Jess Lahitou

I am hesitant to write anything that might tangentially help Donald Trump, because I think the man entirely unfit to be president.

A few weeks ago, I thought we might actually celebrate the end of the 2016 election.

Perhaps you’ve noticed that Democrats and Republicans aren’t getting along so well these days.

Four years ago, my husband took a job transfer to Bogota, Colombia.

The best way of bringing in Sanders supporters is not to berate them into party loyalty, but to steal them away.

It is a rare day when a Congressional committee garners tabloid-like coverage, but Thursday was one of those days.

Democrats need to nominate the person with the best chance of cleaning the floor with Donald Trump. Not just for their own victory, but for the… dare I say, survival of the country itself.

That’s what Syria is — our morally bankrupt foreign policy, impossible to escape, impossible to fix.

This is the first time I’ve seen a sitting president “spin” a clear military defeat to save his own ego, and use a bereft and heartbroken wife in order to get away with it. Disgust is not the right word. Horror, maybe. Disbelief and revulsion crashing into each other.

The 2016 election has, for a while now, felt eerily akin to 1984 (lots ‘o doublespeak coming out of Trump and his supporters). Or The Hunger Games, to take a more recent example of dystopian genre fiction. Wherein, government becomes solely about politics and the media spectacle, rather than actual policies and ideas.