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This summer, the climate crisis has made itself increasingly visible through a torrent of extreme weather events across the world, and the places we go to get away from it all have not been spared.

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time

Turkish tour guide Erkan Sehirli likes to take his American and European visitors to the gulf of Gökova region on his country’s southwestern coastline. Together they hike trails that pass through ancient ruins, overlooking picturesque bays where cruise ships drop their guests for lunch. Sold as “the place where green meets blue,” Gökova is an upscale, boutique destination and one of the region’s most beloved natural attractions. Or it was, until wildfires tore through the area in late July amid one of the worst heat waves to hit the southern Mediterranean in decades. “You can’t be there any more. It’s all grey. It’s like walking on the moon,” Sehirli told me over the phone from the nearby town of Bodrum last week. “One day you’re in heaven, and the next day everything is gone.” This summer, the climate crisis has made itself increasingly visible through a torrent of extreme weather events across the world, and the places we go to get away from it all have not been spared. The Mediterranean fires have destroyed landscapes and forced dramatic evacuations from beach resorts in Turkey, Greece and Italy. Germany’s historic floods have washed out mountain trails in Bavaria. A historic drought in the western U.S. has forced inns in Mendocino to rely on portable toilets, and vacation operators in Arizona to cancel houseboat bookings for dried up Lake Powell. These events are a kick in the teeth for local tourism industries that are just beginning to recover from COVID-19. More from TIME They’re also a sign of the sector’s extreme vulnerability to climate change. The growing number of natural disasters each year—which have already quadrupled between 1970 and 2016—are threatening the natural and cultural heritage that tourism destinations rely on to lure in visitors. Warming global temperatures are lengthening the period of summer that is unpleasantly hot in beach resort regions, and shortening ski seasons in mountain retreats. Rising sea levels are eroding beaches in coastal communities. Increasing water scarcity in warmer regions is sowing potential for conflict between locals and the resource-intensive tourism industry. And some travelers are beginning to confront the looming question of whether or not to keep flying when the technology to decarbonize aviation is decades away from being used at scale. A reckoning for the tourism industry could come soon. In July, G7 leaders threw their weight behind a burgeoning movement in the finance world for mandatory climate risk disclosure, which would force companies and their financiers to tell investors how their business is exposed to climate change. The tourism industry is “not at all” prepared for the level of risk that process might expose, says Daniel Scott, a professor of Geography and Environmental Management at Canada’s University of Waterloo, who has spent two decades researching the interaction between climate change and tourism. “They’ve got to do a lot in the next little while—probably the next three to five years—to understand both what the changing physical climate means for them, but also the transition to net zero” Climate change won’t necessarily kill tourism. The industry has proved adept at adjusting its seasons and offerings to suit new weather patterns. Canada’s Whistler ski resort, for example, has been so successful expanding its snow-free activities that it now makes more money in the “green season,” Scott says. In Turkey, Sehirli still has plenty to show visitors outside of Goköva, like the ancient city of Ephesus. And, if the unpleasant heat of late summer stretches further into September, he says he expects Europeans and Americans will just start coming more in winter. But climate instability will disrupt the industry in painful ways. And unfortunately, everything points to the biggest losers being those with the fewest resources. Because it opens up flows of foreign exchange and encourages investment in local infrastructure, tourism is often touted as a route to prosperity and stability for struggling countries. According to the U.N., it is a principal export for 83% of developing countries and the biggest export in a third of them. Development experts often call the industry the largest voluntary transfer of wealth from rich to poor, with the sums moved dwarfing aid budgets. Where the tourism industry relies on coasts and other areas of natural beauty, it may be particularly vulnerable to climate impacts, like sea level rise, glacier melt or extreme weather. Low-lying island nations in the South Pacific are losing their beaches to sea level rise and their coral reefs to ocean warming. In the Himalayas, snow and glacier melt is making the mountains more hazardous and destroying the ecosystem’s natural beauty. In the Caribbean, where tourism makes up 20-30% of GDP in many countries, research by the World Travel and Tourism Council (WTTC) has found that the unusually strong 2017 Atlantic hurricane season cost the region 826,100 visitors, who would have generated $741 million. The storms triggered hikes in insurance premiums of up to 40%, increasing a key cost for the area’s hotels. There will be some winners in this dynamic. For example, destinations with cooler climates, like Scandinvavia, could welcome more visitors as they warm. And across the globe, larger companies with deeper pockets might be able to weather increased costs of doing business, and spread their risk across different destinations. But more than 80% of the tourism industry is made up of small and medium-sized businesses, per the WTTC. They may struggle to survive if they lose physical assets to extreme weather or if the risks of a more volatile climate drive up the cost of doing business. There are solutions to stem the damage, like coastal adaptation to protect communities and landscapes that draw tourists. Better forest management can reduce the spread of wildfires. Government financial support can help small businesses bounce back when disaster strikes. But for those of us lucky enough to travel abroad, the ethics of vacationing are getting ever more complicated. Should I fly on a fossil-fueled plane to a Caribbean island so my tourist dollars can help rebuild part of the local area that was recently destroyed by a hurricane? Should I patronize a coastal restaurant and enjoy carbon-intensive surf and turf as their beach is washed into the ocean? Should I just stay home and send my money abroad? Probably, yes. But will I? Get our climate newsletter. Learn how the week’s major news story connects back to the climate crisis. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Write to Ciara Nugent at ciara.nugent@time.com.

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"Neither Jesus, nor the Hebrew Bible he interpreted, endorsed the view that departed souls go to paradise or everlasting pain," writes Bart D. Ehrman. (2020)

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time

None of us likes thinking about death, but there are times when we have little choice. The virus spreads, hospitals fill, and systems become overwhelmed. Our greatest concerns, personal and national, are for survival. But for many people – even the otherwise healthy — the crisis has unexpectedly raised the specter of death itself, our constant companion even if, most of the time, we do our best to ignore it. Or, in more normal times, try to laugh it off. The most recent and memorable effort was NBC’s smash hit comedy series The Good Place; but the humor even there was rooted precisely in terror, as Eleanor Shellstrop and her companions desperately worked to avoid the afterlife they deserved in the Bad Place and its eternal torments. The fear is as ancient as civilization’s oldest surviving records. The hero of the Epic of Gilgamesh writhes in agony at the prospect of spending eternity groveling in dust being eaten by worms. Few people today may share Gilgamesh’s terror of consciously living forever in the dirt. Plenty, however, tremble before the possibility of eternal misery. Possibly this is a good time to help people realize that it simply will not be that way. There are over two billion Christians in the world, the vast majority of whom believe in heaven and hell. You die and your soul goes either to everlasting bliss or torment (or purgatory en route). This is true even in the land of increasing “nones”: Americans continue to anticipate a version of the alternatives portrayed in The Good Place: regardless of religious persuasion, 72% believe in a literal heaven, 58% in a literal hell. The vast majority of these people naturally assume this is what Jesus himself taught. But that is not true. Neither Jesus, nor the Hebrew Bible he interpreted, endorsed the view that departed souls go to paradise or everlasting pain. Unlike most Greeks, ancient Jews traditionally did not believe the soul could exist at all apart from the body. On the contrary, for them, the soul was more like the “breath.” The first human God created, Adam, began as a lump of clay; then God “breathed” life into him (Genesis 2: 7). Adam remained alive until he stopped breathing. Then it was dust to dust, ashes to ashes. Ancient Jews thought that was true of us all. When we stop breathing, our breath doesn’t go anywhere. It just stops. So too the “soul” doesn’t continue on outside the body, subject to postmortem pleasure or pain. It doesn’t exist any longer. The Hebrew Bible itself assumes that the dead are simply dead—that their body lies in the grave, and there is no consciousness, ever again. It is true that some poetic authors, for example in the Psalms, use the mysterious term “Sheol” to describe a person’s new location. But in most instances Sheol is simply a synonym for “tomb” or “grave.” It’s not a place where someone actually goes. And so, traditional Israelites did not believe in life after death, only death after death. That is what made death so mournful: nothing could make an afterlife existence sweet, since there was no life at all, and thus no family, friends, conversations, food, drink – no communion even with God. God would forget the person and the person could not even worship. The most one could hope for was a good and particularly long life here and now. But Jews began to change their view over time, although it too never involved imagining a heaven or hell. About two hundred years before Jesus, Jewish thinkers began to believe that there had to be something beyond death—a kind of justice to come. Jews had long believed that God was lord of the entire world and all people, both the living and the dead. But the problems with that thinking were palpable: God’s own people Israel continually, painfully, and frustratingly suffered, from natural disaster, political crises, and, most notably, military defeat. If God loves his people and is sovereign over all the world why do his people experience so much tragedy? Some thinkers came up with a solution that explained how God would bring about justice, but again one that didn’t involve perpetual bliss in a heaven above or perpetual torment in a hell below. This new idea maintained that there are evil forces in the world aligned against God and determined to afflict his people. Even though God is the ultimate ruler over all, he has temporarily relinquished control of this world for some mysterious reason. But the forces of evil have little time left. God is soon to intervene in earthly affairs to destroy everything and everyone that opposes him and to bring in a new realm for his true followers, a Kingdom of God, a paradise on earth. Most important, this new earthly kingdom will come not only to those alive at the time, but also to those who have died. Indeed, God will breathe life back into the dead, restoring them to an earthly existence. And God will bring all the dead back to life, not just the righteous. The multitude who had been opposed to God will also be raised, but for a different reason: to see the errors of their ways and be judged. Once they are shocked and filled with regret – but too late — they will permanently be wiped out of existence. This view of the coming resurrection dominated the view of Jewish thought in the days of Jesus. It was also the view he himself embraced and proclaimed. The end of time is coming soon. The earthly Kingdom of God is “at hand” (Mark 1:15). God will soon destroy everything and everyone opposed to him and establish a new order on earth. Those who enter this kingdom will enjoy a utopian existence for all time. All others will be annihilated. But Jesus put his own twist on the idea. Contrary to what other Jewish leaders taught, Jesus preached that no one will inherit the glorious future kingdom by stringently observing all the Jewish laws in their most intimate details; or by meticulously following the rules of worship involving sacrifice, prayer, and observance of holy days; or by pursuing one’s own purity through escaping the vile world and the tainting influence of sinful others. Instead, for Jesus, the earthly utopia will come to those who are fully dedicated to the most pervasive and dominant teachings of God’s law. Put most simply, that involves loving God above all things despite personal hardship, and working diligently for the welfare of others, even when it is exceedingly difficult. People who have not been living lives of complete unselfish love need to repent and return to the two “greatest commandments” of Jewish Scripture: deep love of God (Deuteronomy 6:4-6) and committed love of neighbor (Leviticus 19:18). This may be simple, but it is not easy. Since your neighbor is anyone you know, see, or hear about, as in the parable of the Good Samaritan, true love means helping everyone in need, not just those in your preferred social circles. Jesus was concerned principally for the poor, the outcasts, the foreigners, the marginalized, and even the most hated enemies. Few people are. Especially those with good lives and abundant resources. No wonder it’s easier to push a camel through the eye of a needle than for the rich to enter the kingdom. Most people today would be surprised to learn that Jesus believed in a bodily eternal life here on earth, instead of eternal bliss for souls, but even more that he did not believe in hell as a place of eternal torment. In traditional English versions, he does occasionally seem to speak of “Hell” – for example, in his warnings in the Sermon on the Mount: anyone who calls another a fool, or who allows their right eye or hand to sin, will be cast into “hell” (Matthew 5:22, 29-30). But these passages are not actually referring to “hell.” The word Jesus uses is “Gehenna.” The term does not refer to a place of eternal torment but to a notorious valley just outside the walls of Jerusalem, believed by many Jews at the time to be the most unholy, god-forsaken place on earth. It was where, according to the Old Testament, ancient Israelites practiced child sacrifice to foreign gods. The God of Israel had condemned and forsaken the place. In the ancient world (whether Greek, Roman, or Jewish), the worst punishment a person could experience after death was to be denied a decent burial. Jesus developed this view into a repugnant scenario: corpses of those excluded from the kingdom would be unceremoniously tossed into the most desecrated dumping ground on the planet. Jesus did not say souls would be tortured there. They simply would no longer exist. Jesus’ stress on the absolute annihilation of sinners appears throughout his teachings. At one point he says there are two gates that people pass through (Matthew 7:13-14). One is narrow and requires a difficult path, but leads to “life.” Few go that way. The other is broad and easy, and therefore commonly taken. But it leads to “destruction.” It is an important word. The wrong path does not lead to torture. So too Jesus says the future kingdom is like a fisherman who hauls in a large net (Matthew 13:47-50). After sorting through the fish, he keeps the good ones and throws the others out. He doesn’t torture them. They just die. Or the kingdom is like a person who gathers up the plants that have grown in his field (Matthew 13:36-43). He keeps the good grain, but tosses the weeds into a fiery furnace. These don’t burn forever. They are consumed by fire and then are no more. Still other passages may seem to suggest that Jesus believe in hell. Most notably Jesus speaks of all nations coming for the last judgment (Matthew 25:31-46). Some are said to be sheep, and the others goats. The (good) sheep are those who have helped those in need – the hungry, the sick, the poor, the foreigner. These are welcomed into the “kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.” The (wicked) goats, however, have refused to help those in need, and so are sent to “eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels.” At first blush, that certainly sounds like the hell of popular imagination. But when Jesus summarizes his point, he explains that the contrasting fates are “eternal life” and “eternal punishment.” They are not “eternal pleasure” and “eternal pain.” The opposite of life is death, not torture. So the punishment is annihilation. But why does it involve “eternal fire”? Because the fire never goes out. The flames, not the torments, go on forever. And why is the punishment called “eternal”? Because it will never end. These people will be annihilated forever. That is not pleasant to think about, but it will not hurt once it’s finished. And so, Jesus stood in a very long line of serious thinkers who have refused to believe that a good God would torture his creatures for eternity. The idea of eternal hell was very much a late comer on the Christian scene, developed decades after Jesus’ death and honed to a fine pitch in the preaching of fire and brimstone that later followers sometimes attributed to Jesus himself. But the torments of hell were not preached by either Jesus or his original Jewish followers; they emerged among later gentile converts who did not hold to the Jewish notion of a future resurrection of the dead. These later Christians came out of Greek culture and its belief that souls were immortal and would survive death. From at least the time of Socrates, many Greek thinkers had subscribed to the idea of the immortality of the soul. Even though the human body dies, the human soul both will not and cannot. Later Christians who came out of gentile circles adopted this view for themselves, and reasoned that if souls are built to last forever, their ultimate fates will do so as well. It will be either eternal bliss or eternal torment. This innovation represents an unhappy amalgamation of Jesus’ Jewish views and those found in parts of the Greek philosophical tradition. It was a strange hybrid, a view held neither by the original Christians nor by ancient Greek intelligentsia before them. Still, in one interesting and comforting way, Jesus’ own views of either eternal reward or complete annihilation do resemble Greek notions propagated over four centuries earlier. Socrates himself expressed the idea most memorably when on trial before an Athenian jury on capital charges. His “Apology” (that is, “Legal Defense”) can still be read today, recorded by his most famous pupil, Plato. Socrates openly declares that he sees no reason to fear the death sentence. On the contrary, he is rather energized by the idea of passing on from this life. For Socrates, death will be one of two things. On one hand, it may entail the longest, most untroubled, deep sleep that could be imagined. And who doesn’t enjoy a good sleep? On the other hand, it may involve a conscious existence. That too would be good, even better. It would mean carrying on with life and all its pleasures but none of its pain. For Socrates, the classical world’s most famous pursuer of truth, it would mean endless conversations about deep subjects with well-known thinkers of his past. And so the afterlife presents no bad choices, only good ones. Death was not a source of terror or even dread. Twenty-four centuries later, with all our advances in understanding our world and human life within it, surely we can think that that both Jesus and Socrates had a lot of things right. Jesus taught that in this short life we have, we should devote ourselves to the welfare of others, the poor, the needy, the sick, the oppressed, the outcast, the alien. We should listen to him. But Socrates was almost certainly right as well. None of us, of course, knows what will happen when we pass from this world of transience. But his two options are still the most viable. On one hand, we may lose our consciousness with no longer a worry in this world. Jesus saw this as permanent annihilation; Socrates as a pleasant deep sleep. In either scenario, there will be no more pain. On the other hand, there may be more yet to come, a happier place, a good place. And so, in this, the greatest teacher of the Greeks and the founder of Christianity agreed to this extent: when, in the end, we pass from this earthly realm, we may indeed have something to hope for, but we have absolutely nothing to fear. Ehrman’s new book, from which this essay is adapted, is Heaven and Hell: A History of the Afterlife. The Coronavirus Brief. Everything you need to know about the global spread of COVID-19 Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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Here are three simple exercises you can easily add to any workday—without cutting too much into your calendar.

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time

You don’t need a gym membership, equipment or even a big chunk of time to reap the rewards of exercise. In fact, you can squeeze some of the best moves for your body into a busy workday. The key is remembering that “all movement counts,” says NiCole Keith, president of the American College of Sports Medicine and kinesiology professor at Indiana University-Purdue University Indianapolis. Here are three simple exercises you can easily add to any workday—without cutting too much into your calendar. Walk more Walking is one of the simplest, most accessible ways to increase your activity. Adding more steps to your day has been found to boost your metabolism and decrease your risk of chronic diseases like hypertension and Type 2 diabetes. A 2008 analysis of studies, published in the British Journal of Sports Medicine, found that just 20 minutes of moderate-intensity walking per day was associated with lower rates of cardiovascular disease and death during the study periods. Brisk walking was associated with even better health outcomes. (In this analysis, the terms “moderate” and “brisk” generally referred to subjective effort rather than pace.) Walking can also enhance mood, reduce stress and improve sleep. If you make it outside, even better. “Getting fresh air is huge” for mental health, says Holly Roser, a certified personal trainer based in San Francisco. Carving out time for a stroll isn’t the only way to add steps into your day, though. If your workplace has more than one restroom, choose the farther one, Keith suggests. You could also add more walking to your commute; public transit users can try getting off one stop early, and drivers can park farther away from their destination. Even if you’re working from home, there’s plenty you can do to add to your step count. While no one is suggesting you give a sales presentation from your treadmill, you might consider embracing multitasking to get in more steps. “There’s no rule that says you have to sit down every time you take a call,” Roser says. Pace around your office or go walk outside if you don’t need to be at your desk while chatting. The standard step tracker suggests 10,000 steps per day. But if that goal intimidates you, Roser has simpler advice: “Get more than you’re getting now.” Take the stairs Adding stair climbing into your routine doesn’t require any special equipment (or a post-workout shower). Just take the stairs instead of the elevator whenever possible, Keith suggests. If you don’t want to get sweaty during your workday, simply stop before you perspire, she says. To get the benefits of stair climbing, “you don’t have to break a sweat, you just have to be breathing a little harder.” Even low- or moderate-intensity stair climbing increases blood flow, which promotes both heart health and brain function. Increased alertness, better decision-making and enhanced creativity are among the mental benefits you experience “every time you get up and start moving,” Keith says. If you want to rev up your heart rate and generate some internal heat, try a Tabata workout, suggests Tasha Edwards, a health coach and certified personal trainer based in Huntsville, Ala. Exercise for 20 seconds, then back off the pace or rest for 10 seconds, and repeat for four minutes. The beauty of Tabata, says Edwards, is its structure. “You’re liable to work hard because you realize it’s only 20 seconds at a time.” Pop some squats Squats work your entire lower body, including muscles you use all day long. The muscles you engage when squatting are the same ones you need to get on and off the toilet, stand up from a chair or lift a bag of pet food. The benefits of squats and other forms of strength training include improved bone density, cardiovascular health and mood. If you picture heavy barbells and strenuous sessions when you think of squats, think again. You can get many of the benefits with easier sets whenever you can sneak them into your day; for example, if you did 12 body-weight squats every two hours, you could squeeze in 48 squats over an eight-hour workday. “These little ‘movement snacks’ add up over time,” says Kristin Oja, a nurse practitioner and personal trainer. To make squats easier on your knees or for extra support, try a chair-up instead. From a seated position, simply stand up from your chair—holding onto your desk for balance if necessary—and repeat. “If you want to increase the load or the work on a muscle group, all you have to do is slow down your tempo,” says Oja. Instead of moving quickly, count to three as you squat down, then hold at the bottom for a full second before slowly returning to standing. Roser recommends turning household items into weights. She has her clients squat while wearing backpacks or holding jugs of laundry detergent. Not sure when to squeeze in your squats? Edwards suggests pairing them with another habit already in your repertoire. For example, she performs 25 squats whenever she brushes her teeth. Or set a timer to beep at the top of every hour as a reminder to move. This is especially useful when you’re in “long meetings or [working on] a deadline,” says Edwards. Otherwise, “four hours go by,” and you’ve been seated—and getting stiffer—the entire time. Whatever you do, the key to moving more is shifting your mindset. “We need to take ‘just’ and ‘only’ out of our vocabulary,” says Tom Holland, exercise physiologist and author of The Micro-Workout Plan. “The secret to success is consistency.” The short, moderate workout you do always beats the long, intense session you skip. Correction, February 22 The original version of this story mischaracterized how to do a Tabata workout. Rest intervals should be 10 seconds, not 40, and cycles should be repeated for four minutes. Get our Health Newsletter. Sign up to receive the latest health and science news, plus answers to wellness questions and expert tips. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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"Over three thousand U.S. and allied dead, tens of thousands with significant wounds, and a few trillion dollars expended—to say nothing of hundreds of thousands of Afghans killed and wounded as well. Was it worth it?" writes retired Admiral James Stavridis.

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time

The end was going to be painful. During the course of several administrations, the American public has grown tired of the war in Afghanistan and simply wanted it to end. The Biden administration decided to rip the bandage off, but unfortunately, it appears that they ripped off a tourniquet and we are watching the hemorrhaging of American honor and the death of the hopes and dreams of many Afghans—particularly for many girls and women. How did we get to this point? Let me share my journey. The war in Afghanistan began on September 11, 2001. I was a freshly selected one-star admiral, the gold braid brand-new on the sleeves of my service dress blue uniform. My office was on the outer “E-ring” of the Pentagon, and through the windows across the corridor, I glimpsed a Boeing 757 just before it struck the building. The nose of American Airlines flight 77 hit the Pentagon’s second floor. I was about 150 feet away on the fourth floor, and was spared. As the flames and smoke engulfed the section of Pentagon with my office, I stumbled down several flights of stairs out onto the grassy field below and tried to do what I could for the survivors and wounded until the first responders arrived. All I could think of was the irony of the day for me: after decades in the military, I had seen my share of combat—yet I was almost killed in what we all believed was one of the safest buildings in the world. The Pentagon is guarded by the strongest military on earth in the capital of the richest and most powerful country on the planet. Yet it was there where I came the closest to being killed over the course of my 37-year career. And I did not know it at the time, but the terrorist strikes on New York and Washington were also connected to a previous attack I had conducted several years earlier. As a destroyer squadron commodore, I had overseen the Tomahawk cruise missile strikes in August 1998 against bin Laden in Afghanistan, conducted in retaliation for Al Qaeda’s deadly bombings of two U.S. embassies in East Africa. In what became known as “Operation Infinite Reach,” we had barely missed killing bin Laden as he escaped his camp, probably after being alerted to impending attack by the Pakistani intelligence services. My Tomahawks had almost killed him, and now his attack nearly finished me. Within weeks, I was placed in charge of the Navy’s “Deep Blue” innovation cell, a small elite team charged with coming up with strategic ideas and tactical operations to leverage the capabilities of the Navy in what would become known as the “Global War on Terror.” After a year in that role, I was sent back to sea as a Carrier Strike Group commander embarked in the nuclear carrier U.S.S Enterprise—conducting operations on the Horn of Africa and in both Afghanistan and Iraq. Later, I’d serve as Senior Military Assistant to the Secretary of Defense, Donald Rumsfeld, and eventually become Supreme Allied Commander of NATO, with strategic responsibility for the war in Afghanistan. I was thus deeply engaged in what came to be known as the “Forever Wars,” from their start in 2001 in Afghanistan, throughout the tragic misadventure in Iraq, until my retirement from the Navy as NATO commander in 2013. All of the U.S. armed forces were profoundly changed by the experiences in both Afghanistan and the war in Iraq that followed. Today, I watch with great sadness the chaotic withdrawal of U.S. troops and diplomats from Afghanistan and the fall of Kabul. What did it all mean, and what lessons should the U.S. military draw from this long conflict? Over three thousand U.S. and allied dead, tens of thousands with significant wounds, and a few trillion dollars expended—to say nothing of hundreds of thousands of Afghans killed and wounded as well. Was it worth it? Leanne McCain, right, and her children embrace over her slain husband's grave at Arlington National Cemetery on May 28, 2012. Her husband, father-of-four Army SFC Johnathan McCain, was killed by a roadside bomb in Afghanistan in November 2011. John Moore—Getty Images In some ways, every war is a tragic waste of time, treasure and, most importantly, blood. But I believe that the troops who fought in Afghanistan can hold their heads up with pride in one crucial way: we were sent to Afghanistan to find and bring to justice the 9/11 attackers, and—more importantly—to prevent another attack on the U.S. homeland emanating from that ungoverned space. For twenty years, we did that. Those troops stood on a wall on the other side of the world defending our nation. And the gains in Afghanistan—part of our counter-insurgency strategy—are not insignificant. Millions of people can now read and write, many of them girls and women. Life expectancy has increased dramatically, while child mortality is significantly down. Access to information, tech start-ups, better infrastructure and medical treatment are real, although much is at risk as the Taliban seize power. On the other hand, I signed 2,026 letters of condolence to the families of those killed under my NATO mission. Almost a third of the letters, by the way, were sent to European and other coalition families. To those families I would say their loved ones fell in the service of a meaningful mission for their fifty different nations. But I would also say we could have done better, lost fewer of them, spent far less treasure, and used some of the lessons from Vietnam (and previous wars in Afghanistan) that could have helped. We could have done a better job of communicating to the people of our country and the people of the country in which we were fighting our goals and aspirations. We also could have done much better in marshalling and accounting for our resources and guarding against corruption and waste. We could have checked our hubris and optimism at the door, especially after the initial successes seemed so easy. The bottom line: the financial and human costs of U.S. involvement were immense and will be felt for decades both economically with the U.S. debt and in terms of long-term medical care for wounded veterans. Americans at a military outpost inside Ghazni on Aug. 16, 2018, after the U.S. helped Afghan forces retake the city from the Taliban. Emanuele Satolli for TIME In the immediate aftermath of the 9/11 attacks, all of the armed forces recognized the need to change fast. The hulking platforms of the Cold War, upon which we continued to invest a great deal of financial and operational resources, were suddenly far less relevant. Main battle tanks and motorized howitzers, fifth generation fighter jets, nuclear-powered aircraft carriers, offensive cyberattack programs, and anti-aircraft missile batteries were of limited use in Afghanistan. Instead, we needed heavily armored but light vehicles that could move fast on the dusty roads and survive an encounter with an improvised explosive device. We didn’t have them, and Rumsfeld was nearly fired for saying (correctly and honestly but unempathetically) that “you go to war with the army you have. They are not the army you might want or wish to have at a later time.” At the start, we were wishing for those armored Humvees, alongside more nimble special forces, explosive ordnance disposal technicians, counter-insurgency experts, translators, and central Asian historians. The venerable A-10 “warthog,” a troops-in-the-field support aircraft that flew low suddenly counted for more than a glamorous F/A-18 Hornet. In short, the services had to reinvent, reorient, and rethink every aspect of combat. And from the earliest moment, it was clear we would need to train a substantial Afghan army and police force if we were ever going to succeed in Afghanistan. That effort began early, even as we gradually increased the number of U.S. troops in country. The U.S. forces put enormous effort into the training, sending top generals like Dave Petraeus and Marty Dempsey (a future Chairman of the Joint Chiefs) as 3-star officers to helm that effort. Eventually well over a million young Afghans would pass through U.S. and allied training programs (which included literacy training). We succeeded in bolstering the technical proficiency of Afghan forces but at times fell short in our efforts to root out corruption among some sectors and were unable to adequately communicate our vision of a peaceful and prosperous future for the country. The lack of literacy, which was a profound problem throughout the country, was a significant hindrance. We underestimated the degree to which the Taliban were able to infiltrate the ranks, eventually leading to “green on blue” attacks by Afghans on their trainers. And so many of the Afghans would go through training for a time, take the salaries while doing so, and simply disappear back to their villages. Another part of the learning curve was discovering how best to fight with allies in the field. The rest of NATO, acting for the first and only time in its history under the auspices of its Article V (“an attack on one is an attack on all”), came with us into Afghanistan. By the time I took command of what became known as Operation Enduring Freedom (OEF) in the spring of 2009, we had over 70,000 U.S. troops, and around 35,000 NATO and coalition forces. The frustrations of coalition warfare are immense, from poor communications interconnectivity to caveats placed on forces (nation X will not conduct operations at night, for example). Despite all the disconnects, however, we learned over time that Sir Winston Churchill was right when he said the only thing more frustrating that fighting alongside allies is fighting without allies. Central to all of this was the U.S. military leadership in the fight. The on-the-ground leaders in Afghanistan, mostly Army and Marine Corps, were overwhelmingly brave, thoughtful, and competent. But as we learned over the long years, we simply rotated them too frequently. If we had fought World War II by limiting General Eisenhower or Admiral Nimitz to one year tours of duty, the outcome would have been different, to say the least. We made the same mistake in Vietnam, where everyone was on a one year tour, and the outcome was a disaster. This was reflected up-and-down the chain of command, and the lack of continuity and sense of “I’ve just got to make it to my departure date” hindered strategic coherency badly. Two examples: Working for me as the four-star general during my four years as the overall NATO commander of the mission were four separate officers: Stan McChrystal, Dave Petraeus, John Allen, and Joe Dunford. All were devoted to the mission and worked 18 hours a day; but the changes of command were simply too frequent as command philosophy and tactical approach changed. In another example, we brought in a brilliant one-star, H.R. McMaster (later national security advisor for Donald Trump) to combat Afghan corruption. Just as he started to get real traction on this central challenge in the country, it was time for him to rotate out. This pattern of one year tours—understandable from a human perspective—deeply hurt the military effort. It is not an exaggeration to say we didn’t fight a twenty year war, but rather twenty one-year wars. Finally, we need to acknowledge the tenacity, innovation, resilience, and relentless tactics of the Taliban. In any war, as the saying goes, the enemy gets a vote. The Taliban used all the attributes of successful insurgencies: terrorizing the civilian population, attacks on critical infrastructure, undermining the economy, harassing raids on larger forces, infiltration of Afghan units, and simply outlasting the patience of the U.S. It was all quite reminiscent of the campaigns by their ancestors against the Soviets in the 20th century, the British in the 19th century, and all the way back to Alexander the Great in ancient times. “The Americans have the watches, but we have all the time,” was their mantra, and in the end, time ran out for the Americans. Like in Vietnam, the U.S. forces were never defeated on the battlefield—but as a North Vietnamese general pointed out to American general after the war “that is true; but it is also irrelevant.” All of this is so predictable in hindsight, of course. So the central question becomes simple: why did we not learn from this history? American optimism is both one of our greatest strengths and at times one of our greatest vulnerabilities. We believe that because our motives are usually good and people and weapons are strong that we can overcome any obstacle. And we can. But what we too often fail to accept that doing so may take far longer than we’d like. It makes no sense to tell the inhabitants of a country that has suffered violent conflict for centuries that we consider twenty years a “forever war.” Girls ride in a school bus after classes at the Zarghoona high school in Kabul on July 25, 2021. The school reopened after a nearly two-month break due to the coronavirus pandemic. Paula Bronstein—Getty Images The debates over “who lost Afghanistan,” are just beginning. As was the case in Vietnam, there are plenty of suspects according to various analysis, from supposedly bumbling generals and admirals to weak-kneed diplomats to drug lords to discouraging media reporting to feckless Afghan politicians to nefarious Pakistani intelligence operatives. History will sort that out. But what interests me are the lessons we could and should take away. There are principally four. First, we must learn and understand the history, culture, and languages of any country in which we seek to intervene – be that militarily or economically. In Afghanistan, we failed to fully do so, and our hubris and arrogance did not serve us well. Fighting an insurgency is a long game indeed, and we did not heed the historical need for patience –the opposite of unwarranted self-confidence. And the endemic corruption on the part of the Afghan government at every level hurt us badly, but we did not do enough to root it out. Second, constantly turning over forces hurts badly. The Army and Marines generally had 12 month tours in country, the Navy normally six months, and the Air Force often less than that. Special forces would cycle in-and-out of country every few months. All of that is understandable from a human perspective, but it hurt us badly in terms of continuity and expertise. Third, we did not quickly and efficiently adapt our technology to this new fight swiftly enough. For example, it took us far too long to find solutions to the improvised explosive device challenge, improve satellite intelligence delivery to remote battlefields; procure simpler aviation systems that could be adapted to the rigors of Afghanistan and the relatively unsophisticated Afghan maintainers; and create better communication systems between different national forces. In retrospect, we should have trained an Afghan fighting force that would have looked more like the Taliban – light, swift, less reliant on heavy logistics and exquisite intelligence, and air power. Lastly, we did not create the conditions on the home front that could have sustained a truly long-term effort. As casualties dropped while we withdrew the vast majority of troops under President Obama, the war in Afghanistan simply fell off the media and national radar. Across multiple administrations we failed to communicate why our presence in Afghanistan was still useful and what benefit the US and our allies derived from the expenditure of lives and treasure. The opportunity to “bring all the troops home” touted as a campaign talking point by Trump (although 95% of the 150,000 had long since returned) was a hollow but alluring call. Keeping a small footprint (down to 2,500 by the time Biden took office) would have made sense, but by then political patience had expired. The perimeter of the U.S. embassy in Kabul on Aug. 15, 2021, after the Taliban entered the city. Jim Huylebroek—The New York Times/Redux And so we come to the end—of U.S. military involvement. How will things turn out? It is hard to construct a positive scenario. With luck, the future under Taliban 2.0 will be somewhat less apocalyptic than the earlier edition but we can’t count on that. But the gains for women and girls are in serious jeopardy (to say the least) and terrorist groups that once found Afghanistan a welcoming environment are likely planning 9/11 anniversary reunions of the worst possible kind. Jihadis globally will be doing high-fives at the symmetry of two “great triumphs” twenty years apart— the fall of the World Trade Towers and the fall of Kabul. While progress has been made in getting many of the Afghan translators and their families who worked with us out of the country, it does not appear to have been well planned or thought through—much more should have been done sooner. There are thousands of other Afghans who worked with the U.S. military, intelligence and diplomatic communities who are similarly at risk. Additionally there are those who supported U.S. contractors and media organizations who likewise will be targeted by the Taliban. We should help them escape as well, but it may be too late for many of them. A small silver lining in all of this, by the way, will be how those refugees from Afghanistan turn out here in America. I predict they will flourish— much as the South Vietnamese who escaped the purges in the mid-to-late 1970s have done. For years the United States was somewhere between excessively optimistic and near delusional about what was possible to achieve. And as things got worse, we found ourselves whistling past the graveyard of empires. The Biden Administration and the Trump Administration before it began loudly signaling that the U.S. was anxious to get out of Afghanistan for better or worse. That message was received both by the Taliban and the Afghan government speeding the collapse. The new actors taking up their parts on this most ancient stage are clearly going to be the Chinese, Iranians, Pakistanis, and —alongside their partners, the Taliban. It is their neighborhood, after all. Sadly, Operation Enduring Freedom was neither enduring, nor did it deliver freedom for the Afghan people. It did buy two relatively terror-free decades here in the United States—and for that we can thank the U.S. and Allied Forces who risked it all for us in that country. But clearly we need to relearn the lessons of history and apply them in any future intervention, or we may again find failure awaiting us when we come to the end of our next major overseas engagement. Sign up for Inside TIME. Be the first to see the new cover of TIME and get our most compelling stories delivered straight to your inbox. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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Sarah Jaffe, author of "Work Won't Love You Back," on the capitalist myth that leads to worker exploitation.

https://ti.me/3D0m2KL

time

­­Work Won’t Love You Back is a provocative title for book coming out at a time when many Americans are logging extra hours during the pandemic. But author Sarah Jaffe, whose book hits shelves on Jan. 26, argues that the “love your work” mantra is a myth of capitalism. For most of human history workers clocked into their jobs knowing that “work sucked.” But in the 1970s, just when manufacturing began to die and labor movements began to lose ground, bosses started handing down aphorisms like, “Do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life.” Service people were told to plaster a smile onto their faces. Unpaid internships proliferated. And when women entered the workforce en masse looking for a paycheck, they were offered less money than their male peers. After all, their bosses argued, they should be grateful for the non-monetary rewards. “Even as the old story–that housework, and particularly motherhood, was inherently satisfying­­–hung on, the new myth, of work-as-liberation, grew up around it,” she writes. That pay gap has persisted. In her book, Jaffe, a longtime labor journalist, says large corporations specifically conjured this fable in order to pay workers less and give them fewer benefits. The capitalist system, she says, depends on you believing that deception. You’ve been reporting on labor issues for a long time, but how did you come to the revelation that the credo “do what you love” is used to exploit workers? It really is the story of my work life. I’ve had various service-industry jobs since I was 14—everything from scooping ice cream to making coffee to waiting tables, all public-facing, “paste a smile on,” emotional labor kind of work. This work sucks. It’s terrible, and you constantly have to pretend you like it. When I moved to Denver when I was 22, I was interviewed for this job at this sushi restaurant. And the owner was like, “Where do you see yourself in five years?” And I was like, “Dude, you’re going to pay me $2.13 an hour. You don’t get my career aspirations and hopes and dreams for $2.13 an hour. You get me showing up on time. The rest of my wage is paid by the customer anyway.” And so I feel like this has been haunting me since then. You write about interns, for example, being told by individual bosses that they should be grateful to be working even if they’re not paid for their work. But I’m interested in where that myth originated, on a macro level. The economy of the mid-century, the economy that Donald Trump is always giving us these nostalgic callbacks to—”We’re going to bring back the factory jobs, we’re going to bring back the coal mines”—in those jobs, you didn’t have to pretend to like it. If you’re smiling while mining coal, I want to know what drugs you’re on because that stuff is not fun. That expectation was just not there. When I went to the Lordstown factory in Ohio to talk to people who’ve been making cars for, in some of their cases, most of their lives, they’re proud of the cars they put out, but they’re not doing it to bring themselves fulfillment. They’re pretty clear-eyed about that. They’re doing it for the money and because it’s going to give them a decent life outside of work. Then there’s the story that is on a million WeWork tote bags now: “Do what you love.” And that’s even a story I was told growing up by my parents who were small-business owners. Our fortunes fluctuated a lot when I was a kid, but it was always assumed that there was some career that would be inspiring to me, more so than maybe my parents had had. That’s a generational shift: A lot of factory workers worked really hard to put their kids through school, so their kids didn’t have to work in the factory. But the other thing that happened is that the factory jobs are gone. The factories have shut down or gone overseas. Not just in the U.S. but in Western Europe, there are just fewer people doing manufacturing work in general. And instead, we have these low-wage service jobs that require more emotionally. To play devil’s advocate, is the idea that you should love your work maybe useful in some way not just to capitalism at large but also to the worker? We all have to work to pay our bills, so why not try to pay those bills in a way that feels fulfilling? Look, I’d much rather be doing the work that I’m currently doing than waiting tables, even though there are times as a freelance journalist, where my income has been about comparable to what it was waiting tables. I’m not trying to argue with this book that you should go work at a factory because that will make you happier. What I’m saying is that the way that this story is wielded against us actually makes it possible for me as a journalist who has a graduate degree to make no more money than I did waiting tables because I was supposed to be grateful to get $35,000 a year for my first journalism job. On a micro level, what is the solution though? As an individual worker, do I just maximize profit while minimizing time working for that profit to find happiness in life? I’m a bit thrown, with this book, when people are like, “What’s the answer?” Literally every chapter is about a worker who has done something, been part of organizing to improve their job. But I didn’t write an advice book. I wrote a book to tell people this is how capitalism works. You spoke to people from different countries, but as a group, Americans take less vacation and work longer hours. Do you think “love what you do” is a uniquely American problem? Well, it’s definitely true that Americans have some of the worst working hours in the post-industrial world because we are the only advanced capitalist economy that doesn’t require paid sick time or paid maternity leave or paid vacation. In most of Western Europe, these things are the law. The month of August is just a waste in London because everybody’s on vacation, and these are not people who are rich. These are statutory things. The Red Scare in America has a lot to answer for. Now any little gain for workers is called communism. And so we don’t have a national health service, which we desperately need right now to try to vaccinate hundreds of millions of people against a global pandemic. But also in other countries, mandated time off didn’t just happen. It’s not because people in France are better than us. They work 35 hours a week because they went on strike. Yes, the usual French strike is, like, the entire workplace goes out on strike and kidnaps their boss. And I’m not saying that everybody should kidnap their boss, but there’s a tradition of militancy in a lot of these places that stems from having been successful and remembering what it took to be successful. I don’t think that we should be fooled into believing that Americans just love their jobs more than everybody else. We work more because we have to, because we literally don’t have the same job protections that people in Western Europe do. A huge chunk of your book is dedicated to talking about domestic labor, traditionally thought of as women’s work. Washing the dishes at home is both unpaid and also is not particularly fulfilling. Obviously the feminist movement has pushed over and over again to get women out of the home and into the workplace, but then women got there and are still not paid equally. You tie that feminist struggle into the myth of loving your work. The story was always that women are not supposed to work. Women are too fragile or too angelic or too any number of things in order to go into the workplace. So the exceptions to that become things like teaching and nursing, which look a lot like the work that women did in the home already. And the bonus to that was that if women aren’t expected to be paid, then they don’t want to be paid very much when they become a teacher. The assumption is still that you’ll be a teacher for a couple of years, and then you’ll get married, have kids of your own, and so, while you’re a single woman who’s working, you’re probably living with your dad, and then once you get married, your husband will support you. So, you don’t need a real living wage, and that still colors how badly teachers get paid now. The loving-your-job part comes into that too, where they told teachers that we want to hire women as teachers, because you’re naturally caring, and you love the children and all of that stuff. And that means that you’ll be good at this, and you’ll love this job, and it’ll be really meaningful to you because it’s fulfilling your natural purpose as a woman, and all of this totally sexist garbage that we still live with every day. And now during the pandemic, we see all these surveys that say when both parents and kids are at home, women in heterosexual relationships are now doing the majority of the nurturing and teaching and cleaning and laundry during lockdown in addition to their work. Yeah, the family is a style of work. So, that style of work creeps into workplaces. The hospital, for instance, is structured like a family where the male doctor, the theoretically male doctor, is in charge and the nurses sort of do his bidding and do the “caring” part of the job, even though as scholars of nursing pointed out to me, repeatedly, nursing is actually really difficult brain work. It’s not just holding somebody’s hand and caring about them. To understand the way that we have devalued women’s work is really to understand that we’ve expected women to do so much for free over hundreds and hundreds of years. And that’s still evident in every survey that’s been taken since people started having to work from home in massive numbers. I was struck in your book about the observation that work has pervaded our personal lives too. At one point you point to the fact that we even use the term partner to refer to a spouse. And you write, “Love is still just another form of alienated labor.” I’ve always thought of “partner” as a word that reflects two people being on the same team, reflecting work in a positive way. But could you expand on why work invading our personal lives is a bad thing? Think about the way that Tinder becomes a job application, right? It’s basically like a little romantic resume with a headshot or three that makes you look attractive. And then you have some initial conversations and then maybe you go on a date that’s kind of like a job interview and the whole process makes me want to die. But more than that, it’s also just the ways that I’ve got this stupid phone on me all the time. And especially now that we work at home, the boundaries of everything are blurred. If work becomes the thing we have to love, then what happens on the other end of the things we used to love? And this is complicated by the fact that for a lot of people, we do love some of the work we do. And some of the work we do is unpaid family work, even if we’re not parents. Like I have at various times had to take care of my parents when they were not well. All of these things blur boundaries in really complicated ways. Work has always sort of shaped people’s outside-of-work lives, in some cases really intentionally. I was just reading Greg Grandin’s book, Fordlandia, about Henry Ford and his attempt to socially engineer his workforces. And Henry Ford would send his sociological-department inspectors into his workers’ home to make sure they were upstanding heterosexually married men. There’s always been this intervention of work into the home. But now that there’s not a clear line between the two in a lot of cases, it just becomes really impossible to find the boundaries at all. Again, I’m tempted to ask, “How do we set boundaries for ourselves when we need to pay the bills?” But you did not write a self-help book. It should be possible to say, “O.K., I am ostensibly at work, even if I work from home, from 10 to 6. And after that, you cannot expect that I will answer email.” It’s really hard. It’s actually much harder, I think, when you’re a freelancer because I don’t have any one boss. And so if somebody emails me at 10 p.m. but it’s a really good offer, I’m going to answer it even though I’m basically scabbing on myself. Sign up for Inside TIME. Be the first to see the new cover of TIME and get our most compelling stories delivered straight to your inbox. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Write to Eliana Dockterman at eliana.dockterman@time.com.

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"Like a long-anticipated death, Americans knew this day would come, but the collapse was so sudden and complete that it was stunning when it finally did," write W.J. Hennigan and Kimberly Dozier."On the 20th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks this September, a Taliban flag will fly over Afghanistan."

https://ti.me/3xNeTth

time

In early July, President Joe Biden informed the American people of the coming drawdown of U.S. forces from Afghanistan after a 20-year occupation. The evacuation would be “secure and orderly,” he said, with little chance of a Taliban takeover. “The likelihood there’s going to be the Taliban overrunning everything and owning the whole country is highly unlikely,” he said. Little more than a month later, Biden has been proven wrong on all counts. The Taliban took over Afghanistan on Sunday, entering the capital city of Kabul with no resistance after a two-week-long blitz in which multiple provincial capitals fell into the insurgents’ hands. President Ashraf Ghani fled the country on Sunday, abandoning his fortress-like palace to the black-turbaned militants who roamed freely in his offices by the day’s end. U.S. diplomats, meanwhile, rushed to destroy sensitive documents and equipment at the sprawling U.S. embassy. The building’s American flag was lowered and flown aboard a helicopter to the Kabul airport, where U.S. personnel gathered for safety. Taliban fighters drive into Kabul on Aug. 15. Jim Huylebroek—The New York Times/Redux Like a long-anticipated death, Americans knew this day would come, but the collapse was so sudden and complete that it was stunning when it finally did. It’s a reality difficult to fathom after nearly two decades of U.S. involvement in Afghanistan, more than 2,300 of its troops dead, more than 20,000 wounded, hundreds of thousands of Afghans maimed or killed and $2 trillion spent. On the 20th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks this September, a Taliban flag will fly over Afghanistan. Biden’s miscalculation could alter his presidency and weaken U.S. standing overseas. He supported the invasion two decades ago but had long since concluded it was time to leave, and he got elected to the presidency on a platform of pulling troops out. So how could the White House have been caught so flat-footed? Biden Administration officials routinely argued that Afghanistan’s 300,000-plus troops and police, which the U.S. has spent at least $84 billion to train and equip, vastly outnumbered the estimated 75,000 Taliban fighters. They pointed to Afghanistan’s air force of attack planes and helicopters, which were also paid for by the U.S., as well as the firepower and heavy weaponry. In the end, though, not one piece of this multibillion-dollar arsenal, which now all belongs to the Taliban, could replace the willingness to fight or the instinct for survival, as Afghan troops saw that fellow soldiers who surrendered to the militants were allowed to live and those who fought were often brutally executed. U.S. intelligence assessments initially estimated that Afghan security forces could stave off Taliban offensives against major population centers, like Kabul, for a year or possibly more. Just this month, the timetable was significantly downgraded to within 30 days or less, according to two current U.S. officials. Instead, Afghan defenses lasted 10 days, as the troops repeatedly acquiesced to the insurgents, allowing them to walk through Kabul’s city gates untouched. The U.S. is now working through the logistical nightmare of evacuating thousands of American and Afghan personnel along with their families. The airport represents the sole means of escape since the Taliban has methodically encircled the capital and cut off critical supply routes in and out of the city. Taliban spokesmen have repeated that anyone who wants to leave, can, unmolested, but few Afghans want to test that public promise with their lives, as sporadic gunfire and looting has broken out across Kabul overnight. Smoke rises next to the U.S. Embassy in Kabul late on Aug. 15. Rahmat Gul—AP Biden ordered thousands of U.S. forces to the Kabul airport to help evacuate Americans and Afghans who collaborated closely with the U.S. for decades. Congressional lawmakers were told Sunday during a 45-minute conference call with Secretary of State Antony Blinken, Defense Secretary Lloyd Austin and General Mark Milley, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, that the first of 6,000 U.S. troops began to arrive at the Kabul airport over the weekend. Lawmakers were told there were tens of thousands of Afghans who could qualify for Special Immigrant Visas, according to a person familiar with the call. General Kenneth McKenzie, commander of U.S. military operations in the Middle East, is now overseeing the evolving situation from a base in the region. A U.S. military official tells TIME they are working to safely evacuate Americans, and as many Afghans “as possible” who might be at risk of Taliban reprisals. Meanwhile, Afghan officials outside the country are working to get out their colleagues who might face retribution if they were left behind. One in the Gulf is working to bring a plane from Qatar to pick up senior Afghan government staffers and some of their families. But by late Sunday, commercial flights at the city’s airport were suspended amid intermittent gunfire—and only military aircraft were allowed to operate. “A lot of dignitaries are stuck in the airport like sitting ducks,” the official says. “There is no immigration officer to stamp passports. It’s total chaos.” The official shared with TIME a cell phone video he got from a friend trying to get out at the airport, of panicked Afghans rushing to board an empty aircraft, not waiting for permission, standing in the aisles and refusing to give up their seats to the ticketed passengers. With reports of gunshots and militants on the civilian side of the airport, the senior Afghan officials are torn. “We don’t know if it’s a wise decision to sit in the airport, but they fear for their lives if they go back to the city,” the official says. Pentagon spokesman John Kirby said U.S. forces have now assumed responsibilities for air traffic control at the airport. “Commercial traffic continues, though it has experienced some sporadic stoppages and delay,” he said in a statement. “Several hundred civilians, including personnel and private U.S. citizens, have been evacuated so far. We continue to build capacity to expedite processing for at-risk Afghan civilians.” Other senior Afghan officials have opted to stay. An aide of Dr. Abdullah Abdullah, chairman of the country’s High Council for National Reconciliation, tells TIME that he will be flying to Doha, Qatar, as part of a team that includes former Afghan President Hamid Karzai to negotiate the shape of the incoming government. U.S. and Taliban officials did not respond to requests for comment. Sworn enemies of the Taliban like Afghan Vice President Amrullah Saleh and Ahmad Masood, the son of assassinated Northern Alliance leader Ahmad Shah Masood, have remained in the country, returning to their home province of the Panjshir, multiple current and Afghan officials say. Saleh messaged TIME that he is in one of his “mountain bases.” Ghani, for his part, posted a statement on Facebook that detailed his reasons for fleeing. “If I had stayed, countless countrymen would have been martyred and Kabul city would have been ruined, in which case a disaster would have been brought upon this city of five million,” he said. Men crowd into an Internet café while seeking help with applications for the Special Immigrant Visa program in Kabul on Aug. 8. Paula Bronstein—Getty Images Meanwhile, the situation is perilous for everyday Afghans who don’t have the means or connections to leave. U.S. officials who worked in Afghanistan are getting panicked messages from Afghan translators and other staff who weren’t granted U.S. visas in time, or couldn’t get to the airport where U.S. officials are trying to rush through thousands of applications before sending them on to Qatar for further security checks and processing. “I’m still out here and waiting for the U.S. to save me,” one Afghan messaged a long-serving U.S. official. “How do you respond to messages like this?” the official asks. “I’ve been getting them all day.” The United States’ longest war may be drawing to an end, but the bloodshed is far from over. The world’s focus will be on the safety of Afghan allies and Afghan women, who were systematically victimized under the Taliban. Biden, however, figured this into his calculation long ago. “Do I bear responsibility? Zero responsibility,” he told CBS in February 2020 of the possibility women would lose rights under a new Taliban rule. “The responsibility I have is to protect America’s national self-interest and not put our women and men in harm’s way to try to solve every single problem in the world by use of force.” With reporting by Alana Abramson/Washington Get our Politics Newsletter. The headlines out of Washington never seem to slow. Subscribe to The D.C. Brief to make sense of what matters most. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Write to W.J. Hennigan at william.hennigan@time.com.

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At a moment when most tech executives are making excuses for why they can’t be held responsible for the behavior on their platforms, Wolfe Herd is the rare tech titan who sees her company as a tool for shaping how people behave, online and off.

https://ti.me/3mfnhQ6

time

About four hours after she became the youngest woman ever to take a company public, two hours after Bumble’s soaring stock price made her a billionaire, and 45 minutes after cutting into a honeycomb-shaped cake and kicking off her yellow heels, Whitney Wolfe Herd sat on her pink velvet couch in her canary-colored office and blinked back tears. Here she was, one of the top female CEOs in tech, a founder who had created one of the largest dating apps in the world out of the ashes of her own humiliation. Yet none of it felt like she thought it would. Part of it was the stress of the initial public offering (IPO), a moment she had imagined for so long that it felt almost as surreal as her wedding day. But Wolfe Herd, 31, was also annoyed at the way her story was being told. Her success at Bumble, billed as the dating app where women “make the first move,” had cast her as the Kill Bill of the tech world: a yellow-clad woman seeking vengeance after men tried to bury her. Much of the coverage focused on her experience years ago as a co-founder at the dating app Tinder, where Wolfe Herd was allegedly harassed by an executive who was also her boyfriend, got dumped and ousted from the company, and went on to sue for sexual harassment. On the day she was supposed to be talking about her empire, Wolfe Herd found herself describing the men she had endured before building it. “I don’t need to justify myself anymore. I’m f-cking done,” she says, leaning back against a cardboard placard of the company’s brand-new stock listing, BMBL, which had just jumped 63% to $70 a share within hours of the Feb. 11 IPO. “Why am I cleaning up somebody else’s drama? Women are always cleaning up somebody else’s mess.” Except that mess–her history of toxic relationships, the misogyny of tech–is exactly why Bumble exists. It’s why Wolfe Herd designed the app so only women can send the first message when users match on the platform. In an online dating landscape where women–and particularly women of color–are routinely bullied and harassed, Wolfe Herd set out to build the closest thing to a safe space for digital romance. “Honestly, my ambition comes from abusive relationships,” Wolfe Herd told me the night before the IPO, in her suite at Austin’s Commodore Perry Estate. “I’ve never had this healthy male relationship until I created it. I engineered an ecosystem of healthy male relationships in my life.” Wolfe Herd occupies the middle of a Venn diagram of the ongoing national reckoning with sexual harassment and the push to regulate human behavior on the Internet. She’s one of the last millennial women CEOs standing after the backlash to “girl boss” feminism. And at a moment when most tech executives are making excuses for why they can’t be held responsible for the behavior on their platforms, Wolfe Herd is the rare tech titan who sees her company as a tool for shaping how people behave, online and off. By that February morning in Austin, Bumble was a dating app, a business-networking bazaar and a friend-finding tool that has engineered 8.6 billion connections among tens of millions of users in 237 countries since 2014. It employs more than 420 “brand ambassadors” across more than 100 college campuses and is planning to open Bumble-themed coffee shops after the pandemic. A month after the IPO, it’s valued at more than $14 billion, and last year it hauled in $582 million in revenue with a 26% profit margin. Wolfe Herd once told me she wanted Bumble to be “Facebook, but for people who don’t know each other yet.” Like some other dating apps, the company makes its profit through subscriptions and in-app purchases that allow users to boost the reach of their profiles, extend the clock on their matches (most expire after 24 hours) and go back to options they might have missed. But what Bumble is really selling is a sense of control over the mysterious alchemy of human relationships. Wolfe Herd sees Bumble less as a dating app, a social platform or a tech company than as a brand. It’s the word that she uses the most when talking about Bumble, and it’s the word that crops up most frequently in conversations with employees and executives. “Whitney is a big believer that branding is everything,” says Alex Williamson, Wolfe Herd’s sorority sister and best friend, and Bumble’s former chief brand officer. Bumble’s brand is deeply embedded in the Empowerment Industrial Complex. More youthful than “Lean In,” less litigious than “Time’s Up,” Bumble represents a type of friendly Sadie Hawkins feminism that is more about feeling powerful than wielding power. And yet, amid a reckoning over racial justice, the movement for women’s empowerment–which has historically been focused on the empowerment of affluent white women–is itself at a crossroads. After Donald Trump, after COVID-19, much of its messaging sounds stale and exclusive in the face of so many other massive inequalities. “I think empowerment has probably commercially been taken advantage of, the word itself, and we’re probably part of that,” Wolfe Herd says. “We started saying this before Time’s Up, before #MeToo–we were saying these things before our peers. Every single company right now is doing ‘girl power’ and ‘the future is female.'” She knows that keeping her brand relevant means expanding her vision for the company beyond the women whom she imagined when she first launched the app. And of course, she knows how to brand this too. “I’m so happy to own our shortcomings,” she says. “Because that’s the only way we’re ever going to get better.” Wolfe Herd and her son Bobby, pictured at Bumble’s IPO on Feb. 11, in Austin Kristen Kilpatrick In the five years I have been interviewing her, Wolfe Herd has never quite developed that hard and shiny exterior so many successful people get, repeating practiced lines like human press releases. She has a juicy but frustrating habit of saying, “O.K., but this is super off the record” before sharing some deep personal secret. As Jack Dorsey tried to “biohack” himself and Elon Musk named himself the “techno king” of Tesla, Wolfe Herd spent the night before her IPO making calls while lying on a towel on her hotel-room floor, apologizing for interrupting her lawyers and bankers at bath time. When her chief of staff told her that college girls now take pictures near her photo in the Kappa Kappa Gamma sorority house at Southern Methodist University (SMU), Wolfe Herd gasped. “With my skinny eyebrows,” she says, “that I overplucked?” She is like the Elle Woods of tech entrepreneurs. Online dating can be a miserable experience in the best of environments–it’s hard to make genuine connections inspired by an algorithmic match–and it’s not clear Bumble leads to deeper or more meaningful relationships than other apps. (The company says it hosted 112 million “good chats” in 2020, defined as a conversation with 10 or more back-and-forths, among other metrics.) “The brand is better than the product right now,” says Wolfe Herd–a startling admission for the CEO of a 6-year-old startup. “But that’s gonna change.” Bumble has been criticized as a Tinder spin-off and a feminist marketing ploy. Some former employees say the company felt like a sorority in the early days. Bumble’s former majority owner Andrey Andreev, the billionaire founder of the European dating app Badoo, came under fire after Forbes magazine published accounts from 13 ex-employees detailing a misogynistic culture at Badoo’s London headquarters. And yet, in a world scarred by the radical liberty of the Internet–where truth is in the eye of the beholder, hate speech flourishes, and women are routinely harassed–Bumble is one of the few tech companies that seems to care more about safety than freedom. It is the first major social platform to embrace behavioral guardrails and content moderation as part of its business model. “We would have blocked Donald Trump years ago if he used our product,” Wolfe Herd says. (Her husband, oil heir Michael Herd, maxed out donations to Trump in 2016 and 2017. A spokesman says Herd has not supported Trump in years, and “his views have evolved considerably since then.”) I ask Wolfe Herd why one of the only billionaire tech founders who’s a woman also happens to be one of the only ones who believes that behavior on her platform is her responsibility. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence,” she says. The Bumble headquarters in Austin is nicknamed the Hive. The building is bright yellow, and nearly everything inside is some shade of goldenrod or canary or banana. The phone booth and bookshelves and pantry are all shaped like honeycombs, and the walls are full of puns like Bee Kind. It looks more like a concept than an office, a workplace for people whose job includes posting pictures of their workplace. On the morning she took her company public, Wolfe Herd approached a Nasdaq lectern wearing a pineapple-colored suit on loan from Stella McCartney and yellow Manolo Blahniks. She gave the speech she had practiced while lying on her hotel room floor the night before, promising to “try and make the Internet a kinder, more accountable place.” Suddenly her husband handed her their 18-month-old son, Bobby, who was wearing a miniature dark turtleneck and tiny jeans, like a Steve Jobs doll. Bobby started fidgeting and pulling at her hair. The team was lined up behind her, wearing yellow, clapping in unison, as Bobby picked this instant to scratch at her face, and her smile froze because she was thinking that her darling baby boy was about to poke her eye out at the exact second she took her company public. But then the bell rang, and yellow balloons and confetti dropped from the sky. Almost immediately, Wolfe Herd changed her clothes. “My pants are too tight,” she says (and honestly, whose aren’t these days?). She had willed all this to fruition on sheer force of vision, but she was not at peace. “I have a degree of imposter syndrome,” she says. “On a day like today, when everyone’s celebrating, I’m still kind of looking over my shoulder, like, we have to do more.” Other tech founders got their starts hunched over keyboards in darkened Ivy League dorm rooms, but Wolfe Herd has never written a line of code. Growing up in Salt Lake City, she was obsessed with Walt Disney. It wasn’t necessarily a princess fixation; it was his world-making that appealed to her. “I just think she wanted the world to be a perfect world,” says her mother, Kelly Vincent, who worked in art museums before Wolfe Herd was born. Wolfe Herd’s father was in the sporting-goods business, and Wolfe Herd and her younger sister spent much of their childhoods skiing and camping. The Wolfe family wasn’t Mormon, but the religion’s conservative values permeated their community. “Women are looked at so differently here,” says Wolfe Herd’s childhood friend Liddy Huntsman, the daughter of former Utah governor Jon Huntsman. “The male is who you obey.” Wolfe Herd and her friends say they weren’t the popular girls, but of course, that’s what popular girls would say. According to friends and family, her high school years were notable primarily for an abusive boyfriend she dated on and off. It was “one of the most horrific relationships that I’ve ever seen,” says Huntsman. One friend recalls hearing him and his friends referring to Wolfe Herd and her mother and sister as “c-nts.” Wolfe Herd’s mother alleges he threw a watch at her head at a family birthday party; Vincent also recalls going to the boyfriend’s house after being told he had threatened Wolfe Herd with a gun. “I experienced severe emotional abuse from my high school boyfriend during my really formative years, and it stripped me down to nothing,” says Wolfe Herd. “It showed me a very dark side of relationships, and it helped inform my understanding of what was wrong with gender dynamics.” (Her ex-boyfriend told TIME the claims are “absurd,” “false” and “fictitious.” TIME is withholding the name of the ex-boyfriend at her request, and because he was not convicted of a crime.) Friends say the experience was formative. “You see people do wonderful things and you think, What really pushed them?” says Huntsman. “For Whitney, something that happened to her so early in her life that was really traumatizing has been the reason Bumble has been what it is today.” After friends and family pushed her to leave Utah to escape her ex, Wolfe Herd ended up at SMU, near Dallas. On one of her first days of school, she met Williamson, who was working at a boutique near campus. They hit it off, and Williamson helped Wolfe Herd join her sorority, Kappa Kappa Gamma. The process of rushing “was a lot like dating,” Williamson says. “It was a great way to meet people and a great way to network.” On a campus like SMU, Greek life was a platform for building connections–dates, friends, future business partners. But at its core, a sorority is a brand: a constellation of events and T-shirts and rules, a set of expectations around how to look and how to behave and whom to hang out with, all designed to tell the world what kind of girl you are. After graduating in 2011 with a degree in international studies, Wolfe Herd got a job in Los Angeles working for a tiny company called Cardify, an app that allowed users to swipe through retail loyalty cards. Some Cardify employees then applied the swipe mechanism to dating and started Tinder, and Wolfe Herd became a co-founder focused on marketing. Her duties involved touring college campuses to advertise the app with pizza parties and free thongs and flyers. Around the same time, she began dating another co-founder, Justin Mateen. But things at Tinder went sour. Her relationship with Mateen unraveled, which meant her position at the company became precarious. One former Tinder employee recalls executives telling Wolfe Herd to “shut up,” demanding she fetch breakfast and discussing her breast size in meetings when she wasn’t there. Another friend recalls that Wolfe Herd was “slut-shamed” at the office and once had someone spit in her face at a party. (Wolfe Herd is prohibited from commenting about her experience at Tinder because of a reported settlement, for $1 million plus stock, from a sexual harassment lawsuit she filed against the company in 2014, in which she alleged that Mateen called her a “whore” at a meeting. Asked about the allegations, a Tinder spokesperson noted that every executive named in the lawsuit has left the company.) After Wolfe Herd left Tinder, she set out to “prove everybody wrong,” says Williamson. “To prove that she was the person that did the marketing behind Tinder, she did help the company grow, and all that was being stripped from her. She did it once, and she’ll do it again, better.” In the beginning, Bumble was only a brand. At 24, branding was the thing Wolfe Herd knew best. At first, scarred by the online harassment she endured after the Tinder blowup, Wolfe Herd wanted to make an app where women could give each other compliments. But then Andreev approached her with an idea to start a dating app; Wolfe Herd said she would only do it if women could be in control. She hired Caroline Roche, a fellow sorority girl at SMU, and together they spent their weekends traveling to Texas campuses, bringing free yellow Hanky Panky underwear to the sororities and free beer to the fraternities, telling the fraternity brothers that all the girls were looking for their next formal dates on Bumble. She showed up at SMU’s homecoming weekend with Bumble T-shirts and Bumble balloons. She branded Bumble as a friendlier dating app for women. The app’s central feature is that only women can initiate a conversation in heterosexual matches, sparing users from the spamming that women often endure on other sites. Wolfe Herd and Roche worked mostly out of Roche’s parents’ extra bedroom in Austin, and spent most weekends packing Roche’s dad’s car full of pizzas to drop off at various Greek houses. Soon, they moved the company into a small two-bedroom apartment, where the bathtub was filled with Bumble merchandise. At this point, the app was still being built. “We started marketing Bumble before we had any sort of product,” says Roche. “And Whitney always said, ‘It’s a lifestyle brand, it’s a lifestyle brand. It’s a lifestyle brand.’ That’s what we leaned into.” The company had a strong sorority vibe, four early employees say. Wolfe Herd’s first employees were her friends, since she had trouble hiring because of the “scarlet letter” after the Tinder lawsuit; that meant some early employees felt that the company was dominated by privileged, white sorority sisters. It wasn’t just that the company was homogenous; the “nicer” dating app wasn’t always a nice place to work. “There was a lot of internal politics; there was a lot of gossip,” says one former employee. “Everybody was nice to me until they weren’t.” Wolfe Herd acknowledges that the early company could be cliquey, and says she tried hard to address the gossipy culture. She made a “72-hour rule” to force employees to resolve all interpersonal disputes within that time frame to prevent backstabbing and simmering grudges. But she also says much of it was out of her control. “I’m not Mother Teresa,” she says. Several former employees complained that unlike at many startups, some early Bumble employees didn’t get equity in the company. (Wolfe Herd says that her deal structure with Andreev meant that giving up more equity would mean sacrificing her board seat. A Bumble representative followed up to say every current employee has equity in the company.) Other critics noted that her partnership with Andreev meant that Wolfe Herd never faced the fundraising challenges most female CEOs are forced to navigate. But many employees recall a CEO who strove to be thoughtful, even during the difficult early days of a startup. Sarah Mick, a former chief creative officer at Bumble who also worked with Wolfe Herd at Tinder, recalls that she worried that a company pool party would be “uncomfortable” for her, because she was overweight at the time and there wasn’t a swimsuit that fit her. (Wolfe Herd was not at the party.) She thought she might be judged, but she was pleasantly surprised. “It was really that I expected it to be that way, and when I arrived, it wasn’t,” she says. On another occasion, Wolfe Herd surprised her with a pair of Valentino heels that arrived at her door, because she knew Mick loved shoes. “It made me feel cared for and actually appreciated,” Mick says. There were growing pains.”We had so much negative feedback about the app,” says a former employee, who worked there for more than two years in the early days of the company and recalled problems with the user interface. “But all [Wolfe Herd] cared about was the brand.” Part of her vision for that brand was to take Bumble beyond the realm of dating. Wolfe Herd didn’t want the company to be just a women-centric version of Tinder; she wanted Bumble to be a platform for meeting every type of person you might want in your life. In 2016, the company launched Bumble BFF, which allowed people to use the app to make platonic friendships. When I tried the feature, I found it full of people whose profiles said they had just moved to a new city, or were looking for yoga buddies, or wanted to meet fellow dog owners. The following year brought the launch of Bumble Bizz, designed to help people match with potential business contacts. In 2019, as part of its push to ban unsolicited lewd photos, the company lobbied the Texas legislature to pass a bill that imposed a $500 fine on anyone who sent obscene images without consent. Bumble introduced identity verification to weed out trolls, banned guns in photos, and rolled out new guidelines around harassment and body shaming. Wolfe Herd knows changing behavior on one app is only a small part of a larger cultural shift. “Do I think by a woman making the first move on Bumble we’re going to solve every women’s issue around the world? No,” says Wolfe Herd. “Do I think it’s a good first step to recalibrate an age-old system that sets us all up for failure, men and women? Yes. Because the Internet has megapower to shift behavior–if you use it for good.” Wolfe Herd wants to regulate behavior on her platform the way it’s regulated offline. “If you go in the street right now and take your clothes off in the middle of the road, you’re going to jail,” she says. “You get naked on the Internet right now, chances are you’ll be fine.” “We can fix it,” she continues, before backtracking: “Not fix it, but–there could be a consequence.” In 2020, Bumble logged more than 880,000 incidents that violated user guidelines, according to a company representative, which resulted in consequences ranging from written warnings to temporary suspensions to users being permanently blocked from the platform. (A Bumble representative, citing legal reasons, declined to provide a breakdown of which types of punishments were implemented for which infractions, but said it has banned far more than 880,000 people from the platform overall.) The company uses artificial-intelligence programs to scan for violations like hate speech, even when no users report the behavior. The goal is to clean up the platform without relying on user reports, and to identify people who are likely to behave badly before they actually do it. For example, the AI scans profiles for images of guns and swastikas and has been trained to recognize at least 700 “stop words” (including words like suicide and dozens of racial slurs) inside of chats, according to Miles Norris, Bumble’s chief product officer. Each time a violation is reported by the algorithm, Norris says, it gets referred to a team of 2,000 human moderators who decide whether the behavior merits blocking. The company’s latest big push is to address body shaming by imposing a ban on “unsolicited and derogatory comments made about someone’s appearance, body shape, size or health.” I decided to put its efforts to the test If you are looking for a fun couple’s-night activity, I recommend standing over your husband’s shoulder and watching him swipe through hundreds of women on Bumble who aren’t you. Shortly after I returned from visiting Wolfe Herd in Austin, I made my husband Mark download the app. I wanted to see how long it would take Bumble to match me with the person I had already married–and whether the behavioral guardrails it touts actually worked. I found him in about a dozen swipes. But, true to some users’ complaints, the women-centric dating app seemed absolutely packed with women. Mark swiped past two old roommates, three women he knew from work, and two women with my exact name and age. His hand was starting to hurt. He swiped past an endless stream of women who had branded themselves as instantly recognizable “types”–Yoga Master, Dog Lover, Girl Who Loves Cocktails, Girl Who Loves to Hike, Girl Who Has Been to Rome. It took him almost two days to find me. When he did, I immediately started harassing him. “I don’t date fat guys,” I wrote to my husband. “Ur ugly.” Mark reported me for “rude or abusive behavior.” Trap baited, I signed off Bumble and read an article about how white supremacists use Facebook to recruit new members. I read a Pew study about how 41% of Americans say they have personally experienced online harassment and that 25% have experienced “severe” online harassment, up 10 points since 2014. Nine hours later, I was blocked. Once upon a time, brands were the things that got you to buy a particular car, or try a particular soap, or feed your kid Heinz baked beans. The brand was in service of the product. But in the oversaturated, superadvertised, hypermarketed attention economy, branding has slipped the bounds of advertising and become something broader, more amorphous–a statement of how to be, not just what to buy. It’s about chasing a perfectible, promotable existence. The Kardashian empire is rooted in branding. An entire ecosystem of brand influencers is raking in billions on Instagram and TikTok. Trump rode branding to the pinnacle of American politics. Why should tech be any different? Sitting in her office on the morning of the IPO, I asked Wolfe Herd which company she compares hers to most. I thought she would say Facebook, the behemoth of digital socializing. Instead, true to her old childhood fascination, she said she wanted Bumble to one day be like Disney. “There’s a visceral sentiment that lives within these few brands in the world,” she explained. “And sometimes their products aren’t that great. There are some Disney movies that tank and they suck. But that brand makes you feel something, right?” The larger question, she says, is: “Do you wake up the next day feeling like you don’t have to take sh-t from that jerk anymore?” This feeling is her product. This is her car, her soap, her baked beans. More than relationships, or friendships, or in-app purchases, Wolfe Herd is selling the feeling of power to the powerless, a sense of order in an online universe that so frequently seems lawless. That means visualizing a better Internet, and promoting a safer version of it. And even if that idealized online landscape doesn’t exist yet, Wolfe Herd will brand it into existence. What, like it’s hard? With reporting by Mariah Espada This appears in the March 29, 2021 issue of TIME. The Leadership Brief. Conversations with the most influential leaders in business and tech. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Write to Charlotte Alter at charlotte.alter@time.com.

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"In the next decade, societies will be forced to either confront this snarl of challenges, or be overwhelmed by them. Our response will define the future for decades to come," writes Justin Worland.

https://ti.me/2W2OwD8

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Two decades ago, people around the world rang in the new millennium with a growing sense of optimism. The threat posed by the Cold War was fading slowly in the rearview mirror. Leading thinkers like Francis Fukuyama touted the benefits of globalization, saying it would bring democracy and prosperity to the developing world. The nascent Internet economy promised to bring us closer together. The following 20 years took some of the air out of the assumption of steady progress, but when future historians assess the 21st century, the year 2020 is likely to serve as the point at which the optimism bubble burst. The COVID-19 pandemic has exposed a complex web of interlocking problems that have morphed into full-blown crises. The coronavirus laid bare the dangers of endemic poverty not only in the developing world but also in rich countries like the U.S., where millions lack health care and are one paycheck away from living on the street. Around the world, racial and ethnic minorities have demanded justice after centuries of structural discrimination. Woven through it all, the earth’s climate is increasingly unstable, posing an existential threat to human society as we know it. In the next decade, societies will be forced to either confront this snarl of challenges, or be overwhelmed by them. Our response will define the future for decades to come. The recognition that these challenges are fundamentally linked isn’t new. Activists and academics have for many years pointed to the cascading effects of various social ills. Whether it’s the way racism contributes to poor health outcomes or gender discrimination harms economic growth, the examples are seemingly endless. But this understanding has made its way into the conversation about solutions too. Notably, for the past five years, the U.N. has touted 17 interrelated sustainable development goals, objectives for building a more viable world, and called for a push to achieve them by 2030. The goals, which cover environmental, social and economic progress, are nonbinding but have become key benchmarks for commitments at a national and corporate level. Countries from China to the Maldives, as well as companies like Amazon, Microsoft and PwC, have committed to rolling out policies over the next decade that will set them on a path to eliminate their carbon footprints. The understanding that these problems require holistic solutions has only grown amid the pandemic and its fallout. President Joe Biden has referred to four urgent crises—the pandemic, the economic crisis, racial injustice and climate change—and promised a push to tackle them all together. The European Union’s program to propel the bloc out of the COVID-19 crisis targets climate change, while incorporating equity concerns. As stock markets soared last year, institutions with trillions of dollars in assets demanded that their investments deliver not only a good return for their wallets but also a good return for society. All these developments and many more have created new opportunities for bold ideas. These new ways of thinking will come from government leaders, to be sure, but also from activists, entrepreneurs and academics. Here, our eight inaugural members of the 2030 committee offer their own specific solutions—and in them, perhaps, the seeds of 21st century optimism. This appears in the February 1, 2021 issue of TIME. Sign up for Inside TIME. Be the first to see the new cover of TIME and get our most compelling stories delivered straight to your inbox. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Write to Justin Worland at justin.worland@time.com.

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TIME spoke with director Hideaki Anno about his latest Evangelion film and about what it means to end a franchise that’s maybe grown too big to satisfy everyone.

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One of the most revered anime series in history has finally reached its thrilling conclusion with the Aug. 13 release of Evangelion: 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time, director Hideaki Anno’s final entry in the Neon Genesis Evangelion series. The fourth film of the series, which debuted in the U.S. on Amazon Prime, ends the story that began 26 years ago and remains a hallmark of Japanese animation. TIME spoke with director Anno about his latest Evangelion film (itself part of a retelling of the original story dubbed Rebuild of Evangelion), and about what it means to end a franchise that’s maybe grown too big to satisfy everyone. At last, newcomers and veteran fans alike can finally put an end to the story of Shinji Ikari and the world of Evangelion. The end is here. Or is it? What is Neon Genesis Evangelion? Neon Genesis Evangelion is set in the near-future rebuilt city of Tokyo-3, on an Earth suffering from an apocalyptic planetary disaster caused by giant, godlike creatures known as “Angels.” The show follows protagonist and Japanese teenager Shinji Ikari, who is coerced by his estranged father to put his life on the line as the pilot of a giant robot made to fend off the Angels. NERV, the U.N.-funded paramilitary organization run by Shinji’s father Gendoh Ikari, defends the world from Angel attacks. But they’re also secretly fulfilling another aspiration unknown to the increasingly traumatized Shinji, his fellow teenage robot pilots, and his adult colleagues: the forced “ascension” of humanity and the elimination of individuality itself. In short, NERV wants to bring on the (second) apocalypse. The series, with its subtle and not-so-subtle Judeo-Christian inspiration (it contains references to Biblical symbols like Adam, Nebuchadnezzar, and the fruit of knowledge), depicts the turmoil facing Shinji in a way viewers found enthralling, while highlighting the traumatic experience of life with an emotionally abusive parent. The show’s science fiction background and action-packed battles keep each episode engaging, even during the slower-paced moments when it plumbs the depth of each character’s mental state. Each Angel encounter, each request from Shinji’s father, each test of his own limits increasingly brings Shinji to his breaking point. All the while, secret organizations continue to manipulate Shinji and his fellow pilots to fulfill their nightmarish goal of “human ascension.” The series debuted in 1995, during a period where the future of the Japanese animation industry looked uncertain. Evangelion became an international sensation and astounded audiences with its introspective nature, sometimes shocking imagery and a futuristic vision of deity-killing robots. It was followed by films which reimagine the original series’ ending and expand upon its content, including 1997’s Neon Genesis Evangelion: Death & Rebirth, 1997’s The End of Evangelion and the Rebuild of Evangelion film series Additionally, Evangelion’s backstory has been added to in other forms of media, including a commercially successful manga series, video games and a series of award-winning musical scores. Who is Hideaki Anno? Hideaki Anno, the Japanese animator and director is most known for his creation of Neon Genesis Evangelion, and for founding the animation studio Gainax. Anno has also worked on animated films like Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind, and live-action films like the critically acclaimed 2016 film Shin Godzilla. In a translated interview with TIME, Anno explained how he views the final Evangelion film as a continuation of the series, but also a new perspective on the same reality. “25 years ago, when I first created Evangelion, the world was a different place, and I was a different person,” says Anno. “Or, I’ve changed since that time. The way I described things was more focused on the inner self, and describing the inner world. Right now, I think the time is right to focus on how I describe the outer world. The theme hasn’t changed, but how I describe the theme has changed.” It’s also why the ending of Evangelion: 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time may be a bit more upbeat than the traditional soul-crushing melodrama that the series has often delivered. In the end, Anno says Shinji mirrors his own experience. “In the previous films, Shinji was only able to save himself,” says Anno. “But in the fourth film he grows, becomes more mature, and has room to save and care for those very close to him.” It might be Anno’s final Evangelion project, but it won’t be his last anime. He says he’d be happy to create more as long as the opportunity is there. “I love both [anime and live-action films],” he says. “I’m just choosing at the time what I want to do the most.” Where can I watch the original series? For a long time after its release, the Neon Genesis Evangelion anime was hard to find outside of Japan, with American audiences resorting to importing (or stealing) the series. Luckily, Netflix purchased the viewing rights to it in 2019, and it’s available for streaming right now, including the End of Evangelion film. As for the four Rebuild of Evangelion films, they are now available on Amazon Prime Video, including this latest film, Thrice Upon a Time. What is Rebuild of Evangelion? The four-film tetralogy, known as Rebuild of Evangelion, is a retelling of the series, one that delves deeper into the world after the original series’ finale. It functions as a film adaptation that intends to bridge the gap between old and new fans. The films were also Anno’s way to create the series as intended, without financial restraint and with proper production quality; the original series ran into noticeable budget issues toward the end of production, leading him to alter the story. The Rebuild of Evangelion films began with 2007’s Evangelion: 1.0 You Are (Not) Alone, which was closely followed by 2009’s Evangelion: 2.0 You Can (Not) Advance and 2012’s Evangelion: 3.0 You Can (Not) Redo. Thrice Upon a Time, which Anno says is the final film he will be involved in writing, comes almost a full decade since the last entry in the Rebuild of Evangelion series and Do I need to watch the original series before seeing the film series? According to Anno, the film series should be enough of a self-contained story to satisfy newcomers, and act as a primer for the original series. As for the finale, it sure is a spectacle of a movie. Shinji is forced to confront his father one final time while rebuking his pre-written fate as the catalyst for the world’s end. “People who haven’t necessarily seen the Evangelion series can also enjoy [Thrice Upon a Time], but the ending of the movie was also a bit of fan service to the previous fans who watched the entire series,” says Anno. “I put over a decade of my experience into this movie, so I think a lot of people can enjoy it.” So is it good? That depends on your point of view. For newcomers, it would wrap up a pretty interesting retelling of the Evangelion universe, albeit one missing possibly the same emotional gravitas it had during its 26-episode run. For fans, myself included, the feeling of watching what is said to be the final film is surprisingly soothing. While it leaves long timers with even more questions, it answers many. It wraps up the series the only way it can: with a universe-bending climax. That doesn’t mean the book is closed on more Evangelion, however. Ranging from action figures, model kits, custom-made bullet trains and thousand dollar Evangelion-branded Yoji Yamamoto jackets, the brand inspired by Anno’s series is strong, and shows little sign of slowing. It’s no wonder he’s left the door open to even more Evangelion in the future, even if he’s not at the reins. “Story-wise, at least the story I’m involved with, has ended,” says Anno. “Between the second and third film there’s a 14-year gap. So there might be a story by someone told during that time.” Sign up for our Entertainment newsletter. Subscribe to More to the Story to get the context you need for the pop culture you love. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Write to Patrick Lucas Austin at patrick.austin@time.com.

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"As lawmakers look for ways to pay for their massive U.S. infrastructure package, taking a chunk from legacy wealth may prove a piece of the solution," writes Philip Elliott.

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This article is part of the The DC Brief, TIME’s politics newsletter. Sign up here to get stories like this sent to your inbox every weekday. The United States is a nation of deep inequalities. Race, gender and sexuality are the obvious spaces that reveal those unlevel playing fields. But there’s another arena where the gaps aren’t immediately as obvious—but they’re increasingly important. As lawmakers look for ways to pay for their massive U.S. infrastructure package, taking a chunk from legacy wealth may prove a piece of the solution. Under the plan advanced through the Senate with solely Democratic votes to spend $3.5 trillion on soft infrastructure, part of the tab will be picked up by asset-based income from rents, bond sales and dividends. In other words, the rich are going to be asked to pony up in places that—if we’re being honest—probably aren’t as dilapidated as poor, rural American communities. For years, there have been donor states and client states; now, the maker-and-taker model may apply to even ZIP codes within a county. According to a new analysis from Silicon Valley entrepreneurs’ favorite think tank, the Economic Innovation Group, income from existing wealth is in the hands of a relatively small group and concentrated in disturbingly homogenous communities. The division of rich and poor—both in terms of people and places—has gotten more pronounced in the last 60 years despite Great Society programs, agendas for economic and education opportunity and social safety nets. In short, institutional wealth is probably here to stay, the middle class hasn’t gotten its fair shake and the location of the post-office box where you drop your taxes on April 15 probably matters more than you realize. “So few places have participated in the boom in asset- and wealth-income that the country has experienced over the past couple of decades. Holding assets in the United States is a privilege to an extent that I don’t think I initially realized,” EIG’s research chief Kenan Fikri told me by phone yesterday. “Relatively few Americans own any meaningful assets” outside of homes or retirement accounts, he added. One-fifth of all personal income in the United States comes from individuals’ existing wealth. In an economy that generated a mind-blowing $22 trillion in the first three months of this year alone, according to government data, that’s roughly $4.4 trillion from existing wealth during the same period. And while, yes, it takes effort to manage properties and investments, no one is arguing that’s the same as making widgets and moving them to market. In the often-misconstrued words of Barack Obama in 2012, “You didn’t build that.” The pace of break-away wealth has hastened in the last six decades. The top and the bottom counties in the country saw the gap between them double between 1969 and 1990, but the same measure grew six-fold between 1990 and 2019. In other words, the chasm between the places with legacy wealth—including a growing middle class investing in their retirements or homes—is widening compared to the vast majority of places where residents are just trying to get by. The numbers also illuminate the urban-rural divide in America. The top 20% of counties with the biggest asset-based incomes are home to 80% of the population. Those dense urban counties accounted for almost 88% of the asset income in 2019, slightly ahead of where you’d expect them to be. Compare that to the bottom 50% of counties, where roughly 6% of the population lives; those counties accounted for a little more than 3% of the asset income in this country. Put bluntly: they’re not posting the same level of investment. Let’s put that in concrete terms using the extremes among the roster of the 100 biggest counties in America. The average resident of Manhattan had $64,200 in asset-based income in 2019. The average resident of Hidalgo County, Texas—county seat, McAllen—counted $3,200 in such income. And the factor of race is impossible to ignore. Consider Cleveland. In its least-diverse ZIP code, which includes Chagrin Falls, the average resident earned $15,800 in 2019 in asset-based income. Its most diverse ZIP code, which includes the Kinsman Road neighborhood, reported a corresponding $1 in such income for the average resident in the same year. So why is this Washington’s problem? You see it in polls and at the ballot boxes. Voters aren’t wrong when they say they’re being left behind. There’s a reason populism has enjoyed a moment for the last decade or so. The Occupy Wall Street movement and the Tea Party both were striking the same nerve when they claimed that power was clustered in the hands of too few individuals who were indifferent to complaints about profligate spending and an emerging American oligarchy. Donald Trump tapped this energy to defeat more than a dozen more traditional contenders for the 2016 Republican nomination, and Bernie Sanders and Elizabeth Warren got close to winning the Democratic nod harnessing the same anger. The EIG study, based on IRS and Bureau of Economic Analysis data, shows those grievances aren’t unfounded. But Washington is playing a potentially dangerous game as it considers the upcoming infrastructure spending bill. Currently, the top tax rate for asset-based income is 20%, lower than the top corporate rate of 21% and the 37% rate for top individual earners. Biden has simplified the argument to income is income and, as part of the infrastructure plan, wants to boost the asset-income rate—aka capital-gains taxes—to 39.6% or, per the White House budget outline, as much as 43.4 percent. If you’re a trust-funder, landlord or day trader, you’re probably freaking out. The plan—still coming together in the House after the Senate’s initial approval—would basically fund infrastructure on the backs of the folks who can afford both financial planners and follow up with extra money into investments. In a progressive-tax regime, this is how things go. On a policy level, the decision to impose this level of taxation could lead to investment in neglected communities. But it could also put a deadly choke on new capital investment. If you’re going to see Uncle Sam take 40 cents on the dollar for the money you make in an investment, it’s a less appealing risk to take. If you’re a small business or even a big bank, the entire enterprise rests on investors’ willingness to take a chance with the potential of an economic gain. But Washington has shown, time and again, that policy comes second to politics. A huge tax hike on the rich heading into an already-shaky election year could energize the progressive base that wants to rile up the people who could cut big checks to anti-tax super PACs. Alternatively, the plan would essentially tax enclaves of the rich to pay for sparsely populated areas, a fact that could be seen as an “urban tax” that could depress the Democratic coalition that typically doesn’t turn out as much in non-presidential years. No one debates that a $3.5 trillion infrastructure bill would look great in the Biden Presidential Library when it’s built someday. But that exhibit could be across the hall from one about a Biden-era economic skid unseen since 2008 if Wall Street goes dry and voters cast him aside after one term like George H.W. Bush, who hiked taxes on the rich. Even if the split-screen works for Biden, it also requires his supporters to forget this inconvenient fact: he campaigned hard for the (mostly) successful economic recovery packages in 2009 and 2010 that helped Americans dig out of the biggest economic rut since the Great Depression. In those provisions, even top earners claimed significant tax cuts. Make sense of what matters in Washington. Sign up for the daily D.C. Brief newsletter. Get our Politics Newsletter. The headlines out of Washington never seem to slow. Subscribe to The D.C. Brief to make sense of what matters most. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Write to Philip Elliott at philip.elliott@time.com.

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"Stakeholder capitalism would fit many Western societies well, given the damages done by focusing only on short-term profits, not long-term sustainability and equity. But it would benefit China and the emerging Asian economies too, given the shortcomings of state capitalism," writes Klaus Schwab, founder and executive chairman of the World Economic Forum.

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It hasn’t always been easy to discern from a Western vantage point, but the rise of China and Asia has been the most important economic development of the past four decades. In 1979, many Chinese people had an average income of less than a dollar a day. Today, Shenzhen, China’s tech capital, has a per capita GDP of almost $30,000. The city is home to tech giants such as Huawei, Tencent and ZTE, and a “maker movement” of tech startups. And many other Chinese cities, including Hangzhou, Shanghai and Beijing’s Zhongguancun (home to TikTok creator ByteDance), made equally impressive progress. When I visited the country for the first time in April 1979, it was still reeling from two centuries of turmoil. But China’s new leader, Deng Xiao-ping, had already begun pursuing an experimental set of policies, borrowed from Singapore, called “Reform and Opening-Up.” In its early days, it consisted of creating “Special Economic Zones.” In cities such as Shenzhen and Fuzhou, foreign direct investment was welcomed, and many features of a market economy were introduced. The economic development it spurred was then used as a flying wheel to create further growth and learning down the road. It turned out to be a runaway economic success. China’s growth soared, and by the early 2000s it entered the World Trade Organization. Around the same time, it started to gain a technological edge in various manufacturing industries, including electronic hardware, appliances and textiles. And, little by little, it began exporting its own growth model to other emerging economies in the region. As a result, just as growth in the West slowed, it sky-rocketed in Asia. By its own calculation, China has lifted 740 million of its own citizens out of poverty. It averaged double-digit growth for over three decades. And it helped many other emerging markets achieve higher growth rates too. As a result, the “Asian Century” has already begun, according to some measures: 2020 was the first time in two centuries that Asian GDP, as a share of world GDP at purchasing-power parity, was higher than that of the rest of the world. The historical importance of this evolution cannot be underestimated. The last time Asia dominated the world economy was in the early 19th century, as the First Industrial Revolution got under way. Today, at the dawn of the Fourth Industrial Revolution, Asia is reconnecting with the dominant position it held for millennia. But how did China achieve this success? The system that enabled it to leap ahead could be summarized as “state capitalism.” It is undeniably capitalist, as the private sector produces more than 60% of GDP in China. But the system is also state-dominated, as the state retains its primacy over other stake-holders in at least three ways. It keeps a strong hand in the distribution of both resources and opportunities. It can intervene in virtually any industry. And it can direct the economy by means of large-scale infrastructure, research and development, and education, health care or housing projects. This state capitalist system contrasts to the system of “shareholder capitalism” dominant in the U.S. and much of the Western world. In that system, the interests of shareholders dominate over all others. Companies operate with the purpose of returning the highest possible dividends to shareholders. And, the theory goes, the invisible hand of the market ensures the outcomes for society are optimal. In the 1980s and 1990s, shareholder primacy led to a long period of economic growth in the U.S. and turned it into the most prosperous nation on earth. Both the economic systems championed by the U.S. and China have thus led to tremendous economic progress over the past few decades. But each has equally brought about major social, economic and environmental downsides. They led to rising inequalities of income, wealth and opportunity; increased tensions between the haves and the have-nots; and, above all, a mass degradation of the environment. Those shortcomings in the West are well documented. But they are equally present in the Asia region. Neither shareholder nor state capitalism works for all people and the planet. Consider first the environmental crisis. Many cities in emerging markets are among those experiencing the worst effects of environmental degradation, pollution and climate change. Over 90% of the world’s population breathes air the World Health Organization deems unsafe, the organization said in 2016. But the 20 most polluted cities are all in Asia. China and India in the past few years were also responsible for the lion’s share of new coal and gas plants. In recent years, awareness about environmental concerns such as air pollution and CO₂ emissions has grown a lot in China. The country pledged to become CO₂ neutral by 2060. But it has a long way to go. The issue of inequality is a major challenge for China and other Asian economies as well. China’s inequality almost continuously increased from the start of Deng Xiaoping’s reforms until around 2010. The policies it pursued, the World Inequality Lab wrote, caused “unprecedented rises in national income” but also “significant changes to the country’s distribution of income.” In the years since, the rate of inequality growth does seem to have slowed in China, but the resulting picture is still one of significant economic disparity. As the two global superpowers race for economic and political superiority, the question can be raised which of their economic systems is the best recipe for building prosperous and stable societies. But it is a false dichotomy: neither shareholder nor state capitalism works for all people and the planet. Wealth generation today requires a very innovative economy driven by entrepreneurial spirits. But modern societies do not tolerate excessive inequalities anymore. And using our natural capital has a delayed cost, as well as an increasingly intolerable impact on all those who suffer from climate change and pollution. This is why it is imperative to put social, environmental and good-governance objectives at the heart of society. Doing so is possible under a third system: stakeholder capitalism, in which the interests of all stakeholders in the economy and society are taken on board, and the welfare of our people, and our planet and progress, are embedded in its genetic system. Stakeholder capitalism would fit many Western societies well, given the damages done by focusing only on short-term profits, not long-term sustainability and equity. But it would benefit China and the emerging Asian economies too, given the shortcomings of state capitalism. It is time policymakers and business leaders around the world consider implementing it. This text was adapted from Stakeholder Capitalism: A Global Economy that Works for Progress, People and Planet, by Klaus Schwab and Peter Vanham Sign up for Inside TIME. Be the first to see the new cover of TIME and get our most compelling stories delivered straight to your inbox. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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The pandemic still has much of the world in its grip—but the scale of change coming in its wake is already plain. TIME partnered with the World Economic Forum to take a close look at the people and places rising to a critical moment.

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The World at a Crossroads The pandemic still has much of the world in its grip—but the scale of change coming in its wake is already plain. TIME partnered with the World Economic Forum to take a close look at the people and places rising to a critical moment IN PARTNERSHIP WITH SOMPO HOLDINGS

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"Artificial intelligence is now one of the most concentrated industries in the world," writes Kate Crawford. "But so far the sector has primarily escaped regulation, despite affecting the lives of billions of people, even when its products are unproven or potentially harmful."

https://ti.me/3CZTBMO

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Artificial intelligence is now one of the most concentrated industries in the world. Dominated by a handful of tech giants and deployed at a planetary scale, AI already influences high-stakes social institutions in education, criminal justice, hiring and welfare. AI is remapping and intervening in the world, expanding wealth inequality and power asymmetries. But so far the sector has primarily escaped regulation, despite affecting the lives of billions of people, even when its products are unproven or potentially harmful. The COVID-19 pandemic has accelerated this. Many AI companies are now pitching emotion recognition tools (ERTs) for monitoring remote workers and even schoolchildren. These systems map the “micro-expressions” in people’s faces from their video cameras. Then they predict internal emotional states drawn from a short list of supposedly universal categories: happiness, sadness, anger, disgust, surprise and fear. This industry is predicted to be worth $56 billion by 2024, and yet there is considerable scientific doubt that these systems are accurately detecting emotional states at all. A landmark 2019 review of the available research found no reliable correlation between facial expression and genuine emotion. “It is not possible to confidently infer happiness from a smile, anger from a scowl, or sadness from a frown,” the review stated. Even so, AI companies have built upon this “universal emotion” theory as a means to do human analysis at scale. ERTs are now being used in job interviews, in classrooms, in airport security and in law enforcement. Resistance to this highly controversial technology is growing; the influential Brookings Institute released a publication in early August suggesting ERTs be banned completely from use by law enforcement, highlighting their lack of reliability and the dangers they pose to civil liberties. The European Union is the first to attempt an omnibus proposal to regulate AI. But the draft AI act has its pitfalls. It would, for example, ban most “real-time” biometric ID systems—but fails to define what, exactly, real-time means. As scholars Michael Veale and Frederik Borgesius have observed, a CCTV system that simultaneously runs facial-recognition software would be illegal, but one that analyzes faces in footage after an event, like a political protest, would be fine. Clearly, we need far stronger protections that address the corrosive effects on society of this kind of technology. Too many policymakers fall into the trap of what University of Chicago academic Alex Campolo and I have labeled “enchanted determinism”: the belief that AI systems are both magical and superhuman—beyond what we can understand or regulate, yet deterministic enough to be relied upon to make predictions about life-changing decisions. This effect drives a kind of techno-optimism that can directly endanger people’s lives. For example an ongoing review published in the British Medical Journal looked at 232 machine-learning algorithms for diagnosing and predicting outcomes for COVID-19 patients. It found that none of them were fit for clinical use. “I fear that they may have harmed patients,” said one of the authors of the study. The growth of AI might seem inevitable, but it is being driven by a small, homogeneous group of very wealthy people based in a handful of cities without any real accountability. To contend with AI as a political, economic and cultural force, then, we urgently need stronger scientific safeguards and controls. Many countries around the world have robust regulations to enforce scientific rigor and thorough testing when developing medicines and vaccines. The same should be true for AI systems, especially those that are already having a direct impact on people’s lives. Sign up for Inside TIME. Be the first to see the new cover of TIME and get our most compelling stories delivered straight to your inbox. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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What was the most popular link on Facebook in the last three months?It depends who you ask.

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What was the most popular link on Facebook in the last three months? It depends who you ask. According to Facebook, it was a link to an obscure webpage promoting former Green Bay Packers players as motivational speakers for hire. The link was viewed 87.2 million times after being shared on dozens of posts by former placekicker Chris Jacke. “Let’s settle this once and for all. What do you call these?” the most successful post read, alongside an image of several different cans of soda. Or pop, or fizzy drinks, depending on which of the 2.3 million comments you happen to agree with most. More users saw that link than any other in the U.S. between April and June 2021, according to a report released by Facebook on Wednesday. Facebook/Chris Jacke For Facebook, the spammy nature of the posts seemed to be less important than the fact that they were apolitical and, perhaps even more importantly, the fact that they weren’t shared by a right-wing commentator. Every day since July 2020, the Twitter account @FacebooksTop10, run by New York Times tech columnist Kevin Roose, has shared an alternative list, based on a different measurement: engagement — likes, comments and shares — instead of views. More often than not, this list has been dominated by right-wing figures. Daily Wire founder Ben Shapiro and Fox News hosts Dan Bongino and Sean Hannity make regular appearances. President Donald Trump did, too, before he was banned from the platform. For the many academics, lawmakers and regulators circling Facebook, Roose’s list provided near-daily evidence that the company was systematically amplifying right-wing content and misinformation, despite everything it said to the contrary. Facebook has long been frustrated by the list, arguing that it only paints a partial and unfair picture of what is popular on the platform. (The company does not dispute its accuracy; the list is based on data from its own Crowdtangle analytics tool.) In public posts, the social media giant has pushed back, arguing that non-partisan posts would dominate if popularity was measured by the posts that get the most views, rather than likes and shares. READ MORE: Big Tech’s Crackdown on Donald Trump and Parler Won’t Fix the Real Problem With Social Media But Facebook only shared engagement data, not views data — until Wednesday when the company released its first “Widely Viewed Content” report. At the top of the list: soda, not Shapiro. “The content that gets the most engagement isn’t necessarily the content that most people see,” said Guy Rosen, Facebook’s vice president for Integrity, who leads Facebook’s efforts to rid its platform of hate speech and misinformation, in a series of tweets announcing the report. “Our goal is to provide people with information that accurately represents the experiences people have on our platform, in a way that is accessible and that holds us accountable.” The report was the result of months of internal deliberations over how best to respond to the @FacebooksTop10 account, and thus address one of Facebook’s most pressing public image problems. “After reading through the press release and the report itself I came away believing that this entire effort is a PR stunt,” said Brian Boland, a former Facebook executive who left the company last year, in a blog post. “I have read speculation that this report is a response to the Top 10 List published by Kevin Roose. Based on the structure of the report and what is written in the press release I find that very plausible.” According to the report, the majority of users’ views on News Feed content come from sources that a user has chosen to see, like friends and people they follow (57.0%), groups they’re a member of (19.3%), and pages they follow (14.3%). Facebook Facebook did not immediately respond to a request for clarification about whether a post from a page that a user doesn’t follow, but which their friend had engaged with, would count as a “post from a friend” or an “unconnected post.” Most of the content users see, the report says, does not include a link to a source outside Facebook at all. But in a seemingly direct counterpoint to the @FacebooksTop10 account, the report also included a list of the top 20 most viewed links on the platform in the last quarter, in the U.S. Unlike @FacebooksTop10, almost all the links on the list publicized by Facebook are non-partisan. But a CrowdTangle analysis shows that the posts skew heavily toward low-effort memes that appear to be aimed at baiting user engagement in order to amplify an unrelated link. The second most-popular link according to Facebook, after the one to the Green Bay Packers alumni site, is an affiliate link to a shop selling CBD vapes. It appears to have been shared on dozens of high-engagement posts by Jaleel White, who played Steve Urkel in Family Matters. It received 72.1 million views during the second quarter of 2021. Facebook/Jaleel White “It’s possible that Facebook accidentally shipped a list of its most prolific affiliate marketing spammers instead of its most viewed domains,” Roose said on Twitter. Meanwhile, the @FacebooksTop10 account told a very different story on Wednesday. Shapiro came top of the day’s list, which measures the most popular link posts in the U.S. by engagement, not views. A page called “Donald Trump For President” came seventh. The Leadership Brief. Conversations with the most influential leaders in business and tech. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Write to Billy Perrigo at billy.perrigo@time.com.

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The next Olympics starts in just six months in Beijing and even more rigorous anti-virus measures are being discussed.

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The Toyko Olympics will be remembered not for its closely fought battles for gold, or feats of superhuman athleticism, but for the COVID-19 measures athletes had to endure in order to compete in the middle of a pandemic. And it won’t be the last Games shaped by the virus. The next start in just six months in Beijing—with even more rigorous anti-virus rules being discussed. “I expect Tokyo’s experience will certainly color how the Chinese prepare for Beijing 2022, the French for Paris in 2024, the Americans for Los Angeles in 2028,” says J. Stephen Morrison, the director of the Global Health Policy Center at the the Center for Strategic and International Studies (CSIS), a Washington-D.C.-based think tank. “It requires an entire change in mindset to guarantee disease surveillance and control as a costly, complex, exhausting lead priority for organizers.” China has taken a zero tolerance approach to COVID-19, with tight border controls to prevent the import of the virus, and draconian lockdowns and mass testing to conquer flare-ups. Although organizers haven’t yet revealed the full extent of the safety measures for the Beijing Olympics, it’s clear that China’s tough stance will carry through to the Games, which run from Feb. 4 to Feb. 20. Read More: I’m a Health Writer Who Covers the Olympics. Here’s What I Thought of the Tokyo Games Bubble Tokyo organizers relied on frequent testing, masking wearing, social-distancing measures and isolation bubbles, but Chinese authorities look set to go even further. Beijing organizers are reportedly considering measures like utilizing all-day armpit thermometers, preventing athletes from having any contact with referees and journalists, and requiring Chinese staff to live in a bubble and go through quarantine to “re-enter” China post-Games, according to the New York Times. Beijing has said that it will allow less than 30,000 people in for the Games, according to the Times. (By comparison, more than 40,000 people entered Japan for the Tokyo Olympics). Athletes will naturally be subject to strict quarantine measures on arrival. Workers wearing personal protective equipment (PPE) help transport deliveries of food and other necessities from couriers to residents of a neighborhood placed under lockdown, after a resident recently tested positive for COVID-19, in Shanghai, China, on Tuesday, Aug. 3, 2021. Qilai Shen—Bloomberg/Getty Images COVID-19 and the Olympic Games Vaccination rates are trending upwards in rich countries, but vaccine inequality remains a serious problem. Although 31% of the world’s population has received one dose of a vaccine, only 1.2% of people in low-income countries have had a jab. “It is going to take several years to sort all of this out,” says Morrison. “Those low and middle income countries, which lack vaccines and readiness, are going to struggle with not just uncontrolled transmission in 2022 and 2023 but also the cascade of economic insolvency, dramatic increases in poverty, humanitarian emergencies and social instability.” The virus might be with us for a long time. The research journal Nature asked more than 100 experts working on the coronavirus whether it would ever go away. Almost 90% of respondents said they thought that the coronavirus will become endemic—meaning that it will continue to circulate in pockets of the world’s population for years to come. Photo team member Tomoko Mizushima holds Mask Off and Mask On signage on day fourteen of the Tokyo 2020 Olympic Games at Olympic Stadium on August 06, 2021 in Tokyo, Japan. Patrick Smith—Getty Images Read More: Will the Coronavirus Ever Go Away? Here’s What One of the WHO’s Top Experts Thinks The continued circulation of the virus, and the mental trauma of the pandemic, may change how big global events like the Olympics are run, how global travel is undertaken and the way that people behave in crowds. The 2002 to 2003 SARS outbreak in Hong Kong provides an example of how a virus reshaped a community. Practices and habits implemented during SARS, which killed nearly 300 people in the city of 7.75 million, have remained a part of normal life in Hong Kong. Incoming travelers have long had to pass body temperature scanners at the airport before entering the city and the use of hand sanitizer has been ubiquitous for almost 20 years. Surgical masks are a common part of life, and it’s normal for anyone with a mild sniffle to wear one to work or on public transport. Some experts, however, say that it’s unlikely that the strict measures used in Tokyo, and under discussion for Beijing, will become a normal feature of the Games in years to come. Ben Cowling, an infectious disease epidemiologist at the University of Hong Kong, says that he thinks that only a handful of countries, including China, might continue their zero COVID-19 strategies, as much of the world attempts to return to normal. That means future Olympics may not face the same kind of strict measures that athletes competing in Beijing are likely to. Read More: Sleepless Nights, Hotel Room Sprints, So Much 7-Eleven: What It’s Like to Cover the Tokyo Olympics Says Cowling: “I don’t think there will be special countermeasures by the time of the 2024 Olympics in Paris.” But others stress that the virus is something event organizers will have to live with. “I don’t think that anyone should be under the impression that we will be able to eradicate or eliminate the virus that causes COVID,” says Tara Kirk Sell, a former Olympic athlete and a senior scholar at the Johns Hopkins Center for Health Security. She adds that it’s impossible to know at this point what precautions might still need to be in place by the 2024 Games, but she’s confident that organizers will be able to devise the right safety plan. “The IOC has some really smart mass gathering experts working with them,” she says. Get The Brief. Sign up to receive the top stories you need to know right now. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Write to Amy Gunia at amy.gunia@time.com.

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Cargill CEO David MacLennan recently joined TIME for a video conversation on the challenges of a tight labor market, whether Cargill will ever go public and the future of food.

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(To receive weekly emails of conversations with the world’s top CEOs and business decisionmakers, click here.) The scale and reach of Cargill, the nation’s largest private company, is staggering. The Minnesota-based company, which operates in 70 countries and has 155,00 employees, is involved in a range of businesses across the food chain, from selling feed to farmers, to commodities and meat processing. Cargill had revenues of $134.4 billion in its most recent fiscal year, which is equal to about .06 percent of the nation’s GDP. On Aug. 9, Cargill entered the U.S. poultry market by joining Continental Grain in acquiring Sanderson Farms for $4.3 billion, one of the largest deals in Cargill’s 156-year history. As a leader in global agriculture, Cargill is taking steps to make its supply chain more sustainable and equitable, and has embarked on splashy ventures to reduce its carbon footprint. It has teamed up with a company started by a British sailing champ to develop enormous wing sails, nearly 15 stories high, to mount on the deck of cargo ships. (Cargill’s Geneva-based ocean transportation unit operates a fleet of more than 600 ships.) The new wind propulsion technology, which is aiming to launch next year, could reduce CO2 emissions by as much as 30% on the ships that deploy it, according to Cargill. It has also teamed up with a U.K. startup to distribute a mask-like device for cows that captures methane produced when the bovine belches, converting it into less-damaging CO2. Cargill, which is a huge producer of a wide range of animal feeds, is also working on new feed formulations that would produce less gas in cows. Big food companies are increasingly focused on how to satisfy the world’s growing demand for protein. Cargill CEO David MacLennan cites a statistic that global protein demand will increase by about 70% by 2050, as the world population approaches 9 billion people. In anticipation of that need, Cargill is investing in the development of cell and plant-based protein. For instance, it supplies faux meat maker Beyond Meat with the pea protein used to make its products. It is also investing heavily in the complex and controversial field of aquaculture, providing fish meal to the growing number of fish farms around the world. MacLennan recently joined TIME for a video conversation on the challenges of a tight labor market, whether Cargill will ever go public and the future of food. Subscribe to The Leadership Brief by clicking here. (This interview has been condensed and edited for clarity.) Cargill touches so many aspects of the supply chain-where are you experiencing shortages or inflation? Like many companies, we’re seeing some labor shortages, particularly in North America, in our animal protein supply chain. We do have a lot of touch points in the supply chains: we start with the farmer where the food is produced, and [we have] trucks, rail, barges, ocean transportation to get it to where it’s consumed or further processed. But by and large, things are working, other than the exception of tight labor supply in North American protein. Is that the meatpacking plants specifically? Yes. North American proteins are still pretty labor intensive businesses. One [meatpacking] plant might have 2,000 employees over three shifts. So the labor shortage is going to be more noticeable and more pronounced. It is constraining production, not significantly, but it means that you have to run the plant a little slower, not at full capacity. These are some of the toughest jobs in the nation. What is your view on why there are labor shortages? I think it’s a combination of things. Number one is people are choosing not to return to those jobs. They are tough jobs and people have more choices today with a tight labor supply and a lot of different industries looking for labor. Number two is that immigration constraints have put a crimp on access to labor. Immigrant labor was what powers plants and kept the food supply chain up and running. I think you’ve got an impact from the government aid that has come through COVID relief. Like many industries, people have been given support from government programs, so I think it’s a combination of those factors that have led to tightness in the labor supply. In your view is the labor shortage transitory or lasting? That’s the great question of today, isn’t it? I think it’s permanent. People have a different way of thinking about their work. I just read an article about virtually zero population growth in the U.S. These are things that have been predicted for a long time, with the shrinking labor force of the baby boomers and smaller generations of millennials and Zs. I think it’s a permanent shift. And are you losing valued veteran colleagues who are saying ‘I’ve had a good run and now I’m going to go off and grow organic blueberries?’ Yes, we have. Certainly there are people that have said, “You know I had a good run, and I had a good career, and having a year of different working structure has given me a different perspective.” We are seeing that now. Where are you seeing inflation? I go back to wage inflation in our plants. Is wage inflation permanent in our [meatpacking] plants? I don’t know because you’ve always got automation and technology, which is modernizing these plants. And so that may offset inflationary price pressures. Anywhere else? Commodity prices are high. They’re much higher than they were a year ago. We’ve had strong demand from China for both corn and soybeans, so stocks have become very tight. Ag prices have gone up, but that has yet to roll through to the grocery stores. Cargill has been criticized for its timetable on deforestation in regards to soy in Brazil. You’re eliminating deforestation from your soy supply chain by 2030. Why not faster? I think it’s wanting to make commitments that we feel we could deliver upon. The supply chains in Brazil, and all throughout the world for commodities are very, very complicated. We have thousands of farmers in Brazil that depend on us for buying their products, and they have not committed illegal deforestation. We did declare a moratorium on purchasing from illegally cleared forest lands in the Amazon. We are not and will not source from farmers who clear land in protected areas. The Supreme Court recently threw out a suit claiming Cargill knowingly bought cocoa from farmers that used child labor. We do not tolerate child labor in our supply chains. We have achieved 100% traceability of our cocoa supply chain in Ghana. In Ghana and Cote d’Ivoire, we are engaged with 7,500 farmers who are members of co-ops, and we have surveys that ask them the location of where they’re growing their cocoa, and how many children do they have on their farm and what are the ages of their children. Then we use artificial intelligence to run data systems to use predictive analytics to say where, in these thousands of hectares of land where cocoa has been grown in those two countries, where the likelihood of child labor abuse and sustainable practice abuse is the highest. And we will not tolerate it. We will not purchase from any farm or source of any farm that has child labor abuses. Let’s switch to ocean-going freight, where you operate a huge fleet. When you talk to CEOs this summer, there’s a lot of concern about delays in shipping. You still have slowdowns in supply chains, which include ocean transportation due to COVID and some countries, either because of labor shortages or restrictions on vessels coming and going and that creates pinch points in the supply chain. You also got the reemergence of international trade. The Chinese have been actively restocking and purchasing agricultural products which take up ocean freight capacity. Therefore you have to wait longer to get your freight. It’s supply and demand, driven a lot by demand for ocean freight, but also slowdowns in certain areas of the world due to COVID protocols. How will the food industry address the world’s growing demand for protein, particularly with concerns about greenhouse gases linked to beef production? It means we’ve got to develop alternative sources of protein. We are in plant protein, for example, pea protein. We were one of the first to the the market with a plant-based protein patty. We are also investors in companies that are producing cellular-based protein. Cell-based and plant-based protein is something that is very exciting and we’re putting a lot of time and capital behind. And then you’ve got protein coming from fermentation. So we are changing our portfolio to create alternatives and create choices for consumers for food that they see as being better for them, that is produced in more sustainable ways, that is the complement to traditional animal protein. But emerging economies still want to consume protein in its purest form, which is animal protein. That business isn’t going away. Other promising growth areas? Bio industrials: I’m very excited about using sustainable and renewable resources to produce industrial products. There was a Forbes report a few years ago that there were multiple billionaires from the Cargill family. Are you feeling pressure to go public? Do you want to take this opportunity to announce plans to go public today? Not today, tomorrow, or anytime soon. The family owners love being private. What is the best way to feed the world’s growing population? Make sure that you can travel across borders. Don’t erect trade barriers. Don’t use food as a weapon. Practice comparative advantage. Use your natural resources of your region, grow what is best suited for the soil, the climate, the access to water. For example, the American Midwest is ideally suited for dairy. The dairy industry is less suited for California, with the strains on the water supply… That means politics has to be supportive of trade. One of the best ways to make sure that the 9 billion people in the world have access to food is to ensure that it can get from where it’s best produced to where it is most needed. Subscribe to The Leadership Brief by clicking here. The Leadership Brief. Conversations with the most influential leaders in business and tech. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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Beginning in October, beneficiaries will see their allotments through the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP)—informally known as food stamps—rise roughly 25%.

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As expanded unemployment benefits, a near-nationwide eviction moratorium, a pause on federal student loan payments and other temporary pandemic-related government benefits near their expiration dates, the Biden Administration announced on Monday that it was going to permanently increase another benefit: food stamps. Beginning in October, beneficiaries will see their allotments through the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP)—informally known as food stamps—rise roughly 25%. On average, SNAP recipients will see their monthly benefits increase from an average of $121 per person to $157 per person. It will be the largest increase in SNAP benefits in more than four decades. The benefit increase is based on a recent re-evaluation of what the government calls its Thrifty Food Plan: a hypothetical assortment of healthy but low-price groceries needed to meet the nutritional needs of a four-person family with two adults and two children. The shift marks the largest uptick in SNAP benefits since the Thrifty Food Plan was introduced in 1975. It’s also the first time benefits have been raised since 2006. (The 2018 Farm Bill mandated that the Thrifty Food Plan be re-evaluated by 2022, regardless of the Administration in power, though Biden asked the USDA to prioritize updating the formula in a January executive order.) The re-evaluation of the half-century-old equation means 42 million low-income families will have more cash to spend on groceries each month. But more broadly, the move to reduce hunger is another way the Biden Administration is trying to grow the size and scope of America’s tattered social safety net. And while most items on the 46th President’s economic agenda—creating a paid family leave benefit, raising the minimum wage, making childcare more affordable—require Congressional buy-in, this investment, estimated by USDA to cost about $20 billion more annually, does not. Activists working to eliminate food insecurity have argued changes to America’s food assistance programs—the largest of which is SNAP—are long overdue. Pre-pandemic, the average food stamps payouts broke down to about $1.39 per person, per meal. A June 2021 report from the U.S. Department of Agriculture suggested this amount was insufficient for most SNAP recipients. The report stated that nearly 90% of SNAP participants faced barriers to achieving a healthy diet each month. The most common hurdle, reported by more than 60% of SNAP recipients, was the high cost of nutritionally dense food. Another challenge, reported by 30% of SNAP recipients, was insufficient time to prepare healthy meals from scratch. The USDA took both of these complaints into account in formulating its new Thrifty Food Plan. For example, while frozen pre-cut vegetables and pre-cooked canned beans may be slightly more expensive than fresh vegetables or dried beans in some cases, they can also take less time for a busy family to prepare. The new Thrifty Food Plan formula plans for SNAP recipients to sometimes make efficiency choices like canned beans over dried ones. USDA Secretary Tom Vilsack said these changes will make it easier for families to get enough healthy food, and that they could also create jobs and reduce healthcare costs due to preventable disease. “A modernized Thrifty Food Plan is more than a commitment to good nutrition—it’s an investment in our nation’s health, economy, and security,” Vilsack said in a statement on Aug. 16 announcing the program change. “Ensuring low-income families have access to a healthy diet helps prevent disease, supports children in the classroom, reduces health care costs, and more. And the additional money families will spend on groceries helps grow the food economy, creating thousands of new jobs along the way.” Some Republicans are skeptical about the changes. In an Aug. 13 letter to the Comptroller General of the United States, Sen. John Boozman of Arkansas and Rep. Glenn Thompson of Pennsylvania asked the Government Accountability Office to analyze how the USDA was re-evaluating the Thrifty Food Plan and to provide data proving an increase in benefits would help recipients eat healthier foods. “The complexity of this process, and its likely impacts, create an urgent need for scrutiny, particularly on the heels of significant nutrition-related pandemic spending that has continued without rigorous oversight,” the lawmakers wrote. Meanwhile, activists say the timing is urgent, as pandemic-related food benefits are winding down amid COVID-19 surges. Congress first authorized a 15% increase in SNAP benefits in December 2020, but that boost was due to expire on Sept. 30 despite an average of more than 114,000 new COVID-19 cases per day, according to the CDC. Now instead of falling off a benefits cliff, most SNAP recipients should get even more help. “This increase will be a huge relief for the 42 million Americans who rely on SNAP including working families who are simply not paid enough to afford basic living expenses,” said Joel Berg, the CEO of Hunger Free America. “Being able to afford a more nutritious diet is also crucial for the overall health of low-income families, allowing them to have greater protection against COVID-19 as the rates of the virus continue to skyrocket in areas across the country.” More from TIME Get our Politics Newsletter. The headlines out of Washington never seem to slow. Subscribe to The D.C. Brief to make sense of what matters most. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Write to Abby Vesoulis at abby.vesoulis@time.com.

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Justin Worland explains how drought and extreme heat have created life-threatening conditions in the West—and how this nascent climate crisis may signal what is to come. TIME sent photographer Adam Ferguson on the road across six Western states—from Arizona to Washington—in June and July to document how climate change is shaping life on the ground.

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Article

The Clan Hotel Singapore, a sleek and centrally located establishment, opened this year with a top-floor infinity pool and a Rolls-Royce airport transfer for suite guests. By contrast, the new 198-room Dusit Thani Laguna hotel feels like an isolated oasis.

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Singapore frequently tops lists as one of the world’s greenest, safest and most ethnically diverse cities, among other superlatives. Adding to the Southeast Asian city-state’s many attributes: The Clan Hotel Singapore, a sleek and centrally located establishment which opened this year with a top-floor infinity pool and a Rolls-Royce airport transfer for suite guests. By contrast, the new 198-room Dusit Thani Laguna hotel—on the grounds of the Laguna National Golf & Country Club, about 10 miles from the city center—feels like an isolated oasis. It offers access to two championship golf courses, three swimming pools and a Thai-­influenced spa, as well as a complimentary shuttle to downtown. In an effort to further boost local tourism, Singapore is extending its SingapoRediscovers program—­originally slated to end in June—through the end of the year, issuing vouchers to residents worth around $74 to spend on tours, hotel accommodations, attraction tickets and more. —Dan Q. Dao Contact us at letters@time.com.

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The probe covers almost everything that Tesla has sold in the U.S. since the start of the 2014 model year.

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(DETROIT) — The U.S. government has opened a formal investigation into Tesla’s Autopilot partially automated driving system after a series of collisions with parked emergency vehicles. The investigation covers 765,000 vehicles, almost everything that Tesla has sold in the U.S. since the start of the 2014 model year. Of the crashes identified by the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration as part of the probe, 17 people were injured and one was killed. NHTSA says it has identified 11 crashes since 2018 in which Teslas on Autopilot or Traffic Aware Cruise Control have hit vehicles at scenes where first responders have used flashing lights, flares, an illuminated arrow board or cones warning of hazards. The agency announced the action Monday in a posting on its website. The probe is another sign that NHTSA under President Joe Biden is taking a tougher stance on on automated vehicle safety than under previous administrations. Previously the agency was reluctant to regulate the new technology for fear of hampering adoption of the potentially life-saving systems. The investigation covers Tesla’s entire current model lineup, the Models Y, X, S and 3 from the 2014 through 2021 model years. The National Transportation Safety Board, which also has investigated some of the Tesla crashes dating to 2016, has recommended that NHTSA and Tesla limit Autopilot’s use to areas where it can safely operate. The NTSB also recommended that NHTSA require Tesla to have a better system to make sure drivers are paying attention. NHTSA has not taken action on any of the recommendations. The NTSB has no enforcement powers and can only make recommendations to other federal agencies. Last year the NTSB blamed Tesla, drivers and lax regulation by NHTSA for two collisions in which Teslas crashed beneath crossing tractor-trailers. The NTSB took the unusual step of accusing NHTSA of contributing to the crash for failing to make sure automakers put safeguards in place to limit use of electronic driving systems. The agency made the determinations after investigating a 2019 crash in Delray Beach, Florida, in which the 50-year-old driver of a Tesla Model 3 was killed. The car was driving on Autopilot when neither the driver nor the Autopilot system braked or tried to avoid a tractor-trailer crossing in its path. Autopilot has frequently been misused by Tesla drivers, who have been caught driving drunk or even riding in the back seat while a car rolled down a California highway. A message was left early Monday seeking comment from Tesla, which has disbanded its media relations office. NHTSA has sent investigative teams to 31 crashes involving partially automated driver assist systems since June of 2016. Such systems can keep a vehicle centered in its lane and a safe distance from vehicles in front of it. Of those crashes, 25 involved Tesla Autopilot in which 10 deaths were reported, according to data released by the agency. Tesla and other manufacturers warn that drivers using the systems must be ready to intervene at all times. In addition to crossing semis, Teslas using Autopilot have crashed into stopped emergency vehicles and a roadway barrier. The probe by NHTSA is long overdue, said Raj Rajkumar, an electrical and computer engineering professor at Carnegie Mellon University who studies automated vehicles. Tesla’s failure to effectively monitor drivers to make sure they’re paying attention should be the top priority in the probe, Rajkumar said. Teslas detect pressure on the steering wheel to make sure drivers are engaged, but drivers often fool the system. “It’s very easy to bypass the steering pressure thing,” Rajkumar said. “It’s been going on since 2014. We have been discussing this for a long time now.” The crashes into emergency vehicles cited by NHTSA began on Jan. 22, 2018 in Culver City, California, near Los Angeles when a Tesla using Autopilot struck a parked firetruck that was partially in the travel lanes with its lights flashing. Crews were handling another crash at the time. Since then, the agency said there were crashes in Laguna Beach, California; Norwalk, Connecticut; Cloverdale, Indiana; West Bridgewater, Massachusetts; Cochise County, Arizona; Charlotte, North Carolina; Montgomery County, Texas; Lansing, Michigan; and Miami, Florida. “The investigation will assess the technologies and methods used to monitor, assist and enforce the driver’s engagement with the dynamic driving task during Autopilot operation,” NHTSA said in its investigation documents. In addition, the probe will cover object and event detection by the system, as well as where it is allowed to operate. NHTSA says it will examine “contributing circumstances” to the crashes, as well as similar crashes. An investigation could lead to a recall or other enforcement action by NHTSA. “NHTSA reminds the public that no commercially available motor vehicles today are capable of driving themselves,” the agency said in a statement. “Every available vehicle requires a human driver to be in control at all times, and all state laws hold human drivers responsible for operation of their vehicles.” The agency said it has “robust enforcement tools” to protect the public and investigate potential safety issues, and it will act when it finds evidence “of noncompliance or an unreasonable risk to safety.” In June NHTSA ordered all automakers to report any crashes involving fully autonomous vehicles or partially automated driver assist systems. Shares of Tesla Inc., based in Palo Alto, California, fell 3.5% at the opening bell Monday. Tesla uses a camera-based system, a lot of computing power, and sometimes radar to spot obstacles, determine what they are, and then decide what the vehicles should do. But Carnegie Mellon’s Rajkumar said the company’s radar was plagued by “false positive” signals and would stop cars after determining overpasses were obstacles. Now Tesla has eliminated radar in favor of cameras and thousands of images that the computer neural network uses to determine if there are objects in the way. The system, he said, does a very good job on most objects that would be seen in the real world. But it has had trouble with parked emergency vehicles and perpendicular trucks in its path. “It can only find patterns that it has been ‘quote unquote’ trained on,” Rajkumar said. “Clearly the inputs that the neural network was trained on just do not contain enough images. They’re only as good as the inputs and training. Almost by definition, the training will never be good enough.” Tesla also is allowing selected owners to test what it calls a “full self-driving” system. Rajkumar said that should be investigated as well. The Leadership Brief. Conversations with the most influential leaders in business and tech. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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The artifacts many of us have accumulated in our homes right now will inform future generations about what it was like to live through this time. (From 2020)

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At 2:34 pm on Friday, March 13—a day after New York Governor Andrew Cuomo announced a ban on large gatherings, with the number of novel coronavirus cases in the state having tripled over the last four days—Rebecca Klassen, an associate curator of material culture at the New-York Historical Society, emailed museum director Margi Hofer. “I think we should collect an object or two to represent the pandemic,” she wrote. “What would you think if I asked around for an empty bottle of Purell, aka liquid gold?” Eleven minutes later, Hofer emailed back: “Sure. I have a pocket-sized one if you think that will do the trick.” And so, the museum’s COVID-19 collecting effort began. While the New-York Historical Society has not yet officially added Hofer’s pocket-size Purell to its collection, the museum has amassed more than 200 objects and multimedia files documenting the new normal, including bottles of hand sanitizer made by distilleries and New York inmates. In April, photographer Kay Hickman and journalist Kevin Powell interviewed and photographed New Yorkers at the peak of the pandemic, and now, visitors can see the pictures and listen to interview excerpts on their cell phones in the museum’s courtyard exhibit Hope Wanted: New York City Under Quarantine—and even submit their own pandemic stories to preserve. On Friday, six months after the World Health Organization officially declared COVID-19 a pandemic, the museum reopens its indoor galleries. The timing is apt; the N-YHS’s COVID-related collecting is the latest project within an ongoing program that began in the wake of the 9/11 attacks, to collect materials of cultural importance immediately after historic events. And the institution isn’t alone. In the last two decades, museums worldwide have carried out similar initiatives to document the aftermath of major events from natural disasters like Hurricane Katrina to social movements such as the climate strikes. Now, with COVID-19’s historic nature firmly established, even as the world still battles the virus, the question of how it will become part of historical memory is already being answered. The artifacts many of us have accumulated in our homes right now will inform future generations about what it was like to live through this time. Here, TIME highlights some examples of what you may find in future exhibits about life during the 2020 coronavirus pandemic. Hand sanitizer made by Kings County Distillery—which usually makes whiskey—in Brooklyn, N.Y. The New-York Historical Society has collected hand sanitizer made by distilleries that converted their operations. Courtesy Kings County Distillery Instead of collecting the usual art or materials belonging to influential people, museums in the pandemic era are seeking out everyday people’s experiences—via TikTok and YouTube videos, Zoom screenshots and recordings, workplace emails about safety protocols, text messages about keeping busy in lockdown, and pictures of drug-store shelves stripped bare of disinfecting products. “I want to know what’s in your emergency bag and on your shopping list,” says Anthea M. Hartig, director of the Smithsonian’s National Museum of American History. What exactly that means varies widely. The New-York Historical Society had to act fast to acquire the cowbell that staff at the Samaritan’s Purse emergency field hospital in Central Park would ring every time they’d discharge a patient. Though life-saving equipment like ventilators can’t be collected while there’s still a critical need for them, many institutions are in touch with local hospitals about saving objects or stories from doctors, nurses and their teams. (In general, many museums are not physically collecting COVID-related artifacts while the pandemic is still ongoing, but rather asking people to email photos of objects for potential acquisition when it’s safer to collect them.) Get your history fix in one place: sign up for the weekly TIME History newsletter For museums nationwide, documenting COVID-19 has been inseparable from documenting the ongoing Black Lives Matters protests. At the Museum of the City of New York, a social media open call for images of “a socially-distanced NYC” and scenes of activism drew nearly 20,000 images from professional and amateur photographers. Some are now on display in New York Responds, a new outdoor exhibit of photos and stories of pandemic life. One of the photos, taken by street photographer Clay Benskin, captures a protester doing a handstand in front of a line of NYPD officers outside City Hall on the evening of July 1. A protester stands on his head in front of a line of NYPD near City Hall during the first attempt to take over the so-called "Abolition Park," a makeshift camp in City Hall Park made up of people protesting police brutality. Clay Benskin The Anacostia Community Museum in Washington, D.C., issued an online call-out for stories from both the pandemic and this year’s social justice protests. It has garnered submissions from across the country, including from frontline workers like an Atlanta UPS driver who expressed her gratitude for customers who thanked the people who kept the delivery economy going. Melanie A. Adams, director of the museum, says the goal is “to tell the story of everyday people.” The Mercer Museum in Doylestown, Penn., received cell-phone video of a violinist playing in the parking lot of a senior housing complex and is saving copies of Neighbor to Neighbor COVID TIMES, a newsletter filled with information about the pandemic’s effects on local businesses and interviews with locals on how they are surviving. The Museo Diocesano Tridentino in the northern Italian city of Trento pivoted from its daily work preserving early Catholic history to preserving the objects that outfitted Italians’ new sanctuaries during lockdown. When Lorenza Liandru curated photographs for an outdoor exhibit that now lives online, she started with one of her own stove-top coffeemaker, which had become “a symbol of the lost ritual of the coffee break with friends, colleagues, family.” Other subjects ranged from a terrace that allowed a woman “to feel [like] part of the world again” to games that provided a distraction from the grim news cycle. Top left: Bialetti, Liandru's coffee maker. She says it "makes an unworthy substitute for bar espresso"; Top Right: Simone says "No video game can equal Subbuteo (a tabletop miniature football game). Isn't it wonderful?"; Bottom left: Luca's mother Francesca says "the dandelion is the symbol of the long time spent with my child"; Bottom Right: Daniela says focusing on the puzzle "helps the mind relax and push negative thoughts away." Courtesy Museo Diocesano Tridentino Some of the most powerful visuals are analog. Tanya Gibb, who teaches third grade in Los Angeles, has been keeping a bullet journal for three years, and realized midway through what she thinks was a case of COVID-19 that she was documenting history. In the boxes that had previously recorded commitments like parent-teacher conferences or her twin sister’s birthday tea, she wrote “STILL SICK.” She was briefly hospitalized in March and re-admitted a month later, and had to undergo emergency surgery to save her eyesight. Days after her release from the hospital, she noticed one of her favorite museums, the Autry Museum of the American West, had posted a Facebook callout for submissions, and she emailed a picture of her journal. She explained her rationale to TIME: “What would people want to see 100 years from now when they want to see what things were like? A diary of someone living.” Bullet journal created and submitted by Tanya Gibb to the Autry. "On March 5th, 2020, I came down with COVID-19 symptoms. When I went to the hospital, I could not get a test. After going back to the ER three times, I was eventually hospitalized. I was still not tested," she said. Courtesy The Autry Museum Masks, a signature of the new normal, will definitely be covered in future exhibits on the COVID-19 pandemic. Among the photos of homemade masks that people submitted to the Autry Museum is one made by a hair stylist for the clients she couldn’t see during the California stay-at-home order last spring; one with ruffles and a matching head-wrap sewn to represent the designer’s West African heritage; and masks that strangers sewed for strangers via Auntie Sewing Squad, an online community of hundreds of people nationwide who have sewn more than 80,000 masks for underserved populations, such as farm workers, incarcerated persons and victims of domestic violence. Screenshot of Auntie Sewing Squad "Stitch and Bitch Meeting" on April 4 Courtesy Auntie Sewing Squad But some places are collecting less tangible artifacts. To help future scientists track how we got here, archivists at the Library of Congress are collecting data from Johns Hopkins University’s Center for Systems Science and Engineering (CSSE), which runs a COVID-19 dashboard; snapshots from GISAID, which aggregates genomic data from labs worldwide during pandemics; and capturing analyses from platforms like Nextstrain, which are mapping the mutations of the virus and its transmission. A Web Archiving team is also preserving websites that include information about the origins of the novel coronavirus, the spread of infection and containment efforts. The Library of Congress has also acquired photographs from Camilo José Vergara, who documents life in low-income neighborhoods, including scenes such as the “BE WELL” message on the marquee of the indefinitely-closed Apollo Theater in Harlem; pictures of residents who died of COVID-19 in the Corona neighborhood of Queens, N.Y.; and a barber giving a customer a haircut on a Newark, N.J., street. On Wednesday, the Library announced an additional effort to collect photos documenting a wide range of individuals’ experiences with the pandemic. A man guards the entrance to H. F. Dollar and Up grocery store in Queens, April 25 Camilo José Vergara Six months after COVID-19 lockdown orders closed down museums, these cultural institutions face a long recovery themselves, and the online outreach has helped them reinvent themselves. Curators hope these collecting efforts help the world see museums not only as buildings, but also as online communities in which citizens play a key role. “We just want to make sure people know we’re recording history now. We don’t have to wait until history is documented. And it’s actually better when more voices are involved,” says Tyree A. Boyd-Pates, an associate curator of Western History at the Autry Museum of the American West, who is spearheading its Collecting Community History Initiative. A history of the pandemic that includes those voices, and the objects they donate to museums, will play a key role is helping to establish a more inclusive future vision of American history. And, some museum professionals say, they can already help donors imagine a more inclusive present. Such documenting efforts take people out of their own experiences so they can “understand others in different situations,” says the Smithsonian’s Hartig. “My hope is it helps build empathy and compassion.” The cowbell that staffers at the Samaritan’s Purse emergency field hospital in Central Park would ring every time they’d discharge a patient Courtesy New-York Historical Society The Coronavirus Brief. Everything you need to know about the global spread of COVID-19 Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Write to Olivia B. Waxman at olivia.waxman@time.com.

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The names, Social Security numbers and information from driver’s licenses or other identification of just over 40 million former and prospective customers that applied for T-Mobile credit were exposed in a recent data breach.

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(NEW YORK) — The names, Social Security numbers and information from driver’s licenses or other identification of just over 40 million former and prospective customers that applied for T-Mobile credit were exposed in a recent data breach, the company said Wednesday. The same data for about 7.8 million current T-Mobile postpaid customers appears to be compromised. No phone numbers, account numbers, PINs, passwords, or financial information from the nearly 50 million records and accounts were compromised, it said. T-Mobile also confirmed that approximately 850,000 active T-Mobile prepaid customer names, phone numbers and account PINs were exposed. The company said that it proactively reset all of the PINs on those accounts. No Metro by T-Mobile, former Sprint prepaid, or Boost customers had their names or PINs exposed. There was also some additional information from inactive prepaid accounts accessed through prepaid billing files. T-Mobile said that no customer financial information, credit card information, debit or other payment information or Social Security numbers were in the inactive file. The announcement comes two days after T-Mobile said that it was investigating a leak of its data after someone took to an online forum offering to sell the personal information of cellphone users. The company said Monday that it had confirmed there was unauthorized access to “some T-Mobile data” and that it had closed the entry point used to gain access. The company said that it will immediately offer two years of free identity protection services and is recommending that all of its postpaid customers change their PIN. Its investigation is ongoing. T-Mobile, which is based in Bellevue, Washington, became one of the country’s largest cellphone service carriers, along with AT&T and Verizon, after buying rival Sprint. The Leadership Brief. Conversations with the most influential leaders in business and tech. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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Nowhere is the nascent climate crisis more dramatic than in the American West, where drought and extreme heat have created life-threatening conditions.

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time

Article

Let this stuffed giraffe explain.

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Jani, a 4-foot plush giraffe, arrived on my doorstep in mid-July, her neck bent backwards so that she could fit in the FedEx box, her brown eyes glassy, as if still finding her bearings after a long journey at sea. What a journey it had been. Viahart, the company that sells Jani on Amazon, had ordered a container’s worth of plush toys including her in August of last year. This was around the time that U.S. consumers, cooped up at home, started spending again after an initial dip in the beginning of the pandemic. And as the demand for toys and TVs and couches rose, the ships and trains and trucks carrying them got overwhelmed and added hefty congestion surcharges. That made it much more expensive to get Jani to my doorstep. “Good Day, No rail schedule yet. Rail delays due to chassis shortage & port congestion. Please continue to monitor,” reads an email from COSCO Shipping NA, the company responsible for getting the container from China to Viahart’s Texas warehouse, about why the container was sitting in the port of LA for weeks and weeks. Viahart now pays around $21,000 to send a 40-foot container from China to Texas, up from $4,700 before the pandemic. Lon Tweeten/TIME There’s no question that the U.S. economy is experiencing a surge in inflation. The cost of goods was up 5.4% in July from the same period a year ago, the largest annual increase since 2008. Inflation can be caused by many things—increased consumer demand, a rise in wages, a spike in other costs. This time around, economists agree that inflation is being caused by an overwhelmed logistics network. “If you look at where prices are rising, it’s not across the board, it’s in really specific sectors” like lumber and cars, says J.W. Mason, an economics professor at John Jay College. These sectors can’t produce things as quickly as consumers want them for a variety of reasons, he says—”It’s about those specific glitches that come from reopening.” These rising prices are stressful for consumers, whose money doesn’t go as far as it used to, and for companies, who are seeing their costs rise and have no choice but to pass it on to consumers. When the cost of getting a container full of stuffed toys quadruples, “we have to raise prices in order to make money,” says Mike Molson Hart, the president of Viahart, which sells plush animals and toys called Brain Flakes, primarily on Amazon. “The question becomes, is anyone going to buy this at the new, higher price? We’re flying blind.” If you want to understand what’s driving inflation in the U.S. economy right now, look no further than Jani the giraffe. Jani used to cost around $87. Now she’s around $116, as costs went up on every step of her journey. ‘A war being waged’ over container ships Jani was made in China, in a factory about four hours from the port of Qingdao, which is about halfway between Beijing and Shanghai. Viahart sent detailed specifications to the factory, where bags of white stuffed tigers, orange tiger tails, and giraffes like Jani lie askew on tables. The company placed an order for a 40-foot container full of giraffes, tigers, dragons and other stuffed animals on August 18 of last year. Though some products have gotten more expensive to make because of the rising cost of raw materials like glass and metal, Viahart didn’t have to pay much more to make Jani. Stuffed animals are made from plastic pellets, which are made from oil, but when Jani was made in August, oil prices were at historic lows because demand had collapsed. Before the pandemic, Jani cost about $22.04 to make; in August she cost $23.76 because the value of the U.S. dollar had fallen in comparison to China’s RMB. But getting Jani to the U.S. was much more expensive than it used to be. Viahart knew it needed to hire a shipping company to get the sealed container from the factory in China to its warehouse in Texas, but because it’s a small company, it doesn’t negotiate with shipping companies directly. Instead, it called a freight forwarder—essentially a logistics company that negotiates the best prices for shipping a single container, rather than a whole boatload of goods. A shipment of toy giraffes at the Viahart distribution facility in Wills Point, Texas on July 23, 2021. Jonathan Zizzo for TIME Beginning around April of 2020, even the freight forwarders, who do this professionally, started having a hard time finding space on ships. In normal years, demand for space on ships peaks around Chinese New Year, right before all the factories in China shut down for the holiday, says Jeffrey Wang, business development executive at Air Tiger Express, a freight forwarder Viahart frequently uses. Then there’s a lull. In 2020, there was no lull. People started ordering things, but factories in China were closed because of COVID-19. When they reopened, there weren’t enough containers to hold all the goods, nor was there enough ship space. Knowing that space on ships was in demand, shipping companies started raising prices, sometimes forcing companies into bidding wars to nab limited spots on ships. “Right now, it’s kind of the wild, wild West—everyone is desperate for cargo space,” Wang says. The factory finished making Jani and the other plush toys on September 27, about 40 days after Viahart placed the order. On October 7, a container of plush toys left the factory by truck and was loaded on a vessel from the COSCO shipping line, the CSCL Winter. If she had stayed on that boat, she would have arrived in the U.S. on November 4, after the ship stopped in British Columbia and then the Port of Long Beach, which, together with the adjoining Port of Los Angeles, is the busiest container port in the United States. But Jani and her container were offloaded in Shanghai. The container left the factory but then got delayed in Shanghai. Lon Tweeten/TIME Viahart got no explanation for why it was offloaded; the company was just informed that the container would now arrive on November 11, rather than the previous week. “Where is the container now?” Sarah Joy Tan, Viahart’s exceedingly patient production and quality manager wrote, in an email, to the freight forwarder. “I didn’t expect it to be more than 2 weeks in Shanghai.” The forwarder wrote back, “container will be rolled to another mother vessel,” without any other information. Finally, on October 26, Jani was loaded onto another ship in Shanghai, the Judith Schulte. It made stops in three other ports in China before chugging across the Pacific on its way to the Port of Los Angeles. “There is a war being waged in container terminals around the world,” says Sebastien Breteau, the CEO of QIMA, which does quality control along the supply chain. Freight forwarders and shippers are fighting one another to get shipping slots. Jani’s journey from the factory to the port, which took about 38 days before the pandemic, took 53 last fall. For that slower service, Viahart paid about $13.27 per stuffed animal for shipping, up from $3.01 before the pandemic. Congestion at the ports As the Judith Schulte approached the port of Los Angeles, dozens of other container ships were bringing goods from Asia, too. The flow of ships had slowed dramatically in the first six months of 2020, after some factories closed because of COVID-19 and American consumers waited to see what was going to happen. Then, in the summer, shipping volumes started climbing again. The number of TEUs—essentially 20-feet containers—arriving in the Port of Los Angeles in October reached nearly 511,000 in October, up from 400,000 in October 2019, and double what it was in March. But that spike in traffic after such a lull caused congestion, and the ports couldn’t handle all the ships like the Judith Schulte coming in to unload goods. Before the pandemic, it was unusual to see one vessel waiting at anchor off the ports; by the beginning of 2021, there were around 40 ships anchored and waiting to unload. That bottleneck has been clogged again lately, with 37 ships waiting offshore the ports of Los Angeles and Long Beach as of Sunday. The Judith Schulte did not have to wait offshore, but she did slow down halfway across the Pacific, from an average of 22 knots to 20, according to Spire, which uses satellites to provide data for the maritime industry. The ship was supposed to arrive on November 11, but did not get to a container terminal at the Port of Los Angeles until November 16. Then, it sat for seven days before it left, which is an “exceptionally long time,” according to Spire. Jani’s container was offloaded on November 19. She was not put on a train until December 20. “Can you please check if we already have a schedule to load the container on the rail?” Joy Tan wrote, to the freight forwarder, on December 3, after many emails asking why the container had not moved. He wrote back: “As previously advised, container is still at the terminal. it’s Cosco’s responsibility to set up containers for rail move and Cosco’s response was ‘…container is still at the terminal. Please continue to monitor …’ We really are trying to get some updates, but we are at the mercy of the carrier here.” The quiet frustration of the emails from Viahart, who were powerless to do anything to move its container, is one reason why Jeffrey Wang now tells his customers that containers are arriving two weeks later than the carrier said they would. Before the pandemic, he would just pad the date by a few days. Jani's container lingered at the Port of Los Angeles for more than a month. Lon Tweeten/TIME I tried to get an answer for why Jani’s container was delayed in Shanghai, why the boat was so late and took so long to get unloaded, and why the container sat in the port of Los Angeles for more than a month. But every operator in the supply chain blamed someone else. Mike Molson Hart, the president of Viahart, attributed the delays to the fact that the U.S. ports don’t run 24/7, as ports in Asia do. But Mario Cordero, the executive director of the Port of Long Beach, says the ports can’t run 24/7 until the truckers who pick up containers and the warehouses that unload them also operate 24/7. Truckers say they can’t get the chassis needed to transport containers from ports and trains to warehouses because the shipping companies are holding them hostage to make money from the truckers they have special deals with, according to a lawsuit filed by the American Trucking Association. COSCO, the shipping company that moved Jani, in turn blamed “port congestion,” saying containers that were unloaded weeks ago cannot be reached, and said there was a lack of rail chassis to move the goods. The “dwell time,” essentially the amount of time a container is sitting onshore before being loaded onto trucks, at the Ports of Los Angeles and Long Beach, was 4.76 days in June, up from two days in March of 2020, according to the Pacific Merchant Shipping Association. Containers sat even longer before getting on trains—an average of 11.8 days, up from 7.9 days in January, when the association started measuring. Nearly one-quarter of containers sit for more than five days before getting picked up. Operating 24/7 might not change anything, says Jessica Alvarenga, manager of government affairs at the Pacific Merchant Shipping Association—when shipping companies post nighttime appointments for trucks to pick up cargo, they aren’t being filled. A train and trucking shortage Cordero says there aren’t enough railcars to transport containers from the ports of Los Angeles and Long Beach, but BNSF, the railroad that eventually moved Jani’s container, blames high dwell time at inland facilities where the containers can’t be unloaded quickly enough. “While we operate 24/7, certain parts of the supply chain do not, creating additional challenges to meet this unprecedented demand,” the railroad said, in a statement. Carlos Ramirez, a terminal operator who dispatches trucks to pick up containers from inland facilities, says his truckers have issues delivering containers to warehouses because they’re so short on staff. “We’ve had containers sit for a week or two in our yard because they don’t have the manpower to unload it,” he says. His company hires owner operators who have their own trucks but it’s gotten more difficult to find any to hire in the last year, he says. In short, it’s everybody’s fault, and nobody’s too. “Because the volume surge has affected every part of the supply chain, however, there is no single set of actors – ocean carriers, rail carriers, truckers, marine terminals, or cargo owner warehouses and distribution centers – that can clear the bottlenecks singlehandedly,” John W. Butler, president and CEO of the World Shipping Council, a lobbying group for liner ships, testified at a June Congressional hearing about supply chain delays. All of this meant that it took 40 days for Jani to get to Viahart’s Texas warehouse after she was unloaded from the ship, even though she could have walked in about half that time, were she a real giraffe. She arrived at the warehouse on December 29, although Viahart had initially been told it would arrive more than a month earlier. Along the way, as delays mount, every company along the supply chain is raising prices. BNSF has started charging for chassis and containers sitting too long in its facilities. COSCO and other shipping companies raised rates and started charging congestion fees. Ramirez raised prices for container storage in his yard, and will soon increase the rate he pays drivers to improve retention. Wages for truckers and warehouse workers have jumped 8% since 2019, after growing at a rate of 4% for the two years before that. Boxes are sorted at the Viahart distribution facility in Wills Point, Texas on July 23, 2021. Jonathan Zizzo for TIME A shipment of toy giraffes at the Viahart distribution facility in Wills Point, Texas on July 23, 2021. Jonathan Zizzo for TIME Trucks are an important part of getting containers from the ports to warehouses. They’re also what get packages from those warehouses to the customer’s doorstep. As delays mount at ports and railyards, truck trips are taking longer, since truckers have to sit around waiting. Some trucking companies allow around two hours of free waiting time, and then start charging logistics companies for any extra time that the driver waits. Since there is so much demand, trucking companies are running on a tight schedule—if a truck breaks, or a container gets delayed, or a warehouse is short-staffed, it throws off future deliveries, too. “There’s no room for mistakes at all,” says Ramirez, the terminal operator. The trucking industry’s labor problems Though the trucking industry frequently complains of labor shortages, there’s been a very fragile supply chain in many parts of the trucking industry since it was deregulated in the 1980s, says Steve Viscelli, a sociologist at the University of Pennsylvania and the author of Big Rig: Trucking and the Decline of the American Dream. Now, hundreds of thousands of drivers pay their own expenses and don’t make any money when there isn’t cargo being moved, which means that in the beginning of the pandemic, when there wasn’t any cargo being moved because factories in China had closed, lots of truckers had to look for other ways to make money. Jobs hauling containers to and from ports, and those taking containers long-distance—so-called over-the-road drivers—are some of the worst jobs in trucking, Viscelli says. Since deregulation, many of these truckers are now independent contractors who get paid by the load. That means the delays at ports and terminals hit them particularly hard. They’re deciding it’s not worth the money if they’re just going to sit around waiting for hours, and not getting paid for that time. The average annual turnover rate for long-haul truckers at big companies was more than 90% before the pandemic, and probably has gone up since then. Companies like Walmart are offering big signing bonuses to try to increase retention as demand surges. Jani sat in a warehouse until I ordered her July 12. Lon Tweeten/TIME Many other pieces of getting Jani from the warehouse to my doorstep got more expensive, too. Before the pandemic, Viahart paid entry level workers at its Texas warehouse $10-11 an hour. Then, this spring, he started having trouble finding people. He raised the wage to around $14-15 an hour, which helped him hire enough people to keep the warehouse running, but also increased the cost of getting Jani to my doorstep. Labor wasn’t the only cost that went up in the warehouse. The price of boxes went up to $2.17 from $2.03, the result of rising cardboard prices because of the e-commerce surge. FedEx home delivery shipping, which Hart says is the most economical way for him to get toys to homes, went up 5% this year—the company said in a statement that it has seen more packages entering its network than ever before. Then, of course, there’s Amazon. Hart tries to sell stuffed animals and toys on his company’s website, but products move much faster when they’re listed on Amazon. More than 90% of his revenues come from toys he’s sold on Amazon, but it, too, is costing him more post-pandemic. Amazon takes a 15% commission of every item he sells, even the ones like Jani, that Viahart ships itself rather than sending to an Amazon warehouse (Amazon charges for storage space, so it doesn’t make sense for Viahart to send such a big box to Amazon’s distribution centers.) That means as Jani gets more expensive, Amazon takes more money, which in turn makes Jani even more expensive, since Hart has to add on those costs to make a profit. Before the pandemic, Amazon’s commission was around $12. Now, it’s $16.19. Doorstep delivery A box containing Jani the giraffe arrives via FedEx to a residence in San Francisco. Kelsey McClellan for TIME Jani the giraffe is unpacked in San Francisco. Kelsey McClellan for TIME I ordered Jani on July 12, about seven months after she’d been unloaded in the warehouse. Thanks to updates from FedEx, I could track her journey by truck, from Hart’s warehouse to Tyler, Texas, to Hutchins, Texas, then overland to Encino, N.M., right in the center of the state, where she arrived at 7:20 p.m. on July 14. By the next morning at 6:22 a.m., she was in Essex, Calif., right on the border with Arizona; by 9:21 p.m. that day, she was in Tracy, a logistics hub outside of San Francisco. She got to South San Francisco by 4:18 in the morning on July 16, and then ended up on my doorstep in San Francisco at 2:17 p.m. A very nice FedEx driver named Jemy Balicanta brought her into my apartment building and to my front door, looking a little confused as to why I seemed so awed by the fact that this package had arrived. I kept thinking of the dozens of stops Jani had made along the way, like a pinball bouncing around a crowded machine so much longer than you’d first expect. Before the pandemic, Jani could have gotten from the factory to my doorstep in about 81 days; now it takes 106 days, or, in my case, longer. Jani traveled by truck from the Viahart warehouse to my doorstep Lon Tweeten/TIME If I was awed, Mike Molson Hart was stressed. He’d hoped that Jani would come in before the Christmas rush last year, and anticipated that he’d sell out of plush toys like her. Instead she arrived long after people had completed their holiday shopping. This uncertainty and risk is one more reason prices are going up, he says. If he expected to have 3,000 units in stock for the holiday season, but only got 1,000, he has to raise prices to compensate for the delayed stock, and so he can pay his bills. “That’s what’s happening everywhere,” he says. When there’s more demand than there is supply, businesses can charge more. Jani the giraffe at home in San Francisco. Kelsey McClellan for TIME When we spoke, Jani’s price still wasn’t listed above $100 on Amazon, and I asked Hart why. The toy company Melissa and Doug sells a similar giraffe, he says. If Hart raises his prices on Amazon and his competitors don’t, consumers won’t buy from him. But as we talked, he noticed that Melissa and Doug’s giraffe was listed as Out of Stock—probably because of some of the supply chain snafus Jani had experienced. “Well maybe we can raise the price,” he said. Jani is standing in my living room, alongside my son’s bright plastic piano and stuffed animals and plastic laptop and all sorts of other brightly-colored toys that I’m pretty sure also came all the way from China. It’s a little depressing to think of all the energy that was expended to get those toys across the sea, through the ports, on the railways, and in a truck, to my doorstep. If prices for all those cheap Chinese toys go up, I can’t really be upset. A journey that is that much of a headache should cost something, after all. The Leadership Brief. Conversations with the most influential leaders in business and tech. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. 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The American artist, who died on Aug. 19, is remembered through the writing of the TIME art critic Robert Hughes.

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Just as Chuck Close’s enormous works of art loomed over their onlookers, his legacy looms large over the modern art world. Close, a gruff iconoclast and minimalist who created Photorealist portraits across five decades, died on Thursday in New York at 81. He leaves behind a complicated legacy: he is one of the most recognized and influential artists of the last century and a National Medal of Arts recipient, but also was accused of verbal sexual harassment by several women late in his career. Close’s work transfixed and stymied many art critics, including Robert Hughes, the often scathing and highly influential writer who served as TIME’s chief art critic for more than three decades. Between 1977 and 1998, Hughes wrote three major pieces about Close, each of them in turn skeptical and glowing. Together, they show the magnitude of Close’s talent and impact. You can read them in full below. The minimalist upstart In the late 1960s, the Pop art of Andy Warhol, Roy Lichtenstein and others ruled over the art world with their works of abstraction, animation and vibrancy. Close, who was at the time a graduate student at Yale, initially started making art in the realm of Abstract Expressionism, but soon abandoned the effort and turned to painting hyper-literal reproductions of photographs. These works—of himself and other artists, including Warhol—were unemotional and unflinching in their gnarly detail. His work caught the attention of Hughes in 1973, who wrote in TIME lamenting that Close had not been included in that year’s Whitney Biennial. Four years later, Hughes profiled Close after he opened an exhibition at the Pace Gallery, which included three of his “large head” works. Some aspects of Close’s work clearly disgusted Hughes: “Close’s mixture of size and precision is disorienting. Faces would look like this to a louse, if lice could scan them: a fleshy landscape, dried salt pans of flaky skin, monstrous glittering folds of mucous membrane, each wrinkle a canyon, the nose a mountain, lakes for eyes,” he wrote. “The effect is both real and hallucinatory at once.” But while Hughes called Close’s works “troubling,” he conceded their innovation: “He is perhaps the only artist of his generation who has really extended the meaning of portraiture.” The modern art titan By 1980, Close was a certified star in the art world, and received his first major retrospective at the Walker Art Center. When that retrospective made its way to Whitney, Hughes profiled him again and interviewed Close about his process. “I want the thinnest, most ethereal possible paint film, with colors built by superimposing one color over another so that there’s almost nothing there—you could take your fingernail and scratch it off,” Close told him. “It is rather like magic. When I get to the last color, yellow, you can’t see the pigment come out of the air brush—it’s like waving a magic wand in front of the picture, and the purple eye becomes brown. It’s really quite wonderful; there are a few kicks left in this racket after all, and that’s one of them.” “If you do your job right, if you do it one bit at a time, one piece of information at a time, you can end up with something that has emotional impact without having to resort to emotional gestures,” Close said. Hughes, intrigued but perhaps not entirely convinced, described Close’s work as “unattractive art of striking intelligence.” Turning to abstraction Hughes wrote about Close a final time 15 years after the second profile, as part of a magazine package honoring the ​​”Leaders & Revolutionaries Of The 20th Century.” A lot had changed since Hughes’ last essay: Close had adapted a more painterly style, rendering pores in swirls and splashes of color, and had also suffered from a stroke that paralyzed him from the neck down and forced him to relearn how to paint in a wheelchair with a brush-holding device strapped to his wrist and forearm. But while Hughes might have been skeptical of Close’s early years, he was unabashedly an admirer of Close’s looser, more colorful style, which teemed with pixels filed with amoeba-like shapes. “All the time, the surface gets richer and more baroque, a far cry from the uninviting air of the early work,” Hughes wrote. “Some artists get stuck in their style as they age. Others get wilder; they are among the lucky ones, and this show makes it clear that Close is one of them.” TIME TIME Sign up for our Entertainment newsletter. Subscribe to More to the Story to get the context you need for the pop culture you love. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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Is this Olivia Rodrigo's year? Are Doja Cat and SZA closing in? We discuss the likeliest outcomes.

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time

It’s officially summer—and a weird one at that. While many Americans are enjoying a return to big group gatherings (weddings! Block parties! Live music!), others are still hesitant to jump back in with the specter of COVID-19 not fully in the rearview. Through this uneasy reentry weaves our summer soundscape: the teen angst of Olivia Rodrigo, the lazy sweetness of Justin Bieber and “Peaches,” the disco and soul vibes of Dua Lipa and Silk Sonic. Here’s how we think the annual song of the summer debate could—and should—play out as these hot months unfold. What do the charts say? Raisa Bruner: It depends what chart you look at, of course, but Olivia Rodrigo’s pop-punk hit “Good 4 U” was sitting pretty on both Spotify’s global charts and and Billboard’s Hot 100 as the respective number one and number two in mid-June, making that anthemic send-off song a bona fide summer hit. After that, it gets a little more complicated: BTS’ slick, retro English-language bop “Butter” was basically crafted just for this—one of the lines is “hot like summer,” in case it wasn’t already on-the-nose enough. That, and the support of fans, have meant the strategy is working, with “Butter” topping the Billboard charts and edging out Rodrigo. (It’s not quite as high on streaming, but it may yet climb and secure the crown.) Other contenders: Dua Lipa’s “Levitating” remains in a solid position on the charts, despite having been released more than six months ago, as does Justin Bieber’s “Peaches.” Read more: How Olivia Rodrigo Became America’s Biggest New Pop Star Judy Berman: “Good 4 U” is going to sound great blasting from the stereo systems of cars full of girls who just got their driver’s licenses. Even if it drops out of the top spot, I can see it hanging out in the top 10 for months. If I had to place a bet, that’s where I’d put my money. (Personally, as a “geriatric millennial” who has seen the Breeders live more than once, I would like to see Rodrigo’s ’90s-indie pastiche “Brutal” get more play.) I also feel like there’s room for Doja Cat and SZA’s “Kiss Me More” in this conversation. It is a pretty silly song, but it’s creeping up on Olivia in the Spotify charts. I certainly have a higher tolerance for lovelorn goofiness when temperatures hit 80. Then again, maybe I’m just desperate for a new SZA album and am feasting on any crumbs she has to offer. Andrew R. Chow: I prefer the “Good 4 U”/”Misery Business” mashup! At any rate, I’m not counting out Bad Bunny, either. The Puerto Rican superstar’s latest song “Yonaguni” has racked up a casual 114 million YouTube views and 110 million Spotify streams in the last two weeks alone, and has served as the soundtrack to 500,000 TikTok videos. The song plays to all of Bad Bunny’s melodic strengths, although its moodiness might prevent it from being his biggest club smash—it’s more of a contemplate-love-while-scuba-diving type of vibe. Bunny also sounds great singing in Japanese—and that decision, whether driven by artistic or commercial reasons, could help the song find a lasting audience in the island nation that is the second largest music market in the world behind the U.S., according to the International Federation of the Phonographic Industry. Cady Lang: It’s easy to see just why “Good 4 U” is topping both the Hot 100 and streaming charts right now—it’s angsty fun in the best way, giving you big Gen Z Hayley Williams energy and the perfect chorus to be scream-sung at many karaoke sessions to come. That being said, I’m also banking on Doja Cat and SZA’s effortlessly enjoyable “Kiss Me More” to have some major pull for this year’s song of the summer. We already know that our problematic fave Doja is both queen of the charts and the Internet. This distinction has been confirmed yet again with “Kiss Me More,” which features soundbites made for TikTok challenges (I’ve counted three different ones so far) and, coupled with SZA’s ethereal angel energy and a genius interpolation of Olivia Newton-John’s “Physical,” feels like the electric, thrilling promise of a summer flirtation. Kat Moon: Doja Cat and SZA’s “Kiss Me More” definitely shouldn’t be written off in this conversation. The track hasn’t left the top 10 of Billboard Hot 100 since it entered the chart in April, and it’s not hard to guess why. At that eventual return to the dance floor, what’s more fitting to groove to than a slinky and smooth R&B-infused pop number? Doja Cat and SZA’s satiny voices, along with the silly, yes, but sultry lyrics, create the perfect mood for sensually swaying to the beat. It’s unlikely for the track to fall out of the top spots of the Billboard or Spotify Top 50 charts anytime soon, especially as it will surely get another boost when Doja Cat’s album Planet Her—on which “Kiss Me More” is a lead single—drops on June 25. What do our hearts say? ARC: Country songs can take a while to reach a critical mass, which is why I remain optimistic that 2021 will be the summer of Carly Pearce’s “Next Girl.” The song was released last September and has taken the long way around up the Country Airplay charts, currently cresting at #18 this week. If you heard the song at a crowded bar, you might mistake it for an airy faux-feminist ditty. But over the charming snare shuffle, Pearce weaves an epic tale of heartbreak at the hands of a 21st-century Lothario; it starts with a magical meet-cute and ends with a crushing ghosting, which she recounts to his next potential victim over a soaring, seething bridge: “He’ll make you think it’s love/ But I promise you, it’s nooooooot.” Alongside “Good 4 U,” it’s one of the best uptempo breakup songs in recent memory. RB: “Montero (Call Me By Your Name),” Lil Nas X’s sinuous, flamenco-inflected offering from earlier this winter, has been stuck in my head since it was first released. There is something wonderfully propulsive about the hand-clap beat and the guitar melody. But when I heard Jessie J’s “I Want Love” for the first time in June, I was immediately sold; if there’s any justice in the world, I’d like this big-voiced disco song to be heard everywhere all summer long. It’s like ABBA on steroids, with an “Eye of the Tiger”-style riff undergirding it for good measure, and I can’t get enough. Read More: Lil Nas X on ‘Montero (Call Me By Your Name)’, LGBTQ Representation and the Influence of FKA Twigs JB: Love “Montero.” Love the steady stream of singles from Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion. But without even realizing it, I stumbled into a psych-rock phase when the warmer weather hit in May. I’ve had two songs in particular on repeat. The title track from Painted Shrines’ debut album Heaven and Holy has a wonderful psych-meets-surf-meets-garage-rock bounciness that transports me to a beach party at sunset, with a freshly lit bonfire and a watercolor sky. (If you know Woods, the two acts share a member in Jeremy Earl, and the sounds are pretty similar as well.) I’m also hooked on “Esmerim Güzelim” by the Amsterdam-based, Turkish-psych-inspired Anatolian act Altin Gün—a love song so smooth and slinky it’s practically liquid, with a chorus that will make you want to learn Turkish. In case these tracks sound inaccessible, let me be clear: they are not! Both of these songs are earworms that might’ve been top 10 hits in a different place or time. CL: The vaccine is now (mostly) readily available, the temperatures are going up, and the song that we all need right now is the City Girls’ “Twerkulator,” which made its long-awaited debut this May, just in time for “shot girl summer.” While the song went viral last year after the Miami rap duo’s 2020 album City on Lock was leaked, there were sample clearance issues—the track prominently features Afrika Bambaataa and the Soulsonic Force’s iconic “Planet Rock” and Cajmere’s “Coffee Pot (It’s Time for the Perculator)”— that prevented the song from being released with the album. The samples were worth the wait, however, giving us a high-energy, braggadocious dance track with throwback energy that I’d like to hear at every party this summer. Another song with throwback party vibes that has been on rotation for me is Saweetie’s “Sweat Check,” an upbeat track from her EP Pretty Summer Playlist: Season 1 that sounds like easy and breezy old school West Coast rap, which for me, is exactly what summer should sound like. KM: Silk Sonic left a searing impression when the superduo performed the ‘70s-inspired “Leave the Door Open” at the Grammys. It was a stage to remember: Bruno Mars and Anderson .Paak, dressed in retro fashion, cooed and crooned against a backdrop of twinkling lights reminiscent of the night sky. And whereas many of us initially enjoyed this performance in solitude, we now have the opportunity to collectively sing along to the smooth melodies in public spaces and perhaps even under an IRL night sky. Silk Sonic has not yet announced a release date for its debut album An Evening with Silk Sonic, but until then, I’ll be jamming to “Leave the Door Open.” Another track I will play on repeat in the months to come: K-pop group TWICE’s “Alcohol-Free,” which is a refreshing and delightful ode to summer. The song’s music video shows the nine members dancing by the beach next to a bar boasting a vibrant assortment of drinks. “Mojito with lime, sweet mimosa, pina colada,” member Momo sings in the chorus. I will be dreaming of a seaside vacation—and the tangy refreshment to go with it—as I listen to this breezy bossa nova-styled number. What’s different about this summer? JB: Since we’re in this weird liminal phase between lockdown and full-on, packed-movie-theater, sweaty-dance-floor normalcy, I think we’re going to see a lot of cautiously hedonistic outdoor partying this summer. Pools. Beaches. Parks. Cookouts. Open-air concerts and open-air intoxication. For music, after a 2020 that gave us one indelible banger (“WAP”) and a lot of quieter, more niche stuff, that will probably mean a return to upbeat, crowd-pleasing, sing-along jams. Whatever the song of the summer turns out to be, we’re sure to hear a lot of it, because so much of our recreation is going to happen in public places. I don’t think it’s been done yet, but any artist who can capture the mood of liberation that comes with reopening—something like Diana Ross’ “I’m Coming Out” or “School’s Out” by Alice Cooper—is going to clean up. KM: Unlike past years, the emotions connected to our re-entry to the world will likely play a huge role in determining the song of the summer on an individual level. At that first return to the bar, the rooftop party or, in due time, the concert with live music, there’s bound to be a particular sentiment tied to the songs heard in community. For me, it was at my first visit back to karaoke in the U.S. that Olivia Rodrigo’s “Drivers License” shot up the ranks. While I favor “Deja Vu” and “Good 4 U” out of the artist’s singles dropped ahead of Sour’s release, “Driver’s License” took on special meaning when my friends and I, along with a handful of people I had met for the first time that night, belted to the song’s bridge in unison. Now, the thrill and joy of singing with abandon alongside others—an experience I missed too dearly in 2020—will always flash in my mind when Rodrigo’s viral debut single plays. RB: While many Americans are returning to a “normal” life of sorts—and clubs and bars and parties are back, with New York City even rescinding all restrictions as of June 15—I’m living a slightly different existence, spending my summer in a small town in Idaho. Nightlife consists of three bars. One of them hosts local bands, usually country music, on weekend nights. The other has a jukebox, and the evening’s soundtrack is purely dependent on the whims of the patrons. The only reliable music radio station I can get here is the alt-rock channel, which plays a mix of Twenty One Pilots and Blink-182 from the early 2000s. Because I’m not being exposed to the urban experience and mainstream music consumption, in this small bubble certain songs rise up as unlikely ubiquitous choices: for instance, I’ve noticed that electronic artist Big Wild’s “6’s to 9’s” featuring Rationale gets the people going, whether it’s played on the jukebox at midnight or sung by a campfire with an acoustic guitar. That’s what’s different about this summer in general, I think: we are each having such distinct experiences, depending on our comfort with crowds and our locations and access to normalcy, and perhaps we are more likely than ever before to veer away from whatever is considered officially “popular.” I’ve been going to local outdoor concerts and swing dancing to bluegrass and folk, and while I don’t know many of the songs, the feeling they capture is all I need from my summer of music. And the winner is… “Good 4 U” has a good shot; “Kiss Me More” is hot on its heels. But ultimately the song of the summer is—and should be—a personal choice, a tune to timestamp a few months and bring back waves of nostalgia in future. We’re just grateful for the musical optimism that’s thick in the air. Sign up for our Entertainment newsletter. Subscribe to More to the Story to get the context you need for the pop culture you love. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Write to Raisa Bruner at raisa.bruner@time.com and Cady Lang at cady.lang@timemagazine.com.

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"I get depressed sometimes because I can't provide a safe home for my children."

https://ti.me/3AS2S86

time

When farm worker Pedro Nicolas, 33, looked at the cracks in his plywood roof or smelled the foul water running from his faucet, he worried about Erik and Cinthia, his young son and daughter. “I get depressed sometimes because I can’t provide a safe home for my children,” he said. Like so many low-wage workers in California’s Eastern Coachella Valley, Nicolas had few options besides the Oasis Mobile Home Park—an un-permitted sprawl of crumbling trailers in an unincorporated community on tribal land, in the desert. He felt like he’d fallen through a crack in the world. Life here had been hard for decades. And the climate crisis was making it harder. As temperatures rose, the power failed, and the arsenic levels in Oasis’s well water increased. Less than 30 minutes away lay lush carpets of golf-course grass and shimmering blue pools, amenities to cool the more affluent residents of Palm Springs and the rest of the western Coachella Valley. Just a 10 minute drive from Nicolas’s mobile home was the Thermal Club, where millionaires lounged in multi-million-dollar villas and drove luxury race cars around a private racetrack. Between this world and Oasis is what’s known as the “climate gap,” a literal gap in temperature and infrastructure, but also a gap in suffering due to the climate crisis. The harms of this crisis are disproportionately and increasingly borne by people of color and those in poverty. As the crisis grows, these gaps are growing—and becoming more glaring—across the United States and the world. In this short documentary, Nicolas works to close that gap—and he succeeds, in part. But this is just the beginning of an ongoing struggle to protect his family and his children. Get our climate newsletter. Learn how the week’s major news story connects back to the climate crisis. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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According to a recent study, Black and Hispanic residents of U.S. cities are around twice as exposed as white people to the “urban heat island effect.” Jane Gilbert’s job is to redress those imbalances in Miami and get all areas of the local government working towards a cooler county.

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Jane Gilbert knows she doesn’t get the worst of the sticky heat and humidity that stifles Miami each summer. She lives in Morningside, a coastal suburb of historically preserved art deco and Mediterranean-style single-family homes. Abundant trees shade the streets and a bay breeze cools residents when they leave their air conditioned cars and homes. “I live in a place of privilege and it’s a beautiful area,” says Gilbert, 58, over Zoom in early June, shortly after beginning her job as the world’s first chief heat officer, in Miami Dade county. “But you don’t have to go far to see the disparity.” A mile or two inland, in lower income, mostly Black and Latino neighborhoods like Little Haiti, Little Havana and Liberty City, tree cover can be as little as 10%, compared to around 40% in upscale coastal areas, according to Gilbert. Residents wait for buses on unshaded benches. Many can’t afford to buy or run an AC unit. “You can’t be outside for more than five minutes without feeling faint because there’s no shade. Then inside a lot of homes, the buildings haven’t been fixed up in a very long time, so you get holes in the wall and mold,” says Stibalys Gomez, a 24-year-old community organizer and amateur boxer. “We have a lot of older people here, older Hispanics with respiratory problems, including my grandmother. I’m really worried about them this summer.” As the climate changes, everyone is feeling the heat. A historical heatwave continues to rage across the western U.S., while in Miami, the heat index—which accounts for heat and humidity—was higher in June than in any month since August 2015. It’s not just a nuisance. Extreme heat contributed to the deaths of around 12,000 people in the U.S. each year between 2010 and 2020, according to a study by the University of Washington—more than any other extreme weather event. By 2100, the annual toll could be as high as 97,000. In cities, though, how you experience all of those impacts depends on your race and your zip code. According to a study published in the journal Nature in May, Black and Hispanic residents of U.S. cities are around twice as exposed as white people to the “urban heat island effect”—where paved streets and buildings absorb more heat than grass and trees would, driving the temperature up compared to surrounding areas. People living below the poverty line are 50% more exposed to the heat island effect than wealthier people. Gilbert’s job is to redress those imbalances in Miami and get all areas of the local government working towards a cooler county. Working under Mayor Daniella Levine Cava, she’ll plant new trees, create better infrastructure for heat emergencies, and inform people about their needs and rights during the heat. The heat officer role—which will also be adopted soon by Athens, Greece and Freetown, Sierra Leone—reflects a reckoning on heat unfolding in cities across the world. Local leaders are trying to escape reliance on AC—responsible for a significant share of cities’ greenhouse gas emissions—and find fairer, more sustainable solutions. Paris is ripping up rock and asphalt surfaces in the city center to replace them with urban forests. Montreal is campaigning for residents to check in on neighbors during heatwaves. Cities in India are taking part in a national competition to drive the construction of thousands of heat-reflecting cool roofs on buildings in informal neighborhoods. “Before, heat was something many of these cities had to deal with once or twice a year and now it’s something they have to be able to manage regularly,” says Laurian Farrel, North America director at the Resilient Cities Network .“Most cities are reaching a tipping point.” Gilbert says the lessons of the pandemic are shaping the way governments deal with climate threats like heat. “During the pandemic we’ve seen that our most vulnerable are the most at risk from COVID—elderly people, outdoor workers, minority populations, low income areas,” Gilbert says. “And it’s the same with heat: they’re the ones that we need to double down on protecting.” Miamians spend time in Legion Park. One of Gilbert's goals is to increase green space and tree cover across the county. Jeffrey Greenberg—Universal Image/Getty Images Oppressive heat rising When Gilbert relocated to Miami from the northeast in 1995, the tropical heat was “a big part of the draw,” she says. She grew up in Connecticut and studied environmental science at Barnard College in New York. But after graduating in 1987, she quickly realized her “system just does better” in warmer climes, and spent several years doing work around Central and South America, first as an assistant producer on a documentary series about solutions to deforestation, and later as a consultant assessing environmental health risks. She made her home in Miami, and spent two decades working in human rights and community development, before becoming the city of Miami’s first chief resilience officer in 2016, overseeing efforts to adapt the county to climate change.. Over that time, the heat has become a bigger and bigger problem. “I have felt the shift: the summers are longer and there are more oppressive high heat days,” Gilbert says. Per a 2018 study by a group of climate researchers, Miami now experiences 133 high heat days each year on average—27 more than it did in 1995. By 2075, the number is projected to hit 162. Yet heat has failed to compete for media and government attention with Miami’s other major climate challenge: sea level rise. That may be due to the fact that the coastal communities most exposed to rising waters are wealthier and whiter, with more influence, says Mayra Cruz, climate justice director at Catalyst, a local nonprofit. During 2020, Catalyst ran a series of focus groups with members of low-income communities in the city on climate change and health, and found that heat was one of their two main concerns (the other was the gentrification of areas that are safer from sea level rise). Despite that, Cruz says, “until very recently, we haven’t gotten the cue from the city or county governments that heat is a priority for them.” For decades, heat was seen as a problem with a simple solution: switching on the AC. Florida lays claim to the “father of air conditioning,” John Gorrie, a physician who in the 1840’s used basins of ice suspended from the ceiling to cool yellow fever patients, paving the way for the invention of mechanical cooling devices. After AC started to become more widely available in the 1950’s, the number of people living in Florida and the rest of the sunbelt region rose rapidly, with their share of the U.S. population jumping from 28% in 1950 to 40% in 2000. A 2015 government survey found that 87% of U.S. households have some form of AC, rising to 94% in regions with hot and humid climates. But AC is expensive. When a household buys an AC unit, its annual electricity spend goes up by between 35% and 42%, according to a 2020 study of eight wealthy countries. In Miami, Cruz says, some low-income residents have stopped running their AC as much as they used to even as temperatures rise because of high electric bills. During the pandemic, she adds, many people said they were forced to risk COVID-19 infection in malls and other crowded public places to cool down. City-wide dependence on AC is also risky. Not only do units give off heat as they run, raising the temperature in city streets and worsening the urban heat island effect, they put huge amounts of pressure on electricity grids. Research published in May found that the number of annual major “blackout” events doubled across five large U.S. cities between 2015 and 2020, and these were more likely to take place in summer. The researchers also found that when major blackouts coincide with heatwaves, at least 68% of people living in cities are exposed to indoor temperatures that can cause heat exhaustion or heat stroke. Perhaps worst of all, AC may be trapping the world in a vicious cycle: as the greenhouse effect warms the Earth, more people around the world are buying air conditioning units and using them more often; energy demand for cooling could triple by 2050, according to the International Energy Agency. There are ways to reduce the carbon emissions generated by AC—either by scaling up new low-carbon cooling technologies, or by transitioning the electrical grid to clean sources of energy like wind and solar. But with the tech far from being deployed at scale and a carbon-free grid 15 years away under optimistic plans from the Biden Administration, for now increasing AC use will continue to increase the concentration of greenhouse gases in the atmosphere, which will continue to raise the temperature. Those long-term impacts of AC present a conundrum for people like Gilbert, who want to avoid worsening the situation for their most vulnerable residents down the line, but also need to protect them today. “We can’t mandate things that are going to be counter to people’s health,” Gilbert says. “But it’s critical that we create strategies that are win-win that are going to reduce our overall emissions, as well as protect people.” A technician controls an electric switch board connecting homes to privately-owned electricity generators in a suburb of Iraq's capital Baghdad on June 30, 2021 as the national electric grid is experiencing outages amidst a severe heat wave. Ahmad Al-Rubaye—Getty Images/AFP Solving the AC dilemma Gilbert is now in charge of creating a plan to keep the county cool in a safer and more equitable way—she says it will be ready for review by the mayor and the county commission “probably in 10 months.” The heat plan will expand Miami Dade’s weatherization program, a multimillion-dollar fund that helps struggling residents make their homes more energy efficient and more able to withstand weather. It includes money for newer AC systems (which use less energy and contain less environmentally damaging substances than older units), but also home repairs and building improvements which are essential for keeping cool air inside. The plan will also look at strategies to discourage retail spaces from blasting AC while keeping their doors open, Gilbert says. Another major priority is better educating people about the risks of heat. Advocates say that a lack of awareness about the health risks of extreme heat is a big reason that it’s so deadly. To some extent, it’s a failure of marketing; the Extreme Heat Resilience Alliance—launched in 2020 by the Adrienne Arsht-Rockefeller Foundation Resilience Center—argues that if we named heatwaves in the same way we name tropical storms, it would lead people to take heat seriously. Indeed, the group is launching pilot projects to categorize heatwaves, and assessing methods for naming them, in parts of the U.S. this summer. In Miami, Gilbert will co-chair a Climate and Heat Health Task Force made up of local health experts, business figures and academics, among others, that will study the health impacts of heat across the county. Based on their work, the city will come up with campaigns to inform residents about the symptoms of heat-related illnesses. They will also reach out to outdoor workers and businesses to make sure they understand both the legal right to a safe workplace and solutions to heat: keeping drinking water available, taking shade breaks, or changing work schedules. Across the city, Gilbert will create “resilience centers” where residents can go to cool off and hydrate during heat waves, particularly when there are power blackouts at the same time. But Miami also needs better data to address its heat problem. The county currently issues its heat warnings based on temperatures taken at the National Weather Service station at Miami International Airport. But because of the unequal distribution of the urban heat island effect, some parts of town are as much as 10°F warmer than those readings, Cruz says. “That means there are heat advisories that should be happening that aren’t.” In partnership with Florida International University, Catalyst is running a “citizen science project” to install heat and humidity sensors across town, which should soon allow authorities to warn people about heat risks on a more local level. There will be more visible changes to the urban landscape, too. Miami Dade has a goal of increasing its tree canopy to 30% by 2030 from a little under 20% now, county wide. “It can be 30°F cooler outside under tree cover than in an open pavement area,” Gilbert says. “But trees also sequester carbon, absorb stormwater, and have mental health benefits.” The parks department is leading the charge, prioritizing low-income neighborhoods as well as sidewalks, footpaths and bus stops. (Shading them will be essential to convincing Miamians to walk, cycle and use public transit to reach the city’s emissions goals, Gilbert says). The iconic palm trees that line Miami Beach are slowly being replaced by shade-giving trees. Giveaways of fruit trees by the county’s Department of Environmental Resources Management—given to 200,000 residents so far—allow individuals to begin creating shade in their outside space. Miami has plenty of ambitious examples to look to as it tries to adapt to the warming of our climate. In July 2020, Arnhem, a town of 150,000 people in the Netherlands, announced a plan to reduce the amount of asphalt and hard surfaces by 10% by 2030—including by ripping up roads on underused four-lane highways—and replace them with grass and trees. The local government is trying to get out ahead of a trend of more people in the town buying AC—far less ubiquitous in most of the E.U. than in the U.S.—after a series of unusually strong heat waves over the last three years, says Cathelijne Bouwkamp, the city alderman. “We are not accustomed to think about heat like this, so we didn’t make our city climate proof and heat proof. Now we need to.” In India, cities are more used to a hot climate, but with summer temperatures now reaching increasingly dangerous heights, officials are urgently trying to create more comprehensive heat strategies, says Polash Mukherjee, lead on climate resilience at non-profit National Resource Defense Council’s India program. Ahmedabad, a city of 5.6 million in the west of the country, is one clear example: a 2010 heat wave there saw temperatures reaching 116°F, contributing to the deaths of more than 1,300 people. Afterwards, Ahmedabad created a “heat action plan,” a first among India’s large cities. It included policy changes, like programs to send SMS and Whatsapp messages to warn residents about high heat days, to distribute pamphlets on the symptoms of heat stress to reduce the number of hours that construction workers can legally work outside on high heat days; and to force hospitals to move critical care patients to lower floors less exposed to heat. The plan was credited with curbing the city’s loss of life in later heat waves and it has been used as a guideline by more than 100 Indian cities, Mukherjee says. “We’ve really seen a shift over the last two years.” Men rest on a cart under a bridge near Sabarmati river during a hot day in Ahmedabad, India, on May 28, 2019. Sam Panthaky—Getty Images Recognizing the link between equity and climate resilience Climate experts have long warned that the impacts of climate change—driven by the high-emitting activities of wealthier people and countries—would fall most heavily on poorer people and countries that don’t have the resources to deal with them. In Miami, activists like Gomez and Cruz have fought to convince local authorities to pony up resources to adapt to the climate issues that most affect vulnerable groups. Their efforts finally appear to be paying off. “I think we’re starting to see that shift. I think Jane’s appointment probably starts to mark the change in the tides,” Cruz says. “Pun intended, I guess.” Farrel, of the Resilient Cities network, says that a similar shift in attitude is taking place in many cities around the world in the wake of the pandemic. The spread of COVID-19 in lower-income neighborhoods, where people couldn’t afford to take time off work to isolate, or where housing was overcrowded or hygiene infrastructure lacking, showed local governments that at times of crisis, their failure to invest in the most vulnerable can put the entire city at risk. “Before, many people understood the idea of resilience, but the pandemic made them feel it,” Farrel says. “Without equity, cities cannot be resilient.” On a global level, there’s a long way to go to achieve that equity and resilience. Since 2009, rich countries have repeatedly pledged to mobilize $100 billion each year in climate finance—money to help poorer countries adapt to climate change—every year from 2020 onwards. The latest figures on finance suggest wealthy countries are falling anywhere between $21 billion and $81 billion short of that goal, depending on what kinds of finance you count. And crucially, though the pledge was for a 50/50 split between funding to help countries reduce emissions and funding to adapt to climate change, the latter receives just 5% of tracked climate finance, according to research group the Climate Policy Initiative. Only a handful of rich countries—including Germany, Canada, the U.K., New Zealand and Luxembourg—have announced significant increases to their climate finance pledges this year. “The finances committed so far are vastly inadequate,” says Sonam P. Wangdi, chair of the 46-member group of Least Developed Countries, who leads international climate negotiations on the group’s behalf. The need to scale up support for adaptation will be a major priority for the group at COP26, the U.N. climate conference due to take place in November in Glasgow, Scotland. “Climate change is a global problem just like the pandemic and without that solidarity there, we won’t be able to solve it.” On a local level at least, Gilbert hopes the heat, which everyone can feel, even if they don’t experience its worst impact, will be an opportunity to build solidarity on climate. ‘We have many conservative-leaning residents as well as progressive, but [few] deny climate change, because it’s a real threat here,” she says. “We need to come into better relationships with our natural world, but also with each other.” Get our climate newsletter. Learn how the week’s major news story connects back to the climate crisis. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Write to Ciara Nugent at ciara.nugent@time.com.

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Twitter pushed back against growing public pressure to end anonymity on the platform to prevent racist attacks on sports players of color, in a blog post published Tuesday.

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time

Twitter pushed back against growing public pressure to end anonymity on the platform to prevent racist attacks on sports players of color, in a blog post published Tuesday. Three Black players on England’s soccer team received torrents of racist abuse on Twitter and Instagram after missing goal opportunities in the final of the Euro 2020 tournament in June. Twitter said it removed more than 2,000 posts in total for racist abuse relating to the final. Many of the U.K.’s major sporting bodies, as well as the public and media commentators, responded to the abuse by calling on social media platforms to end online anonymity and force users to sign up using official ID documents. More than 690,000 people signed a petition calling on the U.K. government to make verified forms of ID a legal requirement for new social media accounts. “It’s time tech firms ban all anonymous accounts and insist on ID so we can see how brave these bigoted scumbags feel when they’re made accountable,” wrote Piers Morgan, a columnist for British tabloid the Daily Mail. The Premier League also called on social media platforms to subject all users to an “improved verification process” that would help law enforcement identify the people behind any accounts that are involved in racist abuse. “We cannot succeed until you change the ability of offenders to remain anonymous,” the League wrote in a letter to the CEOs of Twitter and Facebook (which owns Instagram) in April 2021. However, in the report published Tuesday, Twitter poured cold water on the idea that anonymity is a significant driver of racism online. The company said that 99% of accounts suspended for racist abuse after the Euro 2020 final were not anonymous. “Our data suggests that ID verification would have been unlikely to prevent the abuse from happening—as the accounts we suspended themselves were not anonymous.” Anonymity: ‘a convenient scapegoat’ The news was welcomed by digital activists who had come out in support of online anonymity. “Twitter’s confirmation that most of the accounts associated with racist attacks during the Euro 2020 final were not anonymous is further proof that anonymity is not the problem, but instead a convenient scapegoat,” says Melody Patry, advocacy director at Access Now, a digital rights group. “Addressing online abuse means having the political will and resources to tackle racism, the root cause of the attacks. That’s true for the platforms as well as governments.” “As long as racism exists offline, we will continue to see people try and bring these views online—it is a scourge technology cannot solve alone,” Twitter said in the blog post. “Everyone has a role to play—including the government and the football authorities—and ​​we will continue to call for a collective approach to combat this deep societal issue.” Twitter said it was trialing temporary automatic blocking of accounts that use harmful language and it was rolling out prompts that encourage users to rethink the words they use in replies. Read more: Online Anonymity Isn’t Driving Abuse of Black Sports Stars. Systemic Racism Is The U.K. government has said that its upcoming online safety legislation will “address anonymous harmful activity.” But it has signaled that it is wary of forcing users to sign up to social media with official identification. “User ID verification for social media could disproportionately impact vulnerable users and interfere with freedom of expression,” the government said in a response to the petition calling for such a policy. Hate crime In the U.K., posting racist comments online targeting specific individuals can be prosecuted as a hate crime. Twitter and Instagram said they had removed thousands of racist comments in the wake of the Euro 2020 final, yet the U.K.’s National Police Chief’s Council (NPCC) released a statement on Aug. 5 saying that of 207 posts deemed to be criminal, only 34 (16%) had come from accounts in Britain, and 11 arrests related to the abuse had been made. Some observers initially suspected that users in other countries were largely responsible for the bulk of the racist tweets. “I know a lot of that [abuse] has come from abroad, people who track these things are able to explain that, but not all of it,” said the England team’s manager, Gareth Southgate, in the immediate aftermath of the team’s defeat. A lawmaker in the ruling Conservative Party, Michael Fabricant, even called on the government to investigate how much abuse had come from outside the U.K. “Is it overseas fans or foreign states attempting to destabilize our society?” he wrote in a letter to the Home Secretary. “I hope…this abuse is not home grown.” Twitter’s report on Tuesday may have dashed such hopes. “While many have quite rightly highlighted the global nature of the conversation, it is also important to acknowledge that the U.K. was—by far—the largest country of origin for the abusive tweets we removed on the night of the Final and in the days that followed,” the company said. A Twitter spokesperson declined to provide the underlying statistics. In a statement to TIME on Wednesday, a spokesperson for the NPCC explained the discrepancy by saying Twitter’s reference to more than 2,000 racist tweets “relate[s] to a different category of posts” than those police investigated and that not all racist posts had been reported to law enforcement. “Our investigative update focused on the 207 posts that had met the criminal threshold out of 600 posts that were flagged to us from across social media platforms by individuals, charities and clubs,” the statement said. “We investigate those reports and referrals that we receive. Posts that don’t meet the criminal threshold are a matter for social media companies.” The NPCC said on Aug. 5 that it was still waiting for social media companies to share information about 50 (24%) of the 207 accounts deemed to have tweeted racist abuse that met the criminal threshold. Read more: Black England Soccer Players Are Being Racially Abused on Social Media. How Can the Platforms Do Better? The delay hints at another potential roadblock for arrests: social media companies themselves. The platforms tend to safeguard their users’ data from law enforcement requests. Twitter transparency data show that in the second half of 2020, the most recent period for which numbers are available, Twitter complied with just 33.6% of requests for user information from UK law enforcement, the company’s lowest rate of compliance since 2015. Twitter’s resistance to demands from police has won the company praise in other countries. It has refused thousands of requests by the Indian government to hand over data on users such as dissidents and political opponents. But in the U.K., footballing bodies have criticized social media companies’ hesitance to hand over data. In April, the Premier League boycotted Twitter and Instagram for several days over what it said was a failure to tackle racist abuse, specifically calling on the companies to “actively and expeditiously assist the investigating authorities in identifying the originators of illegal discriminatory material.” Twitter did not respond to a request for comment. Still, in the case of the Euro 2020 tournament, U.K. police say platforms were quicker to act than they are during the rest of the football season, when racist abuse does not go away. “We have only been able to progress the investigations and make early arrests because the social media platforms have turned our requests around so promptly,” said Chief Constable Mark Roberts, the UK National Police Chiefs’ Council lead for football policing, in a statement to TIME. “My hope and expectation is that the same level of responsiveness is carried forward as we need to relentlessly tackle hate crime 365 days a year and not just during tournaments.” The Leadership Brief. Conversations with the most influential leaders in business and tech. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Write to Billy Perrigo at billy.perrigo@time.com.

Article

But creating a new industry from scratch won't be easy.

https://ti.me/3AYmF5w

time

Until recently, the West African nation of Senegal was handling COVID-19 well. Public health measures included rapid testing, nighttime curfews, a ban on large gatherings, mandatory mask-wearing and the temporary closure of its borders. Cases remained low for the first 18 months of the pandemic, and in an assessment by Foreign Policy of 36 governments in their responses to the pandemic, it came second only to New Zealand. But now the country — and surrounding region — is struggling to keep up with a third wave of COVID-19, fueled by the more transmissible Delta variant. Until the end of June, Senegal had registered a total of just under 44,000 confirmed COVID-19 cases. Since then, it has recorded more than 26,000 cases and more than 400 deaths. Senegal’s hospitals are close to being overwhelmed. In the capital Dakar, two large care centers for critically ill COVID-19 patients, Hospital Center University De Fann and Dalal Diam hospital are full. “So the other hospitals just do with what they have,” says Nicolas Mouly, head of the Alliance for International Medical Action’s emergency response (ALIMA), which has been supporting coronavirus treatment in Senegal. Dr. Alioune Badara Ly, director of Senegal’s Health Emergency Operations Center, who is leading the country’s public health response to COVID-19, says hospitals have added 700 more beds but capacity is still stretched. “It’s particularly during this third wave which we’ve had to face the Delta variant that Senegal has struggled and that’s because of the increased transmissibility of the variant and the increased demand on oxygen,” he said. “Senegal consumed in three months the amount of oxygen that it usually consumes in a whole year.” It’s the same story elsewhere in the region. Across Africa, COVID-19 related deaths skyrocketed by 80% over the past month, according to the World Health Organization. Dr. Phionah Atuhebwe, WHO’s vaccine introduction officer for the African region, tells TIME that demand for medical oxygen is estimated to be 50 times higher than at the same time last year. “There is limited production capacity on the continent because of too few production plants, mainly of which are in disrepair or poorly maintained,” she says. “We have reached a breaking point.” ‘The vaccines have not arrived.’ In Senegal, experts say the increased transmissibility of new variants has powered the third wave, as well as relaxed adherence to social distancing measures during Muslim celebrations for Eid al-Adha in mid-July, known locally as Tabaski. But the crucial missing piece of the public health puzzle is vaccines. Fewer than 2% of Senegal’s 16 million people are fully vaccinated — a rate that matches that of the 1.2 billion people in the continent as a whole. This is less to do with demand than supply, according to Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus, the director general of the WHO. “Many African countries have prepared well to roll out vaccines, but the vaccines have not arrived,” he said at a press briefing on July 30. Read more: Tedros Adhanom Ghebreysus on Why There Should Be a Moratorium on COVID-19 Booster Shots After COVID-19 hit, most African countries were unable to compete with wealthy Western countries in the race to buy shots, and instead relied on the global vaccine-sharing initiative called Covax, that mainly sourced vaccines from the Serum Institute of India. However, exports halted as India looked after its own vaccination needs in curbing a deadly wave earlier this year. A flurry of new donations from Europe, China, and the U.S. have since boosted supplies. Around 91 million doses have arrived to date, though that still only covers fewer than 10% of Africa’s population. Now, several countries across Africa are attempting to take matters into their own hands, by boosting manufacturing themselves. Currently the only coronavirus vaccine facility in Africa is South Africa’s Aspen Pharmacare, which produces the Johnson & Johnson shot yet cannot control where vaccines are allocated — some 32 million doses bottled and packed in South Africa were was shipped abroad. In Senegal, the Institut de Pasteur in Dakar is building a manufacturing plant in the hopes of starting production of COVID-19 vaccines later this year. Its goal is to produce 25 million doses per month by the end of 2022. But creating a facility — and an industry to match — from scratch is a huge challenge. The facility received 6.75 million euros ($8 million) from European countries and institutions, and the U.S. government’s International Development Finance Corporation (DFC) has also committed $3.3 million towards it. So far DFC has struck deals with India’s Biological E, South Africa’s Aspen and Senegal as part of its overall goal to help vaccine producers in poorer countries. U.S. officials told TIME they hoped to work with more African countries to ramp up production quickly. “But we are quite a way off from finding viable deals to invest in or even from proposals for grants yet from anybody else except for the few in South Africa and Senegal,” says Jim Polan, vice president of the office of development credit at the DFC. India’s production capabilities took decades to establish, DFC officials point out. Building a similar footprint for the African continent “takes time,” says Nafisa Jiwani, managing director for health initiatives at the DFC. “It’s been extraordinarily quick for this sort of thing,” says Polan. ”[But] we can’t create the expertise and the necessary infrastructure from scratch at the beginning — that really has to come from a sponsor,” he adds. Creating a new industry from scratch Belgian biotech group Univercells will deliver that technology know-how to Institut Pasteur, a deal formalized after President Macky Sall’s visit to Belgium on April 13. Under the agreement, the Institut Pasteur would use Univercells’ manufacturing technology to supply COVID-19 viral vector vaccines such as those developed by Johnson & Johnson or AstraZeneca to countries across West Africa. It’s thought that the total cost of the project could be $200 million. “We can help secure the appropriate license, manage the tech transfer over to Senegal, and make sure that the facility is constructed according to the appropriate processes and protocols needed to make that vaccine,” Univercells chief investment officer Kate Antrobus, tells TIME. The larger issue here, and a challenge for Africa as a whole, is that 99% of all medicines used on the continent are imported. The European Union has committed €1 billion towards vaccine and medicine production in Africa, in alignment with an African Union goal for up to 60% of routine vaccines to be produced within the continent by 2040. But right now the infrastructure is extremely limited; there are only 10 African manufacturers that produce vaccines against any disease. “What that also says is that there is not an enormous pool of [qualified] vaccine manufacturing staff or workforce to draw from,” Antrobus says. Univercells says it could outsource staff to the new facility until local staff are sufficiently trained to run operations, but emphasizes that there’s a desperate need for capability building from scratch. “In Belgium, if Univercells wants to hire there are a lot of other vaccine producers and an entire economic system and university degrees based around creating that workforce. Whereas I think Senegal in particular must actually try to seed and create that new industry.” Other challenges remain. Senegal still requires a contract from a vaccine manufacturer or patent holder such as Johnson & Johnson. Some countries including South Africa and India have pushed for the World Trade Organization to temporarily suspend intellectual property rights on coronavirus vaccines — a waiver that has been backed by the WHO. But Antrobus says much more is required of patent holder than just the recipe for a vaccine. “Without the active participation of the knowledge owner — not just saying here’s my equipment, but saying I will take you step by step through how you use it — you can’t make a vaccine.” ‘We need that capacity on the ground.’ In the meantime, Senegal aims to continue to seek out vaccines through Covax as well as purchase extra doses on its own. It was one of the first African countries to kickstart its vaccination drive using Sinopharm doses bought from China, and sharing its shots with neighbors Guinea Bissau and Gambia. “The production of vaccines in Senegal will of course happen alongside other bilateral initiatives,” says Dr. Ly. “It’s obviously important to keep vaccinating the population before 2022.” So far Senegal has vaccinated over a million people, according to Dr. Ly. The country has learned that “organizing ourselves to be able to guarantee a quick and effective response” is very important in terms of preparing for large scale health disasters such as Ebola and COVID-19. For WHO’s Dr. Atuhebwe, production in countries like Senegal is about future proofing the region’s response to potential new viruses. She estimates richer nations “have delivered 61 times more doses than the African continent.” “We cannot accept or stand to be dependent again like we have been in 2021, it has really been extremely painful,” says Dr. Atuhebwe. “We need that capacity on the ground.” Get The Brief. Sign up to receive the top stories you need to know right now. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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To date, the Iranian government has reported approximately 93,000 COVID-19 deaths since the beginning of the pandemic. However, official death tolls are strongly disputed by physicians and ordinary Iranians.

https://ti.me/3jXpPjk

time

In January, Iranian Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei made the sudden announcement that American and British-made COVID-19 vaccines would be “forbidden” as they were “completely untrustworthy.” Almost nine months later, Iran is facing its worst surge in the virus to date — a record number of deaths and infections per day with nearly 4.2 million COVID-19 patients across the country, and a healthcare system near collapse. “It’s a catastrophe; and there is nothing we can do,” said an anesthesiology resident in one of Tehran’s public hospitals who due to the current surge is tasked to oversee the ICU ward for COVID-19 patients. “We can’t treat them nor help them; so all I can ask people to do is to stay home and do whatever it takes to not get exposed.” The doctor requested anonymity in order to speak freely; others interviewed by TIME asked to be identified only by their first name. The scale of the crisis is such that doctors feel they have no choice but to speak openly about it, in a regime that ordinarily does not tolerate dissent. On Aug. 10, in an emotional plea for help in Iran’s second most populous city of Mashhad, Dr. Nafiseh Saghafi, the head of gynecology and obstetrics department of Mashhad University of Medical Sciences compared the city’s COVID-19 crisis to that of the horrors of war and begged authorities to do “whatever it takes to help save people’s lives.” Speaking in an audio recording she described the scenes at her hospital (Quaem) a “devastating humanitarian crisis like no other.” To date, the Iranian government has reported approximately 93,000 COVID-19 deaths since the beginning of the pandemic. However, official death tolls are strongly disputed by physicians and ordinary Iranians. According to analysis published in Iran’s reformist Etemad newspaper on Aug. 14, based on the newly released statistics from the country’s “National Organization for Civil Registration,” fatalities caused by COVID-19 are in fact almost 194,000 — a number that some, including reformist politicians and former Presidential hopeful, Mostafa Tajzadeh, have compared to the martyrs of the Iran-Iraq war. Iran’s COVID-19 task force chief, Dr. Alireza Zali admitted on Aug. 11 that since the early days of the pandemic Iran had declined to cooperate with the World Health Organization (WHO), to report accurate statistics on the number of infections and deaths, or spend money on buying vaccines. In what has become an ongoing public spat among exiting and sitting government officials, Zali’s remarks were immediately challenged by the outgoing Foreign Minister, Javad Zarif. In an Instagram post he defended the Rouhani administration’s diplomatic efforts in securing Russian and Chinese vaccines and helping maneuver the crippling U.S and E.U. sanctions that continue to affect Iran’s healthcare sector. Over the years Iran’s economy including its medical and healthcare sector have been choked by sanctions, especially the Trump administration’s maximum pressure campaign. As a result, foreign transactions with Europe and many other countries are hampered, causing severe delivery delays and shortage of medicine and medical equipment. In June, the U.S. eased the path for imports of coronavirus-related products, including vaccines, to heavily sanctioned countries like Iran, Syria and Venezuela. But ordinary Iranians say they are not seeing the impact of these restrictions being lifted. The slow rollout of COVID-19 vaccines Within Iran, many blame internal corruption, economic mismanagement and the Supreme Leader’s January edict for the country’s lamentable vaccination rate. By the government’s own count, it has fully vaccinated only 3.5 million of its 80 million population. Amir-Ali, a marketing executive in his 40s lost his 78-year-old mother with no serious pre-existing conditions to COVID-19 in May. “Had the government allowed the import of vaccines, had there been management and transparency, my mother would still be alive,” he said. The regime has so far managed to import a little over 21 million doses of vaccines through a variety of available channels; through China, it has secured over 14 million Sinopharm doses that account for over 67 percent of inoculations in Iran. One million doses of Russia’s Sputnik were among the first delivered batches that were mainly used for frontline healthcare workers. Japan has donated 2.9 million AstraZeneca jabs. Iran’s homemade “Barekat” vaccine accounts for less than seven percent of the used shots, despite initial hype by the regime including the Supreme Leader being photographed receiving his dose. In late spring, Iran scrambled to pay millions of dollars through Iraq to secure what the government reports to be a “16 million dose order” from the global vaccine scheme COVAX. But to date, the country has only received close to three million doses through the U.N.-backed vaccine supply mechanism, from Italy and South Korea. On Aug. 11, Khamenei partly reversed his mandate in a televised speech, giving clearance for the import of foreign vaccines, except those “produced by” the United States and the United Kingdom. His remarks were immediately followed by the government’s loaded promise of importing 120 million doses of vaccine in the next three months. “They were probably waiting for the new administration to come in so they could give them some sort of credit,” said Narjes, a 35-year-old resident of Tehran who like many other Iranians has been fruitlessly searching for a shot. “But what difference does it make? They needed to have a cohesive and organized plan for vaccines the same time that other countries were scrambling to help their citizens. Now it’s too little, too late.” The black market for shots In the absence of an organized and speedy vaccine strategy by the government, a lucrative and corrupt black market for vaccines has arisen, affordable only to the well-off at a time of severe financial austerity and the dismal devaluation of the Iranian currency. Meysam, a young businessman, says he and his family bought his two doses of the Pfizer shots from an “unknown dealer.” “I got my first dose in May a few months after my mom and my uncle bought theirs in March. They both showed the same side-effects that my other uncle had shown in the U.S,,” he explained. “That was my only guarantee that it’s not fake.” Meysam said dealers who sell the Pfizer vaccine give customers “certificates” that are stamped by a hospital in Erbil in Iraqi Kurdistan. The drugs can cost 10 to 30 million Toman ($400 to $1,200) per dose for Pfizer and three to seven million Toman ($150 to $250) for AstraZeneca — a significant amount in a country where the average salary is around three to five million Toman per month ( $150 to $200). In a less covert operation, according to Meysam and others, there are also private dealers who import AstraZeneca through the UAE and elsewhere by cutting deals with custom security and importing them under the guise of other medication. Hundreds of other Iranians with the means to do so have fled to neighboring countries of Armenia and Turkey in hopes of inoculating themselves. Sima along with her family traveled to Armenia in July to get her first dose of AstraZeneca. “The entire trip cost us $3000—a hefty sum, but I didn’t see any other option. It is truly humiliating that we need to go through these measures for a dose of vaccine that our own government can’t get us.” In mid-July Armenia changed its law, requiring foreign vaccine-seekers stay for 10 days before qualifying for a shot. Iranians are also being forced to turn to the black market for lifesaving medicines for those struck down by the virus. Amir-Ali said he was advised by the medical staff in the private hospital where his mother was hospitalized that he had to buy all her medication through private dealers. “I paid close to 100 Million Toman [$4,000] in total in just a few weeks for healthcare costs and to find basic medication that otherwise you should find in any pharmacy or hospital. Why? I don’t even know if all those medication were needed.” A “corrupt medical mafia” has sprung up, he said, as the country deals with a scarcity of everything from oxygen to Remdesivir. But he lays blame for the situation at the foot of the Iranian regime’s ultimate authority — the Supreme Leader who rejected Western-made vaccines back when they might have made a difference. “This crisis is a direct result of the regime’s failure,” he said. “Each time I think about my mom, I ask myself why do I have to live in a society where the lives of its people are based on the decision-making of one single individual. So many people died, so many parents passed, just because of one man’s decision. This is what hurts me the most.” The Coronavirus Brief. Everything you need to know about the global spread of COVID-19 Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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"The Civil War, infamous for having the highest American death toll of any war in history, was the last major American conflict before the greater public understood how diseases spread," writes Rachel Lance."Unfortunately, today’s COVID-19 death toll shows that many have approached the virus with a medical attitude hardly updated from 160 years ago."

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On Saturday, the United States passed a new landmark in the fight against the novel coronavirus, when the death toll surpassed 620,000 people, the classic estimate for the number of deaths from the American Civil War. The grim comparison is telling, not only because of the sheer size of the death toll, but also because it carries a bleak secondary meaning. The Civil War, infamous for having the highest American death toll of any war in history, was the last major American conflict before the greater public understood how diseases spread. It was therefore the last war where the bulk of the deaths—two-thirds, in fact—were not from bullets and bombs, but from viruses, parasites and bacteria. Unfortunately, today’s COVID-19 death toll shows that many have approached the virus with a medical attitude hardly updated from 160 years ago. The impact of disease on the course of the Civil War began almost as soon as the conflict was sparked. Both Union and Confederate soldiers found themselves caked in mud and sleeping in tents in improvised encampments. Without knowledge of how diseases spread, these close quarters encouraged bacteria and viruses to run rampant through the ranks. Measles, mumps, whooping cough and chickenpox ravaged the troops first while in training camps, spreading via exhaled respiratory droplets and aerosols from one soldier to the next as the germs found new paradise in the bodies of countrymen whose rural lives had largely isolated them from previous exposure. When the new soldiers finished training, they joined the armies in the field, where the so-called “camp diseases” of pneumonia, smallpox and the skin infection erysipelas quickly mounted a second wave of assault. “Theoretically, all recruits were to be vaccinated [for smallpox] coming into the army,” says Robert Hicks, PhD, former director of the Mütter Museum of The College of Physicians of Philadelphia and an expert in Civil War medical history. But in practice, he says, “that simply didn’t happen.” The Union enacted a blockade of all Southern ports early in the war, which limited the Confederates’ ability to import medical supplies. However, because every person at that time had an understanding of the power of disease, unprotected troops engaged in desperate attempts at home self-innoculations using pus from the oozing sores of infected friends and neighbors. The other pathogens, completely unchecked by science, hit the soldiers with such rampant rates of spread that even the germs with low fatality percentages racked up impressive total body counts. Lice, which spread typhus, were endemic, but perhaps the most infamous and preventable infections and diseases of the time were dysentery and typhoid fever. According to the accounts of both Union and Confederate officers, soldiers were resistant to even what little information the time period could provide about hygiene and sanitary practices. Confederate General Robert E. Lee tried without success to get his soldiers to bathe regularly to limit the spread of lice, but he recorded that soldiers were “worse than children [at keeping clean], for the latter can be forced.” As the years of the epically miserable war ticked by, weary soldiers increasingly took to defecating wherever convenient in their camps. Without knowledge of the basics of germ theory, they routinely relieved themselves in their own water supplies. One army surgeon at the Battle of Vicksburg said that by late 1863, the soldiers had given up so much on basic hygiene that “human excrement has been promiscuously deposited in every direction.” This pattern caused regular outbreaks of dysentery, cholera and typhoid fever that sparked cliches still in use today: the troops most susceptible to these diarrhea-inducing ailments were said not to have the “guts” for soldiering. Of the 349,944 enlisted Union soldiers who were killed in the war, 221,791 (63%) died of infectious diseases, not including gangrene from battle wounds. But even the simplest of adjustments to personal hygiene proved effective. Robert Hicks, a former U.S. Navy officer himself, explains how the officers could essentially socially distance, as “they could frequently choose their messmate and essentially, their tent mate. They were allowed far more personal space for living conditions.” Fewer officers died of dysentery because they were in less crowded encampments, had access to cleaner water and, at least according to their own accounts, had better hygiene. Only 29% of the officers who died were killed by disease. Get your history fix in one place: sign up for the weekly TIME History newsletter Then, as now, health measures worked, but only for those both willing and able to take them. Today, high mask use has repeatedly shown to be a factor in decreasing community mortality rates from COVID-19—but masks only make a difference if you wear them. And, with the availability of vaccines, many news sources are now quipping that this has become a “pandemic of the unvaccinated.” The soldiers of the Civil War may not have had sufficient scientific knowledge to stop their myriad plagues, but modern Americans have no excuse for achieving our current rate of disease-induced fatalities. But, while the American Civil War raged, and the invisible “Third Army” of viruses and bacteria stacked the bodies like cordwood for both sides, Louis Pasteur was also figuring out how to stop it. By the late 1800s, his pasteurization process would not only make milk safer, but also emphasize why future troops needed to boil potentially contaminated water before drinking. By 1885, Pasteur would take his ideas one step further, injecting slurried concoctions containing attenuated rabies virus into the stomach of a young boy to save the boy’s life, and inventing the first lab-made vaccine. Using Pasteur’s methods, by 1896 there were also vaccines for typhoid and cholera, and by 1897, the plague fell too. By WWI, these ground-breaking discoveries formed a far more powerful medical arsenal with which armies could attack how diseases spread within troop encampments. The numbers prove the efficacy. During the winter of 1914-1915, the French Army experienced 11,000 deaths from typhoid in the cold, densely populated, mud-filled trenches that characterized that war. But after implementation of a typhoid vaccination program, by 1917-1918, the same army had only 615 cases of typhoid. Meanwhile, without a flu vaccine, the 1918 influenza pandemic became the only mass event in American history to outstrip the Civil War in terms of deaths—until now. At the onset of the Civil War, South Carolina senator James Chestnut bragged proudly that he would drink every drop of blood spilled as a result of secession, because he was so baselessly confident there would be none. Not only did the war drag on for four miserable years, but frequently, the largely unmitigated spread of infectious diseases caused such high rates of attrition that both armies had to delay or change their battle plans, lengthening the war by an estimated two years. Again, the declarations of today’s politicians are all too often woefully unfounded. And in an eerie historical parallel, because so many have chosen to willfully ignore the accomplishments and discoveries of the scientists of the late 1800s, we have pushed ourselves back to the disease-spread patterns of the Civil War and lengthened our own war against this inanimate virus by an incalculable amount. Recent academic research has suggested that the human toll of the four-year Civil War may have been even greater than the 620,000 that has so long been cited. Perhaps as many as 513 people died, on average, each day, for a total closer to 750,000. Even though we have 160 more years of medical and scientific knowledge, the refusal of some Americans to accept any of the multiple available measures against disease spread has forced us to an average death rate of 1,200 per day over the first 17 months of the pandemic. As of today, in its battle against disease, America has not only repeated history, but surpassed it. Historians’ perspectives on how the past informs the present Rachel Lance, PhD, is a biomedical engineer and the author of In the Waves: My Quest to Solve the Mystery of a Civil War Submarine The Coronavirus Brief. Everything you need to know about the global spread of COVID-19 Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! 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Article

And how an ambitious expansion could put the company's cachet at risk.

https://ti.me/3y5EGNA

time

Maria Raga never expected to be able to pull off a pair of yellow Versace pants like the ones she was wearing the day we spoke in July. Although she’s now the CEO of Depop, a popular clothing-resale app, she was hardly a lifelong fashionista. “Versace’s a brand that’s accessible for very, very rich people,” she says. “But I got it secondhand on Depop. It’s a very cool color. I can tell you nobody else in my circle of friends will be wearing something similar.” Raga, 42, is not exactly in Depop’s core demographic: 90% of Depop’s 30 million active users across 150 countries are under the age of 26. She was skeptical of buying previously owned clothes after growing up in Spain on fast-fashion labels like H&M and Zara, brands that rose to prominence copying catwalk trends at a low cost, thus encouraging shoppers to accumulate and throw out clothes with each new season. “I only buy secondhand now,” she says. Depop, which allows members to set up online shops and buy and sell clothes, offers tens of millions of items at a relatively low price point and every niche you can imagine, whether you’re into “clown wear,” which looks exactly like what it sounds like, or “vintage” 2000s fashion, a depressing category discovery for anyone over the age of 30. With the global pandemic disrupting supply chains, COVID-19 restrictions shutting down brick-and-mortar stores, and an economic downturn reducing many people’s disposable income, 2020 was a tough year for retail. A December 2020 report by McKinsey & Co. predicted that profits in the fashion industry would fall by 93% that year. Established names like J. Crew, Neiman Marcus, Lord & Taylor and J.C. Penney declared bankruptcy. During the same period, Depop sold some $660 million in merchandise, doubling sales from the previous year, thanks in large part to teens who were bored at home and scrolling on their phones even more than usual. Read More: Remote Work Is All Gen Z Knows. But Are They Satisfied? Depop was hardly the only upcycling company that saw success in 2020 (upcycling, for those unfamiliar with the term, is just a fancy way of saying resale), nor was its upward trajectory strictly attributable to the pandemic. The resale market has been gaining popularity over the past several years, and established retailers like Patagonia, Nordstrom, Levi’s, Burberry, Gucci and Walmart have all launched resale programs that they market as both affordable and eco-friendly. But last year, the demand reached a new level: the retail resale market, led by online marketplaces like Depop, The RealReal and Mercari, is now growing 11 times as fast as traditional retail, according to the research conducted by the firm GlobalData and the consignment company ThredUp. Shares of online resale market Poshmark more than doubled after its IPO in January 2021, and ThredUp’s stock went up 30% when it went public in March. Since then, growth hasn’t been quite as steady, although the resale market in the U.S. is still projected to hit $64 billion by 2024, according to GlobalData. Poshmark and ThredUp both reported first-quarter earnings below analysts’ expectations, and Raga admits that although Depop enjoyed a big bump during quarantine, sales have been more volatile this summer. This may be because more people are visiting stores in person. But the company has also faced criticism as its higher-income sellers have raided thrift stores for items to resell on Depop, depriving people who actually need to buy secondhand of a robust selection. Still, Rent the Runway, which lost its $1 billion valuation during the pandemic, announced in June that it was expanding into resale, saying it had “noticed members buying pre-loved items from us at twice their usual rate.” At least one company has placed an enormous amount of faith in the future of resale: in July, Etsy acquired Depop for approximately $1.625 billion. “We believe Depop to be the resale home for Gen Z consumers with a unique offering and highly engaged user base,” Etsy CEO Josh Silverman said in a press release. Unlike with other online retailers, where you simply browse and buy, shoppers on Depop can follow influencers, like and comment on their photos and send direct messages. This interaction fosters communities within the app, which has become a part of young people’s daily social media diet, and it creates devoted users: 75% of its sales are to repeat customers. Trends come and go in fashion, but Depop seems to have recognized what the e-commerce industry as a whole has missed: it’s not just about the clothes, it’s about the experience. With the Etsy acquisition, they’ll have the opportunity to bring that experience to far more people. But if Depop has created a virtual version of hanging out at the mall with friends, what happens when the parents show up? Scroll through Poshmark or The RealReal and you’ll see products, often hanging limply on mannequins, or a woman standing stiffly in her home. Scroll through Depop and you’ll see people out in the world, looking chic in wide-leg pants rolling in the grass or striking a pose in front of a haphazardly hung backdrop, perhaps decorated with pink cartoon cats and owls. On a recent day of browsing, I spotted classic items like Air Force 1 sneakers but also an orange crochet crop top with a heart in the middle that seemed to have started a bidding war. There’s no single reason young users get hooked on Depop, but chief among the draws is the chance to be an influencer. Sellers model their wares on Instagram and TikTok in hopes of building large followings, and Depop does what it can to encourage this practice. Its two brick-and-mortar stores, in Los Angeles and New York City, have a sparse selection of clothes. Lights and cameras take up most of the space. Depop users can book a studio to shoot their looks in a more professional setting in hopes of improving their sales (and Depop’s 10% cut of those profits). As a result, Depop has to do barely any marketing. That’s what attracted Raga to the company in 2014. As a founding member of a company called MyCityDeal that was later acquired by Groupon, she saw firsthand how difficult it could be to connect with potential users on social media to grow a business. “[Depop] has this organic engine. Its sellers would be promoting their shops on social media and recommending the platform, and it was just growing very much on its own,” she says. It’s also what intrigued Etsy. “The community loves the product so much, they tell all their friends,” says Silverman. ‘Their competitors are spending $50 million or $100 million on marketing and not growing nearly as fast as Depop.” Depop founder Simon Beckerman, who ran a fashion and culture magazine in Milan, started the site in 2011 as a way to connect his young, creative and stylish friends. He then recruited sellers who already had engaged followings on social media. The community grew from there. Depop moved its headquarters to London in 2012. Its sales jumped 80% from 2017 to 2020, when the overall resale market grew just 40%. Read more: Farfetch CEO José Neves on How the Pandemic Drove Fashion Sales Online Nowadays, search enough corners of that community, and you can find incredibly narrow categories, like “cottagecore” or “dark academia,” recent trends propelled by viral videos during the pandemic of moody-looking girls sitting around cottages and university libraries. Amanda Adam, 27, co-runs a Depop page with her friend Piper Cashman, 26, in L.A. and markets heavily through Instagram, where their shop, Zig Zag Goods (tagline: “Contemporary clownwear for the everyday freak”), has more than 72,000 followers. They sell what Adam calls “kidcore,” brightly colored shirts with smiley faces drawn on them or bright blue fishnet dresses worn over bright orange T-shirts—clothes that are supposed to make you feel nostalgic for childhood even as they reveal a bit of skin. “Poshmark and Etsy, they’re geared toward older artists and moms that need to purge their wardrobes,” Adam says. “I don’t understand Poshmark. You press and make an offer and they accept it. There’s no dialogue there, whereas I think my generation expects to talk to people online.” Sydny Boney says her dad doesn’t really understand her side hustle on Depop but she gets to work on her own terms by selling secondhand clothes online. Matt Grubb for TIME Like many of Depop’s users, Sydny Boney, 22, joined because she needed a side hustle. During her final semester at Howard University last year, she found herself living in her childhood bedroom in Maryland. She had a sneaker habit to fund and a dream of buying and renovating a school bus and living in it for several years. So in August 2020, remembering that a friend had made $20 selling a pair of shoes on Depop, she hung up a Hello Kitty sheet as a backdrop in her room and began modeling some of her clothes. Then she started making the rounds of 12 thrift stores within driving distance of her home. What she bought and sold depended on her mood—sometimes she photographed herself dressed up like a fairy, sometimes in streetwear. She earned enough money to buy the $5,500 bus in a little less than a year selling on the app, and once she renovates it, she plans to drive across the country offering pop-up shops she will promote on Depop and Instagram. “My dad doesn’t really get it. It’s so different than what he thought I was going to be doing,” says the former biology major. “But I get to work on my own terms. Just make some money and live as freely as I like to.” Peter Semple, the chief brand officer at Depop, notes that Gen Z shoppers have a particularly fluid relationship with gender and sense of self-presentation: “People move between tribes because, obviously, this particular young generation are reinventing their style and identity and self-expression more frequently than any generation before.” Influencer culture has no doubt fueled that mentality. The fashion forward never want to post the same outfit to their Instagram feed twice and are constantly refreshing their closets. Even fast fashion cannot keep up. A trend may last only a few months, and Depop’s success during the pandemic was, in part, a logistical victory. A brand might have recognized the need to pivot to loungewear during lockdown but because of COVID-19-related hiccups was unable to ship out sweatpants quickly enough to meet customer demand. Depop’s inventory was already in its users’ closets. "Thrifting as a culture has grown immensely and it’s kind of diluted the whole beauty of finding treasures.” But upcycling does more than just restock wardrobes in a timely fashion. For decades, environmentalists have been sounding the alarm on fast fashion. The low prices at stores like Forever 21 taught consumers that a shirt didn’t have to last very long because you could always buy a trendier one in a few months. Those habits had atrocious effects on the environment. (The fast-fashion industry has also come under fire for contributing to worker abuse.) Depop isn’t a repudiation of fast fashion so much as an evolution. It cuts down on waste, but the low prices and the pace with which consumers move through trends is the same. “People still want the feeling of new,” says Justine Porterie, Depop’s global head of sustainability. “We’re not going to tell you to stop buying. We’re going to ask you to buy within planetary boundaries.” Silverman says his daughter, who is 16, keeps only 10 shirts in her wardrobe. “If she wants a new one, she’ll sell one to make space for the other,” he says. Depop heavily markets its eco-friendly branding and announced plans to obtain the “Climate Neutral” label—which involves purchasing verified carbon credits to retroactively offset all sellers’ shipping emissions since January 2020—from South Pole, a climate-solutions consultancy, by the end of 2021. That should appeal to Gen Zers, who are more likely than any other generation to count climate change as their “top personal concern,” according to a Pew Research Center survey conducted in April. But for all of Depop’s virtue signaling about its eco-friendly practices, ask its sellers why they’re on the app and they’ll likely cite some combination of access to cute clothes, affordability and chatting with a community of like-minded fashionistas before they mention that their purchase is green, too. The goal, Raga argues, is not for shopping to be virtuous but for virtuous shopping to be easy. It’s hard to persuade people who do not prioritize sustainability to shop this way, she says. But if it can make upcycling simple and fun, an addictive app can become a Trojan horse for do-gooder behavior. Users seek out Depop shops like Zig Zag Goods not only for their bright clothing but for the experience of talking to other likeminded shoppers. Matt Grubb for TIME Depop’s rapid growth has not been without challenges. Over the past year, the app has become the focus of a debate over gentrification in thrifting. In order to promote their shops, many Depop users post videos and TikToks of themselves visiting thrift stores, Goodwill, garage sales and the like and searching for treasures. Some model the items to lend them cache, then sell them at a higher price. Others modify the clothes, painting them, mending them or making them smaller before selling them and turning a profit. Critics have taken to social media to complain about these “haulers”—Depop sellers who purchase huge amounts of secondhand clothing purely to resell. They argue that these often middle- and upper-class sellers deny inventory to people who cannot afford new clothes. Semple points out that some charities had to stop taking donations during the pandemic because they were receiving so many clothes from people decluttering their homes. Even before that, charity shops put out only a fraction of their wares at any time, according to Portiere, which meant many of the clothes weren’t actually seen. Depop partnered with several nonprofits, creating and promoting accounts for them to offload extra inventory and operate safely during lockdown. “We intend on building those relationships and offer them a new outlet to reach more people,” Semple says. "Sustainability is not something that is solely for the white middle-class lady who wears linen and stuff that is super expensive and inaccessible.” Adam and her partner expect to do $100,000 in sales of their “kidcore” clothes this year through a combination of Depop sales and direct sales on a website they built, but it hasn’t been easy. Adam says she’s been thrifting since middle school and has seen prices go up. “Some of my favorite stores have just been purged completely from the good items,” she says. “Honestly, that’s why I turned to the app in the first place to find good stuff. Thrifting as a culture has grown immensely and it’s kind of diluted the whole beauty of finding treasures.” She says that at many thrift stores, people will wait for the bins to roll out with new products and push one another aside to get the best pieces. “I try to take the reject pieces and find a way to make them cool,” she says. “It’s a challenge, but the great thing about upcycling is giving life to something that was disregarded by so many people.” Depop has also been accused of a lack of diversity both on the platform and at the company. It’s been called out repeatedly over the years by those who say its algorithm chooses mostly cisgender white women to feature on its “Explore” page. In June 2020, Depop posted a statement on Instagram vowing to “make it easier to shop and discover Black and POC sellers on the Explore page” and “increase representation of Black and POC on all teams,” admitting that at the time no one on its management team was Black and only 11% of its employees were. “Diversity is super, super important to our audience, so for us it will always be important to make sure that we’re inclusive in our ranks and in the way we portray our users,” Raga says. Read more: ‘This Is Not the Time for Tiptoeing.’ How British Vogue’s Edward Enninful Is Shaking Up the Fashion World Inclusivity is also a personal goal for Porterie. She comes from what she describes as a “humble” background in France and says she wanted to work on sustainability because low-income people across the world are the ones most affected by climate change. “In the sustainability world, the diversity is not amazing. There aren’t so many people who look like me,” she says. “But sustainability is not something that is solely for the white middle-class lady who wears linen and stuff that is super expensive and inaccessible.” Many users push back against some of the accusations Depop has faced. “I’m biased because I feel Depop has offered me opportunities as a Black girl,” says Boney. “I live in a little small town, and I haven’t seen thrifting prices go up.” In fact, thrift-store workers often take her into the back to show her the many garments they don’t put on the floor. “I honestly think they do a good job featuring different body types and gender fluidity. And I see a lot of people who look like me being promoted on the ‘Explore’ page.” One of Depop’s pitches to users as recently as 2020 was that they could start a business from their bedrooms, but Depop is their main source of income for only a small percentage of users. “The majority of our sellers are casual,” says Raga. “Instead of playing an instrument, they are finding a hobby through Depop.” There are the much-talked-about Depop success stories, like Bella McFadden, known as Internet Girl, the 26-year-old who has made $1 million on the app. But several people I spoke to could not even ballpark their profits, despite selling on Depop for more than a year. Boney, for example, can’t quite pinpoint how much money she has made once she counts the costs of buying backgrounds for her shoots. “Honestly, I don’t want to do Depop forever because it takes 10%,” she says. “I want to create a website where I have more control.” Read More: How Tech-Boosted Astrology Apps Are Filling a Void Silverman compared Depop to “today’s version of a paper route.” Except the paper route is a solo endeavor, and on Depop you’re doing it with your fellow creatives. Adam says she joined Depop because she liked the idea of having her own income as a college student. “But really I just had this love affair with the app,” she says. “I just wanted to spend all this time in this community getting inspired by how people were taking photos and branding themselves.” Depop has a business imperative to expand that community. “Right now they have less than 2% market penetration in the retail resale market,” says Shweta Khajuria, the director of Internet Equity Research at investment-banking advisory firm Evercore. “So that’s a lot of opportunity to grow.” But apps also tend to get less cool as they get popular. Millennials complained that Boomers ruined Facebook. Gen Z is now complaining that millennials are ruining TikTok. The average age of an Etsy customer is about 39. Or in the words of one of my (millennial) friends, Etsy is for “millennial women knitting Harry Potter-themed things.” Unlike other resale platforms, Depop allows users to follow influencers and chat with fellow shoppers. Matt Grubb for TIME Lindsay Street, a 33-year-old in Baltimore who quit her job during the pandemic to sell items on both Depop and Etsy, says Depop is the more laid-back and enjoyable experience. “Without being terribly disparaging of Etsy,” she says, “it’s just a bit harder selling on Etsy in terms of expectations of people wanting questions answered. Depop is a little less corporate, a little more creative.” Raga says she agreed to the acquisition only because Etsy had a track record of leaving well enough alone. The company acquired the musical-instruments marketplace Reverb in 2019, and it has helped scale the business while leaving the aesthetic largely untouched. She points to Facebook as one model for growth. “What they did is started with university kids and little by little started to grow to all generations,” she says. That might be bad news for Depop’s current users: Edison Research found in 2019 that Facebook’s number of users ages 12 to 34 declined 17% in just two years. But Facebook now has 2.89 billion users and is worth $1 trillion. Semple, meanwhile, cited a company that has managed to stay cool for decades: Nike. “They’re one of the few brands of the world that constantly reinvent, constantly innovate,” he says. Nike, now a $76 billion company, still manages to stay desirable enough that customers camp out overnight for new sneaker drops. One key difference, of course, is that Nike shot to superstardom by hitching its wagon to Michael Jordan, while Depop relies on often hyper-specific influencers to appeal to niche audiences. But maybe that’s the only way for Depop to remain Depop. “Etsy is kind of for everyone,” Boney says. “I think it’s nice to keep Depop more like our own little place where you can go to find exactly what you’re looking for, even if what you’re looking for is super, super weird.” Correction, August 19 The original version of this story misstated how many of Depop’s users are under the age of 26. It’s 90% of the app’s active users, not 90% of its registered users. The Leadership Brief. Conversations with the most influential leaders in business and tech. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. 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Article

Here's how we can start to fix a broken system.

https://ti.me/3xVKxEZ

time

Last month, America lost a whopping 140,000 jobs—and women accounted for all of them. All of them. For a while now, it’s been clear the pandemic has ushered in a “she-cession” and devastated working women. I see it in the news. I see it in the jobs’ numbers. And I see it every day. Like so many Americans, I’ve spent the past year on video calls with colleagues. While I don’t think I’ll ever choose FaceTime over face time again, these calls have served a purpose—allowing me to not just work from home but see what that work looks like, up close, for others. And for the women in my orbit? It looks, well, impossible. Especially the moms. Their titles make little difference. Executive vice president or administrative assistant, I’ve watched all of them attempt to juggle work, kids and chores—only to inevitably drop the ball somewhere and end up feeling like a failure at all three. And it’s not just the entertainment industry I work in, which was actually leading the way on gender parity in corporate America. My daughter, a working mom of two, is going through it, too. Even with a spouse who shares responsibilities, she’s found herself questioning how much more she can handle. These women aren’t working from home; they’re living from work. The burnout, inadequacy and anxiety they feel is real. And by most measures, they’re the lucky ones—with flexible jobs, flexible hours and flexible partners. For low-income women who work outside the house or single mothers who have no one to help shoulder the burden, the situation is significantly worse. We all know about that figurative glass ceiling composed of laws and traditions holding women down. But today, there’s another force women have to contend with: a glass bubble keeping them in—in the home, in charge of childcare, in service of society’s expectations. And it’s been exacerbated by COVID-19 confinement. For starters, the pandemic has disproportionately battered industries with higher concentrations of female workers, like retail, leisure, hospitality, education and entertainment. And when lockdowns shuttered schools and daycare centers, it was women who stepped up at home—often by stepping back at work, either cutting hours or leaving jobs entirely. That may sound like a choice. But for so many women, it isn’t. Not when the wage gap makes our income feel more disposable than a man’s. And not when we’re pressured to assume the role of caretaker, even when we’re the breadwinners. If nothing changes, we’re all screwed. The wage gap is set to grow. America’s GDP is set to shrink. Our economy is set to lose out on billions of dollars. And, experts warn, working women will be set back a decade. Fortunately, this once-in-a-lifetime challenge is also a chance to do better: to fix a system that was broken long before the pandemic, rebuild an economy that finally works for working women, and shatter the glass ceiling—and bubble—for good. Passing legislation that helps working mothers support themselves and their families, like paid parental leave and universal childcare, is key. Reshma Saujani, the founder and CEO of Girls Who Code, has even called for a Marshall Plan for moms, which includes direct cash payments for women. But in the absence of federal action, there’s a great deal the private sector can and must do. To help women at work (and thereby help us all), industry leaders need to seize this moment and really change work—not only for our mothers, but for our fathers, too. That means building out flexible work arrangements beyond the pandemic, loosening our grip on in-person office requirements and the typical nine-to-five workday and five-day workweek. For as long as I’ve had women reporting to me, I’ve encouraged four-day weeks, logged during off hours if necessary, so work life and home life can coexist. The payoff has been immeasurable, engendering (pun intended) a sense of loyalty and dedication while keeping talent in our organizations. When that flexibility isn’t an option, it means investing in the infrastructure working women need to thrive once they return to the workplace—from dedicated lactation rooms to affordable on-site childcare, and not just in white-collar industries. It means implementing gender-neutral leave policies for new parents—and aggressively encouraging fathers to use them. When men, on average, take just one day of parental leave for every month a woman takes, they unintentionally reinforce sexist stereotypes and harm new moms, who end up hitting a “maternal wall” when they do take longer leave. And it means actively recruiting parents who’ve left the workforce—and not just since March. At NBCUniversal, we’ve been doing this for years through our Returnships, which offer comeback opportunities for people who’ve put their careers on hold. As a result, our company is swelling with more ambitious working women than I could have dreamed of back when I started here a few decades ago. We’re not the only ones. IBM, Goldman Sachs, and Johnson & Johnson have them, too. With a vaccine finally being administered (and the end of Zoom school finally in sight), programs like these will only become more important. But alone they’re not enough. To get women—and our economy—back to work, we have to change our culture. We have to start valuing the unpaid labor women do around the clock. In two-parent households, we have to normalize childcare and housework as shared responsibilities. And when remote work is an option, we have to ensure it’s not always women staying home and men going to the office. Because getting face time is critical to getting noticed and promoted. Because the parent who stays home, even if she’s working, ends up also doing the work of home—the cleaning, the cooking, the scheduling, the bills. And because I know I’m not alone in missing my commute, or at least the time it afforded me to collect my thoughts and catch my breath. These days, I’m finding that time on daily strolls around my neighborhood. With 40 years of work under my belt, this is still a first for me—getting to eat lunch in my kitchen, to walk the dogs, to stop and smell the roses (and unintentionally smell whatever the dogs rolled in). I’ll admit I don’t hate it. But if I were a few decades younger, I’d be petrified. I’d be overwhelmed. And I can’t promise I’d be any different from the millions of women who’ve admitted, over the past year, that they just can’t do it all. Here’s a secret, though: no one can. When Rosie the Riveter flexed her bicep 80 years ago and said, “We can do it!” she never meant alone. She was answering the call for her generation to join the workforce in droves—but it only worked because the country had acknowledged, at the height of World War II, that it wouldn’t survive without the participation of working women. And the economy changed to help them, and everyone, succeed. Today, America faces a similar challenge. Without working women, our country and economy are doomed to fail. But if we’re given the resources and opportunities to succeed, we will—and we’ll lift everyone else up in the process. We’ve done it before, and we can do it once more. The Coronavirus Brief. Everything you need to know about the global spread of COVID-19 Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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When Simone Biles pulled out of the women’s gymnastics team event to focus on her mental health and physical safety, her courageous choice created a rare opportunity for mental health discussions to move from raising awareness to positive action.

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Even before Simone Biles threw the Olympics off its axis, Jessica Bartley knew mental health issues were weighing heavily on the athletes in Tokyo. Bartley, a psychologist and the director of mental health services for the U.S. Olympic and Paralympic Committee, says her team received about 10 requests daily during the Games to support athletes’ mental health needs. Most of the calls did not come directly from athletes, but from “a tip from someone around the athlete, who alerted us to a situation,” she says. These requests involved everything from struggles while in quarantine due to COVID-19 protocols, to receiving unexpected news from back home, to not performing as anticipated at the Games. Of the requests that Bartley’s mental health team received, there were a handful of cases that indicated a potentially more serious issue, so Bartley or a member of her team immediately called the athlete and inquired about their mental state to determine if they needed additional mental health support, and to ensure they were in touch with their regular support team from home if they had one. If they didn’t have one, Bartley was ready to connect them with resources to help. “The Games are really an incredible opportunity to start to have those conversations,” says Bartley, whose group is the first to travel with Team USA specifically to support the mental well-being of athletes. The Tokyo Olympics, taking place amid a pandemic that has had a massive impact on global mental health, was always going to present additional challenges for the competitors. But once Biles pulled out of the women’s gymnastics team event to focus on her mental health and physical safety, the issue became a defining theme of the Games. And her courageous choice, amplified by the global spotlight of the Games, created a rare opportunity for moving the discussion from raising awareness to positive action. Read more: Simone Biles’ Olympic WIthdrawal Could Help Athletes Put Their Mental Health First In Tokyo, Biles’ fellow Olympians recognized the gravity of the moment. “With everything that Simone has gone through, I’m really proud of her and the way she is standing up for herself but also making things better for others and bringing a lot to the forefront of these conversations,” says Allyson Felix, who became America’s most decorated track and field Olympian ever when she won her 11th career medal in Tokyo. Throughout the Olympic Village, athletes supported Biles—and recognized some of their own struggles in hers. “I know what it’s like to have severe mental health issues,” says Kate Nye, a U.S. weightlifter who earned silver in Tokyo. “As someone with bipolar disorder and ADHD, I could definitely relate to the overwhelming nature of sport. I’m of the opinion that you have to put yourself first. She should have done what was best for her, and she did.” Katherine Nye of Team USA lifts during the Women's 76 kg on Day 3 of Lima 2019 Pan American Games at Mariscal Cáceres Coliseum of Chorrillos Military School on July 29, 2019 in Lima, Peru. Armando Marin—Jam Media/Getty Images “To be able to overcome your own ego and step aside, that’s huge,” says Alex Bowen, a member of Team USA’s men’s water polo team, of Biles’ decision. “That’s a mental marvel. It’s something we all try hopefully to do all the time, but I don’t think many people can do that.” Biles certainly isn’t the first athlete to experience the crushing pressure that comes from being an Olympic favorite, nor the first to open up about struggles with mental health. Michael Phelps, the most decorated Olympic athlete in history, has been candid about his struggles with depression. Like Biles, Phelps bore the weight of a nation as the face of an entire Olympics—unique pressures he detailed in a 2020 documentary The Weight of Gold. And leading up to the Olympics, tennis star Naomi Osaka withdrew from the French Open and skipped Wimbledon in an act of self-protection and mental preservation. Read more: Naomi Osaka: ‘It’s O.K. to Not Be O.K.’ For Olympians, the burden of expectation can be particularly debilitating. Not only is their performance the culmination of four years of training, sacrifice and emotional and physical struggle, but the personal stakes are amplified exponentially by having their individual success held up as the symbol of a nation’s hopes and expectations. “People have no idea what is going on behind the scenes, and just judge us from our social media,” Biles said. “You guys have no idea what we are going through.” “We are still human,” says Nye. “It’s hard for some people to understand because they just see us through their computer or TV screens.” Japanese gymnast Mai Murakami, who tied for bronze in the floor exercise event final, broke down in tears when talking to reporters about her journey to the podium. The Japanese public has been sharply divided over the Olympics, with many feeling strongly that the government and Olympic organizers should have canceled the Games in light of the pandemic, and that holding the Games is putting the Japanese populace at risk. That criticism has created an added level of pressure on Japanese athletes competing in Tokyo, and they have become the target of vicious social media comments leading up to the Games, which has significantly impacted their mental health. “I know there are people who are against the Olympics,” Murakami said. “But even if I didn’t want to see such comments, they reached me, and it really made me feel terrible. That was really upsetting and sad.” A moment for mental health discussions Simone Biles touched a nerve far beyond athletes, releasing a seemingly pent-up reservoir in the broader culture. Data from NewsWhip, a data analytics company that measures the impact of media reports, showed that coverage of Biles’ decision to withdraw generated more social interactions than Meghan Markle and Prince Harry’s interview with Oprah Winfrey or Osaka’s withdrawal from the French Open. Google searches related to mental health on the day Biles pulled out hit their highest peak in two months. Simone Biles of Team USA looks on as she warms up prior to the Women's Balance Beam Final at the Tokyo 2020 Olympic Games at Ariake Gymnastics Centre on Aug. 03, 2021 in Tokyo, Japan. Laurence Griffiths—Getty Images Why is that? What is it about this moment that has allowed something many have been talking about for a while to finally break through? There are generational factors, and situational ones, experts say. Dr. Joshua Gordon, director of the National Institute of Mental Health, says there’s no denying that COVID-19 has pushed mental health front and center in a way it wasn’t before. The question is whether that heightened attention is making it easier for people to share and acknowledge mental health struggles. “We know the pandemic increased the demand for conversations around mental health,” he says. “Did it accelerate the trajectory toward acceptance of mental illness? My own personal opinion is that it likely did.” Read more: ‘I Am Not Defined By Being an Olympic Bronze Medalist.’ Noah Lyles Has an Important Message on Mental Health Another force fueling the increased focus on mental health among Olympians is generational. In general, research shows that mental health issues are most likely to affect people during their teens and young adulthood. That’s not surprising, given the dramatic social changes occurring at that point in people’s lives; people are leaving the comfort and support of their home and striking out on their own in college or the workforce for the first time. “It’s a time of great change biologically as well as psychologically,” says Gordon. “We know it’s a vulnerable period.” About 30% of people aged 18 to 25 years report having a diagnosis of a mental illness in the preceding year, which means this age group already represents a higher risk group. Add to that the additional pressure that high-level athletes competing at the Olympics feel in shouldering not only their own expectations but also those of their family, coaches and country, and it’s not surprising that so many Olympians struggle with mental health issues. “Different people have different levels of risk and resilience against mental health issues in general, but for those who have other risk factors for mental illness, stressful situations can precipitate episodes of symptoms,” says Gordon. Even more concerning, the impact of mental health issues can be graver in this age group than in any other; suicide is the second leading cause of death among those aged 10 to 34. More young people are also visiting the emergency room for mental health conditions, and also turning to crisis intervention services like hotlines or online therapy. But whether this represents a baseline increase in rates of mental health issues in this group, or a greater willingness of younger people to admit and seek help for mental health problems, breaking the decades-old stigma associated with doing so, isn’t quite clear yet. ‘It’s O.K. to get help to become your best self.’ For the American athletes that Bartley and her team worked with at the Olympics, Biles and Osaka are helping to create a new path—one that can value results and medals but doesn’t put them above all else. This path, Bartley and other mental health experts say, may leave fewer mental scars and go a long way toward ensuring that more athletes at the elite level have longer and healthier careers than before. “One of the most important coping mechanisms is giving yourself permission to take time off and to take a break and care for yourself,” says Gordon. Alex Bowen of Team USA during the Tokyo 2020 Olympic Waterpolo Tournament Men's match between the U.S. and Italy at Tatsumi Waterpolo Centre on July 29, 2021 in Tokyo, Japan. Marcel ter Bals—BSR Agency/Getty Images Read more: How Olympians Are Fighting to Put Athletes’ Mental Health First But we’re still far from that becoming the norm. Few athletes feel able to take a step back without risking their place on the team or a deal with a sponsor. Biles herself pointed out that the attention is welcome but long overdue. “I definitely think it’s a little late in the game to have this conversation,” she said. “I expect it to be at the forefront a little bit more because I think athletes kind of suppress their emotions and how they are feeling. At the end of the day, we are not just entertainment, we are humans.” “Hopefully this reframes how people look at athletes,” says Bowen. “We aren’t born great. But what we do to be great is relentlessly pursue greatness. It’s not all about what you are, but what you are trying to be. We are all human; the Olympics are about trying to become your best self. And it’s O.K. to get help to become your best self.” —With reporting by Sean Gregory/Tokyo Read more about the Tokyo Olympics: Get The Brief. Sign up to receive the top stories you need to know right now. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. 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"The United States has the capacity to transform the dynamics of infection without jeopardizing its own recovery; the only question is whether we have the courage and will to show this kind of global leadership," writes Dr. Ashish K. Jha.

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As the United States seems close to controlling a pandemic that has killed 600,000 Americans, we must recognize that in much of the rest of the world, the pandemic continues to rage. Now, with the U.S. vaccine supply far outstripping our domestic needs, the U.S. is taking action, with President Biden’s announcement of the first major global distribution of American vaccine doses. But there are billions of vulnerable people around the world, and at current vaccination rates many will be waiting a long time for a shot. Health care workers around the globe should not be left waiting. As its first major global vaccination intervention, the U.S. should aim to vaccinate the world’s health care workers, urgently exporting doses both to the Gavi, World Health Organization and Coalition for Epidemic Preparedness Innovations’ COVAX facility and, through bilateral partnerships, to other nations. There are moral, humanitarian and practical reasons for focusing on health care workers. First, the moral reasons: These workers are highly exposed to infection, particularly during viral surges; unlike most other work, there is little these workers can do to reduce their exposure to people actively sick with COVID-19. In fact, while other front-line workers do face risks, health care workers spend all their days with patients with this disease. With high-quality PPE and rapid diagnostics in short supply, these workers face some of the highest risks of getting infected, getting sick and dying. Across the world, more than 115,000 health care workers have died from COVID-19 and millions have been sickened by the disease. They deserve, for moral reasons alone, our strongest protection. Second, there are humanitarian reasons that affect entire populations. When health care workers get sick and die, health systems break down, undermining the capacity to treat not just COVID-19 but any disease, dramatically increasing bad outcomes for everyone, including children. The health of everyone depends on the ability of health care workers to do their jobs. Once a health system is strained with a lack of health care workers, the ability of the system to do the basics – care for people with common conditions, help women deliver babies, or manage patients’ chronic conditions – begins to collapse. Everyone’s suffering rises exponentially, not just those with COVID-19. And the health threat posed by COVID-19 infections in health care workers has long-term implications. Ebola outbreaks in West Africa exacted a terrible cost on the health care workforce, undermining health of the people of those nations for a generation. Indeed, when other things are in short supply in health care, such as medicines or oxygen, they can be replenished relatively quickly. The loss of health care workers takes a generation or even longer to replenish. The costs on society in terms of poor health will last for decades. Finally, there are just plain practical reasons. This is a group that the U.S. alone can vaccinate in the upcoming weeks, if not months. The World Bank conservatively estimates that there are 50 million health care workers in the world, while the WHO counts millions more. Many of them have already been vaccinated (as in the U.S., the U.K and Israel) and others will be soon (as in the E.U., Russia and China). This likely leaves 30 to 40 million health care workers outside these countries that are vulnerable. We have more than enough vaccines to immunize this group immediately. And unlike other high-risk groups, where there is some disagreement about who exactly is high risk, front-line health care workers are relatively easy to identify, allowing us to move efficiently. Read more: Inside the Facilities Making the World’s Most Prevalent COVID-19 Vaccine The U.S. should announce it will ensure that every health care worker in the world will be able to get their first shot within the next month. For countries where we have strong relationships, we can work with their ministries of health to identify and vaccinate front-line health care workers. For others, we could work with WHO and its facility COVAX. WHO has already prioritized health care workers in its public approach, although they often lump them in with other high-risk groups, which balloons the number of eligible people to more than 1 billion. The key here is to keep it simple: focus on front-line health care workers and work with WHO to get vaccines distributed and into the arms of health care workers. Does the U.S. really have this many doses to spare? Absolutely. The US is getting around 20 million doses of vaccines every week from its contracts – and using about 10 million. More important, it has 72 million doses already distributed to states. The U.S. will easily have more than 100 million more doses than it can use by the end of June. If we start sending vaccine doses now, not a single American will be denied a dose if they want one. Time is of the essence. The variants are spreading and infecting health care workers around the world. The costs to these workers is immense, and the costs to those societies is even higher. The United States has the capacity to transform the dynamics of infection without jeopardizing its own recovery; the only question is whether we have the courage and will to show this kind of global leadership. My colleagues in India, Argentina and elsewhere – and their patients – hope that we do. The Coronavirus Brief. Everything you need to know about the global spread of COVID-19 Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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The COVID-19 pandemic will determine the trajectory of the 21st century, but in what direction?

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The COVID-19 pandemic will determine the trajectory of the 21st century, but in what direction? Will it come to be known as a crisis that stalled progress on extreme poverty, inequality and climate change, or one that brought about even greater urgency and global cooperation against these threats? While it remains too soon to offer definitive answers, our collective actions are drafting responses in real time. Early indications are mixed. The development of safe and highly effective vaccines in record time is an unmitigated triumph, exceeding even the most optimistic projections. So far, however, we have failed to match this historic scientific accomplishment when it comes to getting the vaccine where it’s needed, especially as new variants spur outbreaks in places where inoculation rates languish in single digits. Norway has been at the forefront of global pandemic response since before COVID, having established the Coalition for Epidemic Preparedness Innovations (CEPI) in 2017, a partnership with the Government of India and a number of private, philanthropic, and civil organizations. In June 2020, CEPI joined forces with the World Health Organisation and Gavi, the Vaccine Alliance, to launch COVAX, a worldwide initiative aimed at equitable access to COVID-19 vaccines. For its part, Global Citizen rallied behind these efforts through VAX LIVE: The Concert to Reunite the World, held in May this year, helping mobilize $302 million and over 26 million doses to the world’s most marginalized communities. While COVAX and related initiatives to combat the virus have attracted USD $17.8 billion in commitments from government and philanthropic sources, that represents barely more than half of what’s needed to finally bring the worst of the pandemic under control this year. Unless we summon the requisite political will to bridge this funding gap as a matter of urgency, we will not only fail to tame the pandemic; we risk dividing the world into one of vaccine-haves and have-nots, and put at severe and avoidable risk the entire global development agenda. The World Bank already estimates the pandemic will drive a further 150 million people into extreme poverty, and the U.N. projects that measures of global human development—a combination of education, health, and living standards—could fall this year for the first time since 1990, when measurements began. Left unchecked, such trends metastasize into conflict, famine, yet more disease and democratic decline. Lack of vaccines is already part of a mix that fuels protest unrest, in Cuba, South Africa and elsewhere. Forced to grapple with such outcomes, what chance does the international community have to make progress on inequality, gender equity and climate change, halting and inadequate even before COVID-19 hit? We can only start to “build back better” once we’ve laid down foundations robust enough to withstand and overcome the confluence of crises we now face. That means, as an immediate next step, vaccines now and vaccines everywhere. Global Citizen harnesses the activism of over 11 million supporters, mainly younger people, from all imaginable walks of life and corners of the world, who reject the kind of politics that propel vaccine nationalism, or leaders who offer the false comfort of national, partisan or ethnic enclaves. On September 25th, their voices will be lifted like never before during Global Citizen Live, a 24-hour event to compel the world’s attention to ending COVID-19, overcoming the hunger crisis, resuming learning for all, protecting the planet, and advancing equity for all. The Coronavirus Brief. Everything you need to know about the global spread of COVID-19 Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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Mendoza is a laid-back agricultural province in Argentina where wine flows and outdoor dining is a must.

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Mendoza is a laid-back agricultural province in Argentina where wine flows and outdoor dining is a must. In the surrounding wine region (the most famous in the country), Casa de Uco Vineyards & Wine Resort stands by its own lagoon and offers an epic traditional asado—or barbecue—in the vines. Downtown, the recently opened La Central Vermutería imports the classic vermouth-bar tradition (vermouth on tap, small plates, convivial vibe) from Buenos Aires. Nearby, the pared-down and thoughtful Ramos Generales is one of only nine restaurants in the world run by Argentine culinary icon Francis Mallmann. And at Gaia Restaurant, a local chef turns out six-course set meals with ingredients from the restaurant’s organic garden. For a culinary-inspired souvenir, pick up some handcrafted cutlery (found on the tables of many top restaurants) from KDS Knives. —Karen Catchpole Contact us at letters@time.com.

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Here are some less obvious ways the Olympics have already generated economic benefits for Japan.

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With a volley of fireworks at National Stadium, the Tokyo Summer Olympics ended with a bang. In economic terms, though, it felt more like a whimper. The Olympics cost Japan at least $15.4 billion, making them the most expensive summer Games ever, according to a study by University of Oxford researchers. The cost for the 2008 Beijing Olympics is widely cited as being more than $40 billion, though the researchers found most of the spending was not directly related to the Games. The 17-day Tokyo Olympics were held without foreign tourists or even domestic fans amid a COVID-19 state of emergency during which Japanese officials urged people to stay home and bars to close early amid skyrocketing infections. This means the usual ways that host countries make up the cost of Olympics spending aren’t on the table. Critics have called the Tokyo Olympics a write-off, but the Games have generated some benefits and can’t be called a total loss. Takahide Kiuchi, executive economist at Nomura Research Institute, a think tank, projected that the short-term economic benefits of the Games would be $16.4 billion in June, when many in Japan were advocating for canceling the Tokyo Olympics. He lowered that to $15.2 billion due to restrictions on spectators. That’s far below some rosy predictions. “A few years ago, the Tokyo city government estimated the economic legacy of the Games at 12 trillion yen or $109 billion. They expected foreign spectators would be frequent visitors to Japan and accelerate inbound demand. This estimation was clearly overstated because foreign spectators were not allowed,” says Kiuchi. “However, I still expect some economic legacy to materialize. Hotels and restaurants spent money on renovations for the convenience and comfort of foreign tourists. I think this is one of the economic legacies of the Games and it will contribute to attract foreign tourists to Japan.” READ MORE: Japan’s COVID-19 Strategy Relied on Trust. Holding the Olympics Shattered It The huge costs associated with holding the Olympics has sparked backlash in recent years, with Boston and Budapest withdrawing their bids for the Games amid local opposition. Brisbane’s recent winning proposal for the 2032 Summer Olympics—the only bid to reach a final vote—included a pledge to fund the organizational budget entirely from private sources. As a result, whether Japanese taxpayers and businesses feel they’ve gotten good value for the money invested in the Olympics could factor into whether future cities decide to bid for the Games. Here are some less obvious ways the Tokyo Olympics have already generated economic activity in Japan. One of the biggest recipients of Olympics economic activity is the construction industry. The Kengo Kuma-designed, 68,000-seat National Stadium and seven other venues were built for the Olympics, costing about $3 billion; 25 other facilities were renovated. After the Games, the stadium will be used for soccer and rugby matches, as well as cultural events. The athletes’ village, surrounding roadwork and infrastructure, cost some $490 million and will be converted into apartments. The COVID-19 pandemic not only delayed the Olympics by a year, adding about $2.8 billion to the price tag, but the alarming spread of the delta variant in Japan led authorities to ban spectators from nearly every event. Those who were shut out watched the competitions on the internet and television, and some splurged on big screens. One hot item was 65-inch organic light-emitting diode (OLED) TVs. Electronics retailer Bic Camera tells TIME it saw a 30% increase in sales of OLED TVs in July compared to the previous year. Huge new interest in some sports is also generating economic activity. One example is skateboarding. Yuto Horigome dazzled fans with his seemingly effortless moves at Tokyo’s Ariake Urban Park when he took home the first-ever Olympic gold medal in the sport in the men’s street skateboarding final. Sakura Yosozumi, Kokona Hiraki, and Sky Brown, three girls born in Japan, took all the medals in the women’s park skteboarding final. The high-flying youths have added jet fuel to a skateboarding craze, which got rolling earlier on in the pandemic as a way to get outdoors and exercise while social distancing. It’s bringing more and more skaters to the streets and skateparks of Tokyo. “We’ve seen more people getting into skateboarding, kids and adults alike, especially recently because of the Olympics,” says Koichi Hirooka, manager of Murasaki Park Tokyo, a skateboard park in Tokyo’s Adachi Ward. “Before the Games, foreign athletes like Nyjah Huston were a big influence, but with Japanese winning medals I expect skateboarding will become a major sport in Japan.” Another benefit may accrue from the stellar performance of Japan’s female athletes. Including its skateboarding girls, Japanese women were on the medals podium a whopping 33 times, out of the record 58 medals for the country. Women also claimed 15 of the 27 golds. “I believe this will not only encourage more females to pursue athletics, but I hope these female athletes serve as role models to show Japanese girls and women that anything is possible and barriers are made to be broken,” says Kathy Matsui, a former Goldman Sachs vice chair known for coining the term “womenomics” in male-dominated Japan to promote the economic benefits of empowering women. In the latest World Economic Forum Global Gender Gap Report, Japan ranked 120th out of 156 countries. It has made some progress, however, and Matsui has written about how closing the gender employment gap could boost Japan’s GDP by 10%. Even with the Olympics’ $15.4 billion official price tag, the portion shouldered by taxpayers is a tiny fraction of heavily indebted Japan’s $1 trillion state budget. Only time will tell whether it was money well spent. The Leadership Brief. Conversations with the most influential leaders in business and tech. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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The confusion over what the workforce’s newest employees want—and the tension with more established workers—shows how complicated work’s place in our lives has become, especially for Gen Z as they settle into their new roles.

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Lizzie Schmidt has never worked in a real office, had her own desk or been to a happy hour with colleagues. At 22 years old, the Greenwich, Conn., native and recent graduate of Elon University is part of a generation of newly-minted workers taking their first steps into the working world virtually. And while more established office workers debate returning to their desks, this youngest generation has no point for comparison. One recent survey from Slack suggested that as few as 12% of workers want to return to the office full-time; another from Citrix, looking at Millennials and Gen Z workers specifically, estimated that 51% wanted to remain working from home the bulk of the time. Meanwhile, a different poll from research firm Generation Lab showed that as many as 40% of college students and recent graduates would actually prefer fully in-person work. And another survey from workforce engagement platform Ten Spot showed that only 30% of Gen Z wanted to stay remote full time, while 34% said they were “more productive and engaged” when working from the office. This confusion over what the workforce’s newest employees want—and the tension with more established workers—shows how complicated work’s place in our lives has become, especially for Gen Z as they settle into their new roles. “Humans are social creatures,” explains Sammy Courtright, co-founder and Chief Brand Officer at Ten Spot. Ten Spot’s surveys have, to some surprise, shown that Gen Z attitudes often closely match Boomers when it comes to the office. “For Gen Z workers, some of the most exciting perks about a job are the company culture, socializing with coworkers, and finding a mentor they really connect with,” Courtright says. Without those expectations met, young workers may struggle to remain engaged. “Taking away the traditional office setting is a bit like being inside a snow globe when somebody’s shaking it,” she says, “it’s hard to tell how and when everything is going to settle into place.” Comfortable remote, but ready for the office Schmidt started working at Signify Health as an intern in the summer of 2020, a fully remote position as the pandemic swept the world. She was asked to consider returning full-time after graduation, beginning a role as a part-time contract employee during her senior spring semester. When she graduated, she signed with them as a product management analyst. She was able to go in to the office in New York City one time this summer, meeting her VP and old manager in person for the first time more than a year into the job. “It’s so weird, having a relationship with someone [online] and they’ll just be like, Oh, you look very different than I anticipated!” she remembers. “I was a bit afraid for it; it was weirdly nerve-wracking.” Now, still working remotely, she spends most of her day on Google Meet and phone calls. Her office has plans to return to work at some point after Labor Day, and she is ready for the change. “A lot of our work is hands-on, and a lot of our work is collaborative,” she says. “I haven’t really noticed a challenge, but I also haven’t been here long enough. But [the rest of the team] feel very siloed.” Some things would be easier in an office: learning specific shortcuts, for instance. “A lot of it is like, Can you just show me how to do this?” (Screensharing, the current approach, can be “more annoying.”) “But yeah, you get used to it, I guess,” she says. Her department is considering a three-days-in, two-days-out hybrid model, which Schmidt sees as an “ideal situation.” She’s looking forward to being able to separate her workspace from her living space—and to the casual social interactions that happen during and after a workday. “I want the culture that everyone talks about, the fun office mentality,” she says. “Overall, there’s probably more excitement from younger people to go into the office than older people.” For Gen Z, who don’t have the responsibilities of families—and haven’t had the chance to live the working life they planned for and dreamed of during college—the office, as a concept, remains appealing. In search of a creative hybrid Melodi (who prefers to go by her first name, citing sensitivity around work), a 25-year-old Texas native and current Brooklyn, N.Y., resident, is more conflicted about her preferred working experience. During the pandemic, Melodi—a volleyball player who graduated from Texas State University with a degree in public relations—was laid off from her role with a music instrument company. She was able to secure a remote call-center job, and then an in-person one as a substitute and special education teacher and volleyball coach. But, eager to return to more creative pursuits, she found a role as a content producer and photographer for an ecommerce brand based in Georgia. While she’s constantly in contact with her small team via Flock, a Slack-like chat app, and email, some things do get lost in virtual translation. “I’m not a big fan of small talk, but sometimes it is nice. And I do kind of miss the daily check-ins,” she says. Especially when it comes to her photography, aligning on creative vision can be a challenge when everything is done remotely. “We’ve had some miscommunication. There’s nothing that beats face to face,” she says. For Melodi, and many of her friends who are in creative industries, the pandemic has been a time of cobbling together ways to get by. Now, the perspectives have shifted. “After a year of having so much taken away professionally and socially, work isn’t just work to me anymore,” she says. “I don’t think I can just give eight hours of work just to be like, Okay, well, at least my bills are paid. I’m really after that balance of enjoying what I’m doing.” Her dream situation would be a more hybrid workplace that would involve working from home and going in to share ideas and projects in person. “Sometimes my best work will be rather spontaneous or impulsive. And that’s hard when everything is very planned and there’s not as much potential for flexibility,” she says. In a perfect world, Melodi thinks about a coworking space like a WeWork, where many people with different jobs could come together at once in a social but productive environment. Working all the time from home—especially in a city with housing that can be cramped like in New York—won’t cut it; she’s learned from experience that the “cross-contamination” of working and living in the same small space can be difficult. In the meantime, remote work drags on. “It’s just this whole new beast,” she says. “Everyone’s just doing the best they can.” A solution for parenting Meanwhile in Kailua, Hawaii, Bailey Simonte is grateful that her work is fully remote—and will stay that way. Simonte, 25, lives with her husband and 3-year-old child on a military base in Hawaii, and works as an editor for a niche travel publication, which she joined in June 2020. Before that, she was a contract researcher. While most of her coworkers at her current role are based on the East Coast, the company went remote years before the pandemic. That has been a blessing; Simonte’s daughter has epilepsy, and her ability to be present for her has been critical. These days, Simonte works from a desk in her bedroom, starting at 6:00 a.m. “If I didn’t have a remote job, I couldn’t work,” she says. “And when my daughter does get sick and I have to be in the hospital, remote work gives me the opportunity to not be criticized for not being in the office.” This is a benefit that she says many young families with children share. “It seems so antiquated to me to work a nine to five at an office, and I think a lot of people are agreeing with that sentiment,” she says. Plus, since her company has had time to settle into its remote work groove, there are no notable setbacks. “Sometimes, I don’t hear from [my boss] for a few days. But I know what the expectations are. So I don’t feel like I’m left in the dust, you know?” she says. “I’ve had a lot of freedom and a lot of opportunities to grow.” It’s also given her the time to pursue a simultaneous bachelors degree online. Still, as a self-described “social person,” Simonte can feel isolated at home, so she recently started volunteering in-person at the Navy Marine Corps Relief Society in the afternoons—just to experience an office environment for the first time in her working life. It’s been a nice addition, but Simonte knows where her preferences lie: “If I had to make a choice, I would stay remote,” she says. Young professionals like Simonte, Schmidt and Melodi are discovering that flexibility has both perks and drawbacks. But none of them envision a future without the option to remain at least somewhat remote; after all, it’s what they know best. Simonte thinks about her dad, a Boomer, who ended up enjoying working remotely despite the learning curve of technology. “He thrived during the midst of the pandemic, because it was just him and his dog. He was so happy to just be at home with his little dog, taking middle of the day walks,” she says, laughing. “This has been a situation where maybe Gen Z and millennial workers were more aware that this was going to be a positive change. And then, finally, this was an opportunity for Boomers to also get on that same page.” With the Delta variant delaying many office returns, the timeline for remote work continues to stretch later in the year. Still, says Courtright of Ten Spot, the bigger picture suggests these changes may not last forever. “Even though Gen Z has had access to the technology we use at work their whole lives, they still seem to have a very traditional, and even romanticized, idea of what their professional work life should be like,” she says. “Many Gen Z workers have been forced into remote work just as they are starting their careers and want in-person support and feedback.” We can’t predict the future, but the office, it turns out, may have its own allure after all. Correction, July 17 The original version of this story misstated Signify’s return to office plans. Schmidt’s department is considering a three-days-in, two-days-out hybrid model, but the company has not yet decided on this. The Leadership Brief. Conversations with the most influential leaders in business and tech. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Write to Raisa Bruner at raisa.bruner@time.com.

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"As in Vietnam and Iraq, Afghanistan again serves as a reminder of America’s capacity for mayhem with its ill-thought-out interventions and reckless retreats."

https://ti.me/3g6R7CK

time

It was a hopeful January day as a new American President took over after four years of a roller coaster called Donald Trump. “We will repair our alliances and engage with the world once again,” Joe Biden told an anxious world at his inaugural address, declaring the leader of the free world’s intent to lead once more. “We will lead not merely by the example of our power but by the power of our example. We will be a strong and trusted partner for peace, progress, and security.” The days of Trump’s America First isolationism that had seen the U.S. reject a multilateral trade bloc, rip up old treaties, and insult allies, were over. America was back. Nowhere was it more evident than in Asia. Relations with South Korea and Japan, both shaken by Trump’s demands to bring more money to the table, were quickly mended. The Biden administration reiterated its commitment to use military force to defend the interests of allies like Japan and Taiwan. A decade after Barack Obama first formulated the “Pivot to Asia” policy—shifting America’s historical focus away from Europe, Latin America and Middle East to the Indo-Pacific region in order to hem in China—Biden’s administration looked ready to take it up a notch. Kurt Campbell, considered the architect of the strategy, was brought in as the Asia policy tsar with the title of Indo-Pacific Coordinator on the National Security Council. An informal alliance of four maritime democracies in the Asia-Pacific region—comprising the United States, Australia, Japan and India and called the Quadrilateral Security Dialogue, or “Quad”—was cemented after a decade of dithering. Within two months of taking over, Biden got the leaders of this supposedly “Asian Nato,” a bulwark against a rising and assertive China, to summit, virtually, for the first time. Read more: Quad is Key to Biden’s Strategy in Asia, But the Four-Way Alliance Is Ambiguous and Contradictory Not all Asia is equal, though, ordered as they are now according to their relevance to the project of containing China. Afghanistan and Afghan lives do not figure very highly in this new pecking order. While Biden was revving up the Quad, he was simultaneously working on a full troop withdrawal from Afghanistan, continuing with Trump’s policy to exit what the Americans now call the “endless war.” Last year, Trump made a peace agreement with the Taliban. Not only was the Afghan government kept out of this deal, the U.S. even asked Kabul to release 5,000 Taliban prisoners to meet the Taliban’s conditions. The writing was pretty clear on the wall: Trump’s America had decided to throw the Afghan government under the bus and make peace with the same people it went to war with 20 years ago. If Afghanistan’s political elite saw hopes of a change of heart in Biden’s rise to power, they were quickly dashed. Afghan families carrying belongings on their way to flee Kabul city, Afghanistan, on August 15, 2021. Haroon Sabawoon/Anadolu Agency via Getty Images By the time Biden met Afghan President Ashraf Ghani, six months after promising to “engage with the world once again,” America’s plans to withdraw from Afghanistan had been cast in stone—no matter what the consequences. But the U.S. was not abandoning Afghanistan, he reiterated, and let it be known that he was sending three million doses of vaccines to the country to help its people battle COVID-19. To stay alive till the Taliban come. And now they have. After a breathtakingly swift advance in which province after province fell to them in rapid succession, the Taliban have now captured Kabul. The president has fled and the U.S. has evacuated its embassy. As is now evident, till the very last hour, the U.S. completely misread the speed and determination of the Taliban’s advance. The messy stampede for the exit by the “trusted partner for peace, progress, and security” has now undone all the gains its presence had achieved over two decades in Afghanistan. The return of the Taliban means the revival of their primitive interpretation of religious laws and tribal culture, reversing years of progress in freedom of expression and human rights. In areas that they have captured, the Taliban have already shut down the media, issued orders prohibiting men from shaving their beards and women from stepping out without a male companion. Taliban fighters are going door-to-door, forcibly marrying girls as young as 12 and forcing women out of workplaces. This is why the UNHCR finds that 80% of the quarter of a million Afghans who have fled since the end of May as the Taliban advanced, are women and children. With the Taliban formally in charge of the country, there will be no place to run to. Apart from Afghanistan itself, the return of the Taliban poses new security risks for the entire region. It marks the creation of a new hotbed of jihadi terror in the heart of Asia, drawing Islamist fighters from all over South and Southeast Asia, even raising the specter of an ISIS regrouping. The ISIS blitzkrieg also incidentally followed another catastrophic American withdrawal—from Iraq in 2011. A U.S. military helicopter is pictured flying above the U.S. embassy in Kabul on August 15, 2021. WAKIL KOHSAR/AFP via Getty Images The danger of heightened jihadi activity in Afghanistan is particularly acute for the six countries bordering Afghanistan as well as the nearby region, including India and Southeast Asia that are home to vast numbers of Muslim populations, disaffected Muslim youths, and ongoing Islamic insurgencies, such as in Mindanao and Kashmir. The governments of Malaysia, Indonesia and the Philippines—from where thousands of young men joined the ISIS—have already been on edge in anticipation of their return from Syria. No one knows how U.S. policymakers look at the world map, but these are Asian countries, too, and many of them are U.S. allies, who now find themselves exposed to far greater risk of jihadi radicalization. All because the world’s only superpower did not have the stamina to finish what it started. Read more: Joe Biden’s Botched Withdrawal Plunges Afghanistan into Chaos India, whose blue water naval capacity, historical animosity with China, and giant market, make it a particularly important American ally in the region, is a glaring example of the risks of capricious U.S. policies. With no known direct access to the Taliban, India is among the many countries in the region least prepared for the change of guard in Kabul. Only, its situation is made infinitely worse by its running conflict with arch-foe Pakistan, which controls the Taliban. Not to mention the grave security risks the rise of a militant theocratic Muslim state in the neighborhood now poses to India’s Hindu nationalist government, with a manifest record of discrimination towards the country’s Muslim population. These countries’ complete loss at the rapid turn in the region’s geopolitics highlights the dangers that American whimsy creates for allies. As in Vietnam and Iraq, Afghanistan again serves as a reminder of America’s capacity for mayhem with its ill-thought-out interventions and reckless retreats. Curiously, America’s irresponsible abdication of Afghanistan comes at a time when it is trying to reassert its leadership in Asia and persuade countries in the region to pick a side in its great-power competition with China. The Chinese have been quick to seize on the debacle to spotlight America’s unreliability as a partner. “Mr. Blinken, where is your pet phrase? You don’t plan to announce to stand with the Afghan people?” tweeted Hu Xijin, editor-in-chief of state-controlled Global Times. Beijing probably need not try so hard. The power of Biden’s Afghan example has made its work a lot easier. Sign up for Inside TIME. Be the first to see the new cover of TIME and get our most compelling stories delivered straight to your inbox. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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A growing number of colleges and universities are requiring proof of COVID-19 vaccination for students to attend in-person classes. But the mandatory requirement has opened the door for those opposed to getting the vaccine to cheat the system.

https://ti.me/3jHa6oa

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(SAN LUIS OBISPO, Calif.) — As the delta variant of the coronavirus sweeps across the United States, a growing number of colleges and universities are requiring proof of COVID-19 vaccination for students to attend in-person classes. But the mandatory requirement has opened the door for those opposed to getting the vaccine to cheat the system, according to interviews with students, education and law enforcement officials. Both faculty and students at dozens of schools interviewed by The Associated Press say they are concerned about how easy it is to get fake vaccine cards. Across the internet, a cottage industry has sprung up to accommodate people who say they won’t get vaccinated for either personal or religious reasons. An Instagram account with the username “vaccinationcards” sells laminated COVID-19 vaccination cards for $25 each. A user on the encrypted messaging app, Telegram, offers “COVID-19 Vaccine Cards Certificates,” for as much as $200 apiece. “This is our own way of saving as many people as we possibly can from the poisonous vaccine,” reads the seller’s message, viewed by at least 11,000 app users. An increasing number of inquiries to these sites and similar ones appear to be from those who are trying to get fake vaccination cards for college. A Reddit user commented on a thread about falsifying COVID-19 vaccination cards, saying, in part, “I need one, too, for college. I refuse to be a guinea pig.” On Twitter, one user with more than 70,000 followers tweeted, “My daughter bought 2 fake ID’s online for $50 while in college. Shipped from China. Anyone have the link for vaccine cards?” According to a tally by The Chronicle of Higher Education, at least 664 colleges and universities now require proof of COVID-19 inoculations. The process to confirm vaccination at many schools can be as simple as uploading a picture of the vaccine card to the student’s portal. In Nashville, Vanderbilt University places a hold on a student’s course registration until their vaccine record has been verified unless they have an approved medical accommodation or religious exemption. The University of Michigan says it has a system in place to confirm employee and student vaccinations. A spokesman for the college told the AP the school has not encountered any problems so far with students forging their COVID-19 vaccination record cards. But Benjamin Mason Meier, a global health policy professor at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, questions how institutions can verify those records. “The United States, unlike most countries which have electronic systems in place, is basing its vaccination on a flimsy paper card,” he said. Meier tweeted last week that he spoke with several students who were worried about the accessibility of fraudulent vaccine cards and that they knew a fellow student who had submitted one to the university. “There needs to be policies in place for accountability to make sure that every student is operating in the collective interest of the entire campus,” he said. In a statement to the AP, UNC said the institution conducts periodic verification of documents and that lying about vaccination status or falsifying documents is a violation of the university’s COVID-19 community standards and may result in disciplinary action. “It’s important to note that UNC-Chapel Hill has not found any instances of a student uploading a fake vaccine card. Those claims are simply hearsay at this point,” the school said. But other university staff and faculty have expressed their concern over the alleged forgery of vaccine cards. Rebecca Williams, a research associate at UNC’s Lineberger Comprehensive Cancer Center and Center for Health Promotion and Disease Prevention, said while she is concerned by these claims, she isn’t surprised. “This is why I think the development of a reliable national digital vaccine passport app is very important for the sake of all the organizations and businesses that want to require proof of vaccination for employees, students, or business patrons,” Williams said. The AP spoke with several students across the country who did not want to be identified but said they were also aware of attempts to obtain fake cards. Some school officials do acknowledge that it’s impossible to have a foolproof system. This undated image provided by the United States District Court for the Northern District of California shows two fake CDC COVID-19 Vaccination Record Cards that are part of a criminal complaint. U.S. District Court for the Northern District of California via AP “As with anything that potentially requires a certification, there is the possibility for an individual to falsify documentation,” said Michael Uhlenkamp, a spokesman for the chancellor’s office at California State University. The school system, which is the largest in the nation, oversees about 486,000 students each year on 23 campuses. Dr. Sarah Van Orman, the chief health officer at the University of Southern California and COVID-19 task force member for the American College Health Association, said college campuses are especially challenging environments to control the spread of COVID-19 since tens of thousands of students move into campus from all over the world. But if students falsify their vaccination status, she said it may have limited impact. “I think that the numbers of students who would do that would be so very small that it wouldn’t affect our kind of ability to get good community immunity,” Orman said. In March, the concern over fake COVID-19 vaccination cards prompted the FBI to issue a joint statement with the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services urging people not to buy, create or sell fabricated vaccine cards. The unauthorized use of the seal of an official government agency such as HHS or the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention is a federal crime that carries a possible fine and a maximum of five years in prison. In April, a bipartisan coalition of 47 state attorneys general sent a letter to the CEOs of Twitter, Shopify and eBay to take down ads or links selling the bogus cards. Many of the sites have blacklisted keywords related to fake cards, but places to buy the documents are still popping up on messaging apps, chat forums and the dark web. Sellers on websites such as Counterfeit Center, Jimmy Black Market, and Buy Express Documents list COVID-19 vaccine cards, certificates and passports for sale, some costing €400 Euros or about $473.49 US dollars. An advertisement on the website Buy Real Fake Passport reads vendors can produce fake vaccination cards by the thousands, if not tens of thousands, based on the demand. “It is hiding under our noses. If you want it, you can find it out,” said Saoud Khalifah, founder and CEO of scam-detecting software Fakespot. “If we are seeing signs where things like Lollapalooza and other festivals are getting fake cards to gain entrance, the trend is just going to continue into these universities.” In July, the U.S. Department of Justice announced its first federal criminal fraud prosecution involving a fake COVID-19 immunization and vaccination card scheme. Juli A. Mazi, 41, a naturopathic physician in Napa, California, was arrested and charged with one count of wire fraud and one count of false statements related to health care matters. Court documents allege she sold fake vaccination cards to customers that appeared to show that they had received Moderna vaccines. In some cases, the documents show Mazi herself filled out the cards, writing her own name, and purported Moderna “lot numbers” for a vaccine she had not in fact administered. For other customers, she provided blank CDC COVID-19 vaccination record cards and told each customer to write that she had administered a Moderna vaccine with a specified lot number. Requiring vaccinations to attend class at colleges and universities has become a contentious political issue in some states. Public colleges in at least 13 states including Ohio, Utah, Tennessee and Florida cannot legally require COVID-19 vaccinations due to state legislation, but private institutions in those same states can. Among the states introducing and passing bills barring educational institutions from mandating COVID-19 vaccines, infringement on individual rights or liberties is often cited as the main concern. But according to a statement released by the American College Health Association and other educational organizations, these restrictions impede on universities’ abilities to operate fully and safely. “The science of good public health has gotten lost in some of the decisions that have been made in some places,” Orman said. “It has not always been held up by our political leaders.” Some college students have taken to social media platforms like Twitter and TikTok to voice their outrage over other students possessing fraudulent vaccine cards. Maliha Reza, an electrical engineering student at Pennsylvania State University, said it is mind-boggling that students would pay for fake vaccination cards when they could get the COVID-19 vaccine at no cost. “I’m angry about that like there is more anger than I could describe right now,” Reza said. “It’s dumb considering the vaccine is free and it is accessible across the country.” ___ Roselyn Romero is an intern on the Associated Press Global Investigative team. The internship is funded by the Ida B. Wells Society for Investigative Reporting. Follow Romero at https://www.twitter.com/roselyn_romero The Coronavirus Brief. Everything you need to know about the global spread of COVID-19 Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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Important parts of the brain tend to atrophy as we get older—yet brain scans of some 70-year-olds resemble those of 20 to 30-year-olds. Emerging research points to habits that may keep the mind sharp during the aging process.

https://ti.me/3s2nK9h

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Important parts of the brain tend to atrophy as we get older—yet brain scans of some 70-year-olds resemble those of 20 to 30-year-olds. Emerging research points to habits that may keep the mind sharp during the aging process. “Despite the stereotypes, cognitive decline is not inevitable as you age, and adopting healthy lifestyle habits can significantly reduce your risks for dementia later on in life,” says Sarah Lenz Lock, AARP’s senior vice president and executive director of the Global Council on Brain Health. Start socializing “Social isolation increases dementia risk by 50%” in older adults, says Lock. “The link is unmistakable.” You don’t need to collect a whole crew of companions, however; a few close friends can be enough. Instead of seeking as many friends as possible, focus on building the social circles that satisfy your individual needs, like spending more time with neighbors, volunteering at a community center or adopting a pet. One common aging problem, hearing loss, can get in the way of socializing. “Socially withdrawing may be easier than dealing with embarrassment over hearing loss and working to correct it,” says Angelina Sutin, a psychology professor at Florida State University. But addressing hearing loss is important for brain health. A 2019 study found that cognitive performance declined for every 10-decibel loss of hearing—and stress from loneliness makes cortisol levels go up, which could harm the brain over time. If socializing in-person isn’t possible, it may help to connect with others online. In one study published in 2017 in the Journals of Gerontology, after seniors learned to use Facebook, they scored higher on memory tests than older adults who didn’t use Facebook. Practice relaxation Stress is a natural part of life, and manageable stress that challenges you, motivates you and helps you grow actually supports brain health. But relaxation is equally important. Studies by Sara Lazar, a neuroscientist at Harvard Medical School, show that brain regions involved in focus and attention are thicker in people who practice meditation. Music is another great de-stressor, partly because it can be performed and listened to with friends, which could maximize its effect on cognitive longevity. One way that relaxation aids mental sharpness is that it contributes to a good night’s rest, says Lock. Deep sleep is critical for storing and consolidating memories, studies suggest. It starts to decline during young adulthood and continues to do so as people age, and adults who sleep poorly over the years are more likely to suffer symptoms of Alzheimer’s disease. But simple routines can improve sleep at any age, such as limiting food and drink three hours before bedtime, maintaining the same sleep schedule and not looking at smartphones or other electronics in the bedroom. Exercise smart As the body gets older, one of the best ways to keep it young is to stay physically active. The same is true for the brain. “If there’s only one thing you can do for brain health,” says Lock, “the evidence for exercise is overwhelming.” Working out increases a protein called brain-derived neurotrophic factor (BDNF), which is vital for growing and keeping neurons. Exercise also helps prevent brain inflammation, among other benefits. Strive for 150 minutes of aerobic workouts and one to two days of strength training each week. The benefits may increase if you mix exercise with other healthy strategies. Try adding a cognitive challenge—like playing sports or dancing, which combines a cardio workout, music, socializing and remembering the steps. Likewise, yoga may benefit brain health because it combines meditation with movement, says Lazar. Exercising outdoors in fresh air may provide another bonus. Taking in greenery and natural light assists brain health by reducing stress and increasing melatonin for a more regular sleep-wake cycle. Eat for your brain After exercising, choose a brain-healthy recovery meal. In his research, Dr. Nikolaos Scarmeas, associate professor of neurology at Columbia University, found that the more closely adults followed a Mediterranean diet—having fish and plant-based foods such as fruit, vegetables, nuts and olive oil, while limiting red meat—the more their risk for Alzheimer’s disease dropped. The strictest followers cut their risk by 40%. “Other diets haven’t been explored as extensively,” says Scarmeas. “There’s more evidence for the Mediterranean pattern so far.” Another eating plan that scientists are currently exploring is the MIND diet, a twist on the Mediterranean approach that further prioritizes foods that may be important for brain health, such as berries and green, leafy vegetables. One way that these diets may protect the brain is that they improve cardiovascular health; lowering blood pressure has been linked to a lower risk of Alzheimer’s disease. And Scarmeas noted that eating a Mediterranean diet can change the composition of people’s microbiome, a collection of trillions of bacteria that live in the gut and influence the health of many parts of the body. Pursue a purpose Having a goal-driven purpose in life is associated with a 30% reduction in dementia, independent of other aspects of well-being, according to one 2017 study by Sutin, the Florida State University psychologist. “It’s so protective because it leads to meaningful engagement,” she explains. Socializing is one way to keep the mind engaged, but engagement can take many forms—whether that’s writing a novel, caring for someone in need, pursuing a satisfying job into your 80s, getting really into exercise or practicing an enriching hobby. It’s highly individual. “What’s purposeful to one person might be trivial to another,” says Sutin. Chasing your “life’s purpose” may seem like the privilege of a lucky few. But Sutin’s research suggests that cultivating a sense of purpose contributes to brain health regardless of income, wealth or education. Plenty of activities can increase one’s sense of it. “Do what you love,” Lock says. “Do more of it more deeply.” Get our Health Newsletter. Sign up to receive the latest health and science news, plus answers to wellness questions and expert tips. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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"In a world that seems increasingly out of control, we are desperate for hope: real hope, a hope that acknowledges the full magnitude of the challenge we face and the very imminent risk of failure."

https://ti.me/37ENYW7

time

In the 1850s, an American scientist named Eunice Foote deduced, based on experiments she’d conducted, that if carbon dioxide levels in the atmosphere were higher, the planet would be warmer. And in the 1890s, a Swedish chemist named Svante Arrhenius calculated, by hand, exactly how much the earth would warm as carbon dioxide levels increased. By the 1990s, the influence of human activities on the planet was obvious. The first United Nations’ Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) assessment report not only tracked the observed increase in carbon dioxide and its impact on global temperatures, melting ice and sea level rise; it also quantified a range of potential future scenarios that depended on human choices. This past Monday, the IPCC published the first volume of its latest Assessment Report. It’s the sixth in a series of assessments that have each been more exhaustive and comprehensive than the last. This new report once again painstakingly documents how, where, and why our climate has changed, and what we can expect in the future. Now, though, it also shows how climate change is no longer a distant, speculative threat. Its impacts are here and now, and they’re affecting all of us, in ways that matter to each of us. Read more: The Latest IPCC Report Says We’re Probably Going to Pass the 1.5°C Climate Threshold. What’s Next? In the eight years since the IPCC’s Fifth Assessment Report was released, we’ve experienced an increasing litany of costly and destructive disasters fueled by a changing climate: record-breaking wildfires from Australia to British Columbia; scorching heat waves from Siberia to Death Valley; devastating floods across China, Bangladesh, Germany and the Midwest; and supercharged hurricanes, typhoons, and cyclones, from Texas to Japan. In a world that seems increasingly out of control, we are desperate for hope: real hope, a hope that acknowledges the full magnitude of the challenge we face and the very imminent risk of failure. Real hope also offers a chance of a more vibrant future; a glimpse, however distant, of something better than what we have today, not worse. Where can we find such hope? We find it in action. The world has changed before and, when it did, it wasn’t because a president, a prime minister, a CEO or a celebrity decided it had to. Change didn’t begin with the King of England deciding to end slavery or the President of the United States giving women the vote or the National Party of South Africa opting to end apartheid. It began when ordinary people – people of no particular power, wealth, or fame – decided that the world could and should be different. Who were William Wilberforce, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Martin Luther King Jr., Nelson Mandela, and all the countless others who shared and supported and fought for their visions of a better world? They were people who had the courage of their convictions, who used their voices to advocate for the systemic societal changes needed. We are the the people who changed the world before: and we are the people who can change it again. We don’t need to have hope to begin to act. Instead, action engenders hope. As Svante Arrhenius’ distant cousin Greta Thunberg has said, “The one thing we need more than hope is action. Once we start to act, hope is everywhere.” Some of the impacts of climate change are already here today. Others are inevitable due to all the carbon we’ve emitted over the last few decades. But the IPCC report is clear: the worst can still be avoided. Our future is in our hands. What can you do? Anything. Recycle your yogurt cup after breakfast tomorrow. Cut your food waste. Try a new veggie recipe. Replace your lightbulbs with LEDs. Go bigger: talk to your school or your place of work or worship about what you could do, together. Join an organization that shares your values and advocates for change. Attend the next climate march in your area, or even start a new one. Begin a petition in your community to require solar panels on municipal buildings. Call Congress and demand a clearer path to net-zero. Don’t just do it: talk about what you’re doing, and why. We can’t change the world by ourselves. We have to do it together, and that requires us to connect. Talk about why climate change matters, in ways that affect you personally. Encourage others by sharing what you’ve done yourself, and what you’ve seen or heard or read about what so many others are doing. Climate action isn’t a giant boulder sitting at the bottom of a steep hill with just a few hands on it. It’s already at the top of the hill, it’s already got millions of hands on it, and it’s already slowly rolling in the right direction. It just needs to go faster. One of my favorite ways to take action? Be a good neighbor. That might sound almost too easy, but in an increasingly polarized and inequitable world, looking out for and caring for each other is vital when faced with extreme weather events like flooding, heatwaves and wildfire. Sticking together as a community, building resilience together, is part of the fight against climate change, too. It’s my hope that this report, and the worry and concern it generates in each of us, will inspire you to take action, to have a conversation, to be part of the change we need. Why you? Because to care about climate change, we only have to be one thing: a human, living on planet earth. And if you’re reading this, that’s exactly who you are. Get our climate newsletter. Learn how the week’s major news story connects back to the climate crisis. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

Article

As the auto industry rapidly transforms—moving from the internal combustion engine that has defined road transportation for more than 100 years to electric vehicles—workers and manufacturing communities are waiting anxiously to see what the scramble to lower the nation’s emissions will mean for them.

https://ti.me/3jQYi2U

time

Wandering around the sprawling 6.2 million-sq.-ft. Lordstown Motors assembly plant in Ohio, it’s tempting to imagine a green future that is full of jobs. The company’s signature product is a high-performing electric pickup truck, and around the facility workers are buzzing about, getting ready to bring it into production. In one corner, according to company officials giving TIME a rare tour, the firm will build its cutting-edge motors, which will be located in each wheel. A short golf-cart ride away, engineers explain how the company will assemble the lithium-ion battery packs that will power the trucks instead of diesel fuel. And while an army of robots sit idle, ready to be put to use assembling the vehicle, company officials insist they will soon be hiring rapidly. At full capacity, the company says, the facility will be able to churn out hundreds of thousands of trucks every year, a best-case scenario that would make Lordstown Motors a major player in the American auto industry and revitalize a part of the country that has been left behind by a series of big industrial departures. But there’s a reason one local official calls this part of Ohio the “land of broken promises.” The Lordstown Motors jobs may be green, but it’s an open question whether they will be good—and how many of them there will be. Unlike the 10,000-plus people who used to make General Motors automobiles at this same building, Lordstown Motors employees do not belong to a union. Today, the plant employs only around 500 people, and it’s unclear how many will ultimately work in the facility. For many locals, there’s an air of uncertainty brought by recent headlines: Lordstown Motors is under federal investigation for allegedly misleading investors. The company’s CEO and CFO both resigned in June. The combination of its vaulting promise and tenuous future captures well the larger state of play in the world of green jobs. As the auto industry rapidly transforms—moving from the internal combustion engine that has defined road transportation for more than 100 years to electric vehicles—workers and manufacturing communities are waiting anxiously to see what the scramble to lower the nation’s emissions will mean for them. On the one hand, building electric vehicles in communities like the Mahoning Valley, the region where Lordstown is located, promises to create the jobs of the future, resilient to the wave of imminent changes that will come as the post-pandemic economy rebuilds and modernizes. On the other, the picture of what an auto-manufacturing job in the new green economy looks like remains fuzzy. A Lordstown Motors employee puts together battery packs Ross Mantle for TIME The growth of electric-vehicle manufacturing in the U.S. could drive a renaissance for workers, creating new paths for unionization, training opportunities and better salaries. Or it could lead to lower wages, slashed benefits and a smaller workforce—and that’s just for the jobs that remain in the U.S. The stakes rose dramatically on Aug. 5, when President Biden gathered executives and labor officials on the South Lawn of the White House to announce new vehicle-efficiency standards and a goal of making 50% of new-car sales electric by 2030. “There’s no turning back,” said Biden, with U.S.-made electric trucks parked in the driveway behind him. “The question is whether we’ll lead or fall behind in the race for the future. It’s whether we’ll build these vehicles and the batteries that got them to where they are here in the United States, or if we’re going to have to rely on other countries for those batteries; whether or not the job to build these vehicles and batteries are good-paying union jobs, jobs with benefits, jobs that are going to sustain continued growth of the middle class.” Across the nation, auto companies, local officials and union leaders are trying to chart a path through this uncertain, fast-moving moment. Small towns and state governments are jockeying to capture their share of the emerging green economy, enticing electric automakers to invest in their backyards with tax incentives and worker-training programs. Legacy automakers are rethinking their businesses from the ground up, poised to spend tens of billions of dollars in the process, while union leaders are fighting to maintain a voice in the evolving industry. Meanwhile, the Biden Administration is trying to use the federal dime to shape the industry’s transition in a way that will ultimately support communities. The auto industry is not the only sector staring into the green unknown. Study after study shows that on a global scale, transitioning industry to a low-carbon economy will create new jobs, but those jobs won’t necessarily be in the same places, go to the same people, or offer the same pay and benefits. In the energy sector, for example, the International Labour Organization found that addressing climate change will create 24 million jobs globally while eliminating 6 million. This trend carries across large swaths of the economy. But the science of climate change is urgent, and even the most wizened labor advocates acknowledge that such complexities cannot be an excuse for inaction. Instead, they say, this moment must be viewed as an opportunity to create the best jobs as early as possible. “All of these decisions on electric vehicles and clean energy… will need to be worker-centered,” says Senator Sherrod Brown, an Ohio Democrat and longtime supporter of organized labor. “That will make all the difference.” In eastern Ohio, residents are watching—hopeful, but not naive to the pitfalls and challenges ahead. They want Lordstown Motors to fulfill its promise of anchoring a new “Voltage Valley” that will bring thousands of jobs back to the area. Despite the uncertainty over the federal investigations the company faces, Lordstown Motors says things are on track. “At the end of the day, [community members] will see us producing a truck,” says Jane Ritson-Parsons, the company’s chief operating officer. And locals want to believe them. “We want what’s best for the valley economically, so we don’t want to see this project fail,” says Tim O’Hara, a GM assembly worker who served as the president of the local branch of the United Auto Workers (UAW) before moving to a GM plant in Kentucky. “We’re kind of in a wait-and-see situation about how this all turns out.” Lordstown Motors employees gather after work at Ross’ Eatery & Pub Ross Mantle for TIME Driving through the Mahoning Valley, a flat expanse between Cleveland and Pittsburgh with 530,000 residents, it’s hard to miss the region’s industrial roots—and the reverence for the workers who built it. The city of Youngstown, about 15 miles southeast of the Lordstown Motors plant, is home to the Youngstown Historical Center of Industry & Labor, celebrating the history of the Valley’s steel industry. You can’t drive across town without spotting a UAW bumper sticker. At Ross’ Eatery and Pub, the local bar, union gear is displayed alongside Marines paraphernalia and hunting trophies. GM was once at the center of this community. The more than 10,000 workers the company employed in the region at the assembly plant’s peak supported thousands of other jobs. But changing consumer preferences and globalization destabilized everything, and the company’s hold on the region loosened. In 2017, GM cut the first shift from the Lordstown plant, which at the time produced the Chevy Cruze; by the end of 2018 the company had told workers the entire facility would close. At Ross’ Eatery, a poster hangs on the wall of the last car produced there, on March 6, 2019. Mayor William “Doug” Franklin of Warren, a city a short drive from the plant, understands the personal impact of Mahoning Valley’s booms and busts. His father worked in a local steel mill and his mother at a local auto supplier. Before becoming mayor, Franklin himself worked at GM for 25 years. He now describes himself as a “UAW retiree.” But Franklin doesn’t want to talk about the Mahoning Valley’s past. Instead of meeting at the historic mayor’s office in Warren, he asked to meet a few blocks away at BRITE, a local nonprofit that supports energy-tech startups, which is trying to build an electric-vehicle ecosystem in the area. Franklin wants to see a full-scale rebranding of the region, making the Mahoning Valley a center for electric-vehicle manufacturing that will bring job retraining, private investment and new technical jobs. “We know how to take a punch and how to recover; that’s just in our DNA,” he says. “This provides us a great opportunity to change our brand from the Steel Valley to the Voltage Valley.” The shift began in earnest in 2019, when Lordstown Motors formed a new firm to take over the GM facility and produce an electric truck. On Dec. 5, GM announced its own EV project just next door: a battery-cell-assembly plant called Ultium Cells, which is scheduled to open next year. With those two anchors, small startups have flocked to the region, working in everything from energy storage to solar power, eager to benefit from the electric–vehicle hub that seems to be taking shape. “There will be a couple thousand jobs that show up here in the next three to five years, based purely on the location,” says Rick Stockburger, who runs BRITE. More of these hubs could be on the way. Major automakers including GM, Ford and Stellantis are each spending tens of billions to prepare for an all-electric future. “This is transformational,” says Gerald Johnson, GM’s head of global manufacturing. “It’s the biggest technological change this industry has seen in over 100 years. This is going from buggies to engines.” It has also given automakers an opportunity to think strategically about where to invest—and there’s no guarantee that they will do so in the same places they built the internal combustion engine. Companies are selecting sites based on a range of criteria, from geography and transportation access to the local workforce. And cities, towns and states are fighting to prove that they’re the best suited to absorb those jobs. The rapid EV investment in eastern Ohio “isn’t a surprise to us,” says Jonathan Bridges, who heads JobsOhio’s efforts to recruit automotive companies to the state. “We’ve been actively working to position Ohio to be in that next generation of propulsion.” Communities with deep histories in the automotive industry may have some natural advantage in this race, such as hosting an old plant that can be refurbished. But there’s no doubt that the change will also be disruptive. Making an electric vehicle is a less labor-intensive process than producing one of its gas-powered counterparts; many of the components under the hood of a car with an internal combustion engine simply aren’t needed in an electric vehicle. Automakers estimate that they will require 30% less labor to produce an electric vehicle than a gas-powered one. Many companies in the supply chain that make parts for cars will cease to exist entirely. That creates new problems for the workers who remain. With fewer auto jobs than job seekers, companies may try to pay industry workers less. That’s difficult to do under current union contracts, but many auto companies have already begun to outsource work to subsidiaries and partners that are not unionized. While Ultium Cells, for example, says it won’t stand in the way of a union, workers will need to organize to join one. In any event, pay is expected to be significantly less than what UAW workers earned at GM. Ford too has invested in a separate battery company, which may or may not be unionized one day. Some startups, like Lordstown Motors, are not unionized at all. And earlier this year a federal judge found that Tesla, now the biggest incumbent EV maker, had illegally sought to discourage union participation at the company. “A significant number of jobs are in jeopardy,” says Marick Masters, a professor of management at Wayne State University. “And some of the jobs that are going to replace them may be nonunion, paying considerably less than the going rate.” There’s also the skills challenge; many of the new jobs will likely require different technical capabilities than traditional auto-industry workers typically have. Software engineers, chemists and technical experts will be more in demand, while the engineers and technicians who spent their careers mastering components like the transmission will find their skills effectively irrelevant. In Ohio, state and federal funds are already being put toward re-skilling. The Excellence Training Center at Youngstown State University, for example, is a former juvenile-correctional facility that recently got a government-funded $12 million makeover and began classes in July to provide locals with skills they will need to work at the new battery-cell–manufacturing plant. On the ground level, 3-D printers churned out YSU-themed tchotchkes to show off what they can do. In a vast second-floor space, more robots stood at the ready for the next trainee to take the wheel and learn how to operate them. “Higher ed is not meeting the needs of industry,” says Jennifer Oddo, executive director of the training center. “But industry can’t wait.” Franklin, Mayor of Warren, Ohio, wants the region to rebrand Ross Mantle for TIME Competition for this new generation of vehicle will be fierce, and some states are willing to spend big to incentivize. Around 500 miles southwest of the Mahoning Valley, in downtown Nashville, Bob Rolfe’s office feels more C-suite than state-government administrator. From a corner perch on the 27th floor of a skyscraper, Rolfe, who runs Tennessee’s Department of Economic & Community Development, surveys the city landscape as he works to bring new business here. Tennessee is ahead of the curve in the American race to woo electric-vehicle investment: GM, Nissan and Volkswagen have all committed billions to build electric cars in the state, which already has auto-industry operations in 88 of its 95 counties. In the offices his department has set up overseas, from the United Kingdom to Japan, Rolfe’s pitch to electric-vehicle makers has been simple: Tennessee is “pro-business.” The state doesn’t have a personal income tax, it funds workforce-development programs, and it has billions of dollars in tax incentives at the ready to offer companies. Forty-five minutes down the road, GM’s new, $2 billion Spring Hill EV-manufacturing plant is constructing the facilities to build its first electric Cadillac. New assembly floors rise from what was once empty land, part of an already sprawling GM complex that has been in operation since the 1980s. Next door, another new Ultium Cells plant is also breaking ground, and the state is working with GM to move a road to accommodate it. In total, Rolfe estimates the state is providing $65 million in incentives to support GM’s expansion here. “These are not inexpensive investments for the companies,” says Rolfe. “They’re not inexpensive for the state.” Local governments’ aggressive maneuvers to attract the electric-vehicle business have unsettled a well-established dynamic among the typical auto-industry power players. The UAW, the longtime counterweight to the auto companies, has had to fight to maintain its influence. Its current contracts remain intact, but its leverage is limited as automakers rethink their business and local communities vie to host them. The abrupt shift presents a conundrum to labor leaders. Climate change and global market trends mean electric vehicles are the future. The transportation sector in the U.S. emits nearly 30% of global greenhouse-gas emissions, and nearly 60% of that comes from light-duty vehicles. The U.S. may be slow to change this equation, but the rest of the world—and the car market—is moving full speed ahead. For the UAW to fight EVs would be futile, and it’s in the union’s interest to ensure electric vehicles are made in the U.S. Yet those same market trends mean union membership is likely to take a hit. A representative for the UAW national union declined to comment on the record for this story, and suggested he would “recalibrate [the UAW’s] interest” in participating if TIME contacted local members. UAW later added that it could not speak on the record at the time because of an ongoing organizing campaign. As it turns out, local union leaders and rank-and-file workers alike around the country said the transition to EVs has generated mixed feelings. In places like the Mahoning Valley, there is a cautious optimism that electric vehicles will bring prosperity, at least in the near term, even without organized labor. “They’re high-quality, high-paying jobs,” Franklin, the Warren mayor, says of the clean-energy ecosystem developing in his backyard. “Compared to what UAW members made in the past? We lost those jobs.” But in places that have yet to be chosen as a new EV hub, workers are skeptical, nervous, even terrified. In Facebook groups and after-hours chats, workers say, views of the country’s EV future are falling along the same partisan lines as so many other aspects of American life. Many conservatives doubt EVs even work, let alone represent an important part of the country’s future. Democratic autoworkers accept the benefits of EVs, but worry that they might end up casualties of the industry’s overhaul, no matter the rhetoric coming from Washington. “Electric vehicles are the way of the future, it seems pretty obvious,” says Justin Mayhugh, an auto-worker at GM’s Fairfax Assembly Plant in Kansas City, Kans., and a UAW member. “But I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I think most of us here in Kansas City are pretty concerned about the lack of investment here.” The shell of a Lordstown Motors pickup truck sits on the assembly line Ross Mantle for TIME On May 18, Joe Biden traveled to Detroit to promote his infrastructure plan. Sitting in the driver’s seat of a new electric Ford F-150 truck wearing his signature aviator sunglasses, Biden told the gathered reporters, “This sucker’s quick,” before accelerating off into an empty parking lot. Shortly after, Biden conceded that the future of electric vehicles in this country is uncertain, warning that the U.S. is at risk of falling behind China. Then he quickly pivoted back to his mantra. “When I think of the climate crisis,” he said, “I think jobs.” This has been Biden’s consistent talking point on climate change, from the campaign trail to the Oval Office. But the truth is that while the auto industry’s transition may be inevitable, the myriad “good-paying union jobs with benefits” that Biden has promised will come with it remain a possibility, not a guarantee. And for better or worse, the federal government will play a key role determining whether that becomes a reality. “The United States is at a crossroads,” says Trevor Higgins, senior director for domestic climate and energy at the Center for American Progress, a center-left think tank. “Where and how these electric vehicles will be built is going to be determined by federal policy choices.” The next few months may be decisive, as Congress decides the fate of Biden’s massive infrastructure package. Both the big-ticket spending items, such as the $174 billion Biden has proposed to stimulate electric-vehicle adoption, as well the small print outlining the labor requirements for federal-funding beneficiaries, will shape the future of this new American industry—and workers’ place in it. So far, much is left to be desired. A bipartisan infrastructure deal struck in the Senate contains some $7.5 billion in funding for EV-charging stations; a big sum, to be sure, but far short of what Biden proposed. Biden has also sought to use his presidential authority and convening power to shape the EV future: his Aug. 5 announcement included tightened vehicle standards that would incentivize the transition, as well as voluntary commitments from carmakers to go electric. That’s the easy part. From there, the policy landscape gets more complicated, as Democrats try to infuse worker-friendly policies into other legislation that supports EVs. Democratic lawmakers have pushed legislation to revamp electric-vehicle tax -incentives so that cars would need to be assembled in the U.S. with union labor to qualify for a full tax rebate. Biden, widely viewed as the biggest union ally to occupy the White House in decades, has backed a measure that would make it easier for workers at fledgling EV companies—and businesses across the U.S.—to organize. “We have to get the President’s full agenda passed, so that we can get the best outcomes in the transition to EVs,” Liz Shuler, secretary-treasurer of the AFL-CIO, said at a July virtual event. In the places that stand to gain and lose in these negotiations, people give the President’s performance managing the industry’s transformation mixed reviews. Many acknowledge that Biden’s electric-vehicle agenda will help their local community. But there is also widespread understanding of what few in Washington want to admit: this transition is going to be messy. “When they say it’s creating all these new jobs, that’s a lie. I mean, you’re just shifting jobs from here to there,” says Dave Green, a GM assembly worker who previously led the local UAW branch in the Mahoning Valley. “‘I’m a little more hopeful with Joe Biden and Democrats in office, but at the same time, something’s got to give.” Whatever Biden tries, it’s likely to run headlong into a wall of Republican opposition. Many in the GOP worry that supporting EVs will wreak havoc on the oil and gas industry, and cost millions of energy jobs in largely red states. It’s true, of course, that transitioning to electric vehicles will have downstream effects for oil and gas workers, gas-station owners, and a long list of other established industries. But clinging to the past is worse for everyone. The climate is changing, and jobs will need to too. The sooner we admit it, the better we can prepare. —With reporting by Leslie Dickstein The Leadership Brief. Conversations with the most influential leaders in business and tech. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Write to Justin Worland at justin.worland@time.com.

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“Flexible working, expectations of digital services, awareness of environmental and social impact—all of these had been growing for a long time before the pandemic. And they’re unlikely to regress, nor should we hope them to.”

https://ti.me/2VYOsnu

time

Hybrid or flexible working has been happening for years across many sectors. That said, prior to 2020, a large financial institution going majority hybrid seemed as unlikely as having to show a vaccination card to fly within Europe. Sometimes though, change comes quickly and all at once. In addition to being highly regulated, financial institutions have historically had a reputation for being slow or even resistant to change. But that simply wasn’t an option in the last year. Overnight, restrictions forced every financial firm to transition to a drastically different way of working, which they probably would never have done voluntarily. And this was a necessary wake-up call for the industry. At UBS, our employees experienced new ways of working during the pandemic. For more than a year, many largely worked from home. This was possible thanks to the historic investment we’ve made in technology as well as years of developing remote leadership skills and a supportive company culture. We stayed very close to our clients and supported them in navigating this difficult environment, with virtual client meetings increasing from 30% to 80%. We welcomed new colleagues and clients, and drove innovation across the business. We arranged virtual trainings for early-stage founders, launched an app that provides a seamless interaction for our wealth management clients and built strategic partnerships globally. We progressed key strategic initiatives, including a 154% increase in impact investing and sustainability-focused invested assets. In short, the business adapted rapidly and grew in tandem with change. A few unexpected things also happened: i) internal surveys revealed that many employees were just as, if not more, productive while working from home (also in line with the findings of other financial institutions—annualized growth in output per hour has risen since the crisis began); ii) employees liked the flexibility that a hybrid model offered, and iii) mindsets about digital were transformed as normal life was disrupted. Clients were demanding more seamless digital service and, because employees were facing similar needs in their own working environments, they started to think even more about how to improve client experience. For financial institutions like UBS, with a large global footprint operating in a highly regulated environment, there will never be a one-size-fits-all approach. There also won’t be a static one. To succeed, we need to operate with agility and care. Our firm-wide analysis, taking into consideration factors like regulation, risk, and productivity, found that two thirds of employees can work from home highly effectively. We believe a hybrid approach will allow our people to have a better work/life balance, with the approach also making us a more attractive employer, appealing to a more diverse pool of applicants, such as working parents and those in continuing education. We also believe it will increase employee productivity and, as a result, improve the quality of our service to clients. Flexible working, by nature of its emphasis on technology and virtual collaboration, encourages an innovative mindset across our firm – which is a big part of our strategy. The impact of in-person interactions, however, should not be underestimated and will remain an important component of our relationships, both internally and with our clients. They help build long-term client relationships and trust. They support employee connectivity, positive team dynamics and agile working. But digital interactions offer different benefits—encouraging more innovative thinking, giving clients and employees more flexibility. We can give our clients a choice on how they interact with us while offering first-class, top-quality advice no matter whether our advisors are sitting at home or in the office. Hybrid working is the best of both worlds. Some view the “new normal” as a trade-off—something that has been forced upon us and requires sacrifice. But we must acknowledge that not every element is truly new or a trade-off. Flexible working, expectations of digital services, awareness of environmental and social impact—all of these had been growing for a long time before the pandemic. And they’re unlikely to regress, nor should we hope them to. It’s clear that a new opportunity exists. Organizations that proved their ability to adapt quickly and positively now have space to set the tone for their industries going forward. And I for one am ready for the financial world to be just as innovative as the clients we represent. Ralph Hamers is chief executive of UBS Sign up for Inside TIME. Be the first to see the new cover of TIME and get our most compelling stories delivered straight to your inbox. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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Important parts of the brain tend to atrophy as we get older—yet brain scans of some 70-year-olds resemble those of 20 to 30-year-olds. Emerging research points to habits that may keep the mind sharp during the aging process.

https://ti.me/2Ugc1Yq

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Important parts of the brain tend to atrophy as we get older—yet brain scans of some 70-year-olds resemble those of 20 to 30-year-olds. Emerging research points to habits that may keep the mind sharp during the aging process. “Despite the stereotypes, cognitive decline is not inevitable as you age, and adopting healthy lifestyle habits can significantly reduce your risks for dementia later on in life,” says Sarah Lenz Lock, AARP’s senior vice president and executive director of the Global Council on Brain Health. Start socializing “Social isolation increases dementia risk by 50%” in older adults, says Lock. “The link is unmistakable.” You don’t need to collect a whole crew of companions, however; a few close friends can be enough. Instead of seeking as many friends as possible, focus on building the social circles that satisfy your individual needs, like spending more time with neighbors, volunteering at a community center or adopting a pet. One common aging problem, hearing loss, can get in the way of socializing. “Socially withdrawing may be easier than dealing with embarrassment over hearing loss and working to correct it,” says Angelina Sutin, a psychology professor at Florida State University. But addressing hearing loss is important for brain health. A 2019 study found that cognitive performance declined for every 10-decibel loss of hearing—and stress from loneliness makes cortisol levels go up, which could harm the brain over time. If socializing in-person isn’t possible, it may help to connect with others online. In one study published in 2017 in the Journals of Gerontology, after seniors learned to use Facebook, they scored higher on memory tests than older adults who didn’t use Facebook. Practice relaxation Stress is a natural part of life, and manageable stress that challenges you, motivates you and helps you grow actually supports brain health. But relaxation is equally important. Studies by Sara Lazar, a neuroscientist at Harvard Medical School, show that brain regions involved in focus and attention are thicker in people who practice meditation. Music is another great de-stressor, partly because it can be performed and listened to with friends, which could maximize its effect on cognitive longevity. One way that relaxation aids mental sharpness is that it contributes to a good night’s rest, says Lock. Deep sleep is critical for storing and consolidating memories, studies suggest. It starts to decline during young adulthood and continues to do so as people age, and adults who sleep poorly over the years are more likely to suffer symptoms of Alzheimer’s disease. But simple routines can improve sleep at any age, such as limiting food and drink three hours before bedtime, maintaining the same sleep schedule and not looking at smartphones or other electronics in the bedroom. Exercise smart As the body gets older, one of the best ways to keep it young is to stay physically active. The same is true for the brain. “If there’s only one thing you can do for brain health,” says Lock, “the evidence for exercise is overwhelming.” Working out increases a protein called brain-derived neurotrophic factor (BDNF), which is vital for growing and keeping neurons. Exercise also helps prevent brain inflammation, among other benefits. Strive for 150 minutes of aerobic workouts and one to two days of strength training each week. The benefits may increase if you mix exercise with other healthy strategies. Try adding a cognitive challenge—like playing sports or dancing, which combines a cardio workout, music, socializing and remembering the steps. Likewise, yoga may benefit brain health because it combines meditation with movement, says Lazar. Exercising outdoors in fresh air may provide another bonus. Taking in greenery and natural light assists brain health by reducing stress and increasing melatonin for a more regular sleep-wake cycle. Eat for your brain After exercising, choose a brain-healthy recovery meal. In his research, Dr. Nikolaos Scarmeas, associate professor of neurology at Columbia University, found that the more closely adults followed a Mediterranean diet—having fish and plant-based foods such as fruit, vegetables, nuts and olive oil, while limiting red meat—the more their risk for Alzheimer’s disease dropped. The strictest followers cut their risk by 40%. “Other diets haven’t been explored as extensively,” says Scarmeas. “There’s more evidence for the Mediterranean pattern so far.” Another eating plan that scientists are currently exploring is the MIND diet, a twist on the Mediterranean approach that further prioritizes foods that may be important for brain health, such as berries and green, leafy vegetables. One way that these diets may protect the brain is that they improve cardiovascular health; lowering blood pressure has been linked to a lower risk of Alzheimer’s disease. And Scarmeas noted that eating a Mediterranean diet can change the composition of people’s microbiome, a collection of trillions of bacteria that live in the gut and influence the health of many parts of the body. Pursue a purpose Having a goal-driven purpose in life is associated with a 30% reduction in dementia, independent of other aspects of well-being, according to one 2017 study by Sutin, the Florida State University psychologist. “It’s so protective because it leads to meaningful engagement,” she explains. Socializing is one way to keep the mind engaged, but engagement can take many forms—whether that’s writing a novel, caring for someone in need, pursuing a satisfying job into your 80s, getting really into exercise or practicing an enriching hobby. It’s highly individual. “What’s purposeful to one person might be trivial to another,” says Sutin. Chasing your “life’s purpose” may seem like the privilege of a lucky few. But Sutin’s research suggests that cultivating a sense of purpose contributes to brain health regardless of income, wealth or education. Plenty of activities can increase one’s sense of it. “Do what you love,” Lock says. “Do more of it more deeply.” Get our Health Newsletter. Sign up to receive the latest health and science news, plus answers to wellness questions and expert tips. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. 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"Those who are considered lowest in status often have the best observations about the systems they are trapped in," writes s.e. smith.

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Americans are emerging from the COVID-19 pandemic like survivors of a wildfire surveying an unfamiliar landscape. As we take stock of what’s left, we are forced to rebuild, but we need not simply restore what was taken in a hollow echo of what we knew before. We can make health care and the infrastructure that supports it better, stronger, more resilient. To do that, as we learned at great cost over the past 15 months, we must value all the stakeholders in the system: not just insurance executives and hospital CEOs, but patients, disabled people, older adults, low-income people, people of color who have faced historic health care discrimination, and health care workers and supporters, from home health aides to hospital registrars. Millions of Americans interact with the health care system every year—if and when they can afford it. But discussions about health care reform often leave out some of these voices. Policy-makers, industry executives, hospital officials and others in high-status positions hear from others in similar roles, or from prominent members of the health care community like sought-after specialists who bring in high-value patients. Under-represented in these conversations are those who know the system at its worst, like ambulance crews making minimum wage, nurses in underfunded community health clinics and uninsured patients who know what it’s like to halve their insulin dose to stretch to the next paycheck. The devaluation of these members of the health care community is paradoxically what makes their voices so important: those who are considered lowest in status often have the best observations about the systems they are trapped in. Two groups of stakeholders were particularly vocal and active during the pandemic: nurses and disabled people. While communities banged pots and cheered, hospitals hung heroes work here banners and the media trumpeted about “essential workers,” many nurses were laboring in conditions that didn’t have to be so dangerous. Nurses are on the front line of patient care, on shift for hours with their assigned patients, unlike physicians, technicians and other providers who typically see patients briefly for tests or assessments. Nursing work can be grinding and emotionally exhausting, and nurses often know their patients and their families best, seeing elements of the health care system that others may be oblivious to. Yet these medical professionals are often not afforded the respect given to doctors. During the pandemic, though, the nation had no choice but to hear the collective voice of nurses everywhere. Hospital by hospital, nurses worked together to make themselves and their patients safer, even if it meant wearing garbage bags as PPE, as some had to do in New York City—forcing those in charge to confront the reality that we were ill-prepared for a national public-health catastrophe. And as nurses rapidly adopted technology to allow for remote patient visits, too many of which ended with families saying goodbye via video chat, they reminded the health care community that patient care isn’t just about physical health. Illustration by Eiko Ojala for TIME Buy a print of TIME’s We Will Never Be the Same Cover here The disability community, including a broad swath of people from those with chronic illnesses to wheelchair users to mentally ill people, makes up roughly 26% of the U.S. population. While the term professional patient is sometimes used in a derogatory way, it accurately describes many people who regularly interact with the health care system. They are, by nature of their health care needs, extremely familiar with the ins and outs of the system, including the problematic elements. During the pandemic, some organized around hashtags like #HighRiskCA, which was used to call out the way California’s vaccine-distribution system, in the first phase of the rollout, left out disabled people who did not meet its 65-plus age requirement but were highly vulnerable to COVID-19. Furthermore, through a partnership between the Johns Hopkins Disability Health Research Center and the Center for Dignity in Healthcare for People With Disabilities, a team that included disabled researchers set up a Vaccine Prioritization Dashboard to track how states were handling disability eligibility for vaccines and help disabled people navigate incredibly confusing guidance. The disabled researchers drew upon their own experiences and fears in developing an accessible, clear product to help the community, filling a gap in the public-health outreach system. We should not just cheer these examples as cases where some often overlooked people happened to offer something useful during a disaster; we should see them as a road map for the future. As we move forward, we should use the knowledge and skills of nurses, disabled people, health care coordinators and myriad others to build the health care system we deserve. Those people need to be represented in the rooms where policy is developed, including among legislatures, advocacy groups and other entities that push policy priorities. People interested in health care reform should actively seek out these voices: to learn more about how to advocate for what people actually need, and to figure out what questions to ask those in power. When people raise issues that make advocates uncomfortable, it’s necessary to lean into that discomfort and use it as an opportunity to do better. People with extensive experience in the health care landscape have critiques that may improve proposals to fix it. Consider the notion of a government-funded single-payer health care system. Many Americans, as much as 36% based on a 2020 Pew survey, say they support such a program, but the public conversation on this topic does not clearly define what such a plan would look like, and it’s been muddled by conflicting proposals. Although people without experience in the health care space may think it’s as simple as needing care and getting it paid for by the government, disabled people want answers to questions that, to others, might seem in the weeds but are actually critical to everyone, such as how prescription benefits would be covered, or what happens when a costly test or procedure is recommended but a patient doesn’t meet strict criteria. We are emerging from a hard-fought war against an invisible enemy and we know the current system is broken, but if we leave out the voices of people in the know when we fix it, whatever we develop may not be an improvement, but rather, the same problems in a new package. As post–World War II Japan slowly began its economic recovery and manufacturing began to bloom, Toyota introduced the Andon cord: a literal cord that anyone on the production line could pull to pause production to address a safety or quality issue. The prospect of allowing anyone to bring a multimillion-dollar process to a halt may sound wild, but it turned out to be highly effective, making everyone into an experienced stakeholder, no matter the nature of the task they were performing. The Andon played a role in the culture turnaround of the NUMMI auto-manufacturing plant in Fremont, Calif., which had a toxic and unproductive work environment until the mid-1980s, when Toyota and GM began jointly operating it using Toyota’s manufacturing processes. Empowering workers with the Andon proved successful in improving morale and increasing buy-in. The U.S. health care system as a whole needs a metaphorical Andon cord. It’s something we know works in health care settings, as some facilities use similar safety checks to protect patients and providers—one of which is “Stop the Line,” which can be called by anyone to stop and address a safety concern or other issue such as the wrong medication or improper use of equipment. The point is, the real expert is not always the foreman or the team lead, the prestigious surgeon or the person with the broad, big-picture view. Sometimes it’s someone on the assembly line, or it’s the hospital orderly who cleans rooms between patients. A physical plant worker can have a sharp idea for more safely sealing doors. An intern reading about right-to-repair laws can fight to get sidelined ventilators up and running. We may not know when the next pandemic will strike, but we do know that everyone needs health care, and the system needs to be much more robust the next time a new virus or mass-casualty event happens. Repairing America’s health care system requires the humility to recognize expertise no matter where it comes from, and the ability to integrate stakeholders into the process as early as possible. If we truly want everyone in the U.S. to have access to high-quality, safe, equitable, compassionate health care, we must stop to value everyone who’s embedded in the system. smith is a National Magazine Award–winning essayist and journalist The Coronavirus Brief. Everything you need to know about the global spread of COVID-19 Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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With a panel of celebrated authors—Elizabeth Acevedo, Kacen Callender, Jenny Han, Jason Reynolds, Adam Silvera, Angie Thomas and Nicola Yoon—TIME presents the most compelling, enlightening and influential young-adult books.

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Laura Dean Keeps Breaking Up With Me by Mariko Tamaki, illustrated by Rosemary Valero-O’Connell

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With a panel of celebrated authors—Elizabeth Acevedo, Kacen Callender, Jenny Han, Jason Reynolds, Adam Silvera, Angie Thomas and Nicola Yoon—TIME presents the most compelling, enlightening and influential young-adult books.

https://ti.me/3AFXJjr

time

Laura Dean Keeps Breaking Up With Me by Mariko Tamaki, illustrated by Rosemary Valero-O’Connell

Article

Located in Extremadura, Spain’s least touristy region, Cáceres’ old town, a unique mix of Roman, Islamic, Gothic and Renaissance architecture surrounded by large stone walls, is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

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The traditional ocher-and-alabaster streets of Cáceres look like a scene from an old sepia photograph come to life. Located in Extremadura, Spain’s least touristy region, Cáceres’ old town, a unique mix of Roman, Islamic, Gothic and Renaissance architecture surrounded by large stone walls, is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Just outside town, the Hospes Palacio de Arenales & Spa underwent an expansion and redecoration of its historic buildings in 2020, adding an infinity pool. Another addition is El Museo Helga de Alvear, which houses the country’s most significant private collection of international contemporary art. A luxury 11-suite Relais & Châteaux hotel—complete with heated floors and marble bathtubs—will welcome guests to the refurbished Renaissance-era Casa de los Paredes–Saavedra this fall, and brand-new city tours highlight Jewish history, Muslim art and more. —Robin Catalano Contact us at letters@time.com.

Article

Johnson & Johnson’s COVID-19 vaccine helps prevent severe disease among those infected with the Delta variant, according to a trial involving almost 480,000 health workers in South Africa.

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Johnson & Johnson’s COVID-19 vaccine helps prevent severe disease among those infected with the Delta variant, according to a trial involving almost 480,000 health workers in South Africa. The study, known as Sisonke, provides the first large-scale evidence that the J&J vaccine works against this dominant variant, according to trial co-lead Glenda Gray. It’s probably more protective against Delta than it was with the earlier beta strain, she said in a presentation Friday. The single-dose shot was 71% effective against hospitalization and as much as 96% effective against death, she said. It also demonstrated durability of eight months. “These results show there is no need for a booster yet,” said Gray, who is president of the South African Medical Research Council. While the J&J vaccine is a key element to South Africa’s vaccination plan, the country temporarily paused its use in April after the U.S. decided to suspend the shot because of its link to rare blood clots. Other data have raised questions about how well the shot holds up against the highly contagious strain that has driven renewed outbreaks in countries including the U.S. and China. One U.S. study released last month showed the J&J shot produced relatively low levels of antibodies against Delta. J&J said that analysis, which hasn’t been published in a peer-reviewed journal, had examined only one aspect of protection and didn’t consider long-lasting responses among immune cells stimulated by the vaccine. The drugmaker’s researchers have said their own data indicated that the vaccine neutralizes the variant and that additional doses weren’t needed. Africa’s Rollout Earlier this year J&J agreed to supply as many as 400 million vaccines to the African Union through the end of 2022, delivering a boost to a continent trailing most of the world in the race to inoculate. The dose’s requirement for just a single shot is seen as beneficial for Africa, where vaccine distribution to more than 1 billion widely dispersed people is likely to present a challenge. In the study, the vaccine was administered to the health workers at 120 sites in both urban and rural areas from Feb. 17 to May 17. Analysis of a third data set is expected in coming days. There were two cases of the rare clotting disorder thrombocytopenia thrombosis syndrome among participants, with both making a complete recovery, Gray said. The Coronavirus Brief. Everything you need to know about the global spread of COVID-19 Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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There is only one human virus that the World Health Organization officially considers eradicated: the one that causes smallpox. Wiping out an infectious illness is incredibly difficult. It’s far more common for a pathogen to instead become endemic—that is, part of life in a particular place.

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Experts have long predicted that the pandemic will end with a whimper, not a bang. That is, COVID-19 won’t so much disappear as fade into the background, becoming like the many other common pathogens that sicken people, but also can be controlled with vaccines and drugs. “This can become a livable pathogen where it’s there, it circulates, you’re going to hear on the evening news about outbreaks in a dorm or a movie theater, but people go about their normal lives,” former U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA) Commissioner Dr. Scott Gottlieb predicted in an April 2020 interview with TIME. For a while, it felt like the U.S. was closing in on that point. Highly effective vaccines arrived and made their way into millions of arms. The U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) relaxed its guidance on wearing face masks. By mid-June, the U.S. was recording an average of about 11,500 new cases each day, with deaths and hospitalizations falling commensurately. Many bars and restaurants opened to full capacity, schools and offices made plans to reopen their doors and travel was rebounding. People were, by and large, returning to normal life. And then the highly transmissible Delta variant hit, threatening to unravel everything. The U.S. is now clocking around 100,000 new infections per day. Thanks to those highly effective vaccines, fewer people are dying or ending up in the hospital than they did at similar points during previous waves—but with only about half the country fully vaccinated, millions of people in the U.S. remain as vulnerable as ever. The situation has grown bad enough that the CDC on July 27 advised vaccinated people in areas of the country where the virus is spiking to resume wearing masks in public indoor settings, and many schools and offices are walking back just-finalized reopening plans. Is this really what it feels like to live with COVID-19? There is only one human virus that the World Health Organization officially considers eradicated: the one that causes smallpox. Wiping out an infectious illness is incredibly difficult. It’s far more common for a pathogen to instead become endemic—that is, part of life in a particular place. Endemic viruses circulate consistently, and not without some disease and death, but they don’t bring society to a screeching halt. That’s the fate many experts see for SARS-CoV-2, the virus that causes COVID-19. “There’s no plausible way I can imagine us getting to zero COVID-19, and I think it’s a distraction” to aim for that unlikely goal, says Dr. Sandro Galea, an epidemiologist and dean of the Boston University School of Public Health. A more realistic endpoint, he says, is for widespread immunity to make it so most people who get COVID-19 suffer no more than they would from a severe cold. In that reality, lots of infections wouldn’t necessarily mean mass deaths and hospitalizations. The flu, for example, infects anywhere from 9 to 45 million people in the U.S. each year, according to CDC estimates, but lands far fewer in the hospital (between 140,000 and 810,000) and kills fewer still (between 12,000 and 61,000). Thanks to vaccines, Galea says, the U.S. isn’t so far from a similar situation with COVID-19. While death and hospitalization rates are dangerously high in states with low vaccine coverage, like Florida and Louisiana, the national picture is changing. About 125,000 people in the U.S. were diagnosed with COVID-19 on August 6 and less than 600 people died from it that day. On the same day last summer, there were about 60,000 new cases diagnosed and more than 1,200 new deaths. People receive COVID-19 shots at a mass-vaccination site in Seattle on March 13, 2021 Lindsey Wasson—Reuters No vaccine is perfect, and that includes the ones authorized for COVID-19. As was always expected, some immunized people are experiencing “breakthrough infections,” which can (but rarely do) lead to serious illness. CDC analysis also suggests vaccinated people who get infected with the Delta variant are capable of infecting others—perhaps even as capable as unvaccinated people—which was a major motivator for the CDC once again recommending indoor masking in many areas. But that doesn’t mean the vaccines aren’t doing their jobs. They were, after all, designed to protect against severe disease and death, not infections. On that front, they’re still doing exceptionally well. Just 0.01% of fully vaccinated people in the U.S. have reported a breakthrough infection that led to severe disease, according to recent CDC data. And during a recent, high-profile outbreak on Cape Cod, almost three-quarters of the 469 Massachusetts residents who got infected were vaccinated, but just four of them landed in the hospital. Vaccines are a huge piece of learning to live with COVID-19, but the availability of effective treatments play an important role too. When the pandemic began last year, doctors were learning as they went. In March 2020, a staggering 25% of people hospitalized for COVID-19 in one New York City health system died from it, according to one study. By August 2020, that number had fallen to under 8%, in large part because doctors knew what they were dealing with and had more research on effective drugs and therapies. Now, multiple treatments have received FDA authorization, helping to make the disease more manageable, and even more are in development. Nevertheless, an obvious problem remains: about half the U.S. population still hasn’t been vaccinated. That leaves millions of lives at stake, and allows the virus to keep tearing through regions, like the South and Midwest, where vaccine coverage is low. Right now, the rough equivalent of an entire stadium full of Ohio State football fans is diagnosed with COVID-19 every day in the U.S. That’s not sustainable, says Dr. Vineet Arora, dean for medical education at the University of Chicago Pritzker School of Medicine. She finds the conversation about endemic COVID-19 both premature and concerning, because she fears some people take it as license to give up. There are still “tools in our toolbox” that we need to use before waving the white flag, Arora says. For example, vaccines haven’t yet been authorized for kids younger than 12, leaving millions of children vulnerable and potentially able to serve as tiny viral vectors. (Authorization for younger children may come this year, potentially as soon as autumn.) The three vaccines available in the U.S. right now have also only received emergency-use authorization rather than full FDA approval, a higher standard that involves a longer review process. If and when the FDA grants that full approval, Arora says it could both boost confidence in the shots and make schools and workplaces feel more comfortable about requiring them. And though vaccine hesitancy has been discussed ad nauseam, the truth is that many of the roughly 30% of U.S. adults who remain unvaccinated are not “anti-vaxxers.” Surveys consistently show that roughly 15% of U.S. adults say they will not get the vaccine under any circumstances. But that leaves another 15% or so in the gray area. Some still want to “wait and see” what happens to people who have already been vaccinated. A small percentage have allergies or other medical conditions that prevent them from getting vaccinated. Others may struggle to access vaccines because they’ve been overlooked by the health care system, can’t take time off from work or child care or haven’t gotten trustworthy answers to their questions, Arora says. Reaching those people can take lots of time and individual attention, but she says it can and must be done with targeted, culturally sensitive community outreach. If the U.S. accepts COVID-19 as an unchangeable fact of life before taking those steps, “We’re giving up on our children, as well as people who already are living with structural inequities,” Arora says—not to mention the burned-out health care workers who will have to keep treating a never-ending queue of coronavirus patients. Further, letting our guards down early could open the door to new variants even worse than the Delta strain. The longer a virus spreads in a community, the more chances it has to mutate—potentially to the point that currently available vaccines no longer offer strong protection. We’re not there yet, but variants may already be challenging the natural antibodies hard-won by people who previously survived COVID-19 infections, says Katherine Xue, a postdoctoral fellow at Stanford University who studies viral evolution and the microbiome. Consider the seasonal flu. “The flu virus changes constantly, year to year,” Xue says. “It’s that change that allows it to evade the buildup of immunity that we acquire through our own previous infections”—hence why flu shots are given annually. Similarly, as COVID-19 mutates, it will also likely get better at outsmarting the body’s defenses. The immune system doesn’t forget completely—as with other viruses, you’d likely experience subsequently milder illness with each exposure—but “the more different the virus is, the more pressure it may place on those immune defenses,” Xue says. That underscores the importance of vaccinating as many people, as fast as possible, to cut off the virus’ ability to mutate. Doing so at a global scale is even more important, since many countries have vaccinated less than 20% of their populations. “As long as we have very large numbers of unvaccinated people around the globe, that still gives the virus many opportunities to transmit, and transmission gives it opportunities to evolve,” Xue says. In Arora’s mind, that’s another argument for staying vigilant about COVID-19 prevention. “As long as the virus is evolving, we have to evolve with it,” she says. That means being willing to resume certain safety precautions—like wearing masks in public indoor spaces, as the CDC again recommends—when conditions call for it. The work isn’t over, but Boston University’s Galea says he’s optimistic all the same. He believes vaccination rates will continue to inch upward as more people trust in the shots’ benefits, and as community leaders and health workers find ways to traverse the “last mile” and bring vaccines to the people who need them. He seems to be right, particularly as people see the impact of the Delta variant close to home: On average, more than 400,000 people are now getting their first dose each day, nearly double the daily average a month ago. There’s also the bittersweet reality that people who get infected with the virus develop some immunity to it (though less than they would get from vaccination), meaning population-level susceptibility goes down each day, Galea says. As long as COVID-19 continues to circulate and mutate globally, there will be periodic spikes in infections. But—assuming SARS-CoV-2 behaves like other, similar viruses—these spikes should grow progressively milder, since a larger and larger chunk of the population will have immunity, either through vaccination or prior infection, each time it flares up. Eventually, it could become a disease that primarily affects young children, since everyone else would have had a brush with it before, says Jennie Lavine, a computational biologist who models infectious diseases at Atlanta’s Emory University. “If everyone 50 years from now is getting a first [COVID-19] infection between the ages of 0 and 5, that would actually be lower disease burden than flu,” Lavine notes, because kids, at least so far, have been less likely than adults to die from or develop serious cases of COVID-19. Of course, there are always exceptions to rules. Future variants could hit kids harder than initial strains, as already seems to be happening to some degree with Delta. Elderly adults and the immunocompromised will likely remain more vulnerable to COVID-19 than the general population, meaning health officials will have to find ways to keep them safe and healthy. And, as with other viruses, there will likely continue to be people who develop long-lasting and sometimes debilitating symptoms after even mild cases of COVID-19—a serious problem that demands more research and better treatments. None of those exceptions should be discounted. But in terms of learning to live with COVID-19 at a population level, turning it into a disease that kills and hospitalizes far fewer people than it infects is perhaps more important than getting case counts down to zero. “We’re more concerned, really, with how mild or severe it will be when it is at its steady state,” Lavine says. Reaching that steady state isn’t like turning a page on a calendar. “There’s never going to be a ‘mission accomplished’ banner. There’s not going to be a moment when we switch from pandemic to endemic,” Xue says. “It’s going to be a very gradated move back toward normal life.” That might mean mitigation tools, like masks and limits on large-capacity events, are periodically recommended during disease flare-ups. It may mean booster shots will be required at some point, to keep pace with the ever-changing virus. And, yes, it will likely mean dealing with some (hopefully small) amount of death and disease as more of the population builds up immunity. But, as Xue wrote in a recent piece for the New Yorker, humanity has done this before. Influenza strains that routinely circulate today caused pandemics in the past. Some scientists even believe coronavirus OC43, which now causes little more than the common cold, seeded a pandemic in the 1800s. The point is not to minimize the suffering that occurred during those pandemics, but to recognize that the world eventually came out on the other side—and that the same is possible for SARS-CoV-2. The Coronavirus Brief. Everything you need to know about the global spread of COVID-19 Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Write to Jamie Ducharme at jamie.ducharme@time.com.

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"As cities across the world transition to the new normal, they need to find ways to support citizens and employers to work in new ways," writes Austin Mayor Steve Adler.

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In our community, “Keep Austin Weird” is more than just a catchy slogan. It is the way people, policymakers and businesses of Austin think outside the box. This way of life has allowed Austin to become a beacon of innovation, a model for other cities, and a desirable location for companies to move to and grow, even amid a pandemic. As cities across the world transition to the new normal, they need to find ways to support citizens and employers to work in new ways. For technology companies in particular, new workplace models have kept employees safe without sacrificing productivity, leading to a boom in the Austin tech sector. This boom is evidenced by Tesla choosing the Austin area for its new $1.1 billion manufacturing facility and software giant Oracle relocating its corporate headquarters here. During the pandemic, we have worked to help Austin businesses­ continue growing and partnered with nonprofits like Workforce Solutions to offer pathways to financial stability to thousands of Austin residents. Over the past 12 months, more than 11,000 new “remote work” employment opportunities opened in Austin, a significant spike from the 4,500 jobs posted in the previous year. Even into 2021, remote work has remained a crucial component for Austinites—including those seeking employment. We’ve focused on supporting career training in Austin’s most in-demand industries (information technology, health care, manufacturing and skilled trades) and a rapid job-training program emphasizing remote and hybrid workplaces. Since the launch of the training program, RE:WorkNOW, Workforce Solutions has experienced a tenfold demand for remote workforce training and has enrolled more people in an activity in the first four months of 2021 than they typically would have in an entire year. Today, Austin’s unemployment rate of 4.4% is one of the lowest among major U.S. cities, well below the state average of 6.5%. It helps that Austin is such a magical place to live, work and play. Fostering an environment recognized for its cultural, culinary and social scenes helps keep a city on the radars of employers and remote workers alike. Connectivity is also crucial for city residents. Austin’s $7.1 billion transit system plan, Project Connect, will bring light rail and expanded transit connectivity. And placemaking in areas around stations will help highlight just what keeps Austin weird. Steve Adler is Mayor of Austin, Texas Sign up for Inside TIME. Be the first to see the new cover of TIME and get our most compelling stories delivered straight to your inbox. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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"Obama: In Pursuit of a More Perfect Union" tells the story of the 44th President in three acts: childhood, campaign and presidency.

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This article is part of the The DC Brief, TIME’s politics newsletter. Sign up here to get stories like this sent to your inbox every weekday. The label gets thrown around so much that it tends to lose its meaning, but there are individuals who possess truly once-a-generation talents. Barack Obama is without question one of them. A new documentary series—Obama: In Pursuit of a More Perfect Union, concluding tonight on HBO’s platforms—serves as a reminder of that indisputable fact. With the distance of some time—and the benefit of a contrast with his on-the-fly successor and his by-the-books replacement—what may have seemed routine to us during the Obama years was actually pretty extraordinary. Obama was, after all, a shrewd political animal. He professed a contempt for the game but played at a level we haven’t seen since—and may not again for some time. He also presided over some of the most consequential years in our political history and, perhaps, stirred a renewed public tolerance for ugly racial rhetoric among his detractors. The documentary tells the story of the 44th President in three acts: childhood, campaign and presidency. As filmmaker Peter Kunhardt argues, race was—and is—a defining aspect of all three. In fact, the goal of the film throughout is to discredit the assertion that America is now a post-racial nation simply because it elected its first Black President. Here, I defer to the experts. Civil rights legends like John Lewis, Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson appear alongside academics like Cornel West, Eric Michael Dyson and Henry Louis Gates Jr. in the film to explain the historical and societal implications of Obama’s rise to power. Journalists Michele Norris, Ta-Nehisi Coates and Jelani Cobb discuss the contemporaneous shifts in American political posturing. And Obama pals like Valerie Jarrett, Marty Nesbit and Elizabeth Alexander offer their own views of what was really happening inside their enigmatic friend’s thinking on race and politics. Obama’s critics—and there are many—probably won’t devote the almost six hours required to watch this series. Thus, they won’t have to grapple with the thorny questions of just how much race was a factor in Obama’s presidency. But for those of us who covered it, the frame offered here is worth consideration as we start to tell future generations about that period and a man who, with seeming ease, changed American history. Central to the story is a talented politician who understood the needs of an electorate better than most. It’s easy to forget or misremember just how much tension existed in 2007 and 2008 over whether Obama was sufficiently Black or if the country was ready for him. And yet Obama, according to interviews for the film, strategically embraced his identity as a biracial American whose trajectory was unique. As Sharpton recounts a conversation with Obama ahead of his breakout 2004 Democratic convention speech, Obama told the civil rights leader that the remarks were “probably going to be more expansive and unifying than a lot of people are used to.” Sharpton continues: “I stopped him and said, ‘Don’t worry, Senator. You do what you have to do tomorrow night, because you have to win for U.S. Senate. I’m gonna take care of the brothers and sisters tonight.’” That conversation, like many others with Black leaders, began a system where each had different roles to play in building a winning coalition. The film captures an ambition that is apparent but seldom advertised. From his campus-reform efforts at Occidental to his headline-making tenure at Harvard Law, Obama understood how to command a stage. You can see this talent on display in his work in his adoptive hometown of Chicago, the memoir he published in his 30s, and that 2004 keynote, a master class in political rhetoric—all of which helped set the stage for his White House run. But there are other, less favorable details about the man that emerge in this portrait, including a whiff of opportunism when it came to his choice of the Rev. Jeremiah Wright’s church as a spiritual home. And there are less veiled flicks at sheer political ambition when it comes to his one losing campaign, a House race in 2000. Both Wright and Obama’s opponent in that House race, Rep. Bobby Rush, speak candidly about their perceived betrayal by someone they once considered a friend. In his first big interview since Obama in 2008 publicly disavowed his pastor and gave a legendary speech on race, Wright details how Obama went from church member to Wright denier. There is genuine hurt in Wright’s voice, especially when suggesting Obama didn’t disagree with Wright’s sermons but knew the politics were too toxic. And Rush, who beat back an Obama challenge by a 2-to-1 margin, can’t help but puff his chest a little when remembering how his former pal’s campaign called him out of touch with the district. Still, Obama’s place in American politics is as one of its greatest practitioners, a fact that even his boldest critics cannot deny. He deftly swerved around his opposition and its racial undertones to guide a country through some gnarly moments of racial reckoning. He delivered a landmark health care law that has proven more durable than even its biggest boosters could have predicted. And as interview after interview in the film brings home, he redefined who could dream to grow up and become the President. It’s going to be a minute before anyone—regardless of race, gender or origin—can match the sheer political skills of Obama. Make sense of what matters in Washington. Sign up for the daily D.C. Brief newsletter. Get our Politics Newsletter. The headlines out of Washington never seem to slow. Subscribe to The D.C. Brief to make sense of what matters most. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Write to Philip Elliott at philip.elliott@time.com.

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Osaka bursts with youthful energy. For the design-savvy, the first W Hotel in Japan opened in Osaka this year. Another much lauded (and colorful) opening: the world’s first Super Nintendo World, an addition to Universal Studios Japan.

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With its neon billboards, forward-thinking architecture and plentiful entertainment options, Osaka is bursting with youthful energy. For the design-savvy, the first W Hotel in Japan opened in Osaka this year, with a black monolith facade and vibrant interiors designed by Osaka’s own Pritzker Prize–winning architect Tadao Ando. Another much lauded (and colorful) opening: the world’s first Super Nintendo World, an addition to Universal Studios Japan. The themed area’s whimsical attractions—including question blocks that you hit to collect coins—make you feel as if you’re inside a game. Get energized on a cute Super Mushroom pizza bowl, then take off on the multilevel augmented-­reality Mario Kart ride. —La Carmina Contact us at letters@time.com.

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Apple announced changes to how it handles certain images in its iCloud Photo Library and certain images sent on the Messages app.

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Apple’s latest announced changes to how it’s handling both children’s privacy and illegal material have stirred up controversy around encryption and the right to privacy. But chances are you’ll never notice a change to your daily texting and photo taking. On Friday, Apple announced new changes to how it handles certain images in its iCloud Photo Library, as well as certain images sent via the Messages app. The implementation is set to arrive later this year with the delivery of iOS 15. While the changes, designed to protect children from abusive and sexually explicit material, are part of a larger fight against child abuse content, the company’s implementation has left many claiming the company is compromising its high standard of encryption. Confronted with questions, Apple has spent the week explaining its newest changes to how it scans iCloud Photos as well as images sent to minors in Messages on iOS. What did Apple announce? Apple’s new Child Sexual Abuse Material (CSAM) detection tool will begin scanning photos users upload to their iCloud Photo Library for child abuse material, and will lock users out should multiple images be detected. It’s also adding an image scanning tool for minors in Messages, so both children and parents can be aware of when they’re viewing explicit imagery. More from TIME The Messages feature, designed for minors, will alert parents when sexually explicit imagery is being shared, warning the minor not to view the content, and alerting the parent should they decide to look. Apple says the image scanning tool was trained on pornography, and can detect sexually explicit content. Parents must opt in to the communication safety feature in Messages, and will be notified if an explicit image is opened if the child is 12 years or younger. Children age 13 through 17 will still receive a warning when opening an image, but their parents will not receive a notification should the image be opened. Apple’s new set of child safety features, made by collaborating with the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children (NCMEC), seeks to protect children from abusive activity and sexual imagery. On the surface, it might seem as though Apple is compromising its intended goal of increased user privacy for the purpose of monitoring photos, and some experts agree. But the company is far from the first to scan user generated activity for Child Sexual Abuse Material (CSAM). Both Apple’s CSAM detection tool for iCloud Photos and the new explicit image scanning tool for minors is considered invasive by privacy advocates and cybersecurity experts. Some see it as a step toward the erosion of true data encryption and privacy, where access to a user’s image library in any way can be used by governments willing to pressure Apple into playing along. According to a New York Times report, Apple has already allowed Chinese state employees to run its servers, which store personal data for Chinese iOS users. The new tools also seemingly run counter to Apple’s strong stance on privacy and denying access to user data requests by law enforcement. How will Apple’s image detection work? On its “Child Safety” page, Apple details the privacy changes coming to iOS and iPadOS. It says that the photo detection will primarily be used to deal with inappropriate imagery and abusive material. New image-scanning software will be loaded onto iOS that will scan photos uploaded to iCloud Photos for CSAM. Apple Apple says the tool will scan the images before they’re uploaded to iCloud Photos and compare them to its database of known CSAM image IDs with unique fingerprints (also called “hashes”). They point out that it will compare unique image hashes, and not the images themselves. Apple says it can only take action when it discovers a “collection” of known CSAM imagery after they’ve been uploaded to your iCloud Photo Library. When a collection “threshold” has been reached, Apple says it will manually verify the contents of the images and report the images to NCMEC while locking the user out of their Apple ID. Apple says the chances a user will be marked as a false positive are one in one trillion. Will Apple look at your photos? Apple says it is not looking at photos themselves, so there is no chance of someone getting a glimpse of any actual images, unless they are submitted for human review after meeting certain requirements. Both the NCMEC database and the flagged images in question cannot be viewed by Apple, nor can any human view the flagged images until the user’s collection of CSAM reaches a certain “threshold” of images. Apple will not scan photos sent and received in the Messages app for CSAM, only those uploaded to iCloud Photos (photos in Messages to minors participating in the safety feature will be scanned for sexual imagery). Only photos included in the database will be flagged, and no CSAM not found in the database will be classified as such. Also, Apple says in its FAQ concerning the expanded protections that “Apple will not learn anything about other data stored solely on device.” In the FAQ, Apple says it has no intention of allowing governments or law enforcement agencies to take advantage of this image scanning tool: “We have faced demands to build and deploy government-mandated changes that degrade the privacy of users before, and have steadfastly refused those demands.” Since all the processing is done on the device, Apple says there’s no compromise to the company’s end-to-end encryption system, and users are still secure from eavesdropping. But the idea of scanning images for inappropriate imagery already creates a chilling effect, with the idea that a conversation is, in a way, being monitored. Can you opt out? While every iOS device will have these tools, that doesn’t mean every device will be subject to its image comparisons. You can disable uploading your photos to iCloud Photos if you don’t want Apple to scan your images. Unfortunately, that’s a huge hurdle, as iCloud Photos is, well, pretty popular, and a key feature in Apple’s iCloud service as a whole. As for the communication safety in Messages feature, once opted in, the new image scanning tool only works when communicating with a user under the age of 18 on an Apple Family shared account. Why is Apple doing this now? Apple claims it’s implementing this policy now due to the new tools’ effectiveness at both detecting CSAM as well as keeping users’ data as private as possible. CSAM detection happens on the device, meaning Apple can’t see any images, even CSAM, until multiple instances have been detected. Apple’s image scanning feature should never reveal any non-CSAM imagery to Apple, according to the company. The company isn’t the first to scan for this sort of content: companies like Facebook, Google, and YouTube have CSAM policies as well, that scan all uploaded images and videos for similar activity using a similar “hash” technology that compares it to a known database of CSAM. Many privacy advocates and organizations are raising concerns when it comes to scanning user photos and Apple’s commitment to privacy, despite the good intentions. Critics think any software that scans encrypted user-generated data has the potential to be abused. And critics to Apple’s latest change have a trove of evidence backing them up. The Electronic Frontier Foundation, in a statement, claims there’s no safe way to build such a system without compromising user security, and points out that similar image scanning services have been repurposed to scan for terrorist-related imagery with little oversight. “Make no mistake: this is a decrease in privacy for all iCloud Photos users, not an improvement,” says the pro-privacy organization in a statement criticizing the new feature. The Leadership Brief. Conversations with the most influential leaders in business and tech. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Write to Patrick Lucas Austin at patrick.austin@time.com.

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In her photo series and accompanying documentary, both titled “Milk Factory,” Corinne Botz goes inside over thirty American lactation facilities and makeshift spaces for lactating mothers.

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The Longworth House lactation suite is stately. Furnished with wood paneling and a patrician window curtain, it fits a refrigerator, a sink, a TV, and pumping stations equipped with hospital-grade breast pumps, armchairs, shelves, hangers, tissues, and wipes. The suite—one of several created at the U.S. House of Representatives starting in 2007 under the impetus of Nancy Pelosi, the first female House speaker—is a space of privilege. In a country that does not guarantee mandatory paid leave after the birth or adoption of a child and where there is an intense pressure to breastfeed, lactation rooms have multiplied in the last decade. The 2010 Affordable Care Act required health insurance plans to cover the cost of a breast pump, and mandated companies with more than 50 employees to provide new mothers adequate spaces in which to express milk. (Though not all lactating parents identify as women or mothers, the majority do.) Inmate, Julia Tutwiler Prison for Women, Wetumpka, Alabama Corinne Botz for TIME In her photo series and accompanying documentary, both titled “Milk Factory,” Corinne Botz goes inside over thirty American lactation facilities and makeshift spaces for lactating mothers. Her photographs include cheerily decorated lounges, repurposed office spaces, prefabricated lactation pods, boiler rooms, restaurant basements, cafeterias, bathrooms, trains, and pop-up tents. These are “images of solitary rooms that take a collective power through their accumulation,” says Botz. “Seldom is any space simultaneously so utilitarian and emotionally charged.” The collection serves as a testament to the widely varied working conditions of American mothers. The project started as a personal record of Botz’s early experience as a mother when she photographed the oddly sparse room in which she pumped at the John Jay College of Criminal Justice. From there, she traveled across the country to take pictures of lactation facilities in other workplaces, including a California farm, airports, various New York schools, and the Julia Tutwiler Prison for Women in Alabama. Adjunct Professor (self-portrait), John Jay College of Criminal Justice, New York City Corinne Botz Botz’ images reflect the contradictions inherent in contemporary parenthood. The title Milk Factory underlines that lactation is a form of labor, even if federal law conceptualizes it as a break from work, which employers are not required to compensate. Breastfeeding is not cost free. It can be painful; requires time, know-how, and equipment; and has an opportunity cost. Maternal and infant health advocate Kimberly Seals Allers calculated that “at a proposed federal minimum wage of $15 per hour” lactating women would receive “$16,200 for six months of exclusive breastfeeding.” In practice, sociologists Phyllis Rippeyoung and Mary Noonan have shown that the longer women breastfeed, the more severe and prolonged the earning losses they suffer. What does it mean when people are expected to breastfeed and yet to do it in secluded multi-user lactation rooms, like the Longworth House suite in the Capitol, often double as communal spaces, fostering a sense of camaraderie among new mothers. In the Capitol lounge, women from across the aisle mingle, a rare opportunity in an era of intense divisiveness when cooperation is key to push for legislation benefitting families. Coincidentally, the week Botz was filming, Congress adopted the Federal Employee Paid Leave Act, which now offers 12 weeks of paid parental leave to approximately 2.1 million federal workers. Botz finished shooting Milk Factory days before the COVID-19 outbreak began in the United States. If lactation rooms arguably bring the home into the workplace, for non-essential workers, the pandemic had the reverse effect: bringing the workplace into the home. “The pandemic underscored the systemic failings and institutional barriers that largely effect women, especially women of color and working parents, and the need for policy change,” Botz says. “It’s an ideal moment to reimagine a more just way of living and working.” Perhaps the next major parental leave reform will grow from discussions and coalitions forged in the Capitol and other lactation rooms nationwide. Private School Teacher, New York City Corinne Botz Administration Specialist, Ford House Office Building, Washington, D.C. Corinne Botz for TIME Vice President, Goldman Sachs, New York City Corinne Botz for TIME Public School Teacher, Brooklyn Corinne Botz Farm Worker, Reiter Affiliated Companies, Santa Maria, California Corinne Botz for TIME Photographer, Warehouse, Queens Corinne Botz Bar Owner, Donna Cocktail Club, Brooklyn Corinne Botz Vice President, Eataly, New York City Corinne Botz Cosmetic Nurse Injector, Office, New York City Corinne Botz Professor of Law, Amtrak Train, Connecticut Corinne Botz Creative Director, Domino Media Group, New York City Corinne Botz Mamava Pod, LaGuardia Airport, Queens, New York Corinne Botz Longworth House Office Building, US Senate, Washington D.C. Corinne Botz for TIME Business Group Director, New York City Corinne Botz Publicist, Guggenheim Museum, New York City Corinne Botz Actor, Playwrights Horizons Rehearsal Studio, New York City Corinne Botz College Professor, Philadelphia Corinne Botz Infectious Disease Scientist, New York City Corinne Botz Sign up for Inside TIME. Be the first to see the new cover of TIME and get our most compelling stories delivered straight to your inbox. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! 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“We know how to bounce back from things. So for anybody who thinks they’ve got us on the ropes, the history of London is Muhammad Ali, knocking people out," says London Mayor Sadiq Khan.

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There’s a spot of mud on Sadiq Khan’s white shirt. The London mayor has arrived late after a tree-planting ceremony and he hasn’t had time to clean it, he apologizes, as he strides into a cavernous meeting room at city hall. It’s late June, but thick gray clouds hang low in the sky over Tower Bridge and the panoramic view of the city from the bulbous glass building’s balcony. “The running joke is that I like to sit out on a deck chair and enjoy the weather,” he says. He doesn’t have much time for that. Khan won a second term as mayor in May, just as the city began reopening in earnest after almost five months of lockdown. Like the rest of the world’s large cities, London is reeling from the past 18 months, which have both exacted a heavier immediate toll on urban areas and thrown the chronic problems of big-city life into harsh relief. With crowded housing and pockets of extreme deprivation alongside its more affluent neighborhoods, London has suffered the U.K.’s highest per capita death rate from COVID-19, with more than 15,000 lives lost. Black and Asian people, who make up at least 31.8% of Londoners, were up to four times as likely as white people to die from the virus nationwide. Those communities joined worldwide protests over racial injustice over the past year, forcing London to interrogate its policing policies as well as disparities in employment and housing. The number of Londoners in paid jobs fell by 5.5% from February to December 2020—by far the largest drop of any U.K. region, with low-income workers hit hardest. Meanwhile, wealthier residents have abandoned the city as remote working became the norm and lockdowns made cramped apartments unattractive. London’s population is projected to fall by an estimated 300,000 this year, which would be the first decline in three decades. The exodus is exacerbated by the U.K.’s departure from the E.U. in January 2020, which has made it harder for Europeans to live and work in the city and undermined its status as a global financial hub. To cap it all, in the summer of 2021, like cities in the U.S., China and Germany, London got a taste of an even greater forthcoming crisis, as unusually heavy rains twice cut power, closed transport links and inundated homes in parts of the city. Pedestrians and cyclists in their respective lanes on London Bridge in March Chris Dorley-Brown for TIME Londoners have backed Khan to get them through it. A former human-rights lawyer, raised by a Pakistani bus driver and a seamstress in housing projects in South London, Khan was first elected in May 2016 and widely celebrated as a symbol for the city’s progressive values and demographic diversity. He burnished that image through a long-running feud with President Donald Trump, famously allowing activists to fly a giant balloon depicting the U.S. President as a baby over the U.K. Parliament building during his visit in 2018. Though his leftist Labour Party has trailed the ruling Conservatives by a double-digit margin for most of 2021, Khan ties with Manchester mayor Andy Burnham as the party’s most popular active politician, according to pollster Yougov. In May’s election (which was delayed by a year owing to the COVID-19 pandemic) Khan won the second greatest number of votes at a mayoral election of any candidate in the two-decade history of the office, after his own win in 2016. He is still daily hounded for selfies by young Londoners. Sitting with a view over the city skyline, Khan is clearly feeling ebullient, despite the crises facing London. A lifelong boxing fan, he compares them to the 1974 “rumble in the jungle” between George Foreman and Muhammad Ali. “Foreman thought he had Ali for seven rounds. Then Ali used the ropes and came back and knocked Foreman out,” he says. He speaks at characteristic breakneck speed, reeling off a plan to use the COVID-19 recovery to build a “greener, fairer London”: combining efforts to create jobs for struggling Londoners and improve deprived areas with the climate action needed to meet his 2030 net-zero emissions goal for the capital. “We know how to bounce back from things. So for anybody who thinks they’ve got us on the ropes, the history of London is Muhammad Ali, knocking people out.” It’s hard not to compare Khan with his immediate predecessor as London mayor: the U.K.’s now Prime Minister Boris Johnson. During his two terms, Johnson—educated at the elite boarding school Eton and Oxford University—developed a reputation as a gaffe-prone and out-of-touch but undeniably charismatic celebrity mayor. He balanced his duties with writing a well-paid weekly newspaper column, poured nearly $60 million of public money into a doomed project to build a “garden bridge over the Thames,” and once got stuck on a zip wire over London during the 2012 Olympic Games. Khan cuts a very different figure. In person, he’s relaxed and friendly but lacks the flamboyance and comic bravado that allowed Johnson to get away with straying from his brief. Khan retains a lawyerly focus on evidence, firing off reams of facts to justify his policies, which so far have eschewed grand infrastructure projects. He is also a notoriously hard worker, says Ross Lydall, who has covered city hall for two decades for the London newspaper Evening Standard. “Boris didn’t really see it as a five-day-a-week job. Sadiq sees this as a seven-day-a-week job.” Ed Miliband, a fellow Labour lawmaker who led the party from 2010 to 2015, describes Khan as “unflashy” and “incredibly principled.” He cites an episode in the wake of London’s deadly 2005 terrorist bombings when the Labour government attempted to pass a law to allow police to hold terrorist suspects for 90 days without charge. Khan resisted stiff party pressure and threats against his career to vote against it. “I think it does say something about Sadiq,” Miliband says. “There’s a sort of seriousness, a decency, a set of values in him which is really unusual.” It could be argued that the job of London mayor is actually suited to an exuberant booster like Johnson rather than a cautious and quietly determined figure like Khan. The mayor has fairly limited powers, beyond acting as a spokesperson for London internationally, and negotiating on the capital’s behalf for prioritization from the central government. The office controls less than 7% of taxes raised in the city, compared with roughly 50% for its New York counterpart. The mayor has some influence over policing and control of some funds to build new housing, but their powers lie mostly in authority over London’s transport and road policy. Within those strictures, Khan has channeled much of his energy into cleaning up London’s highly polluted air, through a bold crusade to reduce car traffic and improve vehicle standards. Air quality is a personal issue for Khan, who was diagnosed with adult-onset asthma while training for the London Marathon in 2014 and so has to use an inhaler “religiously twice a day.” But it’s also a matter of racial and social justice, he says. “Who do we think it is that has stunted lungs, or the cancer, or the heart disease, or the lung diseases? It’s poorer Londoners, least likely to own a car living in deprived communities. And you can see it in the life expectancy of Black, Asian and minority ethnic Londoners vs. others. Those gaps will narrow as a result of my policies.” But let’s have an arms race: Who can be the most green leader? His flagship policy so far is an ultra-low-emissions zone (ULEZ) introduced in April 2019, which requires Londoners with more polluting cars—mostly petrol cars made before 2005 and diesel cars made before 2015—to pay a roughly $17 charge when they enter the city center. That’s on top of $21 for the daily congestion charge, which was first introduced in 2003. The ULEZ has helped reduce the number of people living in areas with illegal levels of nitrogen dioxide by 94% since the start of his term, according to city hall. Air quality has served as a kind of Trojan horse for Khan to push action on the climate crisis, says Mark Watts, director of the C40 coalition of 97 climate-leader cities. “Sadiq’s skill is that he’s really good at bringing the policies that are being implemented to deliver emission reductions closer to what most people’s everyday concerns are: their [health] and jobs,” Watts says. As the ULEZ pushed people to switch to newer hybrid vehicles or to abandon cars altogether, by the end of 2019 it had caused a 6% drop in central London’s road-related carbon emissions compared with a scenario without the strategy. The impact is expected to grow in the coming years, particularly after the zone expands in October to cover an area 18 times as large as its original size. “The ULEZ is, no question, one of the strongest climate policies in the world for transport in any city in the world,” Watts says. Alongside the ULEZ, Khan expanded protected cycle lanes fivefold in his first term to cover 162 miles and bought hundreds of electric buses and dozens of hydrogen ones. From 2017 to 2021, he phased out all of the most polluting pure diesel-fuel buses in London’s 9,000 strong fleet, and by 2037, the goal is for all London buses to be zero emissions. Watts says Khan has also pioneered policies that have then been taken up by other cities, such as a scheme for city pension funds to divest from fossil fuels (joined by 13 other cities) and a plan to ban fossil cars from large parts of town by 2035 (joined by 35). Not everyone in London has welcomed these policies. The planned expansion of the ULEZ is proving controversial. John Moss, a local councillor in the northeastern district of Waltham Forest, part of which will fall in the new ULEZ zone, says the evidence produced by the mayor for the expansion shows little benefit for London’s air quality by 2030 compared with that produced by the original zone. He says the $17 daily charge will be a brutal hit for those low-income workers like cleaners and nurses who live in outer regions of the city and rely on their cars to travel to shifts at hours when public transit is not always available. “There’s a district nurse who lives [100 yards north of the ULEZ boundary] who has contacted me seven times saying, ‘What can I do?’ She’s got a four-year lease on a car. What’s she supposed to do with that?” The mayor has offered $78 million in small grants of a few thousand dollars to help Londoners pay to replace their vehicles, including pots specifically for low-income and disabled people and work vans. But high demand is expected to burn through those funds by the end of summer, with just $17 million remaining at the end of June, according to the Evening Standard. The mayor also faces criticism from environmental activists over a planned new road tunnel under the river Thames. Campaigners say the project will lock fossil-fuel infrastructure into the city, encouraging more people to drive and undermining the 2030 net-zero target. Khan is pressing ahead, though. His office says that the tunnel is needed to reduce reliance on a Victorian-era tunnel that has proved vulnerable to flooding, and that modeling suggests it will not increase overall traffic numbers in the city because it will be tolled. “As a former lawyer, I base my policies in evidence plus my values,” Khan says. “[Opposition] will happen along the way. And so you’ve got to be ready for that, with the evidence to try and persuade people: that actually what we’re doing we think is really important. It’s what leadership is about.” Khan canvasses door-to-door in Barnet, North London, on April 30 Stefan Rousseau—PA Wire/AP Khan has also announced a series of funding pots designed to stimulate the sectors that need to grow as London decarbonizes—a $14 million green new deal package for projects that create jobs in green tech, electric-vehicle infrastructure and solar-panel installation; $5 million for projects that make it easier for social-housing providers to retrofit their buildings; $156 million for public-sector buildings to improve their energy efficiency. He says his green recovery plan aims to avoid what he saw coming of age amid a period of mass unemployment in the 1980s. “Many of my mates were written off. If you lived in a poor area, didn’t have skills, didn’t have contacts, you couldn’t get a job,” he says. “My plan is to make London a global beacon of green investment and jobs, and train Londoners up to do them.” Yet most of these funds are relatively modest, and will directly fund only a few thousand jobs. Khan claims they will encourage private investment, supporting more than 170,000 posts in retrofitting, electric charging and other fields. But without the full weight of the taxpayers’ purse behind him, the success or failure of Khan’s 2030 net-zero goal for London will depend greatly on the national government. In recent months Johnson has, like Khan, been vying for recognition as a climate leader, using the U.K.’s hosting of COP26 in Glasgow in November as a platform and setting an ambitious target to reduce the U.K.’s greenhouse-gas emissions by 78% by 2035 compared with 1990 levels. Critics say his plan is light on details. Khan says he hopes the Prime Minister comes through with them, despite doubts about his predecessor’s track record on the environment in London. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m the first green mayor London has ever had. But let’s have an arms race: Who can be the most green leader?” In May, Khan visited a bus factory in North Yorkshire. The factory, which has provided dozens of electric buses to London’s transport agency, is an example, the mayor says, of how the capital’s need for new infrastructure as it decarbonizes can drive industry in the rest of the country. He’s made several such trips over his time in office, and also placed op-eds in regional newspapers. The aim, he says, is to “counter the animus, the us-vs.them feeling” that many in the U.K. have toward the country’s capital and financial hub, and an anti-London sentiment inside the national government, which is pouring billions of pounds into a plan to “level up” other regions to match the capital’s financial power. It could also be read as laying a foundation for national office. Khan has often ranked among the favorites to be the next leader of the Labour Party. His 2016 victory was the first Labour win in a major election since 2005, leading some to see him as a ray of hope for a social democratic center-left that has foundered across the U.K. and Europe over the past decade, after dominating politics for much of the late 20th century. Just six of the E.U.’s 27 states—Portugal, Denmark, Sweden, Finland, Malta and Spain—have center-left governments. In France, the establishment Socialist Party was eclipsed by Emmanuel Macron’s centrist movement in 2017 and has polled in the single digits ever since. In Germany, the Social Democratic Party has lost ground to the Greens and trails third behind them and the center-right in voting intention for the September elections for Chancellor. Khan visits the Dwaynamics Boxing Club in Brixton, South London, while campaigning on April 8 Stefan Rousseau—PA Wire/AP In the U.K., Labour has struggled with an identity crisis after Brexit, which Labour opposed, and a tumultuous five years under far-left former leader Jeremy Corbyn. The party has suffered bruising defeats in the country’s past four general elections, culminating in the 2019 loss of 59 seats, the second worst performance by any opposition for a century. In May the party lost a special election for Parliament in Hartlepool, a seat in the north of England held by Labour since its creation, shaking confidence in new leader Keir Starmer, whom the party backed in 2020 to stem the damage. Khan has repeatedly insisted he doesn’t view the mayoral role as a stepping-stone. When asked if he would lead the Labour Party one day, he dodges the question: “I think the Labour Party is going through a difficult time nationally,” he says. “I’ve got confidence in Keir as someone who is going to bring us back to being competitive. At the moment we’re not competitive.” Khan says the route back to national power lies in taking seriously the root causes that have driven people away from the left. “Whether it’s Trump, or the President of Brazil, or the President of Poland, their voters are actually decent people. But there’s something about the lives they lead, where they think the progressive movement can’t address their concerns. We can’t write them off. We’ve got to actually listen to them, engage with them and provide leadership.” It’s not a groundbreaking formula, and putting those insights into practice on a national level may take Labour years. But for now, with the wind in his sails in London, Khan is happy to revel in his ability to outlast one right-wing figure. He offers what could be a final salvo in his feud with the former U.S. President. “I think one of Trump’s tweets in reference to me was ‘stone cold loser,’” he says, raising his eyebrows. “Well, I won my election.” Get The Brief. Sign up to receive the top stories you need to know right now. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Write to Ciara Nugent at ciara.nugent@time.com.

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"As cities across the world transition to the new normal, they need to find ways to support citizens and employers to work in new ways," writes Austin Mayor Steve Adler.

https://ti.me/2VPZPOE

time

In our community, “Keep Austin Weird” is more than just a catchy slogan. It is the way people, policymakers and businesses of Austin think outside the box. This way of life has allowed Austin to become a beacon of innovation, a model for other cities, and a desirable location for companies to move to and grow, even amid a pandemic. As cities across the world transition to the new normal, they need to find ways to support citizens and employers to work in new ways. For technology companies in particular, new workplace models have kept employees safe without sacrificing productivity, leading to a boom in the Austin tech sector. This boom is evidenced by Tesla choosing the Austin area for its new $1.1 billion manufacturing facility and software giant Oracle relocating its corporate headquarters here. During the pandemic, we have worked to help Austin businesses­ continue growing and partnered with nonprofits like Workforce Solutions to offer pathways to financial stability to thousands of Austin residents. Over the past 12 months, more than 11,000 new “remote work” employment opportunities opened in Austin, a significant spike from the 4,500 jobs posted in the previous year. Even into 2021, remote work has remained a crucial component for Austinites—including those seeking employment. We’ve focused on supporting career training in Austin’s most in-demand industries (information technology, health care, manufacturing and skilled trades) and a rapid job-training program emphasizing remote and hybrid workplaces. Since the launch of the training program, RE:WorkNOW, Workforce Solutions has experienced a tenfold demand for remote workforce training and has enrolled more people in an activity in the first four months of 2021 than they typically would have in an entire year. Today, Austin’s unemployment rate of 4.4% is one of the lowest among major U.S. cities, well below the state average of 6.5%. It helps that Austin is such a magical place to live, work and play. Fostering an environment recognized for its cultural, culinary and social scenes helps keep a city on the radars of employers and remote workers alike. Connectivity is also crucial for city residents. Austin’s $7.1 billion transit system plan, Project Connect, will bring light rail and expanded transit connectivity. And placemaking in areas around stations will help highlight just what keeps Austin weird. Steve Adler is Mayor of Austin, Texas Sign up for Inside TIME. Be the first to see the new cover of TIME and get our most compelling stories delivered straight to your inbox. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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Over 60% of foreign bank reserves are denominated in U.S. dollars. China's digital RMB could challenge the world's currency.

https://ti.me/2VLfejy

time

Every morning, Mei Yi waves goodbye to his wife and 3-year-old son and sets off for his finance job in central Beijing, riding into town by public bike share. Like most urban Chinese, the 37-year-old has long abandoned cash and instead pays for his commute—and a lunchtime bite from a convenience store in his office building—with a flash of a QR code on his smartphone screen. In recent weeks, however, Mei has jettisoned the Alipay mobile-payment app run by Ant Group, an affiliate of e-commerce behemoth Alibaba, for a digital wallet of renminbi (RMB), as China’s currency is called. The wallet is issued as a pilot project by the People’s Bank of China (PBOC), the country’s central bank. “It’s quite convenient to use, but there are no outstanding features to replace mainstream payment systems such as Alipay,” shrugs Mei. “For individuals, at least, any advantages aren’t that obvious.” Perhaps not. But that tweak in Mei’s daily routine portends a seismic shift in how every person around the world will soon be handling money. Mei’s digital wallet may lack the snazzy features of the popular payment apps, but in the end such apps are intermediaries, linked to users’ bank accounts. The content of his new wallet is actual legal tender, directly issued to him without the need of any middleman, traditional bank account or paper money to back it up. (To be clear, a digital currency is not the same as a cryptocurrency. While the likes of bitcoin, ripple and ether are largely unregulated—at times vulnerable to hackers, and subject to wild volatility—a digital currency is issued by a government.) Physical money isn’t going to completely vanish. Although just $5 trillion of the $431 trillion of wealth in the world today is in the form of cash in pockets, safes and bank vaults, no central bank is seriously advocating the complete abolition of bills and coins. What makes digital currencies truly revolutionary are the tremendous new functionalities they offer. It’s the financial equivalent of the leap from postal service to email, or lending library to Internet. Digital currencies will help governments fight malfeasance, smooth the transfer of assets across borders, and enable central banks to deal directly with citizens—especially helpful in times of crisis. The widespread adoption of such currencies stands to slash the operating expenses of the global financial industry. These amount to over $350 a year each for every human being on earth. Cross-border transaction fees today account for up to 8% of Hong Kong’s GDP, for example—a huge chunk that could be eliminated in a flash. The SWIFT (Society for Worldwide Interbank Financial Telecommunication) system, which currently governs cross-border transactions between banks, may become obsolete. Depending on regulations, governments could also have direct visibility of financial transactions instead of having to ask banks to provide data. And the world’s 1.7 billion unbanked, including around 14 million U.S. adults, can be helped into the financial system. It’s the biggest change in money since the end of the gold standard. “You’re going to see a massive transformation of the international monetary system,” says Michael Sung, founding co-director of the Fudan Fanhai Fintech Research Center at Fudan University in Shanghai. Given that the U.S. dollar’s role as the world’s currency may be greatly diminished, Sung also sees “a lot of big geo-political and trade effects too.” Illustration by Harry Campbell for TIME A recent survey by the Bank for International Settlements—a Swiss-based institution that acts as a “central bank for central banks”—indicates that 86% of them are actively researching digital currencies. Some 60% of banks polled are in the testing phase, and although in the U.S., the Federal Reserve is still exploring the concept, European Central Bank President Christine Lagarde says she wants a digital euro by 2025. According to some estimates, a fifth of the global population will be exposed to a central-bank digital currency within three years. By 2027, some $24 trillion of assets around the world is expected to be in digital form. China is not the first nation to launch a digital currency—the Bahamas sand dollar was introduced six months before the digital RMB. But it’s perhaps unsurprising that China, the country that invented the banknote in the 7th century, is in the technological forefront. Although Washington is in no rush to disrupt the traditional international financial system that it dominates, Beijing sees geopolitical gains in helping establish the new protocols. More than 20.8 million people are currently using a digital RMB wallet in China, the PBOC says, and they have made over 70.7 million transactions totaling 34.5 billion RMB ($5.3 billion). The central bank plans to let foreigners use the digital currency in time for the Beijing Winter Olympics in February. The impetus is coming firmly from the top. China should “actively participate in formulating international rules on digital currency and digital tax to create new competitive advantages,” President Xi Jinping wrote last year in Qiushi, the principal ideological journal of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP). Although China may be leading the race to roll out a digital currency, the starting pistol was fired in a U.S. boardroom. In June 2019, Facebook announced it was planning to issue a digital currency—initially dubbed Libra, now called Diem—for its 2.3 billion users. That a private company, servicing almost a third of the global population, was poised to circumvent the existing international monetary system shocked central banks already reeling from the rise of cryptocurrencies. It posed serious questions for the banks’ control over their own countries’ money supply, interest rates, inflation and so on. Libra was “a bit of a wake-up call that this is coming fast,” Federal Reserve Chair Jerome Powell told the House Financial Services Committee last year. Beijing had been quietly researching the digital RMB since 2014, but the Facebook announcement injected new urgency. Four months later, Xi urged officials at the CCP’s fourth plenum to “seize the opportunities” presented by the blockchain technologies that underpin digital currencies. Today, China is the world leader in terms of the enterprise adoption of blockchain, which may enable digital currencies as they develop. What makes digital currencies truly revolutionary are the tremendous new functionalities. Of course, Chinese commerce is already largely digitized, thanks to the private duopoly of WeChat and Alipay, which together comprise 96% of all mobile payments in the country. Try to pay for a taxicab in Shanghai or Shenzhen with physical notes, and prepare for dirty looks. But the sway these private firms hold over the domestic economy is a matter of intense discomfort for party officials, underscored by a crackdown that began late last year on Ant Group, which runs Alipay. Regulators scuttled its IPO, levied a record $2.8 billion fine against parent Alibaba and ordered the firm to restructure. Beijing is also paving the way for state-backed financial competitors. Businesses are free to refuse commercial payment systems—but because digital RMB is legal tender, they are legally obliged to accept it. This empowers China’s big banks to issue their own digital wallets, hopefully creating a multi-polar environment with greater competition, a richer set of services and ultimately greater resilience for the economy. “There is an important role for the government to play because free-market forces sometimes go overboard,” CEO Piyush Gupta of the commercial bank DBS tells TIME. “To establish a level playing field… policy is quite important.” In this way, digitization complements other innovations already under way. For years, big banks had a lot of resources but also a reputation for lacking innovation, because it was too easy to make money the traditional way. They had data but no idea how to use it. The rise of online payment providers means they’re now forced to compete, aided by new regulations. In Europe, for example, new “open banking” rules force banks to share their data with third-party companies, which can use it to create new products and services. Another benefit of digital currencies is financial inclusion. In times of crisis, they enable governments to send aid and stimulus payments directly to the smartphones of affected citizens, regardless of whether the recipients have a bank account. The pandemic has spotlighted the inadequacies of the current system. As of April 30, 2020, the U.S. government had sent paper coronavirus stimulus checks totaling nearly $1.4 billion to some 1.1 million people who were deceased. Delays were also rife. Knowing the months of waiting many people would suffer before receiving their stimulus checks, in March 2020, Congress considered a proposal to issue every American entitled to financial relief a digital wallet (although it did not pass). Digital currencies can also be tailored to specific purposes. For example, in the Chinese pilot program, money has an expiration date of a few weeks because authorities are hoping to drive consumption in an economy trying to recover from the pandemic. Cash can be customized for other purposes. If the government is trying to stimulate the hospitality industry in a certain area, for example, it can program money to be used for meals and drinks but not for, say, petrol or power tools. If a hurricane devastates a coastal town, the government can instantly send relief payments to those affected to be spent only on essential supplies. At the start of the pandemic, around $50 billion of taxpayer money was paid to bail out U.S. airlines and prevent huge layoffs. In reality, $45 billion was spent on buying back stock to artificially prop up share prices and the linked bonuses of executives. Although legislation could have prevented such wanton misuse, digitalization would also enable authorities to microtarget where every cent of every stimulus payment went and what it achieved. “It’s fundamentally transformative,” says Jason Ekberg, head of corporate and institutional banking practice at management consultancy Oliver Wyman. Of course, there are drawbacks. Having so much financial information digitized does, by necessity, increase the potential for hacking and cybercrime. “There’s no question that it creates risk,” says Ekberg. “The question is how you can contain and control the risk.” Neha Narula, the director of the Digital Currency Initiative at MIT Media Lab, agrees. “When we move from analog to the digital realm, that opens up a new set of vulnerabilities that we have to be very careful about and prepare for,” she tells TIME. Digital currencies could also empower the state to make it impossible to donate to a vocal NGO, for example, or to purchase alcohol on a weekday. That is a special concern in authoritarian systems like China’s, where the potential for social monitoring would be exponentially increased. Critics have argued that the digital RMB will simply become an extension of the surveillance state. Linked to China’s social credit system, it could see citizens fined in a split second for behaviors deemed undesirable. Dissidents and activists could see their wallets emptied or taken offline. Countries and companies doing business with China could be required to use the digital RMB—giving Beijing an unprecedented storehouse of business data. Illustration by Harry Campbell for TIME Still, those concerns may well be overplayed. In most jurisdictions, it is already impossible to open a bank account without strict ID checks, and large transactions trigger banking scrutiny to root out criminal activity. Digital-currency transactions are also theoretically less monitorable than commercial payment apps because they do not necessarily have to take place over an Internet connection. China intends to allow smaller transactions to take place via “near field communication,” in a not dissimilar fashion to exchanging a file via Bluetooth or AirDrop. In a June speech, Mu Chang-chun, the director of PBOC’s digital-currency research institute, said there would initially be four classes of digital wallets. The lowest, “anonymous” tier would be linked only to a phone number, with a balance limit of 10,000 RMB ($1,562) and single-payment limit of 2,000 RMB ($312). If you need more, Mu said, “you can upgrade your wallet, upload your valid ID and bank-account information.” In the U.S., the Fed at present sees no first-mover advantage in disrupting a system it controls. Today, over 60% of all foreign bank reserves, as well as nearly 40% of the world’s debt, is denominated in U.S. dollars. When it comes to digital currencies, it is more important for the U.S. to “get it right than it is to be the first,” Powell said in October. Narula adds, “It is right to be cautious.” However, given that there are so many pending decisions about exactly how a digital currency might be designed and rolled out, and how it might impact different sectors of the economy, she says, “the U.S. needs to accelerate its research.” The RMB isn’t poised to usurp the greenback anytime soon. China currently restricts the movement of capital to prevent capital flight and currency fluctuations from undermining its export-reliant economy. Until it stops doing so, international use of the RMB will be limited. And as the U.S. remains the world’s No. 1 economy, a huge proportion of money circulating will remain in dollars. Developing nations will also prefer to retain dollars over erratic domestic currencies. Still, the dollar’s dominance will not go unchallenged. The rise of digital alternatives may mean the end of the dollar as default currency for developed and wealthy nations. Why, for example, should Chinese loans to Central Asia and Africa be designated in dollars, as they are now? "You’re going to see a massive transformation of the international monetary system." — Michael Sung, Fudan University Digitalization promises to democratize international payments by allowing settlement between currencies without exchanging to the dollar first. In April, JPMorgan, DBS and Singapore’s state-owned investment company Temasek announced the creation of a wholesale digital-currency clearinghouse. Several other proposals are in the works. Many nations—especially those with testy relations with the U.S., like Russia and China—would also prefer to settle accounts directly via digital currencies. This is not least because the U.S. has increasingly weaponized the dollar for geopolitical gains; it has twice put pressure on the SWIFT banking network to block all transactions with Iran, for example. It is a key reason Beijing has been working hard to establish common global rules for digital currencies. China was the first to contribute digital-currency content to ISO 20022 protocols—a new global standard to cover data transferred between financial institutions, such as payment transactions, credit and debit-card information, and securities trading and settlement information. Reducing reliance on the U.S. dollar is an explicit goal of many nations developing digital currencies. In a 2019 speech, Mark Carney, governor of the Bank of England, argued that technology could solve the problems of dollar hegemony by allowing the rest of the world, especially developing countries, to win back control over monetary policy. “Any unipolar system is unsuited to a multi-polar world,” he said. “We would do well to think through every opportunity, including those presented by new technologies, to create a more balanced and effective system.” Fairness also applies to investments. One of the potentials of digital currencies is the acceleration of “tokenization,” or the packaging of value into a form that is instantaneously exchangeable. Global real estate, for example, is worth an estimated $280 trillion. But trading it is extremely difficult, requiring hefty fees, negotiations and red tape. But what if you could express its value in a token that could just as easily represent a fractional share of a beach house in Thailand, a sapphire in Mumbai or a wine collection in Normandy? Fine art, for example, typically appreciates far more quickly than the stock market. But today it is an investment accessible only to those with a Sotheby’s account and seven figures in the bank. Technology would make it possible to create a digital token that represents a van Gogh or a Picasso, and to sell slivers of art to, say, excited young investors from Manila to Minneapolis. Cryptocurrencies are already awakening some people to such possibilities, but the universal adoption of digital currencies promises the friction-free exchange of value between investors and consumers of all classes. That, says Sung, “is really the promise of these new technologies in the world of digital finance.” And China, naturally, is proud to be in the vanguard. “Although the digital RMB is not very popular at the moment, I believe it will be the mainstream payment method in the future,” says coffee merchant Duan Chu, 32, as she enjoys a burrito paid for with the digital currency in downtown Shanghai. “I want to support it as much as I can.” —With reporting by Leslie Dickstein and Alejandro de la Garza The Leadership Brief. Conversations with the most influential leaders in business and tech. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Write to Charlie Campbell at charlie.campbell@time.com.

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"Even 20 years on, Spirited Away is a movie that can be watched and rewatched, pondered in solitude or mulled over in company, the film’s meticulously crafted and intricately designed visuals washing over you with each new viewing."

https://ti.me/2XgzgTk

time

Twenty years ago, on July 20, 2001, a film that would become one of the most celebrated animated movies of all time hit theaters in Japan. Directed by Hayao Miyazaki and produced by Studio Ghibli, Sen to Chihiro no Kamikakushi, titled Spirited Away in English, would leave an indelible mark on animation in the 21st century. The movie arrived at a time when animation was widely perceived as a genre solely for children, and when cultural differences often became barriers to the global distribution of animated works. Spirited Away shattered preconceived notions about the art form and also proved that, as a film created in Japanese with elements of Japanese folklore central to its core, it could resonate deeply with audiences around the world. The story follows an ordinary 10-year-old girl, Chihiro, as she arrives at a deserted theme park that turns out to be a realm of gods and spirits. After an overeating incident leads her parents to turn into literal pigs, Chihiro must work in a bathhouse that serves otherworldly customers in order to survive and find a way to return home. Imaginative and inspired, Spirited Away immerses the viewer in a fantastical world that at once astounds and alarms. Many of the deities are based on figures in Japanese folklore, and part of the Japanese title itself, kamikakushi, refers to the concept of disappearance from being taken away by gods. The story is also a tale of resilience and persistence, as Chihiro gradually draws on her inner strength to endure this land where humans are designed to perish. In a 2001 interview with Animage, Miyazaki said he had an intended audience in mind for the film. “We have made [My Neighbor] Totoro, which was for small children, Laputa, in which a boy sets out on a journey, and Kiki’s Delivery Service, in which a teenager has to live with herself. We have not made a film for 10-year-old girls, who are in the first stage of their adolescence,” he said, as translated by Ryoko Toyama. “I wondered if I could make a movie in which they could be heroines.” © 2001 Studio Ghibli - NDDTM Spirited Away would go on to resonate far beyond its target demographic. Immediately upon release, the film broke the opening weekend record in Japan by earning $13.1 million over three days. It beat previous numbers set by another one of Miyazaki’s films, 1997’s Princess Mononoke. Spirited Away went on to become Japan’s highest-grossing film of all-time, and held the record for 19 years, surpassing $300 million at the local box office last year after the movie was re-released. (It was eclipsed soon after by Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba the Movie: Mugen Train in December.) . In the years following Spirited Away’s premiere, the film traveled widely as it was screened at international film festivals and released theatrically around the world. In 2020, it became available to even more audiences when it entered Netflix’s catalog in dozens of countries and joined HBO Max’s catalog in the U.S. when the platform launched with a Studio Ghibli collection. Two decades later, the story of Chihiro continues to reach new audiences, including through new formats: a stage adaptation of Spirited Away directed by John Caird (Les Misérables) and produced by the Japanese entertainment company Toho, which originally distributed the Miyazaki film in Japan, is set to premiere in 2022. For its 20th anniversary, TIME looks back at Spirited Away’s historic path from Japanese blockbuster to Oscar winner, its U.S. release by Disney following a complicated history between Miyazaki and foreign distributors, and the film’s lasting impact on Japanese animation and beyond. The significance of Spirited Away’s box office records and awards Spirited Away raked in $234 million, overtaking Titanic to become Japan’s highest-grossing film. Its commercial success helped make animation “a very significant, legitimate film genre in Japan,” says Dr. Shiro Yoshioka, a lecturer in Japanese Studies at Newcastle University’s School of Modern Languages and author of the chapter “Heart of Japaneseness: History and Nostalgia in Hayao Miyazaki’s Spirited Away” in Japanese Visual Culture. He explains that its popularity had a compounding effect on that of another Studio Ghibli release from four years earlier. “Princess Mononoke was already successful and put animation on the map in Japan,” he says of the 1997 film that was Japan’s box office leader before being unseated by Titanic. “Until then, animation or anime was more like a niche genre,” Yoshioka explains Dr. Rayna Denison, who wrote the chapter “The Global Markets for Anime: Miyazaki Hayao’s Spirited Away” in Japanese Cinema: Texts and Contexts and is a senior lecturer at the University of East Anglia, says that while Studio Ghibli films had been growing in Japan’s box office since Kiki’s Delivery Service was released in 1989, Spirited Away was able to reach blockbuster status—surpassing records previously set by movies like E.T. and Jurassic Park. “It’s a major shift in the local market proving that films from Japan could be the equivalent of, in blockbuster terms, big Hollywood movies,” Denison says. © 2001 Studio Ghibli - NDDTM International critical acclaim soon followed the film’s domestic commercial success. At the 2002 Berlin International Film Festival, Spirited Away was a co-recipient of the Golden Bear, the first animated feature to win the highest prize in the festival’s history. In 2003, Spirited Away was awarded Best Animated Feature at the 75th Academy Awards, becoming the first—and to this day, only—non-English-language movie to win the award. “The fact that a non-Western, Japanese animated film would win major awards from two major Western sources was a very big shot in the arm to the Japanese animation industry,” says Dr. Susan Napier, author of Miyazakiworld: A Life in Art and a professor at Tufts University. There was also special significance to Spirited Away taking the Oscar win during only the second year after the Best Animated Feature category was created. (Shrek was the first movie to win the category.) “For so long, cartoons have been seen in the West—America in particular—as kind of childish, vulgar, things that you didn’t take seriously,” Napier explains. When Spirited Away took home the Academy Award, Napier says, “people were starting to say, wow, what’s all this about animation that it’s getting its own category, that it’s considered a real art form.” According to Yoshioka, the Oscar win was hugely important for Miyazaki, Studio Ghibli and Japanese animation more broadly. “It made Japanese animation a more global film genre rather than very niche,” he explains, noting that animation was no longer perceived to be content strictly for otaku, a term often used to describe passionate fans of Japanese culture who heavily consume entertainment like anime and manga. Disney’s partnership with Studio Ghibli and the complicated history behind it A major component of Spirited Away’s global popularity was the partnership between Tokuma Shoten, then the parent company of Studio Ghibli, and Disney. Forged in 1996, the agreement gave Disney the home video rights to a handful of Studio Ghibli films in addition to the theatrical rights for distributing Princess Mononoke outside of Japan. Disney would later acquire the home video and theatrical rights to Spirited Away in North America. But this partnership had a rocky history. Miyazaki was wary of foreign distribution for his films after the director’s 1984 movie Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind was infamously edited by Manson International for its U.S. release. A full 22 minutes were cut from the original film, and it was promoted as Warriors of the Wind with posters featuring male characters who do not appear in the movie. “The distributors edited the film in such a way that it’s become almost like a kind of children’s adventure story, there’s no nuance,” says Yoshioka, noting that the movie, which follows the heroine Nausicaä in a post-apocalyptic world, has a layered plot. “The assumption behind the editing was that American audiences wouldn’t understand the storyline, because in the States and in many Western countries, the assumption was that animation was for children.” The heavy editing of Nausicaä was part of the reason why, when the U.S. release for Princess Mononoke was in the works, Studio Ghibli producer Toshio Suzuki sent Harvey Weinstein—who led Miramax, which was handling the film’s American distribution—a samurai sword with the note, “no cuts.” The movie hit U.S. theaters in its uncut form in 1999, but did not perform strongly at the box office—grossing $2.3 million for the initial release. Napier says it’s hard to pinpoint why the film didn’t quite catch on. “Maybe at that point people weren’t quite ready for it. It was another kind of dark film, it had an ambiguous ending,” she says. “It also doesn’t have a conventional good-versus-evil kind of plot which American audiences tend to expect.” By the time of Spirited Away’s limited release in the States in 2002, Napier says that Disney was more familiar with Miyazaki as a brand. Another major difference from Princess Mononoke was that Pixar’s John Lasseter, who had long been a fan of the Japanese director, was at the helm of Spirited Away’s distribution and English adaptation efforts. “That kind of industrial support from people in America that were, at the time, very well respected in the animation world was really important to raising Miyazaki’s profile, raising the profile of Studio Ghibli,” Denison says. Lasseter and Disney boosted Spirited Away’s visibility in America by heavily campaigning for the film to be considered for the Academy Awards, including with a full-page advertisement in Variety. “They were very, very careful to push the film to the foreground to keep it in everybody’s minds,” she says. “And I think, in no small part, that’s one of the reasons it succeeded and won the Best Animated Feature.” A "For Your Consideration" ad of "Spirited Away" from Disney Disney Drawing in $10 million, the film did not see huge success in U.S. theaters. But Yoshioka says that, in contrast to Princess Mononoke, it was the first Studio Ghibli movie to reach a broader American audience. It also attracted significant viewership beyond the U.S, grossing around $6 million in France, for instance, and more than $11 millio in South Korea. How Spirited Away influenced animation Spirited Away is not just the only non-English-language animated film to have won an Oscar for Best Animated Feature, it’s also the only hand-drawn animated film to receive the honor. Nearly all of the other winners are computer-animated works. “Spirited Away comes at a time when there’s a big changeover happening in Japanese animation, and more and more people are using computers rather than traditional two-dimensional, cel-based animation,” Denison says, referring to the technique in which every frame is drawn by hand. The film incorporated computer animation, but sparingly. “As a viewer, it’s very subtle and nicely done. It still looks like 2-D, more traditional film animation,” says Dr. Mari Nakamura, a lecturer of modern Japanese studies and international relations at Leiden University. “This is very characteristic of Japanese animation in general—how to have a good balance between 2-D and 3-D.” And while many studios have left behind two-dimensional animation over the decades, the style has remained core to Studio Ghibli’s style. In an interview with Entertainment Weekly last May, Studio Ghibli’s Suzuki talked about the hand-drawing process for Miyazaki’s upcoming film, How Do You Live? “We have 60 animators, but we are only able to come up with one minute of animation in a month,” he said. “That means 12 months a year, you get 12 minutes worth of movie.” It’s a painstaking process, but one that has undeniably shaped the singular animation aesthetic of Miyazaki films. There is, indeed, plenty to think about in Spirited Away for audiences of all ages. Napier says that in addition to the aesthetic impact of the film, there has also been a psychological one. “This willingness to see children in a dark and scary world, the possibilities of children having to confront dark and scary things on their own,” Napier says, “A number of anime were already dealing with it before Spirited Away, but I think after that it becomes even more of an important motif in Japanese animation.” She draws similarities between Spirited Away and Makoto Shinkai’s 2016 film Your Name—Japan’s fifth highest-grossing movie of all time—which tells the story of two high school students, one boy and one girl, mysteriously swapping bodies. “Both stories, although they’re very different, really are about young people confronting very strange, destabilized worlds,” Napier says. Like Chihiro, whose name is taken away by the sorceress Yubaba and becomes “Sen” as she begins work in the bathhouse, the characters Taki and Mitsuha in Your Name lose their identities through the body switches. Napier hypothesizes that these themes relating to uncertainty are connected to a dominant feeling in the 21st century of children being more on their own and feeling at a loss. “I think one reason why these films are so popular is that they do recognize and acknowledge that the world can be scary, and that we don’t always know what’s going to happen to us,” Napier adds. Outside of Japan, Miyazaki has inspired filmmakers from Wes Anderson to Guillermo del Toro. In the case of the latter, Napier says that there are clear similarities between Spirited Away and del Toro’s 2006 live-action fantasy Pan’s Labyrinth. That movie’s main character, 10-year-old Ofelia, is taken to the countryside to a new home like Chihiro was. Napier describes a scene in Pan’s Labyrinth’s opening sequence, in which Ofelia gets out of the car and enters the forest, as a direct homage to Spirited Away. “She sees a kind of stone image that is so overtly similar to an early scene in Spirited Away when Chihiro confronts a stone image,” Napier explains. And while not specific to Spirited Away, Pixar’s Lasseter—who directed films including Toy Story, Cars and A Bug’s Life and in 2018 left the company after allegations of sexual misconduct—has long spoken of his admiration for Miyazaki’s works. In Toy Story 3, the character of Totoro even makes a cameo as a plushie. Napier points to a later Pixar film that she thinks “really clearly shows influences from Spirited Away”: the 2015 movie Inside Out. “It’s about a young girl who is, as with Spirited Away, leaving her old home for a new one,” Napier says. “She’s being confronted by a variety of challenges and emotions.” Napier adds that it’s another example of a female protagonist carrying the film, something that has only become slightly more prevalent in the last decade after Pixar’s history of centering male protagonists. Spirited Away embaced as a classic, 20 years later As Denison puts it, “This is a film made by a master animator at the height of his powers and it is one where the quality of the animation really does set it apart from everything else around it. Nobody else was making films that looked like this or that were as inventive as this was at this time.” To Yoshioka, one reason why Spirited Away continues to be adored two decades after its release is its ambiguous nature. “It’s not entirely clear when watching for the first time what the story is about,” he says, adding that earlier Miyazaki films often had clearer themes. Spirited Away can be interpreted in numerous ways by the viewer. “This sort of elastic or enigmatic feature is key for the film to be loved as a classic,” he says. In this way, even 20 years on, Spirited Away is a movie that can be watched and rewatched, pondered in solitude or mulled over in company, the film’s meticulously crafted and intricately designed visuals washing over you with each new viewing. Sign up for our Entertainment newsletter. Subscribe to More to the Story to get the context you need for the pop culture you love. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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There’s perhaps no category of literature more impactful than YA. These are the books introduced to us at a pivotal point in our lives: when our grasp on the world is changing just as we begin to claim a place in it.

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time

There’s perhaps no category of literature more impactful than YA. These are the books introduced to us at a pivotal point in our lives: when our grasp on the world is changing just as we begin to claim a place in it. Everything during our teen and early adult years is new, strange and intense: our bodies, our relationships, our perspectives on life, love, loss and all that falls in between. “Young people are actually quite philosophical,” says Nicola Yoon, the best-selling author of heady YA romances like The Sun Is Also a Star and Everything, Everything. “They’re at the age when they’re still becoming who they’re going to be, asking themselves big questions like What’s the meaning of life? or How can I make the world a better place? or Is there a God?” In those formative years, we’re lucky to find books that can make us feel less alone, whether they’re assigned at school, handed down by loved ones or recommended by our peers. Which is why, with the help of a panel of leading YA authors, TIME set out to create a definitive list of the 100 Best YA Books of All Time. In his introduction to the project, panelist and National Ambassador for Young People’s Literature Jason Reynolds reflects on the power of books to help young readers understand themselves. “We can become more of who we already are and feel safer within ourselves,” he writes, “simply by meeting characters who call out to us by the names we call ourselves.” See the full list of the 100 Best YA Books of All Time TIME published a list of the best YA books just six years ago, in 2015. What we didn’t know then was how drastically the category—what it represents, who it serves and whose voices it centers—was about to shift. Many of the books that arrived in the next few years were defined by a commitment to social justice and lived up to the standards of the #OwnVoices campaign, a hashtag first created in 2015 by author Corinne Duyvis to recommend more inclusive children’s books. The hashtag, though now being reconsidered, propelled a movement encouraging industry gatekeepers to publish more books written by authors who share the identities of their characters. First-time novelists like Angie Thomas, Erika L. Sánchez, Elizabeth Acevedo, Sandhya Menon and Tomi Adeyemi broke out with commercially successful and critically acclaimed books. Just as one thread of political discourse in the U.S. began to more explicitly acknowledge groups long marginalized and disenfranchised by everything from policy to pop culture, the success of these books pushed many publishers, educators, parents and readers to think critically about what they had long considered staples of YA literature—the books they’ve forever told kids will help them understand the world. What were the underlying messages of those books? Who were they written for? And whose voices did they leave out? Panelist Adam Silvera, who made his YA debut with More Happy Than Not in 2015, has experienced firsthand how the category has evolved to expand. He credits editors with taking more chances on authors from underrepresented groups. “When I first sold More Happy Than Not, I had feedback from editors where they wanted me to make the narrator straight and white instead of gay and Puerto Rican like me,” Silvera tells TIME. “The intersection of my identities was too difficult for some people to understand back then, but I’ve thankfully seen a lot of publishing [professionals] put in the work to broaden their worldviews.” For all these reasons, TIME’s updated list of the best YA books of all time is weighted heavily toward the recent past, with more than 50% of the books on the list having been published in the last decade. One year in particular is a strong example of the boom in great YA fiction, with major titles like Thomas’ The Hate U Give, Reynolds’ Long Way Down, Nic Stone’s Dear Martin, Sánchez’s I Am Not Your Perfect Mexican Daughter, Cherie Dimaline’s The Marrow Thieves, Ibi Zoboi’s American Street and many more celebrated works arriving in 2017. “I see the readers as the driving force behind that surge, specifically the call for diverse books,” Thomas tells TIME, adding that most of these 2017 titles would likely not have been published 10 or even five years before. “Between the work of librarians, educators, We Need Diverse Books and young people like activist Marley Dias, publishing was forced to face an uncomfortable truth: the books they put in the world for young people did not reflect all young people.” To make a list of the best YA books requires contending with the fact that there is no single, straightforward way to classify YA, which is read by many adults and has evolved greatly over time from its first usage as a designation by the Young Adult Library Services Association in the late 1960s. Michael Cart, former president of the YALSA, reflected on the ephemeral categorization of books for young readers in 2008: “The term ‘young adult literature’ is inherently amorphous,” he wrote, “for its constituent terms ‘young adult’ and ‘literature’ are dynamic, changing as culture and society—which provide their context—change.” In its evolution to the present movement toward more diverse and inclusive storytelling, YA has passed through many stages—from the novels of the ’70s that explored coming-of-age in refreshingly frank terms to the splashy fantasy epics and teen-girl-led dystopias of the 2000s to the queer love stories and so-called “sick lit” novels of the 2010s. To create the list, TIME focused on books marketed toward grade levels 8-12 or with characters in that age range and books that explore adolescence, all while recognizing that some books defy categorization. And we relied on the expertise of YA authors themselves, recruiting a panel of leading writers—Kacen Callender and Jenny Han, along with Acevedo, Reynolds, Silvera, Thomas and Yoon—to join TIME staff in nominating and ranking the top books of the genre. TIME editors conducted additional research and considered each finalist based on key factors, including artistry, originality, accessibility when it comes to mature themes, emotional impact, critical and popular reception, and influence on the young adult category and literature more broadly. Many of the titles from TIME’s original list appear on this new one. Books like To Kill a Mockingbird, The Catcher in the Rye and A Swiftly Tilting Planet, while in some ways outdated and even damaging, have lasting influence—and for as long as they will be passed along to young readers, it will remain essential to recognize where they fail as well as where they succeed. Ultimately, the books on this list are ones that have afforded readers of all ages around the world an opportunity to recognize themselves in all kinds of narratives. Some are thought-provoking dramas, some transporting fantasies. Some are sweet coming-of-age stories and others laugh-out-loud romantic comedies. They all speak to the tensions, anxieties and joys of growing up and discovering who you are. “The function of story, especially for young people,” Reynolds writes, “is to bear witness to their lives, marking them as valuable and seen and part of something.” See the books featured on TIME’s 2015 YA list here: The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian, Sherman Alexie The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Mark Twain Alabama Moon, Watt Key The Alchemyst, Michael Scott Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Lewis Carroll American Born Chinese, Gene Luen Yang Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl, Anne Frank Anne of Green Gables (series), L.M. Montgomery Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret, Judy Blume Beezus & Ramona, Beverly Cleary Blankets, Craig Thompson The Book Thief, Marcus Zusak Boxers & Saints, Gene Luen Yang Boy Proof, Cecil Castellucci Bridge to Terabithia, Katherine Paterson The Call of the Wild, Jack London The Catcher in the Rye, J.D. Salinger Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Roald Dahl Charlotte’s Web, E.B. White The Chocolate War, Robert Cormier The Chronicles of Narnia (series), C.S. Lewis The Chronicles of Prydain (series), Lloyd Alexander City of the Beasts, Isabel Allende The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, Mark Haddon Dangerous Angels, Francesca Lia Block Danny the Champion of the World, Roald Dahl Dogsbody, Diana Wynne Jones Esperanza Rising, Pam Muñoz Ryan Every Day, David Levithan Fallen Angels, Walter Dean Myers The Fault in Our Stars, John Green Feed, M.T. Anderson For Freedom: The Story of a French Spy, Kimberly Brubaker Bradley Frindle, Andrew Clements From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, E.L. Konigsburg The Giver, Lois Lowry The Golden Compass, Philip Pullman The Graveyard Book, Neil Gaiman The Grey King, Susan Cooper Harriet the Spy, Louise Fitzhugh Harry Potter (series), J.K. Rowling Hatchet, Gary Paulsen A High Wind in Jamaica, Richard Hughes The Hobbit, J.R.R. Tolkien Holes, Louis Sachar The Hunger Games, Suzanne Collins The Illustrated Man, Ray Bradbury The Invention of Hugo Cabret, Brian Selznick Jacob Have I Loved, Katherine Paterson Johnny Tremain, Esther Hoskins Forbes The Knife Of Never Letting Go, Patrick Ness Little House on the Prairie (series) Laura Ingalls Wilder Little Women, Louisa May Alcott Looking for Alaska, John Green Lord of the Flies, William Golding The Lord of the Rings, J.R.R. Tolkien The Lost Conspiracy, Frances Hardinge Mary Poppins, P.L. Travers Matilda, Roald Dahl The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane, Kate DiCamillo A Monster Calls, Patrick Ness Monster, Walter Dean Myers Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH, Robert C. O’Brien The Mysterious Benedict Society, Trenton Lee Stewart A Northern Light, Jennifer Donnelly Number the Stars, Lois Lowry The Outsiders, S.E. Hinton Percy Jackson & the Olympians (series), Rick Riordan The Phantom Tollbooth, Norton Juster The Pigman, Paul Zindel The Princess Bride, William Goldman Private Peaceful, Michael Morpurgo Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry, Mildred D. Taylor Sabriel, Garth Nix Saffy’s Angel, Hilary McKay Secret (series), Pseudonymous Bosch A Separate Peace, John Knowles A Series of Unfortunate Events (series), Lemony Snicket Speak, Laurie Halse Anderson The Sword in the Stone (The Once and Future King series), T.H. White Tales of Mystery and Imagination, Edgar Allen Poe Tarzan of the Apes, Edgar Rice Burroughs The Thief Lord, Cornelia Funke Tiger Lily, Jodi Lynn Anderson The Tiger Rising, Kate DiCamillo To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee Twilight (series), Stephenie Meyer The Wall, Peter Sis The Westing Game, Ellen Raskin Whale Talk, Chris Crutcher When You Reach Me, Rebecca Stead Where Things Come Back, John Corey Whaley The Wind in the Willows, Kenneth Grahame The Witch of Blackbird Pond, Elizabeth George Speare A Wizard of Earthsea, Ursula K. Le Guin Wonder, R.J. Palacio The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, Frank. L. Baum A Wreath for Emmett Till, Marilyn Nelson A Wrinkle in Time, Madeleine L’Engle The Yearling, Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings This project is led by TIME staffers Lucy Feldman, Annabel Gutterman and Megan McCluskey, with writing, reporting and additional editing by Emily Barone, Eliza Berman, Judy Berman, Madeleine Carlisle, Peter Allen Clark, Samantha Cooney, Leslie Dickstein, Mahita Gajanan, Cady Lang, Shay Maunz and Nik Popil; copy editing by Helen Eisenbach and Megan Rutherford; art and photography editing by Whitney Matewe and Jennifer Prandato; and production by Paulina Cachero and Nadia Suleman. Illustration by Colin Verdi. Photography by Shawn Michael Jones. Sign up for our Entertainment newsletter. Subscribe to More to the Story to get the context you need for the pop culture you love. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Write to Annabel Gutterman at annabel.gutterman@time.com and Megan McCluskey at megan.mccluskey@time.com.

Article

As the auto industry rapidly transforms—moving from the internal combustion engine that has defined road transportation for more than 100 years to electric vehicles—workers and manufacturing communities are waiting anxiously to see what the scramble to lower the nation’s emissions will mean for them.

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time

Wandering around the sprawling 6.2 million-sq.-ft. Lordstown Motors assembly plant in Ohio, it’s tempting to imagine a green future that is full of jobs. The company’s signature product is a high-performing electric pickup truck, and around the facility workers are buzzing about, getting ready to bring it into production. In one corner, according to company officials giving TIME a rare tour, the firm will build its cutting-edge motors, which will be located in each wheel. A short golf-cart ride away, engineers explain how the company will assemble the lithium-ion battery packs that will power the trucks instead of diesel fuel. And while an army of robots sit idle, ready to be put to use assembling the vehicle, company officials insist they will soon be hiring rapidly. At full capacity, the company says, the facility will be able to churn out hundreds of thousands of trucks every year, a best-case scenario that would make Lordstown Motors a major player in the American auto industry and revitalize a part of the country that has been left behind by a series of big industrial departures. But there’s a reason one local official calls this part of Ohio the “land of broken promises.” The Lordstown Motors jobs may be green, but it’s an open question whether they will be good—and how many of them there will be. Unlike the 10,000-plus people who used to make General Motors automobiles at this same building, Lordstown Motors employees do not belong to a union. Today, the plant employs only around 500 people, and it’s unclear how many will ultimately work in the facility. For many locals, there’s an air of uncertainty brought by recent headlines: Lordstown Motors is under federal investigation for allegedly misleading investors. The company’s CEO and CFO both resigned in June. The combination of its vaulting promise and tenuous future captures well the larger state of play in the world of green jobs. As the auto industry rapidly transforms—moving from the internal combustion engine that has defined road transportation for more than 100 years to electric vehicles—workers and manufacturing communities are waiting anxiously to see what the scramble to lower the nation’s emissions will mean for them. On the one hand, building electric vehicles in communities like the Mahoning Valley, the region where Lordstown is located, promises to create the jobs of the future, resilient to the wave of imminent changes that will come as the post-pandemic economy rebuilds and modernizes. On the other, the picture of what an auto-manufacturing job in the new green economy looks like remains fuzzy. A Lordstown Motors employee puts together battery packs Ross Mantle for TIME The growth of electric-vehicle manufacturing in the U.S. could drive a renaissance for workers, creating new paths for unionization, training opportunities and better salaries. Or it could lead to lower wages, slashed benefits and a smaller workforce—and that’s just for the jobs that remain in the U.S. The stakes rose dramatically on Aug. 5, when President Biden gathered executives and labor officials on the South Lawn of the White House to announce new vehicle-efficiency standards and a goal of making 50% of new-car sales electric by 2030. “There’s no turning back,” said Biden, with U.S.-made electric trucks parked in the driveway behind him. “The question is whether we’ll lead or fall behind in the race for the future. It’s whether we’ll build these vehicles and the batteries that got them to where they are here in the United States, or if we’re going to have to rely on other countries for those batteries; whether or not the job to build these vehicles and batteries are good-paying union jobs, jobs with benefits, jobs that are going to sustain continued growth of the middle class.” Across the nation, auto companies, local officials and union leaders are trying to chart a path through this uncertain, fast-moving moment. Small towns and state governments are jockeying to capture their share of the emerging green economy, enticing electric automakers to invest in their backyards with tax incentives and worker-training programs. Legacy automakers are rethinking their businesses from the ground up, poised to spend tens of billions of dollars in the process, while union leaders are fighting to maintain a voice in the evolving industry. Meanwhile, the Biden Administration is trying to use the federal dime to shape the industry’s transition in a way that will ultimately support communities. The auto industry is not the only sector staring into the green unknown. Study after study shows that on a global scale, transitioning industry to a low-carbon economy will create new jobs, but those jobs won’t necessarily be in the same places, go to the same people, or offer the same pay and benefits. In the energy sector, for example, the International Labour Organization found that addressing climate change will create 24 million jobs globally while eliminating 6 million. This trend carries across large swaths of the economy. But the science of climate change is urgent, and even the most wizened labor advocates acknowledge that such complexities cannot be an excuse for inaction. Instead, they say, this moment must be viewed as an opportunity to create the best jobs as early as possible. “All of these decisions on electric vehicles and clean energy… will need to be worker-centered,” says Senator Sherrod Brown, an Ohio Democrat and longtime supporter of organized labor. “That will make all the difference.” In eastern Ohio, residents are watching—hopeful, but not naive to the pitfalls and challenges ahead. They want Lordstown Motors to fulfill its promise of anchoring a new “Voltage Valley” that will bring thousands of jobs back to the area. Despite the uncertainty over the federal investigations the company faces, Lordstown Motors says things are on track. “At the end of the day, [community members] will see us producing a truck,” says Jane Ritson-Parsons, the company’s chief operating officer. And locals want to believe them. “We want what’s best for the valley economically, so we don’t want to see this project fail,” says Tim O’Hara, a GM assembly worker who served as the president of the local branch of the United Auto Workers (UAW) before moving to a GM plant in Kentucky. “We’re kind of in a wait-and-see situation about how this all turns out.” Lordstown Motors employees gather after work at Ross’ Eatery & Pub Ross Mantle for TIME Driving through the Mahoning Valley, a flat expanse between Cleveland and Pittsburgh with 530,000 residents, it’s hard to miss the region’s industrial roots—and the reverence for the workers who built it. The city of Youngstown, about 15 miles southeast of the Lordstown Motors plant, is home to the Youngstown Historical Center of Industry & Labor, celebrating the history of the Valley’s steel industry. You can’t drive across town without spotting a UAW bumper sticker. At Ross’ Eatery and Pub, the local bar, union gear is displayed alongside Marines paraphernalia and hunting trophies. GM was once at the center of this community. The more than 10,000 workers the company employed in the region at the assembly plant’s peak supported thousands of other jobs. But changing consumer preferences and globalization destabilized everything, and the company’s hold on the region loosened. In 2017, GM cut the first shift from the Lordstown plant, which at the time produced the Chevy Cruze; by the end of 2018 the company had told workers the entire facility would close. At Ross’ Eatery, a poster hangs on the wall of the last car produced there, on March 6, 2019. Mayor William “Doug” Franklin of Warren, a city a short drive from the plant, understands the personal impact of Mahoning Valley’s booms and busts. His father worked in a local steel mill and his mother at a local auto supplier. Before becoming mayor, Franklin himself worked at GM for 25 years. He now describes himself as a “UAW retiree.” But Franklin doesn’t want to talk about the Mahoning Valley’s past. Instead of meeting at the historic mayor’s office in Warren, he asked to meet a few blocks away at BRITE, a local nonprofit that supports energy-tech startups, which is trying to build an electric-vehicle ecosystem in the area. Franklin wants to see a full-scale rebranding of the region, making the Mahoning Valley a center for electric-vehicle manufacturing that will bring job retraining, private investment and new technical jobs. “We know how to take a punch and how to recover; that’s just in our DNA,” he says. “This provides us a great opportunity to change our brand from the Steel Valley to the Voltage Valley.” The shift began in earnest in 2019, when Lordstown Motors formed a new firm to take over the GM facility and produce an electric truck. On Dec. 5, GM announced its own EV project just next door: a battery-cell-assembly plant called Ultium Cells, which is scheduled to open next year. With those two anchors, small startups have flocked to the region, working in everything from energy storage to solar power, eager to benefit from the electric–vehicle hub that seems to be taking shape. “There will be a couple thousand jobs that show up here in the next three to five years, based purely on the location,” says Rick Stockburger, who runs BRITE. More of these hubs could be on the way. Major automakers including GM, Ford and Stellantis are each spending tens of billions to prepare for an all-electric future. “This is transformational,” says Gerald Johnson, GM’s head of global manufacturing. “It’s the biggest technological change this industry has seen in over 100 years. This is going from buggies to engines.” It has also given automakers an opportunity to think strategically about where to invest—and there’s no guarantee that they will do so in the same places they built the internal combustion engine. Companies are selecting sites based on a range of criteria, from geography and transportation access to the local workforce. And cities, towns and states are fighting to prove that they’re the best suited to absorb those jobs. The rapid EV investment in eastern Ohio “isn’t a surprise to us,” says Jonathan Bridges, who heads JobsOhio’s efforts to recruit automotive companies to the state. “We’ve been actively working to position Ohio to be in that next generation of propulsion.” Communities with deep histories in the automotive industry may have some natural advantage in this race, such as hosting an old plant that can be refurbished. But there’s no doubt that the change will also be disruptive. Making an electric vehicle is a less labor-intensive process than producing one of its gas-powered counterparts; many of the components under the hood of a car with an internal combustion engine simply aren’t needed in an electric vehicle. Automakers estimate that they will require 30% less labor to produce an electric vehicle than a gas-powered one. Many companies in the supply chain that make parts for cars will cease to exist entirely. That creates new problems for the workers who remain. With fewer auto jobs than job seekers, companies may try to pay industry workers less. That’s difficult to do under current union contracts, but many auto companies have already begun to outsource work to subsidiaries and partners that are not unionized. While Ultium Cells, for example, says it won’t stand in the way of a union, workers will need to organize to join one. In any event, pay is expected to be significantly less than what UAW workers earned at GM. Ford too has invested in a separate battery company, which may or may not be unionized one day. Some startups, like Lordstown Motors, are not unionized at all. And earlier this year a federal judge found that Tesla, now the biggest incumbent EV maker, had illegally sought to discourage union participation at the company. “A significant number of jobs are in jeopardy,” says Marick Masters, a professor of management at Wayne State University. “And some of the jobs that are going to replace them may be nonunion, paying considerably less than the going rate.” There’s also the skills challenge; many of the new jobs will likely require different technical capabilities than traditional auto-industry workers typically have. Software engineers, chemists and technical experts will be more in demand, while the engineers and technicians who spent their careers mastering components like the transmission will find their skills effectively irrelevant. In Ohio, state and federal funds are already being put toward re-skilling. The Excellence Training Center at Youngstown State University, for example, is a former juvenile-correctional facility that recently got a government-funded $12 million makeover and began classes in July to provide locals with skills they will need to work at the new battery-cell–manufacturing plant. On the ground level, 3-D printers churned out YSU-themed tchotchkes to show off what they can do. In a vast second-floor space, more robots stood at the ready for the next trainee to take the wheel and learn how to operate them. “Higher ed is not meeting the needs of industry,” says Jennifer Oddo, executive director of the training center. “But industry can’t wait.” Franklin, Mayor of Warren, Ohio, wants the region to rebrand Ross Mantle for TIME Competition for this new generation of vehicle will be fierce, and some states are willing to spend big to incentivize. Around 500 miles southwest of the Mahoning Valley, in downtown Nashville, Bob Rolfe’s office feels more C-suite than state-government administrator. From a corner perch on the 27th floor of a skyscraper, Rolfe, who runs Tennessee’s Department of Economic & Community Development, surveys the city landscape as he works to bring new business here. Tennessee is ahead of the curve in the American race to woo electric-vehicle investment: GM, Nissan and Volkswagen have all committed billions to build electric cars in the state, which already has auto-industry operations in 88 of its 95 counties. In the offices his department has set up overseas, from the United Kingdom to Japan, Rolfe’s pitch to electric-vehicle makers has been simple: Tennessee is “pro-business.” The state doesn’t have a personal income tax, it funds workforce-development programs, and it has billions of dollars in tax incentives at the ready to offer companies. Forty-five minutes down the road, GM’s new, $2 billion Spring Hill EV-manufacturing plant is constructing the facilities to build its first electric Cadillac. New assembly floors rise from what was once empty land, part of an already sprawling GM complex that has been in operation since the 1980s. Next door, another new Ultium Cells plant is also breaking ground, and the state is working with GM to move a road to accommodate it. In total, Rolfe estimates the state is providing $65 million in incentives to support GM’s expansion here. “These are not inexpensive investments for the companies,” says Rolfe. “They’re not inexpensive for the state.” Local governments’ aggressive maneuvers to attract the electric-vehicle business have unsettled a well-established dynamic among the typical auto-industry power players. The UAW, the longtime counterweight to the auto companies, has had to fight to maintain its influence. Its current contracts remain intact, but its leverage is limited as automakers rethink their business and local communities vie to host them. The abrupt shift presents a conundrum to labor leaders. Climate change and global market trends mean electric vehicles are the future. The transportation sector in the U.S. emits nearly 30% of global greenhouse-gas emissions, and nearly 60% of that comes from light-duty vehicles. The U.S. may be slow to change this equation, but the rest of the world—and the car market—is moving full speed ahead. For the UAW to fight EVs would be futile, and it’s in the union’s interest to ensure electric vehicles are made in the U.S. Yet those same market trends mean union membership is likely to take a hit. A representative for the UAW national union declined to comment on the record for this story, and suggested he would “recalibrate [the UAW’s] interest” in participating if TIME contacted local members. UAW later added that it could not speak on the record at the time because of an ongoing organizing campaign. As it turns out, local union leaders and rank-and-file workers alike around the country said the transition to EVs has generated mixed feelings. In places like the Mahoning Valley, there is a cautious optimism that electric vehicles will bring prosperity, at least in the near term, even without organized labor. “They’re high-quality, high-paying jobs,” Franklin, the Warren mayor, says of the clean-energy ecosystem developing in his backyard. “Compared to what UAW members made in the past? We lost those jobs.” But in places that have yet to be chosen as a new EV hub, workers are skeptical, nervous, even terrified. In Facebook groups and after-hours chats, workers say, views of the country’s EV future are falling along the same partisan lines as so many other aspects of American life. Many conservatives doubt EVs even work, let alone represent an important part of the country’s future. Democratic autoworkers accept the benefits of EVs, but worry that they might end up casualties of the industry’s overhaul, no matter the rhetoric coming from Washington. “Electric vehicles are the way of the future, it seems pretty obvious,” says Justin Mayhugh, an auto-worker at GM’s Fairfax Assembly Plant in Kansas City, Kans., and a UAW member. “But I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I think most of us here in Kansas City are pretty concerned about the lack of investment here.” The shell of a Lordstown Motors pickup truck sits on the assembly line Ross Mantle for TIME On May 18, Joe Biden traveled to Detroit to promote his infrastructure plan. Sitting in the driver’s seat of a new electric Ford F-150 truck wearing his signature aviator sunglasses, Biden told the gathered reporters, “This sucker’s quick,” before accelerating off into an empty parking lot. Shortly after, Biden conceded that the future of electric vehicles in this country is uncertain, warning that the U.S. is at risk of falling behind China. Then he quickly pivoted back to his mantra. “When I think of the climate crisis,” he said, “I think jobs.” This has been Biden’s consistent talking point on climate change, from the campaign trail to the Oval Office. But the truth is that while the auto industry’s transition may be inevitable, the myriad “good-paying union jobs with benefits” that Biden has promised will come with it remain a possibility, not a guarantee. And for better or worse, the federal government will play a key role determining whether that becomes a reality. “The United States is at a crossroads,” says Trevor Higgins, senior director for domestic climate and energy at the Center for American Progress, a center-left think tank. “Where and how these electric vehicles will be built is going to be determined by federal policy choices.” The next few months may be decisive, as Congress decides the fate of Biden’s massive infrastructure package. Both the big-ticket spending items, such as the $174 billion Biden has proposed to stimulate electric-vehicle adoption, as well the small print outlining the labor requirements for federal-funding beneficiaries, will shape the future of this new American industry—and workers’ place in it. So far, much is left to be desired. A bipartisan infrastructure deal struck in the Senate contains some $7.5 billion in funding for EV-charging stations; a big sum, to be sure, but far short of what Biden proposed. Biden has also sought to use his presidential authority and convening power to shape the EV future: his Aug. 5 announcement included tightened vehicle standards that would incentivize the transition, as well as voluntary commitments from carmakers to go electric. That’s the easy part. From there, the policy landscape gets more complicated, as Democrats try to infuse worker-friendly policies into other legislation that supports EVs. Democratic lawmakers have pushed legislation to revamp electric-vehicle tax -incentives so that cars would need to be assembled in the U.S. with union labor to qualify for a full tax rebate. Biden, widely viewed as the biggest union ally to occupy the White House in decades, has backed a measure that would make it easier for workers at fledgling EV companies—and businesses across the U.S.—to organize. “We have to get the President’s full agenda passed, so that we can get the best outcomes in the transition to EVs,” Liz Shuler, secretary-treasurer of the AFL-CIO, said at a July virtual event. In the places that stand to gain and lose in these negotiations, people give the President’s performance managing the industry’s transformation mixed reviews. Many acknowledge that Biden’s electric-vehicle agenda will help their local community. But there is also widespread understanding of what few in Washington want to admit: this transition is going to be messy. “When they say it’s creating all these new jobs, that’s a lie. I mean, you’re just shifting jobs from here to there,” says Dave Green, a GM assembly worker who previously led the local UAW branch in the Mahoning Valley. “‘I’m a little more hopeful with Joe Biden and Democrats in office, but at the same time, something’s got to give.” Whatever Biden tries, it’s likely to run headlong into a wall of Republican opposition. Many in the GOP worry that supporting EVs will wreak havoc on the oil and gas industry, and cost millions of energy jobs in largely red states. It’s true, of course, that transitioning to electric vehicles will have downstream effects for oil and gas workers, gas-station owners, and a long list of other established industries. But clinging to the past is worse for everyone. The climate is changing, and jobs will need to too. The sooner we admit it, the better we can prepare. —With reporting by Leslie Dickstein The Leadership Brief. Conversations with the most influential leaders in business and tech. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Write to Justin Worland at justin.worland@time.com.

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“The ripples of trauma that come from conversion therapy affect people’s partners, people’s kids, families, local communities,” Kristine Stolakis, the director of "Pray Away," tells TIME

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It is believed that more than 700,00 people have been through religious-affiliated conversion therapy programs—which assert that an LGBTQ person’s sexuality or gender identity can be changed—since the movement to promote conversion therapy took hold in the cultural mainstream in the 1960s and 70s in the United States. And that number falls far short of the movement’s true impact, argues Kristine Stolakis, the director of Pray Away, a new documentary on the practice that premiered on Netflix on Aug. 3. “The ripples of trauma that come from conversion therapy affect people’s partners, people’s kids, families, local communities,” she tells TIME. “I hope that what our film does is put this issue on a map in a way that [helps] the next 10 films get made.” Although it is now recognized as dangerous pseudoscience by the medical establishment, and banned in 20 U.S. states, conversion therapy remains endemic in many conservative, religious communities—and as Pray Away documents, is grounding a new generation of believers in its rhetoric as part of larger culture wars being waged over gay and trans rights. But many of the movement’s early leaders and figureheads have since recanted; in many cases coming out (or back out) as gay and speaking out about the harm they experienced—and that they caused. Pray Away deftly weaves their voices with those of conversion therapy participants and survivors, who are seen bearing their scars (literally, as seen in one moving scene from the documentary) and unpacking the struggles that come with realizing their faith may have been misplaced. Here, Stolakis discusses the making of Pray Away and why the current state of the conversion therapy movement is still a cause for alarm. How would you describe your personal relationship with religion and faith? And did that influence the documentary at all? For me, my religious life is private. But I came to the subject through a personal experience: my uncle went through conversion therapy when he came out as trans as a child. And he came out during a time when all therapists were conversion therapists—this was the 60s or 70s. What followed was a tremendous number of mental health challenges, which included depression, anxiety, addiction, and suicidal ideation; things I’ve learned are very common for people who go through conversion therapy and the conversion therapy movement more generally. This was also a product of [his] having grown up in a homophobic and transphobic environment, both in terms of the world he was raised in, but also specifically the religious worldview. Like myself, he was raised Catholic. And just like much of mainline Christianity, Catholicism remains a homophobic and transphobic environment for many people. Religion is an incredibly powerful force. It is often the language through which we talk about our morals, our core beliefs—our relationship with something greater. That belief system can get tied up with a very problematic message: that to be LGBTQ is, in a sense, a sickness. If you are getting a message that not only is a core part of you psychologically sick, but also a reason that God hates you … the way in which that gets into the cracks and crevices of your soul is devastating. [Much of] what I found about the movement really surprised me—the vast majority of conversion therapy organizations are actually run by LGBTQ individuals themselves. They believed they had changed. And that really helped me understand a belief that my uncle held his entire life, which was that change is right around the corner. And he blamed himself when he of course, could not change. That became the subject of the film. Many of the subjects in Pray Away discuss their experience in the ex-gay movement, at least in retrospect, as not changing their sexuality as much as encouraging them to suppress it. But as they all argued, that usually doesn’t work. How do you think the ex-gay movement continues its practice given that track record? You know, as I was making this film, a lot of people asked me why those people ever believed that they’d changed. One thing I’ve learned from spending time in this world is, let’s say, [when you’re part of] a faith community that’s homophobic or transphobic and you find a Bible study group or a conversion therapy support group happening at your church—that may actually be the first time you feel any comfort, sharing any part of your identity. That moment can feel like your first sense of belonging or community. I think people often mistake that feeling as the beginning of change, and that often drives people to hurt themselves, and hurt others in their own communities. When you believe you’re doing the right thing, and you’re doing it also in the name of religion, it can put you into a deep place of denial. This is the fuel of what continues conversion therapy and the movement more generally into the present day, despite the undeniable evidence that it doesn’t work—and that it causes trauma. Read more: Most Christian Colleges Will Never Be a Safe Space For LGBTQ Students. But They Must Still Do Better To Affirm and Support Us Why do you think these individuals struggle to find—or flat-out refute—that sense of authenticity and belonging among the actual LGBTQ community, or an affirming space? That’s an interesting question. When you’re in the world that you believe is where you belong, you’re getting told the only way to continue to exist is to change this essential part of yourself. If you’re taught your whole life that you can belong—but only at that cost—I think [that price] for many people at first might feel okay. It might feel like, I found the way to be a part of my family, I found a way to be part of my church, to be part of my neighborhood. And this movement also sends people a message that there’s no world to belong to outside of it. The underlying message is that the only way to be healthy is to be straight and cis. That’s just not true. As well as telling the stories of a number of the ex-gay movement’s former leaders, Pray Away features the activist Jeffrey McCall, who sees himself as both an ex-gay and ex-trans individual. Do you see many parallels between the ex-gay and the detransition movements, as well as the wider moral panic over trans people? The anti-trans sentiment that we’re seeing build in our world is definitely a continuation of the ex-gay movement and the conversion therapy movement. It’s essentially the same thing, even, which is to say and [to preach] that to be trans is a sickness and a sin, and it is something that you need to fix. The other thing I’d say about detransitioners specifically—and you could describe Jeffrey in those terms—is that they are an example of hurt people hurting people. People who have grown up in transphobic environments and transphobic families can internalize those message, and [they] become a weapon to then hurt other trans people. That is the same power structure that our film talks about. And I’m not saying that to absolve leaders. We really highlight in the film that no matter the intention, this internalized hatred wielded outwards has undeniably caused harm. But if we don’t understand that piece of the puzzle in terms of how this world works, I don’t think we’re going to have the tools to meaningfully stop it. Do you think that viewers—in particular, queer and trans viewers—should find these former leaders of the movement sympathetic? Were you conscious of, in a sense, trying to humanize them? In terms of my own reactions, what I will say again is that I came at this film from a very personal perspective. My uncle went through hell; I was very prepared to make a film about straight, homophobic people making LGBTQ people hate themselves—but that’s not what I found. The experience was, of course, a roller coaster; I had my own moments of anger, of sadness, of confusion. But I hold no expectations of how any individual will respond—no expectations of forgiveness or understanding or even compassion. Our core creative team [working on the documentary] was comprised of people with a direct relationship to these issues: gay and trans conversion therapy survivors, queer people who grew up evangelical. And we felt all the feelings throughout the making of this film, but made group decisions to try to capture the truths and the nuances of this world. What we decided in the filmmaking process is that we wanted to tell the story in a way where people could have their own reactions—if they wanted to feel angry, if they wanted to feel sad, if they wanted to feel anything. Do you see the ex-gay movement as ever “dying out,” as Yvette Cantu Schneider, previously an ex-gay leader and policy analyst with the anti-gay Family Research Council, puts it at one point? What would it take for that to happen? The reason the conversion therapy movement continues is that it is based on a larger culture of homophobia and transphobia. That remains incredibly persistent in mainstream religions and in many conservative communities around our world. The fact is that many churches might stay they’re against conversion therapy, but if a trans kid or a gay kid comes to their pastor, the silence can be deafening. Then maybe that family finds an ex-LGBTQ program; it’s still a message that their kid needs help. For me, it was that larger power analysis that we tried to bring into the filmmaking—that is what’s essentially training new leaders to be motivated to believe that change is possible. And I hope that that makes for richer conversations moving forward about what I know to be true, which is that this movement is dangerous. This interview has been edited and condensed. Sign up for our Entertainment newsletter. Subscribe to More to the Story to get the context you need for the pop culture you love. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. 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A fast-growing number of private venues and some local officials are now requiring proof of immunization.

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Ready to go out on the town before summer ends? In parts of the U.S., you might have to carry your COVID-19 vaccine card or a digital copy to get into restaurants, bars, nightclubs and outdoor music festivals. After resisting the divisive concept of vaccine passports through most of the pandemic, a fast-growing number of private venues and some local officials are now requiring proof of immunization in public settings to reduce the spread of the highly transmissible delta variant of the coronavirus—and to assuage wary customers. It’s unlikely the U.S. will adopt a national mandate like the one in France, which on Monday began requiring people to show a QR code proving they have a special virus pass before they can enjoy restaurants and cafes or travel across the country. But enough venues are starting to ask for digital passes to worry some privacy advocates, who fear the trend could habituate consumers to constant tracking. Who’s asking for vaccine passports? New York City set the tone last week when Mayor Bill de Blasio announced that the city will soon require proof of COVID-19 vaccination for anyone who wants to dine indoors at a restaurant, see a performance or go to the gym. But a growing number of private venues, from Broadway theaters to music clubs in Minneapolis and Milwaukee, have established their own similar rules for patrons. “I’m a firm believer in the right for people to choose whether or not they get the vaccine,” said Tami Montgomery, owner of Dru’s Bar in Memphis, Tennessee, which will start asking for paper vaccine cards along with photo identification on Thursday. “But it’s my business and I have to make decisions based on what will protect my staff, business and customers.” Organizers of the Lollapalooza music festival in Chicago said on its opening day in late July that more than 90% of some 100,000 attendees presented proof of a vaccination, while most of the rest showed they’d recently had a negative COVID-19 test. Hundreds of others were turned away for lack of paperwork. Only in a handful of states — Texas and Florida are the biggest — are private businesses prohibited from requiring proof of vaccination. How do they work? In some places, venues are simply asking you to bring your vaccination card — the same piece of paper you get from health providers and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Taking a picture of that card at home and then showing the image to the bouncer at the club can also work. New York City offers a streamlined way of showing a photo through its NYC COVID Safe App, in which people can store images of their vaccine cards and then display them in the app when needed. Other places are encouraging people to register their credentials using a scannable digital pass like New York’s statewide Excelsior Pass or similar systems adopted by California, Hawaii and Louisiana and private companies like Walmart and the airport security app Clear. Such passes are designed for convenience and to prevent fraud. But that’s also where the biggest privacy concerns emerge, said Adam Schwartz, senior staff attorney at the Electronic Frontier Foundation. What’s wrong with QR codes? The barcode known as a QR code was originally designed to help track products in a factory. These days, it’s increasingly being used to track people. “Those systems are a giant leap towards tracking people’s location,” Schwartz said. “There’s a very real risk of mission creep once there are scanners at doors and people are showing their scannable token to pass through.” But the coalition that helped create the Smart Health Card framework used by New York, California and the Canadian province of Quebec say they’ve already set privacy safeguards to guard against misuse of health data. So long as a venue is using a VCI-compliant scanner, there shouldn’t be anything to worry about, said Dr. Brian Anderson, chief digital health physician at MITRE and co-lead of the Vaccination Credential Initiative, which counts Apple, Microsoft and the Mayo Clinic among its members. “That app won’t store an individual’s data beyond the time that the QR code is scanned,” he said. Why not stick with paper? Proponents of digital passports say they’re more convenient for already-overwhelmed restaurants and other venues because workers don’t have to peer at everyone’s vaccine cards before letting them in. Lines move faster, and the digital scan reassures those who don’t want to risk damage or loss to their paper cards. It’s also easy to fake a paper card or a photo of one. The startup CrowdPass, which generates QR codes so vaccinated people can attend events, said it helped get about 15,000 people swiftly admitted into the recent Newport Folk and Newport Jazz festivals in Rhode Island. The events required attendees to digitally upload proof of full vaccination or a recent negative test. Demand was slow at first, said Duncan Abdelnour, the startup’s co-founder and president. “But since the delta variant has sprung, we’ve had a huge uptick.” Among its clients are couples planning weddings and organizers of other small events. Abdelnour said the biggest spike in calls came after New York City’s announcement. It’s a crowded market that includes apps made by Clear and Walmart, many of which have now signed onto the VCI’s privacy standards and code of conduct. But for Schwartz, of the EFF, the best advice for venues that need to see proof of vaccination is to stick to asking for the CDC card or a photo of it. The process of making vaccination checks should end when the pandemic does, Schwartz said. “Some of the companies that are in this space have a track record of being in the business of monetizing data,” he added. “I’m not going to name names, but they’re the last people that should be involved in developing scanners for proof of vaccination.” The Coronavirus Brief. Everything you need to know about the global spread of COVID-19 Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! 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NextAdvisor asked the experts what you should do in light of the extension of the student loan payment freeze. Here's what they said.

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President Biden during remarks at the White House on August 6, 2021. Editorial Independence We want to help you make more informed decisions. Some links on this page — clearly marked — may take you to a partner website and may result in us earning a referral commission. For more information, see How We Make Money. If you have federal student loan debt, you now have approximately six months to prepare for payments on that debt to restart. Last week, President Joe Biden’s administration announced it is stretching out the moratorium on federal student loan payments until Jan. 31, 2022. This means that payments will not resume until next year and interest rates will remain at 0%. The latest extension comes shortly after two-thirds of borrowers said it would be difficult for them to afford payments if they resumed the following month, according to a recent survey by The Pew Charitable Trusts. “What a fantastic opportunity for borrowers to take more control of their finances,” says Laurel Taylor, CEO and founder of FutureFuel.io, a student debt repayment platform. “It will be near two years of payment suspension as we look to January 31. I would really encourage borrowers to maximize this opportunity — whatever that means to them.” The freeze on federal student loan payments was originally set to expire at the end of September. This latest extension will be the “final” one, according to a statement from the U.S. Department of Education. Pro Tip Make sure your address and email are up-to-date with your loan servicer, so you don’t miss any important information about your student loans and the temporary extension. That means any student loan debt you had before the COVID-19 pandemic will be waiting for you when repayment begins at the end of the forbearance period, unless the policy changes again. Experts say you shouldn’t count on any of your debt disappearing in the meantime, because it’s unlikely that there will be broad student loan forgiveness —not even the $10,000 that Biden promised during the campaign, that is. “I don’t see $10,000 in student loan forgiveness coming. I just don’t think he legally can without Congress,” says Robert Farrington, founder and CEO of The College Investor, a site providing advice on student loan debt. “But I do think he’s able to do a lot of good with the powers he has, such as reforming programs that already exist.” What to Do in Light of Biden’s Extension of Student Loan Relief Given this latest update, now may be a good time to rethink your student loan repayment strategy. Keep in mind that everyone’s situation is different, but here’s what you should do in light of the extension of the student loan payment freeze, according to experts we spoke to. If You’ve Experienced Job Loss or Decrease in Income Use this time to give yourself breathing room to address other financial priorities. If you’re unemployed or your income has decreased over the last year, continue to focus on covering your necessary expenses, such as rent or mortgage payments, utilities, groceries, transportation, and the like. “This relief is targeted toward people who have experienced a job loss or a decrease in income. I advise them to focus on necessary living expenses and try not to have that guilt or worry about setting money aside for student loans because this time is for you,” says Cindy Zuniga-Sanchez, personal finance coach and founder of Zero-Based Budget, a financial education platform on Instagram. Another thing you can do to lower your monthly payment when it’s due is apply for income-driven repayment. An income-driven repayment plan is a monthly payment based on your family size and a percentage of discretionary income. If you earn less than 150% of the federal poverty line, your payments could be as low as $0. To sign up, go to this federal student aid page, and click on “log in” at the top to start an application. If you are already enrolled in an income-driven plan and your income has changed, ask your lender to recertify your income before payments restart. If you make all your payments on time, an IDR plan allows your loans to be forgiven at the end of the repayment period — even if they aren’t fully repaid. If you’re unsure what the best repayment option is for you, reach out to your loan servicer for help or go to studentaid.gov. “Be mindful that your payments may not actually cover the interest that’s accumulating on your loan, which means you could end up paying a significant amount in interest,” says Zuniga-Sanchez. “I want to put that caution out there because it’s very important to be informed when we are making these changes to our student loan repayment strategies.” If You Still Have a Job or Income You can use these extra months to help divert some money toward building an emergency fund or pay more pressing high-interest debt, such as credit cards or private student loans. “Nobody should be paying extra payments toward their loans at this time. Even if you’re able to, you should save that money and eliminate other debts,” says Farrington. If you haven’t already, prioritize building an emergency fund first. Try to set aside three to six months’ of expenses, but don’t feel overwhelmed if saving that much feels like an unattainable goal right now. Start small, and go from there. Next, focus on paying down high-interest debt — these strategies can help you do that. You can also use extra funds to invest in retirement accounts, such as a 401(k), IRA, or Roth IRA, or pay down any lower-interest debt you may have, such as medical debt or a car loan. If you want to pay down your student loans during this 0% interest period, Farrington suggests putting that money in a savings account and then making a lump sum payment right before payments start up again. “That way, you keep that money as long as you can,” he says. If You Are Behind on Student Loan Payments Because all collection activities will resume once the extension ends, try to rehabilitate your loans as soon as possible. Default on federal loans happens when a payment is 270 days past due, sending your loans to collections and exposing you to damaged credit, garnished wages, and seized tax refunds. “Get out of default so that as payments and collection activity resume, you’re not left getting your wages or taxes garnished,” says Farrington. To rehabilitate your student loans and get out of default, you’ll need to contact your loan servicer, fill out an application, and follow a specific process. If your application is approved and you make nine on-time payments, even during this forbearance period, your loans will typically transfer to a new loan servicer, and you’ll be out of default. If loan rehabilitation isn’t possible for you at this time, there is additional deferment and forbearance outside of COVID-19 relief that can give you more time to get back on your feet. For example, there’s unemployment deferment and economic hardship deferment, which both temporarily suspend payments on your student loans. But these options should be your last resort. The Bottom Line If you’re part of the majority, you likely haven’t made student loan payments in almost two years. Even though the forbearance period has been extended, now is an excellent opportunity to review your finances and make a plan for resuming payments come next year. For example, you may need to trim or readjust certain spending areas now, so you have room in your budget in 2022 when payment is due. Based on the most recent announcement, it’s safe to assume student loan payments will restart in 2022 and it’s better to get ahead of the curve while you can. “Two years of suspension on student loan payments is unprecedented,” says Laurel, “and it is an opportunity for borrowers to get ahead.”

Article

The fast-moving Taliban advances in Afghanistan have fed discontent between the Afghan government and the Biden White House, as the longtime allies blame each other for the tactical defeats that have allowed the militants to seize control of eight of Afghanistan’s 34 provincial capitals.

https://ti.me/2VMaav9

time

The fast-moving Taliban advances in Afghanistan have fed discontent between the Afghan government and the Biden White House, as the longtime allies blame each other for the tactical defeats that have allowed the militants to seize control of eight of Afghanistan’s 34 provincial capitals. Since April, when President Joe Biden announced the U.S. would withdraw troops from Afghanistan by the end of August, U.S. commanders have made recommendations to Afghan leaders on how to position Afghan troops, consolidate defenses, utilize the Afghan Air Force and prepare for Taliban advances, but say multiple senior Biden Administration officials, only some of that advice has been followed. Earlier this month, Afghanistan’s President Ashraf Ghani blamed the increase in attacks on Washington’s abrupt decision to withdraw. Frustrations that Administration officials have voiced behind closed doors for weeks are now spilling out into the open. President Joe Biden himself launched a critique of Afghanistan’s leadership on Tuesday and defended his decision to pull out the remaining U.S. troops in the country. Standing in the East Room of the White House, Biden said the U.S. exit would continue as planned, and that he doesn’t regret pulling U.S. forces from the country. “Look, we spent over a trillion dollars over 20 years. We trained and equipped with modern equipment over 300,000 Afghan forces. And Afghan leaders have to come together,” Biden told reporters after touting the Senate passage of a massive bipartisan infrastructure bill. The U.S. will continue to provide “close air support,” keep Afghanistan’s Air Force flying, pay Afghan military salaries and resupply Afghan forces with food and equipment, Biden said. Then he leaned forward and said in a stage-whisper: “But they’ve got to want to fight. They outnumber the Taliban.” The President dispatched America’s top Afghanistan envoy, Zalmay Khalilzad, to Doha, Qatar, this week for negotiations with the insurgent group. He hopes to restart peace talks between the Taliban and Afghan officials, which have stalled amid the stepped-up violence. The UN reports that in four cities, alone—Lashkar Gah, Kandahar, Herat and Kunduz—at least 183 civilians have been killed and 1,181 injured, including many children, over the past month. Across the country, more than five million people are internally displaced due to the fighting and almost half of population is in need of emergency relief assistance, the UN says. Since Biden made his April announcement, Afghan forces have come under siege by Taliban fighters, particularly after U.S. and NATO forces began the massive logistical challenge of pulling out troops, aircraft and heavy weapons from strategic locations they occupied for 20 years. The Afghan government made the strategic decision to largely surrender the countryside to the militants’ advance and concentrate forces and resources to defending strategic economic and political hubs like the capital Kabul, Mazar-e-Sharif in the north, Kandahar in the south and Herat in the west. To defend these population centers, Afghan military leaders have relied on deploying their highly trained special forces units, which, as a result, has left the commandos fatigued. So far, Afghan security forces have held off Taliban offensives in Kandahar and Lashkar Gah. But elsewhere the Taliban has captured and walked untouched into provincial capitals. On Tuesday, the Taliban overran both the southwest city of Farah and Puli Khumri in the north, which became the seventh and eighth provincial capitals seized in just five days. The insurgents, which have been seen with seized U.S. military equipment, now control more than half of Afghanistan’s 421 districts and district centers—more territory in the country than at any time since the U.S. toppled the group from power in 2001 following the September 11 attacks. The Biden Administration insists it is now up to the Afghan government to win or lose this decades-long war. The U.S. military is, however, continuing to launch airstrikes in support of Afghan ground forces confronting the advancing Taliban. But the U.S. warplanes, which have all have been pulled out of Afghanistan as part of the withdrawal, take several hours reach targets from other regional bases.The Pentagon refuses to say how many bombs have been dropped or what targets were hit in support of the Afghans over the past several weeks, but the support is ongoing—at least until Aug. 31 pullout. After that, the White House must decide whether it will continue providing air cover for government forces or limit its airstrikes to strictly targeting terror groups like ISIS and al-Qaeda. Pentagon spokesman John Kirby cautioned Tuesday against seeing continuing U.S. air support as “a panacea” for the deteriorating security situation in Afghanistan. The Afghan government, he said, has what it needs to beat back the Taliban advance. He pointed out that Afghanistan’s 300,000 troops and police, which the U.S. has spent $84 billion to train and equip, vastly outnumbers the estimated 75,000 Taliban fighters. “It’s really going to come down to the leadership and the will to use those capabilities,” he said. Biden, for his part, publicly praised Afghanistan’s newly installed defense minister, Bismillah Khan, describing him as “a serious fighter”—even as members of his national security team were critical of Afghan leaders’ decisions on the battlefield. It surprised many longtime Afghanistan watchers when Biden announced plans to pull out of Afghanistan—without preconditions—and leave the allied government in Kabul to fend for itself militarily. Biden has maintained he is simply following through with the withdrawal deal that was negotiated between the Trump Administration and the Taliban, while also stressing the need to end U.S. involvement in its longest war in history. GOP lawmakers have largely remained quiet on Afghanistan’s spiraling security situation, but the recent string of Taliban victories has triggered some to speak up. Rep. Mike Rogers from Alabama, now the top Republican on the House Armed Services Committee, laid the problem at Biden’s feet on Tuesday. “President Biden cannot hide from this catastrophe,” he said in a statement. “It’s happening on his watch because of his actions. He must change course or be held accountable for his decision.” Bradley Bowman, a former Army officer who served in Afghanistan, says that the open critiques of the Afghan leadership by American officials are “distasteful and unhelpful.” Such messages should be delivered privately, Bowman says. “To the degree that they’re being delivered publicly, I wonder if there’s a little bit of trying to cover one’s backside going on here.” The U.S. military now says it has completed 95% of its withdrawal, meaning that nearly all 2,500 American troops have departed the country. The only exception are security units based at the U.S. embassy and airport in Kabul. Get our Politics Newsletter. The headlines out of Washington never seem to slow. Subscribe to The D.C. Brief to make sense of what matters most. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Write to W.J. Hennigan at william.hennigan@time.com.

Article

"As a health writer, I was excited and curious, yet wary about covering the first Olympic Games in recent history being held in the middle of a pandemic."

https://ti.me/3fN7nbV

time

Over the past 18 months, I’ve written about the devastating impact of COVID-19 on hospitals, health care workers and families across the world. I’ve chronicled the efforts of drugmakers racing to formulate new treatments and vaccines to battle SARS-CoV-2. And I’ve tracked the ups and downs of public health policy that’s trying to keep up with a virus that makes it hard to develop clear rules on masking, social distancing and more. When well-intentioned mitigation measures are pitted against a wily virus, who wins? What would happen when tens of thousands of journalists, athletes and their support staff converge on a densely populated city like Tokyo, to put on something like the Olympics, which is about everything that pandemic policies are not? The Games are about bringing people together, literally and figuratively; keeping a fast-moving virus at bay is all about the opposite. It was clear that infections would happen at the Olympics; it would just be a matter of picking them up as quickly as possible and isolating any positive cases before they spread to too many others. Japanese health authorities certainly instituted strict virus control measures, starting with the working assumption that every person arriving in Japan for the Olympics could be a potential virus carrier. That’s the first of many inconsistencies of these pandemic Olympics. Given that anywhere from 80% to 90% of the arriving journalists from outside of the country were vaccinated, and at the time, about a quarter or so of the Japanese population was, wouldn’t the risk have really been reversed? Wouldn’t it be more likely that mingling with people in Tokyo—where new infections were creeping up before the Olympics thanks to the Delta variant and reached a record high during the Games—would prove a greater risk to Olympic athletes and journalists than we would to the citizens of Tokyo? Everyone that was part of the Olympic community had to get tested regularly—daily for athletes and their support staff, and every four days for media. In addition, Olympic organizers created loose bubbles of containment meant to keep Olympic travelers as removed from the Japanese populace as possible. All of this looked great on paper in the various playbooks issued to those of us in Tokyo. But putting that plan into action proved trickier, and inconsistencies in policies and the lack of flexibility to adjust when they didn’t seem to work were, to say the least, baffling. While the bubble didn’t quite burst, it was leaky at best. Here’s why. 1. Airport processing It took my colleague Sean Gregory and me seven hours to leave the airport once we arrived (that’s not a typo, it really took seven hours). The bulk of that time was spent waiting for test results from the third COVID-19 test we had taken in four days—two before we left and then another at the airport. Having covered the various tests that have been developed and approved now by the U.S. Food and Drug Administration and by the World Health Organization, I know there are saliva-based tests that take an hour or so to produce results. So what took our spit test so long? No explanation; some journalists arriving on different flights received their results in an hour, while still others were also kept at the airport for seven hours, waiting. If the same lab or labs were used, and the same type of test performed, why the vast difference in turnaround time? Baffling. After a 13-hour flight, it would have been nice to know. Athletes, coaches and journalists from different countries are seen during their control process to receive their accreditation cards upon their COVID-19 test results following their arrival to Haneda International Airport after their connected flights from Istanbul International Airport for the Tokyo Olympic Games, in Tokyo, Japan on July 18, 2021. Elif Ozturk Ozgoncu—Anadolu Agency via Getty Images Most of those seven hours waiting were spent in a lounge with no social distancing (and no food; we could only drink water, in case we had to provide another saliva sample if the results were inconclusive), and the rest of the time was spent in one line after another—again with no social distancing. Yes, we were masked, and so were all the volunteers, but still. We were asked to provide the same paper documents at least eight times—which meant at least eight perfectly polite and well-intentioned different people touched the same piece of paper and handed it back to us. This, despite the fact that we were also required to download an app that contained all of the same information on the paper, except in digital form. Which would have been a safer way to process thousands of people during an infectious disease outbreak—at least in my opinion. Again, baffling. 2. Testing and monitoring The playbooks outlining all of the procedures for keeping COVID-19 under control focused heavily on regular saliva-based testing. However, given the sheer number of people being tested, and the frequency of testing, it was unmonitored. At least one colleague misunderstood the procedure—you’re supposed to register each sample and give each sample a unique barcode number from a set of stickers you’re provided; this journalist thought registering the first time would automatically register subsequent samples, He likely wasn’t the only one. Plus, so-called COVID-19 Liaison Officers assigned to each media outlet were supposed to observe all members of their group spit into the tubes provided to verify the validity of the samples. But with different members in different hotels and with different schedules, how is that possible or realistic? I’m willing to bet most people spit into their tubes in the privacy of their own bathrooms. I won’t even speculate about people who might have, shall we say, “manipulated” their samples for the sake of convenience. 3. The hotel With all the warnings about COVID-19 restrictions and other pandemic-related protocols and procedures, I expected our hotel to be pretty sparsely occupied, and only by foreign journalists at that. Everyone entering Japan is required to follow a 14-day quarantine, which means no riding public transportation, no walking around Tokyo streets, and no mingling with the Japanese population in restaurants, bars or other establishments. For journalists, that meant we could only leave our hotels to go to Olympic venues, on Olympic buses, or to the nearby 7-Eleven for prepackaged meals and ramen (I ate so, so much ramen). Because, of course, we were quarantined, but our hotels only served breakfast and did not provide lunch or dinner. So imagine my surprise when I saw, throughout my entire stay, non-Olympic guests at the hotel—they in fact out-numbered the Olympic ones. I saw them at breakfast—we shared the same air space, indoors, and stood behind each other in line for juice and coffee. If Olympic officials were so intent on keeping foreign visitors in a bubble to prevent them from importing the virus and spreading it in the country, why allow them to stay together with Japanese citizens and risk exposing them? Truly, truly baffling. Read more: The 9 Most Inspiring and Surprising Things I Saw At The Tokyo Olympics 4. The buses The transport system is the bane of every Olympics—drivers from other cities who don’t know the host city’s streets, schedules that have nothing to do with the timing of events; pick up and drop off points that add up to an hour to the transit time. How would social distancing affect this already inefficient system? Not at all, apparently. Before the Games even officially began, buses carted thousands of journalists from the press center to Olympic Stadium for Opening Ceremony despite signs in some buses that the maximum number of passengers was 30, to ensure that everyone could sit in their own row and practice social distancing. Once the Ceremony was over, the buses returning media to the press center were equally stuffed, as was the line for getting on these buses, which resembled the mad rush before the doors open for a Black Friday sale. I emailed Press Operations about the situation, and the International Olympic Committee had this to say: “We are aware of the concerns around the media transport and are speaking to the Tokyo 2020 Organising Committee in order to help them to resolve the situation.” Members of the media on a packed media bus in Tokyo ahead of the Tokyo 2020 Olympic Games in Japan. Picture date: Friday July 23, 2021. Danny Lawson—PA Images via Getty Images 5. The mixed zone Ah, the mixed zone, that mad crush of journalists waiting in what amounts to an enclosed pen, usually in the bowels of an arena, for athletes to swing by and grace them with a quote or two. Media were warned that mixed zone access in Tokyo would be limited—journalists had to apply for access, which would be granted by a random drawing. Spots were designated by tape and stickers on the floor admonishing us to “Please keep your distance.” If only people did. Habits die hard, and at the pool and gymnastics venues, journalists clumped together as they always had to ask questions and snag quotes when athletes stopped by. And it only got worse as the Games wore on. If Tokyo organizing officials were worried about foreign travelers importing COVID-19, they were missing a potential hot spot of transmission right under their noses. Read more: Japan’s COVID-19 Strategy Relied on Trust. Holding the Olympics Shattered It at the Worst Possible Time 6. Security A pandemic doesn’t stop the need to validate credentials and to be on the alert for fraudsters, and I’m all for remaining vigilant on that front. Problem is, it’s not easy to verify people’s identifies when everyone is wearing a mask. So of course you ask them to take the masks off. In Tokyo, the verification at every venue involves scanning the credential and sticking your face close to a camera embedded in a stand-up kiosk. The camera, however, doesn’t get triggered unless your face is really close to the camera. This means if you’re entering a popular event and queuing up, your face—without a mask—is in the same place that someone else’s face—also without a mask—has been just seconds before. This wouldn’t bother me so much if it weren’t also the case that medalists have to put their own medals around their necks to avoid close contact, however brief, with presenters. If you’re going to ask people to avoid close contact, then ask them to avoid close contact in every situation possible? I found myself aiming for the kiosks that hadn’t scanned anyone in the past few seconds. All of this isn’t meant to say that the COVID-19 mitigation measures didn’t work; by and large, they did—according to Tokyo organizers, through Aug. 4, more than 570,000 tests were run among Olympic-related people and 124 were confirmed positive for a positivity rate of 0.02%. And I empathize with the herculean task organizers had in pulling off these Games. But some more consistency in applying the public health principles that are effective in controlling the spread of COVID-19—like avoiding crowded places, closed spaces and close contact—might have gone a long way toward even greater compliance and an even lower positivity rate. Hopefully, that will be a lesson learned the next time this happens again—in six months in Beijing, for the 2022 Winter Olympics. Read more about the Tokyo Olympics: Get The Brief. Sign up to receive the top stories you need to know right now. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

Article

Cuomo's decision, which will take effect in two weeks, was announced as momentum built in the Legislature to remove him by impeachment.

https://time.com/6089040/andrew-cuomo-resigns/

time

(NEW YORK) — Gov. Andrew Cuomo announced his resignation Tuesday over a barrage of sexual harassment allegations in a fall from grace a year after he was widely hailed nationally for his detailed daily briefings and leadership during some of the darkest days of the COVID-19 pandemic. By turns defiant and chastened, the 63-year-old Democrat emphatically denied intentionally mistreating women and called the pressure for his ouster politically motivated. But he said that fighting back in this “too hot” political climate would subject the state to months of turmoil. “The best way I can help now is if I step aside and let government get back to governing,” Cuomo said in a televised address. The third-term governor’s resignation, which will take effect in two weeks, was announced as momentum built in the Legislature to remove him by impeachment and after nearly the entire Democratic establishment had turned against him, with President Joe Biden joining those calling on him to resign. The decision came a week after New York’s attorney general released the results of an investigation that found Cuomo sexually harassed at least 11 women. Investigators said he subjected women to unwanted kisses; groped their breasts or buttocks or otherwise touched them inappropriately; made insinuating remarks about their looks and their sex lives; and created a work environment “rife with fear and intimidation.” At the same time, Cuomo was under fire over the discovery that his administration had concealed thousands of COVID-19 deaths among nursing home patients. Lt. Gov. Kathy Hochul, a 62-year-old Democrat and former member of Congress from the Buffalo area, will become the state’s 57th governor and the first woman to hold the post. She said Cuomo’s resignation was “the right thing to do and in the best interest of New Yorkers.” The #MeToo-era scandal cut short not just a career but a dynasty: Cuomo’s father, Mario Cuomo, was governor in the 1980s and ’90s, and the younger Cuomo was often mentioned as a potential presidential candidate. Even as the scandal mushroomed, he was planning to run for reelection in 2022. Republicans exulted in Cuomo’s departure but still urged impeachment, which could prevent him from running for office again. “This resignation is simply an attempt to avoid real accountability,” state GOP chair Nick Langworthy said. At the White House, Biden said: “I respect the governor’s decision.” At the same time, he said Cuomo had “done a helluva job” on infrastructure and voting rights, and “that’s why it’s so sad.” “From the beginning, I simply asked that the governor stop his abusive behavior,” Lindsey Boylan, the first woman to accuse Cuomo publicly of harassment, tweeted Tuesday. “It became abundantly clear he was unable to do that, instead attacking and blaming victims until the end.” Cuomo still faces the possibility of criminal charges, with a number of prosecutors around the state continuing to investigate him. At least one of his accusers has filed a criminal complaint. The governor prefaced his resignation with a 45-minute defense from his lawyer and his own insistence that his behavior — while sometimes insensitive, off-putting or “too familiar” — had been used against him as a weapon in a political environment where “rashness has replaced reasonableness.” “I am a fighter, and my instinct is to fight through this controversy because I truly believe it is politically motivated. I believe it is unfair and it is untruthful,” he said, but added that he didn’t want “distractions” to consume the state government as it grapples with the pandemic and other problems. The string of accusations began in news reports last December and went on for months. Cuomo called some of the allegations fabricated and denied he touched anyone inappropriately. But he acknowledged making some aides uncomfortable with comments he said he intended as playful, and he apologized for some of his behavior. He portrayed some encounters as misunderstandings attributable to “generational or cultural” differences, invoking his upbringing in an affectionate Italian American family. The attorney general’s investigation backed up the women’s accounts and added lurid new ones, turning up the pressure on Cuomo. Investigators also said that the governor’s staff retaliated against Boylan by leaking confidential personnel files about her. As governor, Cuomo proclaimed himself a “progressive Democrat” who gets things done: Since taking office in 2011, he helped push through legislation that legalized gay marriage, began lifting the minimum wage to $15 and expanded paid family leave benefits. He also backed big infrastructure projects, including a new Hudson River bridge that he named after his father. At the same time he was engaging in the behavior that got him into trouble, he was publicly championing the #MeToo movement and surrounding himself with women’s rights activists. He signed into law sweeping new protections against sexual harassment and lengthened the statute of limitations in rape cases. His resignation is “a testament to the growing power of women’s voices since the beginning of the #MeToo movement,” said Debra Katz, a lawyer for one of his accusers, Charlotte Bennett. Cuomo’s national popularity soared during the harrowing spring of 2020, when New York was the lethal epicenter of the nation’s coronavirus outbreak and he became President Donald Trump’s chief antagonist in the minds of many Americans. Cuomo’s tough-minded but compassionate rhetoric made for riveting television well beyond New York, as he sternly warned people to stay home and wear masks while Trump often brushed off the virus. Cuomo’s briefings won an international Emmy Award, and he went on to write a book on leadership in a crisis. But those accomplishments were soon tainted when it emerged that the state’s official count of nursing home deaths had excluded many victims who had been transferred to hospitals before they succumbed. A Cuomo aide acknowledged the administration feared the true numbers would be “used against us” by the Trump White House. Also, Cuomo’s administration was fiercely criticized for forcing nursing homes to accept patients recovering from the virus. The U.S. Justice Department is investigating the state’s handling of data on nursing home deaths. In addition, the state attorney general is looking into whether Cuomo broke the law in using members of his staff to help write and promote his book, from which he stood to make more than $5 million. The governor also faced increasing criticism over his rough and sometimes vindictive treatment of fellow politicians and his own staff, with former aides telling stories of a brutal work environment. Cuomo has been divorced since 2005 from author and activist Kerry Kennedy, a member of the Kennedy family, and was romantically involved up until 2019 with TV lifestyle personality Sandra Lee. He has three adult daughters and appealed to them as he stepped down. “I want them to know, from the bottom of my heart: I never did, and I never would, intentionally disrespect a woman or treat any woman differently than I would want them treated,” he said. “Your dad made mistakes. And he apologized. And he learned from it. And that’s what life is all about.” Cuomo got his start in politics as his father’s hard-nosed and often ruthless campaign manager, then was New York attorney general and U.S. housing secretary under President Bill Clinton before getting elected governor in 2010. New York has seen a string of high-level politicians brought down in disgrace in recent years. Gov. Eliot Spitzer resigned in 2008 in a prostitution scandal. Rep. Anthony Weiner went to prison for sexting with a 15-year-old girl. Attorney General Eric Schneiderman stepped down in 2018 after four women accused him of abuse. And the Legislature’s top two leaders were convicted of corruption. ___ Villeneuve reported from Albany, New York. Associated Press writers Jennifer Peltz in New York and Josh Boak in Washington contributed. Get our Politics Newsletter. The headlines out of Washington never seem to slow. Subscribe to The D.C. Brief to make sense of what matters most. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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For one week, TIME's Alana Semuels vowed to only spend money at companies run by women. Here's how the experiment went.

https://ti.me/2U7oq0J

time

There are not many pasta companies run by women. I discovered this while standing in the aisle of my grocery store on the third day of a weeklong effort to buy things only from companies owned by or run by women, as I frantically Googled “CEO” alongside “Barilla,” “De Cecco” and then, desperately, “Banza.” Nor are there many women-run companies that make canned beans, tomato sauce, milk (oh, the irony), beef—or a laundry list of other grocery products. Nor laundry detergent, for that matter. This was something I knew, in principle, but that became very clear the week I vowed to only spend my money at companies run by women. I kept thinking I’d found something I could buy, like Organic Girl lettuce, which screams “female” from its purple label and curly font, only to find the face of a male CEO or owner smiling up at me from the company’s website. (In Organic Girl’s case, one of the company’s most prominent investors, Steve Taylor, is also on the board of Capitol Ministries, which led a White House Bible study in the Trump Administration that prohibited women from teaching the Bible to grown men.) There are a record number of female Fortune 500 CEOs this year, and still women only make up 8.2% of the list. Women run marketing departments and HR, and yes, rarely they are CEOs, but women don’t helm the multinational corporations that make the things I buy on a daily basis. (Sorry, Northrop Grumman, I will not be purchasing a stealth bomber this week.) The rules of my experiment were simple. I could only spend money on businesses run by women. If a company was public, it had to have a female CEO. If it was private, it needed to be at least 51% owned, operated, controlled, and managed by a woman or women, a distinction made not by me but by the Women’s Business Enterprise National Council (WBENC), which certifies such things. The first few days of my experiment had been easy. I got a tuna melt and fries at a woman-owned restaurant near my San Francisco apartment, bought a natural-wood rhino on wheels from a woman-owned toy store, and took home some cookies from a very popular woman-owned bakery. But then I started needing stuff. We were out of groceries. My exercise pants suddenly had a giant hole in the crotch. My paper daily planner ended in June with no warning. Resorting to my usual shopping habits—running up the street to Safeway (owned by Albertsons CEO Vivek Sankaran), ordering new leggings from Amazon (Jeff Bezos is out as CEO but has been replaced by Andy Jassy), buying really any alcohol really—was out. Even stores I was reasonably sure were women-owned were actually not. The San Francisco grocery store Mollie Stone’s Markets has a CEO named Mike. The nail salon around the corner, which has all female staff, is owned by a man. I started calling the small produce stores in my neighborhood, sure that the Russian market where the same older woman is always at the register, telling workers where to unload the pears and the potatoes, was woman-owned. But I was wrong. The owner was a man, and he had left early, the woman answering the phone told me, when I asked. Then she hung up. A Woman-Owned Business Is Hard to Find I’d gotten the idea to only patronize women-owned businesses in March of 2020, around the time Elizabeth Warren dropped out of the presidential race and it became clear that a man was once again going to be the U.S. President. Like many other women, I felt defeated. It was 2020! In the U.S., women graduate from college at a higher rate than men! They drive 70% to 80% of consumer purchases! And still, men run the government and America’s biggest retailers and the tech companies that power our lives. One Friday night, sitting in a restaurant owned by a man—I knew this because he puts his name on all his restaurants—I started to wonder why I was giving my money to so many male-owned businesses. If I really wanted to see more women in charge, didn’t I have a role to play in making this happen? I would embark on an experiment, I decided, and only buy things from businesses owned or run by women. Then the pandemic happened, and it seemed impossible to try and buy women-owned toilet paper when it was hard enough to get any toilet paper. When I picked up the experiment again this June, the world was different—but it was also the same. The President was still a man. Men were still running America’s biggest companies. I’d even added another male to the world, having given birth to a baby boy during the pandemic. (He, too, runs everything.) Even if you are determined to only buy women-owned, it’s not easy to find out which companies qualify. The racial-justice movement has helped foster a public desire to shop at more Black-owned businesses, and motivated Black-owned businesses to identify as such. But many of the companies that have been certified by the WBENC as women-owned have chosen not to be listed in the organization’s rather sparse directory. Yelp said in 2019 it was adding a “women-owned business” attribute to its site, but you have to know the exact right words to type in the search box to access it. Walmart launched a new page at walmart.com/womenowned in Women’s History Month in 2015, but the URL no longer works. Between 2012 and 2019, the company spent $30 billion with companies run by women as part of an effort to diversify its suppliers, about 2% of what it spent overall during that time period. I began to wonder if gender equality in the business world will only come when we can grow human babies in bags. As I looked for lists of brands I could patronize, I kept ending up on the websites of women’s magazines like Self and Shape, reading about women-owned businesses selling $125 pillows or $95 necklaces, while being served ads about cassoulets I could make while running errands. In 2021, “women-owned business” means, by and large, wellness and fashion companies selling products to women that they don’t really need. (Hello, $66 Goop nonreturnable jade egg.) I tried to browse the aisles of stores and look for products with women’s names, but that turned out to be a red herring, since most of them are run by men. That includes Annie’s Homegrown, Briannas Salad Dressing, Mary’s Gone Crackers, Libby’s Pumpkin, Mom’s Spaghetti Sauce, and brands like Sara Lee, Betty Crocker, Jennie-O and Marie Callender’s. I kept adding to the list in disbelief as I roamed the aisles of Safeway, looking for something I could buy, or the minuscule logo that shows a product has been WBENC-certified. After an hour, I left with one product: Noosa yogurt. It has a woman co-founder, but I later found out that the company was acquired by a male-run company backed by a private-equity firm. I rushed home to pump breast milk for my son and marveled at how few dairy companies were run by women, although we are the ones who know what it is like to actually make milk. I thought I had found a women-owned multinational dairy company in Danone, which owns Oikos, Activia, Dannon and Silk, since shareholders pushed out its male CEO in March for caring too much about sustainability. He was replaced with an interim CEO who is a woman, Véronique Penchienati-Bosetta, but it turns out she’s a co-interim CEO who shares that title with a man. Besides, Danone announced recently that a different man was going to become the permanent CEO. I had a hazy idea that Jessica Alba ran a company that made organic baby and beauty products, but it turns out that it’s now a public company and the CEO is a man. Men run the companies that make the most popular baby formulas and baby bottles and baby clothes. Even Lansinoh, which dominates the market in nipple creams and breast-soothing packs and breast-milk storage bags, and makes the extremely itchy hands-free pumping bra I use every day, is run by a man, Kevin Vyse Peacock. What Happened to the End of Men? Men are allegedly in decline. Boys are graduating high school at a lower rate than girls are. The jobs that men once dominated, like manufacturing and mining, are disappearing. Their life expectancy is falling, and they’re dying from suicides and drug overdoses at a higher rate than women. I thought about this as I passed a homeless encampment on San Francisco’s Haight Street that consisted entirely of men, where a man was brushing his teeth under a tree, on my way to visit Gus’s Community Market, a grocery store that stocks lots of women-run brands and is owned by a mother and her two sons. How was it possible that the end of men is approaching, but that men are running everything at the same time? Well, not everything. I did find women-owned brands when I shopped at stores like Gus’s that stocked locally made, organic items. I bought Nature’s Path organic cereal, Purely Elizabeth organic granola and Maya Kaimal tikka masala simmer sauce. I grabbed marinara that featured the face of the celebrity chef Lidia Matticchio Bastianich, and pumped my fist in victory when I spotted a box of Semolina Artisanal Pasta on an endcap, which features an image of its founder and CEO, Leah Ferrazzani, on the box. But these are not products that you’ll find in most grocery stores. Leah Ferrazzani at Semolina Artisanal Pasta in Pasadena, Calif., on July 19, 2021. Michelle Groskopf for TIME It’s no accident that most of the women-led food companies are local instead of national, Ferrazzani told me, when I talked to her a few days later. When she started her business in 2014—with two children under the age of 2—the first stores to carry her product were women-owned. Soon she was in 300 stores. But as her business grew, Ferrazzani found that the project of taking a small business national conflicted with being a parent. She was paying for storage and a kitchen and a broker to get her into supermarkets, and still couldn’t make pasta fast enough. To grow bigger and go national, she was going to need hundreds of thousands of dollars of funding. She’d also need to travel the country pitching investors and buyers. “I couldn’t reconcile it with having two little kids,” she told me. She was about to give up and close her business when a female friend who owned a restaurant gave her some advice: stay small. “She was like, ‘Is that the only way—do you really have to be that big?’” Ferrazzani said. “’You don’t have to give up your relationship with your family and the goals that you have. That is such a male-driven business sensibility.’” So Ferrazzani decided she’d downsize. She pulled out of her big distributor and Gelson’s and Whole Foods, and cut the number of stores she was in by two-thirds. She focused on Los Angeles, where she lived, and California. When Whole Foods approached her in 2019 and asked her to pitch them on putting her pasta in stores nationwide, she declined. She didn’t want to have to turn over her business to the investors whom she’d need to grow. “My philosophy became that I was trying to build a business that was big enough,” she told me. “Big enough for balance, to sustain itself, for me to have the control to make those decisions.” Ferrazzani’s decision to limit her ambitions resonated with me as I tried to shop at women-owned stores and do my job and make milk for my 8-month old. Pregnancy exhausted me, and I barely made it through the initial sleepless months of having a newborn. I couldn’t imagine adding on being a CEO, or even running a small business. Every time I needed to plan a trip for work after my son was born, my brain melted at the logistics of traveling with breast milk, and I felt a blossoming guilt about leaving my husband alone to do bedtime and bath time and mornings and his job at the same time. When she had children, Grace Teresi had to hand over the reins of her family farm Alana Semuels “I was a farmer on my own, but then my husband got involved, because babies,” says Grace Teresi, whom I met at a farmers’ market in downtown San Francisco, where I gratefully bought onions and spinach and zucchini and peaches. Teresi had her own produce farm from 1982 to 1992, but when she started having kids, in 1993, she says, she couldn’t do it all on her own. Her husband started running the business alongside her while she took care of the kids. Now, “he gets his way most of the time,” she jokes. There is a world where that guilt and responsibility for the baby falls equally on men and women, but it’s a world where neither person has to go through the trials of pregnancy or childbirth. While reporting this story, I kept thinking of a report I’d seen about scientists who grew lambs in an artificial womb that they called a biobag. If human reproduction worked that way, responsibility for bearing and caring for children might fall more equally on both sexes. I began to wonder if gender equality in the business world will only come when we can grow human babies in bags. Men Dominate Finance and Tech Of course, there is an element of choice in all of this. Some men are choosing to spend more time at work and less time at home, choosing to go to business school, choosing not to have families at all. In every OECD country, a greater share of men than women report working more than 40 hours a week. “My interests don’t lie in finance, and I don’t want to spend my career in that,” Heidi Orrock (Diestel) told me, when I called her up to talk about the family-run turkey company that the Diestel website says she “helms.” It turns out that Orrock, who was born into this fourth-generation family company, is not technically the head of Diestel Ranch. Instead, her husband, Jared, who has an MBA, is president. She handles marketing, sales and customer service. Men also dominate the tech industry, which has created a disturbing dynamic in which male-run tech companies like Amazon take a cut from the women-owned small businesses that need them to survive. I usually order dinner from Uber Eats or DoorDash on the weekends to take a break from cooking, but couldn’t reconcile doing that on my self-imposed Boycott Men Week, since a delivery app would be taking a fee from the women-owned restaurant I chose to support. When I needed a new part for my breast pump, I ordered it directly from the company, which is run by a woman, although that cost twice as much as ordering from Amazon, and I had to pay for shipping. I shopped at a local woman-owned thrift store to buy a bathing suit for my son, rather than thredUP, the male-run online used clothing company/tech platform that had an IPO in March. Instead of just using Amazon to buy another pastel daily planner dotted with flowers from Blue Sky, a company run by two men, I spent twice as much to buy one directly from Bloom Daily Planners, a company founded and run by women. It came with a free sheet of stickers with slogans like “You Glow Girl” and “Girlboss” and an insert reading “Yay! You Invested in You!” above a picture of two girls giggling under a shower of confetti. I was skeptical, but it was higher-quality than the brand I’d bought for years. Some of the national women-run companies I visited had a run-down feeling, as if they would not be around in a few months. When I went to buy exercise pants at a Ross’s Dress for Less, whose parent company, Ross Stores, is run by a woman, a sign on a brown paper bag informed me that the escalator was broken. I walked past an elevator with a hand-drawn picture of three stick figures to show people it led to Ross, and a sign written in marker directing me to the dingy stairs. Ross’s, like many other retail companies with female CEOs, like JCPenney, Kohl’s and Chico’s, faces strong headwinds at a time when people are shopping less at stores and more on the websites of male-run tech companies. That’s no surprise: women and people of color are more likely to be promoted to CEO of weakly performing firms, studies show, a phenomenon called the glass cliff. (To wit: the CEO of JCPenney, Jill Soltau, was replaced by a man in December after what CNN Business deemed ‘two years of failure.’) There are hurdles for women who want to start their own companies, too. Last year, just 2.3% of venture capital funding went to women-led startups, even as stories proliferated of overconfident men like Adam Neumann, the ex-CEO of WeWork, who convinced investors his company was worth nearly $50 billion. (It was not.) Not surprisingly, Pact, an Internet clothing company that says it will ‘disrupt the apparel industry’ and is trying, on Instagram, to sell me a dress that it says is more comfortable than sweatpants, is run by a man. A handwritten sign directs customers to Ross Dress for Less Alana Semuels There are exceptions to the glass cliff. Anne M. Mulcahy was the CEO of Xerox from 2001 to 2009, and saved it from bankruptcy. And there are efforts under way to require companies to put more women in charge. The European Union is discussing fining European-listed companies if less than 40% of their non-executive board seats were occupied by women. In 2018, California required that public companies listed in the state have at least one woman on their board by 2019 and at least two by the end of 2021. Before the law, more than one-quarter of California companies had no women on their boards; now 97% do. Still, reporting this story did not make me feel very optimistic about the state of gender equality in the business world. Even though studies show that the share price of companies with women CEOs outperform those with men CEOs by 20%, and that women on boards are more likely to create a sustainable future than those without, it seemed like women still could only get so far. It’s been decades since women have been allowed to get a credit card or loan without a husband’s signature, yet I kept encountering women-run businesses that were acquired by a bigger company owned by a man, or run out of business by a well-capitalized male-run competitor, or undercut on prices. Or all three. I drove to Avedano’s, a San Francisco butcher shop that sells locally grown meat and was founded by three women in 2007. I talked to Angela Wilson, who owns the shop now and who was butchering chicken thighs in denim overalls, a black T-shirt, and a backward baseball cap. She tries to run a fair business, she says, paying employees $25 an hour so they can afford to live in San Francisco, buying from small farmers whom she knows personally. But she almost went out of business in 2019 because of competition from (male-run) sites like Good Eggs and Instacart that run off the backs of gig workers who aren’t guaranteed the minimum wage. She posted a letter on a local food blog bemoaning the decline of her butcher shop, worrying that Americans don’t care about hard work anymore, and out of nowhere, an investor stepped in and bought 20% of her company. He was, of course, a man. She doesn’t think that’s a coincidence. “I enjoy what I do. And I feel like I’m making a difference, and that makes me feel good,” she said. “A lot of men don’t care about that. They want money or power.” I left Avedano’s with meat for the week: a flank steak, some chicken breasts and some chicken thighs, which Wilson deboned for me. The quality was amazing. It also cost me $103. As I rushed back home to pump, I was beginning to get an idea of what a world would look like if I continued to boycott companies run by men. I could buy things that were organic, locally made and extremely high-quality, from companies that cared about sustainability and that treated their workers well. But realistically, I could not afford to do it every week. Nor could I be a good mother and a good employee if I was spending all of my time trying to figure out which brands were women-owned. It’s a relief to once again have the convenience of running to the male-owned store down the block and buying cheap cheese from a faceless company that’s probably owned by a male-owned hedge fund. You know what they say. Women can’t have it all. Correction July 22 The original version of this story misstated the gender of JCPenney’s CEO. The current CEO is a man who in January replaced former CEO Jill Soltau, a woman. The Leadership Brief. Conversations with the most influential leaders in business and tech. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. 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"Setting audacious goals and visualizing success are all well and good, but most people would get farther faster if they customized their approach to counter the blockades that stand in their way," writes Katy Milkman.

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With gyms, restaurants, and workplaces reopening, people from every part of my life are asking for expert advice on how to ingrain new and healthier habits as we re-emerge from our pandemic cocoons. Their instinct that now is the right time to make a change is spot on—my research shows that having a “fresh start” is a powerful motive to initiate positive change at home and at work. But what are the chances that a new, post-COVID fitness routine or commitment to meeting-free mornings will outlast our initial fervor? Unfortunately, even with the motivation of a fresh start, most self-improvement goals don’t pan out. One reason is that change is hard. But a more helpful explanation is that change requires the right strategy. I’ve devoted my academic career to the study of behavior change, and I’ve been startled by how often people fail to size up the obstacles they’ll need to surmount to achieve their objectives before charging forward with a strategy that’s poorly-suited to their circumstances. Setting audacious goals and visualizing success are all well and good, but most people would get farther faster if they customized their approach to counter the blockades that stand in their way. The internal obstacles that commonly prevent change—the tendency to give into temptation, to be lazy, to be forgetful, to experience self-doubt, and so on—are surmountable. But just as different maladies respond to different treatments, so too do different barriers to change. We can’t just throw any solution at them and expect great results. We need the right one. Tackling Temptation Take, for example, temptation. Falling prey to temptation is one of the most common reasons people fail to reach their goals. We mean to go to the gym, but Netflix beckons. We know we should prepare for an upcoming presentation, but scrolling through Facebook is more enticing. Psychologists Ayelet Fishbach and Kaitlin Woolley have shown that when pursuing goals that require resisting temptation, most people make a crucial mistake: they approach them in the way they believe will yield the greatest long-term payoff. But a more successful strategy is to try to make this kind of goal pursuit fun. Across multiple research studies, Fishbach and Woolley encouraged some participants (chosen at random) to choose healthy foods or exercises they expected to enjoy most while others were encouraged to choose foods and exercises they’d benefit from most. These studies demonstrated that people encouraged to approach healthy activities with a focus on short-term enjoyment persisted longer on their workouts and ate more healthy food. This research reveals that we’re better off when we harness temptation, rather than when we ignore it to focus on our long-term goals. One way of engineering success with this insight is through what I call “temptation bundling.” This technique involves pairing something tempting (like watching lowbrow tv) with a goal-oriented activity that isn’t inherently fun (like exercising or preparing a home-cooked meal). The “indulgence” is only permitted while working towards the goal. I’ve proven that temptation bundling can help gymgoers exercise more, but I’ve also heard stories of people using this technique to get ahead in school (by bundling trips to the library with indulgent snacks), master housework (by bundling it with a favorite podcast), and even improve relationships (by bundling get-togethers with trips to a favorite restaurant). Foiling Flake Out Of course, many goals—like strengthening bonds with loved ones through frequent calls, staying on track with medical check-ups, and even reducing waste by cancelling unnecessary subscriptions—aren’t inherently unpleasant to pursue. We just don’t get around to them because we’re forgetful. Estimates suggest, in fact, that we flake out on anywhere from a third to two thirds of our stated intentions, and forgetfulness plays a key role. The solution here has nothing to do with fun. Psychologist Peter Gollwitzer has shown that when most people make plans to attack their goals, they do it incorrectly, focusing on what they intend to do (say, saving more money) rather than what will trigger them to act. To avoid flaking out, it’s vital to link intentions with a trigger cue, like a specific time, place, or action. Making the right kind of plan is as simple as filling in the blanks in the sentence “when ___ happens, I’ll do ___.” So “I’ll increase my monthly retirement savings” has a missing ingredient, but “whenever I get a raise, I’ll increase my monthly retirement savings” is a more useful plan because it includes a trigger. Research done by myself and others shows that prompting people to think through the date and time cue that will spur them to act can increase follow-through on everything from voting to getting a flu shot or colonoscopy. Managing Missteps As a final example, many people fail to achieve their goals because they get discouraged by small setbacks. For over a decade, my Wharton colleague Marissa Sharif has had the ambitious goal of running every day. But, as a behavioral scientist, Marissa realized that a missed jog could easily spiral into a series of skipped workouts thanks to the aptly-named “what the hell effect.” Research on this psychological phenomenon shows that even small failures, like missing a daily diet goal by a few calories, can lead to downward spirals in behavior—like eating a whole apple pie. Marissa came up with a clever strategy to counter this risk. She allowed herself two emergency skip days each week. If she couldn’t squeeze in a workout, she’d let herself declare an emergency, and this kept her on track. Marissa has proven that this strategy works for other people at risk of abandoning their goals after a small failure, too. In one study, Marissa and a collaborator asked hundreds of people to do thirty-five annoying tasks every day for a week in exchange for $1 a batch. These workers were randomly assigned to three groups. Some got the tough goal of completing their work every day of the week. Others were given the easier objective of completing their work just five days out of seven. Finally, a third group was told to complete the assignment every day but got two “emergencies” to excuse missed work. Everyone knew they would get a $5 bonus if they managed to achieve their goal. The chance to declare an emergency proved invaluable. A whopping fifty-three percent of those allowed to take “emergencies” hit their goal, compared with just twenty-six percent of people in the (objectively identical) easy group and twenty-one percent of participants with the seven days-per-week goal. The beauty of the system was that people were reluctant to use emergencies willy nilly (wisely hoarding their chits for real disasters). But having a tough goal with wiggle room kept people highly motivated even when they stumbled – blips no longer spiraled out of control because they could be written off. These findings demonstrate that allowing for a limited number of emergencies is one way to ensure small mistakes won’t derail goal pursuit. Temptation, flake out, and the what the hell effect are just a few of the many internal barriers to goal achievement that behavioral scientists have identified, ranging from self-doubt to bad habits. As people the world over seize upon a spike in motivation to change their lives for the better at the end of this pandemic era, I’m confident that successful change will come easiest to those who diagnose the barriers they’ll face and counter them strategically. Adapted from Milkman’s new book, How to Change: The Science of Getting From Where You Are to Where You Want to Be Sign up for Inside TIME. Be the first to see the new cover of TIME and get our most compelling stories delivered straight to your inbox. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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Since its launch in 2007, Goodreads has evolved into the world’s largest online book community. But over time, it has also become a hunting ground for scammers and trolls looking to con smaller authors, take down books with spammed ratings, cyberstalk users or worse.

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A few months after posting a message on Goodreads about the imminent release of a new book, Indie author Beth Black woke up to an all-caps ransom email from an anonymous server, demanding that she either pay for good reviews or have her books inundated with negative ones: “EITHER YOU TAKE CARE OF OUR NEEDS AND REQUIREMENTS WITH YOUR WALLET OR WE’LL RUIN YOUR AUTHOR CAREER,” the email, shared with TIME, read. “PAY US OR DISAPPEAR FROM GOODREADS FOR YOUR OWN GOOD.” Black, who has self-published both a romance novel and a collection of short stories in the past year, didn’t pay the ransom. “I reported it to Goodreads and then a couple hours later, I started noticing the stars dropping on my books as I started getting all these 1-star reviews,” she says. “It was quite threatening.” Scammers and cyberstalkers are increasingly using the Goodreads platform to extort authors with threats of “review bombing” their work–and they are frequently targeting authors from marginalized communities who have spoken out on topics ranging from controversies within the industry to larger social issues on social media. Black says she had posted about the upcoming book in a Goodreads community group, and had sent PDF copies to self-proclaimed reviewers. According to Black, the pressure to rack up reviews on Goodreads and Amazon led to her becoming the target of a cyber-extortion attack. “In order for an author to achieve any kind of success, we’re told that we have to have numerous reviews,” says Black. “For writers who aren’t well connected, this creates anxiety over finding reviewers. You don’t want your reviews to just be from family and friends. That’s nice, but it’s not going to make a career.” Read more: The Best Books of 2021 So Far Since its launch in 2007, Goodreads has evolved into the world’s largest online book community. The social networking site now has millions of users who rate and review books, find recommendations for new ones and track their reading. But over time, Goodreads has also become a hunting ground for scammers and trolls looking to con smaller authors, take down books with spammed ratings, cyberstalk users or worse. With over 120 million members worldwide, Goodreads is far and away the most popular—and influential—digital book database. When the site was purchased by Amazon for $150 million in 2013, The Atlantic reported that: “When all is said and done, in the world of books, Goodreads is just about as influential as Facebook.” With few serious competitors, Goodreads’ influence has only grown. According to Erin Stein, an editor and publisher with experience heading Macmillan Children’s Group’s Imprint and working for Little, Brown and Company, the publishing industry views Goodreads as a “necessary evil.” “It’s something I wish we didn’t have to deal with, but it’s a key part of the industry,” she tells TIME. Basically, she notes, high Goodreads ratings help books get sold into retail. “A lot of authors are on there, a lot of bloggers are on there and it’s used as a marketing tool by publishers to build awareness for books. You can’t completely ignore it.” But many authors wish they could ignore Goodreads, as more face bullying and extortion on the site. It has been a frequent topic of discussion on social media, with both authors and readers objecting to how the site functions—especially when it comes to its moderation policies. Goodreads remains one of the primary tools on the internet for book discovery, meaning lesser-known authors often have to rely on the site to get their work noticed. But at this point, some feel that Goodreads’ ratings and reviews system is causing more harm than good. In a July 29 statement to TIME, a spokesperson for Goodreads said that the company is actively working to resolve many of these review bombing problems. “We take swift action to remove users when we determine that they violate our guidelines, and are actively assessing all available options to take further action against the small number of bad actors who have attempted extortion scams,” the statement read. “We have clear guidelines for reviews and participation in our community, and we remove reviews and/or accounts that violate these guidelines… We also continue to invest in making technology improvements to prevent bad actor behavior and inauthentic reviews in order to better safeguard our community.” Review bombing, ransom emails and extortion As author Rin Chupeco told TIME, Goodreads is a “good idea that slowly became unmanageable over the years due to lack of adequate moderation and general indifference.” One emerging issue is review bombing: when a coordinated group, or a few people with multiple accounts, intentionally tank a book’s aggregate rating with a flurry of one-star ratings and negative reviews. “There are some legitimate great reviews going up and many people take it seriously,” Stein says. “But a lot of people aren’t writing actual reviews of the book. They’re posting reviews of a book well before it’s even published—before advanced copies are even out. So they’re just touting an author or they’re trying to take down an author.” (Goodreads’ review guidelines state that “each book is eligible to be reviewed as soon as it appears on the site.”) "What startled me was that while I made a lot of noise about this, I wasn't the first victim" Black says an “army” of fellow authors came to her aid after she publicized the threat. They countered the negative reviews with positive ones in order to drive her ratings back up. Thanks to the high level of attention that was drawn to her case, Black says that Goodreads was fairly quick to remove the offending reviews. But Black isn’t the only author to be targeted. There are many threads on Goodreads discussing similar issues, with posts from writers who’ve been targeted. Last January, sci-fi author Alina Leonova shared that she reported a similar scam to Goodreads: trolls bombed Leonova’s books with 1-star ratings, then demanded a ransom. She said the Goodreads support team said the platform was investigating “possible solutions to prevent this from happening in the future.” However, the problems have continued. “What startled me was that while I made a lot of noise about this, I wasn’t the first victim,” Black says. “[The scammers] have been doing this for a while. People were commenting that it’s a regular thing and that normally, Goodreads does not jump in to save authors.” The ‘1-star book brigade’ and marginalized authors When review bombing campaigns take off on Goodreads, Stein says that authors of color are often the target. “[These authors are] speaking out about important things on social media and some people don’t like what they’re saying,” she says. “So then they go and bomb their books on Goodreads.” Chupeco, a young-adult fantasy novelist best known for their The Bone Witch, The Girl From the Well and The Never Tilting World book series, is one author who has experienced this firsthand. Last year, Chupeco called out fellow author Mackenzi Lee for signing her name in other authors’ books without their consent, asking on Twitter, “are authors who autograph books written by *other* authors actually a thing? Because I just saw this happen to my book, and the optics of a white author autographing a POC author’s book and then using that as promotion… doesn’t look good to me?” Chupeco says their tweets about Lee drew the ire of what they refer to as the “1-star book brigade.” “My book rating went from 3.9 to 3 overnight, and it was a whole journey to see people telling others not to review bomb Lee’s books when the reality was that my books were the ones getting hit and no one cared until I said something,” Chupeco says. Read more: 36 New Books You Need to Read This Summer When Chupeco reached out to Goodreads, they say the company never responded to them. “I emailed Goodreads while it was happening, and several people from [the Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers of America (SFWA)] tried to help me, but in the end it went nowhere. I’ve emailed Goodreads before about other issues and they were always quick to respond, but they never got back to me on my emails for this one,” Chupeco says. “Goodreads only removes reviews that specifically target the author, but they do not do that for every book, either—just for the authors with big enough marketing and publicity teams to demand these removals.” Chupeco says that many marginalized writers they know have had this happen to their books. And the threat of further harassment often discourages authors from speaking out. “I’ve seen 1-star reviews just because an author, often Black authors, criticize something online that they found issue with, that has nothing to do with their books,” they say. “A lot of authors don’t want to talk about it publicly, because that only increases the harassment.” Cyberstalking claims As the target of a years-long cyberstalking campaign, orchestrated by what he describes as “trolls on Reddit,” review bombing attacks on both Goodreads and Amazon have become almost commonplace for author Patrick S. Tomlinson. “Over the course of a year and a half or so, this group… managed to create hundreds of sock puppet accounts so that they could leave more than 1,000 fake one-star reviews across all of my various works,” he tells TIME, saying these accounts generally appear to have been recently created, use inappropriate or offensive usernames, and leave “often libelous” reviews and comments. “This was all part of a concerted effort to try and derail my career by driving down my ratings so that reviewers wouldn’t be interested in looking at my books and consumers would see one-and-a-half-star ratings.” "A lot of authors don't want to talk about it publicly, because that only increases the harassment." Tomlinson, the author of sci-fi novels like In the Black and Gate Crashers, says that “lax security” at Goodreads enabled his cyberstalkers to create numerous fake accounts to bomb his books. With the help of SFWA, he says he was eventually able to get Goodreads to take action—but it took a significant amount of time and pressure. “[Review bombing] happens to other authors all the time, but not in such volume. What was being done to my books was blatantly obvious,” he says. “They had people impersonating my ex-wife and my current wife. They had people impersonating other authors and board members of SFWA, trying to make it look like people of great importance and respect within my community were openly trashing me and my work. It took that [level of abuse] and pressure from an organization like SFWA before the admins at Goodreads were like, ‘Fine, we have a problem.'” To Tomlinson, Goodreads’ response indicates that it’s likely difficult for many authors to get the company to remove fake ratings and reviews in a timely manner. And since he first spoke with TIME, Tomlinson says his books have come under yet another review bombing attack, complete with negative ratings, reviews and comments. Lack of preventative measures Although Goodreads’ review bombing problem would be difficult to solve entirely, Tomlinson says that if the platform were to introduce some basic preventative measures used by its parent company Amazon, the problem could be “mostly” fixed. “On Goodreads, you don’t even need to verify your email address [when creating an account]. You can make a dozen fake accounts a day, and then go on and just completely bomb out the reviews and ratings of whatever book you want or whatever author you want,” he says. “Even something as simple as requiring email verification would cut [this problem] down immensely.” To leave product reviews on Amazon, users not only have to have a registered account with a verified email and phone number, they must also have spent at least $50 on the site using a valid credit or debit card in the past 12 months. These systems seem to make it much more difficult for scammers to create and use multiple fake accounts in order to review bomb specific products or sellers. And Tomlinson is not the only author wondering why Goodreads doesn’t do the same. Amazon did not respond to TIME’s requests for comment. And in the days following its statement to TIME, Goodreads issued a similar one to its authors, warning them to be wary of “bad actors” attempting extortion scams. With book discovery remaining such a difficult challenge for so many writers, Black says that maintaining a system in which authors, and especially indie authors, are desperate for reviews makes them “vulnerable to scammers and criminals.” “And scammers know that, which is why they hang out on Goodreads,” she says. Goodreads states that its mission is to help people “find and share books they love.” But Stein says today it’s a different beast. “The intention when it started was great. [In publishing,] we always want it to be easier to discover new books to read, because there’s so many books coming out every year and so many of them are great,” she says. “But at this point, it’s not servicing that need and it’s not working effectively.” The Leadership Brief. Conversations with the most influential leaders in business and tech. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Write to Megan McCluskey at megan.mccluskey@time.com.

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For the better part of a century—a period that encompassed the Civil War, America’s Gilded Age, WWI, and through the Great Depression—the circus reigned as far and away America’s premier form of popular entertainment.

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For the better part of a century—a period that encompassed the Civil War, America’s Gilded Age, WW I, and through the Great Depression—the circus reigned as far and away America’s premier form of popular entertainment. At the industry’s peak, the day the circus came town ranked with Thanksgiving, Christmas and the Fourth of July: banks and businesses closed, schools were dismissed, and an entire populace assembled on early morning main streets to watch the elephants and clowns and bejeweled entertainers parade from the train station to the circus grounds where the big top was raised to house thousands for afternoon and evening performances. For most in attendance, it was an opportunity to see the impossible made real: aerialists, tightrope walkers, and equestrians performed superhuman feats; lion “tamers” turned their charges into obliging pussycats; elephants performed ballets by Balanchine; and the clowns were there to elicit laughter and compassion, bridging the gap between the incredible feats taking place in the rings and the awed onlookers in the stands. In an age before film and television, before professional sports and mammoth arenas, before PC monitors and cellphone screens, widely diverse audiences gathered under the canvas for a communal celebration of limitless possibility and a rare glimpse of a wider world of beauty, mystery and wonder. Little wonder, then, that the circus had drawn the attention of the fabled showman P.T. Barnum, who had in the 1840’s amazed audiences around the world with his exhibitions of the diminutive Tom Thumb and introduced American audiences to songstress Jenny Lind, the “Swedish Nightingale.” For most of the final quarter of the 19th Century, Barnum, aligned with veteran circus man James A. Bailey, dominated the industry. But following the deaths of Barnum and Bailey, John Ringling and his brothers assumed control of Barnum & Bailey operations and would go on to form the behemoth of all circus-dom: The Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus, a.k.a. “The Greatest Show on Earth.” For more than a decade after the merger of the two principals in 1906, the Ringling brothers toured the two shows separately, enjoying a virtual monopoly on plum dates and prime venues about the country and serving essentially as the impresarios for a nation. At the time that the United States entered WW I in 1917, the Ringling show employed about a thousand people and traveled about the country on 92 railroad cars, with the Barnum & Bailey show about the same size. However, forces that would ultimately reshape the circus industry had begun to emerge. With so many workers and performers gone off to fight, the shows were for the first time in history lacking the personnel to stage full programs and move efficiently about. The Ringling show’s 250 canvasmen were reduced to 80, while the property men dropped from 80 to 20, most of them aging 4-F’s instead of the burly personnel who had swelled the ranks before the war. As for the cadre of grooms into whose care the show’s 335 horses were entrusted, it too had been decimated, for during World War I, a horse cavalry was still a vital component of the forces. Get your history fix in one place: sign up for the weekly TIME History newsletter Were all this not enough, in 1918 the Spanish flu epidemic, which would claim more than 22 million lives worldwide, swept through the United States, taking tens of thousands of lives and dragging down attendance at all public venues to levels that would not be experienced for more than a hundred years, with the onset of COVID-19. All these factors led the Ringling brothers—following the 1918 season—to make a momentous decision. Instead of returning the two big shows to their respective winter headquarters—the Ringling to Baraboo, Wisc., and Barnum & Bailey to Bridgeport, Conn.—all the properties were sent to the Connecticut facility. It was a decision not made lightly, for the Ringlings had begun their operations in rural Wisconsin, with five of the seven brothers, none outside their teens, drawing crowds of locals willing to pay 5 cents each to watch a bit of plate juggling, bareback riding of the family pony, and 6-year-old John Ringling’s efforts as a singing clown. John Ringling had progressed from clowning to a role as the company’s business-meister, however, and to him the move was unavoidable. Not only would the administration and maintenance of a single operation be vastly more practical, but the tax burden in Connecticut was significantly lower than that in Wisconsin. And the truth was that in just a few short years, the circus had lost its virtual stranglehold on America’s choice for popular entertainment. Movies had matured from minutes-long diversions experienced in storefront nickelodeons to complex, full-length productions exhibited in comfortable theaters, including the first full-length features produced in Hollywood: The Squaw Man (1914) by Cecil B. DeMille and D. W. Griffith’s Birth of a Nation (1915) and Intolerance (1916). In addition, reaching the theaters where films and other more transitory entertainments could be enjoyed had become a vastly simplified endeavor for even the most remote farm family, owing to the ubiquity of the automobile. The first Model T Ford rolled off the assembly line in Detroit on Sept. 27, 1908. Less than 20 years later, the 15-millionth would follow. Americans would buy nearly 30 million cars and trucks in the years leading immediately up to the Great Depression, and it was estimated that by 1929 four out of five families owned a motor vehicle. Thus, John Ringling saw that combining the two big shows and confining their appearances to larger population centers only made sense for postwar America. And though many in Baraboo would never get over the loss of the circus, moving central operations to Connecticut, closer to major populations centers and transport lines, was the logical and inevitable choice. If Ringling saw the move as anything other than a precursor to an even more grand and glorious future, he was not admitting it. Asked by an American magazine interviewer during the 1919 tour if the circus would ever be altered by progress, Ringling responded: “It never will be changed to any great extent, because men and women will always long to be young again. There is as much chance as Mother Goose or Andersen’s Fairy Tales going out of style.” PublicAffairs This article has been adapted from Battle for the Big Top: P.T. Barnum, James Bailey, John Ringling, and the Death-Defying Saga of the American Circus by Les Standiford. Copyright © 2021. Available from PublicAffairs, an imprint of Perseus Books, LLC, a subsidiary of Hachette Book Group, Inc. Get our History Newsletter. Put today's news in context and see highlights from the archives. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. 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For the first time since April, the rate at which Americans are showing up for their first dose is consistently on the rise.This uptick, while present to some degree in most states, is heavily driven by regions that are experiencing the most dramatic increases in new infections.

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For the first time since April, when the U.S. lost its appetite for COVID-19 vaccinations, the rate at which Americans are showing up for their first dose is consistently on the rise. This uptick, while present to some degree in most states, is heavily driven by regions that are experiencing the most dramatic increases in new infections. There are no two ways about it: For all the increasingly desperate incentives that states have offered, the strongest motivation for vaccine-hesitant Americans to date is the presence of a resurgence of COVID-19 in their region. Nationwide, the number of people receiving a first dose each day has nearly doubled since July 11, when that figure stood at 7.5 new doses per 10,000 people. It is now 14.6, as of Aug. 8. But compare that 95% increase to these five states where cases have dramatically surged since the fourth wave of the epidemic took off in the U.S.: (See all charts in the original story.) As these charts show, the uptick in residents getting their first dose of a COVID-19 vaccination is much higher than the U.S. average in regions in the South that have seen the largest spikes in new infections, and which have typically lagged well behind national vaccination rates. The closest of these states to an exception is Missouri, whose renewed interest in vaccinations briefly spiked but has since drawn back—though remains double what it was at its most recent nadir. In each case above, TIME identified the date at which the uptick in new vaccinations began, based on a simple calculation of when the figure first significantly increased over a 10-day period. While this definition is somewhat arbitrary, it captures the rise most precisely (based on extended trial and error) because, in many cases, the rise began very gradually and didn’t take off for days or weeks. What’s most curious here is that, in all cases, it appears that the uptick in new vaccine recipients began when the case rate, calculated (like vaccinations) on a rolling seven-day basis, rose above 20 new infections per 100,000 people—the green line in the graphs. If that doesn’t sound catastrophic, consider that, at its worst peak in early January 2021, the national rate was 76.5 per 100,000, and that the resurgent cases this summer didn’t pass 20 for the country at large until July 29. As recently as July 5, the national figure was under 4. In all the states visualized above, the fourth wave arrived early and has reached far greater heights than the national rate. In Louisiana and Florida, the fourth wave is already worse than the third, last winter. Alabama and Arkansas are likely to reach new peaks within the week. The national vaccination rate is most often reported as the percentage of Americans who have received a completed dose of the vaccine, which currently stands at 50.1% after weeks of stubbornly refusing to surpass the halfway mark. Given that the vast majority of all COVID-19 vaccine recipients receive either the Pfizer-BioNTech or Moderna varieties, which require two doses several weeks apart, we don’t expect to see a noticeable rise in the completed rate for at least another week—assuming new recipients in these newly vaccine-tolerant regions show up for their second dose, which is not universally the case. While five states do not make a trend, a review of all 50 and Washington, D.C. show early signs of similar patterns outside of the hard-hit South. COVID-19 case rates are rising everywhere, but many states remain below the 20 mark or only very recently passed that apparent threshold. The rates of new vaccine recipients are likewise on the rise in most regions, particularly in states where they lagged well behind the national average prior to this most recent resurgence. If this pattern holds as more and more regions experience intolerable spikes in new cases, there is a good possibility that a bad situation could have a positive side effect as the vaccination rate receives, well, an adrenaline shot after months of crawling only incrementally upward. The Coronavirus Brief. Everything you need to know about the global spread of COVID-19 Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Write to Chris Wilson at chris.wilson@time.com.

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"Don’t be misled by the title. Although each gore-soaked frame radiates confidence that it’s blowing our minds, the show has nothing new to say," writes Judy Berman.

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There’s nothing Hollywood loves more than luring in beautiful, young people with big dreams and crushing them under the heel of its Ferragamos. Much of the time, the person doing the stomping is a man and the person getting squished is a woman. We know this—and we have known it for decades—because it’s a story Hollywood keeps retelling. From the oft-retold melodrama of Peg Entwistle’s Hollywood-sign suicide and the golden-age gossip of Kenneth Anger’s Hollywood Babylon to postmodern riffs like David Lynch’s brilliant Mulholland Drive and Nicolas Winding Refn’s divisive The Neon Demon, audiences seem to have a bottomless appetite for the tale of the ingénue eaten alive by a predatory, superficial entertainment industry. The latest regurgitation of this hoary premise is Brand New Cherry Flavor, a lurid eight-part horror series that comes to Netflix on Aug. 13. Don’t be misled by the title. Although each gore-soaked frame radiates confidence that it’s blowing our minds, the show has nothing new to say. What little it does contribute to the post-#MeToo discourse around predatory men, vulnerable women and the price of fame falls somewhere between reactionary and obvious. Based on the 1996 novel by Todd Grimson and set in the early ‘90s, a backdrop that mostly just looks like a noirish 2021 minus the smartphones, Cherry Flavor opens with young filmmaker Lisa Nova (Rosa Salazar of Alita: Battle Angel and Undone) arriving in Los Angeles. She has been summoned there by the abrasive, powerful but somewhat washed-up producer Lou Burke (Eric Lange, recently seen in HBO’s Perry Mason reboot), on the strength of a spooky short film she made. He wants to adapt it into a feature, with Lisa as director, and cuts her a $10,000 check to option it on the spot. Then—surprise, surprise—he makes a move on Lisa, she rejects him and suddenly she starts hearing about a different director attached to the project. But Lisa is not your typical damsel in distress. (This, I think, is where the show is supposed to be breaking ground. And maybe it would have, 25 years ago.) Driven by ambition derived from her longing to meet a mother who disappeared shortly after her birth, Lisa vows to get her movie back—and to make Lou’s life miserable in the process. Soon enough, a witchy, soothingly maternal, hippie-looking woman called Boro (the great Catherine Keener) materializes out of the ether to catalyze this revenge. Can you see the “be careful what you wish for” twist coming? Rosa Salazar, left, and Catherine Keener in 'Brand New Cherry Flavor' MERIE WEISMILLER WALLACE/NETFLIX Cherry Flavor has an extremely predictable plot. I’m not the kind of viewer who tries to guess what’s around each narrative corner, but this show’s fidelity to familiar archetypes and other genre tropes made it hard not to do so—and I was almost always right. In fairness, the hacky story beats seem to be by design, at least to some extent. Deadpan dialogue (“I’m actually not f-cking your dad—I’m putting a curse on him and I need some of his pubic hairs,” Lisa explains to Lou’s adult son in one scene) creates an atmosphere of detached knowingness. As in American Horror Story, whose first season gave Salazar her big break, the multi-episode escalation of violence and gore doubles as an escalation of absurdity. Yet the self-aware tone serves no real purpose. The show may be attempting humor, but it is not actually funny. What it is, is a technically competent, thematically bankrupt, utterly gratuitous pastiche of L.A. noir and body horror in the early David Cronenberg mold. For no small number of Netflix subscribers, that will surely be enticement enough. A trio of strong lead performances counteracts the flatness of the characters as written; Keener, in particular, uses her inherent warmth to delightfully diabolical ends. (Unfortunately, the wonderfully funny Good Place breakout Manny Jacinto feels wasted in a bland role as Lisa’s old friend.) Still, even the style-over-substance horror crowd seems bound to be disappointed by Cherry Flavor. Yet another miniseries that should’ve been a 90-minute film, it wrings way too much content out of too little material. The monsters—writhing spectral figures, literally faceless women—are nothing we haven’t seen before. There’s so much screen time devoted to people, usually Lisa or Lou, writhing in pain that you’d probably have to be some kind of niche fetishist to get any enjoyment out of it. Garden-variety sadists and voyeurs will likely be bored. The show is so unpleasant on a moment-to-moment level, it can make you forget that all the discomfort also serves some pretty repulsive ideas. “This world we live in is predators and prey. And each and every one of us is both,” Lou tells Lisa, in the first episode, when she confronts him about his betrayal. “Are you gonna tell me you’ve never used anybody for the sake of making something?” This is essentially an “all lives matter” response to Hollywood’s silence breakers—and though Lou is hardly framed as a hero, his monologue reverberates through the episodes to come. As disappointing as such a glib argument would be from a better-made series, it renders Cherry Flavor fully execrable. Days after polishing off this ostensible treat, I’m still brushing the bad taste out of my mouth. Sign up for our Entertainment newsletter. Subscribe to More to the Story to get the context you need for the pop culture you love. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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"Even if you don’t care much about whales, or don’t think you do, Joshua Zeman’s enthusiastic documentary 'The Loneliest Whale: The Search for 52' might make you care about people who care about whales."

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Even if you don’t care much about whales, or don’t think you do, Joshua Zeman’s enthusiastic documentary The Loneliest Whale: The Search for 52 might make you care about people who care about whales. We’re fortunate these magnificent and sensitive creatures have such ardent supporters in general, and in Zeman’s film—which lists Leonardo DiCaprio as an executive producer—we meet a few who take a keen interest in one mysterious mammal in particular: the elusive whale known as 52, so named because his call rings out at 52 hertz, a frequency unmatched by any other known whale. 52 was discovered in 1989 by the U.S. Navy—at first, he was only a sound, one so odd that it was believed to come from a submarine. But marine scientist William A. Watkins knew what he was hearing, and until his death in 2004, he tracked 52’s comings and goings arduously. Meanwhile, 52 has captured the popular imagination, earning the nickname that gives the film its title: Because 52’s sound is unique, attached to this one lone denizen of the ocean, it’s believed that he’s calling for friends who possibly don’t understand him—or for another whale of his specific type who simply doesn’t exist. And so this lonely seafaring fellow—the subject of newspaper articles, songs, paintings and probably more than one tattoo—has become a metaphor for our own need to connect and communicate with others. Of course, some people just like whales, and 52 is a special one. Zeman himself has loved whales since he was a kid—he explains in voiceover that he saw his first one while working on a sailing vessel as a youngster. Near the beginning of The Loneliest Whale, he wonders if he might even be able to find 52, to make him more than just a diagram of soundwaves. And so he manages to assemble a group of eager marine scientists and whale specialists for a short mission off the coast of California—there is hope that 52 just may happen to be swimming along there with a recently tracked group of whales, humming his solitary, special song. Sign up for More to the Story, TIME’s weekly entertainment newsletter, to get the context you need for the pop culture you love. The Loneliest Whale is a good example of what usually happens when you set out in search of one specific thing: you find something else, in this case a surprise discovery that I shall keep as close as the secrets of the deep. But as it wends toward that conclusion, The Loneliest Whale is both invigorating and calming to watch. Calming because, well, who doesn’t feel better after a glimpse or two of these elusive and beautiful beasts, twirling and skimming through their underwater ballet routines? And invigorating because it’s surprisingly exciting to watch marine specialists perched in little boats, chasing after these behemoths in the hopes of affixing trackers to them—it isn’t as easy as it sounds. Read more reviews by Stephanie Zacharek Zeman tucks a great deal of nerdy whale lore in between, and includes interviews with people who care deeply about whales, among them a musician who attempts to improvise with them. This seems wacky until you see him on a boat with his clarinet, spinning out satiny loops of sound that do sound enticingly whale-like. The Loneliest Whale tells us that whales—when they’re not thwarted by sound pollution caused by container ships and other large vessels, a dangerous problem for them—can hear one another call from as far as 100 miles away. 52 is out there, somewhere, evading human detection as he sings for all he’s worth. Presumably he’s calling, perhaps in vain, for other whales. But here on land, he brings folklore and science together as we lean in close to listen. Sign up for our Entertainment newsletter. Subscribe to More to the Story to get the context you need for the pop culture you love. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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In addition to the many world records that were broken so far, the Tokyo Games were full of historic representation in competition and inspirational victories by barrier-breaking athletes.

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Delayed a year due to the coronavirus pandemic, the Tokyo Olympics were unlike any other. WIth its strict protocols, it was the first modern Olympic Games to be played without spectators. But these Games will be known for many other firsts as well. In addition to the many world records that were broken so far, the Tokyo Games were full of historic representation in competition and inspirational victories by barrier-breaking athletes. Here are some of the entries headed to the record books after this unique Olympics. Sunisa Lee made history Sunisa Lee of the United States poses during the awards ceremony after the artistic gymnastics women's all-around final in Tokyo, Japan, July 29, 2021. Xinhua—Sipa USA Sunisa Lee became the first Hmong American Olympic gold medalist after she bested the competition in the individual all-around competition. The 18-year old also helped Team USA win silver in the team all-around final and won bronze in the uneven bars final during her Olympic debut. First-ever gold medal for Bermuda The tiny island of Bermuda found its first Olympic champion in Flora Duffy who won the country’s first-ever gold medal after competing in the women’s triathlon, where she swam, biked, and ran her way to victory. First openly non-binary U.S. athlete competed Alana Smith, an American skateboarder, was the first openly non-binary Team USA athlete to compete at the Games. They said in an Instagram post that their goal for the Games was “to be happy and be a visual representation for humans like me.” Alana Smith of Team USA reacts during the Women's Street Prelims Heat 3 on day three of the Tokyo 2020 Olympic Games at Ariake Urban Sports Park on July 26, 2021 in Tokyo, Japan. Patrick Smith—Getty Images First-ever medal for Turkmenistan When weightlifter Polina Guryeva lifted 217 kilograms (478 lbs) she won the silver medal—the first medal for her country since it declared independence from the Soviet Union. “No sport in Turkmenistan has had a medal, not one medal,” she said, according to the Associated Press. “I’m so in shock.” First siblings to win gold on the same day Japan's Hifumi Abe, the gold medallist of the judo men's -66kg contest of the Tokyo 2020 Olympic Games, and his sister Uta Abe, the gold medallist of the judo women's -52kg contest of the Tokyo 2020 Olympic Games, pose with their medals before the final block of the day three of judo competition during the Tokyo 2020 Olympic Games at the Nippon Budokan in Tokyo on July 26, 2021. Franck Fife—AFP via Getty Images Brother and sister Hifumi Abe and Uta Abe of Team Japan each won gold in their respective judo divisions. Their wins made them the first siblings to win gold in individual events on the same day, the IOC reported. Smallest country yet won a medal When Alessandra Perilli earned a bronze medal in women’s trap shooting, it was the first-ever medal for San Marino, the tiny nation in Southern Europe. As an added fun fact, Perilli’s feat helped San Marino, with a population of only 34,000, become the smallest country to ever medal at the Games. Perilli went on to win another medal, this time silver, in the mixed team trap category with Gian Marco Berti. Myles Amine won another bronze medal for the country in wrestling. First surfing, skateboarding, karate and sport climbing medals awarded Thirteen-year-old Momiji Nishiya of Team Japan won the first-ever gold medal in women’s street skateboarding. In fact, Japan took three of the four gold medals in skateboarding’s inaugural Olympics. Team USA’s Carissa Moore won gold in the first-ever women’s surfing competition while Ítalo Ferreira claimed the top spot on the men’s side. In karate, one notable gold went to Japan’s Ryo Kiyuna, who hails from the martial art’s home of Okinawa. In sport climbing, Slovenia’s Janja Garnbret and Spain’s Alberto Ginés López won the first golds. The first U.S. Black woman won wrestling gold Tamyra Mariama Mensah-Stock of Team USA celebrates defeating Blessing Oborududu of Team Nigeria during the Women's Freestyle 68kg Gold Medal Match on day eleven of the Tokyo Olympics at Makuhari Messe Hall on Aug. 03, 2021 in Chiba, Japan. Tom Pennington—Getty Images Tamyra Mensah-Stock became the first U.S. Black woman to win Olympic gold in wrestling after winning the 68-kg freestyle final. “I’m like, ‘Oh my gosh, look at us representing,’ ” Mensah-Stock said, according to The Associated Press. “It’s so freaking awesome. You’re making history, I’m making history. We’re making history. So it meant a lot.” Swimming into history Katie Ledecky cemented her place in swimming history by bringing her cumulative Olympic individual gold medal count to six, more than any swimmer except Michael Phelps. She also won the first-ever women’s 1,500-m freestyle gold as the event made its Olympic debut (men have been swimming the race for a. Also in the pool, Australia’s Emma McKeown won seven medals in Tokyo, tying the record for the most medals any female Olympian has ever won in a single Games. (The record was set by gymnast Maria Gorokhovskaya of the Soviet Union in 1952). First gender-balanced Olympics The Tokyo Games are the “first gender-balanced Games in history,” the IOC reported. Almost 49% of the athletes competing are women. The Paralympics also have a record number of female competitors, the committee reports. The Philippines won its first gold Filipina weightlifter Hidilyn Diaz won her country’s first-ever gold medal, seeming to easily lift a whopping 127kg (279 pounds!). Hidilyn Diaz of Team Philippines competes during the women's weight lifting 55kg competition on day three of the Tokyo 2020 Olympic Games at Tokyo International Forum on July 26, 2021 in Tokyo, Japan. Chris Graythen—Getty Images First openly trans athletes represented their countries While transgender athletes have been welcome to compete in the Olympics since 2004, no one has done so openly until now. This year, Canadian soccer player Quinn became the first openly trans athlete to win an Olympic medal; Canada’s women’s soccer team won gold. New Zealand weightlifter Laurel Hubbard was the first trans athlete to ever compete in the Olympics. And Chelsea Wolfe, a BMX freestyle alternate, became the first openly transgender athlete on Team USA. Felix’s record medal haul Allyson Felix of Team USA reacts after winning the bronze medal in the Women's 400-m final on day fourteen of the Tokyo 2020 Olympic Games at Olympic Stadium on Aug. 06, 2021 in Tokyo, Japan. Matthias Hangst—Getty Images Allyson Felix, with a third-place finish in the women’s 400 m, won her 10th Olympic medal to become the most decorated Olympic female track-and-field athlete of all time. She’s also tied with Carl Lewis for the most Olympic medals won by a U.S. track athlete. Some of the youngest athletes ever competed—and won medals Twelve-year-old table tennis star Hend Zaza of Syria was the youngest competitor ever in her sport in Olympic history. At 13, Team Great Britain skateboarder Sky Brown was her country’s youngest-ever athlete to compete in the Summer Games. Team Japan skateboarder Kokona Hiraki, 12, was also the youngest Summer Olympian for her country. Read more about the Tokyo Olympics: Get The Brief. Sign up to receive the top stories you need to know right now. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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The history of medicine, of illness, is every bit as social and cultural as it is scientific. It is a history of people, of their bodies and their lives, not just of physicians, surgeons, clinicians and researchers.

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We are taught that medicine is the art of solving our body’s mysteries. And we expect medicine, as a science, to uphold the principles of evidence and impartiality. We want our doctors to listen to us and care for us as people. But we also need their assessments of our pain and fevers, aches and exhaustion, to be free of any prejudice about who we are. We expect, and deserve, fair and ethical treatment regardless of our gender or the color of our skin. But here things get complicated. Medicine carries the burden of its own troubling history. The history of medicine, of illness, is every bit as social and cultural as it is scientific. It is a history of people, of their bodies and their lives, not just of physicians, surgeons, clinicians and researchers. And medical progress has not marched forward just in laboratories and benches, lectures and textbooks; it has always reflected the realities of the changing world and the meanings of being human. Gender difference is intimately stitched into the fabric of humanness. At every stage in its long history, medicine has absorbed and enforced socially constructed gender divisions. These divisions have traditionally ascribed power and dominance to men. Historically, women have been subordinated in politics, wealth and education. Modern scientific medicine, as it has evolved over the centuries as a profession, an institution and a discipline, has flourished in these exact conditions. Male dominance—and with it the superiority of the male body—was cemented into medicine’s very foundations, laid down in ancient Greece. In the third century BCE, the philosopher Aristotle described the female body as the inverse of the male body, with its genitalia “turn’d outside in.” Women were marked by their anatomical difference from men and medically defined as faulty, defective, deficient. But women also possessed an organ of the highest biological—and social—value: the uterus. Possession of this organ defined the purpose of women: to bear and raise children. Knowledge about female biology centered on women’s capacity—and duty—to reproduce. Being biologically female defined and constrained what it meant to be a woman. Women’s illnesses and diseases consistently related back to the “secrets” and “curiosities” of her reproductive organs. Of course, not all women have uteruses, and not all people who have uteruses, or who menstruate, are women. But medicine, historically, has insisted on conflating biological sex with gender identity. As medicine’s understanding of female biology has expanded and evolved, it has constantly reflected and validated dominant social and cultural expectations about who women are; what they should think, feel and desire; and—above all else—what they can do with their own bodies. Medical myths about gender roles and behaviors, constructed as facts before medicine became an evidence-based science, have resonated perniciously. And these myths about female bodies and illnesses have enormous cultural sticking power. Today, gender myths are ingrained as biases that negatively impact the care, treatment and diagnosis of all people who identify as women. For example, health-care providers and the health-care system are failing women in their responses to and treatment of women’s pain, especially chronic pain. Women are more likely to be offered minor tranquilizers and antidepressants than analgesic pain medication. Women are less likely to be referred for further diagnostic investigations than men are. And women’s pain is much more likely to be seen as having an emotional or a psychological cause, rather than a bodily or biological one. Women are the predominant sufferers of chronic diseases that begin with pain. But before our pain is taken seriously as a symptom of a possible disease, it first has to be validated—and believed—by a medical professional. And this pervasive aura of distrust around women’s accounts of their pain has been enfolded into medical attitudes over centuries. The historical—and hysterical—idea that women’s excessive emotions have profound influences on their bodies, and vice versa, is impressed like a photographic negative beneath today’s image of the attention-seeking, hypochondriac female patient. Prevailing social stereotypes about the way women experience, express, and tolerate pain are not modern phenomena—they have been ingrained across medicine’s history. Our contemporary biomedical knowledge is stained with the residue of old stories, fallacies, assumptions, and myths. Get your history fix in one place: sign up for the weekly TIME History newsletter Over the past few years, gender bias in medical knowledge, research, and practice has hit the mainstream. Headlines like “Why Won’t Doctors Believe Women?,” “Doctors Are Failing Women with Chronic Illness,” and “Doctors Are More Likely to Misdiagnose Women Than Men” crop up regularly in the U.K. and U.S. press. Public awareness is growing around the way that women are all too frequently being dismissed and misdiagnosed. We’re learning that medical sexism is rife, systemic and making women sicker. But women are not a monolithic category. The discrimination women encounter as medical patients is magnified when they are Black, Asian, Indigenous, Latinx, or ethnically diverse; when their access to health services is restricted; and when they don’t identify with the gender norms medicine ascribes to biological womanhood. It seems ridiculous now to imagine physicians once believed that women’s nerves were too highly strung for them to receive an education and that their ovaries would become inflamed if they read too much. But these outrageous myths are alive and well in a world where menstruation and menopause are still seen by many people as credible reasons why women shouldn’t hold positions of political power. When clinical research exempts women from studies and trials on the grounds that female hormones fluctuate too much and upset the consistency of results, medical culture is reinforcing the centuries-old myth that women are too biologically erratic to be useful or valuable. Since the 1960s, feminist health campaigners have fought tirelessly against the suppression of drugs’ side effects and systemic gender and racial bias in clinical research, from both inside and outside the medical establishment. Women forced changes in law and practice by campaigning from the ground up. Their efforts, ultimately, have made medications, including the contraceptive pill and hormone replacement therapy, safer for all women. And medical feminism has a long, fascinating, and inspiring history of women raising their heads above the parapet to ensure that women are represented, cared for and listened to. Feminist social reformers denounced medicine’s perpetuation of women’s “natural” inferiority in the 18th century. Grassroots activists in the 1970s empowered women to reclaim the ownership and enjoyment of their bodies from man-made medical mystification, and created knowledge for women, by women. In the decades and centuries in between, feminist physicians, socialists, researchers and reformers have defended women’s body rights and freedoms—from normalizing menstruation and celebrating sexual pleasure to legalizing contraception and defending reproductive autonomy. Medicine is working to revolutionize its practice and protocols, but there is a long legacy to quash when it comes to women’s bodies and minds. I know from experience that this legacy continues to stymie effective and timely care, diagnosis, and treatment. It is well past time for medicine’s checkered past to give way to a future where the fabric of women’s experience is recognized and respected in its entirety. I believe that the only way to move forward, to change the culture of myth and misdiagnosis that obscures medicine’s understanding of unwell women, is to learn from our history. In the man-made world, women’s bodies and minds have been the primary battleground of gender oppression. To dismantle this painful legacy in medical knowledge and practice, we must first understand where we are and how we got here. No unwell woman should be reduced to a file of notes, a set of clinical observations, a case study lurking in an archive. Medicine must listen to and believe our testimonies about our own bodies and ultimately turn its energies, time, and money toward finally solving our medical mysteries. The answers reside in our bodies, and in the histories our bodies have always been writing. Dutton Adapted from Unwell Women by Elinor Cleghorn. Copyright 2021 by Elinor Cleghorn. Published by arrangement with Dutton, an imprint of Penguin Publishing Group/Random House/The Knopf Doubleday Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC. Get our History Newsletter. Put today's news in context and see highlights from the archives. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! 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After a hit BTS Meal that boosted sales, hip-hop star Saweetie is next in line for her own McDonald's meal.

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Ten crispy chicken nuggets, medium fries and a Coke: a classic McDonald’s order. But add sides of cajun and sweet chili sauces and a collectible purple box and you’ve just placed an order for the BTS Meal, this summer’s collaboration between the seven-member Korean pop sensation and the fast food giant. It was a small addition, yet on a quarterly earnings call this week, McDonald’s partially credited a 25% sales increase in the U.S. to the collaboration. Launched in late May and officially concluded on June 20, the BTS Meal followed a history of big-ticket star collaborations between McDonald’s and buzzy parts of pop culture. And on July 29, McDonald’s announced the next celebrity to receive a meal treatment: 28-year-old Californian rapper Saweetie, whose song “Best Friend” with Doja Cat went platinum this year. Her meal: a Big Mac, 4-piece chicken nuggets, fries, Sprite and sides of bbq and “Saweetie-N-Sour” sauce. In the 90s and 2000s—and continuing to this day—Happy Meals partnered with movie releases, intended to drive audiences to the box office and provide kids with collectible pieces of kitsch. Cartoon characters and superheroes are prevalent. (Most recently, you can find Disney Pixar’s new animated movie Luca featured in a box.) But lately, McDonald’s has turned to real-life stars—specifically, globally hitmaking musicians—to drive sales, with food and collectible merch as the main appeal, instead of free plastic souvenirs. In September 2020, their Travis Scott meal (Quarter Pounder with bacon, fries with BBQ sauce, Sprite) netted the rap star about $20 million, according to a Forbes profile, and some franchises even ran out of ingredients. It was the first McDonald’s meal named after a celebrity since 1992’s Michael Jordan meal. October’s J Balvin meal (Big Mac without pickles, fries and ketchup, Oreo McFlurry) was similarly popular. Now known as the biggest band in the world, BTS has a powerful fan base that turns performances and video clips viral in a matter of minutes. They have rallied to support philanthropic efforts and to ensure that streaming numbers regularly break records. And their other commercial partnerships—with brands like Hyundai, Samsung and Fila—have proved fruitful, as fans happily shell out for BTS-branded items. (The McDonald’s meal collaboration was followed by two merch collections as well.) According to McDonald’s president and CEO Chris Kempczinski, that was borne out in the BTS Meal reaction. “It has been, to borrow a BTS lyric, Dynamite,” he said during the July 28 earnings call, referring to the group’s 2020 hit song. “We saw significant lifts in McNuggets sales and record breaking levels of social engagement.” For BTS, the launch coincided with the release of their summer single “Butter,” which was incorporated into a commercial starring the septet. For McDonald’s, it came on the heels of a challenging year for the restaurant business, especially quick-serve establishments. The company’s 2020 earnings took a hit due to pandemic-related downturns, with increased U.S. revenue at the end of 2020 not quite offsetting the slowdown in global sales, missing Wall Street projections by 2%. This summer’s BTS meal helped them get back on track, plus some: sales for existing U.S. locations beat analysts’ projections for the past quarter, showing numbers up nearly 15% compared to the same period in 2019. “We saw our customers framing and even selling their receipts from the Travis Scott and J Balvin meals,” says Jennifer Healan, Vice President of U.S. Marketing, Brand Content and Engagement for McDonald’s, “so we wanted to build on that fan passion for memorabilia.” And, given BTS’s well-known dominance on social media, she says McDonald’s took inspiration from K-pop marketing tactics, sharing a release schedule, concept photos and teasers in advance so fans could plan their purchases, just like with an album release cycle. The result: they broke their own records of social engagement across channels, trending number two on Twitter globally and number one in the U.S. Their TV commercial also trended on YouTube and remains easily their most-liked piece of content there, with over 4 million views. Ultimately, that translated into sales. Sales jumped 25.9% in the U.S. for the quarter, attributed in part to the BTS Meal (and a revamped chicken sandwich offering). Internationally, the meals proved particularly popular: in Indonesia, franchises had to shut down due to too much demand to cope with COVID precautions. In Malaysia, the Philippines and Vietnam, Kempczinski said on the earnings call that “the BTS ARMY went out of their way to prepare snacks for our crew and managers to support them on launch day.” Tapping into pop star power is not new for McDonald’s. In the 2000s, celebrities like Britney Spears and *NSYNC featured heavily in marketing, with CDs available in-store. Those partnerships never included specific meal, however, and they faded out of fashion over the past few decades. But celebrity collaboration has made its comeback this year—not only for McDonald’s, but also for fellow fast food brands: there was “The Charli” coffee order at Dunkin’ Donuts, the “Shawn Mendes Bowl” with cauliflower rice at Chipotle, Miley Cyrus’s “Guac is extra but so is Miley burrito” also at Chipotle, and a special menu at Wendy’s with custom orders matched to (and promoted by) a selection of Twitch’s top gaming streamers. Oreo also struck gold with their cult-status Chromatica cookies, designed after Lady Gaga’s last album. That these brands are opting for high-wattage endorsements and partnerships to add shine to their offerings should come as little surprise: not only are the 2020s shaping up to be an era of extreme nostalgia for the glossy pop heyday of the 90s and 2000s, but also savvy consumers—particularly younger customers—want and expect more from the products they shell out for. French fries served up in a novel purple box may be just the extra push someone needs to make a purchase, especially if there’s a connection to a beloved star. And a name like Saweetie, who is currently a rising star with songs that are known for viral popularity on apps like TikTok, could add a tastemaking edge to the seminal brand. “A critical goal of ours with these collaborations is to create a cultural moment for the brand that resonates with a new generation. And we want to make sure we’re staying relevant with our younger customers and crew members,” Healan says. Fast food in the U.S. is a $279 billion market; growth is projected for 2021 as the economy, and life, comes back online. McDonald’s is taking a gamble on Saweetie, who does not have the same level of name recognition and superstardom as J Balvin, Travis Scott or BTS. But she does have over 12 million Instagram followers. And when a burger is only $2, any boost—from BTS, Saweetie or otherwise—can make a big difference. The Leadership Brief. Conversations with the most influential leaders in business and tech. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Write to Raisa Bruner at raisa.bruner@time.com.

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Tom Daley went viral when he was spotted knitting while cheering on the divers at the women’s 3-meter springboard final.

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Tom Daley has been making a name for himself at the Tokyo Olympic Games on and off the diving board. The British diver, who has been competing in the Olympics since he was 14 years old, won a gold medal last week in synchronized 10-m platform diving alongside his diving partner, Matty Lee. Daley, though, has stayed in the headlines thanks to what he calls “his secret weapon”—his knitting skills. Daley went viral when he was spotted knitting while cheering on the divers at the women’s 3-meter springboard final. It was such an unexpected sight that the BBC’s sports commentators mentioned it on air during their coverage of the diving competition. “What do you reckon he’s crafting there?” asked BBC commentator Katherine Downes. “I wonder who he’s making that purple concoction for?” It even made it to Team Great Britain’s official Twitter page. (Daley later reported that he was making a sweater for his friend’s French bulldog.) Since then Daley’s knitting has been newsworthy—especially when he posted the medal cozy he made to keep his gold medal safe from scratches on his knitting Instagram account, @madewithlovebytomdaley. Now, Daley has unveiled his masterpiece, a Team Great Britain cardigan with the Olympic rings emblazoned on the back, sharing the image of the incredibly complex craft project on his social media. “When I got to Tokyo, I wanted to make something that would remind me of the Olympics to look back on in the future,” he captioned the photo. “I designed a pattern for the colour work that would signify everything about these games! On the back I went for classic @teamgb logo, the shoulders have a flag and GBR on them. For the front I wanted to keep it simple and I tried my best to embroider TOKYO in Japanese!” The end result is a downright stunning hand-knit cardigan, sure to impress even the most prolific amateur knitters. While he has the world’s attention, Daley decided to use his platform for good. “Since my knitting page is gaining momentum, I wanted to take the opportunity to try and raise some money for the @thebraintumourcharity in memory of my Dad!,” he wrote. “Any donations would be greatly appreciated.” Daley’s father, Robert Daley, died in 2011 after a battle with brain cancer. Read more about the Tokyo Olympics: Get The Brief. Sign up to receive the top stories you need to know right now. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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Twitter pushed back against growing public pressure to end anonymity on the platform to prevent racist attacks on sports players of color, in a blog post published Tuesday.

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Twitter pushed back against growing public pressure to end anonymity on the platform to prevent racist attacks on sports players of color, in a blog post published Tuesday. Three Black players on England’s soccer team received torrents of racist abuse on Twitter and Instagram after missing goal opportunities in the final of the Euro 2020 tournament in June. Twitter said it removed more than 2,000 posts in total for racist abuse relating to the final. Many of the U.K.’s major sporting bodies, as well as the public and media commentators, responded to the abuse by calling on social media platforms to end online anonymity and force users to sign up using official ID documents. More than 690,000 people signed a petition calling on the U.K. government to make verified forms of ID a legal requirement for new social media accounts. “It’s time tech firms ban all anonymous accounts and insist on ID so we can see how brave these bigoted scumbags feel when they’re made accountable,” wrote Piers Morgan, a columnist for British tabloid the Daily Mail. The Premier League also called on social media platforms to subject all users to an “improved verification process” that would help law enforcement identify the people behind any accounts that are involved in racist abuse. “We cannot succeed until you change the ability of offenders to remain anonymous,” the League wrote in a letter to the CEOs of Twitter and Facebook (which owns Instagram) in April 2021. However, in the report published Tuesday, Twitter poured cold water on the idea that anonymity is a significant driver of racism online. The company said that 99% of accounts suspended for racist abuse after the Euro 2020 final were not anonymous. “Our data suggests that ID verification would have been unlikely to prevent the abuse from happening—as the accounts we suspended themselves were not anonymous.” Anonymity: ‘a convenient scapegoat’ The news was welcomed by digital activists who had come out in support of online anonymity. “Twitter’s confirmation that most of the accounts associated with racist attacks during the Euro 2020 final were not anonymous is further proof that anonymity is not the problem, but instead a convenient scapegoat,” says Melody Patry, advocacy director at Access Now, a digital rights group. “Addressing online abuse means having the political will and resources to tackle racism, the root cause of the attacks. That’s true for the platforms as well as governments.” “As long as racism exists offline, we will continue to see people try and bring these views online—it is a scourge technology cannot solve alone,” Twitter said in the blog post. “Everyone has a role to play—including the government and the football authorities—and ​​we will continue to call for a collective approach to combat this deep societal issue.” Twitter said it was trialing temporary automatic blocking of accounts that use harmful language and it was rolling out prompts that encourage users to rethink the words they use in replies. Read more: Online Anonymity Isn’t Driving Abuse of Black Sports Stars. Systemic Racism Is The U.K. government has said that its upcoming online safety legislation will “address anonymous harmful activity.” But it has signaled that it is wary of forcing users to sign up to social media with official identification. “User ID verification for social media could disproportionately impact vulnerable users and interfere with freedom of expression,” the government said in a response to the petition calling for such a policy. Hate crime In the U.K., posting racist comments online targeting specific individuals can be prosecuted as a hate crime. Twitter and Instagram said they had removed thousands of racist comments in the wake of the Euro 2020 final, yet the U.K.’s National Police Chief’s Council (NPCC) released a statement on Aug. 5 saying that of 207 posts deemed to be criminal, only 34 (16%) had come from accounts in Britain, and 11 arrests related to the abuse had been made. Some observers initially suspected that users in other countries were largely responsible for the bulk of the racist tweets. “I know a lot of that [abuse] has come from abroad, people who track these things are able to explain that, but not all of it,” said the England team’s manager, Gareth Southgate, in the immediate aftermath of the team’s defeat. A lawmaker in the ruling Conservative Party, Michael Fabricant, even called on the government to investigate how much abuse had come from outside the U.K. “Is it overseas fans or foreign states attempting to destabilize our society?” he wrote in a letter to the Home Secretary. “I hope…this abuse is not home grown.” Twitter’s report on Tuesday may have dashed such hopes. “While many have quite rightly highlighted the global nature of the conversation, it is also important to acknowledge that the U.K. was—by far—the largest country of origin for the abusive tweets we removed on the night of the Final and in the days that followed,” the company said. A Twitter spokesperson declined to provide the underlying statistics. In a statement to TIME on Wednesday, a spokesperson for the NPCC explained the discrepancy by saying Twitter’s reference to more than 2,000 racist tweets “relate[s] to a different category of posts” than those police investigated and that not all racist posts had been reported to law enforcement. “Our investigative update focused on the 207 posts that had met the criminal threshold out of 600 posts that were flagged to us from across social media platforms by individuals, charities and clubs,” the statement said. “We investigate those reports and referrals that we receive. Posts that don’t meet the criminal threshold are a matter for social media companies.” The NPCC said on Aug. 5 that it was still waiting for social media companies to share information about 50 (24%) of the 207 accounts deemed to have tweeted racist abuse that met the criminal threshold. Read more: Black England Soccer Players Are Being Racially Abused on Social Media. How Can the Platforms Do Better? The delay hints at another potential roadblock for arrests: social media companies themselves. The platforms tend to safeguard their users’ data from law enforcement requests. Twitter transparency data show that in the second half of 2020, the most recent period for which numbers are available, Twitter complied with just 33.6% of requests for user information from UK law enforcement, the company’s lowest rate of compliance since 2015. Twitter’s resistance to demands from police has won the company praise in other countries. It has refused thousands of requests by the Indian government to hand over data on users such as dissidents and political opponents. But in the U.K., footballing bodies have criticized social media companies’ hesitance to hand over data. In April, the Premier League boycotted Twitter and Instagram for several days over what it said was a failure to tackle racist abuse, specifically calling on the companies to “actively and expeditiously assist the investigating authorities in identifying the originators of illegal discriminatory material.” Twitter did not respond to a request for comment. Still, in the case of the Euro 2020 tournament, U.K. police say platforms were quicker to act than they are during the rest of the football season, when racist abuse does not go away. “We have only been able to progress the investigations and make early arrests because the social media platforms have turned our requests around so promptly,” said Chief Constable Mark Roberts, the UK National Police Chiefs’ Council lead for football policing, in a statement to TIME. “My hope and expectation is that the same level of responsiveness is carried forward as we need to relentlessly tackle hate crime 365 days a year and not just during tournaments.” The Leadership Brief. Conversations with the most influential leaders in business and tech. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Write to Billy Perrigo at billy.perrigo@time.com.

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A researcher thought Disney princesses had a negative impact on young girls. The results of her new study surprised her.

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It’s a twist even more surprising than the end of Frozen: Disney princesses may not be so bad for children after all. For years books like Peggy Orenstein’s Cinderella Ate My Daughter and studies on the short-term impact of watching, playing with and dressing up as Disney princesses suggested that those fairy tales starring waifish women could have a negative impact on girls’ body image, and the more retrograde princesses—the damsels like Sleeping Beauty and Snow White who do little but wait around to be saved by princes—might reinforce antiquated ideas about women’s helplessness for girls and toxic masculinity for boys. Sarah Coyne, a professor and researcher at Brigham Young University, played a major role in the debate over princess culture. Inspired by her own anxieties over her daughter’s obsession with princesses, she conducted a study with 307 4- and 5-year-old children (about half of whom identified as boys and half of whom identified as girls) in 2012 and 2013 in which she asked children and parents how often they watched Disney princess films and TV shows, how often they played with princess toys and asked them to rank their favorite toys from a box of play things that are typically considered “feminine” (tea sets and dolls), “masculine” (action figure and tool set) and “neutral” (puzzles and paint sets). She found that high engagement with princess culture was associated with more female-stereotypical behavior one year later for both boys and girls—a reassuring result for parents of boys who love princesses and grow to be more in touch with their emotions, but a scary one for parents trying to find ways to teach their daughters strength and independence. The results launched 1000 headlines about how gendered play reinforced negative stereotypes for girls and rankled many princess-positive parents. But now Coyne has published a follow-up study in which she interviewed about half of the children in that same group (as many as were willing to participate five years later), now 10 and 11 years old. She asked them to indicate how much they related to stereotypical gendered statements like “Swearing is worse for a girl than a boy” or “I like babies and small children.” She was shocked to find that girls who were obsessed with princess culture at 5 were actually more likely to hold progressive views about gender roles—to advocate for both female empowerment and for men to express their emotions—at age 10. And there was no discernible difference in body image for children who played more or less with princesses. In fact, princess culture seemed to have a positive effect on body image for children from lower-income families, upending Coyne’s expectations that princess culture would lead to obsession with weight and image. In fairness to Disney, their princess movies do center on women’s stories, perhaps tacitly communicating that women are worthy of their own narrative. But it’s also worth noting that the first study was conducted before the release of Frozen, a massive hit in which a princess’ “true love” is not her suitor but her sister, which launched the most successful animated franchise ever and changed the trajectory of the genre. The princess movies that followed, like Moana and Raya and the Last Dragon, explicitly aimed to empower young girls with stories full of adventure and devoid of romance. More subtly, they’ve also tried to model empathetic and egalitarian behavior in the men who play supporting roles in those movies. Coyne spoke to TIME about the many surprising results from her study and what Disney could still improve about princess culture. What were your expectations going into the study? This is a follow-up study from what we did in 2016 when kids were 4 to 5. That study found that girls, especially, who were really into princess culture tended to be more gender stereotyped a year later. So I expected that to continue onward. But we didn’t find that at all. And in the early study, we didn’t find any impacts of princesses on body image. And that’s actually why I followed up again when they were 10 and 11. I thought at age 4 most kids have pretty good body image, but I thought that early princess exposure would be related to worse body image in early adolescence. Again, nope. It was the other way around. Read More: ‘A Doll For Everyone’: Meet Mattel’s Gender-Neutral Doll O.K., so when it comes to views of gender, what changed for those girls who were more gender stereotyped in the first study and developed more egalitarian views over five years? From ages 4 to 5, kids’ perceptions of gender are fairly rigid. And when we look at gender development as a whole, things become a little bit more flexible over time. The kids’ favorite princesses also changed dramatically from when they were 4 to when they were 11. Early on, they liked the more gender stereotyped princesses like Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Little Mermaid. And when they were older, we asked them again, and they liked less gender stereotyped princesses like Mulan, or Elsa, Moana, the princesses who are more independent, whose stories are about adventure rather than romance. Research from BYU indicates that engagement with princess culture has a positive impact on child development over time. Nate Edwards/BYU Photo I wonder if as you get older and understand the story more it becomes less about the signifiers of a princess—the dress, the sparkles—and more about what she’s actually doing. And those early princesses from the ‘50s don’t have much to do but be saved, whereas the modern princesses get to go on these big adventures that usually have nothing to do with falling in love. I think so. We also looked at who the children most closely identified with at 4 years old. And we assumed that a kid who identified with Cinderella would be very different from a kid who identified with Merida [from Brave] a few years later. But they weren’t. I wonder if it’s just that princess culture as a whole does a great job of putting princesses at the forefront of the story. And there are lots and lots of different princesses. So I suspect that a lot of the kids in our sample liked more than one princess. And they were exposed to all of these women, many of them strong and independent women in leading roles. So I think that has an impact over time. You got a lot of hate mail when you released that first study saying princesses had a negative impact on gender roles. What has the reaction to this study been? I’ve published a lot of things over the course of my career, like over 100 things, right? And I have never received such a crazy response as to that study. People called for me to be fired. People sent me physical hate mail telling me how useless I was. They called me personal bad names and said I was a bad mother. It was wild. This one has just been out for a hot second here, but BYU posted it on their Twitter account. And again it’s just hatred, calling for me to be fired again, saying I have a leftist agenda, calling for the president of BYU to be fired. I learned that people really have strong feelings about princesses. I personally was surprised by the results of the study. Me too. Just because there have been so many shorter-term studies suggesting that ideation of these unnaturally thin women negatively impacted girls’ body image. Barbie launched a curvy doll exactly because people had been complaining for 50 years she was bad for girls’ body image. There’s been a whole movement to obliterate the pink aisle in toy stores. And, yes, Disney princesses are getting more diverse, but they’re all still thin with big eyes and big hair and the dolls are usually sold in dresses, even if they never wear those dresses in the movies. Yes. The marketing and merchandise seem to always be a step behind the actual movies. In the early study, when we asked the kids who their favorite princess was and why, “I like Rapunzel because she’s blonde” was our No. 1 answer, which was really disturbing to me. I think we had one kid that said, “Mulan because she saved China.” And that stuck with me all these years that only one kid said that. And I just thought as parents, we have a responsibility to talk about media with our kids, to help them make good choices, to help them become critical viewers. Body-image issues are still clearly a problem among young girls. So if it’s not Disney princesses’ fault, whose fault is it? Barbie. I think you can blame Barbie. [Laughs.] This was one that I was like, “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe this had no impact.” In fact, for low-income kids, [Disney princesses] had a positive impact on body image. I’m trying to wrack my brain about why that would be because study after study shows if you’re exposed to the same body ideal over and over again, that has a negative impact on body image. My only theory is when you think about the stories themselves, a lot of them focus on finding the beauty within. I think of Belle from Beauty and the Beast. And although Belle is very thin and beautiful, the whole message of that story is look beyond appearances and focus on the person within. Maybe that gets through somehow beyond just the beautiful yellow ball gown and the tiny waist. But I don’t know. I was flabbergasted when I didn’t find that effect. Whereas Barbie doesn’t have a backstory, really, for children to latch onto. She’s literally just a body. Exactly. Read More: Barbie’s Got a New Body: What the Curvy Barbie Says About American Beauty Ideals You alluded to a surprising socio-economic difference in the study. Basically we found that princess culture was more positive for kids coming from lower-income families than those coming from middle or higher. And this was fascinating because princesses themselves come from high socio-economic status usually. They’re royalty. They live in castles. They have expensive clothing. Psychological theory would suggest that we model those that we perceive as most similar to ourselves. But maybe it’s because there’s also a lot of these rags-to-riches kind of stories. Tiana is one that comes to mind who works really, really hard for her job and she has all these ambitions and at the end gets her own restaurant. I know you pulled kids from Utah and kids from Oregon from your study. Did you ask the parents about their politics? We did not. But we are collecting data right now on princesses in the more diverse sample where we do ask about politics. And so watch this space. I suspect it will have an impact. There needs to be more research in this area because our study was 87% white kids. I don’t know how generalizable it is to all sorts of different populations. Is it possible that parents are just sitting down with their kids while they’re watching these movies and talking through some of the more problematic tropes with them, offsetting possible negative effects? I don’t have an answer to that. In the early study we asked how often they watch media with their kids and how much they talked about it. And what we found is talking about the movie resulted in the kids being even more gender stereotyped. I wonder if the way that parents talk to their kids about princesses changes over those five years. Early on I think that they focus really on a lot of the appearance-related things, kind of the glitz and glamour of princesses. That’s not the case by 10 or 11. We asked parents themselves why they liked princesses and why they don’t. And we had a wide variety of responses. Some love ’em, some hate’ em. I remember a mom saying, “I’m a super feminist. I vowed to never have my child watch princesses, and I was powerless to stop it. Like all she wants to do is princesses, and I’m freaking out.” I think a lot of mothers are like that. Maybe the study will just allow people to relax a little bit and find the magic in the princesses while still talking about them with their kids and not just buying your kids a pretty dress. Do you think there’s anything Disney can do better in terms of their princess content? They’re doing better in terms of representation of race and ethnicity but representation of body size and shape—we have this unrealistic body still. Moana is the one princess I can think of that is at least average size. She is very muscular. But we don’t see any princesses with a large body type. And in terms of representation and helping kids with their own body esteem, I think that would be a delightful move, to be able to show princesses of all shapes and sizes, with all colors as well. But what happens when Disney reads you saying this and thinks, “But your study just said it didn’t matter so we can make as many skinny princesses as we want”? Damn it. Look, probably for the majority of people, it doesn’t have an impact. But there’s probably one or two kids out there who maybe are a little bit overweight, who are thinking, “Where am I? Who am I? I don’t see myself. Does that mean I’m not pretty enough? Does that mean I’m not good enough?” So it’s probably like a smaller minority that maybe got washed away in the larger data set. We didn’t examine how much each child weighed and then moderate by body type or size—or for that matter, many other factors. So that would be something interesting to look at in the future to see if certain groups of kids are higher risk. How do you feel as a parent about the results of your study? I feel reassured. I really do. I’ve done a lot of research on all sorts of topics, but this one has also really changed me as a parent. We let our kids watch princesses, have dolls, all of that, which you might find interesting given our early study. My daughter Hannah inspired the study when she was 3 years old. She loved princesses. Loved to dress up. Everything about her room was princesses. And I read Cinderella Ate My Daughter by Peggy Orenstein, and I thought, “Oh my gosh, I’m destroying my child. That’s it. She’s gonna have an eating disorder when she’s 13.” And Peggy said there hasn’t been a lot of research on this topic. And I thought, “I’ll do the study. Let’s find out how it actually impacts kids.” And we found that early study had kind of those negative results for girls. But instead of banning princesses, which I think I could have done—she was 5 or 6 at the time when the results came out—I decided to really shift the way that I talked about princesses and focus on the personal qualities. When the study came out, Brave had just come out in theaters. And I’m like, “This is not gender-stereotyped princess at all. This is a fantastically brave, strong, independent woman.” And so I really used princesses as an opportunity to discuss what I consider to be an example of strong womanhood. And we would point out things—like when she had a Merida doll, it didn’t look like Merida from the Brave movie; it was more feminized and slimmer, and they took away her bow and gave her a sparkly sash. And we were able to have that conversation about the differences. And then the second thing it changed was how I parent my son. So I have one daughter and four sons. One of my sons Liam adores princesses. He was obsessed with them as a young child, loved to dress up like Elsa, has all the dolls. Still loves princesses at age 8. And the study allowed me to just be really relaxed about it. I live in a really conservative area. I live in Utah where a lot of parents kind of look funny at their son if they want to do that kind of thing. But I think because I did the earlier research that found that it was great for boys, I was able to let him explore that side of himself. And this kid’s fantastic. He’s this budding little feminist who will call out sexism every time he sees it. There’s all sorts of things that can contribute to that, but I’d like to think maybe with our new results, there’s a small part of princess culture that helps them see these amazing strong women in film, as opposed to superheroes, which are predominantly the hyper masculinization that we often feed our little boys. Right, in addition to finding that Disney princesses were actually good for girls’ perception of gender, the study found that boys benefit too. Why do you think that is? I think it’s seeing strong women onscreen. But I also think the more recent films have more positive portrayals of masculinity. One of my favorite characters is Christoph in Frozen. He’s not like your muscular, ideal manly man. He’s a little softer, and he sings about his emotions. He works together with Ana. He asks for consent when he kisses her for the first time. It’s this beautiful egalitarian relationship. The male characters are changing at a far slower rate, I would say, on the whole, but we’re getting somewhere. We’re making progress. Sign up for our Entertainment newsletter. Subscribe to More to the Story to get the context you need for the pop culture you love. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Write to Eliana Dockterman at eliana.dockterman@time.com.

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"The fact is that without equity in health care, we will not prevent the next pandemic," writes Sunita Narain.

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time

Preventing the next pandemic will require not only investment into infectious disease prevention and management, but a tectonic shift in our policies for global development more broadly. We are as strong as our weakest link, and the findings of the TIME survey must be understood through this perspective. Despite supporting the broad goal of zeroing out emissions, the experts polled said specific land use and climate change efforts such as modifying food habits and protecting ecosystems were relatively less important. In some ways, that makes sense, as they do seem distant in the desperate urgency of the moment. In this time of crisis, we naturally prioritize things that can be done quickly—from scaling up vaccine supply to supply chain logistics. But none of this will endure without policies that focus on providing for all; equity in health services and surveillance systems that will work for the rich and the poor. And that’s where land use and climate change become essential. We know today that climate change impacts are making the poor even poorer—increasing frequency of extreme weather events destroy livestock and property and the investment made to improve development by governments, forces people to migrate and makes the world more insecure. We also know that current food systems that depend on intensive animal farming practices require extensive use of natural resources—from forests that need to be cut to make space for livestock farms to feed that is grown using valuable land and scarce water resources. That not only puts the livelihood of many around the world at risk, but also, research has shown, increases the spread of infectious diseases. Meanwhile, the lack of clean water or sanitation for all is compromising our ability to manage infectious diseases. Air pollution because of continued use of dirty coal and biofuels is impairing lung functions—putting people in heavily polluted areas at higher risk for severe symptoms of infections like COVID-19. Diabetes—a food and lifestyle disease—is adding to the cost of health care and making COVID-19 treatment more expensive and difficult. I could go on. But the fact is that we cannot ignore these connections just because we find them unfeasible in the short term. We need to move from the pragmatic to the idealist world. The fact is that without equity in health care, we will not prevent the next pandemic. It is the same for climate change. This is why we must look at the opportunities we have now that cut across both climate change and public health. If we invest in the livelihoods of the poor by planting trees and securing local food systems we build resilience—while also combating climate change by sequestering carbon dioxide in the natural systems. These sorts of win-win scenarios happen when we put the poor at the center of the solution. It may come at a higher cost than cheap carbon offsets, but builds local economies that will work to reverse migration and have the strength to manage health for all. The bottom-line is that preventing the next pandemic needs us to secure a world that is less divided, less angry and less insecure. Nothing less will do. The Coronavirus Brief. Everything you need to know about the global spread of COVID-19 Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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"The events of 1720, 1929, and, quite possibly right now, show that booms always overwhelm reason; markets are not always rational."

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Since January, U.S. financial markets have been on a tear, a wild ride that began as the Biden administration completed its first full week in power. Five months later, the benchmark Dow and the wider S&P indexes have reached record highs, while individual assets have behaved…well, exuberantly, most spectacularly in the sudden 1,200 percent rise and 40% drop in the price of Dogecoin, a cybercurrency initially launched as a joke. Most nervous-making for market historians, the price-to-earnings ratio for the S&P 500 had climbed past forty four by mid-May—almost three times its long-term average of about sixteen, and remains around 40 today. That means it now costs about forty dollars to buy one dollar of the earnings of the five hundred largest U.S. companies, a level seen in previous market panics. Such data has prompted comparisons with the lead-in to 1929’s Black Friday crash. Nobel laureate Robert Schiller pointedly drew that link in April, writing that in the late 1920s, and by implication, again today “people played the market as a grand game abetted by technological innovation and new mass media.” Yet, while popular enthusiasm played its part in 1929 and in crashes before and since, there is a story from the earliest days of financial capitalism that suggests the problem isn’t just that sometimes some people act foolishly. It is rather that money manias reliably and systematically evoke such folly. The first boom and crash took place in London in 1720, in what we now call the South Sea Bubble. Those who lived through describe scenes of madness—along with misdeeds, con-men ruining honest, simpler folk. Such tales reinforce the idea that it is individual mistakes, not market failures, that produce crashes. But there is a story of two men, both experts, each with very different approaches to deciding what the market was worth, that reveals a deeper pathology within financial disasters, then and since. Their adventure began in January, 1720 when the Britain’s government struck a deal with the South Sea Company. The Company had been founded nine years earlier to lend money to the Treasury, while receiving in return a monopoly of the kingdom’s trade in goods and slaves with Spanish America. In the new deal, the Company would be allowed to issue new shares, exchanging them for British government bonds, a mountain of debt created over three decades of war. Those who agreed to swap their bonds for shares would then get a reduced dividend in place of their regular bond payments, plus a fraction of hoped-for profits from the trans-Atlantic trade. As soon news of the bargain leaked, South Sea shares started to climb, tripling from January to April. That swift jump did not raise any red flags. The journalist Daniel Defoe, fresh off his triumph with Robinson Crusoe, wrote in April that “the present rate of stock is far from being exorbitant,” and that boldness was all: “A man that is out of the stocks,” he added, “may almost as well be out of the world.” Demand for South Sea shares accelerated through that spring, until it reached its peak in late June: £1,000 (well over £100,000 in 21st century money), up almost nine times in the year. We know now that such a price for the actual economic activity represented by South Sea shares was absurd, unsustainable. But could anyone living through the frenzy have figured that out before the crash? Read More: NFTs Are Shaking Up the Art World—But They Could Change So Much More Yes. At least one person did: a member of Parliament and a fellow of the Royal Society named Archibald Hutcheson. In the spring of 1720 he built something no one else had: a mathematical model that enabled him to calculate whether the South Sea Company could make enough money to justify its stock price—at any level the market might reach. His answer never changed. It could not. From the moment the Company began to sell its new shares to the public at its mid-April level of £300, Hucheson’s model gave the same answer: there was no plausible way the Company could sell enough slaves and stuff to justify that price. As market climbed, he repeated that calculation, each time showing a widening gap between the South Sea stock price and the likelihood of the Company earning enough to match the return from other, safer investments–like the government bonds investors were racing to convert into Company stock. Finally, when South Sea shares blew by £500, Hutcheson gave up. No one cared. Given “this blazing and astonishing meteor,” he wrote, mere numbers could not keep folly at bay. In time, perhaps, “people… may then begin to think more coolly about this Matter, and hearken a little to Reason and Demonstration.” That day would come, but not yet. To be fair to those who would lose so much in the coming months, the concept of applying math to the stock market was still brand new. It was even unfamiliar even to the man who had created much of the mathematics that describes change over time. In 1720, Isaac Newton was an experienced investor, with a broad portfolio that included government obligations, shares in the Bank of England, the East India Company and South Sea Company itself. At first, he played it safe, selling his South Sea holdings by May, booking a significant profit, millions in 2020 terms. Then, as the market continued to rise, he second-guessed himself. What he’d “lost” by not hanging on as South Sea shares approached £1,000 gnawed at him. A few weeks after selling, he gave in, buying shares again right at the June peak. He bought yet more in mid-August with the market still near its highs. Newton was hardly alone in such behavior. His story was repeated over and over again that summer—and since in booms and busts into the 21st century. Experiencing or witnessing sudden gains engenders money manias. During that first great Bubble, the seemingly unstoppable rise of South Sea shares persuaded thousands who had no prior experience of financial markets that the appearance of sudden wealth was normal, and permanent. For just one example, in May 1720, a minor government official named James Windham wrote to his mother that “I grow so rrich so fast that I like stock jobbing of all things.” Of no prior wealth, he was now in a position, he said, to turn himself into gentry, buying land worth, in 21st century terms, between £1.5 and £3 million. Newton’s experience is exemplary, that is, not unique. It’s the same psychology that makes casinos work: the emotional power of money, the chance at a fortune encourages behavior that on paper looks risky, or even crazy. The collapse started just three weeks after Newton’s second purchase. By early October, the Company’s shares had lost 70% from their top, hitting pre-Bubble levels by Christmas. Windham lost all he had and more. Like Newton, he had risked more money in August, then lost it all. By December, he was bankrupt, and told his brother that he would seek his fortune along the usual path for an undone Englishman: “The sea is fittest for an undone man,” he wrote, “so I’m for that. Newton survived the crash in better shape. By his reckoning, he lost something over £3 million in 21st century money, but retained as much or a little more in other investments. Still, the loss was a blow, as much to his pride as his purse. He would later tell his niece, “I can calculate the motion of heavenly bodies, but not the madness of people.” For “the people,” read Newton himself; it was his own errors that cost him so dearly. But why had he been so reckless? There was no one else in London — probably, no one alive anywhere in the world — better equipped to do the math on the Company’s prospects. How had he missed what Hutcheson, with nowhere near Newton’s mathematical brilliance, plainly understood: that it is possible to quantify questions of risk and value. The answer is that Newton, for all his smarts, was human. The events of 1720, 1929, and, quite possibly right now, show that booms always overwhelm reason; markets are not always rational. The Bubble year echoes in this spring of 2021. Several companies, most famously but far from uniquely, Gamestop, have seen their own mini-bubbles rising to levels far above what their businesses were ever worth. And the more recent wild swings in Bitcoin and other cryptocurrency markets offer rides as wild as anything Newton and his contemporaries experienced. There are plenty of individual choices within each of those boomlets, but the problem isn’t personal, it’s systematic. If even the greatest scientific thinker of his day, and maybe ever, could not master his emotions during a money mania, what chance do all the rest of us have? Ultimately, the fact that humans predictably behave foolishly during market extremes is why finance needs regulation. No rule can stop individuals from making reckless choices, but since 1929, regulation has been shown to be capable of reducing the risk of catastrophic consequences for both individuals and the financial system as a whole. A simple measure like the increase in margin requirements—how much money a broker can lend to a client to buy shares—limits, though it definitely doesn’t eliminate, the amount of damage that can flow from a single speculative decision. There are analogous safeguards after various crashes have been imposed on major players in the markets as well. But in time, each disaster fades from memory, while new market techniques emerge without a companion increase in vigilance—which is what lay behind the most recent major financial crisis, the Great Recession that followed the market crash of 2008. Newton and his fellow losers in 1720 could plead one mitigating factor for their folly: they didn’t know what was happening to them in that first market catastrophe. Three centuries later, we do not have that excuse. Sign up for Inside TIME. Be the first to see the new cover of TIME and get our most compelling stories delivered straight to your inbox. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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After "The Suicide Squad," Warner Bros. has 18 movies and TV shows in the works for the DCEU, including The Suicide Squad spinoff, "Peacemaker."

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The Suicide Squad—not to be confused with its 2016 predecessor Suicide Squad, hold the “the”—is the first DC superhero movie to hit the big screen since the COVID-19 pandemic began. The movie also happens to be a soft reboot of the Suicide Squad story. While characters seen in the last movie, like Harley Quinn (Margot Robbie) and Rick Flag (Joel Kinnaman) seem to know each other from the previous film, there’s absolutely no acknowledgement of Will Smith’s Deadshot or Cara Delevigne’s Enchantress. It’s a bit confusing. More confusing still is Warner Bros. “multiple worlds” strategy for the DC Entertainment Universe (DCEU). Like the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU), the DC movies are headed into a multiverse where different versions of the same heroes can exist in parallel universes and—inevitably—traverse the time-space continuum to meet one another. Just like we’ll likely see multiple Spider-Men in Marvel’s Spider-Man: No Way Home before the year is out, it’s guaranteed we’ll see multiple Batmen—one played by Ben Affleck, another by Michael Keaton—in DC’s upcoming movie about The Flash. And you won’t just see them on the big screen: DC is also rolling out more in-universe television series to tie into their films. And sorry Snydercut fans: While DC has announced dozens of projects in development, none of them seem to continue the future stories hinted at at the end of Zack Snyder’s cut of Justice League. We’re unlikely to see Martian Manhunter or that sandy apocalypse where Ben Affleck’s Batman and Jared Leto’s Joker team up anytime soon. It’s a lot to keep track of. Here are all the upcoming movies in the DCEU. Read More: How The Suicide Squad End-Credits Scene Sets Up the Future of the DCEU Peacemaker (January 2022 on HBO Max) John Cena is the breakout star of The Suicide Squad. And now his character Peacemaker (whom Cena has described as “a douchey Captain America”) is getting his own spinoff series. During the pandemic break, The Suicide Squad director James Gunn (who also helms the Guardians of the Galaxy movies) began writing a backstory for Peacemaker and eventually turned the story into a TV series that he will also direct. The Batman (March 4, 2022 in Theaters) Warner Bros. Pictures & DC Comics Ben Affleck has retired his Batman cape. (Well, at least partly. More on that later.) So it’s time for yet another version of the Caped Crusader to grace cinema. This time he’ll be played by Robert Pattinson. Matt Reeves, who helmed Cloverfield and two of the recent Planet of the Apes films, is directing the gothic-looking movie. Zoë Kravitz will play Catwoman; Paul Dano will star as the Riddler; and Colin Farrell will be nearly unrecognizable as the Penguin. This Batman and his cohort of villains will exist on a different “Earth” than Affleck’s Batman and his allies and rivals. That means we’ll probably never see Pattinson’s Bruce Wayne in the same room as Gal Gadot’s Wonder Woman. Black Adam (July 29, 2022 in Theaters) Dwayne Johnson attends the premiere of Sony Pictures' "Jumanji: The Next Level" on December 09, 2019 in Hollywood, California. Axelle -- Bauer-Griffin/FilmMagic/Getty Images The Rock has previously performed many impossible feats on screen through his appearances in the the Fast & Furious franchise and other action movies. But he has never, technically, played a superhero. Dwayne Johnson has been vying to play Black Adam for years, and his dreams will finally come to life next summer. “Black Adam is blessed by magic with the powers equal to Superman, but the difference is he doesn’t toe the mark or walk the line,” Johnson wrote on Instagram. “He’s a rebellious, one of a kind superhero.” The character is a nemesis of Shazam, who got his own movie in 2019. Assuming Black Adam performs well at the box office, it’s likely we’ll get to see the two square off in a future film. The Flash (November 4, 2022 in Theaters) Ezra Miller as The Flash in Zack Snyder's Justice League HBO Max The Flash has been delayed for four years, but the movie remains the key to the expansion of the DCEU. Ezra Miller will reprise the role of Barry Allen, the super-fast superhero he played in Justice League. Affleck will return as Batman in seemingly his last appearance in the DCEU films. But he’s not the only Batman that will pop up in The Flash. Michael Keaton will also reprise his role as the 80s-era Batman in the movie. The Flash takes inspiration from the famous Flashpoint comic in which Allen travels back in time to save his mother and, in doing so, creates a parallel timeline. Presumably, one of those timelines contains Affleck’s Batman, the other Keaton’s. The plot is supposed set the stage for future DCEU movies that will be set in the two separate, parallel universes. It will also introduce actor Sasha Calle as Supergirl. Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom (December 16, 2022 in Theaters) Jason Momoa plays the title role in "Aquaman." Courtesy of Warner Bros. Pictures Jason Momoa will return as the protector of the deep in this sequel to Aquaman. In fact, just about everyone involved with the first hit film is back for the second, including stars Amber Heard, Patrick Wilson Yahya Abdul-Mateen II and director James Wan. Warner Bros. has remained mum on the details of the movie, though the title certainly suggests we’ll get to see more of the undersea empire than just Atlantis. Shazam! Fury of the Gods (June 2, 2023 in Theaters) Jack Dylan Grazer as Freddy Freeman and Zachary Levi as Shazam in Shazam! Warner Bros. A hit at the box office, the Shazam! franchise has courted some heavy hitters for its sequel. Helen Mirren and Lucy Liu will join Zachary Levi in the cast for the comedic superhero film. Mirren, specifically, will play the villain Hespera, daughter of the god Atlas Gotham P.D. (TBA on HBO Max) The Batman director Matt Reeves will produce this HBO Max series that will center on the busiest and most corrupt police department in the history of fiction and presumably tie into the plot of the Robert Pattinson film. Batgirl (TBA on HBO Max) Leslie Grace attends the opening night premiere of "In The Heights" during the Tribeca Festival at the United Palace Theatre on June 9, 2021 in New York City. Angela Weiss—AFP via Getty Images The DCEU has scooped up In the Heights star Leslie Grace to play Batgirl. In the comics, Barbara Gordon, the daughter of Commissioner Jim Gordon, moonlights as a superhero. J.K. Simmons, who starred as Jim Gordon in Justice League, is reportedly set to appear in the new film. Batgirl has been in the works for years—Joss Whedon was attached at one point but then departed the project. The new screenplay comes from from Christina Hodson, who worked on both Birds of Prey and The Flash. Blue Beetle (TBA on HBO Max) Xolo Maridueña attends the premiere of "The Suicide Squad" in Los Angeles. Jon Kopaloff—FilmMagic Like Batgirl, Blue Beetle will be an HBO Max exclusive, headed to the streamer between 2022 and 2023. In the comics, Blue Beetle derives his powers from an alien scarab attached to his spine. Xolo Maridueña from Cobra Kai will play the titular hero. Wonder Woman 3 (TBA in Theaters) A still from "Wonder Woman 1984" (2020). Everett Collection A third Wonder Woman movie was announced right when Wonder Woman 1984 dropped in late 2020. Patty Jenkins will once again direct Gal Gadot in the film. Unlike the last two movies, which were set during World War I and the Reagan Era, respectively, Wonder Woman 3 will reportedly take place in modern day. There’s no release date yet so fans will likely have to wait a few years for the next entry, leaving plenty of time to speculate on if and how Chris Pine’s Steve Trevor might appear this time. Supergirl (TBA) Sasha Calle has been cast to play Supergirl, who goes by the name Kara Zor-El and is the cousin of Superman. Superman Reboot (TBA) Ta-Nehisi Coates in Manhattan Elias Williams—The Washington Post via Getty Images MacArthur Genius Grant winner Ta-Nehisi Coates is no stranger to comic books. After writing the bestselling Between the World and Me, he took a turn writing the Black Panther comics. Now, he’s taking a shot at bringing a superhero to the big screen, specifically a Black Superman. J.J. Abrams is set to produce the movie. Zatanna (TBA) Emerald Fennell, winner of Best Original Screenplay for "Promising Young Woman," poses at the Oscars on Sunday, April 25, 2021 Chris Pizzello-Pool—Getty Images Emerald Fennell, the writer-director who won a Best Original Screenplay Oscar for Promising Young Woman, is penning a script for the most powerful sorceress in the DC universe, Zatanna. Justice League Dark (TBA) Filmmaker J.J. Abrams leaves an event launching Apple tv+ at Apple headquarters on March 25, 2019, in Cupertino, California. (Photo by NOAH BERGER / AFP) (Photo credit should read NOAH BERGER/AFP/Getty Images) Noah Berger—AFP/Getty Images J.J. Abrams’ production company Bad Robot is working on an entire universe of Justice League Dark TV shows and films. The heroes who make up this superhero team face weirder and, well, darker villains than the ones Superman and Batman confront. The mysticism seen in the Zatanna movie could potentially tie into this universe. Green Lantern Corps (TBA) The studio’s first attempt at a Green Lantern movie starring Ryan Reynolds faltered and is best remembered as being the butt of several jokes by Reynolds in Deadpool. The studio is trying again and has solicited several scripts from various writers over the years, reportedly aiming to premiere the film in 2022 or 2023. Static Shock (TBA) Michael B. Jordan attends a Just Mercy screening in Los Angeles Tommaso Boddi—WireImage Static Shock is one of several projects Michael B. Jordan is working on to produce with the DCEU. Jordan, of course, has made several forays into Marvel superhero films, first starring in ill-fated Fantastic Four reboot, and then in a masterful turn as Killmonger in Black Panther. Now he’s taking on a role behind the camera to help improve representation in the DCEU. “I’m proud to be a part of building a new universe centered around black superheroes; our community deserves that,” Jordan told Entertainment Tonight. He is also developing his own Black Superman show, though he will not be starring in either series. Blackhawk (TBA) Steven Spielberg attends an awards show in Los Angeles, Calif. on Feb. 16, 2019. Matt Winkelmeyer—Getty Images Steven Spielberg has been set to direct his first DC movie for a few years now, though it’s unclear when production will actually begin. The story centers on the pilot Blackhawk and his squadron during World War II. Joker 2 (TBA) Todd Phillips’ dark take on Joker earned 11 nominations, including Actor in a Leading Role for star Joaquin Phoenix, Adapted Screenplay and Best Picture Warner Bros. Love it or hate it, The Joker is getting a sequel. The controversial film earned an Oscar win for Joaquin Phoenix and struck a decidedly more serious tone than other entries in the DCEU. And despite Phillips’ initial intentions for Joker to be a one-off, the director is now writing a sequel to the supervillain drama. Sign up for our Entertainment newsletter. Subscribe to More to the Story to get the context you need for the pop culture you love. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Write to Eliana Dockterman at eliana.dockterman@time.com.

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Leaders united to harmonize a policy framework for cancer trials for the approval of life-saving drugs, writes Kevin Rudd. Can't they do the same for vaccines?

https://ti.me/3lPYsKB

time

The lack of a coordinated international effort to contain COVID-19 was a failure of global governance that has tragically cost hundreds of thousands of lives. Fortunately, we now have a second chance to develop an effective and harmonized framework for vaccines—now, and for the inevitable next global wave of this pandemic, or the next one. As things stand, global cooperation on vaccines barely exists. But these kinds of alliances—to create, distribute and apply vaccines for the world from day one—are the alliances of the future. To do this, we must draw on vast resources, existing expertise, and the most effective form of international medical collaboration that we can manage, for the sake of global survival. We cannot let people pay for vaccine competition with their lives. It’s that urgent, and that simple. Thankfully, a model for the harmonized framework that I am talking about already exists. In 2019, the United States Food and Drug Administration (FDA) launched Project Orbis, a partnership with Australia, Brazil, Canada, Singapore, Switzerland and the United Kingdom, to facilitate faster patient access to innovative cancer therapies across many countries, resulting in increased efficiency through concurrent submission, sharing and review of data, and through standardizing pivotal clinical trials. Project Orbis has already demonstrated remarkable outcomes. In its first year, there were 38 approvals of new oncology applications. Most recently, it helped bring a groundbreaking lung cancer drug, sotorasib (marketed in the U.S. as Lumakras) to market in unprecedented time. For any of us who have ever lost a loved one to cancer, you will know what this means. And, for any of us who have been directly affected by COVID-19, you will know what this could mean. Read more: The World Isn’t Getting Vaccinated Fast Enough. Here Are 4 Ways to Fix That If we can coordinate a harmonized policy framework for cancer trials for the approval of life-saving drugs, why can’t we do the same for vaccines? It would be cheaper and faster than the current approach of reallocating hundreds of millions of excess vaccines from advanced economies while under-vaccinated countries become the harbinger of new waves and new variants of concern like Delta that spread worldwide. Beyond our human obligation, there is now also an overwhelming strategic imperative for this kind of collaboration on vaccines. As it becomes increasingly important to think about future vaccine development, and how much experience and capacity exists internationally, we cannot avoid the simple fact that increased efficiency is achieved by sustainable collaboration. In the future, we’ll be able to develop and distribute vaccines with greater uniformity and compatibility of international study and standards. In June, G7 Health Ministers took a crucially important step in support of this kind of collaboration around large international vaccine trials when they announced the Therapeutics and Vaccines Clinical Trials Charter. This will make it faster and easier to share results from vaccine and other therapeutic trials, and effectively create worldwide access approved treatments. Imagine if Moderna and Pfizer and other leading global drug companies had started to coordinate the development of vaccines for the next pandemic from day one, on a platform already in place, and approved to act. If we had invested in this kind of technology and shared platform at the onset of this pandemic, we wouldn’t have to be making billions of vaccines simply because we waited for the pandemic to become a global crisis. China should also now be invited to join this G7-led Clinical Trials Charter. It’s time to break down the doors to renewed global collaboration on all fronts. The World Bank, IMF, WTO and the WHO have also begun closely monitoring vaccine production and how that production translates into delivery, in order to match needs to distribution. And while more and more countries want to be part of this, what is also required is the fast-tracking of cutting-edge research and development by removing red tape — while keeping to the highest standards — in order to allow future vaccines to get onto the global market and into people’s arms faster. Read more: The COVID-19 Vaccines Are Safe and They Work. The FDA Must Move Faster to Approve Them We may have spent the last 20-30 years globalizing the supply chain to improve functionality, reduce costs and allocate supplies in short demand, but this pandemic has shown us to fall short on all counts when it comes to vaccines. Successful global collaboration on future vaccine development and distribution will allow us to open our economies faster when a pandemic strikes, send kids back to school sooner, get business back together, and avoid the knock-on effects on longer term poverty and mental health issues because we didn’t invest time or energy in something as basic as sharing. The experience of the last year means we know our foe better now. The success of Project Orbis is a reminder we also know how to mutually assure our protection by forging a collaborative path forward. This is an edited version of a speech delivered to this year’s Jeju Forum for Peace and Prosperity The Coronavirus Brief. Everything you need to know about the global spread of COVID-19 Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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"One of the biggest benefits of this new way of working is that it opens jobs to more people and creates opportunities for more diverse hiring."

https://ti.me/3m6kyZz

time

As we begin to think about the possibility of post-pandemic life, we need to look at the positive changes we now have the momentum to make. I do not want to minimize the great distress globally that is still occurring and may continue for some time. But in the past, pandemics have also brought forth fundamental change. The flu of the early 1900s killed more than 16 million people just in India, around 6% of our population. Yet it helped sow the seeds for India’s eventual independence and indirectly helped bring about the country’s transformation. The worst crises often contain opportunities for profound change. They force us to adapt and to imagine new ways of living. We have evidence that we can do that. The world, although in great distress, adopted digital tools so quickly that a decade’s worth of transformation occurred almost overnight. The widespread comfort with digital tools will enable us to reduce commuting time and make it possible for workers to go to the office just a few days a week. We have found that few people want to work from home all the time. We are getting constant calls from our employees, asking when they can go back to the office. They miss having direct contact with colleagues, something that virtual time doesn’t satisfy. We see a hybrid model emerging that allows people to work in three places: at home, at the “office,” and at some third place, perhaps a satellite office close to their home. The model will be structured to maximize the benefit of both virtual and in-person approaches. I once traveled all the way from Mumbai to California to give a 40-minute speech. In the new order, both sides may see travel like this as an unnecessary waste of time. One of the biggest benefits of this new way of working is that it opens jobs to more people and creates opportunities for more diverse hiring. It will be easier to hire women and people in rural areas—or even in other countries—who, either because of distance or commitments at home, find it difficult to take full-time office jobs. In my home country of India much brainpower goes to waste because cultural and social structures make it difficult for women to take jobs. Nearly 120 million Indian women—more than double the population of South Korea—have at least a secondary education but do not participate in the workforce. More than a quarter of women with graduate medical degrees do not work. Overall, only 23% of all women who could work are employed. This is a tragic waste, and one of the many complex challenges to women’s labor participation is the lack of safe, reliable transportation to places of work. We need female electricians, architects and engineers. We need them because greater participation by women in the Indian economy could vastly raise our GDP—in the order of $440 billion, per one estimate. We are suffering from shortages of skilled labor while women who have those skills are unable to work. If we pursue work in a way that makes economic sense, productivity will rise and more people will come into the workforce. Ideally the future of work will combine the best of digital and the best of in-person arrangements. This is a journey, a process, not something that will just be in place by the fall. But if we adapt thoughtfully, we can benefit the environment, lower costs and most importantly, respond to people’s needs. We should not miss this opportunity. Like those who survived previous pandemics, we need to incorporate the pain and devastation of recent history even as we find better, fairer, smarter ways to move forward. Natarajan Chandrasekaran is chairman of Tata Sons Sign up for Inside TIME. Be the first to see the new cover of TIME and get our most compelling stories delivered straight to your inbox. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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A city best known for its storied past, Philadelphia is writing a new chapter this year.

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A city best known for its storied past, Philadelphia is writing a new chapter this year. The Philadelphia Museum of Art’s elegant Greek Revival facade has remained largely the same since it first opened in 1928, but the interior now offers visitors a fresh perspective with a Frank Gehry–led redesign unveiled in May. The space now includes access to a previously off-limits vaulted walkway and a stunning floating staircase to rival the iconic steps out front, made famous by Rocky. It has also added 20,000 sq. ft. of gallery space to include exhibitions like “New Grit: Art & Philly Now,” showcasing the work of 25 contemporary artists with ties to the city. The local culinary scene is as vibrant as ever too, with chef Omar Tate crowdfunding the forthcoming Honeysuckle Community Center in West Philly, sprouted from his award-­winning dinner series of the same name that centers Black culture and history. And Ange Branca, after closing her award-winning Malaysian restaurant Saté Kampar last spring, is back with Kampar Kitchen, featuring meals for takeout from a rotating roster of chefs. —Regan Stephens Contact us at letters@time.com.

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Among them is a doll version of Amy O’Sullivan, a nurse at the Wyckoff Heights Medical Center in Brooklyn, who appeared on the cover of TIME.

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time

Mattel is honoring frontline workers with dolls modeled on real-life doctors and nurses. Among them is a doll version of Amy O’Sullivan, a nurse at the Wyckoff Heights Medical Center in Brooklyn, who appeared on the cover of TIME for the magazine’s 100 Most Influential People list last year. The doll has hand-painted tattoos, silver hair and the colorful socks O’Sullivan wears every day to work. O’Sullivan was particularly touched by the details of her doppelgänger. “I used to get a hard time from the administrators about my tattoos and my hair and my pants being rolled up. But I didn’t want to be like anyone else,” she says. “I’m 58 so I had no role models when I was growing up. This, I think, shows kids it’s O.K. to be different. It encourages them to be themselves.” Nurse Amy O'Sullivan with the Mattel doll Courtesy Amy O'Sullivan Read More: The 100 Most Influential People of 2020 The five other dolls are modeled on Dr. Audrey Sue Cruz, a doctor in Las Vegas who is campaigning against racial bias against Asian-American physicians, Dr. Chika Stacy Oriuwa, a psychiatry resident in Canada who is fighting racism in the health care system, Sarah Gilbert, a professor in the U.K. who helped develop a COVID-19 vaccine, Dr. Jaqueline Goes de Jesus, a biomedical researcher who led the sequencing of the genome of the COVID-19 variant in Brazil and Dr. Kirby White, a general practitioner in Australia who developed reusable PPE for doctors. Each of the women was presented with her own one-of-a-kind doll, and the toy company announced it will donate $5 for every doctor, nurse or paramedic Barbie sold at Target to the First Responders’ Children’s Program as part of its #ThankYouHeroes campaign. (The tribute dolls are not for sale.) Mattel launched the campaign last year to give back to communities in need. “This fall, admittedly, we thought we would be further along in the pandemic,” says Lisa McKnight, senior vice president at Mattel and the global brand manager for the Barbie brand. “But it was important to honor these amazing medical workers across the globe as we continue to face a difficult time.” In her 62-year history, Barbie has held jobs as many different types of health care workers, in part, McKnight says, because children develop relationships with their pediatricians early on. “We hope these dolls can spark important conversations about the pandemic,” she says. “While it’s a somewhat scary topic, we think it opens the door to discussing these frontline workers who are amazing role models.” Amy O'Sullivan Paola Kudacki for TIME O’Sullivan says she never played with Barbies growing up, though she did play with Ken dolls. Her partner, who is also a nurse, bought their daughters the gender-neutral dolls that Mattel launched in 2019, and O’Sullivan says they loved those dolls’ fluid identities. O’Sullivan believes that her own kids and those she treats at the hospital understand how significant frontline workers are. “Our 6-year-old wants to be a puppy doctor,” she says. “Our 14-year-old is interested in being a surgeon. But they’ve really learned the importance of nurses and doctors.” Read More: ‘A Doll For Everyone’: Meet Mattel’s Gender-Neutral Doll Even as O’Sullivan waxes lyrical about her doll, she admits she is not feeling particularly optimistic about the pandemic. “We just can’t get away from it,” she says. “I see these young people not wearing masks. And, you know, those are the people that COVID is affecting now, the younger generation. They’re becoming very sick. And it’s never going to go away until we get vaccinated and wear masks.” The Coronavirus Brief. Everything you need to know about the global spread of COVID-19 Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Write to Eliana Dockterman at eliana.dockterman@time.com.

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The tennis legend on athletes' struggles with mental health, the fight for equal pay and more.

https://ti.me/3CMWosI

time

In your book, you write, “Even if you’re not a born activist, life can damn sure make you one.” How did you come to this conclusion? When I was 12 years old, I had my epiphany. I had started playing tournaments to get rankings in Southern California. Everybody who played wore white shoes and white socks, white clothes, played with white balls, and everybody that played was white. And I remember saying, “Where’s everybody else?” I just knew if I ever could become No. 1, I would champion equality the rest of my life. But I knew I had to probably be No. 1, because I knew already at 12 years old that I was a second-class citizen, and I’m white! I knew my sisters of color had it tougher, I knew that others had it tougher, people living with disabilities. You wrote about how Black tennis star Althea Gibson helped shape the way you saw your future. Your path has provided a way for many young people to see themselves. What do you think the importance of visibility is? I think you have a chance to make a bigger impact, because you’re reaching more people. I think people have to realize that if you hear our stories—women’s stories, Black stories, brown stories—when you start to hear stories of people as human beings, not that they had a good forehand or backhand, that’s what’s interesting to people. As a pioneer in women’s professional sports, you often received backlash for speaking out. What do you think of athletes using their platforms to promote social change? It’s always good to hear people and their opinions. You don’t have to agree with them, but it makes you think, or maybe it’s a wake-up call and you didn’t realize it. With it, though, there’s a responsibility. If you look at the history of how pro tennis started in ’68 and how women were getting shut out, we signed this $1 contract that is the birth of women’s professional tennis the way you know it today. We were all very young at the time, and we decided that we were willing to give up our careers, we were willing to give up everything for the future generations. It does feel like a very different time now when athletes might be overexposed. I’m thinking specifically about Naomi Osaka, who recently declined to do media because of her mental health. I know it’s difficult, but I think we need to do a better job of having a rookie school, because I think if you choose to be a professional athlete, that doesn’t mean you just hit tennis balls. I mean, you’re going to have to talk to somebody sometime. Mental health is definitely at the forefront of conversation right now. What do you think is the best way to ensure that mental health is taken seriously? I think they need to take care of themselves first. I hope they get help. I think one of the challenges for people in general is that we have trouble asking for help when we need it the most, and then we feel isolated and alone. What does it feel like to see the work that still needs to be done when it comes to pay equity? For me, it’s not even close yet. And I’m so frustrated, because I’m really running out of time. What do you think needs to happen so we can actually achieve pay equity now for sports, but also in general? Sports are a microcosm of society. Let me ask you, do women writers make as much as male writers? Well, personally, I’ve been meaning to ask for a raise. Girls are taught not to do that. Go for it—at least you’ve been asking. My generation never asked, but you know what? Women want the cake and the icing and the cherry on top, just like everybody else, and we have to go for it. This appears in the August 23, 2021 issue of TIME. Get The Brief. Sign up to receive the top stories you need to know right now. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Write to Cady Lang at cady.lang@timemagazine.com.

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"Though technology isn’t a magic bullet, history has shown that the more we harness technology, the better we can define our clinical problems and treat our patients."

https://ti.me/3xDDuRm

time

I have a problem. I am a psychiatrist in the 21st century and yet I still evaluate patients the way Freud did a century ago: I sit with a patient and, by carefully observing how and what they say, I expect them to tell me what’s wrong. The problem isn’t that I speak with and listen to my patients. Every doctor of every speciality does that. Rather, my problem is that I never measure the data I think are most important to my treatment of psychiatric diseases. Consider how I evaluate a patient for psychosis in the emergency room. When I speak with them, I want to know what their life is like—what’s their day like? What’s on their mind? How social are they? How’s their sleep? These data depend on my patient’s ability to remember, accurately report, make sense of, and tell me about their experience—and further, my treatments depend on my own ability to listen to and make sense of what I’m hearing. While we speak, I look for things like rapid or disorganized speech, somewhat incongruent facial expressions, or even recurrent ideas that might help me guage their mind’s function. I ask a series of finely-honed questions to poke and prod at their mind, creating a trove of essential clinical data. But my problem is that the only tool I use to gather and understand these data is my own brain. In other words, I leave the vast majority of that data unrecorded, unanalyzed and untapped. This is a problem. Consider what I’d do if this patient has chest pain. Chest pain is a vague symptom that can be present in anything from heartburn to a panic attack to a heart attack. I would of course, ask them about their chest pain—when did it start? have they had it before? But I would dig deeper than conversation. Heart rate is important in chest pain. I could put my fingers on their wrist and count out their heartbeats per minute, but I wouldn’t do that—I’d use a calibrated machine. I might carefully ascultate the lub-dub of their heart valves closing, but I would without question measure the flow of electricity through their heart each millisecond with an electrocardiogram. If I wasn’t reassured by these measurements, I’d probably draw some blood to check for protein SOS signals from their heart and call cardiology. Because I take chest pain seriously, in a few short minutes, I’d gather a host of measurements and would know whether their chest pain was caused by a heart attack. Before decades of public-private partnerships developed the tools I use to evaluate chest pain, clinicians accepted that some data—in this case the essential data that defines the clinical problem of a heart attack—are invisible without technology and essential to provide good clinical care. Yet as a psychiatrist, I continue to ask questions without measuring the data I think are important to define my clinical problems like psychosis, even though the technology exists. You probably have the most sophisticated behavioral measurement device ever created in your hand. The smartphone boasts a suite of technologies that might dramatically advance my ability to assess and treat my patients. Right now, our smartphones collect data that measure things I already believe are clinically important: what’s on our mind, how social we are, even how we sleep. In addition to asking “what’s on your mind?” I might—with my patient’s consent and support, of course—analyze their online search history or social media profile, looking for subtle changes in the way they express themselves, changes that, studies have shown, might define an opportunity for us to work more closely together to improve their mental health. I could ask, but also measure. Right now, I don’t use technology because, frankly, it’s not necessary. I diagnose and bill based on conversations, not measurements. Psychiatric diagnoses—organized before the advent of technology—are without exception based on patterns of symptoms and signs, or what a patient tells me and what I observe. Though psychiatry has tried to better define the diagnosis of, say, schizophrenia, this has backfired. The more we fiddle with our existing framework, the more muddled it becomes: I recently calculated that the latest diagnostic criteria (DSM-5) for schizophrenia describes ~7.6 trillion different patterns of symptoms and signs. Notwithstanding these barriers, psychiatry has never been working more quickly or more effectively towards the goal of better defining the clinical problems we treat. The National Institute of Mental Health recently announced the Accelerating Medicines Partnership for Schizophrenia (AMP SCZ), an investment of over $82.5 million over five years and one of the largest private-public partnerships in the organization’s history. For one of the first times at this scale, a band of psychiatrists and researchers from academic hospitals, pharmaceutical companies, and tech companies will combine traditional clinical conversation with measures of brain function, cutting-edge data from smartphones, personal measurement devices and audio-visual recordings. For example, recording and analyzing a conversation might help clinicians detect subtle changes in the way people string ideas together or refer to themselves. Without technology, these changes would remain invisible even to a skilled clinician, yet studies have shown that they predict the onset of a psychosis episode in at risk patients. Such patients—previously in a grey zone—might have access to more and better treatments, thereby leading to better outcomes. Of course, none of these technologies will replace the empathic charm and human touch of a skilled clinician. Some clinical data are necessarily bespoke, artfully gathered by a skilled clinician; but not all data are like this. Modern medicine has brought chest pain from heart attacks from routinely fatal to often survivable and even preventable. Progress in evaluating chest pain required decades of fastigious measurement and, crucially, novel treatments to pair with those measurements. Though technology isn’t a magic bullet, history has shown that the more we harness technology, the better we can define our clinical problems and treat our patients. Sign up for Inside TIME. Be the first to see the new cover of TIME and get our most compelling stories delivered straight to your inbox. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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From Idaho to Colorado to California, small ranches are making tough choices about the future of their livestock.

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Gail Ansley delivered her final batch of homemade Picabo Desert Farm goat yogurt to Atkinson’s Market in Hailey, ID two weeks ago. As usual, each 16-oz unit of rich, creamy goat’s milk yogurt was packaged in a plain plastic container with a simple disclaimer stuck to the lid: “We know this label isn’t Chic, but the Yogurt inside is the best you’ll Eat!” it proudly proclaims. The ingredients: raw goat milk, culture, and sometimes gourmet vanilla bean paste sourced from nearby Boise, or fresh lemon curd, or peach jam. But this chapter is all over: she sold her last goat, a Nigerian dwarf named Kea, the weekend before. Kea was the final remaining animal in Ansley’s hundred-plus goat herd, which she grew and raised over the past six years on her small farm in Richfield, ID. “And I will cry when I deliver that last yogurt tomorrow,” Ansley says over the phone, audibly tearing up. “When we started, my husband had a pickup truck and a camper, that’s what we lived in. And I had the clothes that I had, and that was it. To be able to get to this point— to afford a farm…” she trails off, because even though she had achieved her dream, what comes next is unclear. A baby Nigerian dwarf goat at Gail Ansley's Picabo Desert Farm. Courtesy of Gail Ansley Ansley is not alone among ranchers in the region struggling to keep up a livestock business this year. The biggest challenge for many: water. All across the West, residents are facing down a summer of severe drought and heat. (Idaho is already in the midst of its worst drought conditions in over a decade, with nearly a third of the state classified by the U.S. Drought Monitor as “extreme drought” and 84% in “severe drought.”) Rivers in states throughout the area—the Snake, the Big Lost, the Colorado—are low; groundwater resources are, too. Reservoirs are below capacity. Water access is restricted. And the downstream effect is being felt keenly by ranches like Picabo that simply can’t afford to keep their animals any longer and are now fighting to maintain profitability. Idaho’s Magic Valley, where Picabo Desert Farm is located, only received 27 days of water from their designated canal access in the past year. (In a normal year, that number would be about 140.) Farmers in the valley only harvested one crop of hay, the primary feed source for livestock like cattle and goats, instead of the usual three. The result: an increase in feed prices for animals. For Ansley, who grows her own hay, it has meant cutting back on other expenses to keep the goats alive—until now, when a mix of the encroaching environmental pressures and a pileup of personal challenges (a death in the family, her and her husband’s ongoing health concerns, and a lack of available local employees) have made it too difficult to go on. “Water is crucial,” she says. “You really don’t have a farm if you don’t have water. I wouldn’t have been able to buy hay to raise my girls for the year.” Chèvre draining at Picabo Desert Farm. Gail Ansley used to sell six figures of yogurt and cheese; this year, she sold all of her goats and shut down the business. Courtesy of Gail Ansley It wasn’t always this way for Ansley. In 2020 she sold $160,000 worth of product, she tells TIME; she’s been profitable every year of the business. Just the week before, a representative from an Idaho co-op reached out to stock her yogurts. But she had to turn him down, to his surprise, and to her own frustration: “This is the best thing I’ve ever done,” she says, even if she can’t continue it. Her husband brought what remained of her herd this summer to the nearby city of Twin Falls earlier in July for the weekly livestock auction, where her girls, as she calls them, sold for about $160 a head. (Ansley bought her first 20 goats in 2006 for about $500 a head.) For now, the couple and their teenaged granddaughter are planning to survive on Ansley’s husband’s disability payments, which he receives because of a brain tumor diagnosis. Over at VanWinkle Ranch in Fruita, Colorado, owner and operator Janie VanWinkle is facing a similar crisis, although she at least hopes to outlast the drought—this time. “You know, we’re kind of an optimistic bunch, or we wouldn’t be in this business,” VanWinkle says of her cohort of cattlemen in western Colorado, where she is a fourth-generation rancher with her husband; her son, recently graduated from college and returned home to continue the business, will be the fifth. “But it makes it really hard to look to the future optimistically, with the drought staring you in the face with every step you take.” The Van Winkles have been slowly selling off cattle every season over the past year to ground beef processing plants, whittling down their herd of 550 in order to stay sustainable; they’re down about 100 cows from last fall, and will sell off another 50 or more in the coming months. With their own hay production about 60% of normal, they have secured extra hay from Kansas and will be trucking it in over the coming weeks, outsourcing their feed for the first time. TBone and Kip the cow dogs cool off in a nearly-dry pond after looking for cattle, with Dean and Howard VanWinkle looking on. Courtesy Janie VanWinkle Van Winkle and her husband are not new to dealing with drought downturns: they had to sell half their cattle during a bad season in 2002. But with consistent drought conditions present for three of the last four years, the accumulated effects—soil depletion chief among them—are adding up. “Is it the worst year ever? It feels like it,” she says. “I do think we’ll see some producers sell all their cattle, and then whether they’ll get back in or not, that remains to be seen.” About half of the U.S.’s cattle are on small ranches of under 40 cows, and it is these smaller operations that are most at risk now. “It’s still an important part of the food supply and for the security of our food system,” Van Winkle says. Longer term, ranchers like her are considering alternatives: “We know that our business and our lifestyle will look different in 10 years, in 20 years,” she says. “But the drought is only a piece of that.” VanWinkle and other ranchers are already looking to expand their options for the future, including boosting their direct-to-consumer sales channels and opening up their land to outdoor recreation companies. The Ansleys and the Van Winkles are just two families facing the drought’s immediate impacts. “Whenever you meet somebody on the road, you roll down your window and you put your arm out, the first thing that always comes up is: It’s a dry son of a gun, isn’t it? That’s the conversation,” Van Winkle says. “A lot of headshaking, a lot of frustration, but we know this when we sign on to this business. It’s not for the faint of heart.” The winds of change, as she puts it, have been blowing for a while now: the future is in outdoor recreation, tourism and alternative income streams. This might just speed up the transition. “Everything,” as Idaho’s Ansley says, “is a domino effect.” And the fire season is just beginning. The Leadership Brief. Conversations with the most influential leaders in business and tech. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Write to Raisa Bruner at raisa.bruner@time.com.

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The stinger at the end of "The Suicide Squad" signals that we’ll be seeing some of the movie’s anti-heroes again.

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The new DC movie The Suicide Squad is a classic James Gunn flick: Like Gunn’s other franchise for rival studio Marvel, The Guardians of the Galaxy, The Suicide Squad is very weird and features violent talking creatures—just sub out a raccoon and tree for a shark and a weasel. But Warner Bros. and DC clearly gave Gunn carte blanche to make this movie as violent and un-Disney as he wanted: A lot of people’s heads get blown up, bitten off and sliced in half. The camera loves to linger on the bloody aftermath. But wait, didn’t we already see some villains’ heads explode in another Suicide Squad movie. Why, yes, we did. 2021’s The Suicide Squad is a soft reboot of David Ayer’s Suicide Squad from 2016. (Note the all-important article at the beginning of the 2021 film’s title). Why didn’t they just call this movie Suicide Squad 2? Well, because Warner Bros. clearly wants to hit the reset button on much of the DC Entertainment Universe (DCEU). Some DCEU movies, like Wonder Woman and Aquaman, have been smashing successes at the box office and pleased critics. Others, like the original Suicide Squad, we are all better off forgetting—though it’s hard to stop thinking about the horrifying anecdotes of Jared Leto sending used condoms to Will Smith on the set of the 2016 movie to “get into character” as the Joker. While Marvel’s intertwining films and TV shows all seem to be leading to another massive team-up movie, the trajectory of the DC Entertainment Universe (DCEU) is much less clear. Both the MCU and DCEU are embracing the multiverse, with different heroes and villains living in parallel universes to one another. We will soon see multiple Spider-Men from different worlds together in one MCU movie and multiple Batmans from different worlds together in one DCEU movie. In this year’s MCU movies and TV shows, Marvel has introduced its new big heroes and villains for the next phase of its films. But with no The Suicide Squad sequel greenlit, Ben Affleck and Henry Cavill—who played Batman and Superman in Justice League—leaving the franchise and a new Batman movie starring Robert Pattinson set for next year, it’s difficult to determine how the pieces of the DCEU fit together and who the major players in the franchise’s future will be. Read More: Loki Just Upended the Future of the Marvel Cinematic Universe One thing is certain: The stinger at the end of The Suicide Squad signals that we’ll be seeing some of the movie’s anti-heroes again. Here’s everything you need to know about a potential The Suicide Squad sequel (threequel?) and how it relates to the future of the DCEU. The Suicide Squad’s end-credits scene teases a Peacemaker TV series with John Cena John Cena and Joel Kinnaman in The Suicide Squad Warner Bros. Pictures & DC Comics Technically, The Suicide Squad serves up two extra scenes after the end of the movie. The first one comes mid-credits and simply shows that Weasel (Sean Gunn), who was left for dead during a beach raid early in the movie, is still alive. He wanders off into the forrest and, most likely, into future Suicide Squad films. The second stinger centers on John Cena’s Peacemaker. In the movie, Peacemaker turned out to be a villain, or at least an anti-hero. Amanda Waller (Viola Davis), the amoral government agent who came up with the idea for a Suicide Squad, tasked Peacemaker with destroying evidence that the U.S. government had been involved with Project Starfish. When Joel Kinnamen’s Rick Flag threatened to release the evidence that the U.S. government tortured innocent people in order to power a gigantic starfish weapon to the press, Peacemaker stabbed him through the heart. Peacemaker was poised to off Ratcatcher II (Daniela Melchior) as well when Idris Elba’s Bloodsport put a bullet in his neck. Bloodsport and Ratcatcher II escaped, leaving Peacemaker for dead. Bloodsport used the evidence as leverage to keep his daughter safe from Waller. Peacemaker must have some sort of superhuman strength (or plot armor) because it is revealed in the end-credits scene that he survived both being shot in the throat and having a gigantic building collapse on him. Waller orders that he be recovered from the rubble and tasks two of her minions with minding him, punishment, they believe, for undermining her and helping the Suicide Squad. The teaser hints at the plot of the Peacemaker TV show coming to HBO Max in January of 2022. James Gunn wrote all eight episodes of the series and directed four of them. While every other new hero in Suicide Squad shared an anecdote from their childhood to explain how they got their superpowers, Peacemaker didn’t get an origin story. The show will explain how the character became the patriotic menace he now is. A Batman spinoff and Justice League Dark are also coming to HBO Max Robert Pattinson in The Batman Warner Bros. Pictures & DC Comics Peacemaker is not the first DC show to hit HBO Max. The excellent animated Harley Quinn series moved to the streaming service this year. Shows like Doom Patrol and Stargirl also live on the streaming service, while several other DC shows, like Supergirl and The Flash are airing on the CW. But Peacemaker appears to signal a new era of shows that interplay with Warner Bros. superhero movies, with stars moving back and forth between television and film. HBO Max has a Green Lantern series in the works. Matt Reeves, who is directing the upcoming Batman film starring Robert Pattinson, is also working on a spinoff series centering on the Gotham City Police Department for the streamer. And J.J. Abrams is reportedly constructing an entire Justice League Dark cinematic and television universe for the studio. The DCEU will contain multiple “worlds” Margot Robbie in The Suicide Squad Warner Bros. Pictures & DC Comics Will the Gotham City Police of Reeves’ show investigate Peacemaker for his murderous ways? Probably not. The DCEU has branched off into at least two separate worlds, maybe more. In one world exists the original pieces of the DCEU: Gal Gadot’s Wonder Woman, Affleck’s Batman, Robbie’s Harley Quinn, Leto’s Joker, Jason Momoa’s Aquaman and Ezra Miller’s The Flash, to name a few. The initial plan was to build those pieces into a Marvel-esque interconnected story. But unlike Marvel, DC didn’t start with origin story films and build towards team-up movies. They started with the team-ups, like Batman v Superman, Suicide Squad and Justice League, and then tried to retroactively fill in the bios with spinoff movies for some of those characters. None of the initial team-up movies were received particularly well by critics, but things really imploded with the premiere of Joss Whedon’s Justice League. The movie, which Whedon had taken over directing from Zack Snyder after Snyder stepped aside because of a family tragedy, disappointed fans and critics alike—so much so that fans started lobbying for Snyder’s cut of the film and finally got it on HBO Max earlier this year. Read More: The Snyder Cut Is a Better Version of Justice League. But It Sets a Dangerous Precedent Now, Affleck’s Batman movie has been scuttled; Warner Bros. has issued no updates on several movies it had initially planned centered on Leto’s Joker; and Cavill is reportedly leaving the franchise for good. Which means it’s time to reboot those characters—sort of. Warner Bros. already produced a Joker movie starring Joaquin Phoenix that has absolutely no connection to Affleck’s Batman. Now Pattinson will get a Batman movie, which will kick off a whole new Batman universe on World 2, if you will. Presumably yet another actor will get the chance to play Joker in Pattinson’s Batman sequels should the studio decide to revisit that villain. But Warner Bros. still has some pieces that work from the original lineup, like Harley Quinn, who, despite disappointing box office returns for her confusingly-named spinoff movie Birds of Prey, has proven popular with fans. The movies about Aquaman and Wonder Woman have also performed well at the box office. These characters will soldier on in their independent movies, as will Miller’s Flash. And that’s where things get complicated. The Flash will join together the various worlds Ezra Miller as The Flash, Ben Affleck as Batman, and Gal Gadot as Wonder Woman in Justice League Warner Bros. The Flash movie will acknowledge the existence of the multiverse. Affleck’s Batman, who starred alongside Miller’s Flash in Justice League, will appear in the film—but so will Michael Keaton’s Batman from a different universe. (Keaton starred as the caped crusader in Batman (1989) and Batman Returns (1992).) Director Andy Muschetti told Vanity Fair, “This movie is a bit of a hinge in the sense that it presents a story that implies a unified universe where all the cinematic iterations that we’ve seen before are valid. It’s inclusive in the sense that it is saying all that you’ve seen exists, and everything that you will see exists, in the same unified multiverse.” Confused? It’s only going to get more confusing to figure out how these multiverses work. Consider, for instance, that actor David Dastmalchian, who plays Polka Dot Man in The Suicide Squad already appeared as one of the Joker’s henchmen in The Dark Knight. Does that mean that the same man turned into two different villains in two different, parallel universes? Perhaps. It’s unclear if any members of the Suicide Squad will ever interact with the Flash—or Wonder Woman or any of the Batmen for that matter. For now, we just have to start keeping track of the various characters in these movies on org charts and hope that studios cherry pick the best ones for spinoff movies and series. Sign up for our Entertainment newsletter. Subscribe to More to the Story to get the context you need for the pop culture you love. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Write to Eliana Dockterman at eliana.dockterman@time.com.

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The IPCC says that the pathway to limit warming to the 1.5°C mark has narrowed and lays out only one plausible scenario to meet that goal—one that would require an extraordinary level of action, and even then, would offer no guarantee.

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Three years ago the United Nations climate science body issued a landmark report warning that the planet was on track to blow past efforts to limit global warming to 1.5°C above preindustrial levels, a threshold that it warned would bring catastrophic and irreversible effects of climate change. But in that same report, the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) emphasized that many paths remained open for us to limit that damage—so long as we acted immediately. On Monday, the IPCC published a new document with a far less optimistic frame. In it, the group says that the pathway to limit warming to the 1.5°C mark has narrowed and lays out only one plausible scenario to meet that goal—one that would require an extraordinary level of action, and even then, would offer no guarantee. “It is still possible to forestall many of the most dire impacts,” says Ko Barrett, a vice chair of the IPCC, and deputy assistant administrator for research at the U.S. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. “But it really requires unprecedented transformational change, [and] rapid and immediate reduction of greenhouse-gas emissions.” Documents like this can be disheartening—in fact, they probably should be. The report, the first in a string the IPCC plans to release in the coming months as part of its sixth Assessment Report, covers the latest science on physical impacts of climate change and runs through a long list of areas where science has definitively established that humans are wreaking havoc on the planet, from the way water circulates across the planet to thawing permafrost. But the report also offers a reminder that, in the words of Hoesung Lee, chair of the IPCC and professor in the economics of climate change, energy and sustainable development at Korea University, “every bit of warming matters.” No matter how bad things are, policymakers, businesses and individuals can avoid making the situation worse with urgent action. If you’ve followed climate news recently, the substance of the new IPCC report probably won’t come as much of a surprise. For years, alarming headlines have created a sort of drip of bad climate news, and in recent weeks, droughts, storms and fires have coalesced into one of the most cataclysmic seasons of climate-related extreme weather events in memory. Even a few years ago, scientists were not entirely comfortable drawing the connection between such events and climate change. But that’s been changing, and the IPCC’s endorsement of those connections gives the concept a gravity that only such a global body can provide. The document is the result of a collaboration between 234 different authors, and draws from more than 14,000 different studies and references. In the end, delegations representing nearly 200 countries agreed to the language—even those whose economies depend on fossil fuels. Ultimately, all of those signed on to the conclusion that human-caused climate change is an “unequivocal” reality. The list of changes that comprise that broader reality is long. To name a few examples: The report found that human-induced warming has already locked in up to a foot of sea-level rise by 2050 (in terms of the global average). It also shows that every region on Earth is already experiencing some sort of weather and climate extreme—some are suffering more severe heat waves, while others are figuring out to endure unfamiliar storms and precipitation levels. All of these problems are bound to get worse. With unchecked greenhouse gas emissions, sea levels could rise six feet by 2100, according to the report. The frequency of high-powered hurricanes would spike. And regions across the globe would see hotter and rainier days, and more of them. Some consequences are hard to predict, particularly as humans take the planet further away from the temperature levels of recent millennia, but the report explains in clear terms that the degree to which it gets worse is directly linked to how much temperatures rise, which in turn is directly linked to how much carbon dioxide humans spew into the atmosphere. The report breaks down five scenarios designed to illustrate plausible pathways by which temperature rise and carbon dioxide emissions may unfold. In all scenarios, from the the most high-emissions scenario presented in which humans do little to slow emissions to the most aggressive scenario in which humans act urgently, temperatures are likely to rise 1.5°C within the next two decades. This is the result of a simple fact: the warming we’re experiencing now is the result of emissions that happened decades ago and we’ve already locked in decades more. But from there the situations diverge significantly. If humans act urgently, temperatures will peak and then decline, helping stabilize the planet and life on it. If we allow emissions to continue unchecked, temperatures are likely to rise more than 4.4°C by the end of the century—a level that would make life unlivable on vast areas of the planet. In one sense, this is bad news. Barring a dramatic change in direction that would entail dramatic changes in policy, the planet is likely to pass the so-called red line that scientists and activists have drawn in the sand. But this dynamic—where humans emit and the planet responds—should also offer some motivation as negotiators representing virtually every country prepare for COP26, the U.N. climate conference in November. Ahead of that conference, each country is expected to come up with its own plan to tackle emissions that align with the 1.5°C goal, and commit to those policies on the global stage. On July 31, the U.N. body that organizes international climate talks said that just over half of countries had submitted new plans to reduce emissions and warned that those policies would still push the world past 2°C of arming—and that’s a best cast scenario that assumes countries follow through. IPCC scientists say they expect negotiators to keep the latest report in mind. We may be close to passing the red line, but we can control how much worse things get afterwards. “We can’t undo the mistakes of the past,” says Inger Andersen, the head of the United Nations Environment Programme. “But this generation of political and business leaders, this generation, conscious citizens can make things right.” Get our climate newsletter. Learn how the week’s major news story connects back to the climate crisis. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Write to Justin Worland at justin.worland@time.com.

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“COVID-19 has made the gap between haves and have-nots painfully clear,” writes former Australian Prime Minister Malcolm Turnbull.“Tax is one lever to rebuild social trust and the social contract between a state and its citizens.”

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Every year, multinational corporations divert some $1.38 trillion in profits away from the countries where they were made to places with much lower, or even zero, corporate tax rates. And while much of this is strictly legal, that doesn’t make it right. Lower tax rates can encourage innovation and investment. But the combination of complex laws and outdated global rules has meant that tax has become effectively optional for large multi-nationals and wealthy individuals with the money to invest in lawyers and accountants. This has come at immense cost, and not just to national budgets. Most dangerously, it creates a sense of injustice and resentment that has stoked the right-wing populism that is shaking the foundations of liberal democracy. Nothing fuels mistrust in government, or the belief that justice and the rule of law serve only to protect the rich and powerful, more potently than wealthy corporations and individuals not paying their fair share of tax. COVID-19 has made the gap between haves and have-nots painfully clear. While millions have suffered financial hardship, others have supercharged their wealth. Amazon’s profits, for instance, have soared more than 220% during the pandemic as locked-down consumers have shopped online. So what can a liberal democracy do to turn the populist tide? Tax is one lever to rebuild social trust and the social contract between a state and its citizens. Our tax systems were designed not just to fund government services but to redistribute wealth and income, to mitigate inequality and to ensure a social-welfare safety net for all. When I was Prime Minister of Australia, I introduced major reforms to the way we tax multi-nationals, including the so-called Google tax that imposed a 40% tax rate on any large multinationals shifting profits overseas. But there is only so much one country can do. That is why I welcome the proposed two-pillar reforms from the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD.) The first pillar aims to ensure that large multi-nationals pay tax where they operate and earn profits. The second pillar seeks to introduce a global minimum corporate tax rate—currently pitched at 15%—putting a floor on competition over corporate income tax. Currently, 130 countries and jurisdictions representing 90% of global GDP have joined the OECD’s tax proposal. The devil is in the details; we must make sure the international rules don’t just favor wealthier nations over lower-income ones. Transparency is crucial. Our biggest global businesses can track every dollar in every country in real time. Why can’t our tax systems do the same? If my experience with tax reform has taught me anything, it’s this: the hardest taxes to avoid are the simplest. The more complex a tax system, the more opportunities there are for loopholes. And before too long, taxes become optional for those with clever lawyers and the resources to cover their fees. We can debate whether tax rates should be higher or lower—but not whether taxes are optional. If everybody pays, then everybody can pay less. And yes, combatting populism needs more than tax reform. But we need a fair and just tax system to help defuse the gnawing sense of irreversible inequality that is enabling so many illiberal leaders. The future of our liberal democracies depends on it. Sign up for Inside TIME. Be the first to see the new cover of TIME and get our most compelling stories delivered straight to your inbox. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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"In talking with other parents with kids around my son’s age, it’s become clear that to become a first-time parent in the pandemic is a unique experience, and one that warps how you think about parenting and risk tolerance, possibly forever."

https://ti.me/3rMIQIQ

time

I’ll say this for the pre-vaccine days: it was far easier to think about risk when the only sensible option—for those lucky enough for it to even be an option—was to hunker down, avoid as much contact with other people as possible, and wait out the storm. But a year of self-imposed isolation, fueled partially by fear and partially by a moral imperative to not infect others, has a way of scrambling your brain in a way that makes it hard to figure out what’s “safe” now that we’ve entered this strange, half-vaccinated liminal phase. After getting my shots this past spring, it took me weeks to feel anything resembling normal while spending time with family and friends indoors again. Now, with the Delta variant fueling a potential fourth wave while only half the country is vaccinated and many people are acting as if the pandemic is over, it’s harder than ever to gauge the risk to myself and, more importantly, my nearly two-year-old son. It would help if you and I could think this through together. I, a 32-year-old vaccinated man with no relevant pre-existing conditions, am very safe from developing severe COVID-19. Yes, breakthrough cases happen—they were always going to happen; the vaccines were judged on their ability to prevent serious disease, not infection—but they are rare, and serious cases among the inoculated are rarer still. The result: this has become, as U.S. President Joe Biden recently put it, a “pandemic of the unvaccinated;” nearly all the latest deaths are among those who didn’t get their shots. The logical side of my brain knows all this, but the anxiety-driven corners of it also know that breakthrough cases still happen, and there’s a non-zero chance I could be one of those cases, and wind up very sick, or die, or end up with inexplicable Long COVID symptoms that plague me for months, years, or the rest of my life, making it harder to be the father I want to be. My answer to all this is to keep avoiding large indoor crowds, to steer clear of anyone I know to be unvaccinated, and to start wearing my mask at the grocery store again, CDC guidance otherwise be damned. I’ve gotten used to the hermit life—a little too used to it, probably—and another few months of laying low won’t kill me. Judging the risk to my son, unfortunately, is far harder. Like all Americans under 12, he remains unvaccinated, though I would bring him in for the shot in a heartbeat given the chance. Children mostly do not get seriously sick from COVID-19; only about 350 have died of the virus in the U.S. so far, per the American Academy of Pediatrics, a vanishingly small case fatality rate of 0.01%. But, again, it does happen, and every headline I see about an eight-, six-, or three-year-old who died from a serious case makes me want to take my son, climb into a doomsday bunker and return only when it’s time for his bar mitzvah. That childhood COVID-19 fatalities are skyrocketing in Indonesia is a particularly harrowing data point, though many children there, and in other low-income parts of the world, are likely at higher risk because, tragically, they suffer from poor access to health care, malnutrition, and other factors that make them more vulnerable to disease in general. In talking with other parents with kids around my son’s age, it’s become clear that to become a first-time parent in the pandemic is a unique experience, and one that warps how you think about parenting and risk tolerance, possibly forever. My purely anecdotal findings suggest that parents of slightly older kids—kids who became actualized human beings with likes, dislikes and aptitudes well before COVID-19 sent everything sideways—are generally a little more willing to accept the (again, very low) risk the virus poses to their children; they have already learned the inevitable lesson that you can’t protect your kids from everything scary forever. My fellow pandemic first-time parents, meanwhile, are—again, speaking generally—freaked right the hell out. I suspect that becoming a parent always changes how you think about risk, both regarding yourself and the tiny blob you’ve suddenly been tasked with caring for—regardless of the historical and geographical context. But there is probably something unique about entering parenthood at a moment when “risk tolerance” became the defining question of human existence. My wife and I have, for now, only slightly recalibrated how we think about the risk our son now faces. Earlier this summer, when cases were low and Delta wasn’t a concern in the U.S., we took him to the zoo; we probably wouldn’t do that now. He’s still in day care, something I wrestle with every day. He clearly loves “school,” as we call it, and he’s bringing home new skills (he recently started, out of nowhere, walking backwards) and words almost every day, marking significant milestones in his physical and mental development. But exposure to COVID-19 in that environment seems inevitable, despite the efforts his day care center is making to keep the kids safe, and it tears me up inside that there’s a potential future in which he gets very sick because mom and dad needed to work in order to feed, clothe, and shelter him—and, ironically enough, pay for daycare. I have more or less accepted that the draw-dropping transmissibility of the Delta variant means that I, my son and my wife will all probably be exposed at some point or another, no matter the effort we make to avoid it. When and if that happens, I have to trust that the vaccines will protect my wife and I, while my son will fend it off by virtue of his age. I’m not throwing caution totally to the wind—we’re not taking him to crowded indoor spaces like museums, and I’m avoiding such spaces myself. But small visits with vaccinated family members are very much on the table—indeed, I’m currently writing this from my in-laws’ basement; my son is upstairs with Nana and Opa. Our thinking may change if the situation gets dramatically worse, or if new data suggest a greater risk to kids (hopefully, the CDC’s revised masking guidance will make life safer for unvaccinated children). But this virus has already taken too much from him, and it wouldn’t be fair to once again totally isolate him from his loved ones, no matter how badly I just want to protect him at all costs. We are, after all, doing other ostensibly dangerous stuff with him, like driving, an activity that in 2018 resulted in the deaths of 636 children in the U.S., per the CDC, about double the number known to have died of COVID-19 so far. I just hope that’s the right decision. The Coronavirus Brief. Everything you need to know about the global spread of COVID-19 Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. 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Here’s what you need to know about toxic relationships, and how to tell if you’re in one. (2018)

https://ti.me/3rHdi6T

time

It’s a common refrain: relationships are hard work. Fights are normal and rough patches are par for the course. True as that may be, however, these platitudes can distract from legitimate causes for concern in one’s social and romantic life — including signs that a relationship may have become, or always was, toxic. Here’s what you need to know about toxic relationships, and how to tell if you’re in one. What is a toxic relationship? Dr. Lillian Glass, a California-based communication and psychology expert who says she coined the term in her 1995 book Toxic People, defines a toxic relationship as “any relationship [between people who] don’t support each other, where there’s conflict and one seeks to undermine the other, where there’s competition, where there’s disrespect and a lack of cohesiveness.” While every relationship goes through ups and downs, Glass says a toxic relationship is consistently unpleasant and draining for the people in it, to the point that negative moments outweigh and outnumber the positive ones. Dr. Kristen Fuller, a California-based family medicine physician who specializes in mental health, adds that toxic relationships are mentally, emotionally and possibly even physically damaging to one or both participants. And these relationships don’t have to be romantic: Glass says friendly, familial and professional relationships can all be toxic as well. What makes a relationship toxic? Fuller says people who consistently undermine or cause harm to a partner — whether intentionally or not — often have a reason for their behavior, even if it’s subconscious. “Maybe they were in a toxic relationship, either romantically or as a child. Maybe they didn’t have the most supportive, loving upbringing,” Fuller says. “They could have been bullied in school. They could be suffering from an undiagnosed mental health disorder, such as depression or anxiety or bipolar disorder, an eating disorder, any form of trauma.” That was the case for Carolyn Gamble, a 57-year-old, Maryland-based motivational speaker who says she fell into toxic relationships after a tumultuous childhood marked by losing her mother to a drug overdose, and suffering physical abuse at the hands of her father. When she grew up, she found some of the same themes in her marriage to her now-ex-husband, who she says became verbally and emotionally abusive. “I realized in this life, regardless of the cards that we’re dealt, sometimes there are things that we have to let go,” she says. Sometimes, Glass says, toxic relationships are simply the result of an imperfect pairing — like two people who both need control, or a sarcastic type dating someone with thin skin. “It’s just that the combination is wrong,” she says. Heidi Westra Brocke, a 46-year-old chiropractor living in Illinois, is familiar with these mismatches. Brocke considers herself an empath and a people-pleaser, and grew up “assuming everybody was nice and everybody wanted what was best for you.” Instead, she says her personality attracted controlling partners who forced her to sacrifice her needs for theirs, and constantly work for approval that never came. Though they had very different stories, both Brocke and Gamble say they endured toxic relationships for years — underscoring that no two bad relationships are exactly alike. Get our Health Newsletter. Sign up to receive the latest health and science news, plus answers to wellness questions and expert tips. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. What are the warning signs of a toxic relationship? The most serious warning signs include any form of violence, abuse or harassment, which should be dealt with immediately. But in many cases, the indicators of a toxic relationship are much more subtle. The first, and simplest, is persistent unhappiness, Glass says. If a relationship stops bringing joy, and instead consistently makes you feel sad, angry, anxious or “resigned, like you’ve sold out,” it may be toxic, Glass says. You may also find yourself envious of happy couples. Fuller says negative shifts in your mental health, personality or self-esteem are all red flags, too. These changes could range from clinically diagnosable conditions, such as depression, anxiety or eating disorders, to constantly feeling nervous or uncomfortable — especially around your partner. Feeling like you can’t talk with or voice concerns to your significant other is another sign that something is amiss, Fuller says. You should also look out for changes in your other relationships, or in the ways you spend your free time, Fuller says. “You may feel bad for doing things on your own time, because you feel like you have to attend to your partner all the time,” she says. “You cross the line when you’re not your individual self anymore and you’re giving everything to your partner.” Finally, Fuller says concern from family or friends should be taken seriously, particularly since people in toxic relationships are often the last to realize it. Brocke says that was true of her relationships, which perpetuated the damage for years. “By the time I actually started realizing I was in something that wasn’t healthy, it was so normal to me that it didn’t seem like that big a deal,” Brocke says. “You get paralyzed in it, because you’re just used to it.” What should you do if you’re in a toxic relationship? If any of those red flags sound familiar, it’s time to take action. If you feel that you’re in physical danger, you may need to involve the authorities. The National Domestic Violence Hotline is also available for 24/7 guidance at 1-800-799-7233. If the harm is emotional or mental, you’ll have to decide if it’s possible to work through the issue. If underlying triggers such as depression or trauma are influencing one or both individuals’ behaviors, Fuller says therapeutic or medical treatments may help. Glass agrees that getting to the root of the problem is important, but says that sometimes, the answer may be to walk away. “I really am a firm believer that you have to try to work everything out and understand why the person is toxic. You may be able to live with it — but on the other hand, you may not,” Glass says. “[If you can’t], you’ve got to get out of it. We have to not put ourselves in that position.” Brocke and Gamble took that advice in their own lives, and both say they’re better for it. Brocke is now happily remarried and coaches women who are leaving toxic relationships. Gamble is purposefully single and runs a nearly 7,000-person toxic relationships support group on Facebook. “Love should never cost you your peace. It should never cost you your joy. It should never cost you your happiness,” Gamble says. “If there’s more negative in the situation than positive, something has to change.” Write to Jamie Ducharme at jamie.ducharme@time.com.

Article

Companies are working on algorithms to transform the driving experience, not by controlling the car, but by taking better care of drivers. (2020)

https://ti.me/2WzxRqD

time

I am behind the wheel of a Nissan Leaf, circling a parking lot, trying not to let the day’s nagging worries and checklists distract me to the point of imperiling pedestrians. Like all drivers, I am unwittingly communicating my stress to this vehicle in countless subtle ways: the strength of my grip on the steering wheel, the slight expansion of my back against the seat as I breathe, the things I mutter to myself as I pilot around cars and distracted pedestrians checking their phones in the parking lot. “Hello, Corinne,” a calm voice says from the audio system. “What’s stressing you out right now?” The conversation that ensues offers a window into the ways in which artificial intelligence could transform our experience behind the wheel: not by driving the car for us, but by taking better care of us as we drive. Before coronavirus drastically altered our routines, three-quarters of U.S. workers—some 118 million people—commuted to the office alone in a car. From 2009 to 2019, Americans added an average of two minutes to their commute each way, according to U.S. Census data. That negligible daily average is driven by a sharp increase in the number of people making “super commutes” of 90 minutes or more each way, a population that increased 32% from 2005 to 2017. The long-term impact of COVID-19 on commuting isn’t clear, but former transit riders who opt to drive instead of crowding into buses or subway cars may well make up for car commuters who skip at least some of their daily drives and work from home instead. Longer commutes are associated with increased physical health risks like high blood pressure, obesity, stroke and sleep disorders. A 2017 research project at the University of the West of England found that every extra minute of the survey respondents’ commutes correlated with lower job and leisure time satisfaction. Adding 20 minutes to a commute, researchers found, has the same depressing effect on job satisfaction as a 19% pay cut. Switching modes of transit can offer some relief: people who walk, bike or take trains to work tend to be happier commuters than those who drive (and, as a University of Amsterdam study recently found, they tend to miss their commute more during lockdown). But reliable public transit is not universally available, nor are decent jobs always close to affordable housing. Technology has long promised that an imminent solution is right around the corner: self-driving cars. In the near future, tech companies claim, humans won’t drive so much as be ferried about by fully autonomous cars that will navigate safely and efficiently to their destinations, leaving the people inside free to sleep, work or relax as easily as if they were on their own couch. A commute might be a lot less stressful if you could nap the whole way there, or get lost in a book or Netflix series without having to worry about exits or collisions. Google executives went on the record claiming self-driving cars would be widely available within five years in 2012; they said the same thing again in 2015. Elon Musk throws out ship dates for fully autonomous Teslas as often as doomsday cult leaders reschedule the end of the world. Yet these forecasted utopias have still not arrived. The majority of carmakers have walked back their most ambitious estimates. It will likely be decades before such cars are a reality for even a majority of drivers. In the meantime, the car commute remains a big, unpleasant, unhacked chunk of time in millions of Americans’ daily lives. A smaller and less heralded group of researchers is working on how cars can make us happier while we drive them. It may be decades before artificial intelligence can completely take over piloting our vehicles. In the short run, however, it may be able to make us happier—and healthier—pilots. Lane changes, left turns, four-way stops and the like are governed by rules, but also rely on drivers’ making on-the-spot judgments with potentially deadly consequences. These are also the moments where driver stress spikes. Many smart car features currently on the market give drivers data that assist with these decisions, like sensors that alert them when cars are in their blind spots or their vehicle is drifting out of its lane. Another thing that causes drivers stress is uncertainty. One 2015 study found commuters who drove themselves to work were more stressed by the journey than were transit riders or other commuters, largely because of the inconsistency that accidents, roadwork and other traffic snarls caused in their schedules. But even if we can’t control the variables that affect a commute, we’re calmer if we can at least anticipate them—hence the popularity of real-time arrival screens at subway and bus stops. The Beaverton, Ore.-based company Traffic Technology Services (TTS) makes a product called the Personal Signal Assistant, a platform that enables cars to communicate with traffic signals in areas where that data is publicly available. TTS’s first client, Audi, used the system to build a tool that counts down the remaining seconds of a red light (visually, on the dashboard) when a car is stopped at one, and suggests speed modifications as the car approaches a green light. The tool was designed to keep traffic flowing—no more honking at distracted drivers who don’t notice the light has turned green. But users also reported a marked decrease in stress. At the moment, the technology works in 26 North American metropolitan areas and two cities in Europe. TTS has 60 full- and part-time employees in the U.S. and Germany, and recently partnered with Lamborghini, Bentley and a handful of corporate clients. Yet CEO Thomas Bauer says it can be hard to interest investors in technologies that focus on improving human drivers’ experience instead of just rendering them obsolete. “We certainly don’t draw the same excitement with investors as [companies focused on] autonomous driving,” Bauer says. “What we do is not quite as exciting because it doesn’t take the driver out of the picture just yet.” Pablo Paredes, a clinical assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at the Stanford School of Medicine, is the director of the school’s Pervasive Wellbeing Technology Lab. Situated in a corner of a cavernous Palo Alto, Calif., office building that used to be the headquarters of the defunct health-technology company Theranos, the lab looks for ways to rejigger the habits and objects people use in their everyday lives to improve mental and physical health. Team members don’t have to look far for reminders of what happens when grandiose promises aren’t backed up by data: Theranos’ circular logo is still inlaid in brass in the building’s marble-floored atrium. It can be hard to tell the lab’s experiments from its standard-issue office furniture. To overcome the inertia that often leads users of adjustable-height desks to sit more often than stand, one of the workstations in the team’s cluster of cubicles has been outfitted with a sensor and mechanical nodule that make it rise and lower at preset intervals, smoothly enough that a cup of coffee won’t spill. In early trials, users particularly absorbed in their work just kept typing as the desk rose up and slowly stood along with it. But the millions of hours consumed in the U.S. each day by the daily drive to work hold special fascination for Paredes. He’s drawn to the challenge of transforming a part of the day generally thought of as detrimental to health into something therapeutic. “The commute for me is the big elephant in the room,” he says. “There are very simple things that we’re overlooking in normal life that can be greatly improved and really repurposed to help a lot of people.” In a 2018 study, Paredes and his colleagues found that it’s possible to infer a driver’s muscle tension—a proxy for stress—from the movement of their hands on a car’s steering wheel. They’re now experimenting with cameras that detect neck tension by noting the subtle changes in the angle of a driver’s head as it bobs with the car’s movements. The flagship of the team’s mindful-commuting project is the silver-colored Nissan Leaf in their parking lot. The factory-standard electric vehicle has been tricked out with a suite of technologies designed to work together to decrease a driver’s stress. On a test drive earlier this year, a chatbot speaking through the car’s audio system offered me the option of engaging in a guided breathing exercise. When I verbally agreed, the driver’s seatback began vibrating at intervals, while the voice instructed me to breathe along with its rhythm. The lab published the results of a small study earlier this year showing that the seat-guided exercise reduced driver stress and breathing rates without impairing performance. They are now experimenting with a second vibrating system to see if lower-frequency vibrations could be used to slow breathing rates (and therefore stress) without any conscious effort on the driver’s part. The goal, eventually, is a mass-market car that can detect an elevation in a driver’s stress level, via seat and steering wheel sensors or the neck-tension cameras. It would then automatically engage the calming-breath exercise, or talk through a problem or tell a joke to ease tension, using scripts developed with the input of cognitive behavioral therapists. These technologies have value even as cars’ autonomous capabilities advance, Paredes says. Even if a car is fully self-driving, the human inside will still often be a captive audience of one, encased in a private space with private worries and fears. Smarter technologies alone aren’t the solution to commuters’ problems. The auto industry has a long history of raising drivers’ tolerance for long commutes by making cars more comfortable and attractive places to be—all the while promising a better driving experience that’s just around the corner, says Peter Norton, an associate professor of science, technology, and society at the University of Virginia and author of Fighting Traffic: The Dawn of the Motor Age in the American City. From his perspective, stress-busting seats would join radios and air conditioners as distractions from bigger discussions about planning, transit and growing inequality, all of which could offer much more value to commuters than a nicer car. In addition, how long it will be before these latest features become widely available options is an open question. Paredes’ lab had to suspend work during the pandemic, as it’s hard to maintain social distancing while working inside of a compact sedan. TTS is in talks to expand its offerings to other automakers, and Paredes has filed patents on some of his lab’s inventions. But just because a technology is relatively easy to integrate in a car doesn’t mean it will be standard soon. The first commercially available backup cameras came on the market in 1991. Despite their effectiveness in reducing collisions, only 24% of cars on the road had them by 2016, according to the Insurance Institute for Highway Safety, and most were newer luxury vehicles. (The cameras are now required by law in all new vehicles.) These technologies also raise new questions of inequality and exploitation. It’s one thing for a commuter to opt for a seat that calms them down after a tough day. But if you drive for a living, should the company that owns your vehicle have the right to insist that you use a seat cover that elevates your breath rate and keeps you alert at the wheel? Who owns the health data your car collects, and who gets to access it? All of the unanswered questions that self-driving technologies raise apply to self-soothing technologies as well. Back in Palo Alto, the pandemic still weeks away, I am piloting the Leaf around the parking lot with a member of the lab gamely along for the ride in the back. The chatbot asks again what’s stressing me out. I have a deadline, I say, for a magazine article about cars and artificial intelligence. The bot asks if this problem is “significantly” affecting my life (not really), if I’ve encountered something similar before (yep), if previous strategies could be adapted to this scenario (they can) and when I’ll be able to enter a plan to tackle this problem in my calendar (later, when I’m not driving). I do feel a little better. I talk to myself alone in the car all the time. It’s kind of nice to have the car talk back. “Great. I’m glad you can do something about it. By breaking down a problem into tiny steps, we can often string together a solution,” the car says. “Sound good?” Get our Space Newsletter. Sign up to receive the week's news in space. Please enter a valid email address. * The request timed out and you did not successfully sign up. Please attempt to sign up again. Sign Up Now An unexpected error has occurred with your sign up. Please try again later. Check here if you would like to receive subscription offers and other promotions via email from TIME group companies. You can unsubscribe at any time. By signing up you are agreeing to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Thank you! For your security, we've sent a confirmation email to the address you entered. Click the link to confirm your subscription and begin receiving our newsletters. If you don't get the confirmation within 10 minutes, please check your spam folder. Contact us at letters@time.com.

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Simone Biles said she would take things one day at a time in deciding whether to continue competing in Tokyo; Team USA has Wednesday morning off, which, she said, would be a “good mental rest.”

https://ti.me/3iW65Mm

time

Simone Biles is the greatest of all time, and was expected to lead the Team USA squad to another Olympic gold in the team event. But minutes into the competition on July 27, Biles sat on the sidelines, in earnest conversation with a trainer and then left the field of play. She returned a few minutes later, but clearly not preparing to warm up for the next event. She hugged her teammates, put on her warm up jacket and pants, and minutes later USA Gymnastics (USAG) confirmed she had withdrawn from the team competition. USAG said that Biles pulled out due to a “medical issue” and would be “assessed daily to determine medical clearance for future competitions.” Biles qualified to compete in the all-around event on July 29 and all four apparatus event finals, on Aug 1, 2, and 3. No announcement was made to nearly empty arena, as no fans were present who might need to know what was happening. Without Biles, Team USA came close to outscoring the Russians—with one rotation to go, they were 0.8 points behind. But without Biles’ more difficult, and higher-scoring routines in the mix, along with costly mistakes, the U.S. ultimately fell nearly 3.5 points short and earned silver. At a press conference following the event, Biles confirmed she was not injured but felt her poor vault would jeopardize the team’s chances for a medal. “I felt like it would be a little better to take a back seat, and work on my mindfulness,” she said. “I didn’t want the team to risk a medal because of my screw up.” Team USA with Silver, Team ROC with Gold and Great Britain with Bronze during the medal ceremony in the Women's Team Final on day four of the Tokyo 2020 Olympic Games at Ariake Gymnastics Centre on July 27, 2021 in Tokyo, Japan. Laurence Griffiths—Getty Images Biles admitted that the stress of competing at the Olympics, and perhaps even the accumulated burden of competing at a pandemic Olympics having lived through the past year of lockdowns and restrictions, might have finally taken their toll. Days after arriving in Tokyo, an alternate on the team tested positive for COVID-19, and another alternate was placed in isolation because she was a close contact. “Today was really stressful,” she said. “The workout this morning went okay, it was just the 5.5 hour wait—I was shaking, and barely napped. I’ve never felt like this going into a competition before. I tried to go out, have fun and after warming up in the back I felt a little better, but once I came out here, I felt, no, the mental is not there. I need to let the girls do it and focus on myself.” It was a stunning turn of events, and an equally unexpected decision on Biles’ part, since the U.S. was widely seen as the team to beat—mainly due to her. Gymnastics and non-gymnastics fans alike were eager to see her gravity-defying skills on floor, beam and vault, but Biles withdrew after the first rotation. The final member of the three-woman team to vault, Biles took off down the runway, launched herself into the air, and then seemed to lose her bearings, twisting her head sideways on the way down and only completing one and a half of two and a half twists. She stepped forward on her landing and looked unhappy with her vault, but showed no outward signs of pain. Mentally, however, she was worrying about how her inevitable low score would affect the team’s standing, since all scores count in the three-up and three-count format. “I felt I robbed the team of a couple tenths and they could be higher in the rankings,” she said. Biles then spoke with a trainer for several minutes, looking more matter-of-fact than emotional, and then left the arena floor with the trainer. She returned a few minutes later, by which time the U.S. team had moved on to warming up for the next rotation, on uneven bars. After hugging each of her teammates—Sunisa Lee, Jordan Chiles and Grace McCallum, Biles looked more relieved and became a sideline cheerleader, clapping her hands and jumping up and down with every successful move her teammates made. Team USA's Grace Mc Callum and USA's Simone Biles react during the artistic gymnastics women's team final during the Tokyo 2020 Olympic Games at the Ariake Gymnastics Centre in Tokyo on July 27, 2021. Loic Venance—AFP via Getty Images And in her absence, Chiles, Lee and McCallum came through. With the three up-three count model, the U.S. initially chose to include Biles and McCallum in all four events, and rotated the remaining two—Chiles on vault and floor, and Lee on bars and beam. With Biles out, Chiles and Lee had to fill in where they hadn’t been planning to. “There were definitely a lot of emotions going through our heads,” Lee said. “It’s hard to lose a teammate, especially at the Olympic Games. But I’m proud of all of us, going through so much, feeling stressed and putting a lot of pressure on ourselves. But we ended up coming back.” Immediately after hearing Biles had withdrawn, McCallum jumped onto the uneven bars, pulling off a solid routine. The U.S. was in the same group as the Russians, who finished ahead of the U.S. in the qualifications, so the see-sawing point changes only added to the drama as the gymnasts from each country alternated on each event. Chiles stepped in for Biles on the uneven bars and completed another strong routine, setting the stage for Lee, who owns the most difficult routine of any gymnast in the competition. Lee performed her more challenging routine, with a start value of 6.8, and nailed it nearly flawlessly, earning a 15.4, which along with McCallum’s and Chiles’ scores, put the U.S. in second, 2.5 points behind the Russian team. In the third rotation, Team USA moved to balance beam, with Chiles stepping in for Biles. Showing no signs of the nerves that plagued her performance on beam during qualifications, Chiles added in a more difficult double pike dismount to eek out some additional points and stuck the landing. Naturally expressive, Chiles pumped her arms and reveled with her teammates as they narrowed the gap to gold to 0.8 points. Ending the night on floor exercise, McCallum, Chiles and Lee had a strong chance of making up those points—Lee earned silver at the 2019 world championships on floor behind Biles. Going first, however, McCallum stepped out of bounds on her second tumbling pass and Chiles also stepped out, then fell on her third tumbling run, which cost 0.6 points. Ultimately, the U.S. fell short of gold by 3.4 points. Team USA's Jordan Chiles competes in the floor event of the artistic gymnastics women's team final during the Tokyo 2020 Olympic Games at the Ariake Gymnastics Centre in Tokyo on July 27, 2021. Martin Bureau—AFP via Getty Images Biles’ decision highlights the growing awareness of the mental well-being of athletes, in addition to their physical fitness. It comes as fellow Olympian, tennis star Naomi Osaka, recently withdrew from the French Open citing mental health concerns. Biles’ recent missteps at major competitions likely only contributed to the sense of pressure she puts on herself, since she rarely makes errors. At Olympic Trials, Biles faltered on three of the four events, barely saving her uneven bars routine, falling off the beam and stepping out of bounds on floor exercise. The mishaps continued in Tokyo, as she stepped off the mat on floor and vault during qualifications. She hinted that the combined effect of everything that makes the Olympics, and particularly this Olympics, a pressure cooker, might have finally hit her. “It’s been a really stressful Olympics as a whole; not having an audience—there are a lot of different variables. It’s been a long week, a long Olympic process, and a long year,” she said. “I think we are just a little stressed out. We should be out there having fun and sometimes that’s not the case.” Biles said she would take things one day at a time in deciding whether to continue competing in Tokyo; Team USA has Wednesday morning off, which, she said, would be a “good mental rest.” Biles’ stunning decision comes after a tumultuous five years that she and USAG have undergone since 2016. Biles is the only survivor of a sexual abuse scandal that has upturned USAG in the past five years who is still competing. In an interview with TIME before the Olympics began, Biles admitted that the postponement of the Games from last year weighed on her, as it would mean another year of dealing with the USAG and what the survivors feel is the organization’s lack of transparency and accountability. USAG remains in bankruptcy and was de-certified by the U.S. Olympic and Paralympic Committee (UOSPC) in 2018, after former national team doctor Larry Nassar was sentenced on multiple charges of child pornography and sex crimes for sexually abusing athletes, including Biles, over several decades. The U.S. Olympic and Paralympic Committee (USOPC) began the decertification process over USAG’s failure to protect athletes from Nassar’s years-long abuse and for its lack of transparency in about early complaints about the doctor. But because of the bankruptcy, which was USAG’s attempt to resolve the costly lawsuits it now faces from dozens of gymnasts who are survivors of Nassar’s abuse, including Biles, USOPC has halted decertification procedures. According to attorney John Manly, who represents more than 200 of the survivors, “the greatest frustration from my clients comes from the fact that none of the enablers to Larry Nassar in the Olympic movement have been held to account.” Steve Penny, USAG president at the time, has been indicted for evidence-tampering related to removal of documents during the Nassar investigation, but has not gone to trial because of COVID-19 delays. Members of USOPC who the survivors say were notified of the abuse and failed to hold USAG accountable, have also not been held accountable, says Manly. The national training camp system that brought together elite, world championship and Olympic level gymnasts each month from around the country to take advantage of intensive skills workshops has continued, but no longer at the Karolyi ranch in Houston run by former national team coordinator Martha Karolyi, known for her strict and demanding training style. Whether the camps continue, and in what capacity, isn’t clear yet. How the women’s gymnastics program emerges from the scandal depends on how transparent USAG will be about its past, to ensure that it learns and changes unhealthy practices for the future. Already, the stunning testimony from dozens of survivors at Nassar’s sentencing in January 2018 has improved the culture in gyms around the country, not to mention the training camps for elite athletes. In addition to the sexual abuse that was prevalent at many gyms, numbers gymnasts have also stepped forward to report verbal and physical abuse by coaches who relied on domineering and demeaning training tactics. “The system I grew up in, the coaches motivated us—myself and my teammates on the national team—through fear,” says Jordyn Wieber, member of the gold-medal winning 2012 Olympic team, a survivor of Nassar’s abuse, and now a head coach of women’s gymnastics at University of Arkansas. “It was fear we would disappoint our coaches, fear we would fail, fear we could get in trouble, fear we would be ignored. I wouldn’t say it’s the healthiest way.” At this year’s national championships, which Wieber attended as a recruiter, she already noticed dramatic changes in that culture. “More than anything it was the way the athletes interacted with each other—high fiving, leaning on one another. They were a little more free to be themselves, while I remember feeling like we couldn’t have too much fun and had to be serious. Based on what I saw, I do think things are getting a little better, and I definitely have hope.” That’s the legacy that the survivors, which include the entire 2012 Olympic team, hope to leave on their sport. Biles has said that as the only remaining survivor still competing, she hopes her presence is a visible and constant reminder of what the USAG still owes all survivors—transparency, truth and accountability for its role in allowing Nassar to continue treating gymnasts. With Biles’ sudden withdrawal from the sport’s most prominent event, more questions likely will be raised about the support that USAG is, or isn’t, providing to its athletes and whether the disarrayed state of the organization is having a negative impact on athletes. Read more about the Tokyo Olympics: Get The Brief. Sign up to receive the top stories you need to know right now. 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