Hey, thanks for reading (and maybe subscribing to?) my new newsletter. I’ve been craving a space away from the too-fast (and often too-cynical) universe of Twitter to share and write about all the stuff I don’t get to put into my columns and reporting, and this seemed like a good (if slightly terrifying) fit. What to expect: Some links to what I’ve written; some links to what I’m reading / watching / listening to; short columns about politics and feminism that aren’t published anywhere else; stories and observations from various reporting trips and travels (like most journalists, when I’m reporting I gather way more than I can reasonably use — especially stories of individuals doing some good in the world); and some stuff that more or less amounts to “ways to feel good,” whether that’s a stretching series, a good recipe, or a recommendation for something to put on your face. In my non-journalism life I’m a yoga teacher, so some of that will be folded in as well, but I promise I won’t GOOP you and will only get a little bit crunchy. And this is all a work in progress, so I’ll keep what works and replace what doesn’t.
What I’m Writing
CNN: How the US Dealt a Cruel Blow to Rape Victims (seriously, we gutted a measure that would have monitored rape as a war crime and given rape victims basic treatment… because we are “pro-life”).
CNN: The NRA Has a Problem - But It’s Not the One Making Headlines (spoiler: The problem is that a bunch of people are dying because of guns)
CNN: If you work for Trump, expect to be thrown under the bus (no sympathy for people who voluntarily work for this administration and then complain when they are predictably screwed over by it).
The Guardian: How a Viral Image of Breasts Exposes Science’s Obsession with the Male Body (Why do we have no idea which drugs are safe for pregnant women? Why don’t we have a female president yet? Because men are the default in literally everything).
The Guardian: We Don’t Need Fraternities. Swarthmore Was Right to Shut Theirs Down. (Some young men doing the right thing).
What I’m Reading
Your Questions About Food and Climate Change, Answered. A really helpful primer on some small changes you can make if you care about the planet (and they’re good for you: eat less beef, eat more vegetables). No, individual choices are not going to solve our climate change disaster, but that doesn’t mean that individual choices are meaningless. Big change and small change: We can do both.
Trump’s Anti-Abortion Incitement, by Michelle Goldberg in the Times. The president is lying about infanticide. That’s remarkably cruel to the many parents who lose children and choose palliative care for them. It’s also dangerous.
Regarding the Pain of Others by Susan Sontag is extremely not new, but my husband sent this to me for discussion over wine (yes, we send each other readings along with “can’t wait to talk about this with you!” and it’s the best). I re-read it for the first time in a decade or so, and I’m thinking about it as I work on a year-long project, along with a photographer, situated in conflict and crisis zones, which involves writing about and capturing images of trauma survivors. Why do we take photos? What are we hoping they accomplish — and are we fully honest with ourselves about our motives?
Voices on Addiction: They Call It Spirits, by Connie Pertuz-Meza. “Twenty-seven, a teacher, married, and mother to a one-year-old, I’d found myself once again at the emergency room. Papi was a longtime, textbook alcoholic, so by that point I had accepted my roles: enabler, hero, lost child, mascot, and scapegoat.” Lyrical, raw, and heartbreaking.
This week in scamming, this guy may be the world’s best scammer? He stole a football club. He got First London Bank to turn over 49% of its shares to him by claiming he represented the Bahraini royal family. He launched an entire magazine that was a fake Financial Times Arabia, securing millions of dollars in advertising and sponsorships. This man is a legend, and takes over the #1 scammer spot from that Colombian guy who spent years successfully pretending to be a Saudi prince.
I am really excited for Roxane Gay and Dr. Tressie McMillan Cottom’s new podcast.
Good Bad Advice
There is nothing I love more than a good advice column, except maybe a bad advice column — and of course the holy grail is a totally insane problem. All of which is why Nicole Cliffe’s newsletter is one of my favorites (and am I the only person who secretly aspires to be an advice columnist?). This one is a real doozy, and why 9 out of 10 advice column answers are always some variation of “dump your bad boyfriend.”
I don’t know if Nicole has an intern or if she herself spends hours every day perusing Reddit for the best of the worst problems, but I love it and respect it. More from her here.
The View From Here
I just returned from two weeks in Pakistan, on the heels of two weeks in Honduras. I’ll circle back to Honduras in a later newsletter, but Pakistan! What a lovely, intense, complicated, proud place. The things I expected to be good — food, rugs, textiles — were better than imagined. The thing I was nervous about — what I was there to do, which was teach journalism workshops to both mass communications students and working journalists — went better than expected. Pakistan has a vibrant media landscape, with a nearly unending supply of television stations and newspapers. The outlets are, like in the U.S., of varying quality and seriousness, but there’s a lot of excellent journalism happening in increasingly difficult circumstances (Dawn, the biggest English-language daily, is well worth a regular read). Among the difficulties: A government that controls much of the ad-buying and has drastically cut their spending, which means newspapers are hurting financially and journalists aren’t getting paid; a military that does not appreciate too much nosiness and expects journalists to toe the line; a culture that is ok with women as anchors just reading the news to a TV audience, but generally not nearly as ok with women as reporters out in the field (and as a result, only about 5% of Pakistani journalists are female).
I was lucky to get to spend some time with dozens of working journalists and journalists-to-be, including folks writing for non-English presses and working in the country’s farther-flung regions, reporting some of the nation’s most important stories often at great personal risk. A few were glossy superstars; most were heads-down normal people, digging in every day to write stories that matter. The women in particular talked about the doubts that their families had about their work, about how hard they had to push their editors to cover things that impact women primarily, about how they get relegated to “women’s issues.” It's a very different context than American media, but much of it felt familiar.
My workshops were on reporting sensitive stories and diversifying newsrooms, and it was interesting to see which bits resonated with which people, and where there was significant resistance. Talking about gender inequality in journalism was typically met with nods from the few women in the room and defensiveness from at least a few of the many men — but also significant support from other men, at least some of whom were quick to say that they need more women in their newsrooms and out in the field, and who wished there were fewer barriers to egalitarianism. Exactly zero of my workshops were half women; several were all-male. A visit to the Islamabad Press Club was fascinating — it was mostly older journalists, all of whom were funny and cynical, tough, and male — and it was noted, without irony, that they had invited a few women, but they couldn’t make it, perhaps because it was evening time and they had household duties.
There were also a lot of questions. About why the American media only says bad things about Pakistan and good things about India. About why we say Pakistan harbors terrorists when they don’t (the military says so). About why the government doesn’t control fake news when they should. And about why America is so Islamophobic. That was a pervasive perception among the journalists and students I talked to, and it came up nearly every day I was there. There is no question that anti-Muslim fear and animus is an animating force in American politics. Trump’s Muslim ban was devastating for the obvious immediate reasons, and also because it confirmed the darkest suspicions of many Muslims abroad: that Americans have it out for people who share their faith, a cynicism that extends to and colors global perceptions of our various combative forays into the Middle East and majority-Muslim nations. Islamophobia is also, of course, a common topic of discussion and debate within the US media context (who gets defined as a terrorist and who’s a troubled lone wolf? Do our newsrooms reflect the diversity of our country?).
Two things struck me about that particular conversation in Pakistan: First, how damaging our own seemingly internal bigotries are to our standing in the world and to others’ perceptions of us (these bigotries, it turns out, aren’t internal at all). Islamophobia is wrong because it’s wrong, full stop, but it’s also a liability. Many of the things Americans value (or at least profess to value) and would like to see adopted as universal — things like democracy, equality, free speech, a free press, the freedom to practice whatever religion you choose or to be free from religion if you choose — are easier to sideline or write off as hypocritical when we don’t live up to our own aspirations. Islamophobia, especially when it comes from the highest offices in our land, fundamentally undermines our ability to be evangelists for freedom and democratic norms.
The second thing that struck me: My own defensiveness in the conversation. As person after person railed against American Islamophobia, I found that my own internal monologue was a lot more complicated than it is when I have similar conversations with other Americans — that part of my thought process during those discussions in Pakistan was, “yes, this is a huge problem in the US, but it’s also a little rich that you’re more concerned with Islamophobia abroad than with the far worse violations of religious freedom and human rights in your own country.” The reality, in Pakistan, is that criticizing the dominant religion can get you in huge trouble. Members of religious minorities are attacked by mobs, jailed, and sentenced to death for alleged blasphemy. It is not broadly common and wholly acceptable to believe, as I do, that religious faith should have zero bearing on public policy and the state, and that the establishment of religion by the state has tremendously negative consequences for free speech, diversity, and equality everywhere in the world that it happens (even in places like Pakistan, where religious influence is much more moderate than in, say, Saudi Arabia).
I didn’t say any of that out loud — blasphemy is sensitive in Pakistan, I was there to listen more than talk, and to be honest mama didn’t want to get in trouble — which only compounded my sense of resentment in the moment. I don’t tend to spend a whole lot of time justifying bad behavior on the part of the United States government or its people, out loud or in my own head. And so it was a strange sensation, to observe that I reflexively balked at that particular criticism — a criticism I myself have made innumerable times.
I don’t share this because I’m proud of those thoughts or think they were correct — Islamophobia in the American press is an entirely reasonable issue to raise with a visiting American journalist, and my internal response was reactive, ungenerous, and frankly tangential — just to note my own surprise and discomfort at retreating so quickly to a defensive crouch (and the additional complication of not being able to have a full and free exchange because, well, there were limits to how comfortable I felt criticizing other forms of religious bigotry in that context).
The journalists and students I spoke with said, to a one, that they ideologically believe nothing should be off-limits for journalistic inquiry. The dedication to the free flow of ideas runs deep among the journalists I met. But there are more powerful folks with different ideas about what should and should not be up for discussion. You can still go to jail (or worse) for saying the wrong thing. As one Pakistani journalist put it, you can say anything you want in Pakistan — once.
(I’m now making the place sound much more restrictive than it actually is — people debate religion, blasphemy, and other electrified topics all the time, especially if they’re in journalism or academia. I was giving a workshop explicitly on sensitive topics, and indeed, sensitive topics were discussed openly and vigorously. Conversations on deeply divisive topics are dynamic and lively. But as someone there as a guest and therefore unfamiliar with where, exactly, all the landmines might be, I decided to tread lightly).
All of which is to say: It can be a really useful and revealing exercise to observe your own reactions in unfamiliar places, and note what triggers discomfort and defensiveness. Those of us who are liberal-minded and lucky to travel to new places tend to publicize the best and most generous versions of ourselves and our experiences, portraying ourselves as morally neutral observers highlighting what’s good (The food was amazing! The mosques were stunning! The people are so nice! I loved every minute!). Clearly, this is better than being a critical jerk about every new place, and we’ve all judged and laughed at idiots abroad. But I’m not sure “it’s all beautiful and amazing” gets us much closer to the truth of our experiences — not to mention respect and genuine engagement with people who experience the world differently — than “it was terrible and confusing because it’s different.”
One of the great things about travel is that is kicks your own view of your home country a bit askew. You see that your experience is neither universal nor neutral; you start to see, a little bit, how America looks through the eyes of others.
Travel — especially if you go beyond just looking at buildings and you talk to people, a bunch of people, including people who are not paid to make your experience flawless — can also destabilize us enough that we crawl into new crannies of our own minds. Sometimes, you root around in the dark spaces before you find a flicker of light. Sometimes, this feels a little shameful. Sometimes, it can reveal uncomfortable truths about ourselves. If we look at them dead-on, and if we allow them to light up the dark places where we need to do some work, these truths can be fruitful.
Pakistan was absolutely lovely and Lahore should be on every traveler’s list. The food was amazing. The mosques were stunning. The people are so nice. And some of them, in their questions and in the gap between what I thought and what I said aloud, kicked my own perception of myself a little bit askew.
Good Things
First, a feline.
(Anchovy no longer in the cone, but I am still a sucker for Cone Content).
Ok onto the real good stuff.
Over the past month, I’ve seen a bunch of folks on Twitter and Facebook ask for easy stretching routines they can do every day to limber up a touch. So I thought I’d offer this one, which is great for travel (you don’t need a mat, you can do it in bed, and it’s what I tend to do after a long flight — these photos are from my hotel room in Karachi, so they are very #authentic to what my actual practice looks like). It’s very gentle and appropriate for lots of bodies, it’s really nice right before bed, and it gets into the spots that get sticky when you’re crammed in economy — neck, shoulders, spine, hips. Using pillows as props can make this feel extra nice. Do it all, or just pick a few.
The one rule of yoga is this: Do what feels good and disregard the rest. Every body is different. Yours deserves to feel good.
Here’s a Bed Yoga playlist if you want some soothing music while you stretch.
This sequence is a kind of Yin yoga, which means longer, passive holds to really give muscles time to let go. You can set a timer for two or three minutes for each pose, or just approximate it with music and switch poses every time the song does. But the long holds are important — stretching for 30 seconds isn’t going to be as effective.
One big key here is your Yin breath: a slow inhale through the nose to a count of six; pause at the top; slow silent exhale through the mouth, with your mouth in an O shape, for a count of seven; pause on empty; do it again.
Neck:
Start in a comfortable seat (and ignore the weird faces I make).
Raise your left hand, and bring it around your right ear. Let the weight of your hand heavy your head over to the left (no need to pull or exert extra effort). Play with the hand placement to get into the tightest muscles (it can be on your ear or more toward the back of your head; find a place that feels fruitful and keep it). Want a little more? Walk your right fingertips over to the right.
Come back to your Yin breath: Slowly inhale through the nose to a count of six; pause at the top; slowly exhale through the mouth, with your mouth in an O shape, for a count of seven; pause on empty; do it again.
Stay for two full minutes, keeping the attention on your breath. Feel how, when you give those tiny neck muscles some time to let go, they start to release.
When two minutes is up, draw your left hand over the top of your head to your left ear. Use your hand at your cheek to gently and lovingly press your head up to level.
Notice the difference between the left side of your neck and the right. Now do the same on the other side.
Hips:
Start in a comfortable cross-legged seat. Notice which shin is in front.
Walk the hands forward of the shins, keeping the gaze forward, drawing the tailbone back and the crown of the head forward, engaging the low belly to tip the pelvis down (think pubic bone moves toward the tailbone). The idea here is to stretch the spine as long as possible. Take a deep inhale as you crawl the fingers forward; feel the spine lengthen and the hips stretch.
Once your spine is as long as it’s gonna get, fold.
Too much? Grab a pillow and use it to prop up your chest and head.
Or use two pillows, or three, or five. Grab as many as you need to make this comfortable. There should be a “oh yeah I feel that” sensation in the hips, but not an “ow” sensation. Low back should feel long, not condensed. Fold and come back to your Yin breath. Hold for two minutes, and then switch the cross of your legs and do the other side.
Are your hips pretty bendy and you need a little more? Try this instead. First, cradle the shin in the crook of your arm like a baby. Give it a gentle rock — think side to side, like opening a sliding glass door, instead of hinging back toward the armpit.
Then cross ankle to knee, stacking the shins. Keep the feet flexed to protect the knees. Maybe your shins stack; maybe your hips are a little tight, like mine, and there’s some daylight between the knee and the ankle.
Lengthen the spine. Maybe grab a pillow if you want a prop (I always use props in this pose).
Walk the fingers forward to lengthen the spine, and then fold. If you’re super bendy and it feels good, fold all the way down. If you are like me and that feels too intense, fold onto a pillow for some height and some support. Just make sure your forehead is resting on something so that you aren’t using any muscles to hold up your big heavy head. Or stick to the cross-legged version. Hold each side for a full two minutes. Are you breathing? Come back to your slow Yin breath: In through the nose for six, out through the mouth for seven.
Come out of it slowly and gently by walking the fingertips back toward the hips.
Spine:
Sit upright, bend the knees and bring the feet about a foot in front of your bum. Wrap the forearms around the shins, hold hands or wrists, drop the chin to the chest, and hollow out the belly. Feel the mid back pressing backwards in space, giving the spine a good, deep stretch. If one hand is holding the opposite wrist (which can feel great), switch the hold halfway through). Hold this for as long as it feels good (I usually do this for three rounds of slow Yin breath).
Lay down onto the back, and give the knees a squeeze into the chest.
Cross the left knee over the right. Or if your low back or hips feel quite tight, just stack the knees in line.
Let the knees fall over to the right, either crossed or just stacked. You can extend the arms wide in a T-shape, or bend at the elbows and goal-post them. Try to keep both shoulders on the bed; it’s ok if the knees don’t touch (gravity will draw them in the right direction). Imagine the left hip stacking over the right (even if it’s not quite there). Come back to your Yin breath if you’ve lost it, sending the breath to anywhere that feels congested or tight.
I like to take the right hand to the left hip, and gently guide it over to the right, then go back to passive.
Stay here for two minutes.
Come out of it slowly by drawing the knees into the chest. Give yourself a hug.
Shoulders:
Sit up slowly. Extend the right arm straight out to right, and rotate so the thumb is pointing down. Bend at the elbow, and bring the back to the right hand to the left shoulder blade (doesn’t quite reach? Bring it to wherever on the back it will comfortably go).
Slowly and gently lay back, so the weight of the torso is on the forearm.
This is a very intense shoulder stretch, so keep the knees bent at first and the feet grounded. You can adjust the bottom arm if this is too intense (if there is any pain in the elbow, lift the hips and draw the elbow further out to the right and/or the hand lower down the back). Staying with your Yin breath, hold this for two minutes.
You may find that as the shoulder opens up, you want more sensation. You can slowly lower the knees in the direction of the bent arm, knees either crossed or stacked.
Want even more? Straighten the top leg.
Come out of it slowly by drawing the knees toward the chest, planting the feet, and using the core and the free hand to raise your torso off of your arm. Remove the bottom arm slooooowly — it’s going to feel weird. Switch sides. When you’re done, give yourself a hug. You did good.
And that’s it! Go to bed.
As mentioned, is a work in progress. Lemme know what’s working for you, what isn’t, and what else you’d want to read about. See you next week?
xx Jill