fact

In the fragmented mysteries of the great Argentine filmmaker Lucretia Martel, her explorations always start with sensory flashes: faces, spaces, objects, sounds in transfixing procession. The language is its own, resulting in disorienting but undiluted depictions of the worlds of modern elites (“La Ciénega,” “The Headless Woman”) and 18th century colonists (“Zama”) alike.

But now, with her first feature documentary, “Our Land (Nuestra Tierra),” Martel unravels a political crime and the larger offenses behind it with a vital clarity. The film is centered on the 2009 murder of Javier Chocobar, an Indigenous Chuchagasta man from Argentina’s northwestern Tucumán province, who was shot while defending his ancestral homeland from a thuggish incursion. The weight of the issue at hand — stolen land, territorial rights and the overdue recognition of a colonized country’s original peoples — brings out a tantalizing lucidity from the typically elusive Martel on a serious subject that requires discipline.

In one sense, she’s dealing with a rights issue too painful to be aggressively aestheticized, but she’s also exploring a blood-soaked injustice that can’t be treated conventionally. She begins, in fact, with rolling satellite images from space — as if to say: This appropriation of nature is the world’s problem, not just Argentina’s.

What follows, toggling between a courtroom and vast, contested land (filmed with dreamlike urgency by cinematographer Ernest de Carvalho), is a righteous, visually arresting swirl of fact and feeling, past and present. It’s also anchored by the stories of a community desperate to claim territory they’ve cultivated for centuries. “Our Land” is as honorable a documentary as you’re likely to encounter this year about what fighting looks like in today’s era of grab-what-you-can thievery.

First, we hear from the defendants, captured by Martel’s cameras at their 2018 trial in Buenos Aires (an unconscionable nine years after the shooting). The three accused men — a businessman and two ex-cops — flounder at positioning themselves as the true victims when their own handheld video of the incident shows otherwise: The confrontation with the Chuchagastas only escalated because they brought a gun. Their lawyers obnoxiously push a narrative of ownership versus trespassers, backed by reams of documents and tossed-around historical dates.

But as Martel patiently unfolds the Chuchagastas’ perspective — personal narratives that come to life in intimate photos, atmospheric sound design and warm home footage — we begin to understand that documents and files are a bogus battleground given their hundreds of years of careful tending. One community member distrusts dialogue to begin with, calling it a means to “give up something.”

“Our Land” is the work of a director whose attention is rigorous, whose care is genuine, but who is also conscious of her outsider’s perspective. It’s an ally’s respect. There’s no better proof of that than in her drone shots of this embattled community’s sun-soaked valley: elegant, purposeful, even awkward (a bird hits one) visitations from the air. They’re a reminder that she’s the filmmaker, surveying a story that belongs to others. Documentaries don’t get much more honest than that.

Who won the 2020 election?

Was the Capitol attacked on Jan. 6, 2021?

Can Donald Trump be elected to a third term as president?

No brainers, right?

The answers are, of course, “Joe Biden,” “yes” and “no.” Any fact- and reality-based American would say so. But that humongous class of people pointedly doesn’t include the president of the United States. And apparently for that reason, his nominees for federal judgeships — the very jobs in which you’d most want fact-based individuals — hem, haw, stammer and ultimately decline to give direct answers when Democratic senators test them with such easy-peasy questions at confirmation hearings.

One after another, month after month, Trump nominees for district and appeals courts across the land say that the answers to the questions are matters of debate, of “significant political dispute.” Well, they’re in dispute only because Trump says they are, as does every ambitious officeholder and office-seeker desperate to remain in the retributive ruler’s good graces — including, alas, would-be judges.

To watch them squirm and then squirt out the same rehearsed reply, the same legalistic word salad, just like the dozens of nominees before them would be hilarious (see below) if it weren’t so ominous for the rule of law in the nation.

Trump nominees for other high-ranking jobs, likewise prepped for Senate Democrats’ questions by their Trump handlers, give the same rote response. But the fact that candidates for lifetime seats on the federal bench, making decisions of life-changing consequences for millions of Americans, would choose to dodge the truth is most sickening.

In their truth-trolling to keep Trump happy, lest he yank their chance at new black robes, these candidates fail the test of judicial independence. As one Democrat, Sen. Richard Blumenthal of Connecticut, told four district judge nominees last week at a Senate Judiciary Committee hearing, their humiliating hedging “on an issue of fact” — Biden won in 2020 — “reflects not only on your honesty but really on your fitness to be a federal judge.”

Indeed. That judicial nominees would curry Trump’s favor bodes ill for future federal jurisprudence in the one branch of government that’s stood up for the rule of law against Trump, repeatedly, when Congress and the Supreme Court have not. To be fair, a number of judges confirmed in Trump’s first term have been among the many who’ve ruled against his and his administration’s second-term abuses of power. Yet just as Trump has populated his Cabinet and executive branch with sycophants, unlike in Trump 1.0, he’s obviously applying new litmus tests to potential judges. One of them, clearly, is playing along with his election lies.

His nominees’ failure to speak truth to Trump’s power should be disqualifying. But they’re not disqualified, because the Senate is run by Republicans who share their fear of him.

That fact is a big reason to hope that Democrats capture the majority in November’s midterm elections and that, under new management, the Senate will finally take seriously its constitutional “advice and consent” responsibility to act as a check on Trump nominees for the final two years of his term — including, perhaps, one for the Supreme Court.

And, yes, this is Trump’s final term, for all of his teasing about “Trump 2028.” The Constitution’s 22nd Amendment says as much in its opening line: “No person shall be elected to the office of the President more than twice.”

Yet the four wannabe district judges at last week’s Senate Judiciary Committee confirmation hearing — Michael J. Hendershot of Ohio; Arthur Roberts Jones and John G.E. Marck, both of Texas; and Jeffrey T. Kuntz of Florida — struggled over that clear language.

All four hesitated when Sen. Chris Coons, a Delaware Democrat, asked them to describe the amendment. He even read its initial words before querying Marck, “Is President Trump eligible to run for president again in 2028?”

Marck paused, then sputtered: “Senator, with ah, without considering all the facts and looking at everything, depending on what the situation is, this to me strikes as more of a hypothetical of something that could be raised.”

“It’s not a hypothetical,” Coons countered, then asked again whether Trump is “eligible to run for a third term under our Constitution.”

“Um, I would have to, to review the, the actual wording of it,” Marck blabbered.

Coons turned to the others: “Anybody else brave enough to say that the Constitution of the United States prevents President Trump from seeking a third term?” Silence.

“Anybody willing to apply the Constitution by its plain language in the 22nd Amendment?” Coons persisted. Crickets.

His Democratic colleague, Blumenthal, inquired of the foursome, “Who won the 2020 election?” All agreed in turn that Biden “was certified” the winner. None would say he “won” because — as we and they know —Trump insists to this day that he won; he’s turned the power of his “Justice” Department to trying to prove that obvious falsehood. Far be it from these future judges to contradict the president who nominated them.

Here’s Hendershot’s gibberish to Blumenthal’s simple query: “Senator, I want to be mindful of the canons here. I know this question has come up many times in these hearings and it’s become an issue of significant political dispute and debate. So, with, with that, I would say that, that President Biden was certified the winner of the 2020 election.”

After the others replied similarly, Blumenthal turned justifiably scathing: “It’s pretty irrefutable that Joe Biden won the election. But you’re unwilling to use that word because you are afraid. You are afraid. Of what? President Trump? That is exactly what we do not need on the federal bench today. We need jurists who are fearless and strong, not weak and pathetic.”

Apparently unshamed, each similarly demurred when he asked if the Capitol had been attacked. “You’ve seen the videos, have you not?” Blumenthal blurted.

No matter, Senator. These would-be triers of fact apparently won’t believe their eyes. Not when their patron, the president, insists on lies.

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The implosion of Eric Swalwell’s gubernatorial campaign and his once-promising political career has left a great many questions rising from the smoldering wreckage.

Questions about his character, judgment and staggering recklessness.

The question — as misguided as it is inevitable — of why his accusers hadn’t come forward sooner. (My columnizing colleague, Anita Chabria, incisively addressed that one, discussing the nature of suppressed trauma and the believability hurdle that many victims of sexual assault unduly face.)

Then there’s the question of how and why Swalwell’s creepy and allegedly criminal behavior stayed hidden from public view for so long — especially when the impossible-to-miss fixture of cable TV embarked on a high-profile campaign to lead the nation’s most-populous state.

Swalwell, 45 and married, had a widely whispered about reputation for showering inappropriate and unwelcome attention on younger women. Rumors — vague, unsubstantiated — were a source of incessant dirt-dishing among political insiders and also circulated extensively online. (Not, however, the more serious allegations of sexual assault.)

The veil was finally pierced last week when the San Francisco Chronicle published a graphic account of a woman alleging sexual encounters with Swalwell while the Democratic lawmaker was her boss. She said he sexually assaulted her twice when she was too intoxicated to consent.

A few hours later, CNN followed up with a report that three other women had recounted various kinds of sexual misconduct. On Tuesday, yet another alleged victim came forth, saying she was drugged and raped by Swalwell in 2018.

The former congressman has flatly and vigorously denied criminal wrongdoing while acknowledging and apologizing for unspecific “mistakes.”

Those vociferous, flat-out denials had been enough to sway the politicians and union leaders who endorsed Swalwell’s gubernatorial bid, until the weight of evidence made Swalwell’s assertions untenable.

If the allegations are true and Swalwell is, in fact, a liar, lecher and sexual assailant, why wasn’t that widely reported up until now? Was it negligence, or gullibility on the part of the political press corps? The short answer is that a wide gulf exists between rumor and fact and Swalwell lurked in that gray space, living and thriving in the shadows between provability and denial.

It’s not unusual for rumors about financial, sexual or other peccadilloes to attend a campaign. They’re often trafficked by political rivals, which automatically raises suspicion and invites particular skepticism.

Much of the chatter never moves past a relatively small, dishy circle of political gossips because the supposed misdeeds, while titillating, can’t stand up to rigorous scrutiny. Or a legal challenge. That’s the baseline for many news outlets to broadcast or publish a story. Call them what you will — legacy, corporate, mainstream, lamestream — many of the largest, most influential sources of news and information won’t pass along allegations they can’t independently verify and, if necessary, defend in court.

The challenge is verifying all that loose talk.

Politicians don’t wear body cams, or broadcast their lives 24/7. (OK, Beto O’Rourke did livestream from a Texas laundromat during his 2018 Senate bid, holding up a soggy pair of underwear when he addressed the “boxers or briefs” question. But he’s an exception.)

Journalists don’t have subpoena power and can’t force people to tell them what they know. A reporter is only as good as his or her sources, their knowledge, truthfulness and credibility.

Reporting on misdeeds of an intimate nature can be especially difficult and complex. There’s rarely black-and-white documentation, such as a money trail leading to a hotel bedroom. It’s hard to find an eyewitness or reliable third party who can vouch for what took place between people behind closed doors. It takes time and trust to develop sources who can substantiate incidents of sexual misconduct, assault or abuse.

Swalwell apparently did an excellent job deceiving those around him, including some congressional and campaign staffers who’d known him for years and worked closely with the seven-term lawmaker, day in, day out. They were shocked by the statements of his alleged victims; the words “double life” have come up many times.

If Swalwell managed to hoodwink those closest to him, it’s easy to see why journalists had a hard time wrangling the firsthand accounts and other facts they needed to make their findings public.

When it comes to reporting on scandal, there is often the question of timing.

In 2003, The Times was widely criticized for publishing an account of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s misconduct — touching women in a sexual manner without their consent — just days before California’s gubernatorial recall election. Despite the report, which Schwarzenegger did not contest, voters kicked Gray Davis out and replaced him with the Hollywood super-duper star.

In 1992, the Washington Post and Portland Oregonian were widely criticized for their failure to publish accounts of Sen. Bob Packwood’s misconduct — unwanted sexual advances and touching women without their consent — until weeks after he was elected to his fifth term. Packwood resigned in 1995 after the Senate Ethics Commission voted unanimously to expel him.

The allegations against Swalwell were revealed well before the June 2 primary. Not soon enough for those asking how he managed to get away for so long with his predatory behavior. But plenty of time to inform California voters before they weighed in on his candidacy.

Public attention will soon shift. But for Swalwell, the legal and other ramifications are just beginning.

If you’re looking for the most elegant way to wrap up our “little excursion” in Iran, it’s this: President Trump should follow what might politely be called the “declare victory and head for the airport” strategy.

You know the drill: Announce that we’ve set back Iran’s nuclear programs a decade, pounded their navy into submission, and turned the ayatollah into a fine mist. Mission accomplished! Thank you for flying the friendly skies, and please return your seat backs to their full upright and locked position.

Don’t get me wrong. This “cut and run” routine is less than ideal. Trump will have signaled to the world he (we) can’t endure any insurgent resistance, empowered the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps to run the country and likely angered Israel in the process.

But his domestic political base will believe he won, and fan service has always been his top political priority.

Besides, once you’ve entered a war without a coherent justification, clearly defined goals or a credible exit strategy, you’re lucky to get out at all. A salutary outcome no longer exists; that ship has already sailed.

Speaking of which, as I write this, we are drifting toward what feels like a point of no return. Mining the Strait of Hormuz, which Iran is now attempting to do, is the ultimate trump card.

Using mines to shut down this narrow shipping lane — which contributes about 20% of the world’s oil supply, not to mention natural gas and fertilizer — could result in a crippled global economy, mass casualties and a situation in which the president can no longer save face while cutting and running.

As retired U.S. Navy Adm. James Stavridis writes, “Iran has been planning a Strait of Hormuz closure operation for decades and probably has more than 5,000 mines; just one hit can severely damage a thin-skinned tanker.”

Yes, once laid, minefields can be cleared. But Stavridis predicts it would take “weeks, if not a month or two” to clear thousands of mines. He warns: “The global economy needs to be prepared for a month or two shutdown.” (Complicating matters is the fact that our dedicated minesweepers were recently decommissioned.)

The Iranians are not idiots. They watch American politics. They understand that Trump’s pressure point isn’t Tehran — it’s the S&P 500. A bad week on Wall Street makes him jumpier than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

Trump, whatever else you say about him, is a transactional materialist who approaches geopolitics the way a real estate developer approaches zoning disputes: What’s the angle, where’s the leverage, and can everybody just settle already?

Unfortunately, the fellows running Iran are religious zealots who believe — deeply, sincerely and somewhat alarmingly — in something larger than quarterly economic indicators. Their strategic plan appears to consist of two options: survive (which they see as tantamount to victory), or die gloriously while insisting they meant to do that all along.

Which makes their current behavior grimly logical.

The Iranian regime, such as it is, doesn’t have much to lose. But they know exactly what Trump has to lose: His popularity and political legacy are now tied to the price of oil.

Releasing U.S. strategic oil reserves will help to some extent, but this is not a long-term solution. And Iran is betting that when the price at the pump for U.S. consumers starts looking like a luxury car payment, Trump will do what critics like to summarize as TACO — “Trump Always Chickens Out.”

Lots of American political observers agree. And it’s not just moderates or RINOs who are teasing this.

Referring to the U.S. military, former Speaker of the House Newt Gingrich told Larry Kudlow on Fox Business: “They have to keep the Strait of Hormuz open. I don’t care what it costs.”

“If they can’t keep it open,” Gingrich continued, “this war will, in fact, be an American defeat before very long, because the entire world, including the American people, will react to the price of oil if the strait stays closed very long.”

Perhaps the U.S. military can pull off a delicate trick: keep our “armada” in the region, keep the Strait of Hormuz open, clear any mines that are laid and prevent some unlucky tanker from being hit by a mine — or, for that matter, by a drone or missile fired from the Iranian coast. That final risk is why some military analysts believe reopening the strait would require a ground operation.

Imagine that the U.S. manages to thread these needles. Then what?

Total and complete surrender? Regime change? Boots on the ground?

Absent a swift exit (like, tomorrow), we’re left with the two classic options of power politics: a delayed and more ignominious retreat or increased escalation.

And, historically speaking, American presidents are more likely to double down — with tragic results.

Matt K. Lewis is the author of “Filthy Rich Politicians” and “Too Dumb to Fail.”