Politics

Can Marianne Williamson change anything? The first question asked of any presidential bid is, “Can she win?” It’s not an unreasonable query, and in the case of Marianne Williamson, the spiritual guru, bestselling self-help author and failed 2020 Democratic primary contender, it’s one that is reasonably easy to answer. I could add some throat-clearing caveats and health warnings but instead I’ll just say it: Marianne Williamson will not be the next president of the United States. But unsuccessful presidential bids can change history. And so, what, if anything, might Williamson’s ultra-long-shot, which she launched with a speech in a ballroom at Washington’s Union Station, achieve?

In the Tennessee House of Representatives, it went by the name of Bill 9; in the Tennessee Senate, Bill 3. And the Volunteer State’s governor, whose first name is also Bill — that would be Republican Bill Lee, in office since 2019 — signed it last Friday. The new law makes it illegal for “male or female impersonators” to “provide entertainment that appeals to a prurient interest” in a location where minors might be present. A first violation would be a misdemeanor; a second, a felony. The law, as you may already be aware, comes in response to a bizarre and unpalatable recent development known as Drag Queen Story Hour.

She only officially entered the presidential race on Saturday, and already critics are counting Marianne Williamson out. To be fair, I understand why. On paper — and off paper for that matter — she is not your traditional candidate. The author and spiritual advisor made waves in 2020 with her eccentric debate moments, including her focus on the moon landing and her insistence on harnessing love for political purposes to defeat Donald Trump. But this time around, Williamson and her ethereal diction might be able to seize on one of President Biden’s major weaknesses: his incredible lack of empathy. During the 2020 election, one of the media’s major selling points for their favorite hair-sniffer was that he was a person who cared.

Ron DeSantis’s strategic ambiguity Ron DeSantis may not have announced his presidential bid, but no one seems to be in any doubt that he will do so eventually. This week amounted to a significant stepping stone towards that moment for the Florida governor. His book was published Monday, soaring to the top of the bestseller lists and — perhaps more importantly — providing DeSantis with an excuse to leave his “Free State of Florida” and spend some time in the rest of the country. Today, DeSantis is at a donor gathering in Houston. Tomorrow he will be in Dallas, on Sunday he will deliver remarks at the Ronald Reagan Presidential Library in Los Angeles and, while he’s in the area, swing by a local Republican event in Orange County.

The old adage goes that there are two sides to every story, and the truth lies somewhere in the middle. There doesn’t seem to be a better way to describe the recent turmoil at Project Veritas, the conservative journalism organization known for its undercover sting operations. Project Veritas’s founder and CEO James O’Keefe resigned from his post a little over a week ago after the non-profit's board of directors placed him on unpaid leave pending an investigation for alleged financial malfeasance and abuse of staff.

IT’S NOT FOX WOT WON IT One of the most famous front pages in modern British history ran on April 11, 1992. It wasn’t a report on world-historic events but a newspaper puffing out its chest. “IT’S THE SUN WOT WON IT,” read the headline on the front of the Sun, the Rupert Murdoch-owned tabloid that at the time was the most read paper in the country. Published two days after a general election in which the Conservatives unexpectedly clung on to power, the story boasted that the paper’s relentless anti-Labour campaign (including a famous election-day front page asking, in reference to the possibility of a Labour victory, “If Kinnock wins today will the last person to leave Britain please turn out the lights?”) had proved decisive.

When Chicago went to the polls on Tuesday, the voters made one thing abundantly clear: they wanted to see the back of Lori Lightfoot, the current mayor. She had come into office on a landslide in 2019, winning some three-quarters of the vote against a well-known, well-liked opponent. Four years later, all that support was gone. She received only 17 percent in 2023, a distant third in a race where only the top two candidates enter the runoff (since none received 50 percent). The candidates going into that runoff are Paul Vallas, with about 34 percent of the vote (twice that of the incumbent), and Brandon Johnson, with about 20 percent. The rest of the vote was spread among the six other candidates, including Lightfoot.

Out of Politico last week came news that the global village's Mayor Pete isn't happy with the heat he's been taking over the train derailment in East Palestine, Ohio. “Pete Buttigieg has taken a lot of bullets for the president on this,” an anonymous senior Democrat grumbled of the transportation secretary. That quote came in an article bearing the headline: "Buttigieg world frustrated at GOP attacks over train wreck." All of which raises a question: Buttigieg world? Is there a Buttigieg world now? I understand the use of the term Clinton world, given that the Clintons have accumulated so many clients and hangers-on as to constitute their own Central American-style cartel economy. Likewise Trump world, which is currently on a planetary collision course with DeSantis world.