Latest news with #TheNewRepublic
Yahoo
13-06-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
Sen. John Kennedy and Linda McMahon make significant math error in congressional hearing
On Tuesday, Secretary of Education Linda McMahon tested before the Senate on behalf of Trump's 2026 budget. During this hearing, McMahon and Louisiana Sen. John Kennedy were discussing federal spending for grant programs for disadvantaged students when the pair made a significant mathematical error. The math error occurred when the two spoke on how much the government has spent in the duration of ten years on TRIO and the Gaining Early Awareness and Readiness for Undergraduate Programs (GEAR UP). After McMahon confirmed to Kennedy that the government spends approximately $1.58 billion a year on TRIO and has been funding this program for over ten years, Kennedy said, "So that's over a trillion dollars that we've spent on this program..." "We give this money, as I appreciate it, to colleges and universities to encourage poor kids to go to college,' said Kennedy before he went on to imply that colleges have been stealing this grant money from the government for their own purposes, The New Republic reported. McMahon failed to catch and correct Kennedy's math error, however, Sen. John Reed spoke up and corrected the counting mistake. 'I'm not a great mathematician, but I think you were talking about a trillion dollars? I believe $1.5 billion times 10 is $15 billion, and that's a little bit off from a trillion dollars,' said Reed. McMahon said in response that the budget cuts $1.2 billion, to which Reed then replied, "Well that would be $12 billion, not a trillion dollars." Presley Bo Tyler is a reporter for the Louisiana Deep South Connect Team for Gannett/USA Today. Find her on X @PresleyTyler02 and email at PTyler@ This article originally appeared on Shreveport Times: Sen. John Kennedy math error. What he said education costs
Yahoo
11-06-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
A couple of Republican senators offer mild rebukes after Trump deploys Marines to L.A.
During his primetime address on Tuesday night, Gov. Gavin Newsom took a little time to address the fact that Donald Trump deployed hundreds of Marines to Los Angeles this week. 'These are men and women trained in foreign combat, not domestic law enforcement,' the California Democrat said. 'We honor their service. We honor their bravery. But we do not want our streets militarized by our own armed forces. Not in L.A. Not in California. Not anywhere.' This was not an uncommon sentiment. As The New Republic noted, the latest national poll from YouGov suggested much of the public agrees with Newsom's point about the Marines' deployment: 'The number of people against the president's action eclipsed those who supported it by double digits, with 47 percent of polled Americans saying they disagreed with the order compared to 34 percent who approved.' Even Jim McDonnell, Los Angeles' police chief, didn't sound especially pleased about the developments. 'The LAPD has not received any formal notification that the Marines will be arriving in Los Angeles. However, the possible arrival of federal military forces in Los Angeles absent clear coordination presents a significant logistical and operational challenge for those of us charged with safeguarding this city,' McDonnell said in a statement. Are there are any Republican officials willing to make related comments? As it turns out, the yes — or at least, sort of. Politico reported: Sen. Susan Collins, the powerful Senate Appropriations chair, became the first prominent Republican to oppose deploying active-duty Marines to Los Angeles — even as she backed the use of the National Guard to assist with the unrest. The Maine Republican said sending the National Guard to support state and local authorities, 'probably makes the most sense' amid violent protests against mass deportation policies. But Collins said she disagrees with President Donald Trump's decision to send Marines. 'I would draw a distinction between the use of the National Guard and the use of the Marines,' the senator told reporters. 'Active duty forces are generally not to be involved in domestic law enforcement operations.' As rebukes go, this wasn't exactly a full-throated condemnation, but as Politico's report added, 'Collins' statements mark the first public break from Republican leadership on Trump's decision to deploy Marines, which could open the door for more internal dissent.' It was against this backdrop that CNN's Manu Raju asked Republican Sen. Lisa Murkowski if she also had any concerns about the president deploying U.S. Marines to Los Angeles. 'Yes,' the Alaska senator said without elaborating. There's no point in exaggerating the severity of these comments, and there isn't yet any evidence to suggest Collins or Murkowski are prepared to take additional steps related to their apparent concerns. That said, the Trump White House is heavily invested in maintaining total partisan unity on all issues, at all times, and when it comes to sending Marines onto American streets for dubious reasons, it appears there are some cracks in the unified GOP wall. This article was originally published on
Yahoo
11-06-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
Trump Is Expanding His Thuggish War on Union Leaders
The arrest and violent manhandling of David Huerta, the president of the Service Employees International Union of California, or SEIU, suggests that Donald Trump, that proud tribune of the working class, is targeting union leaders for arrest. Huerta wasn't the first. In March, U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement arrested Alfredo 'Lelo' Juarez Zeferino, a labor organizer; founder of Familias Unidas por la Justicia, a farmworkers' union in Bellingham, Washington; and former member of that city's now-defunct Immigration Advisory Board. As Kate Aronoff reported in The New Republic at the time of Zeferino's arrest, he was instrumental in securing state protections against excessive heat exposure. Zeferino is now being detained without bail. Labor unions in Washington state are infuriated by Zeferino's detention, and also by ICE's February arrest of Lewelyn Dixon (imprisoned for three months and then released), a lab technician at the University of Washington and, according to Local 925 of the Service Employees International Union, a 'dedicated' member of that union. Dixon was born in the Philippines but for half a century has been a legal permanent resident. Then there was Maximo Londonio, a forklift driver in Lacey, Washington, and a member of Local 695 of the Machinists. Londonio, who was also born in the Philippines, is, like Dixon, a legal permanent resident, but he's been an ICE detainee since mid-May. In Zeferino's case, ICE can claim he ignored a 2018 immigration removal order (his lawyer says Zeferino never heard about it). In Dixon's and Londonio's cases, ICE can claim they committed (nonviolent) criminal offenses—Dixon embezzled; it's not clear what Londonio did—but that was more than 20 years ago, and the government long ago prosecuted and punished them both. Huerta is different. He was born and raised in the United States, and his only offense appears to be observing and protesting how ICE treated members of his union during an immigration raid in Los Angeles. Clearly the Trump administration wants to make an example of him. But an example for whom? ICE arrests are typically intended to intimidate immigrants and prospective immigrants. But in this case (and probably Zeferino's too), ICE looks like it's trying to drive a wedge between undocumented immigrants and the labor movement. It's a bit late for that. Before the 1980s, labor might have been receptive because it tended to oppose immigration, believing undocumented and even legal immigrants cost native-born Americans jobs or lowered their wages. Cesar Chavez, a more complex figure than is generally acknowledged, called undocumented immigrants traveling north from Mexico 'wetbacks.' Chavez created a private security patrol to keep them out and bribed Mexican police to look the other way when his thuggish enforcers (nicknamed cesarchavezistas) roughed somebody up. Richard Strout, the liberal author of The New Republic's 'TRB From Washington' column from 1943 to 1983 (I followed him, in 2011–13), was rabidly anti-immigration. 'Failure to enforce immigration laws,' Strout wrote in a July 1977 column, 'is a scandal.' Strout even endorsed, long before E-Verify, legal sanctions against businesses that employed undocumented immigrants. But subsequent research showed immigration's financial cost to native-born Americans was minimal in most instances, and union leaders shifted from opposing undocumented immigrants to representing them. Among the voices today protesting most loudly the wrongful deportation of Kilmar Abrego Garcia are his fellow union members and their leaders. Since 1994, foreign-born workers have grown from 8.4 percent of union members to 15.4 percent, according to the nonprofit Center for Economic and Policy Research. If for no other reason, labor unions won't turn back the clock. ICE's criminal complaint against Huerta, which charges him with conspiracy to impede an officer, is shockingly thin. It makes much of the fact that Huerta and other protesters appear to have been summoned by an unidentified woman on the scene, and that these protesters all 'appeared to be communicating to each other' by cell phone. Apparently one ICE officer has incriminating video of Huerta 'typing text into his digital device while present at the protest'—more commonly known as exercising his First Amendment rights. At one point, according to the complaint, Huerta paced in front of a vehicle entrance gate, sat down, and urged other protesters to sit down alongside him, saying, 'Stop the vehicles' and 'It's a public sidewalk, they can't stop us.' That sounds less like a conspiracy than like a nonviolent protest. If the purpose was to impede, all it impeded was a parking spot, which, even in Los Angeles, is not a felony. (You might get a ticket for a first offense.) One ICE officer warned Huerta that if he didn't move he'd be arrested, to which Huerta replied, 'I can't hear you through your fucking mask.' The officer registered this as defiance, but it strikes me as entirely plausible that Huerta really couldn't hear the officer through his fucking mask. Huerta's other offenses include 'making an offensive gesture to law enforcement officers,' which I assume means he flipped them the bird, and unauthorized banging on the entrance gate. Huerta was finally arrested, according to the complaint, after an officer pushed him and Huerta pushed the officer back. Huerta was arraigned late Monday and released on a $50,000 bond. I'm no lawyer, but one obvious difficulty with the conspiracy charge is that Huerta is one person, and a conspiracy requires at least two. Who were Huerta's partners in this crime? Surely not the activists texting back and forth about the ICE raid; bearing witness is not a conspiracy. Neither is protesting. The relevant statute, 18 U.S. Code § 372, talks about preventing a person from holding an office, or inducing that person to leave the place where his duties are to be discharged, or injuring that officer or his property, none of which apply. A shove (assuming it really happened) doesn't typically cause injury, and anyway the only party sent to the hospital was Huerta himself. Unless ICE is withholding additional significant facts, this prosecution looks very unpromising. But whoever said the Trump administration gave a damn what happens in a courtroom? The point is to intimidate union leaders away from attending, witnessing, and recording ICE raids. So far, the strategy isn't succeeding. Huerta's manhandling inspired protests not only in Los Angeles but also in Seattle, Minneapolis, Raleigh, and elsewhere. Far from terrorizing the labor movement, Trump is galvanizing it.
Time of India
10-06-2025
- Politics
- Time of India
Trump's former aide Steve Bannon terrified of LA protests, warns what's happening is World War III
Steve Bannon , former aide to Donald Trump, says the protests in Los Angeles against ICE are like the start of World War III . He claims the battle is happening everywhere, even in downtown Los Angeles, as per reports. Bannon thinks the protests are part of a Democratic psyop to destabilize the country during summer. He says Democrats let 10 to 13 million illegal immigrants enter the US and demands all must be deported, not just some. Bannon warns that there will be more riots this summer because this is just the start, according to the report by The New Republic. He questions why police made only about 10 arrests and accuses the LAPD of allowing the protests to get out of control. He says whoever ordered the police to stand down should be arrested. Calling for the suspension of habeas corpus, the former Trump camper also demanded the arrests of California Governor Newsom and LA Mayor Bass. He compares Governor Newsom to John C. Calhoun, who had a political conflict with President Andrew Jackson. Bannon says if Newsom blocks federal officials, he should be arrested, as mentioned in the report by The New Republic. Live Events Bannon pushes Trump plan Bannon also attacks Elon Musk and big tech companies, calling them 'a bunch of pussies.' He plans to financially attack Musk and wants to break up Facebook, Google, Amazon, and maybe even Walmart because they have too much private power, which he thinks goes against populism and economic nationalism, according to the reports. Although Bannon was pushed away from the MAGA group after the 2017 Charlottesville riots, he now seems to have returned closer to Trump with a stronger fascist agenda. Bannon is at the center of a fight within the Republican Party between traditional conservatives and MAGA's an anti-economic nationalist, as per reports. Trump's hardline immigration stance and recent removal of Elon Musk from some position fit Bannon's views, showing Bannon is back as a close adviser. This means the Trump administration , if it returns, could become more brutal and authoritarian under Bannon's influence, as stated by The New Republic. FAQs Q1. Why did Steve Bannon say L.A. protests are like World War III? He believes the protests are part of a plan by Democrats to create chaos in the country. Q2. Is Steve Bannon close to Trump again? Yes, reports say he's back as a strong adviser with more extreme views than before.
Atlantic
08-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Atlantic
How I Accidentally Inspired a Major Chinese Motion Picture
In December, a friend sent me the trailer for a new Chinese movie called Clash. It's a sports comedy about a ragtag group of Chinese men who start an American-football team in the southwestern city of Chongqing. With the help of a foreign coach, the Chongqing Dockers learn to block and tackle, build camaraderie, and face off in the league championship against the evil Shanghai team. Funny, I thought. In 2014, I wrote an article for The New Republic about a ragtag group of Chinese men who'd started an American football team in the southwestern city of Chongqing. With the help of a foreign coach, the Chongqing Dockers learned to block and tackle, built camaraderie, and—yes—faced off in the league championship against the evil Shanghai team. The Chinese studio behind Clash, iQIYI, is not the first to take an interest in the Dockers' story. My article, titled 'Year of the Pigskin,' was natural Hollywood bait: a tale of cross-cultural teamwork featuring a fish-out-of-water American protagonist, published at a moment when Hollywood and China were in full-on courtship and the future of U.S.-China relations looked bright. It didn't take much imagination to see Ryan Reynolds or Michael B. Jordan playing the coach—a former University of Michigan tight end who'd missed his shot at a pro career because of a shoulder injury—with Chinese stars filling the supporting roles. Sony bought the option to the article, as well as the coach's life rights. When that project fizzled a few years later, Paramount scooped up the rights but never made anything. Now a Chinese studio appeared to have simply lifted the idea. I texted Chris McLaurin, the former Dockers coach who now works at a fancy law firm in London. (Since my original article published, we have become good friends.) Should we say something? Should we sue? At the very least, one of us had to see the movie. Fortunately, it was premiering in February at the International Film Festival Rotterdam. I booked a flight to the Netherlands. The movie I saw, which came out in Chinese theaters last month, did not alleviate my concerns. But the film, along with the conversations I had with its producer and director, provided a glimpse into the cultural and political forces that led to Clash 's creation. Indeed, the trajectory of the IP itself—from the original article to the Hollywood screenplays to the final Chinese production—says a lot about how the relationship between the United States and China has evolved, or devolved, over the past decade. What began as a story about transcending cultural boundaries through sports has turned into a symbol of just how little China and the U.S. understand each other—and how little interest they have in trying. I went to China in 2011 because I had a vague sense that something important was happening there. I moved to Beijing, with funding from a Luce scholarship, and started looking for stories. They weren't hard to find. The years after the 2008 Beijing Olympics turned out to be a remarkable era of relative openness. Many international observers saw Xi Jinping's rise in 2012 as the beginning of a period of liberalization, the inevitable political outcome of the country's growing prosperity. For journalists, China was a playground and a gold mine at once. We could travel (mostly) freely and talk to (almost) anyone. Along with the wealth of narrative material came a sense of purpose: We felt as though we were writing the story of the New China—a country opening up to the rest of the world, trying on identities, experimenting with new ways of thinking and living. The story that captivated me most was that of the Chongqing Dockers. It was one of those article ideas that miraculously fall in your lap, and in retrospect feel like fate. I'd heard that McLaurin, another Luce Scholar, had started coaching a football team in Chongqing, so I flew down to visit him. The first practice I attended was barely controlled chaos: The team didn't have proper equipment, no one wanted to hit one another, and they kept taking cigarette breaks. 'It was like 'Little Giants,' except with adult Chinese men,' I wrote to my editor at The New Republic. He green-lighted the story, and I spent the next year following the team, as well as McLaurin's efforts to create a nationwide league. The movie analogy was fortuitous. Just before the article was published, Sony bought the IP rights, as well as the rights to McLaurin's life story. The project would be developed by Escape Artists, the production company co-founded by Steve Tisch, a co-owner of the New York Giants. Maybe the NFL, struggling to break into the Chinese market, would even get involved. The deal changed McLaurin's life. Sony flew him and his mom out to Los Angeles, where a limo picked them up at the airport. He met with Tisch and the other producers. They floated Chris Pratt for the role of the coach. One executive asked McLaurin if he'd considered acting. McLaurin also met with high-level executives at the NFL interested in helping establish American football in China. He'd been planning to apply to law school, but now he decided to stay in Chongqing and keep developing the league. In retrospect, the China-Hollywood love affair was at that point in its wildest throes. As the reporter Erich Schwartzel recounts in his 2022 book, Red Carpet: Hollywood, China, and the Global Battle for Cultural Supremacy, China spent the late 2000s and 2010s learning the craft of blockbusting by partnering with Hollywood filmmakers and executives. Hollywood studios, meanwhile, got access to the growing market of Chinese moviegoers. (In 2012, then–Vice President Joe Biden negotiated an agreement to raise the quota of U.S. films allowed to screen in China.) It was, in effect, a classic technology transfer, much like General Motors setting up factories in China in exchange for teaching Chinese workers how to build cars. Erich Schwartzel: How China captured Hollywood With a potential audience of 1.4 billion, every U.S. studio was trying to make movies that would appeal to the Chinese market. This led to some ham-fisted creative choices. The filmmakers behind Iron Man 3 added a scene in which a Chinese doctor saves Tony Stark's life, though it wasn't included in the U.S. cut. The Chinese release of Rian Johnson's time-travel thriller, Looper, contained a gratuitous sequence in which Bruce Willis and Xu Qing gallivant around Shanghai. In the same film, Jeff Daniels's character tells Joseph Gordon-Levitt's, 'I'm from the future—you should go to China.' The threat of being denied a Chinese release also resulted in countless acts of self-censorship by Hollywood studios. Sony changed the villains of its Red Dawn remake from Chinese to North Korean in postproduction, and removed a scene showing the destruction of the Great Wall of China from the Adam Sandler film Pixels. In this environment, Hollywood put a premium on stories that could appeal equally to American and Chinese audiences. That usually meant going as broad as possible and leaning away from cultural specifics, as in the Transformers and Marvel movies. But in theory, another, more difficult path existed, the Hollywood equivalent of the Northwest Passage: a movie that incorporated Chinese and American cultures equally. This could be a breakthrough not only in the box office but also in storytelling. It could even map a future for the two countries, offering proof that we have more in common than we might think. The producers at Sony apparently hoped that a 'Year of the Pigskin' adaptation could pull off that trick. 'The movie we want to develop is JERRY MAGUIRE meets THE BAD NEWS BEARS set in China,' Tisch wrote in an email to Sony's then-chairman and CEO, Michael Lynton. 'This is the perfect movie to film in China.' But there was a puzzle built into the project. 'The struggle for me was trying to figure out who the movie was for,' Ian Helfer, who was hired to write the screenplay, told me recently. His task was to create a comedy that would be a vehicle for a big American star while appealing to Chinese audiences. But nobody in Hollywood really knew what Chinese audiences wanted, aside from tentpole action movies. They seemed happy to watch Tom Cruise save the world, but would they pay to see Chris Pratt teach them how to play an obscure foreign sport? Helfer's vision mostly tracked the original article: An American former college-football star goes to China and teaches the locals to play football. Everyone learns some important lessons about teamwork, brotherhood, and cultural differences along the way. He turned in a draft and hoped for the best. Most Hollywood projects die in development, and the autopsy is rarely conclusive. Exactly why the Sony project fizzled is not clear. Helfer said he'd heard that Sony's China office had objected to the project because it didn't feature a Chinese protagonist. Whatever the reason, when the 'Pigskin' option came up for renewal in 2017, Sony passed. By then, the China-Hollywood wave was cresting. The Zhang Yimou–directed co-production The Great Wall, released in 2017 and starring Matt Damon, flopped in the United States. That same year, the agreement that had raised the quota of U.S. films in China expired. Xi Jinping, who was turning out not to be the liberal reformer many Westerners had hoped for, railed against foreign cultural influence and encouraged homegrown art. His plan worked: Although China had depended on the U.S. for both entertainment and training earlier in the decade, it was now producing its own big-budget triumphs. In 2017, the jingoistic action flick Wolf Warrior 2 broke Chinese box-office records and ushered in a new era of nationalist blockbusters. At the same time, however, U.S. box-office revenues had plateaued, making the Chinese market even more important for Hollywood profits. After Sony declined to renew, Paramount optioned the rights to 'Year of the Pigskin,' and the development gears ground back into motion. This time, there was apparent interest from John Cena, who was in the midst of a full-on pivot to China, which included studying Mandarin. (He hadn't yet torpedoed his career there by referring to Taiwan as a 'country' in an interview, after which he apologized profusely in a much-mocked video.) The Paramount version of 'Pigskin' died when the studio discovered belatedly that football wasn't big in China, according to Toby Jaffe, the producer who'd arranged the deal. 'They realized that it wasn't well-suited for the Chinese market,' he told me recently. 'So the reason they bought it for maybe wasn't the most logical analysis.' The option expired once again in 2019. The coronavirus pandemic snuffed out whatever flame still burned in the China-Hollywood romance. McLaurin's China dreams were fading too. His hopes for a broad expansion of American football in China—he had started working for the NFL in Shanghai—seemed out of reach. He left China and went to law school. I figured we'd never hear about a 'Pigskin' adaptation again. When I met the Clash producer and screenwriter Wu Tao outside a hotel in Rotterdam in February, he greeted me with a hug. He told me he couldn't believe we were finally meeting after all these years, given how our lives were both intertwined with the Dockers. 'It's fate,' he said. Wu has spiky hair, a goatee, and an energy that belies his 51 years. He was wearing a bright-green sweater covered with black hearts with the words THANKYOUIDON'TCARE spelled backwards. We sat down at a coffee table in the hotel lobby alongside the director of Clash, Jiang Jiachen. Jiang was wearing computer-teacher glasses and a ribbed gray sweater. Wu, who'd produced and written the script for Clash, right away called out the elephant in the room with a joke. He had stolen one line from my article, he said with a chuckle—a character saying, 'Welcome to Chongqing'—but hadn't paid me for the IP. (This line does not actually appear in the article.) 'Next time,' I said. Wu said he'd been working as a producer at the Chinese media giant Wanda in Beijing when, in 2018, he came across an old article in the Chinese magazine Sanlian Lifeweek about the Dockers. He'd already produced a couple of modest hits, including the superhero satire Jian Bing Man, but he wanted to write his own feature. He was immediately taken with the Dockers' story, and a few days later, he flew to Chongqing to meet the players. They mentioned that Paramount was already working on a movie about the team, but Wu told them that an American filmmaker wouldn't do their story justice. 'In the end, Hollywood cares about the Chinese market,' Wu told me. 'They don't understand China's culture and its people.' He paid a handful of the players about $2,750 each for their life rights, and bought the rights to the team's name for about $16,500. Wu also met up with McLaurin in Shanghai, but they didn't ultimately sign an agreement. 'I understood that, in his head, this was his movie,' Wu said. But Wu had his own vision. Shirley Li: How Hollywood sold out to China Wu got to work writing a script. By 2022, he'd persuaded iQIYI to make the movie and gotten his script past the government censorship bureau with minimal changes. In summer 2023, they began shooting in Chongqing. Wu told me that he'd set out to tell the Dockers' story from a Chinese perspective. 'It's easy to imagine the Hollywood version, like Lawrence of Arabia,' he said. 'A white Westerner saves a group of uncivilized Chinese people.' Even if he'd wanted to tell that kind of story, Wu knew it wouldn't fly in the domestic market. 'We're not even talking about politics; that's just reality,' Wu said. Jiang added, 'It's a postcolonial context.' This argument made sense to me in theory, but I was curious to see what it meant in practice. That evening, I sat in a packed theater and took in the film. Clash opens with a flashback of Yonggan, the hero, running away from a bully as a kid—behavior that gets him mocked as a coward. (His name translates to 'brave.') It then cuts to adult Yonggan, who works as a deliveryman for his family's tofu shop, sprinting and careening his scooter through Chongqing's windy roads, bridges, and back alleys. When Yonggan gets an urgent delivery order from an athletic field where a football team happens to be practicing, the team captain watches in awe as Yonggan sprints down the sideline, takeout bag in hand, faster than the football players. He gets recruited on the spot. Although Clash has the same basic framing as the American film treatments—an underdog team struggling against the odds—the details are original, and telling. Instead of focusing on the coach, the story centers on Yonggan and his teammates, each of whom is dealing with his own middle-class problems: Yonggan's father wants him to give up his football dreams and work at the tofu shop; the war veteran Rock struggles to connect with his daughter; the model office-worker Wang Peixun can't satisfy his wife. The coach, meanwhile, is not an American former college-football star, but rather a Mexican former water boy named Sanchez. He wanted to play in the NFL, he tells the players, but in the U.S., they let Mexicans have only subordinate jobs. The sole American character is, naturally, the captain of the evil Shanghai team. Notably, there's no mention of 'American football' at all; they simply call the sport 'football,' which in Mandarin is the same as the word for 'rugby.' As for the tone, it's hyperlocal in a way that feels authentic to the material. Characters trade quips in rat-a-tat Chongqing dialect. Jokes and references are not overexplained. The film has a catchy hip-hop soundtrack featuring local artists. It also embraces tropes of Chinese comedy that might feel cringey to American audiences: abrupt tonal shifts, fourth-wall breaks, and flashes of the surreal, including an impromptu musical number and a surprisingly moving moment of fantasy at the end. (There are also the predictable gay-panic jokes.) I had been dreading a lazy rip-off, but this felt like its own thing. To my surprise, the audience—which was primarily European, not Chinese—loved it. At both screenings I attended, it got big cheers. When festival attendees voted on their favorite films, Clash ranked 37th out of 188 titles. (The Brutalist came in 50th.) After watching the film, my griping about the IP rights felt petty. Sure, Wu had blatantly lifted the premise of my article. (I looked up the Chinese article that Wu claimed first inspired him and saw that it explicitly mentioned my New Republic article, and the Sony movie deal, in the first paragraph.) But he'd done something original with it. It occurred to me that even if Wu had taken the story and reframed it to please a domestic audience, I was arguably guilty of the same crime. Just like Wu, I had been writing for a market, namely the American magazine reader of 2014. American narratives about China tend to be simplistic and self-serving. During the Cold War, China was foreign and scary. In the 1980s, as it began to reform its economy, American reporters focused on the green shoots of capitalism and the budding pro-democracy movement. In the post-Olympics glow of the 2010s, American readers were interested in stories about how the Chinese aren't all that different from us: See, they play football too! Or go on cruises, or follow motivational speakers, or do stand-up comedy. I was writing at a cultural and political moment when American audiences—and I myself—felt a self-satisfied comfort in the idea that China might follow in our footsteps. What Hollywood didn't realize is that Chinese viewers weren't interested in that kind of story—not then, and certainly not now. Part of me still wishes that a filmmaker had managed to tell the Dockers story in a way that emphasized international cooperation, especially now that our countries feel further apart than ever. But the liberal-fantasy version was probably never going to work. I'm glad someone made a version that does.
