generation

The more I think about Proposition 40, the billionaire tax that will go before California voters in November, the angrier I get.

I’m angry at President Trump. His cruel slashing of Medicaid threatens the health of millions of Californians, may lead to the loss of hundreds of thousands of medical jobs and is the stated reason behind Proposition 40, which would levy a one-time 5% tax on billionaires. Trump invoked government deficits, but this was really his latest attack against people he sees as losers and thus expendable — people of color, the undocumented and especially the poor. “Evil” isn’t mean enough a word to describe this.

I’m upset at what Proposition 40 proposes to do. It’s a temporary stopgap that doesn’t reverse Trump’s Medicaid cuts and won’t solve the fundamental problems facing healthcare, or all the other things that make life in California so expensive. Plus, since when has a tax happened just once?

Proposition 30 was supposed to be a temporary tax increase for Californians who earn more than $250,000 a year in the name of propping up K-12 schools and community colleges. Passed in 2012, it was supposed to expire in 2019. Instead, voters extended it to 2030 — and our public schools are in more dire need than ever.

If Proposition 40 succeeds, you know every advocacy group from Yreka to San Ysidro will propose one-time taxes in the name of rescuing something or other. But relying on new taxes, or strengthening old ones, only shows that people are out of ideas — a dangerous scenario for democracy.

I’m enraged at billionaires. In the past, California’s captains of industry — your Dohenys, Gettys, Huntingtons and so many more — at least pretended to care about the rest of society by funding charities, the arts and other things meant to better the masses. Not this generation. Their avarice, their gleeful supplication before a tyrant like Trump, their obsession with breaking things and not caring about the consequences and their indifference to how the rest of us live have made billionaires a deserved scapegoat, about as popular as a diaper rash.

I’m furious at Proposition 40’s supporters. For a generation, California’s left has treated the rich as a goose that keeps laying golden, taxable eggs, making the state budget too reliant on a sliver of the population. Gov. Gavin Newsom’s budget summary this year estimated that the top 1% of Californians paid about 45% of the state’s personal income taxes from 2002 through 2023. What Proposition 40 supporters don’t get is that you can only smack a goose so much to give more until it bites back, which is what California billionaires are increasingly doing by throwing their cash around to defeat any political candidate exuding a whiff of progressivism.

I’m upset at Proposition 40’s opponents. Backing two other ballot initiatives that would neutralize Proposition 40 doesn’t amount to a convincing argument against it. A point they do argue — that picking on billionaires will alienate them, push them out of California and tank the state’s budget — is at least plausible. But it’s not a winning argument in this era of populism on both the left and right, where voters seem to approve of cutting off your nose to spite the man.

I’m disgusted by Proposition 40’s architect. Service Employees International Union-United Healthcare Workers West President Dave Regan represents everything wrong with the union movement in California. He has made a mockery out of the proposition system by continually trotting out initiatives in the name of bettering the lives of blue-collar Californians. But as my colleague Taryn Luna reported last month, Regan doesn’t even believe in what he sells: He uses the threat of ballot measures to cut deals for his members, and his members alone. Way to use the rest of us as a bargaining chip, Dave.

I’m done with Newsom. He opposes Proposition 40 in the most Newsom-esque way possible. One of his arguments is that it will scare away billionaires from California — there he goes, carrying water for oligarchs again. His other argument is even more ludicrous — that Proposition 40 isn’t enough because there should be a permanent national tax on billionaires via changes to the tax code instead of a one-off. So Californians shouldn’t go after billionaires because you want to do it? Good luck explaining that logic to voters across the country if you run for president in 2028.

I’m mad at California Democratic Party leaders. Its executive board recently endorsed Proposition 40 despite the many loyal soldiers and allies who are opposed, including gubernatorial candidate Xavier Becerra, the California Teachers Assn. and Planned Parenthood. Other unions are expected to oppose Proposition 40 or sit out the campaign, setting up the party’s latest civil war in an election year when state Democrats need the fewest distractions. But that’s the party’s leadership for you — they’ve never met an internal crisis they didn’t make worse.

I’m revolted by the California Republican Party. It entered the second Trump administration with tailwinds behind its sails after a generation of statewide failures, installing a record number of Latino GOP legislators in Sacramento and grabbing enough voters of color to imagine a future in which they once again mattered. Instead, the party’s blind devotion to Trump has left it with the moral authority of a dandruff flake.

California’s Republican congressional delegation unanimously voted for Trump’s Medicaid cuts, even though rural parts of the state, which also happen to be deep red, will be severely affected. State GOP leaders either stayed silent or cheered as Trump volleyed other financial missiles against California, including canceling billions of dollars in clean energy initiatives solely because we’re a blue state. Proposition 40 supporters just need to say that Republicans oppose the ballot measure and Californians will line up to vote “yes” like In-N-Out fans idling to grab a Double-Double.

Not me. I’m angry, for sure: The fight over Proposition 40 will add nothing but rage to this election and a redwood grove’s worth of political mailers. The Medicaid cuts will worsen life for too many people. As odious as Trump and his side have been, Proposition 40 solves too little for too short a time, while potentially making things permanently worse.

Count me as a big, beautiful “no.”

Kevin Lyman has always lived life on the move. For years it was a symptom of working to keep up with Warped Tour, a punk rock circus on wheels. Since bringing the festival back last year to celebrate its 30-year anniversary, he’s switched his mode of transport from buses to planes. What started as a two-month tour across the U.S. and parts of Canada is now a strategically placed, five-date extravaganza starting this weekend in Long Beach. With stops in Montreal, Mexico City, Orlando and Washington, the tour has gotten bigger with the partnership of EDM promoter Insomniac but Lyman insists that the soul of it remains the same.

Thriving on a mix of punk, emo, ska, hardcore, metal and action sports, Warped has become an entry point to festival culture for a new generation of fans, requiring Lyman to always move forward in his musical tastes while still trying to stay true to the essence of what made Warped more of a community than just an annual event.

Recently he chatted with The Times to discuss the process of continuing the fest’s revival and why it’s still a vital part of the summer festival ecosystem.

What were your initial thoughts after Warped Tour’s big comeback in Long Beach last year?

I was really nervous. To be honest, I knew I had one shot at getting it right. I knew there were going to be bigger stages, we were going to have video and lights, but I also knew that I had to make it feel like Warped Tour between the performances. So that little bit of controlled chaos we had between the stages — the merch tents, all the sponsorship booths, the skate ramps, the surprises we threw out each day — I think it was mission accomplished. The feedback overall has been fantastic from the fans. For some people closer to my age demo, maybe it was a little too much — their feet hurt. But Warped came back strong, we went back on sale [for 2026] fairly quickly, and to still have 50% of the people buy the tickets right away without knowing a band on the bill yet was great.

Jimmy Eat World is doing like their 25th anniversary of “Bleed American” at the fest this year. What does it mean to you to have some of those early Warped Tour bands like that on the bill again?

It felt good to have a lot of those bands. For me, one of the more emotional ones last year was Rise Against. They had such a big moment. They were such a part of Warped Tour, and you get them to come back and then watch that crowd, every phone went up in the crowd, and probably 50% of the people there had never seen them before.

You’ve always had your own way of doing things that created the culture of Warped Tour. Why do you feel it is still so vital in the festival ecosystem today?

I had to carve a niche out for myself in the industry. I was never going to really quite conform. I kind of came from that rebellious spirit that Goldenvoice instilled in me back in the ‘80s when I worked for them, and Gary Tovar was rebellious. So I’ve always kind of had that mentality of, “Hey, let’s go against the norm. Let’s make it something our own.” And even when I’m teaching at USC now, I say you have to learn the foundations of every business. And those foundations, to me, were working 12 years in the clubs of L.A., 320 nights a year, and then you have to make something your own. I always say when you decide to go for it — go for it. And I did, and it seemed to connect with enough people and resonated with enough people that I’d been around that said, “Wow, this is different. He needs to work on it. But instead of knocking him down, let’s support him.”… I’ve been a disruptor, and the disruption I’ve caused has attracted enough people. Now we’re a niche of people. Warped is a great niche.

How did you keep Warped on people’s minds year-round while you were planning it out this year?

That was a challenge because before we used to have the two-month tour, so we were able to build community to keep the conversation going. Community is a big driver for me. Everything we’re doing now is investing in the community, and I think it’s working. [In January] we had a downtown Long Beach event with the band Holy Wars, we had an event in Orlando. We had one event in a fraternity house backyard in Virginia, we had events in Mexico City and Montreal … canned food drives, blood drives or, you know, register to vote. We’ll drop those kind of events so we’re constantly in everyone’s mindset. And it’s not about monetizing. I think people are always asking “How do you monetize the superfan?” I’m like, “How do you reward them?” Giving people a free Sunday afternoon event in Long Beach, that’s a thank you. Those are the people that are going to spread the word when you post a video, they’re going to share it with all their friends, and then they’re going to be telling kids at their schools. A third of the people going to Warped had never been to a festival or even a concert before, so we need to engage them in a different way.

What are your ways of scouting out bands you want to take a chance on when booking the festival?

Well, I have a great booker named Amanda Phelan. She books with me, so she’s kind of that on the ground talking to the agents and things. I don’t necessarily do that much anymore. I talk to them, but my part is more like, “Oh, I want to see what bands other bands are talking about, or young people are talking about.” And then I’m also talking to lots of the independent promoters out there that you know I used to work with.

Why do you think younger generation of fest goers will keep discovering Warped Tour?

We used to be that festival where you know it was over by sunset, your mom could pick you up at the curb or you could get home by dark, and then you went off to other festivals. We were your entry point to festivals. We may be that entry point again, but a lot of it now will come down to price point. We know the economics of Warped Tour are conducive for people that want to go on two levels: ones that want to come and explore a festival, and other ones, maybe some of your peers, who don’t get to go out every night and see bands anymore because they all have real jobs and things. But they can go for one for two days and catch up on all music, which makes you feel like you’re staying young.

Birao, Central African Republic – When Islam Ibrahim fled Sudan after her father was killed during the siege of el-Fasher, she thought she had escaped the worst of the war.

The 20-year-old pharmacy student fled with her mother and six sisters to the neighbouring Central African Republic (CAR), leaving behind her pharmacy studies.

Now in Korsi refugee camp, she spends her days helping newly arrived Sudanese women and girls. Drawing on the medical knowledge she gained before war interrupted her studies, she volunteers to support refugees arriving exhausted after dangerous journeys from Darfur.

But even in exile, Islam says she cannot escape the pressures that followed her from home.

Her uncles have travelled to the refugee camp urging the family to return to Sudan, so her mother can settle her late father’s estate. Islam fears that returning would not only place them back in an active conflict zone but also expose her and her sisters to pressure to marry relatives against their wishes.

“I only want to go back to Sudan if it’s to continue my education,” Islam told Al Jazeera. “I don’t want to go back to Darfur to divide my father’s inheritance.”

Islam’s story is echoed across Korsi refugee camp, where an entire generation of Sudanese students is trying to salvage futures interrupted by war.

More than 30 Sudanese university students interviewed over several days described lives put on hold by a conflict that has uprooted families, shattered ambitions and left many wondering whether they will ever return home. Most are in their 20s and come from Amdafock, a border town in Darfur that became both a refuge and later a departure point as families fled escalating violence.

Many believed their displacement would be temporary. They imagined returning home to complete their degrees once the fighting stopped.

Instead, that hope has grown increasingly distant.

Their experiences reflect a wider educational divide created by Sudan’s war. Millions of school pupils and university students in Darfur and other areas controlled by the Rapid Support Forces (RSF) have now gone more than three years without regular schooling or access to nationally recognised examinations. In contrast, despite repeated disruptions caused by the conflict, many students in areas held by the Sudanese army have gradually returned to classrooms and sat their exams, widening disparities in educational opportunities between young people on opposite sides of the war.

Lost years

Amdafock was recently seized by fighters from the Seleka rebel coalition operating across the border in the CAR, further diminishing any realistic prospect of return for many of the families originally from the town.

With support from UNHCR, dozens of Sudanese refugees have secured places at the University of Bangui, offering a fragile path back into education after years of disruption.

But returning to university has proved far from simple.

Having completed their schooling in Arabic, they must now study in French, learning an entirely new language while trying to keep pace with university demands. Many say the additional years required, coupled with financial hardship and the psychological toll of displacement, make it feel as though they are losing time they can never recover.

“We have already lost so many years,” several students told Al Jazeera.

Among them is Gamar el-Shaikh, a sociology student at the University of Bangui.

“We left Birao refugee camp, promising our loved ones that we would return with university certificates,” Gamar told Al Jazeera. “But with the educational environment we are in, and all the difficulties we face, it feels almost impossible to keep that promise.”

Another student, Baderelddian Issa, said his family fled after his father, an imam in Amdafock, was persecuted by the RSF for criticising them during sermons at the mosque.

Baderelddian told Al Jazeera that his father’s position made the family a target, forcing them to flee Sudan for the CAR, where he is now trying to continue his studies, while watching the possibility of return slip further away.

Painful choices

For some students, displacement has demanded even more painful choices.

Intisar el-Sadig lost her husband during the war before fleeing to the CAR with her young child. After UNHCR secured her a place at the University of Bangui, she made the difficult decision to leave her three-year-old son in Korsi refugee camp with her mother so she could continue her studies in the capital.

She travels back whenever she can, but says every separation is painful.

“I am studying because I don’t want this war to take everything from us,” Intisar told Al Jazeera. “If I stop now, then we will have lost not only our home and my husband, but also our future.”

Ahmed knows how quickly those hopes can collapse.

Before the war, he was studying law and dreamed of becoming a judge. His father, a Sudanese army officer, was killed during the fighting in el-Fasher. The family fled to Nyala, believing they had reached safety, but Ahmed says fighters from the RSF attacked them there. During the assault, his mother was beaten so severely that her arm was broken.

The family eventually reached the CAR.

Now living in exile, Ahmed’s studies have been put on hold, and his ambitions have narrowed to survival.

Enduring hope

Across Korsi, that sense of loss is shared in different ways.

Students who once imagined futures as pharmacists, judges, engineers, teachers and academics now spend their days navigating life in exile, learning a new language and trying to rebuild their education in an unfamiliar system while worrying about relatives still trapped in Sudan.

For young women like Islam, displacement has also brought renewed pressure over inheritance and marriage. For others, the loss is measured in years of interrupted education that may never be recovered.

Islam continues volunteering in the camp, while Gamar, Baderelddian and Intisar persist with their studies despite extraordinary obstacles. Ahmed still clings to his dream of becoming a judge.

For these young Sudanese, education has become both refuge and resistance, a fragile attempt to rebuild meaning in lives shattered by war.

“We are the lost generation of Sudan,” Ahmed told Al Jazeera through tears. “We lost everything in this war.”

Of the four survivors from 2014 and 2018, 34-year-old Courtois has played every minute of this tournament, but De Bruyne, Lukaku and Witsel have featured far less regularly.

Central midfielder Witsel, 37, who left relegated Girona at the end of the La Liga season, was brought on for a single minute at the end of the win over the USA.

At 33, Lukaku has scored an impressive three goals but has done so by playing fewer than 50% of minutes, often coming on as a substitute and taking advantage of a tired defence reeling from the strong pressing of 25-year-old Atalanta forward Charles De Ketelaere.

And De Bruyne, now 35, was injured during the Senegal game – before his departure Belgium had won one out of three matches, but since then they have won twice and scored seven goals in roughly 130 minutes of play.

Full-back Thomas Meunier also played in the 2018 tournament, but not 2014, and his minutes played have decreased as the tournament has gone on.

None of that is to say the more senior players are not contributing – Courtois remains one of the world’s best goalkeepers, Lukaku’s goals have been crucial, and De Bruyne’s performances were among the team’s best before his unfortunate injury.

But their role in the squad is changing, with a greater reliance on them making the difference in key moments rather than taking responsibility for the overall quality of the team’s performances.

So far at least, Garcia and Belgium appear to handling the transition better than many teams do when their stars begin to fade.

For some Egyptian football fans, watching Mohamed Salah qualify with Egypt for two World Cups in 2018 and 2026 will never make up for the fact that the “golden generation” did not get their shot in 2006, 2010 or 2014.

“It is unfair to compare the two generations,” Ahmed Elshiekh, a former national team player who now covers the World Cup for Modern MTI TV, told Al Jazeera.

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“The golden generation did everything but get to the World Cup. They beat Italy [when they were World Cup champions]. The draw in qualification was just unkind to them.”

Salah is the captain and leader of the current generation. He won every trophy on offer while playing for Liverpool in a glittering nine-year career that saw him become the highest scoring foreigner in the history of the English Premier League.

Given his status, it is perhaps no surprise that Salah shouldered the blame for an AFCON drought that stretches back to 2010. His achievement in dragging Egypt to the 2018 World Cup in Russia is brushed aside due to the fact that Egypt was the first team to be eliminated. A half-fit Salah, who had dislocated his shoulder in the UEFA Champions League final, scored twice, but Egypt lost all three matches, including to Saudi Arabia.

The failures were compounded when Egypt lost the 2021 AFCON final to Senegal on penalty kicks. Thirteen months later, Egypt met Senegal in a World Cup playoff and once again lost on penalty kicks. In the first shootout, Salah was designated as the fifth taker but never got a chance to take his penalty. For the second shootout, perhaps realising his mistake, he went first and missed.

Salah might have been one of the best players in the Premier League, but Egypt fans were frustrated. To soothe their pain, they hung on to the memories of a team that was crowned African champions in 2006, 2008 and 2010 – successes that were spearheaded by the legendary midfielder Mohamed Aboutrika, who is equally famous for his “Sympathise with Gaza” T-shirt as he is for his immaculate first touch.

The despondence was so deep that fans had lost hope for their national team. AFCON 2023 was blighted by an injury to Salah, who elected to return to Liverpool for rehabilitation but promised to return should the team advance to the final. Egypt’s tournament ended shortly after that statement, courtesy of a penalty shootout defeat in the round of 16.

Working at that time as an analyst for Egyptian TV, now-Egypt manager Hossam Hassan said that if Salah had done that on his watch, he would “never pick him for the national team again”.

A couple of weeks later, Hassan was appointed to lead the national team after Rui Vitoria’s dismissal.

It was widely speculated that the only reason the Egyptian Football Association hired Hassan was because the currency crisis had prevented them from attracting a foreign manager.

“Hossam Hassan as a player has achieved everything you can imagine,” Elsheikh said, referencing the former striker’s record 69 goals for Egypt and three AFCON titles.

“But as a manager, we saw what he can produce, and the results were not great. … Also he brought problems and created crises.”

The crises Elsheikh referred to have been a hallmark of Hassan’s journeyman coaching career marked by brawls and altercations with fans.

But the appointment proved to be a stroke of unintended genius.

Salah finds form under Hassan

Instead of falling out with Salah, he and Hassan became joined at the hip. If there was anyone who could understand the pressure of Salah’s position, it was Hassan, who had lived it all before but with the added pressure of having played mostly in Egypt and having crossed the Cairo divide when he left Al Ahly to sign with bitter rivals Zamalek.

“Hassan does have a captain’s personality and is very energetic. He might not be the strongest tactically, but he does provide a solid defensive base” Elsheikh said.

Salah has enjoyed a rich vein of form under Hassan’s tutelage. Egypt qualified for the 2026 World Cup undefeated, winning eight out of their 10 matches. The team also reached the semifinals of the 2025 AFCON tournament – not that the achievement silenced any of the doubters.

Of course, it’s not all about Salah. Egypt have a raft of talented players, including Man City’s Omar Marmoush and Al Ahly’s Emam Ashour.

Their undefeated team is going into the round of 16 to face defending champions Argentina on Tuesday. Egypt have overcome a great deal of adversity to reach this stage of the tournament as well.

A second-half comeback against New Zealand in the group stage was needed to secure the nation’s first win at a World Cup. Salah exited the final group game against Iran with a hamstring injury but played all 120 minutes of the penalty shootout win over Australia in the last 32. The 34-year-old converted his kick with a Panenka against Socceroos goalkeeper Mat Ryan.

In the aftermath of that victory, Aboutrika, now an analyst for beIN Sports, did his best to pass the baton to the new generation.

Goalscorer Ashour had expressed his joy at being compared to Aboutrika, saying his ambition was to be “as half as good or even a quarter as good as him”.

Later on in the studio, Aboutrika responded by saying: “You are better than [me]. You’ve scored two goals in a World Cup,” and insisting that this was the biggest night in the history of Egyptian football.

Not everyone is so convinced.

“This Egypt team is better than any we have seen in years yet is still remarkably fragile,” opined Karim Zidan, a writer focused on the intersection of sports, power and politics.

Salah, meanwhile, was once again asked who was the greatest Egyptian player of all time and again deferred to Aboutrika, saying “there is absolutely no discussion.”

The Autry’s current exhibition, “Life, Liberty, and Los Angeles” is an excellent show that takes a deep regional dive pegged to its 250th American anniversary programming. Of all the pieces, See Lee’s meticulously stitched “Hmong Story Cloth” (circa 1980) is a poignant chronicle of making the journey to an unknown future in the United States. Utilizing the traditional paj ntaub embroidery format, the textile documents Lee’s family fleeing war-torn Laos and resettling in Long Beach during the 1970s. The narrative unfolds in sequential sections depicting military violence at a chaotic crossing of the Mekong River; lower panels remember Thai refugee camps, a rescue airplane and a Greyhound bus. This visual testimony shares striking cross-currents with Latin American arpilleras and paños Chicanos, linking disparate diasporic traditions through the shared language of quietly political, deeply personal needlework — in this case, preserving a crucial chapter of Southeast Asian migration to Southern California.

🗓️ On view through Jan. 31, 2027

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The smooth and soothing voice that generations of Lakers fans grew so accustomed to when Lawrence Tanter was the longtime public address announcer has put down his microphone.

Tanter, known as the “Voice of the Lakers,” has retired from his game-day role, the team announced Tuesday, and he will become a special advisor for Lakers game presentation.

Tanter, 76, sat in his courtside seat as the public address announcer for 43 years at Lakers games, starting in 1982 when they played at the Forum and lasting until late March, when the team announced he would miss a game to attend to his health. Those with knowledge of the situation who are not authorized to speak publicly on the matter said he had a stroke.

“Lawrence Tanter has been an integral part of the Lakers gameday experience for more than four decades, setting the tone for countless memorable moments with his professionalism, energy and signature booming voice,” said Jeanie Buss, the Lakers’ governor. “Since the 1980s, LT has narrated every chapter of Lakers basketball, connecting generations of fans, players, coaches and staff while becoming a trusted and unforgettable part of the Lakers’ experience. I am incredibly grateful for everything he has given to this franchise.”

From the days of Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and Magic Johnson, to the Kobe Bryant and Shaquille O’Neal era and the current LeBron James and Luka Doncic days, Tanter was the voice that resonated.

South Korean boy band BTS, U.S. pop culture icon Madonna and Latin music superstar Shakira will be performing at halftime during the World Cup final July 19 at MetLife Stadium in East Rutherford, N.J., FIFA announced Thursday morning.

The performance will support the FIFA Global Citizen Education Fund, which is looking to raise $100 million to assist children in accessing education and soccer.

FIFA president Gianni Infantino wrote on Instagram that the show “will be a truly special moment, bringing together music, football and a shared commitment to improving the lives of children around the world.”

The show is being curated by Coldplay leader Chris Martin and, if this event announcement video is to be believed, a bunch of Muppets.

“It’s a chance to show how amazing all different kinds of humans are,” Martin explains to Elmo in the video.

The three acts will bring a variety of cultures, musical styles and generations of fans to the Super Bowl-style concert, which will be the first of its kind for a World Cup final.

Madonna headlined the Super Bowl XLVI halftime show in 2012, and Shakira teamed with Jennifer Lopez to co-headline the Super Bowl LIV halftime show in 2020. Also, Coldplay headlined the Super Bowl 50 halftime show in 2016.

No duration time has been announced for the World Cup show, although soccer halftimes are not supposed to last more than 15 minutes. Bad Bunny’s halftime performance at Super Bowl LX in February lasted 13 minutes.

Among the three of them, Madonna, Shakira and BTS have compiled 20 No. 1 songs on Billboard’s Hot 100 singles chart, 10 Grammys and 37 MTV Video Music Awards. Shakira is scheduled to release “Dai Dai” with Nigerian singer Burna Boy as the official song of the 2026 World Cup this month.