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At U.C.L.A., a few professors helped negotiate with the university. At Columbia, they guarded the encampment. But not all faculty members are on board.Earlier this week, some faculty members at the University of California, Los Angeles, had an emergency call with students who were active in the pro-Palestinian protests.“We just got a really clear message from them: ‘We feel unsafe, and we’d like your help in fixing this,’” recalled Graeme Blair, an associate professor of political science.In that moment, several dozen faculty activists volunteered to join the students in shifts around the clock at their encampment on campus.And in the dark hours of Thursday morning, as the police cracked down on the protests, those faculty members were linking arms with students, allowing themselves to be arrested.It was one of the clearest instances of a little-noted fact of the student demonstrations against the war in Gaza — that a small fraction of faculty members at U.C.L.A., Columbia and other universities have provided logistical and emotional support to the protesters.Some faculty members have formal ties to Faculty and Staff for Justice in Palestine, the counterpart of Students for Justice in Palestine, a decentralized national network of pro-Palestinian groups.Others are not necessarily sympathetic to the Palestinian cause but see a moral obligation to protect the free speech and the welfare of their students, who are facing some of the biggest disruptions to their educational lives since the pandemic.“It’s a breach of trust that they would call the police on our students,” said Stephanie McCurry, a history professor at Columbia University, who watched over the perimeter of the encampment before the last police sweep on Wednesday.The issue has torn apart the faculties at these universities. More than a few say the activist professors are romanticizing the demonstrations, which have thrown campuses into chaos.“It’s a sad way to end the semester,” said James Applegate, an astronomy professor at Columbia University.At Columbia, some faculty members had shown their support for the students — if not necessarily for their message — by visiting the encampment before it was swept away by the police on Wednesday morning. They delivered food and water, incorporated the protests into their academic lessons, participated in panel discussions and stood guard outside the perimeter to make it harder for the authorities to evict the students.The faculty members did not necessarily agree with the views of the students on Gaza, said Camille Robcis, a history professor at Columbia. But, she said, “I believe in their right to protest more than anything.”Over the last few chaotic days, they had communicated with one another through Listservs and on the encrypted Signal app, signing up for time slots to appear on campus.In a counterweight, pro-Israel faculty members and students formed their own WhatsApp and email support groups.“Those have been really helpful,” said Carol Ewing Garber, a professor of applied physiology at Teachers College, an affiliate of Columbia. “They actually brought people together who had never met before. It was a silver lining.”Bruce Robbins, an English professor at Columbia, is among those who are more devoted to the Palestinian cause, a member of Columbia’s chapter of Faculty and Staff for Justice in Palestine.He brought one of his classes to the tents as part of a course studying atrocities.“It was one of the things that faculty who supported the encampment did,” he said, “was take their classes inside the encampment.”Two of his students, who he believes were former members of the Israeli military, did not show up for that lesson.“I was planning on making it as comfortable as I could,” he said. “But I think the feeling in the class was not running in their favor, and that may be why they didn’t show up.”At one point, students asked the faculty members to help protect them, Dr. Robbins said. “We were described as ‘de-escalators.’”Several faculty members put on orange safety vests, he said, and got “a quick training on how not to get into a fight — if they push past us, let them push past us.”“I played football,” he said. “It was not my instinct to de-escalate. But that’s what I was there to do.”Dr. Applegate, the astronomy professor, thought the faculty’s participation in the campus protests was part of a romanticization of the Vietnam-era antiwar protests.“These guys are trying to relive 1968,” he said, referring to a violent confrontation with the police that shook Columbia back then. “I don’t think they have any intention of having a sensible conversation with anybody.”At U.C.L.A., members of Faculty for Justice in Palestine helped negotiate with the administration, Dr. Blair said.The faculty members even hired a professional to train them in de-escalating physical or verbal conflict, he said, “with the idea that the faculty could help play this role.”Dr. Blair also called on his sister, Susannah Blair, an adjunct lecturer in art history at Columbia, to share her experience with about 75 U.C.L.A. faculty members. On Zoom, she told them how most of her students were hungry to talk about what they were going through, even though they came from different backgrounds and experienced things differently.“Their libraries are closed right now,” she said in an interview. “It’s finals. They have had friends arrested. Some of them have been protesting against a genocide, and this has deeply disrupted all sorts of aspects of their lives.”The crisis at U.C.L.A. reached a climax on Thursday morning.Protesters learned that the administration was going to shut down their encampment, Dr. Blair said.“The faculty was there to try to be the first people arrested, to stand in front of the students to bear witness,” he said. “We watched from that vantage as the California Highway Patrol aimed weapons that were using nonlethal ammunition. We basically pleaded with them to not aim their weapons at our students, at what was an entirely peaceful protest.”Ultimately, about 200 protesters were arrested, along with about 10 faculty members, Dr. Blair said. Many were lecturers and assistant professors, without the protections of tenure, he said, adding, “It remains to be seen what the consequences will be.”Stephanie Saul More

Three Iraqi men sued a Virginia contractor that supplied interrogators to the U.S. military after the 2003 invasion of Iraq.A federal jury in Virginia said on Thursday that it was unable to reach a verdict in a lawsuit filed by three Iraqi men who said they were tortured while being held by the United States at the notorious Abu Ghraib prison two decades ago.The jurors had deliberated for almost eight days, and with the panel still deadlocked the judge in the case, Leonie M. Brinkema of the U.S. District Court in Alexandria, declared a mistrial on Thursday.The three plaintiffs had sued a defense contractor, CACI Premier Technology, asserting that CACI employees working as interrogators at the prison directed U.S. military guards to abuse the men in an effort to “soften” them up.The testimony of the three men last month was the first time a civilian jury had heard allegations of post-9/11 abuses directly from detainees.In a handwritten note to the judge on Thursday, the jury foreman wrote that the jury could not reach a unanimous verdict, largely because of differing interpretations of the evidence and of a legal defense known as the “borrowed servant” doctrine, where CACI could avoid liability by proving that its employees were under government control.The mistrial means that the lawsuit, filed in 2008, can continue, if the plaintiffs seek another trial and the court agrees.The plaintiffs were represented by the Center for Constitutional Rights, a human rights organization, and Patterson Belknap Webb & Tyler, a law firm in New York.Baher Azmy, a lawyer at the Center for Constitutional Rights, said the plaintiffs’ legal team would “pursue our right to a retrial.”J. William Koegel Jr., CACI’s general counsel, did not respond to a request for comment.In 2013, another contractor that had employees at Abu Ghraib settled a similar case by agreeing to pay $5 million.The trial in the lawsuit came 20 years after the abuse at Abu Ghraib was exposed.Marco Di Lauro/Getty ImagesFor more than a decade, CACI sought to have the case against it dismissed, filing a host of motions and appeals challenging the viability of the plaintiffs’ claims. In particular, CACI sought immunity from claims filed under the Alien Tort Statute, which permits foreign citizens to seek damages in federal court for violations of international law.In 2013 and again in 2021, the U.S. Supreme Court limited the statute’s scope, requiring that the conduct at issue be closely tied to the United States. CACI invoked those decisions to argue that the three Iraqi men’s lawsuit should be thrown out, but Judge Brinkema ruled that the case could proceed.During five days of testimony, the jury heard the three plaintiffs, now middle age, describe their treatment in U.S. custody at Abu Ghraib.One plaintiff, Salah Al-Ejaili, said he was shackled naked in a painful stress position, kept that way overnight and ordered to wipe up his own vomit the next morning. Asa’ad Al-Zuba’e said he was forced to crawl on his stomach down a hallway with a bag over his head, until his legs bled. Suhail Al Shimari said he was threatened with rape and death.“I had no control over what was happening to me, or what would happen to me,” Mr. Al-Ejaili said.The jury also heard testimony from two retired Army generals who had investigated Abu Ghraib. A report by one of them, Gen. Antonio Taguba, found that one of CACI’s civilian interrogators “made a false statement” and “clearly knew his instructions equated to physical abuse” that was carried out by U.S. military police.The trial in the lawsuit came 20 years after the abuse at Abu Ghraib was exposed, with the publication of photos taken by Abu Ghraib guards showing military police pulling a detainee by a leash, posing beside a pyramid of naked detainees and giving a thumbs-up sign beside an ice-packed corpse.The photos were followed by revelations that senior Bush administration officials had authorized brutal “enhanced interrogation techniques” after the terror attacks of Sept. 11, 2001. But the military characterized the Abu Ghraib abuses as the misconduct of a few bad apples. Fewer than a dozen enlisted soldiers were convicted in courts-martial and sentenced to military prison.“Everyone knew it was wrong,” said Charles A. Graner, one of the convicted soldiers who was often described as the “ringleader” of the troops committing abuses at the time. “And no one was willing to step up and stop it.”The defendant, a subsidiary of CACI International, based in Virginia, has denied wrongdoing. None of the most damning images from Abu Ghraib show CACI contractors engaging in misconduct.The civil trial in federal court in Virginia marked the first time a civilian jury had heard allegations directly from detainees.Shuran Huang for The New York Times More

The first show to fall in the wake of the Tony nominations on Tuesday, this musical about an art world individualist was years in the making.“Lempicka,” a new musical about an artistically and sexually adventurous painter, announced Thursday evening that it would close on May 19, just a month after opening.This is the first show to fall after this year’s Tony nominations were announced on Tuesday. “Lempicka” scored three nods — for the actresses Eden Espinosa and Amber Iman, as well as for scenic design — but was shut out of the best musical category. It really needed a boost, because its grosses have been anemic — last week it grossed $288,102, which is unsustainably low for a Broadway musical.The musical, which has been in development for years, had productions at the Williamstown Theater Festival and the La Jolla Playhouse in San Diego before arriving on Broadway during a crush of openings this spring; it began previews March 19 and opened April 14.The show, which explores the life of the 20th-century painter Tamara de Lempicka, was written by Carson Kreitzer and Matt Gould and directed by Rachel Chavkin. Reviews were mixed to negative.The show, produced by Seaview and Jenny Niederhoffer, was capitalized for up to $19.5 million, according to a filing with the Securities and Exchange Commission. That money will be lost. In a statement, the producers said, “We are so proud of our production and the family of artists and artisans who’ve shaped it. Few knew better than Tamara de Lempicka that art isn’t easy but always worth the effort.”Broadway is packed with shows right now — there are 35 running, 12 of which opened in the nine days before the April 25 deadline to qualify for the Tony Awards. They are facing significant challenges, because production costs have risen and attendance has fallen since the pandemic. Many industry leaders believe that most of the new musicals will not succeed financially. More

Rebuilding all the homes destroyed by Israel’s military offensive in the Gaza Strip could take until the next century if the pace of reconstruction were to match what it was after wars there in 2014 and 2021, according to a United Nations report released on Thursday.Citing data from the Palestinian Central Bureau of Statistics, the U.N. report said that as of April 15, some 370,000 homes in Gaza had been damaged, 79,000 of which have been destroyed. If those destroyed homes were rebuilt at the same pace as they were after the two previous wars — an average of 992 per year — it would take 80 years, according to projections in the report from the United Nations Development Program and the United Nations Economic and Social Commission for Western Asia.The report detailed the war’s socioeconomic impact on the Palestinian population and said “the level of destruction in Gaza is such that the required assistance to rebuild would be on a scale not seen since 1948” to replace public infrastructure, including schools and hospitals.The report said that even if Israel were to allow five times as much construction material into Gaza after this war as it did after the war in 2021 — “the most optimistic scenario” — rebuilding all of the destroyed homes would still take until 2040. That projection does not account for the time it would take to repair the hundreds of thousands of homes that were damaged but not destroyed.The cost of rebuilding Gaza is increasing “exponentially” each day the fighting continues, Abdallah Al Dardari, the director of the U.N.D.P.’s regional bureau for Arab states, speaking over a video call from Amman, Jordan, said at a news conference on Thursday.Mr. Al Dardari said that before “some sort of normalcy” can be established for Palestinians in Gaza, an estimated 37 million tons of debris must be cleared to allow for the construction of temporary shelters and, eventually, the rebuilding of homes.The report also found that the unemployment rate for Palestinians across the occupied West Bank, East Jerusalem and Gaza surged to roughly 46 percent from about 26 percent after six months of war.Over those six months, poverty rates in the Palestinian territories more than doubled, to an estimated 57.2 percent from 26.7 percent. That means 1.67 million Palestinians were pushed into poverty after the war began, the report said. Its estimates were based on a poverty line of $6.85 a day.The effects of the war on Palestinians both in and out of Gaza “will be felt for years,” the report said. More

These days, I think a lot about Donald Trump. When the monthly economic reports come out, I think: Will this help elect Donald Trump? And, I confess, I’ve started to ask myself the same question when I look at the current unrest on American college campuses over Israel and Gaza.Now, I should say that I assume that most of the protesters are operating with the best of intentions — to ease the suffering being endured by the Palestinian people.But protests have unexpected political consequences. In the 1960s, for example, millions of young people were moved to protest the war in Vietnam, and history has vindicated their position. But Republicans were quick to use the excesses of the student protest movement to their advantage. In 1966, Ronald Reagan vowed “to clean up the mess at Berkeley” and was elected governor of California. In 1968, Richard Nixon celebrated the “forgotten Americans — the nonshouters; the nondemonstrators” and was elected to the presidency. Far from leading to a new progressive era, the uprisings of the era were followed by what was arguably the most conservative period in American history.This kind of popular backlash is not uncommon. For his latest book, “If We Burn,” the progressive journalist Vincent Bevins investigated 10 protest movements that occurred between 2010 and 2020 in places like Egypt, Turkey, Brazil, Ukraine and Hong Kong. He concluded that in seven of those cases, the results were “worse than failure. Things went backward.”In Egypt in 2011, for example, about a million protesters gathered in Tahrir Square, thrilling the world with their calls for reforms and freedom. President Hosni Mubarak was toppled, but democracy did not replace his autocratic rule; the Muslim Brotherhood did.In June 2013, millions of Brazilians took to the streets demanding better schools, cheaper public transportation and political reform. But, Bevins laments, “just a few years later, the country would be ruled by the most radically right-wing elected leader in the world, a man who openly called for a return to dictatorship and mass violence” — the über-Trumpian figure Jair Bolsonaro.Why do these popular uprisings so often backfire? In his book, Bevins points to flaws in the way the protesters organize themselves. He notes that there are a few ways you can structure movements. The first is the Leninist way, in which power is concentrated in the supreme leader and his apparatus. Or there is the method used by the American civil rights movement, in which a network of hierarchically organized institutions work together for common ends, with clear leaders and clear followers.Then there’s the kind of movement we have in the age of the internet. Many of these protesters across the globe are suspicious of vertical lines of authority; they don’t want to be told what to do by self-appointed leaders. They prefer leaderless, decentralized, digitally coordinated crowds, in which participants get to improvise their own thing.This horizontal, anarchic method enables masses of people to mobilize quickly, even if they don’t know one another. It is, however, built on the shaky assumption that if lots of people turn out, then somehow the movement will magically meet its goals.Unfortunately, an unorganized, decentralized movement is going to be good at disruption but not good at building a new reality. As Bevins puts it, “A diffuse group of individuals who come out to the streets for very different reasons cannot simply take power themselves.” Instead groups that have traditional organizational structures, like the strongman populists, rise up vowing to end the anarchy and restore order.Today’s campus protesters share this weakness. When you have no formal organizational structure, you can’t control the message. The most outlandish comments — “Zionists don’t deserve to live” — get attention. When you have no formal organizational structure, you can’t be clear on basic positions. Does the movement, for example, believe in a two-state solution, or does it want to eliminate Israel and ethnically cleanse the region?Worse, the protests reinforce the class dynamics that have undermined the Democratic Party’s prospects over the past few decades. As is well known, the Democrats have become the party of the educated and cultural elite, and the Republicans have become the party of the less educated masses. Students who attend places like Columbia and the University of Southern California are in the top echelons of cultural privilege.If you operate in highly educated circles, it’s easy to get the impression that young people are passionately engaged in the Gaza issue. But a recent Harvard Youth Poll asked Americans ages 18 to 29 which issues mattered to them most. “Israel/Palestine” ranked 15th out of 16 issues listed. Other issues like inflation, jobs, housing, health care and gun violence were much more pressing to most young Americans.Especially since 2016, it’s become clear that if you live in a university town or in one of the many cities along the coasts where highly educated people tend to congregate, you can’t use your own experience to generalize about American politics. In fact, if you are guided by instincts and values honed in such places, you may not be sensitive to the ways your movement is alienating voters in the working-class areas of Pennsylvania, Wisconsin, Michigan and Georgia. You may come across to them as privileged kids breaking the rules and getting away with it.Over the past few decades, many universities have become more ideologically homogeneous and detached from the rest of the country. As my colleague Ross Douthat noted recently, Columbia students who study 20th-century thought in the “core curriculum” are fed a steady diet of writers like Frantz Fanon and Michel Foucault from one ideological perspective.Writing in The Atlantic, George Packer quoted a letter that one Columbia student wrote to one of his professors: “I think universities have essentially stopped minding the store, stopped engaging in any kind of debate or even conversation with the ideologies which have slowly crept into every bit of university life, without enough people of good conscience brave enough to question all the orthodoxies. So if you come to Columbia believing in ‘decolonization’ or what have you, it’s genuinely not clear to me that you will ever have to reflect on this belief.”These circles have become so insular that today’s progressive fights tend to take place within progressive spaces, with progressive young protesters attempting to topple slightly less progressive university presidents or organization heads. These fights invariably divide the left and unify the right.Over my career as a journalist, I’ve learned that when you’re covering a rally, pay attention not just to protesters; pay attention to all those people who would never attend and are quietly disapproving. If you were covering the protests of the late 1960s, for example, you would have learned a lot more about the coming decades by interviewing George W. Bush than you would have by interviewing one of the era’s protest celebrities like Abbie Hoffman. Hoffman was more photogenic in the moment, but Bush, and all those turned off by the protests, would turn out to be more consequential.Over the past few days, the White House and Senator Chuck Schumer have become more critical of lawbreaking protests. They probably need to do a lot more of that if we’re going to avoid “Trump: The Sequel.”The Times is committed to publishing a diversity of letters to the editor. We’d like to hear what you think about this or any of our articles. Here are some tips. And here’s our email: [email protected] The New York Times Opinion section on Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, WhatsApp, X and Threads. More

In Donald Trump’s felony trial on Thursday, I began thinking of what might be called the Sleazy Lawyer Effect. Does it hurt the credibility of a witness if he sounds too much like a lawyer on the stand?The defense attorney Emil Bove did a good job cross-examining Keith Davidson, the lawyer who represented both Karen McDougal and Stormy Daniels, in part by making him seem squirrelly.Davidson came across quite differently from the first big prosecution witness, David Pecker, who seemed to make a relatively good impression by mildly conceding almost everything Bove threw at him. By contrast, Davidson quibbled with Bove’s word choices and denied that he even considered the line separating negotiation from extortion. This led him into a trap when Bove confronted him with an F.B.I. sting operation aimed at busting him for extorting Hulk Hogan over sex tapes.Davidson said, “I don’t recall,” when asked about incidents he clearly remembered and “I don’t see that the two were related” when the jury could easily surmise that the matters at hand were.I imagine jurors saying to themselves, “Of course this guy used leverage and maybe even extorted Trump before the election.” The question is how relevant they’ll find that in the jury room.My guess is that conversations between Davidson and Michael Cohen will loom much larger.The best one for the defense came from a phone call in December 2016. According to Davidson, a “distraught” and “suicidal” Cohen was crushed to learn that he had not been offered a big job in the Trump administration; he was delusional enough to think he might be attorney general or White House chief of staff.“Jesus Christ, can you [expletive] believe I’m not going to Washington, after everything I’ve done for that [expletive] guy?” Cohen said, according to Davidson. “I’ve saved the guy’s ass so many times.”Then Cohen told Davidson: “That guy [Trump] is not even paying me the $130,000 back.” This helped Trump’s argument that he’s innocent and that Cohen is a disappointed office seeker out for revenge.The best moment for the prosecution came when Davidson quoted Cohen recounting a conversation about hush money in which Trump said, “I hate the fact that we did it.”We’ll see if Cohen — who taped many of his calls — has audio of Trump further incriminating himself. Not long before adjournment, a tape related to the plan to pay off Karen McDougal was played in court. On the tape, which the defense is ludicrously trying to imply was doctored, Cohen talks to Trump about needing to set up a company with the help of Allen Weisselberg, the convicted perjurer and former chief financial officer of the Trump Organization who currently resides at Rikers Island.Fleshed out, this is the kind of evidence that will very likely overcome the jury’s understandable disgust with the tawdry, lying, bottom-feeding world of Pecker, Davidson and Cohen — and Trump. More

With “The Bad Batch” ending this week on Disney+, the man who has voiced hundreds of “Star Wars” characters over the past two decades looks back on his run.For “Star Wars” fans who have seen only the theatrical blockbusters, clone troopers are peripheral figures, at most recalled as the title menace in “Attack of the Clones,” from 2002. But over the past two decades they have become essential to the franchise, the pillar of animated “Star Wars” series including “The Clone Wars,” “Star Wars Rebels” and most recently, “The Bad Batch.”And in that time one man has been essential to the clones: Dee Bradley Baker, who has voiced them all.Not all of the shows — all of the clones, hundreds of them since getting cast for “Star Wars: The Clone Wars,” which debuted in 2008 with a feature film and an animated series that lasted for seven seasons. Now Baker’s incredibly prolific gig, which also included plenty of non-clone roles, has finally come to an end: “The Bad Batch,” the “Clone Wars” sequel series, concludes its three-season run on Disney+ this week, and there are no plans for more clone shows.“It’s been wonderfully gratifying to go on this journey,” Baker said.Baker, 61, has been a voice actor for nearly 30 years, working on series like “Dexter’s Laboratory,” “American Dad,” “Codename: Kids Next Door” and “Space Jam.” Before “Star Wars,” he almost exclusively played funny parts: He voiced every animal in “Avatar: The Last Airbender,” Perry the Platypus in “Phineas & Ferb” and creatures in live-action projects like Sebastian the rat in “The Suicide Squad.”“I would get cast as more young, energetic and comedic because that’s how I thought of myself,” Baker said. The “Star Wars” shows “pulled so much more from me as an actor because it asked things of me I wouldn’t even think of.”“Nothing can be more fun than to play in the universe that captured your imagination as a kid,” Baker said.Jesse Grant/Getty ImagesMany of the dramatic and emotional stories early on in “The Clone Wars” involved the clone troopers. After all, it is easier to kill a replaceable clone, one of millions, than a Jedi who also shows up in the theatrical movies.Though the series was on Cartoon Network and aimed at kids, the war stories were intense and put the increasingly hard-bitten clones through one wringer after another. One story arc channels the novella “Heart of Darkness”: The troopers are led by a ruthless Jedi General in a jungle planet, until the general’s constant sacrifice of lives leads to insurgency. One episode was directed by Walter Murch, the Oscar-winning sound designer behind the Vietnam War epic “Apocalypse Now,” itself inspired by “Heart of Darkness.”“Voice acting is acting, you need the same skill and the same talent,” said Ashley Eckstein who played Ahsoka Tano. (This central “Clone Wars” character last year became the center of a live-action show, “Ahsoka,” starring Rosario Dawson.)“It can even be harder and more difficult to do voice acting,” Eckstein continued. “Dee and I had to do some deeply emotional and action-packed scenes, and we had to stand still behind a microphone. You can’t act it out or move around. You have to convey all of it just through your voice.”“The Clone Wars” was followed by “Star Wars Rebels,” which follows a small Rebel crew that eventually includes a group of surviving clones, and “The Bad Batch,” centered on a squad of “defective” clones with even more distinct personalities.Baker voiced a menagerie of creatures in “The Clone Wars.” He said his improv background prepared him for the odd sounds “Star Wars” shows require and for moving quickly between characters.Lucasfilm/Disney+One obstacle to making clone troopers compelling is the challenge of differentiating them. (They are, after all, clones.) There were small attempts from the beginning to make them distinct from a design standpoint. The creators gave them colorful armor and insignia to contrast them with the Empire’s more well-known stormtroopers, according to Dave Filoni, who was supervising director and an executive producer of “The Clone Wars” and is now the chief creative officer of Lucasfilm.“They were able to express their individuality, where stormtroopers are individuals taken into service and stripped of their personality and identity,” Filoni wrote in an email. Still, a look is little without the voice and personality that goes with it, and Baker’s performance was a big reason the characters became so central.The first test to see if Baker voicing all the clones would work came in “Rookies,” the fifth episode of “The Clone Wars.” The episode came from an idea by George Lucas, who wanted to do an episode of just clones, and follows a group of cadets who come together as a squad and stave off a droid invasion.As Henry Gilroy, the show’s head writer, recalled, “That recording session was actually a revelation, for we realized that we could write anything for the clones to do with story and character and Dee would execute to perfection.”The clones soon went from being one-off characters with little personality to proper members of the expanded cast, with their own emotional and dramatic arcs that carried on throughout the show’s seven seasons and into “The Bad Batch.” (The character Echo is the last surviving member of that rookie squad.)Baker comes up with one or two defining qualities for each clone to help differentiate them.Lucasfilm/Disney+All the clones are based, fittingly, on the same voice: the one Baker created to play Captain Rex, the second-in-command to Anakin Skywalker and his closest friend in “The Clone Wars,” after Obi-Wan Kenobi. Baker would settle on one or two defining qualities for each clone — rank, age, attitude, quirk — to guide his performances. He used to record one clone at a time, going through an entire script with one and then doing the same with the next and so on until an episode was done. But as “The Clone Wars” developed more complex arcs, he took a faster, more daunting approach. “I would start to play all of them and just jump back and forth,” Baker said. “I just read through the scenes straight through as if they’re characters playing out a scene, but it’s just me going from one voice to the other.”Michelle Ang, who stars in “The Bad Batch” as Omega, is amazed by this process. “He can not only perform the different personalities, but hold five different viewpoints of all the ‘Bad Batch’ characters and argue for each one,” she said. “It feels like there are four distinct people I’m working with.”Eckstein called Baker a mentor, comparing their relationship to that of Ahsoka, her young Padawan character, and Baker’s seasoned Captain Rex. “He taught me the ways of the Force, the ways of voice acting,” she said. When she too was asked to play multiple characters in the same episodes, “I learned from Dee, who is brilliant at doing that.”Baker, who started out in comedy, said improv helped train him to embrace the odd vocalizations “Star Wars” shows can require and to move fluidly between characters.“I am not so much prepared as I’m ready,” he said. “You want to be open and available to steer this and configure that in a way that the writers you’re working with want things to go. You can’t prepare for it. You get that in the immediate human connection of now, and that is inherently improvisational.”The end of “The Bad Batch” is the end of an era, even if other “Star Wars” roles eventually come Baker’s way, like the upcoming video game “Star Wars Outlaws.” Though characters like Ahsoka Tano live on in live-action, and Captain Rex made a cameo in “Ahsoka,” “The Bad Batch” characters were the last characters that Lucas, the “Star Wars” mastermind who is no longer involved with the franchise, had direct input on. The significance of this isn’t lost on Baker.“I’ve loved ‘Star Wars’ since I was a kid,” he said. “Nothing can be more fun than to play in the universe that captured your imagination as a kid.” More

When the Kosovar artist Petrit Halilaj received an invitation for his biggest project ever in the United States, he knew just where to go: back to school.For “Abetare,” his spare, smart, absolutely delightful sculptural installation on the roof of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Halilaj, who is 38, traveled to elementary schools across southeastern Europe, documenting the doodles that generations of schoolchildren left on their desks and walls. (The project’s title refers to the Albanian-language ABC book from which Halilaj learned the alphabet.) Those children’s drawings from the Balkans formed the templates for the sprightly, sometimes bawdy metal sculptures that now garland the skyline of New York — large ones, but also flowers, birds and graffiti that nestle in the topiaries, and hide behind the cocktail bar.Halilaj was born in 1986 in Kosterrc, a small village outside the town of Runik. (At Art Basel one year he answered that perpetual question, Where are you from?, by dumping 60 tons of Kosterrc soil in the white cube of the art fair.) His own school days took place amid the most horrific fighting in Europe between World War II and the present war in Ukraine. Serbian forces burned down the Halilaj family home in 1999, at the height of the Kosovo war, one of the most brutal chapters of a decade-long nightmare of ethnic and religious conflicts in the Balkans. The family fled to Albania, where psychologists in a refugee camp encouraged the boy to draw. War reporters at the time chronicled an ambidextrous child prodigy, drawing chickens and peacocks with both hands.Petrit Halilaj’s “Abetare (Spider)” seems to be smiling mischievously at the Metropolitan Museum of Art Roof Garden.Hiroko Masuike/The New York TimesHalilaj now lives in Berlin, but in both art and life he remains deeply engaged with Kosovo, which became independent in 2008 and where Halilaj is advising the culture ministry on the creation of a museum of contemporary art. (He figures among an exciting generation of artists from Europe’s youngest country, including Flaka Haliti, Alban Muja, and Doruntina Kastrati, the last of whom just won a prize at the Venice Biennale.) And for a decade now I’ve been captivated by Halilaj’s art, which pirouettes around questions of nationality, family and sexuality through a dense register of symbols — especially birds, whose wings and claws appear everywhere from the surface of Balkan antiquities to the fuselage of a Boeing 737.In two conversations, which have been condensed and edited, he and I spoke about the trauma of displacement, the magic of flight, and the universal language of schoolchildren’s scribbling. While we were on the Met roof one morning he pointed out his little sculpture of a dove, high up in the sky. A pigeon — an echt New Yorker — had touched down next to Halilaj’s bronze bird, and was making friends with its Balkan counterpart.At left, “Abetare (Wall of Symbols),” and at right, “Abetare (Flower, Toshe, Messi).”Hiroko Masuike/The New York TimesThe project you’ve done for the Met roof continues one that began more than a decade ago, when you went back to your elementary school in Kosovo. What was it like, returning to the village you had to flee as a child?In 2010 I went back to Runik for a holiday. My old school — which had actually survived the war — was being torn down to build a new one. [The Serbian army] had burned 99 percent of the town, this was one of the few buildings that remained, and still it was going to be replaced by new, cheap construction! And while I was at the school all these kids showed up. Some were teenagers, but others were very little, maybe 8, 9: little devils. A classic small-town crowd of naughty kids. I loved them.Some of them knew me, that I’m an artist, and they were like, “You have to go in. ”We entered, and I started filming. They started doing everything you are not supposed to do in a school — just out-of-control fun.These kids would have been born after 2000, after the war.Exactly. They started painting on top of pictures of national heroes and poets, which, honestly, I would have never had the courage to do when I was a kid.Then one of the kids took me into a classroom. And then I see the pile of these green school desks there since before the war. The desks were older than me. And this kid says to me, ‘‘Come see the drawings,’’ because there is everything there. These desks contain 40 years of unconscious, crazy secrets. There’s this encyclopedic aspect, these layers of generations. But you also see how local and global these things are, and also how funny.I was just so touched by the language of drawing, and in a moment I saw another loss — this time not from the war, but from the postwar craziness, wanting everything new. I asked the principal if I could save at least one classroom of desks. He said, “Yes, if you finance new desks.” We made a deal. I hope he used the money to really buy them …“Abetare (Big Flower),” one of the bronze sculptures that ring the walls of the Met roof.Hiroko Masuike/The New York TimesFrom left, a tiny bird perched on the giant spider; the letters “KFOR,” a reference to the NATO peacekeeping force in Kosovo; and a star atop the artist’s “Abetare (House).”You exhibited the desks from your hometown in a show in Cologne in 2015. Why did you go further, all around the Balkans, for the Met project?It was a personal journey. I started three years ago, going to Kukes, in Albania, where I was a refugee. Then to Rozaje, in Montenegro, where we used to go on holidays before the war. Very, very, very small towns. I actually went to all the countries of ex-Yugoslavia, except Serbia, where I had friends send me images.What I was amazed by, as I was going to the schools, was to feel so connected everywhere. For me, these drawings are a language that I just get. I had experts in education, or from museums, or even local artists, who accompanied me everywhere. Because otherwise it’s hard to convince a school superintendent that you aren’t a maniac. “Can I enter your classrooms to see the drawings of kids?” [Laughs] You have to really take time and build trust.Some sculptures on the Met roof clearly refer to the Balkans. There’s one with the letters “KFOR,” a reference to the NATO peacekeeping force in Kosovo. But there are also birds and stars, and Lionel Messi, and the Chanel logo, and then the same naughty drawings of body parts you could find on a school desk in America.It’s a really funny way of seeing history, through all these politically incorrect drawings. But I love the queerness in them, these secrets. They are codes. You can see the euro symbol screwing Yugoslavia …One little queer joke I caught up here on the roof is the sculpture that spells out “IDGAF” — which stands for “I don’t give a [expletive],” but is also a song by the unofficial president of Kosovo, Dua Lipa.[Laughs] It’s kind of a tribute to her, but it’s also a little celebration of new possibilities. Both locally in Kosovo, or regionally, there is a chance for new generations to really question all these static historical, nationalist narratives that are so hard to move.Petrit Halilaj in the 2020 exhibition “To a raven and hurricanes that from unknown places bring back smells of humans in love,” at the Crystal Palace in Madrid.Oscar Gonzalez/NurPhoto, via Getty ImagesInstallation view of “Petrit Halilaj: Runik” at Museo Tamayo, Mexico City, in 2023.via Petrit Halilaj and Museo Tamayo, Mexico City; Photo by GLR EstudioTell me about why birds have such a notable place in your work. For your 2017-18 New Museum show, you translated antiquities from your hometown, many of which are now in museums in Serbia, into birdlike figures with spindly claws. There were giant brass bird claws in your show in Madrid, and a performer dressed as a white raven.The birds and the chickens always bring me back to the Albanian ABC book, the Abetare. In the lesson for the letter P, there is a boy named Petrit. “Pulat e Petritit.” Petrit and the chickens. So imagine, when you are little, and people ask you, “What’s your name?” I would say “Petrit,” and they would say, “Ah, Petrit with the chickens!” I didn’t get it for years. Why am I Petrit with the chickens?! I just knew we had chickens in our garden …Later on, I understood that all these adults went through this Abetare and learned this lesson.Language politics were such a flashpoint in the wars of the 1990s.Students were allowed to learn in Albanian until 1989, with the ending of autonomy. After that it’s this story of hidden classrooms, hidden universities. The school became a place of discussion, where we could see what was going to happen. My Abetare was burned when they burned the house in ’99.In shows before this one you’ve incorporated your own childhood drawings of birds, and also flowers. Is there something that links those redeployments of your drawings as a refugee with the doodles you found for the Met project?Questioning adulthood, or questioning established canons by going back to a part of childhood is the way to understand the world around me that scares me the least. Going through the schools and the desks, there was a way to build a counternarrative: a network of symbols and alphabets and drawings that come to the Metropolitan Museum and form a kind of joint landscape.A view of “Petrit Halilaj: RU,” 2018, at the New Museum, featuring an imagined landscape populated by whimsical creatures fashioned from pottery fragments, found objects and other detritus.via Petrit Halilaj and The New Museum, New York; Photo by Dario LasagniTwo years ago you did a wonderful project on the roof of the Grand Hotel in Pristina, Kosovo’s capital. Once it was a five-star hotel; and as it declined through the war years, the stars on its roof sign were taken down one by one. You restored the stars, added dozens of new ones, and replaced the sign “Grand Hotel” with a phrase from a Kosovar child: “When the sun goes away we paint the sky.”This is a work that I ended up donating to the city, to the people of Pristina. We’re talking about, literally, the hotel where Tito was coming to sleep. You can still sense this glamour that was once there. I mean, you had this fantastic article in The New York Times about it …The then-president of Kosovo told our reporter, “I don’t think it is the worst hotel in the world, but that is because the world is very big.”And I had this idea of coming back to Kosovo and lighting it back up. Making something that is rotten into a 28-star hotel. Poetically, you can dream of something bigger than the hotels in Dubai, you know?But to me the stars against the blue Pristina sky were also the stars of the flag of the European Union. The installation is just as much about Kosovo’s still incomplete recognition as an independent European state.It was about bringing in a different language that we hardly see in public spaces. And also about seeing sculpturally a fallen ideology in these fallen stars. In Yugoslavian times, there was a whole generation of people who were so proud of this hotel, and they had no money to enter.An artistic project by Petrit Halilaj at Grand Hotel Pristina, 2022. Halilaj restored the stars, added dozens of new ones, and replaced the sign “Grand Hotel” with a phrase from a Kosovar child: “When the sun goes away we paint the sky.”Armend Nimani For The New York TimesYou have these two rooftop projects, in Pristina and in New York, both rooted in the voices of children. And what interests me most is how these children’s voices, even as they cement a claim to Kosovo’s independence, also escape the nationalist traps of so much artistic advocacy.At the Met there is an equilibrium. Maybe there are some nationalist symbols. But then you have a big heart. You have “Michael Jackson” written on the walls in Albania. You have group agendas, but also personal things. I felt like an archaeologist, discovering how people are so much more interconnected, more global, more human, than the national politics that dominate this area of Europe. And to me, that is really good news. More