….A prison newsroom mourns its former editor in chief…

 ……recently released ………….then killed in a crash…

Down past the prison yard, where blue lilies grow near a fence topped with barbed wire, the men who manage one of the nation’s only inmate-run newspapers were mourning.

The front page of their next edition would mark the death of Arnulfo Garcia, who had been their editor in chief — and so much more.

Garcia had come to San Quentin State Prison as a heroin addict and burglar. He had transformed himself over more than 16 years into a beloved leader and living, breathing symbol of hope and redemption.

At the prison, they called him jefe because he ran the San Quentin News. They called him pachuco because in his youth he used to walk with such swagger. They loved his dry chili peppers, which he carried in his pocket and passed out to them like candy.

And they felt such hope for him when he walked out to freedom in July, full of big plans for not just his but their future.

He was deep into those plans two months after his release when he got in a car with his sister. She was driving. They were in a crash. Both were killed.

Garcia was a three-striker whose sentence was cut for good behavior from 65 years to 16. He used to tell men serving decades for robberies, assaults and murders to focus not on getting out of the infamous penitentiary but on becoming better men — men who moved forward and thought big.

“It takes a team to make it to the moon,” he used to say.

And they had faith in his goals, no matter how grandiose — to reform the criminal justice system, to end gang violence, to turn a fledgling newspaper into an award-winning publication.

Out in the yard, prisoners divide by color — blacks with blacks, whites with whites — but in the old laundry room turned newsroom, Garcia led a mix of men whose sole focus was telling stories and putting out the paper.

That work continued on a recent afternoon.

Jesse Vasquez, a staff writer serving 30 years to life for attempted murder, placed a thermos with Garcia’s favorite tea out on the pavement near the newsroom’s front door to ferment in the hot sun, the way Garcia taught him. Jonathan Chiu, in for first-degree murder, pieced together the paper’s crossword puzzle. And Richard Richardson, long and lanky like Snoop Dogg, bent over his computer pushing himself to finish his toughest assignment yet: Garcia’s obituary.

Richardson, who goes by Bonaru, serving time for home robbery, took over as editor after Garcia left. The two were best friends, he said.

“He taught me how to be a man, how to be a father, to be responsible and accountable for my actions.”

‘Drop that monkey off your back’

Garcia, who was 65 when he died, was in and out of jail for nearly 50 years.

He spent part of his childhood picking prunes on a farm in Northern California and as he grew up became a heroin addict. When he was busted for home robbery in the 1990s and faced 123 years in prison, he skipped bail and fled to Mexico.

His mother pleaded with him. Quit drugs, have a child, settle down.

“Drop that monkey off your back,” Carmen Garcia told him. “Then I can die in peace.”

Garcia did what his mother asked in the countryside of Mexico, working on a farm, staying clean. He met someone, and they had a daughter and named her Carmen.

But eventually his past caught up with him. He was arrested and sent to San Quentin.

In his 6-by-10 cell, he started writing. He told his life story and the stories of other inmates expelled from society because they killed their wives, shot up gang rivals, robbed gas stations, peddled drugs.

Garcia wrote thousands of words — now scattered in notebooks, on flash drives and pieces of toilet paper.

“He was a listener, someone you could talk to about your secrets and your sadness and the harm that you’ve done to others,” said his brother Nick, who also served time at San Quentin.

For years, Garcia had brushed aside his mistakes. “I blamed my father, the police, the probation office, the D.A., the judges,” he wrote in a 2014 column. “I blamed everyone but myself.”

Writing, he said, brought a new kind of clarity. “I came full circle to the realization that the person responsible for my situation was me.”

When he and Richardson began working in the prison’s print shop, Garcia didn’t even know how to turn on a computer. But they used to listen to the chatter of reporters and editors nearby in the newsroom.

“They’d be arguing about what story to run on the front page,” Richardson said. “And we’d get in there and tell them our opinion.”

The prison newspaper was just revving up again then. A prison warden had brought it back to life, after more than 20 years. It ran on donations, as it does now, and the help of journalists on the outside.

Garcia was hired on as a writer in 2009 and began spending more and more time there. Two years later, he was editor in chief.

He saw in the San Quentin News an opportunity not just to give prisoners a voice but to educate them about prison programs they could use to improve themselves. He published stories about inmates doing yoga, putting on Shakespeare plays, getting paroled after participating in rehab programs, showing remorse for their crimes.

He once wrote about how three inmates saved a correctional officer as he choked on a piece of steak.

Garcia’s paper featured soul-searching profiles and editorials critical of budget cuts and prison conditions. He invited in district attorneys and judges, for forums to update them on life at the prison.

Bob Ayers, the warden who brought back the newspaper, said Garcia didn’t just want a publication that squashed prison gossip. He wanted to do serious, respected journalism.

“While I may have plugged in the lamp, which was the resurrected San Quentin News,” he said. “Arnulfo tweaked it until it became a beacon.”

Garcia did so under strict supervision. The newsroom had no internet access. Each story was carefully vetted.

By the time he left prison, the San Quentin News was printing 28,000 copies, distributed to 35 prisons run by the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation.

“Wall City,” the quarterly magazine he dreamed up, was nearly a reality. The first volume, full of inmates’ stories, was just about to go to press.

A brave new vision

The morning of the crash, Nick Garcia, who had also been paroled, spoke to his brother on the phone.

Arnulfo was at a gas station in Hollister. He sounded excited.

His biggest plan was to build a reentry home with a full treatment center, somewhere in the countryside, a place where newly freed prisoners could acclimate themselves to life outside the walls.

He had the support of officials at public safety agencies, social workers and several prosecutors, including those who had once locked him up. His family planned to help him pay for it.

He and his sister Yolanda were on their way to check out a possible property.

The crash occurred minutes after the brothers hung up. Police say Yolanda Garcia missed a stop sign. Her car was hit first by an SUV, then by a big rig.

Brother and sister died at the scene.

‘This one’s hard to take’

At San Quentin, a weekly support group helps prisoners manage their day-to-day anger.

Garcia once led the group. Now those who came were grief-stricken.

In a high-ceiling room that was nonetheless airless, they sat in a circle and took turns saying goodbye.

“Arnulfo, you pulled one on us, man,” said one inmate, his face slick with tears. “This one’s hard to take.”

“Many times I wanted to quit,” said another, staring at the floor. “You told me, ‘Come on, let’s go’”

“I appreciate you,” said Fateen Jackson, 41, “because you saw value in me.”

Lucia de la Fuente, one of the group’s coordinators, told the inmates that Garcia had squeezed every last bit of his two months of freedom. Barbecues, shopping trips with his daughter. Food — lots of great food.

De la Fuente said it made him so happy, he texted her photos of his beans, his scrambled eggs and Mexican sausage.

“He was abundant in every single way,” de la Fuente said.

She got her final text from him three days before the crash, she said.

He was coming over the Bay Bridge at sundown.

The light, he told her, was so beautiful.

 -30-

………………………………

…..Taking the Long View: The ‘Forever Legacy’ of Climate Change…..

Climate change projections often focus on 2100. But the geological record shows that unless we rapidly reduce greenhouse gas emissions, we will be locking in drastic increases in temperatures and sea levels that will alter the earth not just for centuries, but for millennia.

A century or two from now, people may look back at our current era — with its record-breaking high temperatures year after year, rapid disappearance of Arctic sea ice, and gradually rising sea levels — as part of a much cooler and far more desirable past.

The spate of extreme weather events in the past month — which have devastated America’s fourth-largest city, Houston; spawned a massive hurricane that tore through the Caribbean and Florida; and swamped large swaths of India and Bangladesh — may well be a prelude to more monster hurricanes, Biblical rain events, and coastal inundations brought about by extreme weather and vastly higher sea levels.

If getting the public, the media, and politicians to pay attention to what might happen to our planet in 2100 seems hard enough, it’s even more difficult to focus on how high — according to the latest research — sea levels may be only a couple of centuries in the future.  Yet recent findings lend urgency to the need to contemplate what the world might look like 200 or 300 years from now if greenhouse gas emissions are not brought under control. “Urgent” may seem like a wildly inappropriate word when applied to such a long span of time, but the truth is that humanity’s continuing failure to bring our enormous carbon emissions under control will have planet-altering impacts that could continue not just for hundreds, but thousands, of years.

Why are we so concerned about the long-term threats global warming may pose to the stable climate that has nurtured human civilization over the past 10,000 years? Because by looking at previous eras of high, naturally occurring carbon emissions and cycles of glaciation and deglaciation, we can see what may well be in store for the earth should human-generated carbon emissions continue on a business-as-usual trajectory. And what’s coming down the road in but a few generations will be determined by the inescapable laws of chemistry and physics: Temperature increases lag behind C02 emissions, a crucial fraction of which can persist in the atmosphere for thousands of years. In turn, sea level increases lag well behind temperature increases. The end result is that the world’s oceans can be expected to continue rising for many thousands of years even after temperatures stabilize.

The sea level increases we’re accustomed to seeing today — rising at 1.2 inches per decade, considerably faster than 50 years ago — may well jump to several inches per decade in a century. But that will just be the beginning.

Early stages of irreversible glacial collapse in Greenland and Antarctica indicate that considerably more rapid rise might be in store, although it’s impossible to say exactly when this might occur.

The geological record indicates that seas might have risen in the distant past at truly astounding rates — one foot per decade for centuries. Nothing remotely like that has been known in recorded human history. Yet having happened before, and given current greenhouse gas emissions trends, one can’t say that such epic rates, or higher, won’t happen again.

Long-term global mean sea-level change for the past 20,000 years (black line) and projections for the next 10,000 years, based on four possible carbon emission scenarios (1,280, 2,560, 3,840, and 5,120 gigatons). The illustration shows current and projected ice sheet extent on Greenland and Antarctica. CLARK ET AL. 2017.

These possibilities ought to be part of the calculus in decisions about energy, coastal development, and economic policy. Being blind to what the future will look like centuries from now ignores science. Sea level increases will not just miraculously stop in 2100, often our current end-year for forecasting. Indeed, sea level rise may be fast accelerating around then, especially in high-carbon scenarios.

Research indicates that steadily accelerating sea level rise is possible and can become unstoppable for millennia because inertia in the climate system is enormous; a 2016 paper in Nature Climate Change, for example, indicated that sea levels could rise, far in the future, roughly 80 to 170 feet.

Given current trends, keeping to the stated Paris Agreement goal of warming by no more than about 3.6 degrees Fahrenheit (2 degrees Celsius) looks quite unlikely.This is to say nothing of what the world might look like in 2200, 2300, or after, if global temperatures rise 7 to 10 degrees F over today’s levels, a realistic projection given current emissions trends. Such a climate would be scarcely recognizable.

Catastrophic storms and vastly higher sea levels aside, temperatures 7 to 10 degrees F hotter than today’s would wreak havoc with the oceans, agriculture, and, in the warmest parts of the world, go beyond human endurance.

How big an impact would such a jump in temperatures have on the planet in the coming centuries? Consider this: A temperature increase of 7 to 12.6 degrees F (4 to 7 degrees C) is what separates today’s “ideal climate” from the dramatic conditions of the last Ice Age, which peaked about 26,000 years ago.  At the height of the last Ice Age, ice sheets covered much of the northern hemisphere and piled up over some parts of North America to a depth of a mile or more.

Although we will unquestionably have a less hospitable climate in 2100 than today, that will be nothing compared to what might lie in store in 2200 and beyond. Yes, in 2100, sea levels might be three or more feet higher than today, which will be bad for low-lying nations like Bangladesh and U.S. states like Florida. But if greenhouse gas emissions continue at roughly today’s levels for another century, that may mean that sea levels 500 years from now would be nearly 50 feet higher as the Greenland and Antarctic ice sheets melt. That would mean losing large swaths of coastal areas worldwide. This is not alarmism; this is where the science takes us.

Given current and projected greenhouse gas emissions, we are looking at nothing less than creating a “forever legacy,” imposing monumental changes on the planet that can’t be readily unwound in a timeframe meaningful to our species.

We are, at best, now thinking decades into the future, while pressing our foot hard on a CO2 accelerator that virtually guarantees climate chaos for millennia to come. That’s why the issue of considering the long-term costs we might be imposing on the planet is every bit as much a moral issue as a scientific one: Because of our collective failure to rapidly decarbonize the global economy and slash CO2 emissions, we are poised to leave future generations a grim legacy of climate upheaval.

So what is the way out? If there were a simple path, we’d already be following it. Opponents of strong action to curb greenhouse gas emissions say that this is alarmism, highly uncertain, and that to aggressively pursue a low-CO2 path would be onerous and cause widespread economic damage. Most countries are either, by default, choosing inaction or are moving far too slowly to make deep cuts in greenhouse gas emissions. But as renewable energy experts, we believe climate change presents opportunities: for cleaner air, new industries, job growth, and stronger economies.

Many solutions are well-known and are readily at hand. The first step might be enacting simple and transparent carbon taxes that begin to reflect true current and long-term costs of dumping CO2 into the atmosphere — costs that are in no way factored into the present-day global economy. It would be much smarter to tax “bads” like climate-changing greenhouse gases, than “goods” like work and productivity. That is what truly conservative, pro-growth, pro-jobs policies ought to look like.

Then there is carbon accounting across the public sector — including with the companies that want to do business with the government — and divestment of fossil fuel assets on the part of pension funds and financial institutions, as well as entities in the private, non-profit, and educational sectors. This is already happening in Northern Europe as renewables are simply growing much more attractive than dirty fossil fuels. And we need initial government support for clean-energy industries, as well as long-term funding for research and development on renewable energy, energy efficiency, and battery technologies.

We could also invest in technologies like “direct air capture” that might eventually employ millions of devices to extract CO2 from the atmosphere. But counting on “silver bullet” solutions to save us is not a sound strategy. These technologies use energy to operate themselves, and the scale of the challenge is immense, which is why we must immediately take concrete steps to drastically lower global emissions.

There is some reason for hope. Numerous European Union countries including Germany, and several U.S. states such as California, are making steady progress toward decarbonizing their economies. China is doing a lot more lately, though far, far more is needed. Sizeable segments of the private sector — including tech giants like Google, Apple, and Microsoft — are choosing clean energy solutions. But without large-scale coordinated action on many levels across government, academia, and the private sector, our efforts to drastically cut emissions will fall far short of what chemistry and physics demand. The atmosphere and climate do not respond to hopes or aspirations.

It’s not easy for humans to look far into the future; we are accustomed to thinking that every mistake can be undone and that the earth is unchanging. But the stakes with climate change are uniquely so high, and the damages to the planet and society so enormous, that scientists, the press, politicians, and the public need to peer a few centuries down the road and imagine what kind of world we will be leaving to our descendants.

Rob Wilder is member emeritus of the Director’s Council at Scripps Institution of Oceanography, UC San Diego. He is a Fulbright Senior Specialist and Chairs the Advisory Committee for WilderHill Clean Energy Index (ECO). MOREABOUT ROB WILDER →

Dan Kammen is a professor of energy at the University of California, Berkeley where he chairs the Energy and Resources Group, and is a coordinating lead author for the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, which shared the 2007 Nobel Peace Prize. MOREABOUT DAN KAMMEN →

-30-

…………………TIC TOC TIC TOC…………………………w

 

…..The First White President…..

The foundation of Donald Trump’s presidency is the negation of Barack Obama’s legacy.

IT IS INSUFFICIENT TO STATE the obvious of Donald Trump: that he is a white man who would not be president were it not for this fact. With one immediate exception, Trump’s predecessors made their way to high office through the passive power of whiteness—that bloody heirloom which cannot ensure mastery of all events but can conjure a tailwind for most of them. Land theft and human plunder cleared the grounds for Trump’s forefathers and barred others from it. Once upon the field, these men became soldiers, statesmen, and scholars; held court in Paris; presided at Princeton; advanced into the Wilderness and then into the White House. Their individual triumphs made this exclusive party seem above America’s founding sins, and it was forgotten that the former was in fact bound to the latter, that all their victories had transpired on cleared grounds. No such elegant detachment can be attributed to Donald Trump—a president who, more than any other, has made the awful inheritance explicit.

His political career began in advocacy of birtherism, that modern recasting of the old American precept that black people are not fit to be citizens of the country they built. But long before birtherism, Trump had made his worldview clear. He fought to keep blacks out of his buildings, according to the U.S. government; called for the death penalty for the eventually exonerated Central Park Five; and railed against “lazy” black employees. “Black guys counting my money! I hate it,” Trump was once quoted as saying. “The only kind of people I want counting my money are short guys that wear yarmulkes every day.” After his cabal of conspiracy theorists forced Barack Obama to present his birth certificate, Trump demanded the president’s college grades (offering $5 million in exchange for them), insisting that Obama was not intelligent enough to have gone to an Ivy League school, and that his acclaimed memoir, Dreams From My Father, had been ghostwritten by a white man, Bill Ayers.

In Trump, white supremacists see one of their own. Only grudgingly did Trump denounce the Ku Klux Klan and David Duke, one of its former grand wizards—and after the clashes between white supremacists and counterprotesters in Charlottesville, Virginia, in August, Duke in turn praised Trump’s contentious claim that “both sides” were responsible for the violence.

To Trump, whiteness is neither notional nor symbolic but is the very core of his power. In this, Trump is not singular. But whereas his forebears carried whiteness like an ancestral talisman, Trump cracked the glowing amulet open, releasing its eldritch energies. The repercussions are striking: Trump is the first president to have served in no public capacity before ascending to his perch. But more telling, Trump is also the first president to have publicly affirmed that his daughter is a “piece of ass.” The mind seizes trying to imagine a black man extolling the virtues of sexual assault on tape (“When you’re a star, they let you do it”), fending off multiple accusations of such assaults, immersed in multiple lawsuits for allegedly fraudulent business dealings, exhorting his followers to violence, and then strolling into the White House. But that is the point of white supremacy—to ensure that that which all others achieve with maximal effort, white people (particularly white men) achieve with minimal qualification. Barack Obama delivered to black people the hoary message that if they work twice as hard as white people, anything is possible. But Trump’s counter is persuasive: Work half as hard as black people, and even more is possible.

For Trump, it almost seems that the fact of Obama, the fact of a black president, insulted him personally. The insult intensified when Obama and Seth Meyers publicly humiliated him at the White House Correspondents’ Dinner in 2011. But the bloody heirloom ensures the last laugh. Replacing Obama is not enough—Trump has made the negation of Obama’s legacy the foundation of his own. And this too is whiteness. “Race is an idea, not a fact,” the historian Nell Irvin Painter has written, and essential to the construct of a “white race” is the idea of not being a nigger. Before Barack Obama, niggers could be manufactured out of Sister Souljahs, Willie Hortons, and Dusky Sallys. But Donald Trump arrived in the wake of something more potent—an entire nigger presidency with nigger health care, nigger climate accords, and nigger justice reform, all of which could be targeted for destruction or redemption, thus reifying the idea of being white. Trump truly is something new—the first president whose entire political existence hinges on the fact of a black president. And so it will not suffice to say that Trump is a white man like all the others who rose to become president. He must be called by his rightful honorific—America’s first white president

THE SCOPE OF TRUMP’S commitment to whiteness is matched only by the depth of popular disbelief in the power of whiteness. We are now being told that support for Trump’s “Muslim ban,” his scapegoating of immigrants, his defenses of police brutality are somehow the natural outgrowth of the cultural and economic gap between Lena Dunham’s America and Jeff Foxworthy’s. The collective verdict holds that the Democratic Party lost its way when it abandoned everyday economic issues like job creation for the softer fare of social justice. The indictment continues: To their neoliberal economics, Democrats and liberals have married a condescending elitist affect that sneers at blue-collar culture and mocks the white man as history’s greatest monster and prime-time television’s biggest doofus. In this rendition, Donald Trump is not the product of white supremacy so much as the product of a backlash against contempt for white working-class people.

“We so obviously despise them, we so obviously condescend to them,” the conservative social scientist Charles Murray, who co-wrote The Bell Curve, recently toldThe New Yorker, speaking of the white working class. “The only slur you can use at a dinner party and get away with is to call somebody a redneck—that won’t give you any problems in Manhattan.”

“The utter contempt with which privileged Eastern liberals such as myself discuss red-state, gun-country, working-class America as ridiculous and morons and rubes,” charged the celebrity chef Anthony Bourdain, “is largely responsible for the upswell of rage and contempt and desire to pull down the temple that we’re seeing now.”

That black people, who have lived for centuries under such derision and condescension, have not yet been driven into the arms of Trump does not trouble these theoreticians. After all, in this analysis, Trump’s racism and the racism of his supporters are incidental to his rise. Indeed, the alleged glee with which liberals call out Trump’s bigotry is assigned even more power than the bigotry itself. Ostensibly assaulted by campus protests, battered by arguments about intersectionality, and oppressed by new bathroom rights, a blameless white working class did the only thing any reasonable polity might: elect an orcish reality-television star who insists on taking his intelligence briefings in picture-book form.

Asserting that Trump’s rise was primarily powered by cultural resentment and economic reversal has become de rigueur among white pundits and thought leaders. But evidence for this is, at best, mixed. In a study of preelection polling data, the Gallup researchers Jonathan Rothwell and Pablo Diego-Rosell found that “people living in areas with diminished economic opportunity” were “somewhat more likely to support Trump.” But the researchers also found that voters in their study who supported Trump generally had a higher mean household income ($81,898) than those who did not ($77,046). Those who approved of Trump were “less likely to be unemployed and less likely to be employed part-time” than those who did not. They also tended to be from areas that were very white: “The racial and ethnic isolation of whites at the zip code level is one of the strongest predictors of Trump support.”
An analysis of exit polls conducted during the presidential primaries estimated the median household income of Trump supporters to be about $72,000. But even this lower number is almost double the median household income of African Americans, and $15,000 above the American median. Trump’s white support was not determined by income. According to Edison Research, Trump won whites making less than $50,000 by 20 points, whites making $50,000 to $99,999 by 28 points, and whites making $100,000 or more by 14 points. This shows that Trump assembled a broad white coalition that ran the gamut from Joe the Dishwasher to Joe the Plumber to Joe the Banker. So when white pundits cast the elevation of Trump as the handiwork of an inscrutable white working class, they are being too modest, declining to claim credit for their own economic class. Trump’s dominance among whites across class lines is of a piece with his larger dominance across nearly every white demographic. Trump won white women (+9) and white men (+31). He won white people with college degrees (+3) and white people without them (+37). He won whites ages 18–29 (+4), 30–44 (+17), 45–64 (+28), and 65 and older (+19). Trump won whites in midwestern Illinois (+11), whites in mid-Atlantic New Jersey (+12), and whites in the Sun Belt’s New Mexico (+5). In no state that Edison polled did Trump’s white support dip below 40 percent. Hillary Clinton’s did, in states as disparate as Florida, Utah, Indiana, and Kentucky. From the beer track to the wine track, from soccer moms to nascardads, Trump’s performance among whites was dominant. According to Mother Jones, based on preelection polling data, if you tallied the popular vote of only white America to derive 2016 electoral votes, Trump would have defeated Clinton 389 to 81, with the remaining 68 votes either a toss-up or unknown.
Part of Trump’s dominance among whites resulted from his running as a Republican, the party that has long cultivated white voters. Trump’s share of the white vote was similar to Mitt Romney’s in 2012. But unlike Romney, Trump secured this support by running against his party’s leadership, against accepted campaign orthodoxy, and against all notions of decency. By his sixth month in office, embroiled in scandal after scandal, a Pew Research Center poll found Trump’s approval rating underwater with every single demographic group. Every demographic group, that is, except one: people who identified as white.The focus on one subsector of Trump voters—the white working class—is puzzling, given the breadth of his white coalition. Indeed, there is a kind of theater at work in which Trump’s presidency is pawned off as a product of the white working class as opposed to a product of an entire whiteness that includes the very authors doing the pawning. The motive is clear: escapism. To accept that the bloody heirloom remains potent even now, some five decades after Martin Luther King Jr. was gunned down on a Memphis balcony—even after a black president; indeed, strengthened by the fact of that black president—is to accept that racism remains, as it has since 1776, at the heart of this country’s political life. The idea of acceptance frustrates the left. The left would much rather have a discussion about class struggles, which might entice the white working masses, instead of about the racist struggles that those same masses have historically been the agents and beneficiaries of. Moreover, to accept that whiteness brought us Donald Trump is to accept whiteness as an existential danger to the country and the world. But if the broad and remarkable white support for Donald Trump can be reduced to the righteous anger of a noble class of smallville firefighters and evangelicals, mocked by Brooklyn hipsters and womanist professors into voting against their interests, then the threat of racism and whiteness, the threat of the heirloom, can be dismissed. Consciences can be eased; no deeper existential reckoning is required.

This transfiguration is not novel. It is a return to form. The tightly intertwined stories of the white working class and black Americans go back to the prehistory of the United States—and the use of one as a cudgel to silence the claims of the other goes back nearly as far. Like the black working class, the white working class originated in bondage—the former in the lifelong bondage of slavery, the latter in the temporary bondage of indenture. In the early 17th century, these two classes were remarkably, though not totally, free of racist enmity. But by the 18th century, the country’s master class had begun etching race into law while phasing out indentured servitude in favor of a more enduring labor solution. From these and other changes of law and economy, a bargain emerged: The descendants of indenture would enjoy the full benefits of whiteness, the most definitional benefit being that they would never sink to the level of the slave. But if the bargain protected white workers from slavery, it did not protect them from near-slave wages or backbreaking labor to attain them, and always there lurked a fear of having their benefits revoked. This early white working class “expressed soaring desires to be rid of the age-old inequalities of Europe and of any hint of slavery,” according to David R. Roediger, a professor of American studies at the University of Kansas. “They also expressed the rather more pedestrian goal of simply not being mistaken for slaves, or ‘negers’ or ‘negurs.’ ”

Roediger relates the experience, around 1807, of a British investor who made the mistake of asking a white maid in New England whether her “master” was home. The maid admonished the investor, not merely for implying that she had a “master” and thus was a “sarvant” but for his basic ignorance of American hierarchy. “None but negers are sarvants,” the maid is reported to have said. In law and economics and then in custom, a racist distinction not limited to the household emerged between the “help” (or the “freemen,” or the white workers) and the “servants” (the “negers,” the slaves). The former were virtuous and just, worthy of citizenship, progeny of Jefferson and, later, Jackson. The latter were servile and parasitic, dim-witted and lazy, the children of African savagery. But the dignity accorded to white labor was situational, dependent on the scorn heaped upon black labor—much as the honor accorded a “virtuous lady” was dependent on the derision directed at a “loose woman.” And like chivalrous gentlemen who claim to honor the lady while raping the “whore,” planters and their apologists could claim to honor white labor while driving the enslaved.And so George Fitzhugh, a prominent 19th-century Southern pro-slavery intellectual, could in a single stroke deplore the exploitation of free whites’ labor while defending the exploitation of enslaved blacks’ labor. Fitzhugh attacked white capitalists as “cannibals,” feeding off the labor of their fellow whites. The white workers were “ ‘slaves without masters;’ the little fish, who were food for all the larger.” Fitzhugh inveighed against a “professional man” who’d “amassed a fortune” by exploiting his fellow whites. But whereas Fitzhugh imagined white workers as devoured by capital, he imagined black workers as elevated by enslavement. The slaveholder “provided for them, with almost parental affection”—even when the loafing slave “feigned to be unfit for labor.” Fitzhugh proved too explicit—going so far as to argue that white laborers might be better off if enslaved. (“If white slavery be morally wrong,” he wrote, “the Bible cannot be true.”) Nevertheless, the argument that America’s original sin was not deep-seated white supremacy but rather the exploitation of white labor by white capitalists—“white slavery”—proved durable. Indeed, the panic of white slavery lives on in our politics today. Black workers suffer because it was and is our lot. But when white workers suffer, something in nature has gone awry. And so an opioid epidemic among mostly white people is greeted with calls for compassion and treatment, as all epidemics should be, while a crack epidemic among mostly black people is greeted with scorn and mandatory minimums. Sympathetic op‑ed columns and articles are devoted to the plight of working-class whites when their life expectancy plummets to levels that, for blacks, society has simply accepted as normal. White slavery is sin. Nigger slavery is natural. This dynamic serves a very real purpose: the consistent awarding of grievance and moral high ground to that class of workers which, by the bonds of whiteness, stands closest to America’s aristocratic class.
This is by design. Speaking in 1848, Senator John C. Calhoun saw slavery as the explicit foundation for a democratic union among whites, working and not:

With us the two great divisions of society are not the rich and poor, but white and black; and all the former, the poor as well as the rich, belong to the upper class, and are respected and treated as equals.

On the eve of secession, Jefferson Davis, the eventual president of the Confederacy, pushed the idea further, arguing that such equality between the white working class and white oligarchs could not exist at all without black slavery:

I say that the lower race of human beings that constitute the substratum of what is termed the slave population of the South, elevates every white man in our community … It is the presence of a lower caste, those lower by their mental and physical organization, controlled by the higher intellect of the white man, that gives this superiority to the white laborer. Menial services are not there performed by the white man. We have none of our brethren sunk to the degradation of being menials. That belongs to the lower race—the descendants of Ham.

Southern intellectuals found a shade of agreement with Northern white reformers who, while not agreeing on slavery, agreed on the nature of the most tragic victim of emerging capitalism. “I was formerly like yourself, sir, a very warm advocate of the abolition of slavery,” the labor reformer George Henry Evans argued in a letter to the abolitionist Gerrit Smith. “This was before I saw that there was white slavery.” Evans was a putative ally of Smith and his fellow abolitionists. But still he asserted that “the landless white” was worse off than the enslaved black, who at least enjoyed “surety of support in sickness and old age.”

Invokers of “white slavery” held that there was nothing unique in the enslavement of blacks when measured against the enslavement of all workers. What evil there was in enslavement resulted from its status as a subsidiary of the broader exploitation better seen among the country’s noble laboring whites. Once the larger problem of white exploitation was solved, the dependent problem of black exploitation could be confronted or perhaps would fade away. Abolitionists focused on slavery were dismissed as “substitutionists” who wished to trade one form of slavery for another. “If I am less troubled concerning the Slavery prevalent in Charleston or New-Orleans,” wrote the reformer Horace Greeley, “it is because I see so much Slavery in New-York, which appears to claim my first efforts.”Firsthand reports by white Union soldiers who witnessed actual slavery during the Civil War rendered the “white slavery” argument ridiculous. But its operating premises—white labor as noble archetype, and black labor as something else—lived on. This was a matter of rhetoric, not fact. The noble-white-labor archetype did not give white workers immunity from capitalism. It could not, in itself, break monopolies, alleviate white poverty in Appalachia or the South, or bring a decent wage to immigrant ghettos in the North. But the model for America’s original identity politics was set. Black lives literally did not matter and could be cast aside altogether as the price of even incremental gains for the white masses. It was this juxtaposition that allowed Theodore Bilbo to campaign for the Senate in the 1930s as someone who would “raise the same kind of hell as President Roosevelt” and later endorse lynching black people to keep them from voting.
The juxtaposition between the valid and even virtuous interests of the “working class” and the invalid and pathological interests of black Americans was not the province merely of blatant white supremacists like Bilbo. The acclaimed scholar, liberal hero, and future senator Daniel Patrick Moynihan, in his time working for President Richard Nixon, approvingly quoted Nixon’s formulation of the white working class: “A new voice” was beginning to make itself felt in the country. “It is a voice that has been silent too long,” Nixon claimed, alluding to working-class whites. “It is a voice of people who have not taken to the streets before, who have not indulged in violence, who have not broken the law.”
The fact of a black president seemed to insult Donald Trump personally. He has made the negation of Barack Obama’s legacy the foundation of his own. (Gabriella Demczuk)
It had been only 18 years since the Cicero riots; eight years since Daisy and Bill Myers had been run out of Levittown, Pennsylvania; three years since Martin Luther King Jr. had been stoned while walking through Chicago’s Marquette Park. But as the myth of the virtuous white working class was made central to American identity, its sins needed to be rendered invisible. The fact was, working-class whites had been agents of racist terrorism since at least the draft riots of 1863; terrorism could not be neatly separated from the racist animus found in every class of whites. Indeed, in the era of lynching, the daily newspapers often whipped up the fury of the white masses by invoking the last species of property that all white men held in common—white women. But to conceal the breadth of white racism, these racist outbursts were often disregarded or treated not as racism but as the unfortunate side effect of legitimate grievances against capital. By focusing on that sympathetic laboring class, the sins of whiteness itself were, and are still being, evaded.
When David Duke, the former grand wizard of the Ku Klux Klan, shocked the country in 1990 by almost winning one of Louisiana’s seats in the U.S. Senate, the apologists came out once again. They elided the obvious—that Duke had appealed to the racist instincts of a state whose schools are, at this very moment, still desegregating—and instead decided that something else was afoot. “There is a tremendous amount of anger and frustration among working-class whites, particularly where there is an economic downturn,” a researcher told the Los Angeles Times. “These people feel left out; they feel government is not responsive to them.” By this logic, postwar America—with its booming economy and low unemployment—should have been an egalitarian utopia and not the violently segregated country it actually was.But this was the past made present. It was not important to the apologists that a large swath of Louisiana’s white population thought it was a good idea to send a white supremacist who once fronted a terrorist organization to the nation’s capital. Nor was it important that blacks in Louisiana had long felt left out. What was important was the fraying of an ancient bargain, and the potential degradation of white workers to the level of “negers.” “A viable left must find a way to differentiate itself strongly from such analysis,” David Roediger, the University of Kansas professor, has written.

That challenge of differentiation has largely been ignored. Instead, an imagined white working class remains central to our politics and to our cultural understanding of those politics, not simply when it comes to addressing broad economic issues but also when it comes to addressing racism. At its most sympathetic, this belief holds that most Americans—regardless of race—are exploited by an unfettered capitalist economy. The key, then, is to address those broader patterns that afflict the masses of all races; the people who suffer from those patterns more than others (blacks, for instance) will benefit disproportionately from that which benefits everyone. “These days, what ails working-class and middle-class blacks and Latinos is not fundamentally different from what ails their white counterparts,” Senator Barack Obama wrote in 2006: Downsizing, outsourcing, automation, wage stagnation, the dismantling of employer-based health-care and pension plans, and schools that fail to teach young people the skills they need to compete in a global economy.Obama allowed that “blacks in particular have been vulnerable to these trends”—but less because of racism than for reasons of geography and job-sector distribution. This notion—raceless antiracism—marks the modern left, from the New Democrat Bill Clinton to the socialist Bernie Sanders. Few national liberal politicians have shown any recognition that there is something systemic and particular in the relationship between black people and their country that might require specific policy solutions.

In 2006 Hilary Clinton acknowledged the existence of systemic racism more explicitly than any of her modern Democratic predecessors. She had to—black voters remembered too well the previous Clinton administration, as well as her previous campaign. While her husband’s administration had touted the rising-tide theory of economic growth, it did so while slashing welfare and getting “tough on crime,” a phrase that stood for specific policies but also served as rhetorical bait for white voters. One is tempted to excuse Hillary Clinton from having to answer for the sins of her husband. But in her 2008 campaign, she evoked the old dichotomy between white workers and loafing blacks, claiming to be the representative of “hardworking Americans, white Americans.” By the end of the 2008 primary campaign against Barack Obama, her advisers were hoping someone would uncover an apocryphal “whitey tape,” in which an angry Michelle Obama was alleged to have used the slur. During Bill Clinton’s presidential-reelection campaign in the mid-1990s, Hillary Clinton herself had endorsed the “super-predator” theory of William J. Bennett, John P. Walters, and John J. DiIulio Jr. This theory cast “inner-city” children of that era as “almost completely unmoralized” and the font of “a new generation of street criminals … the youngest, biggest and baddest generation any society has ever known.” The “baddest generation” did not become super-predators. But by 2016, they were young adults, many of whom judged Hillary Clinton’s newfound consciousness to be lacking.

It’s worth asking why the country has not been treated to a raft of sympathetic portraits of this “forgotten” young black electorate, forsaken by a Washington bought off by Davos elites and special interests. The unemployment rate for young blacks (20.6 percent) in July 2016 was double that of young whites (9.9 percent). And since the late 1970s, William Julius Wilson and other social scientists following in his wake have noted the disproportionate effect that the decline in manufacturing jobs has had on African American communities. If anyone should be angered by the devastation wreaked by the financial sector and a government that declined to prosecute the perpetrators, it is African Americans—the housing crisis was one of the primary drivers in the past 20 years of the wealth gap between black families and the rest of the country. But the cultural condescension toward and economic anxiety of black people is not news. Toiling blacks are in their proper state; toiling whites raise the specter of white slavery.Moreover, a narrative of long-neglected working-class black voters, injured by globalization and the financial crisis, forsaken by out-of-touch politicians, and rightfully suspicious of a return of Clintonism, does not serve to cleanse the conscience of white people for having elected Donald Trump. Only the idea of a long-suffering white working class can do that. And though much has been written about the distance between elites and “Real America,” the existence of a class-transcending, mutually dependent tribe of white people is evident.
Joe Biden, then the vice president, last year:

“They’re all the people I grew up with … And they’re not racist. They’re not sexist.”

Bernie Sanders, senator and former candidate for president, last year:

“I come from the white working class, and I am deeply humiliated that the Democratic Party cannot talk to the people where I came from.”

Nicholas Kristof, the New York Times columnist, in February of this year:

My hometown, Yamhill, Ore., a farming community, is Trump country, and I have many friends who voted for Trump. I think they’re profoundly wrong, but please don’t dismiss them as hateful bigots.

These claims of origin and fidelity are not merely elite defenses of an aggrieved class but also a sweeping dismissal of the concerns of those who don’t share kinship with white men. “You can’t eat equality,” asserts Joe Biden—a statement worthy of someone unthreatened by the loss of wages brought on by an unwanted pregnancy, a background-check box at the bottom of a job application, or the deportation of a breadwinner. Within a week of Sanders lambasting Democrats for not speaking to “the people” where he “came from,” he was making an example of a woman who dreamed of representing the people where she came from. Confronted with a young woman who hoped to become the second Latina senator in American history, Sanders responded with a parody of the Clinton campaign: “It is not good enough for someone to say, ‘I’m a woman! Vote for me!’ No, that’s not good enough … One of the struggles that you’re going to be seeing in the Democratic Party is whether we go beyond identity politics.” The upshot—attacking one specimen of identity politics after having invoked another—was unfortunate.

Other Sanders appearances proved even more alarming. On MSNBC, he attributed Trump’s success, in part, to his willingness to “not be politically correct.” Sanders admitted that Trump had “said some outrageous and painful things, but I think people are tired of the same old, same old political rhetoric.” Pressed on the definition of political correctness, Sanders gave an answer Trump surely would have approved of. “What it means is you have a set of talking points which have been poll-tested and focus-group-tested,” Sanders explained. “And that’s what you say rather than what’s really going on. And often, what you are not allowed to say are things which offend very, very powerful people.”
This definition of political correctness was shocking coming from a politician of the left. But it matched a broader defense of Trump voters. “Some people think that the people who voted for Trump are racists and sexists and homophobes and just deplorable folks,” Sanders said later. “I don’t agree.” This is not exculpatory. Certainly not every Trump voter is a white supremacist, just as not every white person in the Jim Crow South was a white supremacist. But every Trump voter felt it acceptable to hand the fate of the country over to one.One can, to some extent, understand politicians’ embracing a self-serving identity politics. Candidates for high office, such as Sanders, have to cobble together a coalition. The white working class is seen, understandably, as a large cache of potential votes, and capturing these votes requires eliding uncomfortable truths. But journalists have no such excuse. Again and again in the past year, Nicholas Kristof could be found pleading with his fellow liberals not to dismiss his old comrades in the white working class as bigots—even when their bigotry was evidenced in his own reporting. A visit to Tulsa, Oklahoma, finds Kristof wondering why Trump voters support a president who threatens to cut the programs they depend on. But the problem, according to Kristof ’s interviewees, isn’t Trump’s attack on benefits so much as an attack on their benefits. “There’s a lot of wasteful spending, so cut other places,” one man tells Kristof. When Kristof pushes his subjects to identify that wasteful spending, a fascinating target is revealed: “Obama phones,” the products of a fevered conspiracy theory that turned a long-standing government program into a scheme through which the then-president gave away free cellphones to undeserving blacks. Kristof doesn’t shift his analysis based on this comment and, aside from a one-sentence fact-check tucked between parentheses, continues on as though it were never said.
Observing a Trump supporter in the act of deploying racism does not much perturb Kristof. That is because his defenses of the innate goodness of Trump voters and of the innate goodness of the white working class are in fact defenses of neither. On the contrary, the white working class functions rhetorically not as a real community of people so much as a tool to quiet the demands of those who want a more inclusive America.Mark Lilla’s New York Times essay “The End of Identity Liberalism,” published not long after last year’s election, is perhaps the most profound example of this genre. Lilla denounces the perversion of liberalism into “a kind of moral panic about racial, gender and sexual identity,” which distorted liberalism’s message “and prevented it from becoming a unifying force capable of governing.” Liberals have turned away from their working-class base, he says, and must look to the “pre-identity liberalism” of Bill Clinton and Franklin D. Roosevelt. You would never know from this essay that Bill Clinton was one of the most skillful identity politicians of his era—flying home to Arkansas to see a black man, the lobotomized Ricky Ray Rector, executed; upstaging Jesse Jackson at his own conference; signing the Defense of Marriage Act. Nor would you know that the “pre-identity” liberal champion Roosevelt depended on the literally lethal identity politics of the white-supremacist “solid South.” The name Barack Obama does not appear in Lilla’s essay, and he never attempts to grapple, one way or another, with the fact that it was identity politics—the possibility of the first black president—that brought a record number of black voters to the polls, winning the election for the Democratic Party, and thus enabling the deliverance of the ancient liberal goal of national health care. “Identity politics … is largely expressive, not persuasive,” Lilla claims. “Which is why it never wins elections—but can lose them.” That Trump ran and won on identity politics is beyond Lilla’s powers of conception. What appeals to the white working class is ennobled. What appeals to black workers, and all others outside the tribe, is dastardly identitarianism. All politics are identity politics—except the politics of white people, the politics of the bloody heirloom.
White tribalism haunts even more-nuanced writers. George Packer’s New Yorker essay “The Unconnected” is a lengthy plea for liberals to focus more on the white working class, a population that “has succumbed to the ills that used to be associated with the black urban ‘underclass.’ ” Packer believes that these ills, and the Democratic Party’s failure to respond to them, explain much of Trump’s rise. Packer offers no opinion polls to weigh white workers’ views on “elites,” much less their views on racism. He offers no sense of how their views and their relationship to Trump differ from other workers’ and other whites’.That is likely because any empirical evaluation of the relationship between Trump and the white working class would reveal that one adjective in that phrase is doing more work than the other. In 2016, Trump enjoyed majority or plurality support among every economic branch of whites. It is true that his strongest support among whites came from those making $50,000 to $99,999. This would be something more than working-class in many nonwhite neighborhoods, but even if one accepts that branch as the working class, the difference between how various groups in this income bracket voted is revealing. Sixty-one percent of whites in this “working class” supported Trump. Only 24 percent of Hispanics and 11 percent of blacks did. Indeed, the plurality of all voters making less than $100,000 and the majority making less than $50,000 voted for the Democratic candidate. So when Packer laments the fact that “Democrats can no longer really claim to be the party of working people—not white ones, anyway,” he commits a kind of category error. The real problem is that Democrats aren’t the party of white people—working or otherwise. White workers are not divided by the fact of labor from other white demographics; they are divided from all other laborers by the fact of their whiteness.
Packer’s essay was published before the election, and so the vote tally was not available. But it should not be surprising that a Republican candidate making a direct appeal to racism would drive up the numbers among white voters, given that racism has been a dividing line for the national parties since the civil-rights era. Packer finds inspiration for his thesis in West Virginia—a state that remained Democratic through the 1990s before turning decisively Republican, at least at the level of presidential politics. This relatively recent rightward movement evinces, to Packer, a shift “that couldn’t be attributed just to the politics of race.” This is likely true—the politics of race are, themselves, never attributable “just to the politics of race.” The history of slavery is also about the growth of international capitalism; the history of lynching must be seen in light of anxiety over the growing independence of women; the civil-rights movement can’t be disentangled from the Cold War. Thus, to say that the rise of Donald Trump is about more than race is to make an empty statement, one that is small comfort to the people—black, Muslim, immigrant—who live under racism’s boot.The dent of racism is not hard to detect in West Virginia. In the 2008 Democratic primary there, 95 percent of the voters were white. Twenty percent of those—one in five—openly admitted that race was influencing their vote, and more than 80 percent voted for Hillary Clinton over Barack Obama. Four years later, the incumbent Obama lost the primary in 10 counties to Keith Judd, a white felon incarcerated in a federal prison; Judd racked up more than 40 percent of the Democratic-primary vote in the state. A simple thought experiment: Can one imagine a black felon in a federal prison running in a primary against an incumbent white president doing so well?
But racism occupies a mostly passive place in Packer’s essay. There’s no attempt to understand why black and brown workers, victimized by the same new economy and cosmopolitan elite that Packer lambastes, did not join the Trump revolution. Like Kristof, Packer is gentle with his subjects. When a woman “exploded” and told Packer, “I want to eat what I want to eat, and for them to tell me I can’t eat French fries or Coca-Cola—no way,” he sees this as a rebellion against “the moral superiority of elites.” In fact, this elite conspiracy dates back to 1894, when the government first began advising Americans on their diets. As recently as 2002, President George W. Bush launched the HealthierUS initiative, urging Americans to exercise and eat healthy food. But Packer never allows himself to wonder whether the explosion he witnessed had anything to do with the fact that similar advice now came from the country’s first black first lady. Packer concludes that Obama was leaving the country “more divided and angrier than most Americans can remember,” a statement that is likely true only because most Americans identify as white. Certainly the men and women forced to live in the wake of the beating of John Lewis, the lynching of Emmett Till, the firebombing of Percy Julian’s home, and the assassinations of Martin Luther King Jr. and Medgar Evers would disagree.

The triumph of Trump’s campaign of bigotry presented the problematic spectacle of an American president succeeding at best in spite of his racism and possibly because of it. Trump moved racism from the euphemistic and plausibly deniable to the overt and freely claimed. This presented the country’s thinking class with a dilemma. Hillary Clinton simply could not be correct when she asserted that a large group of Americans was endorsing a candidate because of bigotry. The implications—that systemic bigotry is still central to our politics; that the country is susceptible to such bigotry; that the salt-of-the-earth Americans whom we lionize in our culture and politics are not so different from those same Americans who grin back at us in lynching photos; that Calhoun’s aim of a pan-Caucasian embrace between workers and capitalists still endures—were just too dark. Leftists would have to cope with the failure, yet again, of class unity in the face of racism. Incorporating all of this into an analysis of America and the path forward proved too much to ask. Instead, the response has largely been an argument aimed at emotion—the summoning of the white working class, emblem of America’s hardscrabble roots, inheritor of its pioneer spirit, as a shield against the horrific and empirical evidence of trenchant bigotry.

Packer dismisses the Democratic Party as a coalition of “rising professionals and diversity.” The dismissal is derived from, of all people, Lawrence Summers, the former Harvard president and White House economist, who last year labeled the Democratic Party “a coalition of the cosmopolitan élite and diversity.” The inference is that the party has forgotten how to speak on hard economic issues and prefers discussing presumably softer cultural issues such as “diversity.” It’s worth unpacking what, precisely, falls under this rubric of “diversity”—resistance to the monstrous incarceration of legions of black men, resistance to the destruction of health providers for poor women, resistance to the effort to deport parents, resistance to a policing whose sole legitimacy is rooted in brute force, resistance to a theory of education that preaches “no excuses” to black and brown children, even as excuses are proffered for mendacious corporate executives “too big to jail.” That this suite of concerns, taken together, can be dismissed by both an elite economist like Summers and a brilliant journalist like Packer as “diversity” simply reveals the safe space they enjoy. Because of their identity.

WHEN BARACK OBAMA came into office, in 2009, he believed that he could work with “sensible” conservatives by embracing aspects of their policy as his own. Instead he found that his very imprimatur made that impossible. Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell announced that the GOP’s primary goal was not to find common ground but to make Obama a “one-term president.” A health-care plan inspired by Romneycare was, when proposed by Obama, suddenly considered socialist and, not coincidentally, a form of reparations. The first black president found that he was personally toxic to the GOP base. An entire political party was organized around the explicit aim of negating one man. It was thought by Obama and some of his allies that this toxicity was the result of a relentless assault waged by Fox News and right-wing talk radio. Trump’s genius was to see that it was something more, that it was a hunger for revanche so strong that a political novice and accused rapist could topple the leadership of one major party and throttle the heavily favored nominee of the other.

“I could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody and I wouldn’t lose any voters,” Trump bragged in January 2016. This statement should be met with only a modicum of skepticism. Trump has mocked the disabled, withstood multiple accusations of sexual violence (all of which he has denied), fired an FBI director, sent his minions to mislead the public about his motives, personally exposed those lies by boldly stating his aim to scuttle an investigation into his possible collusion with a foreign power, then bragged about that same obstruction to representatives of that same foreign power. It is utterly impossible to conjure a black facsimile of Donald Trump—to imagine Obama, say, implicating an opponent’s father in the assassination of an American president or comparing his physical endowment with that of another candidate and then successfully capturing the presidency. Trump, more than any other politician, understood the valence of the bloody heirloom and the great power in not being a nigger.
But the power is ultimately suicidal. Trump evinces this, too. In a recent New Yorker article, a former Russian military officer pointed out that interference in an election could succeed only where “necessary conditions” and an “existing background” were present. In America, that “existing background” was a persistent racism, and the “necessary condition” was a black president. The two related factors hobbled America’s ability to safeguard its electoral system. As late as July 2016, a majority of Republican voters doubted that Barack Obama had been born in the United States, which is to say they did not view him as a legitimate president. Republican politicians acted accordingly, infamously denying his final Supreme Court nominee a hearing and then, fatefully, refusing to work with the administration to defend the country against the Russian attack. Before the election, Obama found no takers among Republicans for a bipartisan response, and Obama himself, underestimating Trump and thus underestimating the power of whiteness, believed the Republican nominee too objectionable to actually win. In this Obama was, tragically, wrong. And so the most powerful country in the world has handed over all its affairs—the prosperity of its entire economy; the security of its 300 million citizens; the purity of its water, the viability of its air, the safety of its food; the future of its vast system of education; the soundness of its national highways, airways, and railways; the apocalyptic potential of its nuclear arsenal—to a carnival barker who introduced the phrase grab ’em by the pussy into the national lexicon. It is as if the white tribe united in demonstration to say, “If a black man can be president, then any white man—no matter how fallen—can be president.” And in that perverse way, the democratic dreams of Jefferson and Jackson were fulfilled.The American tragedy now being wrought is larger than most imagine and will not end with Trump. In recent times, whiteness as an overt political tactic has been restrained by a kind of cordiality that held that its overt invocation would scare off “moderate” whites. This has proved to be only half true at best. Trump’s legacy will be exposing the patina of decency for what it is and revealing just how much a demagogue can get away with. It does not take much to imagine another politician, wiser in the ways of Washington and better schooled in the methodology of governance—and now liberated from the pretense of antiracist civility—doing a much more effective job than Trump.It has long been an axiom among certain black writers and thinkers that while whiteness endangers the bodies of black people in the immediate sense, the larger threat is to white people themselves, the shared country, and even the whole world. There is an impulse to blanch at this sort of grandiosity. When W. E. B. Du Bois claims that slavery was “singularly disastrous for modern civilization” or James Baldwin claims that whites “have brought humanity to the edge of oblivion: because they think they are white,” the instinct is to cry exaggeration. But there really is no other way to read the presidency of Donald Trump. The first white president in American history is also the most dangerous president—and he is made more dangerous still by the fact that those charged with analyzing him cannot name his essential nature, because they too are implicated in it.

This essay is drawn from Ta-Nehisi Coates’s new book, We Were Eight Years in Power.Listen to the audio version of this article:Feature stories, read aloud: download the Audm app for your iPhone.

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………..rather not………..well….not now anyway…..

w

…….before anybody gets carried away with this particular GOP Ken doll…….

……and in this Fun Facts Edition of Who Is This?.. new …..candidate….for FBI Director?….Christopher Wray ….and where have we heard that name before?…..

FBI Building

This morning, the Senate Judiciary Committee is holding a confirmation hearing for Christopher Wray, President Trump’s nominee to be director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The director is a critically important position, as the FBI has the power and responsibility to safeguard civil liberties and rights, though the agency has often claimed powers that violate the fundamental freedoms of citizens and noncitizens alike, at home and abroad.

The Senate Judiciary Committee must — in addition to reviewing Wray’s record as a top official in the Bush Justice Department — consider how that record and the circumstances around his nomination relate to any role the FBI director may have in the Russia investigation conducted by Special Counsel Robert Mueller.  The position is vacant only because James Comey was fired over the FBI’s investigation into alleged Russian interference in the presidential election and possible collusion with the Trump campaign and associates.  In considering the Wray nomination, the Senate must ensure that Mueller have full independence to investigate and that Wray  not cave to any White House pressure to interfere in any investigation.

Wray’s record on civil liberties — from his apparent but unclear role in the Bush-era torture program to his advocacy for the passage and implementation of the USA PATRIOT Act to his support for “material support” prosecutions that have targeted, often unfairly, minorities and the vulnerable — is cause for alarm and requires rigorous scrutiny by the Senate.

From 2001 to 2005, Wray worked in the Department of Justice with many key architects of the unconstitutional, illegal, and immoral Bush torture program, including Alberto Gonzales, John Yoo, and Steven Bradbury. During his tenure, Wray is mentioned in numerous documents related to the torture program obtained by the ACLU through litigation. But because of redactions, his role and opinions remain largely secret.

Still, we know that John Yoo, an architect of the torture program, testified before the House Judiciary Committee in 2008 that Wray, as principal associate deputy attorney general, may have been one of the recipients of a secret legal opinion from 2003 that justified the Bush administration’s use of torture. Nothing in the public record indicates that Wray objected to torture and cruel treatment. But we do know that he was apparently involved in torture-related investigations that did not result in any prosecution.

Wray was also a strong advocate for the passage of the USA PATRIOT Act, which provided the government with vastly expanded authority to surveil people, including American citizens, even as it eliminated or watered down safeguards like judicial oversight, public accountability, and the ability to challenge government searches in court.

In 2003, Wray testified before the Senate Judiciary Committee that “the Patriot Act has helped preserve and protect liberty and freedom, not erode them,” and insisted that safeguards were in place to prevent abuse. Contrary to his view, the Justice Department’s inspector general audits later confirmed widespread FBI abuse of Patriot Act powers. The courts later struck down parts of the Patriot Act as unconstitutional.Wray also played a role in the arbitrary detention of almost 800 Arab or Muslim men who were held for prolonged periods, at times in maximum-security prisons, and cut off from access to their families and lawyers. Many of these men were held without a legitimate basis and some continued to be detained even after judges had ordered their release or deportation.

The FBI has a long history of abusing its authority; overstepping the law; profiling and discriminating against journalists, immigrants, and minorities; and violating the Constitution. That Wray, as director of the FBI, would also claim such broad powers should concern all of us.

As senators take up Christopher Wray’s nomination, the public deserves to know if he supports the torture, wrongful detention, and unlawful surveillance that were the hallmarks of the Bush years — aspects of which continued during the Obama years. In the Trump era especially, Americans will need an FBI director who knows how to say no to unconstitutional policies and practices and shows a commitment to abiding by the Constitution.

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COMMENTS

……..including the comments is becoming a regular thing around here……. Anna is my favorite….ran through the Goggle Translator…….Mike needs more fibre……fun is where you find it folks!

Anna Vasil’yevn…

Конечно, семья Трампа дала нам информацию. Мы дали им столько информации, сколько хотели. Мы вступаем в сговор с Trumps на выборах. Мы также вступаем в сговор с Бушем.

Mike F

Dear God what a load of crap. He worked for justice when bad things happened so did half the Obama Administration. ACLU talking about morality and integrity is something they sold off to be partisan long ago. Sad to think these people and a few ignorant old people who still believe the hype are worried about the “critical question” Bipartisan to a liberal means the right bends over to accommodate. Those days are over. The true liberal in the old school sense has be silenced with a high fiber substitute for reason. The results just keep piling up.

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……Anna said it all….didn’t she?……..I used to be indecisive but now I’m not so sure……..w

to support this goober….. you have to get past the part when he was one of George W’s cadre of lawyers talked with finding the clean end of that turd…….. he was ok with waterboarding and the other “enhanced techniques” that those bastards administered on our behalf when the Bush administration ran off half cocked bombing the shit out of everything……..

…….Colorado should remove its monuments to genocide….

With the Old South finally cleansing itself of outdated statues, Colorado should consider names like Evans, Byers and Gore.

Mountain Evans, as seen from Aurora, is named for John Evans, the first territorial governor of Colorado. In 2014, a nine-member committee at Northwestern University investigated Evans’ role in the Sand Creek Massacre and determined that he “helped create a situation that made the Sand Creek Massacre possible.”

Mountain Evans, as seen from Aurora, is named for John Evans, the first territorial governor of Colorado. In 2014, a nine-member committee at Northwestern University investigated Evans’ role in the Sand Creek Massacre and determined that he “helped create a situation that made the Sand Creek Massacre possible.”

The recent spectacle of crews in New Orleans removing the statues of Confederate heroes from places of reverence might seem long overdue to your average Coloradan. The tradition in the Old South of honoring white supremacists and champions of slavery is hard to fathom from this distant vantage point.

But here in Colorado, we have our own shameful traditions. Our whitewashed history from the territorial period in the late 1800s has elevated a whole cast of disgraceful figures to pinnacles — literally — of undeserved public esteem.

Let’s start with the first territorial governor, John Evans, whose name is memorialized on a 14,265-foot mountain peak.

In 2014, a nine-member committee at Northwestern University investigated Evans’ role in the Sand Creek Massacre and the genocide of Native Americans across the Colorado Territory. While it found insufficient evidence to suggest that Evans was involved personally in planning the attack on the Cheyennes and Arapahos at Sand Creek on Nov. 29, 1864, the report was highly critical, saying that he “helped create a situation that made the Sand Creek Massacre possible.”

Then, it said, “John Evans’ conduct after the Sand Creek Massacre reveals a deep moral failure that warrants condemnation. While he denied any role in the massacre, he refused to acknowledge, let alone criticize, what had happened, even going so far as to defend and rationalize it. Regardless of Evans’ degree of culpability in failing to make every possible effort to protect the Cheyennes and Arapahos when they were most vulnerable, his response to the Sand Creek Massacre was reprehensibly obtuse and self-interested. His recollections of the event displayed complete indifference to the suffering inflicted on Cheyennes and Arapahos.”

In case you might think that the committee was inclined to be hostile or unfair to him, keep in mind that Northwestern was founded by Evans and is located in a town called Evanston. (The University of Denver also was founded by Evans.)

Evans’ sidekick and collaborator in promoting and then rationalizing the slaughter at Sand Creek was William Byers, namesake for the 12,804-foot Byers Peak in Grand County.

Byers was the publisher of the Daily Rocky Mountain News, which was unabashedly in bed with Evans, even marketing itself as “the Official Paper of the Territory,” a sort of Pravda of the Plains.
In an editorial in 1864 that attempted to rally settlers to take arms against the Indians on whose land they were flagrantly trespassing, Byers wrote, “A few months of active extermination against the red devils will bring quiet and nothing else will.”

“Extermination.” His message was unambiguous.

Another despicable creature memorialized in the Colorado high country is Sir George Gore, who apparently didn’t participate in the war against the Indians, but instead was a prominent leader in the 1850s campaign to wipe out the buffalo, the literal and spiritual lifeline for Plains Indians.

Gore, a spectacularly self-indulgent Irish nobleman, came to Colorado to fish and hunt, bringing with him a valet, a spacious linen tent, a brass bed, a steel bathtub, a fur-lined toilet, packs of hunting dogs, and a selection of whiskeys and fine wines.

During his two-year hunting holiday, he reported killing some 100 bears, 2,000 buffalo and untold elk and deer for the heck of it, leaving many of them to rot in the sun while the Indians who depended on them struggled to survive.

Gore Pass and the Gore Range bear the name of this crazy fool.

And there are counties in Colorado named after prominent national figures in the campaign of terrorism and genocide. Among them are Kit Carson, Custer and Jackson counties. And, sickeningly, a town is still named after John Chivington, whose troops slaughtered and mutilated the bodies of an estimated 150 Indians — mostly women and children — who had been promised protection at Sand Creek.

So, in the interest of honesty, reconciliation and basic human decency, Coloradans should take a cue from the Old South and stop venerating a bunch of self-aggrandizing mass murderers from the 19th century.

Yes, these were prominent figures in our history, but the truth of their crimes against humanity must not be denied. Coloradans are better than that.

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May 26, 2017 at 12:00 pm

Diane Carman is a communications consultant and a regular columnist for The Denver Post.

……..honesty, reconciliation and basic human decency …….who wouldn’t sign up for that?…………w

 

…Congress Can Remove Donald Trump From Office Without Impeaching Him…

ANGRY TRUMP SHOT FISTS UP

Presidential psychology is quickly becoming a bipartisan issue. Recently, Senator Al Franken said that he and several of his GOP colleagues shared the opinion that President Donald Trump is “not right mentally.” Shortly thereafter, 35 mental health professionals — psychiatrists, psychologists and social workers — took to the pages of the New York Times to register their own concerns that the President was demonstrating “grave emotional instability.”

These controversial armchair diagnoses are powerless on their own. But what if there was something that Senator Franken and his concerned colleagues could actually do? Constitutionally speaking, there might be.

Much has been written in recent weeks about a provision in Section 4 of the 25th Amendment that allows the Vice President and a majority of the Cabinet to send a letter to Congress stating that the President is “unable to discharge the powers and duties of his office.” This letter would immediately initiate a transfer of power to the Vice President, subject to additional Congressional review.

While theoretically possible, it is highly unlikely that the Vice President and the Cabinet would unite to remove the President absent a clear incapacitation along the lines President Woodrow Wilson experienced after a stroke. Even if there was a bipartisan consensus that he was unfit to serve, the President would have broad authority to remove his Cabinet before it could take any action.

But there is another provision in the Amendment that has received much less popular attention — one that could allow Congress to play a role in removing the President. And no, it isn’t impeachment. Instead, a little-known provision in Section 4 empowers Congress to form its own body to evaluate the President’s fitness for office, eliminating the need for the Cabinet’s involvement in the process (emphasis ours):

Whenever the Vice President and a majority of either the principal officers of the executive departments or of such other body as Congress may by law provide, transmit to the President pro tempore of the Senate and the Speaker of the House of Representatives their written declaration that the President is unable to discharge the powers and duties of his office, the Vice President shall immediately assume the powers and duties of the office as Acting President.

But what constitutional constraints are put on this power? Remarkably, there aren’t any. The framers of the 25th Amendment left the provision purposely vague, allowing Congress flexibility to decide on its specifics at a later date. It should come as no surprise to those who bemoan Congress’s frequent inactivity to find out that in the 50 years since the Amendment passed, it has never made such a decision.

However, there are two ways that Congress could still act on this provision.

The first approach would be to appoint a panel of independent medical practitioners to judge the health of American presidents. Former president Jimmy Carter has been a strong advocate for this approach, noting the advanced age and poor health of many U.S. presidents. Since the 1990s, Carter has expressed particular concern about the conflict of interests faced by the personal physicians to the President, who might otherwise be tasked with making a determination about medical fitness. These physicians often have personal relationships with the presidents they treat. (Carter’s was his tennis partner.) This seems to be the case with President Trump, whose own personal physician, Dr. Harold Bornstein, famously wrote a bizarre four-paragraph letter raving about Trump’s “astonishingly excellent” health. He later said that he wrote this letter in five minutes while riding in a limousine paid for by Trump himself.

A second approach would be for Congress to appoint a body with no medical expertise whatsoever. Because the 25th Amendment does not require a medical diagnosis or consultation with medical professionals, Congress could even appoint members of its own ranks to the panel. This approach could give Congress the ability to enforce its own criteria for presidential fitness. For example, Congress could deem the President “unable to discharge the powers and duties of his office” if he is unable to be trusted with classified information by intelligence agencies. Congress could even use the threat of removal to exercise additional leverage over the President’s actions.

This approach would raise grave constitutional and moral questions about the proper role of Congress in our democracy. Moreover, in addition to sign-off from the Vice President, this path would likely require supermajorities in both houses of Congress to override a presidential veto, further underscoring the improbability of such a move.

Despite the long odds, President Trump’s erratic behavior in recent weeks has led many — including constitutional scholar and Harvard Law Professor Laurence Tribe — to start talking about whether the President is fit to discharge the duties of his office under the meaning of the 25th Amendment. While such conversations may be premature, it is important to understand the constitutional mechanisms that would allow removal of a president if a broad bipartisan consensus emerges that he or she is unable to lead our nation.

In the heat of the 2016 Presidential campaign, Donald Trump’s physician assured the American people that his 70-year old patient would be “the healthiest individual ever elected to the presidency.” Congress might have a different opinion.

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Breidbart and Nayak are students at Yale Law School.

…..DISPARATE TREATMENT……..

DISPARATE TREATMENT

What?….huh?…..Pay attention now…..you’re going to like knowing this when we’re done…..I promise…… It’s a simple question: What is Disparate Treatment?

Disparate treatment is an element of employment discrimination. The term means that an employee was treated differently than other employees similarly situated, though in a legal sense, the different treatment must be based on the individual’s inclusion in a protected class. Discrimination is prohibited by the U.S. Constitution, and as such, the wronged person may take his case before the employment board, or to the court system. To explore this concept, consider the following disparate treatment definition.

Definition of Disparate Treatment: Noun: Treatment of an individual that is less favorable than treatment of others, for a discriminatory purpose
Discriminatory treatment of an employee for reasons of his inclusion in a protected class
Definition of Disparate: Adjective: Essentially different, dissimilar, or distinct in kind
Origin of Disparate: 1580-1590 Latin disparātus (“separated”)

What is Disparate Treatment
Disparate treatment is a claim of discrimination in which an individual complains to have been treated differently than other people in a similar situation, but who don’t share the individual’s protected class. Disparate treatment is a common element of proving employment discrimination, but it occurs in other areas of life as well, such as loan approval, housing, and educational opportunities. Disparate treatment may range from obvious discrimination, to subtle differences in treatment. In order to have a legal claim for disparate treatment, it is not necessary that the discriminatory treatment be intentional, or even that it be motivated by prejudice.

For example: Marge has been working as a teacher at her school, in a depressed neighborhood with a large number of Hispanic children, for three years. She learned that, in an attempt to attract and keep Hispanic, Spanish-speaking teachers, the school district has offered special perks, including a summer bonus billed as a vacation booster. Marge, a white teacher who speaks Spanish, does not receive this bonus.

She makes a request to be given the same summer bonus as the other teachers, but the district denies her request, as it is specifically earmarked for those minority teachers. Marge may file a complaint with the employment division in her state, based on discrimination by disparate treatment. While the school district did not intend to discriminate against anyone, but only to entice Hispanic teachers to their school, the effect is the same. Interestingly enough, in this example of disparate treatment, Marge is not being discriminated against because she belongs to a protected class, but because she doesn’t.

What is a Protected Class
Federal anti-discrimination laws make it unlawful to discriminate against anyone on the basis of certain characteristics. Because these characteristics are protected by law, people having these traits or qualities are considered to be in a protected class.

Protected Classes: Race, Color, National Origin, Religion, Age, Sex, Pregnancy, Disability, Veteran Status, Citizenship, Familial Status, Genetic Information Equal Employment Opportunity (“EEO”) laws were enacted to correct a pattern of unequal treatment of women and minorities. As the definition of protected class has expanded, it has become clear that everyone belongs to some protected class, and may be protected from discrimination by federal law.

Disparate Treatment vs. Disparate Impact
There are two ways in which a person may be treated differently, or “disparately,” for purposes of discrimination actions: (1) disparate treatment, and (2) disparate impact. The difference between the two has to do with intent and effect.

Disparate Treatment
The EEO defines this type of discrimination as: “Inconsistent application of rules and policies to one group of people over another.” In 1977, the U.S. Supreme Court defined disparate treatment as discriminatory acts in which “[t]he employer simply treats some people less favorably than others because of their race, color, religion, sex, or national origin.” Proving disparate treatment often involves proving that the employer’s decision was motivated by the employee’s protected trait.

Disparate Impact
Disparate impact is not a matter of an employer’s intent to discriminate, but whether the outcome of some policy or practice results in discrimination against individuals in a protected class. This would include any practice that has a different, negative effect on minority groups, or other protected persons. An individual complaining of discrimination by disparate impact does not need to show that the employer had a discriminatory motive, only that its actions resulted in discrimination.

Proving a Disparate Treatment Complaint
Proving a claim of disparate treatment does not require proof beyond doubt. Rather, it requires the individual complaining of discrimination (the “plaintiff”) to make a prima facie case, which means he has to provide sufficient evidence to the court that there is at least the appearance of discrimination. The employer must then defend its actions, providing evidence of a reasonable, non-discriminatory reason for the acts.

The plaintiff may attempt to show that the employer’s seemingly innocuous reason is only a ploy or ruse, and was not really what happened. While the plaintiff need only persuade the court that the employer’s actions were based on discriminatory practices, the employer must produce evidence of its non-discriminatory reason for its actions.

It is not required that the plaintiff in such a case prove that his inclusion in a protected class was the only factor in the employer’s acts, but that it was a motivating factor. If, for instance, the employer had some other reason for its actions, and would have taken that route regardless of the plaintiff’s membership in a protected class, it is likely the plaintiff’s claim would not be successful.

Proving Employer Pretext
If an employer states what appears to be good reason for its discharge of the plaintiff in a disparate treatment discrimination case, the plaintiff may present evidence that creates doubt about the employer’s stated reasons, allowing the court to draw its own conclusion as to the true motivation behind the employer’s actions. Pretext may be brought into question by showing any of the following existed:

Changing Reasons – If the employer has given different reasons for its actions throughout the period between the termination and the trial, it may be enough to prove pretext. For instance, the employer tells the employee she is being laid off because the company is down-sizing, but then claims in a deposition that she was fired because of customer complaints.
Actions of Decision-Makers – Evidence of discriminatory motive, such as racist comments made by a supervisor, after which that supervisor was put in charge of deciding which employees would be laid off during a slow-down, may provide evidence of pretext, if the majority of employees laid off were minorities.
Unequally Enforcement of Rules – Proof that the employer, who has policies and procedures, but enforces them differently among employees, may demonstrate pretext.
For example:

Juan, a hard worker who is praised by his coworkers and clients alike, is looking forward to being the first Hispanic employee to get a promotion to management at his company. When he is passed over for promotion, in favor of a co-worker who is generally seen to be less invested in his job, Juan is upset. When he questions his supervisor, he is told that he could not be given the promotion because he did not have a college degree.

Juan discovers that the newly-promoted Walter, a white man, does not have a degree either, which calls the employer’s motive into question. This example of disparate treatment may prove the employer’s pretext, or attempt to offer what seems to be a valid reason, but which is not true.

After-Acquired Evidence
After-acquired evidence is evidence of an employee’s wrongdoing or misconduct, gathered by the employer only after the employee’s discharge and claim of discrimination. Over the years, there has been some debate as to whether after-acquired evidence could prevent a plaintiff from winning his discrimination, or disparate treatment, lawsuit. In general, the courts have held that after-acquired evidence of misconduct unrelated to the grounds for termination can only prevent a plaintiff from being awarded reinstatement, injunctive relief, and front pay, if accepted at all.

For example:

Marge, the teacher in the example above, complains up the chain of command, and at the end of the school year, she is fired. Marge files a complaint for discrimination through disparate treatment, and asks that her job be reinstated, that she receive the same benefits offered minority teachers, and that she be paid back pay from her date of termination through the court’s decision.

During the course of the lawsuit, the school district comes up with evidence that Marge had misrepresented her education on her resumé, and submits that as proof that the termination was legitimate. Marge’s attorney points out, however, that the school district would not even have discovered the misstatement of dates in her educational background, had they not been searching for a defense to their own wrongdoing.

In this example of disparate treatment, Marge did not falsify her resume, but misstated some of the dates. It is unlikely that the school district’s introduction of evidence acquired after Marge’s termination on discriminatory grounds would be beneficial in its defense.

Disparate Treatment Example in Firefighter Promotions
In 2003, the New Haven Connecticut Fire Department needed to fill 15 management positions, having 7 openings for Captain, and 8 openings for Lieutenant. Like most civil service organizations, hiring is done by a “Rule of Three,” in which a civil service examination is given, after which the department chooses from the three highest-scoring applicants on the list. The City of New Haven’s exam gave 60 percent weight to the applicant’s score on the written test, and 40 percent weight to the applicant’s score on the oral exam.

What the City discovered, however, was that none of the department’s black firefighters had scored high enough on the test to even be considered for the positions. Fearful of being sued under a disparate treatment, or disparate impact, theory, due to the test’s disproportionate exclusion of certain racial groups, the City invalidated the test results, and did not promote anyone.

The City still faced a civil lawsuit, as 18 firefighters, who had passed the exam, complained that their civil rights had been violated, as the City had denied them promotions based on their race. Of the plaintiff firefighters, 17 were white, and 1 was Hispanic. The trial court ruled in favor of the City. The firefighters appealed their case to the U.S. Supreme Court in 2009.

The question to be answered by the high court was whether an employer may intentionally discriminate against one race of employees, in an attempt to lessen the unintentional, but disparate impact (or appearance of discrimination) a policy or practice has on another race of employees. In a 5-4 split decision, the Supreme Court ruled in favor of the plaintiff firefighters. In its written ruling, the Court clarified the following:

The City, in fact, violated the firefighter plaintiffs’ civil rights, discriminating against them on the basis of race, by disregarding the test results, of which they had scored the highest, exposing them to disparate treatment.
Avoiding liability under disparate impact does not excuse disparate treatment discrimination.
To have a strong basis for invalidating the test results due to fear of a disparate impact claim, the employer must show that the exam was not, in fact, job related, and consistent with business necessity.
To put it simply, the Court ruled that possibility of a disparate impact lawsuit is not enough to excuse intentional reverse discrimination against another group of employees.

Related Legal Terms and Issues
Civil Lawsuit – A lawsuit brought about in court when one person claims to have suffered a loss due to the actions of another person.
Defendant – A party against whom a lawsuit has been filed in civil court, or who has been accused of, or charged with, a crime or offense.
Discrimination – The practice of unfairly treating different categories of people, especially on the grounds of ethnicity, national origin, gender, race, religion, and sexual orientation.
Front Pay – Employment compensation for the period between judgement ordering reinstatement, and actual reinstatement. Front pay is, like back pay, an award of lost earnings.
Plaintiff – A person who brings a legal action against another person or entity, such as in a civil lawsuit, or criminal proceedings.
Prima Facie – Either a piece of evidence that is presumed to be true when first viewed, or a legal claim in which enough evidence is presented to support the validity of the claim on its face.

 

XXXX

Got it?….I knew you could make it……..as for my promise that you’d be glad after reading………that will come later……..

THATS ALL FOLKS WHOLE GANG

 

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