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Norwegian politician (born 1980)

Lubna Boby Jaffery (born 2 April 1980) is a Norwegian politician for the Labour Party. She has served as minister of culture and equality since 2023 and a deputy member of parliament for Hordaland since 2009. She previously served as Bergen city commissioner for labour, social affairs, and housing from 2019 to 2021.

Early life and education

Born in Norway to parents of Pakistani origin she grew up in Bergen. She took her secondary education in Åsane in 1999, and at the University of Bergen she took the cand.mag. degree in 2004 and the master's degree in 2007. Jaffery married Lennart Fjell in 2003, they got divorced in 2010 and they have one daughter together.

Political career

Youth league

She was an adviser in the Workers' Youth League in 2000, before becoming a central board member from 2000 to 2004. She had previously chaired the county branch from 1998 to 1999.

Local politics

Jaffery was a member of the Bergen city council from 1999 to 2003 and Fjellmunicipal council from 2003 to 2007.

In 2019, she was appointed Bergen City Commissioner for Labour, Social Affairs and Housing in the Roger Valhammer city government. She resigned from this position when she was promoted to permanent representative in the Storting to cover the duties of Marte Mjøs Persen. She was succeeded by Ruth Grung as city commissioner.

Government

In 2008, Jaffery was appointed a political advisor in the Ministry of Labour and Social Inclusion. From March to October 2009 she was a political advisor for the Minister of Health and Care Services. From 2009 to 2012 she was a State Secretary in the Ministry of Culture as a part of Stoltenberg's Second Cabinet.

Parliament

Jaffery has been a deputy representative in the Storting since 2009, having been re-elected since. In 2021, she was promoted to full member, covering for Marte M

Early in 2022, I saw Casablanca on the big screen for the first time, the 80 anniversary of its premiere. Although over the years I have watched it in excess of two dozen times, this was a stunning, even mesmerizing experience for me, not least because I consider Casablanca the finest film of Old Hollywood—this over the objections of some of my film-geek friends who would lobby for Citizen Kane in its stead. Even so, most would concur with me that its star, Humphrey Bogart, was indeed the greatest actor of that era.

Attendance was sparse, diminished by a resurgence of COVID, but I sat transfixed in that nearly empty theater as Bogie’s distraught, drunken Rick Blaine famously raged that “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine!” He is, of course, lamenting his earlier unexpected encounter with old flame Ilsa Lund, splendidly portrayed with a sadness indelibly etched upon her beautiful countenance by Ingrid Bergman, who with Bogart led the credits of a magnificent ensemble cast that also included Paul Henreid, Claude Rains, Conrad Veidt, Sydney Greenstreet, and Peter Lorre. But Bogie remains the central object of that universe; the plot and the players in orbit about him. There’s no doubt that without Bogart, there could never have been a Casablanca as we know it. Such a movie might have been made, but it could hardly have achieved a greatness on this order of magnitude.

Bogie never actually uttered the signature line “Play it again, Sam,” so closely identified with the production (and later whimsically poached by Woody Allen for the title of his iconic 1972 comedy peppered with clips from Casablanca). And although the film won Academy Awards for Best Picture and Best Director, as well as in almost every other major category, Bogart was nominated but missed out on the Oscar, which instead went to Paul Lukas—does anyone still remember Paul Lukas?—for his role in Watch on the Rhine. This turns out to be a famil

While browsing a bookstore sometime in 1982, I picked up a thick hardcover entitled The Years of Lyndon Johnson: The Path to Power, by Robert A. Caro. I had never heard of Caro, but the jacket flap told of his winning the 1975 Pulitzer Prize for biography for his very first book, The Power Broker: Robert Moses and the Fall of New York. I had never heard of Moses either, but in the days before smartphones and Google might let me dig a little deeper, that accolade spoke directly to the author’s reputation. I did—and still do—like to browse bookstores and to read books about American presidents. The twenty bucks I shelled out to buy that book was probably most of the cash I had in my wallet that afternoon, something else that was and remains characteristic of me to this day: given a choice between buying lunch or a new book, I will almost always choose the latter. I mean, I can wait until dinner …

That volume of The Path to Power is 768 pages of small print, not including notes and back matter, of mostly dense material, but Caro’s voice is so commanding that I found myself both absorbed and obsessed. For those who have not read him, it is difficult to describe Caro’s style, which exists somewhere at the confluence of incisive reporting and towering epic, a kind of literary salad that blends the best of Edward R. Murrow and Robert Penn Warren—seasoned with a dash or two of Thucydides—that the reader is driven to devour.

There are great presidential biographers out there—think Robert Remini, David McCullough, Joseph Ellis, Jon Meacham—yet Caro is in a league all his own.  And unlike the others, he has not been prolific, devoting the decades since the publication of The Path to Power to just three books, all part of his The Years of Lyndon Johnson saga, one of which—Master of the Senate—is a landmark synthesis of history and biography and politics that won him a second Pulitzer Prize in 2003. Another ten years passed before the release of The Passage of