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Trump’s Inevitability Problem

The Atlantic

www.theatlantic.com › newsletters › archive › 2023 › 07 › trump-2024-election-lead-lincoln-dinner › 674877

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This is an edition of The Atlantic Daily, a newsletter that guides you through the biggest stories of the day, helps you discover new ideas, and recommends the best in culture. Sign up for it here.

There’s Donald Trump, and there’s everyone else. At the moment, the former president of the United States appears unbeatable in the 2024 Republican primary race. But perhaps inevitable is a trickier word than it seems.

First, here are three new stories from The Atlantic:

Ukraine after the deluge The misunderstood reason millions of Americans stopped going to church One more COVID summer?

It’s Iowa Time

What happens when you say the unsayable? Former Congressman (and current GOP presidential contender) Will Hurd found out the hard way Friday night. “Donald Trump is not running for president to make America great again,” Hurd told the Republican masses inside the Iowa Events Center. “Donald Trump is running to stay out of prison.”

The boos rained down, and, rest assured, they were mighty.

Hurd was one of 13 candidates who had trekked to Des Moines for the Iowa GOP’s cattle-call event known as the Lincoln Dinner. Prospective voters and donors gathered roughly six months ahead of Iowa’s first-in-the-nation caucus to remind themselves of their importance, which may or may not be waning. The night was ostensibly a chance for Iowans to listen to a range of electability pitches. Former Vice President Mike Pence told the room he would reinstate a ban on transgender personnel in the U.S. military and endorsed the idea of a national abortion restriction after 15 weeks. The businessman Vivek Ramaswamy rattled off a list of government agencies he would shut down: the FBI, CDC, DOE, ATF, and IRS. Florida Governor Ron DeSantis boasted that he had refused to let his state “descend into a Faucian dystopia” during the pandemic and called for term limits in Congress. (One dinner attendee, the 89-year-old Iowa Senator Chuck Grassley—currently serving his eighth term—probably didn’t like that one.)

The whole spectacle—including the after-parties where you could snap selfies with candidates or, at the DeSantis event, knock down a pyramid of Bud Light cans—felt like a study in performative competition.

Each speaker was given a democratizing 10-minute time limit to deliver his or her remarks (poor Asa Hutchinson suffered the embarrassment of having his mic cut off), but all were merely warm-up acts for the headliner. When Trump finally took the stage, he seemed tired, bored, and annoyed with this obligation. A lack of teleprompters meant that Trump spent the bulk of his 10 minutes looking down at printed notes, only occasionally making eye contact with the audience or ad-libbing. He got a few chuckles out of his old pandemic go-to, the “China virus.” He notably referred to his White House predecessor as “Barack Hussein Obama.” The only newish development was that Ron “DeSanctimonious” had been shortened to the easier-to-say but far more confusing “DeSanctis.”

Trump is not running as an incumbent, but it sure seems that way. A New York Times/Siena College poll out today shows Trump with a 37-point lead over DeSantis, who was the only other candidate able to crack double digits among respondents. Did January 6 matter? Do the indictments matter? Does anything remotely negative about Trump matter? Not yet. Trump remains the Katie Ledecky of the 2024 contest—so far ahead of the pack that it feels wrong to even call it a race. Trump knows it too. He may not even bother to show up at the first Republican debate next month, in Milwaukee.

These factors would suggest that the Republican Party is delaying the inevitable, that the GOP base earnestly wants to “Make America great again” … again. And yet, the various campaign buses keep on rolling across Iowa and New Hampshire. The noble attempts at retail politics and down-home charm continue apace. Pence strategically name-dropped the Iowa chain Pizza Ranch. Senator Tim Scott of South Carolina tweeted a video of himself fist-pumping after sinking a bag in cornhole. (“If God made you a man, you play sports against men,” Scott said onstage Friday night.) Expect much more of this at the Iowa State Fair, which kicks off in just over a week.

I was in the press pen at the Lincoln Dinner on Friday night, and I spent the weekend in Iowa speaking with various Republicans about all things 2024. I came away with the sense that a not-insignificant portion of conservatives is willing to accept Trump’s dominance, but that many are still quietly hoping for a deus ex machina to avoid a 2020 rematch. The still-rolling indictments don’t seem to have much effect—too many Republican voters argue that the legal cases against Trump are politically motivated. He shows no signs of giving up his nickname, “Teflon Don.”

The fact that Trump is running from a stance of inevitability is paradoxically both emboldening and hindering. Trump doesn’t seem to want to actually be president (as Hurd suggested). Maybe he just wants to prove he can win again. Will that motivational gap matter to voters? Will anything matter?

Related:

The revenge of the normal Republicans The secret presidential-campaign dress code

Today’s News

A state judge in Georgia rejected Trump’s bid to derail the investigation into his attempts to overturn election results in the state. A Russian missile strike on Kryvyi Rih, President Volodymyr Zelensky’s hometown, killed at least six people, including a 10-year-old girl and her mother, and wounded dozens more. The Islamic State claimed responsibility for Sunday’s suicide bombing of a political rally in Pakistan that killed at least 54 people.

Dispatches

The Wonder Reader: In 1980, the film critic Roger Ebert argued that movies were better in theaters. The recent success of Barbenheimer is evidence—and points to the ongoing magic of communal experiences, Isabel Fattal writes.

Explore all of our newsletters here.

Evening Read

Getty / The Atlantic

The Myopia Generation

By Sarah Zhang

A decade into her optometry career, Marina Su began noticing something unusual about the kids in her New York City practice. More of them were requiring glasses, and at younger and younger ages. Many of these kids had parents who had perfect vision and who were baffled by the decline in their children’s eyesight. Frankly, Su couldn’t explain it either.

In optometry school, she had been taught—as American textbooks had been teaching for decades—that nearsightedness, or myopia, is a genetic condition. Having one parent with myopia doubles the odds that a kid will need glasses. Having two parents with myopia quintuples them. Over the years, she did indeed diagnose lots of nearsighted kids with nearsighted parents. These parents, she told me, would sigh in recognition: Oh no, not them too. But something was changing.

Read the full article.

More From The Atlantic

What “fitboxing” is missing “Ukrainian is my native language, but I had to learn it.” The weird, fragmented world of social media after Twitter America is drowning in packages.

Culture Break

Joanne Imperio / The Atlantic

Read. I Wish I Could Remember,” a new poem by Michael White.

It’s just a dream, / I’d tell myself. But dreams are how / we travel through the dark”

Watch. Biopics tend to be “functional to a fault,” better at showcasing an actor than creating challenging art—but these 20 movies manage to break the mold, David Sims writes.

Play our daily crossword.

P.S.

Last week, the podcast host Jack Wagner went viral on Twitter (er, X) with a prompt: “serious question: if the grateful dead is not the greatest band of all time from the united states then who is?” Thousands of responses poured in: The Beach Boys, The Allman Brothers Band, and The Velvet Underground kept surfacing among the many retorts (as did Bruce Springsteen and Tom Petty; I don’t think you can really count either, because even though they play with backing bands, they’re solo artists.) I’m a Deadhead, but the strongest contender I saw was Creedence Clearwater Revival. CCR’s Willy and the Poor Boys remains one of the greatest rock records ever. You likely know “Fortunate Son” and “Down on the Corner,” but the album also features an awesome cover of “The Midnight Special”—I love the moment when the whole band kicks in just after the one-minute mark.

— John

Nicole Blackwood contributed to this newsletter.

When you buy a book using a link in this newsletter, we receive a commission. Thank you for supporting The Atlantic.

Trump Has Now Been Indicted for Even More Crimes

The Atlantic

www.theatlantic.com › ideas › archive › 2023 › 07 › donald-trump-indictment-jack-smith › 674855

Yesterday, Special Counsel Jack Smith secured a superseding indictment in the classified-documents case against Donald Trump and his aide Waltine Nauta in federal court in Florida. The revised indictment adds a new defendant, Carlos de Oliveira, a property manager at Mar-a-Lago, as well as two new obstruction-of-justice counts for attempting to “alter, destroy, mutilate, or conceal evidence.” The new charges stem from allegations that Trump, Nauta, and de Oliveira together attempted to delete surveillance-video footage at Mar-a-Lago in the summer of 2022. This all allegedly occurred amid the FBI’s attempts to secure the return of a huge quantity of classified documents that Trump took from the White House—a frustrated effort that culminated in the government’s execution of a search warrant at the property on August 8.

The superseding indictment also adds a new count under the Espionage Act related to a document marked top secret and identified as a “presentation concerning military activity in a foreign country,” which Trump is described as waving around to people without security clearances at his Bedminster, New Jersey, club. It also charges de Oliveira with repeatedly lying to the FBI when asked about his knowledge of the boxes stored and moved around at Mar-a-Lago.

The case is only getting more damning for Trump.

[David A. Graham: This indictment is different]

Recall that the original indictment alleged that in May 2022, Nauta removed—at Trump’s direction—64 boxes of documents from “the Storage Room” at Mar-a-Lago. Nauta removed 11 more boxes on June 1, according to the indictment. Several photographs depicting stacks of disheveled boxes—one with what looks like a copy machine nearby—were reproduced in the indictment. The new obstruction charges involve the storage room and nearby security cameras, which could have picked up footage of people moving boxes after Trump’s lawyers claimed to the FBI on June 3, in a certified statement, that Trump had returned everything in his possession.

The superseding indictment alleges that Trump orchestrated a failed attempt to destroy the surveillance-video footage the day after he learned from his lawyer, on June 22, that they were expecting a grand-jury subpoena for production of “any and all surveillance records, videos, images, photographs and/or CCTV from internal cameras,” including from the “ground floor (basement).” On June 23, Trump called de Oliveira and spoke with him for 24 minutes. The subpoena was issued on June 24. The same day, a staff member texted Nauta, who was at Bedminster, that Trump wanted to see him. In less than two hours, Nauta changed his plans to travel to Illinois, instead heading to Mar-a-Lago. On June 25, Nauta and de Oliveira went to the ground-floor basement, “with a flashlight through the tunnel where the Storage Room was located, and observed and pointed out surveillance cameras.”

On June 27, after confirming that the club’s IT director, referred to as “Employee 4” in the indictment, was available, de Oliveira walked with that person through the basement tunnel, where they had a conversation meant to “remain between the two of them.” De Oliveira told him that “‘the boss’ wanted the server deleted.” Employee 4 refused, saying that he would not “have the rights to do that.” De Oliveira responded, “What are we going to do?”

Later that day, according to the indictment, Nauta and de Oliveira “walked through the bushes on the northern edge of The Mar-a-Lago Club property to meet.” Approximately two hours later, Trump called de Oliveira “and they spoke for approximately three and a half minutes.” Later in the summer, two weeks after the FBI conducted its search (it obtained the surveillance footage in July, and the warrant was issued in early August), Nauta called another Trump employee, saying, “Someone just wants to make sure Carlos is good.” The employee responded that de Oliveira “was loyal” to Trump, who called de Oliveira “the same day” and told him that he’d get him an attorney.

A few things jump out from this narrative, all of which are bad for Trump. The attempt to erase the video footage occurred in direct response to a grand-jury subpoena for the video footage—not prophylactically, routinely, by mistake, or for some other noncriminal reason. This is a big deal for purposes of proving the crime of obstruction, and Trump’s role and influence in the effort to destroy potentially incriminating evidence of interest to a federal grand jury is unmistakable. The fact pattern also bolsters the government’s case that Trump’s efforts to induce others to hide and tamper with evidence were made “knowingly” and “with intent” under the relevant obstruction statute, 18 U.S.C. § 1512(b)(2). (The new Espionage Act charge also blows apart Trump’s claim to the Fox News host Bret Baier that there “was not a document per se” involved in the audio recording of him discussing what appear to be military war plans with folks lacking security clearances.) Meanwhile, the superseding indictment rests on a stream of corroborating evidence—including, according to the indictment, surveillance-video footage; the testimony of several employees; and a trove of text messages and phone records between the key players, among them Trump himself.

The Mar-a-Lago case is one of two criminal trials Trump is facing so far—the other was brought by the Manhattan district attorney over alleged financial wrongdoing—with at least two more possibly impending, including one stemming from Trump’s involvement in the violent attempt to thwart the peaceful transition of presidential power on January 6, 2021, and another out of Fulton County, Georgia, over his recorded effort to sway the Georgia secretary of state to “find” enough votes to swing that state into his electoral column. In all of these cases, prosecutors’ task is unique in that the defendant is a former president of the United States and the front-runner for the Republican nomination in 2024—both historical firsts. Criminal juries must be unanimous in Manhattan and in federal court, so Trump’s legal team need only secure a single loyalist who will not convict in order to achieve an acquittal.

[David A. Graham: Donald Trump’s ‘horrifying news’]

Which is why it’s significant that the narrative underlying the new obstruction charges is so compelling. The tale is reminiscent of the hero’s journey in mythology and literature that was first articulated by Joseph Campbell in 1949 and that underpins countless Hollywood blockbusters, from The Lord of the Rings to Harry Potter. In this narrative, Employee 4 emerges as the hero who rejected Trump’s villainous urges and then came forward with the truth, at his own peril. Prosecutors and law-enforcement officials involved in the case have already faced substantial threats and harassment, both online and in person. Trump last week called Jack Smith “deranged.” Let’s hope this story ends well for the good guys.

Are You Plagued by the Feeling That Everyone Used to Be Nicer?

The Atlantic

www.theatlantic.com › podcasts › archive › 2023 › 07 › are-you-plagued-by-the-feeling-that-everyone-used-to-be-nicer › 674838

I have a long-running argument with my brother. He insists that his children, who are growing up in New York City right now, are a lot less safe than we were as kids in the same neighborhood. I happen to know this is absurd, and I’ve tried for many years to convince him. I’ve shown him news reports, crime statistics. Once I even downloaded an FBI report showing without a doubt that New York was much more dangerous 30 years ago. But he is unmoved. He remembers our childhood as gentler, safer. And I have to admit—there are moments when I walk around my old neighborhood and see visions of the mailman tipping his hat to my 10-year-old self, and the neighbors smiling as I made my way home to dinner.

Why do so many of us have this feeling that when we were younger, people were nicer and more moral, and took care of one another better? An experimental psychologist named Adam Mastroianni had also been wondering about this persistent conviction and did a systematic study of the phenomenon recently published in Nature.

Mastroianni documents that this hazy memory is shared by many different demographics, and felt quite strongly. He explains how the illusion works and why it has such a hold on us. And most important, he explains how it can distort not just our personal relationships but our culture and politics. In this episode of Radio Atlantic, I talk with Mastroianni and staff writer Julie Beck about the illusion of moral decline, and why it persists so strongly.

Whenever politicians or aspiring politicians make the claim that, you know, “Things used to be better, put me in charge and I’ll make them better again”—that’s a very old thing that we’ve heard many times. And it resonates with us, perhaps because we are primed to believe it, even when it’s not true.

Listen to the conversation here:

Subscribe here: Apple Podcasts | Spotify | Stitcher | Google Podcasts | Pocket Casts

The following episode transcript has been edited lightly for clarity:

Hanna Rosin: So, Julie, you know—even though I get annoyed when other people say people used to be nicer, I kind of think I might feel that way too.

If I have a vision of my childhood and I’m walking down the street from the playground, I imagine all my neighbors saying, “Hi, little Hanna.” [Laughter.] And the mailman coming by, you know, and tipping his hat at me, and the old man walking his dog.

And, you know, I have no idea if this memory is accurate, but I definitely have that feeling that people were nicer.

Julie Beck: Did you grow up in Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood? Or what was it?

Rosin: No; I actually grew up in Queens, New York. So it’s probably, certainly not true. [Laughter.]

This is Radio Atlantic. I’m Hanna Rosin. I invited my colleague Julie Beck on to talk about something that’s always really bothered me. It’s when people talk about how things are so much worse today than they were in the past.

And they say things like “Neighbors used to be nicer, and everyone used to smile at you and help you out.” And sometimes it’s just grandpa chatter and you can pretty much ignore it. And then other times it turns into this “back when men were men and women were women”–type thing, which is more annoying.

Beck: There’s a benign wish to, like, tip your hat to the mailman. And then there’s a “Oh, we need to bring back the social order of the 1950s.” And then you’re like, “Whoa, how did we end up here?”

Julie analyzes psychological research and social trends, and she’s also the host of another Atlantic podcast, How to Talk to People.

And she’s here to help me understand this very interesting research that just emerged about this strong conviction people have that everything has gotten worse.

Adam Mastroianni: So my whole life, I’ve heard people say things like, “You used to be able to keep your doors unlocked at night,” or “You can’t trust someone’s word anymore.”

And I always chafed at those kinds of statements. So part of it was wanting to prove everybody wrong. But part of it, too, was like, Well, if they’re right, this is a big problem. And that’s kind of where we got started.

Rosin: That is Adam Mastroianni. He recently published a paper in Nature called “The Illusion of Moral Decline.” Adam is a psychologist, and he’s the author of the science blog Experimental History. And he spent a decade systematically studying why we feel things were better in the past … and what it means.

Mastroianni: I think my first year of graduate school was when Trump got elected. And so obviously it was a moment of “Make America Great Again” being sort of the vibe of the day.

Seeing claims that “The past was good, the present is bad, put me in charge and I can bring the good past back” also just made me see how this is much more than, you know, uncles and brothers-in-law and people on the internet saying these things— that these claims resonate with people, and they help put people in the Oval Office.

Rosin: Yeah. I mean, I have to say, that’s my motivation for being interested in your research, because I have always had a kind of detached curiosity about why this line resonates so strongly.

Like, why is it that—and it’s not just American leaders, it’s leaders all over the world—they can just say, “Oh, things were better back then,” and it immediately clicks for people? Like, they don’t even have to explain it. You can just say, “You know, make America great again.” It’s like four words, and all the assumptions are immediately there for people.

Mastroianni: Yeah. When I give talks in an academic context about this paper, what I start with is the end of Trump’s inaugural speech, where he says, “You know, we’ll make America wealthy again and proud again and safe again and great again.” And I point out that the most important word in those sentences isn’t America or safe or proud or strong or great. It’s again.

Rosin: Yes!

Mastroianni: Just that word does a ton of work. Which is that: Wwell, if things used to be great but aren’t now, it means something changed. It implies that we can change it back. It evokes a sense of loss, but also a sense of possibility of restoring the loss.

Rosin: Yeah. And it is the word again., It’s like that one little word sort of resolves something emotionally for people. It’s hard to understand exactly how it works, but you say the word again, and everyone’s like, “Ah, you just filled a hole for me.” You know? What exactly do you mean when you say “moral decline,” and why, if it’s an illusion, does it feel so real?

Mastroianni: There are a few totally reasonable hypotheses about what people might think of when they talk about moral decline. It might be that everyone means, like, “I heard that the 1950s were a really good time. And so what I’m really telling you is things have declined since then.” Not that they got worse in the past 10 years; that they got worse, you know, 20 years ago or 50 years ago. And we’re just living in the bad times now.

In a later study, we asked people go back even further than that. “What about 20 years before that? What about 40 years before that?” And what they told us there is—“Before I arrived, nothing was happening. Things were good. Then I got born, and then things started to go downhill.”

And what’s especially interesting is: It doesn’t matter when you were born. So the people who were 30 told us it happened 30 years ago. The people who were 60 told us it happened 60 years ago.

Rosin: Wait, really? So literally, people think the decline began when they came on this earth?

Mastroianni: Yeah. So, I mean, we don’t ask, like, the day before or the day after. But the question that we asked was: “Rate how kind, honest, nice, and good people are today. What about the year in which you were 20?” And people told us it was better then.

“What about the year in which you were born?” And people told us it was even better then. And then we asked, “What about 20 years before that? And 40 years before that?”

And there’s no difference in people’s answers. That line is flat. It’s only when we asked about “20 years after your birth” that the line goes down.

Rosin: That is so interesting. I don’t think I fully grasped that. So people are projecting whatever personal difficulties or struggles of life—now maybe I’m extrapolating—onto the whole of humanity, like they’re protecting their own life span onto a historical, broader cultural, political life span.

Mastroianni: Yeah. And I mean, this is a bias of people’s memory, because you don’t have memories from before you were born. You do have memories from most of the time after you were born.

So it would make sense—if this is a memory bias—that it turns on sometime near the moment of your birth. Obviously not exactly then, but this would explain why we don’t see this for what people think about before they were born and after.

Rosin: Does it really not matter how young you are? The stereotype is obviously, you know, Grandpa Simpson. It’s like, older people are always talking about how things were better back then, but not necessarily younger people.

Mastroianni: Yeah; we totally expected to find that as well, and we didn’t really. So when you ask people about the decline that they have perceived over their lifetimes, there’s no difference in the decline that younger and older people perceive.

Rosin: Julie, I was surprised to hear that there wasn’t a difference between older people and younger people in terms of how they perceive this moral decline. I mean, you’re not an old person; you’re young. So do you remember ever having this feeling?

Beck: I distinctly remember I did not get a smartphone until I moved to D.C. in 2013. So in the years before that, when I lived in Chicago, I have a memory of having so many more interactions with strangers on the street.

And I definitely do not have those nearly as frequently anymore. And I think it’s just because we’re all looking at our phones, right? So part of me kind of romanticizes the, you know, chance encounters of the pre-smartphone era and all of that.

Rosin: Yeah. And when I hear you say that, I’m like, Oh, it’s fine for Julie to have that feeling, and it’s fine for me to have that feeling. But if I multiply it by a few million times, then I get this political movement of “Let’s go back to the era when things were better,” and that I don’t really like so much.

Beck: Yeah. One thing that this makes me think of, too, is a line of research that has found that social trust has actually been declining in the U.S. for decades. So people are essentially less and less likely to say that generally most other people can be trusted.

And so you’re totally right that there are really big political implications for thinking the past was better and people used to be more trustworthy.

For me, it feels like kind of a chicken-or-an-egg question. Like, do we trust people less because we believe they’ve gotten morally worse? Or do we believe people are worse because we’re more disconnected from our communities?

Mastroianni: We focused here on a pretty narrow question, which is, “Has the way that people treat one another in their everyday lives changed over time?” And do people think that it has?

This is a model of when things are bad, it’s easy for them to seem like they have gotten worse. And so I don’t think this is the only domain where we might find this illusion, because people say this about a lot of different parts of life.

You know: that art is worse than it used to be. That culture is worse than it used to be. That the education system is worse than it used to be. But it seems pretty clear to me that we are predisposed to believe that it’s true, even when it’s not.

Rosin: Your assumptions in this research are—people have this idea that a certain kind of morality has declined. But in your mind, it has not declined. So to you, this is like an illusion. I mean, you call it an illusion. Right?

Mastroianni: Yes.

Rosin: Okay. So working within that assumption, what’s your explanation? Like, why would a majority of us be operating under a delusion/illusion? Like something that you’re saying is clearly not true.

Mastroianni: We think that there are two cognitive biases that can combine to produce this illusion. So this explanation has two parts. The first is what we call biased exposure, which is that people tend to attend to predominantly negative information, especially about people that they don’t know.

So this is both a combination of the information that they receive about people that they don’t know, which is primarily negative, and the information that they pay attention to. So this is why when you look out at the world beyond your personal world, it looks like it’s full of people who are doing bad things. They’re lying and cheating and stealing and killing.

The second part of the explanation is what we call biased memory. Memory researchers have noticed that the badness of bad memories tends to fade faster than the goodness of good memories.

So if you got turned down for your high-school prom, it feels pretty bad at the time. Twenty years later, it’s maybe a funny story. If you have a great high-school prom, it feels pretty good at the time. And 20 years later, it’s still a pretty nice memory. It doesn’t feel as nice as it did to experience it, but it still feels pretty nice.

And that turns out to be, on average, what happens to people’s memories: that the bad ones inch toward neutral faster than the good ones do, And the bad ones are more likely to both be forgotten and to become good in retrospect.

Beck: So when I read the paper, Hanna, I wondered whether what might be going on is that people are, to some degree, picking up on a real change in the world.

There’s the decline of social trust—but also widespread loneliness and disconnection and the erosion of community life, in the sense of fewer people knowing their neighbors and declining membership in community organizations.

And all of those things definitely have an impact on people’s personal lives. But I think it manifests as a vague feeling like, Oh, it’s just harder to make friends or harder to feel like I’m a part of my community.

So I wonder if we’re feeling this sort of vague and troubling sense of disconnection and assigning it a false explanation: that things used to be better before, and people just suck more than they used to.

Rosin: Oh, that’s really interesting. So what you’re saying is the feeling is real. Like, the feeling that something has changed is real because something has changed. There is more disconnection and loneliness.

So instead we make up this very tidy story. Like, “When I was a kid, things were better and people were nicer and the mailman tipped his hat”—and we just kind of stopped there.

Beck: Yeah; there definitely are real things that are really happening that would make people feel disconnected from strangers around them. And I wonder if, yeah, we just have a hard time psychologically, knowing why that’s the case.

Rosin: So Adam, I want to run a couple of theories by you. One is the possibility that something has actually changed. And we’re just calling it by the wrong name. That, like, something has declined. And this is from a different body of psychological research about social trust.

That there is a change in our isolation, our sense of connectedness, our face-to-ace contact. Like there are some societal changes which are real and structural and have kind of left a hole in us that we are misnaming morality.

When we read it here, we thought there are some things that are changing and that do leave us a little despairing—and maybe we’re just calling them by the wrong name.

Mastroianni: Yeah.

Rosin: Like we have this incredibly powerful feeling that something is wrong, and that “something” is connectedness or community or something like that.

Mastroianni: Yeah. So it’s very easy to slip from “People are less kind than they used to be” to “Things are worse than they used to be.” And so it is true that trust in institutions has declined over time. A lot of people also say that interpersonal trust has declined over time. And I actually think that case is much more overstated than the decline in institutional trust.

There’s some work by a guy named Richard Eibach on how people think the world has gotten more dangerous. And he finds that people believe this. And the people who believe this, especially, are parents. And when you ask those parents “When did the world become more dangerous?,” you get a date that is curiously close to the date of the birth of their first child.

The obvious implication being that nothing about the world changed. It was your worldview that changed. And now you have to, you know, protect this fragile life—and so you are much more attuned to the dangers of the world. That’s why you think there’s more of them.

Rosin: You know, Julie, I have this conversation with my brother all the time, and he’s always telling me his kids aren’t safe. He lives in New York. He’s like, “My kids aren’t safe. They can’t go outside. They can’t go down the block.” Like, he really freaks out, you know? And: “It’s way less safe than it was when we were kids.” And I’m like, “Dude, we grew up in New York in the ’70s, right?” It was really not safe.

Beck: Like, statistically.

Rosin: Statistically. And I’ve shown him news articles, and I once pulled out an FBI report. I specially downloaded an FBI report that showed, you know, crime statistics in New York from when we were kids.

And his conviction is so strong about this. I can’t budge him. I can’t show him enough numbers or statistics to make him think, Oh, things aren’t worse now.

I mean, Adam Mastroianni actually has a term for this. This is a little mean to my brother, but his term is unearned conviction. And I think what he means by that is exactly this. It’s like: Your conviction is incredibly strong, even though you have really no basis to back up the story that you’re attaching to that very strong conviction.

Beck: Yeah. I mean it seems like, regardless of the FBI report, the story your brother is telling himself is super-emotionally resonant.

Rosin: Yes.

Beck: And the stories that we tell ourselves about our own lives really do sort of shape who we are. It’s really interesting, because when we tell these stories to ourselves about our personal lives, a lot of times those stories fall into one of two categories. One being redemptive and the other being contamination.

And so a redemptive story is like: “I have suffered through these trials and come out stronger for it, and things are looking up.” Whereas a contamination story is like: “These trials have conquered me, and I am now broken and fundamentally a worse person.”

And it probably won’t surprise you to hear that contamination sequences are not great for people’s mental health. That research was done with stories that we’re telling about our personal lives. But it feels like we’re kind of telling a contamination story about all of humanity.

Rosin: I guess what’s depressing to me is: Why are those the ones that stick? I mean, there are redemption stories that are popular in American society.

But I feel like in a lot of moments in history, and now is one of them, these contamination stories—like “America was great once” or “Russia was great once”—have a particular kind of emotional juice and can really rally people.

Beck: Yeah. I mean, maybe it’s kind of like your brother’s fear in New York, right? Where it’s just like—that is so viscerally emotional. It’s the safety of your kid. And so, of course, that’s going to have like a way stronger impact.

Rosin: Now Adam, did you find any appreciable differences between demographics? So if not between old and young people, what about gender differences, or people with different political ideologies?

Mastroianni: We didn’t find any gender differences. We didn’t find any differences by racial groups. We didn’t find any education differences. The only other demographic difference that we found was an ideological one, a political one. The people who self-identified as more conservative perceived more decline over time than the people who self-identified as liberal.

But even for the people who were the most liberal, they still said that people are less kind today than they were 10 years ago, 20 years ago, or whatever point in the past. So this is something that conservatives said louder, but liberals said as well.

Rosin: So someone who identifies as a liberal could believe that there’s less racism and sexism—but still believe that those other general universal markers of morality have declined.

Mastroianni: Yes. And in fact, it seems like they do. In our studies, the much smaller group of people who say that people are better now than they used to be—when we asked them “Why? What were you thinking of?,” one thing that does come up for them is there’s more tolerance. There’s less racism, sexism, ableism; all the isms.

So it seems like that’s not what people are spontaneously thinking of when they say that people are less kind than they used to be. Because if you ask them directly, “Do you think that, for instance, people treat African Americans with more respect and courtesy or less than in the past?,” a majority of people will say more today than in the past.

But if you ask them, “Are people more or less kind today?,” they’ll go less kind. So this is not what they’re thinking of when they answer the question.

Rosin: Yeah. So it’s a really, really specific feeling. I definitely think that people treat each other with more respect, largely because we have broadened the window of who is allowed to be respected, and sort of patriarchal notions of control over people’s bodies and who gets to make decisions. I mean, there’s so many ways in which we have opened the door to fairness and equity. I’d much rather be alive today than 50 years ago, for sure.

Mastroianni: Yeah, I agree. And so I think it was especially surprising that I’m sure there are many other people who agree. But even some of the people who do agree—they seem to think like, Yeah, but that actually doesn’t come from people’s heart of hearts. That they’re actually still worse to one another now than they used to be.

Yeah; they’ll say all the right things or they’ll have the right opinions. But you know, they won’t hold the door open for you, or they’ll cheat you when they can. Now people know the right things to say, but they still do more of the bad things.

Rosin: Do we feel the same way with people we know? Does it play out differently in our personal lives?

Mastroianni: You can actually also produce an illusion of improvement. You actually primarily hear good things and experience good things about people that you know. And so we thought that in your personal world, this illusion of decline might be turned down or turned off or even reversed.

And people told us: “People in general? Worse today than they were 15 years ago. People that I have known for the last 15 years? Better today than they were 15 years ago.”

Rosin: So Julie, one thing that Adam found that I thought was so interesting was that people we know—like our own people, people we’re close to or whatever—they’re somehow getting better over time, and yet the general public are getting worse. I don’t quite understand how those fit together.

Beck: So I guess we just think the moral decline is happening with strangers, with all those other people.

Rosin: Right.

Beck: And it seems like potentially the disconnection from community that many people are experiencing could just mean that we’re slotting more people into the “morally compromised, untrustworthy” category.

Rosin: Right. Like, if we met more people and we had more casual acquaintances and we went to our bowling leagues or whatever, then we might include more people in that circle of people we know. And those people are good people. So that could sort of spiral upward rather than what’s happening, which is a momentum downward.

Beck: Adam’s study kind of seems to say that if you get to know people, then you won’t think they’re on a downward slope of moral depravity anymore.

Rosin: For one thing, Adam, it sounds to me like the problem is that people are absolutely certain. Like they’re not questioning. Was the past a worse place? It’s a sort of lack of humility. Because if you try to understand, “Well, maybe what did get worse?,” then you would come up with more specific and useful policy solutions.

I mean, I assume one reason you did this research is to point out a mistake. Like, we’re all living under this delusion. And in your head—since you sound like a fairly optimistic person—is it “knowledge is power,” and people will know, and then they will stop? What’s the aim, or what’s your wish here?

Mastroianni: Yeah. I mean, as a psychologist I a little bit despair of changing people’s minds, because I know how difficult it is. It doesn’t work the way that we think that it works, like, “Oh, you have the wrong model of the world. How about I give you the correct facts, and now you have the correct model of the world?” When does that ever happen? When has that ever happened to me? Like, never.

And one effect that I certainly hope that this has is: Whenever politicians or aspiring politicians make the claim that, you know, “Things used to be better, and put me in charge and I’ll make them better again”—that’s a very old thing that we’ve heard many times. And it resonates with us, perhaps because we are primed to believe it, even when it’s not true.

Beck: So, Hanna, now that we know this is an illusion, right, that’s very interesting. But will it actually change how you feel?

Rosin: I don’t really know. I mean, I feel like as a journalist, it depresses me a little bit because I spent a lot of time researching and marshaling facts, like I did with my brother. And to think that emotions ultimately squash all of that—I don’t really know what to do with that.

Beck: Yeah.

Rosin: But in my own personal life, awareness is helpful. I don’t think any bad can come from understanding your own emotional levers better. It’s not that it immediately leads to a change, but I don’t think it can ever be bad to understand, Oh, I’m having this emotional attachment or strong belief, and that’s leading me to behave in this way. That in and of itself is a small daily miracle. So that’s good enough.

Rosin: Listeners, if you enjoyed this conversation with Adam Mastroianni and Julie Beck, and if you generally like learning about these psychological levers that are guiding our choices, Julie hosts a full season of conversations much like this one, on the Atlantic podcast How to Talk to People. You can find it wherever you listen to podcasts.

This episode was produced by Becca Rashid. Edited by Jocelyn Frank. Fact-checked by Isabel Cristo. Engineering by Rob Smierciak. The executive producer of audio is Claudine Ebeid. The managing editor of audio is Andrea Valdez. You can find new episodes of Radio Atlantic every Thursday.

A Second Trump Presidency All but Guarantees His Exoneration

The Atlantic

www.theatlantic.com › ideas › archive › 2023 › 07 › trump-2024-election-candidacy-criminal-appeal › 674827

If, as seems likely, Donald Trump is the Republican presidential nominee next year, the 2024 elections will be a referendum on several crucial issues: the prospect of authoritarianism in America, the continuation of a vibrant democracy, the relationship between the executive branch and the other two branches of government, and much else of grave significance.

It will also be a referendum on whether Trump will ever be held legally accountable for his actions. Trump faces multiple civil suits and at least two criminal indictments (with two more seemingly just over the horizon). If Trump were to win reelection, it is almost certain that none of these will ever be resolved—at least not in a way that is adverse to his interests, which any reasonable system would admit as a possibility. Such is the power of the presidency.

Take the simplest cases first: his pending indictment in Florida for violations of the Espionage Act relating to the retention of classified documents, and his anticipated indictment for actions relating to the January 6 insurrection. If Trump is elected, neither of these cases will ever result in a final judgment of Trump’s guilt (much less incarceration).

The Mar-a-Lago documents case is set to go to trial in May 2024. Although many people suspect, not without foundation, that this trial date will slip, let us indulge the possibility that the trial occurs as scheduled and that sometime in June or July 2024, a jury convicts Trump. There is virtually no doubt that Trump would appeal such a verdict, and there is likewise almost no doubt that the presiding judge, Aileen Cannon, would allow him to remain free on appeal.

I have handled several criminal appeals in my career. None has ever been resolved, in even the simplest of cases, in less than a year. That’s just the way our appellate system works; there is no sense of urgency to the proceedings at all (nor, to be clear, should there be in the normal course of business—the trial has concluded and the record is complete; a mature and thoughtful review of those proceedings requires time). The result is that Trump’s appeal of his federal conviction (assuming one is secured) will quite likely still be pending before the Eleventh Circuit, the court with appellate jurisdiction over federal trials in Florida, at least through mid-2025—well past the election and into the next presidential term. And even were an appeal to be concluded quickly, Trump would inevitably then petition the Supreme Court for review, taking yet more time.

A similar calendar will apply to the possible January 6–related charges that may soon be brought by the special counsel in Washington, D.C. Even if that trial were to occur more quickly than the one in Florida (say, for example, in March or April of next year—a big if, given that the federal courts would have to negotiate an efficient trial that does not conflict with the one scheduled for March in New York), the chances of an appeal to the D.C. Circuit, which has jurisdiction over the federal court in the nation’s capital, and thence to the Supreme Court in less than 10 months is near zero.

In short, it seems to me that no possibility exists that any of the federal charges against Trump will be final before January 20, 2025—none at all. And it seems equally certain that one of the very first acts of the Trump-appointed attorney general (whoever that may be) would be for the DOJ to move to dismiss the case or cases against the president at whatever stage they are then pending. Put simply, if Trump wins reelection in November 2024, the federal cases against him will likely be terminated, without final resolution, within 24 hours of his inauguration. That doesn’t mean these proceedings will have been worthless. If Trump has been convicted in either trial, America will have the benefit of a historical record that determines his criminality. But that will be little comfort as we endure another four years of his rule, and as he continues to avoid any semblance of actual accountability.

The situation is more complex when we turn to the state charges Trump faces in a case already pending in New York and another anticipated shortly in Georgia. By definition (at least insofar as the Constitution is concerned), those states are separate sovereigns, and the federal government under Trump cannot direct that those cases against him be dismissed—nor could Trump pardon himself for his state crimes, because his pardon power is, likewise, limited to federal matters. So those cases will proceed.

But boy will they be difficult to bring to resolution.  

To begin with, we can count on the Trump-led DOJ arguing that a sitting president is immune from prosecution by a state, at least during his time in office. And their claim will have some merit. After all, if the New York and Georgia district attorneys can try Trump while he is in office, the prospect exists that any elected official in a state opposed to the president might use his or her power to go after the president on local criminal charges. What’s to stop an elected Republican prosecutor in a very red state from bringing bogus charges against President Joe Biden?

The risk is more than hypothetical. We have already seen how elected attorneys general are using their powers in ever more politicized ways. The leap from “justified” prosecutions to “unjustified” ones lies mostly in the eyes of the beholder. That’s why, more than 50 years ago, the Watergate special prosecutor’s office actually sided with the president on this score, stating that “considerations of federalism would bar his indictment in state court.” Nothing in the text of the Constitution prohibits state prosecution of the chief executive, but nothing authorizes it either, so the question has never been definitively resolved. But if Trump is elected, we can be sure that it will be—and what this Supreme Court would decide is anyone’s guess.

Nor is that the only legal hurdle that the state prosecutors will need to overcome.  Trump’s efforts to have his New York prosecution moved to federal court have thus far been rejected, as have the federal government’s efforts to replace Trump in some of the civil suits against him. Those arguments will, however, have substantially greater force if Trump returns to office; his status as a federal official and the disruption to governmental activity that would arise from his personal liability to civil suit would become significantly more palpable. The Trump-appointed AG would be all but sure to press them in court to the maximum extent possible.

Other challenges may be less legal and more practical in nature. Were New York and Georgia to persist in their cases, the nature of Trump’s retaliation would be limited only by his imagination. What, for example, would happen if he tried to pull federal-law-enforcement funding from those two states? What if he directed the FBI to withdraw from cooperative investigative efforts? What if, in Republican-led Georgia, he pressured the state legislature to pass laws limiting the power of the Atlanta DA or requiring her to dismiss the case? The country should not have to answer these questions.

The prospect that Trump will almost certainly avoid accountability for his criminal conduct if he is reelected is just a small subset of the broader threat he poses to the rule of law. But it is an emblematic possibility redolent with the odor of kingly prerogative. Sadly, the reality is clear: When Americans go to the polls in 2024, if Trump is a candidate, they will not simply be choosing between two political alternatives; they will also be making one of the most important choices in the history of the country. They will be choosing between the modern conviction that no man is above the law and a return to a time when political leaders could act with impunity. Our own national character rests on what choice we make.

What Trump’s Court Filing Could Mean for 2024

The Atlantic

www.theatlantic.com › newsletters › archive › 2023 › 07 › trump-court-filing-document-trial-postponement-2024-election › 674685

This week, Donald Trump’s lawyers submitted a court filing that confirmed a theory that Trump critics have been spreading for years. I called my colleague David Graham to talk about the surprises of the latest filing, and how Trump is scrambling the traditional relationship between law and politics.

First, here are four new stories from The Atlantic:

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Impossible to Separate

Isabel Fattal: You wrote yesterday that Trump’s lawyers have just confirmed a liberal conspiracy theory. How so?

David A. Graham: For years now we’ve heard liberal commentators say, Trump is just running for president so he can avoid prosecution—because presidents are generally not subject to federal criminal prosecution, and a president can presumably try to shut down a federal case against him.

This is the sort of thing that can seem like a conspiracy theory. And so I was pretty amazed reading a new filing from Trump’s lawyers in which they say, We need an indefinite extension in this case because he’s running for president. He doesn’t have time for that. This would move the timing of the case past the election, and if he wins, then presumably Trump would say, Well, I’m too busy to be involved in the case as president, or he could shut down the case himself.

Isabel: Trump’s situation is fairly unprecedented in American history. What kinds of legal precedent do we have for a federal case against a presidential candidate?

David: We really don’t have much. We train prosecutors to not pay attention to politics (sort of: Most local prosecutors are elected, but federal prosecutors are not). There’s guidance inside the Department of Justice to avoid new charges and public comment in the period just before an election. But this is a case where there’s no way to separate things, because as Trump’s lawyers say, he is the leading Republican candidate for president, and we’re talking about alleged crimes that are tied to his conduct as president. It’s a situation that the Framers of our laws didn’t anticipate and probably would be very worried about.

Isabel: Do you think Trump’s lawyers are correct in their estimation that the outcome of this case would affect the outcome of the 2024 election?

David: If this case is being litigated during the election, it will almost certainly affect the outcome of the election. If Trump is found guilty, that is going to affect the way people view him. We like to talk about how voter impressions of Trump are already baked in. And to a great extent, that’s true. But we know that Trump lost voters between 2016 and 2020, and we know that when these things come up, it tends to hurt Republicans. We saw that in the midterms. When people in a general election are reminded of the circus around Trump, they tend to not like it.

If he were acquitted, that would also probably help him, because he’d be able to say there was this political prosecution against him.

Isabel: What else are you keeping an eye on this summer with Trump’s multiple legal troubles?

David: There’s a funny line in the documents-case filing: When the lawyers say Trump is not going to have time to do these hearings, they also say, He has other legal matters that we’re already embroiled in.

We don’t expect to have movement in the New York case for some months, but something could happen there. This week, grand jurors are being impaneled in Fulton County, Georgia, for the grand juries that we expect will decide on charges against Trump or other people related to 2020-election subversion. And we’ve also seen some movement from Special Counsel Jack Smith on other cases in the past couple of weeks, separate from the documents—investigations and testimony related to January 6 in particular.

We don’t know where that’s going or what charges Smith might bring, but it’s a good reminder that he is not just focused on the documents, and that’s still a live case. So we could see more federal charges, and we expect to see these Georgia charges. There’s a lot to still keep our eye on in addition to the documents trial.

Related:

Trump confirms another liberal conspiracy theory. The theory that explains everything about the Trump documents case

Today’s News

Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky stated that his meeting with President Joe Biden at the NATO summit was “very good,” despite earlier frustration over the organization’s refusal to set a timeline for Ukraine’s membership. FBI Director Christopher Wray faced critical questions from House Republicans today over allegations that federal law-enforcement agencies have been “weaponized” against the right. In a special session, Iowa’s Republican-controlled legislature advanced a six-week abortion ban that Governor Kim Reynolds is expected to sign into law.

Evening Read

Illustration by The Atlantic. Source: Getty.

‘Where Are Your Parents?’

By Jeffrey Ruoff

When I was born, my parents planted a tree for me—a corkscrew willow—alongside a stream that cut through the yard of our home in Ithaca, New York. That tree, once a sapling, grew to 30 feet tall. I remember climbing up the trunk at 8 years old and then sliding down its gangly limbs, trying to avoid a plunge into the rocky stream. Later, in my 30s, I witnessed a slow war of attrition between the tree and the brook as the streambed ate away at the bank where the corkscrew willow had set down its roots.

Memory is fickle. It defines who we are and who we think we are. It helps us create coherent narratives of our incoherent lives. And then our memories fade. I retain other, painful memories of my childhood and of my mother. But as she got old and I got older, I realized that some memories need to be squeezed, like oranges, until only the love remains.

Read the full article.

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Katherine Hu contributed to this newsletter.

How the Negro Leagues Shaped Modern Baseball

The Atlantic

www.theatlantic.com › culture › archive › 2023 › 07 › the-league-negro-leagues-review › 674670

This story seems to be about:

In July 1918, shortly after American troops won their first major battle of World War I, in northern France, W. E. B. Du Bois published a contentious editorial in The Crisis, the NAACP-affiliated magazine he founded as a “record of the darker races.” Du Bois, who hoped that African Americans’ support for militarism abroad might lead to more democratic treatment at home, urged readers to “forget our special grievances and close our ranks shoulder to shoulder with our own white fellow citizens.” But rather than ushering in the era of racial harmony that Du Bois imagined, the end of World War I saw a vicious backlash to wartime integration efforts: The next year, Black servicemen and civilians alike faced extraordinary racist violence across the United States. As Gerald Early, a professor of English and African and African American studies at Washington University in St. Louis, explains in the new documentary The League, “It convinced a lot of Black people all the more that we need to close ranks in another kind of way—to build our own institutions.”

The League grounds the formation of Negro-league baseball in this fragile historical moment. The film, directed by Sam Pollard and executive-produced by Ahmir “Questlove” Thompson and Tariq “Black Thought” Trotter, charts the rise of several baseball leagues in the early 20th century, when Black players were barred from participating in Major League Baseball. Those regional athletic clubs fostered phenomenal talents and revitalized the communities from which they came, but they began to dwindle in the late 1940s after Jackie Robinson’s signing to the Brooklyn Dodgers kicked off the integration of MLB. Pollard’s film doesn’t treat the color line that Robinson so famously crossed as a tragic inevitability of American racism, instead illustrating how the barrier was actively constructed—and illuminating what was created in its shadow. With rigor and finesse, The League, which was released in theaters on Friday and begins streaming on demand this week, examines the afterlife of Black baseball’s golden eras. The documentary highlights Black players’ indelible influence on the modern sport, making a powerful case for how important the Negro leagues were—and still are.

In addition to competing in all-Black clubs, Black Americans had played on major-league teams as far back as 1884, when the catcher Moses Fleetwood Walker joined the majority-white Toledo Blue Stockings. But by World War I, a gentlemen’s agreement among white team owners had entirely ousted Black players from Major League Baseball. As the major leagues doubled down on segregation, Black players formed their own professional teams. In 1919, Andrew “Rube” Foster, the owner-manager of the Chicago American Giants, published “Pitfalls of Baseball,” a series of op-eds addressing other Black team owners. Writing in The Chicago Defender, Foster cautioned against “delivering Colored baseball into the control of whites” and advocated for the formation of a unified league. In February 1920, he gathered a group of fellow executives at the YMCA in Kansas City, Missouri, where they signed documents to incorporate the National Negro League. For its official motto, they borrowed from Frederick Douglass: “We are the ship, all else the sea.”

These owners were not interested in playing against white teams who, off the field, challenged their right to exist. And by resisting the impulse to present integration as a panacea, in baseball or otherwise, The League offers a far more nuanced examination of the sport’s history than most common retellings. The film draws much of its narrative power from the recollections of Bob Motley, who died in 2017 as the last surviving umpire from the Black leagues. (Byron Motley, his son and a co-author of the book on which The League is based, is one of the film’s producers.) In The League, Motley’s observations are largely relayed via voice-over by the actor Berry Williams Jr. “We didn’t realize it at the time, but the great ballplayers of the leagues would transform the game,” he recounts. Those players also powered an economic engine in their communities, establishing a fan culture so potent that churches would move their service times up an hour so that congregants could make it to the games. As Early puts it, “Any time you saw Black people doing something that was virtuosic, you always—you felt like, Okay, I can go on and deal with the rest of my week.”

The League revels in its subjects’ athleticism and the dynamic style the players pioneered, which now defines contemporary baseball. That emphasis on their talent makes the film a delight to watch while also contextualizing their skill among their contemporaries (and, by extension, within the larger baseball canon). Bob Kendrick, the president of the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum, notes that Foster is credited with having invented the deceptive pitch we now know as a screwball; he goes on to relay the lore that the famed New York Giants manager John McGraw sneaked Foster into his team’s camp to teach the screwball to the legendary Christy Mathewson, who “threw the pitch all the way into the National Baseball Hall of Fame.” The League also reconsiders the home-run record once held by Babe Ruth, who never faced off against a Black pitcher in MLB. “His record was set in apartheid baseball,” says Larry Lester, an NLBM co-founder, “which makes Hank Aaron’s record more valuable.”

[Read: Moneyball broke baseball]

In MLK/FBI, Pollard’s 2020 film about the FBI’s surveillance of Martin Luther King Jr., he documented the agency’s efforts to stifle the civil-rights movement by maligning “the most dangerous Negro in the future of this Nation.” Just as MLK/FBI rejected the simplistic view of MLK as a docile idealist, The League dispenses with some of the more clichéd conventions of the sports-movie genre—the weepy narrative about a scrappy team’s unlikely triumph, the euphemistic hagiography of a tortured talent. The League doesn’t shy away from portraying the racist behavior of baseball juggernauts such as Cap Anson, who set off a years-long campaign to whiten the field, or the MLB commissioner Kenesaw Mountain Landis, who upheld segregation in the league until his death, in 1944. The League features a broad cross section of players, as well as the umpires, owners, assistants, writers, and family members who witnessed—and made—the sport’s history.

Pollard is also adept at contextualizing rare footage with shrewd but accessible analysis. In telling the story of the Hall of Fame pitcher Satchel Paige, he compiles a deft montage of newspaper clippings, scholarly insight (the historian Donald Spivey shares the origin story for Paige’s nickname: The athlete worked at a railroad depot, where he carried bags), first-hand recollections of Paige’s play from Motley’s book, and statistical analysis of his dominance. But the most affecting summation of Paige’s talent comes from an archival video of Ted “Double Duty” Radcliffe, who played for more than a dozen Negro-league teams. Radcliffe recalls a day when Paige struck out 21 of the 28 players he pitched to: “He went up on that mound, and he looked up at that crowd. He said, ‘Duty, the sun is shining, but I’m gon’ make ’em think it’s nighttime.’”

This type of testimony gives the documentary its power, painting a vivid portrait of Black players’ talent, camaraderie, and importance within their communities. The grown children speak of former players with awe about their fathers’ larger-than-life presences; scholars and political figures outline how their games created a site of refuge, uplift, and joy for Black people, and introduce key figures whose work off the field kept stadiums buzzing. The film also expands its view outside the United States to demonstrate how the Negro leagues created opportunity for Latino players and forged solidarity with Caribbean nations. By the time The League substantively delves into Jackie Robinson’s catalytic journey to the MLB in its third act, it’s hard not to feel conflicted about that much-celebrated milestone. The documentary explores Robinson’s own internal conflicts, recounting some of the violence he suffered. “I found it very difficult,” Robinson says of his manager’s directive that he ignore the racist treatment he received from fans and players. “Matter of fact, my doctor told me to get away from baseball for fear I was gonna have a nervous breakdown.”

Robinson, of course, persisted. “He would do well, and that would silence those detractors,” Rachel Robinson, his widow, says in the film. In persevering to excel on the field, all the way from the Kansas City Monarchs to the Brooklyn Dodgers, Robinson shifted not only the landscape of the MLB but also the future of the country. The League underscores how much that broken barrier also crushed him, a sobering meditation on the perils of Black exceptionalism. The precedent also had devastating consequences for the leagues he left behind. In an archival clip, the former Newark Eagles pitcher Max Manning calls it “the death knell of Negro league baseball—when you signed the Black players, the people that had been coming to … see us play, now they went to see Jackie play.”

With World War II–era social change pointing the way toward a future without Jim Crow, Black executives had rallied behind coordinated movements for integration in baseball because it represented a push toward equality in society at large. But as the journalist Andrea Williams explains in the film, they understood that many of their other players would be next. White MLB owners didn’t just sign Black talent away from the Negro leagues. Many, including the Dodgers’ Branch Rickey, also did not compensate the Black team owners whose stars they poached, and crushed the Negro leagues’ economic prospects in the process. Within a few years of the MLB integrating in 1947, the Negro National League, on the East Coast, folded, and the Negro American League, in the Midwest, limped along until it formally closed in the early 1960s. The League offers an elegy for the sport’s Black heyday, taking great pains to show what was lost with its demise. As with the initial segregation of the MLB, this decimation of the Negro leagues was not unavoidable. Black players made baseball a better version of itself, and Pollard’s film subtly asks what the sport still owes them in return.