Billed as an aberration, Donald Trump's anti-immigrant rhetoric is anything but.
In a war that remains unfinished, two Syrian-British writers acknowledge and affirm those whose stories and lives may be lost in its course.
On the value of uncertainty—in college essays and American politics.
The artist Jonathan Horowitz takes on presidential politics, again.
Reading the OJ Simpson trial through a novelistic lens.
Shakespeare warned against treating democracy as a popularity contest.
Jose Orduna on asserting personhood as resistance, the connection between activism and essays, and being 'aggressively bilingual'
Even as Holey Artisan Bakery in Dhaka gets back to normalcy after a deadly siege a month ago, Bangladesh wrestles with the rising specter of extremism.
Pieter Hugo's latest portrait series examines the quiet afterlives of apartheid and genocide.
On Music: The perfect song to sing in times of uprising, at Occupy Wall Street, or before a Seder dinner—and always en masse.
Discretionary policy on immigration has largely operated behind closed doors,something experts have long questioned.
Exploring American gun culture and the thin line between fact and fiction.
A British expatriate reflects on the country's "Leave" vote.
The acclaimed Mexican writer explains why Donald Trump is a welcome distraction for the government of Mexico.
The Future of Cities: In the aftermath of the most recent attacks in Paris, the writer considers a city wavering between gravity and light.
While neighborhoods are being redeveloped, their histories are being used to advertise their future. History has become a marketing tool. Make use of the past and create the future with it: this is familiar for a country whose national ideology is built on an endless cycle of self-invention.
The future of Beijing? That depends on the many currents running through the political seas of the country, and the world around it. Will it be the capital of the last communist country on earth? Will it be the capital of the wealthiest capitalist economy? Will some semblance of its former beauty return?
On the crowded bus there was an Iraqi woman who was utterly lost; she did not know where her hotel was. With their broken Arabic, the other riders managed to figure out where she was staying and told the driver. The driver, in turn, halted the bus right in front of the Iraqi woman’s hotel— the hotel of a woman from a country Iran had fought a bloody eight-year war with.
Cape Town is blessed in the beauty pageant of luxury tourism. Hotels, swimming pools, golf courses, and gated playgrounds proliferate to pamper the wealthy. No bounty from the seductions of one of the world’s most vibrant, pluralistic cities is shared with the low-waged who make this wealth.
When I go back to Bogotá, I like to share my knowledge of the car bombs that went off in the city in the ’80s and ’90s. I helpfully point out the gory details to cab drivers and friends. I press my finger on the window and point at corners, “That’s the spot where an ATM blew up, seven dead.”
It is already becoming clear that the efficacy of the old imperial strategy of “divide and rule”—caste against caste, religion against religion, temporary worker against permanent—is running out. The ability of India’s rural poor to endure cruelty is admittedly stupendous, but it is not, as their industrial overlords fondly believed, infinite.
The hospital is gone, another going, our clinic is gone, our local supermarket gone and another about to leave; a church, its school and active playground, are gone. Once people could live near where they worked, but now they can’t afford to and, in any case, where they worked no longer exists.