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      With Falsehoods About Pelosi Attack, Republicans Mimic Trump

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      WASHINGTON — Speaking on a conservative radio talk show on Tuesday, former President Donald J. Trump amplified a conspiracy theory about the grisly attack on Speaker Nancy Pelosi’s husband, Paul Pelosi, that falsely suggested that Mr. Pelosi may not have been the victim of a genuine attack.“Weird things going on in that household in the last couple of weeks,” Mr. Trump said on the Chris Stigall show, winking at a lie that has flourished in right-wing media and is increasingly being given credence by Republicans. “The glass, it seems, was broken from the inside to the out — so it wasn’t a break-in, it was a break out.”There is no evidence to suggest that. Mr. Pelosi, 82, was attacked on Friday with a hammer by a suspect who federal prosecutors say invaded the Pelosis’ San Francisco home, bent on kidnapping the speaker and shattering her kneecaps.But Mr. Trump, a longtime trafficker in conspiracy theories who propelled his political rise with the lie that President Barack Obama was not born in the United States, has never let such facts get in his way.The reaction to the assault on Mr. Pelosi among Republicans — who have circulated conspiracy theories about it, dismissed it as an act of random violence and made the Pelosis the punchline of a dark joke — underscores how thoroughly the G.O.P. has internalized his example. It suggested that Republicans have come to conclude that, like Mr. Trump, they will pay no political price for attacks on their opponents, however meanspirited, inflammatory or false.If anything, some Republicans seem to believe they will be rewarded by their right-wing base for such coarseness — or even suffer political consequences if they do not join in and show that they are in on the joke.“LOL,” Representative Claudia Tenney, Republican of New York, who is up for re-election in a competitive district, tweeted on Friday night, circulating a photograph that showed a group of young, white men holding oversized hammers beside a gay Pride flag.On Sunday, Representative Clay Higgins, Republican of Louisiana, who is in line to helm a Homeland Security subcommittee if his party wins control of the House next week, also amplified a groundless and homophobic conspiracy theory hatched on the right about the attack. He tweeted, but later removed, a picture of Ms. Pelosi with her hands covering her eyes, with the caption: “That moment you realize the nudist hippie male prostitute LSD guy was the reason your husband didn’t make it to your fundraiser.”On Tuesday, Mr. Trump said he thought the federal complaint detailing the break-in and the attack was not telling the entire story.“I don’t know,” Mr. Trump said suggestively. “You hear the same things I do.”Mr. Pelosi, 82, remained in intensive care with a fractured skull, according to a person familiar with the situation who spoke on condition of anonymity.In Arizona, the Republican candidate for governor, Kari Lake, made the attack a punchline at a campaign event on Monday, noting that while Ms. Pelosi has security around her, “apparently her house doesn’t have a lot of protection.” She smiled as her supporters howled with laughter.Republican leaders have condemned the violence against Mr. Pelosi and have not shared the conspiracy theories or sinister memes, but they have not publicly condemned those who have done so or done anything to try to tamp down on the stream of lies. And over the past few years, they have consistently demonstrated to their colleagues in Congress that there are no consequences for making vitriolic or even violent statements.If anything, such behavior has turned those more extreme members into influencers on the right, who carry more clout in Congress.The intruder who attacked Mr. Pelosi had wanted to take Ms. Pelosi, whom he saw as “the ‘leader of the pack’ of lies told by the Democratic Party,” hostage and break her kneecaps. He entered her San Francisco home with rope, zip ties and a hammer, according to the federal complaint against him.There was a time when such an event would have led to unequivocal denunciation by the leaders of both parties, sometimes followed by a pause in the day-to-day mudslinging of a campaign — if only to ensure that no candidate would make a remark that could be construed as in any way offensive to the victim.This time, few Republicans made such moves.Former Vice President Mike Pence followed the old model, saying that the attack was an “outrage” and noting that “there can be no tolerance for violence against public officials or their families.” But what would have once been a run-of-the-mill statement stood out for being one of the few that was unqualified in its condemnation of the attacker, who Mr. Pence said should be prosecuted.“They don’t have any fear of reprisal,” said Douglas Heye, a former Republican leadership aide on Capitol Hill. “That’s because our politics have become so tribal that anything that is about owning the other side is somehow seen as a political message, even though it’s not.”It is a page out of Mr. Trump’s playbook. For years, he elevated online rumors by speculating about them, bursting onto the national political scene in 2011 with the unfounded “birther” theory about Mr. Obama. When Mr. Trump insulted Senator John McCain of Arizona for being taken captive in Vietnam, his popularity among Republicans suffered no discernible hit.The current crop of candidates and lawmakers who have grown in power through their allegiance to Mr. Trump have replicated his methods. Representative Marjorie Taylor Greene, Republican of Georgia, tweeted that Mr. Pelosi was attacked by a “friend” and that the media was the source of disinformation. Her post has since been removed.Senator Ted Cruz, Republican of Texas, recirculated a Twitter thread stating that “none of us will ever know for sure” what happened at Ms. Pelosi’s house and complaining that the attack was being cited as an “indictment of Republicans.” More

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      Republicans Continue to Spread Baseless Claims About Pelosi Attack

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      Some of the conspiracy theories have already seeped into the Republican mainstream.Donald Trump Jr., the former president’s son, continues to post jokes about it.Dinesh D’Souza, the creator of a discredited film about the 2020 election called “2000 Mules,” accused the San Francisco Police Department on Monday of covering up the facts.Representative Marjorie Taylor Greene, Republican of Georgia, wrote that the “same mainstream media democrat activists” who questioned former President Donald J. Trump’s ties to Russia were now silencing the new owner of Twitter, Elon Musk.The reason: Mr. Musk deleted a post linking to a newspaper that once claimed Hillary Rodham Clinton was dead when she ran for president in 2016.In the days since Paul Pelosi, the 82-year-old husband of House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, was attacked by an intruder asking, “Where is Nancy?”, a litany of Republicans and conservatives have spread baseless conspiracy theories about the assault and its motives.Although the police have not yet detailed all the circumstances of the crime, these theories have already seeped into the Republican mainstream. While many Republican officials have denounced the violence, others have at the very least tolerated, and in some cases cheered, a violent assault on the spouse of a political rival.The disinformation “isn’t just political,” said Angelo Carusone, the president and chief executive of Media Matters for America, a progressive nonprofit. “It’s much bigger than that; it’s deeper. They’re really rethinking and reshaping a lot of our norms.”The attack on Mr. Pelosi in the couple’s home in San Francisco early on Friday morning has raised fears about the rise of political violence against elected officials — increasingly, it seems, inspired by a toxic brew of extremism, hate and paranoia that is easily found online.The assailant, identified by the police as David DePape, 42, posted a series of notes in the days before the attack suggesting that he had fallen under the sway of right-wing conspiracy theories and antisemitism online. Some of the flurry of posts by others questioning the circumstances of the attack appeared intended to deflect attention from Mr. DePape’s views.No top Republican lawmakers joined in peddling unfounded claims about the attack, but few denounced them, either. Mrs. Clinton, the former first lady and senator who lost to Mr. Trump in 2016, pointedly blamed the party for spreading “hate and deranged conspiracy theories.”“It is shocking, but not surprising, that violence is the result,” she wrote on Twitter on Saturday. “As citizens, we must hold them accountable for their words and the actions that follow.”It was her post that prompted Mr. Musk, Twitter’s owner since last Thursday night, to insinuate that an alternate version of the assault was possible. “There is a tiny possibility there might be more to this story than meets the eye,” he replied directly to Mrs. Clinton.Mr. Musk linked to an opinion piece from the Santa Monica Observer, a website known to publish falsehoods, which offered an alternative account of what led to the attack on Mr. Pelosi. Relying on an anonymous source and providing no evidence, the article claimed that the attacker was a male prostitute.The story also indicated that the attacker was found by the police wearing only his underwear, a detail that was originally published by a Fox affiliate before getting widely circulated in right-wing communities online. The affiliate later removed the detail and appended a correction, saying the article “misstated what clothing the suspect was wearing.”A spokeswoman for Fox Television Stations said the story was corrected within about two hours.That change prompted a new round of baseless theories, with some right-wing Americans claiming a cover-up.“New day, new narrative,” Tricia Flanagan, a former Republican primary candidate for New Jersey’s 4th Congressional District, tweeted to her 70,000 followers.On Monday, federal prosecutors charged Mr. DePape with attempted kidnapping and assault of a relative of a public official. He was looking for Ms. Pelosi, who was in Washington at the time, and carrying “a roll of tape, white rope, a second hammer, a pair of rubber and cloth gloves and zip ties,” according to the office of the United States Attorney for the Northern District of California, which filed the charges.Mr. DePape’s equipment — and his demand to know “Where’s Nancy?” — suggested a premeditated assault, which would undercut the counterfactual versions being spread online.Even so, the conspiracy theories found receptive audiences, receiving tens of thousands of engagements on numerous platforms like Facebook and Twitter, and other platforms that have built smaller, though politically active, audiences.Charlie Kirk, the conservative radio and YouTube host, expressed hope on Monday that some “amazing patriot” would post bail for Mr. DePape and become a “midterm hero.” “Bail him out and then go ask him some questions,” he said, adding that liberals were trying to politicize the attack.Mr. Carusone noted that Fox’s coverage shifted over the weekend, much as it did after the 2020 election, when the network initially reported the outcome accurately only to later give credence to the false claims by Mr. Trump and others that the vote was somehow fraudulent.Fox News did not respond to a request for comment.The coverage of the attack on Mr. Pelosi began with fairly straightforward coverage of the crime, before portraying it as a consequence of Democratic “soft-on-crime” policies and, finally, as a mystery with darker undercurrents that could not yet be known.“Look for what’s missing and what doesn’t add up,” David Webb, a Fox News contributor, said during “The Big Sunday Show.”Mr. Carusone said the shift reflected a deference by the network, like the Republican Party, to the most extreme voices in the right-wing information ecosystem that both cater to.“This was everywhere in the right-wing fever swamps immediately,” he said.At the core of the flurry of disinformation, he argued, was a refusal to show any sympathy for an older victim simply because of his ties to a figure regularly vilified on the opposite end of the political spectrum.Conservatives have for years turned opponents like Ms. Pelosi and others into cartoonish supervillains. Mr. Trump himself regularly called her “Crazy Nancy.”“They’re very unlikely to give them any solace or support even in the most clear-cut circumstances,” Mr. Carusone said, “because in some way it cuts against the broader narrative that they’re supervillains and therefore deserve it.” More

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      Kari Lake and the Rise of the Republican Apostate

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      On Apr. 8, 2020, in the chaotic early days of the coronavirus pandemic, Fox News host Laura Ingraham welcomed a little-known state senator onto her prime time show. With his unmistakable Minnesota accent and an aw-shucks bearing, Scott Jensen, a Republican, was the furthest thing from the typical fire-breathing cable news guest. But the message that he wanted to share was nothing short of explosive.He told Ms. Ingraham that he believed doctors and hospitals might be manipulating the data about Covid-19. He took aim at new guidelines issued by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, warning that they could lead medical institutions to inflate their fees‌. “The idea that we are going to allow people to massage and sort of game the numbers is a real issue because we are going to undermine the trust” of the public, he said.Ms. Ingraham’s guest offered no evidence or data to back up this serious allegation. Coming from a random state senator, the claim might have been easily dismissed as partisan politics. What gave it the sheen of credibility was his other job: He is a medical doctor.He would go on to make numerous appearances on far-right conservative outlets. In February of this year, Ms. Ingraham invited Dr. Jensen back on to her show. Dr. Jensen was, in Ms. Ingraham’s telling, a truth-teller who had been demonized by the media and the left, a medical professional who’d had the temerity to defy the establishment and call out the corruption when he saw it. “You were vilified,” Ms. Ingraham said. “I was vilified for featuring you.”By that point, Dr. Jensen, 67, had left the State Senate after a single term in office. Instead, he was a leading contender for the Republican nomination for governor of Minnesota. Riding a wave of grass-roots support, he easily won the primary after defeating four other candidates, including the former Republican majority leader of the State Senate, at the party’s endorsement convention. Dr. Jensen’s Covid theories proved central to his message. “I dared to lead when it wasn’t popular,” he said at the G.O.P. convention. “I dared to lead when it wasn’t politically safe.”At the heart of Scott Jensen’s candidacy is a jarring contradiction: a medical doctor who downplays, if not outright denies, the science of a deadly pandemic. And yet Dr. Jensen’s self-abnegation captures something essential about the nature of today’s Republican Party, its voters and its candidates. Kari Lake, the Republican nominee for Arizona governor, is a former journalist who never misses an opportunity to attack the “corrupt, rotten media” that wants to “brainwash” Americans. And there are lawyers like Matthew DePerno, the Republican nominee for Michigan attorney general, who have centered their campaigns on the baseless claim that the 2020 election was fraudulent and that President Biden is therefore an illegitimate president — in other words, lawyers who are campaigning against the rule of law itself.It is possible to see Dr. Jensen, Ms. Lake, Mr. DePerno and their ilk as simply pandering to the MAGA base. But their appeal runs deeper than that. They have tapped into an archetype that’s almost as old as humanity itself: the apostate. The history of American politics is littered with such figures who left one party or faction for another and who profess to have a righteous knowledge that was a product of their transformation.Watching Dr. Jensen’s swift rise from a backbencher to party figurehead and seeing so many other apostates like him on the ballot in 2022, I wanted to know why voters respond so adoringly to them. What about this political moment makes these modern apostates so compelling? Can their rise help explain how the Republican Party has ended up at this dark moment in its history — and where it might be headed next?The apostate evokes images of a distinctly religious variety. The fourth-century Roman emperor Julian, who pushed to abandon Christianity and return to paganism. Freethinkers tortured and burned at the stake for daring to question the official orthodoxy of their era. And yet for as long as the word apostate has existed, it has possessed a certain allure.To become one requires undertaking a journey of the mind, if not the soul, a wrenching transformation that eventually leads one to reject what was once believed to be true, certain, sacred. That journey not only requires a conversion of the mind and soul, resulting in glorious righteousness. They’ve experienced an awakening that few others have, suffered for their awakening, and now believe they see the world for what it is.You can trace the birth of the modern Republican Party to just such a conversion. Before he was a conservative icon and an evangelist for small government, before he so memorably told the American people that “Government is not the solution to our problem, government is the problem,” Ronald Reagan was a “near-hopeless hemophilic liberal,” as he would later write in his autobiography. As a young man and an up-and-coming actor, Reagan was a loyal Democrat who could recite Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s famous “fireside chats” from memory. He embraced F.D.R.’s New Deal, the most ambitious social-works program in American history. He campaigned for Richard Nixon’s Democratic opponent in a 1950 Senate race. Two years after that, he urged Dwight Eisenhower to run for president on the Democratic ticket.Yet by the time Reagan embarked on his own political career, he had renounced his liberal past. In his telling, he had no choice but to disavow the party of Roosevelt and Kennedy. “I didn’t leave the Democratic Party,” Reagan liked to say, “the Democratic Party left me.”This was a clever bit of sloganeering by the future president. It was also the testimony of an apostate.Reagan’s ascent transformed the set of beliefs that underpinned the Republican Party. Lower taxes, limited government, less federal spending: These principles animated the party from Reagan onward; they were canon, inviolate. Stray from them — as George H.W. Bush famously did, raising tax rates after his infamous “read my lips” quip — and the voters cast you out.After four decades of Reaganism, a new apostate emerged. Like Reagan, Donald Trump had spent much of his life as a Democrat, only to slough off that association and seek elected office as a freshly minted Republican. But what made Mr. Trump an apostate was not the mere fact of his switch from one party to the other, a move borne out of convenience and opportunism and not any ideological rebirth in the spirit of Reagan.Instead, Mr. Trump’s sacrilege was his willingness to challenge the fundamental premise of America’s greatness. Pre-Trump, it was just about mandatory for any Republican (or, for that matter, Democratic) candidate for office to invoke tired clichés about “American exceptionalism” and the “city upon a hill,” the paeans to a military that was nothing less than the “finest fighting force” the world had ever seen, and so on.Mr. Trump’s trademark slogan — Make America Great Again — put forward the notion that this rah-rah, chest-beating patriotism was wrong. The way he saw it, the country had fallen on hard times, its stature in the world diminished. “We don’t win anymore, whether it’s ISIS or whether it’s China with our trade agreements,” he said in early 2015 as he prepared to run for president. “No matter what it is, we don’t seem to have it.”No major party had nominated a candidate for the presidency in living memory who had described America in such terms. There was the real possibility that such a dark view might backfire. Yet Mr. Trump successfully tapped into the distrust, resentment and grievance that so many Americans had come to feel. This grim mood had its roots in real events: Sept. 11, the grinding war in Iraq, Hurricane Katrina, the housing meltdown and 2008 financial crash, stagnant wages, vast income inequality. Anyone could look around and see a country in trouble. And in the Republican Party especially, fear of a changing country where the white Christian population was no longer the majority and the church no longer central in American life left so many people feeling, as the sociologist Arlie Russell Hochschild put it, like “strangers in their own land.” Little wonder many people responded to a candidate who broke from every other politician and defied so many norms and traditions by speaking directly to that grievance and fear.Perhaps it shouldn’t have come as a surprise what happened next: As president, Mr. Trump did little to fix the problems or allay the fears he’d tapped into as a candidate. Instead, he governed by stoking them. He presented himself as the one and only leader of his political party, the keeper of truth. His opponents — mainly Democrats — were “un-American” and “evil.” Court decisions he opposed were a “disgrace” and judges who ruled against him were “putting our country in great danger.”By doing so, he accelerated a rupture already underway within the Republican Party. The principles and ideas that had fueled the party for decades — low taxes, small government, free markets — fell away. In their place, Mr. Trump projected his own version of identity politics: He was the party. He was the country. The central organizing force of his presidency was fear of the other. Who better to foment that fear than someone who’d renounced his old ties with that enemy? His success and standing mattered above all else. If democracy didn’t deliver what Mr. Trump wanted, then democracy was the problem.In April, a lawyer named Matthew DePerno appeared before Michigan’s Court of Appeals for his latest hearing in a long-running and quixotic legal battle involving the 2020 election result in Antrim County, a tiny community in the northern part of the state.Antrim had become a rallying cry among Trump supporters who believed human error on election night was in fact evidence of a widespread conspiracy to rig the election for Joe Biden. (The county was initially called for Biden, but after a clerical mistake was caught and corrected, Mr. Trump won the county handily.) There was no evidence to support this wild theory, but Mr. DePerno refused to give up the fight, spending approximately the past year and a half pushing for that audit.A judge had dismissed Mr. DePerno’s suit in a lower court. Now, standing before the appeals court, Mr. DePerno argued that the state Constitution gave every citizen of Michigan the right to demand a statewide audit of any election. A lawyer with the Michigan attorney general’s office replied that such a theory could mean as many as eight million audits every election. It would “mean that no election results would ever be final.” (The court dismissed Mr. DePerno’s suit, saying he had “merely raised a series of questions about the election without making any specific factual allegations as required.”)Mr. DePerno’s argument is extreme. What makes it chilling is that Mr. DePerno is the state Republican Party’s nominee to be attorney general in the 2022 midterms. As a lawyer, he is one of the most vocal and active figures in the movement to find (nonexistent) evidence of rampant illegality or vote-rigging in the 2020 election. If he wins his election this November, he could play a key role in enforcing — or not — his state’s election laws.A lawyer undermining the fundamental premise of democracy — in a bygone era, such a contradiction might have disqualified a candidate from the outset. But in a Republican Party still in thrall to the former president, Mr. DePerno’s legal background only enhances his credibility. “He is a killer,” Mr. Trump said of Mr. DePerno, whom he has endorsed. “We need a killer. And he’s a killer in honesty. He’s an honest, hard-working guy who is feared up here.”Kari Lake, the Republican nominee for Arizona governor, has also won Mr. Trump’s praise with her insistence that Mr. Biden is not the lawful president. Ms. Lake, too, has drawn on her previous career as a local TV anchor to connect with voters even as she attacks the media’s credibility. “I was in their homes for the good times and the bad times,” she told The Times in an interview. “We’ve been together on the worst of days, and we’ve been together on the best of days.” In one campaign ad, Ms. Lake wields a sledgehammer and smashes a stack of TVs playing cable news. “The media isn’t just corrupt,” she says in another spot. “They are anti-American.”As for Dr. Jensen in Minnesota, despite his lack of evidence, his Covid theories spread widely in a country grasping for solid information about the risk of the coronavirus. He opposed the sitting governor’s public-health policies and endorsed unproven treatments such as ivermectin. Dr. Jensen has said he has not been vaccinated (he claimed he would get the vaccine if he did not already have antibodies from a minor case of Covid-19 even though the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s guidelines recommend the vaccine in such cases). He also added his name to a lawsuit filed by a group of vaccine-skeptic doctors seeking to block 12- to 15-year-olds from receiving the shots. Those stances elevated him from an obscure family physician to a sought-after voice in a budding movement.Soon, the idea of an inflated death or case count had become gospel on the far right. Mr. Trump retweeted a QAnon supporter who argued that only 6 percent of Covid-related deaths counted by the CDC were due to the coronavirus itself. Mr. Trump also retweeted a popular conservative pundit who had asked: “Do you really think these lunatics wouldn’t inflate the mortality rates by underreporting the infection rates in an attempt to steal the election?”Dr. Jensen’s popularity almost surely would not have been possible without the Covid-19 pandemic. Millions of people were primed to distrust the C.D.C. and Dr. Anthony Fauci. They didn’t want to believe that locking down civil society was one of the best tools for slowing the spread of the virus and saving lives. When a doctor — one who sometimes wears a white lab coat in his public appearances — showed up on their television screens telling them that the medical establishment was lying to them, they had a strong motivation to believe him.Ms. Lake, Mr. DePerno, Dr. Jensen — what do these apostate candidates tell us? For one, the apostate’s path usually brings a degree of suffering, a requisite for traveling the path from darkness to enlightenment. But these candidates have mostly avoided that fate, with the party faithful rewarding them for their political opportunism masquerading as bravery. While polls suggest that Dr. Jensen faces long odds to win in the general election, Ms. Lake is a competitive candidate with a strong chance of winning in Arizona, and Mr. DePerno has narrowed the gap in his race to unseat Michigan’s attorney general, Dana Nessel.The fact that these three politicians got as far as they did catches something about this political moment. The real danger posed by today’s apostate candidates — Dr. Jensen, Ms. Lake, Mr. DePerno and others — is that they don’t want to start a debate about bigger or smaller government. They seemingly have no desire to battle over tax policy or environmental regulation. Mr. Trump and Trumpism caused a disruption in American politics — and this may be the 45th president’s legacy — that made such clashes over ideology and policy electorally meaningless.It’s why Ivy League graduates like Senators Josh Hawley and Ted Cruz play dumb and feed into election denialism. As Mike Madrid, a Republican political consultant and former leader of the Lincoln Project, told me, Trumpism makes ignorance a virtue and rewards fealty as a principle. Fighting the right villains — the “Marxist” left, medical experts, woke corporations — matters more than any well-crafted policy. The Republican Party led by Mr. Trump and his loyal followers is now an organization that will reduce to rubble any institution that stands between it and the consolidation of power.The election of these apostates could see this governing style, as it were, come into practice across the nation. Governors’ mansions would be a new frontier, with potentially enormous consequences. A Governor Jensen could, for example, pack his state’s medical licensing board (which he says has investigated him five times) with his own nominees and refuse to implement any statewide public-health measures in the event of another Covid-19 outbreak. A Governor Lake could approve new legislation to eliminate mail-in voting and the use of ballot-counting machines; come 2024, she could refuse to sign any paperwork certifying the results of the election to appease her party’s most die-hard supporters. An Attorney General DePerno in Michigan, meanwhile, could open criminal investigations into sketchy, unproven claims of election fraud.In the starkest of terms, the rise of these apostate politicians shows how the modern G.O.P. has become more a countercultural movement than a political party of ideas, principles and policies. It reveals how deeply millions of Americans have grown suspicious of the institutions that have made this country the envy of the world — medicine, the rule of law, the Fourth Estate. It’s “a rejection of modernity, rejection of social progress, rejection of social change,” says Mr. Madrid, whose criticism of Trump and the MAGA movement turned him into an apostate himself.There are few more powerful messages in human psychology than that of the apostate: Believe me. I used to be one of them. But the new apostates of the Republican Party have shown no interest in using their credibility to reimagine their party just as Reagan did all those years ago. Indeed, the Republican Party may be just another institution that totters and falls on account of these candidates. If Dr. Jensen, Ms. Lake and Mr. DePerno get into office and make good on their word, the crises facing the country will reach far beyond the Republican Party.Andy Kroll (@AndyKroll) is a reporter at ProPublica and the author of “A Death on W Street: The Murder of Seth Rich and the Age of Conspiracy.”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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      Nancy Pelosi, Vilified by G.O.P. for Years, Is a Top Target of Threats

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      The attack on the husband of Speaker Nancy Pelosi, which appeared to target her, came after more than a decade of Republican efforts to demonize and dehumanize the most powerful woman in Washington.WASHINGTON — In 2006, as Nancy Pelosi was poised to become the first female speaker of the House, Republicans made a film spoof that portrayed an evil Democratic empire led by “Darth Nancy.”In 2009, the Republican National Committee ran an advertisement featuring Ms. Pelosi’s face framed by the barrel of a gun — complete with the sound of a bullet firing as red bled down the screen — a takeoff on the James Bond film “Goldfinger” in which the woman second in line to the presidency was cast as Pussy Galore.This year, a Republican running in the primary for Senate in Arizona aired an ad showing him in a spaghetti western-style duel with Democrats, in which he shoots at a knife-wielding, mask-wearing, bug-eyed woman labeled “Crazyface Pelosi.”The name echoed former President Donald J. Trump’s many derisive monikers for Ms. Pelosi, including “Crazy Nancy.”The attack on Ms. Pelosi’s husband, Paul Pelosi, on Friday, which left him with a fractured skull and appeared to be part of a planned attack on the speaker herself, came after a yearslong campaign by Republicans to demonize and dehumanize Ms. Pelosi in increasingly ugly ways.For the better part of two decades, Republicans have targeted Ms. Pelosi, the most powerful woman in American politics, as the most sinister Democratic villain of all, making her the evil star of their advertisements and fund-raising appeals in hopes of animating their core supporters. The language and images have helped to fuel the flames of anger at Ms. Pelosi on the right, fanned increasingly in recent years by a toxic stew of conspiracy theories and misinformation that has thrived on the internet and social media, with little pushback from elected Republicans.Ms. Pelosi is now one of the most threatened members of Congress in the country.After the grisly assault on Mr. Pelosi, 82, many Republican lawmakers and leaders denounced the violence, but hardly any spoke out against the brutal political discourse that has given rise to an unprecedented wave of threats against elected officials. Most instead tried to link the incident to rising crime rates across the country that the party has made a centerpiece of its campaign message ahead of the midterm elections that are just days away.“You can’t say people saying, ‘Let’s fire Pelosi’ or ‘Let’s take back the House’ is saying, ‘Go do violence.’ It’s just unfair,” Ronna McDaniel, the chairwoman of the Republican National Committee, said on “Fox News Sunday.” “And I think we all need to recognize violence is up across the board.”Yet it is clear that the targeting of Ms. Pelosi, who was not at home during the attack, was not random violence. The suspect, David DePape, 42, who is accused of yelling “Where is Nancy?” after entering the couple’s home, had zip ties with him when he entered the home, according to a person with knowledge of the investigation. He appears to have been obsessed with right-wing conspiracy theories, including false claims about the 2020 election being stolen and the Jan. 6, 2021, riot, as well as concerns about pedophilia, anti-white racism and “elite” control of the internet. Ms. Pelosi in recent years has been a leading character in such viral falsehoods about Democratic misdeeds, including QAnon, and Republican leaders have blamed her groundlessly for the Jan. 6 attack.“How did he get to that point?” said Mona Lena Krook, a professor of political science at Rutgers University who began studying violence against women in politics in 2014, referring to the suspect. “This has to do with things that he sees in the media, things he sees on social media, the people he socializes with that he felt like it was necessary and justified to attack her.”As a wealthy woman from the progressive bastion of San Francisco, and her party’s leader in the House for 20 years, Ms. Pelosi has long represented a singular target for her political opponents.“It is gender. It is class. The whole idea of a wealthy San Francisco liberal woman. The whole package is there,” said David Axelrod, the Democratic strategist and former top adviser to President Barack Obama. “The difference is what began as a way to raise money and gin up turnout has now become a much more deadly game.”Even in 2012, when Ms. Pelosi served as minority leader, wielding less power than Senator Harry Reid of Nevada, the Democratic majority leader at the time, Republican television ads were six times more likely to mention Ms. Pelosi than to mention Mr. Reid, according to the Wesleyan Media Project, which tracks political advertising.As she has risen in prominence, Ms. Pelosi has become a more frequent target. Since 2018, Republicans have spent more than $227 million on advertisements featuring her, according to data provided by AdImpact, an organization that tracks political advertisements. They aired nearly 530,000 times. This year alone, Republicans poured more than $61 million into advertisements featuring Ms. Pelosi that aired about 143,000 times.The efforts to vilify Ms. Pelosi have yielded mixed political results; Democrats managed to win the House majority twice as attacks against her surged over the past 16 years.But they have persisted, even as Ms. Pelosi has become a reviled figure in the far-right reaches of the internet and social media platforms. Before taking office, Representative Marjorie Taylor Greene, Republican of Georgia, who at the time openly embraced QAnon, claimed that Ms. Pelosi was “guilty of treason,” adding, “it’s a crime punishable by death, is what treason is.” She liked a Facebook post that advocated “a bullet to the head” for Ms. Pelosi, according to posts unearthed by CNN.(When it surfaced, Ms. Greene claimed that not all of her Facebook likes had been by her or reflected her views.).css-1v2n82w{max-width:600px;width:calc(100% – 40px);margin-top:20px;margin-bottom:25px;height:auto;margin-left:auto;margin-right:auto;font-family:nyt-franklin;color:var(–color-content-secondary,#363636);}@media only screen and (max-width:480px){.css-1v2n82w{margin-left:20px;margin-right:20px;}}@media only screen and (min-width:1024px){.css-1v2n82w{width:600px;}}.css-161d8zr{width:40px;margin-bottom:18px;text-align:left;margin-left:0;color:var(–color-content-primary,#121212);border:1px solid var(–color-content-primary,#121212);}@media only screen and (max-width:480px){.css-161d8zr{width:30px;margin-bottom:15px;}}.css-tjtq43{line-height:25px;}@media only screen and (max-width:480px){.css-tjtq43{line-height:24px;}}.css-x1k33h{font-family:nyt-cheltenham;font-size:19px;font-weight:700;line-height:25px;}.css-1hvpcve{font-size:17px;font-weight:300;line-height:25px;}.css-1hvpcve em{font-style:italic;}.css-1hvpcve strong{font-weight:bold;}.css-1hvpcve a{font-weight:500;color:var(–color-content-secondary,#363636);}.css-1c013uz{margin-top:18px;margin-bottom:22px;}@media only screen and (max-width:480px){.css-1c013uz{font-size:14px;margin-top:15px;margin-bottom:20px;}}.css-1c013uz a{color:var(–color-signal-editorial,#326891);-webkit-text-decoration:underline;text-decoration:underline;font-weight:500;font-size:16px;}@media only screen and (max-width:480px){.css-1c013uz a{font-size:13px;}}.css-1c013uz a:hover{-webkit-text-decoration:none;text-decoration:none;}How Times reporters cover politics. We rely on our journalists to be independent observers. So while Times staff members may vote, they are not allowed to endorse or campaign for candidates or political causes. This includes participating in marches or rallies in support of a movement or giving money to, or raising money for, any political candidate or election cause.Learn more about our process.Such statements have brought no consequences from Republican leaders. Representative Kevin McCarthy, Republican of California and the minority leader, rebuked Ms. Greene for the comments but declined to punish her, instead elevating her within his conference.When asked to address it in an interview on Breitbart radio on Friday, Mr. McCarthy called it “wrong” and condemned political violence, noting that he had reached out to Ms. Pelosi with a text message.The two have a toxic relationship, and Mr. McCarthy once mused publicly about wanting to hit Ms. Pelosi with the oversized wooden speaker’s gavel, a remark his aides said was a joke.A spokesman for the Congressional Leadership Fund, a super PAC affiliated with Mr. McCarthy, said it would not be pulling its attack ads against Ms. Pelosi in light of the assault.For those close to Ms. Pelosi, the attack at her home was something they have long dreaded. Few lawmakers have been targeted and threatened as routinely as Ms. Pelosi, according to a review by The New York Times of people charged with threatening lawmakers since 2016, which found the speaker was the target of more than one in 10. Threats that were serious enough to result in criminal charges appeared to spike after the 2020 presidential election and through January 2021, around the time of the attack on the Capitol and President Biden’s inauguration.But Republicans have been taking aim at Ms. Pelosi for far longer. In 2010, John Dennis, who challenged Ms. Pelosi in her re-election race, circulated a campaign advertisement in which an actor playing Ms. Pelosi was presiding over an animal sacrifice, and another that depicted her as a wicked witch from “The Wizard of Oz.” In the ad, Mr. Dennis threw a bucket of water labeled “freedom” to melt her away.“It has grown ever more virulent,” said Senator Chris Van Hollen, Democrat of Maryland and a Pelosi ally who served as chairman of the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee in both the 2008 and 2010 election cycles. He said the Republican efforts to demonize Ms. Pelosi intensified after passage of the Affordable Care Act, which she helped push through Congress.“The attacks on her have been especially personal — not only attacking her politically, but also personally,” Mr. Van Hollen added. “It has been unrelenting.”The vilification of Ms. Pelosi increased in recent years, when she emerged as the Democrats’ most potent foil to Mr. Trump. Where the left turned her into a sunglasses-wearing icon, Mr. Trump branded her “crazy as a bedbug,” and circulated a photograph of her telling him off at the White House, branding her “Nervous Nancy” and accusing her of having an “unhinged meltdown.”Ms. Pelosi for years has shrugged off the attacks, characterizing them as a badge of honor.“If I weren’t effective, I wouldn’t be a target,” Ms. Pelosi told Time magazine in 2018.“She would flick at her shoulder and say, ‘It is just dust on my jacket,’” said Brendan Daly, a former spokesman. “I think she would always take it as a point of pride.”But in a letter to her colleagues on Saturday, the speaker said she and her family were “heartbroken and traumatized by the life-threatening attack” on her husband.The assault has underscored the dangers all members of Congress have faced, but none more than Ms. Pelosi. She was a particular fixation of the rioters who stormed the Capitol on Jan. 6, 2021, who hunted for her and menacingly called her name. “Bring her out here,” one woman yelled at the Capitol Police. “We’re coming in if you don’t bring her out.”And she has been the object of many other threats that garnered far less attention. In Ohio, a 53-year-old man called police departments across the country a week after the 2020 presidential election and described online his plans to kill Ms. Pelosi “because she is committing treason against the United States of America.”A heavily armed Georgia man who traveled from Colorado to Washington on Jan. 6 but arrived too late to participate in the rally sent a text message saying he would put “a bullet in her noggin on Live TV.”And a 27-year-old Maryland man who was charged with threatening to blow up the I.R.S. building made additional threats on Twitter against the speaker, federal prosecutors said, writing that he was “laser focused on thinking about ways to kill Nancy Pelosi.”Ms. Pelosi has usually taken the vitriol aimed at her in stride. She understood when Democratic candidates had to distance themselves from her to win elections and has internalized the attacks as part of her political identity, people close to her said.When Mr. Biden addressed House Democrats in March at their retreat in Philadelphia, he lamented the abuse he receives across the country, including signs that address him with an expletive. “Little kids giving me the finger,” Mr. Biden said. “You guys probably don’t get that kind of response when you go out some places.”Ms. Pelosi interjected, “I do.”The crowd chuckled.Stephanie Lai More

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      Federal Judge Allows Activists to Stake Out Ballot Boxes in Arizona

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      A federal judge on Friday declined to ban an activist group from gathering near ballot boxes in Arizona, arguing that the members’ actions did not appear to constitute a “true threat” or intimidation and that their right to assemble in public spaces is constitutionally protected.In his 14-page ruling, Judge Michael T. Liburdi found that while “many voters are legitimately alarmed by the observers filming” at ballot boxes in Maricopa County, there was no proof that the group, Clean Elections USA, had encouraged acts of violence or posted personal or identifying information online.“While this case certainly presents serious questions,” Judge Liburdi wrote, “the court cannot craft an injunction without violating the First Amendment.”In denying the request, the judge said he would keep the case open and agreed to hear new evidence that the group has “engaged in unlawful voter intimidation.”Clean Elections USA, whose founder is a purveyor of election and QAnon theories, has said it is trying to prevent voter fraud by organizing activists across the country to station themselves near drop boxes set up to receive mail ballots. The aim, the organizers say, is to observe voters and document possible instances of voter fraud or misconduct.An individual watches a drop box from across a parking lot in Mesa, Ariz., on Monday.Bastien Inzaurralde/Agence France-Presse — Getty ImagesA lawsuit filed on Monday by two nonprofit organizations, the Arizona Alliance for Retired Americans and Voto Latino, alleged that the group’s intent was to dissuade people from voting through harassment and threats.The complaint, which asked for an injunction and restraining order against Clean Elections USA, identified several incidents in which voters in Maricopa County were followed, photographed and accused of being “ballot mules” — a term borrowed from a conspiracy theory about voters fraudulently casting dozens of ballots at once. In several cases, the activists carried firearms and wore military-style protective gear and masks.Judge Liburdi’s ruling, which is limited to Arizona, comes 11 days before a midterm election that has been riddled with false claims and specious theories about misconduct in voting, and as former President Donald J. Trump continues to spread the falsehood that the 2020 election was stolen from him. Many right-wing groups have mobilized to work the polls, challenge ballots and station observers at counting centers in search of wrongdoing.Ballot drop boxes have become an early flash point. Since early voting began in Arizona on Oct. 12, Arizona’s secretary of state has referred at least six complaints of voter intimidation to the U.S. Department of Justice and the state’s attorney general for investigation. All of the incidents took place at outdoor ballot boxes in Phoenix and Mesa, a suburb.The State of the 2022 Midterm ElectionsElection Day is Tuesday, Nov. 8.Bracing for a Red Wave: Republicans were already favored to flip the House. Now they are looking to run up the score by vying for seats in deep-blue states.Pennsylvania Senate Race: The debate performance by Lt. Gov. John Fetterman, who is still recovering from a stroke, has thrust questions of health to the center of the pivotal race and raised Democratic anxieties.G.O.P. Inflation Plans: Republicans are riding a wave of anger over inflation as they seek to recapture Congress, but few economists expect their proposals to bring down rising prices.Polling Analysis: If these poll results keep up, everything from a Democratic hold in the Senate and a narrow House majority to a total G.O.P. rout becomes imaginable, writes Nate Cohn, The Times’s chief political analyst.“Voter intimidation is illegal, and no voter should feel threatened or intimidated when trying to vote,” Secretary of State Katie Hobbs, a Democrat who is running for Arizona’s governor, said in a statement this week. “Anyone attempting to interfere with that right should be reported.”At a hearing on Wednesday, Veronica Lucero, a lawyer for Melody Jennings, the founder of Clean Elections USA, argued that there “there is no connection” between the activists cited in the complaints in Maricopa County and Clean Elections USA. Ms. Jennings “has simply advocated that people need to follow the law,” Ms. Lucero said.Ms. Jennings has described the ballot box monitors as “my people” and “our box watchers” in social media posts. On Friday, she praised the judge’s ruling in a post on Truth Social, the social media platform founded by Mr. Trump.“The Constitution won today,” Ms. Jennings wrote. “This battle is not over, but today was a step for freedom and for your 1st amendment rights being preserved.”In a statement, the Arizona Alliance for Retired Americans called the ruling “truly disappointing,” adding that “American citizens should be able to cast a ballot without fear of personal injury or other harm to their safety and security.”Marc Elias, a Democratic elections lawyer whose law firm represents the plaintiffs in the suit, wrote on Twitter on Friday that he planned to appeal.Ms. Jennings, who is from Tulsa, Okla., and has described herself as a Christian pastor and counselor, has fast become a leading voice in the election-denial movement. She first proposed sending observers to ballot boxes this spring, just weeks after joining Truth Social.“I have an idea,” she wrote on April 19. “In those states where they do not outlaw drop boxes, I think we have no less than 10 patriots standing around every one of those 24/7 for the duration of the voting period.”In podcast interviews, Ms. Jennings said she was inspired by a trailer for the film, “2000 Mules,” released in May. The film, directed and produced by the right-wing pundit Dinesh D’Souza, relied heavily on debunked research from True the Vote, a group focused on voter fraud. The film asserts that “mules” paid by the Democratic Party ferried illegal votes to ballot boxes, often in the dead of night. It was shown in more than 400 theaters and brought in some $1.4 million at the box office.Ms. Jennings’ ideas spread quickly as her posts were shared by election deniers with large numbers of followers, including Mr. Trump and his former attorney, Sidney Powell. Ms. Jennings launched a website in May and, this summer, frequently promoted her plans on right-wing podcasts. She urged people not only to gather around ballot boxes, but to photograph voters and reveal their identities online.“I am FULLY STOKED that ballot trafficking mules are about to be completely doxxed and put on blast at every drop box across America VERY SOON,” Ms. Jennings posted on Truth Social on Sept. 8.Ms. Jennings’s following on the platform has grown from barely 100 in April to more than 35,000.Internal membership rolls show that roughly 4,500 people in 48 states have registered with Clean Elections USA, according to a report in Votebeat, a nonprofit news outlet. The group tells volunteers that the information they collect will be shared with True the Vote, which in turn works with Protect America Now, a group of sheriffs who have pledged to investigate election fraud, the report found.It is unclear if Ms. Jennings has significant financial support. A fund-raiser she set up online in August had raised $3,600 as of Friday.Over the summer, several Republican officeholders and candidates in Arizona encouraged the effort and Ms. Jennings organized what she called a “dry run” during the state’s Aug. 2 primary elections.A second organization, the Lions of Liberty, began organizing ballot box surveillance in Yavapai County, north of Phoenix. The group is an offshoot of a third organization: a local chapter of the Oath Keepers called the Yavapai County Preparedness Team.In an interview, Jim Arroyo, an Oath Keeper and member of the Lions of Liberty board of directors, said the intent of what his group called “Operation Drop Box” was to “watch for people stuffing more than 30, 40, 50 ballots in the box and to photograph it and send that to law enforcement.”There is no evidence of a widespread ballot-stuffing operation in the 2020 election. William P. Barr, who served as Attorney General under Mr. Trump, described the evidence presented in “2000 Mules” as “singularly unimpressive” in an interview with the congressional committee investigating the Jan. 6 attack on the Capitol.Most states with early voting allow individuals to return other peoples’ ballots to boxes although rules vary significantly by state. In Arizona, family and household members, as well as caregivers, are legally permitted to do so. The laws are designed to make it easier for older, ill or disabled voters to cast ballots.Arizona does not permit observers to remain within 75 feet of ballot boxes or polling places, and even outside that perimeter they are prohibited from making “any attempt to intimidate, coerce, or threaten a person to vote or not vote,” according to the secretary of state. That behavior includes “aggressive or ostentatious display of weapons” or “directly confronting or questioning voters in a harassing or intimidating manner.”Voto Latino and Arizona Alliance for Retired Americans, represented by the voting rights firm Elias Law Group, claimed Clean Election USA was violating federal law, citing the Ku Klux Klan Act of 1871 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965, both of which prohibit voter intimidation.In his decision on Friday, Judge Liburdi dismissed Voto Latino from the suit, saying that it did not have standing because it had not demonstrated a financial impact from the problems it identified in the complaint. Judge Liburdi, who was appointed to the U.S. District Court for the District of Arizona by Mr. Trump in 2019, will have an opportunity to weigh in on the matter again. The League of Women Voters filed on Tuesday a second federal suit naming Clean Elections USA, and Ms. Jennings, adding the Lions of Liberty and the Yavapai County Preparedness Team as defendants. That lawsuit, citing the same federal laws, noted that “Congress passed both statutes to prevent the very kinds of vigilante-led voter intimidation defendants are now deploying.”That complaint was prepared by the Protect Democracy Project, which this week also filed a defamation claim against Mr. D’Souza and True the Vote, among others, over “2000 Mules.” Mr. D’Souza and Catherine Engelbrecht, the founder of True the Vote, did not immediately respond to a request for comment.“Melody Jennings is not operating in an absolute vacuum,” said Orion Danjuma, an attorney at Protect Democracy Project who worked on the Arizona case. More

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      How Mike Lindell’s Pillow Business Propels the Election Denial Movement

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      Three days after federal agents seized his cellphone as part of an investigation into voting machine tampering, Mike Lindell seemed energized and ready to sell pillows.He strode onstage at a rally of Trump supporters in western Idaho, defiantly waving a cellphone. Eric Trump greeted him with a hug.“When they start attacking the MyPillow guy,” the former president’s son declared, “you know we have a large problem in this country.”Mr. Lindell, smiling broadly in a blue suit and red tie, leaned into the mic. “Use promo code ‘FBI’ to save up to 66 percent!” he yelled, raising his fist in the air. The crowd roared its approval.And pillows were sold. On Sept. 14, the day after Mr. Lindell’s encounter with the F.B.I., daily direct sales at his bedding business, MyPillow Inc., jumped to nearly $1 million, from $700,000 the day before, according to Mr. Lindell. Propelled by a blizzard of promotions, memes and interviews on right-wing media outlets, sales remained elevated for two days.American entrepreneurs have long mixed their business and political interests. But no one in recent memory has fused the two quite as completely as Mr. Lindell. In less than two years, the infomercial pitchman has transformed his company into an engine of the election denial movement, using his personal wealth and advertising dollars to propel the falsehood that the 2020 election was stolen from Donald J. Trump.In the process, Mr. Lindell has secured a platform for his conspiracy theories — and a devoted base of consumers culled from the believers.By his account, Mr. Lindell has spent as much as $40 million on conferences, activist networks, a digital media platform, legal battles and researchers that promote his theory of the case — the particularly outlandish conspiracy theory that the election was stolen through a complex, global plot to hack into voting machines.But a New York Times analysis of advertising data, along with interviews with media executives and personalities, reveal that Mr. Lindell’s influence goes beyond funding activism: He is now at the heart of the right-wing media landscape.Already the largest single advertiser on Fox News’s right-wing opinion prime-time lineup, according to data from the media analytics firm iSpot.tv, MyPillow has since early last year become a critical financial supporter of an expanding universe of right-wing podcasters and influencers, many of whom keep election misinformation coursing through the daily discourse.Mr. Lindell’s promotion of election conspiracy theories have cost him sales at mainstream retailers, he says.Erin Schaff/The New York TimesHis chief vehicle for that support is a sprawling system of promo codes handed out to podcasters, pundits and activists, giving them a stake in each sale and incentive to promote Mr. Lindell’s products — and, in the process, his election theories.Podcasters and advertising executives say the arrangement has cemented Mr. Lindell’s influence. Stephen K. Bannon, the former Trump adviser whose “War Room” podcast ranks among the top news shows on Apple, described him in an interview as “the most significant financier in all of conservative media.” Mr. Bannon last year devoted as much as a third of the promotional time on his podcast to MyPillow, although that share has fallen since, according to an analysis by the analytics firm Magellan AI.Mr. Lindell’s message is being received. He has called on his followers to find evidence to back up his claims, and they have inundated election officials with requests for voting records, audits and even access to voting machines. Mr. Lindell and his network of allies are mobilizing right-wing activists to act as self-styled election vigilantes searching for evidence of misconduct in the midterm elections.The Spread of Misinformation and FalsehoodsElection Fraud Claims: A new report says that major social media companies continue to fuel false conspiracies about election fraud despite promises to combat misinformation ahead of the midterm elections.Russian Falsehoods: Kremlin conspiracy theories blaming the West for disrupting the global food supply have bled into right-wing chat rooms and mainstream conservative news media in the United States.Media Literacy Efforts: As young people spend more time online, educators are increasingly trying to offer students tools and strategies to protect themselves from false narratives.Global Threat: New research shows that nearly three-quarters of respondents across 19 countries with advanced economies are very concerned about false information online.Some critics — including the voting machine companies that have sued him for defamation, libel and slander — charge that Mr. Lindell’s operation is simply an enormous grift. “The lie sells pillows,” lawyers for Dominion Voting Systems argued in a still-pending $1.3 billion lawsuit filed against Mr. Lindell last year.Mr. Lindell disputes the allegations and insists that his activism has lost him money.“I didn’t do this to make a profit,” he told The Times in an interview. “I did it to save our country.” He said he pours “every dime I make” into his cause.It is difficult to assess that claim. As a privately held company, MyPillow does not disclose financial information and Mr. Lindell has frequently given conflicting accounts about his spending.Mr. Lindell has spent nearly $80 million on advertising on Fox News’s prime-time lineup of opinion shows since accelerating his activism in January 2021, according to estimates by iSpot.TV. His advertising on podcasts in that same period is valued at more than $10 million, according to estimates from Magellan AI. In addition to the tens of millions he says he has spent on activism and lawsuits, Mr. Lindell has given $200,000 to state and federal political action committees since January 2021, public records show.That investment has built a brand loyalty that goes well beyond appreciation for a rectangle of shredded foam that lists for $49.98 (but sells for as low as $19.98 with a promo code).His customers are “supporting a guy they believe shares their worldview,” said Benjamin Pratt, an advertising executive who focuses on conservative media. They say, said Mr. Pratt, “we’re going to support him, he’s being attacked and they’re trying to silence him. OK, we’ll buy more pillows.”Mr. Lindell says he was disengaged from politics until meeting Donald Trump in 2016. Jordan Vonderhaar For The New York Times/Getty Images North AmericaFinding a MarketMr. Lindell, a 61-year-old recovering crack cocaine and gambling addict who previously managed a string of bars in suburban Minneapolis, says he started MyPillow in 2004 after receiving the idea in a dream.He initially sold his signature pillows directly, through homespun infomercials and in booths at home and garden shows, as well as through cut-rate newspaper ads and radio spots. He perfected a relentlessly high-energy sales pitch. In an effort to squeeze as much value as possible out of these advertising dollars, he began pairing each ad with a distinct promotional code that would allow him to track its performance in inducing direct sales.By 2019, he told The Times, the company had annual revenues of over $300 million. He had also expanded to more conventional distribution deals with large retailers like Walmart and Bed Bath & Beyond.MyPillow’s work force, which numbered just 300 in 2012, had grown to more than 1,500 by 2018, according to legal filings, and the company reported having sold more than 40 million pillows since its founding. As he built his company, Mr. Lindell says, he was disengaged from politics — until being called to a meeting with Mr. Trump in 2016, where the then-candidate expressed an interest in MyPillow’s American manufacturing operations. Mr. Lindell became an ardent Trump supporter.In early 2021, he became an integral part of a growing movement to somehow retroactively reverse Mr. Trump’s defeat. On Jan. 15 of that year he was seen entering the White House with a sheaf of papers on which the phrase “martial law” was visible. (Mr. Lindell has insisted he was merely delivering the papers and had not read them.).css-1v2n82w{max-width:600px;width:calc(100% – 40px);margin-top:20px;margin-bottom:25px;height:auto;margin-left:auto;margin-right:auto;font-family:nyt-franklin;color:var(–color-content-secondary,#363636);}@media only screen and (max-width:480px){.css-1v2n82w{margin-left:20px;margin-right:20px;}}@media only screen and (min-width:1024px){.css-1v2n82w{width:600px;}}.css-161d8zr{width:40px;margin-bottom:18px;text-align:left;margin-left:0;color:var(–color-content-primary,#121212);border:1px solid var(–color-content-primary,#121212);}@media only screen and (max-width:480px){.css-161d8zr{width:30px;margin-bottom:15px;}}.css-tjtq43{line-height:25px;}@media only screen and (max-width:480px){.css-tjtq43{line-height:24px;}}.css-x1k33h{font-family:nyt-cheltenham;font-size:19px;font-weight:700;line-height:25px;}.css-1hvpcve{font-size:17px;font-weight:300;line-height:25px;}.css-1hvpcve em{font-style:italic;}.css-1hvpcve strong{font-weight:bold;}.css-1hvpcve a{font-weight:500;color:var(–color-content-secondary,#363636);}.css-1c013uz{margin-top:18px;margin-bottom:22px;}@media only screen and (max-width:480px){.css-1c013uz{font-size:14px;margin-top:15px;margin-bottom:20px;}}.css-1c013uz a{color:var(–color-signal-editorial,#326891);-webkit-text-decoration:underline;text-decoration:underline;font-weight:500;font-size:16px;}@media only screen and (max-width:480px){.css-1c013uz a{font-size:13px;}}.css-1c013uz a:hover{-webkit-text-decoration:none;text-decoration:none;}How Times reporters cover politics. We rely on our journalists to be independent observers. So while Times staff members may vote, they are not allowed to endorse or campaign for candidates or political causes. This includes participating in marches or rallies in support of a movement or giving money to, or raising money for, any political candidate or election cause.Learn more about our process.Within days, national retailers carrying MyPillow products dropped the brand. But Mr. Lindell only plunged deeper into election denial, seizing on fanciful theories about “algorithms” manufacturing votes and China hacking into machines.In an interview, Mr. Lindell said losing the big box stores has cost MyPillow 80 percent of its retail sales, which had accounted for a little less than half of its overall sales.MyPillow kept its steady presence on Fox News, which does not promote his election theories. So far this year, its spots have accounted for nearly 8 percent of all ad impressions — more than any other outside advertiser — on the network’s prime-time shows hosted by Tucker Carlson, Sean Hannity and Laura Ingraham, according to iSpot.tv. MyPillow’s strategy of saturating one network with ads, even at risk of annoying viewers, is “an anomaly in television,” Jason Damata, an analyst for iSpot.tv.Starting in early 2021, the company moved aggressively into podcast advertising. In the first quarter of this year, the number of podcasts MyPillow supported jumped to 45, from 29, while the number of spots it aired nearly doubled to more than 1,200, according to Magellan AI, which monitors advertising on the top 3,000 podcasts weekly.Joe Schmieg, MyPillow’s vice president for sales and marketing, said the company’s executives targeted podcasts popular with Christian audiences and conservative women in their 40s and 50s. “They’re typically the ones that are buyers,” he said. It offered the outlets a dedicated promotional code and a share — 25 percent or more — of all sales linked to that code. (Mr. Lindell disputed that the company directly targeted a conservative audience.)The strategy partly offset the loss of the chain stores, Mr. Schmieg said. According to Mr. Lindell, the company’s overall sales dipped only 10 percent in 2021 — though they have fallen further since losing its contract to sell in Walmart stores this year. (Mr. Lindell provided no documentation to support the numbers.)Mr. Lindell, center, with the far-right agitator Jack Posobiec, left, and Stephen Bannon, a former Trump adviser, at a conference this year.Emil Lippe for The New York TimesBuying a MegaphoneThe strategic shift to podcasts put Mr. Lindell on the vanguard of right-leaning media. In this decentralized ecosystem, where audience sizes vary widely and programming spans from the conventionally conservative to the conspiratorial fringe, MyPillow promotions are ubiquitous.A Times analysis that identified 125 codes found the list of affiliates included well-known figures like Glenn Beck and Dan Bongino, whose daily shows are both among Apple’s top 50 news podcasts in the country, as well as Rudolph W. Giuliani, Mr. Trump’s former lawyer.Jack Posobiec, the far-right agitator known for promoting the disinformation campaign “Pizzagate,” had a code, as did Vincent James Foxx, a media entrepreneur who espouses anti-Semitism and white supremacy.(After The Times asked him about his relationship with Mr. Foxx, Mr. Lindell said he was cutting ties with him — not because of Mr. Foxx’s views but because he said Mr. Foxx had misrepresented the terms of his affiliate deal on his show.) Lines between promotion and politics are blurry on MyPillow’s affiliate podcasts. Mr. Lindell regularly appears as a guest on shows, and even when he doesn’t, his pet theories are present.On a recent episode of BardsFM, a podcast that layers Christian nationalism, anti-vaccine beliefs, QAnon and election denialism, the host, Scott Kesterson called the coming election a “a clown show” that would be stolen via an “algorithm.”In 2022, nearly two-thirds of all advertising minutes on BardsFM have been dedicated to MyPillow, according to data from Magellan AI.“Every dollar you spend at MyPillow helps fund Mike Lindell’s efforts for this nation,” Mr. Kesterson said on his podcast in September. “He’s done that as they’ve tried to destroy his company.”By his account, Mr. Lindell has spent as much as $40 million advancing his election theories.Erin Schaff/The New York TimesUsing His LeverageSome on the right have tried to keep a distance from Mr. Lindell and his far-fetched voting machine theories — either out of fear of legal liability or skepticism. He has not made it easy.At times, he has publicly threatened to withhold advertising support from outlets that he doesn’t see as sufficiently supportive. He once carried through on those threats, pulling MyPillow spots from Fox News for nearly two months last year after the network refused to allow him to advertise one of his conferences.Mr. Bannon, who has often called himself “not a machine guy” and said he doesn’t understand the theories about hacking, nonetheless often features Mr. Lindell on “War Room.” He has twice broadcast from Mr. Lindell’s conferences that convene activists to swap conspiracy theories about election machines. In an interview at one in Springfield, Mo., in August, Mr. Bannon said Mr. Lindell had started to convince him.“I do know the machines have to go,” said Mr. Bannon, who on Friday was sentenced to four months in prison for contempt of Congress.In November 2021, Mr. Lindell threatened to pull his advertising from Salem Media Group, a publicly traded conservative radio and podcast company with a roster that includes Charlie Kirk, a young right-wing commentator, and Jenna Ellis, a former Trump lawyer. Mr. Lindell claimed the company wasn’t sufficiently covering his particular election theories.“You better at least say something because you might not have products to sell at least from MyPillow,” he warned in a broadcast from his own online video site. “You don’t get to have your cake and eat it too. There will be no more MyPillow if you can’t address the election of 2020.”Mr. Lindell backed off the threat after speaking to a Salem executive, according to a person briefed on the conversation. (Salem did not respond to requests for comment, but at the time an executive told The Daily Beast that there was no policy blocking hosts from discussing any topics.)More recently, Salem was eager to promote Mr. Lindell’s encounter with the F.B.I. After Mr. Lindell went public about the investigation, a Salem executive sent an email urging hosts to talk about it on their shows, according to a person familiar with the email. Mr. Lindell’s supporters would want to know and help him, the email said.Soon, many of Salem’s political commentators were discussing the case at length, portraying Mr. Lindell as an innocent businessman unfairly targeted by federal agents. Mr. Lindell also made the rounds on shows himself, slipping in allegations about voting machines.“When you talk about evidence to get rid of machines, we’ve had that for a year and a half,” Mr. Lindell said on Mr. Kirk’s podcast.Mr. Kirk did not discuss voting machines, but told his listeners that he was buying extra sets of MyPillow’s Giza Dreams sheets himself to support Mr. Lindell. He urged his audience to do the same.“Use promo code: ‘Kirk’,” he said.Tina Peters at an event in June with Mr. Lindell in Colorado. She faces charges in an election plot.Daniel Brenner for The New York TimesThe Search for ProofAt MyPillow’s headquarters and factory in the exurbs of Minneapolis, Mr. Lindell’s politics intermingle with his business.In its warehouse, pallets of DVDs of “Absolute Proof,” a feature-length video promoting election conspiracy theories, share floor space with packaged pillows.On a morning last month in Mr. Lindell’s office, a picture of Mr. Trump leaned against a wall, as the executive juggled meetings with company officials and calls from his allies in his election crusade — as well as the lawyers who were crafting his response to the encounter with federal agents the previous week.The investigation involves Tina Peters, the county clerk of Mesa County, Colo., whom state prosecutors have accused of plotting to copy sensitive data from voting machines in an attempt to prove the 2020 election was rigged. Ms. Peters has pleaded not guilty to the state charges. Mr. Lindell, whom prosecutors identified as a potential co-conspirator in a related federal investigation, denies any involvement.He has promoted Ms. Peters and her data. At a conference Mr. Lindell hosted in South Dakota last year, Ms. Peters flew in on Mr. Lindell’s private plane and was celebrated as a hero onstage.Such conferences are a showcase of Mr. Lindell’s organizing power in the movement. At the recent gathering in Springfield, activists from all 50 states, many of whom gather weekly on calls hosted by Mr. Lindell, took turns describing their hunt for evidence of malfeasance in American democracy, notably turning their focus beyond the 2020 election.Activists from Alabama said they had fed fake ballots into machines ahead of the primary election in an attempt to prove how easily they could be tampered with. A county Republican official from Oklahoma urged attendees to be diligent in monitoring voting in midterm elections — even telling them to videotape absentee ballots as they are opened.After hours of presentations, Mr. Lindell bounded onstage: “By the way, if you’re watching from home use that promo code: ‘Truth45’,” he said. More