In 2007, after Paul Ross Evans pleaded guilty to leaving a bomb outside of a women’s health clinic in Austin, he assured the judge: He never meant for anyone to get hurt. “Except,” he clarified, “for the abortionists.”

For almost two centuries, the moniker “abortionist” has branded those who help terminate pregnancies as illegitimate, dangerous, and, in turn, allowable targets of violence. Before Roe v. Wade, the label turned midwives and doctors into criminals to be cracked down on by the state. After the 1973 decision, right-wing movements continued to deploy the term to imply only back-alley doctors performed abortions.

In 2022, the sobriquet showed up once more in the halls of power: “Abortionist” was used four times in the Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization decision, channeling a fraught history.

Until the late 1800s, abortion and reproductive health were primarily handled by women—midwives, many of whom were Black, Indigenous, or immigrants. As medicine professionalized, male doctors viewed this skilled group as a threat to their business. Birth, they argued, ought to take place in a hospital. “The midwife is a relic of barbarism,” Dr. Joseph DeLee, a prominent 20th century obstetrician, proclaimed, “a drag on the progress of the science and art of obstetrics.”

The restructuring of gynecological medicine went hand in hand with a budding movement to criminalize abortion. In 1860, governors of every state received a letter from the president of a young organization, the American Medical Association. Ghostwritten by Horatio Storer, a Harvard-educated surgeon, the letter was part of an AMA campaign touting a new idea: Abortion should be illegal because life begins at conception—not, as previous laws considered, at “quickening,” when fetal movements are first detected. Under this logic, as Storer made it his mission to convince the masses, practically all abortions should be a crime.

Donald Trump’s attacks on President Joe Biden have become familiar, but on Friday they reached a new level of terrifying. The former president posted a video on his Truth Social platform featuring a truck with an image of President Biden hog-tied on the tailgate, as if he’d just been kidnapped. 

This type of messaging is part of a specific routine for Trump—one that we’ve been reporting on for years. It’s called “stochastic terrorism,” a type of rhetoric from a leader that smears another person or group so that they are more likely to be attacked by the leader’s supporters, while the leader is able to deny any involvement. My colleague Mark Follman reported on Trump’s use of stochastic terrorism—and how it’s spread through the GOP—in 2022: 

Trump made this form of incitement a hallmark of his presidency, galvanizing extremists by railing against and dehumanizing his “enemies.” The country saw the devastating consequences when his supporters stormed Congress to obstruct certification of the presidential election. And now a growing number of Republicans are emulating Trump’s technique.

“While these attacks may defy specific predictability,” threat assessment experts Molly Amman and Reid Meloy wrote in a 2021 study in the journal Perspectives on Terrorism, “their likelihood is greatly increased by the public demon­ization process.” Repetition and saturation through social media and news coverage further amplifies the effect, they observed.

Friday’s post from Trump is undoubtedly extreme and dangerous, but it’s unlikely to illicit widespread outrage or condemnation because he has succeeded in normalizing this type of speech. David Corn wrote about this phenomenon in September:

As a kid, I spent countless hours watching The Amanda Show, a sketch comedy series starring Amanda Bynes that aired on Nickelodeon from 1999 to 2002. The show was created by Dan Schneider, who went on to helm many of the channel’s most beloved series, including Drake and Josh and iCarly. In addition to providing plenty of laughs, it was a rare example of a children’s show that took the comedic talents of its young star seriously. But after watching the new docuseries Quiet on Set, I know my fond memories of watching The Amanda Show will never be the same. 

The four-part docuseries aired on Max and Investigation Discovery earlier this month, and a surprise fifth episode is in the works for next week. The show explores the dark side of Dan Schneider’s tenure at Nickelodeon, painting him as a temperamental, manipulative boss with a disturbing habit of inserting sexual innuendos into scenes with child actors. Details of Schneider’s conduct began to leak out in 2018, when Schneider left Nickelodeon amid allegations of abusive behavior. The New York Times reported in 2021 that an internal investigation had found Schneider was verbally abusive to staff, while a 2022 Business Insider investigation highlighted his controlling demeanor and sexism in the writers room. 

On set, Schneider’s crew included two now-convicted sex offenders. In 2004, Jason Handy, a production assistant, was sentenced to six years in prison after pleading no contest to performing lewd acts on a child, distributing sexually explicit material, and child exploitation. The same year, dialogue coach Brian Peck pleaded no contest to two charges related child sexual abuse against an anonymous child actor and was sentenced to 16 months in prison. Quiet on Set’s biggest bombshell is that Peck’s victim was Drake Bell, a star of Drake & Josh and a regular on The Amanda Show. 

The documentary chronicles the Schneider years at Nickelodeon through interviews with former cast and crew members, journalists who reported on the scandal, and the parents of child actors. It also resurfaces moments of inappropriate humor from Schneider’s shows that seem alarming in retrospect: In one scene, a 16-year-old Ariana Grande, a cast member on Schneider’s Victorious, attempts to “juice” a potato while moaning suggestively. 

The fourth episode, originally slated to be the last in the series, ends with Bell sharing how the abuse impacted him emotionally. In the last shots, we see Bell and his dad walking off the documentary set, then the camera cuts to a sunset. As the credits rolled, I felt a mix of anger and hopelessness. While the filmmakers had done a skillful job of laying out the allegations against Schneider, the show also left many questions unanswered. Schneider declined to be interviewed for the documentary, though it included a written statement from him, saying his content went through many levels of approval before it aired. (Nickelodeon provided a statement to the documentary saying it “investigates all formal complaints as part of our commitment to foster a safe and professional workplace.”) After the documentary, Schneider offered a lackluster mea culpa in a softball interview with a former iCarly cast member, where he muddled his apology with asides that his behavior was caused by “inexperience” and letting pressures get to him.

A federal judge on Friday granted a preliminary injunction that will force New Jersey to redo its controversial ballot design, known as the county-line ballot, a move that could fundamentally alter elections in a state long rife with allegations of political corruption. 

The ruling is a victory for Rep. Andy Kim, who last month sued the state’s counties to end the use of the design. But Friday’s decision, which at one point had been seen as a critical step in Kim’s campaign to replace the now twice-indited Sen. Bob Menendez, may carry less importance for those efforts. That’s because Tammy Murphy, wife to Gov. Phil Murphy and Kim’s opponent ahead of the June Democratic primary, announced last week that she was suddenly dropping out. Despite never having held office and being a registered Republican until 2014, Murphy had been backed by the state’s political machine and therefore widely perceived as unbeatable.

Still, the ruling’s potential effect on future elections, especially if it survives a likely appeal by county clerks, could be massive. My colleague Nina Wang explains:

Strong party endorsements offer an outsized electoral advantage in New Jersey’s primaries. Nineteen of the state’s 21 counties design their ballots in an extraordinarily confusing way that tips the scales toward local bigwigs’ favorite candidates. On ballot sheets, party bosses can put their top picks on the county line—a list of candidates endorsed for all seats currently up for election, from county clerk all the way to the presidency. Challengers who lack the bosses’ favor are often kicked to “ballot Siberia,” where they are likely to be ignored by voters.

“Today’s decision is a victory for a fairer, more democratic politics in New Jersey,” Kim said in a statement. “It’s a victory built from the incredible grassroots work of activists across our state who saw an undemocratic system marginalizing the voices of voters, and worked tirelessly to fix it.”

It’s easy to see the glaring hypocrisy of Brian Pritchard, the Republican official in Georgia and outspoken election denier, who was found guilty this week of voting illegally nine times. A judge apparently did not buy Pritchard’s claims that he had been unaware that his probation from felony forgery charges had not ended when he illegally cast his vote. All this is ironic considering voter fraud is an enduring conservative boogeyman despite scant evidence that such rampant fraud exists. 

Yet any schadenfreude that might be derived from Pritchard’s voting violations, which resulted in an order on Wednesday to pay a $5,000 fine and receive a public reprimand, is short-lived. It seems stunted by another piece of headline-making voter fraud news this week: A Texas court of appeals reversed a five-year prison sentence for Crystal Mason, a Black woman who voted illegally in 2016 after unintentionally casting her ballot while technically still a felon under Texas law. (The state bars convicted felons from voting until a supervised release has been completed.) 

In the simplest terms, the reversal is good news; it’s hard not to feel emotional reading Mason’s statement celebrating that she will remain a “free Black woman.” But the wildly disparate punishments handed to Mason and Pritchard—a white man—over incredibly similar offenses once again underscores the deep flaws of a system borne out of a push to fix a virtually nonexistent problem. That Mason’s ordeal happened under the watch of Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton, who led the war on voter fraud while under indictment for securities fraud, adds to the dissonance. But for conservatives who have long relied on voter fraud fears to block ballot access, that whiplashing dissonance is precisely the point. As my colleague Pema Levy wrote in 2019:

Raising fears of fraud in order to make it harder for people—particularly people fitting certain demographic profiles—to vote didn’t start with [the Trump] administration, or even in the past 100 years. As Harvard University historian Alexander Keyssar lays out in his 2000 book, The Right to Vote: The Contested History of Democracy in the United States, the tactic dates back to the early decades of the 19th century. Throughout US history, politicians and activists ginned up stories about fraud in order to keep their opponents from the polls. “Legislative debates were sprinkled heavily with tales of ballot box stuffing, miscounts, hordes of immigrants lined up to vote as the machine instructed, men trooping from precinct to precinct to vote early and often,” he writes. 

Put another way, these laws were never meant to hurt Brian Pritchard. This week, we were reminded of that once again. 

Today marks one year since Wall Street Journal reporter Evan Gershkovich was arrested in Russia on what American officials say are false charges of espionage. He has been held in jail ever since.

Members of Russia’s Federal Security Service—the country’s intelligence agency, also known as the FSB—detained Gershkovich while he was on a reporting assignment in the city of Yekaterinburg, according to the Journal. Gershkovich had deep familiarity the country: his parents fled the Soviet Union in the 1970s. He had full press credentials from Russia’s foreign ministry and had reported from Moscow for Agence France Press and the Moscow Times before joining the Journal in January 2022. Russia has not publicly presented evidence of its espionage claims against Gershkovich, the Journal reports. 

Since his arrest—which marks the first time an American journalist has been held on such charges in Russia since the end of the Cold War—Gershkovich has been in Russia’s notorious Lefortovo prison, where he spends 90 percent of his day in a small cell, according to the paper. Earlier this week, a Russian court extended Gershkovich’s pre-trial detention by three months, until June 30. The Committee to Protect Journalists condemned the extension, calling it “another cynical affront to press freedom by the Russian authorities.” 

In a letter published today, Journal editor-in-chief Emma Tucker called Gershkovich’s detention “a blatant attack on the rights of the free press,” adding that “given the lessons of history and the arbitrary power of the Russian state, if there is a trial, we would expect a guilty verdict—something we would view as a travesty of justice.” A conviction could carry a sentence of 10 to 20 years, the Journal reports.

Roger Carstens, the Biden administration’s special envoy for hostage affairs, told the New York Times that the US government is involved in “intensive efforts” to secure the releases of Gershkovich and ex-Marine Paul Whelan, who has been in Russian custody since 2018 and was sentenced to 16 years in prison on espionage charges, which American officials also deny.

n the afternoon of January 6, 2021, as election deniers armed with Tasers and tomahawks overran the US Capitol, Rep. Ruben Gallego (D-Ariz.) handed his colleague and close friend Eric Swalwell a pen. “Here,” he said to the California Democrat. “Stick this in their neck if they get close to you.”

The Marine veteran, who’d seen combat in Iraq, leaped on a table and began issuing instructions to other panicked lawmakers, showing them how to don the gas masks secured under their chairs: “Tear gas will not kill you. But it’s important to remain calm. If you hyperventilate, you may pass out.” If necessary, Gallego told himself, he could use his own pen as a weapon to take a more lethal one from a rioter.

Three years later, the battle for American democracy continues, and Gallego, locked in one of the most pivotal contests of the 2024 election, is again attempting to hold the line. Along with close matchups in Ohio and Montana, his Senate race in Arizona for the seat Kyrsten Sinema is vacating could be one of a handful that decide control of the upper chamber and, with it, the future of our republic. Donald Trump, facing 88 criminal counts, has promised to usher in MAGA on steroids if reelected, including mass deportation and sweeping bans on gender-affirming care. A Democratic-­led Senate would be one of the last fortifications against his agenda.

As if to further underscore the stakes, Gallego’s opponent is the former TV news anchor turned Trump sycophant Kari Lake. A prolific purveyor of conspiracy theories, Lake claims not only that the 2020 election was stolen from Trump but also that she was robbed of the Arizona governorship in her 2022 race. If Trumpism is akin to a religion, Lake views herself as one of its martyrs. “You can call us extremists. You can call us domestic terrorists,” she declared during one campaign event in 2022. “You know who else was called a lot of names his whole life? Jesus.”

Lake’s loss two years ago is just one indicator that Arizona is turning away from Trump-style conservatism. Though Trump won the state by 3.6 percent in 2016, he lost it in 2020 by about half of a percent. In 2022, all of the major statewide candidates Trump endorsed were defeated. But the state is certainly not a Democratic stronghold, either. Of roughly 4.1 million registered voters, there are some 236,000 more Republicans and 197,000 more independents than there are Democrats. To win, Gallego “has to appeal to a cross ­section of voters,” says former Arizona Democratic Party Chair Jim Pederson, “particularly moderate Republicans.”

At the start of a slickly produced 19-minute YouTube video titled “How T.Rex Arms Got Started,” Lucas Botkin, the company’s 30-year-old founder, runs through an obstacle course. A guitar-­heavy soundtrack plays as Botkin, decked out in tactical gear and filtered through overwrought video effects, picks off targets with a variety of handguns and rifles. We briefly see the course from his eyes, first-person-shooter style.

When the drums bang to a halt, the video cuts to an interview where Botkin explains his company’s mission. “We try to produce thought-provoking content and educational content that inspires people to understand their obligations to God and country and their responsibilities,” he says, over more shooting footage. “Then we equip them with the equipment necessary so they can fulfill those obligations and those responsibilities with maximum effectiveness.”

T.Rex Arms, a Tennessee-based, family-­run, Christian firearms accessory company—think holsters, body armor, and the like—is at the forefront of what extremism researchers call GunTube, an ecosphere of gun influencers whose videos peddle a wide range of conservative content. The company has more than 1.5 million YouTube subscribers; its origin story video has been viewed more than 900,000 times. Botkin, who can cut a nerdy presence when digging into gun minutiae, has nearly half a million Instagram followers and enough right-wing cachet to have been an ambassador for Charlie Kirk’s Turning Point USA and have earned an appearance on Tucker Carlson’s Fox News show the month before he left the network.

“They are jacks of all trades,” says Meghan Conroy, who monitors extremist influencers for the Atlantic Council’s Digital Forensic Research Lab. What separates T.Rex Arms from the rest of the gun community, she says, is its “masterful ability to create content that appeals to so many different people.” While some of its most popular videos offer product reviews and shooting tips, they are accompanied by a wide range of political content, including interviews with conservative officials and activists. In weekly “T.Rex Talks,” Lucas and his brothers sit in a dimly lit studio to discuss America in decay, and how like-minded, God-oriented people can save it. They often reference the end times and urge their viewers to seize control before things get worse. “They’re selling products,” says Max Rizzuto, another Atlantic Council researcher, “and the product is ideology, too.”

For example, in the days following the 2020 election, Lucas and his older brother, Isaac, a designer at the company who frequently appears on T.Rex Talks, discussed journalism. “We’re at a place right now where a lot of people don’t trust the mainstream media,” Isaac said, to which Lucas quickly replied, “Reasonably so.” The brothers argued reporters should be held accountable for their coverage of topics like Covid-19 and Black Lives Matter protests. “I’m starting to wonder when a news network will be actually prosecuted for things that they say that result in the death of people, which I think has happened in the past four years,” Lucas said. “It results in people getting killed, or businesses just getting burned, looted. Theft. And they’re not being held responsible for it.” Lucas went on to predict that economic collapse was “very likely” in his lifetime: “The way we live can be radically different 30 years from now.” In another stream, he warned of the “apocalyptic” prospect of a nationwide gun ban.

One month after releasing a line of gilded high-tops for $399, Donald Trump revealed on Tuesday a new item: the Bible. “All Americans need a Bible in their home, and I have many,” the former president explained in a video promoting the country singer Lee Greenwood’s version of a King James translation, the “God Bless the USA Bible.”

“It’s my favorite book,” Trump added.

Throughout the rest of the clip, as if daring us into a collective disgust, Trump swerved through random opportunities to rail against bureaucrats and a country under threat—all while hawking a holy text.

But his latest sales pitch also prompted some legitimate questions. Such as: What the hell is going on? And: Excuse me? Here, we try to answer some of the queries.

So, that first question—what the hell—but more formally: What exactly is Trump promoting and how much will it cost me to shell out for this? 

On Tuesday, Alabama provided even more evidence of what we already know to be true: Abortion rights win elections. 

Democrat Marilyn Lands won a special election for an Alabama state House seat, flipping a Republican-held seat by campaigning on abortion rights in the deep-red state that bans abortion with no exceptions for rape or incest. Lands won 62 percent of the nearly 6,000 votes cast, while her challenger, Republican Teddy Powell, won 37.5 percent, according to the unofficial election night results from the Alabama Secretary of State. The candidates were running to replace Republican David Cole, who resigned last year after he was arrested on a voting fraud charge. (Lands ran against Cole in 2022 and lost by just under 1,000 votes, or about 7 percentage points—making her win last night all the more significant.)

Lands—a licensed professional counselor whose website says her “Christian values deeply influence her life and work”—campaigned on repealing the state’s abortion ban, as well as expanding Medicaid, investing in community mental health resources, and improving the local economy and education. Days after the state Supreme Court‘s decision threatening IVF last month, Lands released a campaign ad in which she and another Alabama woman, Alyssa Gonzales, each shared their personal stories of getting emergency abortions following nonviable pregnancies. For Lands, it happened 20 years ago; for Gonzales, it happened after the Dobbs decision was handed down in 2022. 

“We will not stand by and watch our most basic human rights be stripped from us,” Lands says in the ad.  

I’m sharing my abortion story because Alabama's no exceptions abortion ban is putting lives at risk. We must repeal this legislation, and if I'm elected on March 26th, I'll work tirelessly to do just that.

Noted thumb resembler Tucker Carlson, erstwhile Fox host, defender of white boys’ honor in battle, television’s largest baby, the guy with a fixed look you can only call “constiperplexed”—they say he’s smart. I have things to do, so I don’t watch his vlog, but I’ve read enough YouTube titles like “Tucker Carlson DEMOLISHES Antifa Ukraine Supporter” to get the deal: Tuck shreds the lies of the Judeo-Bolshevik deep state by saying what others won’t, plus Kate Middleton updates.

Tucker just got got. Bad. It was the Kate Middleton updates.

Background: Kate Mid-Vibes, daughter-in-law of Charles from The Crown, is missing, dead, or on strike; theories abound, especially after wire services pulled an “infamous edited photo” of a studiously normal Kate gilded by her three kids. My colleague Julianne McShane:

It all began when Kensington Palace announced in January that Catherine, the Princess of Wales, had undergone “planned abdominal surgery,” would be in the hospital for up to two weeks, and was “unlikely to return to public duties until after Easter.” As the weeks ticked by and she wasn’t spotted in public, various theories on her whereabouts—and her well-being—began to percolate: Was she getting treatment for an eating disorder? Had she been a victim of domestic abuse? Were she and William on the brink of divorce? Is she even alive? Or is she simply recovering from a Brazilian butt lift? (Yes, really.)

Tucker TV was minding its own business exposing white genocide when two whistleblowers wrote to say they knew how the Middleton pic was edited—because they’d done it. They had proof: one offered a royal job contract with “a clause stating that the palace had a right to amputate one of his limbs should he fail his probation period.” In principle, UK labor law discourages this. But Tucker promptly put them on his show, which runs on X, Elon Musk’s Great Replacement blog.

Since the Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade nearly two years ago, supporters of the right to choose have won every ballot initiative, in every state, in which an abortion-related measure has been put before voters. The trend is as true in red states like Kansas and Kentucky as it is in blue California and Vermont, and the in-between battlegrounds.

And so, as the 2024 election approaches, with reproductive rights activists pushing to get abortion-rights amendments on ballots in almost a dozen states, Republican politicians have been throwing spaghetti at the wall to find a way to stop them. The most recent example comes from South Dakota, where state law currently prohibits all abortions, except those needed to save a pregnant person’s life. There, a group called Dakotans for Health is collecting signatures to get a limited right to abortion enshrined in the state constitution.

As they’ve done in other states, Republicans are trying to stop the amendment from going before voters: On Friday, Republican Gov. Krisiti Noem signed a bill to allow people to revoke their signatures from ballot initiative petitions.

The campaign needs to collect 35,017 signatures by May 7 to qualify for the ballot. Dakotans for Health co-founder Rick Weiland says they’re already there, with 50,000 signatures in the bag. Based on history, the prognosis is good if the amendment does get to the ballot: South Dakota voters rejected abortion-ban measures in 2006 and 2008, long before the Supreme Court’s Dobbs decision sent support for abortion rights soaring. 

To South Dakota’s anti-abortion Republicans, this an emergency. Literally: The new signature revocation law includes an emergency clause allowing it to take effect immediately. Under the new law, voters who want to revoke their signature from a ballot initiative petition have to send a notarized letter using registered mail to the secretary of state. The bill is transparently targeting the abortion-rights initiative. Its main sponsor, Republican Rep. Jon Hansen—who sits on the board of directors for South Dakota Right to Life—claimed to South Dakota Searchlight that people had been “misled, or frankly, fraudulently induced,” into signing Dakotans for Health’s abortion rights petition. “People have approached me and they said, ‘Hey, I signed that abortion petition because I thought it was pro-life. That’s what they led me to believe,’” Hansen alleged.

It was 2018 when Mateo Jaime was admitted to North Star Behavioral Health, a psychiatric hospital in Anchorage, Alaska. He didn’t need acute psychiatric care, he says. Rather, Jaime was a teenager in the foster system, and Alaska’s Office of Children’s Services didn’t have a foster home for him. Jaime would spend two months at the facility, during which time he was held in seclusion and witnessed the forcible injection and physical restraint of other patients. He still has PTSD from the experience.

Jaime wasn’t alone. A yearlong Mother Jones investigation found that foster kids have been admitted hundreds of times to North Star, where some spend months or even years. Despite the facility’s troubling track record of assaults, escapes, and improper use of seclusion, state officials have admitted what foster youth have long suspected: Foster children are warehoused at North Star when there’s nowhere else for them to go. 

Now, two bills introduced in the state legislature aim to reform psychiatric treatment for vulnerable youth in Alaska. Though neither bill mentions North Star by name, it looms large as the state’s only private psychiatric hospital for children.

HB 363 would require a court to review a foster child’s placement at a psychiatric hospital within 72 hours to determine if that child meets medical criteria for hospitalization. (There’s no statute on when an initial hearing should take place, though a preliminary injunction requires a hearing within 30 days.) 

Jaime was among those who testified at an emotional hearing on Thursday. “I felt like a zombie for two months,” he said. “I had no control and no voice over the situation.”

On Wednesday, CNN’s Pamela Brown and Jake Tapper reported that New York Jets quarterback Aaron Rodgers—who is (or at least was) reportedly being considered as independent candidate Robert F. Kennedy Jr.’s presidential running mate—had told at least two people that the 2012 mass murder at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut, never happened. One of those two people was Brown herself, who recounted how Rodgers approached her at a Kentucky Derby after-party in 2013 to complain about the media’s coverage of the shooting:

Brown recalls Rodgers asking her if she thought it was off that there were men in black in the woods by the school, falsely claiming those men were actually government operatives. Brown found the encounter disturbing.

CNN has spoken to another person with a similar story. This person, to whom CNN has granted anonymity so as to avoid harassment, recalled that several years ago, Rodgers claimed, “Sandy Hook never happened…All those children never existed. They were all actors.”

Rodgers responded on Thursday in a manner that, viewed within a narrow context, could be considered to be a denial: “As I’m on the record saying in the past, what happened in Sandy Hook was an absolute tragedy,” he wrote on X, the emaciated husk of a social-media platform formerly known as Twitter. “I am not and have never been of the opinion that the events did not take place. Again, I hope that we learn from this and other tragedies to identify the signs that will allow us to prevent unnecessary loss of life.”

It feels strange to parse the statements of a Super Bowl-winning quarterback as if they are from a candidate for a constitutional office, but under the circumstances, apparently, we must. So I’ll just note the obvious: Rodgers did not deny the substance of the story, which reported that he said these things in 2013. Given that Alex Jones was recently handed a $1.5 billion judgment for his years-long campaign to defame grieving Sandy Hook parents—spreading false conspiracies that bear a strong resemblance to what Rodgers is reported to have said—it’s not surprising that a guy who maybe wants to be vice president, and definitely does not want to be bankrupt, is not repeating them now. 

On Wednesday, the Dwight D. Opperman Foundation announced the 2024 recipients of the Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg Leadership Award. The winners: businessman Elon Musk, right-wing media kingpin Rupert Murdoch, lifestyle guru Martha Stewart, felonious Wall Streeter turned philanthropist Mike Milken, and actor Sylvester Stallone. The Foundation hailed these “iconic individuals” for their “extraordinary achievements.”

Veteran corporate lawyer Brendan Sullivan, who was Oliver North’s attorney during the Iran-contra scandal and who now chairs the RBG Award, noted, “The honorees reflect the integrity and achievement that defined Justice Ginsburg’s career and legend.” And the chair of the foundation, Julie Opperman, a big Republican donor and the widow of publishing titan Dwight Opperman, who once was CEO of Thomson Reuters, remarked that the award embraces “the fullness of Justice Ginsburg’s legacy.”

Attaching Ginsburg’s name to Musk, who has amplified racist and antisemitic posts and ideas on X, and Murdoch, whose Fox News purposefully spread Trump’s disinformation about the 2020 election and has repeatedly deployed falsehoods to challenge and undermine the values that Ginsburg fought for her entire life, seemed an odd and inappropriate choice. That’s what Ginsburg’s family believes. 

It has released a statement denouncing the awards:

The decision of the Opperman Foundation to bestow the RBG Women’s Leadership Award on this year’s slate of awardees is an affront to the memory of our mother and grandmother, Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg. Her legacy is one of deep commitment to justice and to the proposition that all persons deserve what she called “equal citizenship stature” under the Constitution. She was a singularly powerful voice for the equality and empowerment of women, including their ability to control their own bodies. As it was originally conceived and named, the Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg Woman of Leadership Award honored that legacy by recognizing “an extraordinary woman who has exercised a positive and notable influence on society and served as an exemplary role model in both principles and practice.” This year, the Opperman Foundation has strayed far from the original mission of the award and from what Justice Ginsburg stood for.

A prominent election denier who wore multiple hats while aiding GOP efforts to overturn the 2020 election will serve as a top lawyer at the Republican National Committee. Christina Bobb, a former reporter for the fringe pro-Trump broadcaster One America News, will oversee the party’s “election integrity” operations. In Trumpworld, what puts a person in line for such a role is having worked tirelessly to subvert an election—and “election integrity” simply means anything needed to help Trump win.

Bobb has the necessary qualifications in spades. As the New York Times reported in 2022, Bobb embraced “conspiracy theories with a fervor that has at times seemed over the top even to her colleagues.” Indeed, she promoted the Big Lie with such zeal that she was sued for defamation. And not only does she appear to be a true believer, she’s been willing to sacrifice herself for the Trump cause, such as when she signed an affidavit to the Justice Department related to his stolen documents case that protected Trump and that she knew might be false. Such loyalty seems to have landed her this new job.

Last week, the RNC elected Trump’s picks to run the party ahead of the 2024 elections, including installing his daughter-in-law, Lara Trump, as co-chair, ally Michael Whatley as chair, and campaign adviser Chris LaCivita as chief of staff. The new leadership is moving swiftly to remove a significant number of staff, including those in top leadership roles, and hire new people more aligned with Trump. Enter Bobb. 

As a correspondent for OAN, Bobb promoted the Big Lie—enough that she was a named a defendant in Dominion Voting Systems’ defamation suit against the network. But Bobb was not just a purveyor of the Big Lie—she was also part of the operation. Weeks after the 2020 election, Trump brought in a new team of lawyers, including Rudy Giuliani, to help him subvert the results and remain in office. Though Bobb has not been charged with any crimes, she worked with that team to help coordinate the scheme to certify fake slates of electors in states Biden won, a plot that is part of both the criminal indictment against Trump in Georgia and the federal charges brought by Special Counsel Jack Smith.

After Biden was certified the winner on January 6, Bobb remained a pro-Trump activist, raising money for bogus election audits while also touting the Big Lie in her on-air role at OAN. In Arizona, Bobb played a significant part in  the GOP-controlled state senate’s audit of Maricopa County’s votes, all while covering it as a reporter. As the Arizona Republic‘s Laurie Roberts recently recounted, Bobb helped orchestrate the audit, raised money for it, and then surreptitiously advised the auditor, Cyber Ninjas, throughout the process. Ultimately, the audit confirmed that Biden had won Arizona. It’s the upside down version of journalistic ethics.

Amid a surge of support for organized labor and the general realization that work sucks, Sen. Bernie Sanders (I-Vt.) is leading a renewed push to make the 32-hour workweek, without a loss in wages or benefits, an American reality.

The Vermont senator on Thursday unveiled a bill that seeks to establish a four-day workweek over the next four years, a proposal Sanders’ office described as critical to reducing workers’ toil, as well as timely considering the advancements workplaces will see thanks to artificial intelligence and automation.

“It is time to reduce the stress level in our country and allow Americans to enjoy a better quality of life,” a statement read. “It is time for a 32-hour workweek with no loss in pay.”

The four-day workweek enjoys overwhelming public support. Studies have shown that it can vastly improve job satisfaction and often does not lead to a loss in productivity (but actual implementation plans are vital). The United Auto Workers called for a 32-hour work week during their historic 2023 strike. Though it was ultimately cut at the bargaining table, UAW President Shawn Fein made a fresh call to enact the measure at Thursday’s hearing.

Bernie Sanders is holding a Senate hearing today on making a 32-hour workweek with no reduction in pay the standard in America.

This story was originally published by the Guardian and is reproduced here as part of the Climate Desk collaboration.

Just a week after saying that “embryos, to me, are babies,” Nikki Haley is now joining other Republicans in suddenly claiming to support IVF access in the wake of rising abortion restrictions and the Alabama Supreme Court’s ruling that frozen embryos can now be considered children under state law.

“I think there should be federal protection that we allow for IVF places to be able to function…I think the only thing the federal government should do is make sure IVF places are protected or available,” Haley said in an interview on CNN on Friday after host Dana Bash asked if she thought there should be federal protections for IVF and doctors who perform the procedure.  

“We don’t need government getting involved in an issue where we don’t have a problem,” Haley added. “We don’t have a problem with IVF facilities. If you have a certain case, let that case play out the way it’s supposed to, but don’t create issues, and that’s what I feel like has happened with this IVF.” 

Nikki Haley on IVF: "We don't need government getting involved in an issue where we don't have a problem. We don't have a problem with IVF facilities. If you have a certain case, let that case play out the way it's supposed to, but don't create issues" @nikkihaley @InsidePolitics pic.twitter.com/HKexTJTSWn

— Dana Bash (@DanaBashCNN) March 1, 2024

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In 1935, Sinclair Lewis published the novel It Can’t Happen Here, which told the story of fascism triumphing in the United States. The book was a reaction to the rise of Hitler and Mussolini in Europe and the spread of demagogic populism in the United States by Huey Long, the strongman governor of Louisiana, and Father Charles Coughlin, the wildly popular antisemitic radio preacher. In Lewis’ alternative universe, a politician named Buzz Windrip, who champions “traditional” values and who promises to restore America to greatness, defeats FDR in the presidential election of 1936 and then through a self-coup seizes dictatorial powers. He establishes a paramilitary force to do his bidding, curtails the rights of women and minorities, and locks up dissidents and political foes in concentration camps. Eventually, his reign leads to civil war. It’s a grim tale.

The title of his book was the proper use of irony (the expression of an idea through language that normally means the opposite). While many Americans at the time looked at the failure of democracy in Europe and thought that the United States would be immune to such retrograde forces, Lewis, whose wife, journalist Dorothy Thompson, had reported on developments in Germany (and was the first American journalist to be expelled from the Nazi state), believed otherwise.

America did not succumb to the fascist wave. Long was assassinated. Coughlin was forced off the air. The Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor and the United States’ entry into World War II led to the end of the America First movement that might have produced a demagogic alternative to Roosevelt. No Buzz Windrip emerged.

Over eight decades later, the ghost of It Can’t Happen Here haunts American politics. Donald Trump has often been compared to Windrip, and various commentators have harkened back to Lewis’ novel to explain the threat Trumpism poses to American democracy.