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      Missouri Republican party fails to boot KKK-linked candidate from gubernatorial ticket

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      A long-shot Missouri gubernatorial candidate with ties to the Ku Klux Klan will stay on the Republican ticket, a judge ruled on Friday.Cole county circuit court judge Cotton Walker denied a request by the Missouri GOP to kick Darrell McClanahan out of the August Republican primary.McClanahan is running against the Missouri secretary of state, Jay Ashcroft; the lieutenant governor, Mike Kehoe; state senator Bill Eigel; and others for the GOP nomination to replace Governor Mike Parson, who is barred by term limits from seeking re-election.McClanahan’s lawyer, Dave Roland, said the ruling ensures that party leaders do not have “almost unlimited discretion to choose who’s going to be allowed on a primary ballot”.“Their theory of the case arguably would have required courts to remove people from the ballot, maybe even the day before elections,” Roland said.McClanahan, who has described himself as “pro-white” but denies being racist or antisemitic, was among nearly 280 Republican candidates who officially filed to run for office in February, on what is known as filing day. Hundreds of candidates line up at the secretary of state’s Jefferson City office on filing day in Missouri, the first opportunity to officially declare candidacy.The Missouri GOP accepted his party dues but denounced him after a former state lawmaker posted photos on social media that appear to show McClanahan making the Nazi salute. McClanahan confirmed the accuracy of the photos to the St Louis Post-Dispatch.In his decision, Walker wrote that the Republican party “has made clear that it does not endorse his candidacy, and it remains free to publicly disavow McClanahan and any opinions the plaintiff believes to be antithetical to its values”.“I’m not sure they ever actually intended to win this case,” said McClanahan’s lawyer, Roland. “I think the case got filed because the Republican party wanted to make a very big public show that they don’t want to be associated with racism or antisemitism. And the best way that they could do that was filing a case that they knew was almost certain to lose.”The Associated Press’s emailed requests for comment to the Missouri GOP’s executive director were not immediately returned on Friday. But Missouri GOP lawyers have said party leaders did not realize who McClanahan was when he signed up as a candidate back in February.McClanahan has argued that the Missouri GOP was aware of the beliefs. He previously ran as a Republican for US Senate in 2022.In a separate lawsuit against the Anti-Defamation League (ADL) last year, McClanahan claimed the organization defamed him by calling him a white supremacist in an online post.In his lawsuit against the ADL, McClanahan described himself as a “pro-white man”. McClanahan wrote that he is not a member of the Ku Klux Klan; he said he merely received an honorary one-year membership in the white supremacist terrorism organization. And he said he attended a “private religious Christian identity cross lighting ceremony falsely described as a cross burning”. More

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      Morning After the Revolution review: a bad faith attack on ‘woke’

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      Writing on Substack in 2021, Nellie Bowles described some of the less attractive qualities that motivated her work as a reporter: “I love the warm embrace of the social media scrum. One easy path toward the top of the list … is communal outrage. Toss something (someone) into that maw, and it’s like fireworks. I have mastered that game. For a couple of years, that desire for attention … propelled me more than almost anything else. I began to see myself less as a mirror and more as a weapon.”Bowles is married to Bari Weiss, a former editor on the opinion section of the New York Times whose furious resignation letter earned her encomiums from Ted Cruz, Marco Rubio and Donald Trump Jr.But Bowles wrote that her decision to convert to the faith of her Jewish wife had actually softened her approach to journalism: “I want to cultivate my empathy not my cruelty. I am trying to go back to being closer to the mirror than the knife.”However, her new book, Morning After the Revolution: Dispatches from the Wrong Side of History, is dazzling proof she is completely incapable of changing her approach to her profession.Bowles is a former tech reporter for outlets including the Guardian and the New York Times. For many reporters, the decision to write a book comes from wanting to dig deeper into a particular subject, or a desire for freedom from the restrictions of one’s former employer. For Bowles, longform turns out to be the chance to jettison the standards of accuracy of her previous employers in favor of the wildest possible generalizations.Here are a few fine examples: “The best feminists of my generation were born with dicks.” This is the author’s jaunty description of trans women, who, she informs us, are “the best, boldest” and “fiercest feminists”, who unfortunately – according to her – have concluded “that to be a woman is, in general, disgusting”.On the ninth page of Bowles’s introduction, meanwhile, readers realize how much we must have underestimated the universal impact of the movement to Defund the Police. Did you know, for example, that “if you want to be part of the movement for universal healthcare … you cannot report critically on #DefundThePolice”?Bowles identifies a similar problem with marriage equality: “If you want to be part of a movement that supports gay marriage … then you can’t question whatever disinformation is spread that week.”The wilder the idea, the more likely Bowles is to include it, almost always in a way that can never be checked. To prove the vile effect of wokeness on the entire news business, she informs us that colleagues “at major news organizations” have “told me roads and birds are racist. Voting is racist. Exercise is super-racist. Worrying about plastic in the water is transphobic.” And a “cohort” took it “as gospel when a nice white lady said that being on time and objectivity were white values, and this was a progressive belief”.Writing about a tent city in Echo Park, Los Angeles, Bowles explains why nobody living there was interested in a free hotel room: “Residents could not do drugs in the rooms. And the rooms were, of course, indoors. People high on meth and fentanyl prefer being outdoors, with no rules, with their friends.”Predictably, the book reaches a whole new level of viciousness when it reveals Bowles’ attitude toward trans people.Intelligent people know three essential facts about the debate over whether children under 18 should have access to hormones or surgery to make their bodies conform to the gender in which they think they belong.First, a large majority of trans people of all ages never take hormones or get surgery. Second, nearly all of those who do choose to use medicine to alter their bodies report a dramatic improvement in personal happiness. Third, a very small number of those who have undergone surgery or taken hormones to block puberty do change their minds and opt for de-transition.skip past newsletter promotionafter newsletter promotionNaturally, Bowles mentions none of those facts. According to her narrative, “the transition from Black Lives Matter to Trans Lives Matter was seamless … I don’t think this was planned or orchestrated. The movement simply pivoted.”No mention, of course, of polls conducted by Christian nationalists and their allies which determined that the best new fundraising tool would be an all-out attack on trans people, including the denial of their very existence, as well as the introduction of hundreds of bills in state legislatures across the country to make this tiny minority as miserable as possible.Instead, Bowles wants us to believe the debate is dominated by websites you might not have heard of, like Fatherly, which asserts: “All kids, regardless of their gender identity, start to understand their own gender typically by the age of 18 to 24 months.” One parent who appeared on PBS in 2023 is equally important in Bowles’s book, because she said her child started to let her parents know “she was transgender really before she could even speak”.Needless to say, Bowles is horrified that as America became more aware of the existence of trans people, the number of clinics available to treat them grew to 60 by 2023. Then she makes another remarkable claim: “If a parent resists” medical changes requested by a child, “they can and do lose custody of their child.”Is that true? I have no idea. If Bowles had written that sentence in the Times or the Guardian, her editor would most certainly have requested some sort of proof. Fortunately for her – but unfortunately for us – her publisher, a new Penguin Random House imprint, Thesis, does not appear to impose any outdated fact-checking requirements. The only visible standard here is, if it’s shocking, we’ll print it.
      Morning After the Revolution is published in the US by Thesis More

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      New York governor said Black kids in the Bronx do not know the word ‘computer’

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      The governor of New York, Kathy Hochul, has rapidly backtracked on remarks she made on Monday after she came under a blizzard of criticism for saying that Black children in the Bronx did not know the word “computer”.Hochul had intended her appearance at the Milken Institute Global Conference in California on Monday to showcase Empire AI, the $400m consortium she is leading to create an artificial intelligence computing center in upstate New York. Instead, she dug herself into a hole with an utterance she quickly regretted.“Right now we have, you know, young Black kids growing up in the Bronx who don’t even know what the word ‘computer’ is,” she said. For good measure, she added: “They don’t know, they don’t know these things.”The backlash was swift and piercing. Amanda Septimo, a member of the New York state assembly representing the south Bronx, called Hochul’s remarks “harmful, deeply misinformed and genuinely appalling”. She said on X that “repeating harmful stereotypes about one of our most underserved communities only perpetuates systems of abuse”.Fellow assembly member and Bronxite Karines Reyes said she was deeply disturbed by the remarks and exhorted Hochul to “do better”. “Our children are bright, brilliant, extremely capable, and more than deserving of any opportunities that are extended to other kids,” she said.Few public figures were prepared to offer the governor support. They included the speaker of the state assembly, Carl Heastie, who said her words were “inartful and hurtful” but not reflective of “where her heart is”.The civil rights leader Al Sharpton also gave her the benefit of the doubt, saying that she was trying to make a “good point” that “a lot of our community is robbed of using social media because we are racially excluded from access”.By Monday evening, Hochul had apologized. “I misspoke and I regret it,” she said.In a statement to media, she said, “Of course Black children in the Bronx know what computers are – the problem is that they too often lack access to the technology needed to get on track to high-paying jobs in emerging industries like AI.”skip past newsletter promotionafter newsletter promotionThis is not the first time this year that Hochul has found herself with her foot in her mouth. In February she envisaged what would happen if Canada attacked a US city, as a metaphor for the Israeli military operation in Gaza in response to the 7 October Hamas attacks.“If Canada someday ever attacked Buffalo, I’m sorry, my friends, there would be no Canada the next day,” she said. That apology for a “poor choice of words” was made swiftly, too. More

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      The culture war in North Carolina is playing out in the race for governor

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      In front of a conservative talkshow host two weeks ago, Mark Robinson, North Carolina’s Republican candidate for governor, was grousing a bit about being snubbed by the state’s Democratic governor on a matter of race.“He talks a lot about diversity, equity and inclusion, but apparently the line for diversity, equity and inclusion stops at the Republican party,” Robinson told Lockwood Phillips. “Roy Cooper has had several chances to congratulate me on the accomplishment of being the first Black lieutenant governor, and he has never taken it.”Phillips, who is white, chuckled, then re-introduced Robinson to the audience, “who by the way is African American, Black, whatever. But, frankly, you don’t wear that. You really do not wear that in our entire conversation.”For a conservative speaking to a Black candidate, this is a compliment. For others, it is a jarring illustration of Robinson’s comfort with accommodating the racial anxieties of white Republicans and with the problematic – and at times inflammatory – rhetoric of the far right.But sitting for interviews and being perceived at all as a Black candidate is a different universe compared to the relative obscurity of Robinson’s life six years ago, before a viral video created his fateful star turn into the conservative cosmos. The former factory worker is now a national name, and drawing national attention, for his flame-throwing slurs against the LGBTQ+ community, antisemitic remarks and derision of other Black people.“The same people who support Robinson are the people who support Trump,” said Shelly Willingham, a Black state legislator from Rocky Mount. “It’s a cult. It’s not necessarily citizens supporting a candidate but following a cult leader.”Robinson’s political career began in an inspired four-minute flash in 2018 in front of the Greensboro city council, as he argued against the city’s effort to cancel a gun show in the wake of the Stoneman Douglas high school shooting in Parkland, Florida.“I’ve heard a whole lot of people in here talking tonight about this group, that group, domestic violence, Blacks, these minorities, that minority. What I want to know is, when are you going to start standing up for the majority? Here’s who the majority is. I’m the majority. I’m a law-abiding citizen and I’ve never shot anybody,” he said.Robinson, now 55, invoked images of gang members terrorizing people who have given up their weapons under gun-control laws. He said he was there to “raise hell just like these loonies on the left do”.The speech became a social media hit after being shared by Mark Walker, the former North Carolina representative. Robinson drew the attention of the NRA, which was under fire for its callous response to the Parkland shooting and looking for champions.Born into poverty and working in a furniture factory while attending college, Robinson quit his job and dropped out of school to begin speaking at conservative events. (Robinson, if he wins, would be the first North Carolina governor without a college degree elected since 1937.)Robinson beat a host of competitors for the Republican nomination for lieutenant governor in 2020, winning about a third of the primary vote. He faced the state representative Yvonne Holley, an African American Democrat from Raleigh. Holley’s campaign focused on North Carolina’s urban territory while largely ignoring rural areas of the state, while Robinson barnstormed through each of the state’s 100 counties. He won narrowly but outperformed Trump’s margin over Biden by about 100,000 votes.View image in fullscreenAt a rally in Greensboro in March before the state’s primary election this year, Trump endorsed Robinson, referring to Robinson as “Martin Luther King on steroids”. But try to imagine King saying something like: “Racism is a tool used by the evil, to build up the ignorant, to try and tear down the strong,” as Robinson wrote in 2017.That sentiment helps explain his initial appeal to white conservatives in a political moment in which rolling back racial justice initiatives has become central to the Republican brand. The right had found the face of a man who could not be easily accused of bigotry, at least not until people began to pay attention to what he said.“He should not be governor of North Carolina or any other place,” said Shirl Mason, who was attending a Black fraternity invocation and scholarship ceremony by Omega Psi Phi for her grandson in Rocky Mount. Her nose wrinkled and her posture shifted at the thought, as she fought for composure in a way people conversant in the manners of church folks would recognize.“He really should not be a politician. Anybody who can say that race did not play a part in the political arena, they should not be in politics at all,” Mason said.Like Trump, Robinson has a litany of provocative outrages in speeches and on social media that have been resurfacing, from referring to school shooting survivors advocating for gun control reforms as “prosti-tots” and “spoiled little bastards”, to describing gay and transgender people as “filth”.Robinson has shared conspiracist comments about the moon landing and 9/11. He has attacked the idea of women in positions of leadership. His swipes at Black culture and public figures are talk-radio fodder, describing Barack Obama as a “worthless anti-American atheist” and suggesting Michelle Obama is a man.“Half of black Democrats don’t realize they are slaves and don’t know who their masters are. The other half don’t care,” he wrote in one Facebook post. He described the movie Black Panther in another as the product of “an agnostic Jew and put to film by satanic marxist”, and wrote: “How can this trash, that was only created to pull the shekels out of your schvartze pockets, invoke any pride?”, using a derogatory Yiddish word to refer to Black people.View image in fullscreenThe antisemitism of that comment is not singular. He has repeated common antisemitic tropes about Jewish banking, posted Hitler quotes on Facebook and suggested the Holocaust was a hoax. “There is a REASON the liberal media fills the airwaves with programs about the NAZI and the ‘6 million Jews’ they murdered,” wrote Robinson, with scare quotes around the figure.Robinson’s campaign has pushed back on accusations of antisemitism, citing his support for Israel and criticism of protests against the war in Gaza. But his past comments are likely to be revisited throughout the campaign in no small part because his opponent, Josh Stein, could be the first Jewish governor of North Carolina.The two present a sharp contrast in policy, temperament and experience. After graduating from both Harvard Law and the Harvard Kennedy school of government, Stein managed John Edwards’ successful Senate campaign. Stein then served in the statehouse before winning the attorney general’s race in 2016, becoming the first Jewish person elected to statewide office in North Carolina.Stein, 57, is running as a conventional center-left Democrat. At a stump speech in pastoral Scotland county near the South Carolina line, Stein focused on fighting the opioid-addiction epidemic, the state’s backlog of untested rape kits, clean drinking water and early childhood education. But he had some words about Robinson’s rhetoric.“The voters of North Carolina have an unbelievably stark choice before them this November, between two competing visions,” Stein said in an interview. “Mine is forward and it’s inclusive. It’s about tapping the potential of every person so that they have a chance to succeed where we have a thriving economy, safe neighborhoods, strong schools.“My opponent’s vision is divisive and hateful, and would be job-killing. I mean, he mocks school-shooting survivors. He questions the Holocaust. He wants to defund public education. He wants to completely ban abortion. And he speaks in a way that, frankly, is unfitting of any person, let alone a statewide elected leader.”Is Robinson an antisemite? “There are certainly people who are Jewish who feel that he does not like them,” Stein replied.skip past newsletter promotionafter newsletter promotion“He says vile things. He agreed that Jews were one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse. It’s unfathomable to me that someone would hold those beliefs and then feel comfortable saying them out loud.”North Carolina has a relationship with bilious conservatives; this is the state that produced Jesse Helms and Madison Cawthorn. But voters here have a temperamentally moderate streak and a long history of split-ticket voting that also produces the occasional John Edwards or Roy Cooper.In six of the last eight general elections, voters here chose a Democratic governor and a Republican president. Though every lieutenant governor in the last 60 years has run for governor, only three of 11 have won, each a Democrat. The last two attorneys general of North Carolina also have subsequently been elected governor, also both Democrats.But the margins are always maddeningly close. Stein won his first race for attorney general in 2016 – a Trump year – by about 25,000 votes. He won re-election four years later by about half that margin.Cooper, a Democratic moderate, has been a political fixture in North Carolina politics for a generation, and has been able to fend off some of the more radical impulses of Republicans over the years with a combination of veto power and moral suasion.But while Democrats hold the North Carolina governor’s mansion today, Republicans achieved a veto-proof majority in both legislative chambers in 2022 after Tricia Cotham, the newly elected state representative, switched parties shortly after winning an otherwise safely Democratic seat. Since that political shock, Cooper’s vetoes have been routinely overcome by a Republican supermajority.North Carolina’s political maps are also notoriously gerrymandered – manipulated in favor of Republicans – but winning two-thirds of house seats in the legislature is an open question in a year where abortion rights are emerging as a driving political issue. As of 1 May, North Carolina will be the only southern state remaining where an abortion can be obtained after six weeks of pregnancy.Given the stakes, Stein’s campaign hopes to avoid the pratfall of tradecraft that led to Robinson’s victory in the lieutenant governor’s race four years ago. For the moment, the tables have turned on the campaign trail in their favor.In one of Robinson’s three bankruptcy filings, reporters discovered that he had failed to file income taxes between 1998 and 2002. Questions have been raised about personal expenses charged to campaign funds from the 2020 race.His wife shuttered a nutrition non-profit after a conservative blogger began to raise questions about the Robinson family’s financial dependence on government contracts. Reporters later learned that the North Carolina department of health and human services is investigating the firm for questionable accounting.In the hothouse of abortion politics this year, video also surfaced of Robinson at a rally in February calling for an eventual ban on abortion. “We got to do it the same way they rolled it forward,” Robinson said. “We got to do it the same way with rolling it back. We’ve got it down to 12 weeks. The next goal is to get it down to six, and then just keep moving from there.”His campaign spokesperson later re-characterized those remarks as support for a ban beyond the six-week “heartbeat” stage of a pregnancy.Robinson acknowledged in 2022 paying for an abortion for his wife 33 years earlier.The question is whether Robinson’s full-throated anti-abortion stance hinders not just his own candidacy but that of Trump. Planned Parenthood plans to double its spending in North Carolina, to $10m, with an eye on defending the governorship and ending a veto-proof Republican legislative majority. Trump, meanwhile, has backed away from publicly endorsing the most extreme abortion bans.Down in the polls, Robinson has until this week apparently kept a light campaign schedule and stayed away from places where a reporter might pick up yet another unscripted comment. With the exception of an appearance at the Carteret County Speedway on 3 April and the radio interview on 9 April, there is scant evidence that Robinson has been campaigning at all since the March primary. A request to his campaign for a list of his recent campaign stops went unanswered, as did requests for an interview or comment for this story.Stein, meanwhile, has been averaging a campaign stop every two days – 22 events since the March primary – showing up in small towns and rural counties across the state. Stein’s father founded North Carolina’s first integrated law firm, and he spent many years in consumer protection and racial equity roles as a lawyer, a point he raises in rural Black communities.“I think his coming here alone says that he understands that he needs rural communities in order to be successful,” said Darrel “BJ” Gibson, vice-chair of the board of commissioners in Scotland county. “And I say it because so many times we get left out of these gatherings, and state candidates don’t understand that.”The question for both Stein and Robinson is whether the bombast of Robinson’s life as a self-described social media influencer will overshadow substantive policy discussions.When Phillips, the conservative talkshow host, asked Robinson in April about how his approach has changed over time, he described Robinson as more Trumpian than Trump.“My message has not changed,” Robinson replied. “Now, I can tell you clearly that my methods have, because I’ve switched buckets. I’ve gone from social media influencer to advocate, to now elected official. But my heart is still in the same place.” More

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      Flojaune Cofer: surprise progressive star in California capital’s mayoral race

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      In an election year in which California’s races have the potential to be among the most consequential in the US, one of the most fascinating contests is shaping up somewhere unexpected: Sacramento.The leading candidate to replace the city’s mayor is a progressive public health expert running for elected office for the first time. Flojaune Cofer has pledged to reject corporate donations, cut police budgets in favor of workers trained to deal with issues such as mental health and tackle the city’s spiraling homelessness crisis.Cofer, a 41-year-old epidemiologist who would be the first Black woman elected as Sacramento mayor, won the most votes of any candidate in last month’s primary with an almost 8% lead over her closest competitor.Her rise comes as political commentators have argued Californians, disheartened by crime, are growing frustrated with progressive policies. In March, the San Francisco Chronicle wrote that the city’s status as a longtime liberal bastion is no more after voters approved a controversial measure that will require welfare recipients to be screened for drugs.Sacramento has struggled with many of the same issues as San Francisco and Los Angeles from a growing unhoused population and unaffordable housing to downtowns that have struggled to rebound after the pandemic. Cofer’s vision for the city, which she hopes will one day serve as a model for dealing with the most pressing problems of the era, has appealed to voters, particularly those in lower-income neighborhoods.“I just feel we are so close to being able to do something powerful,” she said in a recent interview. “We don’t have to live in a city where people don’t have their basic needs met. This can be a city that’s affordable, prosperous, innovative, that’s connected.”Cofer, originally from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, moved to Sacramento 20 years ago for a public health fellowship and decided to make her home in the city after finding a deep-rooted sense of community. “It reminded me a lot of Pittsburgh, with the tight neighborhoods and rivers flowing through it and being a midsize city in a state with larger cities that often get more of the attention,” she said.She worked for the state’s public health department before becoming a senior public policy director for a public health non-profit. In recent years, Cofer served on several city committees and was a visible presence in Sacramento politics before she decided to run for office.She faced a crowded field with well-known and high-profile candidates, including two former state lawmakers, vying for the role and arguing they were best equipped to address the problems ailing the city.Sacramento has changed considerably in recent years with the redevelopment of its downtown, growing population and a seemingly ever worsening housing shortage.Homelessness has been the defining issue in city politics in recent years. The capital is in the midst of a growing emergency as the number of unhoused residents climbed almost 70% from 2019 to 2022.At least 9,278 people in the county are estimated to be without a home, the majority of whom sleep outdoors or in vehicles. Encampments have developed on levees, near schools and next to busy roads, while advocates have said the city has failed to create meaningful solutions to match the scale of the massive problem.“I think one of the things that we’re already in agreement on is that what we’re doing right now is not working,” she said. The crisis is affecting everyone in the community, she said, from unhoused people who say they are being harassed and targeted without receiving the support they need to business owners who say people don’t want to go downtown.The city can create change “if we do right by the people who are experiencing homelessness, and we actually make sure people have a place to go, instead of just moving them block to block without a clear destination, and we make sure that they have the facilities and things that they need, like showers and bathrooms”, she said.“There’s data to show us that these things can work. Instead, it seems like we are insistent upon trying to do things expediently that don’t work and that make the problem worse.”Cofer has backed greater protections for renters as well as managed encampments. She has also advocated cutting $70m from the police budget and redirecting that funding to hire trained workers who can respond to calls about mental health and homelessness while police prioritize violent crime.She wants to invest in programs from non-profits and community groups that have a track record of reducing violence in the city – pointing to the city’s investment in similar initiatives that led to a two-year period with zero youth homicides before that funding was cut.“That’s the kind of thing that you can feel in a community when you’re not worried about being shot, when your young people aren’t worried about it, when nobody is in the active stage of grieving and hanging up RIP banners on their high schools,” she said.“I’m looking at what will save us money, what will save us lives, and will allow us all to be able to experience safety, not just the performance of safety.”Despite the so-called backlash against progressive policies in other parts of the state, Cofer’s message appears to have won over voters across the city. Her campaign knocked on 30,000 doors, she said, and she engages directly with voters on Twitter, even those who are frequently critical of her.She saw support from all income levels, but particularly in the lowest-income neighborhoods in the city, according to an analysis from the Sacramento Bee.“Our message resonates,” Cofer said. “We’re talking about people who have largely not felt seen, heard and represented. When we change the narrative, invite people into the conversation, they see things differently and they’re hopeful in a different way and they’re reaching out in a different way.”She was endorsed by the Sacramento Bee’s editorial board, which described her agenda as “[in] some ways fiscally conservative and in other ways socially and economically progressive”.“She has the most potential to dramatically transform the Sacramento political landscape in the next four years, and that landscape desperately needs transformation,” the board wrote.In November, Sacramento voters will choose between Cofer and Kevin McCarty, a Democratic state lawmaker. Some political analysts have argued Cofer faces long odds with votes no longer divided among multiple candidates, but Cofer remains hopeful about her candidacy and the progressive movement in the city.“Sacramento is in a different position than some of the other places where we haven’t actually had an opportunity to try these progressive ideas out here,” she said. “We have the benefit of having watched what did and did not work in places in the Bay Area and southern California and to really learn from that.” More

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      Alabama chooses candidates for new Black congressional district

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      Shomari Figures, an attorney and Obama White House executive from a politically-prominent civil rights family, has won the Democratic nomination to run in Alabama’s redrawn second congressional district Tuesday night, defeating state representative Anthony Daniels.The runoff election has been closely watched because of its implications for control of Congress in November, and for the effect of supreme court orders requiring southern states to comply with the federal Voting Rights Act and eliminate racial gerrymandering.Republicans currently control Congress by a margin of 218 to 213, with four vacancies. A win by Figures in November represents one seat flipping control from Republicans to Democrats.Alabama legislators resisted complying with the order of the US supreme court last year, requiring the state’s congressional map to add an additional district that would be politically competitive for a Black candidate. The courts eventually appointed a special master to oversee redrawing district lines, creating a new second district in southern Alabama, stretching through the “Black Belt” of counties with large African American populations.Just under half of the residents are Black. The Cook Political Report rates Alabama’s second congressional district as “leans Democratic” with a +4 Democratic partisan advantage, which Republicans believe may still provide an opportunity to hold the seat.Tuesday night, Republicans chose Caroleene Dobson, a real estate attorney and political newcomer, to face Figures in November. Dobson, a Harvard graduate and Federalist Society member, ran as a more conservative candidate than her runoff opponent, former State Senator Dick Brewbaker, who served a Montgomery-area district for 10 years.The Republican runoff candidates had contributed about a million dollars to their campaigns by March election filing deadlines, a sign of how hard fought the contest will be in November.The campaigns of Figures, 38, and Daniels, 41, differed less by ideology than biography. Daniels is the youngest Black man to lead Democrats in the Alabama house of representatives. He grew up in a small Black Belt town south of Montgomery, but represents Huntsville, Alabama, a prospering north Alabama city from which he has built a statewide power base.Daniels developed a reputation as a political dealmaker while serving in the legislature, navigating a political environment that is hostile to Democrats to get legislation passed that eliminated state income taxes on overtime pay. But Daniels could not overcome Figures’ financial advantages in a runoff.Figures is the kind of Alabama political royalty whose engagement five years ago was announced in the New York Times. Figures’ father, Alabama state Senator Michael Figures was a crusading attorney who famously bankrupted the Alabama Ku Klux Klan in the ’80s. His mother, state Senator Vivian Davis Figures, won the seat held by her husband after his death in 1996 and has held it since.Figures resigned his job as the deputy chief of staff and counselor to Merrick Garland, the attorney general, to compete in the crowded March primary. His longstanding connections to national politics helped him draw nearly $2m in outside spending from groups like Protect Progress, a Washington-based political action committee. More

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      As a US diplomat, I helped circumvent Trump’s Muslim ban – then realised I was part of the problem | Josef Burton

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      When I began working as a consular officer at the US embassy in Ankara, Turkey, I was at the beginning of what was supposed to be a 20-year diplomatic career. Maybe I didn’t love all of US foreign policy, but in my routine visa assignment I was deeply committed to treating everybody I interviewed fairly and playing my part in facilitating the American immigrant dream. Then, on 27 June 2017, Donald Trump issued orders to begin implementing the “Muslim ban”. My routine job had suddenly become deeply morally fraught and instead of blandly facilitating the American dream, I was denying it to people based on their faith.My first instinct was to draft a resignation letter, but I didn’t immediately send it because it felt at the time like I was part of a nigh-unanimous institutional rejection of an illiberal policy. More than 1,000 US diplomats put their signatures on an internal dissent cable against the Muslim ban when it was proclaimed. My boss hated the ban, my boss’ boss hated the ban, and the dozens of US ambassadors summoned to the foreign ministries of Muslim-majority countries to explain the policy tried to disown it as much as they possibly could. When I pushed back as much as I could, I did so with the full support of my bosses and colleagues. But, and this is the most important part, we always did so within the regulations.We wanted to get waivers and exceptions for every applicant possible, so we sounded out exactly what criteria for waiving the ban Washington would accept. (Family separation? Loss of a valued employee for an American business?) We found where the bar was, we created templates and standard operating procedures, and got to work slotting as many people as we could into them. Within a few months, the ban interviews were rote checklists rather than impassioned pleas for humanity. Every applicant we got who checked the boxes was a moral victory; every one who didn’t make it was tragic. But, hey, we got to tell ourselves that we tried. As time wore on, I realised that fighting for individual waivers and exemptions was resistance by pedantry. What I found myself engaging in was a deeply non-confrontational performance of virtue rather than an act of sabotage.Joe Biden repealed the Muslim ban on the first day of his presidency. When secretary of state Antony Blinken informed us that the policy had ended, he declared that the ban was “a stain on our national conscience”. It was never said in as many words, but the implication was that because we managed the policy to optimise exemptions and because we felt bad about it, and because leadership repudiated the policy in retrospect, it meant that we weren’t implicated. That the issue was settled.But it isn’t settled. The presidential proclamation repealing the Muslim ban did not surrender a single iota of the authority to implement future bans. It was only when the Muslim ban was finally over that I fully realised what I had been part of; we created another tool in the toolbox, a set of procedures and standards for processing travel bans, waivers and exemptions that could be put to literally any purpose. Our internal resistance was fundamentally morally agnostic because we fought within the technical bounds of policy implementation rather than the fact of its declaration.I quit the US state department a few months later. I quit because, despite all of our efforts from within the system to fight against the Muslim ban, there is nothing stopping a future president from reinstating it, or something like it. Trump has outright promised to reinstate an expanded and harsher Muslim ban if re-elected. I am confident that junior US diplomats in the same position I was will be disgusted, will try to push back. They might even dust off some of the old templates I made. But they will only serve to make things run smoother next time. A certain proportion of Muslim immigrants will find waivers. Some – maybe thousands, maybe most – sadly won’t, but the people implementing the ban will be better positioned to repudiate another future “stain on our national conscience”.Resistance that shaves off the rough edges of inhumane policy without reversing it is not resistance, it is complicity. As theorist Stafford Beer says: “The purpose of a system is what it does,” and an immigration system with a smoothly running Muslim ban that has generous provision for waivers and exemptions is still an immigration system that bans Muslims. I quit the US diplomatic corps because internal resistance to a racist and illiberal political project is a losing bargain.
      Josef Burton is a former US diplomat who served in Turkey, India and Washington DC More