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      ‘Going against the grain’: is bipartisanship really possible in America?

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      On election night 2016, Van Jones, the criminal justice advocate and former Obama administration official turned CNN anchor, processed his shock on live television. “This was a whitelash against a changing country,” he said. “It was a whitelash against a Black president, in part. And that’s the part where the pain comes.” The clip, in which Jones appeared near tears and essentially called Donald Trump a “bully” and a “bigot”, went viral. For many, it was shorthand for shock and dismay, an articulation of unspeakable anger, and a rare example of a pundit calling it like it was.So it was confusing that over the next few years, Jones, a Black man from western Tennessee, was seen at the Trump White House, conducted the first (and uncomfortably chummy) TV interview with Trump’s son-in-law/adviser Jared Kushner, and touted his communication with the administration and congressional Republicans in the name of bipartisan criminal justice reform. In spring 2019, Jones appeared at the Conservative Political Action Conference – the Maga hat-filled, far-right convention known as CPAC – as an avowed Democrat willing, for better and for worse and with a considerable amount of controversy, to engage with the opposition. He appeared on stage with the chairman of the American Conservative Union, prompting the question, from myself, from the panel’s moderator and surely from audience members: “Why are you here?”The answer – the distance between 2016 and 2019, and the messy, at times contradictory journey in between – forms the backbone of the The First Step, a new, wide-ranging and thoughtful documentary on his fraught activism and the bipartisan criminal justice legislation he championed. Created by the brothers team of director Brandon Kramer and producer Lance Kramer, The First Step opens with that CPAC appearance and takes it name from the First Step Act, the bill heralded by Jones and his criminal justice organization, #cut50, that was signed into law by President Trump in 2018. The measure barred punitive practices such as shackling pregnant prisoners, placed inmates in facilities closer to their families, cut down some federal sentences by anywhere from weeks to years and allowed those convicted of pre-2010 crack cocaine offenses to apply for resentencing to a shorter term.During the initial Trump years, Jones “felt like somebody needed to be engaging and reaching across the aisle and trying to see if there was any sliver of room to get something accomplished on some of the issues where there is some bipartisan support”, said Brandon Kramer. The First Step Act was thus a hodgepodge of reforms and concessions, with a wide range of supporters (people as ideologically opposed as Kamala Harris and Ted Cruz) and skeptics. Some Republicans interested in decreasing mass incarceration backed it; other hardliners, such as the then attorney general, Jeff Sessions, opposed it. Many progressives viewed the measure as too little, too patchwork, one whose passage would allow Republicans to claim criminal justice reform without meaningfully addressing mandatory minimum sentencing laws. Jones’s bipartisan approach – as in, courting Republicans, Jared Kushner and Democrats – drew plenty of critics; the bill was initially opposed by liberal groups including the NAACP Legal Defense Fund and the ACLU.It also makes for a fascinating, thorny watch, one which, Jones’s occasional foot-in-mouth moments or glad-handing aside, tangles with evergreen questions of political work: incremental change versus radical reform, resoluteness versus compromise, how and when to build a coalition. The Kramers, who worked with Jones on a 2016 web series called The Messy Truth, in which Jones spoke to people across the political spectrum, were interested in someone “going against the grain and doing something really tough and controversial and being able to tell those stories in a really complex way,” said Brandon. “It felt like no matter what would come out of that, it would be a really important document and story for the American public to have.” The First Step began production during the Women’s March in January 2017 and filmed into 2020, as the bill was worked and nearly killed, reworked and nearly killed and then passed, and beyond. “People talk about bridge-building, but it’s very rare that you get to see bridge-building in action,” said Brandon.The film proceeds along three intertwined tracks: first, the work to pass the bill itself, trying to nail down support from Democrats and attract Republicans with a Trump endorsement, as well as Trump’s Oval Office, on the day of signing. (Jones addresses Trump personally and gratefully.) Second, on Jones’s personal journey to activism, from shy, bookish kid to Yale Law School to fighting to shut down prisons in San Francisco in the 1990s, which convinced him that “you cannot help people en masse with one party or with one race. The only way you’re gonna help is you get everybody together.”Jones, whose style encompasses hard-won insights (“you can’t fight an opponent you don’t understand,” he says of researching the right), whiffs and bromides in one impassioned mix, is often a besieged island of one; “He who walks in the middle of the road gets hit on both sides,” says the bishop TD Jakes in a phone call with a fatigued Jones. We meet his small #cut50 team as well as some of his prominent liberal critics, from his friend Senator Cory Booker to progressive criminal justice advocates. The First Step Act is “not the law that we need right now”, says the Black Lives Matter co-founder Patrisse Cullors in the film. “This bill is going to jeopardize the work that we’ve done for the last couple decades.”And third, the film sits in on meetings facilitated by Jones between two grassroots groups grappling with addiction and incarceration: an organization of Black and Hispanic residents from South Central LA besieged by the crack epidemic and the “war on drugs”, and some predominantly white, Trump-voting citizens of McDowell county, West Virginia, reeling from the opioid crisis and cyclical arrests. Each group visits the other; most find common ground in shared trauma and frustration over a system that punishes rather than rehabilitates, if not in justifying the others’ vote in 2016. In one of the film’s most riveting scenes, Jones tries to convince the LA group members to visit Trump’s White House to tell their stories, because the people who shouldn’t be in power will make the trip, and “the right people won’t go” to make an impact. Some do make an uncomfortable visit, greeted by Kellyanne Conway; others view engagement as a bridge too far, certain that Trump and Conway “will find a way to misuse it”.The tension between engagement and non-engagement, incremental work versus comprehensive reform, course throughout the film with, of course, no definitive resolution. “There are very legitimate and important reasons why to engage, and there’s legitimate and important reasons why some people don’t engage or why they’re fighting for a more comprehensive reform,” said Brandon. “The hope is that you see people who represent your view, but you’re also given a window into a different strategy or opinion or view.”“It’s valuable for the human experience but also the political process to be able to engage with these kind of narratives but also just paradoxes in this space,” said Lance Kramer of the multitude of experiences and approaches professed in the film. “I think it’s a healing space, when you have that opportunity.”If anything, the US political environment has only grown more polarized, and the Republican party more untethered from reality, in the years since The First Step was filmed; it can feel weird to watch the film, and its depiction of bipartisan efforts, in a post-January 6 context. But, as Jones and the film-makers point out, there is still a point to political bridge-building. The First Step Act did get passed, allowing thousands of federal prisoners to go home early. The film ends with immediately eye-watering clips of former inmates reunited with their families, months or years ahead of time. “There’s virtues in still trying to get things done and not just throwing up our hands and giving up,” said Lance. “At the end of the day, it’s people’s lives that depend on it.”
      The First Step is now available digitally in the US More

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      American Ramble review: a riveting tale of the divided United States

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      In spring 2021, Neil King trekked 330 miles from his Washington DC home to New York City. He passed through countryside, highways, towns and churchyards. His 25-day walk was also a journey through time. He looked at the US as it was and is and how it wishes to be seen. His resultant book is a beautifully written travelog, memoir, chronicle and history text. His prose is mellifluous, yet measured.In his college days, King drove a New York cab. At the Wall Street Journal, his remit included politics, terror and foreign affairs. He did a stint as global economics editor. One might expect him to be jaded. Fortunately, he is not. American Ramble helps make the past come alive.In Lancaster, Pennsylvania, King stops at the home of James Buchanan, the bachelor president from 1857 to 1861, who sympathized with the south and loathed abolition. Ending slavery could wait. Of the supreme court’s infamous Dred Scott decision, Buchanan highly approved.Also in Lancaster, King visits a townhouse once owned by Thaddeus Stevens, the 19th-century Republican congressman and radical abolitionist. At the start of the civil war, Abraham Lincoln, the first Republican president, viewed the conflict as the vehicle for preserving the Union. He opposed slavery but opposed secession more. For Stevens, slavery was an evil that demanded eradication.Elsewhere in Pennsylvania, King describes how the ancestors of one town greeted Confederate troops as heroes while another just 20 miles away viewed them as a scourge. Forks in the road are everywhere.King pays homage to the underground railroad, describing how the Mason-Dixon Line, the demarcation between north and south, free state and slave, came into being. Astronomy and borders had a lot to do with it. All of this emerges from the scenery and places King passes on his way.Imagining George Washington’s crossing of the Delaware, he delivers a lesson on how such rivers came to be named. Names affixed to bodies of water by Indigenous peoples gave way to Dutch pronunciation, then anglicization. The Delaware, however, derived its moniker from Lord De La Warr, a “dubious aristocrat” otherwise known as Thomas West.Yet joy and wonder suffuse King’s tale. He smiles on the maker’s handiwork, uneven as it is. American Ramble depicts a stirring sunset and nightfall through the roof-window of a Quaker meeting house. Quiet stands at the heart of the experience. The here and now is loud and messy, but King ably conveys the silent majesty of the moment. The Bible recounts the Deity’s meeting with the prophet Elijah. He was not in the wind, a fire or an earthquake. Rather, He resided in a whisper.King recalls an earlier time in a Buddhist monastery. Warned that surrounding scenery would detract from solitude and commitment, he nevertheless succumbed. King is nothing if not curious.The quotidian counts too. He pops cold beers, downs pizzas and snarfs chicken parmesan. A wanderer needs sustenance. He is grateful for the day following the night. Predictability is miraculous, at times invaluable.King is a cancer survivor and a pilgrim. He is a husband and father, son and brother. Life’s fragility and randomness have left their mark. His malady is in remission but he moves like a man unknowing how long good fortune will last. His voice is a croak, a casualty of Lyme disease. He is restless. Life’s clock runs. He writes of how his brother Kevin lost his battle with a brain tumor.King puts his head and heart on the page. His life story helps drive the narrative, a mixture of the personal, political and pastoral. But it is not only about him. He meets strangers who become friends, of a sort. At times, people treat him as an oddity – or simply an unwanted presence. More frequently, they are open if not welcoming. As his walk continues, word gets out. Minor celebrity results.The author is awed by generosity, depravation and the world. He is moved by a homeless woman and her daughter. Traversing the New Jersey Turnpike presents a near-insurmountable challenge. A mother and son offer him a kayak to paddle beneath the traffic. He accepts.A Colorado native, King is at home in the outdoors. Nature is wondrous and sometimes disturbing. Rough waters complicate his passages. He studies heaps on a landfill. He meets a New Jerseyan with pickup truck adorned by Maga flags. The gentleman bestows beer, snacks and jokes. King divides the universe into “anywheres” and “somewheres”. He puts himself in the first camp and finds placed-ness all around.American Ramble captures the religious and demographic topography that marks the mid-Atlantic and north-eastern US. Here, dissenters, Anabaptists, German pietists, Presbyterians and Catholics first landed. King pays homage to their pieces of turf. His reductionism is gentle. He appreciates the legacy of what came before him. Landscapes change, human nature less so, even as it remains unpredictable.“When I crossed the Delaware two days before,” he writes, “I had entered what I later came to call Presbyteriana, a genteel and horsey patch settled by Presbyterians and Quakers.” Princeton University stands at its heart.E pluribus unum was tough to pull off when the settlers came. It may even be tougher now. King quotes Nick Rizzo, a denizen of Staten Island, New York City’s Trumpy outer borough: “We are losing our ability to forge any unity at all from these United States.”Rizzo joined King along the way. In the Canterbury Tales, April stands as the height of spring. It was prime time for religious pilgrimages, “what with Chaucer and all, and it being April”, Rizzo explains.“Strangers rose to the occasion to provide invaluable moments,” King writes. Amen.
      American Ramble: A Walk of Memory and Renewal is published in the US by HarperCollins More

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      ‘I see this as a global fascist moment’: author Jeff Sharlet on interviewing far-right Americans

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      Jeff Sharlet and I meet outside the Titanic museum in sleepy Springfield, Massachusetts. It seems an opportune place to meet Sharlet – journalist, author and professor – halfway between his home in Vermont and mine in Brooklyn. We are here to talk about the fragmentation of American democracy, and I knew the Titanic museum would strike Sharlet as an apt spot: a reliquary of dissolution, another ship lost at sea.Sharlet’s latest book, The Undertow: Scenes from a Slow Civil War, is the culmination of more than a dozen years’ reporting on the US religious right and its machinations. The core of the book is Sharlet’s reporting from the midwest and the high plains, talking to ordinary people about their extraordinary predilection for violence. They see a country gone wrong under decades of “immoral decadence” and often see the expansion of rights for women, the poor and people of color as proof of this turpitude.Sharlet has been sounding the alarm for a long time – but in this moment, when newscasters and senators alike use “Christian nationalism” and “fascism” fluently, the rest of us are finally catching on.His reporting has at times been mischaracterized as sensationalist or unduly obsessed with the bleakest, darkest fringes of the US’s raiments. This criticism – in the wake of our climate crisis, millions of Covid deaths and the withdrawal of the Republican party from any effort at governance – simply no longer sticks. The stories are as necessary as they are harrowing. The writing is explicit and expansive, almost cinematic, like looking at a battlefield from above. Altogether, it’s a rare achievement, a cultural-political book that is literary.Sharlet’s work has turned out to be a warning, not of the grief to come but of the grief that is here, in places urban and rural, large and small, at the hands of politicians, police, the January 6 “protesters”, Proud Boys and the ongoing plagues on national health. “I’ve got to figure out their grief,” he says.The book has a narrative arc that captures the fever pitch of the past decade. How did you pull it together?I’ve been writing about the right for a long time; I’m always interested in the margins of things that tell us about what’s happening at the center. An undertow is a metaphor for that, for the force that’s been pulling us to this place for a long time. If you’d asked me 10 years ago if I ever thought another civil war would be possible in the United States, I would have said no. But to think so [now] is to not understand that the right in America is as dangerous as it is.I’ve watched you change your stance on the question of American fascism. You once denied that we were a fascist state.Two years ago, when I started traveling for The Undertow, suddenly civil war language, which had been fringe even on the right, was now mainstream right. Today we hear Marjorie Taylor Greene use it. Marjorie Taylor Greene doesn’t lead, she follows. Trump doesn’t lead, he follows.Trumpism makes its own direction out of an organic flow of information, ideas, the conflation of story and fact. It’s like a swirl of ideas and language, like a bird flock, a murmuration.Even a decade ago I was so cautious because if I say, “This is fascism,” I’m going to be dismissed as hysterical. Now here we are: conservative David French, from the National Review, is writing in the New York Times, partly because the undertow has left him behind. It’s moving rightward, and he’s no longer the right. The New York Times is also moving right. Julie [Sharlet’s wife, the academic historian Julia Rabig] has colleagues, historians, who are very cautious and very aware that history moves slowly. They are saying, “This is as fragmented as we’ve ever been.”You started approaching people with signs or stickers that showed their allegiance, like Trump flags or Blue Lives Matter flags. People who were literally flagging their allegiance to the myth of the big lie, to Trump, to white supremacy. You describe your interviewees as normal, otherwise compassionate people with fully rationalized – or, at least, self-justified – violent obsessions.Near Eau Claire, Wisconsin, I met a nice-looking family, dad, mom, son. You would never tag them for who they were. I see a little “Let’s go Brandon” sticker – a meme that rose among the right which means “Fuck Joe Biden”. And I get to talking to them. We talked for a long time. [The father said] he had a “Let’s go Brandon” sticker because he didn’t want to swear around his son. They’re a middle-class dad and mom. They were always gun people, but not a lot of guns. Now they’re up to 36, now they are arming up. The father had always been anti-abortion. But now it was like a dream had moved into his and his wife’s mind. He described, in incredibly violent detail, the process of abortion. Then he described, in incredibly violent detail, the punishment he thought he and others were going to give to abortion doctors. They were ready for executions.You call the prelude to the book Our Condition. You mean the status of our political and social health amid various crises?It’s time for us to let go of the word crisis. And that’s hard. Like we go from climate change to climate crisis, which suggests a rising arc, like now we’re going to come to the resolution. This is our condition because there is no resolution here. As a person with a heart condition, this is a condition I live with. There’s loss in it, right? I learn from that.It’s livable, is what you’re saying. Survivable.Might be. It is until it isn’t.The two pieces that open and close the book are about music, the first about Harry Belafonte, published by the Virginia Quarterly Review, and the last chapter, about Lee Hays, published by the Oxford American.I thought, “I can’t start this book with darkness,” and I tried to pull a thread of beauty and art through it. Lee Hays was part of a band called the Weavers, which people don’t necessarily know any more, from the 1940s and 50s. But they do know songs like If I Had a Hammer, or even On Top of Old Smoky. I wanted to find a kind of hope, but I did not want to find a hope of like, “We can do it!” Because I don’t know if we can. But I know that we can struggle. Lee Hays was incredibly brave at a moment in his life and was broken by it, and Harry Belafonte was brave every moment of his life. He wasn’t broken, but he didn’t win.If we’re going to pay attention to the right, we need to pay attention to the deep strata of the struggle for freedom, right? Because this fight isn’t new, it’s old. And it’s ongoing, although it does take new shapes. We are in one of the scarier moments that we have ever confronted – all the more reason to understand what came before and how they endured; not how they survived, because they didn’t win. As we confront this fascist moment – I see this as a global fascist moment – we’re going to need some imagination. There is little on the table right now.You write about how both artists coded their music with messages of resistance; they used their music for the fight for civil rights, equality, real democracy.Code works for a lot of different groups, left or right. We’re in a time where the right is reveling in code. “Let’s go Brandon.” It’s just “funny”, right? And the left is shying away from code.It wasn’t always the case. Like Belafonte, Hays understood his songs as code songs, too. He called them zipper songs. He would take a gospel song and he would zip a freedom struggle into it. Harry Belafonte bankrolled the civil rights movement; he is absolutely essential to the freedom struggle in American history. There’s a story where Belafonte and Sidney Poitier almost get killed by the Klan. [They had to get as much money as they could collect to the organizers of the Freedom Summer in the south in 1964. When they landed, members of the Ku Klux Klan chased them. They reached a safe house without getting caught.] They just made it through and they dump the money that they brought for the activists on the table. And they all start singing [Belafonte’s hit song] Day-O, but they turn it into a freedom song: “Freedom is gonna come.”The second section of the book is titled Dream On. What’s the Aerosmith connection? I mean, I know it’s on heavy rotation at Trump rallies.“Dreaming” is a word we use as positive, right? Well, they’re dreaming. That’s, to me, the whole thing about Trumpism – and maybe Trump himself – but the movement goes on without him. (He was necessary at the beginning, he was needed. Lenin was needed at the beginning too, but the Soviet Union went on a long time without him.)The free association that happens at Trump’s rallies, the ways people make connections that make no sense – it has dream logic. One minute, a scary man is crawling into the window to rape your wife [a common Trump story told at rallies to reinforce the idea that the country is not safe and that guns are necessary], and then the next minute we’re laughing at windmills, and then the next minute we’re sad for the birds that were killed by windmills. And then, in the next minute, we’re yelling, “Lock her up.”This is dream logic. And there’s vanity in it, right? “I will interpret what they’re saying and I will bend it.” It’s the vanity of the base, the vanity of the mob, the aggregate grotesque imagination of power. It becomes a spinning whirlpool that pulls more and more people in. These are people for whom reality is not enough.You know Susan Friend Harding’s The Book of Jerry Falwell [about the conservative preacher and popular televangelist]? She would go to Jerry Falwell’s church and he would tell a story, and the next week he would tell the same story, but with different details. You would expect people to be distressed by it in real time, right? But no! There’s enough space within it for them to interact.This is why the right feels they are more democratic than the left. The intellectual rightwingers are like, “Fuck democracy, we don’t need it.” But the everyday people, they’re like, “This is the most democratic I’ve ever felt. I am not only receiving – I receive, I interpret and then I transmit back.”The Tick-Tock chapter rocked me. It’s a close account of the radicalization of a woman you call Evelyn. I’ve heard the deranged accusations of pedophilia from the right, even the meme that the Clintons and other Democrats eat children, but you bring us into Evelyn’s webwork of closely held conspiracies without losing her humanity. You take these individuals seriously, not in their wild ideas and beliefs, but in their conviction, in their commitment and faith. They believe they are called to save lives. This doesn’t absolve them, as you write, but it prevents them from being dismissible, from being caricatured, from being ignored.Don’t you think this is a failure of the left? Many, not all [pro-choice advocates] are like: “They just want to control women’s bodies.” Yes, the project is misogynist to the core. But it is not experienced as such by many on the right. Once you make that move, that we’re talking about children [and not fetuses, who are harmed by doctors and politicians], what kind of person are you if you don’t want to save that child?It’s astonishing there hasn’t been more violence. I think we’ve had a shield from that violence for a long time and now that shield … I sound like Jerry Falwell saying the hand of God is being removed from America.Adam Fleming Petty at the Washington Post called the book a “form of travelogue”. This is likely due in strong part to The Undertow, the long title chapter about Ashli Babbitt, the pro-Trump veteran who died on the day of the storming of the Capitol. How did you write this section?Because of my heart condition I’d been tucked in during Covid, and I live in a rural area. I remember sitting there at my kitchen table, watching January 6 on the computer, texting furiously. We heard about a white woman being killed. It was very soon after that we knew the cop was Black. And I thought, holy shit, it’s The Birth of a Nation [a 1915 movie that justifies organized white-on-Black violence with a racist depiction of Black people, including them being sexually predatory toward white women; such accusations were the pretext for lynchings for decades, with echoes remaining today]. They just did a live re-enactment of their fantasy!They would say Babbitt wore an American flag, but it’s not true. She wore a Trump cape, which is the new American flag. They would say she’s unarmed, but it’s not true. She was carrying a knife. There’s a photo of [Babbitt’s knife] on the cover of the book. You could say, well, it’s a small knife. Really? That knife is plenty big enough.You write that, almost immediately, the right tried to diminish Babbitt’s agency, to make her younger, smaller, quieter. It reminded me of Terri Schiavo [the 26-year-old woman who was found unconscious in 1984 and was the subject of a family battle for her medical decision-making, which became a national debate dominated by the Catholic church and the religious right until her death in 2005]. We see the efforts on the right to project a childlike acquiescence on to the adult woman.Yes! Ashli Babbitt’s “martyrdom” is tied up in her remaking as an innocent. You realize that the gun and the fetus, it’s an innocence cult. It’s not a death cult, people misunderstand this. It’s an innocence cult, which is to say, it’s also the erasure of history. It says, “No, no, no, there’s no original sin in American history. We were always good.”Babbitt was hurting. She was in her mid-30s, after serving eight tours of duty. She was in massive debt. And she fell in love with Trump.Babbitt resolved her grief by getting certainty. She could not mourn.You mean she was angry, hurting – but not reckoning with her circumstances, embracing her condition. What did she want? She wanted justice?She just wanted to be a person and serve her country.So what we’re talking about is a whole lot of unrealized pain, and about how we metabolize pain in different ways. You write in the prelude that “loss sometimes curdles into fury and hate or denial and delusion. Especially delusion.”Yes. I’ve been thinking about how we metabolize pain, about my own ability to metabolize pain. My new therapist is trying to figure out why I do the work I do. She thinks it must be so bad for me. But no, it’s fucking sustained me! It gives me agency. States everywhere, the forces of darkness, are moving against you. You are not imagining it, they are real. And I do not have any power.But this is my little piece of power: I can go tell the story.
      The Undertow: Scenes from a Slow Civil War (Norton, 2023) is out now. Ann Neumann is the author of The Good Death More

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      Baldwin v Buckley: how the ‘debate play’ made a riveting resurgence

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      James Graham’s play Best of Enemies recently brought to life the gladiatorial televised clashes between Gore Vidal and William F Buckley Jr in the lead-up to the 1968 US presidential election. Tucked inside that drama was a fleeting mention of the historic debate between the white, conservative Buckley and the Black American civil rights activist James Baldwin. It felt, potentially, like it could make a play in its own right.A new production stages just that momentous confrontation in verbatim form. Debate: Baldwin v Buckley re-enacts in full the Cambridge University Union head-to-head from February 1965, when it was recorded and broadcast by the BBC.First re-created on screen during the lockdown of 2020, it has since been staged off-Broadway and now makes its UK premiere at Stone Nest in London’s West End. Adapted and directed by Christopher McElroen, it features Teagle F Bougere as Baldwin and Eric T Miller as Buckley.Baldwin and Buckley have half an hour a piece to make their case for or against the motion of the debate: “The American Dream is at the Expense of the American Negro.” We follow their logic without interruption in the debating chamber, Baldwin arguing for civil rights and for America to acknowledge the sins of its past, while Buckley makes the case for white conservative values.McElroen says the decision to stage the debate this way came after the murder of George Floyd, in the midst of the Black Lives Matter protests. “It addressed the racial conflict that the country was navigating yet again.”Political theatre has a long and fine British tradition, from Shakespeare’s history plays to David Hare’s work and Graham’s own oeuvre – which includes This House and The Vote. But the “debate play” is something apart; drawing on the ancient Athenian art of rhetoric and persuasion, it speaks to us directly of issues in our world. It is, by comparison, a rarity these days but we see it in such highly compelling instances as Aaron Sorkin’s adaptation of To Kill a Mockingbird, whose courtroom debate was arguably its strongest feature. There is also David Mamet’s recently revived and volcanic two-hander, Oleanna, which is not formally constructed as a debate but presents two oppositional viewpoints on political correctness in university campuses with immense force, and allows us to view its subject from both sides.An even more current example is the New Diorama’s musical, After the Act, which features parliamentary debate around Section 28 (which legislated against teaching homosexuality in British schools) and manages to bring satirical comedy to the debate form.In the case of McElroen’s production, nothing extraneous is added to the words exchanged between Baldwin and Buckley. Unlike Best of Enemies, which couches the infamous debates within greater fictive material, this is a pure reconstruction of the original. “To frame the debate within a bigger story would be like killing a fly with a sledgehammer,” says McElroen. “The material is James Baldwin and William F Buckley Jr – two amazing intellectuals on opposite sides of the political spectrum. The conflict is inherent in that, you don’t need to do anything to it.”The setting is modern, apart from an old TV that replays some of the original footage, and there is no use of theatrical lighting or sound. Yet it is utterly captivating. The fierce eloquence and intellectual rigour of Baldwin and Buckley’s arguments have not lost any of their power. There is an argument to suggest that the most powerful part of Best of Enemies is Vidal and Buckley’s debates themselves, which offer a ferocious sense of spectacle – and that the fiction is secondary.The fact that Buckley airs such critical, even offensive, views on the civil rights movement and effectively mobilises a defence of white supremacy, brings its own questions. Would this debate ever be sanctioned now at a university union, in our era of de-platforming – and should it be?Yes, says McElroen, because the divided politics are still there. After every show there is a live discussion with the audience, and in some venues the after-show conversations are proof of how some have moved on from this debate around race while others remained entrenched. The first venue in which Baldwin v Buckley played live was the Women’s National Republican Club in New York. “They identified strongly with Buckley’s arguments,” says McElroen, “and they identified the Black Lives Matter movement to be a radical group not dissimilar from the way Buckley viewed the civil rights movement.”The other issue it raises is whether we have lost the art of civilised debate – and more specifically, if the demand for “total” agreement is eroding the space and permission for true debate and disagreement. If this debate were taking place today, McElroen thinks, Buckley would have stopped Baldwin by his third or fourth word and the discussion would have descended into chaos.If a more recent political debate were given similar verbatim treatment in dramatic form – such as the televised Trump and Biden presidential face-offs – it might be highly entertaining to watch for the heated interruptions and put-downs. But contemporary political debates rarely allow the opponent the time and breadth to make their argument, uninterrupted, in the way that Baldwin and Buckley did.There is a strain, in debate drama, that it is striving to be more than just theatre, and that it is ultimately trying to galvanise the audience towards a change of heart or mind outside the auditorium through its act of persuasion.McElroen is staging his play across the US – from Tennessee to southern California – in the lead-up to the next presidential elections, travelling out of the “liberal bubble” and into Republican heartlands. “To the extent that a piece of theatre can affect change, we hope to use this to spark dialogue. What we try and do at the end of the performance is to focus on civility, and on what actually unites us as opposed to the things that divide us,” he says.“The odd thing about the debate between Baldwin and Buckley is that they find consensus in their arguments about the value of America and the American way of life. We need to do better collectively to hear what the other side is saying. If we do that, we’ll be surprised at how much consensus exists.”
      At Stone Nest, London, until 8 April. More

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      The drag show bans sweeping the US are a chilling attack on free speech | Suzanne Nossel

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      The drag show bans sweeping the US are a chilling attack on free speechSuzanne NosselThe breadth of these bills is staggering, and many go beyond their purported goals of protecting children from obscenityWhen Bill Lee donned a cheerleader uniform, fake pearls and a wig as part of high school senior year antics, he probably didn’t think the goofy costume would come back to bite him. But, more than 40 years later, the now governor of Tennessee is at the forefront of efforts to ban the innocent costumes he and his friends once wore, waging a battle that strikes at the heart of our first amendment freedoms.Since the beginning of this year, at least 32 bills have been filed in Arizona, Arkansas, Iowa, Idaho, Kansas, Kentucky, Minnesota, Missouri, Montana, North Dakota, Nebraska, Oklahoma, South Carolina, South Dakota, Tennessee, Texas and West Virginia targeting drag performances, with more on the way.A US state shelved my book – yet all I was doing was trying to help people live their lives | Fox FisherRead moreTennessee was the first to pass its bill into law last week, barring “adult cabaret performances” on public property or in places where they might be within view of children. The bill bans, among other things, “male or female impersonators who provide entertainment that appeals to a prurient interest, or similar entertainers”. Violators may face misdemeanor or even felony charges.In Texas, at least four different bills would put venues that host drag performances in the same category as adult movie theaters and strip clubs.Driving support for these bills is discomfort and distaste for expression that defies conventional gender norms. The growth of library Drag Queen Story Hours – programs that feature drag performers as a way to provide “unabashedly queer role models” for kids – have led some to question whether young children should be exposed to those who defy traditional gender patterns.Participation in Drag Queen Story Hours is voluntary – libraries decide whether to program these events and families choose whether to attend them – but some critics seem to regard their very existence as deviant or dangerous. This reaction is part of a wider backlash against the increased visibility of transgender and non-binary identities. States and communities have banned books featuring transgender characters and prohibited teaching about transgender identities in school.Though the history and cultural role of drag goes well beyond current tensions over transgender issues, this form of performance and display has now come into the crosshairs. Drag performances have been targeted with violence and are now the subject of state laws to limit or even outlaw them.Anti-drag legislation varies from state to state, but tends to share some common provisions. Most bills define a drag performer as someone performing while using dress, makeup and mannerisms associated with a gender other than the one assigned to them at birth. A number of bills include lip-syncing within their definitions and many specify that the person must be performing for an audience.Some bills would designate any establishment that hosts drag performances as an “adult” or sexually oriented business, often making it illegal for such businesses to be located within a certain distance of schools or residential areas.While the details of the legislation may change from state to state, most of these bills represent a broad and dangerous chilling of Americans’ right to free speech. The US supreme court has repeatedly found that clothing choices are a constitutionally protected form of expression under the first amendment.The Tennessee law’s reference to “prurience” – defined as something intended to arouse sexual interest – should limit the sweep of the law so it doesn’t affect things like children’s story hours. But, inevitably, concerns over the intent and enforcement of the law will cast a chill over shows, jokes or comedy bits that might be anywhere close to the line. That chilling is intentional: by targeting drag performances, lawmakers intend to intimidate transgender and non-binary performers and shows into hiding.Drag queen storyteller says readings ‘help youngsters discover true selves’Read moreThe breadth of the bills is staggering, and many would risk chilling expression that goes well beyond the drafters’ purported goals of protecting children or limiting displays that may border on the obscene.Productions of Shakespeare plays like As You Like It or Twelfth Night – both of which feature cross-dressing characters – could run afoul of some of these bills, as might a singer performing the musical version of Mrs Doubtfire. Sandy Duncan’s performance as Peter Pan would be banned under several of these bills. Movies like White Christmas, Tootsie, Some Like It Hot, Bridge on the River Kwai and South Pacific – all of which feature comic performances by men wearing women’s clothes – could be off-limits for screenings in schools or libraries.Even Governor Bill Lee’s decades-old dress-up could lead to serious legal repercussions under the law he just signed, if it were to be interpreted and enforced broadly. If students wore similar costumes today on the grounds of a public high school, and then went on to make a sexual joke in front of a small group, their behavior might be criminalized.The legislation has even broader impacts for transgender people. Under some draft laws a string quartet with a transgender violinist might not be able to perform chamber music. A trans chef talking about their new cookbook could be restricted to venues designated as “adult businesses”.It’s perfectly fair for parents to want to decide how and when their young children engage with questions of gender identity. But the drive to protect children from witnessing people whose dress defies traditional gender binaries must not become the basis for draconian restrictions impinging upon the free expression rights of children and adults alike.Whether it’s youthful pranks, beloved plays, historical costumes or adult performances, the ability to dress up and play characters unlike yourself is core to artistic expression. In the name of curbing drag, legislatures across the country are dragging down first amendment freedoms for all.
      Suzanne Nossel is the CEO of Pen America and the author of Dare to Speak: Defending Free Speech for All
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      It’s OK to be Angry About Capitalism by Bernie Sanders review – straight talking from the socialist senator

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      ReviewIt’s OK to be Angry About Capitalism by Bernie Sanders review – straight talking from the socialist senatorSanders tackles the grim facts about the economic order that the political establishment wilfully ignores“When we talk about uber-capitalism in its rawest form – about greed that knows no limit, about corporations that viciously oppose the right of workers to organize, about the abuses of wealth and power that tear apart our society – we’re talking about Amazon,” writes Bernie Sanders in his new book. “And when we’re talking about Amazon, we’re talking about Jeff Bezos.”These are typical lines in what comprises an attack on the status quo from every conceivable direction. Sanders addresses his own two ultimately thwarted campaigns to lead the Democratic party; the crisis in American healthcare and the chasms of health inequality shown up by Covid; the declining union movement and stagnation of wages; the burgeoning billionaire class and its impact on democracy; and the looming environmental crisis. Nothing he says will come as any surprise to his supporters, who are legion. Everything he says is quite unfashionable, from the macro – greed is bad, actually – to the micro, still using “uber” to mean “ultra”, as if Uber itself didn’t exist. He has no compunction about his reference points, which go from the obvious (F Scott Fitzgerald observing that thing about the rich) to the niche (a union organiser and folk singer named Florence Reece, who wrote a song in the 1930s called Which Side Are You On?). If his ideas were a band, they’d be the Ink Spots, with songs written a long, long time ago, and all the intros the same.These aren’t complex propositions. Of course it’s wrong to profit from other people’s illness; of course when access to healthcare is tied to work, that puts citizens in a state of semi-bonded servitude. Of course corporations are actively anti-social, of course they have driven down wages over 50 years and immiserated the workforce. Of course when three firms – BlackRock, Vanguard and State Street – control assets equivalent to the GDP of the entire United States, we’re into the rotting phase of late-stage capitalism.Sanders’ popularity and his immense value to the political ecosystem stems from his willingness to say all this out loud, defying the credo which has defined mainstream discourse since at least the Clinton era: that the class war is over, that capitalism is as inevitable as the weather, and that markets don’t need morals, because they have their own separate schematics, drawn by an invisible hand.In other words, his book is easily as frustrating and depressing as it is galvanising and uplifting; reading one story or statistic after another, about growing inequality, child poverty, financial insecurity – 77% of Americans are now anxious about their financial situation – one’s very lack of surprise reinforces a sense of hopelessness.Yet, particularly in the early chapters, which cover the intricacies of both Sanders’ 2016 and 2020 campaigns, and his (also often thwarted) work as the chairman of Congress’s Budget Committee since the election of Joe Biden, you cannot ignore the fact that the wind has changed. Precisely because Sanders is such a straightforward thinker and writer, he insists on some facts that the political establishment – on both sides – wilfully ignores. It is objectively better, more democratic, more plural, when a campaign is funded by grassroots donations than when a candidate has to go cap in hand to Peter Thiel. The Democrats do better in the polls when they allow in their left flank, rather than try to erase it in the name of electability. And at the level of the principle, to let the man himself take over, “wars and excessive military budgets are not good”; “carbon emissions are not good”; “racism, sexism, homophobia and xenophobia are not good”; “exploiting workers is not good”. This isn’t the book to come to for new ideas, in other words. But it’s a capitalist fallacy that everything has to be new, in any case.skip past newsletter promotionafter newsletter promotionTopicsBooksUS politicsBernie SandersDemocratsreviewsReuse this content More

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      The Independent review – Jodie Turner-Smith and Brian Cox chase political scandal

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      ReviewThe Independent review – Jodie Turner-Smith and Brian Cox chase political scandalTurner-Smith and Cox team up as journalists investigating a presidential candidate. But there is none of the insider authenticity of director Amy Rice’s earlier Obama documentaryFilm-maker Amy Rice spent two years on the campaign trail with Barack Obama to make a 2009 fly-on-the wall documentary. So it’s massively disappointing that her new fictional political thriller is so insipid and unsatisfying, and completely lacks any kind of authentic insider knowledge of Machiavellian political skullduggery. It’s as generic as they come, though British actor Jodie Turner-Smith is brilliant as a rookie reporter for the fictional Washington Chronicle who uncovers a scandal with the potential to blow open the presidential race.Turner-Smith’s character, Eli James, is increasingly frustrated at having to write clickbait lifestyle articles such as “college dorm must-haves”. But when she uncovers a lottery scandal, she teams up with the paper’s Pulitzer-winning columnist Nicholas Booker (Brian Cox, giving a lefty-intelligentsia version of his alpha-ego male in Succession). Their relationship is nicely played, especially by Turner-Smith, who makes Eli a satisfyingly complicated woman: super smart and competitive, a bit reckless and most of all determined – as she’s had to be as a woman of colour in a largely male, mostly white world.The lottery scandal is linked to political funding and seems to lead right to the Republican presidential candidate Patricia Turnbull (Ann Dowd, channelling Matilda’s Mrs Trunchbull). She’s neck and neck with the Democratic incumbent; then an independent enters the fray. This is mega-celebrity Olympic gold medallist Nate Sterling (ex-WWE wrestler John Cena): he’s promising to take action on climate change, and has the right kind of lantern-jawed all-American jock appeal for rightwingers. Eli’s boyfriend Lucas (Luke Kirby) is a speechwriter for Sterling – who may be too good to be true.There’s a twist at the end that is anticlimactic and uninteresting, and the script is unforgivably clumsy in places. Twice, characters obtain vital information illicitly from computers left unlocked by individuals with a lot to hide. Cox’s veteran journalist is famous for eating his steaks cooked bloody – not just rare. But really this film could be juicier.skip past newsletter promotionafter newsletter promotionTopicsFilmThrillersUS politicsNewspapersBrian CoxreviewsReuse this content More