text:
DOROTHY CROSS JENSEN (1906 - 1972) was an anthropologist, archaeologist, and public educator. Her research transformed both the fields of Middle Eastern archaeology and New Jersey prehistory. In 1936, she earned her Ph.D from the University of Pennsylvania in Oriental Studies and Anthropology.[1] She served as an assistant curator at the University of Pennsylvania Museum, contributing to the Tell Billa and Tepe Gawra excavations in Iraq under Professor Ephraim A Speiser.[2] Using this research, she published “The Pottery of Tepe Gawra” which became a foundational document in the field of Middle Eastern ceramics.[3] Her dissertation, “Moveable Property in Nuzi Documents,” is described as a “classic” in her field.[4] Committed to public education, Cross served as State Archaeologist for the New Jersey State Museum, which she was involved in for 43 years. She was also a professor at Hunter College, where she served as a Divisional Chairman of the Department of Anthropology.[5][6]

Early life and education

Dorothy Cross was born on October 21, 1906 and was raised in the Philadelphia area.[7] She earned her undergraduate degree from the University of Pennsylvania in 1928. Cross married Paul Jensen, later becoming a widow in 1957.[8]

In 1936, she earned her Ph.D. from the University of Pennsylvania in Oriental Studies (the precursor to what is now the Department of Near Eastern Languages and Civilizations) and Anthropology. Initially, her professional focus was in the field of Middle Eastern Archaeology. Her dissertation, “Moveable Property in the Nuzi Documents," was described as a “classic” in her field.[9] Cross's research was based on an analysis of the transactions of two well-off families in the region in second millennium B.C.[10] Through translating family records, business transactions, and court proceedings on cuneiform tablets, Cross was able to examine measuring systems as well as the different values of various goods during the time.[11][12] Specifically, Cross examined the relative values of produce, clothing, metals, and metrology, among others.[13]

It is important to note that Cross published all of her professional works under her maiden name of Cross but was later known at Hunter College as Professor Jensen.

Influence in field of Middle Eastern archaeology

In addition to publishing her dissertation, Cross also contributed to the field of Middle Eastern archaeology throughout her time in graduate school and after receiving her Ph.D. From 1930-38, Cross served as assistant curator at the University of Pennsylvania Museum.[14][15] Cross also served as registrar on the Tell Billa and Tepe Gawra excavations in Iraq under Professor Ephraim A. Speiser. [16]

Based on this research, Cross published “The Pottery of Tepe Gawra,” which detailed the changes in pottery with regards to shape, decoration, and wares.[17] Cross' chapter became a model for later studies of Middle Eastern pottery, as Cross pioneered the first research on the subject.[18]

Influence in field of New Jersey anthropology and prehistory

After returning to the United States, Cross changed the focus of her research to New Jersey prehistory, specifically with regards to the Indians of the Delaware Valley.[19] Cross initially became involved with the New Jersey State Museum, where she spearheaded public education efforts such as the publication of leaflets and lay articles about New Jersey's history.[20] In 1936, Cross was appointed as supervisor of the Indian Site Survey of New Jersey, a Works Project Administration project that was part of the New Deal.[21] This project consisted of retelling New Jersey's history, and Cross was in charge of the project's budget of $250,000.[22]

Using the data from this project, Cross published a two-volume book entitled _Archaeology of New Jersey._[23][24] Volume I consisted of descriptions of sites across New Jersey and a compilation of data that resulted from previous uneven explorations.[25][26] Volume II analyzed the history of the controversial historical site Abbott Farm. In this volume, Cross concluded that Paleo-Indians traversed the site but full occupation began with the Archaic period.[27][28] Cross later published a 95-page work entitled “New Jersey’s Indians," which was intended for a lay audience.[29][30]

From 1959-1967, Cross was appointed supervisor of the Tocks Island Reservoir Area excavations for the National Park Service.[31] A lifelong member of the New Jersey State Museum, Cross was involved in the museum for 43 years and was appointed to various positions, including State Archaeologist.[32]

Professorship and teaching

Cross began her teaching career at the summer school at Rutgers University.[33] In 1929, she became a charter member of Society for Pennsylvania Archaeology, and she was made an honorary member of the Archaeological Society of New Jersey in 1937.[34]

By 1939, she simultaneously was an archaeologist for the New Jersey State Museum as well as an instructor at Hunter College.[35][36][37] Due to lack of funds, Cross taught a variety of courses at Hunter College, where she was known as Professor Jensen.[38][39] From 1950-1957, Cross served as Divisional Chairwoman of the Department of Anthropology, and after 28 years of teaching became a full professor.[40][41] She had a reputation for being honest and inquisitive among her students at Hunter.[42] From 1940-1960, Cross also served as Program Chairwoman of the Eastern States Archaeological Federation.[43]

Final years and death

Cross never retired, despite suffering from a host of health issues including low blood pressure and emphysema.[44][45] She spent her final years in frustration as the New Jersey State Museum shifted its focus to modern art, leaving behind much of her work on the natural history of New Jersey.[46] Cross died at age 65 of pneumonia in 1972.[47][48]

Additional awards and recognition

-   1938-39: Recording Secretary for Eastern States Archaeological Federation[49]
-   1940-60 Program Chairwoman of Eastern States Archaeological Federation[50]
-   1942: Assistant Editor for the Archaeological Society of New Jersey and Eastern States Archaeological Federation[51]
-   1945: Local and Program Chairwoman for Section H of American Association for the Advancement of Science[52]
-   1952: Local Chairwoman for the meeting of the American Association of Physical Anthropologists in New York[53]
-   1950s: Co-chairman for Anthropology at the New York Academy of Sciences[54]
-   1966-68: Member of Executive Board and Secretary of Archaeological Society of New Jersey[55]

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[21]  The Online Books Page|website=onlinebooks.library.upenn.edu|access-date=2020-03-31}}

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title: Dorothy Cross Jensen

question: Who is Dorothy Cross Jensen?

answer: Dorothy Cross Jensen was an anthropologist, archaeologist, and public educator.

question: What was Jensen's field of study?

answer: She transformed the fields of Middle Eastern archaeology and New Jersey prehistory.

question: What was the Department of Near Eastern Languages and Civilizations at the University of Pennsylvania originally called?

answer: It was called Oriental Studies.

question: What research influential to later studies of Middle Eastern pottery did Cross publish?

answer: The Pottery of Tepe Gawra

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: Dorothy Cross Jensen was an anthropologist, archaeologist, and public educator. She transformed the fields of Middle Eastern archaeology and New Jersey prehistory.


split: test

text:
DETLEV MÜLLER-SIEMENS (born 30 July 1957) is a German composer and conductor.

Life and career

Born in Hamburg, Müller-Siemens began with piano lessons at age six and began composing.[1] He was invited to a composition class at the Musikhochschule Köln at age 13.[2] He studied piano, composition and theory at the Musikhochschule Hamburg from 1970 with Günter Friedrichs.[3][4] From 1973 to 1980, he studied with György Ligeti.[5] He studied at the Conservatoire de Paris in 1977/78, to study with Olivier Messiaen. Back in Hamburg, he studied piano with Volker Banfield, and conducting with Christoph von Dohnányi. In 1985, he studied conducting further with Klauspeter Seibel.[6]

In 1981, he was an assistant at the Paris Opéra for Ligeti's _Le Grand Macabre_. He was Kapellmeister of the Städtische Bühnen Freiburg from 1986 to 1988.[7]

From 1991 to 2005, he was professor of composition and music theory at the Basel Music Academy, then professor for at the University of Vienna.[8]

An engagement with the work of Beckett since 1999 has been reflected in his opera _Bing_, _the space of a step_ for orchestra as well as in the chamber music works _Light blue, almost white_ and _... called dusk_.[9]

Prizes and awards

-   1980/1982: Villa Massimo, Rome[10]
-   1986: Schneider-Schott Music Prize[11]
-   1988: Rolf-Liebermann Grant[12]
-   1990: Rolf-Liebermann prize[13]

Work

Compositions by Müller-Siemens were published by Schott Music, including:[14]

-   _Under Neonlight I_ for ensemble, 1980/81
-   _Under Neonlight II_ for piano, 1980–83
-   Piano Concerto, 1980-1981
-   Viola Concerto, 1983-1984
-   _Under Neonlight III_ for piano, 1987
-   _Quatre Passages_ for orchestra, 1988
-   Horn Concerto, 1988-1989
-   _Die Menschen_, opera, 1989-1990[15]
-   _Carillon_ for orchestra, 1991
-   Double Concerto for violin, viola and orchestra, 1992
-   _Phoenix 1,2,3_ for ensemble, 1993-1995
-   _Maiastra_ for orchestra, 1995-1996
-   _Cuts_ for alto saxophone and ensemble, 1996/97
-   _Light blue, almost white_ for ensemble, 1998
-   _Bing_, musical theater, 1998-2000
-   String Trio, 2002
-   _Die Aussicht_ for choir and ensemble, 2003/04
-   _the space of a step_ for orchestra, 2003/04
-   _distant traces_ (in memoriam György Ligeti) for violin, viola and piano, 2007
-   _lost traces_ for piano quartet, 2007
-   _...called dusk (in memoriam György Ligeti)_ for violoncello and piano, 2008
-   _Kommos_ for large ensemble, 2008/09
-   _Privacy (in memoriam Laszlo Polgar)_ for clarinet, violin and piano, 2010
-   _...called dusk II_ for string quartet, 2011
-   Three piano pieces, 2012
-   _... called dusk IV_ for orchestra, 2012/13
-   _... called dusk III_ for ensemble, 2014
-   _... called dusk V_ for violin solo, 2014
-   _Subsong 1_ for ensemble, 2015

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[15] Schibli, Sigfried. “Zeit : Heute. Ort : Die Welt: „Die Menschen‘: Uraufführung Der Oper Von Detlev Müller-Siemens in Mannheim.” Neue Zeitschrift Für Musik (1991-), vol. 152, no. 1, 1991, pp. 49–49. JSTOR Accessed 29 Feb. 2020

title: Detlev Müller-Siemens

question: What does the article say about Müller-Siemens and education?

answer: Müller-Siemens started to take piano lessons when he was six years old. He was invited to a class on musical composition at the Musikhochschule Köln when he was thirteen years old. From then on, he studied piano, composition, and musical theory with Günter Friedrichs. He studied with György Ligeti for seven years, starting at age sixteen. He studied at the Conservatoire de Paris in 1977/78 with Olivier Messiaen. He further studied piano with Volker Banfield in Hamburg and conducting with Christoph von Dohnányi. He continued to study conducting with Klauspeter Seibel in 1985. He became an assistant at the Paris Opéra in 1981 and a professor of composition and music theory in 1991.

question: What does the article say about the musicians Müller-Siemens is associated with?

answer: Müller-Siemens was educated in music by many; Günter Friedrichs, György Ligeti, Olivier Messiaen, Volker Banfield, Christoph von Dohnányi, and Klauspeter Seibel. He was an assistant at the Paris Opéra for Ligeti as well and published two compositions in his memory. Another memorial composition Müller-Siemens published was for Laszlo Polgar.

question: What does the text say about Bach?


text:
GHOST OF YELLOW JACKET

It was a hot Summer day. From where Emily sat on her porch she could see the shimmer from the distorting heatwaves rising off of the fresh black tarmac of the quiet country road that passed by her house. The oppressive humidity running hand in hand with the heat caused the rich leafy maples across the cook stove of a road to droop listlessly, beaten down by the day. The dripping leaves were stirred gently every so often with the scant breeze that would drift through, bringing a sweet coolness for a moment and then it would be gone, and the leaves would hang still again almost dejectedly.

Emily didn't mind the heat too much. The porch where she sat in her old wooden rocker, the bright white it used to be only a memory in Emily's mind now a dull driftwood grey, was cool enough out of the direct sunlight. That occasional breeze would give her brief goosebumps as she thumbed idly through a novel, the airy material of the floral print yellow sundress providing little insulation from it. When the current passed, she couldn't help but feel a slight sadness. That was a human response, she thought to herself; the goosebumps an analog to the quiet quaking of the maple leaves, and the moments in between waiting in a stillness of anticipation for the next breath of cool air. She supposed that it didn't hurt her enjoyment of the day knowing that if she started to feel too hot, or that the enveloping dampness would threaten to overwhelm, she could always retreat inside of her polite little two-story home and recharge under the icy blast of the air conditioner. Maybe it's easier to be more tolerant of a slightly uncomfortable situation, when you are well aware of where the exit is.

The book she was reading was an Isaac Asimov, "Robots and Empire", a gift from her father.  Much of his gifts in the way of the paged variety were Science Fiction. There were a few others in there, but as he had told Emily many times; one of the best ways to understand the psychology of the human condition was to read quality Sci-Fi. The best writings were not about rockets or laser guns or explosions, they were about people. These people might be green or have ten arms or some such but they would be an analog, (like the rustling leaves) to a "real world" situation and how human beings react to it. To be fair her father and her enjoyed a fun bit of rockets and lasers, but those were popcorn entertainment, thrill to the virtual ride of it all and not think too much about sounds carrying through the vacuum of space.

Emily hadn't finished the book yet so she hadn't checked online to see if Asimov had meant to make the robots in the series a replacement for early American slavery. The estates on the planet of Aurora in "Robots of Dawn", the previous novel, smacked to her greatly of sprawling plantations, and the human character's interactions with the robots had a master/slave feel with the general dismissal of the automatons, to go about their work being seen and heard as little as possible. Even the treatment of R. Daneel and R. Giskard, the assistants to Elijah Baley, even being at least equal, if not most decidedly more so, in intelligence to the humans they worked with. Maybe it was just a sign of human nature; that given two classes of thinking "peoples" equal in many ways, would still be classified in their roles, one of Master, the other as Servant. Emily made a mental note to dig around online to see if she was right, (probably super-obvious to everybody, Ems) or if she was making it up. Maybe it was simply how Asimov designed the Spacers; looking down on everyone, Terrans and robots alike in a meditation on the interactions of classes.

She flipped a page, and realized that she had lost the thread of what was going on. She was curious to where R. Daneel and R. Giskard's investigation might lead them, but in the last few minutes her mind had been wandering. (Thinking about the cooking heat of the pavement and the leaves waiting for the next breath of wind, mostly.) Based on where her thoughts had been going to, the heat was finally getting to her. She noticed that she was a little dry-throated, as well; maybe a cool glass of iced tea with a slice (or two) of lemon and a small bucket (or two) of sugar to really sweeten it up would be in order.

Emily dropped the cute laminated fox bookmark, (a gift from her mother; she had the absolute knack for finding ridiculously cute things, like the sundress she was currently wearing) between the pages marking the head of the chapter she had been in the middle of; best to attempt a second foray down that path, she thought. She set the book down gently on the small round table next to the ancient rocker, meaning to continue along with the two sleuthing robots as soon as she had refreshed herself, either with the tea in hand or a few moments resetting her thermometer under the chill of the air conditioner. As she stood, careful to steady the chair; it was a comfortable old friend but it had a wild temperament and was known to buck if you weren't paying attention, she heard a familiar sound.

Emily had been mostly tuning out the varied sounds of summer. The endless droning of the cicadas and grasshoppers were just part of the background noise, and there wasn't much but the very occasional vehicle passing by on the road to cause a disturbance in that background. She had been sidetracked from her book by the soothing sounds the leaves made as they moved, but they were just another thread in the tapestry of the day. If you really thought about it, she pondered, the quiet midday of Summer was anything but silent, it was all a matter of how affected you were by the various sounds drifting around on those mild air currents. You don't really notice most sounds until they do something that pulls you away from your revere. Something like what Emily heard now. It was not an uncommon sound this time of year, but to Emily it was associated with a childhood memory. It was buzzing, not of a bee but a yellow jacket, most likely a Vespula maculifrons, if she was not mistaken.

There had been a handful of old used railroad ties used as terrace supports in the home that Emily grew up in. The ties for the most part had seen better days and they were all slowly breaking down and succumbing the harsh salty weather of the northwest coast. There was one tie that framed in a planter box that was nearing success in its goal of disintegrating into fine fibrous wood particles. In the hollows within the tie lived a colony of yellow jackets. The wasps had been tending their nest in the tie for a few years, and had gotten on for most part without bothering anyone. The planter was next to a handful of short trees where the insects prowled for their food, not crossing any of the pathways that were infrequently used by Emily's parents or their neighbors.

On the other side of the nest lay the back side of the long deck that ran down the side of the family home. It was exposed to the harsh winds that would sometimes blow in off of the bay, but during the summer it provided a shady spot with a consistent breeze keeping it both cool and free of annoying insects like mosquitos and gnats. In the summer before she turned four, Emily had a little activity set that she would sit at and play with the magic sand that was kept within, making sand castles and sand ice creams with the brightly colored plastic molds for hours at a time.

Emily's parents had known about the yellow jacket nest and had warned her against going anywhere near it. Even at her age she was an observant child and did not like the looks of the little black and yellow insects, so she did as she was told and left them alone. And for a while there was peaceful coexistence.

Something had changed with the colony that Summer. Maybe it had grown too large for the wasps to keep to themselves like they had, or it was possible that the smaller insects that they preyed upon in the nearby trees were more scarce than normal, maybe it was a combination of both, or maybe it was nothing at all. Sometimes behaviors of animals and insects just change. Whatever the cause in this case, the behavior of the yellow jackets in this nest became very aggressive, starting with one wasp and three-and-a-half year old Emily.

She had been seated at the play-set singing one of the many songs that flitted about in her head in those days making a small battalion of sand-crabs, that is; crabs made out of sand, of course. After a few were made, she would sweep the whole lot into a ball, returning the crabs to the firmament from which they sprang forth. One of the yellow jackets had been buzzing around the deck, the wind being quite uncharacteristically still that day, buzzing to and fro from the paneling of the house to the rafters supporting the sloped roof overhanging the area. This went on for a while, neither of the two getting into each other's way.

The wasp eventually flew too close to Emily and was swatted at absently by one of her hands, which was part of the little dance that she was doing in her seat while she sang to herself. (Looking back, Emily assumed that the small insect, acting out of instinct, assumed that it being attacked and began to furiously buzz around the little girl.) Little Emily, now aware of the closely buzzing insect, became afraid and began to flail in ernest provoking the yellow jacket further. The insect landed in her hair, and became tangled. It crawled through the golden brown curls until it found a refuge from the mad motions; the inside of Emily's ear.

Emily's grandmother, who had been watching her that day, had seen the commotion begin and had rushed to the little girls aid. The yellow jacket was inside of Emily's ear canal for no more than a few seconds before her grandmother succeeded in removing it, but the effect of those few seconds had lasted throughout Emily's life. She was lucky in that with all of the chaos of the moment she was not stung by the insect, though there had been a protracted window of opportunity. What stuck with Emily was that buzzing. The noise and vibrations of a yellow jacket searching desperately for escape to freedom while trapped inside her ear canal, inside her head right up against the ear drum.

After that day, the colony of wasps became aggressive attacking anyone who came within a few yards of their nest, and that included much of the back end of the deck. With a touch of regret by Emily's family, for the wasps when left to their own had helped keep a majority of the pest insects down in the area, the whole nest had to be buried in diatomaceous earth to essentially drown it out. It took about a week to permanently put the nest down, but after that they were gone and Emily could have her play area back.

Beyond that moment of terror the wasp had not stung her, so Emily had not been hurt physically, but a subconscious aversion to wasps and bees and most other buzzing insects formed that day. The sound of their wings holding the small insects aloft on their way to accomplish whatever they were on about would dump ice water down her spine every time she heard it for years to come.

It would be this fear that had given Emily a direction with her career path. That scare, that aversion, such a small moment of time in that otherwise pleasant Summer, had planted a seed in her mind. The seed took root as an "irrational childhood fear" in her younger days, but as she grew older she forced herself to face and overcome this fear, to become master of it. In doing so, she became fascinated with insect biology in high school, culminating in her pursuit of a degree in entomology.

Emily thought back to her reading material. Asimov had witnessed the racial tensions of the Sixties, the struggle of a group of people classified by the color of their skin alone, along with the feminist movement. The struggle of equality and taking it a step further with the subject matter of many of his works, what it meant to be human.

Maybe Emily was connecting non-existent dots, but it still fascinated her. All of the personal moments great and small, all of the events that you witnessed in such a short stay on this planet; how every encounter in your life could become something as minor as a fine thread almost unseen while others might eventually form the pattern of the tapestry itself, creating a lifetime. Asimov's lengthy discussions about the equality of all thinking beings stemming from such a large experience of the Human Rights Movement was his, Emily reasoned, and her fascination and later successful career studying insects from a singular episode in her early childhood was hers.

The buzzing grew louder, pulling Emily from her contemplation. She thought that maybe the cool of the air conditioner and the ice tea could wait a little longer; she wanted to find the yellow jacket and see if she had classified it correctly. To be fair, there weren't too many different species of the wasp here in the South, so that might have just been an excuse to find one of her favorite insects. She grabbed the sunhat that was hanging on the side of her rocking chair, popped it absently on her head (her attention was focused on a certain yellow and black insect probably darting back forth amongst the rosebushes along the side of her house) and dashed across the porch and down the steps leading out into that hot Summer day.

(8/3-5/16)

title: [RF] Ghost of Yellow Jacket

question: What does the story say about honey bees?

question: What does the story say about the story's protagonist?

answer: The protagonist is Emily, an entomologist. Her favorite insect is the yellow jacket. Emily loves to read science fiction because her father gives her plenty of books about it, saying it's a good way to learn about human nature. Emily lives on the northwest coast in a polite little two-story home. She is out on her porch reading an Isaac Asimov novel because it's a hot and humid summer day. Emily is wearing a floral print yellow sundress, which is airy and doesn't provide insulation from the occasional breeze. She is contemplating the story about the robots in Asimov's book, and the similarities between the story and real-live slavery.

question: What does the story say about the reason why Emily got interested in studying insects?

answer: Emily loves to study insects because of an incident that happened when she was three years old. While playing outside, she inadvertently swatted at a yellow jacket, which became aggressive and attacked her. The insect got entangled in her hair and eventually found its way into her ear canal. Luckily, Emily's grandmother was there to help her get the insect out, but she never forgot the buzzing sound the wasp made. Emily developed a fear of all buzzing insects when she was a kid because of this, but learned to face her fears and overcome them, which is why she ended up studying entomology.

question: What does the story say about Emily's family?

answer: Emily's dad loves Science Fiction and maybe influenced her because much of his gifts were quality Sci-fi books. Her father also liked rockets and lasers but considered these as popcorn entertainment. Emily's mom had a knack for finding ridiculously cute things. In the story, her mother gave Emily a laminated fox bookmark and the sundress she was wearing. When Emily was a kid, her grandmother used to watch her. Her grandma saved Emily from a yellow jacket attack that could have been serious. The insect found its way into Emily's ear canal, and grandma was able to pull it out.


text:
The most surprising thing about Michael Kimmel's new book _Angry White Men_ is that the title was still available. We've been hit by wave after wave of angry white dudes for decades, from the so-called "silent majority" of the seventies incensed by "forced busing" and braless "women's libbers," to your Tea Partier brother-in-law who's always forwarding terrible jokes about Obama being born in Kenya.

Largely ignoring Tea Partiers and Glenn Beck fans to focus on more extreme examples of angry white manhood, Kimmel, a sociologist at the State University of New York at Stony Brook and an influential writer on masculinity, devotes chapters to such charming folks as white supremacists, domestic abusers, and guys who "snap" and shoot up their schools and workplaces. Kimmel does an excellent job in explaining the whys and wherefores of racist skinheads and violent men and manages to write about some pretty damaged and hateful men with a remarkable degree of empathy. But he doesn't ever get a firm grip on the most zeitgeisty of our zeitgeist's angry white men: the men's rights activists. As the proprietor of a blog devoted to chronicling (and mocking) misogyny online, I've spent the past three years tracking this aggrieved fringe group, which claims that in our binary gender system, it is men who have gotten the short shrift.

Let's look first at what he gets right.

Why are so many white men so angry these days? Put simply, they've been knocked off their pedestal. While it's a bit premature, to say the least, to talk about "the end of men" a la Hanna Rosin, who in a well-known _Atlantic_ article declared that "the modern economy is becoming a place where women hold the cards," it's clear that things have changed dramatically since the days of Don Draper. Economically, we're seeing the beginning of the end of what Kimmel calls "the single greatest affirmative action program in world history. It's called 'world history.'" Women, while still paid less than men, have seen their salaries and job opportunities increase dramatically in recent decades-while men have seen their wages stagnate in real terms. With significantly more women than men graduating from college, this trend is not likely to reverse itself.

  Instead of looking at the real source of their economic woes-government policies that favor the wealthy at the expense of the rest of us-ordinary white guys have lashed out instead at those below them in the social hierarchy: women and minorities.

It's the end of what Kimmel calls "the era of unquestioned and unchallenged male entitlement." This leads to a particularly bitter form of anger that Kimmel calls "aggrieved entitlement." Add in a nasty economic downturn and an uncertain recovery and you have the perfect recipe for a backlash. "White men's anger is 'real'-that is, it is experienced deeply and sincerely," Kimmel writes. "But it is not 'true'-that is, it doesn't provide an accurate analysis of their situation." Instead of looking toward what Kimmel sees as the real source of their economic woes-government policies that favor the wealthy at the expense of the rest of us-ordinary white guys have lashed out instead at those below them in the social hierarchy: women and minorities.

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This isn't the first time white men have felt under siege. At the turn of the 20th century, elite American men faced a crisis of masculine confidence. This was perhaps, as Kimmel points out, an inevitable response to the rapid rise of industrial capitalism-a dynamic but destabilizing force that made fortunes overnight but could also take them away in swift downturns. The slums of the cities filled with darker-skinned immigrants. Newspapers printed cartoons of "new women" in bloomers riding bicycles. Elite men, meanwhile, were sending themselves off on African safaris and to Western "dude ranches" in hopes of turning themselves back into real manly men. By the early decades of the 20th century, much of this uneasiness had trickled down to ordinary white Americans and taken an increasingly nativist turn. Cue a massive resurgence of the Ku Klux Klan in the 1920s as white Protestant men shored up their own masculinity at the expense of Catholics and darker-skinned "others."

There's a direct line between the anger and the uneasiness of Klansmen in the '20s and the white supremacists of today. The proud racists that Kimmel interviewed for his book are models of "aggrieved entitlement"; mostly downwardly mobile, lower-middle class men, these discontents see themselves as hardworking providers who've had the rug pulled out from under them. But instead of aiming their anger at the one percent, they instead rail against imaginary Jewish conspiracies and a government they see as beholden to lazy, immoral minorities and other "degenerates."

Men's rights activists are harder to explain. They don't fit as easily into Kimmel's basic argument on the rise of male anger, heavily driven by the economic transformations and upheavals of recent decades. The men's rights movement, for those who have yet to encounter it, has little in common with the so-called "mythopoetic" men's movement of the 1980s and 1990s, which gathered in drum circles in the woods to reclaim their primal masculinity, poet Robert Bly at their helm. Its real roots lie in the anti-feminist backlash of the early '90s, with ex-feminist Warren Farrell's _The Myth of Male Power_ as its Bible. Deftly inverting the feminist narrative, Farrell declared that it was men, not women, who were the dispossessed, a "disposable sex" forced to fight the wars and take on the most dangerous jobs to protect and provide for women.

  Men's rights activists have latched onto the rhetoric of male victimhood, but designated feminists as the enemy.

Men's rights activists have latched onto this rhetoric of male victimhood, but unlike Farrell, they have designated feminists as the enemy. The causes they take up-from false rape accusations to male abuse victims-often seem like little more than excuses to bash women in general, but especially feminists. Men's rights activists don't organize marches; they don't build shelters or raise funds for abused men; they don't organize prostate cancer-awareness events or campaign against prison rape. What they actually do, when they're not simply carping in comments online, is target and harass women-from feminist writers and professors to activists-in an attempt to silence them. Paul Elam, the founder of the website A Voice for Men and probably the most influential men's rights activist out there, once wrote to a critic: "Your only real hope is to keep your mouth shut ... We are coming for you, and we are coming for all the liars out there that have been ruining people's lives with impunity."

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Indeed, A Voice for Men has set up its own "offenders registry" where it lists feminist "bigots" alongside female murderers and child abusers; the so-called bigots include several well-known feminist bloggers, college students who had the misfortune of being photographed by men's rights activists at a feminist protest, and Katherine Heigl-yes, _that_ Katherine Heigl-who won her "bigot" ranking for joking about being obsessed with cutting off men's balls in a public-service announcement urging pet owners to spay and neuter their animals. Men's rights activists have gone after feminist cultural critic Anita Sarkeesian, who has endured a year and a half of abuse, including rape and death threats, after launching a video series critiquing sexism in video games. They have assailed Rebecca Watson, an atheist blogger who found herself the target of online misogyny after she complained in a video about being hit on in an elevator at 4 a.m. "Tech evangelist" Adria Richards aroused the ire of misogynists in the tech world after she tweeted about a sexist joke she overheard at a conference.

In his chapters on other movements of angry white men, Kimmel does a deft job of placing these groups within a larger historical narrative. He shows how the racist anger of white male supremacists has arisen in a climate of white male wage stagnation. He connects the father's rights movement to transformations in our notions of fatherhood that have come about as more women have entered the workforce (and as feminists have challenged traditional gender roles).

  Abusers lash out when they are challenged, when they feel insecure about their masculine authority.

But Kimmel's explanation for the men's rights movement-a bit of economic disenfranchisement here, a bit of unfair divorce law there, mixed with the disinhibiting effects of the Internet-is cobbled together and unconvincing. Ironically, he's got a pretty good explanation of the men's rights movement hiding in his insightful and disturbing chapter on domestic abusers. As Kimmel notes, abusers lash out when they are challenged, when they feel most insecure about their masculine authority. For them, Kimmel writes, "[v]iolence is restorative, retaliatory .... When [their] sense of entitlement is aggrieved, they don't just get mad, they get even." At its root, the men's rights movement is driven by the same logic of abuse.

The rhetoric of men's rights activists is steeped in the notion of "restorative, retaliatory" violence. Elam once wrote to one opponent that "the thought of fucking your shit up gives me an erection." (You may recall Jaclyn Friedman's report on her encounter with Elam at the _Prospect_.) In another post, he fantasized about replacing Domestic Violence Awareness Month with "Bash a Violent Bitch Month":

  I'd like to make it the objective for the remainder of this month, and all the Octobers that follow, for men who are being attacked and physically abused by women – to beat the living shit out of them. I don't mean subdue them, or deliver an open handed pop on the face to get them to settle down. I mean literally to grab them by the hair and smack their face against the wall till the smugness of beating on someone because you know they won't fight back drains from their nose with a few million red corpuscles.

  And then make them clean up the mess.

Though nearly as virulent in their hatred as the white supremacists, the men's rights activists don't seem to feel the same sense of economic dispossession. Many are young, in college or in their twenties, and (at least in my own encounters with them) they seem to be heavily concentrated in male-dominated science, technology, engineering, or math fields. They are, in other words, some of the men least affected by the so-called "end of men" that you can find.

What they are reacting to, I think, is more of a cultural dethroning of male entitlement. Over the last several decades, largely as a result of feminist activism, we've seen a dramatic change in attitudes toward and laws about date rape, sexual harassment, and domestic violence. We've also, not coincidentally, seen significant drops in all of these things. But what these changes have meant is a curtailment of certain kinds of male behavior that used to be considered normal. Men have to think twice before making crude sexual jokes in front of female coworkers; they can't take advantage of women incapacitated by drink and pretend they don't know it was rape. And all this makes some men furious.

Men's rights activists like to pretend that their small movement is on the verge of transforming the world. But it's clear their cries of rage are the last gasps of men furious that the world has changed underneath them. As Kimmel notes, "our choice is simple: we can either be dragged kicking and screaming into [a] future of greater equality and therefore greater freedom for all, or we can go with the tide."

They've chosen the way of the tantrum.

question: How does the book review site sustain itself?

answer: By accepting donations from readers.


text:
&#x200B;

I have no particular idea what would happen if I got caught with the items in my pocket, or hand. Whether the pale lighter and tube of eye drops was incriminating all depends on the warden. My father of course, may be suspicious. My step mother might also be suspicious, but mind you, my stepmother is capable of just as much total damage as my father is-.

What if I told you that they didn’t matter in the grand scheme of the bubble?

The lack luster task of smuggling drugs through your own house is a common theme, but I act as if I was darkness.

This has even gone beyond what I consider dark, and that's not a desirable feeling to swallow.

Oh, Head. I’ve become sidetracked.

Smuggling the cargo is as simple as 3 M’s. Minimum risk. Minimum Presence. Minimum Evidence.

They may sound simple but they are in fact extremely important to the success of your teen fueled tyranny. Minimum presence is a given. Be on your toes. Make sure not to turn on many lights, or grab or move things loudly. Although, the most significant factor to your success being sneaky, will always be how you read your own home. Thing make noise. Especially those fucking doors.

Creak just like their goddamn springs.

Things make noise. You cannot prevent these noises, because the only way to not make them, is to go the fuck back to sleep.

NO.

Not time to give up. Know your home. If it makes noise, and you can’t prevent it, like discussed above, make that action as quick and elegant as you can. Whip the door halfway, shimmy your bones. Once your in the hall, close it slightly enough that you can twist the knob, and slowly slip the door back into its frame.

Minimum risk is vital. Do not increase your risk for unnecessary purposes. That is a mistake that can, and will, lead to a 21st century shit show.

Risk is how much danger you are in at a certain time. For example, if you try and smoke a blunt out on the back porch at 6 PM, there is fair chance someone will see you, and you will get in trouble.

However, 1AM is different than 6PM. At the late hours of the night, the inherent chance of getting busted and broken by your father are much, much lower. Although there is risk associated with going out at 1 o’clock, it is microscopically smaller than at 6PM, or even 9PM. At  1AM, your father has been asleep for a substantial amount of his slumber, now 4 hours in. Most probably in REM sleep, and also not waking for a piss or drink of water, there is low chance that he will be even close to conscious. Not only will he be unconscious, it will give you a layer of pillowing to land on when you make your unavoidable noise.

Sound Asleep.

Now add in the door, and you’ve got a nice little opportunity to hurt yourself.

The final is your safety net. Minimizing the evidence against you, can save your life. Suppose he catches you. A fatal glimpse and wetness of the retina stops you in your tracks, and now your in danger.

Fuck.

Calibrate. What does he see? Lighter, drops in the pocket. Drugs in hand, but concealed in a dress. Nothing seems to happen. He doesn't notice. What if it's late?

Well, he’ll probably make you turn em’ out. The lighter is explainable. The eye drops harder, but possible. Pray he doesn't ask about the dress.

What if he catches in mouth, teeth out, or just spilling?

Well.

Go upstairs.

Don’t leave.

Till you get found I suppose.

title: [RF] Know Your Home.

question: Summarize the risks and tactics layout by the narrator when it comes to smuggling drugs through your home as a teenager.

answer: The narrator talks about the suspicion that surrounds him. He talks about the risks of smuggling drugs through your own home and avoiding detection in doing so. He says minimum risk, minimum presence, and minimum evidence are needed to smuggle such cargo successfully. He highlights the need to be in the dark all the time and not turn up any lights in the house. He says one must also be sneaky and not make unwanted noises like opening creaky doors. The narrator states that time is important to this kind of operation - engaging in drug-fueled activities is better done at night when your parents are sound asleep than early in the evening. He also highlights the importance of not keeping evidence where it can be found, especially when you get caught.

question: Who instructed the narrator to carry drugs?


text:
Click.

It is the sound of a Cherry MX Blue--arguably the best keyswitch for typing. Arguable because maybe you don't need the whole house to know that you're typing. Best because there is a little tiny gavel in each one that--no matter how gingerly you caress the key--hammers down with the force of 2.4*10^-19 atomic bombs. "I'm not sure whether the key actually got pressed," said nobody ever while typing on Cherry MX Blues.

Despite being absolutely, positively, the sound that a Cherry MX Blue would make--a sound whose whole point is to have no duration, to mark a single moment and only that moment--the scientists assure us that it is still happening. Not like the "click click click click," which is what is coming from the keys at my fingertips as I type this, but like "clicccccccc....." on for ever. Except that there never really was a "cli..." and maybe there will never really be a "..k."

The whole click is there in the signal, but the front and back of it, they say, are "non-local". Usually, when they say this, they are pointing at a pair of graphs, one of whose axes appears to be approaching a vertical asymtote according to the other. They make about as much sense of it as they ever do.

Apparently, if you're on a finite timeline, and you have a deadline tomorrow, you can just hang a left. Your new time axis runs parallel to the deadline, so they never intersect, and you never have to go to work again. The math all checks out, we're told--it's just that nobody has figured out how to actually do this. Not even the guy that pressed the big omnipresent MX Blue in the sky--he's non-local too. Whatever happened when he pressed that key, it may have set our clocks on a path where they would never see his deadline, but there's no reason to believe that it will save him.

What is he writing?

Some say that he had been up all night writing the laws of physics into a computer program, and that the click that we're hearing is the enter key that God pressed to start the universe running. This is, unsuprisingly, the position of the scientists who discovered the signal. Newton would have been one of these, had he live at the right time--Plato too. Little has changed for them, they're still bickering with the mathematicians about which language the universe is written in, and whether we'd notice if the program halted.

Others think it's a work of fiction. Well, fiction for him at least. The more optimistic of these think it's his first keystroke--a shift key to make the 'O' in "Once upon a time..." Whether it's a story about them, and whether they turn out to be a hero or a villain, comes down to how hero-worthy or villain-worthy their life turns out to be.

Hundreds of variations of the "which key?" story have emerged. Each, like these, comes equipped with its own particular philosophical--and ultimately political--overtones. Fractures appeared among even the most cohesive societies: The debate over whether the pope had the right to chose the church's favored key has bumbled on awkwardly for years now. It has become apparent that the two-party system is unstabe in a universe that thinks it was created on a 105-key keyboard. The last thing we all needed was yet another thing for schoolchildren to form cliques over.

Three years ago, the largest sensor array on the planet was completed and powered on--we needed to know. It was theorized that despite the non-locality of the click as we hear it, there would be other objects in the author's world that it was local to. If there was any delay at all when our world forked off orthognally to the author's timeline, the sound should have reflected off of the neighboring keys. With a good enough sampling of the signal, we might be able to build a map.

Almost immediately they ruled out the possibility of the click having come from a spacebar--but nobody was suprised by this, spacebars sound much different than other keys due to their shape. Since then, the facility has remained silent--aware of the societal impact of an announcement, they have promised to keep quiet until they were absolutely sure.

That is, until today. The world is scrambling to make sense of the result. Apparently, it's a backspace. The talking heads are still working at adjusting their worldviews so that they can have been right all along. It will probably only take a few hours. But until that happens, the world is quiet except for a small handful.

105 keys, 9 billion people--somebody was bound to be right. According to them, everything to the left of the cursor is unchangeable to us. There it is written that the speed of light is about three hundred mega-meters per second, and pointed out that farts are funny. Moments before the backspace happened, there was also text describing what we were all going to do next. Perhaps not for the rest of eternity, but long enough that we would have no choice but carry it out for the time being.

When the author backspaced over that text, he freed us from his plans. We are the potentiality that he decided against--and at the moment of deletion the burden of experiencing us transfered from his mind, to ours. Our reality, according to the backspacers, is where that particular fiction went because it failed to stick to the page.

I probably should give this more time to sink in, maybe sleep on it, but I'm delerious with the concept. In a certain sense it has always been known that you could create a universe in your mind and then capture it on the page, but to think that all of the alternative worlds--worlds created by every edit, every time you forgot to save--would continue on without you... It's fantastic.

Now, it might be nothing, but there is a rumor that began circulating a week before the announcement. The rumor correctly predicted both the timing of the announcement and the announced key. According to the rumor, they found something more. Supposedly there's a second signal, and "it looks like text."

Now, I have a deadline coming up, and I don't know how to make the kind of left turn that avoids the arrival of tomorrow. Not for myself at least. Before I get to work, I'm going to backspace over this entire story. If it shows up in your cosmic background, I'll have no way of knowing, but you'll know that I went to work so that you could keep on being a dream.

And if you feel like it, write me into some unfinished fiction of your own, even if only for a moment. With a bit of luck, we'll build an even bigger sensor and discover your story written on our sky.

title: Click [SF]

question: Summarize the role of the keyboard in this story.

answer: The sound of each keystroke marks a moment in the writer's mind. The sonic signals correlate to the work being produced-be it a piece of writing, a scientific paper, a calculated graph, etc. The author also talks about the backspace-how frequently we use it, and what it means about our mood and the times.

question: Summarize what types of keyboards there are that accommodate different types of work.


text:
HARRISON COUNTY is a county located in the U.S. state of Mississippi. As of the 2010 census, the population was 187,105,[1] making it the second-most populous county in Mississippi. Its county seats are Biloxi and Gulfport.[2] The county is named after U.S. President William Henry Harrison.[3]

Harrison County is part of the Gulfport-Biloxi-Pascagoula, MS Metropolitan Statistical Area.

The county was severely damaged from both Hurricane Camille on August 17, 1969 and Hurricane Katrina on August 29, 2005, causing catastrophic effects.

Geography

According to the U.S. Census Bureau, the county has a total area of , of which is land and (41%) is water.[4] The Tchoutacabouffa River has its mouth at Biloxi Bay just north of the city of Biloxi. Gulfport, Mississippi is the chief port in the state, with access to the Gulf of Mexico through a ship channel. This is the second-largest county in Mississippi by total area.

Wildlife

A single pond in the county contains the critically endangered dusky gopher frog.[5]

Major highways

-   [] Interstate 10
-   [] Interstate 110
-   [] U.S. Highway 49
-   [] U.S. Highway 90
-   [] Mississippi Highway 15
-   [] Mississippi Highway 53
-   [] Mississippi Highway 67
-   [] Mississippi Highway 605
-   [] Mississippi Highway 43

Adjacent counties

-   Stone County (north)
-   Jackson County (east)
-   Hancock County (west)

National protected areas

-   De Soto National Forest (part)
-   Gulf Islands National Seashore (part)

Demographics

As of the census[6] of 2000, there were 187,479 people, 71,538 households, and 48,574 families residing in the county. The population density was 326 people per square mile (126/km²). There were 79,636 housing units at an average density of 137 per square mile (53/km²). The racial makeup of the county was 73.15% White, 21.09% Black or African American, 0.45% Native American, 2.60% Asian, 0.09% Pacific Islander, 0.90% from other races, and 1.72% from two or more races. 2.59% of the population were Hispanic or Latino of any race.

There were 71,538 households, out of which 33.50% had children under the age of 18 living with them, 48.10% were married couples living together, 15.10% had a female householder with no husband present, and 32.10% were non-families. 25.80% of all households were made up of individuals, and 8.30% had someone living alone who was 65 years of age or older. The average household size was 2.55 and the average family size was 3.07.

In the county, the population was spread out, with 26.00% under the age of 18, 11.10% from 18 to 24, 30.50% from 25 to 44, 21.20% from 45 to 64, and 11.10% who were 65 years of age or older. The median age was 34 years. For every 100 females, there were 99.10 males. For every 100 females age 18 and over, there were 97.50 males.

The main income for a household in the county was $35,624, and the median income for a family was $41,445. Males had a median income of $29,867 versus $22,030 for females. The per capita income for the county was $18,024. 14.60% of the population and 11.60% of families were below the poverty line. Out of the total population, 20.70% of those under the age of 18 and 11.30% of those 65 and older were living below the poverty line.

Harrison County has the sixth highest per capita income in the State of Mississippi.

Corrections system

Harrison County has been studied by CNN and other media, which have reported on the beatings of inmates in the Harrison County Jail in Gulfport, Mississippi. Inmate Jessie Lee Williams Jr. died while in custody on February 4, 2006.[7] In 2006 and 2007, six Harrison County Sheriff's Department deputies pleaded guilty to crimes related to the abuse of inmates at the jail.[8] Sheriff Melvin Brisolara-R was elected in 2008, for Harrison County.

Communities

[Water from the Tchoutacabouffa River overflowing its banks near the intersection of Old Hwy 67 and MS 15 on September 29, 1998, after Hurricane Georges made landfall.]

Cities

-   Biloxi (county seat)
-   D'Iberville
-   Gulfport (county seat)
-   Long Beach
-   Pass Christian

Census-designated places

-   DeLisle
-   Henderson Point
-   Lyman
-   Saucier

Unincorporated communities

-   Cuevas
-   Howison
-   Lizana

Politics

  Year                               Republican                                   Democratic                                   Third parties
  ---------------------------------- -------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------- ----------------------------
  style=“text-align:center;” |2016   style=“text-align:center;” |63.7% _40,354_   style=“text-align:center;” |33.4% _21,169_   2.8% _1,790_
  style=“text-align:center;” |2012   style=“text-align:center;” |62.3% _39,470_   style=“text-align:center;” |36.5% _23,119_   1.2% _739_
  style=“text-align:center;” |2008   style=“text-align:center;” |62.6% _38,757_   style=“text-align:center;” |36.6% _22,673_   0.9% _527_
  style=“text-align:center;” |2004   style=“text-align:center;” |62.7% _39,703_   style=“text-align:center;” |36.5% _23,076_   0.8% _509_
  style=“text-align:center;” |2000   style=“text-align:center;” |61.3% _32,256_   style=“text-align:center;” |36.4% _19,142_   2.3% _1,218_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1996   style=“text-align:center;” |52.8% _25,486_   style=“text-align:center;” |38.9% _18,775_   8.2% _3,974_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1992   style=“text-align:center;” |52.8% _25,049_   style=“text-align:center;” |32.2% _15,268_   15.0% _7,090_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1988   style=“text-align:center;” |68.9% _32,892_   style=“text-align:center;” |30.2% _14,439_   0.9% _423_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1984   style=“text-align:center;” |72.8% _33,995_   style=“text-align:center;” |26.8% _12,495_   0.4% _187_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1980   style=“text-align:center;” |58.7% _25,175_   style=“text-align:center;” |38.1% _16,318_   3.3% _1,395_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1976   style=“text-align:center;” |51.7% _19,207_   style=“text-align:center;” |44.6% _16,569_   3.7% _1,363_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1972   style=“text-align:center;” |84.0% _28,962_   style=“text-align:center;” |13.8% _4,761_    2.2% _747_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1968   style=“text-align:center;” |22.4% _6,542_    style=“text-align:center;” |15.6% _4,549_    62.1% _18,157_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1964   style=“text-align:center;” |75.1% _16,301_   style=“text-align:center;” |24.9% _5,393_    style="text-align:center;|
  style=“text-align:center;” |1960   style=“text-align:center;” |30.9% _5,177_    style=“text-align:center;” |53.5% _8,961_    15.6% _2,621_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1956   style=“text-align:center;” |44.2% _5,742_    style=“text-align:center;” |50.4% _6,549_    5.5% _710_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1952   style=“text-align:center;” |45.4% _5,960_    style=“text-align:center;” |54.7% _7,181_    style="text-align:center;|
  style=“text-align:center;” |1948   style=“text-align:center;” |5.6% _415_       style=“text-align:center;” |9.3% _692_       85.2% _6,351_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1944   style=“text-align:center;” |9.4% _622_       style=“text-align:center;” |90.6% _5,976_    style="text-align:center;|
  style=“text-align:center;” |1940   style=“text-align:center;” |10.2% _633_      style=“text-align:center;” |89.8% _5,577_    0.1% _4_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1936   style=“text-align:center;” |10.4% _495_      style=“text-align:center;” |88.8% _4,208_    0.8% _37_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1932   style=“text-align:center;” |9.7% _449_       style=“text-align:center;” |89.3% _4,124_    1.0% _46_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1928   style=“text-align:center;” |28.6% _1,485_    style=“text-align:center;” |71.4% _3,712_    style="text-align:center;|
  style=“text-align:center;” |1924   style=“text-align:center;” |14.0% _523_      style=“text-align:center;” |81.4% _3,044_    4.6% _172_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1920   style=“text-align:center;” |19.3% _314_      style=“text-align:center;” |78.0% _1,270_    2.7% _44_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1916   style=“text-align:center;” |12.0% _197_      style=“text-align:center;” |84.7% _1,395_    3.3% _55_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1912   style=“text-align:center;” |2.8% _45_        style=“text-align:center;” |81.0% _1,292_    16.2% _259_

  : PRESIDENTIAL ELECTIONS RESULTS[9]

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5] Dusky gopher frog

[6]

[7]

[8] “Sixth Harrison County Sheriff's Department Officer Pleads Guilty”

[9]

title: Harrison County, Mississippi

question: What does the text say about the life of William Henry Harrison?

question: What does the text say about the differences in the county between the 2000 and 2010?

answer: As of the 2000 census, there were 187,479 people residing in Harrison County. By the 2010 census, the population was 187,105. That is a decrease of 374 people over 10 years.


text:
Once upon a time, in a cold, vast and dark place we all know as Space, a friendship was born after a million light years.
Moon, who was always all alone up there, came across two twinkling stars.
“Oh, hello Mr. Moon,” greeted the Red Star. “May I ask why you are all alone up here?”

The Moon, just grateful to finally have someone to talk to, eagerly responded. “My Sun is never around so I have to be alone.”
The two twinkling stars were confused with the Moon’s answer but didn’t dare ask more. Instead, they both agreed to hang around with the Moon.
“Well then, Mr. Moon. If it’s alright with you, we could hang around so you don’t have to illuminate the Earth all alone anymore.” Offered the Yellow Star. The Moon was so delighted he couldn’t contain his joy. And so that night, the humans need not light up the lamp posts, for the moonlight’s enough of a guide for a walk to go home.

Night after night, the two twinkling stars stayed with the Moon and the three of them never failed to glow up the world during the evenings. The other stars and moons were so jealous, for the Earth was so lucky to have a team that is based on a cosmic friendship. Even the Big Black Hole spared them from the swallowing. “Hm. The universe could do with a little spark.” Said the Big Black Hole as he swirled through Space; eating dead stars. The Moon and the two twinkling stars continued to bless the Space with ethereal glow; dancing and prancing in the darkness of the Space, they bonded.

That day though, the Sun noticed how the Moon do not ask for light every single moment anymore. Suspicious, the Sun waited until the next eclipse to talk to the Moon. And so when they met, the Sun was blazing mad and said, “How dare you, Moon! How dare you!” The Sun was spouting fires and the Moon was so tongue-tied; clueless as to what made the Sun fume.

“Sun, I don’t know what I did but I must say that I am sorry.” With a trembling voice, the Moon uttered.

“How dare you call me ‘Sun’ when your world doesn’t even revolve around me anymore!” Cried the Sun.

“But I am not a world. I am the Moon and I must not revolve around you, my dear Sun.” Insulted with the Moon’s answer, the Sun gracefully orbited away but not without saying, “I am the center of everything! You will know that sooner than later.”

The two twinkling stars gave all their sparkles for the Moon to consume, and yet it still wasn’t enough. The Moon grew dimmer and dimmer and the humans, left with no choice, poisoned the Earth with too much electricity just to light up the night. Little do they know, the Sun was watching them intently from far away; getting angrier each day. The Sun thought, “How dare those little, stray stars! How dare them glow more than me!” For the Sun is the center of everything, isn’t it? How come the Sun still can’t have it all? And so it was decided, the two twinkling stars have to go.

Feigning sickness, the Sun intended to make the Moon worry and it was successful. The Moon came rushing to the Sun without waiting for the next eclipse. So the Space fell apart, destroying the order of everything.

“Oh, Sun, I was so worried! You know I can’t illuminate without you,” The Moon cradled the Sun. “For I am just living off of your light.” The Sun sighed but still basked in the surrounding comfort of the Moon. But the two twinkling stars shouted, “Moon! You have to go back! This is not the way it should be!” Around them, the Space started to deteriorate. But the Sun held the Moon even tighter. Together, they absorbed each other’s light, leaving the Space blanketed in darkness.

 The Big Black Hole, seeing that the Moon and two twinkling stars sparkling in harmony no more, decided that it was time. With no mercy, The Big Black Hole swallowed the two twinkling stars and looked at the Sun and the Moon and said, “Hm. The universe could do with a little spark.”

title: [FN] Heavenly Bodies

question: Why was the sun unhappy with the moon?

answer: The sun was jealous because the moon had made friends with two stars. The Sun was under the impression that everything should revolve around it. Yet, the moon revolves around the earth which revolves around the sun.


text:
Jeanne Ann Westveer was born in 1935. Jeanne married John Frederick Girard Rooks in 1960. She is the mother of my mother, making her my grandmother. When I’m writing this, my grandma is in the hospital, but she is supposed to go home tomorrow. Jeanne Ann Rooks is dying.

When I was eleven, my grandma was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease. Now, after eight years, she is a shell of the person she used to be. My grandma cannot function on her own. She is completely reliant on others to sustain her. This is of course not at all what Jeanne used to be. My grandma was an amazing pianist and singer. She played at her and my grandpa’s church for years until the disease hit. But, now she cannot.

Because of this, I know it’s time.

My brother and I used to go over to my grandparents’ house quite a bit. They had a lot of land and we would be outside for most of the time we spent there. I remember helping my grandma plant flowers around the outside of the house and getting stung by a bee. I remember my grandpa and grandma and I painting in the kitchen. I did my first oil painting when I was one years old at their house with their help. My grandma loved my love for the arts. We don’t talk about the arts anymore. We don’t talk at all really. I’ll tell her things going on in life and ask her if she’s comfortable.

Because of this, I know it’s time.

Only a few years ago, my grandma could still make words. When my grandpa and her came over dinner once, I helped her to the living room. As she struggled to walk she told me “I hate getting old.” While I think everyone would agree with that opinion for the most part, I think she meant it deeper. My whole life, my grandma was old. What wasn’t old was her mind. Until now that is.

Because of this, I know it’s time.

And I know I shouldn’t be sad about it. Life could only get worse for Jeanne. This is the right time. To want her to stay is selfish of me. After death, she’ll have a much better life. What makes it hard is remembering what she was like before the disease. The last few years I’ve only thought of my grandma as bed-ridden and limited. That’s how everyone saw her. I forgot about who she actually was. I forgot about her sitting at the piano and singing, and I forgot about the hundreds of peanut butter and jam sandwiches she made for me. I forgot about her setting up the Super Nintendo for my brother and I when we came over, or when she would grab me a nickel from the high cupboard so I could get a gumball from their machine.

Now, when I’m sitting at her bedside holding her hand, and seeing her slowly fade away, I know it’s time. But, I don’t want her to go.

Because death isn’t a romanticized experience like films make it out to be. It doesn’t bring families together in some grand fashion that ultimately ends up to be a necessary learning experience for everyone. Death is a final, drawn-out whimper.

Death brings a person’s life full circle, having them return to a state where they are helpless and confused, like a newborn.

Because of this I know it’s time. But, I don’t want her to go.

Not too long ago I had a dream about my grandma. I was sitting at her and my grandpa’s house next to her, while she sat silent in a chair like she has been for the last couple of years. I looked away, and when I did, she asked me some mundane question, almost as if we were mid-conversation. When I looked back she was fully awake, leaning out of her chair, Alzheimer’s free. I was so shocked and in awe, that I was afraid to ask how she did it, as I didn’t want even to mention the disease in fear of bringing it back. So I said, “Grandma, I haven’t seen you in years.” She smiled and we hugged, and my grandma said to me, “it’s been too long.”

title: [NF] As Is the Beginning, Is the End

question: Why can't Jeanne play the piano anymore?

answer: She has Alzheimer's Disease for years and lost the ability to play eventually.

question: Why does the narrator think it's selfish of her to want her grandma to remain alive?

answer: Jeanne is in a state where her mind is almost completely gone. Continuing to survive means her suffering would be prolonged.

question: What about Jeanne does the narrator miss the most?

answer: Their talks about art.

question: Explain the part about Jeanne hating being old despite the fact that she was always old for the narrator.

answer: What Jeanne hates about getting old is losing her ability to think.

question: Write a ~4 sentence summary.

answer: Jeanne Ann Rooks (née Westveer) is the narrator's grandmother. She was diagnosed with Alzheimer's eight years ago, and the narrator misses their talks about art and Jeanne's liveliness. The narrator reminisces about Jeanne saying she hates getting old, understanding that she hates her mind getting old. The narrator wishes that Jeanne could live but knows that wanting her to remain alive in her condition is selfish.


text:
The light penetrates through the leaves of her improvised shelter. Startled, she wakes and searches for the threat she knows must be imminent, but finds herself alone. She decides she is safe, for now, and turns her attention to the unnatural blue glow. What could possibly create such a pure light? As she ducks under the protective branch she had carefully placed the night before, she cranes her head trying to get a better view through the trees. The eerie, blue aura seems to call to her. It stirs feelings of protection and safety. Carefully, she climbs over the log before her and stands in the light. Such an intense feeling of relief washes over her that she can't help but smile. A rare occurrence for this one, as she cannot remember any reason she has ever smiled. She picks her chin up, the smile fades from her face, and her resolve strengthens. She has decided that she is going and begins to run.

As the light of the two suns casts ever lengthening and numerous shadows through the canopy, the unfailing beat in her chest increases its rhythm. Her mind tells her that it is getting closer, but she can't see anything through the wall of foliage behind her, and she does not dare to stop and look. For most of the early day, she had felt a presence, other than her own, tracking her through the wilderness. The sickening feeling of something unseen caressing the back of her neck, making her skin crawl, her ears itch and her hairs stand on end. Now, the snapping of tree trunks like dead twigs and the rumbling thunder that vibrates the ground validates every fear of being hunted. So she runs, has been running, and will continue to run. Arms shield her face from low-hanging branches, and she sprints through the overgrown forest as fast as a cat, but with none of its grace. Her legs feel like feathers, weightless, but uncontrollable. Her breath is ragged, coming in gasps and silent sobs. Vines and thorns embed themselves deep into both arms and one of her legs. She rips them away, grimaces at the pain, but perseveres. By the time she reaches the edge of the forest, she is covered in small knife-like cuts. They seem to bleed too much for their size, but that is not what holds her attention.

In front of her lies a clearing that stretches as far to the left and to the right as she can see. Just on the other side lay a broken city, protected by a lone sentinel. A monolith large enough to strain the sanity of any that look upon it. It is clear that this structure would have pierced the clouds and kissed the sky, but like the city it protected, the marvel now lays broken. Though cracked and worn, the bottom half appears stable, while the top lay on its side to the right, an infinite wall of rubble. She glances up as the blinding suns beat down on her for the first time since she entered the protection of the canopy. With only a moment of hesitation, she sprints into the clearing and enters the small gap in the structure. It lies before her as if it knows she is coming and waits for her company.

Every path in this remnant of a world that used to be seems to lead her further into darkness. Here, the light of the setting suns cannot penetrate and at her speed, every mistake carries heavy consequences. She strains with the effort to see and stumbles across uneven ground and bottomless shadows. Then her foot finally trips sidelong on a fist sized rock. The sickening crack echoes through ancient, empty streets as she collapses screaming and slides across cracked and broken stone. The brutal fall flays her palms, leaving blood and skin behind, but it is the pain in her ankle that screams louder in her mind; it is enough to blur her vision and void her stomach. Only the pulsating blue light wrests her attention from the agony. She pushes up painfully and leans back against an overgrown stone parapet. As she clutches her ankle, a shadow of a memory promises safety and keeps her focused. So close now.

Unsure of her footing, or if her leg will support her weight, she slowly stands up and tries for a step, but her ankle grinds in protest and brings her to her knees, once more in blinding pain. But she does not cry out this time; instead, she chooses to suffer in silence. Somehow, that one act of defiance allows her to maintain her sanity, and in a matter of seconds, she regains control over her mind. Even if her injuries would allow it, she knows that running only provides an interesting game to whatever pursues her. It screams furiously into the night like a thousand angry locusts as it attempts to break its way through the monolith. As the sound of cracking stone reaches her, she glances wildly around for somewhere, anywhere, to go. The final boom of stone meeting stone signals that her pursuer is through and her rest is over. She starts to drag herself along the ground, crying and wishing the light could see her, just as she sees it. She had gotten so close and now only one ruined building keeps her in darkness. But it is too late. The ground begins to shake once more as the horror gains momentum. It will be upon her soon, as told by the rubble around her dislodging and moving from the rapidly increasing vibrations. Suddenly, something, or a lack thereof, catches her attention; a small area to her left, a shadow that is somehow darker than the rest. At the base of the ancient wall she had leaned against is an opening, grown over with strange plants. She dives toward the respite uncontrollably, as if pushed. She scrambles for the hole and wedges herself feet first into the tiny area that is barely big enough for her malnourished frame. She fades into the darkness, letting shadow envelope her like a blanket. She struggles to control her breathing and, for the first time, notices she has been crying. But, she knows there is no time for that now. She wipes away her tears, clenches her teeth in pain, and waits as mortality approaches.

    While she moved, the incessant screams had stopped, but only now did she notice. Silence reigns like a weight in her ears as the ground ceases to shake from the bombardment of crumbling stone. She’s afraid to move, afraid to breathe, to live. With every beat of her adrenaline infused heart, the pain in her ankle rips away at her resolve, but she must stay vigilant, because the beast is near. She can sense the dread emanating from it like living shadows, reaching out along the path to overcome and consume anything around it making a sound. Searching for her. Holding her breath and waiting for it to pass, or to find her, she feels a prickling on her right arm. She recognizes the sensation immediately as crawling and cups a hand over her mouth to keep from any sound that will give herself away. The crawling continues up her arm, past her shoulder and to the center of her back. She clenches her eyes closed and slowly presses her back against the roof of her infested hideaway, trying to quietly kill whatever is... she's too slow, and the mystery insect strikes. The pain is immense, immediately blurring her vision and making her ears ring. Every muscle tightens in her attempt to keep still, and a silent scream escapes between her splayed fingers.

At first, the sound outside is inaudible, resonating like a purr from the largest cat, but slowly it grows into something else. Something...wrong. Voices join the subtle baritone to create an unbearable wail. The sound of hundreds crying, screaming in agony. They sound like her, or like people she could have once known, and she is stricken. The fear, despair, pain and confusion she had been fighting so long overwhelms her as her mind finally tears. She sees faces in the shadows, feels hands on her legs. She instinctually vaults from her would-be coffin and runs desperately away, clawing at her ears to silence the hell behind her. Her ankle cracks with every step, but she is beyond that now. Her flight is primal, her fear all consuming. Her own voice joins that of her nemesis as she is unable to keep the terror from leaving her lips. Her vocal chords tear with the shrill scream and her tears again blur her vision.

She sprints desperately toward the light, its blue pulsing aura the only thing she can focus on. If she were in her mind, she would feel the cold of the shadowy tendrils snaking up her back, hear the screaming of hundreds of the dead just inches from her neck, and she would realize that her journey is complete.

“We got someone! She's hurt!”

To her, the voice is muffled, like a whisper through a wall. Men surround her as she rounds the building and collapses at the foot of the Light. Gunshots ring out and muzzle flashes illuminate the fanged behemoth before them. It rears back from the light with massive hind legs that make it appear as thrice the height of any man. Its mouth seems to radiate dark smoke that reaches out for the closest prey as the haunting screams reach a crescendo.

Then a real scream, “Oh my God!” And cries of terror follow as someone is lifted and engulfed by shadow. Another voice joins the chorus before them, and the beast will not go hungry tonight.

“Pull her into the beam! We gotta fall back!”

The gunshots continue as she feels a strong, confident pressure under her arms. Then is pulled into the safety of the cool blue, helpless and paralyzed from pain, fear and fatigue. As the energy field of the space elevator lifts the platform into orbit, she finds the peace that has eluded her for so many months, and drifts into unconsciousness. This one has made it.

*Far away, another hears the wailing. The cry of the masses and the percussion of unknown high pitched drums. But it's the light that has held his attention, as it is welcoming, and promises protection. It continues to beckon him, as it has for so long. But all at once, his beacon in the night abruptly fades, and he is once again without direction as terror invades his mind and a purr emanates from behind.*

**3 Days Later**

**Following Email from**: L_Ashebrooke

**To**: P_Bright

**Date**:  3 Cygnus, 3021

Dr. Bright,

In my professional opinion, I don't see this planet as a viable location for our terraformation initiative. Repeated tests of the flora, sent to us from Dr. Lee, have shown extremely high levels of an unknown strain of ketamine, causing hallucinations and amnesia like symptoms. The hostile nature of the fauna have also resulted in the disappearance of three colonization teams in a 2 month period. We dispatched two 7 man security units in response, but only 6 men made it back. However, hey did return with Dr. Lee, whom is still unresponsive despite numerous attempts to awaken her. Although most of her injuries will heal in time, the bite on her back appears to be getting worse; will continue to monitor. In the interim, I suggest we move on to Kepler 452b and have sent a report to 505 with the same suggestion.

Regards,

    Dr. Lisa Ashebrooke

title: [SF][HR] Light

question: Describe the setting of the story.

answer: The main character seems to be in a jungle of some sort that is next to a deserted city. A monolith stands in front of the city.

question: Why is the main character in this particular setting?

answer: The character seems to be a researcher studying new planets to see if they are suitable to be lived in by humans. However, after a battle with some sort of entity near the abandoned city, the main character is injured, and plans to terraform the planet seem to be abandoned.


text:
Politics|U.S. Plans to Pay Mexico to Deport Unauthorized Immigrants There

[Central American migrants at the border in Tijuana. The money from the Trump administration will help Mexico increase deportations of Central Americans.]

Credit...Meghan Dhaliwal for The New York Times

-   Sept. 12, 2018

WASHINGTON — President Trump has promised for years that Mexico would pay for a vast border wall, a demand that country has steadfastly refused. Now, in the Trump administration’s campaign to stop illegal immigration, the United States plans instead to pay Mexico.

In a recent notice sent to Congress, the administration said it intended to take $20 million in foreign assistance funds and use it to help Mexico pay plane and bus fare to deport as many as 17,000 people who are in that country illegally.

The money will help increase deportations of Central Americans, many of whom pass through Mexico to get to the American border. Any unauthorized immigrant in Mexico who is a known or suspected terrorist will also be deported under the program, according to the notification, although such people are few in number.

Katie Waldman, a spokeswoman for the Department of Homeland Security, said the program was intended to help relieve immigration flows at the United States border with Mexico.

“We are working closely with our Mexican counterparts to confront rising border apprehension numbers — specifically, a 38 percent increase in families this month alone — directly and to ensure that those with legitimate claims have access to appropriate protections,” Ms. Waldman said.

A spokesman for the Mexican Embassy did not immediately respond Wednesday to a request for comment.

The plan, which has been debated internally for months, is part of a broader push by the Trump administration to redirect billions in foreign assistance to other priorities. The administration has yet to spend nearly $3 billion in foreign aid, money allocated last year by Congress with broad bipartisan support. Hundreds of millions of dollars meant to help stabilize Syria and support Palestinian schools and hospitals has already been redirected.

While the administration has made several announcements about not spending on priorities Congress intended, it has mostly kept quiet about what it will do with the money. But it has long been frustrated that Congress provides billions for foreign aid while refusing to fund its immigration priorities. The money will be transferred from the State Department to the Department of Homeland Security, and then sent to Mexico.

“Congress intended for this money to lift up communities dealing with crime, corruption and so many other challenges, not to expand this administration’s deportation crusade,” said Representative Eliot L. Engel of New York, the top Democrat on the House Foreign Affairs Committee. “I want answers about why the State Department thinks it can ignore Congress and dump more cash into deportation efforts. Until then, I’ll do whatever I can to stop this.”

The maneuver is the latest by the administration to reduce the number of immigrants crossing the southwestern border. The most prominent piece of the effort has been the “zero tolerance” policy to criminally prosecute any immigrant who enters the country without authorization. That led to the widely criticized practice of separating children from their parents at the border, which spurred a humanitarian and political crisis for Mr. Trump.

But the president’s advisers have also employed other strategies to deter immigrants, including revamping the rules surrounding who can qualify for asylum and trying to strike an agreement with Mexico that would disqualify any migrant who had not sought asylum there from claiming it in the United States.

Under the program, Mexico would be responsible for detaining and providing judicial review of immigrants before deporting them. The sometimes cumbersome and lengthy legal process in the United States to deport asylum seekers has long frustrated Mr. Trump, who has often said the laws must be changed to speed deportations. Getting Mexico to do deportations instead would bypass that process.

Immigrant advocacy groups called the deportation aid for Mexico a misguided and wasteful use of money that would fail to address the problems prompting migrants to travel to Mexico and the United States in the first place.

“We shouldn’t be paying another country to do our dirty work; we should actually be fixing our immigration system and helping these countries get back on solid footing,” said Ali Noorani, the executive director of the National Immigration Forum. “It smacks of desperation.”

question: Why are people willing to break the law to illegally immigrate to the United States?

answer: The article provides several possible cases that would serve as motivation. The first is seeking asylum; seeking a proper legal procedure to enter the United States for asylum appears to be much harder (the article is literally about America funding a way to make this task bureaucratically harder in Mexico) than just crossing the border then applying for asylum afterwards. Another reason is due to the fact that the living conditions in other countries are so bad that people are willing to break the law just to escape their countries -this is emphasized in what Ali Noorani says about the funding being better spent on efforts to stabilize other countries.


text:
Joe Biden is the winner of the 2020 election. Yet while Trump has lost, the Democrats failed to materialize the blue wave some expected — and Trump fared extremely well despite the pandemic. In this exclusive interview, Noam Chomsky shares some of his insights about Trump’s continuing popularity and what the left needs to do in the years ahead, emphasizing that voting is never an end — only a beginning.

C.J. POLYCHRONIOU: ALTHOUGH BIDEN HAS WON THE ELECTION, THE DEMOCRATS FAILED TO MATERIALIZE A BLUE-WAVE LANDSLIDE, AND IT IS CLEAR WE WILL CONTINUE TO DEAL WITH LARGE-SCALE TRUMPISM. GIVEN THAT YOU WERE EXTREMELY SKEPTICAL OF THE POLLS FROM DAY ONE, WHAT DO YOU THINK CONTRIBUTED TO THE MASSIVE TURNOUT FOR TRUMP, EVEN AS BIDEN SAW AN EVEN MORE MASSIVE TURNOUT? OR, TO PHRASE THE QUESTIONS DIFFERENTLY, WHY IS NEARLY HALF THE COUNTRY CONTINUING TO SUPPORT A DANGEROUS CHARLATAN LEADER WITH SUCH A FEVERISH PASSION?

NOAM CHOMSKY: The very fact that someone could be considered a serious candidate after just having killed tens if not hundreds of thousands of Americans through a disastrous response to COVID-19 is an extraordinary victory for Trump — and a defeat for the country, for the world and for hopes for a decent future.

Some of Trump’s victories are very revealing. A report on _NPR_ discussed his victory in a solid Democratic county on the Texas-Mexico border with many poor Latinos that hadn’t voted Republican for a century, since Harding. The _NPR_ analyst attributes Biden’s loss to his famous “gaffe” in the last debate, in which he said that we have to act to save human society from destruction in the not very distant future. Not his words, of course, but that’s the meaning of his statement: that we have to make moves to transition away from fossil fuels, which are central to the regional economy. Whether that’s the reason for the radical shift, or whether it’s attributable to another of the colossal Democratic organizing failures, the fact that the outcome is attributed to the gaffe is itself indicative of the rot in the dominant culture. In the U.S., it is [considered] a serious “gaffe” to dare to hint that we have to act to avoid a cataclysm.

Poor working people in the border area are not voting for the predictable consequences of Trump’s race toward cataclysm. They may simply be skeptical about what science predicts. Sixty percent of conservative Republicans (35 percent of moderate Republicans) believe that humans are contributing “not too much/not at all” to global warming. A poll reported in _Science_ found that only 20 percent of Republicans trust scientists “a lot…to do what is right for the country.” Why then believe the dire predictions? These, after all, are the messages pounded into their heads daily by the White House and its media echo chamber.

South Texan working people may not be ready to sacrifice their lives and communities today on the basis of claims in elite circles that they are instructed not to trust. These tendencies cannot be blamed solely on Trump’s malevolence. They trace back to the failure of the Democratic Party to bring to the public a serious program to fend off environmental catastrophe while also improving lives and work — not because such programs don’t exist; they do. But because they don’t appeal to the donor-oriented Clintonite neoliberals who run the Democratic Party.

There’s more. Trump has shown political genius in tapping the poisonous currents that run right below the surface of American society. He has skillfully nourished and amplified the currents of white supremacy, racism and xenophobia that have deep roots in American history and culture, now exacerbated by fear that “they” will take over “our” country with its shrinking white majority. And the concerns are deep. A careful study by political scientist Larry Bartels reveals that Republicans feel that “the traditional American way of life is disappearing so fast that we may have to use force to save it,” and more than 40 percent agree that “a time will come when patriotic Americans have to take the law into their own hands.”

Trump has also skillfully tapped reservoirs of anger and economic resentment among the working and middle classes who have been subjected to the bipartisan neoliberal assault of the last 40 years. If they feel that they have been robbed, they have good reason. The Rand Corporation recently estimated transfer of wealth from the lower 90 percent to the very rich during the four neoliberal decades: $47 trillion, not small change. Looking more closely, the transfer was primarily to a small fraction of the very rich. Since Reagan, the top 0.1 percent has doubled their share of the country’s wealth to an astonishing 20 percent.

These outcomes are not the result of principles of economics or laws of history but of deliberate policy decisions. If decisions are shifted from government (“government is the problem,” as Reagan claimed) they do not disappear. They are placed in the hands of the corporate sector, which must be guided solely by greed (per neoliberal economic guru Milton Friedman). With such guidelines in place, results are not hard to anticipate.

On top of the near-$50 trillion train robbery, the international economy (“globalization”) has been structured to set American working people in competition with those in low-wage countries with no workers’ rights while the very rich are granted protection from market forces, by exorbitant patent rights, to take one example. Again, the effects of this bipartisan enterprise are not a surprise.

Less educated workers may not know the details or understand the mechanisms that have been designed to undermine their lives, but they see the outcomes. The Democrats offer them nothing. They long ago abandoned the working class and have been full collaborators in the racket. Trump in fact harms workers even more than the opposition, but he excoriates “elites” — while slavishly serving the super-rich and corporate sector, as his legislative program and executive orders amply demonstrate.

Apart from almost daily steps to chip away at the environment that sustains life and to pack the judiciary top-to-bottom with far right young lawyers, the main achievement of the Trump-McConnell administration has been the tax scam of 2017: “a delayed tax increase dressed up as a tax cut,” economist Joseph Stiglitz explains. “The Trump administration has a dirty little secret: It’s not just planning to increase taxes on most Americans. The increase has already been signed, sealed and delivered, buried in the pages of the 2017 Tax Cuts and Jobs Act.”

The law was carefully designed to lower taxes initially so as to “hoodwink” Americans to think their taxes were being reduced, but with mechanisms to ensure that tax increases “would affect nearly everyone but people at the top of the economic hierarchy. All taxpayer income groups with incomes of $75,000 and under — that’s about 65 percent of taxpayers — will face a higher tax rate in 2021 than in 2019.” It’s the same device that the George W. Bush Republicans used to sell their 2001 “tax cut” — for the rich.

WHAT HAPPENS IF TRUMP REFUSES TO ACCEPT A BIDEN VICTORY AND SEEKS TO SETTLE THE MATTER IN THE SUPREME COURT? AND WHEN CORPORATE LAWYERS AND THE MILITIAS END UP DOING THEIR THING, IS IT EVEN REMOTELY POSSIBLE THAT THE COUNTRY COULD END UP UNDER MARTIAL LAW?

My uneducated guess is that it won’t come to that, but it’s a speculation with little basis or credibility. Trump has strong reasons — maybe even his personal future — to hold on to office by any possible means. We are not in the days of Richard Nixon, who had good reasons to question the legitimacy of the vote he lost in 1960, but had the decency to put the welfare of the country about his personal ambitions. Not Donald Trump. And the organization that grovels at his feet is not the political party of 60 years ago.

Trump still has two months to wield the wrecking ball that has already diminished the United States, harmed the world and severely threatened the future. His penchant for wrecking everything he did not create, whatever the cost, is hard to miss. He might decide to go for broke.

WHAT ARE THE NEXT STEPS FOR THE LEFT?

For the left, elections are a brief interlude in a life of real politics, a moment to ask whether it’s worth taking off time to vote — typically against. In 2020, the choice was transparent, for reasons not worth reviewing. Then back to work. Once Trump is fully removed, the work will be to move forward to construct the better world that is within reach.

_This interview has been lightly edited for clarity. It has also been updated to reflect Joe Biden’s victory over Donald Trump in the 2020 election.
_

question: Who is being interviewed?

answer: Noam Chomsky is being interviewed.

question: Who is interviewing Chomsky?

answer: C.J. Polychroniou is interviewing Chomsky.

question: What is the topic of the interview?

answer: The article addresses the fact that the Democrats failed to materialize the blue wave some expected in the 2020 presidential election — and Trump fared extremely well despite the pandemic.

question: What does Chomsky think the next steps for the Left should/will be?

answer: Chomsky doesn't give specific steps, but says that "Once Trump is fully removed, the work will be to move forward to construct the better world that is within reach."

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: The article addresses the fact that the Democrats failed to materialize the blue wave some expected in the 2020 presidential election — and Trump fared extremely well despite the pandemic. In the interview by C.J. Polychroniou, Noam Chomsky explains the reasons behind the election results.