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      ¿El mundo se está acabando? ¿O solo es el miedo?

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      ¿Qué podemos decir de este último año en Estados Unidos? Hay quien afirma que esto es el fin, o el principio del fin; que la infraestructura de nuestra democracia se está desmoronando; que los sismos de la economía auguran un colapso y que el riesgo nuclear en la guerra rusa contra Ucrania podría combustionar y provocar algo mucho mayor. En cambio, otros dicen que, a pesar de todas estas tensiones, en realidad estamos viendo cómo se sostiene el sistema, que la democracia prevalece y que el peligro se está disipando.Esos argumentos se pueden calificar de histéricos, displicentes o ajenos a la realidad, pero también se pueden plantear de manera abierta y franca. Quizás estemos de verdad al borde de algo peor, como en algunos largos periodos del siglo XX, y quizás así era como se sentía la gente en esas épocas sobre las cuales has leído. ¿Se está acabando el mundo tal como lo conocíamos? ¿Lo sabrías, siquiera, antes de que fuera demasiado tarde, antes de que en efecto se hubiera acabado?En 2022, podíamos ver cómo el discurso oscilaba entre el apocalipsis y la relativización, y entre el pánico y la cautela, en la política, en los medios, en Twitter e Instagram, en mensajes de texto, en persona, dentro y fuera de facciones ideológicas, sobre la guerra en Europa, el estado de la democracia estadounidense, el iliberalismo y el posible repliegue del globalismo, la violencia, la COVID-19, la inteligencia artificial, la inflación y los precios de la energía y el criptocontagio. Hay versiones profundas de este debate, y luego hay versiones reduccionistas que se entrevén en los comentarios de Instagram, o en una columna de opinión, que interpretan todo mal. Este debate incluso lo puede mantener una persona consigo misma.Lo más probable es que ya estés al tanto de las posibilidades apocalípticas respecto a la democracia estadounidense. Fundamentalmente, este país no funciona si el traspaso pacífico del poder no funciona. Este país no funciona, y no funcionó en la memoria reciente, si la gente no puede votar. Y puede haber un umbral a partir del cual deje de funcionar si el suficiente número de personas desconfía de los resultados electorales. Estas cuestiones existenciales se han canalizado ahora en problemas concretos: en 2022, hubo gente que llamó a las oficinas de campaña electoral y dejó amenazas de muerte; gente con equipo táctico apostada ante las urnas; y oficinas de campaña que instalaron cristales antibalas. Los republicanos mandaron candidatos a Arizona y Pensilvania que se postularon con la premisa de que en este país las elecciones son una mentira. Millones de personas vieron las audiencias sobre el 6 de enero donde se indagó en lo caóticos y precarios que fueron en realidad los últimos días de la Casa Blanca de Trump.Después, en este frágil paisaje de confianza, estaban las cortes. En verano, la Corte Suprema anuló completamente el caso Roe contra Wade, sentencia que se esperaba desde tiempo atrás, pero que aun así pareció conmocionar hasta a las personas que estaban a favor, incluso después de la surrealista publicación de un borrador de la opinión de la Corte en la primavera. Que eso llegara a suceder —que de pronto una mujer tuviera que ir a otro estado a realizarse un aborto para no arriesgarse a morir a causa de las complicaciones— no solo comportó ese tipo de consecuencias tangibles en mil momentos privados de la vida las personas, sino que también abrió un mundo de otras posibilidades que podrían ocurrir. Quizá la Corte revoque la igualdad del matrimonio. O refrende la rebuscada teoría de la “legislatura estatal independiente”, adoptada por un grupo de derechistas y que consiste en ampliar los poderes de las legislaturas estatales para celebrar elecciones, con el peligro de desestabilizar todo el sistema.Todos estos acontecimientos fueron aparejados de un discurso desorientador, de alto riesgo, sobre cómo y cuánto hablar de las teorías de la conspiración y las amenazas antidemocráticas. Sabemos que lo que dice la gente —lo que decimos— en las redes sociales, y por supuesto en los medios de comunicación, moldea la percepción de los demás sobre la política, pero de un modo difícil de medir, y saber esto puede convertir cada artículo o mensaje en las redes en una oportunidad o un error. Hubo articulistas que sostuvieron que centrarse excesivamente en la democracia podría ahuyentar a los votantes, en vez de persuadirlos, o incluso corromper las instituciones al entremezclar las preocupaciones constitucionales con las de índole partidista.Después estuvo el mundo más allá del discurso, donde nadie pudo controlar gran cosa más allá de un solo hombre. Desde la anexión de Crimea en 2014 y la tibieza con que respondió Occidente a ella, la gente llevaba meses, y años, advirtiendo de que Vladimir Putin ordenaría la invasión total de Ucrania. Y entonces ocurrió. No hay muchas personas, en Rusia u otras partes, que parezcan querer esto, más allá de Putin, pero eso no impidió que Ucrania se convirtiera en el tipo de lugar donde un niño tiene que averiguar por sí mismo que los soldados han fusilado a su madre y a su padrastro porque nadie sabe cómo decírselo; donde la gente tenía que beberse el agua de los radiadores para mantenerse con vida; donde, al reflexionar sobre las salvajes muertes en la ciudad, alguien puede acabar señalando con tristeza que “en teoría, los organismos internacionales tienen la autoridad de procesar los crímenes de guerra donde y cuandoquiera que se produzcan”.La rápida transición desde la invasión como algo esperado pero hipotético a algo muy real, con muertes innecesarias y millones de ucranianos y rusos teniendo que dejar sus casas quizá para siempre, abrió otras siniestras posibilidades. Parecía una cuestión existencial, primero para Ucrania, y después para el resto de Europa del este. La alianza de la OTAN podía fracturarse, en el caso de una escalada. La posibilidad de que China invadiera Taiwán —y de una guerra total a escala mundial— pareció de pronto más fácil de concebir, incluso de esperar. Las armas nucleares pasaron a ser algo en lo que gente piensa, en serio. Y, de forma más inmediata, pareció que las interrupciones en el suministro de gas y baterías y en la producción y distribución del grano iban a causar estragos a lo largo y ancho de los países.De debatir si la inflación pospandémica podría ser transitoria se pasó a plantear si podría parecerse a la de la década de 1970, con las dificultades de la estanflación y las escaseces de energía; después, de si la quiebra de las criptomonedas podría recordar a la del mercado inmobiliario en la década de 2000; qué consecuencias políticas y de otro tipo podría tener el disparo de los precios; y, peor aún, que los precios del grano puedan provocar una ola de hambrunas en todo el mundo. En Odd Lots, el pódcast sobre finanzas de Bloomberg, los presentadores señalan con frecuencia que se ha producido una “tormenta perfecta” de condiciones para la crisis: en la logística del comercio marítimo, en los precios del café, en la menor producción de cobre, en las dificultades de empezar a extraer más petróleo. Todo parece haberse estropeado o torcido un poco al mismo tiempo. ¿Se trata de un intenso periodo de acontecimientos inusuales, o de un momento de calma antes de que todas las piezas interconectadas colapsen?Y esto sin contar otras preocupaciones más profundas que tienen las personas, y que también contribuyen a generar la sensación de desintegración social: la depresión y la ansiedad entre los adolescentes, el descenso de nivel en lectura y matemáticas, la omnipresencia del fentanilo y el resurgimiento del antisemitismo y la violencia anti-LGBTQ. La policía tardó una hora en intervenir mientras un joven disparaba contra niños. Jóvenes que disparan a los clientes de una tienda de comestibles porque eran negros; clientes que lo hacen en un club gay y trans; y también jugadores de fútbol universitario, después de una excursión para ver un partido. Vidas truncadas en un contexto de normalidad, y pocas cosas pueden hacer sentir más a la gente que el mundo se acaba.Existe una razón por la que a muchas personas les preocupa una mayor soledad social, la cual es difícil de definir y más aún de subsanar. Existe una razón por la que muchas personas dicen que es como caminar en medio de la niebla. “Por ahora, estamos vivos en el fin del mundo, traumatizados por los titulares y las alarmas del reloj”, escribió el poeta Saeed Jones en su poemario más reciente.A pesar de todo este dolor y esta nefasta posibilidad, algunas noticias han desafiado las expectativas. Rusia no se ha llevado Ucrania por delante; Estados Unidos y Europa se mantienen unidos; la gente celebra en la retirada de las tropas rusas de sus ciudades sin luz. Muchos de los grandes exponentes de las teorías conspirativas sobre las elecciones en Estados Unidos —y en especial quienes querían hacerse con las riendas de la burocracia electoral— perdieron en los estados más importantes de cara al traspaso de poderes presidenciales. El colapso de las grandes plataformas de intercambio de criptomonedas no se ha extendido, por ahora, a todo el sistema financiero. La Corte Suprema pareció escéptica este mes respecto a la teoría de las legislaturas estatales, aunque en realidad no podremos confirmarlo hasta el año que viene. No ha habido violencia o agitación generales en la jornada electoral o en reacción a los resultados.Tal vez a los seres humanos se nos ha infravalorado frente a la inteligencia artificial, como apuntó mi colega Farhad Manjoo; hubo un avance en la fusión nuclear, aunque el desarrollo a partir de ahí podría ser verdaderamente complicado; es muy probable que pronto se administre una vacuna contra la malaria que pueda transformar el modo de propagación de la enfermedad. Algunas de las predicciones más funestas sobre el cambio climático podrían resultar al final haber sido demasiado funestas. Como escribió mi colega David Wallace-Wells este año: “El margen de posibles futuros climáticos se está reduciendo, y, por tanto, nos estamos haciendo una mejor idea de lo que vendrá: un nuevo mundo, lleno de disrupciones, pero también de miles de millones de personas que vivirán con un clima que distará de ser normal, pero también, afortunadamente, del verdadero apocalipsis climático”.Él sostiene que, en parte, algunos de esos mejores resultados se derivan de la movilización a causa de un profundo temor. Esto va ligado a la misteriosa relación entre las advertencias ominosas y los resultados positivos, a ese miedo que puede mitigar la causa del miedo. Quizá fue eso lo que impidió ganar las elecciones a los teóricos conspirativos a ultranza: que los votantes indecisos visualizaron el funesto panorama de lo que podría pasar y decidieron actuar. O quizá solo quieren más estabilidad; quizá mucha gente la quiere.Esta es, en teoría, la razón por la que la gente debate sobre el carácter de nuestros problemas y su gravedad en Twitter y en lugares como The New York Times: la respuesta. El debate científico privado y público sobre, por ejemplo, la gravedad de una nueva variante de un virus tiene el potencial de guiar la respuesta del gobierno y de la sociedad.Pero no puede bastar con eso, ciertamente, porque la mayoría de este tipo de conversaciones no se mantienen con la expectativa de que Joe Biden esté escuchándolas.Oír hablar de que el mundo se acaba, o que te digan que deberías calmarte, puede ser absolutamente exasperante si no tienes el ánimo para ello: la persona que parece demasiado alarmista, cuyo pánico te crispa los nervios o se filtra en tu psique y se adhiere a todas tus preocupaciones menores; o ese tipo de argumentos que dicen que la democracia está perdida: derribarán sin excepción cualquier cosa que digas que pueda hacer más compleja la imagen. O la persona que es demasiado displicente, incapaz de reconocer una preocupación genuina de la gente, que en última instancia no te reconoce a ti; que no ve, o se niega a ver, que la crisis está aquí ya.Preocuparse sobre el fin de todo, desdeñar eso, debatirlo, apostar por lo que vendrá después: esta podría ser una manera de ejercer control sobre lo incontrolable, de afirmar nuestra propia voluntad de acción o marcar distancias entre nosotros y lo inesperado. Las cosas simplemente suceden ahora, más allá de las creencias, la racionalidad y, a veces, las palabras. Y tiene algo de esperanzador —en cuanto validación de que estamos vivos y podemos influir en los acontecimientos— que intentemos darle sentido a todo ello.Katherine Miller es redactora y editora de Opinión. More

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      Was the World Collapsing? Or Were You Just Freaking Out?

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      What should we make of this year in America? There’s an argument that this is the end, or the beginning of the end, that the infrastructure of our democracy is crumbling, and that the jittery quality in the economy portends collapse and that the nuclear risk in Russia’s war in Ukraine could combust into something much bigger. There is, then, the counterargument that even with all these strains, we’re actually witnessing the system hold, that democracy prevails, that the danger is fading.Those arguments can register as hysterical or dismissive or out of touch, but they can also be considered in the most openhearted, late-night kind of way. Maybe we really are on the verge of something even worse, as in large stretches of the 20th century, and this is how people felt in previous eras that you read about. Is the world as we knew it ending? Would you even know, until it was too late, until it was actually over?In 2022, you could find the swings in discourse between apocalypse and dismissal, panic and caution, in politics, in the media, on Twitter and Instagram, over text, in person, within and between ideological factions, about war in Europe, about the state of American democracy, about illiberalism and the prospective retreat from globalism, about violence, about Covid, about artificial intelligence, about inflation and energy prices and crypto collapse contagion. There are deep versions of this debate, and reductive ones you catch a glimpse of in Instagram comments or in an op-ed that just gets it all wrong. This can even be a debate you have with yourself.You probably know about the apocalyptic possibilities for American democracy. Fundamentally, this country doesn’t work if the peaceful transfer of power does not work. This country doesn’t work, and didn’t work in living memory, if people can’t vote. And there might be a threshold at which it doesn’t work if enough people don’t trust election results. Those existential questions have now been channeled into concrete problems: In 2022, people called up election offices and left death threats; people in tactical gear staked out voter drop boxes; election offices installed bulletproof glass. Republicans fielded candidates in Arizona and Pennsylvania who ran on the premise that elections in this country were a lie. Millions watched the Jan. 6 hearings that delved into how chaotic and fragile the final days of the Trump White House really were.Then, in this fragile landscape of trust, there were the courts. In the summer, the Supreme Court fully overturned Roe v. Wade, a decision long expected, but one that still seemed to shock even the people who wanted it — even after the surreal publication of a drafted opinion in the spring. The fact that it really did happen — that suddenly a woman had to drive into another state to get an abortion so that she wouldn’t potentially die from complications — not only carried that kind of real-life consequence in a thousand private moments of people’s lives, but also opened up a world of other possibilities about what could happen. Maybe the court would roll back marriage equality. Or sign off on “independent state legislature” theory, an obscure theory adopted by a group of right-wingers that would grant expanded powers to state legislatures in carrying out elections and risk destabilizing the entire system.Accompanying all these events was a disorienting, high-stakes discourse about how to talk about conspiracy theories and antidemocratic threats, and about how much to do so. We know that what people say — what we say — on social platforms, and certainly in the media, shapes the way people perceive politics, but in a way that can be hard to measure — an awareness that can convert every piece or post into an opportunity or mistake. Writers argued that excessively focusing on democracy might alienate, rather than persuade, voters, or even corrupt institutions by intertwining constitutional and partisan concerns.Then there was the world beyond discourse, where no one could control much of anything beyond one man. For months, for years, since the 2014 annexation of Crimea and the West’s tepid response to it, people had warned that Vladimir Putin would eventually launch a full-scale invasion of Ukraine — then it happened. Not many people in Russia or anywhere else seemed to want this beyond Mr. Putin, but that did nothing to prevent Ukraine from becoming the kind of place where a boy has to figure out for himself that troops shot his mother and stepfather because nobody knows how to tell him, where people had to drink the water from radiators to stay alive, where reflecting on brutal deaths in one city, someone can find themselves grimly observing, “In theory, international bodies have the authority to prosecute war crimes wherever and whenever they occur.” More

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      Meet the Voters Who Fueled New York’s Seismic Tilt Toward the G.O.P.

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      Republicans used doomsday-style ads to prey on suburban voters’ fear of crime in New York, helping to flip enough seats to capture the House.GREAT NECK PLAZA, N.Y. — Lynn Frankel still has bouts of nostalgia for her old life, the one before the coronavirus pandemic brought New York City to a standstill and fears about crime began to bubble across this well-to-do suburb. There were dinners in the city with friends, Broadway shows, outings with her children — all an easy train ride away.But these days if she can help it, Ms. Frankel, 58, does not set foot in the city. She’s seen too many headlines about “a lot of crazy stuff”: flagrant shoplifting, seemingly random acts of violence and hate crimes, which triggered concern about the safety of her daughters, who are Asian American.Something else has changed, too. Ms. Frankel, a political independent who reviled Donald J. Trump, gladly voted Republican in this month’s midterm elections to endorse the party’s tough-on-crime platform, and punish the “seeming indifference” she ascribes to Democrats like Gov. Kathy Hochul.“If you don’t feel safe, than it doesn’t matter what all the other issues are,” she said the other day in Great Neck Plaza’s tidy commercial area.New York and its suburbs may remain among the safest large communities in the country. Yet amid a torrent of doomsday-style advertising and constant media headlines about rising crime and deteriorating public safety, suburban swing voters like Ms. Frankel helped drive a Republican rout that played a decisive role in tipping control of the House.The attempt to capitalize on upticks in crime may have fallen short for Republicans elsewhere across the nation. But from Long Island to the Lower Hudson Valley, Republicans running predominantly on crime swept five of six suburban congressional seats, including three that President Biden won handily that encompass some of the nation’s most affluent, well-educated commuter towns.Even in places like Westchester County, where Democrats outnumber Republicans, Mr. Zeldin and other Republican candidates found pockets of support.Brittainy Newman for The New York TimesThe numbers were stark. New York’s major suburban counties around the city — Nassau, Suffolk, Westchester and Rockland — all shifted between 14 and 20 points to the right, thanks to a surge in Republican turnout and crucial crossover votes from independents and Democrats. Even parts of the city followed the trend, though it remained overwhelmingly blue.Take the Third Congressional District, a predominately white and Asian American seat connecting northeast Queens with the North Shore of Long Island that flipped to a Republican, George Santos. Turnout data suggests that Republican enthusiasm almost completely erased Democrats’ large voter registration advantage and flipped some voters, helping Lee Zeldin, the Republican nominee for governor, turn a long-shot bid into the state’s closest race for governor in 30 years.Other factors accounted for Democrats’ suburban struggles here. Threats to abortion access drove some liberal voters to the polls, but many reliably Democratic Black, Latino and white voters stayed home. Swing voters blamed the party for painful increases in gas and grocery bills. Orthodox Jews furious over local education issues voted for Republicans at unusually high rates. Tactical decisions by Ms. Hochul appear to have hurt her party, too.The Aftermath of New York’s Midterms ElectionsWho’s at Fault?: As New York Democrats sought to spread blame for their dismal performance in the elections, a fair share was directed toward Mayor Eric Adams of New York City.Hochul’s New Challenges: Gov. Kathy Hochul managed to repel late momentum by Representative Lee Zeldin. Now she must govern over a fractured New York electorate.How Maloney Lost: Democrats won tough races across the country. But Sean Patrick Maloney, a party leader and a five-term congressman, lost his Hudson Valley seat. What happened?A Weak Link: If Democrats lose the House, they may have New York to blame. Republicans flipped four seats in the state, the most of any state in the country.But in interviews with strategists from both parties, candidates, and more than three dozen voters across Long Island and Westchester County, it appeared that New York was uniquely primed over the last two years for a suburban revolt over crime and quality of life.“Elections move dramatically when they become about a singular topic, and the election in New York was not about extremism on the left or right, about abortion or about Kathy Hochul,” said Isaac Goldberg, a Democratic political strategist on the losing side of several marquee races. “The election in New York was about crime.”Long Island and Rockland County in particular have large populations of active and retired law enforcement, and a history of sensitivity to crime and costs. Growing Asian American and Orthodox Jewish populations were especially motivated this year by a string of high-profile hate crimes.Many Orthodox Jews who voted for Republican candidates like Mr. Zeldin were especially motivated by a string of high-profile hate crimes.Andrew Seng for The New York TimesThen there is the coronavirus pandemic. Arguably no metropolitan area was hit harder than New York, where the economy and old patterns of life have also been slower to return. Remote work remains popular here, leaving Midtown office towers, commuter trains and subways below capacity — and many suburbanites increasingly reliant on media accounts saturated with images and videos of brutal acts of violence to shape their perceptions.Commuters recently boarding trains into Manhattan from Nassau and Westchester said they were uneasy navigating Pennsylvania Station, some of which has been under construction; unnerved by the apparent proliferation of homeless encampments and open drug usage in Midtown; and now looked over their shoulder on the subway for people who appear to be mentally disturbed.Several, including Ms. Frankel, said they frequently read The New York Post, which made Mr. Zeldin’s candidacy for governor and the repeal of the state’s 2019 bail law a crusade for more than a year, splashing violent crimes across its front page, however rare they may still be. Many asked not to be identified by their full names out of fear of backlash from friends, colleagues or even strangers who could identify them online.“I wouldn’t go into the city even if they paid me,” a retired dental hygienist said as she mailed a letter in Oyster Bay. A 41-year-old lawyer from Rockville Centre said she sometimes wondered if she would make it home at night alive. A financial adviser from North Salem in Westchester County said it felt like the worst days of the 1980s and 1990s had returned, despite the fact that crime rates remain a fraction of what they were then.“I have kids who live in Manhattan, and I am every day scared,” Lisa Greco, an empty nester who voted all Republican, said as she waited at a nail salon in Pleasantville, in Westchester.“I don’t want them taking the subways but of course they do,” she continued. “I actually track them because I have to know every day that they’re back home. Like, I don’t want to keep texting them like, ‘Are you at work? Are you here?’”Republicans, led by Mr. Zeldin, a Long Islander himself, relentlessly fanned those fears, blaming Democrats for the small rises in crime while accusing them of coddling criminals. A deluge of conservative advertising only amplified the approach, which blamed the new bail law and a Democratic Party that has complete control over both New York City and Albany.Crime statistics tell a more complicated story. Incidents of major crimes are higher in New York City and Nassau County than before the pandemic, though they remain well below levels seen in recent decades. In Westchester, Suffolk and Rockland counties, major crime has been flatter, though in the first six months of this year, property and violent crimes were up compared with the same period in 2021.Despite the Republican Party narrative, major crime has not increased in most suburban areas like Suffolk County, where Mr. Zeldin greeted voters from his district on Election Day. Johnny Milano for The New York TimesMs. Hochul had taken actions as governor to help combat crime and address the mental health crisis among the city’s homeless. And in the race’s final weeks, she pivoted to stress that she would do more. But voters and Democratic officials alike agreed the more nuanced approach was too little, too late.“She’s not wrong, but it came across to a lot of the people I spoke to on Long Island as dismissive and tone deaf,” said Laura Curran, the former Democratic Nassau County executive who was swept out of office last fall by similar currents. “I don’t think it can be overstated how visceral people on Long Island feel about it.”Ms. Hochul and other Democratic candidates spent more of the campaign focused on economic issues and protecting abortion rights. But unlike other states, some voters in New York said they were satisfied that abortion was already safely protected under state law.“The mayor of New York City got elected last year running on this issue. Nothing got better; it got worse,” said Mike Lawler, a Republican who unseated Representative Sean Patrick Maloney in a district that Mr. Biden won by 10 points in Westchester and Rockland Counties. “So I don’t know why any of them are so surprised that this was top of mind to voters.”Representative-elect Mike Lawler, left, was able to upset Sean Patrick Maloney, a powerful Democrat, in a district that President Biden won easily two years ago.Jeenah Moon for The New York TimesMany New York City residents are baffled by what they view as the irrational fear of those in communities that are objectively far safer. But so are some suburbanites.Back on the South Shore of Long Island, a woman waiting for the Long Island Railroad one morning last week said that since relocating from Brooklyn earlier this year, she had noticed a “hypersensitivity to strangeness” and “hysteria” around crime. It included fliers claiming only Republicans could keep the area safe and a drumbeat of messages in a neighborhood watch group about suspicious looking strangers wandering through well-appointed streets.“There’s a lot of community fear around this town and Nassau becoming more unsafe or changing,” said the woman, a Black lawyer in her mid-40s who only agreed to be identified by her initials K.V. “Maybe it has to do with a wave of people moving from urban communities since the pandemic.”Commuting into the city two to three times a week for work from Rockville Centre, she said she felt no less safe than before, recalling stories of people getting pushed onto subway tracks when she was a child. She voted for Democrats to ensure the protection of abortion access.Republican George Santos won an upset victory in New York’s 3rd Congressional District.Mary Altaffer/Associated PressOther voters who supported Democrats said they did have concerns about increases in crime, but could not justify backing any Republican associated with Mr. Trump and opposed to abortion rights.“Abortion was definitely the biggest reason I voted Democrat,” said Susie Park, 41, who recently moved to Nassau County from Manhattan. “I don’t feel like a party should ever tell you what you should or should not do.”At the ballot box, though, they were clearly outnumbered on Long Island this year by voters like Gregory Gatti, a 61-year-old insurance broker.A political independent, he said he and most of his friends had voted for Republicans “because they want something done” about crime, inflation and illegal immigration.As he read a fresh New York Post — its front-page headline, “Children of War,” once again devoted to New York City crime — Mr. Gatti said changes to the state’s bail law were “definitely” driving increases in crime, and he was now worried about possible upticks in the suburbs. But he had noted other reasons for concern, as well, as he commutes a couple of days each week through Penn Station to Lower Manhattan.“I have noticed more homeless encampments. We never used to have those,” he said. “You have encampments, then you have drugs, you have crime.”Timmy Facciola contributed reporting from Pleasantville, N.Y. More

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      The Rising Tide of Global Sadness

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      Taylor Swift was quite the romantic when she burst on the scene in 2006. She sang about the ecstasies of young love and the heartbreak of it. But her mood has hardened as her star has risen. Her excellent new album, Midnights, plays upon a string of negative emotions — anxiety, restlessness, exhaustion and occasionally anger.“I don’t dress for women,” she sings at one point, “I don’t dress for men/Lately I’ve been dressing for revenge.”It turns out Swift is part of a larger trend. The researchers Charlotte Brand, Alberto Acerbi and Alex Mesoudi analyzed more than 150,000 pop songs released between 1965 and 2015. Over that time, the appearance of the word “love” in top-100 hits roughly halved. Meanwhile, the number of times such songs contained negative emotion words, like “hate” rose sharply.Pop music isn’t the only thing that has gotten a lot harsher. David Rozado, Ruth Hughes and Jamin Halberstadt analyzed 23 million headlines published between 2000 and 2019 by 47 different news outlets popular in the United States. The headlines, too, grew significantly more negative, with a greater proportion of headlines denoting anger, fear, disgust and sadness. Headlines in left-leaning media got a lot more negative, but headlines in right-leaning publications got even more negative than that.The negativity in the culture reflects the negativity in real life. The General Social Survey asks people to rate their happiness levels. Between 1990 and 2018 the share of Americans who put themselves in the lowest happiness category increased by more than 50 percent. And that was before the pandemic.The really bad news is abroad. Each year Gallup surveys roughly 150,000 people in over 140 countries about their emotional lives. Experiences of negative emotions — related to stress, sadness, anger, worry and physical pain — hit a record high last year.Gallup asks people in this survey to rate their lives on a scale from zero to 10, with zero meaning you’re living your worst possible life and 10 meaning you’re living your best. Sixteen years ago, only 1.6 percent of people worldwide rated their life as a zero. As of last year, the share of people reporting the worst possible lives has more than quadrupled. The unhappiest people are even unhappier. In 2006, the bottom fifth of the population gave themselves an average score of 2.5. Fifteen years later, that average score in the bottom quintile had dropped to 1.2.In an interview, Jon Clifton, the C.E.O. of Gallup, told me that in 2021 21 percent of the people in India gave themselves a zero rating. He said negative emotions are rising in India and China, Brazil and Mexico and many other nations. A lot of people are pretty miserable at work. In the most recent survey Gallup found that 20 percent of all people are thriving at work, 62 percent are indifferent on the job and 18 percent are miserable.Part of the problem is declining community. The polls imply that almost two billion people are so unhappy where they live they would not recommend their community to a friend. This is especially true in China and India.Part of the problem is hunger. In 2014, 22.6 percent of the world faced moderate or severe food insecurity. By 2020, 30.4 percent of the world did.Part of the problem is an increase in physical misery. In 2006, 30 percent of people who rated their lives the worst said they experienced daily pain. Last year, 45 percent of those people said they live with daily pain. Before the pandemic, the experience of living with pain increased across all age groups.A lot of those numbers surprised me. Places like China and India have gotten much richer. But development does not necessarily lead to gains in well-being, in part because development is often accompanied by widening inequality. This is one of the core points Clifton makes in his book “Blind Spot: The Global Rise of Unhappiness and How Leaders Missed It.” We conventionally use G.D.P. and other material measures to evaluate how nations are doing. But these are often deeply flawed measures of how actual people are experiencing their lives.Misery influences politics. James Carville famously said, “It’s the economy, stupid.” But that’s too narrow. Often it’s human flourishing, stupid, including community cohesion, a sense of being respected, social connection. George Ward of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology has argued that subjective measures of well-being are more predictive of some election outcomes than economic measures. Measures of well-being dropped in Tunisia and Egypt before the Arab uprisings. Well-being dropped in Britain before the Brexit vote. Counties in the United States that saw the largest gain in voting Republican for president between the 2012 election and Donald Trump’s election in 2016 were also the counties where people rated their lives the worst.If misery levels keep rising, what can we expect in the future? Well, rising levels of populism for one. And second, greater civil unrest across the board. Clifton noted that according to the Global Peace Index, civic discontent — riots, strikes, anti-government demonstrations — increased by 244 percent from 2011 to 2019.We live in a world of widening emotional inequality. The top 20 percent of the world is experiencing highest level of happiness and well-being since Gallup began measuring these things. The bottom 20 percent is experiencing the worst. It’s a fundamentally unjust and unstable situation. The emotional health of the world is shattering.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: letters@nytimes.com.Follow The New York Times Opinion section on Facebook, Twitter (@NYTopinion) and Instagram. More

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      The Mental Health Toll of Trump-Era Politics

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      In the last few years the hideous state of our politics has often kept me up at night, but until recently I thought I was an outlier. Even when I’ve written about political despair as a problem for Democrats, I assumed it was something that applied to activists and base voters, the sort of people who go through their days silently cursing Joe Manchin. But a striking new study from Kevin B. Smith, chair of the political science department at the University of Nebraska, Lincoln, suggests the universe of people who find our politics a torment might be much larger than I’d realized.“Politics is a pervasive and largely unavoidable source of chronic stress that exacted significant health costs for large numbers of American adults between 2017 and 2020,” writes Smith in “Politics Is Making Us Sick: The Negative Impact of Political Engagement on Public Health During the Trump Administration.” “The 2020 election did little to alleviate those effects and quite likely exacerbated them.”Around 40 percent of Americans, he found, “consistently identify politics as a significant source of stress in their lives.” Shockingly, about 5 percent have considered suicide in response to political developments. Smith told me he was skeptical of that figure when he first calculated it, and still isn’t wholly sure it isn’t a statistical fluke, but it’s remained fairly consistent in three surveys. (After publishing results from the first survey a few years ago, he said, he got a call from someone who worked at a suicide hotline who reported experiencing an uptick in calls after the 2016 election.)I’m fascinated by Smith’s work for a couple of reasons. The first is partisan. People from both parties reported that political stress during the Trump years has damaged their health, but Democrats have, unsurprisingly, had it worse. While Donald Trump was in office, they were able to turn their rage and fear into fuel, but I’m not sure how sustainable this is. The more politics becomes a pageant of infuriating Democratic impotence in the face of relentless right-wing spite, the more I fear people will disengage as a means of self-protection.But I’m also interested in the role politics plays in the disastrous state of American mental health, which is one of the overarching stories in the country right now. For all our division, there’s a pretty broad consensus that the country is, psychologically, in an awful place. According to a recent USA Today/Suffolk University poll, almost nine in 10 registered voters believe there’s a mental health crisis in the United States. The crisis expresses itself in all sorts of ways: in rising rates of youth suicide, record overdoses, random acts of street violence, monthslong waiting lists for children’s therapists, mask meltdowns, QAnon.I’ve long thought that widespread psychological distress — wildly intensified by the pandemic — contributes to the derangement of American politics. But maybe the causality works the other way, too, and the ugliness of American politics is taking a toll on the psyche of the citizenry.Smith first surveyed a sample of around 800 people about politics and mental health in March 2017. As he wrote in a 2019 paper, he found fairly high levels of affliction: Besides the 40 percent who said they were stressed out about politics, a fifth or more reported “losing sleep, being fatigued, or suffering depression because of politics.” As many as a quarter of respondents reported self-destructive or compulsive behaviors, including “saying and writing things they later regret,” “making bad decisions” and “ignoring other priorities.”At the time, he thought he might just be capturing the shock of Trump’s election. But his next two surveys, in October and November of 2020, showed similar or greater levels of misery. Now, those were also moments of febrile political activity; perhaps if Smith had surveyed people in 2018 or 2019, he’d have found less political angst. Nevertheless, his findings suggest that there are tens of millions of Americans who’ve felt themselves ground down by our political environment.In some ways, this is surprising. Most people aren’t political junkies. The majority of American adults aren’t on Twitter, which tends to drive political news microcycles. Even in an election year, more people watched the 30th season of “Dancing With the Stars” than the most successful prime-time shows on Fox News, the country’s most-watched cable news network. As the political scientists Yanna Krupnikov and John Barry Ryan wrote in The New York Times, most Americans — “upward of 80 percent to 85 percent — follow politics casually or not at all.”Smith doesn’t dispute this. But he speculates that even those who aren’t intensely interested in politics are still affected by the ambient climate of hatred, chaos and dysfunction. “What I think is going on is that politics is unavoidable,” he said. “It is essentially a permanent part of the background noise of our lives.”Of course, the last thing a political scientist — or, for that matter, a liberal columnist — would tell you is that you should totally tune that noise out. It is depressing to live in a dying empire whose sclerotic political institutions have largely ceased to function; this is a collective problem without individual solutions. There’s an awful dilemma here. Any way out of the gloom of our current political situation will almost certainly involve even more politics.If you are having thoughts of suicide, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 (TALK). A list of additional resources is available at SpeakingOfSuicide.com/resources.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: letters@nytimes.com.Follow The New York Times Opinion section on Facebook, Twitter (@NYTopinion) and Instagram. More

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      2020 Election Spurs Resignations and Retirements of Officials

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      The draining work of 2020 has spurred resignations and retirements. In a recent survey, one in three officials said they felt unsafe in the jobs.WASHINGTON — In November, Roxanna Moritz won her fourth term unopposed as the chief election officer in metro Davenport, Iowa, with more votes than any other candidate on the ballot.Five months later, she quit. “I emotionally couldn’t take the stress anymore,” she said in an interview.For Ms. Moritz, a Democrat, the initial trigger was a Republican-led investigation into her decision to give hazard pay to poll workers who had braved the coronavirus pandemic last fall. But what sealed her decision was a new law enacted by the Iowa legislature in February that made voting harder — and imposed fines and criminal penalties on election officials for errors like her failure to seek approval for $9,400 in extra pay.“I could be charged with a felony. I could lose my voting rights,” she said. “So I decided to leave.”Ms. Moritz is one casualty of a year in which election officials were repeatedly threatened, scapegoated and left exhausted — all while managing a historically bitter presidential vote during a pandemic.She has company. In 14 southwestern Ohio counties, one in four directors or deputy auditors of elections has left. One in four election officials in Kansas either quit or lost re-election in November. Twenty-one directors or deputies have left or will leave election posts in Pennsylvania’s 67 counties, according to a tally by the reporting consortiums Spotlight PA and Votebeat.Some of those represent ordinary churn in a job where many appointees are nearing retirement, and others are subject to the vagaries of elections. In a survey of some 850 election officials by Reed College and the Democracy Fund in April, more than one in six said they planned to retire before the 2024 election.Others are leaving early, and more departures are in the wings. In Michigan, most of the 1,500 clerks who handle elections run for office, said Mary Clark, the president of the state Association of Municipal Clerks. “That said,” she added, “I am beginning to hear rumblings from a few appointed city clerks who are wondering if this ‘climate’ is worth the stress.”Election workers sorting ballots at the Pennsylvania Convention Center in Philadelphia last November.Kriston Jae Bethel for The New York TimesAt a gathering of Florida election officials this month, “multiple people came up to me to say, ‘I don’t know if I can keep doing this,’” said David Becker, the executive director of the nonprofit Center for Election Innovation and Research. “There are the threats, the stress, the attacks on democracy on the officers, on the staff.“We may lose a generation of professionalism and expertise in election administration,” he said. “It’s hard to measure the impact.”In interviews, some election officials said they also worried that a flood of departures in the next two years could drain elections of nonpartisan expertise at a hinge moment for American democracy — or worse, encourage partisans to fill the vacuum. They cite moves by partisans alleging that the last election was stolen in Arizona, Georgia and elsewhere to run for statewide offices that control election administration.That may be less likely at the local level, but the pain is no less acute. “We’re losing awesome election administrators who have tenure and know what they’re doing,” said Michelle Wilcox, the director of the Auglaize County Board of Elections in Wapakoneta, Ohio.The 2020 election was brutal for election officials by any measure. Beyond the added burden of a record turnout, many effectively found themselves conducting two votes — the one they had traditionally overseen at polling places, and a second mail-in vote that dwarfed that of past elections. The pandemic led to shortages of poll workers and money for masks and other protection equipment and vastly complicated voting preparations.Atop that, baseless claims of rigged voting and vote-counting by President Donald J. Trump and other Republicans elevated once-obscure auditors and clerks to public figures. And it made them targets for vilification by Trump supporters.A report issued last week by the Bipartisan Policy Center and the Brennan Center for Justice at New York University underscored the consequences: In a survey of election officials, one in three said they felt unsafe in the jobs. One in five said they were concerned about death threats.Better than three in four said the explosion of disinformation about elections had made their jobs harder. More than half said it had made them more dangerous.“The fact that one in three election workers doesn’t feel safe in their jobs is an extraordinary number and a real challenge to our democracy,” said Miles Rapoport, a senior democracy fellow at Harvard University’s Ash Center for Democratic Governance and Innovation. The center contributed to the report.Election challengers yelled as they watched workers count absentee ballots in Detroit last November. Brittany Greeson for The New York TimesIf lies and misstatements continue to fuel mistrust of elections and a hostility toward those who run them, “the entire infrastructure of how the nation governs itself becomes at risk,” he said.In Ohio, Ms. Wilcox said she and her office staff logged some 200 additional hours to conduct a November election that drew 25,940 voters — an almost 80 percent turnout.The 2020 vote, she said, was the first to include training in de-escalating standoffs with angry voters who refused to wear masks, and the first in which officials spent considerable time addressing baseless claims of fraud.“It was tough,” she said. “I was like, ‘Is this really what I want to do?’”In Butler County, Pa., Shari Brewer resigned as director of the Board of Elections in April 2020 — even before the state’s presidential primary.“I could see what was coming,” she said. “We had already budgeted for extra help and overtime, and this was the first primary in Pennsylvania where mail-in ballots were implemented” — a state law allowing no-excuse absentee balloting had passed the previous year.The workload increased, and no help arrived. So after 10 years — and still at the bottom of the county’s pay scale, she added — she threw in the towel.Indeed, the report issued last week said election officials singled out the crushing workload as a reason for leaving. Behind that, Mr. Rapoport said, is the failure of governments to address what he called an enormously underfunded election system that is a linchpin of democracy.The report called on the Justice Department to create an election threat task force to track down and prosecute those who terrorize election workers and for states to allot money to add security for officials. It recommended that federal and state governments, social media companies and internet search engines develop ways to better combat false election claims and take them offline more quickly.And it also asked states to take steps to shield election officials from political pressure and politically motivated lawsuits and investigations.Officials processing ballots in Madison, Wis., in November.Lauren Justice for The New York TimesParadoxically, Republican-controlled legislatures have moved in the opposite direction on some of those issues. Texas and Arizona have enacted laws explicitly banning private donations to support election work, embracing false claims from the right that private foundations in 2020 directed contributions to Democratic strongholds. Republicans in a dozen states have considered launching Arizona-style investigations of the 2020 vote despite warnings that they are feeding a movement of election-fraud believers.Ms. Clark, the head of the Michigan clerks’ association, said she believed that the pace of departures there would be influenced by the fate of Republican-backed legislation that would tighten voting rules and restrict election officials’ authority.And in Iowa, the Republican-controlled legislature voted this spring to shorten early-voting periods, clamp down on absentee ballot rules, sharply limit ballot drop boxes — and take aim at the county auditors who run elections. One clause eliminates much of their ability to take steps to make voting easier. Another makes it a felony to disregard election guidance from the secretary of state and levies fines of up to $10,000 for “technical infractions” of their duties.In Davenport, Ms. Moritz said, the pandemic and election-fraud drumbeat all but upended preparations for last year’s election. Tensions rose after she sparred with the Republican-run county board of supervisors over accepting donations to offset rising election costs.When poll workers were hired, she said, she checked with officials to make sure there was enough money in her $80-million-a-year budget to cover hazard pay. But the supervisors had set their pay at $12 an hour, and she failed to ask them for permission to increase it.Ms. Moritz says she made a mistake. “Nobody benefited from it but the poll workers,” she said. Two weeks after the election, when the county attorney called to tell her the pay was being investigated, she said, “I literally puked in my garbage can.”The supervisors have said their inquiry was not politically motivated, and the state auditor, a Democrat, is looking into the misstep. But in the storm of publicity that followed the supervisors’ inquiry, Ms. Moritz said, she began to receive threats. And any thought of staying on vanished after the legislature began to consider reining in auditors’ powers and penalizing them for errors like hers.“People are starting to second-guess if this is the profession they want to be in,” she said. “It was always a stressful job, and now it’s more so. And all these things coming down the pipe make it worse.”Susan C. Beachy More

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      Many Mayors Cite Covid Burnout as a Reason for Their Exit

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      Local officials nationwide are announcing plans to step back from elected office. Many offer the same explanation: Covid burnout.NEWBURYPORT, Mass. — Donna Holaday is the kind of mayor who does not say no to an invitation.She shows up for lesser ribbon cuttings, at Radiant U Esthetics and the Angry Donut. She is there for the dinky parades, three or four blocks to the waterfront and back. Funerals, fund-raisers, National Honor Society inductions, she does them all.Over four terms as mayor of Newburyport, a coastal city of around 17,000, she learned that she could always perk herself up by getting up on a podium, reflecting back the energy of a roomful of people. Not this past year.“There is nothing. Nothing on my calendar. It’s just the way it has been for a year,” said Ms. Holaday, 66. Through the shutdown, she made a point of spending the day in her empty City Hall, if only so people could see the light on in her office.But they were long days she described as “Whac-a-Mole, you take care of one thing and 15 things pop up.” And the calls she fielded were not about normal problems, like trash collection or snow removal, but matters of profound suffering: a loved one forced to die in solitude, or families running out of food.“It was so traumatic, with people calling us crying, distressed,” said Ms. Holaday, who has announced she will not run for a fifth term. “I was sitting in my corner office feeling quite alone, there is no question about it.”Though coronavirus cases are down from their winter peak and several states are well into the reopening process, many mayors are leaving their posts because of burnout.Damian Strohmeyer for The New York TimesIt has been an exhausting season for America’s mayors.Mayors are hands-on officials in the best of times, barraged with criticism and individual pleas for help. Over the last year, they found themselves weighing matters of life or death — devastating local businesses by prolonging shutdowns, canceling gatherings treasured by voters, unable to provide comfort by being there in person.And this spring, many American mayors are explaining their decision to leave office with the same reason: that the pandemic response demanded so much that they could not both campaign and perform their duties; or that the work had become so stressful that their families had recommended that they step away.“They are just spent,” said Katharine Lusk, executive director of Boston University’s Initiative on Cities, which carries out an annual survey of mayors. Mayors surveyed last summer expressed deep anxiety about the effects of lost tax revenue on their budgets, as they juggled the pandemic, economic recovery and their core responsibilities.Meanwhile, Ms. Lusk said, the positive aspects of the job were stripped away.“They will tell you it’s the most personal job in politics,” she said. “If you can’t interact with the community, all of the things that sort of fuel mayors — the inputs that build up that reservoir of energy — that aspect of the job has been taken from them.”There is little national data on local elections, so it is impossible to say whether this year’s turnover of mayors is unusual. In Massachusetts, nearly a fifth of the state’s mayors have announced they will not run again, as CommonWealth, a politics journal, reported, but that is not an unusual portion, according to the Massachusetts Municipal Association.Decisions to step down are rarely made for one reason, and the year has increased pressure on leaders on many fronts, including conflicts over policing and racial justice. Among those who have offered an explanation, however, Covid fatigue comes up a lot. Michelle De La Isla, the mayor of Topeka, Kan., told The Topeka Capital-Journal that campaigning would make her workload unmanageable, and there “there was no way I was going to be able to do this at the same time” as heading coronavirus response.Mayor Grover C. Robinson IV, of Pensacola, Fla., said he decided not to run out of frustration with the politicized reaction to health directives, after returning from a vacation and attending yet another contentious meeting. Similar explanations have come from the mayors of Highland, Ill., Pascagoula, Miss., and Seattle, among others.Thomas M. McGee, the mayor of Lynn, Mass., a large, blue-collar city north of Boston, described parts of last year as “a blur,” as the virus raced through crowded neighborhoods that were home to multiple generations of families.Lynn was classified as a high-risk zone for all but two weeks of the past year, and the sense of crisis has never abated, even now that the vaccination drive is underway.“Do you remember the terrible earthquake and tsunami in Thailand? I feel like we’re running on the beach, up to a higher ground, and the tsunami is behind us,” he said. “Are we going to get to higher ground before the pandemic comes rushing back in and surges over us?”Mayor Thomas McGee of Lynn, Mass., is also stepping down. He described parts of last year as a blur and said the sense of crisis never abated.Damian Strohmeyer for The New York TimesMr. McGee, a Democrat, ran for mayor of Lynn, his hometown, in 2016, after 22 years in the State Legislature. But nothing, he said, prepared him for the intensity of being a mayor last year.“After 27 years and this, in some ways, lost year,” he said, “my family was like: ‘You’re stressed. It’s really had a substantial impact on you. And we’ll support you 100 percent whatever you want to do. But we think you should consider making a step back.’”Mr. McGee’s account of the past year is laced with frustration at the federal government, which he said left local officials to cope with a fast-moving public health emergency, while former President Donald J. Trump contradicted basic messaging about safety.“It became apparent, and I’d say it on calls, and while we were making decisions, ‘You know, we’re on our own here,’” he said. “They left a lot of us in the lurch, and we were left to really kind of navigate this on our own.”His frustration was echoed by Joseph A. Curtatone, 54, the mayor of Somerville, Mass., a city of 81,000, who is leaving office after nearly 18 years, amid speculation that he will run for governor.“We’re the first to hear if someone has lost a loved one, we’re the first to hear if someone is being evicted and has no place to live,” he said, joking that his brief moments of relief came when he was allowed to talk about snowstorms.Mayors, Mr. Curtatone said, were forced to coordinate policies on such grave matters as shutdowns and school closings among themselves, putting collective pressure on the state government to follow their lead.“Trump pushed it onto the states, and they pushed it onto the cities and towns,” he said.Nearly two-thirds of big-city mayors are Democrats, many in Republican-controlled states whose leaders were more skeptical of shutdowns and mask mandates.That tension has exacerbated mayors’ “sense of being embattled,” even as coronavirus case numbers decline, said Ms. Lusk, of Boston University’s Initiative on Cities.Jospeh Curtatone, the mayor of Somerville, Mass., is leaving office after four terms.Damian Strohmeyer for The New York Times“I think the cyclicality of the pandemic meant they’ve never been able to let their guard down, they’ve never been out of the woods,” she said.Thomas Bernard, the mayor of North Adams, a city of about 14,000 in the northwest corner of Massachusetts, said he desperately missed ordinary interactions, like reading picture books to schoolchildren.He recalled the holiday season as a difficult time, as he was forced to make decisions that, as he put it, “really strike at the spirit of the community.”“I was the person who stole fun from North Adams for a year,” he said. “It feels that way sometimes. I was making the decisions, like other mayors, that led to the cancellation of the things we all love.”He announced in February that he would not run for re-election — the second time in nearly 40 years that an incumbent mayor will not appear on the ballot — so that he could focus on containing the virus and rebuilding the economy.“I feel behind the curve on the recovery, and adding the campaign, it didn’t feel tenable,” he said. “It didn’t feel like I could bring the best of myself to all three of those things.”Mr. Bernard, who recently turned 50, is unsure what he will do after he steps down.“There will be days, as it gets more toward election season, and I’m not doing a spaghetti dinner, you know, I’m probably going to have a twinge,” he said. “There are going to be days — the last holiday tree-lighting as mayor, the last high school graduation — those are the moments I’m going to feel most emotional about.”“I wear my heart on my sleeve as it is,” he said, “but it’s going to be a complex flood.” More