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Pat Robertson, a religious broadcaster who turned a tiny Virginia station into the global Christian Broadcasting Network, tried a run for president and helped make religion central to Republican Party politics in America through his Christian Coalition, has died. He was 93. Robertson's death Thursday was announced by his broadcasting network. No cause was given. Robertson’s enterprises also included Regent University, an evangelical Christian school in Virginia Beach; the American Center for Law and Justice, which defends the First Amendment rights of religious people; and Operation Blessing, an international humanitarian organization. But for more than a half-century, Robertson was a familiar presence in American living rooms, known for his “700 Club” television show, and in later years, his televised pronouncements of God’s judgment on America for everything from homosexuality to the teaching of evolution. The money poured in as he solicited donations, his influence soared, and when he moved directly into politics by seeking the GOP presidential nomination in 1988, he brought a huge following with him. Robertson pioneered a now-common strategy of courting Iowa’s network of evangelical Christian churches, and finished in second place in the Iowa caucuses, ahead of Vice President George H.W. Bush. At the time, Jeffrey K. Hadden, a University of Virginia sociologist and a Robertson biographer, said Robertson's masterstroke was insisting that three million followers across the U.S. sign petitions before he would decide to run. The tactic gave him an army. ″He asked people to pledge that they’d work for him, pray for him and give him money,” Hadden told The Associated Press in 1988. ″Political historians may view it as one of the most ingenious things a candidate ever did.″ Robertson later endorsed Bush, who won the presidency. Pursuit of Iowa’s evangelicals is now a ritual for Republican hopefuls, including those currently seeking the White House in 2024. Robertson started the Christian Coalition in Chesapeake in 1989, saying it would further his campaign’s ideals. The coalition became a major force in Republican politics in the 1990s, mobilizing conservative voters through grass-roots activities. By the time of his resignation as the coalition's president in 2001 — Robertson said he wanted to concentrate on ministerial work — his impact on both religion and politics in the U.S. was “enormous,” according to John C. Green, an emeritus political science professor at The University of Akron. Many followed the path Robertson cut in religious broadcasting, Green told the AP in 2021. In American politics, Robertson helped “cement the alliance between conservative Christians and the Republican Party.” Marion Gordon “Pat” Robertson was born March 22, 1930, in Lexington, Virginia, to Absalom Willis Robertson and Gladys Churchill Robertson. His father served for 36 years as a U.S. Representative and U.S. Senator from Virginia. After graduating from Washington and Lee University, he served as assistant adjutant of the 1st Marine Division in Korea. He received a law degree from Yale University Law School, but failed the bar exam and chose not to pursue a law career. Robertson met his wife, Adelia “Dede” Elmer, at Yale in 1952. He was a Southern Baptist, she was a Catholic, earning a master’s in nursing. Eighteen months later, they ran off to be married by a justice of the peace, knowing neither family would approve. Robertson was interested in politics until he found religion, Dede Robertson told the AP in 1987. He stunned her by pouring out their liquor, tearing a nude print off the wall and declaring he had found the Lord. They moved into a commune in New York City’s Bedford-Stuyvesant neighborhood because Robertson said God told him to sell all his possessions and minister to the poor. She was tempted to return home to Ohio, “but I realized that was not what the Lord would have me do ... I had promised to stay, so I did,” she told the AP. Robertson received a master’s in divinity from New York Theological Seminary in 1959, then drove south with his family to buy a bankrupt UHF television station in Portsmouth, Va. He said he had just $70 in his pocket, but soon found investors, and CBN went on the air on Oct. 1, 1961. Established as a tax-exempt religious nonprofit, CBN brought in hundreds of millions, disclosing $321 million in “ministry support” in 2022 alone. One of Robertson’s innovations was to use the secular talk-show format on the network’s flagship show, the “700 Club,” which grew out of a telethon when Robertson asked 700 viewers for monthly $10 contributions. It was more suited to television than traditional revival meetings or church services, and gained a huge audience. “Here’s a well-educated person having sophisticated conversations with a wide variety of guests on a wide variety of topics,” said Green, the University of Akron political science professor. “It was with a religious inflection to be sure. But it was an approach that took up everyday concerns.” His guests eventually included several U.S. presidents — Jimmy Carter, Ronald Reagan and Donald Trump. At times, his on-air pronouncements drew criticism. He claimed that the terrorist attacks that killed thousands of Americans on Sept. 11, 2001 were caused by God, angered by the federal courts, pornography, abortion rights and church-state separation. Talking again about 9-11 on his TV show a year later, Robertson described Islam as a violent religion that wants to “dominate” and “destroy,” prompting President George W. Bush to distance himself and say Islam is a peaceful and respectful religion. He called for the assassination of Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez in 2005. Later that year, he warned residents of a rural Pennsylvania town not to be surprised if disaster struck them because they voted out school board members who favored teaching “intelligent design” over evolution. And in 1998, he said Orlando, Florida, should beware of hurricanes after allowing the annual Gay Days event. In 2014, he angered Kenyans when he warned that towels in Kenya could transmit AIDS. CBN issued a correction, saying Robertson “misspoke about the possibility of getting AIDS through towels.” Robertson also could be unpredictable: In 2010, he called for ending mandatory prison sentences for marijuana possession convictions. Two years later, he said on the “700 Club” that marijuana should be legalized and treated like alcohol because the government’s war on drugs had failed. Robertson condemned Democrats caught up in sex scandals, saying for example that President Bill Clinton turned the White House into a playpen for sexual freedom. But he helped solidify evangelical support for Donald Trump, dismissing the candidate's sexually predatory comments about women as an attempt “to look like he’s macho.” After Trump took office, Robertson interviewed the president at the White House. And CBN welcomed Trump advisers, such as Kellyanne Conway, as guests. But after President Trump lost to Joe Biden in 2020, Robertson said Trump was living in an “alternate reality” and should “move on,” news outlets reported. Robertson’s son, Gordon, succeeded him in December 2007 as chief executive of CBN, which is now based in Virginia Beach. Robertson remained chairman of the network and continued to appear on the “700 Club.” Robertson stepped down as host of the show after half a century in 2021, with his son Gordon taking over the weekday show. Robertson also was founder and chairman of International Family Entertainment Inc., parent of The Family Channel basic cable TV network. Rupert Murdoch’s News Corp. bought IFE in 1997. Regent University, where classes began in Virginia Beach in 1978, now has more than 30,000 alumni, CBN said in a statement. Robertson wrote 15 books, including “The Turning Tide” and “The New World Order.” His wife Dede, who was a founding board member of CBN, died last year at the age of 94. The couple had four children, 14 grandchildren and 24 great-grandchildren, CBN said in a statement. ____ Former Associated Press reporter Don Schanche contributed to this story.

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Our bellies have always been the target of derision and ire. Long have they been poked and prodded. Sighed at and sucked in. Reprimanded and insulted. But ever since social media became the new WebMD for chronic self-diagnosers, it’s been open season on every little bodily function. Every involuntary twitch, skin bump and mood shift has been analysed to death – but none more so than the dreaded bloat. Stomach bloating can happen for all sorts of reasons. Often the main culprit is a big meal. It’s that feeling of being uncomfortably full and needing to undo the top button of your jeans, as if you’ve just had a particularly heavy Sunday roast. Unless you have real food intolerances or irritable bowel syndrome (IBS), or the symptom is caused by hormonal changes, bloating is the body’s normal reaction to eating a little too much. It usually subsides after a few hours. But this is 2023. A bit of bloating is no longer something you can just wait a few hours to get rid of – social media dictates that it needs to be gone immediately, and if it doesn’t then there must be something wrong with you. And not to stop there, either. You should also be cutting 10 different types of foods out of your life, doing five simple exercises 200 times a day and taking an assortment of supplements and pills because God forbid your stomach be round for the next two hours. According to Dr Tamara Alireza, a functional medicine specialist at Skinfluencer London, bloating should be taken seriously if it doesn’t come and go with food. If it becomes a chronic problem, or is accompanied by other symptoms such as persistent stomach and pelvic pain, changes to bowel habits, unexpected weight loss, fatigue and fever, vomiting, or bleeding, it may be something different entirely. “Excess bloating can be linked to IBS, inflammatory bowel disease (IBD), and coeliac disease, but also to more serious conditions,” she says. But we are a society obsessed with quick fixes, and anti-bloating pills have become a popular “cure” for the woes of a distended belly. Last month, fitness influencer Sam Cutler took it to new heights when she provided the pills for her wedding guests during the meal. Some viewers of her TikTok video – which sparked so much horror that it rapidly went viral – claimed that the pills were essentially “laxatives”. The glut of brands that have emerged in recent years would disagree, though. Many claim to use all-natural ingredients to “speed up digestion” and reduce gas without a laxative effect. Admittedly, curiosity got the better of me. I am lucky enough not to suffer from any particularly gut-churning conditions, but I do have eyes bigger than my stomach. It means I regularly end up regretting wearing trousers to a meal, cursing myself as my belly strains against the waistband. Could these pills really make me feel more comfortable after a big dinner, or would they just lead to some unfortunate toilet habits? I am kindly sent a couple of packs by Wild Dose, which lists extracts of ginger, liquorice, fennel seed, turmeric, peppermint leaf and dandelion root alongside a “proprietary enzyme complex” and a probiotic blend in each brown pill. They smell very herbal and are a rather unappealing greenish-brown colour – it initially makes me wonder if it’s an omen for what my guts are about to experience. After two weeks of taking them daily, I found that they did make a slight difference in my post-meal stupor and I feel comfortable quicker than before. However, the change has been marginal and, if anything, they made me more gassy, to the chagrin of my significant other. The medical community is reluctant to support the efficacy of similar supplements, as there remains little clinical research to back up their claims. Dr Alireza describes anti-bloat pills as a “Band-Aid on a fire hydrant” for people who have genuine problems with their gut. “I generally would not recommend taking any pills to counteract the bloating,” she says, “rather I would be keen to first determine the source of the issue.” She points to her practice, which aims to determine the root cause of symptoms and treat it – instead of providing temporary fixes. But I think the real reason behind social media’s obsession with bloating has nothing to do with #guthealth. Instead, it is our inherent fatphobia and fear of fatness that fuel this battle against the bloat. Are we so afraid of looking fat for even a couple of hours that we flock to pills and exercises with such abandon? Given the way people have fallen over themselves to get their hands on Ozempic, a drug intended to help diabetes patients but which has made a name for itself as a weight-loss miracle, it appears the answer is yes. It’s no mistake, either, that women are the primary targets for anti-bloating content online. Studies show that women are twice as likely to experience it as men, particularly during menstruation and menopause because of hormonal fluctuations. But the expectation for women to maintain at least the illusion of thinness at all times is also much higher. Many of us learned at an early age how to suck in our stomachs and – even as adults – keep them sucked in pretty much all day. As I write this, I realise that I’ve been subconsciously engaging my core muscles despite sitting behind a desk. No wonder the promise of no more bloating is so appealing, if it makes looking mildly smaller less of a chore. Joanna Dase, fitness expert and operations director of female-focused health clubs Curves, says that any medical conditions should be diagnosed by qualified professionals rather than social media. She acknowledges that while bloating can affect body image, no one should worry about your normal, natural responses to digestion. “If you have a professional opinion and there is no health problem related to it, then you just need to have an actual understanding of your body and its natural functions, and being OK with yourself. It’s just how your body breaks down food.” Read More Wellness gurus claim your hormones are out to get you – but is it just another scam? ‘Thanks Pfizer’: The weird world of shakes, health anxiety and illness online A One Direction fan claimed she had a brain tumour. 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