The New Yorker:

Each morning, before the day’s decree, I turned to a slim book, hoping for sense, or solace.

By Jill Lepore

On the twentieth of January, the year of our Lord 2025, Donald Trump’s one hundred days began.

Thank you. Thank you very much, everybody. (Applause.) Wow. Thank you very, very much.

I read his second Inaugural Address early the next morning in bed, curled, bent to the glow of an iPhone in dark mode, a morning ritual that always feels like sin.

From this day forward, our country will flourish and be respected again all over the world.

Then, dutifully, I scrolled through the Day One executive orders:

A full, complete and unconditional pardon ... offenses related to events that occurred at or near the United States Capitol on January 6, 2021 ...

...  the privilege of United States citizenship does not automatically extend to persons born in the United States ...

 ... establishes the Department of Government Efficiency  ...

 ... eliminate the “electric vehicle (EV) mandate”  ...

 ... directing that it officially be renamed the Gulf of America.

The Day One executive orders included—and depended on—the President’s formal, executive declarations of not one, not two, but three national emergencies: an immigration emergency, an energy emergency, and a terrorism emergency. There was also the Donald-Trump-is-President-again emergency.

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