. Jason Reding Quiñones, the U.S. attorney in Miami, shared Mizelle’s post with his own message: “We are hiring!” 

These messages amount to a public declaration that loyalty to Trump is now a hiring criterion for federal prosecutors. For her part, Bondi has just hired a new chief of staff after leaving the position vacant since September, but no staffing shuffle can solve a leadership problem this fundamental. 

The move triggered alarm even among conservatives, with the National Review warning about politicized prosecution. Andy McCarthy, a writer for the magazine and a Fox News contributor, said the Justice Department should be defunded if support for the incumbent president is a condition of enforcing the law. The department “should only exist if it’s nonpartisan,” the former federal prosecutor wrote, warning it would be “too dangerous to liberty otherwise.” Commentary editor and National Review contributor John Podhoretz agreed. 

The brain drain has been catastrophic at the department, which is engulfed in personnel chaos. Lindsey Halligan, a former Trump personal attorney with no prosecutorial experience, washed out of the Eastern District of Virginia after failing to deliver cases against Trump’s enemies and “masquerading” as a U.S. attorney, in the words of a federal judge. Alina Habba met a similar fate in New Jersey, disqualified after courts ruled she was unlawfully serving. Ed Martin, Trump’s interim U.S. attorney in D.C., was demoted and sidelined after a review found he had shared secret grand jury material related to mortgage fraud inquiries involving Sen. Adam Schiff, D-Calif. He is expected to leave the department after being demoted earlier this week, and Schiff would be well within his rights to file a bar complaint.

As loyalists flame out, career lawyers are fleeing. The Trump administration tried to offset the attrition in the Minnesota U.S. Attorney’s office by creating emergency jump teams, demanding that offices rapidly designate prosecutors for short-term surges in unspecified critical situations.

Judges, meanwhile, are openly complaining that filings are late, orders are ignored and basic constitutional requirements are being violated. Chief Judge Patrick Schiltz noted with barely concealed exasperation that the Trump administration decided to send thousands of agents to Minnesota without making any provision for dealing with the hundreds of habeas petitions that were certain to follow. One prosecutor, Julie Le, told a judge that the system was so broken she sometimes wished to be held in contempt just to get a full night’s sleep. She described begging ICE to comply with court orders, emailing in 24-point font and threatening to name names in filings. “I am not white, as you can see,” she told the judge, explaining that her own family was at risk of being swept up in the same dragnet she was being forced to defend.

The administration is carrying out more arrests than it has the capacity to process humanely or legally, and it’s doing so on purpose. At any moment, they could slow down, ensure people’s rights are respected and give their own attorneys time to prepare cases properly. They have refused. 

The Department of Justice used to be a career aspiration, a place where lawyers of all backgrounds believed they could serve the public and the law. Under Trump, it is increasingly becoming an agency of career suicide. Experienced attorneys are fleeing. The post-Watergate norms — that the Justice Department should operate with a degree of independence from political pressure, that it shouldn’t be used as a weapon against the president’s enemies and that the attorney general works for the American people and not as the president’s personal lawyer — is being incinerated. Bondi and her deputies are treating every legal crisis like an opportunity for a cable news hit, and turning our constitutional project into a plotline in their ongoing MAGA reality show.

The post Pam Bondi has a Fox News problem appeared first on Salon.com.

A decade ago, the state of Florida stripped a teacher of her license for sexual abuse of a 16-year-old boy. Last year, she opened a private school there with ease. 

Her name and photo were on her new school’s website and details of her case were easy to find with an online search.

The state also knew that a transplanted Midwesterner had been fired from her Cincinnati charter school, following felony charges related to misuse of public funds, and had been banned from teaching or running schools in Ohio. Yet Florida did not stop her from starting a private school and collecting public money.

As private schools proliferate in Florida and across the country, fueled by taxpayer dollars, states are choosing not to closely regulate who is operating them or to oversee student safety and achievement, a ProPublica investigation found.

The backgrounds of school founders and employees often simply don’t matter. In Arizona, for example, “state law prohibits our department from a role overseeing private schools,” a spokesperson for the state Department of Education told ProPublica.

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In 2024, Arizona’s top education official lauded Mike Tyson, the heavyweight boxer who served time in prison for rape, for his involvement in launching a private school that bore his name, calling Tyson “a champion of education.”

Some states, including Arizona, cannot say how many private schools exist or where they operate despite spending hundreds of millions of taxpayer dollars on voucher-style programs. The federal government also does not keep a comprehensive accounting. 

ProPublica analyzed data from 13 states of varying sizes that do publish private school directories and offer public funding to these types of schools, and found that at least 1,500 more are listed today than were five years ago — bringing the total to more than 9,600. The numbers provide a rare look into the growth catalyzed by friendly legislatures and government money, while public school districts are losing students and closing schools. 

When public money is available, most private schools take advantage of that funding. In several states, all or nearly all students at some private schools pay tuition with public dollars. For instance, public funds subsidized 99% of all private school students in Iowa this past school year, the third year the program was available. 

An average of 100 new private schools have launched in Florida each of the last five school years. West Virginia, a state with fewer school-age students than are enrolled in Chicago Public Schools, has gained about 40 new private schools. 

And in the three years since Arkansas began allowing students to get about $7,000 annually toward tuition, about 120 new private schools opened. ProPublica detailed the consequences of the rapid growth and meager oversight in Arkansas in a previous story, spotlighting a school where students were subjected to menial labor and violence. The owner there was convicted of permitting child abuse, a felony. The state has said student safety is its top priority, but the school remains eligible to receive state money after a temporary stop.

It has been a conservative goal for decades to diminish the role of public schools and privatize American education. A surge in private-school funding programs since the pandemic represents significant progress toward that goal. Now about 30 states have some version of a program that allows families to spend public money on private school tuition. 

EdChoice, a group that advocates for these plans, estimated that more than 1.5 million students are taking advantage of them. And that number is expected to rise further as a federal tax-credit program signed into law by President Donald Trump provides the first-ever federal plan to fund K-12 private schools.

The vouchers have allowed some students to access private or religious schools they previously could not afford. But others — often students with disabilities — are finding that they’re excluded from private schools, which, unlike public schools, do not have to admit them. So they’re unable to exercise the educational freedom politicians have touted. 

Even when every single student in a private school pays tuition with public money, that school still operates without the same accountability applied to public schools, where everything from finances to curriculum to student achievement is open to public inspection. The contrasting standards vex those worried for the future of public education. 

“I’ve got the West Virginia codebook, which governs public education, which is over 1,300 pages long,” said Paul Hardesty, the president of the West Virginia Board of Education and a critic of the state’s permissive private school regulations. 

“It’s thicker than two Sears catalogs. Rules that govern home school and private school in West Virginia — those will fit on an index card.”

So when things go badly inside the opaque world of many private schools, it can be left to parents, police, journalists and amateur sleuths to find and expose wrongdoing. With state officials lacking oversight authority in Florida, for instance, concerned parents and citizens in Citrus County began posting online about the prior sexual misconduct of the founder of Crystal River Learning Academy. 

Even the police chief of the public school system weighed in. Her post included a mug shot of the now-leader of the Crystal River school in an orange jumpsuit. 

She exhorted: “Please do your research!” 

Barns, Go-Karts and Mike Tyson

For many, private school evokes images of elite academies, manicured campuses and plaid Catholic-school uniforms.

“But that’s not the vast majority of private schools,” said Douglas Harris, a Tulane University economist who studies voucher programs and has expressed skepticism that a free-market approach works well for schools. “They’re all over the place and sometimes in places you don’t even realize — they’re not even advertised. It’s important to understanding the potential of where this is and where it is going.”

In this recent expansion, private schools have opened in farms and barns, addiction treatment centers, co-working spaces, people’s homes and parks, ProPublica’s review of 13 states found. A West Virginia family opened a school at the family fun center they operate. It’s next to the waterpark, mini golf course and go-kart track. 

Tiny new Christian schools, often operating in Sunday school spaces in churches, are proliferating. At the same time, small fly-by-night schools have been opened by profiteers and people with problematic pasts or no educational experience. 

And while the majority of American students still attend public schools and the largest share of funding goes to public districts, EdChoice estimated that last year alone, states allocated $10.6 billion to programs that can be used to pay for private schools — a 29% increase over the previous year.

One Michigan-based company that launched last year to encourage churches to tap into public funds refers to these programs in its promotional videos as “God’s new gold mine.”

In Phoenix, the Mike Tyson-branded Tyson Transformational Technologies Academy, operating in a strip mall, was opened as part of a chain of schools for foster children, unhoused or expelled students created by former MMA fighter and WWE wrestler Daniel Puder. 

Tyson lent his name to the academy for $1 a year, has appeared at ceremonies for the school and given motivational speeches to students. “This visionary project reflects Tyson’s commitment to providing quality education and opportunities,” a 2024 news release for the school stated. He was described as a co-founder of the school.

Tuition is free to families: The state of Arizona paid the school $231,973 in fiscal year 2025, according to the state education department.

Puder explained in a podcast interview that his own journey from fighter to motivational speaker to private-school operator began when he and a friend were musing about Puder’s efforts to help address bullying at a local school district.

“My buddy looks at me and I’m like, ‘Dude, the turnover in public schools is crazy,’” Puder said.

“And he’s like, ‘Start a school.’ And I’m like, ‘Jamie, what are you talking about? I’m a special ed kid.’ I’m like, ‘I didn’t graduate college.’ … He’s like, ‘No, start a school.’ I’m like, ‘OK.’” 

In addition to the Tyson academy, Puder now has eight schools in Florida and one in West Virginia, according to the website for ELEV8 School, the umbrella company under which the academies operate. 

After a recent rebranding, the Phoenix school Tyson helped launch is now simply called ELEV8. Puder told ProPublica that Tyson is never left alone with students. ProPublica reached out to Tyson through ELEV8 and his Florida publicist but did not get a response.

In West Virginia, ELEV8’s school advertises that tuition is “completely covered” by the Hope Scholarship, the state’s Education Savings Account program that provides each family with about $5,400 a year in public funds that can be spent on tuition, tutoring or homeschooling supplies. 

Puder’s schools provide tutoring, mentoring and flexible scheduling for teens who may have jobs or are parents themselves. He told ProPublica that he wants to transform lives and guide students to college, trade school or the military. 

Puder has ambitious plans to expand the enterprise, with more schools and related components in real estate, school security, artificial intelligence and school health clinics. He’s sought investors in a variety of forums, including a webinar called “Discover the Investment Model Behind Our State-Funded Private Schools — with Mike Tyson.”

Up until five years ago, states provided an opportunity for only a small segment of students — such as those who have disabilities, come from low-income families or would otherwise attend poorly performing public schools — to tap into public money for private school tuition. West Virginia adopted the nation’s first program to make those funds universally available in 2021 and today, 18 states are inviting any student to partake, regardless of family income or existing private school enrollment.

Once schools are open and accepting tax funds, few states then regulate what is taught, what qualifications employees should have or what funds may be spent on. But it’s not just the oversight that private schools get to avoid. They also are free to adopt policies — such as discriminatory admissions — that public schools cannot.

Several private schools in Ohio and Virginia permit paddling as discipline even though those states outlaw corporal punishment in public schools. As a condition of being tax-exempt, nonprofit private schools must attest that they won’t discriminate based on race, color, or national or ethnic origin. But they’re free to refuse admission to students for a range of other reasons. 

It’s common, for example, for both new and established religious schools to refuse to admit (or to expel) students who say they’re gay, who condone homosexuality or whose parents are gay. One school noted on its website that it is “permitted to discriminate on the basis of religion in accordance with our Statement of Faith.” Many schools decline to enroll students with disabilities. An Alabama school that opened this past fall says it will expel students who have HIV, gonorrhea or syphilis.

Advocates of private-school voucher programs argue against restrictions on how the schools operate and push back against the type of oversight enforced on public schools. They fear that any strings attached to the public money will make many private schools balk at taking it.

“You try to not take the private school system and make it the public school system. Parents are looking for an alternative. They’re looking for something that operates differently and, they hope, serves their child better,” said Patrick Wolf, who studies vouchers and similar funding models at the University of Arkansas. His research often highlights the benefits of the systems.

Earlier this year, a handful of West Virginia legislators pushed to add some “bumpers” to the program to safeguard public funds. One provision would’ve required private schools accepting public money to give a common standardized test and report results to the county superintendent, allowing more insight into the schools’ educational quality. 

The proposals didn’t pass. And then legislators who had supported them were ousted in the state’s May primaries, rebuked by the pro-voucher governor and then by voters who sided with candidates the governor had backed.

A Conviction, Then a Fresh Start 

The lack of private-school oversight is built straight into the law in most of the states ProPublica studied.

Florida, for example, advertises: “The Florida Department of Education does not have jurisdiction over private schools. Legislative intent not to regulate, control, approve, or accredit private educational institutions, churches, their ministries, religious instruction, freedoms, or rites, is explicit.”

As a result, the state takes few steps to protect students from private school educators with troubled pasts.

Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis has been a passionate proponent of “educational freedom” in the state, endorsing an aggressive push to catalyze the growth of private schools. But contacted for this story and asked about the state’s oversight of those schools, his office offered no comment while referring reporters to the Florida Department of Education.

The department responded to questions about the state’s record on regulation with a statement that emphasized it requires schools to conduct background screening for owners and employees who have direct contact with students.  

In addition, ProPublica reached out to four leading lawmakers who were key to Florida’s 2023 bill that extended public money to all families opting for private education. None commented.  

In conducting background research on private schools in Florida, ProPublica discovered that a woman named Lisa Helton running a private school in Tampa was once named Lisa Hamm — the former superintendent of Cincinnati College Preparatory Academy charter school in Ohio.

State audits alleged that Hamm misspent public funds in Ohio for years, using school funds for extravagant staff development trips, arena suites for students to attend Taylor Swift and Justin Bieber concerts and a Cirque du Soleil show, Nutrisystem weight loss meals for staff lunches, theater tickets and dry cleaning.

She and the school’s treasurer were fired in 2013 after being indicted on 26 felony counts of theft in office, unauthorized use of property, tampering with evidence and tampering with records. Hamm entered into an arrangement where she would accept conviction on three counts of unauthorized use of property while maintaining her innocence and avoiding prison.

After she was sentenced in 2014, then-Ohio Auditor Dave Yost, whose office had investigated Hamm’s spending practices, issued a statement: “This was a looting that would make even a pirate blush, with children and taxpayers as victims. I suppose walking the plank was out of the question. However, the court’s decision will prevent her from ever stealing from students again.”

The state permanently revoked her educator license. Hamm moved to Tampa, Florida, changed her name to Helton — taking a relative’s name — and tried to get a Florida educator license. The state, aware of the misconduct findings in Ohio, granted a temporary one that has since expired.

Helton founded American Education International in 2022 and registered it as a private school with Florida. She said she planned to enroll international students who want to learn English online and earn an American high school diploma. But then Florida homeschoolers tried to enroll, so Helton transformed the business to also offer in-person teaching two days a week for homeschool students out of a sleek coworking space. 

She applied for her school to participate in Florida’s voucher-like program as a tutoring service and was approved.

Step Up For Students, a nonprofit that manages scholarship money distribution for the state, did not know about Helton’s trouble in Ohio, according to a spokesperson. But “we are not aware of any determination by Florida authorities that would have prohibited her from founding or operating the school” and there have been no complaints in Florida about Helton, the spokesperson said. Step Up said it follows statutory requirements in administering funds and reports “any complaints or reports of fraud” to the state education department. 

Over three years, Helton’s business has collected $291,165 in public scholarship funds, Step Up said.

Helton was working on her computer on her back porch when visited by a ProPublica reporter. She said auditors in Ohio created a “false narrative” about her charter school and her actions, and that she took a plea deal only after being exhausted emotionally and financially by a drawn-out investigation. She said she acted with board approval and spent school money on kids and for staff development and incentives to retain valued personnel in a challenging inner-city environment. 

“I have no background issues at all, criminally,” she said, saying her case was “erased after so many years.” There is no longer any public trace of Helton’s criminal case in the Ohio county court system; certain nonviolent cases are allowed to be sealed or expunged after a set amount of time has passed. Helton, who has a doctorate in education, said she is highly skilled and trustworthy.

“The concern is not me,” she said. “It’s people running schools with no educational background.”

The Teacher, the Teen and the Detective

About 80 miles north in Crystal River, Florida, the stir over the local educator who’d lost her license over sexual abuse began in March after a retired detective named Kat Powers posted online — at first, just to her Facebook friends. She used the pseudonym “Petera Falk,” a reference to the actor who played TV detective Columbo. 

She had recognized the name of a woman who’d just opened her own private school in the fall of 2025: Tara Salute. 

“I don’t do a lot of social media, it’s all about grandbabies and recipes for me,” Powers said. But she couldn’t let this go; her colleagues had handled Salute’s case, and she remembered it well. A 40-year-old vice president of the local Little League at the time, Salute in 2012 had been charged with unlawful sexual activity with a minor after a drunken night at her home with her son’s friend, a sophomore in the district where she recently had taught elementary school. After intercourse, the teenager had snapped photos of her naked body on a futon as evidence.

Salute pleaded no contest to a lesser charge of felony child abuse, the state took her educator license, and she served about a year and a half of probation. The judge “withheld” a formal conviction, a form of leniency in Florida. Salute did not respond to repeated outreach by ProPublica for comment. 

When Powers — posting as Falk — came upon the Crystal River Learning Academy’s Facebook page and saw people from the community liking the page and supporting Salute, she was stunned.

“I’m like, how do people forget the background of this woman?” Powers said. “If she’d have gone to Lowe’s or Home Depot, it wouldn’t bother me. But you’re opening a school? That bothered me.”

The detective’s Facebook friends urged her to make her post public, so she did — screenshots of Salute’s court records, her mug shot and her new school photo. The Facebook post tagged news outlets, and soon the Citrus County Chronicle, the local newspaper, wrote a story. 

Following the revelation, the state took action to protect state money. 

The Florida Department of Education found that Crystal River had qualified for scholarship money despite not registering with the state as a private school and after Salute had uploaded someone else’s teaching certificate for her application. It called the use of the license “fraud.”

Crystal River had received a total of $150 at that point for a curriculum packet it sold. Florida’s education commissioner then revoked the school’s eligibility for state funds. 

Opening a school without registering is a misdemeanor under Florida law. Asked how Salute is able to run a school in Florida despite her past and not registering, the state Education Department did not provide a direct answer. Instead, it pointed to the scholarship revocation action as evidence of its oversight. 

On its website, however, Crystal River still is providing information on the Step Up scholarship for parents while inviting students to enroll for next school year. Tuition for middle and high school students will be $12,000.

In May, Crystal River’s Facebook page posted a photo of Salute posing between two teens at a local high school graduation ceremony. 

“CRLA is incredibly proud to have been part of your journey,” the congratulatory message read.

The post Barns, go-karts and strip malls: The wild west of private schools that collect taxpayer dollars appeared first on Salon.com.

A new chapter in the story of America’s third president, Thomas Jefferson, has been quite literally discovered.

Archaeologists at Jefferson’s estate Monticello have discovered the living quarters of his slave Sally Hemmings, according to a report by NBC News.

Architectural historian Gardiner Hallock, who works for Monticello, told NBC News that “this discovery gives us a sense of how enslaved people were living. Some of Sally’s children may have been born in this room. It’s important because it shows Sally as a human being — a mother, daughter, and sister — and brings out the relationships in her life.”

It is widely believed that Jefferson engaged in a sexual relationship with Hemmings and historians fiercely debate whether Jefferson fathered six of her known children. Although the jury is still out as to whether Jefferson fathered any children with Hemmings, a DNA test in 1998 revealed that a man who was previously believed to be the white father of Hemmings’ children did not have a genetic connection to at least one of their ancestors, while a male from the Jefferson line did. While this does not prove Jefferson’s paternity, it does make that more likely.

Indeed, the National Genealogical Society concluded near the beginning of the 2000s that “the chain of evidence securely fastens Sally Hemings’ children to their father Thomas Jefferson.”

Monticello spokeswoman Mia Magruder Dammann told NBCBLK that “for the first time at Monticello we have a physical space dedicated to Sally Hemings and her life. It’s significant because it connects the entire African American arch at Monticello.”

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When you’re allegedly throwing phones at the desks of junior aides, there’s a problem that goes deeper than unmanaged anger. 

According to a damning story published in Sunday’s New York Times, embattled Democratic National Committee chair Ken Martin has descended into rage, fear, isolation and — according to his own supporters — ”a growing sense of paranoia” about his tenure atop the party. 

Elected by DNC membership in February 2025 after a fractious race, Martin nonetheless took office with high expectations, seen as someone in the mold of former chair Howard Dean who would rebuild the party and devise a strategy to, if not win back rural voters, then at least mitigate Democratic losses. Instead, Martin’s tenure has been an ongoing series of fumbles, including a high-profile feud with party activist David Hogg and the bungled handling of the DNC’s 2024 election autopsy.  

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Now, with the midterms now only 100 days away, the RNC has banked a war chest of $128.5 million, and the DNC is reportedly $2 million in debt. According to NOTUS, in 2025 the DNC used its headquarters in Southeast Washington as collateral for a $15 million line of credit used to bolster its investments in off-year elections. As the Times story and a recent report in the Wall Street Journal make clear, Martin is also hemorrhaging the party’s confidence and loyalty.

The implications for Democrats in the midterms are potentially serious. But part of Martin’s remit is to pave the way for a Democratic win in the 2028 presidential election, when the DNC’s role becomes even more powerful and critical. So far, he has shown few signs of being able to do so, leaving the party at a disadvantage in a political environment that should favor them. When everything else is stripped away, that alone typifies Martin’s failure of leadership.

The post DNC chair Ken Martin is under fire and melting down appeared first on Salon.com.

A federal appeals court has refused to let the Trump administration enforce key portions of President Donald Trump‘s executive order tightening mail-in voting rules, handing the White House another legal setback as states challenge the president’s authority to reshape election procedures ahead of November’s midterm elections.

In a 2-1 decision issued Saturday, the 1st U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals denied the Justice Department’s request to pause a lower court injunction blocking major parts of the March executive order while the administration appeals the case. The lawsuit was brought by 23 Democratic-led states, which argue Trump exceeded his constitutional authority by attempting to impose nationwide election rules through executive action.

The executive order seeks to require federal agencies to verify voter eligibility before mail ballots are delivered, directs the Justice Department to pursue jurisdictions that officials believe violate federal election law and conditions certain federal election funding on states complying with the administration’s directives.

The Trump administration argued the lawsuit was premature because federal agencies had not yet finalized many of the policies outlined in the order. But the appeals court found the states had shown they were already facing immediate consequences from the directive, including deadlines requiring them to alter election procedures and coordinate with federal agencies before the November elections.

The ruling leaves in place U.S. District Judge Denise Casper’s preliminary injunction while the broader legal challenge moves forward. The appeals court did not rule on the ultimate merits of the case but concluded the administration had not shown it was likely to succeed in overturning the injunction at this stage.

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The lawsuit centers less on the legality of mail voting itself than on who has the authority to regulate federal elections. The states argue the Constitution gives them primary responsibility for administering elections as they deem fit unless Congress says otherwise, while the administration maintains the president has authority to direct federal agencies in enforcing election laws.

The Justice Department could ask the U.S. Supreme Court to intervene while the appeal continues.

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New Zealand’s Māori people often say that food is a feeling, a memory. It talks to your stomach.

Everything in Māori culture is tied to Papatūānuku, Mother Earth, especially its food. Located at the bottom of the world, it’s hard to imagine a place more closely connected to nature, where New Zealand’s Māori communities have long lived in symbiosis with the land. 

“Māori food (kai) concepts acknowledge an interconnectedness with living cycles, which renew and sustain us,” says Michael Venner, director of Kora Tours NZ.

The pristine farms, forests, ocean and rivers serve as the country’s pantry, where Māori food is regional, and ingredients are harvested based on seasonality and availability. 

“By understanding nature’s cycles and natural rhythms. Māori understood the connection between moon, sun, tides and seasons, the way all animals behave,” says Venner. “For example, if you know the correct moon cycle to go fishing on, lay your nets on the right tide, at the right place, you will have a higher success rate.”

A common everyday dish is a hearty stew or a “boil up,” made of pork bones, puha (an indigenous herb) and seafood like mussels, oysters and crayfish, alongside rēwena bread, a sourdough made with a fermented potato starter or a fried bread.

But Hāngī is arguably the most famous Māori cooking technique. Veneer describes it as, “A hot stone oven which cooks food layered inside baskets, covered by a wet cloth. Once partially buried for a few hours, it has roasted and steamed the food, infused notes of forest herbs, earth scents, smoked tea tree, Manuka honey and banana leaf.”

Veneer says if you get the chance to go to a traditional hāngī, do it. These special gatherings are often linked to special community events, like funerals, weddings and ritual occasions.

At Rosewood’s three hotels located throughout New Zealand, the chefs honor this ethically sourced ethos, working with local purveyors and farmers to source indigenous ingredients like beach spinach, fern fronds and abalone. 

During dinner, each guest is given a traditional koha, meaning gift or offering, between the starter and main course. “It’s an opportunity for our chefs to share a thoughtful expression of place, often drawing inspiration from Northland’s rich coastal environment and Māori culinary traditions,” says JT Mulry, Culinary Director at Rosewood Kauri Cliffs.

At Rosewood Kauri Cliffs, they periodically serve a Māori-inspired, multi-course meal. “This dining experience celebrates the traditions, ingredients, and stories of Aotearoa. Traditional techniques, such as hāngī, are paired with native ingredients and locally harvested produce, creating food that is both simple and deeply expressive of place. At its heart, it’s about sharing stories, culture and hospitality through food,” says Mulry.

When European colonizers came to New Zealand in the 1800s, it changed the indigenous food. “Settlers arrived with national foods, preparation and cooking methods,” says Venner. “As more people came, food influence evolved and mixed; rural and urban food traditions, tastes and trends merged into the modern era.”

In Auckland, the Hāngī Master, Rewi Spraggon, honors his ancestors with his traditional hāngī catered cooking. The stones he uses have been passed down through the generations to create staples like a Hāngī Tuturu, a plate of pork, chicken, potato, kumara (New Zealand sweet potatoes), pumpkin, cabbage, stuffing and watercress salad. At his Queenstown food truck, more modern, European-influenced offerings include a chicken Hāngī burger, served with a potato spread, grated apple and watercress salad on a sweet potato bun.

Today, New Zealanders are proud of their food culture. “As New Zealand’s demographics changed, new traditions emerged. Since the 1980s, when people returned from overseas, they added to the menus and our palates changed with them,” says Venner. Now, it’s known for incredible lamb, cheese, wine and fruit inspired by the natural, high-quality, hard-working traditions of generations of Māori.

 

 

The post How Māori food tells New Zealand’s story appeared first on Salon.com.

Bernie Sanders doesn’t want to hear from Rahm Emanuel, and he’s pretty sure the average voter doesn’t want Emanuel’s opinion either. 

The former Obama administration insider and Chicago mayor published an opinion piece in the Wall Street Journal earlier this week, chiding progressive candidates for poisoning the well with supposedly unpopular policy positions ahead of the 2026 midterms. Speaking to CBS‘ “Face The Nation” on Sunday, the independent senator from Vermont pushed aside Emanuel’s concerns, saying that he’s just “nervous” because anti-establishment Democrats keep winning. 

“[Emanuel] no doubt has the support of millions of working class people,” Sanders joked. “There’s no debate. There is a strong division within the Democratic Party.”

Sanders went on to paint that schism as the divide between people like Emanuel, who are “dependent on billionaire campaign contributors” and upstarts like New York City mayor Zohran Mamdani.

“What is getting these guys nervous is we are winning all over this country,” he said. “People are sick and tired of the Rahm Emanuels and the Democratic establishment.”

Sanders pegged voter disaffection on the increasing difficulty and cost of living in the United States.

“People are asking simple questions,” he said. “Why in God’s name are we the only major country on Earth not to guarantee healthcare to all people? …Why do the economists tell us that in the richest country in the history of the world, our kids will likely have a lower standard of living than their parents?”

“People are tired and they want real change,” he said.

Bernie Sanders: "People are sick and tired of the Democratic establishment and the Republican establishment … the American people are tired of a rigged economy, a corrupt campaign finance system. They want real change. They don't want Rahm Emanuel and the establishment… pic.twitter.com/7fHrXxuYX4

— Aaron Rupar (@atrupar) July 26, 2026

Elsewhere in the interview, host Margaret Brennan asked Sanders about one candidate that he endorsed. Graham Platner dropped out of the Senate race in Maine following accusations of sexual assault. She wondered if Sanders felt he should have pushed Platner to leave the race sooner, given earlier scandals that dogged the Platner campaign.

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“I don’t think so,” Sanders said. “When we heard the serious allegations … I asked, along with virtually all of his other supporters that he should get out of the race, and he did.”

The post “People are sick of Rahm Emanuel”: Sanders says progressive wins make Dem establishment “nervous” appeared first on Salon.com.

UPDATE: German authorities said Sunday they shot and killed the suspect in the deadly attack near Berlin’s Christopher Street Day Pride celebration after locating him nearly 24 hours after the assault. Officials said the suspect confronted officers before they opened fire. Authorities now say the attack killed one person and injured 29 others, and Interior Minister Alexander Dobrindt described it as an Islamist terrorist attack.

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German authorities on Sunday went on a manhunt for the suspect in a deadly vehicle attack near Berlin’s annual Christopher Street Day Pride celebration after a van plowed into a crowd, killing one person and injuring at least 29 others before the driver fled.

Police had issued a wanted notice for the 21-year-old suspect, identified under German privacy rules as Abdul B., warning the public not to approach him because he may be armed and dangerous. Authorities said the suspect is known to police and has ties to Islamist circles in Berlin but also stressed investigators have not yet determined a motive or whether he acted alone.

The attack unfolded around 10 p.m. Saturday in Berlin’s Tiergarten park near the iconic Brandenburg Gate, where hundreds of thousands of people had gathered throughout the day for Christopher Street Day, one of Europe’s largest LGBTQ+ Pride celebrations. Police said a white van drove into the crowd before crashing into a tree. Investigators later said one or more people may have fled the vehicle after it came to a stop, and some victims also suffered stab wounds, raising questions about whether additional suspects were involved.

A woman was killed in the attack. Berlin’s fire service said three people suffered life-threatening injuries, eight others were seriously hurt and five sustained minor injuries. Organizers canceled the remainder of the Pride festivities and evening concert as emergency responders flooded the area and authorities secured the scene.

“What an abhorrent act in Berlin,” German Chancellor Friedrich Merz wrote on social media, calling the violence “an attack on our society.”

Was für eine abscheuliche Tat in Berlin. Hunderttausende Menschen aus aller Welt feierten friedlich beim Christopher Street Day. Sie wollten, dass wir gut und tolerant miteinander umgehen.
Das ist ein Angriff auf unsere Gesellschaft.

— Bundeskanzler Friedrich Merz (@bundeskanzler) July 26, 2026

He continued on: “We are open and freedom-loving—and we will preserve and defend that. The act will be investigated and pursued with the utmost severity. My thoughts are with the victims and their families. I wish the injured a swift recovery and thank all emergency responders.”

Berlin Mayor Kai Wegner similarly described the attack as an assault on the city’s values of freedom and tolerance, while other European leaders and LGBTQ+ organizations expressed solidarity with victims and the Berlin community.

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The attack comes as Germany has heightened security around large public gatherings following a series of deadly vehicle-ramming incidents in recent years. More than 2,200 police officers had been deployed for this year’s Pride celebrations before Saturday night’s attack.

German authorities said investigators are continuing to examine the attack, including the suspect’s motives and whether he received any assistance, though officials said they have found no indication that others were directly involved.

Locals have already set up makeshift memorials at the scene. “Liebe Siegt,” (“Love Wins”) declares a prominent sign, echoing similar sentiments at LGBTQ+ memorials everywhere, now from the Stonewall Inn to Brandenburg Gate.

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Updated to reflect the status of the investigation: July 26, 2026, 1:48 p.m.

The post UPDATED: Berlin Pride attack leaves 1 dead, dozens injured, suspect dead appeared first on Salon.com.

The starkest contrast between two summertime TV hits about women navigating midlife’s challenges shows up in the way its leading ladies handle themselves in the kitchen. For Jennifer Garner’s Hollis Shaw, the influencer around whom “The Five-Star Weekend” revolves, the kitchen is her happy place and moneymaker. Within moments of the series’ opening, she’s sliding a pie in the oven and futzing over tiny tarts and meringue kisses to photograph for her Hungry with Hollis followers.  

Hannah Waddingham’s “Ride or Die” assassin, Judith Burton, earns her pay quite differently: She kills the world’s worst people. To her, the kitchen is an arsenal; in the premiere, she beats two men silly with a stock pot, a skillet and several dinner plates. Later, her best friend, Debbie Claybourne (Octavia Spencer), is shocked to discover that Judith stores a submachine gun in her oven.

Both series meet a cultural moment many middle-aged women would call miraculous, and pharmaceutical and cosmetic corporations would describe as profitable. No generation of 40- and 50-somethings has been as extensively catered to as Gen Xers and geriatric Millennial ladies, for whom hormone replacement therapy, along with the secret ways of retinol, hyaluronic acid serum and collagen therapies, have been normalized.

There comes a point at which a woman realizes she’s a lot closer in age to Diane Keaton in “Something’s Gotta Give” than Amanda Peet, and she’s OK with that. Remember which one got to smash Keanu Reeves’ doctor?

In this economy, though, not many people can afford a house in the Hamptons or Nantucket. But we can vacation vicariously with Hollis and her friends Dru-Ann (Regina Hall), Brooke (D’Arcy Carden), Tatum (Chloë Sevigny) and Gigi (Gemma Chan) to the place Dru-Ann virally nicknames “white person clam island.”

“The Five-Star Weekend,” based on Elin Hilderbrand’s novel, is currently topping Peacock’s list of most popular series because of its breezy familiarity; we’ve spent time with these women in past summers, dating all the way back to “Big Little Lies.” You should know the formula by now. They have enviable wealth and careers, except for one who’s relatively less well-off than the rest. A tragedy or a mystery that brings everyone to a seaside locale; here, the sudden death of Hollis’ husband sends her sailing off to her family home on Nantucket, where all the interiors are as creamy and dreamy as a Nancy Meyers film. And there must be romance, represented in Hollis’ conveniently single high school sweetheart, played by the perennially foxy Timothy Olyphant.

Everybody’s hiding something from themselves and their host, who has planned all their fun with a pathological degree of anal retentiveness. There is a spa trip and fancy dinner at a restaurant and behind it all, lurking silently, a cancer scare.

If the “Five-Star” crew were to meet “Ride or Die” duo Debbie and Judith at a pub, they’d have war stories to swap. Debbie is a politician’s wife who sidelined her career aspirations to support his ambition to be Prime Minister. She gets him within spitting distance of Downing Street just in time for her husband to dump her.

You think that’s bad? How about this: Hours before that happens, Judith’s younger handler Sam (Calam Lynch) invites her to retire over lunch, suggesting that her recent 50th birthday might have made her a little psychologically unstable. “My mum turned 50 last year,” he shares, “and she went absolutely insane!”

The funniest part of that conversation is when Sam labels Judith a WOACA, a Woman of a Certain Age, pronouncing it as if he were Fozzie Bear punctuating a joke in an old-timey stand-up set. Only the real joke, it seems, is that Judith assumed her mission-completion rate and dedication were enough to maintain the respect of Sam and their boss, played by Bill Nighy. Not so.

(Courtesy of Prime Video)

There’s an additional slathering of irony in Garner, the woman behind “Alias” superspy Sydney Bristow, playing the happy homemaker. Meanwhile “Ride or Die,” created by Tessa Coates, introduces Waddingham, the elegant and proper boss lady from “Ted Lasso,” by showing Judith trading an easy assassination by distant sniping for an up-close-and-personal stabbing. Just for the fun of it.

I’d say that’s a pretty good representation of the gap between the long-shot fantasy of midlife and an intimate understanding of how it actually turns out.  

 

Every TV show is selling us something: “Five-Star Weekend” markets the expectation of how women should age well and politely, which is to propose we seek respite from all the heartbreak, ageism and our creeping fear of obsolescence and decrepitude by leaning on our nearest friends. That, and sitting in salt rooms and mud baths or gazing at the bottom of our stand mixer’s bowl. Expressing our rage at all that, however, is still frowned upon.

That makes Debbie and Judith relatable and extraordinary figures, in that they are 50-something women, played by 50-something women headlining a high-velocity espionage thriller, linked to developments each is entitled to be angry about. Instead of proposing Waddingham as a Bond co-star, she’s the expertly skilled agent flanked by a best friend with an equally formidable intellect – the Moneypenny to her 007.

With the scrape Debbie and Judith find themselves in, a beach holiday is out of the question. Besides, as every perimenopausal woman knows, it’s really hard to relax when so many people in the world deserve to be punched.

“Ride or Die” reminds us that our local multiplexes used to be dominated by buddy action blockbusters in past summers, most of which starred men.

An exception was “Thelma & Louise,” which became the talk of the season and then year when it landed in theaters 35 years ago in May. Susan Sarandon’s Louise and Geena Davis’ Thelma spurred debates about what it meant that this film, written by a woman, created two female folk heroes out of the cold-blooded killing of a would-be rapist. Feminists loved it, but plenty of other women viewed it as improper.

It only occurred to me recently that Sarandon was 44 years old when she played Louise, the pal who pulled the trigger. I wasn’t thinking about that when I first saw “Thelma & Louise” because my 40s were far away enough to not even consider that detail. Now I know how much it matters.

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Ultimately, what sisterhood there is between “Five-Star Weekend” and “Ride or Die” can be seen in the way they consider the resources a woman has as she enters middle age. If we are “Five-Star”-fortunate, we can hire assistance to handle the inevitable difficulties associated with this time of life, whether that means groundskeepers or divorce lawyers. Would that were possible for all of us.

“Ride or Die,” for all its fanciful twists, ultimately has more realistic counsel for all the WOACAs watching: Bank on yourself and your extensively earned skills. You don’t need to be rich to burn the road behind you to the point of no return, just confident enough to keep barreling forward. And if you’re really lucky, you’ll have a trustworthy person riding shotgun in your getaway car.

The post The small-screen seduction of the middle-aged woman appeared first on Salon.com.