A concern with propaganda has animated American liberal discourse in a new way since the run-up to the 2016 election. On virtually any day since at least July 2016, a naive observer set in front of a bank of screens streaming center-left national news coverage might quickly glean . . .
The pioneering public relations consultant Edward Bernays’s words are nearly a century old, but today, in an era of rampant misinformation and insidious disinformation campaigns online, they seem startlingly apt. The rulers Bernays was talking about were public relations specialists, and at the time propaganda was not a pejorative.
This is a story I tell myself about who I am, a story that, in the nature of all telling, conceals as much as it reveals. I am an ex-convict. A felon. Formerly an inmate. When people call me formerly incarcerated or a returning citizen, I do not feel like they are less likely to deny me employment, or housing, or to shake my hand.
For many years, I used to harbor mixed feelings about Leni Riefenstahl’s films. That continuum ranged quite widely, from visceral revulsion to a grudging admiration for her most well-known works: Triumph of the Will, her poetic and dramatic record of the spectacular 1934 Nuremberg rally, and Olympiad . . .
In my childhood home, we were not allowed to call each other liars. It fueled my father’s indignation. Slung with the casual malice that only bickering siblings can summon, Liar! somehow set off a warning beacon, alerting my father wherever he was.
Roger Revelle was one of the most distinguished oceanographers of the twentieth century. During World War II, he served in the navy, eventually rising to the rank of commander and director of the Office of Naval Research–a scientific arm of the navy that Revelle helped create.
Late in 1854, and especially during the first half of 1855, Frederick Douglass spent many weeks at his desk writing his ultimate declaration of independence, My Bondage and My Freedom, his second, more thorough and revealing autobiography.
Hatibagan, 139 Cornwallis Street, Calcutta, Early Twentieth Century
Calcutta, the capital of the province of Bengal, was once known as the Second City of Empire. Like London, the First City of Empire, it sat astride a river, the Hooghly, that carried traffic rivaling the Thames.
Lyric Distance in Owen’s “Anthem for Doomed Youth”
In the preface to his then unpublished oeuvre, Wilfred Owen characterized his poems as elegies, a move that has sparked much debate among his few devoted critics about the generic boundaries of his work.