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I knew my daughter could hear: not just because she loved music, but because she had perfect rhythm. She punched her fists in the air like a human metronome, and brought a doughy heel to the ground precisely on each downbeat. I had thrown off the yoke of milestone-tracking months earlier, having become fixated on her inability to roll during the precise developmental week for rolling. So when she didn’t form consonants at the prescribed time, I made a deliberate choice to ignore it. It didn’t occur to me that deafness might not be a binary, and that certain vibrations and pitches – the downbeat of a song by toddler-music group the Wiggles, say – could be apprehended, while other subtle speech sounds might be snatched out of a sentence. So it was a couple of months after her first birthday when we discovered that our Botticellian baby had mild hearing loss, and two years after that when she lost almost all of her remaining hearing entirely. Like most hearing parents of deaf children, my first close relationship with a deaf person was with my child. Despite a relatively broad cultural education, I knew next to nothing about hearing loss or deaf culture. What little I had absorbed was an incomplete and almost entirely inaccurate patchwork of pop culture snippets – the mother’s horror when her baby doesn’t react to the fire engine’s siren in the film Mr Holland’s Opus (1995); Beethoven’s struggle to hear the first performance of his Ninth Symphony; the lift scene in Jerry Maguire (1996) where the loving boyfriend signs “you complete me” to his partner; Quasimodo’s apparent industrial deafness from the bells of Notre-Dame; and, worst of all, the appalling memory of my university housemate imitating a deaf accent for laughs. This bleak landscape of ignorance and misinformation is often the lookout from which parents begin making decisions, as deaf critics have rightly pointed out. But although I began educating myself belatedly, it didn’t take long for the calcified layers of assumptions and approximations to disintegrate. Chief among them was the unquestioned belief that hearing loss, for an early deafened person, is even a loss at all. In a recent interview with the news site Truthout , the deaf philosopher Teresa Blankmeyer Burke argues that the language of tragic loss seems particularly ill-fitting for a deaf child: “Some of us do not share this experience [of loss] at all, but only know what it is to be in our bodies as they have always existed.” News headlines about childhood deafness and hearing technology often slip into the “from deaf tragedy to hearing miracle” narrative, missing this crucial point about self-concept entirely. For many parents, this has intuitive clarity too. Absolutely smitten with my baby’s many tiny perfections, I had a stubborn sense that her deafness was not a pit she had fallen into, but just one of many extraordinary discoveries about her that I was making every day. It was a comforting certainty to cling to in the wee hours, when I was beset by a looping reel of terrors about the shadowy obstacles she would undeservedly face, and that I would be impotent to protect her from. Even accepting the reality of life’s vicissitudes, most of us hope for a relatively smooth course for our children. Unfettered sensorial access to the world being at the bottom of a hierarchy of wishes, and fundamental to the rest. The idea that so much was arbitrarily denied a baby so new to the world was, at times, almost impossible to withstand. F rom the moment of discovery of their child’s hearing loss, a parent finds themselves not only unmoored by circumstance, but adrift in a tempestuous cultural debate. While not exactly a global topic of dinner-table conversation, the battle for the identities and futures of deaf children is fiercely fought. Arguments drift down from academic journals to social media, where many new parents are washed ashore in the absence of a definitive source of information about their child’s future. Trying to reconcile the contradictory advice given by a new cast of characters – GPs, paediatricians, ear, nose and throat specialists, audiologists, speech therapists, disability insurance advisers, interested observers – I looked at Instagram to find some clarity in authentic, lived experience. Starting with a few anodyne hashtags, I initially found a bunch of mothers (differing in every respect, but always, always mothers) sharing inspiring stories about the lives of their deaf and hard-of-hearing children. Unlike the normative “blend-in-or-else” diktats of my 1980s childhood, this new world was a sea of diversity – confident smiles, “ Deaf Gain ” wallpapers, kids signing in slang, and proudly visible, brightly coloured hearing technology. I was buoyed up by this extraordinary community, and lifted yet again when my daughter’s metallic pink hearing aids arrived. She no longer had to jam her Wiggles keyboard to her ear to hear the music, and all of my hesitations and ambivalences were converted into happy certainties. But the tone of my feed shifted quite quickly. Gone were the mothers meticulously crafting Spider-Man hearing aid covers and Peppa Pig cochlear implant cases, and in their place were reels and posts that had a more political flavour. We had begun working with a speech-therapist using the LSL (listening and spoken language) or AVT (auditory-verbal therapy) approach, which aims to ensure children don’t miss the verbal data bombardment they need in early childhood to develop spoken language. This is essentially about optimising hearing technology – hearing aids or cochlear implants (CI) – so that a deaf or hard-of-hearing child can access the full range of speech sounds, and then using play-based games and activities that focus on listening and speaking (very similarly to traditional speech therapy for hearing children with speech delay). Historically, some exponents of this approach discouraged the use of sign, but not these days and certainly not in my experience. However, they do prioritise spoken language in the early years, recognising that sign languages can be tricky for hearing adults to attain with the necessary proficiency and syntactic complexity in the time a child needs them to. But what I had experienced as a genuinely caring, evidence-based and pragmatic attempt to empower deaf children and give them the widest set of options had been singled out as an example of “ audism ” by influential deaf and deaf-adjacent critics – a sinister assimilationist model with paternalistic colonial overtones and a complicated history. Critics argued that Alexander Graham Bell – the founding father of what is still one of the major LSL programmes in the US – was not so much a benevolent supporter of deaf children, but a eugenicist and “oralist” with grotesque views about deafness on a self-appointed mission to eradicate sign languages. There were traumatised adults distancing themselves from their parents entirely for forcing them, despite great difficulty, to listen, speak and lip-read. The teary-eyed social media phenomenon of babies with hearing aids and CIs being filmed hearing sound for the first time was disparagingly called “ inspiration porn ” or “switch-on porn” – the vulgar showboating of an arrogant hearing class determined to convert their perfectly deaf children into imperfectly hearing ones. Not only was it inaccurate (no hearing technology makes hearing easy or natural for deaf people), but it spoke of, at best, a normative desire to correct or fix something that was not in their view broken – only different. There were videos about so-called “ language deprivation ” – when a child is in effect linguistically starved because parents and providers incorrectly assume their aids or implants give them sufficient access to the subtle speech sounds around them. Through this lens, the speech therapy games we parents were playing weren’t cute or supportive – they were the pastel-coloured attempts of a hegemonic hearing overclass to turn their happy deaf children into unhappy hearing ones. On one level, I was very moved by these arguments, and it seemed fair to lend more weight to the opinions of those with lived experience of deafness than to those without. I began to wonder if I was compelling my non-consenting deaf daughter to “pass” imperfectly and at great personal cost in a hearing world, rather than empowering her to flourish easily by her own lights in the deaf one. While my husband was able to contextualise the deaf culture proponents as a small but noisy minority, I became ever more anxious and fixated on their arguments. And when my daughter progressively lost what remained of her hearing and cochlear implants were proposed, my wheels began to spin in the ethical mud. C ontrary to what many imagine, cochlear implants are not just fancy hearing aids. A hearing aid amplifies sound using the existing mechanisms and pathways of the ear, but the clarity of speech can tail off once hearing loss is in the severe to profound ranges, with things sounding a lot louder, but not necessarily clearer. A cochlear implant, by contrast, is an electronic device that creates the sensation of sound by bypassing the inner ear entirely and stimulating the auditory nerve with a set of electrodes. There is an internal component, with a magnet, a receiver and an electrode array that spirals around the cochlear (a biomimetic design inspired by a strand of grass curling around a shell’s spiral), and an external component with a microphone to pick up sound, with a processor to encode it. While hearing aids are relatively uncontroversial, the internal portion of a cochlear implant requires surgery, which entails risk. There is a significant period of rehabilitation as the brain learns to make sense of a totally new type of electronic input, and the external processor itself is slightly larger and more visible on the head. Deaf adults can of course make this decision for themselves, but increasingly the recommendations are for parents to implant their children in infancy as this generally produces the best outcomes. Even in the past few years, the age of recommended implantation for severely to profoundly deaf babies has dropped to nine months. Their astonishing success rate in aiding the understanding of speech has meant a new generation of deaf adults are emerging who do not use sign language in the way they would have done only a few decades earlier. While for some this is one of the great advances of modern medicine, for others it is a deeply worrying evolution. The new technological possibilities and their swift adoption have understandably caused widespread consternation in deaf communities globally. The future of their complex and rich visual languages is endangered by the developments, as well as the communities and ways of life that stem from them. These are genuine and valid concerns, and ones that are rarely addressed in moderate, bipartisan terms. There are also broader ethical concerns raised by surgical intervention of this kind on children whose lives are not threatened, and who are not in a position to request or consent. Why is the case of cochlear implantation so different from other parallel medical situations that a parent has to navigate? Why is it controversial in the way that an artificial limb or cornea transplant is not? Unlike the parent of a child with vision loss who pursues laser surgery in an uncomplicated way, the parent of a deaf child is implicated in a much larger politico-cultural struggle. To my outsider’s eyes, a lot of this was not the tangled snarl of identity politics, but seemed largely to stem from a fundamental disagreement over the metaphysics of deafness. Whereas the hearing world, hand in hand with the medical one, has conceptualised deafness as a sensory deficit that can be “restored” – albeit partially, temporarily and imperfectly – parts of the deaf world argue that this approach demonstrates an outdated pathologisation of difference. Happily, we live in an era where neuro- and other divergences are no longer seen as aberrations, but rather as part of a welcome heterogeneity of biology and perspective. Deaf critics and disability theorists thus pose the question: why does society want to frame deafness as a medical abnormality rather than a sensory difference? In their view, the medical model is the outward face of a punishing normative tyranny. Any deviations from the standard hearing model are ushered – either gently and kindly or violently and oppressively – back to the midline. Like the twisted “benevolent” logic of gay conversion therapies, even the so-called good intentions of parents and bystanders (as anti-racist campaigners have long argued) could perpetuate discrimination just as easily as the malign ones. The psychologist Harlan Lane went even further, arguing that deafness is actually more akin to an ethnicity than to a disability. If the same rights and protections apply here as to other cultural, religious and racial minorities, then the entire therapeutic landscape looks incredibly sinister. At its mildest, the mainstream model of improving a deaf child’s hearing becomes the enforced alteration of a member of a cultural and linguistic minority. And at worst, as with the cochlear implant, it is not only an invasive surgery that endangers and irrevocably changes a child, but also threatens the extinction of an imperilled language and the erasure of a cultural group. Lane likens the hearing parents of a deaf child to parents who adopt a child from a different racial background, arguing they have a similar responsibility to uphold the cultural mores and traditions of their child’s ethnic group. Tom Humphries, the deaf culturalist who coined the term “audism”, has a deeply cynical view of hearing parents, positioning them simply as legal “owners” of their deaf children, many of whom eventually “migrate” back to what he strongly implies is their true cultural home. He explicitly likens this pattern of ownership and return to that of African American enslaved people or Latin American populations under colonial rule. As a parent, this line of argumentation is jarring, to say the least. While it lies at the extreme end of the debate, many deaf critics have joined Humphries in arguing vociferously that hearing parents cannot be trusted to give informed consent on behalf of their child – surgical or otherwise. W ith these sorts of arguments informing a good deal of the public discourse around deafness, what is the hearing parent of a deaf child to think? And more importantly, how are they to act? The underlying assumption of CI critics seems to be that the neutral stance is to do nothing, and that any intervention at all requires moral licence. But doing nothing isn’t always neutral – most obviously in medical scenarios – and can be a malign act of withholding. There is a genuine moral dilemma here, because a parent must give informed consent one way or the other. Not acting while the child is young is potentially equally culpable. If the anti-CI arguments are not convincing, then it’s possible that their proponents have indirectly harmed the potential development of some children and their ability to flourish in the widest set of circumstances. Alongside the passionate critiques of Lane, Humphries and others, there is also considerable weight lent to the academics arguing quite the opposite – that denying a deaf child a cochlear implant is neglect. In the western world, where early paediatric implantation in severely to profoundly deaf children is considered to be the “ standard of care ”, making the choice not to implant could be seen as a radical decision to withhold a mainstream technology that most of a deaf child’s peers will be using. And what are the ethics of withholding when that technology has safety implications, and could enable the deaf child-then-adult to apprehend dangers to themselves or others? Footsteps in the dark, a window breaking, a car approaching on a quiet street, a fire alarm, a scream in the shopping centre, a baby crying in the next room – none would be audible to my daughter without an implant. And from a feminist perspective, she may need, as women always have done, a loud voice to shout, or to argue with her healthcare providers, or to advocate for herself in an emergency. The implant would provide her with a clearer pathway to power and impact in the world, and to positions of influence where she would be underrepresented both as a woman and as a deaf person. To refuse her a CI based on the arguments of Lane et al would be to use the future of an individual as a blunt weapon to achieve benefit for the broader deaf community. Now, this could open me up to the charge that it would be individualistic and anti-solidaristic to prioritise my daughter’s personal future at any expense. But there’s also a persuasive argument that what benefits the deaf individual is, when multiplied, what raises the collective. It strikes me that the more deaf people can participate actively in positions of power and influence, the better the outcome for deaf people en masse – and, as much as we may wish it wouldn’t, this entails having considerable proficiency in the primary mode of communication. In strictly utilitarian terms, a successful implant hugely expands the number of people a deaf person can communicate with – amplifying their perspective and connecting them in the hearing world, while not precluding their ability to communicate solely using the richness of sign language/s in the deaf one. For me, it is a version of the dilemma that plagues any other movement for systemic social justice. In my experience, this debate often arises in discussions among women too – there is a tension between our responsibility to unpick larger hegemonies and create opportunities for change, and our attempts to personally flourish within the world as it is now, however flawed. But there is a way to have a measure of both. I’ve begun to think of this as a sort of dialectical pragmatism – a way of holding two seemingly contradictory things in mind and moving forward in a way that works. Ultimately, I think it’s possible to want to create the conditions for the best life possible for our daughter, while simultaneously remaining conscious that she is having to bend painfully to fit a system that doesn’t speak for her the way it should. With so many strident either/ors bouncing back and forth, thinking more dialectically can bring clarity in other aspects of the debate too. We can then hold both that her deafness is perfect and does not need to be “fixed”, and that she may benefit from a helpful intervention just as I have from things such as glasses, medications or surgeries – all of which do not ultimately alter my dignity or identity. We can say both that there is justifiable concern from deaf adults who wish to safeguard their communities and languages from the evolution of hearing technology, and that there is a new generation of deaf voices with cochlear implants who haven’t entered the debate and will have their own perspectives. We can maintain a dislike for the tech-utopian view of CIs as a miraculous cure for a tragic affliction, and accept that they have proven to be an extraordinary, life-changing daily support to more than 1 million people worldwide. It’s OK to acknowledge that the hearing perspective is a muddy lens through which we view the world (and which leads us to valorise auditory pleasures in a way deaf people don’t), and also admit that it is fine to want to give your child the qualia of soaring strings and voices in the final movement of Beethoven’s Ninth. But the fork in the road in front of us was not only binary, but time-critical. Forced into a nauseating either/or decision that would torment even the most level-headed parent, my husband and I eventually arrived at a bald piece of logic that wouldn’t burn away with challenge: the idea that there was only one option that contained a kernel of both options within it. Only one that really left her with any kind of agency. If she wishes to, in adulthood our daughter can have her cochlear implant removed and fully immerse herself in what is so clearly the rich, joyous, fulfilling deaf world. We plan to learn Australian Sign Language (Auslan) as a family, so that she will have an easy fluency and cultural connection with a community that will, I’m sure, become hugely important to her. But without full access to spoken English in the critical development window of her early years, she will probably never regain the nuances of spoken communication later on; something that is only a problem in that it will close doors that she may later wish were open, and chiefly – it wouldn’t be her choice to do so. She would be constrained by the boundaries of what she may later choose – and what in any other era or in parts of the world would certainly be her future – but to actively place the constraint on her now feels premature. She is three and three-quarters, and fluently reading early chapter books for pleasure. She knows more about the solar system and the workings of the digestive tract than I do, and her future seems as unbounded as her mind. So we made an excruciating decision that, to us, leaves the fewest limits to the scope of her life as possible, and places the decisions back in her hands, where they should be. Our neighbourhood pear tree is just beginning to rouse itself after winter, and my little girl has been emerging too – into a world of new sounds that were beyond the reach of her hearing aids. Yesterday she heard the tiniest, most pitiful bird chirp, and told me so excitedly, with a strong, clear voice. On a windy day she stopped, wide-eyed and said: “I hear the leaves rustling with my coch-le-ah!” with all the triumph she saves for brandishing treasures found on walks. We hold a both/and view here, too, and also celebrate the magic of her “quiet ears” and the unique perspective they afford her. When she removes her processor before sleep, it’s clear she is relieved to submerge into calm again. But she holds the dialectical promise of silence and sound at once – this time literally, insisting on gripping her processor tightly in her palm while she falls asleep. In this way she stands pragmatically astride both worlds. In silence, but with a hearing key right at hand; ready to unlock the blooming, buzzing cacophony of the world whenever she chooses. This essay first appeared under the title The Cochlear Question on Aeon.co Listen to our podcasts here and sign up to the long read weekly email here .Organisations react to the Welsh Government's draft budget

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King Stingray, The Cruel Sea and Slumberjack are among the artists coming to Newcastle as part of Great Southern Nights 2025. Login or signup to continue reading Great Southern Nights is a NSW Government initiative delivered through its tourism and major events agency, Destination NSW, in partnership with the Australian Recording Industry Association (ARIA). It launched in November 2020 and, in March 2022, played a vital role in supporting the live music, entertainment, and hospitality sectors as they recovered from the impact of COVID-19 lockdowns. The event brings more than 300 live gigs to venues across NSW, including Western Sydney, Wollongong, Broken Hill, Byron Bay, Orange and Tamworth. "This is all part of the plan to boost live music and vibrancy across NSW," John Graham, Minister for the Arts as well as music, night-time economy, and jobs and tourism, said. "We've scrapped the rules that get in the way of live venues and we're backing our bands to hit the stage. NSW has an incredible history of pub rock, east coast touring and outdoor shows. We hope Great Southern Nights will remind people just how good our live music scene can be." MARCH 21 SIX60, Bar On The Hill, Callaghan, 7pm. Slumberjack, King Street (Nightclub), Newcastle West, 9pm. MARCH 22 Full Flower Moon Band, King Street (Bandroom), 7pm. The Cruel Sea , Bar On The Hill, 7pm. MARCH 23 The Belair Lip Bombs, Limo, Running Touch, King Street (Warehouse), 8pm. MARCH 29 Ngaiire, Ena Malibu, Warners Bay Theatre, 7pm. APRIL 2 King Stingray, King Street (Bandroom), 8pm. APRIL 4 Winston Surfshirt, King Street (Bandroom), 8pm. APRIL 5 Sarah Blasko , Civic Theatre, 7.30pm. Baby Animals, Doyalson RSL, 8pm. APRIL 6 Boo Seeka , Ravella, 6pm. Lime Cordiale, King Street (Bandroom), 12am. Newcastle Herald Newcastle Herald DAILY Today's top stories curated by our news team. Also includes evening update. WEEKDAYS Grab a quick bite of today's latest news from around the region and the nation. WEEKLY The latest news, results & expert analysis. WEEKDAYS Catch up on the news of the day and unwind with great reading for your evening. WEEKLY Get the editor's insights: what's happening & why it matters. WEEKLY Love footy? We've got all the action covered. WEEKLY Every Saturday and Tuesday, explore destinations deals, tips & travel writing to transport you around the globe. WEEKLY Get the latest property and development news here. WEEKLY Going out or staying in? Find out what's on. WEEKDAYS Sharp. Close to the ground. Digging deep. Your weekday morning newsletter on national affairs, politics and more. WEEKLY Follow the Newcastle Knights in the NRL? Don't miss your weekly Knights update. TWICE WEEKLY Your essential national news digest: all the big issues on Wednesday and great reading every Saturday. WEEKLY Get news, reviews and expert insights every Thursday from CarExpert, ACM's exclusive motoring partner. TWICE WEEKLY Get real, Australia! Let the ACM network's editors and journalists bring you news and views from all over. AS IT HAPPENS Be the first to know when news breaks. DAILY Your digital replica of Today's Paper. Ready to read from 5am! DAILY Test your skills with interactive crosswords, sudoku & trivia. Fresh daily!Welcome to the online version of From the Politics Desk , an evening newsletter that brings you the NBC News Politics team’s latest reporting and analysis from the White House, Capitol Hill and the campaign trail. In today’s edition, we report on the fallout from Matt Gaetz withdrawing from consideration to be the next attorney general. Plus, senior politics reporter Jonathan Allen puts the former Florida congressman's fall in historical context. Sign up to receive this newsletter in your inbox every weekday here. Trump’s ‘retribution’ campaign hits the harsh reality of governing in Washington By Henry J. Gomez, Olympia Sonnier, Jake Traylor and Julie Tsirkin Matt Gaetz’s withdrawal Thursday as a candidate for attorney general illustrates the roadblocks President-elect Donald Trump could face as he attempts to convert his campaign of “retribution” into a governing coalition capable of working within the realities of Washington. Gaetz, until recently a Florida congressman, embodies Trump’s grievance- and vendetta-driven agenda like few others can. He has been one of Trump’s most pugilistic defenders and the bleeding edge of MAGA resistance in Congress, even against his own Republican leadership. But it was a tough sell from the moment Trump announced Gaetz as his choice eight days ago — in a pick that shocked much of Washington. The Justice Department that Trump wanted him to lead had once investigated Gaetz in a sex-trafficking case it closed without charging him . Meanwhile, an unreleased report from a separate House Ethics Committee investigation also hung over Gaetz’s head, and details of what two women who allege he paid them for sex told the committee were beginning to trickle out. Gaetz’s hasty retreat is also emblematic of how the president-elect and his team often reject the conventions of Capitol Hill. Although Gaetz’s liabilities and legal troubles were well documented, deeper vetting by Trump’s team might have unearthed details of the ethics probe sooner. And there was little, if any, effort to take the temperature of senators before Trump surprised the political world with his announcement last week. At least five Senate Republicans were planning to vote against Gaetz and had communicated to other senators and those close to Trump that they were unlikely to be swayed, according to multiple people with direct knowledge. The “no” votes included Sens. Mitch McConnell of Kentucky, Lisa Murkowski of Alaska, Susan Collins of Maine and Markwayne Mullin of Oklahoma, as well as Sen.-elect John Curtis of Utah. And at least 20 — and perhaps as many as 30 — Senate Republicans were very uncomfortable about having to vote for Gaetz on the Senate floor, one source said. Read more → Putting Gaetz’s withdrawal in historical context By Jonathan Allen It’s rare for a newly elected president to lose a pick for any Cabinet post, much less attorney general. The last time the Senate actually voted down a nominee: George H.W. Bush’s 1989 appointment of longtime Texas Sen. John Tower to run the Pentagon. But it’s not even Thanksgiving, and Donald Trump is already looking for a backup top law enforcement officer after Matt Gaetz withdrew his AG bid Thursday. Republican senators apparently found his recent charm offensive less influential than his long campaign to discredit them and the allegations of sexual misconduct against him, which Gaetz has denied. Gaetz had not been formally nominated — Trump doesn’t take office until January — but he is the first attorney general pick to fall since 1993, when two of Bill Clinton’s selections, Zoë Baird and Kimba Wood, withdrew from consideration following revelations they had hired undocumented immigrants. New presidents typically compile Cabinet rosters with at least one eye on their chances of winning confirmation. Gaetz did not fit that mold. On a broader level, Trump has picked more fights with the Senate than most presidents. And he may find that the Republican majority there is less pliant than he would like. Former Fox News personality Pete Hegseth, his choice for defense secretary, has run into some early resistance. So, too, have Tulsi Gabbard and Robert F. Kennedy Jr., his picks for director of national intelligence and secretary of health and human services, respectively. Their fates remain to be determined. But Trump isn’t off to a good start. He will have to put more thought into nominating people who can win confirmation on their own, or whom he can push across the finish line with senators. Otherwise, he risks a repeat — or worse — of Barack Obama’s Cabinet failures. In 2009, Tom Daschle (Health and Human Services), Bill Richardson (Commerce) and Judd Gregg (Commerce) all withdrew for different reasons. The last time around, Trump lost just one of his initial Cabinet picks, when Andrew Puzder withdrew as the labor secretary nominee in February 2017. ➡️ More on the Trump transition That’s all from the Politics Desk for now. If you have feedback — likes or dislikes — email us at politicsnewsletter@nbcuni.com And if you’re a fan, please share with everyone and anyone. They can sign up here .

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DAYTONA BEACH, Fla. (AP) — Corey McKeithan's 27 points helped La Salle defeat Stetson 92-77 on Saturday. McKeithan also added five rebounds for the Explorers (5-2). Andres Marrero added 13 points while shooting 5 for 11, including 3 for 6 from beyond the arc while they also had six rebounds. Jahlil White had 13 points and shot 4 of 9 from the field and 5 of 8 from the free-throw line. Mehki finished with 20 points and seven rebounds for the Hatters (1-6). Abramo Canka added 14 points for Stetson. Jamie Phillips Jr. had 12 points and seven rebounds. The Hatters extended their losing streak to six in a row. La Salle went on an 18-3 run to make it 69-48 with 11:22 left in the half. White scored 10 second-half points. The Associated Press created this story using technology provided by Data Skrive and data from Sportradar .

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New York Knicks vs. Dallas Mavericks FREE LIVE STREAM (11/27/24): Watch NBA regular season game | Time, TV, ChannelJonah Goldberg Among elites across the ideological spectrum, there's one point of unifying agreement: Americans are bitterly divided. What if that's wrong? What if elites are the ones who are bitterly divided while most Americans are fairly unified? History rarely lines up perfectly with the calendar (the "sixties" didn't really start until the decade was almost over). But politically, the 21st century neatly began in 2000, when the election ended in a tie and the color coding of electoral maps became enshrined as a kind of permanent tribal color war of "red vs. blue." Elite understanding of politics has been stuck in this framework ever since. Politicians and voters have leaned into this alleged political reality, making it seem all the more real in the process. I loathe the phrase "perception is reality," but in politics it has the reifying power of self-fulfilling prophecy. People are also reading... Like rival noble families in medieval Europe, elites have been vying for power and dominance on the arrogant assumption that their subjects share their concern for who rules rather than what the rulers can deliver. Gobble up these 14 political cartoons about Thanksgiving Political cartoonists from across country draw up something special for the holiday In 2018, the group More in Common published a massive report on the "hidden tribes" of American politics. The wealthiest and whitest groups were "devoted conservatives" (6%) and "progressive activists" (8%). These tribes dominate the media, the parties and higher education, and they dictate the competing narratives of red vs. blue, particularly on cable news and social media. Meanwhile, the overwhelming majority of Americans resided in, or were adjacent to, the "exhausted majority." These people, however, "have no narrative," as David Brooks wrote at the time. "They have no coherent philosophic worldview to organize their thinking and compel action." Lacking a narrative might seem like a very postmodern problem, but in a postmodern elite culture, postmodern problems are real problems. It's worth noting that red vs. blue America didn't emerge ex nihilo. The 1990s were a time when the economy and government seemed to be working, at home and abroad. As a result, elites leaned into the narcissism of small differences to gain political and cultural advantage. They remain obsessed with competing, often apocalyptic, narratives. That leaves out most Americans. The gladiatorial combatants of cable news, editorial pages and academia, and their superfan spectators, can afford these fights. Members of the exhausted majority are more interested in mere competence. I think that's the hidden unity elites are missing. This is why we keep throwing incumbent parties out of power: They get elected promising competence but get derailed -- or seduced -- by fan service to, or trolling of, the elites who dominate the national conversation. There's a difference between competence and expertise. One of the most profound political changes in recent years has been the separation of notions of credentialed expertise from real-world competence. This isn't a new theme in American life, but the pandemic and the lurch toward identity politics amplified distrust of experts in unprecedented ways. This is a particular problem for the left because it is far more invested in credentialism than the right. Indeed, some progressives are suddenly realizing they invested too much in the authority of experts and too little in the ability of experts to provide what people want from government, such as affordable housing, decent education and low crime. The New York Times' Ezra Klein says he's tired of defending the authority of government institutions. Rather, "I want them to work." One of the reasons progressives find Trump so offensive is his absolute inability to speak the language of expertise -- which is full of coded elite shibboleths. But Trump veritably shouts the language of competence. I don't mean he is actually competent at governing. But he is effectively blunt about calling leaders, experts and elites -- of both parties -- stupid, ineffective, weak and incompetent. He lost in 2020 because voters didn't believe he was actually good at governing. He won in 2024 because the exhausted majority concluded the Biden administration was bad at it. Nostalgia for the low-inflation pre-pandemic economy was enough to convince voters that Trumpian drama is the tolerable price to pay for a good economy. About 3 out of 4 Americans who experienced "severe hardship" because of inflation voted for Trump. The genius of Trump's most effective ad -- "Kamala is for they/them, President Trump is for you" -- was that it was simultaneously culture-war red meat and an argument that Harris was more concerned about boutique elite concerns than everyday ones. If Trump can actually deliver competent government, he could make the Republican Party the majority party for a generation. For myriad reasons, that's an if so big it's visible from space. But the opportunity is there -- and has been there all along. Goldberg is editor-in-chief of The Dispatch: thedispatch.com . Catch the latest in Opinion Get opinion pieces, letters and editorials sent directly to your inbox weekly!3 Americans held for years in China have been released, the White House says

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Federal Environment Minister Steven Guilbeault says Alberta’s plan to make greenhouse gas emissions data the property of the provincial government could lead to oil and gas companies breaking federal laws. Alberta Premier Danielle Smith’s plan is one of many steps she says her government will take to challenge the federal Liberal government’s proposed emissions cap when or if it comes into force. She says the emissions cap is unconstitutional and harmful to Alberta, and one way she wants to protect oil companies is by taking over the responsibility of emissions reporting to the federal government. Guilbeault says Smith is being “highly irresponsible.” He says if individual oil and gas companies stop reporting their emissions data, it would be against the law. Smith says the Alberta government would still share emissions data with Ottawa, but says the data she would share would represent the entire industry’s emissions and not those of individual companies.