Blindsided by the New Yorker

New Yorker staff writer Benjamin Wallace-Wells defamed me in passing, drive-by style, in his profile of Ilhan Omar on Wednesday. I say I was “Sideswiped by the New Yorker.” I emailed Wallace-Wells on Wednesday afternoon to ask him to state the factual basis for his falsehoods about me. As of this morning, he has not responded. Neither has he responded to my inquiry about the fact-checking apparatus the New Yorker applied (or not) to his profile. I hear it’s not what it used to be.

What gives at the New Yorker? If it’s not all politics, all the time, the magazine’s brain-dead leftism has exacted an enormous toll on its standards. Readers may recall, for example, the interview conducted by Isaac Chotiner with Victor Davis Hanson on the occasion of his new book, The Case for Trump. Like Wallace-Wells, Chotiner is a New Yorker staff writer. After the interview was posted online last month, Dr. Hanson added this note at his Private Papers site on February 25:

For the record, I recently spoke with @NewYorker’s @IChotiner per his request for a discussion on my recent book. The published piece was “edited and condensed for clarity”; however, the editing was done…in a way that omits the chronological accuracy of our conversation and the vast majority of what was said, which I think is important for purposes of context, tone, and intent—both Mr. Chotiner’s and my own. There are also introductory false accusations of “a history of hostility to undocumented Mexican and Central American immigrants…and to African-Americans who speak about the persistence of racism.” Neither charge is remotely true. If Mr. Chotiner would release an accurate transcription of our “long conversation,” there will appear wide discrepancies in tone, intent, and content from the published interview. This is exactly why many people today have distrust of many in media and reflect upon the unprofessionalism that occurs too often. An unfortunate piece that shouldn’t have been published in its current form and should be retracted.

There is no excuse for what the New Yorker has done to me, but at least I’m in good company.

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