Eight years ago, I attended the opening of the New Yorker Festival. The program, which was held at the Frank Gehry-designed headquarters of IAC, on Manhattan’s West Side, featured a conversation between one of the magazine’s staff writers, and, I recall, some star in the field of creating effects for movies.
Though my memory of the event has faded, I remember the strangeness that I felt milling about the reception, where guests, who had purchased tickets, mingled with one another and with reporters from the magazine.
Across the room, I spied Ken Auletta, a writer who covers the media for the magazine, with his hands in his pockets, speaking to no one. I wondered whether he and his colleagues felt an obligation to mingle. Though I didn’t ask him, I wondered whether he had been conscripted to put on a show.
I am reminded of that feeling in the wake of the dustup over The New Yorker’s disinviting Steve Bannon from this year’s festival. The invitation to Bannon, a hero of the alt-right and the architect of Donald Trump’s 2016 campaign for president, had been extended by David Remnick, the editor of the magazine, who wrote to Bannon that the magazine “would be honored” to have him as headliner.
Bannon accepted. The plan was for Remnick to interview him on stage. “I have every intention of asking him difficult questions and engaging in a serious and even combative conversation,” Remnick told the Times.
But the plan went awry. Actor Jim Carrey, comedians Patton Oswalt and John Mullaney, and director Judd Apatow all threatened to back out of the festival if Bannon appeared. Kathryn Schultz, a Pulitzer Prize-winning writer at the magazine, tweeted that she was “beyond appalled” by the prospect of Bannon as headliner.
“I don’t think an advocate for ISIS would have been invited to the Festival,” tweeted Osita Nwanevu, another staff writer. “I don’t think a literal Klansman would’ve.”
The backlash forced Remnick to reverse course. “The reaction on social media was critical and a lot of the dismay and anger was directed at me and my decision to engage him,” Remnick wrote on Monday. “Some members of the staff, too, reached out to say that they objected to the invitation, particularly the forum of the festival.”
The decision did not sit well with Bannon, who called Remnick “gutless” for withdrawing the invitation. The move also elicited criticism from some writers at the magazine.
“Journalism is about hearing opposing views,” tweeted Lawrence Wright. “I regret that this event is not taking place.” Malcolm Gladwell noted that shining a light on views we may abhor can transform a platform into a “gallows.”
Over at Rolling Stone, Matt Taibbi also blasted Remnick. “You just removed, from the interview stage, one of the few people in the country that a) knows some of Donald Trump’s darkest secrets, and b) might have an inclination to talk about them,” he complained.
The varying views seem to turn on whether you think the festival is journalism, as Gladwell, Wright and Taibbi all seem to, or a forum for the sharing of ideas, as the critics contend.
A few observers zeroed in on the tension. “The issue, it seems, is the blurry line between content produced by news organizations (i.e., journalists) and live events hosted by the same outlets,” wrote Thu-Huong Ha at Quartz.
Zack Beauchamp, writing at Vox, explained the challenge for news organizations in straddling moneymaking events such as the New Yorker Festival:
“These kinds of events are, by their very nature, difficult to manage. They need to be attractive to audiences, which means booking interesting and/or controversial speakers. The events need the speakers to show up, which often means paying them, and they might not want to walk into the lion’s den of an adversarial interview in front of a live audience.
At the same time, the interviews themselves can’t betray the core journalistic mission of the publication — they can’t somehow do reporting and brand promotion at the same time. That means the journalists onstage shouldn’t (in theory) just suck up to the speakers and sing their praises — though that’s all too often what happens — but rather should respectfully challenge their ideas and arguments.”
That, I suspect, was the idea of inviting Bannon to headline the festival. Remnick had every intention of challenging Bannon. But the forum just didn’t work, as Remnick noted when he explained to the staff that the interview would find its place in the pages of the magazine, where the journalism takes priority.
I see it both ways. Part of what has allowed me to sharpen my critique of Bannon is listening to him in interviews or reading his words. In March, I watched an interview that he did with Lionel Barber, the editor of the Financial Times.
During the conversation, Bannon admitted to being fascinated with Mussolini (he previously praised the dictator’s virility and fashion sense), glossing over Il Duce’s description of Jews as a people destined to be wiped out completely, let alone the destruction he wreaked on Italy.
In August, New York magazine published an interview with Bannon, who asserted that the financial crisis paved the way for Donald Trump.
“He’s the first guy to tell the Establishment to go fuck themselves,” said Bannon. “And we’re just in the beginning stages, and that’s why right-wing populism’s gonna win, because the left wing, you’re a bunch of pussies. The Democratic Party is owned and paid for by Wall Street.”
To be sure, the financial crisis fueled misery on both the left and right. And that some of the resentment that followed found its footing in support for Trump. But if a president who signs a tax cut worth $150 billion a year isn’t “owned and paid for by Wall Street,” I don’t know who is.
To me, the surest way to see the holes in Bannon’s theories is to hold them up for scrutiny and challenge. But I also appreciate that my experience differs from that of a person of color. As Damon Young at Very Smart Brothas writes:
“Decision makers at large, mainstream publications and platforms keep inviting and providing space for men like Bannon and Richard Spencer and Milo Yiannopoulos, as if the things they have to say are riveting and engrossing, as if any novel insights can be gained from handing them the spotlight… A dive into the thoughts and inclinations and sensibilities of openly bigoted white men isn’t just old hat. It’s America’s oldest hat. Need to ask Steve Bannon about his racism and xenophobia? OK. While you’re at it, exhume Christopher fucking Columbus’ corpse to ask about the lunch menu on the Santa Maria.”
Young doesn’t need to hear more. At least not in a forum that celebrates a sharing of ideas. He knows the thing. He lives it.
Margaret Sullivan, who covers media for the Washington Post, echoed the concern, calling inviting Bannon a “lousy idea.” “There is nothing more to learn from Bannon about his particular brand of populism, with its blatant overlay of white supremacy,” she wrote. (In March, Bannon told Marine Le Pen, the right-wing politician in France, to wear her racism like a “badge of honor.”)
In his message on Monday, Remick elaborated on his reversal. “I’ve thought this through and talked to colleagues — and I’ve re-considered. I’ve changed my mind,” he wrote.
To Bannon the capacity for reflection signals a lack of guts. But Remnick’s decision to disinvite Bannon reflects something that we don’t see every day in public and never from the president whom Bannon helped to elect: A willingness to change one’s mind based on facts.
