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iOS 1 year ago
parent 09348e1008
commit 6a971c0aca
112 changed files with 39564 additions and 1198 deletions
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3
.obsidian/community-plugins.json
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@ -59,5 +59,6 @@
"cron",
"obsidian-gallery",
"obsidian-timelines",
"obsidian-full-calendar"
"obsidian-full-calendar",
"cm-editor-syntax-highlight-obsidian"
]

2
.obsidian/graph.json
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@ -95,6 +95,6 @@
"repelStrength": 10,
"linkStrength": 1,
"linkDistance": 250,
"scale": 0.19685905652792965,
"scale": 0.5876471470812341,
"close": true
}

30660
.obsidian/plugins/cm-editor-syntax-highlight-obsidian/main.js
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10
.obsidian/plugins/cm-editor-syntax-highlight-obsidian/manifest.json
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@ -0,0 +1,10 @@
{
"id": "cm-editor-syntax-highlight-obsidian",
"name": "Editor Syntax Highlight",
"author": "death_au",
"authorUrl": "https://github.com/deathau",
"description": "Show syntax highlighing in code blocks the editor",
"isDesktopOnly": false,
"version": "0.1.3",
"minAppVersion": "0.10.0"
}

177
.obsidian/plugins/cm-editor-syntax-highlight-obsidian/styles.css
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@ -0,0 +1,177 @@
@charset "UTF-8";
.cm-s-obsidian pre.HyperMD-codeblock span.cm-formatting-code-block {
color: var(--text-muted);
}
.cm-s-obsidian pre.HyperMD-codeblock .cm-keyword {
font-weight: normal;
}
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian {
/*
Name: yoncé
Author: Thomas MacLean (http://github.com/thomasmaclean)
Original yoncé color scheme by Mina Markham (https://github.com/minamarkham)
*/
/**/
}
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-hmd-frontmatter,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian pre.HyperMD-codeblock {
color: #d4d4d4;
}
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-hmd-frontmatter.cm-keyword,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-math.cm-keyword,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian pre.HyperMD-codeblock .cm-keyword {
color: #00A7AA;
font-weight: normal;
}
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-hmd-frontmatter.cm-atom,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-math.cm-atom,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian pre.HyperMD-codeblock .cm-atom {
color: #F39B35;
}
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-hmd-frontmatter.cm-number,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-math.cm-number,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian pre.HyperMD-codeblock .cm-number {
color: #A06FCA;
}
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian span.cm-hmd-frontmatter.cm-type,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian span.cm-math.cm-type,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian pre.HyperMD-codeblock span.cm-type {
color: #A06FCA;
}
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-hmd-frontmatter.cm-def,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-math.cm-def,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian pre.HyperMD-codeblock .cm-def {
color: #98E342;
}
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-hmd-frontmatter.cm-property,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-math.cm-property,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian pre.HyperMD-codeblock .cm-property {
color: #D4D4D4;
}
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian span.cm-hmd-frontmatter.cm-variable,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian span.cm-math.cm-variable,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian pre.HyperMD-codeblock span.cm-variable {
color: #D4D4D4;
}
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian span.cm-hmd-frontmatter.cm-variable-2,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian span.cm-math.cm-variable-2,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian pre.HyperMD-codeblock span.cm-variable-2 {
color: #da7dae;
}
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian span.cm-hmd-frontmatter.cm-variable-3,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian span.cm-math.cm-variable-3,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian pre.HyperMD-codeblock span.cm-variable-3 {
color: #A06FCA;
}
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-hmd-frontmatter.cm-type.cm-def,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-math.cm-type.cm-def,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian pre.HyperMD-codeblock .cm-type.cm-def {
color: #FC4384;
}
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-hmd-frontmatter.cm-property.cm-def,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-math.cm-property.cm-def,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian pre.HyperMD-codeblock .cm-property.cm-def {
color: #FC4384;
}
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-hmd-frontmatter.cm-callee,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-math.cm-callee,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian pre.HyperMD-codeblock .cm-callee {
color: #FC4384;
}
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-hmd-frontmatter.cm-operator,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-math.cm-operator,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian pre.HyperMD-codeblock .cm-operator {
color: #FC4384;
}
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-hmd-frontmatter.cm-qualifier,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-math.cm-qualifier,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian pre.HyperMD-codeblock .cm-qualifier {
color: #FC4384;
}
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-hmd-frontmatter.cm-tag,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-math.cm-tag,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian pre.HyperMD-codeblock .cm-tag {
color: #FC4384;
}
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-hmd-frontmatter.cm-tag.cm-bracket,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-math.cm-tag.cm-bracket,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian pre.HyperMD-codeblock .cm-tag.cm-bracket {
color: #D4D4D4;
}
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-hmd-frontmatter.cm-attribute,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-math.cm-attribute,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian pre.HyperMD-codeblock .cm-attribute {
color: #A06FCA;
}
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-hmd-frontmatter.cm-comment,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-math.cm-comment,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian pre.HyperMD-codeblock .cm-comment {
color: #696d70;
}
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-hmd-frontmatter.cm-comment.cm-tag,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-math.cm-comment.cm-tag,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian pre.HyperMD-codeblock .cm-comment.cm-tag {
color: #FC4384;
}
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-hmd-frontmatter.cm-comment.cm-attribute,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-math.cm-comment.cm-attribute,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian pre.HyperMD-codeblock .cm-comment.cm-attribute {
color: #D4D4D4;
}
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-hmd-frontmatter.cm-string,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-math.cm-string,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian pre.HyperMD-codeblock .cm-string {
color: #E6DB74;
}
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-hmd-frontmatter.cm-string-2,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-math.cm-string-2,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian pre.HyperMD-codeblock .cm-string-2 {
color: #F39B35;
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.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-hmd-frontmatter.cm-meta,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-math.cm-meta,
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background: inherit;
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.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-hmd-frontmatter.cm-builtin,
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color: #FC4384;
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.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-hmd-frontmatter.cm-link,
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.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian pre.HyperMD-codeblock .cm-link {
color: #696d70;
}
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.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-math.cm-error,
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border-bottom: 1px solid #C42412;
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.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-hmd-frontmatter.CodeMirror-activeline-background,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-math.CodeMirror-activeline-background,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian pre.HyperMD-codeblock .CodeMirror-activeline-background {
background: #272727;
}
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-hmd-frontmatter.CodeMirror-matchingbracket,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian .cm-math.CodeMirror-matchingbracket,
.theme-dark .cm-s-obsidian pre.HyperMD-codeblock .CodeMirror-matchingbracket {
outline: 1px solid grey;
color: #D4D4D4 !important;
}

2
.obsidian/plugins/cron/data.json
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@ -19,7 +19,7 @@
"601d1cc7-a4f3-4f19-aa9f-3bddd7ab6b1d": {
"locked": false,
"lockedDeviceName": "iPhone",
"lastRun": "2023-11-05T07:36:26+01:00"
"lastRun": "2023-11-19T09:11:25+01:00"
}
}
}

501
.obsidian/plugins/dataview/main.js
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2
.obsidian/plugins/dataview/manifest.json
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@ -1,7 +1,7 @@
{
"id": "dataview",
"name": "Dataview",
"version": "0.5.61",
"version": "0.5.64",
"minAppVersion": "0.13.11",
"description": "Complex data views for the data-obsessed.",
"author": "Michael Brenan <blacksmithgu@gmail.com>",

12
.obsidian/plugins/emoji-shortcodes/data.json
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@ -4,16 +4,20 @@
"historyPriority": true,
"historyLimit": 100,
"history": [
":fork_and_knife:",
":book:",
":plate_with_cutlery:",
":ski:",
":train2:",
":tv:",
":fork_and_knife:",
":medical_symbol:",
":minidisc:",
":bread:",
":coffee:",
":ski:",
":latvia:",
":mega:",
":pregnant_woman:",
":shopping:",
":train2:",
":potable_water:",
":potted_plant:",
":peanuts:",
@ -37,7 +41,6 @@
":candy:",
":champagne:",
":wine_glass:",
":coffee:",
":mountain:",
":cityscape:",
":iphone:",
@ -56,7 +59,6 @@
":ferris_wheel:",
":cake:",
":family_man_woman_girl_boy:",
":medical_symbol:",
":star:",
":racing_car:",
":hotel:",

6
.obsidian/plugins/meld-encrypt/main.js
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2
.obsidian/plugins/meld-encrypt/manifest.json
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@ -1,7 +1,7 @@
{
"id": "meld-encrypt",
"name": "Meld Encrypt",
"version": "2.3.2",
"version": "2.3.5",
"minAppVersion": "1.0.3",
"description": "Hide secrets in your vault",
"author": "meld-cp",

5
.obsidian/plugins/meld-encrypt/styles.css
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@ -3,7 +3,7 @@
.meld-encrypt-encrypted-note-view-content{
display: flex;
flex-direction: column;
height: 100%;
height: calc( 100vh - var(--header-height) * 2.5 ) !important;
}
.meld-encrypt-encrypted-note-view .encrypted-note-message{
@ -18,7 +18,6 @@
.meld-encrypt-encrypted-note-view .content-container{
width: 100%;
height: 90%;
}
.meld-encrypt-encrypted-note-view .is-readable-line-width .content-container{
@ -33,7 +32,7 @@
.meld-encrypt-encrypted-note-view .editor-reading-view,
.meld-encrypt-encrypted-note-view .editor-source-view{
height: 100%;
padding-bottom: 233px;
}
/* END FEATURE WHOLE NOTE */

62
.obsidian/plugins/obsidian-activity-history/data.json
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@ -12,8 +12,8 @@
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@ -2670,7 +2670,63 @@
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611
.obsidian/plugins/obsidian-commits/data.json
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@ -1270,7 +1270,7 @@
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"<a class=\"internal-link\" href=\"00.01 Admin/Calendars/2023-11-11.md\"> 2023-11-11 </a>",
"<a class=\"internal-link\" href=\"00.01 Admin/Calendars/Events/2023-11-11 ⚽️ Stade Reims - PSG.md\"> 2023-11-11 ⚽️ Stade Reims - PSG </a>",
"<a class=\"internal-link\" href=\"01.02 Home/Bandes Dessinées.md\"> Bandes Dessinées </a>",
"<a class=\"internal-link\" href=\"00.03 News/The ‘Crispy R’ and Why R Is the Weirdest Letter.md\"> The ‘Crispy R’ and Why R Is the Weirdest Letter </a>",
"<a class=\"internal-link\" href=\"00.01 Admin/Calendars/2023-11-11.md\"> 2023-11-11 </a>",
"<a class=\"internal-link\" href=\"03.02 Travels/Vinyl Resistance.md\"> Vinyl Resistance </a>",
"<a class=\"internal-link\" href=\"03.02 Travels/La Troccase.md\"> La Troccase </a>",
"<a class=\"internal-link\" href=\"00.01 Admin/Calendars/2023-11-11.md\"> 2023-11-11 </a>"
],
"Removed Tags from": [
"<a class=\"internal-link\" href=\"00.03 News/Rape, Race and a Decades-Old Lie That Still Wounds.md\"> Rape, Race and a Decades-Old Lie That Still Wounds </a>",
@ -11919,6 +12084,7 @@
"<a class=\"internal-link\" href=\"05.02 Networks/Configuring Postfix.md\"> Configuring Postfix </a>"
],
"Removed Links from": [
"<a class=\"internal-link\" href=\"02.02 Paris/@Commerces Paris.md\"> @Commerces Paris </a>",
"<a class=\"internal-link\" href=\"01.02 Home/Real Estate.md\"> Real Estate </a>",
"<a class=\"internal-link\" href=\"01.02 Home/Life mementos.md\"> Life mementos </a>",
"<a class=\"internal-link\" href=\"00.01 Admin/Calendars/2023-08-14.md\"> 2023-08-14 </a>",
@ -11968,8 +12134,7 @@
"<a class=\"internal-link\" href=\"00.04 IT/33 Best Open-Source Software For MacOS In 2023.md\"> 33 Best Open-Source Software For MacOS In 2023 </a>",
"<a class=\"internal-link\" href=\"00.04 IT/Server-side Tagging In Google Tag Manager Simo Ahava's blog.md\"> Server-side Tagging In Google Tag Manager Simo Ahava's blog </a>",
"<a class=\"internal-link\" href=\"00.04 IT/My guiding principles after 20 years of programming.md\"> My guiding principles after 20 years of programming </a>",
"<a class=\"internal-link\" href=\"00.04 IT/Create multiple websites from one Obsidian vault.md\"> Create multiple websites from one Obsidian vault </a>",
"<a class=\"internal-link\" href=\"00.04 IT/Obsidian website publish - comments.md\"> Obsidian website publish - comments </a>"
"<a class=\"internal-link\" href=\"00.04 IT/Create multiple websites from one Obsidian vault.md\"> Create multiple websites from one Obsidian vault </a>"
]
}
},

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{
"id": "obsidian-dice-roller",
"name": "Dice Roller",
"version": "10.1.2",
"version": "10.4.0",
"minAppVersion": "0.12.15",
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2
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.obsidian/plugins/obsidian-read-it-later/main.js
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@ -1,7 +1,7 @@
{
"id": "obsidian-read-it-later",
"name": "ReadItLater",
"version": "0.3.1",
"version": "0.4.0",
"minAppVersion": "0.15.9",
"description": "Saves the clipboard to a new note.",
"author": "Dominik Pieper",

113
.obsidian/plugins/obsidian-reminder-plugin/data.json
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@ -118,7 +118,7 @@
"04.01 lebv.org/WebPublishing Tasks.md": [
{
"title": ":fleur_de_lis: [[WebPublishing Tasks|Website]]: Replace integration with Discord with [[Element|Element.io]]",
"time": "2023-12-15",
"time": "2024-12-15",
"rowNumber": 71
}
],
@ -278,7 +278,7 @@
"01.03 Family/Gabrielle Bédier.md": [
{
"title": ":birthday: **[[Gabrielle Bédier|Gabrielle]]** %%done_del%%",
"time": "2023-11-12",
"time": "2024-11-12",
"rowNumber": 105
}
],
@ -339,40 +339,40 @@
}
],
"01.02 Home/Household.md": [
{
"title": "♻ [[Household]]: *Paper* recycling collection %%done_del%%",
"time": "2023-11-07",
"rowNumber": 75
},
{
"title": ":bed: [[Household]] Change bedsheets %%done_del%%",
"time": "2023-11-11",
"rowNumber": 95
"time": "2023-11-25",
"rowNumber": 100
},
{
"title": "🛎 🧻 REMINDER [[Household]]: check need for toilet paper %%done_del%%",
"time": "2023-11-13",
"rowNumber": 89
"time": "2023-11-27",
"rowNumber": 92
},
{
"title": "♻ [[Household]]: *Cardboard* recycling collection %%done_del%%",
"time": "2023-11-14",
"rowNumber": 78
"time": "2023-11-28",
"rowNumber": 80
},
{
"title": "🛎️ :house: [[Household]]: Pay rent %%done_del%%",
"time": "2023-11-30",
"rowNumber": 87
"rowNumber": 90
},
{
"title": "♻ [[Household]]: *Paper* recycling collection %%done_del%%",
"time": "2023-12-05",
"rowNumber": 75
},
{
"title": ":blue_car: [[Household]]: Change to Summer tyres %%done_del%%",
"time": "2024-04-15",
"rowNumber": 103
"rowNumber": 109
},
{
"title": ":blue_car: [[Household]]: Change to Winter tyres %%done_del%%",
"time": "2024-10-15",
"rowNumber": 104
"rowNumber": 110
}
],
"01.03 Family/Pia Bousquié.md": [
@ -392,18 +392,18 @@
"01.01 Life Orga/@Finances.md": [
{
"title": ":heavy_dollar_sign: [[@Finances|Finances]]: update crypto prices within Obsidian %%done_del%%",
"time": "2023-11-14",
"time": "2023-12-12",
"rowNumber": 114
},
{
"title": ":heavy_dollar_sign: [[@Finances|Finances]]: Close yearly accounts %%done_del%%",
"time": "2024-01-07",
"rowNumber": 124
"rowNumber": 125
},
{
"title": ":heavy_dollar_sign: [[@Finances|Finances]]: Swiss tax self declaration %%done_del%%",
"time": "2024-01-07",
"rowNumber": 125
"rowNumber": 126
},
{
"title": ":moneybag: [[@Finances]]: Transfer UK pension to CH %%done_del%%",
@ -412,21 +412,21 @@
}
],
"01.01 Life Orga/@Personal projects.md": [
{
"title": ":fleur_de_lis: Refaire [[@Personal projects#Chevalière|chevalière]] (Bastard & Flourville)",
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"rowNumber": 75
},
{
"title": ":art: Continuer à construire un petit trousseau d'[[@Personal projects#art|art]]",
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"time": "2024-06-21",
"rowNumber": 76
},
{
"title": ":fleur_de_lis: Continue [[@lebv.org Tasks|lebv.org]]",
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},
{
"title": ":fleur_de_lis: Refaire [[@Personal projects#Chevalière|chevalière]] (Bastard & Flourville)",
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},
{
"title": "🖋 Caligraph & frame life mementos",
"time": "2024-06-30",
@ -443,25 +443,25 @@
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{
"title": ":ballot_box: [[Crypto Tasks]]: Vote for [[EOS]] block producers %%done_del%%",
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"time": "2023-12-05",
"rowNumber": 72
},
{
"title": ":chart: Check [[Nimbus]] earnings %%done_del%%",
"time": "2023-11-13",
"rowNumber": 83
"time": "2023-12-11",
"rowNumber": 84
}
],
"05.02 Networks/Configuring UFW.md": [
{
"title": "🖥 [[Selfhosting]], [[Configuring UFW|Firewall]] Get IP addresses caught by Postfix %%done_del%%",
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"time": "2023-11-25",
"rowNumber": 239
},
{
"title": "🖥 [[Selfhosting]], [[Configuring UFW|Firewall]]: Update the Blocked IP list %%done_del%%",
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"time": "2023-11-25",
"rowNumber": 284
}
],
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@ -495,7 +495,7 @@
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{
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"time": "2024-02-15",
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}
],
@ -555,13 +555,6 @@
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}
],
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],
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"title": ":scissors: [[@Life Admin|Life Admin]]: Cut hair %%done_del%%",
@ -572,7 +565,7 @@
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{
"title": "12:57 :stopwatch: [[2023-01-04|Memo]], [[@Lifestyle|Lifestyle]]: Buy the Watch Winder machine",
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"time": "2024-07-07",
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}
],
@ -636,13 +629,6 @@
"rowNumber": 66
}
],
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{
"title": "🩺 [[2023-02-24 Kidney inflammation]]: organise a follow up to check **polype** in the gallbladder",
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}
],
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{
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@ -653,7 +639,7 @@
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{
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"time": "2023-11-10",
"time": "2023-12-10",
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},
{
@ -675,13 +661,13 @@
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{
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"time": "2023-12-20",
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},
{
"title": ":birthday: :horse_racing: [[Juan Bautista Bossio|Juan]]‘s birthday %%done_del%%",
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"rowNumber": 118
}
],
"01.05 Done/@@MRCK.md": [
@ -721,14 +707,14 @@
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"title": ":label: [[Bookmarks - Social Media]]: Review bookmarks %%done_del%%",
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],
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{
"title": ":racehorse: [[@Sally|Sally]], [[2023-07-13 Health check|Note]]: Check front hoofs healing",
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],
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}
],
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{
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}
],
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{
"title": "08:44 :house: [[@Life Admin|Admin]]: Buy a desk for the front room",
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"rowNumber": 104
},
{
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"time": "2023-12-31",
"rowNumber": 105
},
{
"title": "09:28 :house: [[@Life Admin|Admin]]: Buy a small table for the sleeping room",
"time": "2023-12-31",
@ -797,7 +766,7 @@
"00.01 Admin/Calendars/2023-10-14.md": [
{
"title": "11:17 :stopwatch: [[$Basville]]: trouver un réparteur pour l'oignon Lipp",
"time": "2023-12-20",
"time": "2024-12-20",
"rowNumber": 103
}
],
@ -811,7 +780,7 @@
"00.01 Admin/Calendars/2023-10-28.md": [
{
"title": "11:48 :musical_keyboard: [[@Lifestyle|Lifestyle]]: Buy an ampli (Verstaerker): Yamaha A-S301 or Marantz PM6007",
"time": "2023-12-31",
"time": "2023-11-29",
"rowNumber": 103
}
],

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{
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6
.obsidian/plugins/obsidian-tasks-plugin/styles.css
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@ -88,6 +88,12 @@
display: none;
}
/* Workaround for issue #2073: Enabling the plugin causes blockIds to be not hidden in reading view
https://github.com/obsidian-tasks-group/obsidian-tasks/issues/2073 */
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{
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@ -1,14 +1,15 @@
{
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"description": "Easily install a beta version of a plugin for testing.",
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"helpUrl": "https://tfthacker.com/BRAT",
"isDesktopOnly": false,
"fundingUrl": {
"Buy Me a Coffee": "https://bit.ly/o42-kofi",
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}
}

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.obsidian/plugins/quickadd/data.json
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@ -48,7 +48,7 @@
"devMode": false,
"templateFolderPath": "00.01 Admin/Templates",
"announceUpdates": true,
"version": "1.4.0",
"version": "1.6.0",
"disableOnlineFeatures": true,
"ai": {
"OpenAIApiKey": "",

10
.obsidian/plugins/quickadd/main.js
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@ -11147,6 +11147,10 @@ function getModelMaxTokens(model) {
return 8192;
case "gpt-3.5-turbo-16k":
return 16384;
case "gpt-3.5-turbo-1106":
return 16385;
case "gpt-4-1106-preview":
return 128e3;
case "gpt-4-32k":
return 32768;
}
@ -11220,7 +11224,9 @@ function makeNoticeHandler(showMessages) {
// src/ai/AIAssistant.ts
var getTokenCount = (text2, model) => {
const m = model === "gpt-3.5-turbo-16k" ? "gpt-3.5-turbo" : model;
let m = model === "gpt-3.5-turbo-16k" ? "gpt-3.5-turbo" : model;
m = m === "gpt-4-1106-preview" ? "gpt-4" : m;
m = m === "gpt-3.5-turbo-1106" ? "gpt-3.5-turbo" : m;
return encodingForModel(m).encode(text2).length;
};
async function repeatUntilResolved(callback, promise, interval) {
@ -11573,7 +11579,7 @@ async function ChunkedPrompt(settings, formatter) {
}
// src/ai/models.ts
var models = ["gpt-3.5-turbo", "gpt-3.5-turbo-16k", "gpt-4", "gpt-4-32k", "text-davinci-003"];
var models = ["gpt-3.5-turbo", "gpt-3.5-turbo-16k", "gpt-3.5-turbo-1106", "gpt-4", "gpt-4-1106-preview", "gpt-4-32k", "text-davinci-003"];
var models_and_ask_me = [...models, "Ask me"];
// src/quickAddApi.ts

2
.obsidian/plugins/quickadd/manifest.json
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@ -1,7 +1,7 @@
{
"id": "quickadd",
"name": "QuickAdd",
"version": "1.4.0",
"version": "1.6.0",
"minAppVersion": "0.13.19",
"description": "Quickly add new pages or content to your vault.",
"author": "Christian B. B. Houmann",

136
.obsidian/plugins/templater-obsidian/main.js
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2
.obsidian/plugins/templater-obsidian/manifest.json
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@ -1,7 +1,7 @@
{
"id": "templater-obsidian",
"name": "Templater",
"version": "1.16.4",
"version": "1.18.1",
"description": "Create and use templates",
"minAppVersion": "0.11.13",
"author": "SilentVoid",

2
.obsidian/themes/Minimal/manifest.json
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@ -1,6 +1,6 @@
{
"name": "Minimal",
"version": "7.3.3",
"version": "7.3.5",
"minAppVersion": "1.1.9",
"author": "@kepano",
"authorUrl": "https://twitter.com/kepano",

2
.obsidian/themes/Minimal/theme.css
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58
.obsidian/workspace-mobile.json
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@ -206,7 +206,7 @@
}
},
{
"id": "5801369ceea1adbb",
"id": "70590c9de11f7f65",
"type": "leaf",
"state": {
"type": "DICE_ROLLER_VIEW",
@ -227,52 +227,52 @@
"markdown-importer:Open format converter": false,
"audio-recorder:Start/stop recording": false,
"msg-handler:MSG Handler": false,
"obsidian42-brat:BRAT": false,
"ledger-obsidian:Add to Ledger": false,
"obsidian-rich-links:Rich Links": false,
"obsidian-media-db-plugin:Add new Media DB entry": false,
"table-editor-obsidian:Advanced Tables Toolbar": false,
"obsidian-map-view:Open map view": false,
"obsidian-read-it-later:ReadItLater: Save clipboard": false,
"obsidian-tts:Text to Speech": false,
"obsidian-gallery:Gallery": false,
"obsidian-metatable:Metatable": false,
"obsidian-full-calendar:Open Full Calendar": false,
"obsidian-book-search-plugin:Create new book note": false,
"templater-obsidian:Templater": false,
"meld-encrypt:New encrypted note": false,
"meld-encrypt:Convert to or from an Encrypted note": false,
"templater-obsidian:Templater": false,
"obsidian-book-search-plugin:Create new book note": false,
"obsidian-read-it-later:ReadItLater: Save clipboard": false,
"obsidian42-brat:BRAT": false,
"obsidian-memos:Memos": false
}
},
"active": "2d9db1814950ef3b",
"lastOpenFiles": [
"00.02 Inbox/By the Sea.md",
"00.03 News/The ‘Crispy R’ and Why R Is the Weirdest Letter.md",
"00.03 News/@News.md",
"00.01 Admin/Calendars/2023-11-05.md",
"00.02 Inbox/Lolita.md",
"00.01 Admin/Calendars/2023-11-19.md",
"03.01 Reading list/Consent.md",
"00.01 Admin/Calendars/2023-11-18.md",
"00.03 News/Chasing Chop Suey Tracing Chinese Immigration Through Food.md",
"00.03 News/The librarian who couldn’t take it anymore.md",
"00.03 News/Inside an OnlyFans empire Sex, influence and the new American Dream.md",
"00.03 News/A Coder Considers the Waning Days of the Craft.md",
"01.02 Home/@Main Dashboard.md",
"00.02 Inbox/Project Hail Mary.md",
"00.03 News/The Evolutionary Reasons We Are Drawn to Horror Movies and Haunted Houses.md",
"01.02 Home/@Shopping list.md",
"03.03 Food & Wine/@Main dishes.md",
"03.03 Food & Wine/Udon in Buttery Tomato n Soy broth.md",
"03.03 Food & Wine/Chilli con Carne.md",
"03.03 Food & Wine/Thai Pork Rice Bowl.md",
"03.03 Food & Wine/Lamb Siniyah.md",
"00.01 Admin/Calendars/2023-11-04.md",
"00.02 Inbox/The Kite Runner.md",
"02.03 Zürich/Ski Rental Zürich.md",
"00.08 Bookmarks/Bookmarks - Media.md",
"00.08 Bookmarks/Bookmarks - Investments.md",
"00.01 Admin/Calendars/2023-11-03.md",
"00.01 Admin/Calendars/Events/2023-11-03 ⚽️ PSG - Montpellier (3-0).md",
"02.02 Paris/Paris SG.md",
"03.04 Cinematheque/Gangs of London (2020–).md",
"02.02 Paris/Sürpriz.md",
"01.02 Home/Vinyls.md",
"01.02 Home/Bandes Dessinées.md",
"03.04 Cinematheque/@Cinematheque.md",
"03.01 Reading list/Babysitter.md",
"03.01 Reading list/Civilizations.md",
"03.03 Food & Wine/@Desserts.md",
"03.04 Cinematheque/Savage Nights (1992).md",
"00.01 Admin/Calendars/2023-11-17.md",
"03.04 Cinematheque/November (2022).md",
"00.02 Inbox/Novembre (2020).md",
"00.01 Admin/Calendars/2023-11-16.md",
"03.04 Cinematheque/The Quick and the Dead (1995).md",
"02.03 Zürich/Dr Awad Abuawad.md",
"00.01 Admin/Calendars/2023-11-15.md",
"03.04 Cinematheque/Gangs of London (2020–).md",
"00.03 News/A School of Their Own.md",
"00.08 Bookmarks/Bookmarks - Obsidian.md",
"00.01 Admin/Calendars/2023-11-14.md",
"01.02 Home/@Shopping list.md",
"00.01 Admin/Pictures/Kolkowitzia/IMG_3910.jpg",
"00.01 Admin/Pictures/Kolkowitzia/IMG_3911.jpg",
"00.01 Admin/Pictures/Kolkowitzia",

2
00.01 Admin/Calendars/2023-01-03.md
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@ -82,7 +82,7 @@ style: number
This section does serve for quick memos.
&emsp;
- [ ] 10:30 :bed: [[2023-01-03|Memo]], [[@Life Admin|Admin]], [[@@MRCK|Meggi]]: Replace the bed 📅2023-12-31 ^7h9wa9
- [x] 10:30 :bed: [[2023-01-03|Memo]], [[@Life Admin|Admin]], [[@@MRCK|Meggi]]: Replace the bed 📅 2023-12-31 ✅ 2023-11-10 ^7h9wa9
- [x] 10:31 :tooth: [[2023-01-03|Memo]], [[@Life Admin|Admin]]: Find a dentist 📅 2023-06-30 ✅ 2023-07-06 ^889jmj
- [x] 10:33 👰‍♀️ [[2023-01-03|Memo]], [[@Family|Admin]]: Organise for [[2023-02-11 Mariage Eloi & Zélie|Eloi's wedding]] 📅 2023-01-31 ✅ 2023-01-07 ^16fcmt
- [x] 10:34 👰‍♀️ [[2023-01-03|Memo]], [[@Family|Admin]]: Organise for [[2023-04-29 Mariage Marguerite & Arnold|Marguerite's wedding]] 📅 2023-03-31 ✅ 2023-01-09 ^9pbu3g

2
00.01 Admin/Calendars/2023-01-04.md
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@ -84,7 +84,7 @@ This section does serve for quick memos.
&emsp;
- [x] 09:42 :moneybag: [[2023-01-04|Memo]], [[@Finances|Taxes]]: Fill the Swiss 2021 tax return 📅 2023-01-08 ✅ 2023-01-08
- [x] 10:18 :house: [[2023-01-04|Memo]], [[@Life Admin|Admin]]: Sort out Wincasa login 📅 2023-01-08 ✅ 2023-01-04
- [ ] 12:57 :stopwatch: [[2023-01-04|Memo]], [[@Lifestyle|Lifestyle]]: Buy the Watch Winder machine 📅 2023-12-15
- [ ] 12:57 :stopwatch: [[2023-01-04|Memo]], [[@Lifestyle|Lifestyle]]: Buy the Watch Winder machine 📅 2024-07-07
%% --- %%

2
00.01 Admin/Calendars/2023-10-03.md
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@ -102,7 +102,7 @@ This section does serve for quick memos.
&emsp;
- [x] 12:44 :potted_plant: [[Household]]: Buy broom to clean terrace with soil & such 📅 2023-10-17 ✅ 2023-10-07
- [ ] 14:32 🛞 [[Rex Automobile CH]]: Inspect snow chains for the season 📅2023-12-01
- [x] 14:32 🛞 [[Rex Automobile CH]]: Inspect snow chains for the season 📅 2023-12-01 ✅ 2023-11-10
%% --- %%

4
00.01 Admin/Calendars/2023-10-09.md
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@ -102,8 +102,8 @@ This section does serve for quick memos.
&emsp;
- [x] 08:42 :potted_plant: [[@Life Admin|Admin]]: Buy garden accessories (watering can, bine, secateur)s 📅 2023-10-13 ✅ 2023-10-11
- [ ] 08:44 :house: [[@Life Admin|Admin]]: Buy a desk for the front room 📅2023-11-30 ^rns1zk
- [ ] 08:46 :speaker: [[@Lifestyle|Lifestyle]]: Re-organise my music in the main room 📅2023-12-31
- [x] 08:44 :house: [[@Life Admin|Admin]]: Buy a desk for the front room 📅 2023-11-30 ✅ 2023-11-08 ^rns1zk
- [x] 08:46 :speaker: [[@Lifestyle|Lifestyle]]: Re-organise my music in the main room 📅 2023-12-31 ✅ 2023-11-10
- [ ] 09:28 :house: [[@Life Admin|Admin]]: Buy a small table for the sleeping room 📅2023-12-31

2
00.01 Admin/Calendars/2023-10-14.md
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@ -101,7 +101,7 @@ hide task count
This section does serve for quick memos.
&emsp;
- [ ] 11:17 :stopwatch: [[$Basville]]: trouver un réparteur pour l'oignon Lipp 📅2023-12-20
- [ ] 11:17 :stopwatch: [[$Basville]]: trouver un réparteur pour l'oignon Lipp 📅 2024-12-20
- [x] 13:55 :house: :bread: [[@Life Admin|Admin]]: Go to [Repair Café Witikon](https://gz-zh.ch/gz-witikon/angebote/repair-cafe-witikon/) between 10am and 2pm 📅 2023-11-04 ✅ 2023-11-04

2
00.01 Admin/Calendars/2023-10-28.md
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@ -101,7 +101,7 @@ hide task count
This section does serve for quick memos.
&emsp;
- [ ] 11:48 :musical_keyboard: [[@Lifestyle|Lifestyle]]: Buy an ampli (Verstaerker): Yamaha A-S301 or Marantz PM6007 📅2023-12-31
- [ ] 11:48 :musical_keyboard: [[@Lifestyle|Lifestyle]]: Buy an ampli (Verstaerker): Yamaha A-S301 or Marantz PM6007 📅 2023-11-29
%% --- %%

6
00.01 Admin/Calendars/2023-11-05.md
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@ -16,9 +16,9 @@ Stress: 25
FrontHeadBar: 5
EarHeadBar: 20
BackHeadBar: 30
Water: 1.5
Water: 3.5
Coffee: 4
Steps:
Steps: 11898
Weight:
Ski:
IceSkating:
@ -118,6 +118,8 @@ This section does serve for quick memos.
🍴: [[Beef Noodles with Beans]]
🍽: [[Chilli con Carne]]
&emsp;
---

138
00.01 Admin/Calendars/2023-11-06.md
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@ -0,0 +1,138 @@
---
title: "🗒 Daily Note"
allDay: true
date: 2023-11-06
Date: 2023-11-06
DocType: Note
Hierarchy:
TimeStamp:
location:
CollapseMetaTable: true
Sleep: 7
Happiness: 85
Gratefulness: 90
Stress: 25
FrontHeadBar: 5
EarHeadBar: 30
BackHeadBar: 20
Water: 3.75
Coffee: 4
Steps: 7698
Weight:
Ski:
IceSkating:
Riding:
Racket:
Football:
Swim:
---
%% Parent:: [[@Life Admin]] %%
---
[[2023-11-05|<< 🗓 Previous ]] &emsp; &emsp; &emsp; [[@Main Dashboard|Back]] &emsp; &emsp; &emsp; [[2023-11-07|🗓 Next >>]]
---
&emsp;
```button
name Record today's health
type command
action MetaEdit: Run MetaEdit
id EditMetaData
```
^button-2023-11-06Edit
```button
name Save
type command
action Save current file
id Save
```
^button-2023-11-06NSave
&emsp;
# 2023-11-06
&emsp;
> [!summary]+
> Daily note for 2023-11-06
&emsp;
```toc
style: number
```
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### ✅ Tasks of the day
&emsp;
```tasks
not done
due on 2023-11-06
path does not include Templates
hide backlinks
hide task count
```
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 📝 Memos
&emsp;
This section does serve for quick memos.
&emsp;
%% --- %%
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 🗒 Notes
&emsp;
📖: [[Mémoires de Léonard]]
🍽: [[Udon in Buttery Tomato n Soy broth]]
📺: [[Gangs of London (2020–)]]
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### :link: Linked activity
&emsp;
```dataview
Table from [[2023-11-06]]
```
&emsp;
&emsp;

136
00.01 Admin/Calendars/2023-11-07.md
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@ -0,0 +1,136 @@
---
title: "🗒 Daily Note"
allDay: true
date: 2023-11-07
Date: 2023-11-07
DocType: Note
Hierarchy:
TimeStamp:
location:
CollapseMetaTable: true
Sleep: 8
Happiness: 85
Gratefulness: 90
Stress: 25
FrontHeadBar: 5
EarHeadBar: 30
BackHeadBar: 20
Water: 3.5
Coffee: 3
Steps: 12196
Weight: 91.2
Ski:
IceSkating:
Riding:
Racket:
Football:
Swim:
---
%% Parent:: [[@Life Admin]] %%
---
[[2023-11-06|<< 🗓 Previous ]] &emsp; &emsp; &emsp; [[@Main Dashboard|Back]] &emsp; &emsp; &emsp; [[2023-11-08|🗓 Next >>]]
---
&emsp;
```button
name Record today's health
type command
action MetaEdit: Run MetaEdit
id EditMetaData
```
^button-2023-11-07Edit
```button
name Save
type command
action Save current file
id Save
```
^button-2023-11-07NSave
&emsp;
# 2023-11-07
&emsp;
> [!summary]+
> Daily note for 2023-11-07
&emsp;
```toc
style: number
```
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### ✅ Tasks of the day
&emsp;
```tasks
not done
due on 2023-11-07
path does not include Templates
hide backlinks
hide task count
```
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 📝 Memos
&emsp;
This section does serve for quick memos.
&emsp;
%% --- %%
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 🗒 Notes
&emsp;
📖: [[The Kite Runner]]
📺: [[2023-11-07 ⚽️ AC Milan - PSG (2-1)]]
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### :link: Linked activity
&emsp;
```dataview
Table from [[2023-11-07]]
```
&emsp;
&emsp;

138
00.01 Admin/Calendars/2023-11-08.md
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@ -0,0 +1,138 @@
---
title: "🗒 Daily Note"
allDay: true
date: 2023-11-08
Date: 2023-11-08
DocType: Note
Hierarchy:
TimeStamp:
location:
CollapseMetaTable: true
Sleep: 7
Happiness: 85
Gratefulness: 90
Stress: 25
FrontHeadBar: 5
EarHeadBar: 30
BackHeadBar: 20
Water: 3.25
Coffee: 4
Steps: 7647
Weight:
Ski:
IceSkating:
Riding:
Racket:
Football:
Swim:
---
%% Parent:: [[@Life Admin]] %%
---
[[2023-11-07|<< 🗓 Previous ]] &emsp; &emsp; &emsp; [[@Main Dashboard|Back]] &emsp; &emsp; &emsp; [[2023-11-09|🗓 Next >>]]
---
&emsp;
```button
name Record today's health
type command
action MetaEdit: Run MetaEdit
id EditMetaData
```
^button-2023-11-08Edit
```button
name Save
type command
action Save current file
id Save
```
^button-2023-11-08NSave
&emsp;
# 2023-11-08
&emsp;
> [!summary]+
> Daily note for 2023-11-08
&emsp;
```toc
style: number
```
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### ✅ Tasks of the day
&emsp;
```tasks
not done
due on 2023-11-08
path does not include Templates
hide backlinks
hide task count
```
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 📝 Memos
&emsp;
This section does serve for quick memos.
&emsp;
%% --- %%
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 🗒 Notes
&emsp;
🚆: A/R à [[Geneva]]
💽: [[Vinyl Resistance]]
📖: [[The Kite Runner]]
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### :link: Linked activity
&emsp;
```dataview
Table from [[2023-11-08]]
```
&emsp;
&emsp;

136
00.01 Admin/Calendars/2023-11-09.md
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@ -0,0 +1,136 @@
---
title: "🗒 Daily Note"
allDay: true
date: 2023-11-09
Date: 2023-11-09
DocType: Note
Hierarchy:
TimeStamp:
location:
CollapseMetaTable: true
Sleep: 8
Happiness: 85
Gratefulness: 90
Stress: 25
FrontHeadBar: 5
EarHeadBar: 30
BackHeadBar: 20
Water: 2.5
Coffee: 5
Steps: 17933
Weight:
Ski:
IceSkating:
Riding:
Racket:
Football:
Swim:
---
%% Parent:: [[@Life Admin]] %%
---
[[2023-11-08|<< 🗓 Previous ]] &emsp; &emsp; &emsp; [[@Main Dashboard|Back]] &emsp; &emsp; &emsp; [[2023-11-10|🗓 Next >>]]
---
&emsp;
```button
name Record today's health
type command
action MetaEdit: Run MetaEdit
id EditMetaData
```
^button-2023-11-09Edit
```button
name Save
type command
action Save current file
id Save
```
^button-2023-11-09NSave
&emsp;
# 2023-11-09
&emsp;
> [!summary]+
> Daily note for 2023-11-09
&emsp;
```toc
style: number
```
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### ✅ Tasks of the day
&emsp;
```tasks
not done
due on 2023-11-09
path does not include Templates
hide backlinks
hide task count
```
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 📝 Memos
&emsp;
This section does serve for quick memos.
&emsp;
%% --- %%
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 🗒 Notes
&emsp;
📖: [[The Kite Runner]]
🍽: [[Spicy Szechuan Noodles with Garlic Chilli Oil]]
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### :link: Linked activity
&emsp;
```dataview
Table from [[2023-11-09]]
```
&emsp;
&emsp;

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00.01 Admin/Calendars/2023-11-10.md
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@ -0,0 +1,138 @@
---
title: "🗒 Daily Note"
allDay: true
date: 2023-11-10
Date: 2023-11-10
DocType: Note
Hierarchy:
TimeStamp:
location:
CollapseMetaTable: true
Sleep: 7.5
Happiness: 85
Gratefulness: 90
Stress: 25
FrontHeadBar: 5
EarHeadBar: 30
BackHeadBar: 20
Water: 4
Coffee: 3
Steps: 10393
Weight:
Ski:
IceSkating:
Riding:
Racket:
Football:
Swim:
---
%% Parent:: [[@Life Admin]] %%
---
[[2023-11-09|<< 🗓 Previous ]] &emsp; &emsp; &emsp; [[@Main Dashboard|Back]] &emsp; &emsp; &emsp; [[2023-11-11|🗓 Next >>]]
---
&emsp;
```button
name Record today's health
type command
action MetaEdit: Run MetaEdit
id EditMetaData
```
^button-2023-11-10Edit
```button
name Save
type command
action Save current file
id Save
```
^button-2023-11-10NSave
&emsp;
# 2023-11-10
&emsp;
> [!summary]+
> Daily note for 2023-11-10
&emsp;
```toc
style: number
```
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### ✅ Tasks of the day
&emsp;
```tasks
not done
due on 2023-11-10
path does not include Templates
hide backlinks
hide task count
```
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 📝 Memos
&emsp;
This section does serve for quick memos.
&emsp;
%% --- %%
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 🗒 Notes
&emsp;
📖: [[The Kite Runner]]
☕: [[Radix]]
📺: [[Gangs of London (2020–)]]
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### :link: Linked activity
&emsp;
```dataview
Table from [[2023-11-10]]
```
&emsp;
&emsp;

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00.01 Admin/Calendars/2023-11-11.md
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@ -0,0 +1,140 @@
---
title: "🗒 Daily Note"
allDay: true
date: 2023-11-11
Date: 2023-11-11
DocType: Note
Hierarchy:
TimeStamp:
location:
CollapseMetaTable: true
Sleep: 8.5
Happiness: 85
Gratefulness: 90
Stress: 25
FrontHeadBar: 5
EarHeadBar: 30
BackHeadBar: 20
Water: 2.33
Coffee: 3
Steps: 11516
Weight:
Ski:
IceSkating:
Riding:
Racket:
Football:
Swim:
---
%% Parent:: [[@Life Admin]] %%
---
[[2023-11-10|<< 🗓 Previous ]] &emsp; &emsp; &emsp; [[@Main Dashboard|Back]] &emsp; &emsp; &emsp; [[2023-11-12|🗓 Next >>]]
---
&emsp;
```button
name Record today's health
type command
action MetaEdit: Run MetaEdit
id EditMetaData
```
^button-2023-11-11Edit
```button
name Save
type command
action Save current file
id Save
```
^button-2023-11-11NSave
&emsp;
# 2023-11-11
&emsp;
> [!summary]+
> Daily note for 2023-11-11
&emsp;
```toc
style: number
```
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### ✅ Tasks of the day
&emsp;
```tasks
not done
due on 2023-11-11
path does not include Templates
hide backlinks
hide task count
```
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 📝 Memos
&emsp;
This section does serve for quick memos.
&emsp;
%% --- %%
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 🗒 Notes
&emsp;
💽: [[La Troccase]]
📺: [[2023-11-11 ⚽️ Stade Reims - PSG (0-3)]]
📖: [[The Kite Runner]]
🍽: [[Indian Buttered Chicken]]
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### :link: Linked activity
&emsp;
```dataview
Table from [[2023-11-11]]
```
&emsp;
&emsp;

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00.01 Admin/Calendars/2023-11-12.md
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---
title: "🗒 Daily Note"
allDay: true
date: 2023-11-12
Date: 2023-11-12
DocType: Note
Hierarchy:
TimeStamp:
location:
CollapseMetaTable: true
Sleep: 8
Happiness: 85
Gratefulness: 90
Stress: 25
FrontHeadBar: 5
EarHeadBar: 30
BackHeadBar: 20
Water: 3.25
Coffee: 3
Steps: 12736
Weight:
Ski:
IceSkating:
Riding:
Racket:
Football:
Swim:
---
%% Parent:: [[@Life Admin]] %%
---
[[2023-11-11|<< 🗓 Previous ]] &emsp; &emsp; &emsp; [[@Main Dashboard|Back]] &emsp; &emsp; &emsp; [[2023-11-13|🗓 Next >>]]
---
&emsp;
```button
name Record today's health
type command
action MetaEdit: Run MetaEdit
id EditMetaData
```
^button-2023-11-12Edit
```button
name Save
type command
action Save current file
id Save
```
^button-2023-11-12NSave
&emsp;
# 2023-11-12
&emsp;
> [!summary]+
> Daily note for 2023-11-12
&emsp;
```toc
style: number
```
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### ✅ Tasks of the day
&emsp;
```tasks
not done
due on 2023-11-12
path does not include Templates
hide backlinks
hide task count
```
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 📝 Memos
&emsp;
This section does serve for quick memos.
&emsp;
%% --- %%
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 🗒 Notes
&emsp;
📖: [[The Kite Runner]], [[Martin Eden]]
🍽: [[Chicken Schnitzel]]
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### :link: Linked activity
&emsp;
```dataview
Table from [[2023-11-12]]
```
&emsp;
&emsp;

136
00.01 Admin/Calendars/2023-11-13.md
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---
title: "🗒 Daily Note"
allDay: true
date: 2023-11-13
Date: 2023-11-13
DocType: Note
Hierarchy:
TimeStamp:
location:
CollapseMetaTable: true
Sleep: 8
Happiness: 85
Gratefulness: 90
Stress: 25
FrontHeadBar: 5
EarHeadBar: 30
BackHeadBar: 20
Water: 34
Coffee: 5
Steps: 15627
Weight:
Ski:
IceSkating:
Riding:
Racket:
Football:
Swim:
---
%% Parent:: [[@Life Admin]] %%
---
[[2023-11-12|<< 🗓 Previous ]] &emsp; &emsp; &emsp; [[@Main Dashboard|Back]] &emsp; &emsp; &emsp; [[2023-11-14|🗓 Next >>]]
---
&emsp;
```button
name Record today's health
type command
action MetaEdit: Run MetaEdit
id EditMetaData
```
^button-2023-11-13Edit
```button
name Save
type command
action Save current file
id Save
```
^button-2023-11-13NSave
&emsp;
# 2023-11-13
&emsp;
> [!summary]+
> Daily note for 2023-11-13
&emsp;
```toc
style: number
```
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### ✅ Tasks of the day
&emsp;
```tasks
not done
due on 2023-11-13
path does not include Templates
hide backlinks
hide task count
```
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 📝 Memos
&emsp;
This section does serve for quick memos.
&emsp;
%% --- %%
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 🗒 Notes
&emsp;
🍽: [[Indian Buttered Chicken]]
📺: [[Gangs of London (2020–)]]
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### :link: Linked activity
&emsp;
```dataview
Table from [[2023-11-13]]
```
&emsp;
&emsp;

136
00.01 Admin/Calendars/2023-11-14.md
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@ -0,0 +1,136 @@
---
title: "🗒 Daily Note"
allDay: true
date: 2023-11-14
Date: 2023-11-14
DocType: "Note"
Hierarchy:
TimeStamp:
location:
CollapseMetaTable: true
Sleep: 7.5
Happiness: 85
Gratefulness: 90
Stress: 25
FrontHeadBar: 5
EarHeadBar: 30
BackHeadBar: 20
Water: 2.5
Coffee: 4
Steps: 13168
Weight: 91
Ski:
IceSkating:
Riding:
Racket:
Football:
Swim:
---
%% Parent:: [[@Life Admin]] %%
---
[[2023-11-13|<< 🗓 Previous ]] &emsp; &emsp; &emsp; [[@Main Dashboard|Back]] &emsp; &emsp; &emsp; [[2023-11-15|🗓 Next >>]]
---
&emsp;
```button
name Record today's health
type command
action MetaEdit: Run MetaEdit
id EditMetaData
```
^button-2023-11-14Edit
```button
name Save
type command
action Save current file
id Save
```
^button-2023-11-14NSave
&emsp;
# 2023-11-14
&emsp;
> [!summary]+
> Daily note for 2023-11-14
&emsp;
```toc
style: number
```
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### ✅ Tasks of the day
&emsp;
```tasks
not done
due on 2023-11-14
path does not include Templates
hide backlinks
hide task count
```
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 📝 Memos
&emsp;
This section does serve for quick memos.
&emsp;
%% --- %%
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 🗒 Notes
&emsp;
🍽: [[Udon in Buttery Tomato n Soy broth]]
📺: [[Gangs of London (2020–)]]
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### :link: Linked activity
&emsp;
```dataview
Table from [[2023-11-14]]
```
&emsp;
&emsp;

136
00.01 Admin/Calendars/2023-11-15.md
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@ -0,0 +1,136 @@
---
title: "🗒 Daily Note"
allDay: true
date: 2023-11-15
Date: 2023-11-15
DocType: Note
Hierarchy:
TimeStamp:
location:
CollapseMetaTable: true
Sleep: 7.5
Happiness: 85
Gratefulness: 90
Stress: 25
FrontHeadBar: 5
EarHeadBar: 30
BackHeadBar: 20
Water: 3.5
Coffee: 3
Steps: 11959
Weight:
Ski:
IceSkating:
Riding:
Racket:
Football:
Swim:
---
%% Parent:: [[@Life Admin]] %%
---
[[2023-11-14|<< 🗓 Previous ]] &emsp; &emsp; &emsp; [[@Main Dashboard|Back]] &emsp; &emsp; &emsp; [[2023-11-16|🗓 Next >>]]
---
&emsp;
```button
name Record today's health
type command
action MetaEdit: Run MetaEdit
id EditMetaData
```
^button-2023-11-15Edit
```button
name Save
type command
action Save current file
id Save
```
^button-2023-11-15NSave
&emsp;
# 2023-11-15
&emsp;
> [!summary]+
> Daily note for 2023-11-15
&emsp;
```toc
style: number
```
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### ✅ Tasks of the day
&emsp;
```tasks
not done
due on 2023-11-15
path does not include Templates
hide backlinks
hide task count
```
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 📝 Memos
&emsp;
This section does serve for quick memos.
&emsp;
%% --- %%
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 🗒 Notes
&emsp;
🍴: [[Korean Barbecue-Style Meatballs]]
📺: [[Gangs of London (2020–)]]
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### :link: Linked activity
&emsp;
```dataview
Table from [[2023-11-15]]
```
&emsp;
&emsp;

136
00.01 Admin/Calendars/2023-11-16.md
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---
title: "🗒 Daily Note"
allDay: true
date: 2023-11-16
Date: 2023-11-16
DocType: Note
Hierarchy:
TimeStamp:
location:
CollapseMetaTable: true
Sleep: 6.5
Happiness: 85
Gratefulness: 90
Stress: 25
FrontHeadBar: 5
EarHeadBar: 30
BackHeadBar: 20
Water: 3
Coffee: 4
Steps: 11556
Weight:
Ski:
IceSkating:
Riding:
Racket:
Football:
Swim:
---
%% Parent:: [[@Life Admin]] %%
---
[[2023-11-15|<< 🗓 Previous ]] &emsp; &emsp; &emsp; [[@Main Dashboard|Back]] &emsp; &emsp; &emsp; [[2023-11-17|🗓 Next >>]]
---
&emsp;
```button
name Record today's health
type command
action MetaEdit: Run MetaEdit
id EditMetaData
```
^button-2023-11-16Edit
```button
name Save
type command
action Save current file
id Save
```
^button-2023-11-16NSave
&emsp;
# 2023-11-16
&emsp;
> [!summary]+
> Daily note for 2023-11-16
&emsp;
```toc
style: number
```
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### ✅ Tasks of the day
&emsp;
```tasks
not done
due on 2023-11-16
path does not include Templates
hide backlinks
hide task count
```
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 📝 Memos
&emsp;
This section does serve for quick memos.
&emsp;
%% --- %%
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 🗒 Notes
&emsp;
🍽: [[Spicy Szechuan Noodles with Garlic Chilli Oil]]
📺: [[The Quick and the Dead (1995)]]
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### :link: Linked activity
&emsp;
```dataview
Table from [[2023-11-16]]
```
&emsp;
&emsp;

136
00.01 Admin/Calendars/2023-11-17.md
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@ -0,0 +1,136 @@
---
title: "🗒 Daily Note"
allDay: true
date: 2023-11-17
Date: 2023-11-17
DocType: Note
Hierarchy:
TimeStamp:
location:
CollapseMetaTable: true
Sleep: 7.5
Happiness: 85
Gratefulness: 90
Stress: 25
FrontHeadBar: 5
EarHeadBar: 30
BackHeadBar: 20
Water: 3.5
Coffee: 5
Steps: 18797
Weight:
Ski:
IceSkating:
Riding:
Racket:
Football:
Swim:
---
%% Parent:: [[@Life Admin]] %%
---
[[2023-11-16|<< 🗓 Previous ]] &emsp; &emsp; &emsp; [[@Main Dashboard|Back]] &emsp; &emsp; &emsp; [[2023-11-18|🗓 Next >>]]
---
&emsp;
```button
name Record today's health
type command
action MetaEdit: Run MetaEdit
id EditMetaData
```
^button-2023-11-17Edit
```button
name Save
type command
action Save current file
id Save
```
^button-2023-11-17NSave
&emsp;
# 2023-11-17
&emsp;
> [!summary]+
> Daily note for 2023-11-17
&emsp;
```toc
style: number
```
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### ✅ Tasks of the day
&emsp;
```tasks
not done
due on 2023-11-17
path does not include Templates
hide backlinks
hide task count
```
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 📝 Memos
&emsp;
This section does serve for quick memos.
&emsp;
%% --- %%
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 🗒 Notes
&emsp;
🍴: [[Korean Barbecue-Style Meatballs]]
📺: [[November (2022)]]
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### :link: Linked activity
&emsp;
```dataview
Table from [[2023-11-17]]
```
&emsp;
&emsp;

138
00.01 Admin/Calendars/2023-11-18.md
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@ -0,0 +1,138 @@
---
title: "🗒 Daily Note"
allDay: true
date: 2023-11-18
Date: 2023-11-18
DocType: Note
Hierarchy:
TimeStamp:
location:
CollapseMetaTable: true
Sleep: 7
Happiness: 85
Gratefulness: 90
Stress: 25
FrontHeadBar: 5
EarHeadBar: 30
BackHeadBar: 20
Water: 4.83
Coffee: 3
Steps: 19259
Weight:
Ski:
IceSkating:
Riding:
Racket:
Football:
Swim:
---
%% Parent:: [[@Life Admin]] %%
---
[[2023-11-17|<< 🗓 Previous ]] &emsp; &emsp; &emsp; [[@Main Dashboard|Back]] &emsp; &emsp; &emsp; [[2023-11-19|🗓 Next >>]]
---
&emsp;
```button
name Record today's health
type command
action MetaEdit: Run MetaEdit
id EditMetaData
```
^button-2023-11-18Edit
```button
name Save
type command
action Save current file
id Save
```
^button-2023-11-18NSave
&emsp;
# 2023-11-18
&emsp;
> [!summary]+
> Daily note for 2023-11-18
&emsp;
```toc
style: number
```
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### ✅ Tasks of the day
&emsp;
```tasks
not done
due on 2023-11-18
path does not include Templates
hide backlinks
hide task count
```
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 📝 Memos
&emsp;
This section does serve for quick memos.
&emsp;
%% --- %%
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 🗒 Notes
&emsp;
📺: [[Savage Nights (1992)]]
🚆: [[@@Zürich|Zürich]] to [[@@Paris|Paris]]
🍽: [[Sürpriz]]
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### :link: Linked activity
&emsp;
```dataview
Table from [[2023-11-18]]
```
&emsp;
&emsp;

134
00.01 Admin/Calendars/2023-11-19.md
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@ -0,0 +1,134 @@
---
title: "🗒 Daily Note"
allDay: true
date: 2023-11-19
Date: 2023-11-19
DocType: Note
Hierarchy:
TimeStamp:
location:
CollapseMetaTable: true
Sleep: 7.5
Happiness: 85
Gratefulness: 90
Stress: 25
FrontHeadBar: 5
EarHeadBar: 30
BackHeadBar: 20
Water: 0.58
Coffee: 2
Steps:
Weight:
Ski:
IceSkating:
Riding:
Racket:
Football:
Swim:
---
%% Parent:: [[@Life Admin]] %%
---
[[2023-11-18|<< 🗓 Previous ]] &emsp; &emsp; &emsp; [[@Main Dashboard|Back]] &emsp; &emsp; &emsp; [[2023-11-20|🗓 Next >>]]
---
&emsp;
```button
name Record today's health
type command
action MetaEdit: Run MetaEdit
id EditMetaData
```
^button-2023-11-19Edit
```button
name Save
type command
action Save current file
id Save
```
^button-2023-11-19NSave
&emsp;
# 2023-11-19
&emsp;
> [!summary]+
> Daily note for 2023-11-19
&emsp;
```toc
style: number
```
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### ✅ Tasks of the day
&emsp;
```tasks
not done
due on 2023-11-19
path does not include Templates
hide backlinks
hide task count
```
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 📝 Memos
&emsp;
This section does serve for quick memos.
&emsp;
%% --- %%
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 🗒 Notes
&emsp;
📖: [[Consent]]
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### :link: Linked activity
&emsp;
```dataview
Table from [[2023-11-19]]
```
&emsp;
&emsp;

6
00.01 Admin/Calendars/Events/2023-11-07 ⚽️ AC Milan - PSG.md → 00.01 Admin/Calendars/Events/2023-11-07 ⚽️ AC Milan - PSG (2-1).md
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@ -1,5 +1,5 @@
---
title: ⚽️ AC Milan - PSG
title: ⚽️ AC Milan - PSG (2-1)
allDay: false
startTime: 21:00
endTime: 23:00
@ -7,5 +7,5 @@ date: 2023-11-07
completed: null
---
[[2023-11-07|Ce jour]], AC [[Milan]] - [[Paris SG|Paris Saint Germain]]:
Buteurs::
[[2023-11-07|Ce jour]], AC [[Milan]] - [[Paris SG|Paris Saint Germain]]: 2-1
Buteurs:: ⚽️ Rafael Leão(ACM)<br>⚽️ Giroud (ACM)<br>⚽️ Skriniar

11
00.01 Admin/Calendars/Events/2023-11-11 ⚽️ Stade Reims - PSG (0-3).md
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@ -0,0 +1,11 @@
---
title: ⚽️ Stade Reims - PSG (0-3)
allDay: false
startTime: 17:00
endTime: 19:00
date: 2023-11-11
completed: null
---
[[2023-11-11|Cet après-midi]], Stade de Reims - [[Paris SG]]: 0-3
Buteurs:: ⚽️⚽️⚽️ M’Bappé

22
00.01 Admin/Calendars/Events/2024-06-08 💍 Mariage Rémi & Séverine.md
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@ -0,0 +1,22 @@
---
title: 💍 Mariage Rémi & Séverine
allDay: true
date: 2024-06-08
completed: null
CollapseMetaTable: true
---
[[2024-06-08|Ce jour]], mariage de Rémi & Séverine
Contacts:
🏠
1C Carmalt Gardens
Londres SW15 6NE
📞
06 98 11 94 17
📧
severine.remi.2024@gmail.com

86
00.02 Inbox/Lolita.md
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@ -0,0 +1,86 @@
---
Tag: [""]
Date: 2023-11-19
DocType: "Source"
Hierarchy: "NonRoot"
TimeStamp:
location:
Source:
Type: "Book"
Author: Vladimir Nabokov
Language:
Published: 2010-08-24
Link:
Read:
Cover: http://books.google.com/books/content?id=utvB0I_0SZsC&printsec=frontcover&img=1&zoom=1&edge=curl&source=gbs_api
CollapseMetaTable: true
---
Parent:: [[@Reading master|Reading list]]
ReadingState:: 🟥
---
&emsp;
```button
name Edit Source parameters
type command
action MetaEdit: Run MetaEdit
id EditMetaData
```
^button-SourceEdit
```button
name Save
type command
action Save current file
id Save
```
^button-TNSave
&emsp;
# Lolita
&emsp;
> [!summary]+
>
&emsp;
```toc
style: number
```
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### Cover
&emsp;
```dataviewjs
dv.el("span", "![](" + dv.current().Source.Cover + ")")
```
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### Notes
&emsp;
Loret ipsum
&emsp;
&emsp;

2
00.02 Inbox/Martin Eden.md
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@ -19,7 +19,7 @@ CollapseMetaTable: true
---
Parent:: [[@Reading master|Reading list]]
ReadingState:: 🟥
ReadingState:: 🟧
---

119
00.03 News/A Coder Considers the Waning Days of the Craft.md
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@ -0,0 +1,119 @@
---
Tag: ["📟", "🌐", "🧑‍💻"]
Date: 2023-11-19
DocType: "WebClipping"
Hierarchy:
TimeStamp: 2023-11-19
Link: https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2023/11/20/a-coder-considers-the-waning-days-of-the-craft
location:
CollapseMetaTable: true
---
Parent:: [[@News|News]]
Read:: 🟥
---
&emsp;
```button
name Save
type command
action Save current file
id Save
```
^button-ACoderConsiderstheWaningDaysoftheCraftNSave
&emsp;
# A Coder Considers the Waning Days of the Craft
I have always taken it for granted that, just as my parents made sure that I could read and write, I would make sure that my kids could program computers. It is among the newer arts but also among the most essential, and ever more so by the day, encompassing everything from filmmaking to physics. Fluency with code would round out my children’s literacy—and keep them employable. But as I write this my wife is pregnant with our first child, due in about three weeks. I code professionally, but, by the time that child can type, coding as a valuable skill might have faded from the world.
I first began to believe this on a Friday morning this past summer, while working on a small hobby project. A few months back, my friend Ben and I had resolved to create a *Times*\-style crossword puzzle entirely by computer. In 2018, we’d made a Saturday puzzle with the help of software and were surprised by how little we contributed—just applying our taste here and there. Now we would attempt to build a crossword-making program that didn’t require a human touch.
When we’ve taken on projects like this in the past, they’ve had both a hardware component and a software component, with Ben’s strengths running toward the former. We once made a neon sign that would glow when the subway was approaching the stop near our apartments. Ben bent the glass and wired up the transformer’s circuit board. I wrote code to process the transit data. Ben has some professional coding experience of his own, but it was brief, shallow, and now about twenty years out of date; the serious coding was left to me. For the new crossword project, though, Ben had introduced a third party. He’d signed up for a ChatGPT Plus subscription and was using GPT-4 as a coding assistant.
Something strange started happening. Ben and I would talk about a bit of software we wanted for the project. Then, a shockingly short time later, Ben would deliver it himself. At one point, we wanted a command that would print a hundred random lines from a dictionary file. I thought about the problem for a few minutes, and, when thinking failed, tried Googling. I made some false starts using what I could gather, and while I did my thing—programming—Ben told GPT-4 what he wanted and got code that ran perfectly.
Fine: commands like those are notoriously fussy, and everybody looks them up anyway. It’s not real programming. A few days later, Ben talked about how it would be nice to have an iPhone app to rate words from the dictionary. But he had no idea what a pain it is to make an iPhone app. I’d tried a few times and never got beyond something that half worked. I found Apple’s programming environment forbidding. You had to learn not just a new language but a new program for editing and running code; you had to learn a zoo of “U.I. components” and all the complicated ways of stitching them together; and, finally, you had to figure out how to package the app. The mountain of new things to learn never seemed worth it. The next morning, I woke up to an app in my in-box that did exactly what Ben had said he wanted. It worked perfectly, and even had a cute design. Ben said that he’d made it in a few hours. GPT-4 had done most of the heavy lifting.
By now, most people have had experiences with A.I. Not everyone has been impressed. Ben recently said, “I didn’t start really respecting it until I started having it write code for me.” I suspect that non-programmers who are skeptical by nature, and who have seen ChatGPT turn out wooden prose or bogus facts, are still underestimating what’s happening.
Bodies of knowledge and skills that have traditionally taken lifetimes to master are being swallowed at a gulp. Coding has always felt to me like an endlessly deep and rich domain. Now I find myself wanting to write a eulogy for it. I keep thinking of Lee Sedol. Sedol was one of the world’s best Go players, and a national hero in South Korea, but is now best known for losing, in 2016, to a computer program called AlphaGo. Sedol had walked into the competition believing that he would easily defeat the A.I. By the end of the days-long match, he was proud of having eked out a single game. As it became clear that he was going to lose, Sedol said, in a press conference, “I want to apologize for being so powerless.” He retired three years later. Sedol seemed weighed down by a question that has started to feel familiar, and urgent: What will become of this thing I’ve given so much of my life to?
My first enchantment with computers came when I was about six years old, in Montreal in the early nineties, playing Mortal Kombat with my oldest brother. He told me about some “fatalities”—gruesome, witty ways of killing your opponent. Neither of us knew how to inflict them. He dialled up an FTP server (where files were stored) in an MS-DOS terminal and typed obscure commands. Soon, he had printed out a page of codes—instructions for every fatality in the game. We went back to the basement and exploded each other’s heads.
I thought that my brother was a hacker. Like many programmers, I dreamed of breaking into and controlling remote systems. The point wasn’t to cause mayhem—it was to find hidden places and learn hidden things. “My crime is that of curiosity,” goes “The Hacker’s Manifesto,” written in 1986 by Loyd Blankenship. My favorite scene from the 1995 movie “Hackers” is when Dade Murphy, a newcomer, proves himself at an underground club. Someone starts pulling a rainbow of computer books out of a backpack, and Dade recognizes each one from the cover: the green book on international Unix environments; the red one on N.S.A.-trusted networks; the one with the pink-shirted guy on I.B.M. PCs. Dade puts his expertise to use when he turns on the sprinkler system at school, and helps right the ballast of an oil tanker—all by tap-tapping away at a keyboard. The lesson was that knowledge is power.
But how do you actually learn to hack? My family had settled in New Jersey by the time I was in fifth grade, and when I was in high school I went to the Borders bookstore in the Short Hills mall and bought “Beginning Visual C++,” by Ivor Horton. It ran to twelve hundred pages—my first grimoire. Like many tutorials, it was easy at first and then, suddenly, it wasn’t. Medieval students called the moment at which casual learners fail the *pons asinorum*, or “bridge of asses.” The term was inspired by Proposition 5 of Euclid’s Elements I, the first truly difficult idea in the book. Those who crossed the bridge would go on to master geometry; those who didn’t would remain dabblers. Section 4.3 of “Beginning Visual C++,” on “Dynamic Memory Allocation,” was my bridge of asses. I did not cross.
But neither did I drop the subject. I remember the moment things began to turn. I was on a long-haul flight, and I’d brought along a boxy black laptop and a CD-*ROM* with the Borland C++ compiler. A compiler translates code you write into code that the machine can run; I had been struggling for days to get this one to work. By convention, every coder’s first program does nothing but generate the words “Hello, world.” When I tried to run my version, I just got angry error messages. Whenever I fixed one problem, another cropped up. I had read the “Harry Potter” books and felt as if I were in possession of a broom but had not yet learned the incantation to make it fly. Knowing what might be possible if I did, I kept at it with single-minded devotion. What I learned was that programming is not really about knowledge or skill but simply about patience, or maybe obsession. Programmers are people who can endure an endless parade of tedious obstacles. Imagine explaining to a simpleton how to assemble furniture over the phone, with no pictures, in a language you barely speak. Imagine, too, that the only response you ever get is that you’ve suggested an absurdity and the whole thing has gone awry. All the sweeter, then, when you manage to get something assembled. I have a distinct memory of lying on my stomach in the airplane aisle, and then hitting Enter one last time. I sat up. The computer, for once, had done what I’d told it to do. The words “Hello, world” appeared above my cursor, now in the computer’s own voice. It seemed as if an intelligence had woken up and introduced itself to me.
Most of us never became the kind of hackers depicted in “Hackers.” To “hack,” in the parlance of a programmer, is just to tinker—to express ingenuity through code. I never formally studied programming; I just kept messing around, making computers do helpful or delightful little things. In my freshman year of college, I knew that I’d be on the road during the third round of the 2006 Masters Tournament, when Tiger Woods was moving up the field, and I wanted to know what was happening in real time. So I made a program that scraped the leaderboard on pgatour.com and sent me a text message anytime he birdied or bogeyed. Later, after reading “Ulysses” in an English class, I wrote a program that pulled random sentences from the book, counted their syllables, and assembled haikus—a more primitive regurgitation of language than you’d get from a chatbot these days, but nonetheless capable, I thought, of real poetry:
> I’ll flay him alive
> Uncertainly he waited
> Heavy of the past
I began taking coding seriously. I offered to do programming for a friend’s startup. The world of computing, I came to learn, is vast but organized almost geologically, as if deposited in layers. From the Web browser down to the transistor, each sub-area or system is built atop some other, older sub-area or system, the layers dense but legible. The more one digs, the more one develops what the race-car driver Jackie Stewart called “mechanical sympathy,” a sense for the machine’s strengths and limits, of what one could make it do.
At my friend’s company, I felt my mechanical sympathy developing. In my sophomore year, I was watching “Jeopardy!” with a friend when he suggested that I make a playable version of the show. I thought about it for a few hours before deciding, with much disappointment, that it was beyond me. But when the idea came up again, in my junior year, I could see a way through it. I now had a better sense of what one could do with the machine. I spent the next fourteen hours building the game. Within weeks, playing “Jimbo Jeopardy!” had become a regular activity among my friends. The experience was profound. I could understand why people poured their lives into craft: there is nothing quite like watching someone enjoy a thing you’ve made.
In the midst of all this, I had gone full “Paper Chase” and begun ignoring my grades. I worked voraciously, just not on my coursework. One night, I took over a half-dozen machines in a basement computer lab to run a program in parallel. I laid printouts full of numbers across the floor, thinking through a pathfinding algorithm. The cost was that I experienced for real that recurring nightmare in which you show up for a final exam knowing nothing of the material. (Mine was in Real Analysis, in the math department.) In 2009, during the most severe financial crisis in decades, I graduated with a 2.9 G.P.A.
And yet I got my first full-time job easily. I had work experience as a programmer; nobody asked about my grades. For the young coder, these were boom times. Companies were getting into bidding wars over top programmers. Solicitations for experienced programmers were so aggressive that they complained about “recruiter spam.” The popularity of university computer-science programs was starting to explode. (My degree was in economics.) Coding “boot camps” sprang up that could credibly claim to turn beginners into high-salaried programmers in less than a year. At one of my first job interviews, in my early twenties, the C.E.O. asked how much I thought I deserved to get paid. I dared to name a number that faintly embarrassed me. He drew up a contract on the spot, offering ten per cent more. The skills of a “software engineer” were vaunted. At one company where I worked, someone got in trouble for using HipChat, a predecessor to Slack, to ask one of my colleagues a question. “Never HipChat an engineer directly,” he was told. We were too important for that.
This was an era of near-zero interest rates and extraordinary tech-sector growth. Certain norms were established. Companies like Google taught the industry that coders were to have free espresso and catered hot food, world-class health care and parental leave, on-site gyms and bike rooms, a casual dress code, and “twenty-per-cent time,” meaning that they could devote one day a week to working on whatever they pleased. Their skills were considered so crucial and delicate that a kind of superstition developed around the work. For instance, it was considered foolish to estimate how long a coding task might take, since at any moment the programmer might turn over a rock and discover a tangle of bugs. Deadlines were anathema. If the pressure to deliver ever got too intense, a coder needed only to speak the word “burnout” to buy a few months.
From the beginning, I had the sense that there was something wrongheaded in all this. Was what we did really so precious? How long could the boom last? In my teens, I had done a little Web design, and, at the time, that work had been in demand and highly esteemed. You could earn thousands of dollars for a project that took a weekend. But along came tools like Squarespace, which allowed pizzeria owners and freelance artists to make their own Web sites just by clicking around. For professional coders, a tranche of high-paying, relatively low-effort work disappeared.
[](https://www.newyorker.com/cartoon/a27287)
“I should have known he has absolutely no morals—I’ve seen how he loads a dishwasher.”
Cartoon by Hartley Lin
The response from the programmer community to these developments was just, Yeah, you have to keep levelling up your skills. Learn difficult, obscure things. Software engineers, as a species, love automation. Inevitably, the best of them build tools that make other kinds of work obsolete. This very instinct explained why we were so well taken care of: code had immense leverage. One piece of software could affect the work of millions of people. Naturally, this sometimes displaced programmers themselves. We were to think of these advances as a tide coming in, nipping at our bare feet. So long as we kept learning we would stay dry. Sound advice—until there’s a tsunami.
When we were first allowed to use A.I. chatbots at work, for programming assistance, I studiously avoided them. I expected that my colleagues would, too. But soon I started seeing the telltale colors of an A.I. chat session—the zebra pattern of call-and-response—on programmers’ screens as I walked to my desk. A common refrain was that these tools made you more productive; in some cases, they helped you solve problems ten times faster.
I wasn’t sure I wanted that. I enjoy the act of programming and I like to feel useful. The tools I’m familiar with, like the text editor I use to format and to browse code, serve both ends. They enhance my practice of the craft—and, though they allow me to deliver work faster, I still feel that I deserve the credit. But A.I., as it was being described, seemed different. It provided a *lot* of help. I worried that it would rob me of both the joy of working on puzzles and the satisfaction of being the one who solved them. I could be infinitely productive, and all I’d have to show for it would be the products themselves.
The actual work product of most programmers is rarely exciting. In fact, it tends to be almost comically humdrum. A few months ago, I came home from the office and told my wife about what a great day I’d had wrestling a particularly fun problem. I was working on a program that generated a table, and someone had wanted to add a header that spanned more than one column—something that the custom layout engine we’d written didn’t support. The work was urgent: these tables were being used in important documents, wanted by important people. So I sequestered myself in a room for the better part of the afternoon. There were lots of lovely sub-problems: How should I allow users of the layout engine to convey that they want a column-spanning header? What should *their* code look like? And there were fiddly details that, if ignored, would cause bugs. For instance, what if one of the columns that the header was supposed to span got dropped because it didn’t have any data? I knew it was a good day because I had to pull out pen and pad—I was drawing out possible scenarios, checking and double-checking my logic.
But taking a bird’s-eye view of what happened that day? A table got a new header. It’s hard to imagine anything more mundane. For me, the pleasure was entirely in the process, not the product. And what would become of the process if it required nothing more than a three-minute ChatGPT session? Yes, our jobs as programmers involve many things besides literally writing code, such as coaching junior hires and designing systems at a high level. But coding has always been the root of it. Throughout my career, I have been interviewed and selected precisely for my ability to solve fiddly little programming puzzles. Suddenly, this ability was less important.
I had gathered as much from Ben, who kept telling me about the spectacular successes he’d been having with GPT-4. It turned out that it was not only good at the fiddly stuff but also had the qualities of a senior engineer: from a deep well of knowledge, it could suggest ways of approaching a problem. For one project, Ben had wired a small speaker and a red L.E.D. light bulb into the frame of a portrait of King Charles, the light standing in for the gem in his crown; the idea was that when you entered a message on an accompanying Web site the speaker would play a tune and the light would flash out the message in Morse code. (This was a gift for an eccentric British expat.) Programming the device to fetch new messages eluded Ben; it seemed to require specialized knowledge not just of the microcontroller he was using but of Firebase, the back-end server technology that stored the messages. Ben asked me for advice, and I mumbled a few possibilities; in truth, I wasn’t sure that what he wanted would be possible. Then he asked GPT-4. It told Ben that Firebase had a capability that would make the project much simpler. Here it was—and here was some code to use that would be compatible with the microcontroller.
Afraid to use GPT-4 myself—and feeling somewhat unclean about the prospect of paying OpenAI twenty dollars a month for it—I nonetheless started probing its capabilities, via Ben. We’d sit down to work on our crossword project, and I’d say, “Why don’t you try prompting it this way?” He’d offer me the keyboard. “No, you drive,” I’d say. Together, we developed a sense of what the A.I. could do. Ben, who had more experience with it than I did, seemed able to get more out of it in a stroke. As he later put it, his own neural network had begun to align with GPT-4’s. I would have said that he had achieved mechanical sympathy. Once, in a feat I found particularly astonishing, he had the A.I. build him a Snake game, like the one on old Nokia phones. But then, after a brief exchange with GPT-4, he got it to modify the game so that when you lost it would show you how far you strayed from the most efficient route. It took the bot about ten seconds to achieve this. It was a task that, frankly, I was not sure I could do myself.
In chess, which for decades now has been dominated by A.I., a player’s only hope is pairing up with a bot. Such half-human, half-A.I. teams, known as centaurs, might still be able to beat the best humans and the best A.I. engines working alone. Programming has not yet gone the way of chess. But the centaurs have arrived. GPT-4 on its own is, for the moment, a worse programmer than I am. Ben is much worse. But Ben plus GPT-4 is a dangerous thing.
It wasn’t long before I caved. I was making a little search tool at work and wanted to highlight the parts of the user’s query that matched the results. But I was splitting up the query by words in a way that made things much more complicated. I found myself short on patience. I started thinking about GPT-4. Perhaps instead of spending an afternoon programming I could spend some time “prompting,” or having a conversation with an A.I.
In a 1978 essay titled “On the Foolishness of ‘Natural Language Programming,’ ” the computer scientist Edsger W. Dijkstra argued that if you were to instruct computers not in a specialized language like C++ or Python but in your native tongue you’d be rejecting the very precision that made computers useful. Formal programming languages, he wrote, are “an amazingly effective tool for ruling out all sorts of nonsense that, when we use our native tongues, are almost impossible to avoid.” Dijkstra’s argument became a truism in programming circles. When the essay made the rounds on Reddit in 2014, a top commenter wrote, “I’m not sure which of the following is scariest. Just how trivially obvious this idea is” or the fact that “many still do not know it.”
When I first used GPT-4, I could see what Dijkstra was talking about. You can’t just say to the A.I., “Solve my problem.” That day may come, but for now it is more like an instrument you must learn to play. You have to specify what you want carefully, as though talking to a beginner. In the search-highlighting problem, I found myself asking GPT-4 to do too much at once, watching it fail, and then starting over. Each time, my prompts became less ambitious. By the end of the conversation, I wasn’t talking about search or highlighting; I had broken the problem into specific, abstract, unambiguous sub-problems that, together, would give me what I wanted.
Having found the A.I.’s level, I felt almost instantly that my working life had been transformed. Everywhere I looked I could see GPT-4-size holes; I understood, finally, why the screens around the office were always filled with chat sessions—and how Ben had become so productive. I opened myself up to trying it more often.
I returned to the crossword project. Our puzzle generator printed its output in an ugly text format, with lines like `"s""c""a""r""*""k""u""n""i""s""*" "a""r""e""a"`. I wanted to turn output like that into a pretty Web page that allowed me to explore the words in the grid, showing scoring information at a glance. But I knew the task would be tricky: each letter had to be tagged with the words it belonged to, both the across and the down. This was a detailed problem, one that could easily consume the better part of an evening. With the baby on the way, I was short on free evenings. So I began a conversation with GPT-4. Some back-and-forth was required; at one point, I had to read a few lines of code myself to understand what it was doing. But I did little of the kind of thinking I once believed to be constitutive of coding. I didn’t think about numbers, patterns, or loops; I didn’t use my mind to simulate the activity of the computer. As another coder, Geoffrey Litt, wrote after a similar experience, “I never engaged my detailed programmer brain.” So what *did* I do?
Perhaps what pushed Lee Sedol to retire from the game of Go was the sense that the game had been forever cheapened. When I got into programming, it was because computers felt like a form of magic. The machine gave you powers but required you to study its arcane secrets—to learn a spell language. This took a particular cast of mind. I felt selected. I devoted myself to tedium, to careful thinking, and to the accumulation of obscure knowledge. Then, one day, it became possible to achieve many of the same ends without the thinking and without the knowledge. Looked at in a certain light, this can make quite a lot of one’s working life seem like a waste of time.
But whenever I think about Sedol I think about chess. After machines conquered that game, some thirty years ago, the fear was that there would be no reason to play it anymore. Yet chess has never been more popular—A.I. has enlivened the game. A friend of mine picked it up recently. At all hours, he has access to an A.I. coach that can feed him chess problems just at the edge of his ability and can tell him, after he’s lost a game, exactly where he went wrong. Meanwhile, at the highest levels, grandmasters study moves the computer proposes as if reading tablets from the gods. Learning chess has never been easier; studying its deepest secrets has never been more exciting.
Computing is not yet overcome. GPT-4 is impressive, but a layperson can’t wield it the way a programmer can. I still feel secure in my profession. In fact, I feel somewhat more secure than before. As software gets easier to make, it’ll proliferate; programmers will be tasked with its design, its configuration, and its maintenance. And though I’ve always found the fiddly parts of programming the most calming, and the most essential, I’m not especially good at them. I’ve failed many classic coding interview tests of the kind you find at Big Tech companies. The thing I’m relatively good at is knowing what’s worth building, what users like, how to communicate both technically and humanely. A friend of mine has called this A.I. moment “the revenge of the so-so programmer.” As coding per se begins to matter less, maybe softer skills will shine.
That still leaves open the matter of what to teach my unborn child. I suspect that, as my child comes of age, we will think of “the programmer” the way we now look back on “the computer,” when that phrase referred to a person who did calculations by hand. Programming by typing C++ or Python yourself might eventually seem as ridiculous as issuing instructions in binary onto a punch card. Dijkstra would be appalled, but getting computers to do precisely what you want might become a matter of asking politely.
So maybe the thing to teach isn’t a skill but a spirit. I sometimes think of what I might have been doing had I been born in a different time. The coders of the agrarian days probably futzed with waterwheels and crop varietals; in the Newtonian era, they might have been obsessed with glass, and dyes, and timekeeping. I was reading an oral history of neural networks recently, and it struck me how many of the people interviewed—people born in and around the nineteen-thirties—had played with radios when they were little. Maybe the next cohort will spend their late nights in the guts of the A.I.s their parents once regarded as black boxes. I shouldn’t worry that the era of coding is winding down. Hacking is forever. ♦
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```button
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# A School of Their Own
![](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5a238ba10abd049ac5f4f02c/295efa1c-225b-4470-b3ce-ab96bd203bea/School+of+Their+Own_Cover.png)
## Fed up with her job and marriage, a mother walks out on her life and enrolls at her daughter’s college. when an unexpected threat arises, she will have to summon the power to stand up and fight the man.
![](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5a238ba10abd049ac5f4f02c/16759fe1-c340-4799-8597-2d3c3a226cef/School2.png)
**SHARON SNOW** was nearly 50 years old and a mother of three when she dropped off her youngest daughter, Elizabeth, at Texas Woman’s University in the fall of 1993. As she looked out across the rolling green campus in north Texas, with its famous redbud tree-lined walkways and red-brick buildings, she couldn’t help but note the difference between TWU and the other (co-ed) schools her older daughters had decided to attend. The tour guides remembered her name, the folks in the administration building, she thought, treated her like an actual person and not just another number. And it seemed like women…. Well, they were just everywhere.
![](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5a238ba10abd049ac5f4f02c/627f11d2-85d9-455e-954d-c5f6cdf70135/School3.png)
In the classrooms (both as students and professors), in the residence halls, in the gym: everywhere you looked there were women doing what they wanted, unapologetically, and without a man behind them telling them what to do.
Women had never been the authority in Sharon’s family. A good, Christian girl from Fort Worth, she did what was expected of her after high school, marrying and starting a family. Though she reveled in being a mother, being a wife never suited her. Her husband was strict and urged her into a boring corporate desk job that she hated. Now, after 30 years, she stepped foot on campus and realized she wanted more—she wanted this.
A volunteer gig made her think she could be a good social worker, so she quietly investigated the program at TWU. Could she actually go back to school? It had been years since she’d been in a classroom. And what about Elizabeth? Sharon was “scared to death” of what her daughter might think. As much as she ached for this new beginning, she didn’t want to jeopardize Elizbeth’s experience.
It was Elizabeth, however, who encouraged her to take the leap and start her new journey. “She kept calling me and telling me what an amazing time she was having,” Sharon says. And so she finally admitted to her daughter what she had been thinking about: how she wanted to do some good, how she wanted to help people and be free from the suffocating life in the suburbs. Elizabeth was ecstatic.
In the Summer of 1994, right before Elizabeth’s sophomore year began, Sharon left the ’burbs, her husband and her job—all of them for good—and moved into a tiny one bedroom apartment across the street from campus. It smelled like mold, but she didn’t care. It felt like she was finally home, in a place where she could be the silly, passionate and outrageous Texas woman she knew she was.
It was like a plot straight from a fish-out-of-water Hollywood movie: Elizabeth, the cool 19-year-old sophomore volleyball player, and her mom Sharon, the 47-year-old freshman social work student rediscovering herself. Sharon was Elizabeth’s number-one fan, attending all of her volleyball games, cheering her on side-by-side with friends who were twenty years her junior. She discovered a passion for poetry and performed regularly at open mic nights. Her new young friends were in awe of her, and she became a de facto maternal figure, shooting the shit and talking about sex and relationships while everyone passed around a joint.
“I was just out of a 30 year marriage, and for the first time in my life I could sleep with anyone I chose to, and I was very open about it,” she says. “It was a marvel to me. Sex could be just for sex. It could be fun. It was fun. I could be sexy and flirtatious.” Gone was the shy, scared housewife. “It was totally a rebirth.”
That rebirth came complete with a new mentor: Dawn Tawater, a graduate social work student in her late 20s, a mother of three, and a certified badass.
Once a teenage “dropout derelict” who gave birth to her first child at 16, Dawn had sicced Greenpeace on local governments, worked with civil rights leaders at the Dallas Peace Center, and thrown banners off interstates to protest the Gulf War. “I got thrown out of city hall so many times.” Fierce as hell and cuddly as a bag of nails, she had founded the Denton chapter of the National Organization of Women (NOW) while at TWU, where the group organized Take Back the Night marches, fought for a free speech area on campus, and worked with the NAACP to protest a prison where young black men were dying at alarming rates.
![](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5a238ba10abd049ac5f4f02c/fd4a6cbc-1401-4a4e-af24-478be1316a34/School4.png)
The university was an oasis. Initially conceived by the state as a place to produce the perfect wives and mothers, by the 60s it had become a haven for women like Sharon and Dawn who wanted more out of life and had a lot more to give. In the late 80s, TWU won a hard-fought battle against budget-conscious lawmakers who proposed the school might be merged with the larger co-ed school across town. In the afterglow, students like Dawn and Sharon thrived, thrilled to be surrounded by women who were eager to learn and break free from their strict conservative pasts. Sharon’s fears of feeling out of place melted away in the classroom where young mothers brought their infants to class without issue and listened intently when she raised her hand to speak. Dawn, meanwhile, continued her work, bolstering the ranks of NOW to fight injustices on and off campus. They had all found this place, the last public women’s university in the country, where women were encouraged to meet their true potential.
Then one day a rumor began to circulate. Sharon shook her head when she heard, confused. She thought: Why would a man sue to get into TWU?
![](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5a238ba10abd049ac5f4f02c/cbc6c652-9606-4d6d-b4fa-4c10dab23b8c/page%2Bbreak%2Bmarker.png)
**STEVEN SERLING** didn’t think it was fair. Not one bit. Why would TWU’s courses be closed to simply on the basis of his gender?
The 35-year-old airline mechanic had been accepted as a nursing student, but when Serling was told he wouldn’t be able to change his major or take classes in the liberal arts programs, he balked. Invoking a recent Supreme Court case in which a woman successfully sued for admittance into the Citadel, a public military college in South Carolina, Serling began to press his case. How was it OK for Shannon Faulkner to demand acceptance to an all-men’s school and yet he couldn’t do the same at a women’s school? Steven wrote to state officials, including then-Governor Ann Richards, alleging TWU’s women-only admissions policy was akin to reverse sexism, funded by taxpayers.
Serling seemed to be itching for a fight, and he came out in the press swinging.
“Everyone has special needs,” he said in a newspaper interview. “Women who feel the need for a special environment because they lack self-esteem need to get professional help.” In a *Houston Chronicle* story, he compared his woes to that of racial segregation. “Separate but equal wasn’t appropriate in the South in the 1950s and it shouldn’t be in Texas in the 1990s.”
Steven’s letter-writing campaign caught the attention of state lawmakers, who not only vowed to bring up the issue at the next legislative session but also contacted the TWU Board of Regents directly to let them know the school was swimming in legal hot water and that the legislature would be forced to act. By December, with the next session only one month away, the TWU Board of Regents was feeling the heat.
Sharon was walking out of her women’s studies class when her favorite professor pulled her aside and told her about a Board of Regents meeting being held that night. “You need to go to that meeting,” her professor insisted, “and get as many people there as you can.” Ordinarily the agenda for Board of Regents meetings was distributed to students well in advance. However, the editor of the school paper recalls the agenda was faxed to her office after the final issue of the semester had been sent to the press. “I got the gut feeling that they just didn’t want a large crowd at that meeting,” she’d later tell the *Dallas Observer*.
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Dawn and Sharon feared men would trample all over TWU, taking precious resources that previously were exclusive to women, a rarity in society. Every student leadership position was held by a woman, every sports team was for women–hell, every scholarship was given to a woman. Men dominated all of these opportunities at practically every single Texas state school at the time. Why, students thought, did they need to take TWU’s?
It wasn’t just the school’s identity, however, that was at risk. The threat of shutting down the school entirely was very real. Why would the state support two co-ed schools in one small college town? TWU had just fought off a campaign to merge with the University of North Texas by saying it was unique and special because it was a single sex institution. If that distinction went away, what would keep lawmakers from again recommending to shut it down to save money?
Sharon, tipped off by her professor, ran to her tiny apartment across the street from campus, opened up her phone book, and called everyone she knew. Once Dawn got word of the mystery meeting, she lit up her phone tree, full of NOW members, passing along word that something big was going down. That evening, on December 9, 1994, through the efforts of Sharon, Dawn and good-old-fashioned landlines, 200 students packed the ground floor of the Administrative Clock Tower. Upstairs, on the top floor, the Board of Regents gathered for its meeting.
Students began to trickle upstairs where they finally understood the gravity of the situation. With only a week left of classes in the semester, and with no input or debate, the Board of Regents was about to vote on one of the most consequential parts of TWU’s identity.
Friends sent the message back downstairs, and the packed ocean of students, sitting body-to-body, holding hands, burst into tears. “Hell no, we won’t go!” they began to chant. Others began to sing, flabbergasted that the rumors they had heard all semester were now becoming reality. Upstairs, students did their best to convince the Regents to keep the school single sex.
They didn’t know it, but that ocean of students, rallied by Sharon and Dawn, were part of the gravitational pull that was creating the third-wave feminist movement. The movement built on the civil rights advances for women in the 60s and 70s but sought to be more intersectional, lifting up the voices of not only white, elite women, but also women of color and women from all economic backgrounds. TWU was the working woman’s university, the students argued, the last public women’s university in the country, which offered affordable tuition to women across the country. Tuition at TWU in 1994 was around $1,200 a semester for an in-state, undergraduate student. Meanwhile, tuition at an elite, private women’s college like Wellesley cost up to $9,000 a semester.
It didn’t matter. The meeting was a formality. The public portion ended, and the crowd eventually dispersed. Sharon, Dawn and a handful of other students walked the five minutes to Dawn’s house, just off campus, to commiserate. The phone rang later that night with the official news: it wasn’t even close. By a vote of 6-1, the school would officially begin accepting male students in all programs effective the fall of 1995.
A crushing weight settled on Sharon. It was a betrayal. A lesson from her women’s studies class echoed in her mind. Perpetrators groom their targets by making them feel safe. They wait until no one is around to attack. It was happening right now, she thought. Had TWU groomed her? This was supposed to be her safe place, where her voice mattered, but now she wasn’t so sure. All she knew was she had never been angrier. And now she felt she had the tools to do something about it.
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**DAWN’S PLACE,** a three-bedroom house, nestled right behind a TWU high-rise full of classrooms, was old, its white paint cracked and peeling. Its most distinguishing feature was a large concrete porch out front that connected to the living room via handsome French doors. It was the perfect place to hang out, smoke, listen to music, and maybe start a movement. “Everybody who was anybody in feminism, the second wave of the hippie movement, we all knew it all started and stopped at Dawn’s house,” says Tracey Elliott, a TWU and NOW alumna who described Dawn as a mix of Bob Dylan and the Black Panther party.
Shell-shocked at the Regent’s decision, Dawn, Sharon, Tracey and the other few women lit up their phone trees again. They weren’t done fighting. The next evening, students overflowed from inside Dawn’s home out onto her porch and front yard. They were starting a protest group, she said, and Protesting 101 with Professor Dawn was officially in session. They went over goals, what to wear to a protest, what your rights were if law enforcement harassed you, how to handle the media, and the basic strategies to keep the public pressure on the administration.
The students, many of whom had grown up in conservative households and had never been to a protest before, listened intently as Dawn spoke. “There I was,” Tracey says, “this girl who went to a redneck high school where everyone was wearing ropers and jeans, with the belt to match and all that, and suddenly I’m in this world where I’m surrounded by people listening to the Indigo Girls all day long and talking about all these issues, women’s issues, and how we needed to be part of making a world a better place.”
A sheet of paper circulated as Dawn spoke. She told the group to write their names down if they’d be willing, if it ever got to that point, to be arrested. “I explained what civil disobedience was and that these people would have to be willing to go to jail,” she says. About 20 women signed up, including Sharon.
Dawn kept the sheet of names to herself and looked up at the crowd. The group would need a name and a mission to be their north star. After a quick vote, the Texas Woman’s University Preservation Society was officially born. Their mission? To preserve, uphold, and progress women’s equality in all facets of society. Their first challenge? Saving their school.
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**FINALS** were only a week away with the holiday break not far behind. Keeping up their momentum was critical. Like army ants at their colony, TWUPS members came and went through Dawn’s house at all hours of the day—the front door always unlocked for easy access. Members laid in the grass in the front yard painting signs for rallies. Inside, Dawn’s kitchen table was turned into a sewing station where sheets found at Goodwill were stitched together into 20-foot banners. Elsewhere, members talked strategy, did radio interviews with morning talk show hosts, and socialized while lounging on the front porch hammock. Two members even got on the phone second-wave feminist icon Gloria Stienem, who wished them luck with the fight.
When Dawn was home, it was a full house. She had just separated from her husband, a police officer in Dallas, and was the primary caregiver for her three kids, all under the age of 10. Gillian Williams, a TWU alumni and friend of Dawn’s, recalls playing with the youngsters, sipping on lemonade, and going over the group’s plans. She had spent her time at TWU protesting the lack of women of color in their women’s studies program, so she had her own experience getting the attention of the administration.
The night before the first rally, Dawn called Sharon and told her she’d be the one to speak to the crowd. Sharon demurred, unsure of her abilities as a public speaker, but Dawn insisted. It was part of her plan to decentralize the power in the group. “I didn’t want any of that patriarchal, hierarchical shit,” she says.
It was a complete 180 from the years of being silenced by her husband. She was in awe of Dawn, this woman with so much raw power inside of her. Dawn was unafraid. So unafraid, in fact, that she’d cede her power to Sharon. What did Dawn see in her? Could she see it in herself? She knew she had a voice, and no matter how terrifying the prospect, it was time to use it.
The next day, clad in a custom-made white long-sleeve shirt with their name and logo (the female gender symbol) on the front and their slogan (“Texas Woman’s University - Keep it That Way!”) on the back, Sharon stood up in front of around 400 students and local media. She had stayed up all night working on her speech. In the front row she noticed her daughter Elizabeth. Breathing deeply, she opened her mouth and heard the words tumble out. Gone was the meek housewife. Sharon Snow had something important to say. When she was done, she looked at her daughter in the front row, who was crying. Sharon felt a wave of purpose and energy coursing through her. “This is power,” she thought.
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Courtesy of Rebeca Vanderburg
For a week the group held rallies, sit-ins and candlelight vigils across campus, giving speeches, waving their homemade signs, and chanting for the Board of Regents to reverse the vote. The Preservation Society organized a “girl-cott” of the bookstore, dressed up “Minerva,” a 15-foot-tall Pioneer Woman statue on campus, in a mourning black hood and cape, and sported their own matching black armbands.
But as the rallies continued, the crowds began to shrink, with fewer new faces showing up each time. Dawn and Sharon recognized the group wasn’t growing and needed a new way to get their message out. “I remember thinking we needed more allies and more voices,” another TWUPS member told me. It was time for some civil disobedience.
Memories are hazy, but members recall surreptitiously creeping through campus at night, dressed in black, with flashlights, rope and banners in hand. Supportive faculty and buildings with unminded locks gained them access to rooftops and various landings on campus where TWUPS members tied enormous 20-foot banners with messages of resistance to coeducation. *BETRAYED* screamed one dangling from a 21-story residence tower. *REVERSE THE VOTE* read another one, successfully unfurled off a classroom building after a 70-year-old visiting professor caught the students trying to use a credit card to jimmy a door and let them in with his own key. For the young women, all of the undercover operations and sneaking around was exhilarating. Rebeca Vanderbug, one of the younger students in the group, remembers exactly how it felt to her: “It was like ‘Mission Impossible.’”
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**ROBIN DEISHER** and Amy Nickum, two young Preservation Society members, pressed their bodies to the floor, frozen, as a TWU police cruiser slowly passed beneath them. The pedestrian bridge arching over the main artery of campus had for years greeted students and visitors with its stately letters spelling out the name of the university. Tonight, if they weren’t caught, that would change.
Amy had no fear. She knew she wasn’t doing anything wrong. She had never been a bad kid, never stolen anything or defaced property before, especially not at TWU. The school was like a second home to her. As a kid she’d spend hours at the chapel on campus and at the library while her mother completed her PhD. Later, when her mother returned as a professor, it was a no-brainer where Amy would attend college. And so, when the Board of Regents and the likes of Steven Serling were threatening to take her home away, Amy knew what she had to do. “I was going to push back,” she told me. “Hard.”
When the coast was clear, Robin and Amy got back to work. They reached down, their arms and heads poking out on either side between the guardrails, and pried off what they had come for. Around the corner, Sharon’s daughter, Elizabeth, waited in the getaway car.
Students and faculty the next morning were left agog when they spotted the duo’s handiwork. “It was all over campus, all anyone could talk about!” says Dr. Linda Marshall, Amy’s mother. “Everyone woke up and saw the bridge and said ‘The W and the O are missing! It says Texas Man’s University!’”
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Deborah Bono/Courtesy of the Denton Public Library
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**THE OLD GUARD** was not pleased. The mostly traditional and conservative members of the TWU Alumni Association generally believed in the Preservation Society and their mission but were horrified by the escalating tactics. They thought fighting the Regents in the courtroom and out of the eyes of the press was the more appropriate channel to enact change. The banners, bridge prank and slogans written in shoe polish all over campus windows rankled the older women. To them, the Preservation Society was embarrassing and making their school ugly.
Excoriating the increasing militancy of the protests, the alumni formed a group with straight and narrow student leaders and faculty members who together filed a lawsuit against the Board of Regents in an effort to reverse the vote. Even Sharon, who could operate both as a rebel and as a level-headed student, was invited to sign on the lawsuit. Though she maintained her allegiance to TWUPS, she also joined the alumni-led group, signing onto the lawsuit to work the “proper channels” and keep tabs on their efforts. The group argued the Board had violated the Texas Open Meetings Act by not giving the community sufficient notice for a meeting that should have been open to the public. The group also argued that since TWU was chartered by the state legislature as a women’s university, only the legislature, and not the Board, had the authority to change its founding mission of being a school for women.
Dawn, through her experience as a radical protestor, knew that asking politely rarely effected change.
“The alumni basically had that old-school mindset that we have to be all please-and-thank-you route with this thing,” says Tracey. “Dawn basically said, no, we’re going to take the ‘fuck-you’ route, and that was never going to jive with women who went to TWU in the ‘70s. We were really fighting, and they were not. They were handbag clutchers, and we were not.” Just as they had suspected, winter break killed a lot of momentum for the Preservation Society. The rallies had flamed out and the banners never flew for longer than a day, ripped up and dumped in the free speech area Dawn had procured for the school in years prior. The group needed to change course. “If they’re not gonna let us maintain a symbolic presence,” she asked Sharon, “what do we do?”
Dawn knew they needed something big and splashy, something that would look great on the evening news and in the papers.
Sharon poured some coffee while Dawn explained. “Do you remember that Kevin Costner movie?” Dawn asked, not quite recalling 1989’s “Field of Dreams.” “If you build it,” she said, reciting the famous line, “they will come.”
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A sign at tent city. Courtesy of Rebecca Vanderburg.
“What if we build a tent city?” Dawn asked. It would be their biggest and boldest act of civil disobedience yet. They would literally set up a village of tents on campus and live out of them for as long as they needed, talking to curious lookie-loos, answering questions from students and the media, and, most importantly, applying pressure on the University. Sharon’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Oh my God,” she said. “I love you!”
With a new project at hand, the group sprung back to life as students returned from winter break. Flyers with the ominous Kevin Costner phrase covered the school and downtown area, piquing the interest of community members. “The next day people were saying ‘Well what are you going to build? What’s going on?’” Sharon recalls. “It was very cinematic.” The group rounded up all the tents they could find, even pilfering through their families’ camping gear to gather what they needed and got ready to set up their tent city.
At 6:30 a.m. in late January 1995, members gathered at Dawn’s house, their cars packed with tents. They talked over their strategy: first, park the cars in the visitors lot, close to the target. Hubbard Lawn was the center of campus and stretched from the library to the student union, the perfect location for maximum exposure. Next, scramble out and set up the tents as fast as possible. Finally, make a scene when administrators and Public Safety show up to try and shut them down.
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A view of tent city. Courtesy of Rebecca Vanderburg.
The drive to campus only took one minute, but it was indelible for Sharon, the most profound moment of her life. As they drove past quiet houses and empty streets, she thought, “I can’t do this. I can’t do this. My momma didn’t raise me to do this.” She was a church-going little kid, not a revolutionary. But as the car pulled up to the center of campus, she thought of herself as something more. A person who believed in women. Someone who could get up in front of hundreds of people and give an impassioned speech. A person with a voice and a cause that mattered. She was at a crossroads. Would she be the little kid in the white patent leather shoes? Or would she be the woman who stood up for what she believed in?
She opened the car door and, as her feet hit the ground, she knew.
The members flew out of the cars, their tents and other supplies in hand. Tents went up quickly along with handmade signs and a makeshift flagpole, proclaiming their territory and mission. About 15 tents in total were erected. Then…nothing.
“We sat around all day,” recalls Dawn. “Like, where are the cops? Where are the pigs? Where’s the fuzz?”
The women had assumed once the school awoke DPS would be immediately alerted and Preservation Nation would be stormed and taken down. Instead, administrators let the scene play out. “They’d send pizza out,” Robin says, “and Dawn would say ‘Don’t eat it! They’re trying to win your affection!’ We didn’t accept anything.”
Music from Tracy Chapman and Janis Ian filled the air as members painted tents with peace signs and the female symbol. A large white walk-in tent was dubbed “The White House.” Members brought their dogs and kids to play hacky sack, kick ball, dance, and read together. Saul Alinsky’s “Rules for Radicals” was one of Dawn’s favorites.
For many of the members, tent city was their new home. “I would wake up at tent city, go home to eat, go to class, and then just come back,” remembers Jennifer Foreman. “My life didn’t stop, it was just like, OK, now I live in a tent.” Not every member slept at tent city, but for those who did, the freezing nights were the hardest to endure. They set up a trash can fire to keep warm, but DPS, who frequently patrolled the area, quickly took it down. With no electrical outlets, campers turned to propane heaters for warmth.
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Beyond students who would visit for questions, the group fielded media from all over, including a young Scott Pelley, who at the time was assigned in Dallas for CBS. The *Associated Press*, *The New York Times*, *The Chronicle of Higher Education*, and the local NPR affiliate KERA all wanted access. “The Battle of the Sexes,” as one headline put it, now had a headquarters.
Perhaps the most endearing of their visitors was a group of elderly women who had driven across the state in an Oldsmobile to drop off cookies and chat, along with an employee over at the local art house theater, who brought leftover popcorn every night.
Other visitors, however, were less kind. One night, the women were jolted awake after a car parked nearby turned on their high beams and blasted Pink Floyd’s “Dirty Woman.” On another occassion, someone else drove by, yelled a homophobic slur, and threw a bottle at one of the few male Preservation Society members—a husband whose wife was a student at TWU and TWUPS member. “I had never been called a dyke before!” he recalled years later.
Men piled into pickup trucks and mooned the group while shouting they were a bunch of cunts and whores. Sharon and her friends laughed the assaults off, even more sure of their mission to keep men like these out of TWU. “What did they think they were going to do?” Sharon says. “We had just built a city out of tents in the middle of the campus. Were they going to scare us by calling us cunts? Not likely.”
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**TWELVE DAYS** after Preservation Nation was erected, the few students who had braved the 25 degree weather woke up with a start. The smell of smoke wafted through the quiet, frigid night.
A fire was burning.
A 14-year-old boy, the son of a member who was a single mother, had kicked over a space heater while doing his homework, starting a small fire that burned through the plastic roof of his tent. There were only 3 or 4 people at tent city on this night because of the cold. Rebeca Vanderburg was one of the students there. “It was like, everybody up and out of their tents,” she says, “and oh my God, oh my God.”
Dawn and Sharon had questioned whether they should allow kids to spend the night at tent city, especially on school nights, but decided they didn’t want to alienate members who were single mothers. Fearing the ire of his mother more than a potential blaze, the boy used his hands to pat out the fire, burning himself in the process.
Dawn knew they had been rankling administrators and members of the alumni-led lawsuit group. The chairwoman of the alumni group, Dr. Bettye Myers, had been by tent city earlier in the week and had a confrontation with Dawn, yelling at her to tell everyone to take down tent city and leave. Dawn refused.
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In the hours after the fire, administrators finally made their move and demanded tent city be shut down. They said it was no longer a safe environment. The Preservation Society was told they could either take their things and go or tent city would be taken by force. “Bettye stomped out of here and had them do this to us,” Dawn told the Denton Record Chronicle in 1995. “This has nothing to do with safety. The fire was put out with a fire extinguisher. The boy was taken to a doctor and he only suffered minor burns.” It didn’t matter.
Everything was coming to a head.
Word spread from tent city about the news, and a small group retreated to Dawn’s house. Dawn pulled out the list of the 20 students who said they were willing to get arrested back when the group was formed. Six were standing in front of her. “This is the moment,” Dawn said. Sharon’s daughter Elizabeth, and her roommate Jennifer, wiped the tears from their eyes and found their conviction. Rebecca, sitting on the driveway, worried what her mom and stepdad were going to think when she told them she was arrested. Amy, who had helped snatch the “WO” off the campus bridge, was scared, but her conscience was clear. If she was going to have something on her record, this is what she wanted it for. They decided to get into Robin’s tent, “The White House,” since it was the largest, and not move. Six young women, all between the ages of 18 and 20, would take the final stand for the Preservation Society.
Afraid her ex-husband might take her kids away, Dawn couldn’t join them. Instead, she got on the phone and contacted a lawyer to help free the girls after the conflict.
For Elizabeth, before any arrests were made, she knew she had to call her mom.
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**SHARON HUNG UP** the phone at the NordicTrack store where she worked with fellow TWUPS member Robin. “They’re getting arrested in your tent!” she yelled to her.
Robin perked up as Sharon raced out of the store. “Good, get in there!”
Back at TWU, the six young women made it to “The White House” and held hands in a circle as day made way to evening. They could hear DPS and campus custodial crews tearing down Preservation Nation around them, throwing out the tents they had collected and tearing down their flagpole. Finally, the White House was the only tent left. Time slowed down as the voices of DPS officers began getting louder and louder, telling them to come out. Jennifer remembers their condescending voices well. “Do you girls really want to get in trouble for this?” “We know you’re good girls and just want to come out.”
Rebecca remembers DPS finally threatening the group with pepper spray. “My memory is \[they said\] you can either come out of this tent or we’re gonna pepper spray you. And so we’re like, ‘I think we’re not going to get pepper sprayed’ and then they told us we were under arrest and for us to sit down.”
Preservation Nation had fallen. The six students hooked arms and walked together as DPS escorted them to the campus station, a mix of uncertainty and dread running through them all. This was Texas in 1995, and not Dallas or Houston, but a small speck of a college town closer to Oklahoma than Austin. Before their time at TWU, before they were inspired by Dawn and all of her fuck-the-man bravado, they would never have dreamed of putting themselves in a situation where they could be arrested. For them, they might as well have been TWU’s Most Wanted.
They were put at ease when they found Dawn and a lawyer at the station, ready to fight. “There were no handcuffs or bars or anything,” Elizabeth says. “The lawyer came in and was like, don’t freak out,” Jennifer says. “They’re full of shit, this is not a big deal, don’t be scared by these assholes.” In the end, DPS scolded the group and said they’d be reprimanded by the administration at a later date.
By the time Sharon arrived, the young women were free, crying and hugging each other. The shy conservative girls who’d never even considered talking back to authority were long gone. Even though the school was still on track for coeducation, they had at least tried to do something and let administrators know how important it was that there was a school in Texas that let women fight back. “It felt like we had done something big in at least fighting until the last second and feeling some celebration in that,” Jennifer says. “We felt like we won because we didn’t give up.”
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**IN THE END** the administration got its way — but not without an embarrassing fight with a motivated cross section of its student body.
The alumni lawsuit also bore no fruit. In 1996, a judge finally ruled that the Board of Regents was within its powers when it voted to make the school co-ed. That same year, however, Lenni Lissberger, the editor of the student newspaper at the time, won a battle to legally make the school more transparent about its business operations. Still fuming that the school had gotten away with the short notice about the regents meeting, she worked with lawyers and lawmakers to draft a bill that requires universities to post notice of their meetings in the county where said meetings will take place, not just in Austin, as the law had previously stated. The bill passed unanimously and is still Texas state law, impacting the entire spectrum of issues at state-funded universities, including those that impact women on campus.
Ironically, and perhaps aided by the powerful showing of the group Dawn and Sharon helped lead, opening its doors to men indirectly led to the creation of TWU’s master’s degree program in women’s studies, the first of its kind in the state. Long in gestation, the passion for keeping TWU a place “primarily for women” was the fuel administrators needed to make the program a reality. The same year the school became co-ed, it also began requiring all students to take a women’s studies course, a requirement students must still fulfill before graduating.
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Steven Serling, the would-be nursing student who had cried reverse sexism, was no doubt aware of the frenzy he inspired. Any preliminary exuberance might well have turned to panic as the dedication of the resistance intensified. Despite technically winning his campaign, Serling never showed up for his first class and was never seen on campus again.
In the Fall of 1994, when the Preservation Society was formed, TWU had just over 10,000 students. Today, it has over 16,000, an all-time high. The school still only has women’s sports teams, and the male population has never risen over 10 percent of the student body. I graduated from TWU in 2010, and, as a cisgendered man, I am keenly aware of how complicated my membership is in the long history of an institution created as a space for women.
So why go to a women’s college today, especially one that isn’t even exclusively for women? Preservation Society member Christina Krause Marks told me in anticipation of our conversation that she thought about the people she works with as a therapist who don’t fit so neatly into the male/female construct. “The whole nonbinary perspective has really turned this all on its ear.” She says it’s more important to focus on questioning power structures rather than centralizing the conversation around a she-versus-he scenario, which excludes students that don’t fit that categorization. Back in 1995, she says, “Trans women were not part of the conversation, you know? There are parts of pro-women history that I’m not proud of the more I learn about it.”
For most of the Preservation Society members I spoke to, TWU is a happy memory to revisit. I spoke over the phone with Elizabeth, now a teacher and musician living just outside Austin, with her children popping in occasionally, wondering what was keeping their mom from the dinner table. Sharon pursued her dream of influencing large groups of people and became a professor, first at Virginia Tech and later at the University of Vermont. “I’ve told my students over and over again, you can take over the administration building. Just do it. Just go do it!” Dawn, meanwhile, teaches sociology at Austin Community College, the inkwell of her TWU memories a mix of pride and sadness. “I have to tell you my impression is that I’m sort of the Voldemort of TWU,” she told me the first time we spoke back in 2019, hurt that the school hadn’t ever celebrated the work of the Preservation Society. She presumes it is because she’d been (and still is) critical of the school and is unwilling to dull her edge. “They want to keep things nice, sweet and civil,” she says, a wry smile on her face. “I’m not for the purge or anything like that, but there’s a time and a place.”
It’s easy to see what Dawn sees—a battle lost and a group largely forgotten by a university now only primarily for women. But if you look closer, it’s also easy to see the threads of the Preservation Society’s legacy that have stitched together a thriving university.
In May 2021, TWU celebrated as the Texas Legislature passed legislation establishing TWU as its very own university system, not unlike other state schools who have a main campus and numerous satellites. In addition to the expansion of operations across their three campuses, perhaps this new system cements TWU’s status as a school whose existence isn’t up for debate any longer. The TWU system is the nation’s first and only university system with a focus on women.
![](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5a238ba10abd049ac5f4f02c/f2d26ed2-5a12-4087-b638-1d18241f3e5b/School1.png)
For a new generation of bright minds and powerful voices, Texas Woman’s University, once again, has been reborn.
![](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5a238ba10abd049ac5f4f02c/a6c7e6cc-3ea5-42cc-9116-e5216b31de34/page%2Bbreak%2Bmarker.png)
*LUIS RENDON* Originally from South Texas, Luis G. Rendon is a journalist living in New York City. He writes about Tejano food and culture for Texas Monthly and Texas Highways.
For all rights inquiries, email team@trulyadventure.us.
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# Chasing Chop Suey: Tracing Chinese Immigration Through Food
> The hyphen always seems to demand negotiation.
>
> Fred Wah
“OKAY, so what should I do?” I ask. I’m staring at my mom’s kitchen counter, which has been overtaken by ingredients: onions, celery, carrots, bean sprouts, cremini mushrooms, chicken breasts, green onions, and a brimming bowl of *su choy*.
“Start with the mushrooms,” Mom says. “I would cut them into thin slices and then in half…” She watches me begin to cut a fat mushroom into half-centimeter thick slices. “You want to use a sharper knife?” she asks. I’m not cutting them thin enough. To make chop suey right, every element must be finely slivered. For a while we work in silence, piling up the cut vegetables into small mountains. 
“Really, the dish to me is not that appealing, it’s just shredded vegetables,” she says. We’re both getting fatigued from the chopping. 
“So, are you at all excited about this… or not?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says. “It’s very nostalgic. … It reminds me of Dad’s restaurants.” 
![](https://i0.wp.com/sundaylongread.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/11/gg-bow-tie-profile.jpeg?resize=1024%2C721&ssl=1)
Gung gung in 1967
Together we are trying to recreate chop suey, a dish I’ve never tasted, but one that my late grandfather prepared thousands of times in his restaurants in Canada. I thought that making this dish would somehow enable me to feel, taste, and smell a piece of this distant past, and come closer to drawing a portrait of my fading family history. We’ve consulted family members and plumbed Mom’s memories to cobble together what we think is an accurate recipe. But I’m learning that chop suey does not conform to finite instructions.
Today, chop suey is nebulous in meaning. Unless you are over the age of fifty, you probably have never heard of it. Or your closest reference might be from musical artists ranging from Louis Armstrong to the Ramones to System of a Down, who have all included “Chop Suey” in their song titles, none with any clear connection to the dish. (System of a Down’s bassist admitted that the band wanted to call their song “Suicide,” but to avoid controversy used chop suey because “it was suicide cut in half.”)  History’s long game of telephone has altered, erased, and appropriated chop suey, to reach the ultimate sign of age—obscurity. But by the middle of the 20th century, it was a staple at North American Chinese restaurants, including my late grandfather’s. Tracing the dish’s history offers an outline to understand early Chinese immigration and the path my family took to create a new home.
After finishing chopping the vegetables, we slice chicken breasts and marinate the wisps of meat in sugar, soy sauce, chicken bouillon, oil, salt, white pepper, and cornstarch. We heat a large pan with oil and when it starts to bubble around the edges, add the chicken. After blanching the vegetables, we mix them together with aromatics and the meat with liberal swigs of soy sauce. Mom gets a little overzealous with the spices and drops in more bouillon, pepper, and various powders from our cabinet. A sprinkle of bean sprouts is added at the last minute. 
We carry our bowls of rice laden with generous scoops of chop suey to the kitchen table. Hunched over my bowl, letting the steam touch my face, I take a bite. The dry rice has been soaked in thick salty gravy, the chicken is tender and sweet, and the vegetables satisfyingly crunch. It goes down easy—I keep taking piping hot gulps of this mild, yet comforting mixture. It is not especially remarkable, but it does taste good.
I ask Mom if eating the dish is conjuring any feelings for her. I don’t know what I’m expecting, maybe some kind of revelation or a forgotten memory of her father finally come to the surface. She tilts her head and pouts her lips, a look that I’ve come to know as her feeling-sorry-for-me face. “It’s just chop suey. Sorry, Mormei.”
---
My grandfather, Ken Gain Sui Louie (whom I called *gung gung)*, had a particular way of carrying himself—posture straight, hands clasped behind his back, and step buoyant. His shock of white hair was neatly combed to the side. He nearly always wore a button-up shirt. When he died, I saved one from the donation pile—beige linen with tortoiseshell buttons. When we went to Chinese restaurants, he would always comment on the establishment’s customer service and food quality.  He couldn’t help but closely observe the world he had occupied for over 30 years. Did they bring iced water right away? Were the vegetables fresh? Was there chicken in the sweet and sour balls, or was it all fried batter? Were the dishes steaming or did they arrive lukewarm? Were the portions generous? Did you get complimentary rice?
I struggle to imagine what life was like for *gung gung* beyond generalities. I never had the chance to eat at any of his restaurants. Growing up, he was always the hero in our family story; the relative I was told to show utmost respect to because he was the reason I was here. For many years, I couldn’t see him as anything but a static figure—an old man with decades of history I couldn’t comprehend. But whenever my family talks about his restaurants and the food he made, his history crystallizes—I can see the gleaming Formica countertop and the dozens of pies in their display case; I can hear the *order-ups* and the chime of the service bell; and I can smell the steaming plates of chop suey, egg fooyong, chow mein, breaded shrimp, and sweet and sour pork spareribs—flying out of the kitchen and under the forks of lucky customers. 
These days chop suey and the restaurants that serve it are disappearing. It saddens me. I am sentimental for this era because it contains all the stories I have about my grandfather*.* But while these fond historical renderings are comforting, when I open myself to the full picture of the past, I must reconcile the reality in which these restaurants were born. Not for a love of food or a passion for cooking—but for survival.  
![](https://i0.wp.com/sundaylongread.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/11/gg-counter.jpeg?resize=1024%2C975&ssl=1)
 Behind the cashier counter at Exchange Café in 1962.
*Gung gung* immigrated from Guangdong, a coastal province in Southern China, in 1950 to the Canadian prairies. The story goes, the day he got off the train in Moosomin, Saskatchewan, after a one-month journey from China, he wandered into his uncle’s café on Main Street during the lunchtime rush. No time to spare, his uncle gave him a hasty welcome, handed him an apron, and asked him to start clearing dishes. This was the beginning, at age 22, of his career as a restaurateur.
Back in Toison, Guangdong, *gung gung* spent long days tending to his family’s rice paddy, and never learned how to cook*.* In Canada, everything he knew about cooking he absorbed by watching. “He was smart and alert enough that he would keep his eyes and ears open, and he would just pick it up and then he would go try it himself and learn from his mistakes,” my Uncle Lloyd tells me, recounting an explanation his father gave him years ago. 
This account seems inconceivable to me, a fable in a storybook. But this kind of immigration story was common at the time. “There’s really not that much choice,” Mom explains. “It depended on where his relatives were and who was willing to sponsor him. He had to buy papers to come in those days, the relative had to say that \[he was\] their son.”
The story of my grandfather’s life in Canada was not unusual. Beginning in the mid-19th century, Chinese immigrants, mostly young men, made the journey to North America. In 1852, the population of Chinese immigrants in the United States was approximately 25,000. By 1890, this number had grown to over 100,000. The men at this time were mainly from the Guangdong region and came to the United States or Canada, which in their eyes represented “Gold Mountain”—a place of abundance, prosperity, and a chance for a better life. This is a simplified version of Chinese immigration history, a sunny account of the immigrant’s plight, which becomes more abstract in each retelling passed down to each new generation.
There is a more complicated narrative of this history: a series of events, circumstances, and misfortunes that help explain the inception of Chinese American cuisine—and the rise of one particular dish—chop suey. A stir-fry of vegetables, bean sprouts, and meat, all coated in gravy, proliferated across North America. Of all the meals that could have been popularized, why chop suey? Like any artifact, the closer you look, the more details you catch. And it turns out within chop suey’s composition, there lies a story that spans centuries and reveals the intricacies of Chinese American identity. 
---
To understand the origins of chop suey, one must understand the origins of the first Chinese immigrants. 
The foundation for chop suey begins before the California Gold Rush, in the Pearl River Delta (PRD) region of Guangdong, where the Pearl River meets the South China Sea. (Toison, where my grandfather was from, was one of the poorest counties in this area.) 
Beginning in the mid-17th century the PRD was a significant harbor that connected the area to global trade. In defiance of the Ming and Qing dynasties, which prohibited contact with foreign merchants, locals took to smuggling and trading anyway, taking advantage of backwater channels and their distance from Beijing. Though the PRD is not a region rich in agriculture or resources, locals were enterprising and found ways to survive. 
But floods and droughts in the mid-19th century changed everything, damaging harvests and prompting famine and vicious turf wars for arable land. On the opposite side of the Pacific Ocean, Californians were striking gold. Many people from the PRD fled to Hong Kong, which was now under British rule and prospering as a new trading hub. A great exodus of Chinese laborers, often from Toison, then sailed to California. For a time, they were sustained by mining gold and were able to send money back to their families. 
“Toison was kind of fortunate because it was unfortunate,” says Anne Mendelson, a culinary historian and the author of the comprehensive book, [*Chow Chop Suey*](https://cup.columbia.edu/book/chow-chop-suey/9780231158602). “Poverty was a great incentive to look for work opportunities overseas. But these intense clan and family loyalties would bring them back in intervals to their wives and families where they would beget more children, hopefully sons, who would carry on what came to be a tradition.”
After the gold rush, many of these Chinese men remained in North America as transcontinental railroad workers. At first, Chinese were welcomed by Americans. They filled a gap in the labor market, willing to do undesirable and backbreaking work that Americans weren’t. But supplying cheap labor was not enough to buoy goodwill forever. The majority white population began to resent Chinese workers, and hostility and racism grew rampant. What followed were a slew of discriminatory laws that prohibited Chinese laborers from immigrating. In 1882, the U.S. Chinese Exclusion Act was passed and in 1885, Canada followed suit, implementing an exorbitant head tax to discourage immigration. 
“These laws were meant to hound them out of the country,” explains Mendelson. “That led \[them\] to say, I am not a laborer—I run a laundry, I run a restaurant. They could say they were heads of small businesses. That saved a lot of people from being deported.”
Forced out of other professions and into the fringes of society, many Chinese opened restaurants. At the same time, America was becoming more urbanized, paving the way for the restaurant industry. Chinese restaurant owners tapped into this burgeoning American consumerism. “They eventually realized that they could make their food more appealing to Americans, if they performed a little plastic surgery, if they made it sweeter,” says Mendelson. “They fashioned this new cuisine, which gave real pleasure to millions of Americans, and it was a lifeline.”
When anything diffuses into the zeitgeist, there is a collective impulse to attach an origin story, a flattened explanation of history that’s easy to understand. I imagine this is what happened to chop suey. It developed an American mythos: chop suey was conceived in New York to serve a visiting Chinese dignitary; chop suey was invented by Chinese miners in California as a leftover stew; chop suey was the brainchild of one Chinese man in San Francisco… None of these stories have ever been corroborated, but they all added to the chop suey craze of the 20th century. 
“I think it’s an English transliteration of the Cantonese pronunciation of *tsap seui*, which is just basically random stuff stir-fried together,” Michelle T. King, a history professor at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, tells me. “The other thing is chop suey as a concept is very large and capacious. So really anything could go in that, right?”
![](https://i0.wp.com/sundaylongread.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/11/bel-air-inside.jpeg?resize=721%2C1024&ssl=1)
*Gung gung spent a few years moving between various small-town cafés in Saskatchewan and Manitoba, picking up work where he could find it. Finally, he settled in Brandon, a larger town west of Winnipeg, where he co-owned and managed a restaurant before opening his own.*
That wasn’t always the case. Chop suey wasn’t entirely fabricated in America. The method (stir-frying) has existed in China for centuries, and the contents of what goes into chop suey were once much different. “I don’t think it’s necessarily just a cooking technique. It’s also a set of ingredients,” says Heather Lee, Assistant Professor of History at NYU Shanghai. “I would see the sort of classic traits of a pre-chop-suey-fad version is that you would have entrails or giblets, and it would be cooked with aromatics pretty quickly. I’ve never of course seen the dish on a menu in a Southern Chinese restaurant. I don’t think that typically would’ve made it out of home cooking.” 
Somewhere along the way, *tsap seui* became chop suey, no longer a basic home meal for Southern Chinese, but the gold star on menus across mom-and-pop Chinese restaurants in North America, with an entirely different appearance. When chop suey took off it was modified for the Western palate: it became sweeter, a thick gravy was added, local ingredients were used, and nothing but soy sauce contributed to the flavor. Can the dish really be called Chinese food if it’s been Americanized? 
Those who dismiss chop suey as inauthentic Chinese food have well-founded reasons. Chinese cooking traditions are vast and varied. And yet, the dish became a stand-in for all Chinese cuisine in North America. It is this kind of reduction and ignorance that cultural preservationists fight against. It’s dangerous to believe a singularity to be a symbol of an entirety. 
Grace Young, a culinary historian and author of three cookbooks, describes to me the concept of yin-yang harmony in Chinese cooking, a philosophy embodied by the balance of opposites. “Ingredients are divided as yin ingredients \[and\] yang ingredients,” Young explains. “Cooking techniques are divided by yin and yang; so steaming, boiling, poaching would be yin, and yang would be stir-frying, deep-fat frying, \[and\] pan frying. 
“There’s never a time when you create a meal where all the cooking would be all yang.”
While this only begins to scratch the surface of Chinese cooking techniques, it gives an indication of how immeasurably complicated and nuanced it can be. “Chop suey has nothing to do with traditional cooking, and chop suey has nothing to do with yin and yang. But the main thing is it gave the Chinese a way to survive,” says Young. 
I agree with Young that chop suey is far from traditional, but I am also fascinated by the factors that led to its creation in America. Chop suey became—much like the dish itself—a mixture of innovations, histories, and cultures.
“The thing about Chinese restaurants today is people complain about this being authentic or that being inauthentic or whatever,” King tells me. “And it’s like, look, people are just trying to make a living. They sell what sells.” 
> What is Chinese cooking? The answer to that question is so fragmented now. The word authentic needs five sets of quotation marks around it.
>
> Anne Mendelson
---
In the basement of 17 Mott Street in Manhattan, you’ll find a dining room that can’t be more than 500 square feet. Slim red booths line the walls, with smaller tables crammed in the center. The wait staff weave expertly through the chaos, dressed in matching light blue collared shirts, each one stitched with the words “Wo Hop” over the heart. I can hear familiar kitchen music— the clang of a pot, the hiss of a wok, the clatter of tableware, and the muffled parley between cooks and waiters. Hundreds of one-dollar bills are scotch-taped along every inch of the walls, mementos from customers who’ve been coming to this institution for over eighty years for chop suey fare. Each dollar bill has a handwritten message scrawled in sharpie. *We came here after getting engaged… Here’s to many more NYC firsts together…My dad brought me here in the 1970s, now I’m here with my wife…*
Ming Huang, the manager of 17 [Wo Hop](https://www.wohop17.com/), strides effortlessly between the front register, kitchen, and dining floor, anticipating the needs of the restaurant and its customers. Huang has worked at Wo Hop since 2006, and managing this operation is muscle memory. “I see people, they come happy, and they leave happy. Means our hard work pays off,” he tells me. This tried-and-true aim of keeping the customer happy is essentially Wo Hop’s ethos. It’s what has allowed them to survive since 1938 and maintain devotees from unlikely corners of America. 
I place my order: fried pork dumplings, beef chow fun, chicken chow mein, and orange chicken. I notice chop suey is not on the menu. When I ask, I’m told they took it off about fifteen years ago because it wasn’t popular with the newer generation. This omission is telling, given that Wo Hop is one of the last remaining chop suey-style restaurants in Manhattan’s Chinatown. But an establishment like this can call itself “chop suey-style” even if it doesn’t serve the dish. Chop suey is indicative of a certain era and taste. It is more of a genre than a finite item. It’s these vinyl booths and checkered floors. It’s sweet and sour sauce, egg foo young, and spareribs. It’s deep-fried noodles, oversized egg rolls, and superfluous shrimp. Chop suey-style is the earliest form of Americanized Chinese food. Wo Hop fits the bill for the slice of history I’m looking for. Sitting in this restaurant that has been unchanged for over 80 years, I can almost imagine that it’s *gung gung* behind the counter shouting orders and quality checking each dish.
All the food arrives at once. The dumplings are deep-fried to a crisp and the filling is a generous heap of salted pork. The beef chow fun and chicken chow mein are faultless, coated with the exact right amount of sauce and meat. But the crowning point of the meal is the orange chicken: one flattened chicken breast; breaded, deep fried, sliced, and served in a gelatinous, orange-flavored sweet and sour sauce.
“The food has not changed that much in terms of the taste and the quality,” says David Leung, the grandson of one of the early shareholders of Wo Hop. “I think that’s pretty important for any kind of restaurant where there’s consistency, \[people\] can rely on it. It’s kind of like going home again.” 
Wo Hop is a living museum, a re-enactment of a bygone time. “There’s no replacing the history that we have,” Leung says. “It’s something that I would be afraid to erase from the lexicon of history in New York City.” 
---
After *gung gung’s* uncle took him under his wing in 1950, he caught on fast. He spent a few years moving between various small-town cafés in Saskatchewan and Manitoba, picking up work where he could find it. Finally, he settled in Brandon, a larger town west of Winnipeg, where he became a part-owner of his first restaurant in 1952, called Exchange Café. It took him six years to save enough money to bring my mom and grandmother over from China.
Mom and Uncle Lloyd grew up in his restaurants and have vivid memories of his cooking, although he tended to save his finest work for home, particularly on special occasions. “When we had a dinner party, Dad would bring out all the best,” Mom explains. “He would go and buy filet mignon and slice them and make pan-fried filet mignon with broccoli instead of just strips of flank steak, you know? And then he’ll make abalone and mushrooms and he would get all the best ingredients. He roasted duck—” 
“Oh, his crab was the best!” Uncle Lloyd interjects.
“And the crab! Oh, crab sautéed with black bean sauce and egg. Oh, so good. Succulent!” Mom recalls. 
The food my grandparents cooked at home wasn’t always this extravagant. Normally the dishes they made were traditional and simple— steamed beef, rice, fermented vegetables, congee. They didn’t use as much oil, salt, and sugar as the food *gung gung* was cooking for his customers. 
“When I was a kid though, I always thought that the restaurant food was Chinese food,” says Uncle Lloyd, who is roughly five years younger than Mom and lives in Winnipeg now. “I didn’t know the difference between Western Canadian-Americanized Chinese food versus authentic. Those terms were new to me until I was older. I always just thought that this is Chinese food and then at home was just, home food.” 
I ask him if he liked the restaurant food better. “Yes I did. Because I was born here and so that is what I grew up knowing, and whenever \[Mom and Dad\] would cook at home, the authentic stuff, I would be typical, you know, North American kid going, ‘Oh, what is that? That looks gross.’” 
“But that’s Uncle Lloyd being a picky eater!” Mom teases. “I liked the food at home much better. It was authentic.” 
![](https://i0.wp.com/sundaylongread.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/11/Bel-air-interior-table.jpeg?resize=720%2C1024&ssl=1)
Gung gung in the front lobby of Belair Restaurant in 1966
Eventually*, gung gung* became manager of Exchange Café. In 1967, he led the effort to rebrand the cafe as Belair, serving both classic diner food and a handful of Chinese dishes. While Belair was located in downtown Brandon, in 1970 *gung gung* had the idea to open another restaurant on the east end of town. He transformed a space attached to a gas station into Kenny’s Townhouse Inn, catering to the working-class crowd—hospital staff and power plant workers. In the early days, as a gesture of goodwill, *gung gung* had the idea of sending over a Christmas Eve food package to the power plant nearby. In the box, he included breaded pork spareribs, egg rolls with plum sauce, and deep-fried jumbo shrimp. The workers were so touched by the gesture they pitched in tips for Kenny (as they called him) and repaid the favor tenfold by coming back regularly to the quaint and reliable booths of the Townhouse Inn. 
---
There is no clear record of the trends in the openings and closings of chop suey-style restaurants since their emergence in the late-19th century. However, in 2018, [a group of student researchers at UCLA compiled data](http://conniewenchang.bol.ucla.edu/menus/index.html) from the [New York Public Library’s menu archives](https://menus.nypl.org/) and determined that the phrase “chop suey” was the 3rd highest in frequency after “chicken” and “rice” on Chinese restaurant menus during the decade of 1910-1919. From 1980-1989, the top three words were “sauce,” “chicken,” and “beef.” Chop suey disappeared entirely from the top 12 frequently used words on this group of menus.
This shifting public opinion can be traced back to the 1960s. “Food writers wanted to show that they didn’t have the same plebian taste as everybody else,” explains Mendelson. “They started to point out restaurants that they said were more authentic than the chop suey joint. A great amount of scorn was heaped on chop suey and the sweet and sour and so forth.”
Look to a [1925 issue of the *New York Times*](https://www.nytimes.com/1925/12/27/archives/chop-sueys-new-role.html?searchResultPosition=27). Columnist Bertram Reinitz wrote, “chop suey has been promoted to a prominent place on the midday menu. … This celestial concoction is no longer merely a casual commodity. It has become a staple.” Flash forward to 1961 in a [*The Villager* “Table Topics” column](https://nyshistoricnewspapers.org/?a=d&d=tv19610223-01.1.10&srpos=2&e=------196-en-20--1--txt-txIN-chop+suey-------New+York%e2%80%93--) by Eugene P. Lambinns: “numerous supposedly adventurous souls seldom get beyond chop suey… This is truly unfortunate as…the Chinese cookbook produces a host of epicurean dishes surpassed in culinary art only by the French.” 
This was the beginning of the demise of chop suey, and the mom-and-pop establishments that served it. King explains chop suey’s wane is due to a couple of factors. For one, new Chinese immigrants coming from Northern China introduced different styles of the cuisine. There’s also been a push for more traditional Chinese food among the current generation of Chinese Americans, who are looking to get back to their roots, but not looking to maintain their parents’ shops. “As second generations get the education that their parents want them to have,” King explains, “they don’t want to take over a restaurant and do the backbreaking work.” 
King also predicts that in the future Chinese American food will grow increasingly corporatized.
According to an [industry report by IBIS World](https://www.ibisworld.com/united-states/market-research-reports/chinese-restaurants-industry/#IndustryStatisticsAndTrends) in 2022, it’s estimated PF Chang’s and Panda Express accounted for 28% of the Chinese restaurant market in 2022. The same report assessed that within the Chinese restaurant industry last year, there were 23,661 enterprises (a company that manages one or more locations) and 26,586 establishments (physical businesses), meaning a high percentage of businesses are part of a chain. This number is only expected to grow. 
“These restaurants are painful for me because it’s corporate Chinese American food, right?” Young remarks. “It’s a very different feeling than mom-and-pop restaurants.”
---
In 1974, *gung gung* opened his last restaurant, Kam Lung, along with several community stakeholders. Kam Lung mirrored the shifting attitude towards Chinese food that was taking place across North America. Old-fashioned dishes like chop suey and egg fooyong were swapped for modern dishes like Cantonese chow mein, butterfly shrimp, lemon chicken, and beef tenderloin and broccoli. At Kam Lung the waiters wore crisp white shirts and black vests, and the hostess at the front wore a *cheongsam*.
![](https://i0.wp.com/sundaylongread.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/11/kam-lung-opens-newspaper.jpeg?resize=1024%2C817&ssl=1)
![](https://i0.wp.com/sundaylongread.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/11/brandon-sun-Jun-19-1974-p-8.png?resize=1024%2C775&ssl=1)
A large-scale Chinese restaurant had never existed in Brandon until Kam Lung. It was higher-end and could serve over 150 customers. The opening landed a two-page spread in the *Brandon Sun* accompanied with pictures of the restaurant’s interior. After the opening, lines to get a table went out the door. 
*Gung gung* retired in the mid ’80s and sold Kam Lung. It has since changed ownership multiple times, and I’ve heard its glory days are over. *Gung gung* died in 2020 at 92, having never left Brandon. 
---
In opposition to corporatization, a new type of independently owned Chinese American restaurant has emerged, an evolution evident in New York City. Following in the footsteps of mom-and-pop chop suey joints, these restaurants are serving up new interpretations of Chinese American cuisine.  
“There’s nothing more American than turning \[something\] into a sandwich and mimicking a McDonald’s item,” says Calvin Eng, owner of the Cantonese American restaurant [Bonnie’s](https://www.bonniesbrooklyn.com/) in Williamsburg, which he opened in December 2021. He’s referring to the “Cha Siu McRib,” an item on the menu he claims embodies what his restaurant is all about: Cantonese flavors, American presentation. “When you eat it, you’ll still get the hot mustard, still get the cha siu glaze, which is made with fermented red tofu and malto, the two traditional ingredients in cha siu sauce, just presented differently in a more playful way.” 
At Bonnie’s, named after his mother who taught him Cantonese home cooking, Eng combines Cantonese flavors, methods, and ingredients with unexpected American influences. He felt like no one else was doing it at the time.“It was an opportunity, but also a responsibility,” he says. 
The Cha Siu McRib lives up to Eng’s hype. Presented on a tender burger bun and speared with a steak knife, this juxtaposition continues through its flavors—tart from the pickle, sweet from the pork glaze, and spicy from the hot mustard.
“Nostalgia is my favorite ingredient,” Eng says. “Food is great when you hit certain memory points.” 
Eng is what Mendelson describes as a “fashionable experimenter.” She has seen a trend in chefs who “have their own, if not revolutionary, at least innovative take on Chinese cuisine—inventing their own kinds of interchange or hybridization.” 
Eng recognizes this culinary shift but suggests it is owed to a changing Chinese American identity. “The latest wave of Cantonese cooking \[is\] the style of restaurant owned by the American-born Chinese kids,” he says. “It’s people born in the eighties and nineties in America to immigrant families who want to pursue cooking and the food of their culture and their heritage.”
On the other side of the East River, [Potluck Club](https://thepotluckclubny.com/), another Cantonese American restaurant, appears to confirm Eng’s second-generation theory. Conceived by five friends who grew up in Chinatown in the nineties, their tagline is “new*ish* take on old classics.” 
“We wanted to build something in our community in Chinatown, that was for our generation,” says Cory Ng, one of the founders. 
Potluck Club’s identity is embedded in Chinatown and the American-born Chinese experience. The interior pays homage to Hong Kong pop culture. A wall displays stills from films like *Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon*, *Rush Hour*, and *Kung Fu Hustle*. A retrofitted vending machine contains an array of stuff that Ng says “you would have at your grandma’s house growing up”— cartons of Vita drinks, Tiger Balm, Haw Flakes, and various herbal remedies.
Potluck Club’s mission goes beyond making good food; it was formed in response to Chinatown’s decline. “I hope that we continue to bring energy and renaissance to Chinatown and we inspire more of our generation \[of\] Chinese Americans to bring energy back into our community,” Ng says.
If Bonnie’s signature item is the Cha Siu McRib, Potluck Club’s is their salt and pepper chicken with scallion biscuits. “We merge both worlds, right?” Ng explains. “Chicken and biscuits is one of the most southern American things. But when you have it in our place, it’s chicken and biscuits, the Cantonese way.” 
When I try it, the chicken is fried to a crisp and generously coated in salt and white pepper. The biscuits are flaky and soft, and the folded-in scallions make the starchy compound savory. It’s served with a chili-plum jam that adds a welcome sweetness. 
I have no room for dessert but have to order the pineapple soft serve with *bolo bao* crumble. *Bolo bao* are Hong Kong-style pineapple buns. *Gung gung* would always save me one from his bakery haul because he knew they were my favorite. Whenever I eat this sweet soft bun with golden crumbly topping, packaged in slippery cellophane, I’m transported. The pineapple bun feels like an anachronism from my childhood, unchanged and dependable. And here it is on Potluck Club’s menu, albeit in crumble form, on top of a swirl of Dole Whip. 
 **It’s a beautiful pairing, an unfamiliar familiar mouthful. For me, this dessert is Chinese American.**
Modern Chinese American restaurant owners are serving food that represents their experience in America. The same could be said for chop suey-era cooks, who adapted their food to the conditions presented to them. The difference is that now Chinese Americans have more agency. They control the narrative, a luxury not given to generations before. Yet, chop suey paved the way for this culinary convergence. Without it, who’s to say if Chinese American cuisine would exist as we know it? It was merely the first domino of a run that is still falling. 
What is authentic Chinese American food? That question has many answers. To be Chinese American is not either/or, is not one more than the other, is not an annulment of identity, is not ambiguous. It is both Chinese *and* American. There are no binaries when it comes to who you are, and the same goes for food. Authentic Chinese American food is an expression of lived experience, and no one’s is exactly the same.
I could never know the full picture of my grandfather’s life. What I have pieced together is a sketch. I have felt around the dark room of his past, held its objects, breathed in the dust, and stumbled looking for the door. I have always been afraid of staying in that room for too long, fearing all I would discover was evidence of suffering. But what finally got me to stay inside was chop suey. The dish, in all its mixedness, contradictions, and uncertainty, is one way I can understand history’s dialectical oppositions. I can feel guilt and gratitude; pity and admiration; elation and remorse. I can accept that *gung gung*’s life was both one of loss and one of sustenance.
---
I return to Wo Hop nearly a year after I first descended the stairs of 17 Mott. I am here with a singular goal: try chop suey. I called ahead to see if they’d do it, and they gave me a somewhat reassuring, “OK.” I slip into a side booth and watch a group of six waiters silently making dumplings before the lunch-time rush. Twelve hands move in automatic choreography. A spoonful of meat goes into a circle of dough. Powdered fingers fold and seal into half-moons.
A waiter comes promptly to take my order. I’m nervous. I ask for chicken chop suey. “You want chop suey?” the waiter asks, dubious. I nod. He scribbles into his notepad and collects my menu. 
I wait for the chop suey with trepidation. Eventually, without ceremony, the waiter slides an oval dish of chicken chop suey under my nose. It is both exactly what I expected, and totally surprising. There are ingredients I anticipated: onions, chicken breast, bean sprouts, celery. But other additions create a chewier texture: canned mushrooms, snow peas, bamboo shoots, and *yu choi*. There’s more gravy than I could have imagined, and it’s very mild, just soy sauce and a hint of sugar. I quietly eat the dish that has been prepared for me. 
As I take my last mouthfuls, I am met with a feeling of finality. I pay the bill and climb back up the stairs into the sun. 
In a daze, I find myself walking to Columbus Park. I see children climbing the play structure, families facing-off in ping pong, and old Chinese men and women huddling around stone tables playing cards and mahjong. 
I let the gentle cacophony of the park wash through me and head north. Waiting for the light at Bayard and Mulberry, I glance at a row of benches within the park’s boundary. Sitting there is *gung gung,* reading a Chinese newspaper, legs crossed, and his favorite flat cap perched on his head. I watch as he folds the paper vertically, then horizontally into a neat square. He looks up in my direction— but doesn’t see me. Which one of us is the ghost here? The light changes. I cross, knowing now, I am full.
*All photos courtesy of **the Louie family**. This story was made possible by the support of **Sunday Long Read subscribers** and publishing partner **Ruth Ann Harnisch**. Edited by* ***Kiley Bense****. Designed by **Anagha Srikanth**.*
![](https://i0.wp.com/sundaylongread.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/11/unnamed-2.jpg?resize=3166%2C2261&ssl=1)
## Mormei Zanke
Mormei Zanke (she/her) is a Canadian journalist and poet who lives in Brooklyn. She earned her MFA in Literary Reportage at NYU’s Arthur L. Carter Journalism Institute. Her poems and writing have appeared in publications including The Globe and Mail, KGB Lit, Kyoto Journal, and PRISM international.
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# How Does the World’s Largest Hedge Fund Really Make Its Money?
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The Great Read
Ray Dalio’s investing tactics have always been a closely kept secret, even inside Bridgewater Associates. Several years ago, some of Wall Street’s biggest names set out to discover his edge.
![Ray Dalio, wearing a suit and purple tie, sitting in front of a microphone. Behind him, the words “World Economic Forum” appear repeatedly on the wall.](https://static01.nyt.com/images/2023/11/05/multimedia/29The-Fund-Excerpt-qwvg/29The-Fund-Excerpt-qwvg-articleLarge.jpg?quality=75&auto=webp&disable=upscale)
Since founding Bridgewater in his Manhattan apartment in 1975, Ray Dalio has been said to have developed prodigious skill at spotting, and making money from, big-picture global economic or political changes.Credit...Xinhua News Agency, via Getty Images
[Rob Copeland](https://www.nytimes.com/by/rob-copeland)
Rob Copeland is a finance reporter for The Times. He is the author of “The Fund: Ray Dalio, Bridgewater Associates and the Unraveling of a Wall Street Legend,” from which this article is adapted.
Published Nov. 1, 2023Updated Nov. 2, 2023
For years, the whispered questions have passed from one Wall Street trading floor to the next.
Bridgewater Associates, a global investing force, had $168 billion under management at its peak in 2022, making it not just the world’s largest hedge fund, but also more than twice the size of the runner-up. Bridgewater’s billionaire founder, Ray Dalio, was omnipresent in the financial media and said publicly that he had cracked what he termed “the holy grail” of investing, including a series of trading formulas bound to make money, “by which I mean that if you find this thing, you will be rich and successful.”
### Listen to This Article
So why didn’t anyone on Wall Street know much of anything about it?
Since founding Bridgewater in his Manhattan apartment in 1975, Mr. Dalio has been said to have developed prodigious skill at spotting, and making money from, big-picture global economic or political changes, such as when a country raises its interest rates or cuts taxes. That made both a lot of sense and none at all; what was it about Bridgewater that made it so much better at predictions than any other investor in the world trying to do the exact same thing?
Bridgewater earned worldwide fame for [navigating the 2008 financial crisis](https://archive.nytimes.com/dealbook.nytimes.com/2012/01/26/in-punishing-year-for-hedge-funds-biggest-one-thrived/), when the firm’s main fund rose 9 percent while stocks dropped 37 percent, making Mr. Dalio a sought-after adviser for the White House and Federal Reserve and attracting new deep-pocketed clients to his fund. Yet the hedge fund’s overall descriptions of its investment approach could be maddeningly vague. Mr. Dalio often said he relied on Bridgewater’s “investment engine,” a collection of hundreds of “signals,” or quantitative indicators that a market was due to rise or fall. Bridgewater rarely revealed any details of these signals, citing competitive pressure, but if they pointed to trouble ahead or even to uncertainty, Bridgewater said it would buy or sell assets accordingly — even if Mr. Dalio’s own gut might have told him otherwise.
This supposed conquering of his base instincts was central to Mr. Dalio’s identity and expressed in his manifesto, “[Principles](https://www.google.com/search?q=ray+dalio+principles+nytimes&rlz=1C1GCER_en&oq=ray+dalio+principles+nytimes&gs_lcrp=EgZjaHJvbWUyCQgAEEUYORigATIHCAEQIRigATIHCAIQIRigATIHCAMQIRigAdIBCDIzMzVqMWo3qAIAsAIA&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8),” which prescribed a [doctrine of “radical transparency”](https://www.nytimes.com/2016/07/27/business/dealbook/bridgewater-associates-hedge-fund-culture-ray-dalio.html) and listed hundreds of rules for how to overcome one’s psyche. (One rule reads, in part: “Not all opinions are equally valuable so don’t treat them as such.”)
What confused rivals, investors and onlookers alike was that the world’s biggest hedge fund didn’t seem to be much of a Wall Street player at all. Much smaller hedge funds could move the markets just by rumors of one trade or another. Bridgewater’s heft should have made it the ultimate whale, sending waves rolling every time it adjusted a position. Instead, the firm’s footprint was more like that of a minnow.
What if the secret was that there was no secret?
The book from which this excerpt is drawn is based on hundreds of interviews with people in and around Bridgewater Associates, including current and former investment employees. It also relies on contemporaneous notes, emails, recordings, court records, myriad other internal and external company documents, and published interviews and articles. Mr. Dalio and other Bridgewater executives declined requests for official interviews but provided feedback through their lawyers and representatives.
## The Freelance Investigators
Image
Bill Ackman was among the Wall Streeters who had questions about how Bridgewater made its money.Credit...NBCUniversal, via Getty Images
Three men, each with a vastly different background, took three different passes at the mystery of how Bridgewater picked its positions.
In early 2015, Bill Ackman, the endlessly opinionated hedge fund manager, took the first whack. The billionaire founder of Pershing Square Capital had long found Mr. Dalio’s public pronouncements about his quantitative investment style to be generic and even nonsensical. At a charity event in February that year, Mr. Ackman grilled Mr. Dalio during an onstage interview about how Bridgewater handled the assets it managed.
Mr. Dalio responded: “Well, first of all, I think it’s because I could be long and short anything in the world. I’m basically long in liquid stuff. And I can be short or long anything in the world, and I’m short or long practically everything.”
He also noted that some 99 percent of Bridgewater trading was automated, based on longtime, unspecified rules. “They’re my criteria, so I’m very comfortable,” Mr. Dalio said.
Mr. Ackman tried another tack. He gave Mr. Dalio a layup, the sort of question asked six times an hour on business television. “Let’s say you were to buy one asset, or one stock, or one market, or one currency. Where would you put your money?”
There was a pause, then Mr. Dalio said, “I don’t do that.” He went on to lay out how Bridgewater’s hundreds of investment staff members spent their days, describing a data-driven approach.
Onstage, Mr. Ackman would remark that it was “one of the most interesting conversations I’ve ever had.” But he walked away shaking his head.
“What was he even talking about?” he vented afterward.
The financial analyst Jim Grant, the self-styled “prophet of reason,” watched the interview with amazement. He had an arcane newsletter, Grant’s Interest Rate Observer, which was popular in the sense that many serious investors claimed to read it.
Mr. Grant for years had privately mulled dark questions about Bridgewater. He assigned his top deputy to dig in. They fanned out widely, scrutinizing the firm’s public filings, and furtively talking to anyone who might have a clue as to what was going on. They were inundated with “all sorts of people winking and nodding,” Mr. Grant recalled, “that there’s something really, really wrong.” In October 2017, Mr. Grant devoted a full issue of his publication solely to Bridgewater, and the themes of “distraction, sycophancy” and “mystery.”
The newsletter claimed a litany of issues. Shareholders in Bridgewater’s parent company — a group that includes employees and clients — didn’t automatically receive copies of the firm’s financial statements. Five separate Dalio family trusts appeared to each hold “at least 25 percent but less than 50 percent of Bridgewater, something that seems mathematically difficult,” the newsletter said. Per public disclosures, the hedge fund lent money to its own auditor, which struck the longtime analyst as precarious and unusual. “We will go out on a limb, Bridgewater is not for the ages,” the newsletter concluded.
At 8:30 p.m. the day the report was published, Mr. Grant settled in on the couch at home with his wife to watch a New York Yankees game. When his home phone rang from an unknown Connecticut number, Mr. Grant let the call go to voice mail. Not until about a half-hour later did his wife hear a distant beep. She walked over and hit play on the machine, putting the message on speakerphone. Mr. Dalio’s voice, measured and calm, rang out:
“I’m not sure if you’ve seen the current issue of Grant’s,” Mr. Dalio said, according to Mr. Grant. Mr. Dalio’s message went on for nearly a half-hour detailing his complaints about the piece.
Image
Jim Grant devoted an entire newsletter to investigating Bridgewater.Credit...Bebeto Matthews/Associated Press
Mr. Grant spent the next week on and off calls with various Bridgewater executives. He realized that he had gotten some crucial bits wrong regarding the fund’s regulatory filings and auditing relationship. Mr. Grant called into the television network CNBC to apologize, though overall, Mr. Grant said, he remained befuddled “about how it actually does business.”
This all piqued the interest of a Boston financial investigator, Harry Markopolos, who had been a no-name analyst in the late 1990s when his boss asked him to reproduce a rival’s trading strategy that seemed to pay off handsomely. Mr. Markopolos couldn’t, but he figured out enough that he began chatting with the Securities and Exchange Commission. Six years later, when his warnings about Bernie Madoff proved right, Mr. Markopolos earned national fame.
To Mr. Markopolos, what was happening in Westport, Conn., where Bridgewater has its headquarters, raised serious questions, according to people who worked with him. Here lay another giant hedge fund famed for an investment approach that no competitors seemed to understand. He got his hands on Bridgewater’s marketing documents, including a summary of the firm’s investment strategy and a detailed chart of fund performance. Bridgewater described itself as a global asset manager, yet these documents didn’t name a single specific asset that had made or lost the firm money. An investment-performance chart indicated the firm seldom had a down year — even when Mr. Dalio’s public predictions proved off, Bridgewater’s main fund, Pure Alpha, consistently seemed to end the year around flat.
As he looked over the documents, Mr. Markopolos felt a familiar flutter in his heart.
His team spoke with Kyle Bass, a Texas hedge fund manager well known for his ahead-of-the-curve predictions that the subprime-mortgage market was about to collapse in 2008, according to three members of Mr. Markopolos’s group. Mr. Bass told colleagues that he, too, had long wondered about how Bridgewater traded.
Mr. Markopolos also went to see David Einhorn of Greenlight Capital, the hedge fund billionaire famed for spotting frauds. Mr. Einhorn welcomed Mr. Markopolos into his Manhattan office, and they sat down with a team of Greenlight analysts who Mr. Einhorn said were interested in investigating Bridgewater themselves, two people present recalled.
After hearing Mr. Markopolos’s talk, Mr. Einhorn said it tracked with his suspicions, too.
That was all the encouragement Mr. Markopolos needed.
Bridgewater, he wrote to the S.E.C., was a Ponzi scheme.
## Circle of Trust
Bridgewater was not a Ponzi scheme.
Which is not to say that all was as Mr. Dalio so often described it.
The S.E.C. and other regulators dutifully took meetings with Mr. Markopolos and his team. The whistle-blowers’ report was passed through the organization, and a team at the agency looked into it. (The S.E.C. declined to comment.)
According to a person briefed on the investigation, what they concluded, in part, was that the world’s biggest hedge fund used a complicated sequence of financial machinations — including relatively hard-to-track trading instruments — to make otherwise straightforward-seeming investments. It made sense to the S.E.C. that rivals couldn’t track them.
Satisfied, the S.E.C. stopped responding to requests from Mr. Markopolos and his crew for updates. Regulators raised no public accusations about Bridgewater. Mr. Markopolos moved on.
As it turned out, by the time the S.E.C. received Mr. Markopolos’s submission, the regulators had already looked into Bridgewater. In the wake of the Madoff fraud, and never having really dug into the world’s biggest hedge fund, S.E.C. staff spent a stretch in Westport, deeply studying the firm’s operations. The S.E.C. did not much bother with how Bridgewater made money, just that it did indeed invest its clients’ accounts.
Image
Harry Markopolos, who filed an S.E.C. whistle-blower report about Bridgewater, had earlier earned national fame when his warnings about Bernie Madoff proved correct.Credit...Desiree Navarro/Wireimage, via Getty Images
In fact, remarkably few people at Bridgewater were involved day to day with how the hedge fund made money.
Of Bridgewater’s roughly 2,000 employees at its peak — and hundreds more temporary contractors — fewer than 20 percent were assigned to investments or related research. (The rest worked on operations tasks, including the expansion of Mr. Dalio’s “Principles.”) And of those investment staff members, many held responsibilities no more complicated than those of the average college student. They worked on economic history research projects and produced papers that Mr. Dalio would review and edit.
As for whether those insights made it into Bridgewater’s trading, most research employees knew not to ask, current and former investment employees said.
Only a tiny group at Bridgewater, no more than about 10 people, enjoyed a different view. Mr. Dalio and his longtime deputy, Greg Jensen, plucked the members from the crew of Bridgewater investment associates and offered them entry to the inner sanctum. In exchange for signing a lifetime contract — and swearing never to work at another trading firm — they would see Bridgewater’s inner secrets.
Mr. Dalio called the group of signees the Circle of Trust.
## A True Spectacle
There were two versions of how Bridgewater invested hundreds of billions of dollars in the markets. One version, Mr. Dalio told the public and clients about. The other version, current and former investment employees said, happened behind closed doors.
In the first version, Bridgewater’s hedge funds were a meritocracy of ideas. Every investment staff member or researcher could suggest an investment notion, and the Bridgewater team would debate the merits of the thesis dispassionately, incorporating a broad study of history. Ideas from investment employees with a record of accurate predictions would over time carry more weight and earn backing with more client money. Investors flocked to the approach, assured that Bridgewater — unlike other hedge funds — would not rise or fall off a single trade or prediction from the firm founder. It was the Wall Street equivalent of Darwinism, with a thick wallet.
Every Friday Mr. Dalio’s assistants would deliver thick briefcases full of economic research, which a driver would whisk to Mr. Dalio’s mansion in Greenwich, Conn. The collection formed the basis for what Bridgewater called its “What’s Going On in the World” meeting, held every Monday morning. Mr. Dalio, along with Mr. Jensen and Bridgewater’s longtime co-chief investment officer Bob Prince, would sit at the front of the largest room on campus, where a river wound around a set of medieval-style buildings. Rows upon rows of staff members sat in front of them, as well as the odd visiting client invited to take in the show.
Image
Greg Jensen, one of Mr. Dalio’s longtime deputies, was a member of Bridgewater’s closely held Circle of Trust.Credit...Simon Dawson/Bloomberg
With cameras recording so those in the rest of the firm could watch later, the room would debate for hours the grand topics of the day. It was a true spectacle.
It was also almost entirely irrelevant to what Bridgewater did with its money.
After the meeting, the Circle of Trust would file into a tight corner of offices that few others at the firm had access to, and the real work would begin.
## Trading Game
The bottom line: Mr. Dalio was Bridgewater and Mr. Dalio decided Bridgewater’s investments. True, there was the so-called Circle of Trust. But though more than one person may have weighed in, functionally only one investment opinion mattered at the firm’s flagship fund, employees said. There was no grand system, no artificial intelligence of any substance, no holy grail. There was just Mr. Dalio, in person, over the phone, from his yacht, or for a few weeks many summers from his villa in Spain, calling the shots.
Lawyers for Mr. Dalio and Bridgewater said the hedge fund “is not a place where one man rules because the system makes the decision 98 percent of the time.” They said that “the notion that Mr. Dalio ‘call\[ed\] the shots’ on Bridgewater’s investments is false.”
Mr. Dalio largely oversaw Pure Alpha, the main fund, with a series of if-then rules. If one thing happened, then another would follow. For Pure Alpha, one such if-then rule was that if interest rates declined in a country, then the currency of that country would depreciate, so Pure Alpha would bet against the currencies of countries with falling interest rates.
Many of the rules dealt simply with trends. They suggested that short-term moves were likely to be indicative of long-term ones and dictated following the momentum in various markets.
Bridgewater’s rules gave it an unquestionable edge in the wildly successful early days, in the late 1980s and 1990s, when most people on Wall Street, from junior traders to billionaires, still believed in the value of their intuition.
As the years passed, however, Mr. Dalio’s advantage softened, then seemingly ceased by the 2010s and into this decade. The rise of powerful computers made it easy for any trader to program rules and to trade by them. Rivals quickly matched Mr. Dalio’s discoveries, then blew past them into areas such as high-frequency trading. Mr. Dalio stuck to his historic rules. (“They are timeless and universal,” he told one interviewer.)
Though Bridgewater’s assets under management slowly contracted to under $130 billion in the postpandemic period, Bridgewater was so much larger than any other rival — and so willing to collect money from virtually any corner of the earth — that it was still the globe’s largest hedge fund. And if Bridgewater’s main hedge fund had for years fallen behind the pace of global markets, it still mostly avoided negative results, and so could fairly say it was making clients money on an absolute basis. Its growth was a testament to the firm’s marketing prowess, which had cultivated a mystique around Pure Alpha’s hands-off, rules-based approach.
Plenty of smart, ambitious employees at Bridgewater, including members of the Circle of Trust, tried to move the hedge fund forward. But the only way to add a new rule to the hedge fund’s list was to win the unanimous approval of Messrs. Dalio, Prince and Jensen, and it was not a secret vote. Neither Mr. Prince nor Mr. Jensen went against the Bridgewater founder often, and Mr. Dalio seemed to shy from new ideas that he couldn’t understand. A newcomer to the investment team as recently as 2018 was gobsmacked to learn that the world’s biggest hedge fund’s trading was still reliant on Microsoft Excel, a decades-old software.
The stasis was such that Bridgewater would create “the trading game,” a simulation of the real world in which members of the investment staff would bet their best ideas against a pot of Mr. Dalio’s own money. (If the ideas of staff members won, they would be paid in cash.)
For many in the investing department, it was the only time in their Bridgewater careers that they could actually enact an investment idea.
## ‘Get ’Em a Helicopter’
Mr. Dalio could read the numbers as well as anyone else. From 2011 to 2016, a blistering period for the markets, Pure Alpha posted only low-digit returns**,** investors said, far below its historical pace, and the next five years weren’t much better.
One edge was left that Mr. Dalio and Bridgewater went to great lengths to protect.
On Wall Street, the phrase “information advantage” often carries an unseemly implication, suggesting that one is engaged in insider trading. Mr. Dalio’s information advantage, however, was as legal as it was vast.
Bridgewater’s target was information about entire nations. According to employees involved with the effort, Mr. Dalio heavily courted well-connected government officials from whom he might divine how they planned to intervene in their economies — and Bridgewater used these insights to make money in its funds.
Anywhere seemed fair game, even Kazakhstan.
Image
Kazakhstan, where Bridgewater has developed relationships with government officials, is the former Soviet Union’s second-largest oil producer.Credit...Andrey Rudakov/Bloomberg
The Central Asian nation was not on the first page in any Wall Street manual. Ruled by an authoritarian government, it is the globe’s largest landlocked country yet sparsely populated. In 2013, Kazakhstan began developing what was then the most expensive oil project — a giant field in the Caspian Sea — helping it grow a $77 billion sovereign wealth fund. That money would have to be invested somewhere, and Bridgewater’s client services squad put a meeting on Mr. Dalio’s calendar with Berik Otemurat, the fund’s chief, a bureaucrat who had begun his career barely 10 years earlier.
Mr. Dalio showed interest in the delegation. “What are they doing beforehand?” he asked Bridgewater’s marketing team.
His underlings answered that Mr. Otemurat would be in New York a few hours before he was due in Westport.
“How are they getting here?” Mr. Dalio then asked.
Bridgewater had arranged for a chauffeur in a Mercedes.
“Get ’em a helicopter.”
The dramatic entrance preceded an unconventional presentation, at least compared with what Mr. Otemurat had experienced in New York. There, titans of industry, such as KKR’s co-founder Henry Kravis and Blackstone’s Stephen Schwarzman, wooed him over sea bass, caviar and an orange hazelnut Napoleon dessert loosely based on the Kazakh flag.
Mr. Dalio drew an indecipherable chart on a dry-erase board and rambled on about the nature of markets. He barely mentioned the specifics of Bridgewater’s approach, according to a person present. There was an undeniable charm — and confidence — to it all.
Bridgewater’s marketing team had seen this move before. The end goal would be something other than money. So when Mr. Otemurat raised the prospect of investing $15 million in Bridgewater’s main hedge fund, the fund’s representatives shooed away the suggestion. “We don’t want a relationship with you right now,” one marketing executive said. “We’re in it for the long game.”
Inside Bridgewater, a relationship meant access. The country’s new oil field had taken more than a decade to develop, with near-constant delays. Anyone who knew how the project was proceeding could adjust bets on oil accordingly. Bridgewater’s representatives told the delegation that their firm would be happy to offer free investing advice, and Bridgewater’s team would likewise appreciate the opportunity to ask questions about industries of local expertise.
Mr. Otemurat and others in his delegation seemed eager to chat.
Soon enough, Bridgewater got it both ways. A few months after Mr. Otemurat’s Westport visit, the Kazakh fund asked again if it could invest in Bridgewater’s funds. This time, it dangled a sum far larger than $15 million, and Bridgewater assented, former employees said.
A spokesman for Mr. Dalio said all of his interactions with government officials were proper.
## No One Would Know
Image
Janet Yellen kept more of a distance from Mr. Dalio than her predecessor had.Credit...Kenny Holston/The New York Times
Back in America, Mr. Dalio’s influence slowly petered out. During and after his financial-crisis era fame, he’d had little trouble reaching the Federal Reserve chair, Ben Bernanke. Mr. Bernanke’s successor, Janet Yellen, however, apparently wasn’t as interested in the Bridgewater founder. Mr. Dalio would regularly rail to others at the company that Ms. Yellen wouldn’t return his calls or meet.
Mr. Dalio consistently found more success abroad. Mario Draghi, the Italian-born head of the European Central Bank from 2011 to 2019, frequently chatted with the Bridgewater founder and sought his advice. Mr. Dalio advised him throughout the mid-2010s to introduce more stimulus to the European Union, which would bolster European stocks and hurt the euro. During much of that era, Bridgewater was also betting against the euro. In Zurich, Mr. Dalio found the ear of the Swiss National Bank. He advised the bank on its efforts to decouple the Swiss economy from ailing broader Europe, according to a former Bridgewater employee who helped make the connection. When the Swiss National Bank in early 2015 yanked the Swiss franc from its peg to the euro, Bridgewater’s funds made a fortune.
The longest-term project for Mr. Dalio was in China, where he made frequent trips.
Mr. Dalio hired China Investment Corporation’s former chairman to a cushy job as head of a Dalio charity in China, and he became close with Wang Qishan, who would later become China’s vice premier and widely considered the second most powerful person in the country. Mr. Dalio would occasionally tell Chinese government representatives that when they invested with Bridgewater, their fees were not merely being sent back to America. “Whatever fees you pay, I will donate back to China personally,” he said in one meeting, according to a person present.
Image
Mr. Dalio consistently found more success abroad, including in China.Credit...Lintao Zhang/Getty Images
In media interviews, Mr. Dalio stuck to a fixed, laudatory line about the country’s leadership. It was “very capable,” he said, over and again, sometimes repeating the phrase more than once in an interview. Those same leaders, he would also say inside Bridgewater, were quick to ask him for advice.
To any reasonable observer — and even to the Chinese themselves — Mr. Dalio was the paradigm of a China booster. But there was also an advantage that could be played. He asked the Circle of Trust to help create a way for Bridgewater’s funds to place bets against Chinese assets, in an offshore way that China’s government couldn’t track. That way, when Bridgewater took the wrong side of China, no one would know.
## A Coin Flip
Mr. Dalio’s grand automated system — his investment engine — wasn’t nearly as automated or mechanized as was promoted. If he wanted Bridgewater to short the U.S. dollar (as he did, unsuccessfully, for roughly a decade after the 2008 financial crisis), the trade went in. There was not a rule more important than what Mr. Dalio wanted, Mr. Dalio got.
As 2017 loomed, a handful of top investment staff members decided enough was enough. Pure Alpha was up just 2 percent for the year, well below most hedge funds.
With the hope of turning around the firm’s investment performance, members of the Circle of Trust put together a study of Mr. Dalio’s trades. They trawled deep into the Bridgewater archives for a history of Mr. Dalio’s individual investment ideas. The team ran the numbers once, then again, and again. The data had to be perfect. Then they sat down with Mr. Dalio, according to current and former employees who were present. (Lawyers for Mr. Dalio and Bridgewater said that no study was commissioned of Mr. Dalio’s trades and that no meeting took place to discuss them.)
One young employee, hands shaking, handed over the results: The study showed that Mr. Dalio had been wrong as much as he had been right.
Trading on his ideas lately was often akin to a coin flip.
The group sat quietly, nervously waiting for the Bridgewater founder’s response.
Mr. Dalio picked up the piece of paper, crumpled it into a ball and tossed it.
Audio produced by Adrienne Hurst.
[Rob Copeland](https://www.nytimes.com/by/rob-copeland) is a finance reporter, writing about Wall Street and the banking industry. He is the author of "The Fund: Ray Dalio, Bridgewater Associates and the Unraveling of a Wall Street Legend," to be published in November 2023. [More about Rob Copeland](https://www.nytimes.com/by/rob-copeland)
A version of this article appears in print on  , Section BU, Page 6 of the New York edition with the headline: How the Giant Of Hedge Funds Really Makes Its Money. [Order Reprints](https://www.parsintl.com/publication/the-new-york-times/) | [Today’s Paper](https://www.nytimes.com/section/todayspaper) | [Subscribe](https://www.nytimes.com/subscriptions/Multiproduct/lp8HYKU.html?campaignId=48JQY)
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00.03 News/How workers remove toxic debris and ash after Hawaii wildfires.md
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With about 75% of Lahaina destroyed, much will need to be rebuilt. The estimated cost of rebuilding is around $5.5 billion, according to the Pacific Disaster Center. While residents of small sections in the north, east and southern parts of the town have been able to visit their homes to see what remains, the majority of residents are being kept away while the cleanup continues. In a press conference only days after the fire on Aug. 10, Hawaii’s Lieutenant Governor Sylvia Luke saw recovery taking place over the span of not months but years. “It’s not just homes, it’s schools, businesses, there’s infrastructure, broadband needs. It’s going to be significant.”
Notes
The graphic showing a timeline of toxic building materials uses 1980 as an approximate phase-out point for asbestos, following a series of bans in the 1970s. Asbestos regulation in the U.S. has evolved over the years and some regulations have been overturned. Regulations surrounding asbestos may vary depending on specific products and applications.
The chart also visualizes all buildings in Lahaina. Each dot represents a structure in Tax Map Key (TMK) land parcels beginning with 245 and 246, totalling 4,976 buildings.
Sources
Maui County; U.S. Coast Guard District 14; EPA; U.S. Army Corps of Engineers; Hawaii Department of Land and Natural Resources; Pacific Disaster Center (PDC); Office of Planning, State of Hawaii; USGS; Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA); U.S. Consumer Product Safety Commission; Hawaii Department of Health (HDOH); Maps4news; HERE; OSM.

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00.03 News/Inside an OnlyFans empire Sex, influence and the new American Dream.md
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# Inside an OnlyFans empire: Sex, influence and the new American Dream
SOMEWHERE IN FLORIDA — In the mornings, the workers of Bryce Adams’s OnlyFans empire buzz in through a camera-wired security gate, roll up the winding driveway that cost $120,000 to pave and park outside Adams’s $2.5 million home-office-studio complex. A large American flag waves from a pole above their office door. So does a banner depicting Adams, in tight shorts, from behind.
On OnlyFans, subscribers pay for monthly access to feeds of creators’ videos — many of them sex videos, known as “collabs” — as well as pay-to-watch clips the “fans” can buy a la carte. And as one of the platform’s most popular creators, Adams runs her business like a machine.
Inside, a storyboard designer opens the day’s publishing plans for not just OnlyFans but all of their customer feeder sites — Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, Twitter and YouTube. Editors start splicing video into short looping clips, optimized for virality. Collabs are sent to paying fans.
Bryce Adams and her boyfriend used to sell baseball equipment on the internet. Now they make millions as one of the top-earning accounts on OnlyFans. (Whitney Leaming, Julia Wall/The Washington Post)
Brian Adam, Bryce’s longtime boyfriend (who, like Bryce, uses a stage name for privacy), stops at each employee’s desk to review the day’s assignments, vetoing any posts or captions that seem “cringe” or “off brand.” In an office loft, four young women start texting with Adams’s paid subscribers, who talk about sex and their personal lives in conversations that often exceed a thousand messages a day.
This being a sex business, their workdays are filled with what others might see as debauchery, but which they see as just work: Two (or three) people will slip into a bedroom next to the kitchen or the gym with a cameraman, or just their cellphones, to record a collab or start live-streaming themselves exercising in the nude.
[Press Enter to skip to end of carousel](https://www.washingtonpost.com/technology/interactive/2023/onlyfans-bryce-adams-top-earners-creator-economy/?pwapi_token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJyZWFzb24iOiJnaWZ0IiwibmJmIjoxNjk5Njc4ODAwLCJpc3MiOiJzdWJzY3JpcHRpb25zIiwiZXhwIjoxNzAxMDYxMTk5LCJpYXQiOjE2OTk2Nzg4MDAsImp0aSI6IjViYjVhZTg3LThjMmYtNGY3Zi1iM2RlLWZhZmQ1ZGE3Y2QxZiIsInVybCI6Imh0dHBzOi8vd3d3Lndhc2hpbmd0b25wb3N0LmNvbS90ZWNobm9sb2d5L2ludGVyYWN0aXZlLzIwMjMvb25seWZhbnMtYnJ5Y2UtYWRhbXMtdG9wLWVhcm5lcnMtY3JlYXRvci1lY29ub215LyJ9.nGVBBjcWezdo6jdXH619oHk100K0Q3Wbe9WtYQoFoVY&itid=gfta#end-react-aria87065138-1)
###### The Creator Economy
End of carousel
Then they’ll head back to their desks to resume chatting or drive to the beach to make TikToks. After a few days, the video editors will upload the files to the OnlyFans servers with names like “Bryce & Holly Shower” or “Sex on a Jungle Trail,” retailing for $25 a scene.
Adams’s employees call their headquarters in central Florida “the farm.” Bought last year with OnlyFans money, the 10 acres of pastureland once held a grove of pecan trees.
![](https://img.washingtonpost.com/wp-apps/imrs.php?src=https://arc-anglerfish-washpost-prod-washpost.s3.amazonaws.com/public/NYZVJFS2IYEOS6KSMW6CR7TJUU.JPG&high_res=true&w=2048)
Adams's horse stable. She wants to remodel it as a guesthouse for OnlyFans creators visiting from out of town. (Photos by Sydney Walsh for The Washington Post)
Its only cash crop now is attention, and Adams’s business out-earns most American farms. The company brings in roughly $10 million annually in revenue, and many of her two dozen workers get paid more than the average farmer; her total corporate payroll exceeds $1 million a year.
“People don’t understand the scale of the opportunity. I mean, really: You can make your own world,” said Adams, 30, as she walked the grounds in jean shorts and a tank top. “This is our business. This is our life.”
In the American creator economy, no platform is quite as direct or effective as OnlyFans. Since launching in 2016, the subscription site known primarily for its explicit videos has become one of the most methodical, cash-rich and least known layers of the online-influencer industry, touching every social platform and, for some creators, unlocking a once-unimaginable level of wealth.
More than 3 million creators now post around the world on OnlyFans, which has 230 million subscribing “fans” — a global audience two-thirds the size of the United States itself, a [company filing](https://find-and-update.company-information.service.gov.uk/company/10354575/filing-history?itid=lk_inline_enhanced-template) in August said.
And with help from a pandemic that isolated people at home, fans’ total payouts to creators soared last year to $5.5 billion — more than every online influencer in the United States earned from advertisers that year, according to an [analysis](https://www.goldmansachs.com/intelligence/pages/the-creator-economy-could-approach-half-a-trillion-dollars-by-2027.html?itid=lk_inline_enhanced-template) into the creator economy this spring by Goldman Sachs Research.
If OnlyFans’s creator earnings were taken as a whole, the company would rank around No. 90 on [Forbes’s list](https://www.forbes.com/lists/largest-private-companies/?sh=385dd9cabac4&itid=lk_inline_enhanced-template) of the biggest private companies in America by revenue, ahead of Twitter (now called X), Neiman Marcus Group, New Balance, Hard Rock International and Hallmark Cards.
On the surface, OnlyFans is a simple business: Fans (mostly men) pay to scroll through feeds of photos and videos (mostly of women), with a few perks offered at additional cost, like direct chats with the creator or custom-made videos by fan request. Most, though not all, of its content is risqué, or “spicy,” and company executives joke that they are often misconstrued as “sexy Facebook.”
But as OnlyFans’s pool of influencers has grown, it has also professionalized. Many creators now operate like independent media companies, with support staffs, growth strategies and promotional budgets, and work to apply the cold quantification and data analytics of online marketing to the creation of a fantasy life.
The subscription site has often been laughed off as a tabloid punchline, a bawdy corner of the internet where young, underpaid women ([teachers](https://people.com/human-interest/former-teacher-filmed-onlyfans-content-classroom-says-salary-did-not-pay-enough/?itid=lk_inline_enhanced-template), [nurses](https://www.theguardian.com/australia-news/2023/mar/03/onlyfans-warning-to-nsw-nurses-and-midwives-prompts-sex-shaming-accusation?itid=lk_inline_enhanced-template), [cops](https://www.fox9.com/news/minneapolis-pd-officer-outed-as-onlyfans-model-after-pulling-over-subscriber?itid=lk_inline_enhanced-template)) sell nude photos, get found out and lose their jobs.
But OnlyFans increasingly has become the model for how a new generation of online creators gets paid. Influencers popular on mainstream sites use it to capitalize on the audiences they’ve spent years building. And OnlyFans creators have turned going viral on the big social networks into a marketing strategy, using Facebook, Twitter and TikTok as sales funnels for getting new viewers to subscribe.
America’s social media giants for years have held up online virality as the ultimate goal, doling out measurements of followers, reactions and hearts with an unspoken promise: that internet love can translate into sponsorships and endorsement deals. But OnlyFans represents the creator economy at its most blatantly transactional — a place where viewers pay upfront for creators’ labor, and intimacy is just another unit of content to monetize.
The fast ascent of OnlyFans further spotlights how the internet has helped foster a new style of modern gig work that creators see as safe, remote and self-directed, said Pani Farvid, an associate professor and the director of the SexTech Lab at the New School, a New York-based university, who has made [interviews](https://www.routledge.com/Consent-Gender-Power-and-Subjectivity/James-Hawkins-Ryan-Flood/p/book/9781032415741?itid=lk_inline_enhanced-template) with digital sex workers a major topic of her research.
![Clockwise from top left: The pool features regularly in the safe-for-work “sales funnel” videos they make for mainstream social media; the team keeps tripods and ring lights in the home's guest room closet for quick recording sessions; Adams wants to remodel the 10-acre lot's horse stables into a guesthouse for OnlyFans creators visiting from out of town; a camera-wired security gate leads in from the outside dirt road and onto a winding driveway they paid $120,000 to pave; a flagpole flies a custom-made banner showing Adams's signature pose; a two-story gym features a side room for the company's video editors and tech employees as well as an upper loft where Adams's chat team talks with fans for $1.50 a minute.](https://img.washingtonpost.com/wp-apps/imrs.php?src=https://arc-anglerfish-washpost-prod-washpost.s3.amazonaws.com/public/D4L4DDVAYJDQ7FJ6OAU2EO2SGY.jpg&high_res=true&w=2048)
A map of Adams's $2.5 million home-office-studio complex in central Florida, where she and her boyfriend live and run their OnlyFans business. (Emma Kumer/The Washington Post; iStock)
Creators’ nonchalance about the digital sex trade has fueled a broader debate about whether the site’s promotion of feminist autonomy is a facade: just a new class of techno-capitalism, selling the same patriarchal dream. And even some OnlyFans veterans have urged aspiring creators to understand what they’re getting into: pressures to perform for a global audience; an internet that never forgets. “There is simply no room for naivety,” one said in a [guide](https://www.reddit.com/r/CreatorsAdvice/comments/ztvzyf/dont_fool_for_the_agency_manager_pimp_scammers/?itid=lk_inline_enhanced-template) posted to Reddit’s r/CreatorsAdvice.
Farvid acknowledges that the job can be financially precarious and mentally taxing, demanding not just the technical labor of recording, editing, managing and marketing but also the physical and emotional labor of adopting a persona to keep clients feeling special and eager to spend.
But many creators, she added, still find it uniquely alluring — a rational choice in an often-irrational environment for gender, work and power. “Why would I spend my day doing dirty, degrading, minimum-wage labor when I can do something that brings more money in and that I have a lot more control over?” she recounted some telling her. “Does an accountant always enjoy their work? No. All work has pleasure and pain, and a lot of it is boring and annoying. Does that mean they’re being exploited?”
The attraction of financial freedom and the challenge of standing out have led many OnlyFans creators to run themselves like tech start-ups. Adams’s operation is registered in state business records as a limited liability company and offers quarterly employee performance reviews and catered lunch. It also runs with factory-like efficiency, thanks largely to a system designed in-house to track millions of data points on customers and content and ensure every video is rigorously planned and optimized.
The strategy is working: Adams and her employees, who spoke with The Washington Post on the condition that their real names and location be concealed and stage names be used to reduce the risk of harassment, have ascended to OnlyFans’s highest echelon of earners, which the platform calls its “top 0.01 percent.”
Since sending her first photo in 2021, Adams’s OnlyFans accounts have earned $16.5 million in sales, more than 1.4 million fans and more than 11 million “likes.” She now makes about $30,000 a day — more than most American small businesses — from subscriptions, video sales, messages and tips, half of which is pure profit.
Adams’s team sees its business as one of harmless, destigmatized gratification, in which both sides get what they want. The buyers are swiped over in dating apps, widowed, divorced or bored, eager to pay for the illusion of intimacy with an otherwise unattainable match. And the sellers see themselves as not all that different from the influencers they watched growing up on YouTube, charging for parts of their lives they’d otherwise share for free.
“This is normal for my generation, you know?” said Avery Leigh, the 20-year-old head of Adams’s advertising team, who made $150,000 in two months from her work with Adams and her own OnlyFans account. “I can go on TikTok right now and see ten girls wearing the bare minimum of clothing just to get people to join their page. Why not go the extra step to make money off it?”
![](https://img.washingtonpost.com/wp-apps/imrs.php?src=https://arc-anglerfish-washpost-prod-washpost.s3.amazonaws.com/public/EDWTBSZOJYB7UIB4QEMJRIBSNQ.JPG&high_res=true&w=2048)
The team poses for a photo in the gym at Adams's compound in August.
### ‘Cry in a Ferrari’
When Tim Stokely, a London-based operator of live-cam sex sites, founded OnlyFans with his brother in 2016, he framed it as a simple way to monetize the creators who were becoming the world’s new celebrities — the same online influencers, just with a payment button. In 2019, Stokely [told](https://www.wired.com/story/culture-fan-tastic-planet-influencer-porn/?itid=lk_inline_enhanced-template) Wired magazine that his site was like “a bolt-on to your existing social media,” in the same way “Uber is a bolt-on to your car.”
Since then, OnlyFans’s popularity has skyrocketed. In financial filings in the United Kingdom, where its owner, Fenix International Limited, is based, the company said its sales grew from $238 million in 2019 to more than $5.5 billion last year. Its international army of creators has also grown from 348,000 in 2019 to more than 3 million today — a tenfold increase. (And its leadership has made a fortune: The company paid its owner, the Ukrainian American venture capitalist Leonid Radvinsky, $338 million in dividends last year.)
The United States is OnlyFans’s biggest market, accounting for a large portion of its creator base and 70 percent of its annual revenue. The site has fans in 187 countries, the filings show, and a company executive said recently that it is targeting major “growth regions” in Latin America, Europe and Australia. (The Mexican diver Diego Balleza said he is using his $15-a-month account to [save up](https://apnews.com/article/mexican-diver-onlyfans-diego-balleza-f632bb4f4b9f5e8656ff4ee482bb7aa9?itid=lk_inline_enhanced-template) for next year’s Paris Olympics.)
Before OnlyFans, pornography on the internet had been largely a top-down enterprise, with agents, producers, studios and other middlemen hoarding the profits of performers’ work. OnlyFans democratized that business model, letting the workers run the show: recording their own content, deciding their prices, selling it however they’d like and reaping the full reward.
The platform [bans](https://onlyfans.com/terms?itid=lk_inline_enhanced-template) real-world prostitution, as well as extreme or illegal content, and requires everyone who shows up on camera to verify they’re 18 or older by sending in a video selfie showing them holding a government-issued ID. Beyond that, OnlyFans operates as a neutral marketplace, with no ads, trending topics or recommendation algorithms, placing few limitations on what creators can sell but also making it necessary for them to market themselves or fade away.
Many OnlyFans creators don’t offer anything explicit, and the site has pushed to spotlight its stable of chefs, comedians and mountain bikers on a streaming channel, OFTV. But erotic content on the platform is inescapable; even some outwardly conventional creators shed their clothes behind the paywall. The company plugs itself as the only social network that is “openly inclusive of all creator genres.”
OnlyFans creators are categorized as independent contractors of the platform, which offers basic tools for content publishing and customer acquisition and keeps 20 percent of creators’ revenue. OnlyFans sends 1099 forms to the IRS and all U.S. creators who earn more than $600 a year to confirm they are paying taxes on all income. (Adams said her business paid roughly $1.3 million in taxes last year.)
Enticed by the promise of wealth, an influx of new creators has begun paying for OnlyFans mentors and coaching programs that teach marketing strategies and techniques of the trade. For those overwhelmed by the logistics, agencies and account managers offer to handle administrative tasks, write captions and manage social accounts in exchange for a cut of the proceeds.
![](https://img.washingtonpost.com/wp-apps/imrs.php?src=https://arc-anglerfish-washpost-prod-washpost.s3.amazonaws.com/public/XGDT3OS5A7JYJTRU77YVSZYOXQ.JPG&high_res=true&w=2048)
Adams at her Florida home in August.
On Reddit’s [r/onlyfansadvice](https://www.reddit.com/r/onlyfansadvice/?itid=lk_inline_enhanced-template), an unofficial “educational space” with more than 300,000 members, creators share tips on how to secure a bank loan with OnlyFans income, handle fan disputes or cope with dramatic swings in pay. “I took one week off social media and have never recovered,” one creator there recently said.
Like most platforms, OnlyFans suffers from a problem of incredible pay inequality, with the bulk of the profits concentrated in the bank accounts of the lucky few. In 2020, the independent researcher Tom Hollands scraped the website’s payment data and [concluded](https://xsrus.com/the-economics-of-onlyfans?itid=lk_inline_enhanced-template) that the top 1 percent of accounts made 33 percent of the money, and that most accounts took home less than $145 a month. (OnlyFans declined to provide its own analysis, and Hollands said the company has since made it harder to access this data or conduct new research.)
For those who do make it, however, the rewards can be life-changing. When the OnlyFans creator Elle Brooke was pushed during a TV interview in June to explain how a future child of hers might feel about her work, her [response](https://uk.style.yahoo.com/onlyfans-model-elle-brooke-praised-163447258.html?itid=lk_inline_enhanced-template) — “They can cry in a Ferrari” — became an OnlyFans rallying cry. Stella Sol, a dominatrix, tweeted, “It’s always so funny how mad people get at beautiful Women happily winning the game of life.”
### ‘Dream girlfriend’
Bryce and Brian first met 13 years ago in high school, in a class on career development, and the two were an instant match: driven, competitive, a little obsessive. He played baseball for eight hours a day, and she attended every practice and game, sitting in the bleachers with a logbook to record every ball and strike.
Adams had spent her teen years selling her old clothes on eBay and became thrilled by making imaginary money become real. So after she dropped out of college, the couple devoted themselves to a small internet business, buying baseball bats and gloves from local mom-and-pop shops and reselling them online. They hired their friends, and the company expanded until it became self-sustaining, and they got bored.
One Sunday night in January 2021, as the couple halfheartedly watched a movie on the couch, Adams created an OnlyFans account with a fake name and posted a photo of her butt. The couple had an open relationship; it was, she said, kind of a joke. Then a guy who found her account messaged her, and they started texting, and he asked for more. She had no clue how to price the photos, but the guy just kept paying. After two hours and five photos, she had made $62.
Her boyfriend saw a major business opportunity. Other creators’ OnlyFans accounts looked underproduced, he recalled, and the market of paying schmoes seemed limitless. “There is a huge demand, and the vendors’ ability to meet that demand is awful,” he said. “It’s like taking candy from babies.”
For Adams, the experience was also energizing. She could snap a selfie in two seconds and some stranger would give her cash. She felt wanted, maybe even a bit powerful. A few nights later, her boyfriend walked into the bathroom around 3 a.m. and Adams was sitting next to the bathtub, sexting.
“She was like, ‘I made $400 so far,’” he said. “And I was like, ‘That’s actually really cool.’ Then I peed and went back to bed.”
![](https://img.washingtonpost.com/wp-apps/imrs.php?src=https://arc-anglerfish-washpost-prod-washpost.s3.amazonaws.com/public/EQZTDTBMW6DICNFX4TXRLELIGQ.JPG&high_res=true&w=2048)
Brian Adam and Bryce Adams in the gym.
![](https://img.washingtonpost.com/wp-apps/imrs.php?src=https://arc-anglerfish-washpost-prod-washpost.s3.amazonaws.com/public/MKOUNNO3R4SGE6WOQIR4PPYQIM.JPG&high_res=true&w=2048)
Adam prepares the Chick-fil-A salads they eat every day for lunch. The couple closely tracks every calorie they eat.
They began studying OnlyFans like a puzzle, tracking what fans wanted, what they’d pay to get it and what to say to keep them hooked. They started logging a collection of data, from video sell-through rates to subscriber conversions. And they conducted what they called “micro-tests” on everything in hopes of gaining maximum engagement: the most lucrative seductive poses, the perfectly sized video-title length.
Every week, they competed with themselves to beat last week’s revenue, gradually pushing the boundaries in hopes of standing out in a porn-filled internet. They moved from selling individual photos to “picture packs” to full videos. They started recording in new places, involving each other and bringing on new partners. And their fan count continued to grow.
Watching their partner have sex with someone else sometimes sparked what they called “classic little jealousy issues,” which Adams said they resolved with “more communication, more growing up.” The money was just too good. And over time, they adopted a self-affirming ideology that framed everything as just business. Things that were tough to do but got easier with practice, like shooting a sex scene, they called, in gym terms, “reps.” Things one may not want to do at first, but require some mental work to approach, became “self-limiting beliefs.”
As Adams’s popularity exploded, so, too, did the workload for her and Brian, who became her “chief executive”; each worked about 90 hours a week. There was always a new sext to respond to, a new piece of social content to publish, a new collab to record. In the evenings, the couple would take long walks, strategizing about content, how to “take Bryce up a level.” Afterward, they’d pick up Starbucks to have caffeine through the night.
They started hiring workers through friends and family, and what was once just Adams became a team effort, in which everyone was expected to workshop caption and video ideas. The group evaluated content under what Brian, who is 31, called a “triangulation method” that factored their comfort level with a piece of content alongside its engagement potential and “brand match.” Bryce the person gave way to Bryce the brand, a commercialized persona drafted by committee and refined for maximum marketability.
“One of the things we do communicate is: ‘Hey, this is your dream girlfriend. She’s down to go to all your baseball games, you know?’ The fans like that,” he said. The “Bryce” character that Adams presents to her fans, “We’ve all always looked at it as if it’s an amalgam of all of us here. It’s not actually her.”
![](https://img.washingtonpost.com/wp-apps/imrs.php?src=https://arc-anglerfish-washpost-prod-washpost.s3.amazonaws.com/public/TKOXYQIZ54B5HKMF7UCMCT5SMM.JPG&high_res=true&w=2048)
The pool is a short walk from the company's main office and the employee parking lot.
### ‘What the hell are we looking at?’
The sprawling main house on “the farm,” which they bought with a mortgage last year, is still mostly unfurnished, largely due to their all-consuming schedules. There is a guest room with tripods and ring lights for shooting sex scenes and an office where Adams chats with her “VIPs,” who pay $30 a month. One unused room has been claimed by their cats.
The house is sprinkled with mementos of the couple growing up and falling in love in Florida, including thousands of chunks of sea glass they’d gathered over hours-long walks on the sand. They also own 15 guns, including a .22-caliber long rifle and a pink pistol they keep in the mudroom and take on late-night walks; wild hogs are common here and legal to hunt year-round.
Adams’s mom, a former substitute teacher, comes over twice a week to tidy up the house and fix up the flower beds for $25 an hour. Last Father’s Day, Adams told her parents and younger sister, a doctor who just had her first child, that the “new business in the content space” she’d told them about was actually OnlyFans. She’d intended to tell them at breakfast but got too nervous, then called them all later that day.
Her sister was supportive but didn’t say much, she said. Her parents, who had expected she would grow up to be an architect, nevertheless encouraged her to do whatever makes her happy.
“The world has changed so much … but she’s an adult. She has to do what makes her wheels move, what she finds fulfilling,” Adams’s mom said. “When you’re a parent, you want to support your child. And that’s what I do.”
The heart of the company is in the backyard, a cavernous office and gym space they built in a barn once used for storing boats. Most of their employees work in this building, including their video editors, social media managers, chatters and advertising staff; an accountant and a few others work remotely.
The team is trained in the basic software of the modern office: Slack for workplace communication, Google Docs for spreadsheets, Trello for managing team projects. Every Monday at 4:15 p.m., Bryce and Brian lead a company meeting where they review all of the content, captions and publishing plans for the week on a big-screen TV. At lunchtime, an assistant brings everyone Chick-fil-A.
The farm is wired with a server closet, two parallel internet connections, a whole-house generator and a battery backup to ensure they’re never offline. They hired an IT guy who moved from Missouri with his wife, an OnlyFans creator herself.
One of the operation’s most subtly critical components is a piece of software known as “the Tool,” which they developed and maintain in-house. The Tool scrapes and compiles every “like” and view on all of Adams’s social network accounts, every OnlyFans “fan action” and transaction, and every text, sext and chat message — more than 20 million lines of text so far.
It houses reams of customer data and a library of preset messages that Adams and her chatters can send to fans, helping to automate their reactions and flirtations — “an 80 percent template for a personalized response,” she said.
And it’s linked to a searchable database, in which hundreds of sex scenes are described in detail — by price, total sales, participants and general theme — and given a unique “stock keeping unit,” or SKU, much like the scannable codes on a grocery store shelf. If a fan says they like a certain sexual scenario, a team member can instantly surface any relevant scenes for an easy upsell. “Classic inventory chain,” Adams said.
The systemized database is especially handy for the young women of Adams’s chat team, known as the “girlfriends,” who work at a bench of laptops in the gym’s upper loft. The Tool helped “supercharge her messaging, which ended up, like, 3X-ing her output,” Brian said, meaning it tripled.
For efficiency, the chatters use keyboard shortcuts to quickly send common phrases (“I want to know the real you”) and a feature that displays, across a fan’s profile picture, how much he has paid in tips. On a recent day, one girlfriend was talking with “Ryan” (lifetime tip value: $321.60) about a trip he took to Texas while “Kev” ($46.40) was saying he’d travel “any distance” to find his “right person.” One of their longest-paying subscribers has given $10,000 over the years, Adams said.
Keeping men talking is especially important because the chat window is where Adams’s team sends out their mass-message sales promotions, and the girlfriends never really know what to expect. One girlfriend said she’s had as many as four different sexting sessions going at once.
![](https://img.washingtonpost.com/wp-apps/imrs.php?src=https://arc-anglerfish-washpost-prod-washpost.s3.amazonaws.com/public/U5OCXZXFSB7O3MS2INYWI4YMNE.JPG&high_res=true&w=2048)
Adams's chatters talk with her fans for $1.50 a minute.
“There’s not 10 minutes that go by that we’re not like: ‘What the hell are we looking at right now?’” said Zoey Hill, a chatter on the team. “But for the most part, it’s kind of just like you’re having a regular conversation with someone until they’re like, ‘Hey, I’m horny.’ And then you give them what they want.”
Adams employs a small team that helps her pay other OnlyFans creators to give away codes fans can use for free short-term trials. The team tracks redemption rates and promotional effectiveness in a voluminous spreadsheet, looking for guys who double up on discount codes, known as “stackers,” as well as bad bets and outright fraud.
After sending other creators’ agents their money over PayPal, Adams’s ad workers send suggestions over the messaging app Telegram on how Bryce should be marketed, depending on the clientele. OnlyFans models whose fans tend to prefer the “girlfriend experience,” for instance, are told to talk up her authenticity: “Bryce is a real, fit girl who wants to get to know you”; “If you’re looking for real, deep and personal connections ….” Creators with a more hardcore fan base, meanwhile, are told to cut to the chase: “300+ sex tapes & counting”; “Bryce doesn’t say no, she’s the most wild, authentic girl you will ever find.”
Avery Leigh, who runs advertising, was working as a server at a local pizza place, saving up for college in hopes of becoming an obstetrician, when a high school friend told her last year that Adams was hiring chatters. Leigh was later promoted to the ads team and, though she’d never touched a spreadsheet before, she now spends 40 hours a week coordinating with agents and managing an ad budget of more than $900,000 a year.
![](https://img.washingtonpost.com/wp-apps/imrs.php?src=https://arc-anglerfish-washpost-prod-washpost.s3.amazonaws.com/public/IMHMYMSWCBNSWFUM36Q3TVKW5I.JPG&high_res=true&w=2048)
Rayna Rose, left, and Avery Leigh, two of Adams's employees, at the compound in August.
The $18 an hour she makes on the ad team, however, is increasingly dwarfed by the money Leigh makes from her personal OnlyFans account, where she sells sex scenes with her boyfriend for $10 a month. Leigh made $92,000 in gross sales in July, thanks largely to revenue from new fans who found her through Adams or the bikini videos Leigh posts to her 170,000-follower TikTok account. Adams takes 20 percent.
“This is a real job. You dedicate your time to it every single day. You’re always learning, you’re always doing new things,” she said. “I’d never thought I’d be good at business, but learning all these business tactics really empowers you. I have my own LLC; I don’t know any other 20-year-old right now that has their own LLC.”
### ‘Cult of you’
By most measures, the Bryce Adams content machine is running at extreme efficiency.
The team is meeting all traffic goals, per their internal dashboard, which showed that through the day on a recent Thursday they’d gained 2,221,835 video plays, 19,707 landing-page clicks, 6,372 new OnlyFans subscribers and 9,024 new social-network followers. And to keep in shape, Adams and her boyfriend are abiding by a rigorous daily diet and workout plan: They eat the same Chick-fil-A salad at every lunch, track every calorie and pay a gym assistant to record data on every rep and weight of their exercise.
But the OnlyFans business is competitive, and it does not always feel to the couple like they’ve done enough. Their new personal challenge, they said, is to go viral on the other platforms as often as possible, largely through jokey TikTok clips and bikini videos that don’t give away too much.
In a [podcast](https://open.spotify.com/episode/5NAgoQpXLoAJ374LODlRvy?si=28Bxp7-4SVmUi1kHwA-5sQ&itid=lk_inline_enhanced-template) last year on OnlyFans sales strategies — titled “How to Get More Simps,” using the internet slang for someone who does too much for someone they like — the host told creators this sales-funnel technique was key to helping build the “cult of you”: “Someone’s fascination will become infatuation, which will make you a lot of money.”
Adams’s company has worked to reverse engineer the often-inscrutable art of virality, and Brian now estimates Adams makes about $5,000 in revenue for every million short-form video views she gets on TikTok. Her team has begun ranking each platform by the amount of money they expect they can get from each viewer there, a metric they call “fan lifetime value.” (Subscribers who click through to her from Facebook tend to spend the most, the data show. Facebook declined to comment.)
![](https://img.washingtonpost.com/wp-apps/imrs.php?src=https://arc-anglerfish-washpost-prod-washpost.s3.amazonaws.com/public/2G6LKWJZFWDUCGJIHIR2MBXZOY.JPG&high_res=true&w=2048)
Rose painted this image of Adams's signature pose. She now works as an OnlyFans creator herself.
![](https://img.washingtonpost.com/wp-apps/imrs.php?src=https://arc-anglerfish-washpost-prod-washpost.s3.amazonaws.com/public/TMGCHGJ6L7LFS4ROZHR4MFNCMM.JPG&high_res=true&w=2048)
Adams reviews a video editor's work before it's published online.
The younger workers said they see the couple as mentors, and the two are constantly reminding them that the job of a creator is not a “lottery ticket” and requires a persistent grind. Whenever one complains about their lack of engagement, Brian said he responds, “When’s the last time you posted 60 different videos, 60 days in a row, on your Instagram Reels?”
But some have taken to it quite naturally. Rayna Rose, 19, was working last year at a hair salon, sweeping floors for $12 an hour, when an old high school classmate who worked with Adams asked whether she wanted to try OnlyFans and make $500 a video.
Rose started making videos and working as a chatter for $18 an hour but recently renegotiated her contract with Adams to focus more on her personal OnlyFans account, where she has nearly 30,000 fans, many of whom pay $10 a month.
One recent evening this summer, Adams was in the farm’s gym when her boyfriend told her he was headed to their guest room to record a collab with Rose, who was wearing a blue bikini top and braided pigtails.
“Go have fun,” Adams told them as they walked away. “Make good content.” The 15-minute video has so far sold more than 1,400 copies and accounted for more than $30,000 in sales.
The women in Adams’s business voice some uncertainty over how long this all can continue. They’ve seen how other creators have struggled and know that, on the internet, nothing lasts: audiences shrink, bodies change, people burn out and move on.
Adams said there may come a time when she wants to spend fewer hours on the work but that she has no plans to change anytime soon. “For as long as OnlyFans is around, Bryce Adams will be there,” she said. “But there may be some point where I have a family and that becomes more of a primary focus than my pages, at least for a little while.”
She and the others worry, too, about how friends and family might react, even though they feel they’ve done nothing worthy of being judged. Rose said she has lost friends due to her “lifestyle,” with one messaging her recently, “Can you imagine how successful you would be if you studied regularly and spent your time wisely?”
The message stung but, in Rose’s eyes, they didn’t understand her at all. She feels, for the first time, like she has a sense of purpose: She wants to be a full-time influencer. She expects to clear $200,000 in earnings this year and is now planning to move out of her parents’ house.
“I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. And now I know,” she said. “I want to be big. I want to be, like, mainstream.”
![](https://img.washingtonpost.com/wp-apps/imrs.php?src=https://arc-anglerfish-washpost-prod-washpost.s3.amazonaws.com/public/NVDEUQFGMH35BIBPCV4N5IWKRU.JPG&high_res=true&w=2048)
Adams at home.
##### About this story
Reporting by Drew Harwell. Photos by Sydney Walsh. Video by Whitney Leaming.
Design and development by Emma Kumer. Design editing by Chloe Meister. Photo editing by Monique Woo. Video editing by Julia Wall. Video producing by Jessica Koscielniak.
Editing by Mark Seibel and Wendy Galietta. Additional editing by Wayne Lockwood and Gaby Morera Di Núbila. Additional support by Megan Bridgman, Kyley Schultz, Brandon Carter and Jordan Melendrez.
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# The Tunnels of Gaza
The Gaza Strip has all the harrowing pitfalls soldiers have learned to expect from urban warfare: high-rise ambushes, truncated lines of sight and, everywhere, vulnerable civilians with nowhere to hide.
But as Israeli ground forces inch their way forward in Gaza, the bigger danger may prove to be underfoot.
The Hamas militants who launched a bloody attack on Israel last month have built a maze of hidden tunnels some believe extend across most if not all of Gaza, the territory they control.
And they are not mere tunnels.
Snaking beneath dense residential areas, the passageways allow fighters to move around free from the eye of the enemy. There are also bunkers for stockpiling weapons, food and water, and even command centers and tunnels wide enough for vehicles, researchers believe.
Ordinary-looking doors and hatches serve as disguised access points, letting Hamas fighters dart out on missions and then slip back out of sight.
No outsider has an exact map of the network, and few Israelis have seen it firsthand.
But photos and video and reports from people who have been in the tunnels suggest the basic outlines of the system and how it is used. The source material includes photographs taken inside the passageways by journalists, accounts from researchers who study the tunnels, and details of the network that emerged from Israeli forces when they invaded Gaza in 2014.
### Tactical tunnels
These concrete-reinforced structures are more than a transit pipeline. They serve as shelters against attacks, planning rooms, ammunition warehouses and spaces for hostages.
Illustration by Marco Hernandez
Dismantling the tunnels is a key part of Israel’s goal of wiping out Hamas’s leadership in the wake of the Oct. 7 attack.
Israel has used the existence of the tunnels as justification for bombing civilian areas, including after a large Israeli airstrike hit a densely populated area in the Jabaliya neighborhood. Hamas has denied its tunnels were under some of the specific sites struck by Israel, and it is often impossible to verify Israel’s claims.
To destroy tunnels on the ground, Israeli troops in Gaza will need to find entrances that are often hidden in the basements of civilian buildings, leading into concrete-lined tunnels, imagery suggests. They are typically just six and a half feet tall and three feet wide, experts said, forcing fighters to move through them single file.
One 85-year-old Israeli woman who was held hostage for 17 days in the tunnels after being kidnapped on Oct. 7 described being marched through a “spider web” of wet and humid tunnels. She eventually reached a large hall where two dozen other hostages were being held, she said.
There are still believed to be more than 200 Israeli hostages being held by Hamas, and many are likely in the very tunnels Israel aims to destroy. Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has said that bringing them home is one of the two main aims of the invasion, the other being to “destroy Hamas.”
The tunnels used for hiding Hamas equipment and fighters are not the only hidden passageways in Gaza.
After Hamas came to power in 2007, and Israel tightened its blockade of the territory, an extensive network of smuggling tunnels grew under the border between Gaza and Egypt. These tunnels are used to circumvent the blockade and allow the import of a wide variety of goods, from weapons and electronic equipment to construction materials and fuel.
The Egyptian authorities have made extensive efforts to destroy these smuggling routes, including pumping seawater to flood the network and [collapse many of the tunnels](https://www.nytimes.com/2015/10/08/world/middleeast/as-egypt-floods-gaza-tunnels-smugglers-fear-an-end-to-their-trade.html). But some smuggling tunnels are still believed to be in operation.
### Smuggling tunnels
These tunnels have been documented in the Rafah area, where they are used to bring all types of goods and products into Gaza from Egypt.
Illustration by Marco Hernandez
Although the Israeli military far surpasses Hamas’s in both size and equipment, fighting an enemy with its own network of tunnels is a high-risk undertaking.
John W. Spencer, who studies urban warfare at the U.S. Military Academy’s Modern War Institute, describes it as more like “fighting under the sea than it is on the surface or inside of a building.”
“Nothing that you use on the surface works,” he said recently on the [Modern Warfare Project podcast](https://mwi.westpoint.edu/what-can-the-idf-do-about-hamas-tunnels/). “You have to have specialized equipment to breathe, to see, to navigate, to communicate and to deploy lethal means, especially shooting.”
One of the main dangers of going into the tunnels is that Hamas has booby-trapped the entrances with explosives, experts say.
“The moment they realize the Israelis have entered the tunnels, they will just press the button and the entire thing could collapse on the Israelis,” said Ahron Bregman, a senior teaching fellow at King’s College London who specializes in the Arab-Israeli conflict.
### The challenge of disabling tunnels
The danger does not end after a tunnel is detected.
Illustration by Marco Hernandez
Israeli forces will probably not be able to destroy the entire tunnel network.
“It is just too big, and there’s no point in dismantling all of it,” said Dr. Bregman. Instead, they will focus on blocking the entrances to the tunnels, likely by calling in airstrikes, or having engineers destroy them with explosives.
They are also unlikely to take their fight underground — unless they believe they have no other choice.
Entering the tunnels would strip Israeli forces of their advantages, Dr. Bregman said. At the moment, the Israelis are making headway with a mass of troops, tanks and helicopters.
“The moment you get down to the tunnel, it is one against one,” he said.
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# The librarian who couldn’t take it anymore
*Deep Reads features The Washington Post’s best immersive reporting and narrative writing.*
KISSIMMEE, Fla. — It was her last Monday morning in the library, and when Tania Galiñanes walked into her office and saw another box, she told herself that this would be the last one.
Inside were books. She didn’t know how many, or what they were, only that she would need to review each one by hand for age-appropriate material and sexual content as defined by Florida law, just as she’d been doing for months now with the 11,600 books on the shelves outside her door at Tohopekaliga High School.
Last box, and then after this week, she would no longer be a librarian at all.
She heard the first-period bell ring, 7:15 a.m. She’d wanted to get to the box right away, but now she saw one of the school administrators at her door, asking whether she’d heard about the latest education mandate in Florida.
“What’s the name of this thing?” he said. “Freedom Week?”
She exhaled loudly. “Freedom Week.”
“Oh, good,” he said. “You know about this.”
Yes, Tania knew about it. It was one more thing the state had asked of them, a mandatory recitation of parts of the Declaration of Independence “to reaffirm the American ideals of individual liberty,” along with something else she had heard from the district. “They asked us to please not celebrate Banned Books Week,” Tania said.
She was tired. Her husband was always reminding her: Tania, you have no sense of self-preservation. She had thought about pushing back against the district, had imagined putting up posters all over the walls from the American Library Association celebrating “freedom to read,” a final act before her last day on Friday. But even if she did put up the posters, who would be there to see them once she left? The library would be closed after this week, until they found someone to take her place.
Tania had planned to spend the rest of her career in the Osceola County School District. She was 51. She could have stayed for years at Tohopekaliga, a school she loved that had only just opened in 2018. The library was clean and new. The shelves were organized. The chairs had wheels that moved soundlessly across the carpet. The floor plan was open, designed by architects who had promised “the 21st century media center.”
That was before the school board meeting on April 5, 2022, when Tania watched parents read aloud from books they described as a danger to kids. It was before she received a phone call from the district, the day after that, instructing her to remove four books from her shelves. It was before a member of the conservative group Moms for Liberty told her on Facebook, a few days later, that she shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near students. It had been 18 months since then. Nine months since she had taken Florida’s new training for librarians, a mandatory hour-long video, and heard the state say that books in the library must not contain sexual content that could be “harmful to minors” and that violating this statute would result in a third-degree felony. “A crime,” the training had said. “Districts should err on the side of caution.” It had been seven months since she began collecting Florida’s laws and statutes in a purple folder on her desk, highlighting the sections that made her mad, and also the ones that could get her fired. Six months since she broke out in hives, since eczema crept up the side of her face, since she started having trouble sleeping and got a prescription for an anti-anxiety medication. Five months since she stood in her house crying and her husband said it wasn’t worth it anymore. He could work two jobs if he had to. “You need to quit,” he’d told her. Six weeks since the start of another school year. Five weeks since she had given her notice.
And sometime in the middle of all that, as she showed up every weekday at 7 a.m. and tried to focus on the job she had signed up for, which was, she thought, to help students discover a book to love, Tania could feel something shifting inside her 21st-century media center. The relationships between students and books, and parents and libraries, and teachers and the books they taught, and librarians and the job they did — all of it was changing in a place she thought had been designed to stay the same.
A library was a room with shelves and books. A library was a place to read.
Now the library, or at least this library, was a place where a librarian was about to leave. Tania took the first book out of the box. It had been sent over by a teacher who, like teachers throughout the school, was concerned that the books inside her classroom might be in violation of the law. She looked at the title: “Music for Sight Singing.” She took out another. “30 Songs for Voice and Piano.” She took out another. “Star Wars: A Musical Journey, Easy Piano.”
There was no sexual content to review here. Barely any content at all. She was looking at sheet music.
It should have been absurd, kneeling over a box of music she couldn’t read, sent over by a music teacher who wasn’t sure what she was allowed to have in her classroom. But now the library was a place where things like this happened.
![](https://img.washingtonpost.com/wp-apps/imrs.php?src=https://arc-anglerfish-washpost-prod-washpost.s3.amazonaws.com/public/CCSYLKJNU4TX2RRJO6LPPBETHU_size-normalized.jpg&high_res=true&w=2048)
Tania hugs colleague David Smith on one of her last days at Tohopekaliga.
The books went back in the box. The box went on a cart. Tania asked one of her student assistants to return it to the teacher’s classroom, and then she walked to her desk and to the purple folder.
Inside, there were printouts of 79 pages of Florida law and statute that told her how to think about what students should and should not read. One law made it easier for people to challenge books they believed contained sexual conduct or age-inappropriate material. Another defined that term, “sexual conduct,” in layer upon layer of clinical specificity.
When she had decided to become a librarian almost 10 years ago, it was for a simple reason: She loved to read. Now she watched as the work she did at a high school in Central Florida became part of a national debate. There were fights going on over democracy and fascism. There were parents and school board members arguing on social media and in meetings. Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis (R) wasn’t just passing laws but using them to run for president. To Tania, the pure act of reading was becoming more and more political, and as a result, she had to spend much of her time reviewing the books on her shelves — not to suggest one to a student but to ask herself whether the content was too mature for the teenagers at her school. Then she had moved on to the books in each teacher’s classroom, because as of this year, the state considered those books to be part of the library, too.
All of this took time. The librarian’s job was expanding even as she felt it was shrinking to a series of rote tasks: She would copy a book’s ISBN number into a peer-review database. She would decide whether to mark it with the thumb-size red sticker, provided to her by the district, that read “M” for “mature.” If a book wasn’t listed in a database, she would review it by hand, and then she would start again with the next book. In those hours, the job became a series of keystrokes, and she began to feel more like a censor than a librarian.
It wasn’t just Tania doing this. It was more than 1,400 librarians in all of Florida’s 67 counties, each district interpreting the law in its own way. In the panhandle, Escambia County had instructed its schools to close parts of their libraries entirely until every book on every shelf had been reviewed for sexual content. In Charlotte County, near Fort Myers, schools were told to remove any books with LGBTQ characters from elementary and middle school libraries.
Tania saw the headlines in other states, too: A new law in Iowa to prohibit library materials that include “depictions of a sex act.” A new plan in Houston to convert parts of some public school libraries into discipline centers for misbehaving students. Meanwhile, in Tania’s county, the public library had just eliminated late fees, as a means of attracting more readers. That was the whole idea, Tania had thought. But in schools, the whole idea was getting lost somewhere. Or at least that’s what she wanted to convey in January, when she wrote an email to the Florida Department of Education. She had just taken its mandatory library training. “Have we forgotten that students should be reading for pleasure?” she wrote.
It was about a month later that Tania started talking to another librarian, Erin Decker, about leaving the profession. Erin worked at a middle school and had an idea to open an independent bookstore. They didn’t know much about running a business. But then a crystal shop in downtown Kissimmee was closing, and they were putting in an application on the lease. And now, slowly, Tania was telling people at school about her decision.
“You’re leaving?” one of her favorite students asked her, dropping by between classes.
Tania put her hands on his shoulders. “Listen. Listen, my darling.”
He started to speak again, but Tania stopped him.
“This a good thing, all right?”
![](https://img.washingtonpost.com/wp-apps/imrs.php?src=https://arc-anglerfish-washpost-prod-washpost.s3.amazonaws.com/public/ZBY4KZHP7OXJP3ADLVFYYGAAKQ_size-normalized.jpg&high_res=true&w=2048)
A banner outside Tohopekaliga High School in Kissimmee.
The first library Tania ever saw was the one at Academia Menonita, her school in San Juan, Puerto Rico. It wasn’t a big library, more of a room on the second floor, above the kindergarten classroom, up a steep set of stairs, where the librarian sat at her desk against the back wall, positioned where she could see everybody, anywhere in the room.
The school was Mennonite, and conservative. There was no dancing. The Mennonite parents didn’t drink. But there was never censorship. The library had an aspect of calm, an expanse that opened itself up to Tania every time she entered. She saw books in English and Spanish and shelves of novels. “This is what the world is like,” she remembered thinking.
In fourth grade, she discovered Judy Blume. “Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret” taught her about menstruation. In sixth grade, she read “Deenie” and learned about masturbation. In seventh grade, she read “Tiger Eyes” and learned about physical intimacy. In high school, the books became more mature. She read “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” and began to understand mental illness. She read a book about the serial killer Ted Bundy, “The Stranger Beside Me,” and imagined the dangers that might await her once she left home for college. On the cover, a picture of Bundy’s eyes, seeming to glow in the dark, scared her so much that when she finished the book, she threw it away.
Twenty years later, she was married, a mother of two daughters, and decisions about reading became personal in a new way. Her kids were in middle school, reading “Twilight,” and Tania asked them to hold off on the last book in the series, the one with a wedding-night scene, until they got to high school. A few years later, she became a librarian in a middle school, her first library job, and began making decisions about what was appropriate not just for her daughters but also for hundreds of students. She ordered a book for the library called “The Summer of Owen Todd,” a young-adult novel about an 11-year-old boy who is sexually assaulted by an older man, and she started having reservations. Would she want her kids to read it? There had to be a different way of thinking about it. What if there was a student here, right now, who was sexually assaulted by an adult they were told to trust? What if this book could help them? The book went back on the shelf.
“This is what the world is like,” she had thought as a student at Academia Menonita, and sometimes, when she asked herself what a library was, she wondered how she could give her students the feeling that she had been given, climbing the stairs to the second floor.
Now, 19 10th-graders at Tohopekaliga High School walked through the doors. “Okay, everybody, we’re here because you’re going to learn some very important things about the library,” said their teacher, Carmen Lorente.
Tania pointed to the left side of the room. Classics, dystopian, fantasy, historical fiction, horror, humor. She pointed to the right. Mystery, realistic fiction, romance, sci-fi, sports, supernatural. And over there — far corner of the room — 153 graphic novels. She kept going. Nonfiction, careers. 11,600 books, 6,000 e-books.
A boy yawned. Another slumped in his chair, forehead on his laptop, eyes shut. “I’m gonna let you guys explore now,” Tania said, but no one moved. At a table in the back, a girl held up a compact mirror and applied lip gloss. Slowly, four kids walked to the graphic novels. Alone, a girl walked to the romance shelf. At Lorente’s urging, a group of students walked to the careers section and stood in silence until one of them took a cookbook from the shelf.
“Miss,” one of the 10th-grade boys told his teacher, “I can’t read.”
“You can read.”
“It gives me a headache.”
“You can read,” Lorente said. “It’s just the mind-set.”
“Any questions on how to find a book?” Tania asked.
“Guys, get up. Walk around,” Lorente said. “Look at books. It’s not a chitchat session. You need to be up and actively looking at books.”
She saw a girl leaning against a table and pointed to the shelf at hip level behind her. “I challenge you to pick up a book,” Lorente said. “Any book. And read it and see what happens.”
“Oh, I can pick up a book,” the girl replied. She walked to the realistic fiction section, put her index finger on the spine of a novel, pulled it halfway from the shelf, then released it back into place. “See? I picked up a book.”
“No, pick it up and read it,” Lorente said. “What kind of things do you like? Fantasy? Historical fiction?”
“Nothing. I like nothing.”
The bell rang. The conversation about reading was over.
“They’re good kids,” Lorente told Tania, but Tania didn’t need to be told. She thought of the other students who were already past the tour she had just given: The girl who had read and returned three books already this week. The boy who had pointed to the cover of “Dear Martin,” a young-adult book about police profiling, and had said to Tania, “This kid looks like me.”
![](https://img.washingtonpost.com/wp-apps/imrs.php?src=https://arc-anglerfish-washpost-prod-washpost.s3.amazonaws.com/public/CISQPZGV2XWPJGF6SIHT5GGKSE_size-normalized.jpg&high_res=true&w=2048)
Tania flips through a book in the library's storage area. Much of her time on the job was spent reviewing books to make sure the school was adhering to new state content laws.
Now the library was quiet again. Somewhere else in the school, interviews were going on for her replacement. Three candidates were coming in. The principal had asked Tania to send him interview questions. She emailed her district supervisor for ideas and received a document in her inbox, the list of questions they kept on file.
“What do you see as the role of the librarian in the school setting?”
“What kind of library attracts students, staff and parents?”
Nothing about the laws, nothing about reviewing books, nothing about book bans at all. Tania scrolled through the questions and added one more. “What is your stance on Censorship?” she wrote, though she had no way of knowing whether it would be asked, or how the next librarian might answer.
She returned to her desk and called Erin, whose last day was also on Friday.
“I was just thinking about you,” Erin said. She told Tania what her day had been like — sick teachers, being called on to supervise sixth-grade lunch. “And sixth-graders, oh my God. I’m just gonna put this out there: It was corn dog and banana day. Sixth-grade boys. But I was thinking, I’m going to miss these kids, even though I hate lunch duty.”
Tania laughed.
“And I was like, ‘I wonder if Tania is feeling all the emotions like I am this week?’” Erin said.
“Actually, yes,” Tania said, “I am.”
![](https://img.washingtonpost.com/wp-apps/imrs.php?src=https://arc-anglerfish-washpost-prod-washpost.s3.amazonaws.com/public/UH6RCMNI4F42HTBA6PB433DQ6Q_size-normalized.jpg&high_res=true&w=2048)
Tania shares another goodbye.
“Hey, sweetie,” she said as the students walked past her.
It was her last day.
“Hi, guys. Remember — no electronics.”
“Hi, guys. Remember — no food, no open containers, no cellphones.”
They nodded. They smiled. They walked past her.
Did they know she was leaving?
Now the room was full, and Tania said, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Today’s my last day, so check out everything you need.”
“If you’re going to check out a book, do it today and do it in the next five minutes,” she said again.
“Do you want to check out more than one book?” she asked a student carrying a graphic novel to the circulation desk. “This is my last day, and my replacement won’t start for a while.” He turned around and came back with five more.
“Are you really leaving?” another boy asked.
“Yes,” Tania said.
“Why?”
She tried to think of a simple answer.
“I’m opening a bookstore,” she said.
So they knew she was leaving, but did they know why? Did they know what was happening in Florida? Some of the students may have, because their parents had asked the school to restrict their access to the library. There were three students at Tohopekaliga who had no library access at all. Last year, there were 45 students with restricted access. They weren’t allowed to check out any of the books Tania had labeled “M” for mature. This year, the number was higher: 84 kids.
Now she recognized one of them walking toward the circulation desk, a girl with a graphic novel tucked under her arm.
She scanned the student’s ID. “Limited Access,” she saw on the screen. Tania checked the front cover of the book, then the back, then the spine. No “M” sticker.
“Okay, sweetie,” she said, and the girl walked to a couch and began to read.
It was the last book she checked out. The bell rang. Tania watched as the girl walked out of the library, the book still in her hand, one finger holding her place.
A few hours from now, she would have a conversation with Erin about this strange day.
“I didn’t cry until I turned my keys in,” Erin would say.
“They gave me a card and flowers, and that’s when I cried,” Tania would say.
They would tell each other about the gifts people had made for them, the cards, the flowers, the cake, the lemon meringue pie. Last first period, last lunch period. Erin would tell Tania that her assistant principal asked her three times whether she had changed her mind about leaving. Tania would say her assistant principal asked her to say something on the systemwide radio, and what she said was “Mrs. G signing off. Media center closed until further notice.” They would sit in the store they had just leased, the crystal shop in Kissimmee that was becoming a bookstore. There were no books yet on the shelves, but there would be soon. Every book they could afford. Any book at all.
“So, how do you feel?” Tania would ask Erin, because it had been hard to pin down, the feeling that she had as she left Tohopekaliga High School for the last time.
She had wanted to leave on her own terms. But as she walked out, she wasn’t sure that was what she had done.
Lights out. Doors locked.
This 21st-century media center was now closed and would remain so until a new librarian walked in and saw what awaited: 11,600 books on the shelves, and, on the desk, one purple folder containing 79 pages of Florida laws and a short note from the previous librarian.
“You might find this helpful,” it read.
![](https://img.washingtonpost.com/wp-apps/imrs.php?src=https://arc-anglerfish-washpost-prod-washpost.s3.amazonaws.com/public/XHEMFMRTC6ZN2TFVW2K3CT5KBI_size-normalized.jpg&high_res=true&w=2048)
Tania unloads books at the shop she's opening with another former school librarian.
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# They Tried to Expose Louisiana Judges Who Had Systematically Ignored Prisoners’ Petitions. No One Listened.
ProPublica is a nonprofit newsroom that investigates abuses of power. Sign up to receive [our biggest stories](https://www.propublica.org/newsletters/the-big-story?source=www.propublica.org&placement=top-note&region=national) as soon as they’re published.
### Prologue
Two years into his 25-year sentence for attempted aggravated rape, Nathan Brown could tell the man sitting across from him — a jailhouse lawyer improbably named Lawyer Winfield — was not going to help him get out of prison. It was astounding to Brown that he was pinning his hopes on a fellow inmate who had an eighth grade education and whose formal legal training amounted to a prison paralegal course. “But he knew more than I did,” Brown said.
Brown laid out for Winfield the details of his case. In the summer of 1997, a woman was assaulted in the courtyard of the apartment complex in Jefferson Parish, Louisiana, where Brown was living with his mother. The woman, who was white, fended off the attacker with her high-heeled shoe until he fled on a bicycle. When sheriff’s deputies arrived, a security guard suggested they question Brown — one of the few Black tenants in the complex.
Brown, 23 at the time, was in his pajamas, rocking his baby daughter to sleep. The deputies put him in handcuffs and brought him to the victim. When she couldn’t identify him, the officers allowed her to get close enough to smell him. She had told them her attacker had a foul body odor. Brown, she would later testify, smelled like soap; he must have showered immediately after, she speculated. In a trial that lasted one day, the jury found him guilty. After his appeal was rejected, he no longer had a right to an attorney provided by the state.
Winfield began translating Brown’s grievances into a legal petition. He argued that Brown’s lawyer had provided ineffective counsel: He had overlooked the most basic defense strategies, failing to challenge the discrepancies in the victim’s story and to insist on DNA testing. The two of them worked on the petition for months, so Brown was surprised when the Louisiana 5th Circuit Court of Appeal delivered a rejection just a week later. The denial — a single sentence that didn’t address any of Brown’s claims — bore the names of three judges. But something didn’t feel right. How could they return the ruling so quickly? Why was it so vague?
The answer to those questions would come years later, in the suicide note of a high-level court employee who disclosed that the judges of the 5th Circuit had decided, in secret, to ignore the petitions of prisoners who could not afford an attorney. It was a shocking revelation. In a state where police and prosecutorial misconduct frequently make national headlines and a stream of exonerations has revealed a criminal justice system still functioning in the shadow of slavery and Jim Crow, a group of white judges had decided that the claims of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of inmates — most of them Black — were not worth taking the time to read.
Among those petitions was Brown’s claim that a DNA test would have proven his innocence.
![](https://img.assets-d.propublica.org/v5/images/Fifth-Circuit-Part-1-2.jpg?crop=focalpoint&fit=crop&fm=webp&fp-x=0.5&fp-y=0.5&h=332&q=75&w=800&s=1abc45dd24f68b2645b906330d8a7242)
Part One
### A Death at the Courthouse
On a warm Monday morning in May 2007, as the secretaries and clerks began filing through the glass doors of the Louisiana 5th Circuit Court of Appeal, staff director Jerrold Peterson was inside his office with a 9 mm Beretta pistol. A letter he had written to the court’s eight judges was making its way to the chambers of Chief Judge Edward Dufresne Jr. Versions of that letter were en route to the Judiciary Commission, the panel responsible for investigating allegations of judicial misconduct, and to the Times-Picayune, the state’s most influential paper.
Peterson hoped [the letter](https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/24099626-peterson-letter-to-judges) would unleash a massive scandal — one that he had helped perpetuate for more than a decade. Fifty-five years old, Peterson had long been a fixture at the courthouse, and he reminded the judges that he had kept their secrets, clearing contempt charges against their friends and fixing traffic tickets whenever they asked. But he focused his rage on one secret in particular: their handling of appeals sent to the court by prisoners who claimed they’d been unjustly convicted.
Louisiana requires that a panel of three judges review all such petitions — known as pro se petitions, a Latin phrase that means “for oneself.” But Peterson wrote that the judges had instructed him to ignore the law and dispose of the appeals on his own. Dufresne, he explained, signed off on the documents “without so much as a glance.”
The implications were staggering. Over 12 years, the 5th Circuit, which is responsible for reviewing challenges from trial courts in four parishes, had disregarded at least 5,000 pro se petitions from Louisiana prisoners, according to the court’s records. The inmates ranged from people convicted of murder to nonviolent offenders sent away for life. Many had limited education and struggled to present their arguments in the language of the courts. If Peterson’s accusations were true, none of the judges had ever laid eyes on their claims.
Peterson, who was known to keep his door open, didn’t answer the business services manager when she came by to tell him that Dufresne wanted to see him. The chief judge instructed her to have the head of security unlock the door. As he slid in his passkey, the sound of a gunshot echoed through the building.
A police detective arrived at the courthouse and found Peterson at his desk, slumped to one side, the Beretta still clutched in his right hand. The rest of the office, the detective wrote in his incident report, “seemed to be void of any further evidence.” When the officer searched the room a second time “for a final attempt to locate a possible suicide note,” Dufresne joined him. The chief judge didn’t mention that he had already read Peterson’s suicide letter. The detective, though, sensed something was amiss. In [his report,](https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/24099647-original-police-reports) he noted that Dufresne “appeared to be evasive.”
---
The 5th Circuit courthouse sits on the edge of downtown Gretna, a sleepy New Orleans suburb of 17,000 that serves as the government seat for Jefferson Parish. A tight bend in the Mississippi River separates Gretna from New Orleans, but politically and socially, the two are much further apart. Connecting the cities are twin bridges that became notorious after Hurricane Katrina when thousands of New Orleans residents tried to evacuate over the span but were forced back by a line of Gretna police officers. For many Black people in Louisiana, the moment encapsulated the hostility of the suburb, an area shaped by white families who had fled school desegregation half a century earlier.
On the Gretna side of the bridge, the road becomes the Harry Lee Expressway, named for a sheriff of the parish who was elected in 1979 and returned to office six times on a platform of aggressive policing. Lee once proudly announced that he had ordered his deputies to stop any “young blacks” they might find driving at night in a white neighborhood. “There’s a pretty good chance they’re up to no good,” he explained. During Lee’s tenure, the voters of Jefferson Parish sent David Duke, the former grand wizard of the Ku Klux Klan, to the Louisiana House of Representatives for a term.
Dufresne’s ancestors were among the area’s early settlers. His father, a plantation owner known as Big Eddie, built a white-columned brick home at the edge of his sugarcane fields in the neighboring parish of St. Charles. Dufresne, known as “Little Eddie,” launched his first campaign — a successful run for clerk of court — while he was still in law school. After he won a seat on the court, a local publication called him “the Thomas Jefferson of St. Charles government” and asked, “Can Eddie Dufresne, Jr. go cold turkey on politics now that he’s a judge?” The answer was no. By the time he was elected to the newly formed 5th Circuit Court in 1982, he had become a power broker like his father, weighing in on disputes and promoting politicians he favored. Each spring, he hosted a lavish crawfish boil on the riverfront that drew sheriffs, businesspeople, judges and public officials.
Long before he became chief judge in 2001, Dufresne dominated the 5th Circuit. On most weekdays, he would arrive at the courthouse in the passenger seat of one of his Cadillacs, driven by his longtime secretary, who would pick him up at the plantation house. Yet he was perceived by many as a “real salt-of-the-earth kind of guy,” as one lawyer put it. He earned the loyalty of staff by keeping work hours short — he would often leave at 2 p.m. — and wages high. “Dufresne ran a court for the benefit of the judges,” another lawyer told me.
During a monthly meeting of the 5th Circuit’s judges in 1994, he proposed changing how the court handled criminal pro se petitions, also known as writs. [The minutes](https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/24099648-minutes-of-1994-meeting) note the proposal but only in passing; it’s sandwiched between a lengthy debate over plans to upgrade the court’s computer system and a discussion about renting a new office copier. Dufresne’s plan is described in two sentences: A three-judge panel would no longer rule on the petitions unless they were “special or unusual”; instead, Dufresne would oversee them himself.
“Administratively, it got somewhat cumbersome to have to select three-judge panels for every writ, because you’d get hundreds of them,” said Bryan Pedeaux, who was Dufresne’s longtime law clerk. “So Dufresne said, ‘Let’s see if we can somehow streamline the situation.’”
At the time, the 5th Circuit had the lowest caseload — and the lowest number of pro se petitions — of the state’s five appellate courts. In the year preceding the meeting, it reported 235 criminal pro se petitions, fewer than one-tenth of the statewide total. The 4th Circuit, which includes New Orleans, reported 1,031.
Dufresne’s proposal was in keeping with his judicial views, former staff members told me. He believed that people convicted of crimes were almost certainly guilty and that any issue they raised on appeal was an attempt to avoid paying for their actions. He almost never reversed a decision of the lower criminal courts. “There was a total prejudice against all people charged and convicted of crimes,” said a former law clerk. “They never planned to give any of these people any relief anyway, so what difference does it make?”
The minutes give no hint of why the judges believed they could circumvent the state’s law. Although Peterson attended the meeting, his future role in drafting rulings on the court’s behalf is not mentioned. Still, it was clear Dufresne was offering to substantially reduce the judges’ caseloads: At the time of that meeting, more than 75% of the court’s post-conviction petitions came from prisoners without an attorney. The change went into effect immediately.
ProPublica made multiple attempts to contact each of the three 5th Circuit judges who presided during the relevant years and are still alive. ProPublica also asked for comment from the 5th Circuit courthouse. None responded.
![](https://img.assets-d.propublica.org/v5/images/Fifth-Circuit-Embed-1.JPG?crop=focalpoint&fit=crop&fm=webp&fp-x=0.5&fp-y=0.5&h=1200&q=75&w=800&s=2eb89528b5bbd5156aac88b9b0ff1ec3)
Entrusted with overseeing the new protocol, Peterson developed a system to dispense with the prisoners’ applications speedily. He [drew up 15 rulings](https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/24099650-list-of-rulings) for his assistant to cut and paste; they were typically no longer than one or two sentences and ambiguous enough to fit a wide range of claims. A couple of the rulings were labeled “grants” but did little more than allow prisoners access to their trial transcripts.
Sixty years ago, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled in Gideon v. Wainwright that the Sixth Amendment guarantees all criminal defendants the right to an attorney. But in most states, including Louisiana, that right ends after an appeal of the initial conviction. Every subsequent appeal is part of the post-conviction process, an area of law that even experienced lawyers find challenging.
Judges often view pro se appeals skeptically because they are filed by people who are not only untrained in the law but sometimes barely literate. Even liberal courts struggle with the high volume of petitions that lack merit. They are frequently assigned to clerks, who tend to recommend that judges dismiss them on technical grounds to avoid having to unravel what they see as frivolous or poorly made arguments. Still, the post-conviction process is essentially the only avenue prisoners have to introduce new evidence of their innocence or to persuade the court a defense attorney didn’t do their job.
There is overwhelming evidence that state courts routinely send innocent men and women to prison. Researchers estimate that at least 1% of those serving time for violent offenses have been wrongfully convicted — roughly 7,000 inmates in state prisons alone — [though they believe that number is much higher](https://deliverypdf.ssrn.com/delivery.php?ID=965089116025100064031016126109001070005032032002040049023072115078085004076082093095117062001119114023042026004001120096119123015046088093022109126094018027088116004000087027089075078116070019068007126120121086025009030025095081023112005116012001073&EXT=pdf&INDEX=TRUE). Louisiana law says that people sentenced to death are entitled to court-appointed lawyers for all of their appeals. Subjected to such scrutiny, an astounding number of the state’s prosecutions have fallen apart. Since 1976, [82% of Louisiana’s death sentences have been overturned](https://www.sulc.edu/assets/sulc/Current-Students/Student-Life/reversals.pdf) by appeals judges after defense attorneys exposed serious violations that occurred at trial. Most sentences were reduced to life; some prisoners were exonerated.
That statistic underscores a fundamental inequity. The people sentenced to lengthy or life sentences were arrested by the same police forces, prosecuted by the same district attorneys, represented by the same public defenders and convicted in the same courts as those on death row, but they are on their own. When they file a pro se petition asking Louisiana’s appellate courts to reconsider their cases, they are at a significant disadvantage. Those petitioning the 5th Circuit after that meeting in 1994 had no chance at all.
To create the appearance of a proper review, former staffers said Dufresne formed a “pro se committee,” which included three judges who agreed to lend their names to Peterson’s rulings. Whenever a judge on the committee retired, Dufresne appointed someone new. The nature of the pro se committee was an open secret at the courthouse. “I knew what they were doing, and I knew it was unconstitutional,” said one former clerk. “Everyone knew about it.”
In Louisiana, courts charge prisoners a fee for petitions — generally $50. Those costs are usually paid by parishes in which the defendants are convicted. By 1999, the 5th Circuit was charging $300. The money, paid by taxpayers, flowed into the 5th Circuit’s discretionary fund. In a period when the state’s criminal justice system was close to financial collapse, with some public defenders representing as many as 400 people at a time, records show that the 5th Circuit collected at least $1.7 million for the pro se petitions its judges did not read. Former 5th Circuit employees told me the judges spent the money on office furnishings, travel allowances — even for retired judges — and other perks the state didn’t cover. When asked about the fund’s expenditures, the 5th Circuit said it keeps financial records for only three years and could not provide an accounting.
---
The pro se petitions made up only a small part of Peterson’s responsibilities. His primary task was to oversee the court’s central staff, a group of lawyers who reviewed criminal petitions filed by attorneys and wrote recommendations for the judges. He also spearheaded the court’s lobbying of the state legislature and oversaw the construction of the new court building. “He loved that job more than anything in the world,” a former colleague told me.
Although Peterson often put in long days, he advised his staff to spend more time with their families. Those who knew him well said his devotion to his work seemed to rise and fall in proportion to what was occurring in his personal life, which was in a perpetual state of flux. Former colleagues said he was unhappy in his marriage and had several affairs with staff members. At times his home mail was delivered to the office, and some of his co-workers suspected he might sleep there on occasion. Putting his children through parochial school was a financial strain. One of his daughters had died in her teens, and a brother had killed himself. A devout Catholic, Peterson had a hard time reconciling his faith with his troubled marriage and bouts of depression.
Peterson was born into a family of river pilots responsible for guiding ships through the lower Mississippi. It’s one of the most lucrative jobs in the state, with pay frequently exceeding $700,000 a year. Peterson’s grandfather, father and brother all held the job, and two of his sons now do. Peterson took a different path. After he graduated from the U.S. Naval Academy, he attended law school at Tulane University and took a job at a firm in New Orleans. He joined the 5th Circuit at age 37; his time with the court was interrupted only by his military service — as a reserve Marine colonel, he served in both the Afghanistan and Iraq wars.
After years of overseeing the scheme, Peterson sought out Karla Baker, who had worked at the court years earlier and with whom he had been romantically involved. Baker was much younger than Peterson, and their relationship had continued after she left the 5th Circuit and took a job as a defense attorney at a prominent New Orleans firm. Peterson told her he wanted someone else to know what the judges had asked him to do, and he gave her a copy of his list of denials and the minutes from the 1994 meeting. He asked her not to do anything unless she heard from him.
On Saturday, May 19, 2007, two days before his suicide, Peterson received a call from Dufresne, summoning him to the courthouse. When he arrived, Dufresne and two judges were waiting in the conference room, and it quickly became clear they were there to fire him. They had evidence that Peterson had tried to improperly sway a case — that he had directed his staff to write a memo advising the judges to rule in favor of a defendant. Peterson rarely, if ever, recommended relief, even in cases filed by attorneys. But this happened to be a case Baker was defending, and Peterson had intervened.
Some law clerks had reported what they viewed as Peterson’s misconduct to the judges. Dufresne wanted to let it go, but a new judge on the court insisted they launch an investigation, which also revealed that Peterson was having a relationship with one of his subordinates. It had become too much to ignore. After more than a decade of denying the appeals of defendants, he was being fired for trying to aid one.
Peterson was blindsided. He had assumed he had a level of job security commensurate with the amount of dirty work he had done for the court. “Jerry thought he was one of them,” a former colleague told me. “He thought he was unfireable because he knew all the court’s secrets.” Now, some of the same judges who had asked him to break the law were dismissing him for what struck him as comparatively small-scale misconduct.
After the meeting, he sat down and began to write a letter to the judges. “Not one criminal writ application filed by an inmate pro se has been reviewed by a judge on the court,” he wrote. “Who’s integrity is really in question when you have conveniently ignored your duty to review pro se criminal writ applications so you can reduce your workload, present a false picture of the court’s work, and charge large sums for work you haven’t done?”
On the morning of his suicide, Baker said, she received an email from Peterson: “He said by the time he was finished it will be Gretnagate.” But he underestimated the determination of the state’s legal establishment to protect its own.
The Times-Picayune ran a short piece on the suicide a few days later. It described Peterson as a well-liked, reliable employee. A staff member told the paper that Peterson’s problems were personal ones: “As far as anyone knows it has nothing to do with anything here at the court.” The article made no mention of the letter Peterson had sent to the paper.
The Judiciary Commission initiated an investigation into the 5th Circuit. A person familiar with the inquiry told me it focused on Dufresne, but it never became public and never had any consequences. Its findings were sealed and sent to a storage facility that was already filled with the records of other misconduct investigations that are not subject to the state’s public records law.
None of the judges involved in the episode was disciplined. A few months after Peterson’s suicide, the 5th Circuit quietly adopted a new policy for handling pro se petitions: A panel of three randomly selected judges would now review them, as Louisiana law required. No one, however, alerted the men and women whose petitions the court had improperly rejected and who were in prisons across the state.
![](https://img.assets-d.propublica.org/v5/images/Fifth-Circuit-Part-2-1.jpg?crop=focalpoint&fit=crop&fm=webp&fp-x=0.5&fp-y=0.5&h=332&q=75&w=800&s=89cfa4f82f2b6c5141af5e20c350683f)
Part Two
### Hundreds of Petitions
Karla Baker wanted no part of the mess Peterson had left behind. But she had loved him, despite their complicated relationship, and felt partly responsible for his unraveling. She knew that Peterson had gotten into trouble because he had tried to influence the judges in her case. Although she never asked for him to intervene, she said, she worried her own legal career could be in jeopardy.
More than 16 years after Peterson’s suicide, Baker is still hesitant to talk about what happened, and unsure of how to cast herself in the story. Raised in Louisiana, she graduated from Loyola University New Orleans College of Law and began her career as a staff attorney for the state Supreme Court. When she joined the 5th Circuit as a law clerk in 2002, she was taken with Peterson’s intelligence and kindness. He never spoke down to her, she said, despite her lack of experience. He seemed to know everything about the courthouse, and he was always willing to help. As they became closer, she came to see a dark side. He was deeply unhappy, haunted. “He lived on the edge,” Baker said, but felt powerless to change his own circumstances.
Peterson could have taken his documents to the Innocence Project or another nonprofit dedicated to fighting the injustices of the Louisiana criminal justice system, but those were not his people. So, he had left it to Baker, who had never seen herself as an activist, to bring the scandal to light.
Baker anguished about the matter for months. She was engaged to someone by then and was embarrassed about having had a relationship with a married man. She wanted to put the episode behind her. She said she decided to send an anonymous complaint to the Judiciary Commission, laying out some details of the 5th Circuit’s pro se arrangement. She didn’t know about Peterson’s suicide letter or that he had sent the commission a copy. She waited for something to happen, but nothing did, even after she sent the commission a second letter, this time identifying herself as the one who sent the initial complaint.
Finally, Baker took the documents that Peterson had given her and drove to the Louisiana State Penitentiary at Angola. Roughly 130 miles north of New Orleans, the maximum-security prison sits on a former plantation that covered 18,000 acres and is named for the African country from which many of its enslaved people were taken. That year it housed some 5,200 inmates, most of whom were expected to die at the prison hospice.
Angola was once considered the most violent prison in the United States. Brutal assaults and murders among the inmates were common, and the guards were known for sanctioning a system of inmate rape and sexual slavery. After decades of federal intervention and grudging reforms, the prison has largely shed that reputation. Vocational programs, recreational clubs and a Southern Baptist Bible college that has ordained hundreds of inmates have been credited with reducing the violence. Angola also established one of the best prison law libraries in the United States, a sanctuary of sorts where jailhouse lawyers help other prisoners challenge their convictions and sentences.
After passing through security, Baker asked to see Ted Addison, a former client who could no longer afford her services but with whom she had kept in touch. Addison was halfway through a 20-year sentence for armed robbery. For years he had been petitioning the courts on his own, insisting he had been unfairly convicted.
Baker handed Addison a sheaf of documents, which included the list of canned denials Peterson had developed and the minutes to the 1994 meeting. Addison was stunned. Like many other prisoners, he had spent years trying to get the 5th Circuit to grant him a new hearing. He had filed six pro se petitions, and each had come back almost immediately with a brief rejection.
Addison took the documents to the prison law library. Here, amid the rows of concrete cubicles, they were both a revelation and a confirmation of what the jailhouse lawyers had long suspected. For years inmates had noticed an unusual pattern in denials coming from the 5th Circuit: They would arrive just days after the petitions were filed, a process that usually took months at the state’s other appellate courts, and the perfunctory language never varied, with only the names and dates changing from case to case. Now it all made sense.
The jailhouse lawyers set about alerting the prisoners who had petitioned the 5th Circuit during the relevant years. They believed Peterson’s accusations could revive their cases. Addison felt they were organizing “a movement.” He sent copies of Peterson’s documents to inmate lawyers at the state’s other prisons and introduced Baker to Kerry Myers, editor of Angola’s award-winning prison magazine, The Angolite. Myers had been convicted of killing his wife in 1984 and was serving a life sentence for second-degree murder. He had filed five unsuccessful pro se petitions with the 5th Circuit. “I actually had a lot of hope,” Myers told me. “I said, ‘This thing is going to blow up.’”
With Baker representing them, Addison and Myers filed a joint petition to the Louisiana Supreme Court, demanding an investigation into Peterson’s allegations and new hearings for all of the prisoners whose appeals had been ignored. Within three months, the court received 299 petitions from men and women across the Louisiana prison system, most of them drafted from a form that Baker had provided.
Baker also prodded the Times-Picayune to cover the story. The newspaper’s first article, which focused on the prisoners petitioning the state Supreme Court, quoted the suicide note Peterson had sent the paper more than a year earlier. Baker, who hadn’t known about the letter, filed a public records request to obtain a copy from the Gretna police. The Angolite ran a story as well, calling the 5th Circuit’s pro se system a “simple and lucrative process for disposing of the dispossessed.”
![](https://img.assets-d.propublica.org/v5/images/Fifth-Circuit-Embed-2.JPG?crop=focalpoint&fit=crop&fm=webp&fp-x=0.5&fp-y=0.5&h=1200&q=75&w=800&s=9665c08783d654c7026d789d2e1f2d45)
The independent review the inmates were asking for presented a threat to the 5th Circuit. If it showed that judgments were unjust, the appeals court could be exposed to civil lawsuits. If the reviews revealed a wrongful conviction, Dufresne and the other judges could face serious discipline, especially since the state’s laws against judicial misconduct take into account the harm the injustice has caused.
The probability that at least some of the 299 petitions had merit was high. More than 90% of the prisoners came from Jefferson Parish, where prosecutors were [known for striking Black men and women from jury pools in felony trials at a rate more than three times as often as their white counterparts](https://capitalpunishmentincontext.org/files/resources/race/BlackStrikes.pdf). Because the state had long allowed “split jury” convictions requiring only 10 of the 12 jurors to agree, many of the Black defendants whose petitions Peterson rejected were convicted by what amounted to an all-white jury.
The Jefferson Parish district attorney [had](https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.propublica.org/article/jefferson-parish-louisiana-three-strikes-habitual-offender-jeff-landry&sa=D&source=docs&ust=1698446834869532&usg=AOvVaw0DSrGTTPmCVx3yvXBszxKk) [also](https://www.propublica.org/article/jefferson-parish-louisiana-three-strikes-habitual-offender-jeff-landry) [made aggressive use of the state’s “Habitual Offender” law](https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.propublica.org/article/jefferson-parish-louisiana-three-strikes-habitual-offender-jeff-landry&sa=D&source=docs&ust=1698446834869532&usg=AOvVaw0DSrGTTPmCVx3yvXBszxKk), which can turn a two-year sentence into life without parole; almost all of the cases involved Black defendants. Many of the prisoners asking for a review had been sentenced under the law and were serving life sentences for nonviolent offenses like drug possession and “purse snatching.”
Some of the judges who had sent these men and women to prison had gained notoriety a few years before Peterson’s suicide, when an FBI corruption sting revealed they had accepted cash bribes and campaign contributions in exchange for allowing a bail bonds company to dictate the amounts defendants were required to post. The scandal sent two judges to prison and unseated a third.
More than 85% of defendants in the state are considered indigent, meaning they qualify for a public defender when they are prosecuted. Louisiana’s public defender system is widely considered one of the worst in the country. It relies primarily on traffic fines and court fees — an unpredictable source of revenue that has never come close to meeting the need. Offices across the state struggle with caseloads so large that they have no choice but to put defendants on long waitlists, leaving them in jail until an attorney becomes available. Some attorneys have so little time to prepare, they meet their clients for the first time on the day of trial.
The Louisiana Supreme Court did not grant the 299 petitioners an independent review of Peterson’s rulings. Instead, it adopted a plan proposed by Dufresne and the other 5th Circuit judges: Rather than saddle another court, the 5th Circuit offered to reconsider the cases itself. “We are guided in this request by a desire to avoid imposing financial or other burdens on other judges in this state,” the 5th Circuit judges wrote. In October 2008, the Louisiana Supreme Court remanded the 299 petitions to the 5th Circuit. (It did the same with another 155 that came later.) As part of the agreement, the 5th Circuit judges whose names had appeared on the Peterson rulings would not be involved in the “reconsideration” of the cases. New three-judge panels would decide whether the rulings, which their colleagues had never read, were nonetheless fair.
With new documents Baker had obtained through public records requests, including Peterson’s suicide letter and the Gretna police report raising questions about Dufresne’s behavior, Addison and Myers challenged the Supreme Court’s decision. The documents, they wrote, “show that all of the judges of the Fifth Circuit … have an apparent or actual conflict of interest in this matter.”
The Louisiana Supreme Court saw it otherwise, stating that it would not be appropriate to task the other appellate courts with the additional work or to spend $200,000 of the public’s money to pay for retired judges to review the cases. Justice Catherine “Kitty” Kimball wrote that the court could not base its decision on the allegations of a depressed court clerk and an “unsubstantiated” police report about his suicide. “While this may be the fodder of news reports and movies,” she wrote, “it is not, in my view, proper evidence for judicial action.”
While the Judiciary Commission inquiry was going nowhere, the state bar launched its own misconduct investigation — into Baker. The 5th Circuit judges had alerted the Louisiana Attorney Disciplinary Board that Peterson had intervened on her behalf. The following year, she left the defense firm and went into practice for herself, representing drug offenders and pursuing damages in personal injury cases. The bar association kept the case against Baker open for almost a decade before sending her a letter saying it found no evidence of wrongdoing and was dropping the investigation.
It took the 5th Circuit three years to review the pro se petitions of 454 prisoners. The Times-Picayune and other local news outlets had by then dropped the story, so no one was paying attention when the judges found that, aside from a dozen procedural mistakes, Peterson’s cut-and-paste denials had been correct. In one case after another, they wrote, “there was no error in the prior rulings of this court.” The court had investigated itself and found it had done nothing wrong.
Myers’ life sentence was commuted in 2013. Addison served out the remainder of his sentence and was released in 2016.
As for the 5th Circuit judges, they prospered in the years after Peterson’s suicide. Some were picked to serve on the state Supreme Court; others enjoyed successful political careers. Dufresne remained the court’s chief judge until he collapsed in the office of one of his businesses on December 7, 2010. His obituary in the Times-Picayune didn’t mention the pro se scheme. In St. Charles Parish, there’s a Judge Edward Dufresne Parkway, a Dufresne Loop and an Edward Dufresne Community Center, where a life-size bronze statue stands. He is wearing a suit with a lobster pin on his lapel and one of Lady Justice on his tie.
![](https://img.assets-d.propublica.org/v5/images/Fifth-Circuit-Part-3-1.jpg?crop=focalpoint&fit=crop&fm=webp&fp-x=0.5&fp-y=0.5&h=332&q=75&w=800&s=0388df8604cf309539e5b2abdcac4588)
Part Three
### The Last Case
That might have been the end of the story but for an unusual confluence of events that landed a former federal law clerk with an extraordinary resumé in a prison bunk bed next to the last inmate still fighting the 5th Circuit’s sham denials.
On January 2, 2019, Haller Jackson IV walked into Angola to serve out the remainder of a sentence for soliciting sex from a minor. He was 37 years old, 6-foot-4 and weighed 200 pounds, but he carried himself like a man who was doing his best to appear smaller. His right eye was blood red, a reminder of a beating he’d received a few weeks earlier at another prison.
Jackson had begun his sentence in Angola four years earlier. When his legal advocacy on behalf of fellow inmates called attention to, among other things, the prison’s inadequate health care, he was transferred to Dixon Correctional Institute, some 35 miles away. After he was assaulted, Jackson said, his lawyer secured his return to Angola, as long as he promised to refrain from embarrassing the authorities.
Jackson was relieved to be able to resume his work as an inmate lawyer. He had a year and a half left on his sentence, and he wanted to make the most of it. As a registered sex offender, he likely would never be allowed to practice law. While he settled in that first day, a man in the adjacent bunk bed introduced himself. His name was Louie M. Schexnayder Jr., but in Angola everybody called him Schex.
Schexnayder was convicted of murder in 1995. He’d petitioned the 5th Circuit 11 times during the period of Peterson’s blanket denials, raising questions about the competency of his defense attorney and the testimony of a witness who later recanted. After the judges at the 5th Circuit affirmed Peterson’s rulings, Schexnayder hired a lawyer to help him petition the federal courts.
Standing in Schexnayder’s way — and in the way of all the 5th Circuit petitioners who tried to take their cases to federal court — was the Antiterrorism and Effective Death Penalty Act, a federal law signed by President Bill Clinton in 1996, at the height of his efforts to portray himself as a tough-on-crime Democrat. The law, known by its unwieldy initials as AEDPA, has made it all but impossible for federal judges to overturn criminal rulings by state courts.
AEDPA was supposed to help deter domestic terrorism and expedite delays in carrying out capital punishment, but it did neither. The time between sentencing and execution is almost twice as long today as it was 27 years ago, and by most measures domestic terrorism has increased. But the law has significantly undermined habeas corpus, the constitutional safeguard that gives prisoners the right to challenge their incarceration.
One of the act’s toughest restrictions, and the one keeping the Louisiana prisoners from taking their cases to federal court, requires federal judges to defer to state court rulings in all but the narrowest of circumstances. Federal judges can’t step in just because a state court proceeding or ruling violated a prisoner’s rights. They can reverse the state ruling only if it was so wrong that not a single “reasonable jurist” would agree with it. Before AEDPA, federal judges provided a critical safeguard. Unlike state judges, most of whom face reelection and can be loath to reverse convictions for fear of appearing “soft on crime,” they are appointed for life and are theoretically free from political pressure.
Since AEDPA was enacted, state convictions based on the fabricated testimony of jailhouse informants or obtained by prosecutors suppressing or falsifying evidence are routinely upheld. Even in cases in which trial judges [adopted the prosecution’s brief as their ruling, typos and all](https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/2019/05/20/texas-death-penalty-case-illustrates-absurdity-worst-crime-bill-emerge-s/), federal judges have declined to step in. Those who do have been repeatedly slapped down by the Supreme Court in opinions that further narrowed the grounds for federal review. If the better-known 1994 crime bill was intended to lock more people up, AEDPA effectively threw away the key.
While some federal judges have tried to push back against AEDPA’s restrictions, those in Louisiana have applied them with zeal. In case after case, Louisiana’s federal courts have signaled to state court judges that virtually no violation of a prisoner’s constitutional rights is so egregious as to warrant review. Dufresne’s pro se scheme was no exception. When Schexnayder asked a federal district court for a new hearing in light of Peterson’s revelations, the judge cited AEDPA in denying his request, and the federal appellate court affirmed. But on that day in January 2019, when Jackson climbed into the top bunk in the prison dormitory he shared with 85 other men, Schexnayder thought finally he might get the help he needed.
Angola has produced some formidable jailhouse lawyers, but Jackson was unlike any of them. The son of a prominent family in Shreveport, he had studied law at Tulane, graduating first in his class with the highest grade-point average in the school’s history. While also pursuing a doctorate in epidemiology, he served as editor-in-chief of the law review and shattered the school’s record for the number of awards and honors earned by an individual student. The lives of most Angola prisoners were marked by extreme poverty; Jackson had grown up in extraordinary privilege. If he hadn’t been gay, he believes he might have been a frat boy, practicing at the family law firm and going to the Shreveport Club for dinner, just as generations of Haller Jacksons before him had done. Instead, he distanced himself from that lineage. After graduating from law school, he landed several prestigious federal clerkships and focused his efforts on prisoner rights and habeas cases.
But it all came crashing down in 2014, when he was arrested in New Orleans after arranging online with an undercover agent to pay for sex with a 10-year-old boy. By his own account, he had become addicted to alcohol and dependent on methamphetamines. It was a spectacular downfall, and it made headlines in legal publications. [Jackson pleaded guilty](https://abovethelaw.com/2015/05/haller-jackson-former-federal-law-clerk-pleads-guilty-to-a-sex-offense/) and asked to be sent to Angola. This was an unusual request. The prison still evokes fear and is generally reserved for people sentenced to more than 40 years. His lawyers were against it, but he insisted. “It’s my drag queen approach to life,” he said. “If you’re going to send me to prison, well, send me to Angola.”
It was also a way for Jackson to derive meaning from the wreckage. Angola is where Louisiana’s injustices intersect most dramatically, and Jackson knew his rare expertise in post-conviction law would be valuable. He had always understood that pro se petitioners got short shrift, but in Angola he was shocked to see how many of the prisoners’ claims had merit and how few managed to receive any attention from the courts.
Shortly after he arrived, Jackson met an inmate convicted of stealing a carpenter’s level. He had been sentenced to life without the possibility of parole under the state’s repeat offender law; his previous crimes included stealing a pack of cigarettes and a lighter and writing two bad checks to Home Depot. The man, Jackson wrote in a petition arguing the sentence was illegal, will die in prison over a “tool with a little bubble in it, worth less than $10.” It was denied. Jackson petitioned the court on behalf of a man who had found evidence of his innocence in a police report the prosecutor had withheld at trial. His request for a new hearing was rejected. As was a filing on behalf of a severely disabled man who was still in prison months after he should have been released, and another for a man who claimed he had lost his vision because of the prison’s neglect.
Almost all of Jackson’s filings speak not just to the particulars of a specific case but to the devastation wrought by the entire Louisiana criminal justice apparatus. The state has more people serving life without parole than Texas, Tennessee, Arkansas, Alabama and Mississippi combined. In a petition to the U.S. Supreme Court for a man serving a life sentence for possession of cocaine, Jackson protested “this destruction of another black family — perhaps a tiny tragedy in the civil rights Chernobyl that has been Louisiana’s war on drugs.” There was no evidence linking the man to the ounce of cocaine found at a relative’s home, he wrote. “And yet here he sits still, sentenced to life without parole on the banks of the Mississippi,” he continued. “As seen from the heavens, the scene on these banks has changed little since 1820.” The petition was denied.
---
By the time Jackson met Schexnayder, his writing had progressed “from disappointed but fundamentally-confident-in-justice liberal to just this side of burn-the-house-down nutter,” he told me. The indignation he felt over the 5th Circuit’s pro se cases was not because of the court’s obvious indifference to the inmates; this he had come to expect. “It’s that the judges got caught saying they don’t care,” he said. “The poor already knew this and have known it viscerally all their lives — from the way every arm of the state has ever treated them.” But here was a case in which they had irrefutable proof, and still there was no outrage on their behalf. “It was crickets,” he said. “They got caught so, so red-handed, and the response of all the other courts has been a collective shrug.”
Schexnayder, who had a criminal record so long that he would almost certainly have landed in prison for life much sooner had he been Black, could hardly be seen as the face of Louisiana’s criminal justice failures. But of all the 5th Circuit petitioners, Schexnayder was the one who had somehow managed to keep his case alive. Jackson knew that a victory for him could open the door for the others. He began working on a petition to the U.S. Supreme Court, arguing the 5th Circuit’s reconsideration of Peterson’s denials did little more than allow the judges to [“whitewash the scandal](https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/24099663-schexnayder-petition#document/p32/a2400334).”
“Why would the Louisiana 5th Circuit think it could get away with such appalling misconduct?” Jackson wrote. “To this there is an easy, if disturbing, answer: Because it has. And now, the lower federal courts are deferring to that court’s decisions in the affected cases, many involving a sentence to life without parole.”
Jackson realized the case was unlikely to get any attention unless he could line up some outside help. AEDPA had been a particular target of one of his mentors, Alex Kozinski, a federal judge on the 9th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals for whom Jackson had clerked. Frequently mentioned as a candidate for the U.S. Supreme Court, Kozinski had been one of the country’s most prominent judges, a Reagan appointee known for his cutting and iconoclastic opinions. In a 2015 law review article, he wrote that AEDPA was “a cruel, unjust and unnecessary law that effectively removes federal judges as safeguards against miscarriages of justice.” He called for its repeal.
But like Jackson’s, Kozinski’s career had come to an abrupt end. In 2017, amid multiple accusations of sexual harassment, he left the bench. Within the legal world, especially around issues of criminal justice, however, his opinion still commanded respect, [even among some of his accusers](https://www.google.com/url?q=https://slate.com/news-and-politics/2017/12/judge-alex-kozinski-made-us-all-victims-and-accomplices.html&sa=D&source=docs&ust=1698446834878843&usg=AOvVaw2WpCldIbWW0TR3_Y3iF9bR). Jackson knew that his involvement could draw attention to Schexnayder’s petition. He called the former judge at his home in California. Kozinski thought the 5th Circuit’s conduct — and the federal courts’ unwillingness to wade into it — might provide a valuable test for AEDPA. The law requires deference to the work of state court judges, but what if those judges hadn’t done the work? Kozinski asked the National Association of Criminal Defense Lawyers to submit a brief in support of Schexnayder’s petition and recruited another former clerk to write it.
In April 2019, the U.S. Supreme Court asked the state of Louisiana to submit a response to Schexnayder’s claims, signaling that someone on the court was interested in considering the case. The justices were initially scheduled to vote in April on whether to grant a full hearing, but they postponed that decision nine times over the next eight months. The delays gave Jackson hope. Maybe one of the justices was working to drum up enough votes to give the case a chance or preparing a powerful dissent from the court’s refusal to hear it.
Instead, on Dec. 9, 2019, the court unanimously rejected the case. Justice Sonia Sotomayor wrote [a short opinion](https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.supremecourt.gov/opinions/19pdf/18-8341_086c.pdf&sa=D&source=docs&ust=1698446834879223&usg=AOvVaw10AAZlOz6x0JCurwgS-Evh), citing technical issues with Schexnayder’s original petition to the Louisiana federal court as her reason for agreeing with her colleagues’ decision. She ended with what seemed like an encouraging note to the prisoners, saying the 5th Circuit’s reconsideration of Peterson’s rulings brings up “serious due process concerns.”
“I expect that lower federal courts will examine the issue of what deference is due to these decisions when it is properly raised,” she wrote.
But the federal courts will not get that chance. The 454 prisoners whose denials the 5th Circuit “reconsidered” have exhausted their appeals and can no longer ask federal judges to weigh in on the 5th Circuit’s conduct. In refusing to hear Schexnayder’s case, the Supreme Court has prevented the episode from being raised in federal court again.
When Jackson found out that Schexnayder’s petition had been rejected, he struggled to articulate his reaction. After a long silence, he said, “Well, they got away with it.”
Since they petitioned the Louisiana Supreme Court, some of the 454 inmates have died in prison. Others have been released after serving their time or have had their sentences reduced as a result of recent criminal justice reforms. But at least 170, including Schexnayder, are still incarcerated. They continue to petition the appellate courts, trying to show new evidence of their innocence or to argue that their sentences should be reduced.
After the Schexnayder episode, Jackson set his sights on the modest goal of filing as many petitions as he could before his release. “I’m going to make them tell me they’re OK with all these crazy cases,” he said. When he walked out the prison gates in June 2020, he smuggled several office boxes containing case files he had secretly copied — documents he would use to help the men he was leaving behind. In the months that followed, Jackson found lawyers to represent dozens of prisoners and worked with legal nonprofits to reduce the sentences of more than 100 people. Among them are several men whose pro se petitions the 5th Circuit had ignored.
![](https://img.assets-d.propublica.org/v5/images/Fifth-Circuit-Part-4-1.jpg?crop=focalpoint&fit=crop&fm=webp&fp-x=0.5&fp-y=0.5&h=332&q=75&w=800&s=39bf734c9731f446f7b8250dce538fac)
### Epilogue
In the years that Peterson was rejecting pro se petitions, the 5th Circuit denied claims that ended in at least five exonerations. Four of these men were freed only after the New Orleans Innocence Project agreed to represent them. Nathan Brown was one of them. He had appealed to the organization early in his incarceration, and lawyers there had discovered that the victim’s dress had been preserved as evidence and could be tested for DNA.
Hurricane Katrina put a stop to everything, though, and for a long time Brown heard nothing. While he waited, the 5th Circuit reviewed Peterson’s denial and concluded that the failure of Brown’s attorney to introduce DNA evidence was “within the scope of trial strategy” and did not constitute inadequate counsel.
Then, on his 39th birthday, Brown received a letter from the national Innocence Project, saying it would take his case. Brown’s new lawyers compelled the Jefferson Parish district attorney to send the dress for DNA testing, and the analysis identified another man — a convicted felon — as the attacker. In 2014, after 16 years, 10 months and 18 days, Brown was exonerated.
It’s been nine years since Brown was released, and he’s still trying to find stable ground. He has struggled with addiction and depression. He cycles through phones. He has lost his Social Security card so many times the federal government will no longer replace it. The dreams he had for himself when he was in prison — that he would go to college, that he would help his daughter to rise above the poverty that had plagued his own childhood — have slipped so far out of his reach he can hardly allow himself to believe in them. Still, he knows how exceptional his case is.
“They have a lot of guys in prison that are filing claims,” he told me. “They’re not all saying, ‘I didn’t do this.’ They’re just saying, ‘The way you sentenced me is wrong. The crime doesn’t warrant all this time you gave me.’ But they can’t come home, because once they get you, they got you, and the courts — they’re not listening. They don’t see you.”
![](https://img.assets-d.propublica.org/v5/images/Fifth-Circuit-End-Embed.jpg?crop=focalpoint&fit=crop&fm=webp&fp-x=0.5&fp-y=0.5&h=533&q=75&w=800&s=92f55e3823ac45a90cc4dc51ce6d7da5)
Richard A. Webster contributed reporting. Art direction by [Alex Bandoni](https://www.propublica.org/people/alex-bandoni) and [Lisa Larson-Walker](https://www.propublica.org/people/lisa-larson-walker). Development by Jason Kao.
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# What Really Happened to JFK?
## The Secrets of the JFK Assassination Archive
## How a dogged journalist proved that the CIA lied about Oswald and Cuba — and spent decades covering it up.
![](https://pyxis.nymag.com/v1/imgs/f74/4fb/bd195f4a639d3cf0bfb13b6c138d61ac02-diptych-01.rhorizontal.w1100.jpg)
Lee Harvey Oswald and CIA officer George Joannides. Photo: JFK Assassination Records Collection (Oswald) & CIA FOIA files (Joannides)
In 1988, in an elevator at a film festival in Havana, the director Oliver Stone was handed a copy of [*On the Trail of the Assassins*](https://www.amazon.com/Trail-Assassins-Murder-President-Kennedy/dp/1620872994), a newly published account of the murder of President [John F. Kennedy](https://nymag.com/tags/jfk/). Stone admired Kennedy with an almost spiritual intensity and viewed his death on November 22, 1963 — 60 years ago this month — as a hard line in American history: the “before” hopeful and good; the “after” catastrophic. Yet he had never given much thought to the particulars of the assassination. “I believed that [Lee Oswald](https://nymag.com/tags/lee-harvey-oswald/) shot the president,” he said. “I had no problem with that.” *On the Trail of the Assassins*, written by the Louisiana appellate judge Jim Garrison, proposed something darker. In 1963, Garrison had been district attorney of New Orleans, Oswald’s home in the months before the killing. He began an investigation and had soon traced the contours of a vast government conspiracy orchestrated by the CIA; Oswald was the “patsy” he famously claimed to be. Stone read Garrison’s book three times, bought the film rights, and took them to Warner Bros. “I was hot at the time,” Stone told me. “I could write my own ticket, within reason.” The studio gave him $40 million to make a movie.
The resulting film, [*JFK*](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=daAd1EMyqtk), was a scandal well before it came anywhere near a theater. “Some insults to intelligence and decency rise (sink?) far enough to warrant objection,” the Chicago *Tribune* columnist Jon Margolis wrote just as shooting began. “Such an insult now looms. It is *JFK*.” *Newsweek* called the film “a work of propaganda,” as did Jack Valenti, the head of the Motion Picture Association of America, who specifically likened Stone to the Nazi filmmaker Leni Riefenstahl. “It could spoil a generation of American politics,” Senator Daniel Patrick Moynihan wrote in the Washington *Post*.
Critics objected in particular to Stone’s ennoblement of Garrison, whose investigation was widely viewed, including by many conspiracy theorists, as a farce. And yet some of the response to the film looked an awful lot like a form of repression, a slightly desperate refusal to acknowledge that the official version of the Kennedy assassination had never been especially convincing. One week after the assassination and five days after Oswald himself was killed by nightclub owner Jack Ruby, President Lyndon Johnson convened a panel of seven “very distinguished citizens,” led by Chief Justice Earl Warren of the Supreme Court, to investigate. Ten months later, the Warren Commission concluded that Oswald, firing three shots from the sixth floor of the Texas School Book Depository, had killed Kennedy entirely on his own for reasons impossible to state. Notwithstanding *JFK*’s distortions — “It’s a Hollywood movie,” Stone pointed out — the film noted quite accurately that the Warren Commission seemed to be contradicted by its own evidence.
In a famous courtroom scene, Garrison, played by Kevin Costner, showed the Zapruder film, the long-suppressed footage of the shooting, rewinding it for the jury as he narrated the movement of Kennedy’s exploding cranium — “Back, and to the left; back, and to the left” — which suggested a shot not from behind, where Oswald was, but from the front right, in the direction of the so-called Grassy Knoll, where numerous witnesses testified to having seen, heard, and even smelled gunshots. (Stone had offered the role of Garrison to Harrison Ford and Mel Gibson, who both passed, but Costner, the very symbol of wholesome Americana, was actually the more subversive choice.) In another courtroom scene, Garrison appeared to dismantle the “single-bullet theory,” according to which the same round had been responsible for seven entry and exit wounds in Kennedy and Texas governor John Connally — an improbable scenario made all the more so by the alleged bullet itself, which was recovered in near-pristine condition. The simplest explanation would have been that all those wounds were caused by more than one bullet, but this would have meant either that Oswald had fired, reloaded, and again fired his bolt-action rifle in less than the 2.3 seconds required to do so or, more realistically, that there was a second shooter.
President Kennedy’s limousine shortly after he was shot. The Grassy Knoll is visible in the background. Photo: APTN/AP Photo
Three of the seven members of the Warren Commission eventually disavowed its findings, as did President Johnson. In 1979, after a thoroughgoing reinvestigation, the House Select Committee on Assassinations officially concluded that Kennedy “was probably assassinated as a result of a conspiracy.” But such findings seemed not to penetrate. “In view of the overwhelming evidence that Oswald could not have acted alone (if he acted at all), the most remarkable feature of the assassination is not the abundance of conspiracy theories,” Christopher Lasch, the historian and social critic, remarked in *Harper’s*, “but the rejection of a conspiracy theory by the ‘best and brightest.’” For complex reasons of history, psychology, and politics, within the American Establishment it remained inadvisable to speak of conspiracy unless you did not mind being labeled a kook.
Stone ended his film in the style of a documentary, with a written text scrolling beneath John Williams’s high-patriotic arrangement for string and horns, that deplored the official secrecy that still surrounded the assassination. Large portions of the Warren Report, Kennedy’s full autopsy records, and much of the evidence collected by the HSCA had never been cleared for public release. When *JFK* came out in December 1991, this ongoing secrecy quickly supplanted the movie itself as a subject of public scandal. Within a month, the New York *Times* was editorializing, if begrudgingly, in Stone’s defense. (“The public’s right to information does not depend on the integrity or good faith of those who seek it.”) By May 1992, congressional hearings about a declassification bill were underway. Stone, invited to testify before the House, declared, “The stone wall must come down.” CIA director Robert Gates pledged to disclose, or at least submit for review, “every relevant scrap of paper in CIA’s possession.” “The only thing more horrifying to me than the assassination itself,” Gates said, “is the insidious, perverse notion that elements of the American government, that my own agency had some part in it.”
The President John F. Kennedy Assassination Records Collection Act of 1992 mandated that “all Government records related to the assassination” be provided to the [National Archives](https://www.archives.gov/research/jfk) and made available to the public. The historian Steven M. Gillon has called it the “most ambitious declassification effort in American history.” It has done little to refute Gates’s “insidious, perverse notion.” On the contrary, for those with the inclination to look and the expertise to interpret what they find, the records now in the public realm are terrifically damning to the Warren Commission and to the CIA.
Among the first visitors to the JFK Assassination Records Collection was Jefferson Morley, then a 34-year-old editor from the Washington *Post*. Morley had made a name for himself in magazines in the 1980s. He helped break the Iran-Contra scandal for *The New Republic* and wrote a much-discussed gonzo essay about the War on Drugs for which he’d spent an evening smoking crack cocaine. By that time, he’d become Washington editor of *The Nation*. He drank with Christopher Hitchens, with whom he was once deported, after a gathering with some Czech dissidents, by that country’s secret police. “He was a little out there,” a colleague at the *Post* recalled. “But you want some people like that in the newsroom.” Morley had read about the Kennedy assassination for years as a hobby, but it never occurred to him that he might report on it himself. “I never thought I had anything to add,” he told me. “Until 1992.”
Jefferson Morley has become known as one of the most sober-minded assassination researchers. He spent so much time looking at CIA documents that he adopted the same filing system. Photo: Jonno Rattman.
Jefferson Morley has become known as one of the most sober-minded assassination researchers. He spent so much time looking at CIA documents that he ad... Jefferson Morley has become known as one of the most sober-minded assassination researchers. He spent so much time looking at CIA documents that he adopted the same filing system. Photo: Jonno Rattman.
I visited Morley in Washington in September. He is now 65 and somewhat more demure than his younger self, if still combative, with a sweep of gray hair, a high brow, and a sharp nose that together lend him a vaguely avian aspect, an impression heightened by his tendency to cock his head quizzically, like an owl, and speak into the middle distance. We met at the brick rowhouse that he still shares with his second wife, with whom he is in the midst of a divorce. She will keep the house, and Morley was not yet certain where he would go, but they agreed that he could stay through “the coming JFK season,” as he put it. His small office is there, as is his personal file collection, three decades of once-classified records culled from the National Archives and stored in worn banker’s boxes, tens of thousands of photocopy sheets arranged chronologically and, in duplicate form, by subject matter. “If you use what we’ve learned since the ’90s to evaluate the government’s case,” he told me, “the government’s case disintegrates.”
Morley, the author of three books on the CIA and the editor of a Substack blog of modest but impassioned following called *JFK Facts,* has made a name for himself among assassination researchers by attempting to approach Kennedy’s murder as if it were any other subject. “Journalists never report the JFK story journalistically,” he said. Early on, when Morley was still at the *Post*, editors would frequently ask, “What does this tell us about who shot JFK?” “I have no idea!” he responded. “I have to have a fucking conspiracy theory?”
He did not set out to make a career of the JFK Act, but the declassification process has taken longer than expected. At the urging of the CIA and other agencies, President Donald Trump twice extended the original 2017 deadline. In 2021, President Joe Biden pushed it to 2022 before extending it once again. At least 320,000 “assassination-related” documents have been released; by one estimate, some 4,000 remain withheld or redacted, the majority belonging to the CIA.
Morley’s serious interest in the assassination had begun in the early 1980s, prompted by Christopher Lasch’s attack on the conspiracy taboo in *Harper’s*. (He’d helped edit the essay.) He began to read the available literature. Some of the “conspiracy” books were highly suppositious, in his view, but some he found to be impressively thoughtful, documented, even restrained. Sylvia Meagher’s 1967 critique of the Warren Commission, *Accessories After the Fact,* based on a close reading of the commission’s report and its appendices, was particularly influential. The report “didn’t hang together,” Morley said, “didn’t make sense on its own terms.”
In 1992, during passage of the JFK Act, he was hired by the Washington *Post* to work for “Outlook,” the paper’s Sunday opinion section, an outpost of impertinence and boundary-testing in an otherwise buttoned-down newsroom. By Morley’s recollection, he pitched a piece about the JFK archive during his job interview. “They didn’t realize all these records were coming out, they weren’t really paying attention, and I was on the ball,” Morley said.
Morley visited the new archive after work, prospecting for stories, and began contacting researchers of the assassination to ask for guidance. Among them was John Newman, a U.S. Army major who had spent 20 years in Army intelligence and written a widely praised history of Kennedy and Vietnam. Newman, who also served as a consultant on *JFK*, was then at work on a book about Oswald and his connections to the CIA.
The possibility of such a tie had been floated since almost the moment Kennedy was shot. The mutual detestation between Kennedy and the Agency, especially after the disastrous Bay of Pigs invasion, was widely known in Washington. It is a measure of the paranoia of the era, and also of the Agency’s reputation for lawlessness, that on the afternoon of his brother’s murder, Robert Kennedy summoned the director of the CIA to his home to ask “if they” — the CIA — “had killed my brother,” Kennedy later recalled. (The director, John McCone, said they had not.) The Agency assured the Warren Commission that, prior to the assassination, it had had no particular interest in Oswald and almost no information on him whatsoever. This had always seemed implausible. Oswald was only 24 when he died, but his life had been eventful. He had served as a radar operator in the Marine Corps, stationed at an air base in Japan from which the CIA flew U-2 spy missions over Russia; had then defected to Moscow, where he told American diplomats that he planned to tell the Soviets everything he knew; had been closely watched, if not recruited, by Soviet intelligence services; and had then, in 1962, after more than two and a half years in the USSR, returned, Russian wife in tow, to the United States. One would think the CIA might have taken somewhat more than a passing interest.
Early on, Newman had photocopied the entirety of Oswald’s pre-assassination CIA file at the archive and brought it home. Morley came often to study it. “I had read something that said, you know, they only had five documents on him,” Morley said. “And it was like, ‘No, there were *42.*’”
Whatever mystique may attach to it, the CIA is also a highly articulated bureaucracy. Newman encouraged Morley to focus less on the documents themselves than on the attached routing slips. “When you start getting into spy services, everybody lies,” Newman told me. “And so how do you know anything?” The answer was “traffic analysis.” Even if the information contained in an intelligence file was false, Newman believed an account of how that information flowed — who received it, in what form, from whom, when — could be a reliable source of insight.
Via cryptic acronyms, the Agency’s routing slips recorded precisely who had been receiving information on Oswald in the period leading up to the assassination. “It was, when you saw it, a *lot* of people,” Morley recalled. “I just remember being in John’s basement and thinking, *Oh my God*.” A large number of senior CIA officers at the Agency’s headquarters had evidently been tracking Oswald, and tracking him closely, since well before November 22, 1963. “The idea that this guy came out of nowhere was self-evidently not true,” Morley said. “That was a door swinging open for me.”
An October 1963 cable from CIA headquarters to its station in Mexico City stating, falsely, that the most recent information it had on Oswald was from May 1962. Photo: NARA
Oswald’s file contained press clippings, State Department archives, and FBI reports detailing his activities in Fort Worth, Dallas, and New Orleans, where he’d been arrested in the summer of 1963 and interviewed at length, in jail, by an agent of the bureau*.* Of particular interest to Morley, however, was a series of CIA cables from October 1963, the month before the assassination, pertaining to a trip Oswald took to Mexico City.
By the Warren Commission’s determination, Oswald arrived in Mexico City on September 27. Before his return to the U.S. six days later, he seemed to have made several visits to the embassies of both the Soviet Union and Cuba. But there were problems with the evidence. The Warren Commission could not definitively establish that the man who presented himself at the embassies as Oswald was, in all instances, Oswald. A surveillance photograph of a man outside the Soviet Embassy, purportedly of Oswald, was clearly not. This “Mexico Mystery Man” has never been positively identified; no photographs of Oswald in Mexico City have ever surfaced. A CIA wiretap had also picked up someone presenting himself to the Soviets as “Lee Oswald,” but those who later heard the recording, including FBI agents and staff lawyers for the Warren Commission, reported that the caller was not him.
In the file, Morley found a cable from the CIA’s Mexico City station to headquarters in Langley reporting the phone call. “AMERICAN MALE WHO SPOKE BROKEN RUSSIAN SAID HIS NAME LEE OSWALD,” it read. Headquarters responded in a cable dated October 10, recounting Oswald’s defection and his time as a factory worker in Minsk. But it seemed to indicate that the CIA had lost track of him. “LATEST HDQS INFO” was a State Department report from May 1962 before Oswald had returned to the U.S. from the Soviet Union, the cable said. Having seen the CIA file, Morley knew this was not true: The CIA held extensive information on Oswald’s activities in the U.S. from as recently as just a few weeks earlier, including his arrest in New Orleans. Had CIA headquarters acted intentionally, Morley wondered, when it misled the Agency’s people in Mexico City about the man who six weeks later would be accused of killing the president?
He and Newman checked the routing slips. The October 10 cable had received the sign-off of several notably senior officials, including the No. 2 in the Agency’s covert-operations branch. But of particular note was a lesser-known signatory, Jane Roman, a top aide to James Jesus Angleton, the Agency’s famous counterintelligence chief. Just days before approving the October 10 cable, Roman had, in her own hand, signed for FBI reports that placed Oswald unequivocally in the U.S.
Morley and Newman found Roman’s address and visited her at her ivied bungalow in Cleveland Park, a tony D.C. neighborhood favored by CIA officials. Roman, then 78, was reserved but cordial, “a correct, smart, Wasp woman,” Morley said. She seated her visitors at a dining table beneath the dour portrait of a forebear.
Newman asked most of the questions. (Newman and Morley are still friendly, but each has a tendency to present himself as the central protagonist in the story of Jane Roman. Roman died in 2007.) He spread documents on the table and walked Roman through them, beginning with a routing slip from shortly after Oswald’s return from the USSR. It had been signed by officials of the Soviet Realities branch, of counterintelligence, of covert operations, and elsewhere. Newman asked, “Is this the mark of a person’s file who’s dull and uninteresting?” “No, we’re really trying to zero in on somebody here,” Roman said. Newman showed her the FBI report on Oswald’s arrest in New Orleans, for which Roman had signed on October 4, 1963. Newman then produced the October 10 cable, according to which the Agency had received no information on Oswald in over a year.
“Jane,” Newman said, “you read this file just a couple of days before you released this message. So you knew that’s not true.”
Roman protested that she had “a thousand of these things” to handle. But she soon conceded, “Yeah, I mean, I’m signing off on something that I know isn’t true.” Newman asked if this suggested “some sort of operational interest in Oswald’s file.”
“Well, to me, it’s indicative of a keen interest in Oswald, held very closely on the need-to-know basis,” Roman said. She speculated that there had been an “operational reason” to withhold information about him from Mexico City, though she herself had not been read into whatever “hanky-panky” may have been taking place.
After the interview, Morley and Newman stopped their recorders, thanked Roman, and stepped outside. “John and I looked at each other and said, ‘Oh my fucking God,’” Morley told me. They had coaxed from a highly placed former CIA official, on tape and on the record, an acknowledgment that top CIA officers in Washington had been keenly interested in Oswald before the assassination, so much so that they had intentionally misled their colleagues in Mexico about him for reasons apparently related to an operation of some kind.
Later, Morley spoke with Edward Lopez, a former researcher for the HSCA, where he had been tasked with investigating the CIA. Lopez said, “What this tells people is that somehow the Agency had a relationship with Lee Harvey Oswald prior to the assassination and that they are covering it up.” At the *Post*, Morley brought the story not to “Outlook” but to the more prestigious “National” section. “And naïve as I was, I thought, *This is a great fucking story, and they’re going to love it!*” Morley told me.
“National” editors did spend several months working with him, but it was decided that the story could not run in the paper’s news section. There was no explicit prohibition on Kennedy-assassination stories, an editor told me, but if ‘National” was going to publish something “on such an explosive topic,” the paper’s leadership “would’ve wanted it nailed down real tight.”
Morley took the piece to “Outlook,” “an implicit downgrading” in his view. It ran in the spring of 1995. A senior editor took him aside afterward to say, “Jeff, this isn’t good for your career.” “And to me,” Morley recalled, “that was like, ‘Wow, this really *is* a good story!’”
The “Mexico Mystery Man,” whom the CIA tentatively identified as Oswald. Photo: Corbis/Getty Images
One of the more damning revelations of the past few decades is that the Warren Commission very likely reached its lone-gunman verdict, or rather received it from on high, before it had begun its investigation. This conclusion emerged from later statements by the commissioners; from recordings of the phone calls of President Johnson, in which he made clear that it was of paramount importance to show that Oswald had no ties to either the Soviets or their Cuban allies, so as to avoid “a war that can kill 40 million Americans in an hour”; and, most famously, from a declassified memo prepared for the White House by Assistant Attorney General Nicholas Katzenbach on November 25, one day after Oswald’s death.
“The public must be satisfied that Oswald was the assassin; that he had no confederates who are still at large; and that evidence was such that he would have been convicted at trial,” Katzenbach wrote. “Speculation about Oswald’s motivation ought to be cut off, and we should have some basis for rebutting thought that this was a Communist conspiracy or (as the Iron Curtain press is saying) a right-wing conspiracy to blame it on the Communists.” This evidence certainly does not prove that the Warren Commission was a fraud, or that its conclusions were necessarily wrong, but it does suggest quite strongly that, at its highest levels, the commission was not interested in discovering anything other than Oswald’s sole and apolitical responsibility for the assassination.
Likewise, the Senate’s Church Committee, convened in 1975 to study abuses by the intelligence services, found that the Warren Commission had not received the honest cooperation of the FBI or CIA, which withheld “facts which might have substantially affected the course of the investigation.” The CIA in particular avoided mention of its various plots to assassinate Fidel Castro, one of which had involved a Cuban high official who had, in a meeting in Paris on the very day of Kennedy’s killing, received from a CIA handler the poison pen with which he was supposed to carry out his task. These activities were, in addition to being closely held secrets, patently illegal, and it is understandable that the CIA would not want to disclose them. But it is just as obvious that a thorough investigation of the assassination would have required their disclosure. Castro had stated publicly, for instance, that he would retaliate if he ever discovered that the U.S. was trying to have him killed; the fact that the Agency had been doing precisely this at the time of the assassination would have been a clear investigative lead.
Allen Dulles, a former director of the CIA who sat on the Warren Commission, could have informed his fellow commissioners of the plots. He elected not to. Dulles hated Kennedy, whom he considered a pinko and an interloper and who had unceremoniously fired him as CIA director after the Bay of Pigs. Arlen Specter, who became a senator 15 years after serving on the Warren Commission, used to tell a story about Dulles, which was recounted to me by Carl Feldbaum, Specter’s Senate chief of staff. The commissioners were at one point solemnly passing round Kennedy’s bloodied necktie from November 22; a bullet hole was clearly visible. When the garment came to him, Dulles, puffing on his pipe, examined it for a moment and then, passing it along, remarked, “I didn’t know Jack wore store-bought ties.”
In addition to the Castro plots, the Church Committee was particularly severe with the CIA for its lack of curiosity over “the significance of Oswald’s contacts with pro-Castro and anti-Castro groups for the many months before the assassination.” Oswald’s behavior in the summer of 1963 looked to many critics like that of some sort of spy or agent provocateur. Senator Richard Schweiker, who chaired the Church subcommittee on the Kennedy assassination, said of Oswald, “Everywhere you look with him, there are the fingerprints of intelligence.”
The HSCA investigation, begun in 1977, took a special interest in Oswald’s Cuban contacts, and in particular his interactions with an anti-Castro group known as the Directorio Revolucionario Estudiantil, or DRE. The Warren Commission had reported on the DRE but had never been informed that the group was founded, funded, and closely managed by the CIA.
Prior to the investigation, the HSCA’s lead counsel, G. Robert Blakey, obtained a formal agreement for extensive access to the Agency’s files. “They agreed to give us everything,” Blakey, who is now professor emeritus at Notre Dame, recalled recently. “At some stage, they decided that that was not a good idea.” In 1978, after the HSCA had begun seeking information about the DRE, the CIA named a new liaison to the committee, a notably severe, sharp-dressing senior officer named George Joannides. “He kind of gave the impression of brooking no lightheartedness,” Dan Hardway, a lawyer who dealt extensively with Joannides as an HSCA researcher, told me. Hardway recalled seeing Joannides smile only once, when he brought out a record that was almost entirely redacted. Hardway was furious. “And George was just bouncing,” he said, “just bouncing on his toes.”
Joannides was presented as a “facilitator,” but his actual function seemed to be to “give as little as possible, as slow as possible, and basically wait us out,” Blakey said; the committee’s investigation into the DRE in particular was “frustrated.” “Not ‘frustrated’ because we didn’t get what we wanted,” Blakey said. “We didn’t get *anything*.” “Joannides screwed us,” Hardway told me.
Joannides’s stonewalling has never been explained by the CIA. It may be instructive to note, however, that not long ago the Agency admitted, albeit not publicly, that it intentionally misled the Warren Commission. A report prepared in 2005 by CIA chief historian David Robarge and declassified in 2014 claimed that Agency officials engaged in a “benign cover-up” in order to prevent the discovery of the Castro plots. It is entirely possible that the CIA’s apparent efforts to keep the HSCA away from the DRE were similarly “benign.” But the purpose would not have been to cover up the Castro plots: The Castro plots had by then been publicly acknowledged. If the CIA was using Joannides to prevent the discovery of some damaging secret, it was evidently something else.
Before meeting Jane Roman, Morley was “still kind of in lone-gunman-land,” he told me. But the story of the October 10 cable convinced him that the Agency had perhaps been using Oswald in some way and that it might bear some responsibility for the assassination, though whether by design or mistake — “complicity” or “incompetence,” in Morley’s words — he could not say. He began to look into Oswald’s connections to the DRE.
In the early 1960s, the CIA supported a number of Cuban exile groups, helping them to conduct psychological warfare, gather intelligence, and run paramilitary operations in Cuba. The DRE, based in Miami, was among the largest and most influential; at one point, it was receiving $51,000 from the Agency every month, the equivalent of about half a million dollars today. Its leaders were profiled in *Life*.
In 1962, the CIA’s deputy director for operations, Richard Helms, summoned the DRE’s young secretary-general, Luis Fernandez-Rocha, to his office in Langley. “You, Mr. Rocha, are a responsible man,” Helms said, according to a memo released under the JFK Act. “I am a responsible man. Let’s do business in a mature manner.” Helms assured Fernandez-Rocha of his “personal interest in this relationship” and said he would be appointing a new case officer for the DRE, a capable man who would report directly to him.
Oswald encountered the DRE the following year in New Orleans. His behavior during that period was, as the Church Committee noted, perplexing. He presented himself publicly as a member of the New Orleans branch of the Fair Play for Cuba Committee, a controversial pro-Castro group, carrying a membership card signed by the branch president, A.J. Hidell. And yet no such branch existed, nor any such person. (When he was arrested in Dallas, Oswald carried a forged identification card bearing his picture and the name of “Alek James Hidell.”) At the same time, he seemed to be in contact with various opponents of the Castro regime. In August, Oswald approached a man named Carlos Bringuier, presenting himself as a fellow anti-Communist and offering his military expertise to help train rebel Cuban fighters. Bringuier was the DRE’s delegate in New Orleans.
A few days later, a friend told Bringuier that Oswald was nearby, on Canal Street, handing out pro-Castro leaflets (“HANDS OFF CUBA!”). Bringuier went to confront Oswald; the men were arrested for fighting. Before his release from jail, Oswald asked to speak with an FBI agent, to whom he took pains to explain that he was a member of the Fair Play for Cuba Committee. In a radio appearance shortly thereafter, Oswald debated Bringuier on the topic of Kennedy’s Cuba policy. Following the debate, a coalition of anti-Castro groups issued an “open letter to the people of New Orleans” warning that Oswald was a dangerous subversive.
Oswald handing out pro-Castro leaflets in New Orleans. Photo: Corbis/Getty Images
Three months later, the DRE distinguished itself as the source of the Kennedy assassination’s very first conspiracy theory. On November 22, DRE operatives called their contacts in the media to report that they knew the alleged assassin and that he was quite obviously an agent of the Cuban regime. Bringuier made the front page of the next morning’s *Washington Post*.
At the archive, Morley found monthly progress reports on the DRE that spanned the full era of CIA backing, from 1960 until 1966, except for a conspicuous 17-month gap around the assassination. Morley did find a DRE memo from the missing period, however. It was addressed simply “To Howard.” He assumed this referred to the DRE’s case officer. “So I thought, *Well, this guy Howard, if he’s around like Jane Roman was around, that would be a really good story,*” Morley said. Morley was able to convince the *Post*’s investigations editor, Rick Atkinson, to send him to Miami, where he hoped to ask the former leaders of the DRE who Howard was. He flew down from Washington in the fall of 1997.
The DRE men remembered Howard distinctly. He dressed in tailored suits, wore a pinkie ring, and was memorably uncongenial. Fernandez-Rocha, the DRE’s former secretary-general, recalled meeting him as frequently as a few times a week for coffee at a Howard Johnson’s. The group’s previous case officer had been a lovely man, “but he was a sergeant,” Rocha told Morley. “When I was dealing with this guy Howard, I was talking to a colonel.”
When Morley returned to Washington, he brought the question of Howard to the Assassination Records Review Board. The JFK Act had created the ARRB, an independent commission with a staff of about 30 lawyers and researchers, to oversee the initial phase of declassification. The board’s primary task was to identify all assassination-related records in the possession of the CIA, FBI, and other government entities. To the displeasure of some of those bodies, its interpretation of “assassination-related” proved to be sweeping. “We didn’t just dabble in records,” John Tunheim, who chaired the review board until its conclusion in 1998, told me. “We tried to answer as many questions as we could.” The ARRB had in fact already been pressing the CIA for information about the DRE for a year; it added Howard to its request in 1997, asking that the CIA identify him.
In a memo, the Agency responded that the “missing” reports had likely never existed, and that “Howard” was neither a known pseudonym, nor a “registered alias,” nor the true name of any DRE case officer. “The use of ‘To Howard’ might have been nothing more than a routing indicator,” the Agency suggested.
Morley found this explanation wanting. (“A routing indicator with a pinkie ring!” he joked to me.) The ARRB soon issued its final report and disbanded. Shortly thereafter, however, Morley got a call from T. Jeremy Gunn, the board’s lead investigator and chief counsel. An ARRB analyst had apparently managed to identify Howard by reviewing the personnel file of an operations officer known by the pseudonym Walter D. Newby. Newby had become the DRE’s handler in December 1962 and served for 17 months — precisely the period of the missing records. Five of Newby’s job evaluations, or “fitness reports,” had been declassified. The National Archives faxed them to Morley.
The man in the reports certainly seemed to correspond with the “Howard” described by Fernandez-Rocha and the other DRE men. One evaluation from 1963 made note of his “firmness” and his ability “to render a decision without waste of motion.” A later report commended Newby’s “distinct flair for political action operations” — he was by then chief of the covert-action branch at the CIA’s Miami station — but acknowledged a “tendency to be abrupt with subordinates.” Of most interest to Morley, however, was an evaluation from many years after the Kennedy assassination when Newby had been called out of retirement for an assignment of a different sort under his real name. In 1978 and 1979, this report indicated, Newby had served as liaison to the HSCA, where he was lauded for “the cool efficacy with which he handled an unusual special assignment.” His true name was George Joannides.
Correspondence between a member of the Directorio Revolucionario Estudiantil and the group’s handler at the CIA, known to it only as Howard. Photo: NARA
At the HSCA, Joannides had been specifically assigned to handle queries about the DRE and its relations with the CIA. The Agency had assured the committee that he had no connection whatsoever to the matters under investigation; that, in fact, he was merely an Agency lawyer and had not been “operational” in 1963. These assurances were self-evidently false. At one point, Joannides informed the committee that the identity of the DRE’s case officer at the time of the Kennedy assassination — Joannides himself — could not be determined.
Morley called Blakey, the committee’s chief counsel and lead investigator. “He went ballistic,” Morley recalled. “They flat-out lied to me about who he was and what he was up to,” Blakey told me. “I would have put him under subpoena and put him in a hearing and talked to him under oath.” Blakey released a written statement arguing that Joannides and his superiors were guilty of obstruction of justice. “I no longer believe,” it said, “that we were able to conduct an appropriate investigation of the Agency and its relationship to Oswald.”
Twenty years after the CIA lied about Joannides to the HSCA, the Agency seemed to have done the same to the ARRB. I asked Tunheim, the board’s chair, if he believed that the Historical Review Group, the CIA office assigned to work with the ARRB, had taken part in the deception. “I think they were very truthful with us on what *they* knew,” he said. “But whether they knew the whole story or were told the whole story, or were even misled by people within the Agency, I can’t answer that.”
Morley brought the Joannides story to the *Post* but had no luck. I asked Rick Atkinson, the editor who paid for his trip to Miami, if he remembered anything about it. “I vaguely recall Jeff having an interest in the assassination,” Atkinson, a three-time Pulitzer winner, wrote in an email. “Frankly it bored me.” Morley’s career at the *Post* had begun to stagnate. He became a metro reporter and then a web editor at a time when newspaper websites were widely viewed by newspaper employees as hopeless backwaters. He eventually managed to publish a piece on Joannides in the Miami *New Times*, a South Florida alt-weekly.
In his spare time, Morley continued his reporting. Joannides had died in 1990. (His obituary in the *Post* claimed he was a “retired lawyer at the Defense Department.”) But Morley was able to reach several of his aging former colleagues. They recalled a self-possessed and cultivated gentleman operator, with connections at the highest levels of the Agency, “not one of the wild men,” in the words of Warren Frank, who knew Joannides in Miami. There, Joannides managed an annual budget of $2.4 million, the equivalent of ten times that today.
In July 2003, Morley sent the CIA a request, under the Freedom of Information Act, for all records pertaining to Joannides. “The public has the right to know what he knew,” he wrote. The CIA responded with a letter encouraging him to contact the National Archives. With the help of the FOIA lawyer James Lesar, Morley sued.
The 500 pages of documents that ultimately emerged from *Morley* v. *CIA* went well beyond the scope of the five fitness reports released under the JFK Act. Morley was given the Agency’s personnel photograph of Joannides — a menacingly well-kempt man of middle age, dark eyes recessed in shadow, jaw set in an ambiguous glower — as well as documents suggesting that he had spent time in New Orleans and that he had been granted access to a particularly sensitive intelligence stream in June 1963. Many of the documents were heavily redacted; the Agency also acknowledged the existence of 44 documents on Joannides from the years 1963, 1978, and 1979 that it refused to release in any form. “The CIA is saying very clearly, ‘This is top secret, please go away,’” Morley told me. “So that’s where the story is, right? I mean, they’re telling me what’s important, and I believe them.”
**From left:** A confidential file regarding George Joannides, which Morley was able to compel the CIA to release. Photo: Courtesy of Jefferson MorleyJoannides’s fitness report. Photo: NARA
**From top:** A confidential file regarding George Joannides, which Morley was able to compel the CIA to release. Photo: Courtesy of Jefferson MorleyJoann... **From top:** A confidential file regarding George Joannides, which Morley was able to compel the CIA to release. Photo: Courtesy of Jefferson MorleyJoannides’s fitness report. Photo: NARA
Until recently, if asked what happened in Dallas on November 22, 1963 — the “cosmic question,” as he once put it — Morley deflected. In his writing, he tended to address it only obliquely and declined to articulate an overarching theory, except to say the Warren Commission got it wrong. Over the years, he had made all manner of damning discoveries; what they added up to, beyond a cover-up, Morley professed not to know.
Increasingly, though, he has been willing to theorize. Last year, he published an article on *JFK Facts* under the headline, “Yes, There Is a JFK Smoking Gun.” “Now, after 28 years of reporting and reflection, I am ready to advance the story,” he wrote. “Jane Roman was correct. A small group of CIA officers was keenly interested in Oswald in the fall of 1963. They were running a psychological warfare operation, authorized in June 1963, that followed Oswald from New Orleans to Mexico City later that year. One of the officers supporting this operation was George Joannides.”
Morley believes Oswald was an “agent of influence,” he told me, or, as at least one CIA officer put it at the time, a “useful idiot” of the Agency. In New Orleans, perhaps he’d been encouraged to prove his leftist bona fides by claiming to be a member of the Fair Play for Cuba Committee. The trip to Mexico seems to have been part of “some kind of probing intelligence operation,” Morley said. But why go to all this trouble? Why hide the operation for so long? Why Oswald?
The parsimonious explanation, Morley believes, is that a “public legend” was being constructed: Someone in the Agency was setting Oswald up to take the fall for the coming assassination. Morley’s suspicion falls most heavily on Angleton, whose office controlled Oswald’s file from the moment it was opened. “Was Angleton running Oswald as an agent as part of a plot to assassinate President Kennedy?” Morley wondered in *The Ghost*, his 2018 biography of Angleton. “He certainly abetted those who did. Whoever killed JFK, Angleton protected them.” Morley told me he wonders about Bill Harvey, the Agency’s assassinations chief, as well as David Atlee Phillips, who helped found the DRE and was allegedly once seen in Dallas with Oswald. Joannides would have been an “unwitting co-conspirator,” Morley believes, oblivious to what his superiors were doing with him until the moment Kennedy was shot, and then brought in as the cleanup man.
This is all possible but also extremely speculative. Why risk speaking it aloud? Certainly he has been criticized for it. In a review of *The Ghost*, the author and intelligence historian Thomas Powers submitted that Morley had “suffered a kind of mid-life onset of intellectual hubris,” convincing himself that he knew the truth of the assassination even if the evidence had yet to materialize. A number of Morley’s friends and fellow researchers expressed some version of this concern to me as well. “Sometimes I worry for Jeff,” said the journalist Anthony Summers, the author of a respected assassination book called *Not in Your Lifetime*. “Commitment to a story is a virtue. But sometimes, I think, his writing goes beyond what the facts justify. He surprises me with his certainties.” The assassination has been known to drive people to unreason. “They tend to be smart people who are wide readers and trust their ability to figure things out,” Powers, the intelligence historian, told me. “It’s a subject that people get lost in. And sometimes they’re seen again, and sometimes not.”
Morley’s rigor has unquestionably eroded a bit in recent years. In August, he published a short post on *JFK Facts* about a Kennedy-administration memo proposing a “drastic” reorganization of the CIA. He’d just discovered the document; 60 years after the fact, it was still partially redacted. Why? “To protect the CIA’s impunity,” Morley declared. Fred Litwin, an anti-conspiracist assassination buff and blogger, pointed out that Morley’s new document was merely an alternate copy of a famous memo by Kennedy adviser Arthur Schlesinger Jr. “Will Jefferson Morley correct this error?” Litwin wondered. He never did.
A few weeks earlier, Morley had convinced Peter Baker, the prolific New York *Times* White House correspondent, to write about Ruben Efron, a CIA officer who had once been tasked, as part of an illegal program run by Angleton, with reading Oswald’s mail. Efron’s name seemed to have been the sole remaining redaction in Oswald’s pre-assassination CIA file, but it had just been released. “People say there’s nothing significant in these files?” Morley told Baker. “Bingo! Here’s the guy who was reading Oswald’s mail, a detail they failed to share until now. You don’t have to be a conspiracy theorist to think it’s suspicious.” (“I keep a very open mind,” Baker told me.) But Efron’s name had in fact been released a few times over the years in documents elsewhere. Paul Hoch, who is widely viewed as the doyen of serious assassination research, saw no meaning in the new release. “Knowing his name doesn’t add anything,” Hoch told me. Certain colleagues have begun referring to “good Jeff” from the first 25-odd years and “bad Jeff” from more recently.
On the one hand, Morley’s new willingness to speculate strikes me as a natural and reasonable evolution. Like all investigations, his has always been driven by hypothesis, and he has now been improving and refining his theory of CIA involvement for three decades. On the other, advancing a theory of the Kennedy assassination is what the nuts do. When I asked him what had caused the change in approach, he grew testy. “The evidence,” he said.
We were drinking coffee on the back porch of the house he would soon have to leave. “Do my critics have another explanation for what Joannides was doing and who he was working for?” he asked. “People bitch about my interpretation. I brought new facts to the table which they can’t explain, or have not explained, and those facts are indisputable.” The twinkly music of an ice-cream truck floated up from somewhere. “People will wonder, ‘Why did you devote all this time and effort to it?’” Morley said. “I was very careful because I’ve seen it drive so many people crazy. This is not going to drive me crazy.”
Despite his best efforts, since 2008 he has not extracted any further documentation on Joannides from the CIA. His FOIA lawsuit came to an end in 2018, when then–District Judge Brett Kavanaugh and a colleague ruled that his attorney, Lesar, would not have his fees paid by the CIA. The Agency and a lower court deserved “deference piled on deference,” the judges held. (On the same day, Trump nominated Kavanaugh to the Supreme Court.) There are scarcely any CIA officers from Joannides’s time left to talk to. The DRE men have begun to die.
This summer, President Biden endorsed “Transparency Plans” proposed by the CIA and a handful of other agencies, effectively delegating oversight of any additional declassification to the agencies themselves. “He’s washing his hands of it,” Tunheim, the ARRB chair, told me. No clear mechanism exists to compel the release of any further documents, ever.
In its executive session of January 27, 1964, the Warren Commission took up a rumor, passed on by the attorney general of Texas, that Lee Harvey Oswald had been working undercover for the FBI or perhaps the CIA. The commissioners did not seem to take the claim very seriously, but they did wonder how one might verify such a thing. Having on hand a former director of the CIA, the group naturally sought his insights. Allen Dulles told his fellow commissioners, to their apparent disbelief, that one could not expect an intelligence service to be knowledgeable in such matters or truthful if it were.
The recruiting officer would of course know of an agent’s recruitment, Dulles said, but he might be the only one, and “he wouldn’t tell.”
“Wouldn’t tell it under oath?” asked Justice Warren.
“I wouldn’t think he would tell it under oath, no,” Dulles responded. “He ought not tell it under oath.” Nor could one expect to find any written record of such an agent. “The record might not be on paper,” Dulles said, or might consist of “hieroglyphics that only two people knew what they meant.” He clarified later, “You can’t prove what the facts are.”
The impulse to try may be stronger than reason. I asked the CIA if Oswald had ever been “an agent, asset, source, or contact” of the Agency. A spokesperson replied, in writing: “CIA believes all of its information known to be directly related to the assassination of President John F. Kennedy in 1963 has already been released. Likewise, we are not aware of any documents known to be directly related to Oswald that have not already been made part of the Collection.” I confess to finding it striking that the Agency did not say, “To the best of our knowledge, no.” Morley would call this, to use the *Post*’s famous Watergate phrase, a “non-denial denial.” He would no doubt apply the same term to the Agency’s “decline to comment”s on my questions about why Joannides had concealed his role in 1963 from Congress and about whether the CIA had “cooperated fully and faithfully” with the Warren Commission, with the HSCA, or with the ARRB. But then, why take the Agency at its word, whatever it may be?
Assuming for the sake of argument, however, that the CIA did generate a record of Agency activity around Oswald, and that this record was faithful, would it be reasonable to hope to one day find it? Though he has spent most of his adult life in precisely this pursuit, Morley told me he does not believe it would. During the 17-month gap in reporting on the DRE, for instance, he suspects Joannides produced regular reports and that those reports mentioned Oswald; he suspects the reports were sent directly to Helms at headquarters; and he suspects Helms destroyed them in 1973, when he left the Agency. There are in fact numerous instances of ostensibly “assassination-related” documents being irregularly destroyed. I find this devastating myself. Burning records is not an especially subtle method of concealing the past, but the bluntness is what is so distressing. If this is the way the CIA has been playing, the game has been all but hopeless from the start.
And yet the archive pulls at you, irresistible, irrational, a form of gravity upon the mind. I visited the National Archives in September. The President John F. Kennedy Assassination Records Collection is held in a glassy modern building in the woods beyond the University of Maryland in College Park. The collection now holds about 6 million pages, kept in gray, five-inch, acid-free paperboard Hollinger boxes, maintained at constant temperature and humidity in stacks accessible only to archivists with the requisite security clearance. I sat in the airy reading room, afternoon sun streaming in over the treetops, and leafed through the CIA’s pre-assassination file on Oswald.
I found the October 10 cable, bearing Jane Roman’s name and reporting, falsely, that “LATEST HDQS INFO” was from May 1962. I found a small photograph of the Mexico Mystery Man. I found a typewritten letter addressed to Allen Dulles, dated November 11, 1963, from a man who wished to infiltrate the American Communist Party for the CIA; it was accompanied by a slip marked “FOR MR. ANGLETON” with a handwritten note reading, “Some useful ideas here — you will have many more,” and signed, “Allen.” I found, on paper gone gauzy and translucent with time, a memorandum to the Warren Commission from the CIA about redactions. There were things in the files sent over by the Agency that, in the Agency’s estimation, the commission did not need to know. “We have taken the liberty,” Richard Helms advised, “of blocking out these items.”
Earl Warren, born in the 19th century, died trusting in the good faith of men such as Helms, Angleton, and Dulles and of institutions such as theirs. “To say now that these people, as well as the Commission, suppressed, neglected to unearth, or overlooked evidence of a conspiracy would be an indictment of the entire government of the United States,” he wrote in his memoirs. “It would mean the whole structure was absolutely corrupt from top to bottom.” Warren evidently found the idea of a plot of any sort too monstrous to contemplate. Dulles, of all people, had once tried to make him understand that the world wasn’t quite as honest as he thought. The proof was there, if only one could see it.
What Really Happened to JFK?
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# ‘The good guys don’t always win’: Salman Rushdie on peace, Barbie and what freedom cost him
To begin with, let me tell you a story. There were once two jackals: Karataka, whose name meant Cautious, and Damanaka, whose name meant Daring. They were in the second rank of the retinue of the lion king Pingalaka, but they were ambitious and cunning. One day, the lion king was frightened by a roaring noise in the forest, which the jackals knew was the voice of a runaway bull, nothing for a lion to be scared of. They visited the bull and persuaded him to come before the lion and declare his friendship. The bull was scared of the lion, but he agreed, and so the lion king and the bull became friends, and the jackals were promoted to the first rank by the grateful monarch.
Unfortunately, the lion and the bull began to spend so much time lost in conversation that the lion stopped hunting and so the animals in the retinue were starving. So the jackals persuaded the king that the bull was plotting against him, and they persuaded the bull that the lion was planning to kill him. So the lion and the bull fought, and the bull was killed, and there was plenty of meat, and the jackals rose even higher in the king’s regard because they had warned him of the plot. They rose in the regard of everyone else in the forest as well, except, of course, for the poor bull, but that didn’t matter, because he was dead, and providing everyone with an excellent lunch.
This, approximately, is the frame-story of On Causing Dissension Among Friends, the first of the five parts of the book of animal fables known as the Panchatantra*.* What I have always found attractive about the Panchatantra stories is that many of them do not moralise. They do not preach goodness or virtue or modesty or honesty or restraint. Cunning and strategy and amorality often overcome all opposition. The good guys don’t always win. (It’s not even always clear who the good guys are.) For this reason they seem, to the modern reader, uncannily contemporary – because we, the modern readers, live in a world of amorality and shamelessness and treachery and cunning, in which bad guys everywhere have often won.
![‘I always return to the devious jackals’ … an illustration from the Panchatantra.](https://i.guim.co.uk/img/media/0eec07746e7c16a17a2d235f298dd87ad47dae88/0_0_5347_3922/master/5347.jpg?width=445&dpr=1&s=none)
‘I always return to the devious jackals’ … an illustration from the Panchatantra. Photograph: World History Archive/Alamy
I have always been inspired by mythologies, folktales and fairytales, not because they contain miracles – talking animals or magic fishes – but because they encapsulate truth. For example, the story of Orpheus and Eurydice, which was an important inspiration for my novel [The Ground Beneath Her Feet](https://www.theguardian.com/books/1999/mar/28/fiction.salmanrushdie#:~:text=This%20book%20about%20the%20flaws,modern%20life%20and%20ancient%20myths.)*,* can be told in fewer than 100 words, yet it contains, in compressed form, mighty questions about the relationship between art, love and death. It asks: can love, with the help of art, overcome death? But perhaps it answers: doesn’t death, in spite of art, overcome love? Or else it tells us that art takes on the subjects of love and death and transcends both by turning them into immortal stories. Those 100 words contain enough profundity to inspire 1,000 novels.
The storehouse of myth is rich indeed. There are the Greeks, of course, but also The Norse Prose and Poetic Edda. Aesop, Homer, the Ring of the Nibelung, the Celtic legends, and the three great Matters of Europe: the Matter of France, the body of stories around Charlemagne; the Matter of Rome, regarding that empire; and the Matter of Britain, the legends surrounding King Arthur. In Germany, you have the folktales collected by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm.
However, in India, I grew up with the Panchatantra*,* and when I find myself, as I do at this moment, in between writing projects, it is to these crafty, devious jackals and crows and their like that I return, to ask them what story I should tell next. So far, they have never let me down. Everything I need to know about goodness and its opposite, about liberty and captivity, and about conflict, can be found in these stories. For love, I have to say, it is necessary to look elsewhere.
And what does the world of fable have to tell us about peace? The news is not very good. Homer tells us peace comes after a decade of war when everyone we care about is dead and Troy has been destroyed. The Norse myths tell us peace comes after Ragnarök*,* the Twilight of the Gods, when the gods destroy their traditional foes but are also destroyed by them. The Mahābhārata and Ramayana tell us peace comes at a bloody price. And the Panchatantra tells us that peace is only achieved through treachery.
![‘Peace only exists here in pink plastic’ … Barbie, one of this summer’s legends.](https://i.guim.co.uk/img/media/18e16a9f6b5899730d2d5feb9fd1ee99e99883ca/942_0_3451_2072/master/3451.jpg?width=445&dpr=1&s=none)
‘Peace only exists here in pink plastic’ … Barbie, one of this summer’s legends. Photograph: Courtesy Warner Bros. Pictures
But let’s abandon the legends of the past for a moment to look at this summer’s twin legends: I’m referring of course to the movie double-header known as [Barbenheimer](https://www.theguardian.com/film/2023/jul/24/barbie-oppenheimer-movie-release-box-office-ticket-sales). The film [Oppenheimer](https://www.theguardian.com/film/2023/jul/22/oppenheimer-review-christopher-nolan-volatile-biopic-is-a-towering-achievement-cillian-murphy) reminds us that peace only came after two atom bombs, Little Boy and Fat Man, were dropped on the people of Hiroshima and Nagasaki; while the box-office monster called [Barbie](https://www.theguardian.com/film/2023/jul/23/barbie-review-greta-gerwig-margot-robbie-ryan-riotous-candy-coloured-feminist-fable) makes clear that unbroken peace and undiluted happiness, in a world where every day is perfect and every night is girls’ night, only exist in pink plastic.
And we speak of peace now, when war is raging, a war born of one man’s tyranny and greed for power and conquest; and another bitter conflict has exploded in Israel and the Gaza Strip. Peace, right now, feels like a fantasy born of a narcotic smoked in a pipe. Peace is a hard thing to make, and a hard thing to find. And yet we yearn for it, not only the great peace that comes at the end of war, but also the little peace of our private lives, to feel ourselves at peace with ourselves, and the little world around us. It is one of our great values, a thing ardently to pursue. There is also something decidedly fabulist about the notion of peace prizes. But I like the idea that peace itself might be the prize, a whole year’s supply of it, delivered to your door, elegantly bottled. That’s an award I’d be very happy to receive. I am even thinking of writing a story about it, The Man Who Received Peace as a Prize*.*
I imagine it taking place in a small country town, at the village fair, maybe. There are the usual competitions, for the best pies and cakes, the best watermelons, the best vegetables; for guessing the weight of the farmer’s pig; for beauty, for song, and for dancing. A pedlar in a threadbare frock-coat arrives in a gaily painted horse-drawn wagon, looking a little like the itinerant confidence trickster Professor Marvel in The Wizard of Oz*,* and says that if he is allowed to judge the contests he will hand out the best rewards anyone has ever seen. “Best prizes!” he cries. “Roll up! Roll up!”
![‘The news isn’t good’ … Hollywood’s Homer epic Troy.](https://i.guim.co.uk/img/media/d2f30afc68163dee61f99ef32f83fa107ca0c587/0_0_2815_2273/master/2815.jpg?width=445&dpr=1&s=none)
‘The news isn’t good’ … Hollywood’s Homer epic Troy. Photograph: Warner Bros./Allstar
And so they do roll up, the simple country folk, and the pedlar hands out small bottles to the various prizewinners, bottles labelled Truth, Beauty, Freedom, Goodness, and Peace*.* The villagers are disappointed. They would have preferred cash. And in the year following the fair, there are strange occurrences. After drinking the liquid in his bottle, the winner of the Truth prize begins to annoy and alienate his fellow villagers by telling them exactly what he really thinks of them.
The Beauty, after drinking her award, becomes more beautiful, at least in her own eyes, but also insufferably vain. Freedom’s licentious behaviour shocks many of her fellow villagers, who conclude that her bottle must have contained some powerful intoxicant. Goodness declares himself to be a saint and of course after that everyone finds him unbearable. And Peace just sits under a tree and smiles. As the village is so full of troubles, this smile is extremely irritating, too.
A year later when the fair is held again, the pedlar returns, but is driven out of town. “Go away,” the villagers cry. “We don’t want those sorts of prizes. A rosette, a cheese, a piece of ham, or a red ribbon with a shiny medal hanging from it. Those are normal prizes. We want those instead.”
[skip past newsletter promotion](https://www.theguardian.com/books/2023/nov/08/salman-rushdie-peace-freedom-barbie-myths-fables#EmailSignup-skip-link-17)
after newsletter promotion
I may or may not write that story. At the very least, it may serve lightheartedly to illustrate a serious point, which is that concepts we think we can all agree to be virtues can come across as vices, depending on your point of view, and on their effects in the real world.
My fate, over the past many years, has been to drink from the bottle marked Freedom, and therefore to write, without any restraint, those books that came to my mind to write. And now, as I am on the verge of publishing my 22nd, I have to say that on 21 of those 22 occasions, the elixir has been well worth drinking, and it has given me a good life doing the only work I ever wanted to do.
On the remaining occasion, namely the publication of my fourth novel, I learned – many of us learned – that freedom can create an equal and opposite reaction from the forces of unfreedom. I learned, too, how to face the consequences of that reaction, and to continue, as best I could, to be as unfettered an artist as I had always wished to be. I learned, too, that many other writers and artists, exercising their freedom, also faced the forces of unfreedom, and that, in short, freedom can be a dangerous wine to drink.
![‘Peace only came after two atom bombs were dropped’ … Oppenheimer.](https://i.guim.co.uk/img/media/c2a9f8b989cd1e45b4264fce631f0458696026d6/0_5318_5968_3579/master/5968.jpg?width=445&dpr=1&s=none)
‘Peace only came after two atom bombs were dropped’ … Oppenheimer. Photograph: TCD/Prod.DB/Alamy
But that made it more necessary, more essential, more important to defend, and I have done my best, along with a host of others, to defend it. I confess there have been times when I’d rather have drunk the Peace elixir and spent my life sitting under a tree wearing a blissful, beatific smile, but that was not the bottle the pedlar handed me.
We live in a time I did not think I would see, a time when freedom – and in particular, freedom of expression, without which the world of books could not exist – is everywhere under attack from reactionary, authoritarian, populist, demagogic, half-educated, narcissistic, careless voices; when places of education and libraries are subject to hostility and censorship; and when extremist religion and bigoted ideologies have begun to intrude in areas of life in which they do not belong. And there are also progressive voices being raised in favour of a new kind of bien-pensant censorship, one that appears virtuous, and which many people, especially young people, have begun to see as a virtue.
So freedom is under pressure from the left as well as the right, the young as well as the old. This is something new, made more complicated by our new tools of communication, the internet, on which well-designed pages of malevolent lies sit side by side with the truth, and it is difficult for many people to tell which is which; and our social media, where the idea of freedom is every day abused to permit, very often, a kind of online mob rule, which the billionaire owners of these platforms seem increasingly willing to encourage, and to profit by.
What do we do about free speech when it is so widely abused? We should still do, with renewed vigour, what we have always needed to do: to answer bad speech with better speech, to counter false narratives with better narratives, to answer hate with love, and to believe that the truth can still succeed even in an age of lies. We must defend it fiercely and define it broadly. We should of course defend speech that offends us, otherwise we are not defending free expression at all.
To quote Cavafy, “the barbarians are coming today”*,* and what I do know is that the answer to philistinism is art, the answer to barbarianism is civilisation, and in a culture war it may be that artists of all sorts – film-makers, actors, singers, writers – can still, together, turn the barbarians away from the gates.
On the subject of freedom, I thank all those who [raised their voices in solidarity](https://www.theguardian.com/books/2022/aug/12/salman-rushdie-attack-reaction-journalists-writers-celebrities) and friendship after the attack on me some 15 months ago. That support meant a great deal to me personally, and to my family, and it showed us how passionate and how widespread the belief in free speech still is, all over the world. The outrage that was expressed after the attack was in sympathy with me, but it was also, more importantly, born of people’s horror – your horror – that the core value of a free society had been so viciously and ignorantly assaulted. I am most grateful for the flood of friendship that came my way, and will do my best to continue to fight for what you all rose up to defend.
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&emsp;
---
`$= dv.el('center', 'Source: ' + dv.current().Link + ', ' + dv.current().Date.toLocaleString("fr-FR"))`

3
00.08 Bookmarks/Bookmarks - Obsidian.md
Unescape View File

@ -317,7 +317,8 @@ image: https://opengraph.githubassets.com/394fddfeeefc1816e94e8caf9c996dd3b8b1e6
&emsp;
- [ ] :label: [[Bookmarks - Obsidian]]: Review bookmarks 🔁 every 3 months 📅 2023-11-15
- [ ] :label: [[Bookmarks - Obsidian]]: Review bookmarks 🔁 every 3 months 📅 2024-02-15
- [x] :label: [[Bookmarks - Obsidian]]: Review bookmarks 🔁 every 3 months 📅 2023-11-15 ✅ 2023-11-15
- [x] :label: [[Bookmarks - Obsidian]]: Review bookmarks 🔁 every 3 months 📅 2023-08-15 ✅ 2023-08-14
- [x] :label: [[Bookmarks - Obsidian]]: Review bookmarks 🔁 every 3 months 📅 2023-05-15 ✅ 2023-05-15
- [x] :label: [[Bookmarks - Obsidian]]: Review bookmarks 🔁 every 3 months 📅 2023-02-15 ✅ 2023-02-14

3
00.08 Bookmarks/Bookmarks - Social Media.md
Unescape View File

@ -77,7 +77,8 @@ image: https://scontent-atl3-2.cdninstagram.com/v/t51.2885-19/18444703_153716075
&emsp;
- [ ] :label: [[Bookmarks - Social Media]]: Review bookmarks %%done_del%% 🔁 every 3 months 📅 2023-11-14
- [ ] :label: [[Bookmarks - Social Media]]: Review bookmarks %%done_del%% 🔁 every 3 months 📅 2024-02-14
- [x] :label: [[Bookmarks - Social Media]]: Review bookmarks %%done_del%% 🔁 every 3 months 📅 2023-11-14 ✅ 2023-11-13
&emsp;
&emsp;

3
01.01 Life Orga/@Finances.md
Unescape View File

@ -112,7 +112,8 @@ hide task count
- [ ] :moneybag: [[@Finances]]: Transfer UK pension to CH %%done_del%% 🔁 every year 📅 2024-10-31
- [x] :moneybag: [[@Finances]]: Transfer UK pension to CH %%done_del%% 🔁 every year 📅 2023-10-31 ✅ 2023-10-28
- [ ] :heavy_dollar_sign: [[@Finances|Finances]]: update crypto prices within Obsidian %%done_del%% 🔁 every month on the 2nd Tuesday 📅 2023-11-14
- [ ] :heavy_dollar_sign: [[@Finances|Finances]]: update crypto prices within Obsidian %%done_del%% 🔁 every month on the 2nd Tuesday 📅 2023-12-12
- [x] :heavy_dollar_sign: [[@Finances|Finances]]: update crypto prices within Obsidian %%done_del%% 🔁 every month on the 2nd Tuesday 📅 2023-11-14 ✅ 2023-11-10
- [x] :heavy_dollar_sign: [[@Finances|Finances]]: update crypto prices within Obsidian %%done_del%% 🔁 every month on the 2nd Tuesday 📅 2023-10-10 ✅ 2023-10-10
- [x] :heavy_dollar_sign: [[@Finances|Finances]]: update crypto prices within Obsidian %%done_del%% 🔁 every month on the 2nd Tuesday 📅 2023-09-12 ✅ 2023-09-11
- [x] :heavy_dollar_sign: [[@Finances|Finances]]: update crypto prices within Obsidian %%done_del%% 🔁 every month on the 2nd Tuesday 📅 2023-08-08 ✅ 2023-08-07

4
01.01 Life Orga/@Personal projects.md
Unescape View File

@ -74,9 +74,9 @@ Keeping personal projects in check and on track.
&emsp;
- [ ] :fleur_de_lis: Refaire [[@Personal projects#Chevalière|chevalière]] (Bastard & Flourville) 📅 2023-12-31
- [ ] :art: Continuer à construire un petit trousseau d'[[@Personal projects#art|art]] 📅 2023-12-21
- [ ] :art: Continuer à construire un petit trousseau d'[[@Personal projects#art|art]] 📅 2024-06-21
- [ ] 🖋 Caligraph & frame life mementos 📅 2024-06-30
- [ ] :fleur_de_lis: Continue [[@lebv.org Tasks|lebv.org]] 📅 2023-12-28
- [ ] :fleur_de_lis: Continue [[@lebv.org Tasks|lebv.org]] 📅 2024-06-28
&emsp;

27
01.02 Home/@Shopping list.md
Unescape View File

@ -84,7 +84,7 @@ style: number
#### Snacks & Sweets
- [x] 🍿 Snacks ✅ 2023-11-04
- [x] 🍦 Dessert ✅ 2023-11-04
- [x] 🍦 Dessert ✅ 2023-11-10
- [x] 🥠 Crackers (Tuc) ✅ 2023-05-29
- [x] 🍥 Tortilla chips ✅ 2023-11-05
@ -92,7 +92,7 @@ style: number
#### Dairy
- [x] 🧈 Beurre ✅ 2023-10-30
- [x] 🧈 Beurre ✅ 2023-11-10
- [x] 🧀 Fromage à servir ✅ 2023-06-12
- [x] 🧀 Fromage rapé ✅ 2023-10-26
- [x] 🧀 Parmeggiano ✅ 2023-10-26
@ -100,8 +100,8 @@ style: number
- [x] 🫕 Raclette cheese ✅ 2022-12-31
- [x] 🍦 Sour Cream ✅ 2023-11-05
- [x] 🥛 Milk ✅ 2023-04-07
- [x] 🥥 Coconut milk ✅ 2023-09-23
- [x] 🥛 Yoghurt ✅ 2023-10-07
- [x] 🥥 Coconut milk ✅ 2023-11-10
- [x] 🥛 Yoghurt ✅ 2023-11-10
&emsp;
@ -111,22 +111,22 @@ style: number
- [x] 🫓 Flatbread ✅ 2023-10-08
- [x] 🍯 Honey/Jam ✅ 2023-09-20
- [x] 🍫 Nutella ✅ 2022-02-15
- [x] 🥚 Eggs ✅ 2023-10-20
- [x] 🥚 Eggs ✅ 2023-11-10
&emsp;
#### Fresh
- [x] 🍎 Fruit ✅ 2023-11-04
- [x] 🍎 Fruit ✅ 2023-11-10
- [x] 🍌 Bananas ✅ 2023-09-23
- [x] 🍅 Tomatoes ✅ 2023-11-05
- [x] 🍅 Tomatoes ✅ 2023-11-10
- [x] 🫑 Bell pepper ✅ 2023-11-05
- [x] 🥦 Fennel ✅ 2022-10-29
- [x] 🥦 Radish ✅ 2022-10-29
- [x] 🥦 Broccoli ✅ 2023-10-28
- [x] 🫛 Green beans ✅ 2023-10-25
- [x] 🫘 Red beans ✅ 2023-11-05
- [x] 🧅 Onions ✅ 2023-11-05
- [x] 🧅 Onions ✅ 2023-11-07
- [x] 🧅 Spring onion ✅ 2023-09-06
- [x] 🧄 Garlic ✅ 2023-01-19
- [x] 🍋 Lemon ✅ 2023-10-16
@ -142,7 +142,7 @@ style: number
- [x] 🍖 Minced meat ✅ 2023-11-05
- [x] 🥓 Bacon ✅ 2023-04-07
- [x] 🐔 Chicken thighs ✅ 2023-10-07
- [x] 🐔 Chicken breasts ✅ 2023-10-07
- [x] 🐔 Chicken breasts ✅ 2023-11-10
- [x] 🌭 Spicy sausage ✅ 2023-10-25
- [x] 🐟 Salmon fillet ✅ 2022-10-29
@ -151,9 +151,9 @@ style: number
#### Bases
- [x] 🍝 Pasta ✅ 2023-10-26
- [x] 🍜 Noodles ✅ 2023-10-20
- [x] 🍜 Noodles ✅ 2023-11-07
- [x] 🌾 Bulgur ✅ 2022-10-29
- [x] 🍚 Rice ✅ 2023-05-29
- [x] 🍚 Rice ✅ 2023-11-10
- [x] 🥔 Potatoes ✅ 2023-04-07
- [x] 🥣 Soup ✅ 2023-06-12
@ -170,7 +170,7 @@ style: number
- [x] 🥢 Soy sauce ✅ 2023-05-29
- [x] 🥢 Hoisin sauce ✅ 2023-09-23
- [x] 🧂 Cumin ✅ 2022-03-14
- [x] 🧂 Garam masala ✅ 2022-03-14
- [x] 🧂 Garam masala ✅ 2023-11-10
- [x] 🌰 Nutmeg ✅ 2022-03-14
- [x] 🫚 Ginger ✅ 2023-10-16
- [x] 🧂 Curcuma ✅ 2022-03-14
@ -189,7 +189,7 @@ style: number
- [x] 🌿 Bay leaves ✅ 2022-08-05
- [x] 🌿 Oregano ✅ 2022-03-14
- [x] 🌿 Herbes de Provence ✅ 2022-03-14
- [x] 🌿 Coriander ✅ 2023-11-05
- [x] 🌿 Coriander ✅ 2023-11-10
- [x] 🌿 Parsley ✅ 2023-10-08
- [x] 🌿 Fresh mint ✅ 2023-01-09
@ -218,6 +218,7 @@ style: number
- [x] 🍬 Sugar ✅ 2023-09-23
- [x] 🌴 Date Sugar ✅ 2023-09-23
- [x] 🍬 Brown Sugar ✅ 2023-09-23
- [x] 🍞 Breadcrumbs ✅ 2023-11-10
&emsp;

97
01.02 Home/Bandes Dessinées.md
Unescape View File

@ -49,6 +49,63 @@ style: number
&emsp;
### Largo Winch
&emsp;
1. L’Héritier
2. Le Groupe W
3. O.P.A.
4. Business Blues
5. H
6. Dutch Connection
7. La Forteresse de Makiling
8. L’Heure du Tigre
9. Voir Venise…
10. … Et Mourir
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### Walking Dead
&emsp;
1. Passé Décomposé
2. Cette Vie derrière nous
3. Sains et Saufs?
4. Amour et Mort
5. Monstrueux
6. Vengeance
7. Dans l’Oeil du Cyclone
8. Une Vie de Souffrances
9. Ceux qui Restent
10. Vers Quel Avenir?
11. Les Chasseurs
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### Calvin & Hobbes
&emsp;
Articles: [[Why Bill Watterson Vanished - The American Conservative]], [[Bill Watterson’s Life After “Calvin and Hobbes”]]
1. Calvin & Hobbes
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### XIII
&emsp;
@ -107,52 +164,12 @@ style: number
&emsp;
### Largo Winch
&emsp;
1. L’Héritier
2. Le Groupe W
3. O.P.A.
4. Business Blues
5. H
6. Dutch Connection
7. La Forteresse de Makiling
8. L’Heure du Tigre
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### Walking Dead
&emsp;
1. Passé Décomposé
2. Cette Vie derrière nous
3. Sains et Saufs?
4. Amour et Mort
5. Monstrueux
6. Vengeance
7. Dans l’Oeil du Cyclone
8. Une Vie de Souffrances
9. Ceux qui Restent
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### Autres
&emsp;
- Le Génie des Alpages
- Michel Vaillant
- [[Why Bill Watterson Vanished - The American Conservative|Calvin & Hobbes]]
- Buck Danny
- Blueberry
- Ric Hochet (?)

14
01.02 Home/Household.md
Unescape View File

@ -73,10 +73,13 @@ style: number
#### 🚮 Garbage collection
- [ ] ♻ [[Household]]: *Paper* recycling collection %%done_del%% 🔁 every 2 weeks on Tuesday 📅 2023-11-07
- [ ] ♻ [[Household]]: *Paper* recycling collection %%done_del%% 🔁 every 2 weeks on Tuesday 📅 2023-12-05
- [x] ♻ [[Household]]: *Paper* recycling collection %%done_del%% 🔁 every 2 weeks on Tuesday 📅 2023-11-21 ✅ 2023-11-18
- [x] ♻ [[Household]]: *Paper* recycling collection %%done_del%% 🔁 every 2 weeks on Tuesday 📅 2023-11-07 ✅ 2023-11-06
- [x] ♻ [[Household]]: *Paper* recycling collection %%done_del%% 🔁 every 2 weeks on Tuesday 📅 2023-10-24 ✅ 2023-10-21
- [x] ♻ [[Household]]: *Paper* recycling collection %%done_del%% 🔁 every 2 weeks on Tuesday 📅 2023-10-10 ✅ 2023-10-10
- [ ] ♻ [[Household]]: *Cardboard* recycling collection %%done_del%% 🔁 every 2 weeks on Tuesday 📅 2023-11-14
- [ ] ♻ [[Household]]: *Cardboard* recycling collection %%done_del%% 🔁 every 2 weeks on Tuesday 📅 2023-11-28
- [x] ♻ [[Household]]: *Cardboard* recycling collection %%done_del%% 🔁 every 2 weeks on Tuesday 📅 2023-11-14 ✅ 2023-11-13
- [x] ♻ [[Household]]: *Cardboard* recycling collection %%done_del%% 🔁 every 2 weeks on Tuesday 📅 2023-10-31 ✅ 2023-10-31
- [x] ♻ [[Household]]: *Cardboard* recycling collection %%done_del%% 🔁 every 2 weeks on Tuesday 📅 2023-10-17 ✅ 2023-10-16
- [x] ♻ [[Household]]: *Cardboard* recycling collection %%done_del%% 🔁 every 2 weeks on Tuesday 📅 2023-10-03 ✅ 2023-10-02
@ -87,13 +90,16 @@ style: number
- [ ] 🛎️ :house: [[Household]]: Pay rent %%done_del%% 🔁 every month on the last 📅 2023-11-30
- [x] 🛎️ :house: [[Household]]: Pay rent %%done_del%% 🔁 every month on the last 📅 2023-10-31 ✅ 2023-10-27
- [ ] 🛎 🧻 REMINDER [[Household]]: check need for toilet paper %%done_del%% 🔁 every week 📅 2023-11-13
- [ ] 🛎 🧻 REMINDER [[Household]]: check need for toilet paper %%done_del%% 🔁 every week 📅 2023-11-27
- [x] 🛎 🧻 REMINDER [[Household]]: check need for toilet paper %%done_del%% 🔁 every week 📅 2023-11-20 ✅ 2023-11-13
- [x] 🛎 🧻 REMINDER [[Household]]: check need for toilet paper %%done_del%% 🔁 every week 📅 2023-11-13 ✅ 2023-11-10
- [x] 🛎 🧻 REMINDER [[Household]]: check need for toilet paper %%done_del%% 🔁 every week 📅 2023-11-06 ✅ 2023-11-03
- [x] 🛎 🧻 REMINDER [[Household]]: check need for toilet paper %%done_del%% 🔁 every week 📅 2023-10-30 ✅ 2023-10-28
- [x] 🛎 🧻 REMINDER [[Household]]: check need for toilet paper %%done_del%% 🔁 every week 📅 2023-10-23 ✅ 2023-10-21
- [x] 🛎 🧻 REMINDER [[Household]]: check need for toilet paper %%done_del%% 🔁 every week 📅 2023-10-16 ✅ 2023-10-16
- [x] 🛎 🧻 REMINDER [[Household]]: check need for toilet paper %%done_del%% 🔁 every week 📅 2023-10-09 ✅ 2023-10-09
- [ ] :bed: [[Household]] Change bedsheets %%done_del%% 🔁 every 2 weeks on Saturday 📅 2023-11-11
- [ ] :bed: [[Household]] Change bedsheets %%done_del%% 🔁 every 2 weeks on Saturday 📅 2023-11-25
- [x] :bed: [[Household]] Change bedsheets %%done_del%% 🔁 every 2 weeks on Saturday 📅 2023-11-11 ✅ 2023-11-10
- [x] :bed: [[Household]] Change bedsheets %%done_del%% 🔁 every 2 weeks on Saturday 📅 2023-10-28 ✅ 2023-10-27
- [x] :bed: [[Household]] Change bedsheets %%done_del%% 🔁 every 2 weeks on Saturday 📅 2023-10-14 ✅ 2023-10-13

1
01.02 Home/Life - Practical infos.md
Unescape View File

@ -12,6 +12,7 @@ kanban-plugin: basic
- [ ] # Doctor<br><br>---<br><br>> [!info]<br>> Practicians only through health insurance.<br>The list of practicians can be found [here](https://www.helsana.ch/en/private/services/leistungserbringer-suche.html).<br><br>---<br>General Practioner: [[Dr Cleopatra Morales]]<br><br>Insurance dispatch: [📱](tel:0800800090)
- [ ] # Dentist<br><br>---<br><br>> [!info] Doctolib
- [ ] # Optician: [[Ace & Tate]]<br><br>---<br><br>### Prices<br><br>| &emsp; | Price in CHF<br>|---------|:------------:<br>|**Eye test** | free<br>|**presc glasses** | 150-250<br>|** presc shades** |225-300
- [ ] # Admin<br><br>---<br><br>### Suisse<br><br>> [!info] AHV/AVS<br>> 756.1055.4326.26<br><br>---<br><br>### France<br><br>> [!info] No Sécurité Sociale<br>> 1 84 07 92 051 047 33
## Utilities

30
01.02 Home/Vinyls.md
Unescape View File

@ -87,21 +87,28 @@ style: number
#### Hip-Hop
- [ ] IAM - L’Empire du Coté Obscur
- [ ] Suprême NTM
- [ ] Fugees - The Score
- [ ] Doc Gyneco - Première Consultation
- [x] Suprême NTM ✅ 2023-11-08
- [x] Fugees - The Score ✅ 2023-11-08
- [ ] Lauryn Hill - The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill
- [x] NTM - Paris Sous Les Bombes ✅ 2023-11-01
- [x] NTM - Paris Sous Les Bombes ✅ 2023-11-08
- [ ] Wu Tang
- [ ] Cypress Hill
- [x] Nas - Illmatic ✅ 2023-11-11
- [ ] Nas
&emsp;
#### Rock’n’Roll
- [ ] Queen - Greatest Hits
- [ ] Prince
- [x] Queen - Greatest Hits ✅ 2023-11-08
- [x] Prince ✅ 2023-11-08
- [ ] David Bowie
- [ ] The Rolling Stones
- [ ] The Doors
- [x] Pink Floyd - The Dark Side of the Moon ✅ 2023-11-01
- [x] The Pogues - Best of ✅ 2023-11-01
- [x] Them - Again ✅ 2023-11-18
- [x] Rage Against the Machine ✅ 2023-11-01
- [ ] Metallica
- [ ] Nirvana
@ -114,19 +121,24 @@ style: number
- [ ] Fred Again.. - Actual Life
- [ ] Fred Again.. - Actual Life 2
- [ ] Fred Again.. - Actual Life 3
- [ ] Thylacine - Timeless
- [x] Thylacine - Timeless ✅ 2023-11-11
- [ ] Thylacine - Singles
- [ ] Thylacine - 9 Pieces
- [x] Thylacine - 9 Pieces ✅ 2023-11-18
- [ ] N’To - Apnea
- [x] Fakear ✅ 2023-11-11
&emsp;
#### Autres
- [ ] Mulatu Astakte (Paris Abeba; Ethiopiques) [Paris Jazz Corner : Be Bop, West coast, Free Jazz, Fusion, Swing, Blues, Brazil, Latin et plus en LP, EP et CD](https://www.parisjazzcorner.com/index.php)
- [ ] Amy Winehouse - Back to Black
- [ ] Marvin Gaye
- [x] Amy Winehouse - Back to Black ✅ 2023-11-08
- [x] Marvin Gaye ✅ 2023-11-11
- [ ] Parov Stelar - The Princess
- [x] Jacques Brel ✅ 2023-11-11
- [x] Louise Attaque - Ton Invitation ✅ 2023-11-18
- [ ] Nina Simone
- [ ] Bobby Womack
&emsp;
&emsp;

3
01.03 Family/Gabrielle Bédier.md
Unescape View File

@ -103,7 +103,8 @@ style: number
&emsp;
- [w] :birthday: **[[Gabrielle Bédier|Gabrielle]]** %%done_del%% 🔁 every year 📅 2023-11-12
- [ ] :birthday: **[[Gabrielle Bédier|Gabrielle]]** %%done_del%% 🔁 every year 📅 2024-11-12
- [x] :birthday: **[[Gabrielle Bédier|Gabrielle]]** %%done_del%% 🔁 every year 📅 2023-11-12 ✅ 2023-11-12
- [x] :birthday: **[[Gabrielle Bédier|Gabrielle]]** 🔁 every year 📅 2022-11-12 ✅ 2022-11-12
&emsp;

2
01.06 Health/2023-02-24 Kidney inflammation.md
Unescape View File

@ -53,7 +53,7 @@ id Save
### [[2023-03-06 Médecin]]
- [ ] 🩺 [[2023-02-24 Kidney inflammation]]: organise a follow up to check **polype** in the gallbladder 📅2023-11-20
- [x] 🩺 [[2023-02-24 Kidney inflammation]]: organise a follow up to check **polype** in the gallbladder 📅 2023-11-20 ✅ 2023-11-10
&emsp;
&emsp;

4
01.07 Animals/2023-07-13 Health check.md
Unescape View File

@ -51,7 +51,9 @@ style: number
[[2023-07-13|This day]], ripped hoof (front right) is healing well
–> On track to heal fully by the end of the Summer season
- [ ] :racehorse: [[@Sally|Sally]], [[2023-07-13 Health check|Note]]: Check front hoofs healing 🔁 every 2 weeks 📅 2023-11-07
- [ ] :racehorse: [[@Sally|Sally]], [[2023-07-13 Health check|Note]]: Check front hoofs healing 🔁 every 2 weeks 📅 2023-12-05
- [x] :racehorse: [[@Sally|Sally]], [[2023-07-13 Health check|Note]]: Check front hoofs healing 🔁 every 2 weeks 📅 2023-11-21 ✅ 2023-11-13
- [x] :racehorse: [[@Sally|Sally]], [[2023-07-13 Health check|Note]]: Check front hoofs healing 🔁 every 2 weeks 📅 2023-11-07 ✅ 2023-11-07
- [x] :racehorse: [[@Sally|Sally]], [[2023-07-13 Health check|Note]]: Check front hoofs healing 🔁 every 2 weeks 📅 2023-10-24 ✅ 2023-10-21
- [x] :racehorse: [[@Sally|Sally]], [[2023-07-13 Health check|Note]]: Check front hoofs healing 🔁 every 2 weeks 📅 2023-10-10 ✅ 2023-10-09
- [x] :racehorse: [[@Sally|Sally]], [[2023-07-13 Health check|Note]]: Check front hoofs healing 🔁 every 2 weeks 📅 2023-09-26 ✅ 2023-09-25

3
01.07 Animals/@Sally.md
Unescape View File

@ -129,7 +129,8 @@ divWidth=100
- [x] :racehorse: [[@Sally|Sally]]: Vet check %%done_del%% 🔁 every 6 months 📅 2023-09-30 ✅ 2023-09-28
- [ ] :racehorse: [[@Sally|Sally]]: EHV-1 vaccination dose %%done_del%% 🔁 every year 📅 2024-01-31
- [ ] :racehorse: [[@Sally|Sally]]: Influenza vaccination dose %%done_del%% 🔁 every year 📅 2024-01-31
- [ ] :racehorse: [[@Sally|Sally]]: Pay for horseshoes (150 CHF) %%done_del%% 🔁 every month 📅 2023-11-10
- [ ] :racehorse: [[@Sally|Sally]]: Pay for horseshoes (150 CHF) %%done_del%% 🔁 every month 📅 2023-12-10
- [x] :racehorse: [[@Sally|Sally]]: Pay for horseshoes (150 CHF) %%done_del%% 🔁 every month 📅 2023-11-10 ✅ 2023-11-08
- [x] :racehorse: [[@Sally|Sally]]: Pay for horseshoes (150 CHF) %%done_del%% 🔁 every month 📅 2023-10-10 ✅ 2023-10-09
- [x] :racehorse: [[@Sally|Sally]]: Pay for horseshoes (150 CHF) %%done_del%% 🔁 every month 📅 2023-09-10 ✅ 2023-09-10
- [x] :racehorse: [[@Sally|Sally]]: Pay for horseshoes (150 CHF) %%done_del%% 🔁 every month 📅 2023-08-10 ✅ 2023-08-12

28
02.02 Paris/@Commerces Paris.md
Unescape View File

@ -72,28 +72,21 @@ dv.view("00.01 Admin/dv-views/query_place", {country: "France", placetype: "Comm
&emsp;
#### Gare du Nord
[[#^Top|TOP]]
```dataviewjs
dv.view("00.01 Admin/dv-views/query_place", {country: "France", placetype: "Commerce", area: "GareduNord"})
```
&emsp;
#### Pigalle
[[#^Top|TOP]]
```dataviewjs
dv.view("00.01 Admin/dv-views/query_place", {country: "France", placetype: "Commerce", area: "Pigalle"})
```
&emsp;
#### Saint Germain-des-Prés
[[#^Top|TOP]]
#### Saint-Ouen
```dataviewjs
dv.view("00.01 Admin/dv-views/query_place", {country: "France", placetype: "Commerce", area: "StGermain"})
dv.view("00.01 Admin/dv-views/query_place", {country: "France", placetype: "Commerce", area: "Saint-Ouen"})
```
&emsp;
---
@ -109,9 +102,11 @@ dv.view("00.01 Admin/dv-views/query_place", {country: "France", placetype: "Comm
```dataviewjs
dv.view("00.01 Admin/dv-views/query_place", {country: "France", placetype: "Commerce", ambiance: "Epicerie"})
```
&emsp;
#### Boulangerie
```dataviewjs
dv.view("00.01 Admin/dv-views/query_place", {country: "France", placetype: "Commerce", ambiance: "Boulangerie"})
```
@ -119,9 +114,18 @@ dv.view("00.01 Admin/dv-views/query_place", {country: "France", placetype: "Comm
&emsp;
#### Patisserie
```dataviewjs
dv.view("00.01 Admin/dv-views/query_place", {country: "France", placetype: "Commerce", ambiance: "Patisserie"})
```
&emsp;
#### Disquaire
```dataviewjs
dv.view("00.01 Admin/dv-views/query_place", {country: "France", placetype: "Commerce", ambiance: "Disquaire"})
```
&emsp;
&emsp;

113
02.02 Paris/Bourrache.md
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@ -0,0 +1,113 @@
---
Tag: ["🍴"]
Date: 2023-11-05
DocType: "Place"
Hierarchy: "NonRoot"
TimeStamp:
location: [48.8785465,2.3427908]
Place:
Type: Restaurant
SubType: "Bar a Vins"
Style: French
Location: Pigalle
Country: France
Status: Recommended
CollapseMetaTable: true
Phone: "+33 9 78 80 95 23"
Email: ""
Website: "[Bourrache Paris – Vins de Vigneronnes et Cuisine de Partage](https://bourrache-paris.com/)"
---
Parent:: [[@@Paris|Paris]], [[@Restaurants Paris|Restaurants in Paris]]
&emsp;
```dataviewjs
let tempPhone = dv.current().Phone ? dv.current().Phone.replaceAll(" ", "") : '+000'
let tempMail = dv.current().Email ? dv.current().Email : ""
let tempCoorSet = dv.current().location ? dv.current().location : [0,0]
dv.el('center', '[📲](tel:' + tempPhone + ') &emsp; &emsp; [📧](mailto:' + tempMail + ') &emsp; &emsp; [🗺️](' + "https://waze.com/ul?ll=" + tempCoorSet[0] + "%2C" + tempCoorSet[1] + "&navigate=yes" + ')')
```
---
&emsp;
```button
name Save
type command
action Save current file
id Save
```
^button-BourracheSave
&emsp;
# Bourrache
&emsp;
> [!summary]+
> Note Description
&emsp;
```toc
style: number
```
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 📇 Contact
&emsp;
> [!address] 🗺
> 17, rue Rodier
> 75009 Paris
> France
&emsp;
☎️ `= this.Phone`
📧 `= this.Email`
🌐 `= this.Website`
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 🗒 Notes
&emsp;
Loret ipsum
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 🔗 Other activity
&emsp;
```dataview
Table DocType as "Doc type" from [[Bourrache]]
where !contains(file.name, "@@Travel")
sort DocType asc
```
&emsp;
&emsp;

2
02.02 Paris/Les Disques du Yeti.md
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@ -20,7 +20,7 @@ Website: "[Les Disques du Yeti - Magasin De Disques à Saint-Ouen](http://lesdis
---
Parent:: [[@@Paris|Paris]], [[@Commerces Paris|Shops in Paris]]
Parent:: [[@@Paris|Paris]], [[@Commerces Paris|Shops in Paris]], [[Vinyls]]
&emsp;

114
02.02 Paris/Sürpriz.md
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@ -0,0 +1,114 @@
---
Alias: [""]
Tag: ["🍴", "🥙"]
Date: 2023-11-18
DocType: "Place"
Hierarchy: "NonRoot"
TimeStamp:
location: [48.869876,2.3530342]
Place:
Type: Restaurant
SubType: Kebab
Style: Turkish
Location: Pigalle
Country: France
Status: Tested
CollapseMetaTable: true
Phone: ""
Email: ""
Website: "[Sürpriz - Berliner Kebab](https://www.surpriz.paris/)"
---
Parent:: [[@@Paris|Paris]], [[@Restaurants Paris|Restaurants in Paris]]
&emsp;
```dataviewjs
let tempPhone = dv.current().Phone ? dv.current().Phone.replaceAll(" ", "") : '+000'
let tempMail = dv.current().Email ? dv.current().Email : ""
let tempCoorSet = dv.current().location ? dv.current().location : [0,0]
dv.el('center', '[📲](tel:' + tempPhone + ') &emsp; &emsp; [📧](mailto:' + tempMail + ') &emsp; &emsp; [🗺️](' + "https://waze.com/ul?ll=" + tempCoorSet[0] + "%2C" + tempCoorSet[1] + "&navigate=yes" + ')')
```
---
&emsp;
```button
name Save
type command
action Save current file
id Save
```
^button-SurprizSave
&emsp;
# Sürpriz
&emsp;
> [!summary]+
> Note Description
&emsp;
```toc
style: number
```
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 📇 Contact
&emsp;
> [!address] 🗺
> 28 Boulevard Saint-Denis
> 75010 Paris
> France
&emsp;
☎️ `= this.Phone`
📧 `= this.Email`
🌐 `= this.Website`
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 🗒 Notes
&emsp;
Loret ipsum
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 🔗 Other activity
&emsp;
```dataview
Table DocType as "Doc type" from [[Süpriz]]
where !contains(file.name, "@@Travel")
sort DocType asc
```
&emsp;
&emsp;

3
02.03 Zürich/Juan Bautista Bossio.md
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@ -100,7 +100,8 @@ style: number
&emsp;
- [ ] :horse_racing: [[Juan Bautista Bossio|Juan]]: Bring a bottle of fernet + normal coca cola %%done_del%% 🔁 every month 📅 2023-11-20
- [ ] :horse_racing: [[Juan Bautista Bossio|Juan]]: Bring a bottle of fernet + normal coca cola %%done_del%% 🔁 every month 📅 2023-12-20
- [x] :horse_racing: [[Juan Bautista Bossio|Juan]]: Bring a bottle of fernet + normal coca cola %%done_del%% 🔁 every month 📅 2023-11-20 ✅ 2023-11-13
- [x] :horse_racing: [[Juan Bautista Bossio|Juan]]: Bring a bottle of fernet + normal coca cola %%done_del%% 🔁 every month 📅 2023-10-20 ✅ 2023-10-14
- [x] :horse_racing: [[Juan Bautista Bossio|Juan]]: Bring a bottle of fernet + normal coca cola %%done_del%% 🔁 every month 📅 2023-09-20 ✅ 2023-09-23
- [x] :horse_racing: [[Juan Bautista Bossio|Juan]]: Bring a bottle of fernet + normal coca cola %%done_del%% 🔁 every month 📅 2023-08-20 ✅ 2023-08-22

114
02.03 Zürich/Radix.md
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@ -0,0 +1,114 @@
---
Alias: [""]
Tag: ["☕️"]
Date: 2023-11-10
DocType: "Place"
Hierarchy: "NonRoot"
TimeStamp:
location: [47.3772815,8.5339893]
Place:
Type: ["Café", "Commerce"]
SubType: "Skate shop"
Style: Swiss
Location:
Country: CH
Status: Tested
CollapseMetaTable: true
Phone: "+41 44 271 36 33"
Email: ""
Website: "[radix Zürich | radixweb](https://radixweb.ch/shop-zuerich)"
---
Parent:: [[@@Zürich|Zürich]], [[@Café Zürich|Cafés in Zürich]]
&emsp;
```dataviewjs
let tempPhone = dv.current().Phone ? dv.current().Phone.replaceAll(" ", "") : '+000'
let tempMail = dv.current().Email ? dv.current().Email : ""
let tempCoorSet = dv.current().location ? dv.current().location : [0,0]
dv.el('center', '[📲](tel:' + tempPhone + ') &emsp; &emsp; [📧](mailto:' + tempMail + ') &emsp; &emsp; [🗺️](' + "https://waze.com/ul?ll=" + tempCoorSet[0] + "%2C" + tempCoorSet[1] + "&navigate=yes" + ')')
```
---
&emsp;
```button
name Save
type command
action Save current file
id Save
```
^button-RadixSave
&emsp;
# Radix
&emsp;
> [!summary]+
> Note Description
&emsp;
```toc
style: number
```
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 📇 Contact
&emsp;
> [!address] 🗺
> Lagerstrasse 12
> 8004 Zürich
> Switzerland
&emsp;
☎️ `= this.Phone`
📧 `= this.Email`
🌐 `= this.Website`
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 🗒 Notes
&emsp;
Loret ipsum
&emsp;
---
&emsp;
### 🔗 Other activity
&emsp;
```dataview
Table DocType as "Doc type" from [[Radix]]
where !contains(file.name, "@@Travel")
sort DocType asc
```
&emsp;
&emsp;

4
00.02 Inbox/Consent.md → 03.01 Reading list/Consent.md
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@ -12,14 +12,14 @@ Source:
Language: FR
Published: 2022-01-04
Link: "[Le Consentement - Vanessa Springora - Babelio](https://www.babelio.com/livres/Springora-Le-Consentement/1189295)"
Read:
Read: 2023-11-19
Cover: http://books.google.com/books/content?id=2QKczQEACAAJ&printsec=frontcover&img=1&zoom=1&source=gbs_api
CollapseMetaTable: true
---
Parent:: [[@Reading master|Reading list]]
ReadingState:: 🟥
ReadingState:: [[2023-11-19]]
---

4
00.02 Inbox/Mémoires de Léonard.md → 03.01 Reading list/Mémoires de Léonard.md
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@ -12,14 +12,14 @@ Source:
Language: FR
Published: 1895
Link:
Read:
Read: 2023-11-06
Cover: "https://static.fnac-static.com/multimedia/Images/FR/NR/b8/ab/0d/895928/1507-1/tsp20191115091349/Memoires-de-leonard-ancien-garcon-macon.jpg"
CollapseMetaTable: true
---
Parent:: [[@Reading master|Reading list]]
ReadingState:: 🟧
ReadingState:: [[2023-11-06]]
---

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