On the insanity of America’s gun laws.
The Weasel, Twelve Monkeys and the Shrub
Covering a presidential candidate and the people who cover presidential candidates aboard the press buses Bullshit 1 and Bullshit 2 on the 2000 John McCain campaign trail.
Bolivia’s Desperate Miners Are Doing Desperate Things—Like Murder
Everyone knows who killed Rodolfo Illanes. So why is his death such a mystery?
None Dare Call it Conspiracy
Banned in Russia and cut by Condé Nast from the GQ website, this story (presented in full) details the intrigue behind the Moscow apartment bombings, blamed on Chechens, that allowed Putin to rapidly ascend to power.
Lincoln’s Great Depression
Today, Abraham Lincoln’s lifelong struggle with clinical depression would be a political liability. Back then, it was the key to his presidency.
Fiction Pick of the Week: "When the Robots Arrived"
Robots arrive on earth; a politician's grotesque fate.
Hillary Clinton and the Populist Revolt
Can the Democratic presidential candidate win back the white working class?
Farewell, Champions of Havana
The last vestiges of a sporting powerhouse.
The Yunited States of Yuge
A look inside Donald Trump’s portfolio of exclusive real estate properties.
Mothers, Sisters, Daughters, Wives
Inside the political battle over reproductive rights in Texas.
David Gergen, Master of the Game
A profile of the man who helped invent the modern art of presidential spin and came to embody the blurry line between journalist and government official.
Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail in '72
“One afternoon about three days ago the Editorial Enforcement Detail from the Rolling Stone office showed up at my door, with no warning, and loaded about 40 pounds of supplies into the room: two cases of Mexican beer, four quarts of gin, a dozen grapefruits, and enough speed to alter the outcome of six Super Bowls. There was also a big Selectric typewriter, two reams of paper, a face-cord of oak firewood and three tape recorders – in case the situation got so desperate that I might finally have to resort to verbal composition.”
Inside the most unorthodox campaign in political history.
On the 1988 presidential election and the boys on the bus.
“American reporters ‘like’ covering a presidential campaign (it gets them out on the road, it has balloons, it has music, it is viewed as a big story, one that leads to the respect of one’s peers, to the Sunday shows, to lecture fees and often to Washington), which is one reason why there has developed among those who do it so arresting an enthusiasm for overlooking the contradictions inherent in reporting that which occurs only in order to be reported.”
Sheldon Adelson Bets It All
The inside story of the megadoner and the Chinese casino money flooding our elections.
Ann Selzer Is the Best Pollster in Politics
The brains behind the uncannily accurate Des Moines Register poll.
One Year, Two Races
Inside the Republican Party’s bizarre, tumultuous 2015.
Confessions of a presidential campaign reporter.
Reflections on Villaplane
A French soccer star's rise and fall from sports to cons to the Nazi Party.
"I watched, horrified, as she let Villaplane into her home, followed by three other men. I took aim, putting my finger on the trigger of my pistol. Then I remembered the Communist Party order not to assassinate individuals, and as the door closed, I ran to find my friends. It was too late: they had been arrested by the Brigade Nord-Africaine. An Arabic soldier pointed a gun at me, telling me to give up any weapons and join the others. My comrades and I were marched to a ditch and ordered to line up with our hands on our heads. I stood on the far right as three men in SS uniform marched into view."
Inside the Mammoth Backlash to Common Core
How an education reform effort became the new Obamacare.
The Torture Colony
A utopian German settlement in Chile had already turned darkly cultish by the time it became a secret torture site for enemies of the Pinochet regime.
Ambassadors in Exile
A driver and passenger engage in uneasy political and social discourse.
"Darshan could all too easily picture Malik at prayer while on the job. He saw every detail--head bowed, eyed shut, both hands clutching the wheel as a laundry list of requests was whispered towards heaven: a new carburetor for the engine, a new dress for the wife, new sneakers for the children. Each and every petty need enunciated like a brave but modest child, the requests a thing of beauty in their humility, a delicate song of worship and desire that would only come to an end when Malik veered slightly into the opposing lane and plowed directly into the headlights of an oncoming sixteen-wheeler."
The Unknown Soldier
An actor, fresh from prison, attempts to reconnect with his son in 1950s California.
"And he had believed it. Everyone had. Since the day he’d been cast as Lev, Alexi had been aware that he was getting away with something—though, he reasoned, he’d never explicitly lied about anything. He just never told the complete truth. He may have, when asked about his American accent, mentioned the pronunciation workbooks stacked on his family’s kitchen table, as if he, and not just his parents, had pored over them nightly. He may have once, a little drunk at a party, pretended to forget the English words for the pigs in a blanket being passed around. He may have, that night and possibly a few others, begun sentences with, In my country . . . He may have, when asked by the film’s very openly communist director one night over steaks at Musso’s what he thought about Truman, parroted back what he’d overheard at the writers’ table, that he was narrow-minded and ruthless, his doctrine a farce and an affront to civil liberties. He may have, at Stella and Jack’s invitation, attended a number of meetings in their Hancock Park living room, where there may have been some pretty detailed discussions about following their Soviet comrades down whatever path they took. He may have, on one of those evenings, filled out one of the Party membership forms being passed around, simply because everyone else was."
Basta Bunga Bunga
On Silvio Berlusconi’s hedonism.
Berlusconi is Italy’s waning Hugh Hefner, alternately reviled and admired for his loyalty to his own appetites—except that he’s supposed to be running the country.