Ad Policy

June 10, 2002 Issue


  • Columns

    The Job Has Become Too Big for Ashcroft

    OK, so maybe John Ashcroft and Robert Mueller are not the sharpest tools in the shed. How else to explain that, after September.

    Robert Scheer

  • Knowledge (and Power)

    For Senator Clinton to flourish a copy of the New York Post--the paper that has called her pretty much everything from Satanic to Sapphist--merely because it had the pungent headline "Bush Knew" is not yet her height of opportunism. (The height so far was reached last fall, when she said she could understand the rage and hatred behind the attacks on the World Trade Center because, after all, she had been attacked herself in her time.) But the failure of her husband's regime to take Al Qaeda seriously is the clue to the same failure on the part of the Bush gang.

    Christopher Hitchens


  • Dick Cheney’s Primer on the Constitution

    So what's it called if during war you criticize the President for any reason?
    Treason.
    And how long does this war go on (and this is where this theory's really pretty clever)?
    Forever.

    Calvin Trillin

  • Books and the Arts

    Singing to Power

    British folk-rocker Billy Bragg has to be the only popular musician who could score some airtime with a song about the global justice movement. The first single from Bragg's England, Half Engli

    Hillary Frey




  • Custom

    There is a difference it used to make,
    seeing three swans in this versus four in that
    quadrant of sky. I am not imagining. It was very large, as its
    effects were. Declarations of war, the timing fixed upon for a sea-departure; or,
    about love, a sudden decision not to, to pretend instead to a kind
    of choice. It was dramatic, as it should be. Without drama,
    what is ritual? I look for omens everywhere, because they are everywhere
    to be found. They come to me like strays, like the damaged,
    something that could know better, and should, therefore--but does not:
    a form of faith, you've said. I call it sacrifice--an instinct for it, or a habit at first, that
    becomes required, the way art can become, eventually, all we have
    of what was true. You shouldn't look at me like that. Like one of those saints
    on whom the birds once settled freely.

    Carl Phillips

  • Pursued by Love’s Demons

    As if the back streets of our local city
    might dispense with their pyrrhic accumulation of dust and wineful tonality,
    offer a reprise of love itself, a careless love
    rendered grand and persuasive
    by its own shy handful of hope, some ballast such as this
    on a summer afternoon when the air smells of slaughtered chickens,
    and other problems, like the estranged spouse of a good friend,
    holler from the passageway. It's always conclusive
    in the bungled moment after you try to accomplish something irreducible.
    So you say as you return empty-handed from the store,
    having forgotten everything--your money, the list.

    Charlie Smith



  • Get a Digital Subscription for just $9.50!