TO GIVE NATURE A HAND, TEAMS TEND THE LANDSCAPE WITH FIRE THE CAMPAIGN IS HISTORY, BUT THE RALLIES GO ON Weekend CAPTURING THE BARBED APPEAL OF CARYL CHURCHILL SEAFOOD FEASTS, CHIC BARS, NEW ART AND OLD CHARM IN LISBON PAGE 15 | THEATER ‘MEXICO FIRST’ STANCE COULD END WELCOME FOR U.S. OIL GIANTS PAGE 8 | SCIENCE LAB BACK PAGE | TRAVEL PAGE 6 | WORLD PAGE 9 | BUSINESS .. INTERNATIONAL EDITION | SATURDAY-SUNDAY, APRIL 28-29, 2018 Italy’s snub of the E.U.? Not so fast Challenge is crossing the next Korea line Beppe Severgnini Contributing Writer SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA OPINION In meeting, leaders set bold goals for final peace and no nuclear arms MILAN Eight weeks after Italy’s elec- tion, it’s still possible that a government will be formed by the Five Star Movement and the League, two parties that have campaigned passionately against Brussels and the European Union in the past. In the last few days they have quarreled, but it seems sure that one of them, maybe both, will be the force driving Italy’s next government, with the question before it being whether to continue on that anti-European path. Speaking in the European Parliament in February, the League’s leader, Matteo Salvini, likened the European Union to “the Titanic about to sink.” The views of Five Star are less clear cut. Its leaders have changed their minds several Recently, half times about the of the voters euro, and at the chose Euromoment, it seems skeptic parties. that they’d like to But that doesn’t stay in the union. But they might well mean Italy will change their minds abandon the again. After all, Treaty of Beppe Grillo, the Rome. movement’s founder and ultimate authority, once shouted, “Italy should leave the euro as soon as possible!” Others are on the record as saying that “the euro has destroyed us” and that “it will eventually make southern Italy a wasteland.” On March 4, Election Day, Five Star attracted 32 percent of the vote. The League got 17 percent, and a third, even more Euroskeptic party — the rightwing Brothers of Italy — polled 4 percent. That means that more than half of Italian voters turned against Europe. Does it follow that the European Union is now at risk? Well, not yet. Do not expect Italy to drop the euro or leave the union anytime soon. The price would be way too high. Nevertheless, it’s a fact: The continent’s most Europhile country has lost faith in Europe’s ability to solve Italy’s problems. A Euroskeptic Italy is almost an oxymoron. Italy is one of the six founding nations of the European Union, SEVERGNINI, PAGE 13 The New York Times publishes opinion from a wide range of perspectives in hopes of promoting constructive debate about consequential questions. BY DAVID E. SANGER AND CHOE SANG-HUN POOL PHOTO BY KOREA SUMMIT PRESS North Korea’s leader, Kim Jong-un, walked across the inter-Korean border to meet the South’s president, Moon Jae-in. No North Korean leader had made the journey before. Keeping the men relaxed BEIJING Some Chinese start-ups hire female ‘motivators’ to ease programmers’ stress BY SUI-LEE WEE China’s vibrant technology scene is searching for people like Shen Yue. Qualifications: Must be attractive, know how to charm socially awkward programmers and give relaxing massages. Ms. Shen is a “programmer motivator,” as they are known in China. Part psychologist, part cheerleader, the women are hired to chat up and calm stressed-out coders. The jobs are proliferating in a society that largely adheres to gender stereotypes and believes that male programmers are “zhai,” or nerds who have no social lives. “They really need someone to talk to them from time to time and to organize activities for them to ease some of the pressure,” said Ms. Shen, a 25-year-old who has a degree in civil engineering from a university in Beijing. Chinese women have made great strides in the workplace. The country has the world’s largest number of selfmade female billionaires, while many start-ups have women in senior roles. But at a time when the United States and other countries are directly confronting the #MeToo movement, the inequalities and biases in China are rarely discussed openly and remain entrenched. The country’s laws against gender discrimination are not often enforced. Many companies are direct in their job ads. Males preferred. Only good-looking women need apply. With programmer motivators, it’s more explicit, putting women in subservient positions to men. While China’s tech scene has CHINA, PAGE 4 GIULIA MARCHI FOR THE NEW YORK TIMES Shen Yue massaging one of her colleagues at Chainfin.com in Beijing, part of her job as a “programmer motivator” to the company’s male employees. Singer emerges from shadow of her alter ego FROM THE MAGAZINE Janelle Monáe reveals a more authentic self on her first album in 5 years BY JENNA WORTHAM JEAN-BAPTISTE LACROIX/AGENCE FRANCE-PRESSE — GETTY IMAGES Janelle Monáe at an Academy Awards party last month. Her new album, “Dirty Computer,” seems to signal a new willingness to present herself to the public. Y(1J85IC*KKNPKP( +.!z!?!#!/ On a hot December afternoon, with the sky hazy from wildfires raging just beyond the Los Angeles city limits, a handful of people gathered outside a Super 8 motel off Sunset Boulevard. Nearly all were dressed head to toe in black: elegant crepe shirts, fitted leather pants, wide-brimmed hats. They made their way inside to the Girl at the White Horse, a discreet bar nestled in the space below the motel. Here, the air was still hazy — the synthetic kind, from a machine — and lights tinted the room pink and red, colors of the heart. Low vibrational tones, not unlike those coaxed out of Tibetan singing bowls, droned in the background. Most of those who had been invited worked for radio stations, record labels or awards shows, and while they waited, they ordered cocktails created for the event: “Pynk” (rosé, gin, aperol and grapefruit) or “Screwed” (pineapple-infused tequila, lime, agave with a touch of pepper). As the sounds faded, the guests turned their attention to the eight women marching into the bar. Each wore aviators, leather jackets over black bodysuits and brightly colored tights. They struck dramatic poses — an arm flung over an eye, a hand on a cocked hip, a leg held askew — and paused as the singer Janelle Monáe strolled into the room and took her place in the middle. She was dressed in a studded motorcycle jacket over a white crop top, black palazzo pants, suspenders, a derby wool hat and mirrored sunglasses. A navellength ombré rattail snaked over her shoulder. For a moment, she stood perfectly still, letting the room drink her in. Monáe was presenting a preview of “Dirty Computer,” her first solo studio album in five years, and the anticipation Cameroon CFA 2700 Canada CAN$ 5.50 Croatia KN 22.00 Cyprus € 3.20 Czech Rep CZK 110 Denmark Dkr 30 Egypt EGP 28.00 Estonia € 3.50 Finland € 3.50 France € 3.50 Gabon CFA 2700 Germany € 3.50 Great Britain £ 2.20 Greece € 2.80 Hungary HUF 950 Israel NIS 13.50 Israel / Eilat NIS 11.50 Italy € 3.40 Ivory Coast CFA 2700 Jordan JD 2.00 Kazakhstan US$ 3.50 Latvia € 3.90 Lebanon LBP 5,000 Luxembourg € 3.50 Malta € 3.40 Montenegro € 3.40 Morocco MAD 30 Norway Nkr 33 Oman OMR 1.40 Poland Zl 15 Portugal € 3.50 Qatar QR 12.00 Republic of Ireland ¤ 3.40 Reunion € 3.50 Saudi Arabia SR 15.00 Senegal CFA 2700 TALKS, PAGE 4 Democracy in Danger: Solutions for a Changing World September 16-18, 2018 MONÁE, PAGE 21 NEWSSTAND PRICES Andorra € 3.70 Antilles € 4.00 Austria € 3.50 Bahrain BD 1.40 Belgium € 3.50 Bos. & Herz. KM 5.50 As Kim Jong-un became the first North Korean leader to set foot in South Korean-controlled territory, crossing for a summit meeting with the South’s president, he faced a test of his willingness to bargain away his nuclear weapons. Mr. Kim’s crossing of the line at the heart of the world’s most heavily armed border zone, something that seemed unthinkable just a few months ago, was broadcast live on Friday in South Korea, where a riveted nation sought to discern the intentions of the North’s 34-year-old leader. For South Korea’s president, Moon Jae-in, who has placed himself at the center of diplomacy to end the nuclear standoff with the North, the meeting presented a formidable task: finding a middle ground between a cunning enemy to the North and an impulsive ally in the United States. By the end of the day, the leaders had agreed to work to remove all nuclear weapons from the Korean Peninsula and, within the year, pursue talks with the United States to declare an official end to the Korean War that ravaged the two nations from 1950 to 1953. “South and North Korea confirmed the common goal of realizing, through complete denuclearization, a nuclearfree Korean Peninsula,” read a statement signed by Mr. Kim and Mr. Moon. The meeting was convivial and at times jocular but also marked by sweeping pledges, with Mr. Kim saying, “I came here to put an end to the history of confrontation.” The event, at the Peace House, a conference building on the South Korean side of the border village of Panmunjom, could set the tone for an even more critical meeting planned between Mr. Kim and President Trump. While Mr. Moon’s meeting with Mr. Kim on Friday — their first face-to-face talk — was rich with symbolism, Mr. Kim was not expected to capitulate on Mr. Trump’s key demand: total and immediate nuclear disarmament. Mr. Moon’s other challenge, with Mr. Trump, turns on how best to deal with Serbia Din 280 Slovakia € 3.50 Slovenia € 3.40 Spain € 3.50 Sweden Skr 35 Switzerland CHF 4.80 Syria US$ 3.00 The Netherlands € 3.50 Tunisia Din 5.200 Turkey TL 11 U.A.E. AED 14.00 United States $ 4.00 United States Military (Europe) $ 2.00 Issue Number No. 42,028 Register to attend athensdemocracyforum.com .. SATURDAY-SUNDAY, APRIL 28-29, 2018 | 3 THE NEW YORK TIMES INTERNATIONAL EDITION World ‘Brother, we need Greenpeace out here’ TAS-YURYAKH JOURNAL TAS-YURYAKH, RUSSIA With ice roads melting, Siberian truck drivers are climate-change believers BY ANDREW E. KRAMER At a truck stop at the northern terminus of the Vilyui ice highway in northeastern Siberia, drivers make small talk, not about life on the road but rather the life of the road. It might last another week, suggested one driver casually, tucking into a steaming plate of meatballs. “Not likely,” countered Maxim A. Andreyevsky, 31, the driver of a crude oil tanker truck. “Didn’t you see the shimmer on the surface? It will be gone in a day or two.” Every spring, thousands of miles of so-called winter highway in Russia, mostly serving oil and mining towns in Siberia and far northern European Russia, melt back into the swamps from which they were conjured up the previous fall. And every year, it seems to the men whose livelihoods depend upon it, the road of ice melts earlier. That insight has turned Tas-Yuryakh, a tiny village of log cabins that depends on the ice highway for business at its truck stop and gas station — the last gas for 508 miles — into a hotbed of true believers in the human contribution to climate change. “Of course people are to blame,” Mr. Andreyevsky said. “They pump so much gas, they pump so much oil. Brother, we need Greenpeace out here.” With highways made of ice, including the icy surfaces of deep lakes and rivers, all it takes is one pleasantly warm spring day for the highway to vanish. Every year, officials say, at least one big rig goes through the ice of a lake or big river. “The danger is always with the daring truck drivers,” said Aleksandr A. Kondratyev, the director of the regional department of roads in Mirny, a diamondmining town in northeastern Siberia linked to the rest of Russia to the south only by the ice road. Most of the time, he said, they escape with their lives. When the Vilyui ice highway first opened in 1976, its builders celebrated the occasion on Revolution Day, Nov. 7, Mr. Kondratyev said. These days, the road rarely opens before mid-December, he said, and it now typically closes on April 1, about a month earlier than in former years. For truck drivers in this part of Siberia, the Plate, the truck stop that marks the Vilyui highway’s northern end, is an island of comfort in a sea of snow. Drivers stepped in, kicked snow off their boots and lined up at a counter to order their last restaurant meal for three days, the typical time it takes to drive over the ice to the next gravel road. Outside, a skinny, angry Siberian husky tied to a tree barked fiercely at anybody who came near. Ice highways are integral to Russia’s mining and oil economy in the Far North, as they are in Canada and Alaska, where ice roads are also freez- THE NEW YORK TIMES PHOTOGRAPHS BY MAXIM BABENKO FOR THE NEW YORK TIMES Clockwise from top: Every spring, thousands of miles of winter highways in Siberia and in the far north of European Russia melt back into the swamps; Aleksandr G. Potashov in the cab of his truck; changing a tire on an oil tanker. When a truck breaks the ice on a river, “you don’t hear anything,” Mr. Potashov said. “You just feel the truck collapsing in.” ing later and melting earlier. The highways are surfaced with ice either graded by a bulldozer from frozen swamp or formed by spraying river water onto the intended site of the road and allowing it to freeze. The winter roads take shortcuts across frozen lakes and rivers but mostly traverse permafrost, the layer of frozen, prehistoric swamp that when melted resembles frozen spinach after a spell in the microwave. Permafrost is mostly composed of mud and vegetation but includes the occasional frozen mammoth. It is typically hundreds of yards deep, and in places in Siberia penetrates nearly a mile into the earth, rendering it impossible to dig down to bedrock to build a road. At the top is what is known as the active layer, or the upper five to 10 feet that thaws and refreezes every year. In the fall, this layer becomes construction material for Russia’s ice road builders. The first crews arrive in a “light column” of bulldozers traveling on the still boggy ground to plow insulating snow from the future road, exposing the soil to cold air and hastening a deep freeze. A bulldozer makes a final pass to smooth it off and the road is done — until the first warm spring day. This road is in fact a 508-mile long ice rink, hard and slippery under a coating of blown snow, connecting the Yakutsk and Irkutsk regions of Siberia. When the road melts, the Plate truck stop shutters for the summer. Late in the season, Siberian trucking companies raise fees for drivers to compensate for the danger and difficulty of driving during the spring thaw. Ice trucking is in any case handsomely compensated, by Russian standards. In the dead of winter, drivers at the Plate said, shipping companies pay about $500 for a one-way run over the Vilyui highway. After mid-April, the rate goes above $700. But it’s hard work. The wife of one truck driver on the Vilyui highway wrote a book about his life with the title, “Territory of Risk.” When a truck breaks the ice on a river crossing, “you don’t hear anything,” in the cab over the thrum of the motor, said Aleksandr G. Potashov, nursing a cup of tea at the Plate before setting off. “You just feel the truck collapsing in.” On an ice road river crossing, drivers say, seatbelts must be unfastened, to allow a quick escape in the event of a breakthrough. Another hazard is meltwater pooling on the icy road surface, rendering it too slippery to ascend grades and reflecting light in the shimmer that Mr. Andreyevsky said he had noticed on the road. Out on an ice road, a warm spring day is a curse. Polishing off their meals, drivers recalled melts of years past. In 1996, an unexpectedly warm spring stranded dozens of truckers along hundreds of miles of the Vilyui highway. In these cases, the trucks and their cargo stay put until the next winter. Drivers fell trees and build platforms of logs for the trucks, lest the vehicles sink forever. Ruslan A. Sizonov, a director of logistics at the Alrosa mining company, who said the warming winters were shrinking the window for hauling in heavy equipment and fuel, even as the cost of the road remained the same. Russia’s federal government contracts with the mining company to build the road, at an annual cost of about $3,050 per mile at the current exchange rate. The Arctic has been warming twice as fast as the rest of Earth, scientists say. Last month, the maximum extent of Arctic Ocean ice cover was the second lowest since satellite record-keeping began in the 1970s. Russian energy companies are, though, seeing an upside to the thaw. Last year, a Russian-operated liquefied natural gas tanker, the Christophe de Margerie, made its maiden voyage carrying fuel to Asia over the thawing Arctic Ocean, which is opening as a new shipping route to the east. This year, Mr. Andreyevsky set off in his Renault truck on March 29, two days before the official closure of the road on April 1. While a few warm days came earlier last month, on that day the temperature was a safe -10 degrees Fahrenheit. The plan was to make it to the graveled surface in the south before the melt. If he makes it out with his crude oil load, Mr. Andreyevsky joked, he would only be adding to the road’s woes. “Of course there is an effect,” on the climate from burning oil, he said. “The exhaust pipes are smoking.” Tensions between Greece and Turkey focus on tiny islands KASTELLORIZO, GREECE BY PATRICK KINGSLEY In the narrow Mediterranean strait between the easternmost islands of Greece and the shoreline of western Turkey, Kostas Raftis steered his fishing dinghy along the invisible maritime border dividing the two countries. Usually, this is a placid spot where Mr. Raftis fishes for red mullet and snapper. Now it is rising as a geopolitical flash point. This month, a low-flying Turkish helicopter had passed provocatively close to a military base on the nearby Greek island of Ro, drawing warning shots from soldiers. That incident was followed three days later by the death of a Greek fighter pilot who crashed, his government said, after attempting to intercept a Turkish aircraft that had entered the country’s airspace. The number of incursions by Turkish military ships and jets into Greek territory has spiked in recent months, according to Greek officials, stoking concerns of a new military conflict in a region where Turkey is already embroiled in the war raging in Syria. The biggest uncertainty involves Turkey’s strongman president, Recep Tayyip Erdogan, and whether his ambitions are fueling renewed claims to these Greek isles — particularly after he embarked on Wednesday on an election campaign in which he is expected to play heavily on nationalistic sentiment. “With the people of Turkey, we don’t have problems,” said Mr. Raftis, 58. “The problem is with Erdogan, with the Turkish government. They want to make Turkey bigger.” Indeed, though the border issue has simmered for nearly a century, analysts worry that the unpredictable nature of Mr. Erdogan makes the situation more volatile than ever between the coun- EIRINI VOURLOUMIS FOR THE NEW YORK TIMES Kastellorizo, a Greek island of about 300 permanent residents near the Turkish mainland, is at the center of a volatile border issue that has simmered for nearly a century. tries, nominal NATO allies, who almost fought a war over an uninhabited island in nearby waters two decades ago. In December, to the surprise of his hosts, Mr. Erdogan used the occasion of the first visit to Greece by a Turkish president in 65 years to call for a redrawing of the border. That did not go down well. In recent years, Mr. Erdogan has often stoked tensions overseas in order to bolster his domestic standing, insulting several European governments, deploying troops in Syria, and lashing out at the United States. “Erdogan is a little bit out of control — he’s picking a lot of fights, and there is a lot of uncertainty about how far he’s prepared to go,” said Nikos Tsafos, who researches the politics of the eastern Mediterranean at the Center for Strategic and International Studies, a Washington-based think tank. “The odds of something going wrong are increasing on a weekly basis,” he said. The border issue has its roots in the collapse of the Ottoman Empire in the aftermath of World War I and in subsequent international treaties that gave many islands that had once belonged to the Ottoman Empire — including Kastellorizo, the nearest permanently inhabited island to Ro — to other European powers. Today, Turkey — which was formed from the rump of the Ottoman Empire — does not contest Kastellorizo’s sovereignty. But the government feels it is unfair that Greece should have the right to potentially exploit energy resources in parts of the Mediterranean seabed that lie within sight of Turkey. Other recent developments have compounded the decades-old disagreement. Talks have broken down over the status of the island of Cyprus, which is divided between a Greek-backed and internationally recognized state in the south, and a Turkish-backed breakaway state in the north. Greece declined to extradite eight Turkish servicemen who had fled following a failed coup in 2016; and the Turkish government has arrested two Greek border guards, seemingly in response. “The potential for a military conflict between Greece and Turkey has never seemed as close since the 1990s,” said Soner Cagaptay, director of the Turkish Research Program at the Washington Institute for Near East Policy. The Turkish government says Greece is to blame for the spike in tensions. “The Greeks always want attention,” said a senior Turkish official who asked not to be named in accordance with Turkish protocol. “They’re like babies, and it’s always been like that.” But statistics released by Greece suggest a different narrative. According to the Greek military, Turkish incursions into Greek airspace rose to 3,317 in 2017 from 1,269 in 2014, while maritime incursions rose to 1,998 from 371 in the same period. The Greek and Turkish prime ministers, Alexis Tsipras and Binali Yildirim, appeared to calm tensions with a phone call after the two incidents over Ro this month. On April 16, the situation worsened again when Turkey said it had sent its Coast Guard to remove several Greek flags that had been planted on an islet in a Greek island group within sight of the Turkish coast. Less than 24 hours later, Mr. Tsipras had flown to Kastellorizo — nominally to open a desalination plant, but in reality to send a strong signal on Greek sovereignty. “Greece can defend its sovereign rights from one end of this country to the other,” said Mr. Tsipras, as the cliffs of Turkey loomed in the distance over his right shoulder. “We won’t negotiate, we won’t bargain, we won’t cede an inch of Kastellorizo land.” But Turkey did not seem to get the message. After Mr. Tsipras started his journey home, his helicopter pilot was radioed by Turkish air traffic controllers, who accused the pilot of flying into Turkish airspace, a Greek military official said. After Mr. Erdogan raised the issue of redrawing the border during his December visit, the Greek defense minister, Panos Kammenos, accused the Turkish “The potential for a military conflict between Greece and Turkey has never seemed as close since the 1990s.” leadership of stupidity, described its military as enfeebled, and reminded Turkey of a humiliating Ottoman defeat in the 19th century. In response, Mr. Yildirim taunted Greece over its retreat from Asia Minor in 1922, while the leader of the Turkish opposition, Kemal Kilicdaroglu, attempted to go one better by suggesting that Turkey invade no less than 18 Greek islands. Were such an unlikely scenario to occur, Kastellorizo and Ro would most likely be on Mr. Kilicdaroglu’s list. Ro is a hallowed place for many Greek patriots: In 1927, a woman from an old Kastellorizo family, Despina Achladioti, moved there and kept a Greek flag flying until her death in 1982 — enshrining her in national folklore as “the Lady of Ro.” For all the rhetoric, many of Kastellorizo’s 300 permanent residents, as well their Turkish neighbors across the water, feel the tensions have been exaggerated by the news media — and by attention-seeking politicians. “We’ve had news like this for years, but we’ve never had an actual problem,” said Dimitris Achladiotis, the island’s deputy mayor, who is a great-nephew of the Lady of Ro. “Until we see a Turkish military boat in the port of Kastellorizo, we will not be scared.” Further round the island’s horseshoe harbor, a bar owner told the story of how he met his Turkish wife in Kas, the Turkish town that lies a short ride across the sea. Many Kastellorizo residents buy their weekly shopping from Kas’s market on Fridays, while a ferry service brings more than 20,000 people in the other direction every year. “We all coexist and are similar in lots of respects,” said Kikkos Magiafis, the bar owner with a Turkish wife. This was a sentiment echoed in Kas, even among Turkish nationalists. The islanders on Kastellorizo “are normal people like us, civilians living their lives like us,” said Ismail Sah Yilmaz, the head of the local branch of the Iyi Party, a Turkish nationalist group. But strolling along the quay at Kastellorizo this month, patting a few toddlers and listening to their parents’ gripes about island life, Mr. Tsipras appeared to have other ideas. “You are the guardians of Thermopylae,” he told several islanders — though presumably he did not mean it literally. According to myth, it was at the Battle of Thermopylae in 480 B.C. that a few hundred Greeks held off tens of thousands of soldiers from the East — before being betrayed and slaughtered. Iliana Magra contributed reporting from Kastellorizo, and Niki Kitsantonis from Athens. .. SATURDAY-SUNDAY, APRIL 28-29, 2018 | 5 THE NEW YORK TIMES INTERNATIONAL EDITION world A revolutionary hero becomes a target “Leadership is necessary, and Daniel’s leadership is necessary,” said Alejandro Martínez Cuenca, a Sandinista economist. “It would be an error to disregard his presence, when we know this is a country that can easily fall into anarchy.” He credited Mr. Ortega with “building a new model” for Nicaragua that included economic growth and a reduction in poverty. Nicaragua is safer than most Central American countries, and its residents have not fled to the United States border seeking better lives like their neighbors in El Salvador, Guatemala and Honduras have. But even Mr. Ortega’s remaining supporters acknowledge that he erred badly in giving so much power to his wife, Rosario Murillo, who is also his vice president. Few decisions seem to be made without her approval, making it clear that she is calling the shots. The couple made institutional changes that allowed them to control the Supreme Court and the National Assembly and were accused of rampant elec- toral fraud that gave them power over the nation’s city halls, too. “He made some very serious errors,” said Jaime Wheelock, one of the original nine Sandinista commanders. “One good thing about Daniel is that if he’s not right, he’ll back down.” Mr. Wheelock cited Mr. Ortega’s willingness to dole out land titles and social welfare benefits. But critics say that while the president used money and oil from Venezuela to win over the poor, he also bought up television stations and took others off the air. He gave plum jobs to union officials, effectively silencing voices of dissent. Middle-class groups and opposition parties often held protests, but they were beaten back by pro-government mobs and largely stifled. So it was all the more remarkable this month when Mr. Ortega’s unpopular changes to social security became the detonator for such an enormous movement. Protests exploded. Mr. Ortega’s changes to the broken social security system required workers to pay more and retirees to receive less. University students, who were already angry over a forest fire at a natural reserve that the government failed to extinguish, rallied against the changes. Then they were met by pro-government mobs that attacked them. Students died at the hands of the police, human rights groups say, inciting even more protests. Then Mr. Ortega and Ms. Murillo dismissed the protesters as groups of right-wing gangs. “That just made us even more indignant,” said Enma Gutiérrez, a youth organizer. More and more people joined the protests. And while the opposition movement is huge, it does not have any clear, national leaders, making it even more difficult for Mr. Ortega to tamp down. On April 22, when Mr. Ortega rescinded the social security measures, he failed to mention the students who died in the protests, focusing instead on how the demonstrations had been infiltrated by gangs that looted stores. The speeches by Mr. Ortega and Ms. Murillo “are adding gasoline to the fire,” Mr. Carrión said. “If these people, this couple, were firefighters, they would be lighting the place on fire.” Nicaraguans are furious that Mr. Ortega has not vowed to investigate the student deaths, although he released jailed students in the past week and put a cable news station back on air. He was meeting some central demands, but students insisted that it was not enough. At the Polytechnic University in the capital, students had refused to leave and instead gathered in small groups last weekend making homemade fire bombs. The residents of the Monimbó neighborhood of the city of Masaya also dug in their heels. “They say this town was the cradle of Daniel Ortega and where he took his first steps,” said Mayra Pabón, a longtime supporter of the president who protested in Monimbó. “Well, he died here too in the moment that he ordered the killings of so many young people with such bright futures ahead of them.” “He cannot step foot in Masaya ever again.” publicly discuss their cases so as not to inadvertently contradict themselves when they spoke with the American border authorities. More than 300 people were expected in Tijuana. Another 300 or so were in the northern city of Hermosillo, organizers said, and many of them planned to seek protection in Mexico. In Tijuana, the migrants have squeezed into two shelters in a scrappy neighborhood wedged between the city’s red-light district and the United States border. With only a few possessions stuffed in battered knapsacks and plastic bags, they have bedded down on blankets on the tile floors of one shelter, and in tents pitched on a cement floor of another. The nights have been cold, and a flulike illness has circulated for weeks. The state health authorities in Sonora diagnosed four people with tuberculosis, according to officials here in Baja California. The location of the Tijuana shelters has made the migrants’ yearning even more intense. From the sidewalk in front of one shelter, the migrants can see the steel border fence and the United States beyond. Organizers say they never expected this many caravan participants to make it so far together. They had predicted that the vast majority would drop out along the way, and even announced at one point that the caravan would officially dissolve in Mexico City. But Mr. Trump’s efforts to break it up may actually have created the opposite outcome. Organizers expect that many, if not most, of the remaining caravan participants would apply for asylum. And over the next two days, organizers plan to hold know-your-rights workshops and schedule one-on-one conferences between migrants and volunteer lawyers and paralegals from the United States. Gaining asylum in the United States has never been easy. Applicants must prove they have been persecuted or fear persecution based on their race, religion, nationality, political belief or membership in a particular group. By law, people who request protection at a United States entry point must first be referred for a screening, known as a credible-fear interview, with an asylum officer. If the officer finds that an applicant has a chance of proving fear of persecution back home, the person can apply for asylum before a judge. In recent years, judges have approved fewer than half of all asylum requests. Among Central American petitioners, the approval rate is substantially lower. This month, the Trump administration announced a new push for legislation that would make it more difficult to obtain refuge. Mr. Trump has said that overly permissive laws have drawn a flood of migrants to the nation’s borders. The president’s aggressive approach to the caravan appears to have worn down the resolve of some members. Several people in Tijuana, even after having traveled so far, wondered aloud about the wisdom of applying for asylum, considering the possibility that they could be detained and separated from their children for a prolonged period while their cases were pending. Fathers were considering letting their families go on without them in the belief that the American authorities might look more kindly on women and children than on men. “I’m so scared,” said Daisy Guardado, 40, who fled Honduras with her three daughters after a gang attacked one and killed her brother. Her three sons remain in Honduras, in hiding. Lawyers have told her she has a solid case for protection in the United States, yet Mr. Trump’s statements have rattled her. “I don’t know what to do,” she said. Still, most planned to press on with their asylum cases. Ignacio Villatoro, José Villatoro’s father, said he thought his family had a persuasive case. Facing a gang’s extortion threats, the family had closed their bakery in Coatepeque, Guatemala, and fled. “If Trump allows his heart to open,” Mr. Villatoro said, “my wife and kids will have a chance to cross.” MASAYA, NICARAGUA Nicaragua’s president faces surging dissent in country’s biggest uprising in decades BY FRANCES ROBLES The revolutionary, many Nicaraguans say, is suddenly facing a revolution of his own. The insurrection that led to the rise of President Daniel Ortega and his Cold War struggles with the United States began here in Masaya 40 years ago. Mr. Ortega’s brother died fighting in this town, and an old national guard post still stands as a landmark to the uprising that brought their leftist guerrilla movement to power. But in recent days, the guard post has been turned into a charred, vandalized mess. Protesters have even taken a famous war slogan and spray-painted it on the walls in a mocking warning to Mr. Ortega. “Let your momma surrender,” it says. Nicaragua is undergoing its biggest uprising since the civil war ended in 1990. Faced with a presidential couple that controls virtually every branch of government and the news media, young people across the nation are carrying out their own version of an Arab Spring. Armed with cellphones and social media skills, their challenge to the government has astonished residents who lived through Mr. Ortega’s revolution in the 1970s, the civil war in the ’80s and the 30 years since then. Demonstrators — many of them members of Mr. Ortega’s own party — have burned vehicles and barricaded intersections. Thousands have swarmed streets around the country, condemning government censorship and the killing of protesters. After fighting two wars, winning multiple elections and exerting very tight control over the country for years, Mr. Ortega has lost his grip on the masses and suddenly seems to be on the ropes. “I have only ever voted for Daniel Ortega,” said Reynaldo Gaitán, 32, a baker who took to the streets in this town’s historic Monimbó neighborhood to denounce his former hero. “Daniel is over. His term ends here.” In surprising fashion, Mr. Ortega — whose sway over judges and lawmakers has enabled him to stay in power by reinterpreting the Constitution and scrapping term limits — gave in to demand after demand from the protesters in the past week. Still, students who had taken over a local university were refusing to back down. “Nicaragua changed,” said José Adán Aguerri, president of Cosep, the country’s influential business organization, which is pushing for dialogue with the government. “The Nicaragua of a week ago no longer exists.” The protests started with a relatively narrow issue — changes to the social security system — but they quickly rose to a national boil when students began to die. Human rights organizations say OSWALDO RIVAS/REUTERS ESTEBAN FELIX/ASSOCIATED PRESS OSWALDO RIVAS/REUTERS RODRIGO ARANGUA/AGENCE FRANCE-PRESSE — GETTY IMAGES Clockwise from top left: Violent street protests in Managua, the Nicaraguan capital; President Daniel Ortega, and Rosario Murillo, the first lady and vice president, in 2016; a barricade placed by protesting students at a university entrance; and a funeral in Jinotepe for a police officer who died after being wounded during protests. that dozens have been killed, including at the hands of the police. A journalist and two police officers are also among the dead. The sweeping protests have started to have international ripples as well. Just weeks after Travel and Leisure magazine called Nicaragua’s Corn Island “an underrated Caribbean paradise,” the State Department pulled the families of its embassy personnel from the country, and cruise ships were changing course to avoid docking here. “They’re destroying the image of Nicaragua, with all that it cost us to construct that image,” Mr. Ortega said in a televised speech. “The image of Nicaragua was an image of war. War. Death. How much tourism and investment and jobs will this cost us?” The Roman Catholic Church has agreed to serve as a mediator and a witness to talks, but the students who took over the Polytechnic University in the capital, Managua, had said they would not negotiate while the president was still in office. They decided to join the discussions, providing certain conditions were met. “We don’t want Daniel,” said Lester Hamilton, 35, who was struck by rubber bullets in protests this month and remained encamped at the university. He was referring to Mr. Ortega, the former guerrilla fighter who was a main figure in the revolution against the right-wing dictatorship of Anastasio Somoza. The Sandinista guerrillas declared victory in 1979. Mr. Ortega then ruled Nicaragua throughout the 1980s, but war continued to rage, as counterrevolutionary forces tried to topple him. His adversaries, known as the Contras, received secret, illicit financing by the Reagan administration, leading to one of the biggest American scandals of the era. Mr. Ortega agreed to elections in 1990 and lost. But even after giving up the presidency, he never gave up power. The Sandinistas still controlled student groups and unions and exercised important influence over the police, army and Even Daniel Ortega’s remaining supporters acknowledge that he erred badly in giving so much power to his wife, who is also vice president. judiciary. If presidents enacted policies that Mr. Ortega disagreed with, he would unleash students or unions to protest. “He always had veto power,” said Gonzalo Carrión, president of the Nicaraguan Center for Human Rights. “If he didn’t rule from above, he ruled from the bottom.” A pact with an opposing party brought electoral law changes that allowed Mr. Ortega to take office again in 2007, after three consecutive losses at the ballot box. Once president for a second time, he made important alliances with his former enemies, letting big business flourish while he tightened his grip on power. Migrants from caravan face a big obstacle: Trump TIJUANA, MEXICO BY KIRK SEMPLE The uncomfortable and dangerous rides atop freight trains are now in the past. So are the cold nights sleeping in parks, the hot days walking in the unforgiving sun and the unpredictability of the next meal or bath. Yet for hundreds of migrants who arrived in the border city of Tijuana in the past week after a month of traveling en masse across Mexico, perhaps the hardest part is to come. The hope of sanctuary in the United States sustained them throughout the trip, and for many one person now stood in the way: the president of the United States. “He doesn’t want anyone to enter,” said José Ignacio Villatoro, 20, who said he had fled gang violence in Guatemala with his parents and three siblings. Mr. Villatoro was standing within sight of the border fence, weighing what he had been through and the effort that was still required. “I’m thinking about how to enter, because it’s not at all easy,” he said, looking at his shoes. “I really don’t know what’s going to happen.” This has now become the defining challenge of the migrant caravan. The group was planning to walk en masse on Sunday to the border crossing leading to southern San Diego, with those planning to petition for asylum presenting themselves to American border officials and making their case for sanctuary. The caravan’s push north began on March 25 in Tapachula, a city on Mexico’s border with Guatemala. These group migrations have become something of an annual event in Mexico, intended to provide security in numbers for participants and draw attention to the migrants’ plight. The participants, the vast majority fleeing poverty and violence in Central America, numbered upward of 1,200 in the initial stages of the journey, perhaps the largest such caravan yet. MEGHAN DHALIWAL FOR THE NEW YORK TIMES Central American migrants in Tijuana. Some of the hundreds who arrived plan to petition for United States asylum. Still, the group might have passed mostly unnoticed, like those in the past, had President Trump not caught wind of it. Mr. Trump posted tweet after tweet on the subject, portraying the caravan as a danger to the United States and evidence of lax immigration enforcement in Mexico. He used it as grounds to deploy National Guard troops to the southwest border. In recent days, as the caravan neared the northern border of Mexico, the Trump administration ordered additional judges, prosecutors and asylum officers to staff precincts on the United States’ southwest border ahead of its arrival. Mr. Trump mobilized his cabinet as well, with Attorney General Jeff Sessions calling the caravan “a deliberate attempt to undermine our laws and overwhelm our system,” and Homeland Security Secretary Kirstjen Nielsen issuing two statements, the latest on Wednesday, threatening prosecution for anyone who illegally entered the United States or made “a false immigration claim.” Mr. Trump’s comments have filtered down to the caravan by way of relatives’ phone messages and word-of-mouth, and via reporters from time to time. “The person in power decides things,” said Plutarco Libni Vásquez, 29, who traveled from San Pedro Sula, Honduras, with his partner, Orfa Marín, and her three children. “We are just simple workers who want to get ahead.” The family members said they were fleeing violence in their homeland, their lives having been touched by extortion and a gang’s threats of rape and murder, among other traumas. But they guarded the details of their plight. Lawyers who met with members of the group in the city of Puebla earlier in their migration counseled them not to .. 6 | SATURDAY-SUNDAY, APRIL 28-29, 2018 THE NEW YORK TIMES INTERNATIONAL EDITION world JOSHUA ROBERTS/REUTERS TOM BRENNER/THE NEW YORK TIMES MICHAEL MATHES/AGENCE FRANCE-PRESSE — GETTY IMAGES NICHOLAS KAMM/AGENCE FRANCE-PRESSE — GETTY IMAGES The forever campaign FROM THE MAGAZINE No candidate has delighted as visibly as Trump did in his run for the presidency BY CHARLES HOMANS It was in the last half-hour of Donald Trump’s speech in Moon Township, Pa., that a sense of what exactly it was that I was watching — what I and everyone else had been watching throughout Trump’s presidency to that point — finally clicked into place with startling clarity. This was in early March, in an unexpectedly pristine hangar by the Pittsburgh airport, its white floor buffed to a shine in which I could make out my reflection. Trump was talking about Peggy Noonan, the conservative Wall Street Journal columnist. Noonan had apparently written something, or (more likely) said something on cable news, where she appears often as a pearlnecklaced avatar of political normalcy, about Trump’s appearing inadequately presidential. “I’m very presidential!” Trump told us, with mock indignation. Then he stiffened in his suit and adopted a stentorian tone, like a fourth grader doing an impression of his school principal. “Laaaadies and gentlemen,” he intoned, “thank you for being here tonight. Rick Saccone” — the Republican candidate for Congress who would lose a special election in Pennsylvania three days later — “will be a great, great congressman. He will help me very much. He’s a fine man, and Yong is a wonderful wife. I just want to tell you on behalf of the United States of America that we appreciate your service. And to all of the military out there, we respect you very much. Thank you. Thank you.” He broke character for a second: “And then you go, ‘God bless you, and God bless the United States of America, thank you very much.’” He turned and faced the V.I.P. guests in the riser behind him and did a sort of rigid penguin walk. The crowd whooped and laughed — not the cruel laughter you come to know at Trump rallies but real belly laughter, for what was a genuinely funny bit. Trump, who loves nothing more than being loved, kept penguin-walking, and everyone kept laughing. It took a few more seconds for the spectacular strangeness of the moment to settle in: We were watching a sitting American president imitating an American president. The president in Trump’s impression was an authority figure experienced at Olympian, inhuman remove. All of us in the hangar, Trump included, were accustomed to the presence of this person: to admiring or lampooning him, loving or hating him, but always having him there. Except now, he wasn’t. Watching Trump step into the archetype momentarily and then just as quickly step out, it hit me: Even in Trump’s mind, that president was someone else, somewhere else. It was as if I were sitting on a commercial flight, at cruising altitude, when the pilot suddenly plopped down in the next seat, commiserated about the tarmac delays and poor in-flight service, then popped an Ambien and went to sleep. widely held theory that Donald Trump did not, and maybe still does not, really want to be president. Whether or not this is true, what can be ventured with greater certainty is that no candidate has ever delighted as visibly as Trump did in campaigning to be president and that his having been elected was the period at the end of a sentence that he would happily have let run on forever. For Trump, the campaign trail was a place of self-actualization. On the stage was where he seemed most himself — so much so that not even a full day after his election, the president-elect mused to his staff about another series of rallies. By the time the first dates of the tour were announced, on Nov. 29, 2016, it had been christened a “thank-you tour”: nine rallies in nine states throughout December. After taking a few weeks in January and February 2017 to be inaugurated and acquaint himself with the business of running the country, Trump held another rally. He has been holding them regularly ever since, sometimes as often as twice a month. They amount to one of the few sustained, continuous projects of his presidency and represent a genuinely novel contribution to the theater of American politics: a neverending tour with stakes perpetually unclear. These rallies rarely produce news, and what news they produce is usually limited to something Trump says, which THERE IS A TOM BRENNER/THE NEW YORK TIMES President Trump, above, in Moon Township, Pa., in March. He has been president for more than a year, but still thrives on rallies and the outpouring of support from the crowds as he asks, “Do you like me?” means you can just as easily cover it from the comfort of your own couch, thanks to the handful of live-broadcasting TV crews always packed onto a riser in the back of the venue, serving double duty as a hate totem for the events, the most reliable targets for ritual humiliation from the stage. But there is something about these rallies that you can’t see from your couch. I have never interviewed Trump, but people I know who have often remark on an uncanny element of the experience: the absence of any indication of an offlimits private self distinct from his public image. The phenomenon feels radically postmodern: a complete communion of the thing with its representation, officiated by an audience of millions over the course of nearly four decades. The tens of thousands of people who came to see him speak at campaign events might have numbered well below the millions who had watched him on TV, but the sheer physical fact of them seemed to entrance him. “Celebrity is a mask that eats into the face,” John Updike once wrote — but with Trump, it was hard to imagine the face ever having been there at all. To feel as if you were witnessing something essential and true about Barack Obama, you would have had to see him alone in his study late at night. To witness the same of Trump, you have to stand among thousands gathered to see him — and see him seeing you seeing him. pointing to a man in the crowd. “I just saw him on television — he said: ‘I love Trump! Let Trump do what he has to do!’” This was in Melbourne, Fla., in February 2017 — Trump’s first rally after taking office. He was in Mar-a-Lago mode, open-collared and visibly at ease, more so than he had been at any point since Inauguration Day. “Come here — let him up, I’m not worried about him,” he said as the man made his way to the stage. “Hop over the fence! He can do it — look, this guy’s in great shape. This guy is great — don’t worry about him.” The man’s name, it would later be ascertained, was Gene Huber. He was a car salesman from Boynton Beach, Fla., very tan, with a close-cropped corona of graying hair, in good shape just as the president said, wearing a commemorative T-shirt from Trump’s inauguration featuring the same presidential seal as the lectern behind which he now embraced Trump in a bear hug. “This guy! He’s been all over television, saying the best things,” Trump said. “Say a couple words.” “Mr. President, thank you, sir!” Hu“YOU!” TRUMP SAID, monologue. He was a guy on a stage, improvising, trying to hold the crowd, trying to figure out what they liked and how to give them more of it. The applause for clean coal was tepid, so he moved on. He talked about the health care economist Jonathan Gruber, but no one seemed to know who that was, so he reached into the tangle of Fox News chyrons balled up in the back of his head and came up with something about all the people who wanted to tear down George Washington statues, and the crowd roared its indignation at this movement that did not, in any meaningful sense, exist. These moments have political consequences, but when you are watching them in person, the imperatives at play seem mostly emotional; the needs on display are raw and visible, and curiously small. he asked us in the airplane hangar in Moon. He looked as if he was feeling good — certainly better than in Phoenix. The crowd liked him, and cheered. “I like you, too,” he said. “I love you! I love you! So — is there any more fun than at a Trump rally? You know, a lot of times, I have to do, like, readings — we’ll pass an environmental bill, they’ll want me to go to a — I’m very spoiled, if I go to a small place, and they have 2,000 people, it’s like, why don’t we open a stadium or something? We’re spoiled. Other guys, they go out, they get 50 people, they’re satisfied. We. Need. Crowds. Like. This. In fact, the fire marshal was fantastic. You know, they had a lot of people out — and he’s a great guy, I don’t want to get him in trouble, but he opened up those doors, and he let most of the people that were sent away, he got ’em — look at those corners! Those cameras are never going to cover those corners. They’re never going to cover the corners. They’re never going to cover — they never show the crowds. They never like to show the crowds, ever! The only thing is the noise. You can’t imitate — it sounds like a Penn State football game. It sounds like an Ohio State football game! I’ll say to friends, ‘Did you see my speech last night?’ ‘Yes.’ I have to say it: ‘How good was I? How good?’ And they say, ‘Good.’ I say, ‘Did they show the crowd?’ ‘No, they didn’t. But you know what, I could tell by the noise, that crowd was really big.’ You can’t hide that. You can’t hide that.” I was there, and I can report that yes, the crowd was really big. You couldn’t hide that. “DO YOU LIKE ME?” BILL WECHTER/AGENCE FRANCE-PRESSE — GETTY IMAGES ber said, slightly wild-eyed with adrenaline, looking not at Trump but at the cameras. “We the people, our movement, is the reason why our president of the United States is standing in front of us today. When President Trump, during the election, promised all these things he was going to do for us, I knew he was going to do this for us.” Huber yielded the microphone and exited the stage. “A star is born, a star is born,” Trump said. “I wouldn’t say that Secret Service was thrilled with that, but we know our people, right? We know our people. A great guy — and so many others, I see some others, they’re being interviewed. The media will give them no credit.” He shook his head at the treatment of this man, who had been rendered real to Trump by his appearance on television, whom the media would diligently and regularly interview henceforth, when they recognized him at the subsequent rallies that Huber religiously attended after quitting his car business post-Melbourne to dedicate himself full time to supporting the president, a cardboard cutout of whom, Huber told CNN, he kept at home and saluted every day. Like Trump himself, Huber was now famous for being famous, and in June reporters found him camped out in line the night before At one rally this year, the crowd was watching a sitting American president imitating an American president. Trump’s rally in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, wearing a T-shirt printed with a photograph of himself hugging Trump on the stage in Melbourne, beneath the words WE THE PEOPLE. ON AUG. 12, white supremacists marched and then rioted in Charlottesville, Va., one of them running over a woman with his car and killing her. Asked about the episode in a news conference at Trump Tower, Trump insisted that “I think there’s blame on both sides” and described some of the white supremacists as “very fine people,” and amid the backlash that inevitably ensued, Donald J. Trump for President Inc. awakened, as it seems to do in times of trouble, to announce that on Aug. 22, there would be another rally, this one in Phoenix. Onstage in Phoenix, he recited from all of his post-Charlottesville news releases; he had them printed out. “I said, ‘Racism is evil.’ Now they only choose, you know, like a half a sentence here or there, and then they just go on this long rampage, or they put on these real lightweights all around a table that nobody ever heard of, and they all say what a bad guy I am.” Watching a public eruption of self-pity is an awkward experience, particularly when it is the president of the United States doing it. Even the crowd in Phoenix seemed a little unsure what to do with it. “Now, you know, I was a good student,” he went on. “I always hear about the elite. You know, the elite. They’re elite? I went to better schools than they did! I was a better student than they were! I live in a bigger, more beautiful apartment, and I live in the White House too, which is really great. I think — you know what? I think we’re the elites. They’re not the elites.” It is hard to get through a Trump rally now without thinking of Rodrigo Duterte of the Philippines, or Recep Tayyip Erdogan of Turkey or the other authoritarians for whom Trump has openly expressed his admiration. And yet, watching Trump in Phoenix, the instincts he was following seemed to be much more those of an entertainer than those of a demagogue. It had the feel of being in the studio audience for an unusually angry late-night host’s opening Adapted from an article that originally appeared in The New York Times Magazine. Charles Homans is the politics editor for the magazine. .. SATURDAY-SUNDAY, APRIL 28-29, 2018 | 7 THE NEW YORK TIMES INTERNATIONAL EDITION world When all proven drugs fail Some doctors are turning to immunotherapy in a desperate bid to save lives CRITIC’S NOTEBOOK BY WESLEY MORRIS BY GINA KOLATA Dr. Oliver Sartor has a provocative question for his patients who are running out of time. Most are dying of prostate cancer. They have tried every standard treatment, to no avail. New immunotherapy drugs, which can work miracles against a few types of cancer, are not known to work for this kind. Still, Dr. Sartor, assistant dean for oncology at Tulane University School of Medicine in New Orleans, asks a diplomatic version of this: Do you want to try an immunotherapy drug before you die? The chance such a drug will help is vanishingly small — but not zero. “Under rules of desperation oncology, you engage in a different kind of oncology than the rational guideline thought,” Dr. Sartor said. The promise of immunotherapy has drawn cancer specialists into a conundrum. When the drugs work, a cancer may seem to melt away overnight. But little is known about which patients might benefit and from which drugs. Some oncologists choose not to mention immunotherapy to dying patients, arguing that scientists first must gather rigorous evidence about the benefits and pitfalls and that treating patients experimentally outside a clinical trial is perilous business. But others, like Dr. Sartor, are offering the drugs to some terminal patients as a roll of the dice. If the patient is dying and there’s a remote chance the drug will help, then why not? Cancer doctors are well aware of the pitfalls of treating patients before all the evidence is in. Many still shudder at the fiasco that unfolded in the 1980s and 1990s, when doctors started giving women with breast cancer extremely high doses of chemotherapy and radiation on the theory that more must be better. Then a clinical trial found that this treatment was much worse than the conventional one — the cancers remained just as deadly when treated with high doses, and the regimen itself killed or maimed women. But immunotherapy is like no cancer treatment ever seen. It can work no matter what kind of tumor a person has. All that matters is that the immune system be trained to see the tumor as a foreign invader. Tumors have mutations that stud them with bizarre proteins. The white blood cells of the immune system try to attack but are repelled by a molecular shield created by the tumors. The new drugs allow white blood cells to pierce that shield and destroy the tumors. This month brought yet another example of the surprising power of this approach. Lung cancer patients who normally would receive only chemotherapy lived longer when immunotherapy was added, researchers reported in a clinical trial. But the drugs are exorbitantly expensive. One that Dr. Sartor often uses costs $9,000 per dose if used once every three weeks and $7,000 if used once every two weeks. Often, he and other doctors persuade a patient’s insurer to pay. If that fails, sometimes the maker will provide the drug free of charge. Immunotherapy drugs can have severe side effects that can even lead to death. Once the immune system is activated, it may attack normal tissues as well as tumors. The result can be holes in the intestines, liver failure, nerve damage that can cause paralysis, serious rashes and eye problems, and problems with the pituitary, adrenal or thyroid glands. Side effects can arise during treatment or after the treatment is finished. For most patients, though, there are no side effects or only minor ones. That makes giving an immunotherapy drug to a dying patient different from trying a harsh experimental chemotherapy or a treatment like intense radiation. The problem is deciding ahead of time if an immunotherapy drug will help. Doctors check biomarkers, chemical Bill Cosby’s sickest joke was his signature TV role Dr. Oliver Sartor, a cancer specialist, reviewing patient notes with Dr. Brian Lewis and Mary Livaudais, a nurse. PHOTOGRAPHS BY ANNIE FLANAGAN FOR THE NEW YORK TIMES Fran Villere’s husband, George, tried an immunotherapy drug after conventional treatment failed. It didn’t work and he died in 2016. With the possibility of a dramatic response, “how can you ethically deny this to patients?” signals like proteins that arise when the immune system is trying to attack. But they are not very reliable. “A positive biomarker does not guarantee that a patient will benefit, and a negative biomarker does not mean a patient will not benefit,” said Dr. Richard Schilsky, senior vice president and chief medical officer of the American Society of Clinical Oncology. It was this problem, described at a medical conference a couple of years ago, that led Dr. Sartor to begin offering immunotherapy to dying patients. “I was thinking, ‘My God, these tests that are used to drive clinical decision making are not worth a damn,’” he said. “These are peoples’ lives here. We are playing with the highest of stakes.” “For certain people it is like, bingo, you give the drug to them and they have a long-lasting and positive benefit,” he added. “When our knowledge is not sufficient to inform our decisions, then we have an ethical conundrum.” Out of curiosity, Dr. Sartor emailed eight prominent prostate cancer specialists asking if they, too, offered immunotherapy drugs to patients on the offchance the treatments would help. Five said they offer it, with a variety of provisos, offering comments like, “If I was a patient, I want my doc to do everything.” Dr. Daniel George, at Duke University, said he does not offer immunotherapy to every man who is dying of prostate cancer. But, he said, “for those patients who want to do everything they possibly can, that’s the group where we try checkpoint inhibitors,” a type of immunotherapy. To the others — the majority of his patients with metastatic prostate cancer — he does not mention immunotherapy. “We have to balance between hope and reality,” he said. “The most difficult conversation we have with patients is when we have to tell them that more treatment is actually hurting them more than the cancer.” Dr. Daniel Petrylak, a prostate cancer specialist at Yale, said his inclination was to offer immunotherapy only to those rare patients whose tumors have a genetic marker indicating the immune system is trying to attack — already an approved indication for prostate cancer, he noted. But this strategy gives him a rationale for trying the drugs on patients with other cancers. With the possibility of a dramatic and prolonged response, he said in an interview, “how can you ethically deny this to patients?” At the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute in Boston, Dr. Christopher Sweeney said he petitions an insurance company to get an immunotherapy drug when the patient has a genetic marker predicting a possible response — an indicator the drug might work even if there is as yet no clinical trial evidence that it will — and is strong enough to tolerate the treatment. But if those conditions do not apply, as is usually the case, Dr. Sweeney only gives the drugs to patients if he can do so as part of a clinical trial. And if there is no clinical trial for the patient? “I basically say I don’t have any approved therapies,” Dr. Sweeney said. “Here’s the truth — most patients don’t benefit from these drugs.” Dr. Sartor disagreed with the approach. “I would love for every patient to be on a clinical trial,” he said. “But does that mean I shouldn’t try because I don’t have a trial?” One of the first patients Dr. Sartor treated with immunotherapy was George Villere, a retired investment adviser who lived in New Orleans. Mr. Villere had bladder cancer and had tried chemotherapy. It didn’t work, so Dr. Sartor told Mr. Villere that he had run out of conventional options and asked if he wanted to try immunotherapy. At the time, the drugs had not been approved for bladder cancer. Mr. Villere and his wife, Fran, thought it over, asking themselves whether they would regret it if they did not try. “I thought we would,” Mrs. Villere recalled in an interview. Their insurance agreed to pay, and Mr. Villere took the drug for several months. Nonetheless, he died on Nov. 15, 2016, at age 72. “He had no side effects,” Mrs. Villere said. “But the drug didn’t do a damn thing.” Then there is Clark Gordin, 67, who lives in Ocean Springs, Miss. He had metastatic prostate cancer, “a bad deck of cards,” he said in an interview. Dr. Sartor tried conventional treatments, but they didn’t work for Mr. Gordin. Finally, the doctor suggested immunotherapy. There was a chance Mr. Gordin might respond to immunotherapy, because he had a rare mutation. So his insurer agreed to pay. Immediately after taking the drugs, Mr. Gordin’s PSA level — an indicator of the cancer’s presence — went down to nearly zero. “Makes my heart nearly stop every time I think about it,” Dr. Sartor said. “Life sometimes hangs on a thin thread.” If a sexual predator wanted to come up with a smoke screen for his ghastly conquests, he couldn’t do better than Cliff Huxtable, played by Bill Cosby in “The Cosby Show,” which ran for eight seasons on American television beginning in 1984. Cliff was affable, patient, wise and, where Mrs. Huxtable (Phylicia Rashad) was concerned, justly deferential. His wit was quick, his sweaters roomy and kaleidoscopic. He could be romantic. Cliff should have been the envy of any father ever to appear on a sitcom. He was vertiginously dadly. Cliff is the reason for the cognitive dissonance we’ve been experiencing for the last three or four years. He seemed inseparable from the man who portrayed him. Bill Cosby was good at his job. That sums up why a Pennsylvania jury’s verdict in the past week that he was guilty of sexually assaulting a woman is depressing — depressing not for its shock but for the work the verdict now requires me to do. The discarding and condemning and reconsidering — of the shows, the albums, the movies. But I don’t need to watch them anymore. It’s too late. I’ve seen them. I’ve absorbed them. I’ve lived them. I’m a black man, so I am them. If Judge Steven T. O’Neill sent Mr. Cosby away for the rest of his life, that sentence couldn’t undo what he’s convicted of having done to Andrea Constand, his accuser in two trials. It also can’t undo what he once did for me, which was to make me believe in myself. This is foundational, elemental, cellular stuff. There is no surgical procedure to rid me of it. Anyway, I don’t want to lose that belief, just the man who ennobled me to possess it in the first place. Maybe we’re all compartmentalizing. “America’s Dad” is what we called Bill Cosby. And we called him that because, well, what a revolutionary way to put it. Through him, we were thumbing our noses at the long, dreary history for black men in America by elevating this one to a paternal Olympus. In the 1980s he made the black American family seem “just like us.” (That’s how a recent episode of the reborn, reactionary “Roseanne” snidely described nonwhite families currently on television.) The Huxtables laughed and bonded and debated and lip-synced. They were glamorous and simple and extraordinarily human. And affluent. And educated. And so many different kinds of black. You’d think that all of that would make them the Howard University of African-American family life. But white people wanted to matriculate, too. So they became its Harvard. For a decade, I filed an emotional application. I had a biological family, and this TV one, a dream family, the fiction against which I measured my blood. “Just like us” was the dream of the show, right? “Best behavior” blackness. That’s one way to think about it, the cynical, uncharitable, myopic way, the way you’d think about it if you wanted to psychologize Bill Cosby as Cliff Huxtable. I couldn’t have known how vertiginous the entire Huxtable project was. I was, like, 10, 13, 15 years old when the show was a thing. But eventually, I could see that Cliff became a play for respectability. This is how you comport yourself among white people, young black child. Take a little bit of Howard with you on your way to Harvard. But then, in 2004, at an NAACP ceremony commemorating 50 years since the Brown v. Board of Education decision, he gave the notorious “Pound Cake” speech, where prodding for a particular kind of self-betterment turned tsk-y. He compared incarcerated black men to jailed civil rights activists, the apples and oranges of the black criminaljustice crisis. He ruminated on names that didn’t seem, to him, like Bill. “We are not Africans,” he said. “Those people are not Africans, they don’t know a damned thing about Africa. With names like Shaniqua, Shaligua, Mohammed, and all that crap and all of them are in jail.” Maybe this was Cliff unplugged — and unhinged. Mohammed? But it was a dare to flirt with distance, to reconsider all those applications I filed, to see Bill Cosby as someone who, despite hours of comedy like “Bill Cosby Is Not Himself These Days” and “Bill Cosby: Himself,” might not be willing or able to see who “himself” actually is. I called this a speech, but he performed it like another standup special. This is the heavy thing about this verdict. The sorting of the ironies has been left to us. Mr. Cosby made blackness palatable to a country historically conditioned to think the worst of black people. And to pull that off, he had to find a morally impeccable presentation of himself and his race. This is what Sidney Poitier, his friend and movie partner, was always up against: inhabiting the superhumanly unimpeachable. But Mr. Cosby might have managed to pull a fast one, using his power and wealth to become the predator that white America mythologized in a campaign to terrorize, torture and kill black people for centuries. Mr. Cosby told lots of jokes. This was his sickest. Mr. Cosby’s guilty verdict happened to fall during a week in which Kanye West brought a lot of people a lot more grief, not with new music but with a blizzard of tweets that included an expressed affinity for President Trump, right down to wearing a Make America Great Again cap of his own. Mr. West began his career as a kind of black-sheep Huxtable. (His first album was “The College Dropout.”) But he eventually gathered a sense of politics — racialized, pro-black politics. And then he married into the Kardashian family and things got as vivid and incoherent as one of Cliff’s Van Den Akker sweaters. This is how you get a blistering indictment of racial closedmindedness like 2013’s “Black Skinhead” but also an embrace of people who’ve been reluctant to shame white supremacists. This seems like a reasonable moment to wonder whether the Huxtable mold is one that needs breaking — or at least expansion. Mr. West presents a new vexation that’s the opposite of Mr. Cosby’s stringent black conservatism. He can be offensive and self-aggrandizing. But that mind-set also feels like a way to move beyond America’s Dad. Disrespectability politics. We’re in a moment of cleaving terrible people from their great work. It’s a luxury conundrum, one that feels like a mockery of tremendous human suffering. With Mr. Cosby, though, these are questions worth seriously considering. How do I, at least, cleave this man from the man he seduced me into becoming? DOMINICK REUTER/AGENCE FRANCE-PRESSE — GETTY IMAGES Bill Cosby leaving court after being found guilty of sexual assault. .. SATURDAY-SUNDAY, APRIL 28-29, 2018 | 17 THE NEW YORK TIMES INTERNATIONAL EDITION books weekend The candidate who wouldn’t talk BOOK REVIEW Chasing Hillary: Ten Years, Two Presidential Campaigns, and One Intact Glass Ceiling By Amy Chozick. 382 pp. Harper/HarperCollins Publishers. $27.99. BY CHARLOTTE ALTER For many female journalists, covering the 2016 election meant facing a particular professional conundrum: Are you a reporter first, or a woman first? How do you stay neutral while covering a unique moment in women’s history? Which do you use: your head or your heart? In her funny and insightful memoir, “Chasing Hillary,” the journalist Amy Chozick grapples with this question while also providing a much-needed exploration of Hillary Clinton’s antagonistic relationship with the press. Unlike “Shattered,” by Jonathan Allen and Amie Parnes, which provided an inside look at Clinton’s dysfunctional campaign, or “What Happened,” which was a reckoning from the candidate herself, “Chasing Hillary” doesn’t attempt to assess why Clinton lost the election. Instead, it’s a first-person account of Chozick’s failed 10-year quest to see the “real” Hillary, a quixotic mission that is as revealing in defeat as it would have been in victory. The Impressionist Claude Monet never painted haystacks; he painted the rain, sleet and sunshine between his eyes and the haystacks. In “Chasing Hillary,” Chozick has written neither a raw personal memoir nor a biography of Clinton, but rather an account of all the elements that came between Clinton and the journalists condemned to cover her. Her impressions of Clinton are less about the woman herself and more about the brutally effective apparatus that shielded her from public view. People who know Clinton often complain that the press, and therefore the public, never gets to see how warm and funny she is in person. “Chasing Hillary” is the best explanation so far of why that is. Chozick describes Clinton’s press shop (which she calls “The Guys”) as an anonymous gang of manipulative, unresponsive and vaguely menacing apparatchiks who alternate between denying her interview requests (47 in total, by her count), bullying her in retaliation for perceived negative coverage (“You’ve got a target on your back,” one of them tells her) and exploiting her insecurities about keeping up with her (often male) colleagues. The campaign quar- antined the press on a separate bus and, later, a separate plane, often without even an accompanying representative to answer basic questions. It denied Chozick’s interview requests even for positive stories, like a piece about Clinton’s experience in the early 1970s going undercover to expose school segregation in the South, and refused to confirm the most minor details, like whether Clinton ate a chicken wing or not. It seems clear from Chozick’s account that Clinton thought of her traveling press corps as more buzzard than human (although she did write Chozick a note when her grandmother died). Bill Clinton also had troubles with the press, but at least he would say hello at events or tell a long-winded story. Even Trump, who spent the campaign railing against the “fake news” media, seemed to intuit that a cordial relationship with reporters was essential to managing his public image. Trump once called Chozick out of the blue to provide a comment for an article, and they ended up chatting about “The Apprentice.” So grateful to be actually speaking to a candidate (in nearly 10 years, Clinton had never called her), Chozick made the mistake of telling him that Clinton hadn’t had a news conference in months. Shortly afterward, the Trump campaign began blasting that Clinton was “hiding” from the press. In fact, Chozick spoke with Clinton so infrequently that their entire personal relationship can be summed up in a half-dozen interactions that are shockingly banal: the time Clinton said “hi” to her in Iowa, one 14-minute phone interview, the time Clinton accidentally walked in on her in the bathroom. The fact that Chozick interacted so rarely with Clinton over nearly 10 years of covering her for The Wall Street Journal and then The New York Times is perhaps the most damning evidence of Clinton’s self-destructive relationship with the press. “How could we communicate Hillary’s ‘funny, wicked and wacky’ side to voters,” she asks, “if we never saw it for ourselves?” Chozick’s own funny, wicked and wacky side is on full display, with well-drawn sketches of individuals from fresh-faced campaign interns to the candidates themselves. With the author’s lively voice and eye for detail, “Chasing Hillary” is an enjoyable read, like “The Devil Wears Prada” meets “The Boys on the Bus.” Watching Clinton during a town hall gathering was like “catching up with an old girlfriend who cites G.D.P. statistics over brunch”; going to meet Bernie Sanders RUTH FREMSON/THE NEW YORK TIMES Hillary Clinton giving a concession speech to her campaign staff and supporters on Nov. 9, 2016. This is an account of all the elements that came between Clinton and journalists. What books do you think best capture your own political principles? I have always been fascinated by this quip famously attributed to Mark Twain: “It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.” Charlotte Alter is a national correspondent at Time currently working on a book about young politicians. Edited by Will Shortz Poirot (who appears in over 30 of her novels), but I confess my small collection is gathering dust as British television created a wonderful series with David Suchet. I find it particularly hilarious that Christie described Poirot as “insufferable” and a “detestable, bombastic, tiresome, egocentric little creep.” What books are on your nightstand? Jeff Hobbs’s “The Short and Tragic Life of Robert Peace.” I wept throughout. It is the true story of the life (and untimely death) of an amazing young black man as told by his white Yale roommate and best friend. His struggle with straddling different cultures — Newark’s drug-fueled and gangridden streets versus Yale’s establishment and world of legacies — resonated with my own travails of being born and raised in Africa and living in Europe and the United States. Tragically, he did not escape his demons. This book impacted me in a deeply profound way. Their ambitions were aligned — had Clinton won, Chozick would very likely have been given the historic opportunity to cover the first woman president. But Chozick devotes only a few lines to exploring the broader significance of Clinton’s loss beyond what it means for her own career, despite the global implications of the outcome. She records the facts of her life as they occurred during that period (including personal details about her marriage and her fertility) but rarely grapples with the larger contradictions of being an ambitious woman journalist covering an ambitious woman candidate. And even as she documents a campaign that floundered because it had too much head and not enough heart, Chozick risks falling into the same trap: In trying to outwork her male colleagues and outwit The Guys, Chozick at times seems to lose track of the emotional arc of Clinton’s rise and fall. “Chasing Hillary” is a portrait of two women with shared hopes and weaknesses, both driven and blinded by an ambition that could be possible only in the 21st century, bound by history but not by love. This book won’t make you know Hillary any better. But it will help you understand why you don’t. Mis-unabbreviated The economist and author, most recently, of “Edge of Chaos” loves Agatha Christie’s “detestable, bombastic, tiresome, egocentric little creep,” Hercule Poirot. Tell us about the last great book you read. phering her various pseudonyms for Clinton staffers, history junkies will find a valuable first-person account of an extraordinary campaign, media junkies will devour the backstage antics of the traveling press corps. (Chozick names names only when she’s complimenting her colleagues; when she complains, she uses pseudonyms.) The problem, of course, is that not everybody is a junkie. And while the chattering class may be intrigued by, for example, Clinton’s flirtation with ABC’s David Muir, ordinary readers may find themselves swimming in references to journalists and staffers who are far from household names. To her credit, Chozick opens up about her own attitudes toward Clinton more than most political reporters would. Despite the campaign’s skepticism of her, it’s clear that she admired Clinton. She is acutely aware of the sexist double standards Clinton faced (though readers may rightly wonder why this appeared so rarely in her coverage). She’s inspired by the historic nature of the campaign, and hurt by Clinton’s iciness toward her. Chozick recalls that the first time she saw Clinton at a town hall, when she was covering her for The Journal in 2007, she stood up and clapped (a huge faux pas among journalists). For her, Clinton’s loss is both a personal and a professional blow. the sunday crossword By the Book Dambisa Moyo A mishmash of books that reflect my interests — Hal Higdon’s “Marathon”; Chris Bower’s “Federer”; William N. Thorndike’s “The Outsiders: Eight Unconventional CEOs and Their Radically Rational Blueprint for Success”; Graham Allison’s “Destined for War: Can America and China Escape Thucydides’s Trap?”; “The Beekeeper’s Bible: Bees, Honey, Recipes and Other Home Uses,” by Richard Jones and Sharon Sweeney-Lynch; Robert J. Gordon’s “The Rise and Fall of American Growth: The U.S. Standard of Living Since the Civil War”; “The Government Inspector,” by Nikolai Gogol; and, hot off the presses, Iris Apfel’s “Accidental Icon: Musings of a Geriatric Starlet.” Oh, and a King James Bible just in case my mother comes by for a visit. felt like “when my mom made me visit her emphysemic Aunt Shirley.” Her recollections of her adolescence in Texas and early jobs in journalism are just as spirited: After she told her fourth-grade class that she supported a Democratic candidate, “I might as well have pulled on a skullcap and recited my haftorah.” Chozick admits that she should have done a few things differently. There are stories she wishes she hadn’t written, questions she wishes she hadn’t asked. While she rejects the Clinton campaign’s insistence that the private email server was a nonstory, she regrets that Emailgate became a dominant narrative of the campaign. And in a chapter about The Times’s coverage of the hacked John Podesta emails, Chozick writes that she landed on “the wrong side of history” because of her own journalistic ambition. “I didn’t raise the possibility that we’d become puppets in Putin’s shadowy campaign,” she says. “I chose the byline. I always chose the byline.” But “Chasing Hillary” is not a mea culpa, for Chozick or for The Times. Instead, it’s a behind-the-scenes director’s cut for readers who closely followed the 2016 political coverage. You may have read articles she wrote on the floor of the Orlando airport, in Las Vegas next to a “Sex and the City” slot machine, on a crosstown New York bus. Political junkies will enjoy deci- What kind of reader were you as a child? Which childhood books and authors stick with you most? JILLIAN TAMAKI So I tend to gravitate to books (and people) that question ideology and challenge sacred cows, which means no one book could capture my political principles. I do find Jonathan Haidt’s book “The Righteous Mind: Why Good People Are Divided by Politics and Religion” captivating. I am intrigued by the fact that a self-described liberal (at least he was in 2009) has the temerity to investigate why people (in particular working-class Americans) vote Republican. His answer? Human nature. In particular he argues that people are fundamentally emotional, not rational. This argument flies in the face of all the economics I have been taught, which rests on the foundation that people (economic agents) are rational. For anyone who wants to understand why liberal thinking can be unappealing at the polls (and what to do about it), read this. Which historians and biographers do you most admire? As far as contemporary biographers go, I believe Walter Isaacson is in a class by himself. Leonardo da Vinci, Steve Jobs, Einstein, Benjamin Franklin, Kissinger, take your pick — all brilliant. What book might people be surprised to find on your shelves? Murder mysteries! I love Agatha Christie’s Belgian character Hercule I was born and raised on a healthy diet of the African Writers Series. Flora Nwapa’s “Efuru,” Ngugi wa Thiong’o’s “The River Between” and, of course, Chinua Achebe’s “No Longer at Ease” and “Things Fall Apart” will forever be etched in my mind as shaping my formative years. You’re organizing a literary dinner party. Which three writers, dead or alive, do you invite? 1) Vikram Seth, the economist turned novelist. His “A Suitable Boy” remains one of my all-time favorite books. 2) Ayn Rand, the philosopher and novelist. I am drawn to her irreverence — a woman ahead of her time. 3) Maya Angelou, the poet who penned “Still I Rise” and “Phenomenal Woman” . . . enough said. Of the books you’ve written, which is your favorite or the most personally meaningful? That’s a hard question — I imagine it is like picking your favorite child. I write the books I want to read so I am genuinely curious and intrigued by all the subjects I write on. But I suppose “Dead Aid: Why Aid Is Not Working and How There Is a Better Way for Africa” is the most poignant. For me, finding a sustainable solution to Africa’s woes is a personal quest. Having been raised in one of the poorest countries in the world, I feel a strong desire to help families like my own, who continue to suffer the consequences of economic failure every day of their lives. In “Dead Aid,” I offer a way. Across 1Projects 5Nowhere close 11First name on the Supreme Court 15Delight 18Supercollider bit 19Online tracker 20Country whose capital lent its name to a fabric 21“____ reading too much into this?” 22Meadows filled with loos? 25Originally 26Bar that might be dangerous 27Ax 28Be agreeable 30Negligent 35Old letter opener 37Blotto 38Where sailors recover from their injuries? 42No longer edible 43Square figure 44Actor Paul of “There Will Be Blood” 45Lead-in to -tainment 46Quashes 48Chart again 50Checkpoint offense, for short 52Gusto 55Goings-on in accelerated classes? 61“My man” 62Subject for The Source magazine 63Sch. of 30,000+ on the Mississippi 64Bill’s support 65It dethroned Sophia as the #1 baby girl’s name in the U.S. in 2014 67Home for a Roman emperor 69Onetime Bond girl ____ Wood 71“So obvious!” 74Common core? 75Like 76Prime-time time 80Dog that doesn’t offend people? 87Come down hard, as hail 88Barnyard male 89First name on the Supreme Court 90Dreyfus Affair figure 91Subject for Ken Burns, briefly 93Burg 96Went by air? 99Dorm monitors 100Cry of devotion from a nonacademy student? 105Source of the line “They shall beat their swords into plowshares” 106Things that may be rolled or wild 107Soprano Tebaldi 108Some fasteners 110They aid in diagnosing A.C.L. tears 112Funny face? 116Old White House nickname 117Morning zoo programming? 123Panama City state: Abbr. 124Substantive 125“Don’t doubt me!” 126Clue 127Divinity sch. 128Chatty bird 129Provider of aerial football views 130Actress Kendrick Down 1Best Picture nominee with three sequels 2Pac-12 school that’s not really near the Pacific 3Completely, after “in” 4Like wet makeup 5Media watchdog grp. 6Parent co. of HuffPost 7Hundred Acre Wood denizen 8Agrees to 9Lord’s domain 10Fixation 11Slice for a Reuben 12Things that have slashes Solution to puzzle of April 21-22 P E S T T A P E P A R E E B P L U S T A C H E V E N O C A L A A B A S E T R I P A C E R F S A Y S T U S A I I C C U P S T A R E S A N D S D E P O R T N A N E W M O M C I G S S S T A R P T A M I E D M X C H U R L J W E A R N U D H A D L H E L M E R R E A L E E P R O P E X I N G I E I T I W E E D P L A N D E L T A D P E N A S T O A F S E M O T G E M K I I S H S A L T B U T N O T L T L T O R N O T R Y A N E N E S S P E X E S R E S A N O L A S T E Y S L E R N S I E I L V O W E T E A S O L U R B A N A A S A M I G R A Z P R E S U M E T A C C A T H E R D R T E D A D S T O S P A R E S S H O R S E M A N E L D E S A G O S N O N E S C A P E S E A O O Z H Y P N O S O P S I C A H E A M O M E N T A L E T A S F A T H E R A N O N O T I P S T T A T 1 2 3 4 5 18 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 19 22 23 21 24 26 25 27 30 31 32 33 34 38 39 28 35 36 40 42 48 45 49 50 56 57 62 65 80 66 75 92 76 93 90 94 95 96 97 98 99 103 105 104 106 109 107 110 111 116 117 123 124 125 118 127 128 129 112 113 114 115 119 120 121 122 PUZZLE BY PETER WENTZ / EDITED BY WILL SHORTZ 13With nothing out of place 14“What other explanation is there?!” 15Former “Today” show host 16Word before pan or after Spanish 17Investment figures 20GMC truck 23Like poor months for oysters, it’s said 24Mentally wiped 29Stiff 31Sch. with an annual Mystery Hunt 32Words of compassion 33Stuffed 34Weak period 36“Fifty Shades of Grey” subject, briefly 38Symbol of China 39Onetime Blu-ray rival 40Blue-green 77 78 79 89 102 108 64 70 83 84 85 86 88 91 53 54 60 69 82 100 101 52 63 67 68 74 81 87 51 58 59 61 71 72 73 37 44 47 55 29 41 43 46 15 16 17 20 41Albright’s successor as secretary of state 42Craft shop item 47“The Sweetest Taboo” singer, 1985 49Combo bets 51Absolutely harebrained 53Astonishment 54Cryptanalysis org. 56Queens player, for short 57Pledge 58____ Poly 59Green org. 60Caesar dressing? 66Some neckwear 67Italy’s ____ d’Orcia 68Laid up 70Second U.S. feature-length computeranimated movie, after “Toy Story” 126 130 THE NEW YORK TIMES 71Modern subject of reviews 72Row maker 73Elite court group 77Ecuadorean coastal province known for its gold 78Micronesian land 79Some future execs 81Inclined to stress? 82Bygone gas brand with a torch in its logo 83Druid’s head cover 84Studio sign 85Ransack 86Boca ____ 922007 female inductee into the National Soccer Hall of Fame 94Hex 95Our, in Tours 97“Uncle Tom’s Cabin” girl 98Stave off 100Rice dishes 101Of service 102Gore’s successor as vice president 103Green-skinned god of the underworld 104Harley-Davidson competitor 109“____ Against Evil” (IFC series) 111Totally awesome, in slang 113Role in “Thor,” 2011 114Islamic spirit 115Second letter after 118-Down 118Second letter before 115Down 119Word with camp or care 120L.L.C. alternative 121That: Sp. 122Dr. ____ .. SATURDAY-SUNDAY, APRIL 28-29, 2018 | 19 THE NEW YORK TIMES INTERNATIONAL EDITION theater weekend Dark musicals shine on German stages BERLIN Productions in Munich, Regensburg and Stuttgart are bleak yet vibrant BY A.J. GOLDMANN JEAN-MARC TURMES JOCHEN QUAST Top, Patrick Nellessen, left, Vanessa Eckart and Nick-Robin Dietrich in “Alice,” at Munich’s Metropoltheater. Above, Verena Maria Bauer in “The Black Rider,” at the Theater Regensburg Velodrom. Jan Langenheim stages “The Black Rider” at a former indoor racetrack, the Velodrom. His production exploits the vast venue, which takes on a circuslike character in this flashy and colorful staging. Like “Alice,” “The Black Rider” has rarely been performed in the United States, and its wheezy carnival songs are known mostly from Mr. Waits’s 1993 album of the same name. It has been far more successful in Germany — perhaps owing to the “Freischütz” connection. “November,” “The Briar and the Rose” and “The Last Rose of Summer” are among the show’s best-known dior.com “Alice” features some of Tom Waits’s finest songs. In the final years of the Weimar Republic, Kurt Weill and Bertolt Brecht pushed musical theater in a radically new direction, with collaborations like “The Threepenny Opera” that remain a highwater mark for musical sophistication, dramatic daring and unsparingly dark vision. In the early 1990s, Tom Waits and Robert Wilson teamed up in Hamburg for two productions at the Thalia Theater that brought the promise of Weill and Brecht’s savage, sardonic approach into the modern era. This spring, new productions of the Waits-Wilson collaborations are among several glitteringly dark musicals to be found in sunny southern Germany. “Alice,” a very adult riff on “Alice in Wonderland” that had its premiere in 1992, is the hit of the season at Munich’s Metropoltheater, an independent theater in the residential neighborhood of Freimann. The show plumbs the mind of Charles Dodgson — the logician, photographer and church deacon better known by his pen name, Lewis Carroll — and his obsession with the 11-year-old Alice Liddell. Paul Schmidt’s free-associative book interprets “Wonderland” as a surreal fantasy concocted by the writer to protect Alice from his sexually aggressive desire. It features some of Mr. Waits’s finest songs (co-written with his wife and frequent collaborator, Kathleen Brennan), but aside from a performance in Brooklyn in 1995, “Alice” has gone pretty much unseen in the United States over the past two decades. The young German director Philipp Moschitz’s intimate and intricate staging, coupled with the company’s high production values, makes a strong argument for increased public support for this small, innovative theater. Dominating the stage is a rust-colored wheel that churns like a windmill and has adjustable shelves for the actors to support themselves (sets are by Thomas Flach). The actors largely speak in German and sing in English. Vanessa Eckart plays Alice with a mixture of innocent curiosity and precociousness hinted at by her dusky voice. Paired with Thomas Schrimm’s tortured, vocally frail Dodgson, her portrayal has the psychological focus required to ground what is largely a collection of hallucinatory episodes. The musicians and supporting cast bring regular infusions of manic energy with their precisely choreographed antics, but the theatrics never overwhelm the show’s haunting exploration of forbidden longing and the loss of innocence. At the end of the show, Alice, projected many years into the future, sings of how Dodgson made her his creature — “You dreamed me up and left me here” — an accusation that mixes heartache with bitterness. The first reviews of “Alice” out of Hamburg in 1992 were far from positive. At the time, it was widely judged as inferior to Mr. Waits and Mr. Wilson’s “The Black Rider,” which had its premiere two years earlier and is currently being staged in Regensburg. The desolately beautiful songs notwithstanding, the critics had a point: The interior, brooding “Alice” lacks the theatrical overdrive of “The Black Rider,” a robust musical adaptation of Carl Maria von Weber’s opera “Der Freischütz” featuring an acid-laced book by William S. Burroughs. A heroin addict who accidentally shot and killed his second wife, Burroughs found inspiration in the German legend of a marksman who makes a pact with the devil. The magic bullets that the young hunter procures turn into an allconsuming addiction, culminating in his beloved’s death during a shooting contest where the devil himself guides the lethal shot. Rose des vents collection Yellow gold, diamonds and mother-of-pearl. songs, and Theater Regensburg’s ensemble belts and croons them with gusto, if not always with musical finesse. Then again, vocal refinement is not exactly what one expects when one thinks of Mr. Waits’s gravelly voice, a sort of hybrid of Satchmo and Oscar the Grouch. As such, scrappy singing is not out of place in these drunken, demonic ballads of loneliness, insanity and murder. The most spirited howling comes from Sebastian M. Winkler as the Mephisto-like Pegleg (a role inhabited by Marianne Faithfull in the 2004 English-language premiere of the original Wilson production), while Verena Maria Bauer and Ruth Müller show surprising vocal loveliness as the sacrificial bride and her mother. In the role of the oafish hunter Kuno, Gunnar Blume’s expressive gruffness is an asset, while no amount of theatrical determination can compensate for Matthias Zera’s vocally wobbly performance as the lovesick addict Wilhelm. You don’t need a classically trained voice for “Lucky Day,” Wilhelm’s closing anthem, but Mr. Zera’s underpowered rendition of that wild, ferocious number is one of the few points where this production misses the mark. It has been nearly two decades since Mr. Waits and Mr. Wilson worked together (their most recent collaboration was a version of Georg Büchner’s “Woyzeck” in 2000). Nowadays, the British band the Tiger Lillies may be the closest thing there is to a successor to Weill and Brecht’s musical tradition. The punk cabaret trio, best known for their 1998 Olivier-winning “junk opera,” “Shockheaded Peter” (which later enjoyed a successful Off Broadway run), combine Grand Guignol and nightclub in a Victorian horror film aesthetic all their own. For another dose of macabre nastiness after “Alice” and “The Black Rider,” head to Schauspiel Stuttgart, where the Tiger Lillies’ “Lulu,” originally performed in Britain by Opera North in 2014, has been given a grueling and acrobatic production. Performed in the intimate Nord black-box theater and directed by the company’s departing intendant, Armin Petras, it is a dizzying, in-your-face spectacle. The Tiger Lillies’ “rock vaudeville” is a frequently vulgar song cycle about a complex, fascinating heroine: a woman who is a both sexual victim and perpetrator; a femme fatale who is at once a projection screen for male fantasies and a manipulative agent of destruction. The Opera North production carried the subtitle “A Murder Ballad” and featured the Tiger Lillies’ frontman, the singer and accordionist Martyn Jacques, growling and warbling (often in his signature falsetto) while the dramatic scenes came to life behind him in a choreographed pantomime. In Stuttgart, Mr. Petras directs a furiously vigorous seven-person cast, who are called on to climb, leap, crawl and bang against the various sets and props in this breathlessly paced evening. They also play a variety of instruments, including piano, cello, guitar and drums. Much of “Lulu” is performed at a fever pitch, with the actors — led by the intense Sandra Gerling in the title role — performing inches from the audience. Yet as dynamic as the production is, “Lulu” falls flat as a piece of musical storytelling without Mr. Jacques’s dry voice and razor-sharp wit to hold it together. “Lulu” was savaged by the local critics, but the entire run is virtually sold out, and the performance I attended met with thunderous applause — a healthy indication that Stuttgarters are more curious about what Mr. Petras is up to in his last season than in what the professional tastemakers have to say. Beyond that, the success of these dark, musical explorations is proof that German audiences can stomach more complex and adult fare than one would ever hope to find on Broadway or the West End. .. SATURDAY-SUNDAY, APRIL 28-29, 2018 | 21 THE NEW YORK TIMES INTERNATIONAL EDITION music weekend Finding her voice, one album at a time MONÁE, FROM PAGE 1 was as palpable as the smoke filling the room. On an indiscernible cue, an apocalyptic electropop bop about partying in a dystopian world began to play: “I hear the sirens calling, and the bombs start falling, but it feels so good.” The women broke into choreographed moves — toe stands, neck rolls, Michael Jackson spins, footwork that summoned the Charleston and James Brown. The room was mesmerized, feeding off the energy emitted by Monáe and her backup dancers. An oversize man in loafers aggressively played air guitar. Others bounced their shoulders, nodded their heads, shuffled their feet in a two-step. Few stood still. The performance reached its peak on a song called “I Got the Juice.” During the chorus — a percussive trap riff that will be best appreciated blasting out of an expensive car stereo — Monáe dropped to her knees below a disco ball as her dancers swarmed around her, fanning her with large exaggerated motions, less to cool her off than to emphasize the white-hot intensity of her moves. As the song trilled its last few beats, Monáe and her dancers slowed, laughing and wiping their brows. The room burst into applause. Monáe took a bow and picked up a microphone. “I just had a lot of fun,” she said. “I’m very excited about where we’re going this time.” Then she took a beat to breathe. Her body was still heaving from the dancing, but she suddenly looked grim, transformed from artist to activist. “This is the first time I’ve felt threatened and unsafe as a young black woman, growing up in America,” she said. “This is the first time that I released something with a lot of emotion. The people I love feel threatened. I’ve always understood the responsibility of an artist — but I feel it even greater now. And I don’t want to stay angry, but write and feel triumphant.” Monáe released her official debut EP, “Metropolis,” in 2007, when she was just 21. The cover showed her head topped with an elaborate pompadour, attached to a robotic female torso in disrepair — “Right now I’m escaping the gravity of the labels that people have tried to place on me.” CINDY ORD/GETTY IMAGES, FOR ATLANTIC RECORDS NINA WESTERVELT FOR THE NEW YORK TIMES frayed wires snaked out of arm sockets and beneath a breastplate. “Metropolis” was “West Side Story” for the cyberage — instantly earning fans among R. & B. and psychedelic-rock listeners, not to mention young black girls like myself, who saw themselves equally in Pink Floyd and TLC and were hungry for narratives starring women who weren’t hypersexualized and perhaps even a bit nerdy. The album earned Monáe a Grammy nomination for the song “Many Moons.” She would go on to collect five more nominations across two more albums, both of which starred her time-traveling alter-ego, the android Cindi Mayweather. For years, Monáe remained safely cocooned within the character. “Cindi helps me talk more,” she said; through Mayweather, she could address things she didn’t feel comfortable talking about directly. “You can parallel the other in the android to being a black woman right now, to being a part of the L.G.B.T.Q. community,” she said. “What it feels like to be called a nigger by your oppressor.” Mayweather was a proxy for all the things about Monaé that made others uncomfortable, like her androgyny, her opaque sexual identity, her gender fluidity — her defiance of easy categorization. But then Monáe shifted her attention to acting. She made her film debut as the de facto surrogate mother of a young black boy in “Moonlight,” which won the Oscar for Best Picture last year; she starred, with Octavia Spencer and Taraji JACOB BLICKENSTAFF FOR THE NEW YORK TIMES Clockwise from top: Janelle Monáe in April; performing in New York City; with her “Hidden Figures” co-stars, Taraji P. Henson, center, and Octavia Spencer; and with Gloria Steinem, left, and Cecile Richards, the head of Planned Parenthood. HOPPER STONE/20TH CENTURY FOX P. Henson, in the blockbuster “Hidden Figures,” about early black female mathematicians. Fans wondered if she would commit to films, where she could attain a level of fame that can be elusive in music. But part of the reason she was slow to return, she told me, is that her mentor, Prince, died unexpectedly. They were working together closely on what would become “Dirty Computer.” The music Monáe introduced on that dusty afternoon in Los Angeles marked her highly anticipated return. “Dirty Computer,” a celebratory ode to femininity and queer people, seems to signal a new era in her career: If in the past she seemed distant, using Mayweather to stand in for the real Monáe, she now seems ready to present herself to the public. “Right now I’m escaping the gravity of the labels that people have tried to place on me that have stopped my evolution,” she told me. “You have to go ahead and soar, and not be afraid to jump — and I’m jumping right now.” Two months later, in February, I was in the back of an Uber, riding southwest toward a subdivision of Atlanta. After a pause at a security gate, the car drove through an upscale, predominantly black community, past typical suburban scenes — teenagers shooting hoops, people taking out their garbage, men working on their cars. I was heading to Wondaland Arts Society, Monáe’s creative headquarters. Its inspiration is Paisley Park, the elaborate compound outside Minneapolis that housed Prince’s rehearsal space, recording rooms, concert venue and countless parties. Several years ago, Monáe established the Wondaland label — she was one of the few black women to have a label of her own — and signed several acts, including the band St. Beauty (one member, Isis Valentino, was a backup singer for Monáe) and the singer and rapper Jidenna. Monáe, who is now 32, told me that she has been circling the themes explored on “Dirty Computer” for at least a decade, but that earlier it felt safer to package herself in metaphors. “I knew I needed to make this album, and I put it off and put it off because the subject is Janelle Monáe.” She’s still having a conversation with herself, she said, about who she wants to be when she’s in the spotlight. At its core, “Dirty Computer” is a homage to women and the spectrum of sexual identities. “The first songs deal with realizing that this is how society sees me,” she said. “This is how I’m viewed. I’m a ‘dirty computer,’ it’s clear. I’m going to be pushed to the margins, outside margins, of the world.” “D’Jango Jane” is an ode to black power and pride that is also a dirge about the struggles that come with that heritage. The middle half of the album is a raucous party. “It’s like, O.K., these are the cards I’ve been dealt,” she said. These songs include “Make Me Feel” and “Pynk” — the sizzling, sex-drenched songs that titillated the internet when they were released this year. The album winds down with an anthem about being an American, whose sound evokes Prince’s “Let’s Go Crazy,” with lyrics like “love me for who I am,” and “cross my heart and hope to die, I’m a big old piece of American pie.” Monáe has spent a lifetime perfecting the art of being a pop star who isn’t a sexual object. Discretion is a survival strategy, a coping mechanism especially useful for black women living in the public eye. But she has now made an explicit album about sexual expression and identity that is somehow still shrouded in ambiguity. In 2018, empowerment isn’t a color — it’s a call to action. It’s Cardi B talking about how much she loves her vagina, not holding a neon sign explaining that she has one. On “Dirty Computer,” it still feels as if Monáe is deciding which version of herself to show the world — or that this is the tentative beginning of a larger reveal. Throughout my conversations with Monáe, she talked about her dedication to lifting up women. She emerged as an activist in August 2015, at a demonstration in Philadelphia she led in support of the local Black Lives Matter movement. There’s a photo of Monáe surrounded by most of the artists in the Wondaland collective: Jidenna, St. Beauty, Roman GianArthur, Chuck Lightning and the producer Nana Kwabena. Their mouths are open, midchant, and the look on their faces is determined. They are holding drums, signs, one another. For Monáe, the times were too urgent to ignore. Her highest-profile moment came with the 2017 presidential inauguration. Monáe was invited to speak — as well as sing — at the Women’s March by Ginny Suss, a member of the organizing committee in charge of music. Suss wanted artists whose music reflected their personal politic. “When you look at the arc of her career, there has always been a moral core and ethical center to her music, that breaks down constructions of race and gender in our society,” Suss told me. “It’s a tool to imagine the world we want through the accessibility of pop music. Having her stand up and have that voice at the march was amazing.” She appeared calm as she addressed the enormous crowd. “Women will be hidden no more,” she said. “We have names. We are complete human beings.” For many people, the speech cast Monáe in a new light: she became more than a psychedelic Tim Burton character. The response galvanized her. “I just had to speak from my heart,” she said. “Not a lot of artists do it.” This January, she took the stage at the Grammys, where she delivered a short speech to introduce the singer Kesha, who’d had a legal battle with her former producer Dr. Luke. A member of TimesUp, a Hollywood initiative to fight sexual harassment, Monáe wore its pin proudly on her black suit as she called out the music industry for its epidemic patterns of sexual harassment and assault. “We come in peace, but we mean business,” she said to the crowd. “Just as we have the power to shape culture, we also have the power to undo the culture that does not serve us well.” In Atlanta, after our conversation at Wondaland, Monáe seemed to get a second wind. The band upstairs had resumed practicing for her forthcoming tour, and she wanted to check in on their progress. She invited me to join her. If the basement was where ideas began to gestate, then the room she led me to was where they were polished before leaving the house. It had a ballet barre and floor-to-ceiling mirrors. She disappeared for a few minutes before returning in black leggings and the same cropped moto jacket from the presentation in Los Angeles. Monáe greeted everyone in her band — the drummer, keyboard player, guitarist and two backup singers — hugging them and taking a few moments to inquire about their health, their families, their side projects, before taking her position in front of them. She patted her pockets, searching for a missing item, which she spied on a speaker: mirrored sunglasses. She put them on and nodded to the band. They launched into “Make Me Feel” and then “I Got the Juice,” and she ran through them a few times, losing herself a little more in the music during each performance. Despite the accolades and Grammy nominations, Monáe has yet to achieve significant commercial success. If there’s a moment that her entire discography has been building toward, it is right now, with this release. Her desire for a win shone nakedly. She sneaked coy peeks at me to see if I was paying attention. It was impossible to tear my eyes away, not to want for her what she so clearly wants for herself. In all our encounters, Monáe seemed as if she was bracing herself for anything, including the worst — harsh reviews, irrelevancy, dismissals. But all that carefully maintained composure fell away as she twirled and dropped to her knees. Earlier, I asked her what she ultimately wanted: awards? Album sales? Money? She referred to Prince again: He was in that “free [expletive] category,” she said. “That’s where I want to be. That’s where I want to ultimately be.” Adapted from an article that originally appeared in The New York Times Magazine. Jenna Wortham is a staff writer for the magazine and co-host of the podcast “Still Processing.” .. 22 | SATURDAY-SUNDAY, APRIL 28-29, 2018 THE NEW YORK TIMES INTERNATIONAL EDITION weekend living Flying close to temptation A woman worries that her sobriety will end after her wife gets bad news Modern Love BY LIZ PARKER I always said I would drink again only if Sarah got cancer, which was my way of saying I would never drink again. The possibility of anything bad happening to her seemed remote and decades away. Imagine my surprise when a mere six weeks into our marriage, she called me at work to say, “The doctor found something.” The din of midday Manhattan swallowed her words. A routine exam a week earlier had found a lump, and the results from her mammogram had been concerning enough that the doctor immediately picked up the phone and called her. I left my office to meet her, unsure what to expect. Some people exude resilience and fortitude in the midst of adversity. I am not one of them. My first thought is of certain and immediate death, followed by a maudlin song orchestrating a montage of good moments. I don’t call my smartest doctor friend and ask him what to do. I start writing the eulogy. Sarah and I met outside a church on Fifth Avenue, her eyes already steeled with resolve. “I’ve emailed my boss and will go to Germany tomorrow as planned,” she said. “You’ll still meet me in Italy.” Our honeymoon in Venice was two days away. We had planned it to coincide with one of her business trips; she would fly over first, and I would take the red-eye two days later. Even before we had the confirmation that it was cancer, we knew it was, and I immediately started thinking about a drink. It was a benchmark I had never wanted to hit, and here it was, staring me down. Sarah and I were set up on a blind date. I was in New York for work, and at one of my meetings, a man I barely knew asked me if I was seeing anyone. He was about to get married, and I was petrified this would turn into one of those exchanges in which the happy person assures the single person: “There’s hope for you yet.” He had little interest in my explanation (“Single, yes, but fulfilled!”) and much more interest in the truth: Yes, I was as single as single could be. “I want you to meet a friend of mine,” he said. “I think you’d get along.” He swiftly arranged for us to meet that day. Later I walked into a bar off Central Park and was shocked to find a gorgeous woman, complete with perfectly styled hair and makeup, waiting at the bar. This couldn’t possibly be my date. Half of my head was buzzed, and I was hanging on to my baby fat not in a baby-cute way. Something important to know about me: I am not set up with beautiful women. My forays into setups had been little more than a friend bringing together the only two gay women she knew. Once, I was even set up with a gay man. She ordered a club soda with a splash of cranberry. I ordered wine. Twice. The first question she asked was why I had moved from New York, and for some reason the answer that came out was: “Love, but not great love, because less than a year later I was dumped naked.” She sat there politely, and I realized with growing horror that we were both picturing me getting dumped naked. “I live in a sublet in Long Island City,” she finally said. “And sometimes I go grocery shopping at the Mobile Mart.” She was as kind as she was pretty. I may have been dumped naked, but at least I could get myself to a proper grocery store. We left after an hour and I went uptown, embarking on the exact kind of New York night that made me miss the city so badly. I assumed we didn’t have much of a future: We were 10 years apart, shared no hobbies, and I drank. What fun could possibly come from sobriety? A few weeks into our courtship — started mainly because we kept responding to each other’s emails — we were walking through Chelsea Market. Our hands grazed, and as I glimpsed up at the back of her head, I had this feeling deep in my gut that I would love her. Not in that moment, not yet, but I knew in the way seasons change that I would love her before this one ended. I asked her early on why she had stopped drinking, and she described feeling as if everyone around her had known to get on a train moving forward, but she was watching from the road as these people slowly passed her by. I took stock of my life: a new relationship, wonderful friends, a rewarding job. Drinking had not kept me off the train. My heart exhaled; maybe I was safe. A few months later, I was out late, propelled by a thirst to belong, and I walked unsteadily into the bathroom. The mirror caught my reflection, and suddenly I was squinting into my eyes, trying to figure out how I could be madly in love with someone but know in my core that if the person I was drinking with at this bar made a move, I would go along with it. The next morning, I called Sarah. “I don’t have a healthy relationship with alcohol,” I said, cursing myself for saying it out loud because I knew she could never unhear it. But I knew: If I drank, I would cheat, and she would leave. She had the tools and presence to move on, and I didn’t. She would be the one who got away. So I stopped drinking, and my life jolted forward at an unbelievable clip: a cross-country move, a career change, cohabitation, another career change, an engagement, homeownership, marriage. Also: death, professional challenges, family politics gone awry, BRIAN REA The thing I prized most about our relationship was that Sarah knew everything about me — and loved me anyway. financial anxiety, actual anxiety and, now, cancer. Two days later, I sat in the United lounge, looking at fellow travelers, the clock, my phone and my club soda. A man with a fedora sipped something brown on the rocks; a woman left smudged lipstick on what looked like a wine spritzer. A little boy watched his parents drink, his eyes moving from her red wine to his beer, his head moving slightly between the two. I saw a young couple — honeymooners, too? — toast with champagne flutes. I looked down at my club soda. The ice was mostly melted. If I drank now, could I pause my life again? Could Sarah and I go back to that first summer, when everything was still a possibility? I imagined the coldness of the chardonnay leaving an imprint on every cell as it traveled down my throat. My back would loosen, my thoughts would get fuzzy in the best way. I could call an old friend, chat about mindless gossip as I waited to board. I’m 73 and a cancer survivor. Can I accept a kidney? The Ethicist B Y K WA M E A N T H O N Y A P P I A H Over the past eight years I underwent two stem-cell transplants, each preceded by intense chemotherapy. My oncologist believes I am probably cured. The chemotherapy damaged my kidneys to the point that I am now on dialysis, and other systems are affected as well. There is also a small but significant risk that other malignancies may occur in the future as a result of the chemotherapy. Kidney-transplant recipients live longer than those on chronic dialysis and generally feel better. They also have a much better quality of life when freed from the logistical constraints and discomfort that any form of dialysis imposes. I am on a transplant waiting list but have been told that it could be 10 years before I reach the top of the list. I have no relatives or friends who could donate, but I have become aware of a group of altruistic individuals willing to donate a kidney. I am 73 and, despite the damage from my treatment, have much that I want to do and am capable of doing. I would certainly love to receive a kidney transplant, with all the advantages for me and a better life for my wife. My concern is whether it is ethical to ask a healthy volunteer to undergo the pain The bartender wouldn’t think twice about giving me a pour for the road. The flight attendant wouldn’t cock her head when I asked if I could have both red and white with dinner. Sarah would never have to know. No one would. Except, I would know. The thing I prized most about our relationship was that Sarah knew everything about me — and loved me anyway. If I were to drink, that secret would be the first brick in a wall between us. Suddenly, I felt as if I were back in that bathroom, squinting at my eyes. This wasn’t about just my own life. We had a life now, and the only way I was going to be the wife she needed was if I stayed in the moment. We don’t get to rewind the clock, and we don’t get to rewind our self-awareness. Honesty is linear. I thought about that night in the bathroom and how scared I was that Sarah might be really sick. For me to escape into drinking now would be to leave her alone. I watched the wall grow, brick by as well as the immediate and long-term risks of kidney donation considering my age and medical history. My family and friends think I should. Am I overthinking it? Name Withheld gests, there are many complex ethical issues involved in trying to assign organs fairly.) Outside the national organ-sharing system, what matters is that you are medically eligible for a kidney transplant and have an informed donor who is capable of making a reasonable assessment of his or her risks and of your benefits. Giving you a kidney is that person’s choice, and you can gratefully accept it. what you’re thinking: You would be increasing the quantity and quality of your remaining years, but the donor would incur increased health risks, and his or her kidney could be in service longer if it went to a younger and otherwise healthier recipient. The first point should not weigh heavily. Tens of thousands of people have chosen to be living kidney donors — there are now more than 5,000 living donations a year in the United States — which suggests that people have decided that the risks, for anyone judged medically suitable as a donor, are modest. How modest? One large-scale American study showed little evidence of higher long-term mortality for donors than for similar nondonors. A smaller Norwegian study suggested some increase in mortality among donors (although 80 percent of the donors in that study were close relatives of the recipient, and it’s hard to correct for the confounding effect of familial risk of kidney disease). Each study suggested a significant increase in the risk of end-stage renal disease among donors, but the total numbers affected were very small: 0.04 percent in the American study, 0.06 in the Norwegian. Of course, surgery always carries some risks: You yourself are not assured of a successful outcome. Still, the My family and I recently called Uber to get from Manhattan’s financial district to an apartment in the West Village where we were staying. The driver took a while to arrive and appeared flustered, telling us of the traffic and construction that led to the delay. He spoke little English and his GPS was instructing him in a different language. I was in the front seat while my wife and children were in the back, and I was surprised by the route he was taking. At a certain point it started to look as if we were going toward the entrance to the Holland Tunnel, and I soon realized we were about to head into it with no chance to turn away. I told the driver to illegally pull over to a restricted area so we could get out before we ended up in New Jersey, which would have led to our getting home up to an hour later. He started to pull over when an N.Y.P.D. officer yelled at him to keep driving. The driver turned to me, and I firmly told him to pull over. With me and the officer giving him contradictory instructions, he pulled into the restricted area. Two cops approached and demanded his license. While one cop was running his license, we explained to the other what had happened. The cop asked, “Are you going to pay the ticket for him?” Luckily, the N.Y.P.D. officers let the driver off with only a warning, but I wondered whether I would have been brick. My stomach clenched at the thought of Sarah sitting in a doctor’s chair, wondering where I had gone. I thought of months down the road, when we would get test results back saying she would need surgery and chemotherapy and radiation — neither of us knowing at the time that she would come through it and be fine. All I could see was Sarah reaching for my hand, and there I would be, locked up with my secrets, navigating a dark cave while wishing I had chosen the brighter path. A ding and a scratchy female voice announced that my flight was starting to board. I didn’t want to escape, regardless of what may be hiding in the future. The flight passed unremarkably: I watched a movie, slept, ignored the wine cart at dinnertime. And in the morning, Sarah was waiting at my gate in Milan, cappuccino and croissant in hand. Liz Parker is a literary agent in New York City. ethically responsible for paying his fine? I did instruct him to commit an illegal act, but it was because of his mistake and of almost taking me far out of my way. Further, he did not have to commit the illegal maneuver simply because I told him to. Had he gotten a ticket, I would have paid it because I have the means, but would it have been my ethical responsibility? Alex Ruttenberg, New Jersey driver’s responsibility to understand the GPS; he shouldn’t have offered to drive people if he didn’t. Had you not known about the risks of being sucked into the maw of the Holland Tunnel, he would have been taking you for a long ride through New Jersey. Nevertheless, you might think commanding an immigrant driver into an altercation with a New York police officer risked a situation that could have escalated badly out of control. I would probably have sucked up the unnecessary hour in New Jersey. In the end, though, the decision was his and had he been fined, I don’t believe you would have had a moral obligation to cover his costs. Still, you could afford a fine far better than he, no doubt, and, for this reason, you say, you would have offered to pay. The fact that you cowed him into a risky situation lends further support, I think, to that decision. Your main duty, though, was to indicate on the app that you had a bad experience or, at the very least, not to pretend that you had a good one. Your driver sounds as though he wasn’t up to the job. It’s a public service to let others know that. IT WAS THE LET’S EXAMINE TOMI UM likeliest outcome is that your donor has a long, healthy life and that the rest of your life will indeed be improved. What about the question of how a donated kidney should be used? The United States population is aging, and the National Institutes of Health says that nearly 19 percent of those on the kidney-transplant list are over 65. The national transplant system tries to allocate kidneys that are expected to last the longest to patients expected to need them the longest. But the system isn’t designed solely to optimize the expected “net lifetime survival benefit”; otherwise, society might give lower priority to black recipients, say, because on average they don’t survive as long as white ones. (As this sug- Kwame Anthony Appiah teaches philosophy at N.Y.U. He is the author of “Cosmopolitanism” and “The Honor Code: How Moral Revolutions Happen.” .. 24 | SATURDAY-SUNDAY, APRIL 28-29, 2018 THE NEW YORK TIMES INTERNATIONAL EDITION weekend travel Old Europe charm, freshly transformed The wine and seafood still amaze, augmented by fresh takes on coffee, design, craft beer and museums 36 Hours Lisbon BY INGRID K. WILLIAMS Forget Lisbon as the budget capital of Europe. Yes, the seafood is still (relatively) cheap, as is the wine. The old canary-yellow trams still rattle along steep hills, and you’ll never pay more than a euro and change for a pastéis de nata, the classic Portuguese pastry. But today the Portuguese capital is better known for its red-hot culinary scene and fine cultural institutions, including a new world-class museum on the waterfront. The faded Old Europe charm remains, but with a stream of exciting openings and fresh inspiration drawn from across the Atlantic, Lisbon seems primed for a new golden era. Friday Hilltop highs 2 p.m. To gain some perspective on Lisbon’s undulating terrain, ascend the city’s highest hill into the Graça district. Start at the Graça Convent, whose tiled chapel and Baroque cloister opened to the public for the first time after recent restorations (free). Then head outside to admire one of the city’s finest viewpoints. Afterward, on the steep descent, peek inside Surrealejos, a closet-size atelier producing surrealist tiles — one series depicts an anthropomorphic panda — that are a twist on Portuguese azulejos (traditional painted tiles). Portraits of an artist 5 p.m. Getting to know Fernando Pessoa, the shape-shifting writer who is considered one of Portugal’s greatest poets, is no easy task. But that’s the goal of Casa Fernando Pessoa, a museum and cultural center in the residential Campo de Ourique neighborhood. Situated in the final home of the bespectacled author, the site is a treasure trove of Pessoa’s early 20th-century works — most published posthumously — including poems written under three well-developed heteronyms. Through interactive exhibits, engage with the poet’s language: “I’m beginning to know myself. I don’t exist.” There’s also a collection of portraits of Pessoa — fittingly, in diverse styles — including paintings by Júlio Pomar. Admission, €3, or about $3.70. Petisco plates 8:30 p.m. For a feast of seafood petiscos (Portuguese tapas), reserve a table at Peixaria da Esquina. Opened in 2015 by Pub Lisboeta in the Príncipe Real district serves a variety of Portuguese craft beers. the acclaimed chef Vítor Sobral, this low-key restaurant on a quiet corner of Campo de Ourique serves fresh-caught seafood raw, cured, marinated, grilled — you name it. Start with a glass of Douro branco and paper-thin octopus carpaccio topped with cilantro, sweet potato chips and a drizzle of olive oil (€13.50). Then move on to the marinated dishes, like citrusy salmon with passion fruit, ginger and cilantro (€9.60), followed by Sobral’s superlative version of amêijoas à Bulhão Pato — a steaming bowl of plump clams seasoned simply with lemon, garlic and more cilantro (€17.50). Drink in the view 11 p.m. Lisbon’s night life reached new heights when a wave of rooftop bars opened around the city. Squirreled away on the Terraços do Carmo, Topo Chiado is an open-air lounge serving cocktails to tables overlooking the castle and the neoGothic, wrought-iron Santa Justa Lift. For more al fresco night life, venture west to Rio Maravilha, a new fourthfloor hangout in the resurgent LX Factory area. This sprawling industrial space offers live music, two outdoor terraces and a much-photographed rooftop sculpture. Order a porto tónico — white port and tonic — and head to the roof and its dazzling views of the Tagus River and the 25 de Abril Bridge, a doppelgänger of the Golden Gate Bridge. Saturday Sugar rush 10 a.m. In the canon of Portuguese pastries, the most storied sweet is the pastéis de nata, a flaky, palm-size tart with creamy egg-custard filling. At Pastelaria Alcôa, a standing-room-only pastry shop that opened last year in a prime location in the bustling Chiado district, rows of those golden tarts are displayed alongside a variety of other so-called monastic pastries whose centuries-old recipes originated in Catholic monasteries and convents. Pair a pastéis de nata with one of the lesser-known specialties, like the Torresmo do Céu, a sweeter cousin of the egg tart featuring a rich almondand-citrus filling. Put a cork in it 11 a.m. Home to a third of the world’s cork oak forests, Portugal has dreamed up myriad uses for the natural, sustainable material. Shop for cork-centric souvenirs that extend beyond the bottle stopper at Cork & Co, a bi-level store filled with ecoconscious designs, from decorative bowls to stylish wine coolers carved from the lightweight material. A short walk north, find more innovative cork products at Pelcor, a boutique stocked with cork-lined golf bags and umbrellas made from naturally water-resistant cork skin. Ceviche supreme 1 p.m. If there’s a line outside A Cevicheria, a popular Peruvian restaurant opened by the chef Kiko Martins in 2014, order a frothy pisco sour and wait — it’s worth it. Inside the bright, white-tiled restaurant, a giant foam octopus hangs from the ceiling above a handful of tables and bar seats around a horseshoe-shaped counter. On the menu, you’ll find ceviches and causas, smaller dishes to share, including an excellent barbecued roast octopus with black mashed potatoes. One must-order dish is the transportive ceviche puro of white fish in lime juice with red onion, tiger’s milk and rich dollops of mashed sweet potato crowned with sweet-potato chips. Lunch for two, about €50. Belém beauties 4 p.m. Southwest of the city center, the pretty riverfront Belém district is defined by its landmarks: the Manueline-style Jerónimos Monastery, the 16th-century Belém Tower and, since 2016, the futuristic facade of MAAT, the Museum of Art, Architecture and Technology. The latter takes a page from other European capitals — see London’s Tate Modern and Rome’s Centrale Montemartini — by repurposing a former power plant, in addition to that newly constructed exhibition hall encased in gleaming white tile, for showcasing world-class art. Visit both buildings to explore contemporary art installations, interactive science exhibits and video works displayed amid the plant’s hulking, well-preserved machinery (admission, €9). Top taberna 9 p.m. Located in a former grocery store, Taberna da Rua das Flores has the wellworn atmosphere of an old Lisbon tavern, with tile floors, wooden chairs and marble-topped tables. What distinguishes this homey taberna is its innovative, market-driven cuisine. The daily menu — scribbled on a large blackboard and patiently explained by servers — recently included wasabi-spiced oysters, bright mackerel tartare with seaweed and crunchy dried shrimp, and a flavorful pile of matchstick potatoes and local trumpet mushrooms. Add to that a bottle of Tejo tinto and some Portuguese sheep’s-milk cheese for dessert, and a satisfying dinner for two is about €50 (cash only). PHOTOGRAPHS BY DANIEL RODRIGUES FOR THE NEW YORK TIMES Príncipe nights 11 p.m. After dinner, swing by Pub Lisboeta in the increasingly lively Príncipe Real district. This cozy, narrow bar opened a few years ago with crowded tables, an emerald-tiled bar, and a variety of Portuguese craft beers — try the kölsch from Lisbon’s Oitava Colina brewery. For something stronger, continue down the street to Gin Lovers, an elegant back-room bar within a 19th-century palace-turnedshopping complex. The menu lists over 50 varieties of gin and tonic, served Spanish-style in bulbous glasses. Sunday Caffeine nation 11 a.m. In Portugal, as in Italy, coffee means espresso. For a wider variety of caffeinated options, start the morning at Fábrica Coffee Roasters. Established in 2015, this specialty coffee purveyor operates two cafes that serve traditional shots as well as cold brews, pour-overs and frothy cappuccini. At the spacious Chiado locale, order a velvety flat white, take a seat amid the plants, put away the phone (there’s no Wi-Fi) and savor your coffee. Carioca casa 1 p.m. In an impressive show of reverse colonization, Brazil has taken over a magnificent mansion in Príncipe Real. Opened in April 2017, Casa Pau-Brasil is a concept shop and showroom for top Brazilian designers and brands spanning fashion, home furnishings, stationery, soaps and more. Ascend the elegant staircase to explore the maze of rooms that recently displayed Lenny Niemeyer’s fashionable swimsuits, orangetrimmed Panama hats from Frescobol Carioca, bars of Rio’s Q chocolate, and exquisite polished-wood armchairs designed by Sérgio Rodrigues. Quiosque time 3:30 p.m. A local initiative begun in 2009 to revive the city’s many abandoned quiosques de refresco (refreshment kiosks) is today a resounding success. With attractive Art Nouveau architecture and prime locations throughout the city, these popular kiosks are natural gathering points from sunup to sundown. Join the local crowd sipping ginja, a traditional sour-cherry liqueur, at purple tables beside the restored quiosque in Praça das Flores, a small, leafy park with a central fountain that doubles as a watering hole for neighborhood cats. In inclement weather, take cover at Cerveteca Lisboa, a quiet beer bar across the street pouring hard-to-find brews from Portuguese craft breweries, like Dois Corvos and Passarola Brewing. One of the defining features of the riverfront Belém district in Lisbon is the 16th-century Belém Tower. In the background is the 25 de Abril Bridge.