By BERNIE BELLAN Sheldon Berney passed away on July 28 in Palm Beach, Florida.
While his name may not be all that familiar to many members of Winnipeg’s Jewish community – other than the campus’s theatre having being named for him, at one time Sheldon Berney played an indispensable role in the building of the Asper Community Campus.
Six years ago I interviewed Bob Freedman about how the Asper Campus came about. Bob is one great story teller and if you want to see the entire interview (which is over an hour long, you can see it on YouTube at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i66AyZ8x60k.)
The reason I’m harkening back to that interview now is to remind readers of the vital part that Sheldon Berney played in the building of the campus.
In fact, he was the the first president of the Asper Jewish Community Campus Board and, while the Berney Theatre is named for him and his picture adorns the entrance of the campus – along with Marjorie Blankstein’s and Bob Freedman’s, the contribution Sheldon Berney made to the building of the Asper Campus deserves to be recounted.

The story begins in 1986 when Bob Freedman had agreed to become the new executive director of what was then the Winnipeg Jewish Community Council. At the time he was executive director of Legal Aid Manitoba.
As Bob told me during our 2020 interview, “I said: ‘Look the only way I would consider doing that is if there was a commitment by the leadership of the WJCC to move the community forward.’ I had no intention of being a caretaker on a sinking ship.”
At the time, it should be noted, Winnipeg had begun to descend into the kinds of problems that have only been magnified in more recent years, including a deteriorating downtown – where the old YMHA was located, on Hargave – and to where an increasing number of parents were hesitant to send their children. Further, many young people had been leaving the city for better opportunities elsewhere.
Bob wanted to bring together a coalition of partners whose goal would be to develop a strategic plan that would move the Jewish community forward and revitalize it.
The first person he approached to be a part of that group was Marjorie Blankstein. As Bob explained, “I approached her and said ‘Marjorie, you’d be the perfect chair of our long-range planning committee’ and she agreed right on the spot. She didn’t need any convincing and that was May 2nd, 1986.
We then started the process, but we didn’t recruit Sheldon Berney, by the way, until a few years later,” he noted.
As Bob explained, together with Marjorie Blankstein, the two of them set out to assess community support for what had still not been identified as the campus project per se; it was more of a “sounding out” of as many different factions within the community as possible to determine how strong the determination was to move forward with a project that would complete rewrite the Jewish community’s direction.
I asked him during that interview how Sheldon Berney was eventually brought on board as a key member of the team.
Bob said that he didn’t really know Sheldon well, saying “I only met Sheldon once or twice. He was busy running the business. It was called “Reliance Products.'”
Here’s a brief excerpt from Sheldon Berney’s obituary as it appeared in the Globe & Mail that gives some detail about his business career, and his commitment to community service and philanthropy :
“Born to Ada (Loban) and Martin Berney, Sheldon lived an extraordinary life in Winnipeg before retiring to Florida. He built a distinguished career in business, joining his father at Reliance Products, which he expanded into an internationally respected manufacturer of plastic containers and camping equipment, celebrated for design excellence.
“A pillar of Winnipeg’s Jewish community and dedicated philanthropist, Sheldon chaired the Society of the Plastics Industry, the Manitoba Institute of Management, and the Young Presidents’ Organization. He served on the boards of the YMHA, CJA, and Victoria Hospital and was a core donor to the Canadian Museum for Human Rights. In the 1990s, he chaired the Asper Jewish Community Campus Board, taking immense pride in helping to bring the project to life.”
It was around the time that the idea for the campus project was being formulated that Sheldon Berney had sold Reliance Products, Bob Freedman recounted.
“Sheldon, at that time, was in his 50s and was basically retired,” Bob said.
“Even though he was not well known in the community,” Bob continued, “he had good relationships with people.” Sheldon Berney also socialized with Izzy Asper; they both had properties near each other in Florida, Bob noted.
“They shmoozed around and socialized…and we figured also he had credibility and had time on his hands, so we approached him, we briefed him, and convinced him we would need someone like him to do a job…In terms of how it was done it was a small nucleus of people who were really the movers and shakers on this….We started what was called the long-range planning committee” and Sheldon Berney “started recruiting people to serve on the committee – so we had financial people who were business people – who were ordinary people in the community.” (In fact, the name of the committee evolved to become the “Implementation Committee.”)
“I think we recruited Sheldon around 1989,” Bob recalled.
“There were two things he (Sheldon) said to us (Marjorie and Bob): “He said if I understand how things work with committees and boards – I have no patience for that…I don’t want to come to a ton of meetings. I want to have the authority to move forward and do things…and perhaps we have to spend money and need board approval – I understand that, but I don’t want the politics. I’ve got no patience for that.
“The other thing he said was when the time comes to raise money,” Sheldon said he wanted to check with certain people to see whether they would give their support to the project.
As Bob said (in his own inimitable way): “He didn’t want them to say you’re out of your f….king mind” and Sheldon would have wasted a year or two of his time.
“And Sheldon came back,” Bob said, “and every last one” of the people he had approached, which were about “four or five or six people and all of them said ‘go for it’ – and Sheldon Berney was on board, not only as a key fundraiser, but as someone who was very involved with finding the right location for the campus.
Bob told this somewhat amusing story about what happened when the initial proposal to build a community campus was for it be built at Waverley and Wilkes.
“But there were hydro towers there…and we had a public meeting and the screaming and the yelling that was going on…” and, as Bob explained, someone approached Sheldon and told him to hire someone with a Geiger counter (to measure radiation levels at the proposed site) – and this was already (19)93.” (It’s hard to imagine that the Asper Campus opened only four years later.)
Even though whoever measured the radiation levels at Waverley and Wilkes ultimately reported that there was more radiation “in your kitchen with appliances” than there was radiation from the hydro lines, Sheldon Berney was warned by someone else that “all we need god forbid is one kid in the school gets cancer and you will be dead in the water, so we agreed to move off” the Waverley and Wilkes site.
Once the plan to build at Waverley and Wilkes was dropped the focus turned to the possibility of buying what had been the Fort Osborne Barracks from the province.
Later on, when the fundraising was in full scale, Bob said that Sheldon Berney again played a key role in convincing Izzy Asper to scale back his insistence on having more representatives on the campus board than anyone else. Asper argued that if he puts up “$500,000 he should have 500,000 votes.”
According to Bob, it was Gerry Gray who told Izzy Asper that, in order for the campus project to be a true community project, if someone were to give “$1,000 that could be a really good gift considering their income and that gift is as important, if not more important than your five hundred thousand.”
But, Aper was persistent, Bob said, and one day Sheldon Berney phoned Bob and said Asper “is driving me nuts…so I said ‘Sheldon, I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you suggest to Izzy” that he contribute two million and “at that time two million was a lot of money…and tell him (Asper) he can have two people on the board.” (Bob explained that they were planning a nine-person board so having two representatives on the board would be a significant number, but at the same time the board was envisioned as not having much responsibility: It “would make sure carpets were cleaned, that the taxes were paid, and all that stuff.”
The next day, Bob said, Sheldon Berney met with Izzy and said to him: “Look, we got to put this to bed because I’m not sleeping at night.” Sheldon said to Izzy: “Here’s the deal: Two million bucks – you get two people on the board. He (Asper) says ‘okay.'”
But, as Bob noted, Izzy Asper continued to be very hands-on with the building of the campus and “he would drive Sheldon nuts and he would drive me nuts and he would drive all of us nuts.”
Sheldon Berney continued to play a key role in the campus project throughout its planning and construction. But when you realize that the campus actually went from an idea on paper in as late as 1994 to a fully finished project when it opened in 1997 (although construction continued even after the official opening in the summer of 1997), it’s rather amazing to contemplate how it all came together in such a relatively short period of time.
In an article in The Jewish Post & News published in May 1995 here is what my late brother Matt wrote about the groundbreaking ceremony for what was to become the Asper Campus, Berney, who was master of ceremonies at the ceremony was quoted as saying ” ‘Over the past six years, we’ve talked to people about the campus many times.’ “
The article continued: “The ceremony ended with Berney taking the controls of a huge yellow track excavator and scooping out a big chunk of earth.
“The groundbreaking was a ‘very exciting step’, he added, noting that demolition of some Fort Osborne Barracks buildings and campus construction would start the next week. ‘You’re all here to dream with me about the day in the summer of 1997 when we’ll all be back again to cut the ribbon on a campus that will be a source of pleasure for all of us.’ “

Later, in our September 17, 1997 issue, Matt chronicled the opening ceremonies of the Asper Campus, which were held on Sunday, September 7 of that year.
Again, Sheldon Berney was front and centre, as Matt noted in his report: “Sheldon Berney gazed at the crowd sitting in bridge chairs on the front lawn of the Asper Jewish Community Campus on the warm, sunny day.
” ‘Many times over the past several years, I’ve painted a mental picture of exactly this scene … ‘ the campus president told the crowd.
” ‘… Standing here at the formal dedication ceremony for the Asper Jewish Community Campus, feeling an enormous sense of pride, an enormous sense of accomplishment.’ “

And, because Sheldon Berney was a behind the scenes kind of guy we never really heard a lot of, yet he’s one of three people (the others being Marjorie Blankstein and Bob Freedman himself) to have plaques with their faces on them greeting anyone who walks through the front entrance of the campus we thought it appropriate to pay Sheldon Berney his proper due.
As the inscription on Sheldon Berney’s plaque notes:

The Asper Jewish Community Campus of Winnipeg
The Centre of Life and Learning
Records its sincerest appreciation to
Sheldon Berney
in recognition of his very special efforts
first, as Chair of the Implementation Committee,
and latterly as Chair of the Board of Directors,
for his outstanding leadership in the conception,
fundraising and construction and construction of these facilities
His dedication and style of leadership stand as an
example to all who would serve.

In September 2015, I arrived at the Forward’s Manhattan office for my first day as an intern on the culture desk. I was 22 years old. I wore a blue dress that didn’t really fit, and was awed and slightly terrified by my bevy of talented, perceptive, funny new colleagues.

Now I’m 33. I’ve spent not just my whole career at the Forward, but also, effectively, my whole adult life. I’ve learned to respond to smart, fascinating people with interest, rather than fear. I’ve learned to wear a belt correctly, which wouldn’t have salvaged the blue dress, but might at least have helped. Just shy of 11 years after my first encounter with the savviest, scrappiest Jewish newsroom in the business, I’m moving onto a new chapter. Today is my last day as a member of this one-of-a-kind staff.

I’ve thought a lot, in the last several weeks, about what the point of these years has been. The Forward has given me so much, most of it good. As solid an education in journalism as anyone could hope for. An unfiltered and sometimes painful view of the community of which I am a grateful part. An inbox full of correspondents my loved ones sometimes don’t believe are real. (Consider the case of Gayle Kirshenbaum and Gayle Kirschenbaum, two entirely separate writers who sent me pitches for op-eds within 45 minutes of one another one day this spring.)

I’ve written nearly 1,000 pieces. I’ve edited something like double that amount. I’ve had moments of pride, most recently winning my first New York Press Club Award for a feature on the operatic adaptation of Michael Chabon’s The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay. And I’ve had times of dismay — more of them in the last three years than I care to recount.

Above all, I’ve had friends.

In 2021, I went to my former colleague Aiden Pink‘s wedding. It was the first moment when the world felt almost normal after the COVID pandemic. Several Forward alumni traveled to Minneapolis — at one point a surprising candidate for most common Forward staffer hometown — to celebrate. We had a weekend-long sleepover at Ari Feldman‘s mother’s house. We watched Mamma Mia! We piled into a photobooth to take tipsy pictures at a pizzeria. Jenny Singer and I danced in a fluorescent-lit hallway while guarding the room in which Aiden and his wife, Aniko, were having their first quiet moments together as a married couple. In the last moments of the reception, Molly Boigon performed a flabbergastingly good version of the worm.

When we got back to Ari’s house, the power was out. We lit candles on the dining room table, and had the sort of exhausted, giddy conversation I once associated with a certain kind of night in high school. I am largely against the use of superlatives in writing, as anyone I’ve edited will tell you. But that night was magical.

When I think about my time at the Forward, I think about that weekend in the Twin Cities. I think about the editor who hired me, Adam Langer, who over the years went from boss to pal. I think about PJ Grisar, who was the first person to show up to a party I threw last fall celebrating my 10-year anniversary in New York. I think about my predecessor as opinion editor, Laura Adkins, sending me chicken soup one winter when I averaged more than one cold per month. I think about the glorious era when we used to have weekly in-office parties on Wednesday evenings, during which our onetime art director, Kurt Hoffman, used to break out his ukulele and serenade us all in French.

When new people learned about my job here, they tended to focus first on the parts of it that they correctly thought might be hard. It’s a tough time to be a Jew. I know a lot about all the places where swastikas have shown up recently. Once, someone in the comments of a story poetically referred to me as a “Sharia fascist.”

I’ve been called a kapo more times than I can count. And as I’ve helmed our opinion section over the past two and a half years, I’ve been on the receiving end of a lot of anguish and ire — much of it well-earned, but some symptomatic of willful blindness or excessive ideological allegiance.

All of that is part of life at the Forward. But I’m always surprised when strangers act like my job must be in some way a burden. Truthfully, working here has always been a joy. Because through bad times in the news — and bad times in the business — I’ve always gotten to work with the most remarkable people.

People who will kick into gear as soon as there’s breaking news, no matter where they are or what they’re doing, then spend an idle lunchtime hour discussing the Muppets to whom we feel most spiritually akin. People who have the sharpest insights on what’s really plaguing the Jewish world; the most surprising perspectives on the movies everyone is talking about; and the greatest appetite for bizarre story ideas, like the time I profiled Sen. Jon Ossoff based exclusively on his time at an elite high school ultimate frisbee team.

I have grown up in this newsroom, and I’ve been shaped by it and the glorious, brilliant, offbeat people to whom it’s introduced me. Seeing the world with the particular gaze the Forward fosters — one that’s skeptical of authority, interested in both tradition and its limitations, highly cultural and wryly funny — has taught me how to think, read and write. It’s taught me how to be the kind of Jew I want to be. I was never a Jewish camp kid; Hillel did nothing for me; the Forward is the only real Jewish community I’ve known.

I can’t yet share details on what’s next for me. (If you’re curious, I’ll share the news on Bluesky once it’s time.) One thing I know for sure is that no matter how fabulous my future colleagues might be, nothing will ever displace the Forward in my heart. It hasn’t just been my workplace. It’s really been my home.

The post The most important thing I’ll take away from 11 years at the Forward appeared first on The Forward.

A terrible mutation afflicts American politics. What began as fury over Israel’s conduct of the Gaza war has evolved, in significant parts of the progressive left, into a pathological hostility toward Israel that has become a driver of political identity and debate. The genocide accusation is increasingly treated not as a contested claim but as settled truth; opposition to Zionism as evidence of virtue; and even Hamas and “armed resistance” can be romanticized or excused.

This week’s victory by Abdul El-Sayed in Michigan’s Democratic primary for the Senate,  alongside the popularity of voices such as Hasan Piker, suggests this is no longer simply the rhetoric of campus radicals. Israel is being cast as such a singular evil that opposing it can seem almost a prerequisite for occupying the moral high ground.

Which is why what happened to Douglas Murray’s recent book is so interesting. On Democracies and Death Cults confronts precisely this mutation: the extraordinary difficulty much of the Western left now seems to have in distinguishing between a deeply flawed democracy and a murderous Islamist movement committed to its destruction. Yet despite Murray’s prominence and the book’s commercial success, much of the mainstream review culture simply ignored it. In the political climate of August 2026, that silence looks less like an oversight than part of the story.

Douglas Murray has never lacked critics. That is the inevitable consequence of writing about immigration, identity politics and the West’s growing loss of confidence in itself. His earlier books, The Strange Death of Europe and The War on the West, provoked fierce disagreement, but they were treated as books that demanded engagement — reviewed, debated and rebutted.

On Democracies and Death Cults, published last year, received something different.

I believe the reason is plain. This was the first Murray book whose principal purpose was not simply to criticize fashionable ideas in the West but to defend Israel during the most contentious conflict of our time.

Had he written 250 pages arguing that Israel’s campaign in Gaza was criminal, reviews would almost certainly have followed. Instead, he argued that Hamas is a death cult, that Israel is confronting an enemy unlike any conventional military adversary, and that much of the Western left has become morally incapable of distinguishing between a liberal democracy from an organization that celebrates the murder of civilians, including on its own side.

The media appears to prefer to ignore those arguments. And I consider that unfortunate, because I believe Murray is substantially right. If I were still with the mainstream media, where I spent decades of my career, I’m pretty sure I would be swimming against the tide on this, and getting called nasty names.

The most remarkable thing about this book is that it exists at all. Its central proposition ought to be among the least controversial statements in modern politics: Hamas is evil. The fact that an accomplished writer felt compelled to devote an entire book to persuading educated Western readers of that proposition — and that this is controversial — says volumes about what our society has mutated into.

Murray’s achievement is not merely to condemn Hamas but to explain it. He rejects the comforting fiction that it is simply another national liberation movement employing regrettable tactics. Barbarism, he argues, is not incidental to Hamas. It is intrinsic to its worldview.

Hamas does not merely accept death as the price of war. It glorifies death, sanctifies martyrdom and exploits the deaths of its own people as readily as those of its enemies. Its objective is not a negotiated peace or a two-state solution. It has repeatedly opposed such outcomes because it does not seek coexistence with Israel but Israel’s destruction. Unless one regards Israel’s very existence as an occupation to be liberated, Hamas’s own stated aims are impossible to misunderstand.

Murray demonstrates this not through slogans but through reporting.

He describes an organization that — together with its fellow traveler and Iran proxy, Hezbollah in Lebanon — systematically embeds itself within civilian life: storing weapons in homes, schools and places of worship, digging tunnels beneath residential neighborhoods and turning civilian suffering into a strategic asset. He recounts Hamas gunmen hiding behind civilians apparently attempting to surrender before opening fire, the abuse of ambulances that inevitably casts suspicion on legitimate ones, and the recruitment of fake journalists and even teachers employed by UN schools. None of this is an aberration. It is the strategy itself.

Murray also describes in excruciatingly graphic detail the evidence he collected of the cruel, vicious murders on Oct. 7, in the rural communities invaded by Hamas and at the Nova music festivals — girls shot in the head as they begged for mercy, boys’ heads bashed in with hammers, grenades lobbed at people cowering. It is unbearable and leaves no doubt about the evil at work.

Nor is Hamas’s contempt for life reserved for Israelis.

One of Murray’s most chilling stories concerns Yahya Sinwar during his years in Israeli prison. Discovering that the sister of a fellow prisoner had allegedly dishonored the family through an affair, Sinwar arranged from prison for her murder in the name of family honor. The anecdote is horrifying not simply because of its brutality but because it reveals a worldview in which individual human life carries almost no value beside ideological or tribal imperatives. The same mentality that celebrates the murder of Israeli civilians is perfectly capable of consuming its own.

Murray’s point is not that Israel is morally perfect. Israel has extremists of its own, including some whose politics deserve unequivocal criticism. But there remains an immense moral gulf between a democracy whose institutions regard civilian deaths as tragedies and an organization that celebrates death itself.

The distinction is visible not merely in military conduct but in culture. When General Gadi Eisenkot, now running for prime minister, lost his son fighting in Gaza, Israel mourned with him. When Ismail Haniyeh’s sons were killed, Haniyeh publicly celebrated their martyrdom. One response grieved the loss of life. The other glorified it. That is not merely a political distinction. It is a civilizational one.

Power of observation

Murray also did something that commentators often do not — he went. He entered Gaza. He entered southern Lebanon. He documented Hezbollah’s tunnel systems intended to facilitate an invasion of northern Israel. He described children’s bedrooms converted into weapons depots and the suffocating grip Hezbollah exerts over the Shiite communities it claims to defend. One may dispute some of his conclusions. It is considerably harder to dismiss his observations.

Yet the most unsettling chapters are not really about Hamas or Hezbollah.

They are about us. Murray argues that large parts of the contemporary Western left have become incapable of recognizing jihadist movements for what they are because they increasingly interpret every conflict through a single moral framework: oppressor and oppressed. Once Israelis are cast as oppressors and Palestinians as oppressed, every other moral consideration recedes. Terrorism becomes “resistance,” massacres become contextual, and universal moral standards give way to political tribalism.

That, he argues, explains not only why so much of the world glosses over Hamas’s obvious evil, but why so many people seemed incapable of extending even the most basic sympathy to the victims of Oct. 7. Why were posters of kidnapped children, elderly civilians and Holocaust survivors torn down on Western campuses? Why was the instinct not to mourn, but to explain away, relativize or even celebrate?

He also asks why the outrage is so selective.

Do those denouncing Israel know that while more than half a million Arabs were displaced during the 1948-49 war, an even greater number of Jews were driven from or compelled to flee Arab countries, most of them finding refuge in Israel as citizens? Do they know that Palestinian refugee status — in neighboring Arab countries culturally and ethnically practically indistinguishable from the Palestinians! — has been uniquely preserved and inherited across generations, while other refugee crises have generally been resolved through resettlement and integration?

Do they know how many Muslims are dying today in Sudan and elsewhere in Africa with scarcely a fraction of the attention devoted to Israel? Do they know that, at roughly the same time as the 1948 Arab-Israeli war, the Partition of India uprooted many millions of people — Hindus, Muslims and Sikhs — in one of history’s largest and bloodiest population exchanges?

Why does none of this provoke anything resembling the same moral fervor?

Israel is a tiny country, scarcely larger than New Jersey even including the Negev Desert, and closer in populated area to Rhode Island. It is fighting organizations openly committed to its destruction. Yet it has become the singular obsession of the activist left.

Is this extraordinary fixation simply the product of ignorance? Do many of those chanting Hamas slogans know little of the history they claim to invoke? Or is something darker at work? Is Israel judged by standards applied to no other nation because it is the world’s only Jewish state? Is it actually antisemitism??

One need not answer that question categorically to recognize that it cannot simply be dismissed. The sheer selectivity of the outrage demands an explanation. Pretending it does not is no answer at all. And yet the world’s media has ignored the main and probably only book written by an outsider that tries to set the record straight, despite his status as a celebrity public intellectual.

An uncomfortable place

Admiration for Murray does not require agreement with all of his conclusions. Indeed, it is here that I part company with him. His diagnosis of the contemporary progressive left is penetrating and absolutely correct. His political prescription is considerably less persuasive, to me.

Somewhere along the way, Murray’s entirely justified alarm at progressive illiberalism appears to have led him into an accommodation with a populist right that embodies many of the very habits he has spent years criticizing. His tolerance of Benjamin Netanyahu sits uneasily beside his insistence that democracies should be held to the highest standards. More troubling still is his increasing willingness to excuse or support Donald Trump.

I cannot follow him there.

Donald Trump is no defender of the civilization Murray wishes to preserve. Contempt for expertise, hostility toward science, casual and colossal corruption, attacks on independent institutions and the elevation of personal loyalty above constitutional principle are not expressions of the Western tradition. They are threats to it.

Many of us now occupy an uncomfortable place. We believe Hamas is evil and that Israel has every right to defend itself against organizations committed to its destruction. We believe Western civilization, for all its undeniable failures, deserves defending because it produced constitutional government, scientific inquiry, individual liberty and the very tradition of self-criticism that allows us to acknowledge its mistakes.

At the same time, we believe in climate science, vaccination, expertise, the rule of law, sensible gun regulation and a robust social safety net. We reject identity politics that reduces history to oppression, but we reject populism that dismisses knowledge, institutions and liberal norms just as firmly.

And we know Netanyahu is a vile and venal schemer who cannot be trusted. We also know the West Bank occupation is not sustainable and plain wrong – even if the Palestinians twice rejected fair offers for a partition and a state.

Twenty years ago, those views would have described a fairly conventional liberal. Today they seem to describe almost no political constituency at all.

You do not have to agree with everything Murray says or believes or does to understand that On Democracies and Death Cults deserves engagement.

The lack of engagement with On Democracies and Death Cults is almost more revealing than the book itself. Murray’s central claim, that Hamas is a murderous, nihilistic organization whose ideology glorifies death, and which helps the Palestinians not at all, ought not to require elaborate demonstration. It should be self-evident to anyone with any information and minimal intelligence.

Yet much of the mainstream intellectual and media establishment simply chose not to grapple with the argument. That silence reflects a profound unseriousness. Institutions that pride themselves on intellectual openness inadvertently reinforced Murray’s broader thesis: that important parts of the Western intellectual establishment have become unable — or unwilling — to make moral distinctions that once lay at the heart of liberal civilization.

If that diagnosis is even partly correct, we face a genuine crisis. The populist right, with its contempt for expertise, institutions and often for truth itself, cannot be the answer. But neither can a left that increasingly struggles to recognize reality.

I am not prepared to believe that this battle for liberalism has already been lost. Perhaps liberals can beat back the progressive challenge. But it is a battle that must be fought. If the political right continues its descent into populist illiberalism while important parts of the left continue to abandon the moral clarity that once defined liberal democracy, then we are in very deep trouble indeed.

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