Mitt Romney crushes Newt Gingrich in Nevada...

...but the dog-whistling Gingrich refuses to quit the race.

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Money and religion are the reasons Mitt Romney won Nevada on Saturday, his second straight victory since losing to Newt Gingrich in South Carolina. Romney outspent his rivals five-to-one (in fact, he's spent more than John McCain did during his entire 2008 campaign) and enjoyed the backing of a sizable Mormon bloc, which made up 26 percent of the electorate. In another instance of political ecumenism between differing faiths, Romney, a Mormon, appealed to nearly 50 percent of Nevada's white evangelical voters.

Poor Newt Gingrich has been losing ground since his come-from-behind win South Carolina. In Florida, Romney quit focusing on Barack Obama and began focusing on Gingrich; he crushed the former House Speaker with tsunamis of attack ads. Some say those ads caused poor voter turnout in Florida. That only got worse in Nevada. Compared to 2008, about 25 percent fewer voters came out.

Gingrich may be cash-poor but he's always been calumny-rich. In Florida, he said Romney, as governor of Massachusetts, had prevented Holocaust survivors on public assistance from eating kosher. That was kittenish compared to his latest. In creating distance between Romney and the hardline conservative wing of the GOP, Gingrich called him "Obama-lite" and a "George Soros-approved candidate." In dog-whistle-speak, that translates roughly to: He's like an uppity black man and a rich Jew.

Gingrich said voters "want a candidate who represents Americans who work, pay taxes and believe in the Declaration of Independence, not somebody who is clearly against the American ideal." Gingrich cashed out on his political connections for Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac, the government-backed mortgage lenders. He's now a millionaire.

Gingrich held a press conference after the Nevada results that sparked speculation that he may be pulling out. No such luck. Instead, his staff announced a "delegate-based" strategy. That means what we've known since Florida. The new rules of the Republican Party mean states are no longer winner-take-all. Instead, candidates win a proportion of delegates. Gingrich has reason to stay in the race, which is what he said he'd do.

Of course, the longer Romney has to fight, the more banged up he will be in November. He's said that a prolonged battle will better prepare him, and maybe that's true. The real damage may be self-inflicted and at this rate, who knows what condition Romney will be in.

In January, Romney took heat, somewhat unfairly, for saying he likes to fire people. That was taken out of context, but still. He said it. After winning in Florida, he told CNN that he's "not concerned about the very poor." That line is unfortunately the same in context or out.

A long fight for the GOP's heart has Romney worried insomuch that he's made secret deals with Ron Paul, the libertarian candidate. They have agreed not to savage each other. A partnership like this brings the promise of Paul's energetic and young followers, and also the potential for reviving Tea Party fanatics who love Paul but yawn whenever Romney enters the room. The upside for Paul is that he might get a speech at the convention and therefore pave the way for his son, the truly weird Rand Paul and his nascent presidential ambitions.

That may backfire if Gingrich can hold on. Paul is the guy most people believe could lead an insurgent third party but Gingrich, in his quest to peel away every delegate he can from Romney, may be positioned just for that. His biggest problem, however, isn't money. His biggest problem is that so few people like him.

John Stoehr is a lecturer in English at Yale University.

 

 

John Stoehr teaches writing at Yale. His essays and journalism have appeared in The American Prospect, Reuters Opinion, the Guardian, and Dissent, among other publications. He is a political blogger for The Washington Spectator and a frequent contributor to Al Jazeera English.

 

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So many teenage girls don’t want to identify as girls any more. And who can blame them?

Among internet-literate teenagers, gender has become the primary way to challenge the mores of older generations.

On the bus back from the cinema, a conversation drifted over from the back row. A mother questioning, curious, her speech accented; her teenage daughter, with perfect RP, fielding her inquiries with the exasperated patience that flourishes between the ages of 13 and 21.

“No, Mum, you’re a cis woman because you’re the gender you were born as.”

“OK. And what about Lily?”

Lily – or, perhaps, Daisy or Rose – was a school friend who was now using the pronoun “they”. The heavy overtone of the daughter’s forbearance was that these were matters her mother could not understand.

Among internet-literate teenagers, gender has become the primary way to challenge the mores of older generations. I know four journalists – London-based, middle class – whose children have announced that they do not consider themselves to be girls. It seems too many to be a coincidence. And if pained teenagers are now explaining gender fluidity to their mums on the 108 from Millennium Leisure Park West, you know the idea has truly gone mainstream.

We should welcome young people challenging gender, an arbitrary system that has acquired the status of immutable human nature. Name almost anything now associated with women – high heels, long hair, the colour pink – and you can find a time or place when it was considered masculine. And just as feminists once fought for “Ms” alongside “Miss” and “Mrs”, people should be allowed to take gender out of their honorific altogether and go by “Mx”. Getting used to “they” as a singular pronoun is harder but not impossible. Language evolves.

However, there is more to the current Gender Revolution than upending our assumptions about the “correct” names or pronouns or hobbies or appearance for men and women. In the past few years, the word “transsexual” has dropped out of favour – it is considered impolite to reference sex – in favour of “transgender”. But this obscures the idea that to cross definitively from one gender to another requires surgery and a lifetime of synthetic hormones. For trans men, it’s top surgery – breast removal – and, more rarely, a phalloplasty to make a penis, plus testosterone (“T”), which lowers the voice, hardens fat to muscle and unleashes any latent male-pattern baldness. For trans women, oestrogen (HRT, used off-label) can be supplemented with breast implants and a procedure to skin the penis and invert it, creating a neovagina and clitoris.

These surgeries are non-trivial – I have a friend undergoing the latter this summer and she will be housebound for two weeks afterwards, with a 12-week recovery period. Infection is always a risk. For her, it’s a life-saving intervention: she says she simply would not want to live in a male body.

But 80 per cent of gender-nonconforming children do not grow up to be transsexual; many emerge as happy gay men or lesbians content to live in their birth sex. A strange taboo has sprung up about mentioning this, as if the way that some people do not turn out to be trans invalidates the experiences of those who do. It should not.

But separating dissatisfaction with the social constraints of gender from body dysmorphia is vital. Because we have smudged together the categories of “transsexual” and “transgender”, is every youngster who questions their gender – and, frankly, every youngster should, because gender is restrictive bollocks – getting the message that they must bind their breasts or tuck their penis? I wince when I read oh-so-liberal parents explaining that they knew their toddler son was a girl when he wore pink and played with Barbies. Is there really anything so wrong with being a boy who wants to dress up as Elsa from Frozen? Or a girl who would rather be outside getting muddy than wear skirts and be “ladylike”? Toys and children’s clothes are becoming more gendered: when I was young, we played with Lego – not “Lego” and “Lego for Girls”. As we have shrunk the boxes, is it any wonder that more and more children want to escape from them?

In the year to March 2015, the Tavistock in London – the only specialist gender clinic in the country for under-16s – saw 697 children. This year, it saw 1,419. The largest surge has been among girls aged 14 and over and it is this group I feel most personal affinity for, because, if I were growing up today, I would be among them. A few years ago, I found a textbook from my junior school, with three sentences that floored me: “My name is Helen. I am nine years old. I am skinny.” And the truth was, I was skinny. I had a bowl haircut and wore culottes. Then puberty hit and I piled on a few stone in a year. Taut pink skin turned to lumpen fat and mottled flesh. And everyone had an opinion about it. I was trapped inside a body that didn’t feel like mine any more.

Many of my school friends felt the same way. Some tried to escape through vomiting or starving. Others were part of that charmed cohort who became lissom, beautiful, golden; their parents felt a different sort of ­worry and they were treated to sermons about getting into strange men’s cars.

I won my body back by defacing it; at least, that’s how my parents saw it. An earring, then two. And another. Then piercings that no one could see: nursing each one like a wound or a child. Salvation through pain: a metal bar through cartilage that couldn’t be slept on for a month. A tattoo that hurt like hell. Pink hair, ebbing to orange in a shower that looked like Carrie. And finally – finally – a body that felt like me.

I tell my story not to belittle anyone else’s, or to imply that they have chosen the wrong path. If you cannot live in your body, then change it – and the world must help you to do that. But if you feel crushed by society’s expectations, it might be that there’s nothing wrong with you. There’s something wrong with the world.

Helen Lewis is deputy editor of the New Statesman. She has presented BBC Radio 4’s Week in Westminster and is a regular panellist on BBC1’s Sunday Politics.

This article first appeared in the 26 May 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Brexit odd squad