Hello and happy Friday! You may have seen The Atlantic’s jaw-dropping exclusive about what President Trump really thinks of our nation’s fallen (if you haven’t, I’d encourage you to read it in full). You may have also spotted some of the president’s many vehement denials.
The story prompted what I thought to be a really important discussion about the use of unnamed sources in journalism and the threshold by which publications decide to grant anonymity. If you’re interested in learning more, I’d encourage you to check out this Q&A and interview with our editor-in-chief Jeffrey Goldberg about the magazine’s decision to publish. “We all have to use anonymous sources, especially in a climate where the president of the United States tries to actively intimidate,” he told CNN. “These are not people who are anonymous to me.”
Also: I made my Remaniacs podcast debut last week! We chatted about the return of Parliament, government U-turns, and Britain’s modern prime ministers. You can tune in via your favorite podcast app or by clicking on the image below👇
What I’ve written (from the archives)
I’ve spent the last couple of weeks reporting on some more long-term stories, so I don’t have any new pieces to share in this correspondence. But I thought I’d use this opportunity to bring back one of my favorite stories from 2019, which I was recently invited to chat about for a Chatham House webinar on why political comedy matters:
The very British tradition of parliamentary sketch writing dates back to the 18th century, when journalists—who were barred from reporting what lawmakers said in the House of Commons—had to find creative ways of illustrating, or sketching, what had occurred.
These days, parliamentary sketch writing could more aptly be described as “verbal cartooning.” But the job of a sketch writer isn’t solely to poke fun at British politicians (though that certainly is part of it), nor is it simply to report on what was said by them. Rather, sketch writers tell us how a politician said something, why it matters, and what kind of reaction it sparked. Sketch writing at its best should make readers feel as if they were there. It also, of course, should make them laugh.
“You might write about the way a particular politician lies or dodges questions or even the way he or she looks,” Michael Deacon, the parliamentary sketch writer for The Daily Telegraph, told me in an email. “Nigel Farage looks like a toad plotting a practical joke. Theresa May looks like a depressed waxwork. Boris Johnson looks like a sheepdog peeping out from under an upturned colander of spaghetti. That sort of thing.” Keep reading here.
What I’ve read
This masterpiece of an essay by The New Yorker’s Jiayang Fang on family, identity, and the pandemic floored me. It’s undoubtedly one of the best things I’ve read this year:
“When the image of my mother’s face whizzed around Chinese social media, the reactions it aroused bore out her cynicism: the world was every bit as cruel and indifferent as she had always suspected. But I hung on to the irrational notion that, unless my mother’s eyes encountered the abuse, it could not be real—that at least in the hospital room where she would likely live out the rest of her life there existed a world in which she had a measure of control.”
This rollercoaster of a story from the Financial Times has it all: Intimidation, fraud, and old-school investigative journalism, complete with “a quick crab sandwich and glass of wine”:
“In April, BaFin filed a criminal complaint against Palma and me, plus a string of traders and hedge funds I’d never spoken to. I had the strange sensation of watching colleagues report and edit a piece about our impending prosecution. ‘Are you sure you didn’t let anything slip?’ one editor asked, attempting to tread the line between collegiality and duty. ‘Have you been ad yet?’ became the standard greeting as I crossed the newsroom.”
This unforgettable piece by novelist Jesmyn Ward on loss and grief took my breath (and many tears) away:
“Witness Black people, Indigenous people, so many poor brown people, lying on beds in frigid hospitals, gasping our last breaths with COVID-riddled lungs, rendered flat by undiagnosed underlying conditions, triggered by years of food deserts, stress, and poverty, lives spent snatching sweets so we could eat one delicious morsel, savor some sugar on the tongue, oh Lord, because the flavor of our lives is so often bitter.”
What I’m thinking about
There are many things to dislike about TikTok—the ridiculous trends, the annoyingly catchy songs, the potential national security concerns. But I recently came across an account that I think represents TikTok at its best: Joanne, aka @thekoreanvegan, is a Korean-American lawyer who posts videos of herself making beautiful vegan dishes, all the while sharing moving and often personal stories from her life.
For the TikTok-averse, fear not: She’s on Twitter too.
Until next time,
Yasmeen
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