"You know, despite what you think, I don't have anything against y'all." Vivian Mitchell (Kirsten Dunst), Hidden Figures

Sound familiar? In a time when many a Trump voter has been quick to qualify "but I'm not racist," this line from Theodore Melfi's Cold War-era biopic feels eerily on point. Hidden Figures orbits the lives of three African American women—Katherine Johnson (Taraji P. Henson), Dorothy Vaughan (Octavia Spencer), and aspiring engineer Mary Jackson (Janelle Monáe)—whose contributions to NASA helped make space travel possible. It's the kind of movie that could at first come across as feel-good Oscar-bait, another Hollywood studio piece (a la The Help) ostensibly about strong women of color that actually aims to make white people feel better about themselves ("Look how far we've come! I can't believe how racist white folks used to be! Good thing we weren't all that way!"). While this film flirts with that terrain—Kevin Costner plays the earnest white-guy boss, Al Harrison, who takes a sledge hammer to the "colored" restroom sign because "at NASA, we all pee in the same color"—overall Hidden Figures doesn't pay enough attention to the white characters to make it about them. And it shouldn't be.

Fast-forward to January 21st, 2017: the day that the Women's March on Washington is scheduled to take place. If Hidden Figures can sometimes suggest that "Black Lives Matter, but only when up against these Commie bastards," the women's march (initially, and problematically, dubbed the "Million Women March" by its white female organizers) has felt to some like a too-little, too-late hoo-ha from the same demographic who helped put Trump into office. "As fearful as I am for the lives that are most vulnerable in the wake of a Trump presidency…" wrote columnist Jamilah Lemieux, "there was a tiny, tiny part of me [after the election] that felt a tiny, tiny bit of satisfaction at seeing how sad many White women were. Finally, they got to know some semblance of the pain and anguish that accompanies our lives in this country."

What Hidden Figures does—in a small, but vital way—is expose to many white, female viewers not only the absurd inequities endured by professional black women, but also the legacy of black female leadership that traditional feminist accounts have largely ignored. The film suggests how often white women have failed to join hands with their black sisters—and how, when they have, it has often been in service of their own white interests.

The film's climax centers on John Glenn's triumphant Friendship 7 landing in the Bahamas—a feat salvaged at the 11th hour by Katherine's nimble number magic. But the real emotional climax—especially as pertains to white female cluelessness in the wake of black realities—takes place in an integrated ladies room on NASA headquarters. After washing her hands (in a possible stroke of irony), supervisor Vivian Mitchell (Dunst) accepts a paper towel from Dorothy, whom she has consistently undermined—along with other "colored computers"—in their efforts to move up in the agency. "You know, despite what you think, I don't have anything against y'all," Mitchell tells her before leaving. "I know," says Dorothy, pausing at the sink. "I know you probably believe that."

Self-deluding white women have been around for some time—and so have women of color who, like Dorothy, have responded with considerable generosity. It's with such largesse that many women have aired their qualms against the women's march, prompting a shift in platform to one Slate has called "unapologetically progressive." Activist heavyweights Linda Sarsour, Tamika Mallory, and Carmen Perez—all nonwhite—have joined original cofounder Bob Bland to lead a national committee of diverse female organizers. Regardless (or, perhaps, because) of such conscious inclusion, not everyone has been happy. When Bland requested all Caucasians participating to "understand their privilege, and acknowledge the struggle that women of color face," a flurry of white women went on the defense, with one saying, "Every woman in our culture is a 2nd class citizen period." The statement essentially erases centuries of racial injustice from which white women largely profited.

"[W]hite activism continues to be lazy activism," claimed Rosie Campos, who stepped down as leader of Pennsylvania's women's march over concerns of lack of transparency. Challenging other white women to face up to years of acquiescence and latent hypocrisy, Campos implored them to go beyond "good intentions" and consider the breadth and depth of injustice on a broader scale. "Our [white] social activism is only stirred when it's convenient for us," she wrote. "We leave it to Black people to fight their own battles…[till] eventually something comes along that affects white women directly. Grabbing our pussies? Taking away our birth control? Overturning Roe v. Wade? Hell no. Black women, where are you? This affects you, too! Help us! We care about you!"

In St. Louis—a stronghold of Ferguson Action and Black Lives Matter protest—women's march plans have been heated. The original march coordinator, lacking political organizing experience, predictably sought other white women to assist her. When 17-year-old Mya Petty, recently awarded the Martin Luther King Jr. Youth Service Award from Washington University in St. Louis for her leadership and community service, called the March leaders out for being exclusionary, several white women called Petty "hostile" and demanded that she be "kinder," as though compassion is a state of friendly compliance they somehow are owed.

In Hidden Figures, white women align with the three heroines inconsistently, at best. It's no accident that Vivian attempts to make good with Dorothy only after she has been selected to program the IBM 4070—the machine that could jeopardize the jobs of all female "computers," black or white. "Any upward movement is movement for all of us," Dorothy declares earlier when Katherine is promoted. But the "us" here isn't all women; it is decidedly women of color. Throughout the movie, black female staff never seek solidarity with the white female staff, and they clearly see no reason to do so.

It remains to be seen if Saturday's march can spread real sisterhood across color lines. "The feeling of 500,000—even a million—women coming together from all different walks of life?" proposed Carmen Perez in an interview with Glamour. "That's radical resistance. It will foster a spirit of togetherness, elevate morale, and say that there's a force to be reckoned with in this country: women." As, in Hidden Figures, Dorothy grudgingly welcomes the white women eager to learn how to program the IBM, so should white women feel grateful to all women of color hopefully leading the way this weekend. As Gloria Steinem herself acknowledged, "black women invented the feminist movement." Whether fighting Soviet imperialism or Trump's impending regime, a new, bold activist calculus is required to survive the launch.

Follow Eileen G'Sell on Twitter .

While Whistler has a reputation as a party town, you won't find a strip club there. (Not these days anyway, the last one closed years ago.) Some of the dance clubs have so many stripper poles you'd think they employed strippers, but those tend to be used by patrons—both men and women—instead.

However, there are a number of go-go dancers working in Whistler whose job it is to perform for hoards of locals and tourists alike, including the Americans who invade on Martin Luther King Jr. weekend, in the Canadian ski town where the party never seems to end. VICE interviewed a few women who have been go-go dancers in Whistler to see what it's like to have that job in a town where weekdays and weekends seem to blend into one another.

Kassa Nova, former Whistler go-go dancer

VICE: Why did you move to Whistler?
Kassa Nova: Why did I move to Whistler? Why does anyone move to Whistler? I didn't exactly plan ahead for it—I just booked a one-way ticket and hoped for the best. I wasn't an outdoors, athletic ski bum like the rest of the town. I just liked to party. I had a friend who offered up the idea, and I jumped on it. And as much as it almost killed me, I wouldn't change it for a second.

I was a dancer for about a year before I gave it up in Whistler… I do still pursue it a bit in [Vancouver], but the party will never be the same.

What was your favourite part of being a go-go dancer in Whistler?
My favourite part was the party, inevitably. Whether or not I was a dancer, everyone was there for the same reason. As much as I loved to dance, it was the party that got me on the podium or the countertop, or the pool table or speakers. I go-go danced on top of everything. No shame. I also really hate pants, so that was definitely another favourite for me.

What do you do for work now?
I currently manage a gym in Vancouver. It's not nearly as interesting, and I have to wear pants. I hate pants.

What are some of the strangest stories you have from your time in Whistler?
I have lots of stories from crazy to interesting to weird. Getting blackout [drunk] every weekend leads to some interesting endeavours to say the least. I do recall having drinks thrown on me because someone's boyfriend was watching me dance. I was pushed off the podium one time and sprained my ankle, which lead to crutches for three weeks. I also dove headfirst into a snowbank once half-naked because snow angels are important.

The number of times I woke up wearing last night's gear on a countertop in a house I didn't know how I got to or where the hell I was wondering why I had to drink 36 beers and 14 shots the night before or if it's too early to start drinking to subdue the hangover. I can still taste the Jäger. And where the fuck are my shoes? Definitely probably lost with my morals the night before.

Jenn Patterson, current go-go dancer in Whistler

VICE: How did you get into go-go dancing?
Jenn Patterson: I saw a friend advertise for it on Facebook, and I was working a promo event at the club through a modeling company I was with. I came that night, and she tells me to just watch the dancers try out that evening because I didn't really know what a go-go dancer was when I started. Five minutes later, they say a girl didn't show up, so I tried out on the spot that night, and they hired me [immediately].

My first night working, I was definitely nervous. It's different when you get up there and start dancing—it's like my alter-ego because I'm actually pretty shy. It's a different Jenn when I'm up there; it's one of the best jobs I've had.

What is MLK weekend like in Whistler?
This is my fourth MLK weekend working. Because the legal drinking age in the States is 21, so for the most part, it's a lot of kids coming up here who are 19, and it's their first time in the club. With the number of bars and nightlife here, it's pretty crazy. We have to get there early—the club will be packed by 8 o'clock. When I go to work on MLK weekend, I have to walk by the line to go get ready because everyone is already waiting to get in.

How do you choose your costumes?
I don't like to wear too many repeat costumes because of all the photos we get, so I've taken a big interest in fashion design. I make a lot of the bras and accessories, add sparkles and gems—the more the better for go-go dancing.

What's a story you have from go-go dancing?
There's a lot of stagettes and bachelor parties here, so when we see the bride-to-be come in, we like to put her up on the podium and showcase her, and her friends all go crazy.

The worst thing about dancing is that you sometimes get negative attention from girls. For the most part, they're lovely, they'll compliment your costume… But I've had girls stand behind me before and have heard nasty things they've said… I overheard a girl talking with her boyfriend: He said I looked good, and she said, "No, her butt is too flat." She was a really pretty girl and tiny like me—I felt like we had the same body type. But you know what, that's OK, I'll just brush that one off.

What's the party scene like in Whistler? It seems pretty carefree, and anything goes.
[At the bars that have stripper poles], they encourage people to get up on them, they encourage girls to get up on the bar and dance, body shots are a big thing… For locals nights, there's a busy spot each night. At Tommy Africa's, Tuesdays is their big one.

I just feel like Whistler is always different. In the city, it's the same vibe all the time. In Whistler, every weekend is different: Crankworx, The World Ski and Snowboard Festival, MLK weekend, May long weekend… Different crowds from everywhere.

Diana Brownie, former Whistler go-go dancer currently working in Mexico

VICE: Why did you decide to move to Whistler?
Diana Brownie: I had graduated from University of British Columbia and didn't really want to grow up yet. Whistler is like Never Never Land for adults. I didn't really know what I wanted to do with my degree yet, so I decided to take a year off and spend it having fun with my friends in the mountains.

What were your favourite parts about being a go-go dancer in Whistler?
Being able to do what you're passionate about as a job is always a great feeling. I've been dancing since a young age and started working as a professional dancer in Vancouver seven years ago. There is no better feeling in the world than getting up on stage and dancing your heart out. The adrenaline rush is insane. I can go into work in the worst mood ever and leave with a smile plastered on my face.

Working as a go-go dancer in Whistler specifically, I would have to say my favourite part about the job is the people. I made some very close friendships and have some fantastic memories with all the staff [at Tommy Africa's]. Everyone there is really just one giant family, and we all look out for one another.

What is your job now and where at?
I've traded in my snow boots for sandals and am currently living in Mexico working at a resort in Playa Del Carmen. I still go-go dance at some of the local nightclubs for special events.

What is one of the most interesting things that happened to you while working as a dancer in Whistler?
I've got to dance for some pretty awesome DJs in Whistler. Dancing for Paul Oakenfold was a really cool experience, as well as Datsik and Sticky Buds. Those shows are always a blast because the energy coming off the crowd is so hype that it pumps you up even more.

Costume malfunctions while you're dancing are always an interesting experience. I also design and create dance costumes, and sometimes things don't hold up as well as you'd hope while you're on stage. I've had pieces fall off or fly into the crowd before. Getting your jewelry, shoes, bra caught in your tights is always fun. Trying to get your self unhooked without the crowd realizing you're stuck is hilarious.

What's the craziest party memory you have from your time in Whistler?
The afterparty after the Paul Oakenfold show. And the annual Tommy Africa's house boating trips. I won't go into details as my parents will probably read this—hi mom!

Interviews have been edited for length and clarity.

Follow Allison Tierney on Twitter .

At 11:59 am eastern, the official White House website had a lengthy information page about the threat of climate change and the steps the federal government had taken to fight it. At noon, at the instant Donald Trump took office, the page was gone, as well as any mention of climate change or global warming.

It's customary for www.whitehouse.gov to flip over to the new administration exactly at noon, but the only mention of climate on President Trump's new website is under his "America First Energy Plan" page, in which he vows to destroy President Obama's Climate Action Plan, which is a government-wide plan to reduce carbon emissions and address climate change. To reiterate: It is normal that the site is completely new; it is notable that climate change is not mentioned on any one of Trump's new pages.

"President Trump is committed to eliminating harmful and unnecessary policies such as the Climate Action Plan and the Waters of the U.S. rule," the site says. A search of the website found no mention of "global warming," and the only mentions of "climate change" were archived pages that, after clicking on the links, led to scrubbed pages.

Read more on Motherboard

Leave it to Netflix and House of Cards to turn a bunch of kids saying the pledge of allegiance into something that you might see in a horror movie.

On Friday, the streaming site dropped the first teaser trailer for the fifth season of House of Cards, just in time for Trump's inauguration, and it's appropriately creepy as hell. The short clip doesn't have any footage from the new season—instead, it slowly zooms out of an American flag flapping upside down on a pole while the aforementioned creepy kids recite the pledge, before ending with the announcement that season five will drop May 30.

While the upside down flag has been the series's logo since it launched as Netflix's first original series in 2013, the symbolism—especially in such a bleak atmosphere—has an entirely different resonance today. It also comes with the tagline "we make the terror."

Season four of House of Cards saw Frank Underwood sending America's military to war with Islamic terrorists around the world after a terror group called the ISO kidnapped an American family. Terror is on the horizon for Underwood and the citizens of his America going into the election season, but hopefully things won't be as incredibly bleak in this fictional political horror as they are in reality.

Though the show's creator, Beau Willimon, has been vocal about his opposition to a Trump presidency, he's still hopeful for the country.

"There are times we moved backward," Willimon recently told the Wrap. "But we always end up in the long term moving forward, improving, involving, and perfecting our democracy. We've moved backward right now… but in the long story that is America we will overcome that, we will move beyond that, and our country will be a better place."

It never feels normal to be at Sundance. America's foremost independent film festival is frequently absurd—from the logistical nightmare of shuttling half of Hollywood into a tiny ski village, to the altitude, to the LED glow of Main Street's brand activation gauntlet. It's also, despite being one of the most dressed-down major film festivals in the world (the only week in the year when most Angelenos will wear duck boots) and despite taking place at a series of school auditoriums and rec centers connected by slush-covered roads and parking lots, unmistakably luxurious.

In the past two years that I've attended the festival, I've consciously reveled in the fact that Sundance is an excuse to get away from the drudgery of my everyday work week and escape to a rarified temporary utopia where the most important thing to worry about is whether breakout indie director X can avoid a sophomore slump or whether the complimentary water bottle in the press bag will suck or rule. (It sucks this year.) Sundance is luxurious for film reporters and critics, who can let the staff back home pick up the mainstream film content while they do the noble work of spotlighting promising breakouts with zero clickability. It's luxurious for the filmmakers, many of whose films will be talked about more this week than they ever will again. It's luxurious for studios and buyers, who definitely find time to hit the slopes in between throwing around play money at films that, for the big ones like Amazon and Netflix, represent a tiny fraction of their yearly investments. Best of all, this all counts as work for everyone.

Sundance still feels like an escape in 2017, but the jury's out on whether or not it's the kind of escape we need right now. The inauguration of President Donald J. Trump, which took place on the second day of the film festival, has been what dominates the overheard conversations in the heated tents of Park City during these first 24 hours. At the opening day press conference, the first question for festival founder Robert Redford was about what role art can play during the Trump administration. And politics dominated the rest of the conference, especially in light of the news that the incoming administration would be defunding the NEA, which Redford said was instrumental in the founding of the festival. Another question was what role the festival itself could play politically. It's as if everyone is looking for a reason, any reason, that it makes sense to be in Park City, Utah, on January 20, 2017.

There has been a lot of talk about storytelling—storytelling against all odds, storytelling now more than ever. This year, the festival has introduced its "New Climate" sub-section, "a must-see lineup of environmental films and projects that seek to drive attention and action." The first of these was the opening night film An Inconvenient Sequel: Truth To Power, a follow up to Al Gore's Oscar-winning 2006 climate change documentary. Originally conceived as a fresh wake-up call, paired with some would-be encouraging progress reports, it features a more fiery and emotional Gore than the monotone figure parodied over the past decade. If filmmakers Bonni Cohen and Jon Shenk were looking to turn the film into a messianic portrait of the former vice president—who's still showing the slide show to audiences all around the world—he doesn't quite take to it. Gore is no rock star, certainly no Leo. He's plain spoken and not given to hyperbole and grand emotion. His medium of choice is Power Point, for crying out loud. You have to be selfless to dedicate your life to slowing climate change, the film seems to say—selfless enough to risk being dull.

If Sundance 2017 is about the power of storytelling in times of political uncertainty, they could have no better or worse figurehead than Gore. I remain charmed by, inspired by, and doubtful about Gore's commitment to the idea that if we tell enough people about the science of climate change, if we present information in a compelling and inarguable manner, then we can set the gears in motion to stop it. He uses the model of a self-help seminar, or perhaps more appropriately, religious proselytizing, to mobilize communities all over the world. Now, on the one hand, 2016 was a referendum on facts—the new data of An Inconvenient Sequel is terrifying not just in and of itself but because so many refuse to acknowledge it. On the other, modeling the climate change movement after religious movements is not the worst framework to use. The world's most seismic historic conflicts and revolutions have been fueled by religion. [Deep toke] When you think about it, wasn't Jesus Christ the original storyteller? [Exhale.]

An Inconvenient Sequel makes a compelling case for storytelling at its most mundane. Subsequently, I left the theater hardly in the mood for the medieval nun comedy The Little Hours or Macon Blair's directorial debut I Don't Feel At Home In This World Anymore, two of the other opening night films. I knew I'd be ready for that patented acerbic Sundance quirk later on, but I opted for The Worker's Cup, a documentary about the migrant workers building the stadiums for Qatar's 2022 World Cup. If anything could put a human face to the existential doom of the industrialized world, it would be this—thousands of underpaid workers from India, Africa, and the Middle East shipped out to live in rows of desolate temporary barracks in the shadow of Doha's gleaming dildoscape of a skyline. They spend their backbreaking days constructing a Space Age super stadium that looks like the mothership of a race of violent alien gynecologists. To inject a little fun into the proceedings, the contracting companies that essentially own their lives for the duration of construction decide to organize an inter-company soccer tournament.

It's a fascinating setup for a documentary, and an opportunity to highlight the human cost of FIFA's notoriously corrupt contracts. But The Worker's Cup believes in the game a little too much to drive home the insanity of its scenario. It tracks the scores and fates of central team, GCC, through superimposed titles whose ultimate narrative purpose I was never quite clear on. At times it started to resemble the Documentary Now! episode about the Icelandic Al Capone impersonation contest—a send-up of every twee competition-oriented documentary that rose up after the success of King of Kong and Spellbound. A competition gives a documentarian a default arc, but the fortunes of the GCC football club is the least interesting thing going on in The Worker's Cup. The sit-down interviews with the team members are insightful and frequently surprising, I would have loved if the filmmaking had matched them.

Both An Inconvenient Sequel and The Workers Cup focus heavily on the industrial decisions of the developing world; they decentralize the United States's role in the global picture. It's as if Sundance was trying to tell me, on day one, not to worry about whatever horrors would be set in motion on day two. The world is a big place, and we certainly won't be the only people fucking it up over the next four years. Now, get out there and enjoy some storytelling.

Follow Emily Yoshida on Twitter.

Along with taking over the official @POTUS Twitter handle, Donald Trump got the keys to the White House website. Unsurprisingly, he's made some changes—erasing Barack Obama's digital legacy and replacing it with, well, not much.

For instance, references to climate change have been deleted, and in place of Obama's in-depth "Issues" section, which included pages on civil rights, poverty, and violence prevention, among other topics, Trump's administration has put up some vague outlines for six different issues he'd like to tackle as president, including energy and law enforcement.

The new White House promises to target what it describes as a "dangerous anti-police atmosphere in America," pledges in two different places to "rebuild" America's allegedly depleted military, and vows to slash regulations (including those intended to fight climate change) and reduce taxes—all Trump campaign promises. But curiously, there's nothing at all about healthcare reform, which is the first major political fight of the administration.

There's also nothing on the "Nominations & Appointments" page—so it's possible that any omission is just the result of a brand-new website not being 100 percent complete, rather than a conscious decision.

Oh, also, a bit called "Trade Deals Working for All Americans" appears in its own section and in the section titled "America First Foreign Policy." Is it supposed to be like that?

Check out more from Julian Glander at his Twitter, Instagram, and blog.

Prior to today, I had never been in a Trump Hotel in my life. After the most recent election, I still had no plan to go to a Trump Hotel ever. That was, unfortunately, until my editor suggested I dress myself up, and (with as much enthusiasm as I could muster) spend a few hours at the Toronto Trump Tower (up for sale now that the developer has defaulted on the project) on January 20th—to experience Donald J. Trump's inauguration as President of the United States in the most depressing way imaginable.

Now, you're probably thinking, "What's the point?" Good question. Is there little significance in watching the political baptism of a foreign leader from one of that leader's hundreds of international hotels? Yes, absolutely, but it's 2017, and we now have a "President Trump" (every time you read those two words together in this article, know that I cringed writing it). Just think about it this way: anyone waking up from long coma today probably thought they were dead and sent to hell, so don't question me on how I spend my time.

The lobby of Toronto's Trump Tower.

When I first pulled up to Trumpkins' Canadian HQ, it was 11:30 AM—just half an hour before Twitter's @POTUS changed from the jovial smile of Obama to an awkward, snare-faced Trump photo. I figured 30 minutes would be enough time for me to figure out where the crowd (if any) would be, obtain the WiFi password, and settle into the building's Calvin Bar—where hotel staff had told me they would be showing a broadcast of the inauguration.

As I entered through the building's gold-plated, rotating push-doors, the bougieness I expected to be in the air of a Trump-owned building was not immediately present. The lobby, for the most part, was empty aside from the dozen or so employees, and the Calvin Bar was a total graveyard. Unsure if I was actually going to see anything interesting, I decided to head up to the "America" restaurant (best known for being absolutely savaged in a review) on the 31st floor.

The Calvin Bar. Absolutely empty.

At the elevators, an employee greeted me. "Good morning, sir!" the 20-something baby-faced hotel staffer said to me, gesturing toward the elevator before sending me on my way. "Please enjoy yourself," he said, quickly exiting as the doors closed. As I ascended, I took a moment to at myself in the elevator's mirror. Surrounded by gold, flying to the top of one of the city's tallest buildings, and I didn't even have to press my own floor buttons. Probably the whitest I've ever felt in my life.

Like the bar, America was also empty. The interior was quite plain—like a Cactus Club designed by investment bankers. White walls, black chairs, lots of natural light being obscured by awful fluorescent fixtures. As I went to take a photo, a server spotted me and tried to usher me in. I ducked out quickly in a moment of sheer awkwardness, finger the elevator button aggressively like I was trying to play QWOP for the first time.

Next stop: America.

Back downstairs, some more people had filled in the lobby. A few groups of women, and a handful of men, one of whom had a Make America Great Again hat on, were discussing the inauguration quite loudly. Thank god, I found my people.

"We're truly living it," the MAGA-wearing man said to a member of the concierge, who chimed in about his own experiences with protests outside of the Toronto Trump Tower.

"These people keep whining...They protested us a little while ago. Like, are we really the issue here? What are you accomplishing?"

As the clock crept closer to noon, I decided to head back to the bar and grab a seat, even if that meant I was watching the inauguration alone. Thankfully, two older men were at the bar and had already turned the volume up on the TV. There was no bartender, just an empty space, HDTV, and the three of us. To my surprise, as soon as the clock struck noon, President Trump had already begun reading his vows.

I thought this was a fitting representation of my mind.

"That's it," one of the men said, laughing when Trump mentioned Obama and the camera panned to former president's distraught-looking face. "He looks so mad." I just sat there silently, reading and hearing the words "45th President of the United States, Donald J. Trump," wondering if the aliens could come to wipe us out sooner.

As quickly as it started, Trump's speech was done. The two men beside me quickly packed their bags and exited the room, leaving me with nothing but CNN anchors loudly recapping what had just occurred. Outside, financial district businessmen and women passed by without care for what was happening. Feeling a need for human connection, I went back up to America and sat down for a coffee.

One of the servers, initially curious if I wanted lunch, was not willing to talk about her thoughts on the new leader of the country her restaurant was named after. Instead, I was offered milk or cream for my coffee. I took milk. Other employees I asked flatly told me "No" when asked for comment on President Trump. Probably for the best.

Outside of the building.

On the street, I approached the suit-clad smokers hanging around the nearby banks, on what I assumed to be their lunch breaks, for some quick thoughts on the #Inauguration. Most laughed, some ignored me, a few yelled "Fuck Donald Trump!" Overall, it felt like the world was going to shit but people had adjusted to the temperature of the toilet bowl.

One young man, who simply wanted to be referred to as John, told me he doesn't know what to think of the Trump inauguration, but said the situation is "fucked up" and that he was "praying for me" as a reporter. Although I took the comment tongue-in-cheek, the cab ride home had me thinking about it a lot. As absurd as this situation is, it might not be too long before we accept this reality and get on with ignoring politics.

Follow Jake Kivanc on Twitter.

The concept of a sanctuary—a place that is a source of refuge, removed from the deluge of public vitriol that feels increasingly common in our society—has been a topic of great interest in recent days. College campuses, major metropolitan cities, churches, and even entire counties have all begun to label themselves "safe zones" and "sanctuaries," offering protection to any who seek it.

Now, on the day of the highly polarizing inauguration of President-elect Donald Trump, we can add restaurants to that list.

Sanctuary Restaurants is a nationwide initiative offering resources to restaurants, enabling them to support diners and restaurant employees who find themselves targeted or impacted by harassment, bigotry, or xenophobia. Launched earlier this month by Restaurant Opportunities Centers United (ROC United), a restaurant worker advocacy group, and Presente.org, a Latinx social justice organization, Sanctuary Restaurants calls itself a "movement"—one with a mandate to create a world "free from hate, discrimination and harassment."

Read more on MUNCHIES

As President Donald Trump took the oath of office Friday, police in riot gear fired cans of tear gas and used pepper spray to control a crowd of at least 200 protesters throwing trash cans and damaging storefronts just blocks away from the ceremony.

Police arrested at least ten people during the protest, which started at about 10:30 AM when a crowd of people dressed in black marched down L St. near McPherson Square, just blocks from the National Mall, chanting slogans such as "whose streets, our streets."

The crowd smashed the storefronts of a Starbucks and a McDonald's. Some of the protesters wore ski masks and goggles, and some wore gas masks chanting, "This is what a police state looks like."

Read more on VICE News

This article originally appeared on VICE Alps.

The mood on the train to Davos is more giddy than militant. Eight Swiss women in their late 60s and 70s make jokes and share snacks while painting slogans on banners. "Let us breathe," the banners say, or "Act on climate change now." They're the Klimaseniorinnen (the Climate Seniors), and they're on their way to fuck up the World Economic Forum—or at least make their voices heard by protesting outside it. This year's motto is "Responsive and Responsible Leadership," and according to these women, that only holds up if the political and economic elite take strong action against climate change.

A 2014 study by the World Health Organization showed that climate change and the extreme heat associated with it lead to public health issues like dehydration and heart and circulatory problems, especially in older women. So last autumn, the Klimaseniorinnen filed a lawsuit against the Swiss Federal Office of Public Health. To them, global warming is a health risk as much as anything else. As of yet, there has been no action on their lawsuit.

Once the train arrives in Davos, the women wrap their banners around their necks as scarves, so they won't be so easily recognizable as protesters. They stroll through the center of Davos past security personnel on the street and snipers on rooftops, to their destination—the last security checkpoint before the entrance to the World Economic Forum.

Once they get there, they take off their scarves and hold them up as banners for the press. Sadly, the protest is short-lived. A group of policemen quickly come along to escort the ladies away—they're not allowed to protest here. The Klimaseniorinnen try to charm them, but to no avail. More police arrive, and, as a last act of defiance, the women dole out the homemade Earth-shaped cookies they've brought along for the protest.

On the way back to the train I have a little chat with some of them.

Marie-Claire Comment, 67

VICE: How many protests do you think you have been to in your life?
Marie-Claire Comment: Oh, I've been to so many. Against nuclear energy, supporting immigration, against the gap between north and south. And it's necessary—I think public awareness for climate change has improved but politicians are doing nothing about it, and as a result, the global inequality has worsened.

What is your message for the youth of today?
If you want to stay alive, you have to ask the hard and interesting questions.

Dominique Blazy Rime

VICE: A police officer took your banner away, didn't he?
Dominique Blazy Rime: Yes, it was a bit awkward seeing ten burly policemen coming out of a truck just because I had a banner saying "Let Us Breathe." One of them said that was enough and took my scarf. Oh well.

You've worked as a journalist. What do you think of the media coverage of climate change?
I'm not impressed. The media too often focus on superficial trivialities instead of on what matters. We need political and economic solutions to climate change. The economy always takes priority over everything, and nobody really challenges that anymore.

Don't you?
No, I just live—I don't want to quarrel. I am happy and healthy—I'll have a beer once in a while, but I recently walked 125 miles in one week. I don't see you doing that.

Rosmarie Wydler-Wälti, 67

VICE: How did you get involved with environmental issues?
Rosemarie Wydler-Wälti: I was in the movement in '68—we occupied the nuclear power plant in Kaiseraugst, and we dyed the Rhine red after the Sandoz chemical spill. And I was always involved in smaller projects, like collecting aluminum in my neighborhood.

Why aren't you just quietly enjoying your sunset years?
I want to do something meaningful with my time. I also advocate for the values of spirituality, body consciousness, and nutrition to be better represented in schools—instead of just looking at the economic efficiency of a student's education.

What do you hope to achieve with the lawsuit you ladies filed?
We're hoping for stricter laws concerning CO2 taxes, energy-efficient housing, and air traffic, for example. We're absolutely prepared to take it up to Strasbourg. Everyone is affected by climate change, and fighting for the future of our kids is our main concern.

Edith Hiltbrand, 79

VICE: When and how did you join the environmental movement?
Edith Hiltbrand: In the 80s, I read To Have or to Be by Erich Fromm, and it completely changed my politics. Before, I voted for the FDP (the liberal party) and drove a Porsche. That book started a green movement in me.

What do you drive now?
Nothing at all.

Anne Mahrer, 68

VICE: How much of an activist are you?
Anne Mahrer: This is my first time in Davos, but I've been to many protests—especially against nuclear energy.

What sacrifices do we need to make for the environment?
I don't think it demands sacrifices, we just need to be more efficient with how we use energy. We need to make our transport and housing more energy-efficient, use hydro-energy. That's not a sacrifice.

Beatrix Braun, 66

VICE: What kind of world do you think your grandkids will live in?
Beatrix Braun: I am not as optimistic as I used to be. I think we'll soon have to wear sunblock when we just go for a swim, like in Australia. I wouldn't want to live on this planet in a hundred years if something doesn't change drastically very soon.

How do you feel about the protest today?
I'm happy, but a bit surprised that police stepped in so quickly. They should have seen that we posed no threat. But it's always better to act than sit idle.

What would you say to young people today?
Don't make the same mistakes we did, like driving around in polluting cars and only thinking about the economy. I hope this generation is smarter. It's like smoking—even though you know how bad it is for you, it's easier to keep doing it. I hope this new generation won't be like that when it comes to the environment. Live more consciously.

Whether you plan to protest the inauguration in DC, join the Women's March on Washington the next day, or participate in another form of local action, there's something you need to have: a plan.

Marching can be intimidating, and taking a public political action always involves some amount of risk. Though expressing your First Amendment right should be simple—you walk, you shout, you go home—knowing your rights and being prepared for unexpected circumstances can help you confidently and effectively exercise your right to free speech. If you intend to engage in civil disobedience, having a plan in case of arrest is especially vital.

"The First Amendment is kind of like an old car that you keep in your garage and everyone once and awhile you have to take that car out and drive it to make sure it still works," says Monica Hopkins-Maxwell, Executive Director of the Washington DC chapter of the ACLU.

"So many people are coming to DC for the first time, and this may be their first rally or their first protest," she says. "But they have been moved to make their voices heard, and that's what's so exciting."

Read more on Broadly

On Friday, President Donald Trump painted a characteristically apocalyptic vision of his country during his inauguration speech, touching on visions of "American carnage" featuring crime, gangs, and "rusted-out factories scattered like tombstones." But to really drive home the scariness, he appears to have even channeled a Batman villain.

"We are transferring power from Washington, DC, and giving it back to you, the American People," Trump said in his speech. That line is strikingly similar to Bane's line, "We give it back to you, you people," which Deadspin editor Tim Burke was quick to point out on Friday.

Bane's line is from a speech in the 2012 Christopher Nolan movie The Dark Knight Rises. Bane, having just seized Gotham and plunged it into anarchy, tells the citizens of Gotham that the elites have been vanquished, and the city is theirs. Bane's siege quickly follows the French Revolution path, from storming the Bastille and freeing prisoners to a reign of terror in which vengeance is meted out disguised as justice in newly formed kangaroo courts.

Despite what this photo might suggest, Trump's speech was written by 31-year-old incoming policy adviser Stephen Miller. But Trump's movie-watching history suggests he probably knew about the line to begin with.

In a Trump Organization YouTube vlog from 2012, Trump—who didn't generally use his YouTube channel to review movies—praised the movie, which he said was "commonly known as 'The Batman Movie.'"

"I'll tell you, it was really terrific," he says. He reserves special praise for the film's cinematographers, saying, "What they did was incredible. You couldn't have done it three years ago. You couldn't have done it two years ago." Finally, he gives a nod to his own contribution: "Most importantly Trump Tower—my building—plays a role."

Follow Mike Pearl on Twitter.

It's no secret that a number of marginalized groups have much to fear about the incoming Trump administration, and the leather, fetish, and BDSM community is no exception.

To be sure, fetishists can always hang up their gear at the end of the day and hide their identity from the world, but that's less the case when you're a titleholder, who are among the community's most vocal advocates. To become one, titleholders must win competitions on the scene's national circuit—think of them as beauty pageants for kinks like rubber and puppy play, where contestants are judged before an audience on factors like their decorum, public speaking, and fetish spirit. A sash is passed down among winners from year to year, which entails the responsibility of becoming a community figurehead and leading fundraising and activism for community causes.

Last weekend, titleholders from across the country gathered in the nation's capitol for Mid Atlantic Leather Weekend, one of America's largest leather conventions. We photographed six of them before our greatest national monuments and asked them their hopes and fears for their community under Trump.

Alaina, Ms. Philadelphia Leather 2016

"Even as we're doing this photoshoot right now, I'm unnerved—not only by stares and titters from tourists, but more so by the underlying feeling of abhorrence, my fear of an act of violence bolstered by the normalization of hate that's occurred since the election.

Leather is a community that represents itself visibly and recognizably, which inherently denies the instinct that people within the broader LGBTQ community might have to 'blend' or 'pass' for their own safety. As such, it's more important than ever to be unified in our visibility, unapologetic in it, and supportive of one another."

Pup Vidhra, Northeast Puppy 2017

"At a minimum, we're facing four very long years of fighting for access to affordable and effective healthcare. While I admire the leather and kink scene of the 80s, I don't want to see a resurgence in fundraisers to help community members pay medical or funeral bills.

Trump may be a loose cannon, but we already know Pence is an enemy of comprehensive sexual healthcare, HIV prevention, and LGBT rights in general. It's a legitimate fear that we'll see loss of necessary medical coverage and HIV care. The GOP is already making moves against the ACA and Planned Parenthood. We've seen what happens when administrations turn a deaf ear to the cries of LGBT lives. I fear we'll see a rise in new HIV infection rates in areas that lack strong education and support networks."

Sir Damien, Northeast Handler 2017

"'First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out because I was not a Socialist. Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out because I was not a Trade Unionist. Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out because I was not a Jew. Then they came for me and there was no one left to speak for me.'

Because kinky leather folk are seen as 'social deviants,' we will be the first group to be discriminated against and have laws levied against us. We need to be vigilant—not only about our own rights, but the rights of everyone else, too, because fascism doesn't happen overnight. It's a series of small tests that test your obedience until the very last one, where you wonder how you got there. It's death by a million paper cuts, and you would never think that you would be part of it until the end, when you have a moment to reflect on it all. History is only destined to repeat itself if we don't stay on top of it all."

Slave Velvet-Storm, Ms. New Jersey Leather 2017

"My community and I are in no way second-class citizens. We will unite as one against Trump and his lying government. I consider the United States and the people who reside in it to be powerful, and we will stand up against tyranny and racism to find the freedom to live our lives as we see fit. Latinos, Caucasians, blacks, Asians, and others in my community will unite in order to continue being free to be themselves. We will not be bullied by Trump. We are family, and family protects family. So Trump can kiss my Puerto Rican fat ass—I'm here, and I'm not hiding. I am Slave Velvet-Storm, Ms. New Jersey Leather 2017, and I'm a proud member of the leather community."

Preston So, Mr International Rubber 2017

"As this year's Mr International Rubber, I'm fortunate to be the first international fetish titleholder of Asian heritage. My mission is to rubberize the world by bringing the latex fetish to new places and awaken new rubberists, especially those of color.

At a recent kink event, I was the only person of color in an elevator, without my sash on, and an intoxicated individual slurred to me, 'You know, now that Trump's president, you shouldn't be in this elevator.' He then attempted to shove me out before I reached my floor. While everyone else reacted with disgust, not one of them confronted him when I was at a total loss for words.

The rubber community is lucky enough to be embraced with open arms by other fetishists at kink events, but that experience demonstrated to me that it's easy to do so while turning the other cheek to the disabled, people of color, women, and HIV-positive individuals—marginalized communities that cut across our kink communities like weaves in a basket.

I'm glad I'm able to experience both the high of warm welcomes as a rubberist and the low of racist encounters as an Asian American. Trump's election only galvanizes me to redouble my efforts as an advocate for marginalized groups both inside and outside the community. I predict that our community will be among the most active in shielding others and combating hate, but we can only do so while we fix the divisions tearing apart our own community first."

Rich Farias, Mr New Jersey Leather 2017

"While a Trump presidency is terrifying on multiple levels, the fact that Pence is VP is even worse. When Trump is inevitability impeached, we'll have one of the most vehemently anti-LGBT politicians in America sitting in the Oval Office.

The biggest failure of the Democratic Party over the past eight years was to focus solely on the presidency while ignoring local, state, and congressional elections. Republicans control the legislatures of nearly three-fourths of the country and hold majorities in both houses of Congress. LGBT rights, women's rights, and racial minorities' rights are in danger on multiple fronts and at all levels of government.

That's where the LGBT community as a whole—and titleholders in particular—have to step in. I believe that we're facing an existential threat almost on par with the AIDS plague years, and as during the AIDS crisis, we have to fight back. As titleholders, I think we need to be on the front lines of the fight—not only in leading protest actions, but building bridges with other minority communities affected by the clear rise of fascism in this country."

Follow Zak Krevitt on Instagram.

Photo above: Former TV personality Paolo Brosio by Pasquale Bove

This article originally appeared on VICE Italy

Every summer during the 1980s, 90s and early 2000s, the tourist resort of Rimini was the most decadently Italian place in the world. There was no banking crisis or Euro yet; Silvio Berlusconi and his bikini-clad TV hostesses had free reign of his commercial TV stations; club kids populated the legendary Cocoricò nightclub; and Federico Fellini's burial there was a national affair.

In 1983, the first outlet of Italy's first fast food chain, Italy&Italy, opened in the city, becoming emblematic of the cultural changes the country had gone through in a relatively short time. The success of the chain didn't go unnoticed – some years later, McDonald's bought Italy&Italy and turned every branch into an Maccy Ds.

Rimini-based photojournalist Pasquale Bove spent years documenting all the craziness of summers in the resort between the 1980s and the early 2000s. Photographer Luca Santese went through Bove's archive of over 200,000 photos and selected a number to include in the 2016 book Italy&Italy. It's a collection of euphoric photos of town fairs, partying TV starlets turned politicians and (partially) naked people making the most of their summer. See a few of the images below:

The 150th anniversary of the opening of Rimini's first beach resort.

A woman posing in front of a police van.

Diners at Italy&Italy, Italy's first fast food restaurant.

The result of a police bust.

The best butt contest in a club.

Football fans.

Actress Maria Grazia Cucinotta having some gelato.

Federico Fellini's funeral in 1993.

A club kid in Rimini.

An awesome party.

A town fair.

More Italy on VICE:

How Italy's Most Famous Thief Built His Career on Accidentally Robbing Prince Charles

A Guide to Italy's Young Instagram Fascists

Here's How Anarchist Porn Changed Italy Forever

Just minutes before Donald John Trump became the president of the United States of America, news cameras followed him as he headed out toward the platform on the west end of the Capitol Building. He was walking with other Republican leaders, but a couple steps behind, by himself, looking like a guy going through some shit. The bluster, the preening, the indomitable self-confidence that enrages his opponents and fires up his supporters—all of that was drained out of him. He was just a man with a haircut and a big tie about to take on the world's most important job.

Then, just as quickly, he returned to what for him is equilibrium. His inaugural address was his first speech to America as its president, but it was also a chance for him to reiterate all the promises he had made throughout the campaign, to tell the story that's given him strength during his surreal run to the White House: America is falling apart, it's failing, and I alone can save it.

This address, unlike his famously discursive, rambling speeches at his rallies, was pre-written (supposedly by Trump himself), meaning we should take this as a more careful articulation of his views than his off-the-cuff statements. This is how Trump wants to present himself to the country and the world, this is the vision of America he will spend the next four years building upon. Unsurprisingly, given the tone of his campaign, Trump's inaugural address was darker and more shaded by fear than those of past presidents—in his view, America is a place where people are killed by crime and drugs, where children are betrayed by bad schools, and the voices of citizens go unheard by a corrupt government.

Here is a line by line breakdown of the speech's most significant moments and the context behind them:

For too long, a small group in our nation's capital has reaped the rewards of government while the people have bore the cost. Washington flourished, but the people did not share in its wealth. Politicians prospered but the jobs left and the factories closed.

The Establishment protected itself, but not the citizens of our country. Their victories have not been your victories. Their triumphs have not been your triumphs. And while they celebrated in our nation's capital, there was little to celebrate for struggling families all across our land.

This narrative is why Trump won the Republican primaries and carried those Midwestern states that gave him his narrow victory over Hillary Clinton. Barack Obama and the Democrats have been touting the falling unemployment rate and other indicators of an improved economy, along with the millions of people who have health insurance thanks to the Affordable Care Act. But what if your life hasn't gotten better in the Obama era? What if you're still struggling, and those supposed gains are invisible? Then Trump's story starts to make sense. Someone must have been benefitting from those Obama policies. Who was it? Those corrupt politicians in Washington, that's who!

That all changes starting right here and right now, because this moment is your moment.

It belongs to you.

...

The forgotten men and women of our country will be forgotten no longer. Everyone is listening to you now.

Bemoaning the state of the nation is a surefire way to propel yourself to high office, of course—in his own first augural address, Obama said that he was taking the presidential oath "amidst gathering clouds and raging storms." But Obama also made nods to diversity, the importance of the country's "patchwork heritage," and the idea that the country had "chosen hope over fear, unity of purpose over conflict and discord."

Trump did not call for unity. He doesn't specify who has been "forgotten," but you can fill in the blanks—he means his supporters, people who tend to live in places that are whiter, older, and less educated than other parts of the US. The notion that drove his candidacy is that he'll be a better president for those Americans than Obama was. The billion-dollar question is how he'll try to achieve that.

Americans want great schools for their children, safe neighborhoods for their families, and good jobs for themselves.

These are just and reasonable demands of righteous people and a righteous public.

But for too many of our citizens, a different reality exists.

Here is where Trump is about to get specific.

Mothers and children trapped in poverty in our inner cities, rusted out factories scattered like tombstones across the landscape of our nation.

An education system flush with cash but which leaves our young and beautiful students deprived of all knowledge.

It should be pointed out that the notion that the US education system is "flush with cash" is flat-out wrong, but it helps advance Trump's agenda of privatizing American schools. But it's also worth talking about how Trump wants to combat poverty and create jobs. From the bare-bones plans on the new White House website, it looks like Trump's answer is basically the GOP's traditional answer to everything: Cut taxes and eliminate regulations. Is that going to help inner city poverty? Is that going to reverse the long-term trends that have devastated American manufacturing?

And the crime and the gangs and the drugs that have stolen too many lives and robbed our country of so much unrealized potential. This American carnage stops right here and stops right now.

Trump does not explain how to stop this "American carnage," but his White House website again clarifies: He wants more cops on the street, more deportations, more guns in the hands of citizens, and an end to the country's supposed "anti-police atmosphere." Trump doesn't talk much about the war on drugs, but it's hard to imagine him de-escalating it.

From this day forward, it's going to be only America first, America first. Every decision on trade, on taxes, on immigration, on foreign affairs will be made to benefit American workers and American families. We must protect our borders from the ravages of other countries making our product, stealing our companies and destroying our jobs.

Protection will lead to great prosperity and strength. I will fight for you with every breath in my body, and I will never ever let you down.

Protectionism is the big issue on which Trump and the Republican Party disagree—Trump wants to impose taxes on foreign-made goods, which would make many products more expensive but also theoretically convince more companies to keep production within America's borders. The markets were a little nervous about this.

We will build new roads and highways and bridges and airports and tunnels and railways all across our wonderful nation.

We will get our people off of welfare and back to work, rebuilding our country with American hands and American labor.

Trump talks a lot about the need for more infrastructure, and Democrats also favor spending on infrastructure. But there's no plan on paper right now, and it appears Trump wants to make use of public-private partnerships where companies (for instance) build roads, then collect tolls on them in order to turn a profit—not the sort of thing congressional Democrats are likely to endorse.

We will reinforce old alliances and form new ones and unite the civilized world against radical Islamic terrorism, which we will eradicate completely from the face of the earth.

After infrastructure, Trump pivots to foreign policy. For years, Obama avoided saying that the US was at war with "radical Islam," an avoidance that enraged conservatives. So this line was red meat for hawkish Republicans. And by pitting "the civilized world" against this foe, and using language like "eradicate completely from the face of the earth," Trump was giving his implicit stamp of approval to the idea that the conflict with ISIS, al Qaeda, and other terrorist groups is a "clash of civilizations"—which, not incidentally, is the same worldview that those groups embrace.

At the bedrock of our politics will be a total allegiance to the United States of America, and through our loyalty to our country we will rediscover our loyalty to each other.

When you open your heart to patriotism, there is no room for prejudice.

When many people, including Obama, talk about fighting racism, they emphasize the hard work that goes into it. Centuries of slavery and institutional discrimination and anti-minority violence do not just vanish—to eradicate these effects take concerted action and careful thought. It's not about what's in individual hearts, either, it's about how systems press down on minorities and women in ways that they don't press down on white men.

Trump doesn't exactly reject all of this, but he doesn't seem to really care about it, either. If you're a patriot, you're not a racist, therefore the only work you need to do is "open your heart to patriotism." It seems simple.

When America is united, America is totally unstoppable. There should be no fear. We are protected, and we will always be protected. We will be protected by the great men and women of our military and law enforcement. And most importantly, we will be protected by God.

Even in relatively anodyne-sounding parts of this speech, Trump makes it clear that he is speaking to some people and not to others—for instance, he is not speaking to the people who do not feel protected by law enforcement.

We stand at the birth of a new millennium, ready to unlock the mysteries of space, to free the earth from the miseries of disease, and to harness the energies, industries and technologies of tomorrow.

So, wait, Trump is into going to space? Yes, he is. But, more generally, when Trump talks about all of these achievements, he is talking about American corporations doing these things, not American government.

Not included in his speech is his administration's reported plans to cut the federal budget, which would eliminate a lot of funding for scientific research, particularly any research into climate change.

So to all Americans in every city near and far, small and large, from mountain to mountain, from ocean to ocean, hear these words: You will never be ignored again. Your voice, your hopes and your dreams will define our American destiny. And your courage and goodness and love will forever guide us along the way.

This is the song of the populist. The difficulty for Trump is that he is not an especially popular populist, with struggling approval ratings and an electoral win that came despite losing the popular vote by more than 3 million. Trump's agenda, from protectionism to budget cuts to repealing Obamacare, seems set in stone. But what happens if those voices from the mountains and oceans tell him they'd like him to stop?

Follow Harry Cheadle on Twitter.

Laura (on the right) and her theatre group during her semester abroad in Madrid. Photo courtesy of Laura Peracca.

This article originally appeared on VICE Italy

Erasmus exchange programs are generally a great way to study abroad for a semester, make friends from all over Europe, have a thorough STI scare and learn everything there is to learn about other cultures' budget beer brands. It's a beautiful opportunity to discover the world in your early twenties—or, if my best friend's mum Laura is to be believed, your early sixties.

Laura Peracca is 61 and has just returned from six months on an Erasmus program in Madrid. While there, she became a minor local celebrity for being the oldest Erasmus student Madrid has ever seen.

VICE: Why did you decide to do an Erasmus program at 61?
Laura Peracca: I was talking to my son one night, when he told me about a friend of his who was doing the Erasmus program. I was a couple of years into my psychology degree at the time, so I jokingly asked him if I could do the same. He was pretty sure that people in their sixties wouldn't qualify, but when I looked it up I found that there's actually no age limit to the Erasmus program. Still, I didn't think I would get through the process, but I did.

What did your children think?
They were sceptical at first. My son thought I was stealing a 21-year-old's opportunity and already imagined me frantically cleaning a flat I'd share with five housemates and their bongs. But they grew to like the idea. I didn't know much about it, aside from what I'd heard from my children's friends and from the movie L'Auberge Espagnole.

Laura (third from the left) during a theatre class in Madrid

Why did you decide to go to Spain?
I originally wanted to go to Norway, but my husband had decided to come with me and didn't want to go somewhere with three hours of daylight. I've already been to France a lot, so Spain seemed like an obvious choice. I found a flat for myself and my husband joined me 15 days later. So I didn't share a place with other students.

To be perfectly honest here, when I was at uni we never interacted with the older students. What were your classes like?
Well, the other students pretty much ignored me, yeah. When the classes started, teachers read names and nationalities out to make it easier to socialize, but that didn't really work for me. Other Italian students lost interest in me after about five minutes. I did much better with foreign students—Brazilians, Hungarians, Koreans and many Chinese students.

What did you do in your spare time? I take it you never tried to smuggle Mercadona beers into a club night where Sven Väth was playing?
Not really, no. I was on a mailing list for all the parties, but I'd have felt silly going. I took theatre and Spanish classes outside of the university—I met a lot of people there who I went out to explore the city with. Usually in between classes I'd go for a swim in the campus pool and in the evenings my husband and I would take a little stroll and have dinner somewhere. On nights we stayed in we watched a Spanish TV series, El Ministerio del Tiempo.

What's the most Erasmus-y experience you had?
I went to some meet-up in a pub with other Erasmus students and had a Chinese dinner in an underground parking.

You became a bit of a local celebrity, didn't you?
Well, yes, a bit. One night my husband's daughter called to say that a friend of hers who's a cartoonist had asked if he could make a cartoon about me for the Corriere della sera [an Italian major newspaper]. He visited me in Madrid and the cartoon appeared in the paper a few weeks later. An editor from El Mundo [the second largest newspaper in Spain] had seen it and asked to run it, too—that's when I started getting some serious attention. Local channel TeleMadrid interviewed me—I was "la estudiante de Erasmus más veterana," the oldest Erasmus student.

Did you have the impression that the stereotypes about Erasmus life—easier exams, excessive boozing and lots of international sex—are true?
The exams were definitely easier. I took four classes and only one exam was a bit harder. But I have to say I didn't witness any of the stereotypical debauchery. Other students went to parties but they were always on time for classes and passed their exams with flying colours.

So what's next for you?
At the end of my stay in Madrid I broke down crying because I didn't want to go home. I'm a few months away from getting my degree now. I'm considering doing a master's after this, and maybe even do a second Erasmus semester.

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To be honest, the past year has kind of felt like one massive bad trip. The inauguration of President Donald J. Trump yesterday finally transitioned from what felt like a nightmare to a reality.

For a 21-year-old named Zachary from Philadelphia, however, the inauguration was actually a trip—because he literally dropped acid when he went to it. His father (who was not on acid and accompanied him) got official tickets to the event from a state rep: "I'm sure he didn't know what we were going to do," Zachary told VICE.

VICE spoke to him as he was coming down on his car ride home about why he chose to do LSD at an event that could very well mark the beginning of Trumpocalypse.

VICE: Why did you decide to go to the inauguration on acid?
Zachary: I feel like if there is any inauguration to go to in this age, of course it is President Trump's inauguration. And if I'm going to do anything, I might as well do it on acid to throw a curveball into the mix.

You said in one of your Instagram posts that you were "representing the Scumbag Party of America." What did you mean by that?
We're few and far between. It doesn't matter who our president is: We're still going to do acid, smoke weed, we're still going to listen to loud music. We're still going to be us. We are the scumbags of America.

President Trump mentioned drugs in his inauguration speech. How would you feel if he reignited the War on Drugs?
I mean, I'm still going to be smoking weed [laughs]. As soon as all the cannons went off, I sparked a joint. Everyone around me was not cool with it.

What was it like being around that many people at an event of that type on acid? Did you have any visualizations?
It was surreal because to feel comfortable, I bought a Make America Great Again hat, and I wore it the whole time. I felt like I just put myself in their shoes, and some of those people are just nuts to begin with, so I felt like I just fit in. The visuals were crazy, watching just the Capitol Building melting during the whole speech and listening to the god-awful orchestra. It was horrible. I found myself just staring at people and taking a lot of it in.

How are you feeling right now, and where are you at?
I'm on the road going back to Philadelphia right now. I'm feeling good that I got out of there when I did because now I'm looking at the internet, and I see that some of the protests have turned violent, and I don't know what I would have done if I would have seen that while I was tripping. After the inauguration, I walked around, and I was smoking weed. There were people singing about Jesus and stuff like that, and I was just offering them joints. None of them wanted that, so I just got out of there. I'm glad I did not stay to see any of the violence.

Is this the first kind of its kind you've gone to on acid?
On acid, yes. I actually protested at the DNC and caught a little buzz from that recently. I was on different substances, but nothing like acid. After going to these political things, it's a great deal more enjoyable if you're intoxicated on a substance.

What are your thoughts Trump presidency?
Honestly, I have no clue. Some parts of me want to give him a chance. Some parts of me say that he is the devil. Parts of me think about if Hillary Clinton were president, and she's just as bad. I have no clue what's going to happen with this presidency… I'm down to see what's going to happen.

Do you have plans to attend any protests or political events in the future?
Philadelphia seems to be a big protest town, so if things occur tonight or in the following days—which I imagine they will—I'll probably join in.

What level of your acid trip are you at right now? Are you coming down?
I took my tab at around 8:30 [AM], so I'm coming down. I'm pretty much ground-level.

Any final thoughts?
Trump fans look a lot tinier on acid.

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The story Donald Trump has been telling, from his now-famous escalator descent to his improbable rise to the presidency, was this: He has built great buildings, hotels, casinos, wooed models and dined with famous people, become famous and rich several times over, and even created a show all about how rich and famous he was. So no matter how over-the-top his promises sound—that he will defeat all his opponents, that he will eliminate crime and save his supporters from lives of destitution, that he will single-handedly change the course of American history for the better—he will make good on them, because he can do anything.

The morning of the inauguration, on the National Lawn in Washington, DC, my photographer and I spoke to some of the people who believed most fervently in that story. We wanted to hear why they had come all the way here to see the Trump era officially ushered in, and what they imagined America would look like in four or eight years after Trump has wrought his changes.

Below are their hopes and dreams for the Trump age, in their own words.

All photos by Jason Bergman

In the next six months, you'll see half of the wall built, half of the Mexicans deported who are criminals, the jobs that will be here—I bet you there will be 5 million jobs within the next six months, because of all the industry that's gonna be coming back. We may have a little downfall from a trade war with China, but that downfall will tick back up. Not Mexico—Mexico wants to work with us. They don't want to fight us.

I don't want him to pivot... I want him to be the way he is now. Speak the way he does. That's why I voted for Trump. I didn't vote for a politician. I voted for a businessman who's going to help this country. I've been waiting for a man like this for 40 years. My father was a politician in Middlebrook, a councilman, so I know what politicians do. Forty years, I've been waiting for him. And he's just going to be that good. He's not gonna give me a speech that I can't understand, because he's saying everything in a roundabout way. He tells you what he wants to do, straight up. And politicians don't tell you straight up. They tell you around, and give you funny answers. He spoke to my heart.
—Jerry Dragon, 64, a disabled Vietnam veteran from Cleveland

We lost the last two elections, but you know what? We support it because God tells us to support our leaders. So we did that, and now it's our turn. Our president won, and we're here to support him. We came here on Tuesday; we did a prayer walk, around the Capitol and around the White House, just for protection, guidance, and just that our country will come together as a unit. We were founded on Christian values, and we're praying and hoping over the next eight years that this president shows love for our country, love for our God, all the things that our Pilgrims came here for. Freedom of religion, freedom to ensure our Christian values. Just look around at the monuments—they have Scripture on them. And we're just praying that God will bring us back to our values, our Christian values.
—Jackie Davey (right), 54, from Spokane, Washington

The country's so divided. So we want to be here to support our country, our nation, our leadership, and show people that we're not racists. We're not about all those things that they're accusing us of, because we support Trump. In four years, America will be, once again, safe, and that won't have to fear that my family and my grandchildren, when we go to a mall, that we're gonna have to endure some type of terror. I don't personally feel unsafe, but I see it around us. We were even told not to come here. Because of what was gonna happen to us. And we were just like, "No…"
—Reverend Peggy Irvin (left), 62, from Denver

I'm most excited about the economy and the things he's gonna do for the economy. I just think we've had some poor policies, some poor statistics for the American people on the way of jobs, employment, job-seeking factors. I feel as if he, as a businessman, has done very well for himself. And I feel like he can bring success to the country.

As a president, he's got a way of speaking to the American people that nobody else has really been able to capture as a politician. I feel as though it's great, but I feel as though he should tone down just a little. But I think he will tone it down enough, and I think he'll do a great job. I don't think he should get off Twitter. I think Twitter has done him really well. Twitter, if used correctly, could really help him through the presidency. Obama currently has a Twitter. I feel as if it's a good way to reach to the American people.
—Dylon Schwahn (right), 20, from Tennessee.

I came out because it was a fun opportunity. I've not been a super crazy supporter, or passionate about him. But we wanted to come up here, and do DC, do the inauguration, skip class. It's just a cool opportunity to come out here. I hope for something just a little different. Nothing radical, or anything too specific. Just a little different, to sort things out. I'm hoping he can tone it down a little bit, and become a little presidential. I really want him to change things, and set a new tone.
—Brock Bolton (left), 20, from Tennessee

I'm out here because I like the way he supports the police. I like how he supports law and order. I feel there's been a target on the back of police officers for the past six years of the current administration, and I'm really looking forward to the next four years of restoring order and respect, and just prosperity. I feel the president has just bankrupted us, and chosen my paycheck and health insurance. My rates have skyrocketed. I used to have health insurance for free. I don't anymore.

I want someone who's tough and strong. America leads from the front. I'm tired of us leading from behind. That's why I'm here. I want him to be strong on trade, bringing jobs back to this country. We have the best economy in the world, and he's been giving it all away to everybody else. I want what's best for us. And a strong United States is a strong world. That's what I'm looking for out of him. I want someone who's strong enough. People may not like him, but they're gonna respect him.
—Chris Darr, 37 (right), from Champaign, Illinois

I just want to see the United States have a backbone again. Just being strong, being proud. Not cowering and bowing to other countries. Trade, bringing jobs back. Just being proud to be American again. He's big on military, and treating the vets with respect. Illegal immigrants have been coming in, and stuff like that. Strong borders—we want immigrants! Just come in the right way.
—Michael Wertz (left), 35, from Champaign, Illinois

I'm the principal of a school, and this election has been the most interest we've ever seen from our students. So we got presented the opportunity by a tour company to jump on board. We've been here for four days. We came in yesterday, and we're here until Sunday.

I'd just like to see an improvement on the overall economy, the overall attitude of our country. I think it's spiraled down in the last eight years, and I want to see us coming together. I'm looking for the message of more coming together, and I think he's made some comments that have run people from that direction, but I think there's also a big misconception to his message as well. I think he's gotta tone it down a notch, but social media is very 2017. You come into school, and all the kids are using it.
—Russell Stevener, 32, from Utica, New York

I want him to just bring peace, but also, harmony back into the United States. Less violence. Just talking about the unity, and what he's gonna do to bring about these things, so we can be proud of the United States again. And that's the biggest thing—trying to bring us back, so we're not divided by race or religion. We're all American. It feels like the country is more divided than ever. Everyone's out for themselves, and they need to reunite with all of us.

Over the next four years, I see him being very strong, outspoken... sometimes it can be a little harsh to hear. Sometimes he needs to listen more than talk, and listen to other people. But I think it'll go well. But I'm looking for a change, just to see what happens.
—Donitta Gardiner, 55, from Des Moines

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This article originally appeared on VICE Australia.

Remember when you were 19 and you went to Ibiza or Bali for the first time and saw a temple and thought "pffft temples" and then spent the next two weeks getting drunk and trying to fuck something? And you were comfortable in that decision because you knew you were travelling and that word alone proved your fondness for cultural exchange and spiritual engagement, while affirming your special sensitivities and unique talents to the world.

Yes, discovering travel was a wonderful thing, and it took you to a lot of kinky and obscure countries throughout your 20s. Only now the curtain is falling on your 20s and you're noticing all the other travellers are still 19. Suddenly you're at some backpacker's hostel in Laos, listening to an asshole strumming "Wonderwall" on their travel ukulele and an unpleasant thought blunders into your head: "Am I too old for this? Have I become a creepy douchebag?"

Obviously, I'm talking about myself. I went to Laos and it was great to eat Asian food all day, and I'm old enough to genuinely love temples, but something was off. Actually four things were off. Four things that made me suddenly hate all backpackers and backpacking.

Problem 1: Backpacking Is the Opposite of Having Children, Which Is Why Backpackers are All 19 and I'm so Alone

Image via Flickr user YoTuT

I think the appeal of travel is zero responsibility. If you're backpacking and you don't like a place, you can leave. If you don't like the people, leave. When you're backpacking you're not even blemished by who you are. No one knows what you're about, or if you're cool back home. You get a fresh start every time. Even if your one hobby is shitting yourself in sleeping bags and that's your thing, and everyone back home knows it's your thing—no problem! You're cool while you're overseas!

But getting married and having a baby is the opposite of this. If you have a weird hobby, your partner and their family will gather in a living room and hold cushions on their laps and ask themselves if the police should know. As a married person with a baby, you are inside an adorable hormone-reinforced prison of your own design, and you will not travel again until retirement.

Subsequently, travellers are all 19. That or they are people escaping cultural norms. Both groups are equally obsessed with "finding themselves" which is one of the most dreary conversation topics ever invented.

Problem 2: Everyone Is Obsessed With Finding Themselves

Image via Flickr user Keith Parker

In the history of the world, do you know how many people have found themselves by making out with Germans and falling off motorbikes? None. In fact, most people go home sick, broke, and rattled after a few weeks. Also, how many meaningful interactions have you actually had with the honest-living Indigenous peoples of (insert country here)? And buying a poncho from someone doesn't count.

I have a poncho and the label says, "Made in China." Ironically I wouldn't go to a Chinese poncho factory because my brain says, "peace and understanding don't come from a factory in China," and yet my memento of peace and understanding did come from a factory in China. Also the 40,000 year-old hilltop lady who sold it to me didn't consider herself to be a purveyor of peace and understanding. She was just the shop front for some third-world supply chain I didn't understand.

Problem 3: Travelling Makes Me Racist

Image via Alba Campus

Not racist in the well-trodden anti-brown people sense. In fact, Laos showed me how infinitely smarter, nicer, and all-round better the locals were to my own countrymen. Laos is a country that's been more heavily bombed than any other on the planet, simply by the unfortunate virtue of being next door to Vietnam. And are they bitter about it? On the surface, no. They treat foreigners like friends, whereas in Australia we lock up foreigners for simply trying to get a job at Domino's.

Instead, travelling makes me racist about people from rich countries. We're all so annoying. British lads travel about in packs of seven trying to get laid, while consistently being the most sunburned people in the whole country, sporting sleeveless shirts that advertise backpacker bars, and wearing thick clumps of ancient festival bands with which they spread fun vibes and disease.

Dutch and Germans just go around the world looking for the most horrifically authentic travel experience the can find. "I hate this town," they always tell you in a tourist town packed with other Dutch and Germans. "Last week we were up in Tkugytfsuyfspoguhfsg, have you heard of that place? No, I didn't think you would have. It's very remote. Very remote. They don't even have people there, it was just us and leeches. We loved it."

Americans tend to travel alone, but they travel only so they can find new people to talk to about America. You will never hear an American ask "where are you from?" If you think that's what you've heard, you're wrong. They were just talking about how expensive it is to get a drivers' licence in Delaware.

Israelis are also a bit like this. Israelis treat travel a bit like an elaborate form of Tinder, whereby they travel the world looking for other Israelis. Then they find each other and gather in Israeli-themed restaurants where they spend weeks watching Family Guy and eating falafel and getting dangerously, terrifyingly stoned.

But of all the nationalities, no group of people are more irresponsible and cheerfully insensitive than Australians. Our women will go from sober to alcohol poisoning in 15 minutes, and then scream heart-wrenching insults at taxi drivers before slumping asleep in a garden bed. As an Australian guy I'm aware we do this too, but with more time up our sleeves before passing out. We use this time to alternate between frothy-mouthed lust and aggression while pissing on everything we can and stealing drinks from bars and nicking hotel fixtures and/or religious icons because we think it's funny. Both sexes do all of this in shorts, even when it's snowing, and we all think this lends us a sort of naive charm.

I could go on but you get the point. Travelling has filled my head with cultural stereotypes and that's bad.

Problem 4: Actually, This One Isn't a Problem, It's More of a Solution

Image via Flickr user Ian Mackay

So I can't do this anymore. I've gone travelling too many times. I've had all of the six backpacker conversations that exist. I've become all too aware that backpackers are douchebags and that I'm a douchebag because I'm one of them, and I'm wasting my whole holiday stewing about the fact we're all douchebags. But I have a plan.

Next time I travel somewhere, I'm going with a mission. It could be anything, based on what I'm into at that moment. Like I'm going to climb the tallest tree in Japan. Or intern on a film in Nigeria. Or convince the richest person in Slovenia to come out for a beer and then sit in silence when the bill comes. Or fucking whatever, I don't know. Just something that punctures that cultural surface that as a backpacker, is just so easy to skim. Just something to do that's not seeing a temple, or getting wasted.

I don't know if this will work but I hope it does. Because I can't do the baby thing yet, and without travel there aren't too many other secular, 21st century doctrines to worship.

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