Tina Brown

Stories by Tina Brown

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    The Price of a Photo

    Two journalists who gave their lives for the truth, and a war correspondent who walked away.
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    Big Love

    Sidney Harman’s spirit and drive will keep inspiring us.
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    The Prince’s Squeeze

    All hail Kate Middleton, the woman who can rebrand the British monarchy.
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    Covering the Quake

    A day of destruction--and a new trigger point on gun control.
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    A New Newsweek

    It’s not just another week for this magazine. It’s a new day—and, we hope, a new era.
  • Tina Brown on Nancy Pelosi

    Nancy Pelosi is a bit like Britain's Margaret Thatcher in reverse. Mrs. T. was tough and steely in her public role as prime minister, but womanly, flirtatious, even gossipy, in private. (One of her cabinet members once told me he harbored erotic thoughts about Maggie as she walked past him, trailing a "whiff of Chanel.") In Pelosi's case, it's the other way around.When I first talked to her at her office on Capitol Hill in the third week of April, she had just come from a sisterly ceremony, sharing a platform with Michelle Obama and Hillary Clinton to unveil a bust of the legendary slave, abolitionist and suffragist Sojourner Truth at Emancipation Hall. The specter of briefings on the netherworld of the CIA's "enhanced interrogation techniques" could not have been more at odds with the aura of lunch-club femininity the Speaker projected with her lilac Armani pantsuit, professional gracious smile and freshly coiffed hair. ("She always was put together," one of the five Pelosi...
  • Hillary and the Invisible Women

    Hillary Clinton's run-up to the Texas and Ohio primaries was the political equivalent of Hell Week for a Navy SEAL. At least it felt that way for the reporters who'd been participating in this killing Democratic marathon since the Iowa caucuses in January and now, dosed up on Airborne and bad coffee, were covering what was being billed as Hillary's last stand.As a campaign virgin who joined the press bus on Saturday morning in Ft. Worth, Texas, I was staggered by how isolated accompanying reporters actually are most of the time. It's like being trapped in a moving bathysphere. You can't buy newspapers or watch TV in real time. Occasionally, as you fall into your seat on a plane hop from Dallas to Columbus, Ohio, wanly clutching a boxed panini, you catch a glimpse of a familiar large, frosted head in the first-class section that's rumored to belong to the candidate. She doesn't come back much to visit the press, except for the odd bright-eyed moment of managed conviviality. One...