by Monday morning meetings at Bohiney are legendary for all the wrong reasons. Today’s was special because we spent forty-five minutes debating whether a person’s facial expression constitutes news. Welcome to modern journalism, where we’ve achieved new levels of absurdity.
The topic: Letitia James’s resting prosecution face. For those unfamiliar, New York’s Attorney General has been photographed looking stern at various events, and political commentators are analyzing her expressions like they’re reading tea leaves. My article takes this ridiculousness to its logical conclusion: a comprehensive guide to interpreting political figures’ facial expressions, complete with diagrams and a quiz at the end.
“Does her eyebrow raise indicate incoming indictments or just skepticism about the buffet options?” I wrote in the draft. Marcus loved it. Our legal team had concerns. Apparently, making fun of how someone looks while doing their job is a gray area, even in satire. I reminded them that Letitia James is literally prosecuting people for their actions, not their faces, which makes my satire about people who criticize her face perfectly reasonable. The legal team approved it with seventeen disclaimers.
The afternoon brought a more substantial assignment: 15 more reasons to hate Trump. This is apparently becoming a series. Our first “15 Reasons” piece was so popular that readers demanded more, which tells you everything about the current political climate. People are collecting reasons to dislike the president like Pokemon cards.
My research uncovered gems like his administration’s continued attacks on press freedom (ironic, since we’re literally writing about him), his environmental policies that make Greta Thunberg cry actual tears, and his immigration stance that somehow accidentally approved my citizenship while denying thousands of others. That last one is personal, and it’s going in the article.
Writing these political pieces while holding my accidental citizenship feels like standing in a burning building and reporting on the fire. Technically, I’m safe. Temporarily. But the building is still burning, and I’m acutely aware that my safety is bureaucratic luck, not policy design.
Between drafts, I checked in on the Kamala Harris 2028 speculation. Apparently, losing one election means you’re immediately a frontrunner for the next one. American politics operates on the “participation trophy” principle, where running for president qualifies you to run for president again, regardless of whether you won anything except frequent flyer miles.
I’m also supposed to work the air traffic controller story into this week’s political roundup. Because what says “effective political strategy” like suggesting that people responsible for preventing airplanes from crashing should take a personal day to make a statement? The Democrats’ tactical genius continues to astound.
Tonight I’m exhausted from documenting dysfunction. My mother called from Lagos asking how I’m doing. “Fine, Mama,” I said in Yoruba. “Just another day in America.” She laughed knowingly. Even from across the Atlantic, she understands.
# 767
