2022年1月28日 星期五

The Daily: The Right to Die

Dying with dignity raises tricky ethical questions.

The big idea: Who has the right to die?

The Daily strives to reveal a new idea in every episode. Below, we go deeper on one of those from our show this week.

Lynsey Addario for The New York Times

Our species is conditioned for survival — and our societies are organized to govern how we live and to facilitate how we can all live well together.

Our medical system, our vaccines and the global response to the pandemic are built around the same instinct — to protect and prolong individual lives. So it can feel jarring, and counterintuitive, to ask: What obligation does the government have in ensuring an individual's right to die?

Around the world, people facing a loss of autonomy, dignity and quality of life have the opportunity to set the date of their own deaths through voluntary euthanasia or assisted suicide. But this choice is only legally available in a few countries, including Belgium, Luxembourg, Canada and Colombia.

Additionally, only a handful of American states allow doctors to help patients who meet well-defined criteria and are on the threshold of dying choose when and how to end their lives. The laws are modeled after the first Death With Dignity Act, passed in Oregon in 1997.

Catholic organizations, anti-abortion advocates and some disability groups continue to oppose aid in dying. The California Catholic Conference, the church's public policy organization, for example, argued in June that liberalizing the state's law "puts patients at risk of abuse and the early and unwillful termination of life."

But polls regularly show broad public support for euthanasia. In 2020, Gallup found that 74 percent of respondents agreed that doctors should be allowed to end patients' lives "by some painless means" if they and their families request it.


This week, we told the story of Marieke Vervoort, a Paralympic medalist from Belgium who chose when and how she would die. In doing so, we hoped to reveal the personal implications of a highly personal debate. Below, we share a note from Lynsey Addario, the photographer who spent almost three years reporting on Vervoort.

I have been a conflict and humanitarian photographer for 20 years, which means I have met people at their most vulnerable moments. Somehow I have to photograph them in ways that are compelling to viewers, but sensitive to the subjects.

The moments I capture exist forever as photographs, and the publication of this trauma has an effect on the subjects and on their loved ones and their feelings about me, the photographer. I don't often spend more than a few hours, days or weeks with someone I am shooting, and I rarely get the opportunity to see the person again once the assignment is complete.

But with Marieke, an initial three-day assignment turned into a three-year friendship, one in which I continuously struggled with my role as "an objective observer," especially as I grew to love and admire a friend who was choosing to die according to her own timeline.


Marieke had this unique ability to love the people in her life as passionately as she pined for her death whenever her pain seemed to take over her life. She believed that the public needed to see and feel her pain in order to understand the importance of one's right to euthanasia — to choose exactly when and how she would end her life. Marieke was uniquely articulate and honest about the complexities of how and why she believed in her right to die on her own terms, and she wanted me to tell that story. In the process, she asked and allowed me to photograph moments that made her loved ones uncomfortable.

I will always be conflicted about whether I should have deferred to her wishes or her parents' wishes in her final moments and in her death. I got to know her parents over the years, and as a mother of two children, I couldn't fathom how they had the strength, generosity and courage to let their daughter go.

What I will remember about Marieke are the details I couldn't capture with images alone. So much about Marieke was in her laughter and her tears, her jokes and her pain — things that are difficult to convey in a still image. A lot of our time together was spent joking around, until she would disappear into fits of pain so powerful she had seizures, and she would fall into unconsciousness for hours — sometimes days.

I wanted to share our audio interviews and voice messages to tell a more complete, more nuanced version of Marieke's journey in a way still photographs simply cannot.


This podcast is unusual in a number of ways — it aired more than two years after her death, and unlike most Times stories, it isn't pegged to a specific news event. But I believe Marieke's unflinching honesty offers incredible insight into the process of euthanasia — something she trusted me to convey. She wanted this to be published and I wanted to do right by her wishes. I also hoped it would provide insight into how photojournalists work, what we have to do in order to properly convey the intimate human stories we have the privilege to witness.

The Trojan Horse Affair

We have a new show coming out. It's about a mysterious letter, detailing a supposed Islamist plot to take over schools, that shocked Britain in 2014. The scandal resulted in new national policies, multiple investigations, banned educators and revamped schools. But despite all of the chaos the letter caused, it remained strangely unclear who wrote it.

When Brian Reed, of the hit podcast "S-Town," and Hamza Syed, a doctor-turned-reporter from Birmingham, England, tried to uncover the author's identity, the investigation became bigger than they ever imagined. From Serial Productions and The New York Times comes The Trojan Horse Affair, a mystery told in eight parts. You can listen to the trailer now and the entire show will be out next Thursday, Feb. 3.

On The Daily this week

Monday: How a photojournalist documented Marieke Vervoort's death by euthanasia.

Tuesday: Boris Johnson is tangled in a scandal over lockdown parties. Could this be the end of his premiership?

Wednesday: What a poll of Americans revealed about how ready the nation is to discuss living with the virus.

Thursday: How might President Biden choose a successor for Justice Stephen Breyer?

Friday: Despite record beef prices, ranchers aren't cashing in — the result of decades of economic transformation in the U.S.

That's it for the Daily newsletter. See you next week.

Have thoughts about the show? Tell us what you think at thedaily@nytimes.com.

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On Tech: Making money online, the hard way

Plus, everyone needs a burner phone number.
Read online

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January 28, 2022


Hello again! We thought you might be missing the On Tech With Shira Ovide newsletter. It's available only to Times subscribers, but this week we are offering you a preview. We hope you enjoy it.

Subscribe to The New York Times to keep receiving On Tech, a guide to how technology is changing the world in wonderful and not-so-wonderful ways. Your subscription will also give you access to a selection of other newsletters reserved for subscribers and to all Times journalism online and in the app.

Making money online, the hard way

How does a TikTok star make a living? In a zillion different ways.

Sarah Ann Banks

On a typical morning, Chrissy Chlapecka lets the dog outside, spends an hour on professional makeup and hair and carefully selects an outfit. Then Chlapecka, a 21-year-old Chicagoan, starts work as an internet creator.

Chlapecka posts at least one short video a day on Instagram and TikTok, where she has a combined 4.5 million followers. Nothing dramatic happens in the videos. But Chlapecka is who you might imagine if Lady Gaga were your favorite barista dishing out advice and zingers. (In fact, Chlapecka used to be a barista.)

In a few seconds of video recorded at home or in a mall, she seems at ease. Chlapecka invites viewers — particularly gay people and women — to feel good about themselves with an online personality that Chlapecka described as "an encouraging big sister type." (Readers, please note that Chlapecka's videos are not necessarily family-friendly.)

But this is also work. In addition to daily posts, Chlapecka records rough cuts of videos to save for the days when the creative juices might not be flowing. In line at the grocery store, she jots down concept ideas. Chlapecka weighs in on pitches for promotional videos to incorporate certain products or song clips that companies hope will take off. She also told me about hosting a gig at a comedy club and creating strategies to build a bigger fan base on YouTube and sell merchandise to fans.

For many people like Chlapecka, who try to make a living from entertaining or sharing information online, their job is part Hollywood producer, part small-business owner and all hustle.

"Some people really underestimate the work that creators do," Chlapecka told me. "I wish they would understand more that this is a real career — and it's a serious career — and a form of entertainment."

Chlapecka knows that some people believe she's just goofing around on the internet. But it takes skill and perseverance to come up with fresh ideas day after day, establish rapport with online followers and stay on top of the constantly changing algorithms and tastes of internet users.

This week, On Tech has focused on the economics of the internet creator economy. No one person is representative of the millions who try to earn a living from their online creations. But Chlapecka offers a glimpse at what this work is like and how creators earn money …


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2022年1月26日 星期三

The T List: Five things we recommend this week

Sustainable Thai takeout, a new gallery space in Reykjavik — and more.

Welcome to the T List, a newsletter from the editors of T Magazine. Each week, we share things we're eating, wearing, listening to or coveting now. Sign up here to find us in your inbox every Wednesday. And you can always reach us at tlist@nytimes.com.


Thai Takeout, Sans Plastic

From left: A selection of tiffins at Rose Kitchen in Paris. Some of the dishes that might be stashed inside, including sea bass wrapped in banana leaves, pad thai and Thai sausage with lemongrass. Rose Chalalai Singh

By Gisela Williams

T Contributing Editor


During Paris's lockdown in the winter of 2020, Rose Chalalai Singh, the chef and owner of the popular Thai spot Rose Kitchen, in the Marais, lamented the tsunami of waste that appeared on the city streets each day thanks to the uptick in takeout orders. "I refuse to serve anyone my food on plastic," she says. She remembered that her friend the artist Rirkrit Tiravanija had once suggested she package takeaway lunches in tiffins, the stackable metal containers frequently used by schoolchildren, farmers and office workers in Thailand and other parts of Asia. (When he was young, Tiravanija delivered them around Bangkok for his grandmother's catering business.) Around the same time, Chalalai Singh's catering business partner, Petra Lindbergh, saw Ritesh Batra's 2013 film, "The Lunchbox," in which tiffins feature prominently. So Chalalai Singh sourced 100 from Thailand and then had covers sewn for them out of vintage army blankets. As of now she offers the containers, which come in stacks of three, four or five and are each filled with something different — larb gai, say, or sea bass wrapped in banana leaves — to her catering clients, Hermès and the design agency Desselle Partners among them. Afterward, her team collects them for reuse. Starting in March, though, regulars to Rose Kitchen can get in on the action, buying a tiffin at cost, dropping off the used container in the morning and picking up a newly filled one at lunchtime. rosekitchenparis.com


Inside a Collector's Design-Filled Homes

In the living room of Ronnie Sassoon's Litchfield, Conn., home — Stillman II, designed by Marcel Breuer — a 1972 DS/600 Non-Stop sofa by DeSede (designed by Ueli Berger, Eleanor Peduzza-Riva and Heinz Ulrich) winds along a back wall. The spiky 1960s-era Fachiro bean bag chair is by Marzio Cecchi.Joachim Wichmann

By Natalia Rachlin

T Contributor

Out this month from August Editions is "Selection: Art, Architecture and Design from the Collection of Ronnie Sassoon," a sensory feast of a book that offers a compelling view of one aesthete's vision for living with radical art and groundbreaking design. Inside are images of the art historian, designer and collector Ronnie Sassoon's three architecturally significant homes: the Levit House by Richard Neutra in Los Angeles; Stillman II by Marcel Breuer in Litchfield, Conn.; and the Dean/Ceglic Loft in Soho, New York. Within each, she has gathered an important array of works, ranging from pieces by radical 1960s and '70s-era Italian artists and designers (in her Connecticut house, a white fiberglass Bazaar sofa by the Florence-based avant-garde architecture collective Superstudio snakes through the TV room) to those by midcentury heavyweights such as Jean Prouvé and Carlo Scarpa. "It was really satisfying to see everything together," says Sassoon. "I noticed a sort of evolution in my collecting and a focus." Interspersed throughout the book, pictures of meals she has prepared (Sassoon is an avid home chef) serve as a reminder that these homes are also a backdrop for everyday life. $65, august-editions.com.



A Magazine Dedicated to Black Foodies

From left: Megan Hysaw's lamb chops with brown sugar bourbon glaze and Arley Bell's vegan sweet potato cake, from the latest issue of While Entertaining.Courtesy of While Entertaining/Amber Mayfield

By Korsha Wilson

T Contributor

In 2017, Amber Mayfield launched her event agency, To Be Hosted, with the aims of collaborating with other minority-owned small businesses and bringing together a wide range of diners. Still, stories about the entertaining space felt frustratingly whitewashed, and so she decided to change the landscape herself with While Entertaining, a magazine that features Black foodies and includes essays and recipes, along with playlists and hosting tips. Its third issue, titled "The Culture of Joy," will be released next month and, as Mayfield writes in the editor's letter, "is about the food that makes us do a little dance after we take the first bite." That includes pecan bread pudding, a recipe for which is provided by David Benton, the pastry chef of Sugarsweet Cookie + Cake Studio in Oakland, Calif., and a sweet potato-centric supper from Thérèse Nelson, the chef and founder of Black Culinary History. Paging through, one gets a sense of Mayfield as a warm and generous host, the kind to take care of guests and readers alike. At the back of the book is a space for journaling — or planning out a gathering. "I want people to share the dishes with people they love," says Mayfield. The issue is currently available for pre-order online, and will be on sale at various bookstores, including Kitchen Arts & Letters in Manhattan, Archestratus Books + Foods in Brooklyn and Skylight Books in Los Angeles.


An Icelandic Gallery Modeled on Slow Art

Alicja Kwade's "Transformer" (2021), on view at i8 Grandi in Reykjavik. Courtesy of the artist and i8 Gallery

By Sydney Rende

T Contributor


In 2017, the Marshall House, a former herring factory built on Reykjavik's Grandi harbor, reopened as a multipurpose art space that counts the Living Art Museum and Olafur Eliasson as tenants. As of this month, it's also home to i8 Grandi, an offshoot of i8 Gallery, a 26-year-old stalwart located just around the corner. The new space will feature work by some of the same artists as the original but adhere to an entirely different model: It plans to host yearlong solo exhibitions so as to encourage artists and viewers alike to go broad and deep. Fittingly, the first long-running show centers on ideas of space and time and, says the gallery's owner, Börkur Arnarson, will "breathe, grow, shrink and evolve" as the year progresses. It features work by the Berlin-based artist Alicja Kwade, who is interested in mathematical principles and the evolution of material objects — see "Stellar Day," which consists of a boulder that rotates 360 degrees counterclockwise in just under 24 hours, and her sculpture of a chair crafted out of an old bicycle. The show, the initial iteration of which is titled "In Relation to the Sun," will run until Dec. 22 of this year, www.i8.is.


An Iconic Designer's Second Life

The Spira ("Sprout") pattern of cutlery was originally designed by Arje Griegst in the 1970s and '80s and produced by Georg Jensen from 2002-03. It was reissued last year, also produced by Jensen, and is available exclusively at the Griegst boutique in Copenhagen. Courtesy of Griegst

By Rima Suqi

T Contributor

The artist and jeweler Arje Griegst, who designed everything from the Conch fountain in Copenhagen's Tivoli Gardens to porcelain for Royal Copenhagen to a tiara for the country's queen, is a household name in Denmark. After his death in 2016, his son, Noam Griegst, a photographer and filmmaker, took over as creative director of his father's eponymous studio, and, last fall, he opened the brand's first boutique in 30 years, in Copenhagen, "gathering the universe of Griegst in my own way, while still embodying his hallucinatory and opulent spirit," as he puts it. That meant, in part, working with Georg Jensen to relaunch Spira, a line of rococo-handled silver cutlery Griegst started designing in the '70s. It's now available for the first time in nearly two decades, exclusively at the Griegst shop, and more reissues are to come. Noam plans "to reintroduce something from our archives every four or five years," though he hints that a porcelain collection might arrive as early as this year. griegst.com


Flag Day

The ribbons on each flag were secured to a doubled-over hoist ribbon, which was then tied to the flagpole with simple bows.Clément Vayssieres

In the summer of 2020, the multimedia artists Joe McShea and Edgar Mosa began making flags and tying them to scavenged bamboo poles, which they planted on the beaches of Fire Island Pines. Soon, an eclectic crowd started to gather in the same spot to see the couple's latest creations. This past weekend, 87 of the pair's ribbon flags captivated a new audience: the attendees of Loewe's fall 2022 men's wear show, which was held at the Tennis Club de Paris. Dressed in looks rich with surrealist touches, the models crunched their way across a floor covered with sand — 40 tons of it, to be exact — and through a guard-of-honor-style formation of fabric. Hung from a network of slanted aluminum poles were some eight miles' worth of silk ribbons in a spectrum of 13 candy-colored hues. Unlike on Fire Island, there was no wind to move them around. Instead, says Mosa, "we went with that tension — a flag that is silent and asking for, waiting for, a little breeze that makes it flutter." To read more, visit tmagazine.com — and follow us on Instagram.

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