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            2 <?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" href="/assets/static/b/theatlantic/syndication/feeds/atom-to-html.5b8f7098d4e8.xsl" ?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xml:lang="en-us" xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/"><title>The Atlantic</title><link href="https://www.theatlantic.com/" rel="alternate"></link><link href="https://www.theatlantic.com/feed/all/" rel="self"></link><id>https://www.theatlantic.com/</id><updated>2021-01-22T14:06:12-05:00</updated><rights>Copyright 2021 by The Atlantic Monthly Group. All Rights Reserved.</rights><entry><id>tag:theatlantic.com,2021:50-617779</id><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;Political speeches follow a surprisingly simple set of rules—or at least the successful ones do. Newly sworn-in President Joe Biden observed them all in his inaugural address. Although his 20 minutes at the lectern are not likely to be parsed and studied for rhetorical flourishes, with this speech Biden accomplished something more important: He signaled how he will approach this job and this moment in history.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The first rule in political rhetoric is &lt;em&gt;authenticity&lt;/em&gt;. Does the essence of the speech—its vocabulary, its rhythms, its cadences, its tendencies toward “plain” versus “fancy” tone—match the essence of the speaker? Does the rhetoric call attention to itself? Or does it mainly serve to transmit the mood, intention, and ideas the speaker hopes to convey?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Martin Luther King Jr. was modern America’s greatest rhetorician. But the very words and cadences of his speeches that have gone down in history—“I’ve &lt;em&gt;been&lt;/em&gt; to the mountaintop …  I’ve &lt;em&gt;seen&lt;/em&gt; the promised land”—would have sounded forced and stagey from most other prominent Americans. They would not have rung true even from the first Black president, Barack Obama, whose single greatest speech—&lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2015/06/grace/397064/?utm_source=feed"&gt;his “Amazing Grace” elegy&lt;/a&gt; for the victims of the racist gun massacre in Charleston, South Carolina—was delivered at the historic Mother Emanuel Church, where King himself once spoke.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p data-id="injected-recirculation-link"&gt;&lt;i&gt;[&lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2021/01/a-sermon-in-americas-civic-religion/617750/?utm_source=feed"&gt;David A. Graham: A sermon in America’s civic religion&lt;/a&gt;]&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Obama’s eloquence, as I once &lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/technology/archive/2009/05/on-eloquence-vs-prettiness/17695/?utm_source=feed"&gt;argued here&lt;/a&gt;, is in the paragraph-scale development of ideas, rather than the sentence-by-sentence coinage of standalone phrases. The American politician I can most imagine presenting a Martin Luther King speech and sounding authentic would have been Barbara Jordan, the late Democratic Representative from Texas—who indeed gave &lt;a href="https://lbj.utexas.edu/news/2012/lbj-professor-barbara-jordans-landmark-speech-1976-democrati"&gt;a very King-like speech&lt;/a&gt; at the Democratic National Convention in 1976.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;When it comes to rhetoric, many politicians would love to be considered another King, another FDR, another Jordan, another Churchill. But the wisest of them aspire to sound like the best possible version of themselves. (And the wisest of speechwriters aspire to make their own work invisible—to serve, in essence, as glaziers, creating transparent panes through which the speaker’s intent can be most clearly seen.)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Joe Biden sounded like the best version of himself on Inauguration Day. Few if any of the &lt;a href="https://www.whitehouse.gov/briefing-room/speeches-remarks/2021/01/20/inaugural-address-by-president-joseph-r-biden-jr/"&gt;sentences he uttered&lt;/a&gt; will be chiseled into marble. The exception illustrating the rule was Biden’s summary statement about foreign policy: “We will lead not merely by the example of our power but by the power of our example.” This line, which he has used in other speeches (and which Bill Clinton &lt;a href="https://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=94045962"&gt;also used&lt;/a&gt; in his speech nominating Obama back in 2008), was both a distillation of a swing away from Trumpism (as &lt;a href="https://slate.com/news-and-politics/2021/01/biden-inauguration-foreign-policy-example.html"&gt;Fred Kaplan observed&lt;/a&gt;) and a handy case study of the rhetorical technique called &lt;em&gt;chiasmus&lt;/em&gt;, or reversing terms. (Homely example: “It’s not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s …” High-flown example: “Ask not what your country can do for you …”)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;But the speech in its entirety was admirably plain and direct, and therefore plausible. It sounded not like John F. Kennedy or Barack Obama or Franklin D. Roosevelt or any other Democratic president, but like Joe Biden. It sounded like the vice president who served loyally for eight years under Obama, like the candidate who struck and stayed true to a “Can’t we just get along?” tone from the start of his 2020 campaign, like the president-elect who would not rise to the bait of Donald Trump’s taunts or sink to the depths of his discourse but instead calmly reasserted his plans to address the nation’s crises. (But it also sounded like the person who had learned from the bitter fights Obama had when trying to get his legislation and nominees approved, and from the assault on the democratic process itself launched by Trump and many of his allies.) The speech’s tone matched the speaker, and thus the tone was right.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p data-id="injected-recirculation-link"&gt;&lt;i&gt;[&lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2021/01/america-ready-new-age-moral-leadership/617680/?utm_source=feed"&gt;Daniel T. Rodgers: America desperately needs a new age of moral leadership&lt;/a&gt;]&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The second rule in political rhetoric is &lt;em&gt;realism&lt;/em&gt;. A speaker must seem to understand the world in which the listeners live. By definition, a president, prime minister, or other leader operates from a privileged and powerful perspective. But the effective ones open their ears, their minds, their hearts—and ultimately their voices—to the hardships of their society, and also the long-term hopes. This is why virtually every effective speech in a time of crisis follows a three-part sequence: &lt;em&gt;empathy&lt;/em&gt;, for the pain, fear, uncertainty, and suffering people are going through, for instance at the beginning of the Great Depression, after surprise attacks like those at Pearl Harbor and on 9/11, and during civil unrest or a pandemic; &lt;em&gt;confidence&lt;/em&gt;, about the strains and struggles the society has withstood before, and thus about the hope of success again; and &lt;em&gt;a plan&lt;/em&gt;, about ways to turn things around. (“In our first 100 days, we will …”)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;If a speaker omits the first part, listeners feel that their government is hopelessly out of touch. If a speaker omits the second, it’s all the harder to make progress. Despair is a poor motivating tool. And without the third, hopeful promises are “just talk.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Joe Biden made good on all parts of this formula. His speech was coldly realistic about the bleak prospects ahead—from the pandemic, from economic collapse, from the climate crisis, from the assault on democracy and truth. He called for a moment of silence in memory of the 400,000 Americans who have died of COVID-19, “a silent prayer for those who lost their lives, for those they left behind, and for our country.” In calling repeatedly for “unity,” he seemed aware of forces who do not share that goal. He summed up the larger situation, again with trademark plainness of language and non-sugarcoating of reality:&lt;/p&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;
            3 &lt;p&gt;We face an attack on democracy and on truth.&lt;/p&gt;
            4 
            5 &lt;p&gt;A raging virus.&lt;/p&gt;
            6 
            7 &lt;p&gt;Growing inequity.&lt;/p&gt;
            8 
            9 &lt;p&gt;The sting of systemic racism.&lt;/p&gt;
           10 
           11 &lt;p&gt;A climate in crisis.&lt;/p&gt;
           12 
           13 &lt;p&gt;America’s role in the world.&lt;/p&gt;
           14 
           15 &lt;p&gt;Any one of these would be enough to challenge us in profound ways.&lt;/p&gt;
           16 &lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;p&gt;But then Biden switched to the theme of &lt;em&gt;becoming,&lt;/em&gt; which has been at the heart of all great American rhetoric. The idea of the endless process of improvement links the authors of the Constitution’s ambition to form “a more perfect Union” to Abraham Lincoln’s appeals in all of his major addresses, to Martin Luther King and “I have a dream,” and to virtually all of the presentations at Biden’s inaugural ceremony, including the memorable poem by Amanda Gorman (“A nation that isn’t broken / but simply unfinished”).&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;On the campaign trail, Biden frequently fell into the pattern of saying “Folks, we’re better than this.” The proper formulation—the realistic and convincing formulation—is “We should be better than this. We can be better.” What I think of as “conditional optimism”—not the naive assumption that things automatically will get better, but the determined conviction that they can– was the central motif of his speech, and of all the presentations of the day. As Biden put it:&lt;/p&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;
           17 &lt;p&gt;We will be judged, you and I, for how we resolve the cascading crises of our era.&lt;/p&gt;
           18 
           19 &lt;p&gt;Will we rise to the occasion?&lt;/p&gt;
           20 
           21 &lt;p&gt;Will we master this rare and difficult hour?&lt;/p&gt;
           22 
           23 &lt;p&gt;Will we meet our obligations and pass along a new and better world for our children?&lt;/p&gt;
           24 
           25 &lt;p&gt;I believe we must and I believe we will.&lt;/p&gt;
           26 
           27 &lt;p&gt;And when we do, we will write the next chapter in the American story.&lt;/p&gt;
           28 &lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;p&gt;Memorable line by line? No. Effective and right for the moment? In my view, yes—and, again, absolutely in keeping with the day’s explicit and symbolic presentation as a whole. And fortunately, Biden did not have to belabor the “Here is my plan” part of his presentation, both because his speech was already getting long, by inaugural-address standards, and because a few days before being sworn in, he had given a &lt;a href="https://www.c-span.org/video/?507983-1/president-elect-biden-unveils-19-trillion-covid-19-relief-proposal"&gt;very detailed address&lt;/a&gt; about what he proposed to do.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The third rule in political rhetoric, which applies to most speeches but above all to inaugural addresses, is to &lt;em&gt;tell two stories&lt;/em&gt;. One of those stories is “Who we are.” The other story is “Who I am.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;“Who we are” is the story of the country: where it stands along history’s arc, what it can hope and what it must fear, what its strengths and shortcomings are. “Who I am” is the story of the person taking responsibility to lead.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p data-id="injected-recirculation-link"&gt;&lt;i&gt;[&lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2021/01/biden-should-build-back-boring/617740/?utm_source=feed"&gt;John Dickerson: Boring is better&lt;/a&gt;]&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The “who we are” part of the saga is as listed above: a nation that is unfinished rather than broken, that is bloodied but unbowed. The “who I am” was an explicit and implicit presentation of a man who understands others’ suffering, who himself knows the unpredictability and cruelty of fate, who thinks of the country as &lt;em&gt;us&lt;/em&gt; rather than &lt;em&gt;us and them&lt;/em&gt;:&lt;/p&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;
           29 &lt;p&gt;We can do this if we open our souls instead of hardening our hearts.&lt;/p&gt;
           30 
           31 &lt;p&gt;If we show a little tolerance and humility.&lt;/p&gt;
           32 
           33 &lt;p&gt;If we’re willing to stand in the other person’s shoes just for a moment.&lt;/p&gt;
           34 
           35 &lt;p&gt;Because here is the thing about life: There is no accounting for what fate will deal you.&lt;/p&gt;
           36 
           37 &lt;p&gt;There are some days when we need a hand.&lt;/p&gt;
           38 
           39 &lt;p&gt;There are other days when we’re called on to lend one.&lt;/p&gt;
           40 
           41 &lt;p&gt;That is how we must be with one another.&lt;/p&gt;
           42 &lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;p&gt;I cannot remember a presidential address in which the values of the speaker’s faith were as evident as in this one—and not through loud exhortations of piety but through statements and commitments reflecting compassion and empathy. The one line I wrote down as soon as Biden said it was this, playing off a quote from Lincoln upon his signing the Emancipation Proclamation:&lt;/p&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;
           43 &lt;p&gt;Today, on this January day, my whole soul is in this:&lt;/p&gt;
           44 
           45 &lt;p&gt;Bringing America together.&lt;/p&gt;
           46 
           47 &lt;p&gt;Uniting our people.&lt;/p&gt;
           48 
           49 &lt;p&gt;And uniting our nation.&lt;/p&gt;
           50 &lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;My whole soul.&lt;/em&gt; The president for whom I worked long ago, Jimmy Carter (whose absence from the ceremonies Biden graciously acknowledged in his speech), similarly based his campaign on the need for moral balm, after a disastrous decade. He was (and is) deeply spiritual, but I don’t remember him so plainly talking about devoting his whole soul to the nation’s cause.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Joe Biden might not prove to be the right person for this moment. As I &lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2021/01/how-biden-should-investigate-trump/617260/?utm_source=feed"&gt;argued recently in this magazine&lt;/a&gt;, he takes office facing more emergencies than any predecessor since Lincoln. But his own story and his version of the country’s match as well as any president’s could at the beginning of a term.&lt;/p&gt;</content><author><name>James Fallows</name><uri>http://www.theatlantic.com/author/james-fallows/?utm_source=feed</uri></author><media:content url="https://cdn.theatlantic.com/assets/media/img/mt/2021/01/AP21020670688310_copy/lead_960.jpg"><media:credit>JONATHAN ERNST / AP</media:credit></media:content><title type="html">Why Biden’s Inaugural Address Succeeded</title><published>2021-01-22T11:18:10-05:00</published><updated>2021-01-22T14:06:12-05:00</updated><summary type="html">In 20 minutes, the president signaled how he will approach this job and this moment in history.</summary><link href="https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2021/01/why-bidens-inaugural-address-succeeded/617779/?utm_source=feed" rel="alternate"></link></entry><entry><id>tag:theatlantic.com,2021:50-617767</id><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;In the Netflix series &lt;em&gt;Bridgerton&lt;/em&gt;, everyone reads the pamphlets written by the pseudonymous “Lady Whistledown,” Regency England’s answer to Gossip Girl. Each issue targets the wealthiest and most powerful residents of London in 1813, revealing something new about the city’s high-society ecosystem. Voiced by Julie Andrews, Lady Whistledown takes distinct pleasure in exposing—or even just threatening to expose—a scandal or two. And though she sometimes offers little more than a rundown of which couples danced together at the most recent ball, what she chooses to share can make or break a household’s status.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Netflix viewers have been addicted to Whistledown too. According to the streaming service, &lt;em&gt;Bridgerton&lt;/em&gt; has become one of its most-watched original series ever, and is projected to &lt;a href="https://variety.com/2021/tv/news/bridgerton-netflix-viewership-1234878404/"&gt;have reached more than 63 million households&lt;/a&gt; in its first month since debuting on Christmas. The show, which is based on the romance novels by Julia Quinn and produced by Shonda Rhimes, seduces with its tremulous sighs, feigned swoons, and montages of scenes between the sheets. But it also satisfies a particular, pandemic-induced craving: the need for anonymous gossip.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;It’s perhaps no secret that gossip has become a hot commodity lately, both on- and offscreen. &lt;em&gt;Bridgerton&lt;/em&gt; was renewed for a second season yesterday, and the hit series &lt;em&gt;Gossip Girl &lt;/em&gt;is set for a reboot on HBO Max this year. In real life, the pandemic has disrupted normal social interaction, leaving many nostalgic for the days of exchanging morsels of illicit information in person. “I miss the grapes and the grapevine. I miss the cocked eyebrow, the lowered voice, the precautionary glance around the room,” one writer lamented in &lt;a href="https://www.economist.com/1843/2020/08/09/nothing-to-speak-of-the-horror-of-a-world-without-gossip"&gt;&lt;em&gt;The Economist&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/a&gt;. “We’ve never needed the fizzy respite of good gossip more,” another argued in &lt;a href="https://www.oprahmag.com/life/relationships-love/a34848377/gossip-quarantine/"&gt;&lt;em&gt;O: The Oprah Magazine&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/a&gt;. Gossip, of course, isn’t always &lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2018/07/gossip-is-good/561737/?utm_source=feed"&gt;good&lt;/a&gt; or accurate, but it hasn’t vanished, either. Over the past year, it has simply evolved in new ways on social media while offering two of the same services it did to 19th-century Londoners—entertaining the public and checking those in power.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p data-id="injected-recirculation-link"&gt;&lt;i&gt;[&lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2018/07/gossip-is-good/561737/?utm_source=feed"&gt;Read: Gossiping is good&lt;/a&gt;]&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The gossip of the current moment tends to be an anonymously driven, curated, and crowdsourced enterprise. It often takes the form of Instagram accounts such as TikTokRoom and DeuxMoi, the latter of which has racked up more than half a million followers since the start of the pandemic. DeuxMoi posts tidbits about celebrities submitted by followers every day; all of it is unverified, and all of it disappears after 24 hours, which encourages frequent visits. The submissions are usually casual sightings (a tip about Sophie Turner and Joe Jonas grabbing coffee, for example), though occasionally &lt;a href="https://www.papermag.com/armie-hammer-cannibal-screenshots-2649876703.html"&gt;a disturbing rumor&lt;/a&gt; gets shared. For the most part, &lt;a href="https://www.vox.com/the-goods/22164190/deuxmoi-instagram-celebrity-gossip"&gt;as &lt;em&gt;Vox &lt;/em&gt;explained&lt;/a&gt;, these gossip accounts are “meant to be fun.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Traditional tabloids haven’t always treated celebrity minutiae with such a light touch. Popular gossip bloggers have tended to use a sensational tone to sell storylines about feuds, friendships, and heartbreak. But with the rise of both social media and pandemic-era social distancing, celebrities now have greater command of their public image. Gossip, especially from secret accounts, undermines that narrative control, often presenting information at face value. The anonymous administrator behind DeuxMoi &lt;a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2020/11/17/style/deuxmoi-gossip.html"&gt;told &lt;em&gt;The New York Times&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/a&gt;, “I don’t do any additional research. I’m not a reporter. … I will censor, but I don’t edit. So you’re seeing exactly what somebody is writing to me.” New gossip accounts tend to operate outside the realm of tabloid media. (They don’t appear to have relationships with members of a star’s team, for one.) They do not hold themselves to anything resembling journalistic standards, existing only to surface daily rumors, whether true or false, potentially damaging or purely innocuous.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;When wielded responsibly, gossip can be a means of challenging unequal power dynamics—something that &lt;em&gt;Bridgerton &lt;/em&gt;understands. The season finale reveals Lady Whistledown to be Penelope Featherington (played by Nicola Coughlan), the overlooked and undervalued youngest daughter of a baron’s family. As Penelope, she and her observations go unnoticed, but as her alter ego, she holds the entire town’s attention. One of her reports details a scandal surrounding a belligerent lord, driving him out of town. Another pamphlet even targets the queen (Golda Rosheuvel) and her judgment, which is considered near-infallible among the high-society set. Many real-life gossip accounts that have taken off in the past year derive similar authority from their anonymity. Gossip that has spread on social media organically, without the help of dedicated accounts, has led to the justified scrutiny of figures ranging in influence from Hilaria Baldwin to Ellen DeGeneres. The attention that gossip provokes may not always be pleasant, but it encourages vetting—a crucial mechanism for separating fact from fiction.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p data-id="injected-recirculation-link"&gt;&lt;i&gt;[&lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2012/12/xoxo-conspicuous-consumption-how-the-economy-killed-gossip-girl/266181/?utm_source=feed"&gt;Read: How the economy killed ‘Gossip Girl’&lt;/a&gt;]&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The so-called “tea” can fine-tune the public’s perception of people with significant reach, revealing flaws in their manicured images—and, in some cases, demonstrating our own changing attitudes. “I think that the conversations that we have about celebrities are always a reflection of our values and who we are at a certain moment,” Elaine Lui, the journalist behind &lt;em&gt;Lainey Gossip&lt;/em&gt;, &lt;a href="https://www.thecut.com/2020/05/celebrity-gossip-elaine-lui.html"&gt;told &lt;em&gt;The Cut&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/a&gt; last year. After certain TikTok stars posted videos encouraging pandemic safety, for instance, TikTokRoom shared follower-submitted footage of them on vacation in the Bahamas, flouting those precautions. (Noah Beck, one of the TikTokers, &lt;a href="https://www.insider.com/tiktok-star-noah-beck-responds-bahamas-tri-backlash-2021-1"&gt;defended&lt;/a&gt; the trip but added that their actions would have been criticized either way. “No matter what we do in life,” he said, “people are going to say things.”) &lt;a href="https://twitter.com/KevinTPorter/status/1241049881688412160"&gt;Online rumors&lt;/a&gt; helped pave the way for DeGeneres’s talk show to reckon with its allegedly &lt;a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2020/08/17/business/media/ellen-degeneres-show-producers.html"&gt;toxic workplace culture&lt;/a&gt;. (Over Zoom, the host has since apologized to her staff; on air, she &lt;a href="https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/ellen-degeneres-addresses-toxic-workplace-reports-in-talk-show-return-things-happened-here-that-never-should-have"&gt;called herself&lt;/a&gt; “a work in progress.”) Anonymous gossip can be trivial, but it can also be a sharp and potent tool—one that, despite not always leading to clear ramifications, can certainly lay the groundwork for them.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;hr class="c-section-divider"&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;Bridgerton &lt;/em&gt;isn’t the only show to depict the upsides of gossip in a way that resonates today. &lt;em&gt;Dickinson&lt;/em&gt;, Apple TV+’s dramedy about the life of the 19th-century poet Emily Dickinson, also tackles the subject in its second season, which has been releasing new episodes on Fridays. But although &lt;em&gt;Bridgerton&lt;/em&gt; explores the effect of gossip on class, &lt;em&gt;Dickinson&lt;/em&gt; contemplates its effect on fame, as filtered through the dynamics of today’s attention economy. If that sounds like a stretch, just know that &lt;em&gt;Dickinson &lt;/em&gt;itself requires some mental gymnastics: The show deploys Gen Z dialogue, an anachronistic soundtrack, and flourishes of magical realism to underline the modern relevance of its heroine’s experiences.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The second season explores Emily’s (Hailee Steinfeld) struggle over whether to publish her name with her poems—in essence, whether to become the resident influencer of Amherst, Massachusetts. Early on, she meets a local newspaper publisher, Samuel Bowles (Finn Jones), who dazzles her with his knowledge about the goings-on around New England. “It’s my job to know things before other people find out,” he boasts. Impressed with him and heady with thoughts of her own potential greatness, she gives him a poem to publish. But as the season continues, rumors about Samuel’s conduct with female writers challenge Emily’s trust in him. In a fascinating, later-season twist, she becomes—literally—invisible to everyone around her, allowing her to investigate what she heard. She’s like a superpowered gossip, able not only to gather others’ secrets but also to confirm them firsthand in a way that modern Instagram accounts cannot.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;In these scenes, &lt;em&gt;Dickinson &lt;/em&gt;captures the intense sway of gossip. The thrill of it comes not just from the information itself, but also from what that information can do. Fame can confer enormous power, but gossip—the kind meant only to shine a light on the unknown, without malice—can keep such power in check. It’s no coincidence that gossip has historically &lt;a href="https://aeon.co/ideas/gossip-was-a-powerful-tool-for-the-powerless-in-ancient-greece"&gt;been&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2014/11/have-you-heard-gossip-is-actually-good-and-useful/382430/?utm_source=feed"&gt;traded&lt;/a&gt; by those on society’s lowest rungs; both &lt;em&gt;Bridgerton &lt;/em&gt;and &lt;em&gt;Dickinson &lt;/em&gt;feature scenes with servants eavesdropping on the households they attend to, and both series focus on young women who realize that acquiring secret knowledge is the best—and perhaps only—way to get what they want.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The anonymous gossip hubs that dominate Instagram today appear to share rumors indiscriminately; the raw material they supply can be used by others to hold influential people to account. This style of gossip may not last. In a world where social distancing is no longer necessary, the users religiously checking gossip accounts will have more to do away from their screens. Celebrities will emerge from their posh cocoons to feed the tabloid cycle of speculation and analysis. Crowdsourced gossip fed to an anonymous curator doesn’t always create the same spark that whispering in person does. As &lt;em&gt;The Economist&lt;/em&gt; puts it, “reading online accounts of people’s indiscretions is a poor substitute for the electrical charge of hearing them.” Poor or not, though, the new era of gossip has arrived—as a storytelling device, and as a new normal of pandemic life. In public, people like to pretend they’re above gossip, silently eyeballing the covers of tabloids rather than picking them up. But the truth is, everyone looks.&lt;/p&gt;</content><author><name>Shirley Li</name><uri>http://www.theatlantic.com/author/shirley-li/?utm_source=feed</uri></author><media:content url="https://cdn.theatlantic.com/assets/media/img/mt/2021/01/BRIDGERTON_101_Unit_06083R/lead_960.jpg"><media:credit>LIAM DANIEL / NETFLIX</media:credit></media:content><title type="html">The Grapevine Looks a Little Different Today</title><published>2021-01-22T11:08:13-05:00</published><updated>2021-01-22T14:04:34-05:00</updated><summary type="html">What do &lt;em&gt;Bridgerton&lt;/em&gt;, DeuxMoi, and &lt;em&gt;Dickinson &lt;/em&gt;have in common? They capture the new appeal of anonymous gossip.</summary><link href="https://www.theatlantic.com/culture/archive/2021/01/bridgerton-dickinson-and-new-era-gossip/617767/?utm_source=feed" rel="alternate"></link></entry><entry><id>tag:theatlantic.com,2021:50-617754</id><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;The critic Carlos Lozada read some 150 books about the Trump era before writing his book &lt;i&gt;What Were We Thinking&lt;/i&gt;. In those volumes, he found a regime that was &lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2020/10/chaos-trump-white-house/616616/?utm_source=feed"&gt;appalling in its lunacy and that would leave a long-lasting carnage&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2021/01/trump-worst-president-history/617730/?utm_source=feed"&gt;As Trump left office&lt;/a&gt; and &lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2021/01/a-sermon-in-americas-civic-religion/617750/?utm_source=feed"&gt;Biden was sworn in&lt;/a&gt; this week, I found myself thinking about other presidential legacies and the books that reflect on them. Some, written years after a leader’s time in office, make the case for vindicating a complicated figure. For example, &lt;i&gt;Being Nixon&lt;/i&gt;, by Evan Thomas, steers readers &lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2015/06/the-complexity-of-being-richard-nixon/394547/?utm_source=feed"&gt;away from a singularly dark and cartoonish&lt;/a&gt; picture of Richard Nixon. The journalist Kenneth Whyte’s &lt;i&gt;Hoover: An Extraordinary Life in Extraordinary Times&lt;/i&gt; &lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2017/11/herbert-hoovers-legacy/545702/?utm_source=feed"&gt;focuses on Herbert Hoover’s accomplishments&lt;/a&gt;—which are sometimes overshadowed by the challenges he faced.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Other biographies shed light on a president’s personal life. &lt;i&gt;Abraham Lincoln: A Life&lt;/i&gt;, by Michael Burlingame, &lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2009/07/lincolns-emancipation/307487/?utm_source=feed"&gt;provides insight into the leader’s childhood&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;i&gt;The Problem of Democracy&lt;/i&gt;, a dual biography of John Adams and John Quincy Adams by the historians Nancy Isenberg and Andrew Burstein, illuminates &lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2019/05/john-adams-john-quincy-adams-political-parties/586018/?utm_source=feed"&gt;the father-son relationship between the two presidents&lt;/a&gt;. Their bond deeply influenced each man’s political beliefs.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Writing these personal histories of public figures can be complicated. The historian Richard Aldous &lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2017/11/the-white-house-mythmaker/540621/?utm_source=feed"&gt;examines the work of one influential presidential biographer&lt;/a&gt; in &lt;i&gt;Schlesinger: The Imperial Historian&lt;/i&gt;. Arthur Schlesinger Jr. was a prolific writer, chronicling the presidencies of figures such as Andrew Jackson and John F. Kennedy, but he was also deeply flawed. He omitted significant but unflattering details in his biography of Kennedy, and more broadly his work helped to establish the cult of personality around American presidents.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;
           51 &lt;p&gt;​&lt;em&gt;Every Friday in &lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/category/books-briefing/?utm_source=feed"&gt;the Books Briefing&lt;/a&gt;, we thread together &lt;/em&gt;Atlantic&lt;em&gt; stories on books that share similar ideas.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
           52 
           53 &lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;Know other book lovers who might like this guide? Forward them this email.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
           54 &lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;hr&gt;&lt;h3&gt;What We’re Reading&lt;/h3&gt;&lt;figure&gt;&lt;figure&gt;&lt;img alt="Gif of trump heads talking" height="329" src="https://cdn.theatlantic.com/assets/media/img/posts/2021/01/ATL_TheChaosChronicles_Lead/797515ba1.gif" width="672"&gt;&lt;figcaption class="credit"&gt;Soomin Jung&lt;/figcaption&gt;&lt;/figure&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2020/10/chaos-trump-white-house/616616/?utm_source=feed"&gt;150 books show how the Trump era has warped our brains&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
           55 
           56 &lt;p&gt;“That’s the trouble with writing about the Trump White House, and reading about it too: The lunacy is appalling yet unsurprising, wholly unpresidential yet entirely on-brand.”&lt;/p&gt;
           57 
           58 &lt;p style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;small&gt;&lt;strong&gt;📚 &lt;em&gt;What Were We Thinking: A Brief Intellectual History of the Trump Era&lt;/em&gt;, by Carlos Lozada&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/small&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
           59 
           60 &lt;hr&gt;&lt;figure&gt;&lt;img alt="photo of Nixon" height="466" src="https://cdn.theatlantic.com/assets/media/img/posts/2021/01/original_4/341754b3e.jpg" width="672"&gt;&lt;figcaption class="credit"&gt;WIKIMEDIA&lt;/figcaption&gt;&lt;/figure&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2015/06/the-complexity-of-being-richard-nixon/394547/?utm_source=feed"&gt;The complexity of being Richard Nixon&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
           61 
           62 &lt;p&gt;“We have a cartoon version of Nixon in our heads—the dark, pathological figure, vengeful and scheming. Nixon did have a terrible dark side, and it wrecked his presidency. But he was a far more complex—and tragic—figure than we assume.”&lt;/p&gt;
           63 
           64 &lt;p style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;small&gt;&lt;strong&gt;📚 &lt;em&gt;Being Nixon: A Man Divided&lt;/em&gt;, by Evan Thomas&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/small&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
           65 
           66 &lt;hr&gt;&lt;figure&gt;&lt;img alt="image of Herbert Hoover" height="389" src="https://cdn.theatlantic.com/assets/media/img/posts/2021/01/original_5/22af8b30e.jpg" width="672"&gt;&lt;figcaption class="credit"&gt;ASSOCIATED PRESS&lt;/figcaption&gt;&lt;/figure&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2017/11/herbert-hoovers-legacy/545702/?utm_source=feed"&gt;Herbert Hoover is the model Republicans need&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
           67 
           68 &lt;p&gt;“Never has the United States elected a more accomplished man to the presidency than Herbert Clark Hoover, whose organizational genius saved millions of lives from famine and destitution. Never has the ensuing presidency been marked by worse disasters.”&lt;/p&gt;
           69 
           70 &lt;p style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;small&gt;&lt;strong&gt;📚 &lt;em&gt;Hoover: An Extraordinary Life in Extraordinary Times&lt;/em&gt;, by Kenneth Whyte&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/small&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
           71 
           72 &lt;hr&gt;&lt;figure&gt;&lt;img alt="Contact sheet Lincoln" height="713" src="https://cdn.theatlantic.com/assets/media/img/posts/2021/01/GettyImages_639350978/5f6f20d26.jpg" width="672"&gt;&lt;figcaption class="credit"&gt;Smith Collection / GAdo / Getty&lt;/figcaption&gt;&lt;/figure&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2009/07/lincolns-emancipation/307487/?utm_source=feed"&gt;Lincoln’s emancipation&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
           73 
           74 &lt;p&gt;“The cruelty and degeneracy the future president was subjected to in his youth forged his iron will.”&lt;/p&gt;
           75 
           76 &lt;p style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;small&gt;&lt;strong&gt;📚 &lt;em&gt;Abraham Lincoln: A Life,&lt;/em&gt; by Michael Burlingame&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/small&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
           77 
           78 &lt;hr&gt;&lt;figure&gt;&lt;img alt="illustration of John and John Quincy Adams" height="755" src="https://cdn.theatlantic.com/assets/media/img/posts/2019/04/CULT_AmericanPolitics/a1f69a7b0.jpg" width="672"&gt;&lt;figcaption class="credit"&gt;JULES JULIEN&lt;/figcaption&gt;&lt;/figure&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2019/05/john-adams-john-quincy-adams-political-parties/586018/?utm_source=feed"&gt;The problem with high-minded politics&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
           79 
           80 &lt;p&gt;“Despite the tension—or maybe because of it—John and John Quincy [Adams] developed a singular bond, a convergence of temperament and intellect that was vital to both men.”&lt;/p&gt;
           81 
           82 &lt;p style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;small&gt;&lt;strong&gt;📚 &lt;em&gt;The Problem of Democracy, &lt;/em&gt;by Nancy Isenberg and Andrew Burstein&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/small&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
           83 
           84 &lt;hr&gt;&lt;figure&gt;&lt;img alt="Arthur Schlesinger Jr. and some of the presidents he wrote about" height="448" src="https://cdn.theatlantic.com/assets/media/img/posts/2021/01/original_7/fa4f1433c.jpg" width="672"&gt;&lt;figcaption class="credit"&gt;Illustration by Lincoln Agnew. photos by Bettman; Photoquest; Hulton Deutsch; Kean Collection; H. Armstrong Roberts / ClassicStock; &lt;em&gt;The Boston Globe&lt;/em&gt;; &lt;em&gt;The Denver Post&lt;/em&gt;; Getty.&lt;/figcaption&gt;&lt;/figure&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2017/11/the-white-house-mythmaker/540621/?utm_source=feed"&gt;The White House mythmaker&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
           85 
           86 &lt;p&gt;“[Arthur Schlesinger Jr.] has a lot to teach us and deserves fresh attention today. No other writer did so much to shape our idea of the presidency—as an office, as an institution, as an incarnation of popular consciousness.”&lt;/p&gt;
           87 
           88 &lt;p style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;small&gt;&lt;strong&gt;📚 &lt;em&gt;Schlesinger: The Imperial Historian, &lt;/em&gt;by Richard Aldous&lt;br&gt;
           89 📚 &lt;em&gt;The Age of Jackson&lt;/em&gt;, by Arthur Schlesinger Jr.&lt;br&gt;
           90 📚 &lt;em&gt;A Thousand Days&lt;/em&gt;, by Arthur Schlesinger Jr.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/small&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
           91 
           92 &lt;hr&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;
           93 &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;About us: &lt;/strong&gt;This week’s newsletter is, written by &lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/author/kate-cray/?utm_source=feed"&gt;Kate Cray&lt;/a&gt;. The book she’s reading next is &lt;i&gt;Jack&lt;/i&gt;,&lt;i&gt; &lt;/i&gt;by Marilynne Robinson.&lt;/p&gt;
           94 
           95 &lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;Comments, questions, typos? Reply to this email to reach the Books Briefing team.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
           96 
           97 &lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;Did you get this newsletter from a friend? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/newsletters/sign-up/?utm_source=feed"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Sign yourself up&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;em&gt;.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
           98 &lt;/blockquote&gt;
           99 &lt;/figure&gt;</content><author><name>Kate Cray</name><uri>http://www.theatlantic.com/author/kate-cray/?utm_source=feed</uri></author><media:content url="https://cdn.theatlantic.com/assets/media/img/mt/2021/01/GettyImages_515547672/lead_960.jpg"><media:credit>Bettmann / Getty</media:credit></media:content><title type="html">The Books Briefing: Presidential Biographies—And Presidential Mythologies</title><published>2021-01-22T10:30:00-05:00</published><updated>2021-01-22T10:30:06-05:00</updated><summary type="html">Books that influence how complicated political figures are remembered: Your weekly guide to the best in books</summary><link href="https://www.theatlantic.com/books/archive/2021/01/donald-trump-abraham-lincoln-books-briefing/617754/?utm_source=feed" rel="alternate"></link></entry><entry><id>tag:theatlantic.com,2021:50-617775</id><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;Each installment of &lt;/em&gt;&lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/projects/friendship-files/?utm_source=feed"&gt;&lt;em&gt;The Friendship Files&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;em&gt; features a conversation between &lt;/em&gt;The Atlantic&lt;em&gt;’s Julie Beck and two or more friends, exploring the history and significance of their relationship.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;This week she talks with Gabe and Andy, two friends who for more than six years have walked 30 minutes once a week to give each other a high five. The tradition started as a fun way to see each other regularly and came to mean so much more—especially when Gabe got sick with a brain infection and lost his memory. They discuss the origin of the high five, what it’s like to share something special that one friend can’t remember, and the joy that a simple routine can bring to a friendship.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;
          100 &lt;h3&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The Friends: &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/h3&gt;
          101 
          102 &lt;p&gt;&lt;span class="smallcaps"&gt;Andy Gullahorn&lt;/span&gt;, a 44-year-old singer-songwriter who lives in Nashville, Tennessee&lt;br&gt;&lt;span class="smallcaps"&gt;Gabe Scott&lt;/span&gt;, a 45-year-old musician and restaurant owner who lives in Nashville&lt;/p&gt;
          103 &lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;p&gt;This interview has been edited for length and clarity.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;hr&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Julie Beck: &lt;/strong&gt;Tell me how you met and became friends.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Andy Gullahorn: &lt;/strong&gt;We first met in 2000, at a show in Birmingham, Alabama. I was playing guitar for my wife, and Gabe was playing guitar for another artist. Somebody booked a show for them to play together.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;[A couple years after that, we all] started playing together on a Christmas tour every December, until this year. We loved spending time together on the tour. We would play a lot of games and have competitions on the road. And every year, at the end, we’d be like: “Man, we’ve got to find ways to see each other these other 11 months.” Because we both lived in Nashville. We made that promise for many, many years.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;figure&gt;&lt;img alt='Gabe Scott and Andy Gullahorn stand in a park, leaning on a sign that reads "Sevier Park"' height="504" src="https://cdn.theatlantic.com/assets/media/img/posts/2021/01/IMG_0503_1-1/e15688163.jpg" width="672"&gt;&lt;figcaption class="caption"&gt;Gabe Scott (left) and Andy Gullahorn (right) (Courtesy of Andy Gullahorn)&lt;/figcaption&gt;&lt;/figure&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Beck: &lt;/strong&gt;It seems like it was almost like a camp friendship for a while—where you see each other once a year and you’re best friends in that specific environment, but it can be hard to bring the relationship into “real life.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Andy: &lt;/strong&gt;In the music world, being on the road, you’re sleeping in bunks two feet from each other. It totally feels like a camp thing. You spend a lot of time together. And then real life comes back, and there are so many variables.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Gabe Scott: &lt;/strong&gt;You have the routine when you’re on the road, and then you have the routine when you’re home. And we hadn’t gotten those two aligned yet.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p data-id="injected-recirculation-link"&gt;&lt;i&gt;[&lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2015/10/how-friendships-change-over-time-in-adulthood/411466/?utm_source=feed"&gt;Read: How friendships change in adulthood&lt;/a&gt;]&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Andy: &lt;/strong&gt;It wasn’t until 2014, when we were both at the same party and having that same conversation—“Man we’ve got to hang out”—that Gabe told me he had moved just a mile and a half down the road from me. I said, “Gabe since you live so close, what if we just walked [toward each other] and high-fived in the middle? If we do that every week for 10 years, that’s the kind of story they would do on &lt;em&gt;CBS Sunday Morning &lt;/em&gt;[our wives’ favorite TV show].”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Beck:&lt;/strong&gt; Walk me through the high five’s early days.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Andy: &lt;/strong&gt;The first was probably a day or two after that party. I have it right here in my high-five journal.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Beck: &lt;/strong&gt;Oh my gosh. [&lt;em&gt;At this point, Andy pulled out a notebook with the outline of a hand on it.&lt;/em&gt;]&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Andy: &lt;/strong&gt;It was 8:05 AM on April 30, 2014. We texted and said, “All right, let’s leave our houses.” We met at the middle point, gave a high five—and then weren’t sure what to do, so we talked for three hours. The only rule in the beginning was that we had to do it one time each week. The middle point happens to be a park, so we’d give each other a high five, and then we would shoot baskets, talk for 15 minutes or so, and go back home.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Beck: &lt;/strong&gt;Gabe, I know you were sick recently and had some memory issues. Are you feeling better? Do you remember the origins of the high five, or is it fuzzy?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Gabe: &lt;/strong&gt;I feel better than I did three months ago. But what I’m dealing with is … I’m still me, but I can’t define “me” as my memories. As Andy talks, a few of the things he said are things I couldn’t have told you, but as soon as he says it, I’m like, “Oh, yeah, I remember that.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Andy: &lt;/strong&gt;I’m not normally one who would just do all the talking.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p data-id="injected-recirculation-link"&gt;&lt;i&gt;[&lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2016/08/how-best-friends-share-each-others-memories/496715/?utm_source=feed"&gt;Read: Best friends build shared memory networks&lt;/a&gt;]&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Beck: &lt;/strong&gt;It’s now been more than six years of weekly high-fiving. Has the process evolved at all?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;figure class="left"&gt;&lt;img alt="Two men mid-high five, walking past each other on the sidewalk" height="364" src="https://cdn.theatlantic.com/assets/media/img/posts/2021/01/FullSizeRender_2_1/ff884e26a.jpg" width="312"&gt;&lt;figcaption class="credit"&gt;Courtesy of Andy Gullahorn&lt;/figcaption&gt;&lt;/figure&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Andy: &lt;/strong&gt;Yes. I’ll talk about our signal. One person sends the high-five emoji; then the other person responds with the hand. Then you respond with a walking emoji, and the other person does the walking emoji. That’s the only communication.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;By the time of our fifth high five, we were both too busy that week to take the 30 minutes of walking and then also shoot baskets. So we started something called the silent high five. If you just gave each other a high five without talking, then turned around and walked past each other again, that would surely be awkward. So the rule was: You have to first pass each other without looking at each other, and you can’t smile.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Gabe: &lt;/strong&gt;As though you’re strangers.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Andy: &lt;/strong&gt;You take 20 paces, then turn around and come back. You still don’t acknowledge each other till the very last second. Then you just stick up your hand, give a high five, and walk home.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Gabe: &lt;/strong&gt;You can’t speak.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Andy: &lt;/strong&gt;There’s no acknowledgment of the other person’s existence other than the high five.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Beck: &lt;/strong&gt;Were you able to maintain a straight face?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Andy: &lt;/strong&gt;The first time was hard.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Gabe: &lt;/strong&gt;We got really good at it. We thought, &lt;em&gt;What if a car is driving by right now, or there’s another family walking behind us—and they see two random guys walk past each other, then turn around at the exact same time, walk back, give each other a high five without looking, and then just keep walking?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Andy: &lt;/strong&gt;It would be a weird thing to witness, so we saw it as a gift for anybody who happened to be driving by.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Gabe, talk about the mechanics of the high five.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Gabe: &lt;/strong&gt;[It started as] a pretty standard high five. But over time, we started adding other moves to it. It eventually became a clap, a snap, and then you open your hand and high-five.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Beck: &lt;/strong&gt;Could we talk about the journal that you have with the hand on it? Was that instated from the beginning, or did you go through the archive to get these details?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Andy&lt;/strong&gt;: Early on, we would shoot baskets, and I wanted to keep score of who was winning. So I started the journal, and I would just go back through our text thread and document who sent the signal and, if we played a basketball game, who won. And anything else interesting about it. We’ve done a few high fives walking across the stage at the Ryman Auditorium here in Nashville when we were doing shows there, or other places when we’ve been on tour.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Friends started to ask, “Can I go on the high-five walk with you?” So I mark down any special guests. It isn’t rare for our wives or kids to come, too.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;On the first birthday of the high five, we probably had 15 or 20 guys [come with us]. Some walked with me, some walked with Gabe—so there was a long line of guys walking and giving each other a high five. Another gift to the people driving by.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Beck: &lt;/strong&gt;Over these six years, how often would you say you’ve missed it?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Andy: &lt;/strong&gt;Probably two or three times a year, [when we’re out of town].&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Gabe: &lt;/strong&gt;This might sound funny, but for the last six and a half years, it’s been one of the most consistent things in my life.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;figure class="left"&gt;&lt;img alt="Two men mid-high five behind the counter at a restaurant" height="306" src="https://cdn.theatlantic.com/assets/media/img/posts/2021/01/IMG_0188_1/b9f44f6ad.jpg" width="408"&gt;&lt;figcaption class="caption"&gt;A high five at Gabe’s restaurant, Ladybird Taco (Courtesy of Andy Gullahorn)&lt;/figcaption&gt;&lt;/figure&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Beck: &lt;/strong&gt;Walking 30 minutes to high-five each other is not the easiest way to regularly connect with your friend. It would be a lot simpler to just have a weekly phone call. So what makes it so meaningful to you?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Andy:&lt;/strong&gt; It’s the kind of thing that sounds really stupid at the beginning, and it only sounds cool if you’ve been doing it for a long time. There’s something about the aggregate of it that feels special. It’s a commitment. It feels like an intentional waste of time, and I mean “waste of time” in the best sense.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;So much of what makes it special to me is really hard to put a finger on. I look forward to it all the time. Thirty minutes of walking for me is good for my brain; it’s good for my soul to get outside. And this is an excuse to do it.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Gabe: “&lt;/strong&gt;Childish” is not quite the right word, but “child-like” maybe is. Remember when we used to do things that just felt special? The standard deal is when you’re a grown-up, you don’t do those things anymore. The high five has a child-like aspect to it, and that’s been beautiful. And adult things come out of it, too. When I’m going through hard times, I’ve got a buddy that can walk and talk through it with me.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Beck: &lt;/strong&gt;How did the high five evolve, Gabe, when you were sick? Can you tell me what happened to you, as much as you’re comfortable sharing?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Gabe: &lt;/strong&gt;This [past] year, I had opened this taco shop, Ladybird Taco. The location is on the way to the high five, on a path I’d been walking for years to high-five my buddy. We were supposed to open in March, but postponed it until June. I’ll just be straight with you: One of the things that’s almost completely gone from my memory is that entire period of my life.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;But I was working there one day, and I started feeling weird. Fortunately a doctor was there. Am I telling the story right?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Andy: &lt;/strong&gt;Yep.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Gabe: &lt;/strong&gt;Anyway, he said, “I think you guys need to go to the emergency room.” I don’t know the details, but it turned out I had encephalitis. A particular variety, a much less temporary version.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Andy: &lt;/strong&gt;That first week that he was in the hospital, there was a special high-five moment. He was allowed one visitor a day, and I stayed overnight so his wife could go home and be with their daughter. That night, I asked him, “Do you know who I am?” He’s like, “Yeah. Andy. Did I get that wrong before? I’m sorry.” I asked him if he knew anything about the high five, and he said, “No; what are you talking about?” So I told him the basic story.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The next morning he got up to use the restroom. At that point, his short-term memory was really, really bad, so he wouldn’t have remembered the conversation the night before. I said, “Okay, Gabe, this probably isn’t going to make any sense, but on your way back from the bathroom, I’m going to walk toward you. I need you to give me a high five.” He was like, “Okay.” We did it with his left hand because his right arm had all the IV stuff in it.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I started walking toward him, and then right before the high five, he did the clap, and the snap, and I just started crying. I said, “I can’t believe you just did that.” He was like, “Can’t believe I just did what?” It just blew my mind. I didn’t expect him to remember anything about it.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Gabe&lt;/strong&gt;: That’s one of the things I love about the routine of it. Not just the mechanics of it, but the friendship part of it is so burned into my body memory that that’s what came out.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I was in the hospital for three weeks. I got out around the beginning of October, and I’ve just been trying to … find my life again. This guy is a huge part of it. This thing that we started years ago has come back to be so important.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Andy: &lt;/strong&gt;Since he’s been out of the hospital, the high five has looked different. We don’t do the normal route. I’ll go over to his house; we’ll walk around the neighborhood together and talk. And then at the end, I’ll be like, “Okay, you walk 20 paces that way, I’ll walk 20 paces this way, we’ll give a high five.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p data-id="injected-recirculation-link"&gt;&lt;i&gt;[&lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/technology/archive/2014/08/in-the-brain-memories-are-inextricably-tied-to-place/375969/?utm_source=feed"&gt;Read: In the brain, memories are inextricably tied to place&lt;/a&gt;]&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Beck: &lt;/strong&gt;It’s interesting that you have this special, sacred tradition you’re carrying on that, for a while, one of you couldn’t remember. Andy, did you feel like you were remembering for both of you? And Gabe, what did it feel like to learn anew about something that was so special to you?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Gabe: &lt;/strong&gt;It felt comforting. Revisiting it, and it feeling real again. I don’t know the right word other than &lt;em&gt;recovery&lt;/em&gt;. Getting better. It felt like getting better.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;But also, even in the hospital, in the midst of something I’ve never felt before where my brain is swirling, there was some kind of routine. It brought a little less chaos into what was a pretty chaotic time for me.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Andy: &lt;/strong&gt;There are a lot of entries in this journal of days when everything was great and life was normal. I think every single one of those entries was building a safety net. Something you can pull out on a rainy day. There have been seasons for me where I needed more emotional support, and Gabe was there to walk me through it. During this time, I was carrying more of the memory. But that’s the normal ebb and flow of a relationship. This feels like a time I can repay Gabe for ways that he’s carried me in the past.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;figure class="right"&gt;&lt;img alt="Andy and Gabe hold up a baby's hand to high five them in a hospital room" height="467" src="https://cdn.theatlantic.com/assets/media/img/posts/2021/01/BF29C883_F5A4_4ECB_B9F5_2CC95719410D_1-1/09f4b6384.jpg" width="351"&gt;&lt;figcaption class="caption"&gt;A high five in the hospital with Gabe’s newborn daughter (Courtesy of Andy Gullahorn)&lt;/figcaption&gt;&lt;/figure&gt;&lt;p&gt;But the thing about carrying the memory, is that if I told him that every week we would walk and have a sword fight, he would be like, “No, that doesn’t feel right.” I think his wife tried to convince him that he really liked Hallmark movies.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Gabe: &lt;/strong&gt;I was so confused.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Andy: &lt;/strong&gt;He could tell if it rang true inside of him or not. His memory of the essence of relationships has been really spot on.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Gabe: &lt;/strong&gt;Typically, when I think about routine, it means something that comes automatically. And the high five is routine in that we do it every week; we know it’s coming. But the joy and the reward that comes out of it—that’s not routine. Even after six years of doing this, every time I see my wonderful buddy walking down the side of the road toward me, that’s special. We’re dedicated to each other, and we’re showing each other in a way other than just calling and saying, “Hey, I love you.” We’re actually doing something, and that hasn’t gotten old.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Andy:&lt;/strong&gt;. Most weeks we see each other multiple times, not just for the high five. Gabe, his wife, and his daughter are my family’s favorite people. His daughter calls me “Uncle Five.” We started doing this so that we would see each other more often, outside of the Christmas tour. And we’ve achieved that in spades. It’s already given us so much more.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Ultimately, we’re both people that like a good story. There’s something I love about the idea of telling my grandkids, “I’ve been giving Gabe a high five since 2014.” There are a lot of people who would like to say, “I’ve been having lunch with my buddy every week for 60 years,” but it’s a lot harder to actually do it.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;hr class="c-section-divider"&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;If you or someone you know should be featured on The Friendship Files, get in touch at &lt;a href="mailto:friendshipfiles@theatlantic.com"&gt;friendshipfiles@theatlantic.com&lt;/a&gt;, and tell us a bit about what makes the friendship unique.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content><author><name>Julie Beck</name><uri>http://www.theatlantic.com/author/julie-beck/?utm_source=feed</uri></author><media:content url="https://cdn.theatlantic.com/assets/media/img/mt/2021/01/Tang_Atlantic_HighFiveV7/lead_960.jpg"><media:credit>Wenjia Tang</media:credit></media:content><title type="html">What It’s Like to Carry On a Tradition With a Friend Who Can’t Remember It</title><published>2021-01-22T10:00:00-05:00</published><updated>2021-01-22T14:05:30-05:00</updated><summary type="html">“He could tell if it rang true inside of him or not.”</summary><link href="https://www.theatlantic.com/family/archive/2021/01/friends-who-high-five-every-week/617775/?utm_source=feed" rel="alternate"></link></entry><entry><id>tag:theatlantic.com,2021:50-617716</id><content type="html">&lt;p class="dropcap"&gt;J&lt;span class="smallcaps"&gt;oe Biden’s team&lt;/span&gt; is planning a party. His inauguration on Wednesday, held under threat from the coronavirus and pro-Trump extremists, wasn’t much of a celebration. But the Biden administration hopes that January 20, 2022—a year from now—will mark what some aides are describing as a “renewing of the vows,” an anniversary that could be a genuinely happy moment.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p dir="ltr"&gt;By then, Biden hopes, he will have made Americans feel like they’ve put the horrors of 2020 behind them. More than anything, that depends on whether he can dig the country out from the COVID-19 crisis. Vaccine distribution and economic recovery will be key.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p dir="ltr"&gt;Basic competence of government could go a long way: Imagine the political boost Biden could earn when people start going to the movies again, or children start seeing their grandparents. Biden is already planning to push ahead on an additional $1,400 in relief checks (a disappointment to those who wanted another $2,000) and a $15-an-hour minimum wage—both part of a $2 trillion relief package. He’s also planning an infrastructure bill that would create new green jobs, and include other measures to help fight climate change.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p dir="ltr"&gt;Biden is trying not to repeat the mistakes that have led to rocky starts for other presidents, and midterm disasters for their parties. So Biden’s team and allies in Congress are planning the most aggressive legislative agenda and political strategy Democrats have advanced in decades.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p data-id="injected-recirculation-link"&gt;&lt;i&gt;[&lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2020/11/why-biden-won-presidency/616980/?utm_source=feed"&gt;Read: Why Biden Won&lt;/a&gt;]&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p dir="ltr"&gt;The success of Biden’s agenda will of course depend on Congress, which is starting off the year having to finish Trump’s second impeachment. “We have to see the Senate as it is”—narrowly divided, with the Democrats’ majority dependent on moderates such as Joe Manchin of West Virginia—“not as we want it to be,” Senator Chris Murphy of Connecticut told me. He was in the House at the beginning of Barack Obama’s presidency; he’s part of a generation of senators who were not in the chamber the last time Democrats had control of both houses of Congress and the White House, and have a different understanding of party politics than their predecessors did. “While I’m sure that Biden is going to want to spend some time trying to explore whether there’s bipartisan buy-in for his priorities, we all have to be willing to take no for an answer.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p dir="ltr"&gt;Though Murphy and other Senate Democrats are hoping that their Republican colleagues will be ready to work with them, he thinks they need to be prepared for Republicans to quickly revert to the obstructionism of the Obama years.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p dir="ltr"&gt;“There’s a consensus that one of the mistakes of ’09 was playing footsie for a long time with Republicans who never had any intent to actually get to yes,” Murphy added. “And the dynamics in the Republican caucus have gotten worse since then, not better.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p dir="ltr"&gt;The trick, says Senator Cory Booker of New Jersey, will be lowering the expectations of an impatient Democratic base that is eager to press the party’s slim advantage by forcing votes on issues like Medicare for All or by making structural changes that could secure the party’s power. Booker says there aren’t enough votes to pass statehood for Washington, D.C. and Puerto Rico right now, nor for expanding the Supreme Court. He’s taking his own lesson from the early Obama years.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p dir="ltr"&gt;“I applaud Obama for doing health care and saving the economy, but a lot of Americans felt that that was them losing their autonomy over their health care and a big Wall Street bailout. Then we got demolished in the midterms,” Booker told me. “This is a chance for the Biden administration to do the kind of things that immediately make a difference in people’s lives.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p dir="ltr"&gt;Democrats are planning to vote early and often in the new Congress, and to essentially dare Republicans to stand in their way on politically popular measures. In recent years, the fight over the momentum-halting filibuster in the Senate has centered on somewhat arcane issues like Cabinet and judicial confirmations. Going forward, look for arguments over the filibuster to instead focus on COVID-19 relief (which will almost certainly end up tied to the infrastructure bill) or a new Voting Rights Act.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p data-id="injected-recirculation-link" dir="ltr"&gt;&lt;i&gt;[&lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/culture/archive/2021/01/donald-trump-pussy-presidency/617699/?utm_source=feed"&gt;Megan Garber: Donald Trump’s masculinity is an empty spectacle&lt;/a&gt;]&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;If Republican senators hold those bills up by filibustering, Democrats would accuse them of standing in the way of helping Americans, or standing in the way of voting rights. Ending the filibuster would then be an easier sell.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p dir="ltr"&gt;As important as the filibuster requirement is, ending it is not the only way to get around Republican opposition. Democrats are already looking into expanding the process known as reconciliation, a quirk of Congress that allows certain bills to pass with simple majorities. The new Senate Budget Committee chair, with significant influence over reconciliation, will be Senator Bernie Sanders of Vermont, who is very supportive of Biden’s relief proposal.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p dir="ltr"&gt;Biden’s history of making concessions to Republicans to seal deals during his time as vice president has many Democrats concerned. After one negotiation in which then–Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid thought Biden bent too much to Mitch McConnell, the Nevada Democrat didn’t talk to Biden for months. “I’ve worked with Senator McConnell, and I wish [Biden] luck,” Reid, still skeptical of Biden’s attraction to bipartisan dealmaking, &lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2019/12/harry-reid-2020-democratic-nominee/603007/?utm_source=feed"&gt;told me in 2019&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p dir="ltr"&gt;Yet despite Biden’s commitment to healing the country, he has little interest in following Obama’s lead in performative bipartisanship, like the year Obama spent chasing Republican votes for the Affordable Care Act—votes that never materialized. Biden’s instinct is to try compromise first, which is why he &lt;a href="https://twitter.com/rachaelmbade/status/1352222280722604032"&gt;pushed back&lt;/a&gt; on Democrats who wanted to pass a coronavirus relief bill immediately, with or without Republican votes. Biden doesn’t want Democrats to go it alone without first trying to make a deal. If the GOP is seriously interested in uniting the country, he will eagerly engage. But if they use calmer rhetoric as a feint for obstruction, he is prepared to call that out.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p dir="ltr"&gt;And if the Republicans who voted to overturn the 2020 election continue to push their claims of voter fraud, or if any are found to have had more direct involvement in the attack on the Capitol, that will change Democrats’ negotiating strategy, too. “There are so many moving parts to this that we still do not yet know in terms of people’s involvement,” Representative Lisa Blunt Rochester of Delaware told me, &lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2021/01/lisa-blunt-rochester-masks-riot/617661/?utm_source=feed"&gt;after reflecting on her own traumatic experience in the riot&lt;/a&gt;. “I am a believer in healing, but I know that in order to get there, we have to go through it, not around it.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p dir="ltr"&gt;Biden will have an aggressive political and congressional-affairs team in the West Wing. The Democratic National Committee will be more integrated with the White House political operation than it ever was under Obama; Biden picked former South Carolina Senate candidate &lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2020/11/jaime-harrison-biden-dnc-chair/617086/?utm_source=feed"&gt;Jaime Harrison to be DNC chair&lt;/a&gt;, with a mandate to better connect local activists to what’s happening in Washington.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p dir="ltr"&gt;With the exception of George W. Bush, all modern presidents’ parties have lost congressional seats in their first midterm elections—Bill Clinton, Obama, and Donald Trump all lost control of the House entirely. The decennial redistricting process, in which Republicans have a strong advantage because they control more state legislatures and governors’ mansions, will help the GOP draw more Republican-leaning districts before the next elections. House Republicans don’t see a wave coming their way, but they do believe they can squeak through enough wins to have a GOP speaker sitting behind Biden when he gives his 2023 State of the Union address.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p data-id="injected-recirculation-link"&gt;&lt;i&gt;[&lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2021/01/conspiracy-theories-will-doom-republican-party/617707/?utm_source=feed"&gt;Ben Sasse: QAnon is destroying the GOP from within&lt;/a&gt;]&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span&gt;That will happen only if the Republicans win back the suburban voters who fled the party in the past four years, said Sean Maloney, a New York congressman and the new chair of the House Democrats’ campaign arm. “The Republican Party hasn’t learned anything from the 2020 election, and they continue to be addicted to Donald Trump,” he said. “They’re so hooked on Trump, they forgot about the voters they need to win in competitive districts.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p dir="ltr"&gt;Yet Democrats were shocked at how effective Republican talking points were in 2020, especially their focus on &lt;a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2020/11/06/nyregion/election-nyc-defund-police.html"&gt;progressives’ talk of socialism and defunding the police&lt;/a&gt;. Abigail Spanberger, one of the Democrats who flipped a Republican seat in 2018 and barely held on in 2020, told me in&lt;a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/abigail-spanberger/id1258635512?i=1000498420707"&gt; a podcast interview for The Ticket in November&lt;/a&gt; that she thinks Democrats’ decision to push those ideas nearly made her lose in November and will probably make her lose in 2022 if the party doesn’t make a hard turn away from them.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p dir="ltr"&gt;“My job is not to whine about what activists say. My job is to win races,” Maloney said. “George Floyd got murdered, and a lot of people thought we should do something about that. [Republicans] demagogued racial justice to win a couple of seats. If they’re proud of that, I guess that tells you something about their value system, and ours. As a gay guy who’s won a Trump district five times, I’m not surprised that the other side is going to throw the sink at us. I haven’t won it by being naive or hoping for the best. I’ve got a plan, and I believe that will preserve and expand this majority.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p dir="ltr"&gt;If Republican primaries keep producing QAnon adherents, and QAnon keeps getting more known and starts getting less popular, Democrats see even more opportunities.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p dir="ltr"&gt;The problem with Democrats’ promises about future House races, says Tom Emmer, a Minnesota congressman, who chairs the House Republicans’ campaign arm, is that Democrats were also making rosy promises about the 2020 races, and those didn’t come true. Emmer says the formula for reclaiming a majority in the House in 2022 is the same as the one that won Republicans at least 14 seats (one race is still pending) in November.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p dir="ltr"&gt;Over the course of a 15-minute phone conversation, Emmer kept bringing the conversation back to the “radical left,” “socialism,” “defunding the police,” or the Green New Deal.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p dir="ltr"&gt;“We’ve tested these messages that they’re putting out there. They do not work. And I will stand by the November 3 result in the House in saying they’re going to continue down this path where they think they’re actually talking to America. But what they’re doing is they’re talking to each other,” Emmer said. Full Democratic control in Washington, he argued, will only help Republicans in 2022, as voters look to put a check on what he assumes will be overreach.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p dir="ltr"&gt;Trump, who in 2020 proved to be the biggest turnout motivator in 244 years of American elections, won’t be on the ballot in 2022. Republicans have never voted in anywhere near the numbers that they did for him. Democrats have never voted in anywhere near the numbers that they did against him. Biden, unlike Obama and Trump, has no cult of personality around him—which means voters likely won’t turn out because of him in anywhere near the numbers we’ve gotten used to in the past decade.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p dir="ltr"&gt;Throughout the 2020 campaign, and especially in the primaries, Biden was mocked for insisting that Trump would drive Republicans to a breaking point and that they would have an “epiphany,” then rediscover some interest in collaborative government. The January 6 Capitol insurrection, some feel, may have actually been that breaking point. In the immediate aftermath, at least, several Republican senators have recoiled from that extremism, determined to distinguish themselves from the Republicans who voted against certifying the election for Biden (a group that includes a majority of the House Republican caucus and its top two leaders).&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p dir="ltr"&gt;“It’s not implausible that the Republican reaction to this crisis involves taking real steps to lower the temperature and finding some ways to set an example by working across the aisle,” Murphy told me. “I feel like I said some version of that six other times, and at some point, I maybe should learn that … &lt;a href="https://slate.com/culture/2014/10/the-history-of-lucys-pulling-the-football-away-from-charlie-brown-in-peanuts.html"&gt;I’m Charlie Brown&lt;/a&gt;. But this is obviously different.”&lt;/p&gt;</content><author><name>Edward-Isaac Dovere</name><uri>http://www.theatlantic.com/author/edward-isaac-dovere/?utm_source=feed</uri></author><media:content url="https://cdn.theatlantic.com/assets/media/img/mt/2021/01/GettyImages_493592534/lead_960.jpg"><media:credit>Win McNamee / Getty</media:credit></media:content><title type="html">How Biden Plans to Beat Republican Obstructionism</title><published>2021-01-22T07:00:00-05:00</published><updated>2021-01-22T13:06:20-05:00</updated><summary type="html">History suggests that Joe Biden and the Democrats are going to have a tough two years and a disaster in the midterms. Here’s their plan to avoid that.</summary><link href="https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2021/01/joe-biden-democrats-midterms-2022-obama/617716/?utm_source=feed" rel="alternate"></link></entry><entry><id>tag:theatlantic.com,2021:50-617759</id><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;In response to law enforcement’s hands-off approach to the storming of the Capitol on January 6, some on the left have demanded harsher policing of right-wing extremism to match the often-brutal treatment of Black Lives Matter and leftist protest. That is, the very people who supported police reform or outright defunding over the summer seemed to want a crackdown. Skeptics of defunding were quick to point out the apparent contradiction, and they took the opportunity to dismiss the abolitionist position altogether. As the writer Matthew Yglesias mockingly tweeted, “Clearly the answer to yesterday’s failures is to defund the Capitol Police and instead hire a squad of social service providers to tackle the real root causes of the violence.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;But what Yglesias finds absurd, we find imperative. Thinking in terms of root causes and nonpunitive interventions is never ridiculous, even when the target is right-wing extremism.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;As a sociologist and an anthropologist who study social control in the United States, we know that punishment can radicalize and further alienate people, while social policy and grassroots community building can defuse potential violence. The abolitionist philosophy is precisely what is missing from the current conversation.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p data-id="injected-recirculation-link"&gt;&lt;i&gt;[&lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2020/07/how-i-became-police-abolitionist/613540/?utm_source=feed"&gt;Derecka Purnell: How I became a police abolitionist&lt;/a&gt;]&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;First, we should clear up some misunderstandings. Abolitionists &lt;em&gt;do&lt;/em&gt; seek to create a future world in which police and prisons are obsolete, but such long-range commitments &lt;em&gt;do not&lt;/em&gt; preclude practical harm-reduction efforts or collaboration with less radical allies. Abolitionists work for incremental improvements, especially interventions that set the stage for more radical change.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Abolitionists, for example, would back the immediate aim of removing white supremacist cops, understanding that it is better to have police officers who are not sympathetic to, or supportive of, racist insurrection. An abolitionist perspective would highlight, however, the limitations of simple personnel overhauls. Hiring more Black and brown officers, for example, does not change the War on Drugs’ disproportionate attention to poor and racially segregated neighborhoods. Instead, it might serve to further legitimize police presence. Similarly, the removal of racist cops might help stifle the next Capitol riot, but this is only a single and long-overdue step in the wider remaking of public-safety forces.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;More generally, abolitionists would endorse a broad analytical scope for diagnosing the problem, and for designing interventions. As the abolitionist police scholar Alex Vitale &lt;a href="https://www.npr.org/sections/codeswitch/2021/01/07/613802462/how-the-storming-of-the-capitol-was-and-wasnt-about-police"&gt;recently noted&lt;/a&gt; on NPR, focusing exclusively on individual insurrectionists and local police departments will do little to weaken right-wing extremism around the country.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Addressing root causes of the attempted coup means actively working to transform the political and economic conditions that have allowed ethno-nationalist and scapegoating ideologies to fester. Granted, such ideologies are not reducible to economic desperation, even if many of them are shaped by it. And many of the currently radicalized may be too deeply entrenched for structural change to impact their understanding of the world. Passing Medicare for All will not keep insurrectionists from storming state capitols during the Biden administration.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;But abolitionists have long been trying to design root-cause-informed &lt;em&gt;immediate&lt;/em&gt; interventions. A wealth of research on gun violence, and the experience of grassroots organizations, shows that targeting those at risk of violence can stop retribution from flowing through entire social networks. Nonprofits or government agencies should identify people and regions primed for right-wing violence and then intervene on the ground with counseling and political education, cash stipends predicated on non-offending, and violence-interrupting mentors.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p data-id="injected-recirculation-link"&gt;&lt;i&gt;[&lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2020/09/police-reform-is-not-enough/614176/?utm_source=feed"&gt;Mychal Denzel Smith: Incremental change is a moral failure&lt;/a&gt;]&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;De-radicalization programs like Life After Hate offer a complementary example of root-cause-informed interventions. These programs, in which ex–white supremacists help current adherents leave extremist groups, have found success by meeting the human needs for meaning and community. As the ex–white supremacist turned de-radicalizer Shannon Martinez &lt;a href="https://www.yesmagazine.org/issue/building-bridges/2019/11/12/deradicalization-in-the-deep-south/"&gt;said&lt;/a&gt;, “I needed an explanation for why the world seemed like a threatening and brutal place for me … I wanted to believe in something that felt like it mattered and was part of something bigger.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Abolitionists prioritize such interventions because they work, and because the combination of harsh policing and incarceration often backfires. A significant body of social-scientific evidence shows that labeling and vilifying social groups entrenches identities, generates self-fulfilling prophecies, and offers people fewer life possibilities. Put simply, making a population into a targeted category consistently aids in creating more-extremist individuals and groups.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;In a major 2013 study on the negative effects of carceral punishment on Chicago youth, economists found that children punished in correctional facilities were significantly more likely to be re-incarcerated by age 25 than those who were sent, for example, to in-school detention for the same offense. Since Chicago has a random-judge-selection system, the study was able to isolate the negative effects of harshness of punishment. Abolitionists would push this insight further by seeking fully nonpunitive accountability models, such as restorative-justice education systems, to more effectively reduce harm for the student and the school.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Considering such dynamics in how we approach right-wing extremists is common sense. We already know that when people are incarcerated, they affiliate along racial lines. This happens officially, because prisons are internally segregated by race, and unofficially, because many incarcerated people join race-based gangs. Rounding up and incarcerating “pop” white supremacists may simply form a bridge to their joining the &lt;a href="https://www.britannica.com/topic/Aryan-Nations"&gt;Aryan Nations&lt;/a&gt;. This danger is all the more likely given Joe Biden’s recent proposal of new domestic-terrorism laws. Much as the War on Terror’s military interventions radicalized a new generation of combatants, the rollout of a War on White Terror might simply create new and more-radicalized white supremacists.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;But abolitionists’ fears go beyond the creation of more right-wing extremists. Abolitionists also fear the consequences of expanded policing for Black, brown, undocumented, and poor communities. Although a Biden administration may, in this moment, keep attention on right-wing white supremacy as the dangerous Other in our midst (though we have our doubts), a future administration may depict peaceful BLM protesters, antiwar and anti-capitalist activists, environmental organizers, and the like as extremists who require surveillance and confinement. Expanded police powers to combat right-wing extremists could well be turned back on already targeted communities.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The palpable differences in how police treated the Capitol rioters versus BLM protesters are maddening, but that’s not all. They also reveal a deep structural rift that will not be repaired through the same old policy initiatives, especially ones that ramp up policing and imprisonment. Fighting right-wing extremism is not simply about force—it is a long-term battle over culture, meaning, and belonging. Responding to the right-wing dangers knocking at our door does not demand a dismissal of the abolitionist perspective—on the contrary, this alternative vision of strong communities and constructive interventions will be essential to keeping us safe in the long run.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content><author><name>Neil Gong</name><uri>http://www.theatlantic.com/author/neil-gong/?utm_source=feed</uri></author><author><name>Heath Pearson</name><uri>http://www.theatlantic.com/author/heath-person/?utm_source=feed</uri></author><media:content url="https://cdn.theatlantic.com/assets/media/img/mt/2021/01/GettyImages_1230477184/lead_960.jpg"><media:credit>Shay Horse / NurPhoto / Getty</media:credit></media:content><title type="html">Can Abolition Work in an Age of Right-Wing Extremism?</title><published>2021-01-22T06:15:00-05:00</published><updated>2021-01-22T06:15:05-05:00</updated><summary type="html">Punishment can radicalize and further alienate people, while social policy and grassroots community building can defuse potential violence.</summary><link href="https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2021/01/stop-right-wing-extremism-without-bolstering-police-power/617759/?utm_source=feed" rel="alternate"></link></entry><entry><id>tag:theatlantic.com,2021:50-617772</id><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;On Tuesday, the eve of the presidential inauguration, then-President-elect Joe Biden stood on the perimeter of the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool to honor the more than 400,000 Americans who have died from the coronavirus. In his brief remarks, he said, “To heal, we must remember; it’s hard sometimes to remember, but that’s how we heal. It’s important to do that as a nation.” Those words set the tone for the next day’s peaceful transfer of power, which had been endangered just two weeks prior by a &lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2021/01/attempted-coup/617570/?utm_source=feed"&gt;violent coup attempt&lt;/a&gt; at the U.S. Capitol that left five people dead.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The threats to the future prosperity of the United States are multiple: the pandemic, near economic collapse, insurgent white-supremacist extremism and antidemocratic forces, and myriad systemic racial inequalities. But watching the inauguration, where President Biden and Vice President Kamala Harris recited an oath of service to the nation and fidelity to the Constitution, felt reparative. Rituals and traditions have an anchoring effect that counters moments of upheaval. Even as political theater, Wednesday’s spectacle was a temporary but necessary balm for the wounds acquired from a chaotic and destructive Trump presidency. In his address, Biden emphasized the resilience of democratic order: “To overcome these challenges, to restore the soul and secure the future of America, requires so much more than words,” he said. “It requires the most elusive of all things in a democracy: unity.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Much has been made of the word &lt;em&gt;unity&lt;/em&gt; in the past year. After the Capitol attack on January 6, &lt;a href="https://www.huffpost.com/entry/hawley-cruz-trump-impeachment_n_5ffdee53c5b691806c4d0a1c"&gt;many Republican&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/2021/01/17/republicans-call-unity-wont-acknowledge-biden-won-fairly/"&gt;legislators&lt;/a&gt; called for unity, responding to the righteous ire from their fellow lawmakers who demanded investigations, arrests, and impeachment. The unity theme was also a main pillar of the &lt;a href="https://www.facebook.com/joebiden/photos/a.10150487089926104/10156998300646104/"&gt;Biden-Harris campaign&lt;/a&gt;, messaging intended to implore the nation to fight for a new future. Unity, for some, is pure sentiment. A quick, uncomplicated cure-all that is achieved merely by being summoned. For others, however, unity calls for hard work and accountability, or it risks granting unearned forgiveness for harmful transgressions, papering over deep injustices.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;To his credit, Biden acknowledged the daunting challenge of achieving unity in a nation that hasn’t been this divided since the Civil War: “I know speaking of unity can sound to some like a foolish fantasy these days,” he said on the Capitol steps. “I know that the forces that divide us are deep, and they are real. But I also know they are not new. Our history has been a constant struggle between the American ideal that we all are created equal and the harsh, ugly reality that racism, nativism, fear, demonization have long torn us apart. The battle is perennial, and victory is never assured.” The inauguration backdrop of an abnormally empty Washington, D.C., fortified by 25,000 National Guard troops, dramatized that battle, showing the enormous distance between the unity ideal and the country’s stark reality.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Biden called white supremacy by its name and rejected euphemistic language that obscures meaning. Although these were welcome acknowledgments, questing for unity without executable ways to hold bad actors accountable will render the pursuit useless. Disunion was a cornerstone of the previous administration: family separation at the border; the banning of immigrants from Muslim-majority nations; the &lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2017/08/trump-defends-white-nationalist-protesters-some-very-fine-people-on-both-sides/537012/?utm_source=feed"&gt;telegraphing&lt;/a&gt; of &lt;a href="https://www.cnn.com/2021/01/07/politics/trump-history-comments-trnd/index.html"&gt;support&lt;/a&gt; for white supremacists; and the political weaponization of the coronavirus pandemic, to name a few examples. To achieve unity moving forward requires swift and decisive steps from lawmakers to correct these wrongs and stamp out their effects through clear policy initiatives.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p data-id="injected-recirculation-link"&gt;&lt;i&gt;[&lt;a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2021/01/bidens-two-huge-challenges-after-the-capitol-riot/617692/?utm_source=feed"&gt;Read: Joe Biden’s looming war on white supremacy&lt;/a&gt;]&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;When Frederick Douglass addressed the American Anti-Slavery Society in December 1863, he named concrete terms for what unity would necessitate—“&lt;a href="https://rbscp.lib.rochester.edu/4403"&gt;making every slave free, and every free man a voter&lt;/a&gt;.” Douglass imagined an America that integrated 4 million African Americans into the body politic, and emphasized that solidarity would mean nothing unless backed by action. These principles were embodied in the Thirteenth, Fourteenth, and Fifteenth Amendments introduced after the Civil War, but still needed forceful implementation and support from the federal government. President Andrew Johnson’s lax approach to the enforcement of these reunification provisos led to the re-entrenchment of slavocracy’s tenets and the continued disenfranchisement of Black Americans. It is a prime example of what happens when calls for unity are unaccompanied by action: a return to the status quo.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br&gt;