O N A COLD APRIL EVENING in 2025, I managed to get a ticket to a sold-out performance of George Clooney’s Broadway play, Good Night, and Good Luck. The week’s news had been filled with images of students being arrested by masked men and remanded to jail. The leaders of some of the country’s largest law firms and universities were cowering in fear from White House threats. As I crossed West 52nd Street on my way down to the theater, the words of W.H. Auden’s poem sprung into my head: “I sit in