Monica Potts is a senior writer for The American Prospect and a fellow with the New America Foundation Asset Building Program. Her work has appeared in TheNew York Times, the Connecticut Post and the Stamford Advocate. She also blogs at PostBourgie.
On August 11, at a Republican debate in Iowa held two days before she won the straw poll in Ames, Michele Bachmann deflected a question that brought boos from the audience. The moderator, Byron York of the Washington Examiner, had asked the Minnesota congresswoman whether she would be submissive to her husband in the White House.
Last year, at the end of the first season of Sister Wives, a reality show about a polygamist family in Utah, Kody Brown took a fourth wife, Robyn. Rain threatened to cancel the religious ceremony. Meri, Brown's first wife and the only one to whom he is legally married, commented on the gloomy sky, "That's how my heart felt." Before then, Brown, a 43-year-old ad salesman, his three wives, and their 13 children had achieved an equilibrium of sorts. Robyn and her three kids threw this off balance, but welcoming Robyn was a nonnegotiable duty for the other women. "At that time, it really establishes itself as a patriarchal relationship," says Felice Batlan, a professor at the Chicago-Kent College of Law and a fan of the show.
Andrew Cuomo had many potential lines of attack when he decided to run for governor of New York last year, but he eschewed most of them. Cuomo--then the state's attorney general--chose not to rail against the state Legislature, where a number of rogue politicians had mucked up the works term after term. He did not follow in the footsteps of another former attorney general turned governor, Eliot Spitzer, who had portrayed himself as a champion of the people, touting his record of taking down big financial players who'd abused the system. Nor, despite the state's progressive history and largely progressive electorate, did Cuomo--a former housing secretary in the Clinton administration and the son of legendary Gov.
The state's current governor, Dannel Malloy, has taken it upon himself to make Connecticut's taxes more progressive.
There are two Connecticuts. One is made up of port cities and working-class burgs so decimated by deindustrialization they could be mistaken for parts of the Rust Belt. The other is the one that more commonly springs to mind: the old-money land of yachts, weekend homes, luxury cars, and faux-quaint small towns.
In the battle for resources, the old money (or just plain big money) usually wins. The state didn't have an income tax at all until 1991, when one-term Gov. Lowell Weicker fulfilled a campaign promise by establishing one. But even that tax provided a loophole for wealthy denizens of the state's southwestern corner, from which many residents commute to banking and other high-paying jobs in New York City.
Few cases start off as clear-cut as the one against Dominique Strauss-Kahn, the newly resigned International Monetary Fund chief who is now facing rape charges in Manhattan. A cleaning woman told police that Strauss-Kahn sexually assaulted her when she walked into his hotel suite at Sofitel New York on the afternoon of May 14. She fled and told fellow employees, who called 911.