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For a brief moment last week, it appeared that an ICE officer, who allegedly shot a man during the early 2026 occupation of Minneapolis and then lied about it, might actually face legal consequences for his actions.

Christian Castro, the now-suspended ICE officer in question, was confined to a Texas jail and potentially faced two sets of criminal charges. Minnesota prosecutors charged him with four felony counts of assault and one count of falsely reporting a crime, and sought his extradition from Texas, where he ordinarily lives, to Minnesota. Federal prosecutors, meanwhile, were reportedly planning to charge Castro with a criminal violation of a federal civil rights law.

Castro’s case was on track to become an encouraging example of how the American system can bring rogue law enforcement officers to account — a federal officer facing clear consequences for allegedly breaking the law in the unpopular and violent wave of ICE raids in Minnesota.

But all of that now appears to be in limbo. According to the New York Times, the federal charges, which had to be approved by officials in Washington, DC, “fell apart in the final hours for reasons that remain unclear.” Castro, meanwhile, may never return to Minnesota — and may even flee to Mexico — thanks to a federal court decision permitting Texas’s Republican Gov. Greg Abbott to effectively sit on Minnesota’s request to extradite Castro until after a state law required Castro’s release.

It’s the latest chapter in an ongoing saga where Trump administration officials, federal courts eager to shield federal law enforcement officers from justice, and now Texas state officials all work together to ensure that ICE and other law enforcement personnel involved in Trump’s violent crackdown in Minnesota face no legal consequences for their actions. 

If Castro gets off scot-free, he will owe his freedom to an unusual combination of federal and state officials who appear to have taken extraordinary measures to shield Castro from accountability. But while his case is unusually dramatic, it is hardly unique. An array of MAGA sympathizers and movement conservatives in state governments, the federal judiciary, and the Trump administration have all pushed to place ICE and similar agencies above the law.

What is the legal fight over Castro about?

Castro allegedly fired his gun through the door of Julio Sosa-Celis’s Minneapolis home in January, striking him in the leg. Although the Trump administration initially claimed that Sosa-Celis and his roommate attacked ICE officers with a broom and shovel, that allegation fell apart after prosecutors viewed video of the incident. Castro was suspended from his job at ICE without pay.

In May, a Minnesota prosecutor filed charges against Castro, and Castro was later arrested in Texas pursuant to an arrest warrant arising out of those charges.

That arrest should have guaranteed that Castro would be returned to Minnesota for trial. The Constitution provides that “a Person charged in any State with Treason, Felony, or other Crime, who shall flee from Justice, and be found in another State, shall on Demand of the executive Authority of the State from which he fled, be delivered up, to be removed to the State having Jurisdiction of the Crime.” Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz formally sought Castro’s extradition on June 2.

Rather than comply with this request, however, Abbott took two actions that may prevent Castro from ever being tried for his alleged crimes. Abbott initiated an investigation, claiming, on dubious legal grounds, that he may not be able to extradite Castro because Castro does not meet the legal definition of a “fugitive.” Abbott also sent his lawyers to federal court to argue that the court could not order Texas to comply with the Constitution’s mandatory extradition provision.

Meanwhile, a deadline loomed over Minnesota’s request. Though Castro was incarcerated in a Texas jail, Texas law only permitted the jail to hold Castro for 90 days, at least without an order from Abbott saying that Castro must be extradited. During his incarceration, Castro also made several phone calls to his romantic partner in Mexico, and they discussed Castro’s desire to move to that country. 

So Minnesota quite reasonably feared that, if the 90 days were allowed to expire, Castro would flee the country.

Nevertheless, last Wednesday a Trump-appointed Judge Fernando Rodriguez Jr. backed Abbott’s play. His opinion in Walz v. Abbott rests on an extraordinarily credulous interpretation of Abbott’s treatment of Castro.

Briefly, Rodriguez’s opinion claims that it is too soon for a court to order Abbott to extradite Castro because Abbott has not yet formally “denied the request for a rendition warrant.” Instead, Rodriguez notes that Abbott asked Texas’s secretary of state to investigate whether Castro should be surrendered to Minnesota, and suggests that Minnesota must wait for that “investigation” to play out.

Oddly, Rodriguez’s opinion also includes a footnote indicating that he believes Abbott’s supposed investigation is baseless. The premise of that investigation is that Castro may not count as a “fugitive” because he moved to Texas after ICE directed him to do so. But, as Rodriguez notes, the Supreme Court defined who counts as a fugitive more than a century ago, and the Court’s definition does not exclude people who move because of a job, federal or otherwise.

So, to summarize Rodriguez’s decision, he ruled that Texas may delay complying with Minnesota’s extradition request, based on an investigation into a legal question that the Supreme Court has already resolved, and that it may delay compliance until state law requires Texas to release Castro. Castro was released on Thursday.

Thanks to this decision, it is now unclear whether Castro will ever face charges. Even if he remains in Texas, and even if Abbott eventually decides to comply with the extradition request, Texas authorities will now have to find Castro again and rearrest him. And Castro may flee to Mexico. While Minnesota can formally request Castro’s extradition from Mexico, that process could take years.

And, in case there is any doubt, there’s now strong evidence that Abbott’s “investigation” was a sham, and that Abbott was always motivated by hostility toward Minnesota’s attempt to prosecute Castro. One day after Rodriguez issued his decision, Abbott posted on X mocking Minnesota Attorney General Keith Ellison, which said that Ellison and his legal team “are such bad lawyers.”

The post also labeled Minnesota a “sanctuary state” and threatened to bus immigrants from Texas to Minnesota.

Even if Abbott had complied with the Constitution, Minnesota prosecutors faced an uphill battle in their case against Castro

Even if Castro had been delivered to Minnesota authorities without incident, or even if he is arrested in Minnesota at some point in the future, it’s far from clear whether state prosecutors may bring charges against a federal law enforcement officer who allegedly violated Minnesota’s criminal law while carrying out his official duties. And the biggest obstacle standing against such a prosecution is a fairly sensible Supreme Court decision that long predates modern political fights over immigration enforcement.

The Court’s decision in In re Neagle (1890) arose from a wild incident where a former chief justice of the state of California attempted to kill a sitting Supreme Court justice. David Terry, the former state justice, married a woman who claimed that she was entitled to a share of a US senator’s fortune. After Justice Stephen Field ruled against Terry’s wife, Terry threatened Field’s life, and so Field was assigned a deputy US Marshal named David Neagle as his bodyguard.

Some time after Field’s decision against Terry’s wife, the justice was traveling by train in California, and he was attacked by Terry. Neagle shot and killed Terry. And California attempted to charge Neagle, the federal bodyguard, with murder. 

The Supreme Court tossed out this prosecution, and that decision has long been read to limit state governments’ power to prosecute federal officers who commit a state law crime while engaged in their official duties.

That said, the Court’s more recent decision in Martin v. United States (2025) suggests that Neagle may not be a total bar to state prosecutions of ICE officers. Martin read Neagle fairly narrowly, to say that federal officials are protected from state prosecutions only when their actions “were ‘necessary and proper’ in the discharge of their federal responsibilities.”

So that suggests that, if Castro is tried for violating Minnesota law, the question of whether he is immune from prosecution is likely to turn on whether courts determine that his alleged decision to fire a shot through Sosa-Celis’s door (and, potentially, to lie about Sosa-Celis’s actions) was a “necessary and proper” way for Castro to carry out his responsibilities as an immigration enforcement officer.

It’s hard to predict, however, how the courts would rule on this question. The Martin decision is fairly new, and the rule Martin seems to apply to federal officers charged with state crimes is vague. 

Federal law also provides that Castro’s trial, should it happen, must occur in federal court — although this federal court may still hear a state-law prosecution. And that means that any decision allowing Castro’s prosecution to move forward would appeal to the US Court of Appeals for the Eighth Circuit, which is one of the most conservative appeals courts in the federal system.

Of course, if Minnesota lost in the Eighth Circuit, it could potentially bring the question of whether Castro may be charged with violating a Minnesota criminal law to the Supreme Court. But, while the Martin decision suggests that Minnesota may have a chance of prevailing before the justices, several of the Court’s other precedents indicate that this Court is unlikely to rule against a federal law enforcement officer.

The slow death of Bivens

Separately from the legal question of whether someone like Castro can be charged with a crime, there is also the question of whether the victim could sue. It used to be the case that people who are victimized by federal law enforcement officers could sue those officers directly, but the current Supreme Court has virtually shut down these suits. The Court’s treatment of this question is a window into their expansive view of immunity for federal law enforcement.

More than five decades ago, the Supreme Court established in Bivens v. Six Unknown Names Agents (1971) that federal officers who violate the Fourth Amendment’s ban on “unreasonable searches and seizures” may be sued and potentially ordered to compensate their victim.

But the Court’s current majority is extremely hostile to Bivens, and has walked right up to the edge of overruling it. In Hernández v. Mesa (2020), the Court’s Republican majority held that a Border Patrol agent who allegedly fatally shot a Mexican teenager in the face was immune from a lawsuit brought by the teenager’s family. More recently, in Egbert v. Boule (2022), the Court declared that federal law enforcement officers are immune from suit if there is “any rational reason (even one)” to justify giving them immunity.

In November, the Court will hear the Nielsen v. Watanabe that could potentially overrule what little remains of Bivens.

The Supreme Court’s Republican majority, in other words, has spent the last several years immunizing federal law enforcement officers like Castro from civil lawsuits. That doesn’t necessarily mean that it will also immunize Castro from criminal charges brought under state law, should his case somehow wind up before the justices, but it isn’t a hopeful sign for Minnesota prosecutors.

And that’s, of course, assuming that Minnesota law enforcement somehow manages to take custody of Castro. Abbott’s gamesmanship, and Rodriguez’s decision to bless that gamesmanship, may ultimately mean that Castro is never apprehended by Minnesota officials.

In the United States, building a data center now polls roughly as well as abolishing the police. If current trends continue, server warehouses may soon be less popular with Americans than pizza topped with pineapple and shattered glass.

In an August survey from Heatmap Pro and Embold Research, just 15 percent of Americans said they would support a data center being built in their area, while 75 percent expressed opposition. One year earlier, 43 percent of respondents in the same poll had approved of nearby data center development, while just 42 percent opposed it.

This soaring backlash is visible in other surveys — and in the actions of elected officials. In recent weeks, Wisconsin’s gubernatorial candidates sparred over who hates data centers more, Pennsylvania’s center-left Gov. Josh Shapiro enacted new restrictions on AI infrastructure projects (after previously championing such investment), and even Texas’s staunchly pro-business Republican government announced a temporary moratorium on new approvals. 

Meanwhile, data center projects are being canceled at a record rate, as local opposition mounts.

This has led some in the pro-tech minority to worry that the data center buildout is about to collapse — and take the US economy down with it. Anti-AI commentators, for their part, are cheering the industry’s impending crisis. 

But such panic and celebration are both premature. 

In truth, despite exploding opposition, the data center boom is still going strong. Interviews with industry experts and recent construction data suggest that the economic forces driving the buildout remain more powerful than the political winds blowing against it. And unless Congress enacts a national moratorium, AI companies will almost certainly be able to continue finding jurisdictions willing to tolerate hyperscale campuses, in exchange for sufficient revenue and incentives. 

America’s data center boom can be slowed and geographically shifted. But it probably can’t be killed, absent a collapse in demand for computing power or a much bigger revolution in American politics. 

The boom is bigger than the backlash

There are two fundamental facts about today’s data center boom: 1) The backlash against it is huge, and 2) the buildout is even bigger.

The climate news outlet Heatmap has kept a tracker of new data center restrictions and cancellations. As of late July, it found that more than 500 jurisdictions had enacted severe constraints or bans on data center construction. The vast majority of these measures had been enacted since the beginning of this year. 

The publication also found that contested data center projects face a skyrocketing cancellation rate. In late 2024, 20 percent of disputed developments were canceled; in the first half of 2026, that figure was closer to 50 percent. By Heatmap’s tally, more than 100 data center projects have been nixed this year in the face of local opposition, while more than 200 are currently being fought. 

This surge of mass resistance is remarkable. And yet, it is also nowhere near sufficient to end the AI buildout. 

Although the number of places with severe restrictions (or outright bans) on server farms is rapidly rising, more than 90 percent of US counties had no significant constraints on data center development at July’s end.

What’s more, many of the most eye-catching recent policy changes are less significant than they appear. For example, Texas Gov. Greg Abbott’s pause does not actually halt data center construction in the Lone Star State. Rather, it essentially establishes a more thorough screening process, when server farms apply for electricity from the state’s grid. Projects that supply all of their own power through on-site natural gas — as a rising share of new data centers do — are exempt.

Pennsylvania and New York’s recently enacted restrictions on data center development are more substantial. Yet neither of those states are particularly important to the AI buildout. Taken together, New York and Pennsylvania host only about 6.5 percent of America’s data centers, according to Data Center Map. 

And their share of all pending developments is even more negligible, as the trade publication Construction Connect has illustrated: 

Meanwhile, although half of contested data center projects are now failing, many still go undisputed. In the aggregate, cancellations have not kept pace with construction or new development. In the first quarter of this year, at least 3.5 gigawatts of data center capacity were canceled amid local opposition, in Heatmap’s tally. During the same three months, at least 36 GW of capacity were added to the US pipeline of proposed and active projects, according to the analytics firm Wood Mackenzie. As of April 1, that pipeline contained a total of 106 GW worth of developments that had already survived the permitting gauntlet. 

To be sure, cancellations have risen sharply since March. By Heatmap’s count, at least 13 gigawatts of capacity have been nixed so far this year. But the capacity of permitted projects has also grown since April 1. And the ratio between blocked and active developments has not radically changed, according to industry analysts. 

“At this point, we do not think the recent wave of opposition and policy intervention has materially changed our national capacity growth trajectory,” Maya Barkin, an analyst at the AI industry research firm SemiAnalysis, told me.

Indeed, monthly construction spending on data centers in the US hit a record high this June.

In short, data centers are marching forward despite taking heavy fire, like a pack of gut-shot zombies.

The secrets of the AI buildout’s success

Why has the AI buildout proven so resilient? There are at least two reasons.

First, and most importantly, demand for computing power remains astronomical. As frontier AI companies have built out larger models — and consumers and companies have increased their use of artificial intelligence and digital services — our economy’s appetite for computation has far outstripped supply. According to a recent report from the commercial real estate firm JLL, 99 percent of North America’s data centers are occupied. What’s more, of the 66 GW of data center capacity currently being constructed in JLL’s count, 95 percent has already been reserved.

Second, data center projects are unusually location-flexible. If a housing developer gets chased out of San Francisco’s suburbs by zoning rules and local opposition, it can’t relocate its condo tower to a mostly uninhabited stretch of Nevada desert. By contrast, data centers can — and do — operate in the middle of nowhere. 

For certain purposes, these facilities need some proximity to the users they serve; you can’t adequately support online gaming in New York City with data centers on the West Coast. But even in such cases, servers merely need to be in the same broad region. The hyperscale facilities used to train AI models, meanwhile, can be located virtually anywhere with land, fiber optic cables, a modicum of labor, and electricity (and now that many data centers are powering themselves through on-site natural gas plants, even the latter is potentially expendable).

Taken together, these two realities make data center construction extremely difficult to choke off. Sky-high demand for compute means that hyperscalers can afford to throw a lot of money at localities, in order to secure a project’s approval. And location flexibility makes it very difficult for data center developers to run out of host jurisdictions, particularly when so many rural counties throughout the United States are starving for revenue and investment. Thus, unless Congress imposes a national moratorium, development deals will almost certainly keep getting struck. 

“I think companies will need to open up their wallets and make sure that communities receive clear benefits,” John Arnold, a billionaire investor and philanthropist who sits on Meta’s board (and whose foundation has given funding to Vox), told me. “There will be places that raise their hands and say, ‘For X amount of benefit, we will welcome you into the community.’”

Just this week, West Virginia Gov. Patrick Morrisey signaled that he was moving forward with plans to encourage data center development and use the consequent revenue to slash the state’s income tax.

Municipal permitting won’t preempt the robot apocalypse

On one level, all this may seem to validate anti-data center activism: If there are countless potential locations for these facilities, then why should any community host one it doesn’t want? 

This said, many oppose new data centers out of concern for their aggregate impacts, rather than their local ones. Climate activists fear that the AI buildout will generate perilous increases in carbon emissions. Populists on the right and left, meanwhile, want to slow the progress of artificial intelligence, so as to prevent the technology from causing mass unemployment — and/or human extinction.

For these factions, the buildout’s resilience has more complicated implications. If state and local bans are unlikely to end the boom, then green groups might be unwise to push for such measures in relatively climate-conscious areas. After all, doing so could shift development toward jurisdictions with less renewable energy, and/or fewer restrictions on carbon pollution. Given that risk, blue-state environmentalists may do more to mitigate AI’s climate impacts by regulating data center development than by banning it. Specifically, climate groups could demand that hyperscalers help bankroll the vast expansions of clean energy and transmission infrastructure that the green transition has always required.

For AI doomers, on the other hand, local bans may have some instrumental value. Moratoria and other restrictions are surely slowing the data center buildout at the margin. Still, as long as hyperscale facilities remain location-flexible — and tech companies stay well-capitalized — AI infrastructure will get built somewhere. A national moratorium could buy significant time. But ultimately, humanity’s security from the risks of AI hinges less on whether data centers get built than on what companies are allowed to do with them — and how the wealth they generate is distributed.

The data center rebellion is among the most remarkable popular movements in recent memory. But it is arrayed against one of the largest investment frenzies in human history. Unless or until the AI industry’s alleged “bubble” bursts, its buildout will be exceptionally difficult to stop. Yet where that buildout happens, how it’s powered — and what communities extract from it — are all up for grabs (and, increasingly, being grabbed).

PALAU, Micronesia — On a bright, sunny day last May, I stood on a boat surrounded by the turquoise waters of the island nation of Palau. I was there in the western Pacific watching scuba divers as they prepared to bring up evidence of a mysterious aquatic world. 

Palau is famous for its spectacular and rich coral reefs. But these divers were planning to descend past those sun-lit marine communities and down into a lesser-known twilight zone known as the “mesophotic coral ecosystems.” 

Mesophotic essentially means “middle” and “light,” which is where these ecosystems are — not quite in the bright daylight, not quite in the profound darkness, but somewhere in between. For simplicity’s sake, we’ll call these communities, which range from some 30 meters to 150 meters below the surface, the “deep reefs.” 

One of the divers on the boat with me was a zoologist and curator at the California Academy of Sciences named Luiz Rocha, who has spent decades studying these deep reefs and their secrets. 

“Anything between 30 meters and 150 meters is really, really unknown,” he told me.

Because these deep reefs are so unknown, researchers like Rocha are left with big questions. They want to get a baseline picture of what is going on in these ecosystems — even just who lives there! — so that they can better understand how they function.  They’ve also tried to work out whether (or not) these deep reefs might provide a refuge for species living in shallower coral reefs.

I was in Palau for Vox’s Unexplainable podcast because, in an effort to gather more information about these mysterious places, Rocha left some scientific structures down in these twilight depths back in 2016. Those structures then spent almost a decade becoming encrusted with all kinds of marine life. And now, Rocha was back to retrieve them, hoping that he — along with many other scientists — would be able to open them up, like a box of scientific puzzle pieces, full of clues about this under-understood marine world.

So what is a mesophotic “deep reef”? 

One thing that’s often acknowledged in papers about and descriptions of the “mesophotic coral ecosystems” is that scientists don’t know as much as they’d like to. A National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration article about them from 2019 is full of “may’s” as in: they may “serve as essential fish habitat for economically and ecologically important species.”

Researchers do know some things, of course. They know that these deep reefs can be found in many of the same locations as shallower coral reefs — so mainly the tropical and subtropical parts of the world, like Micronesia, the Caribbean, and even the Gulf of Mexico. They’ve found that there are many species that seem to be unique to these places, and recent research points to their potential susceptibility to climate change.

Researchers have also gotten a sense of some of the key differences between these deep reefs and their shallower coral neighbors. In shallow reefs, hard corals team up with photosynthesizing algaes. The algaes provide the corals with nutrients, and the corals secrete a calcium-carbonate matrix that helps create the architecture of the reef. 

As you go deeper, though, the light begins to fade, and the opportunities for photosynthesis start to fade with it. The temperature also drops. So the animals living down in the deep reefs are the ones that can survive in a dimmer, cooler world.

Why are these places so mysterious? 

Scientists can dive into the deep reefs to try to learn more about these understudied places — as Rocha has — but exploring down at 100 meters requires more difficult, riskier technical diving than exploring at shallower depths. The deeper you dive, for example, the faster gasses get pushed into your tissues, which imposes limits on these really deep dives.

“We have a very, very short time,” Rocha says, “And by short time, I mean five minutes. Six, seven minutes.” 

Scientists might take some pictures in that time, or make some measurements, or collect a few samples, but then they have to move back upwards, a process which can take hours because they have to rise slowly to avoid decompression sickness.

It is, obviously, not particularly efficient to study an ecosystem in five- to seven-minute bursts. People have also used remote operated vehicles and submersibles to explore the deep reefs, but those have their own issues, and cameras can’t always capture all the detail you might want, or photograph more secretive, cryptic animals. So huge gaps remain in scientific knowledge about these ecosystems. 

“Whenever we go somewhere,” Rocha says, “the first thing we find is new species. … It’s the most basic thing in science you can do.” But this effort goes beyond just cataloguing new species of fish or sponges or sea slugs. 

Rocha wants to answer seemingly fundamental questions like: What is the main energy source for everything down here in the dimmer light? What does the food chain look like? How have things evolved to live down at these depths? How similar are they to the shallow ecosystems, and how different? How are they affected by climate change — and what’s the most efficient way to protect them? 

But, “in some ways we don’t even know what questions to ask,” Rocha says. “We really only know what questions to ask after we have a baseline understanding of what the ecosystem is. And for deep reefs, we don’t know that yet.” 

A new way to understand the deep reefs using “prefab housing”

Rocha is not deterred by the enormous number of question marks that surround these deep reefs. For years now, he has been gathering bits of basic information about them, often via those very short dives. 

About a decade ago, though, Rocha got interested in another method for sampling the biodiversity of this sort of marine ecosystem — a technique involving “autonomous reef monitoring structures” (ARMS).

Basically, each ARMS is a stack of several PVC plates, separated at uniform intervals and attached to a base plate. They look like little grey, featureless hotels. You take them to a place that you want to study, bring them down, secure them, and then leave them alone for a while to let them collect…life.

“As soon as you drop any kind of clean structure on a reef,” Rocha says, “it starts getting colonized by larvae of everything around it — of sponges, gorgonians, corals. And then, because there’s all a lot of hiding spots between the plates — so between the floors of the hotel — they start getting colonized by shrimp, by mollusks, by ascidians, by anything you can imagine in the ocean. … And it becomes this stable, diverse mini reef, if you will, packed with a lot of biodiversity that would be very hard to collect all at once in any given reef.”

A few years after that initial drop, you come back, collect the ARMS, and then study the mini reef that has grown on them. You can sample and touch and analyze things to your heart’s content. 

It’s not only a very effective way to collect lots of creatures, all at once, but also a great way to do so in a standardized way. If you went down — or sent a robot down — to collect an encrusted rock from a reef, you could learn a lot about the life on it, but it would be hard to compare the life on that rock to life on other rocks from other reefs, or even the same reef, because each rock would have its own unique characteristics. Not so for ARMS.

“ Every one’s the same,” Chris Meyer, director of the Smithsonian Global ARMS program, told me, “It’s prefab housing, and then you just look to see who moves in.” 

To Rocha, this seemed like a great way to get a really good, long look at the deep reefs instead of the brief glimpses he was getting from diving. It was also, he told me, fairly cheap to deploy them. So from 2016 to 2018, with some private funding, he and his colleagues left ARMS in some of the deep reefs around Palau — as well as in Guam, the Marshall Islands, and French Polynesia. They installed some around 50 meters, and some around 100, and then some around 10 meters, so he could compare the deep reefs to their shallower neighbors. 

After that, he waited. 

In fact, he waited a little longer than he would have liked, because the retrieval of ARMS is more expensive than deploying them, so he had to work out more funding. 

Eventually, private funders agreed to underwrite the retrieval of the ARMS that Rocha had left. Which is how he and his fellow divers finally found themselves on a boat in Palau again, ready to pull up these structures for the deep.

Opening the scientific puzzle box

Over the course of a few days, I watched a whole team of people pull several ARMS out of the deep reefs of Palau. Some of the ARMS were relatively sparse, but others were almost fuzzy with organisms — vibrant with red and orange and green and pink and white. One had a massive sponge attached to it, another had several delicate fronds dangling from it like coralline ferns. The ARMS collected each day traveled to the Palau International Coral Reef Center in bins full of seawater, where the scientists quickly got to work — seeing and touching (and smelling) this mysterious ecosystem right up close.

The process was, as it turned out, equal parts magical excitement and well-oiled, Cheez-It fueled disassembly line. After the plates were taken apart, Meyer took photographs of the plates — what he called a “time capsule of the place.” Others in the lab picked carefully through trays of debris, hunting for tiny crabs and worms and mollusks, or scraped samples off the plates and deposited them in tubes.

They collected sea squirts, said to be our closest invertebrate relatives. They collected sponges — flat ones that felt dry underwater, thick ones with bristles like tiny, unmoving caterpillars, one as thin as a flake of skin and shot through with silver filaments. They collected strange, soft corals known as “octocorals,” and they collected colonies of animals called bryozoans, which created what looked like swirling, two-dimensional honeycombs.

“We’re looking for every unique thing, which we call a morphospecies,” a Smithsonian research biologist named Sarah Tweedt explained. “And we’re trying to get some representative tissue samples from all of these things so that we can sequence the DNA — and match the DNA to the organism.”

That is, of course, assuming there is already a known genetic match in our existing DNA libraries. 

On the first day that I spent with the team, a Cal Academy curator named Terry Goslinger identified several potential new species. He is an expert on colorful, delightful sea slugs known as nudibranchs, and so, because of his deep knowledge (and because nudibranchs’ bright hues and patterns make them somewhat easier to tell apart than some other underwater creatures), he was able to make some on-the-spot calls about whether or not certain species were likely to be new to science, pending genetic testing to confirm.

Many of the animals were trickier to pin down, though. The researchers did their best to identify the creatures they were finding, but even now, several months out, there’s still a lot of work to be done. Of the close to 3,000 specimens, only a small fraction were identified at a species level. The numbers are a little bit inexact because researchers are still processing the data, but when I checked in with a Cal Academy postdoc working on the project, Susanne Bähr, in July, she told me that only 3 percent of samples had been ID’d by species, and a little less than 20 had a genus designation. Many, many more were only identified at higher, broader taxonomic levels. Genetic testing of the samples, paired with photographs and descriptions of the samples, will help people work out more specific species, and also help them identify whether certain species are new to science.

Beyond discovering new species…and toward solving the big puzzle

The most important parts of this work will involve more than just identifying species. In fact, the more time I spent with these researchers in the lab, (including one evening spent with them as they worked past midnight), the more I got the sense that, while they seemed excited about seeing new species, they seemed equally excited to witness relationships between animals.

When I walked into the lab one day, for example, several people urged me to go over and look through a microscope at a creature known as a pompom crab — a tiny yellow crustacean holding purple anemones in its modified front claws. Tweedt was extremely jazzed when she found something referred to as a “skeleton shrimp,” which looked to me like the marine equivalent of a stick insect, blending in on something called a hydroid. She pulled me aside another time, around one in the morning, to show me “the frosting on the cake” of the day, which turned out to be some bright red sea snails and the bright red octocorals they seemed to live on

As she put it in a later conversation, these relationships are, in many ways, the key takeaway from this ARMS project, and what distinguishes it from efforts to bring up a few individual samples at a time. Studying them, or even just looking at the fuller picture ARMS provide, is what will let researchers tackle some of the outstanding questions about these ecosystems. Bähr, for example, is already working with the data from ARMS retrieved in Guam, trying to analyze how much overlap (or lack thereof) there is between species at different depths in the deep reefs.

Really, though, this is all just the beginning. In one of our conversations, Rocha compared the work they are doing now to ecology work done in the mid-20th century to understand how species’ vertical distribution changes as you go up a mountain. This drove home for me how far behind researchers working on the mesophotic deep reefs are compared to their colleagues working on, say, shallower coral reefs. I asked him what kept him working on such a difficult puzzle.

“It’s the reward at the end of it,” he said, “If it’s a hard puzzle, at the end of it, the reward is always bigger.” 

“But…in our lifetimes, will we assemble the deep reef puzzle?” I asked.

“No, we will not assemble the puzzle, no,” Rocha said, “but we’ll generate some good pieces for the next generation to assemble.”

Welp, the Supreme Court has decided that President Donald Trump gets to build his ballroom. The decision in National Park Service v. National Trust for Historic Preservation is 5-4, with Republican Chief Justice John Roberts joining the three Democratic justices in dissent.

Notably, no member of the Court argued that Trump’s ballroom, an enormous structure that the president plans to build on the former site of the White House’s East Wing, is legal. As Roberts points out in dissent, a federal law prohibits the construction of any “building or structure … on any reservation, park, or public grounds of the Federal Government in the District of Columbia without express authority of Congress.” And, as Roberts writes, “Congress has not passed any law resembling ‘express authority’ for the Executive’s construction of” Trump’s ballroom.

Nevertheless, the five Republicans in the majority manage to rule in favor of Trump by effectively immunizing his ballroom from federal lawsuits.

Their opinion highlights two of the most troubling things about the current Supreme Court: its reluctance to impose limits on Trump’s imperial-style presidency, and the frequent incoherence of its reasoning, especially in Trump cases.

Their opinion suggests that no one is allowed to sue to challenge Trump’s decision to destroy and replace much of the White House. But it is short, does not explain key points of its argument, and relies on several distinctions that do not make any sense.

As a general rule, no one is allowed to file a federal lawsuit unless they can show that they were injured in some way by the defendant they are suing — a requirement known as “standing.” But the Court has long held that plaintiffs suing under conservationist laws that seek to preserve a pristine, sacred, historical, or otherwise beautiful site have standing to bring a suit enforcing such laws against defendants who would damage or destroy such a site’s beauty.

In Lujan v. Defenders of Wildlife (1992), for example, the Court said that “the desire to use or observe an animal species, even for purely esthetic purposes, is undeniably a cognizable interest” that can be asserted in federal court. Similarly, the Court held in Friends of the Earth v. Laidlaw Environmental Services (2000) that “environmental plaintiffs adequately allege injury in fact when they aver that they use the affected area and are persons ‘for whom the aesthetic and recreational values of the area will be lessened’ by the challenged activity.’”

So that’s how standing worked right up until Monday afternoon, when the Court handed down its latest opinion. The new rule is…well, it is difficult to parse.

The plaintiff in National Park Service is a conservationist organization whose members include a retired professor who would frequently walk by the White House and who admired its beauty. Under decisions like Lujan and Friends of the Earth, that was enough to give her standing to sue in order to challenge the ballroom.

The five Republicans in the majority, however, falsely claim that this individual merely argued that she is offended by Trump’s construction project, and that past decisions have involved “more than mere offense.” The Republicans note that, in Friends of the Earth, the plaintiffs not only wanted to view a river, but also to fish and swim in it and to camp nearby. But they don’t really even attempt to distinguish Lujan beyond a vague statement that Lujan requires a plaintiff’s injury to be “concrete and particularized.”

Thus, because the majority opinion is so poorly explained, it is hard to tell what its implications will be. If the Court had explicitly overruled its past decisions holding that a plaintiff may often sue to challenge the destruction of something beautiful, that would be an existential threat to countless environmental, conservationist, and historical preservation laws that all exist to preserve natural or historic beauty. 

But the Court’s failure to explain why Lujan does not require them to rule against Trump leaves lawyers and judges to guess at what the Court just did to the rules governing standing. Perhaps this is a one-off decision intended solely to do a favor for Trump. Or maybe it’s the harbinger of a future decision setting much of America’s environmental protection regime on fire. The five justices in the majority barely explain themselves, so we cannot yet know what National Park Service means.

But one thing that is clear is that the decision makes no sense. As Roberts writes in dissent, “it now is the case that ‘I want to look at a crocodile’ can adequately answer the ever-critical ‘what’s it to you?’ question of Article III standing, while ‘I want to look at the White House’ cannot.” But the justices in the majority couldn’t even be bothered to explain why.

This story appeared in Today, Explained, a daily newsletter that helps you understand the most compelling news and stories of the day. Subscribe here.

President Donald Trump’s on-again, off-again war with Iran is officially on again. (So recursive is this never-ending conflict, in fact, that I had to search my inbox to confirm I hadn’t already written that sentence!)

On Sunday, the US attacked rocket launchers Sunday on Iran’s Larak Island, claiming the strikes were necessary to prevent Iran from laying mines that could once again disrupt shipping through the Strait of Hormuz. Iran, meanwhile, responded by firing a volley of ballistic missiles at US sites in the United Arab Emirates and Jordan, where they were reportedly intercepted. 

The latest skirmish comes after a month of relative peace and quiet, and six months after the war began. You’ll recall that Trump initially said it would last four to five weeks at the very longest. 

But in the grand scheme of Trump’s Iran fictions, that optimistic timeline isn’t even the most flagrant. On Sunday night, the president also posted a video that purportedly showed Kharg Island, a central hub of Iran’s oil industry, “being blown to smithereens!!!” The video was, in fact, AI-generated. 

Go a little deeper

The persistence of the war in Iran isn’t merely exhausting for those of us following along at home. As a group of high-ranking military commanders recently warned the Pentagon, the drawn-out conflict could also make America less safe by limiting the military’s ability to respond to threats in other parts of the world. 

That unusual warning — first reported over the weekend by the Washington Post — suggested that the war in Iran is tying up ships and surveillance planes that the US needs elsewhere. Several top military leaders explicitly warned that the war had forced them to give up resources they needed to protect the US itself. 

That’s not the only risk of the ongoing conflict, either. Longer deployments have also eroded troop morale and disrupted ship maintenance. And as the war drags on, the US is burning through its stockpiles of advanced missiles, at a cost of many billions of dollars. 

None of this means we’re defenseless, of course. But the war in Iran is taking up a lot of bandwidth. And should another conflict break out anywhere else on earth…the US and its allies could feel it. 

One general warned the Pentagon that, without more resources, he could be forced to choose between protecting Israel and the US from ballistic missile attacks. And the Navy just moved its only dedicated aircraft carrier in the Pacific to the waters near Iran. “We are really robbing Peter to pay Paul,” one military expert told Vox in late February, even before we had any idea how long the war would last.

One link for later

➨ Ditch the doorbell camera. More than 62 percent of respondents in a recent US News survey said they had an outdoor security camera at home. But there’s not much evidence that those cameras reduce crime — and they can damage your relationship with your neighbors. 

Before you go…

• Did you know…that the known world basically ended around 1200 BCE? A number of sophisticated civilizations collapsed at the same time, probably due to some combination of prolonged drought, earthquakes, migration, war and political instability.
• Today’s trivia: What was the name of Japan’s capital city before it was renamed Tokyo? (You can find this and other brain puzzles in Vox’s daily crossword. Look for the answer in tomorrow’s edition.)
• Yesterday’s trivia: Last week we asked you for the name of the athletic conference where Georgia Tech competes. That would be the ACC, or Atlantic Coast Conference, which confusingly includes a number of schools in the West and Midwest. 

A fledgling “loneliness economy” is booming on the back of warnings about just how bad loneliness can be for us — “comparable to smoking up to 15 cigarettes a day,” as one often-cited comparison puts it. But can we really spend our way out of loneliness? In this month’s Highlight cover story, Allie Volpe breaks down the false promise of startups promising to banish loneliness (for a price), the real symptom they may be concealing, and a better way to bring people together. Also in this issue: How to know your true self. The ocean’s under-explored “twilight zone.” Making friends by lying to them. And why is it so hard to donate a brain?

You’re a people pleaser? Here’s how to not lose yourself.

By Shayla Love

Can you spend your way out of loneliness?

By Allie Volpe

Inside a quest to learn about the ocean’s mysterious “deep reefs”

By Byrd Pinkerton

Coming September 1

Why is it so hard to give away my dad’s brain?

By Courtney E. Matin

Coming September 2

How to make friends by lying to them

By Constance Grady

Coming September 2

Aaron Renn was in a good mood. And that was fair: It’s not every day that you get labeled the No. 1 “intellectual super influencer” for a major swath of the Trump-era right.

“It’s always good to have some independent validation of your work,” he told me.

A former partner at the consulting firm Accenture, he’s now best known for his writing on urban policy and the role of evangelical Christians (like himself) in American culture. His concept of the “negative world” — the idea that contemporary mainstream culture is inherently hostile to anyone taking evangelical principles seriously — has become influential enough to receive feature treatment in the New York Times.

Yet for anyone familiar with American politics, the idea that someone like Aaron Renn is in any way the No. 1 “super influencer” on the right might seem implausible. He’s not a social media warrior with the White House’s ear, like Laura Loomer or Chris Rufo. He’s not a household name like Tucker Carlson. He doesn’t run a big media outfit like Ben Shapiro. So where does Renn’s achievement come from, and what does it mean?

The source is a new report from the boutique risk analysis firm Baron Public Affairs LLC. Baron makes its money, in part, by advising corporate clients on how best to navigate the DC political environment to advance their interests. Its new report is an attempt to guide them through a specific subset of the right: the national-populist corner of the right-wing policy world that’s achieved greater prominence since 2016.

Baron’s report paints a fascinating picture of today’s conservatism, shining a light on some of its most thoughtful, relevant, and interesting quarters. Yet in doing so, the report also skates over divisions inside the group under consideration  — splits that matter immensely for the American right’s future.

The “super influencers,” explained

In its report, Baron compiled papers published by six right-wing think tanks and one right-leaning intellectual journal. They then used a proprietary research platform to comb through 29,181 citations to individual people in those papers, and assembled a list of the top 20 most cited names in their sample. These, in Baron’s estimation, are the “super influencers” who “most inform the policy leaders of the nationalist-populist movement,” the conservatives building intellectual scaffolding to support the GOP’s turn toward both economic and political nationalism. 

Baron did not publish the full list of 20 names (and did not respond to my repeated requests for comment). But alongside Renn, the most cited name in its sample, it revealed two other “super influencers” in an accompanying podcast: Brad Wilcox and Michael Lind. Both are revealing.

Wilcox is a sociologist at the University of Virginia and a senior fellow at the Institute for Family Studies, a think tank known for taking an unusually empirical approach to social conservatism. If you’ve followed Wilcox, whose work has often been relevant to our coverage at Vox, you’ve probably seen him offering charts, graphs, and regression analyses to defend his view that marriage is one of society’s most important and valuable institutions. His most recent book is titled, simply enough, Get Married.

Lind, by contrast, arguably isn’t a conservative at all. A longtime commentator on American politics, he began his career as a kind of left labor populist — hostile to mass immigration due to the same (empirically doubtful) fears about the harmful effects on native-born workers that once shaped Bernie Sanders’s views on the issue. 

Long critical of the cultural elitism of American liberals, Lind has drifted more and more toward writing for conservative outlets: becoming in effect, if not in self-identification, a real influence on the populist right. (He is not the only liberal on the list, which per Baron includes “two Biden-era White House officials and a writer who leads one of the more prominent tribes of the Left.”)

These three men — Renn, Wilcox, and Lind — reflect what Baron sees as the defining preoccupations of the “super influencers” more broadly.

Unlike previous generations of conservatives, the right’s new intellectuals aren’t especially interested in maximizing economic growth or projecting American power abroad (in fact, none of Baron’s top 20 were foreign policy experts at all). Instead, they’re overwhelmingly focused on different questions: how to reverse declining fertility rates, or the effect of trade competition with China on American cities and families. 

In our conversation, Renn suggested a uniting concept for the issues these writers cared about: “the social health of the nation.” By this, he meant things that couldn’t be fully captured by traditional economic metrics: whether Americans feel happy, whether they feel like they live meaningful lives, whether they feel like their families and communities are secure and stable. 

“There are these trends that don’t seem super healthy even if the GDP line continues to go up,” Renn says. “Those have been issues that weren’t part of Donald Trump’s initial set of issues, but are ones that have become widely talked about — even on the left.”

Though the preoccupations of the right’s new social thinkers may have arisen alongside Trump to challenge Reagan-era free-market conservatives, they themselves are not necessarily Trumpy. Befitting the fact that many have backgrounds in quantitative social science, and that some see themselves as liberals, they tend to be looking for answers beyond MAGA demagoguery. That’s true even though their research topics have some obvious appeal within MAGA spaces.

Super influencers against themselves

Baron’s report paints an appealing portrait of the modern right. Renn’s oeuvre is indeed fascinating, and Wilcox’s empiricism fosters a more serious conversation around social policy than the traditional culture war hysterics. More broadly, I think Baron is right that the sorts of issues that preoccupy these thinkers will indeed remain important for the right for quite some time.

But I think there’s a danger in treating this group as homogenous, or as representative of the right as a whole.

To see why, it’s helpful to go back to the report’s basic methodology — tracking citations in right-wing publications. Those publications were drawn from the following seven sources:

• American Affairs
• American Compass
• The Foundation for American Innovation (FAI)
• The Claremont Institute
• The America First Policy Institute (AFPI)
• The Center for Renewing America (CRA)
• The Heritage Foundation

These are extremely different outfits. Three of them — American Affairs, American Compass, and FAI — indeed overlap with the kinds of questions that Baron’s “super influencers” are interested in. The other four, by contrast, are MAGA more than anything else: Their mission, at least as currently constituted, is to mount an intellectual defense of the president’s worldview and/or develop policy ideas that might flesh out Trump’s inchoate impulses.

This isn’t necessarily relevant for Baron’s mission in advising clients on which influential voices deserve their attention. But for those of us interested in mapping the intellectual right, these distinctions are vital.

Indeed, by Baron’s own estimation, there is a significant difference between the kinds of people cited in reports by these two sub-groupings in its sample. The first grouping, Baron found, will regularly cite “heterodox liberals” like Lind who share some of their priorities; the second did not cite a single such liberal in any of the reports it surveyed. 

Thus, there actually isn’t one unified cadre of intellectual “super influencers” shaping the national-populist right. There are two distinctive groupings: one which influences the sorts of New Right outfits committed to their own ideological project, the other which influences reports released by MAGA appendages. While there is some overlap between those two groups, Baron’s own analysis suggests they are meaningfully distinct blocs.

This matters for the right’s future. In fact, it matters a lot.

Publications from the first three of Baron’s sources tend to be less hard-edged about partisan conflict; they engage with liberals quite a bit because they prioritize their long-term policy goals and are looking for coalition members who can help advance them. In their work, you can see some of the virtues the Baron report documents amongst the cited “super influencers” — empiricism, “genteel temperament,” a focus on distinctively 21st century social problems.

Work by the other four, by contrast, tends to paint American political divisions in apocalyptic terms. Claremont writers, for example, have famously described the 2016 election as “Flight 93” and declared that “most people living in the United States today — certainly more than half — are not Americans in any meaningful sense of the term.” They do not cite liberals approvingly because they see them as worse than political rivals: as villains, the authors of America’s ills, whose power must be crushed for the country to survive. 

“We are in the process of the second American Revolution, which will remain bloodless if the left allows it to be,” as Heritage president Kevin Roberts put it in an interview on Steve Bannon’s podcast.

One of the principal questions of the right’s looming post-Trump era will be whether it can move past this kind of zero-sum partisanship. The Baron report might lead one to be optimistic on that front: if Aaron Renn truly is the leading influence among the American right’s national-populist intellectuals, that portends a future where America’s warring political tribes can finally start to find common ground.

But I wouldn’t bet on it, at least not for some time now.

There are deep reasons why Trump, a human embodiment of rage and division, leads the Republican Party — and why some of the right’s top thought leaders are so loyal to him. So long as those reasons persist, the influence of more thoughtful “super influencers” on practical politics may be more limited than one might hope.

Hi readers! Shayla Love here, science journalist and longtime fan of Your Mileage May Vary. I’m honored to be subbing for Sigal Samuel while she’s out on parental leave. I’m diving into your questions as a way to help understand human nature and our choices through multiple lenses: philosophical, psychological, and beyond. Please send in any emotional, body/brain, sociological, perceptual, or other kind of life quandaries you might have.

My wife says I’m a people pleaser. I want to turn over a new leaf (maybe to please her?!) so I’m making a resolution to be less of a weathervane and stand up for myself more. But it’s hard — I love to fit in. I’m a joiner and a collaborator. It’s not that I’m passive, it’s more that I find other people’s “ways of being” contagious. Sometimes I catch myself slipping into imitation of the friends or colleagues I’m talking to.

What’s a chameleon to do? Or, more scarily, who am I when I’m alone? How do I find out who I really am?

Dear Identity Crisis,

At first glance, it’s a bit funny to be accused of being a people pleaser as if it’s entirely a bad thing. It sounds like you have others’ interests genuinely in mind, and that seems like a nice way to build connection.

But I find the term people pleaser to also be a sneaky euphemism. Do you want to know how this sort of behavior is often discussed in the psychological literature? In studies, it’s not always called people pleasing; it’s called lying. 

In fact, wanting to please other people is an incredibly prevalent motivation for lying; it’s more common than lying for personal gain or pleasure. When psychologists evaluated the top reasons that people lied in their everyday life, many wanted to seem more agreeable. Their lies support seemingly magnanimous goals, like complimenting a friend or making sure a social interaction went well. But they were lies all the same, defined by the researchers as a “message that one gives to another in which they are deliberately deceiving them.” 

I find this shift in perspective helpful, if a little harsh, if you’re looking to break a people-pleasing habit. It’s one thing to think about yourself as dedicated to keeping other people pleased. But when you consider that actually, all of your interactions are suffused with lies, the approach becomes a bit more unsavory. 

Imagine the situation in reverse: What if you found out that all the time you had spent with a close friend, they were keeping their real thoughts and feelings from you? You might feel differently about the time you’d spent together. I can bet it certainly wouldn’t feel as authentic. 

I used to be a bartender, and I would be nice and mildly obsequious to frequent customers. Several of them I genuinely liked. But I’ll never forget the uncomfortable moments of running into a regular elsewhere — and their figuring out that we weren’t actually friends. There’s a distance between two people when one’s main role is to please the other. You are creating that distance, even if you may not realize it, and not even getting tipped for it. 

So for starters, try trusting that the people around you are able to handle your real thoughts and feelings. But what are your real thoughts or feelings? This points to the bigger conundrum you face: Who is your true self? 

You’re in good company worrying about this. Religious figures, philosophers, and scientists alike have been trying to figure out if there even is a continuous self, and if there is, what is it made up of? 

Scientifically speaking, there’s not a part of your brain that’s “truer” than others, or where the true self resides. But your ideas about your true self matter, according to research by Rebecca Schlegel, a social scientist at Texas A&M University. She has found that people have greater well-being and find their lives to be more meaningful if they think that they’ve made choices that align with who they “really” are. 

When people make a decision that they think aligns with their own true self, it regularly leads to feeling more satisfaction with that decision — more so than choices steered by considering what other people want, by religious belief, or by advice from others. 

Doing this yourself can be remarkably simple. In one experiment, Schlegel asked participants to make an arbitrary decision and told some to “use your true self” to make up their minds, and others to “use rational thinking.” Those who framed their choices as being guided by their true self were much happier with their selection. For you, it could be that just introducing the question — what would my true self do? — can start making your life feel more like it belongs to you. 

If it feels odd to ask your true self what to do, defining your truest self as what’s moral about you isn’t a bad place to start. Researchers have found again and again that when they ask people which of their traits feel the “truest,” it’s usually the parts that are morally good. When I call my mother on her birthday, that’s my true self. When I say something hurtful to my friend, that’s a deviation from my true self, who knows better. I wasn’t myself this morning, I might say as an apology. So you could make a list of your best qualities, like your generosity or your creativity. Then, when you ask what your core self would do, you’ll have even more specific guideposts to follow. 

Of course, if having a true self still doesn’t feel relatable, you can turn to an approach I’ve found helpful in my own life from Eastern traditions, like Buddhism and Taoism. They endorse the idea that there is no rigid self at all. In Buddhism, this is called anatman, which translates roughly to “no self.” This teaching emerged in response to an earlier Hindu belief: a concept called “atman,” which asserted that all people had an eternal and unchanging core, similar to a soul. Anatman was a rebuttal to that idea.

I’ve found that anatman relieves some of the pressure around all of this. We feel as if there should be an essence to us, some permanent quality that persists over time that you can point to. But anatman reminds us that there’s no aspect of the self that doesn’t change.  

Life is long, and we transform throughout it. As we grow, we learn new physical skills like playing soccer and the piano, and eventually acquire back problems and wrinkles. Our minds evolve too. We read novels, maybe we can do calculus, and we develop political convictions. Hopefully, we gain the skills of being kind and patient. In all of these developments, change is the only constant. This is why the Buddha thought that you couldn’t find the singular, stable self in any of these places — not the mind, the physical form, our habits, or our perceptions. “What is impermanent, subject to change…cannot be taken to be ‘me,’ ‘mine,’ or a ‘self,’” the Buddha taught. 

You asked what you, as a chameleon, should do? You could frame everything you do as being in service to your deeper self. Or you could try halting the search for a strictly defined, enduring version of you, and start making decisions based on who you want that person to become.   

Bonus: What I’m reading

• My book club just read Love, Always, a novel by Ann Beattie, about a group of people who start a magazine in rural Vermont. It’s a summery tale, though somewhat frustrating, about what happens when people don’t change themselves, and only follow their worst instincts. 
• This is a fascinating story of multiple selves in Popular Mechanics by Michael Natale. It documented what happened when seven men confessed to being the culprit of a plane hijacking in 1973 in the Pacific Northwest.
• Over the course of several nights recently, I watched the 1926 silent movie, Faust, directed by F.W. Murnau. It’s a haunting tragedy about the consequences of wanting to hold onto a quality of yourself indefinitely — in this case, staying young forever. I was amazed by the special effects they pulled off for that era! An evergreen reminder that if someone promises you something that’s too good to be true (especially if he looks like the devil), it probably is. 

Over the years, Julianne Holt-Lunstad has fielded many requests from startups looking for her help. These entrepreneurs came to the Brigham Young University professor with the well-meaning goal of “solving” loneliness; they believed their app or company could help consumers build genuine connections, and wanted Holt-Lunstad’s opinion on this feature or that business tactic. 

Across the pond, University College London professor Noreena Hertz was getting the same calls. They wanted her to join their boards, to advise them, to give their proof of concept a stamp of approval. 

“Of the many startups who’ve approached me, and it’s probably about 50 or 60 in the space,” Hertz told Vox, “there hasn’t been one where I felt convinced by their business model.”

That CEOs and founders were clamoring to pick the brains of these two women is entirely predictable — their work may have been the basis on which these startups were founded. Holt-Lunstad is among the most cited academics who study loneliness and social connection. The commonly repeated stat that loneliness is equivalent to smoking 15 cigarettes a day? That came from her research. She was the lead science editor on the Surgeon General’s 2023 advisory on loneliness and isolation. As for Hertz, in her 2020 book The Lonely Century: How to Restore Human Connection in a World That’s Pulling Apart, she coined the phrase “loneliness economy,” at the time, a fledgling market of niche services, like friends for rent and professional cuddling.

In the years since Hertz gave it a name, the loneliness economy has only ballooned. As public attention to loneliness has mounted — despite the fact that research doesn’t consistently show whether a loneliness epidemic exists in the first place — the market stepped in to offer solutions. No longer are the lonely limited to joining a running club, they can now rent friends and cuddlers. They can hire a coach to help vanquish loneliness and build a community. (One charges $3,000 for a three-month program.) They can attend a $1,000 weekend-long summer camp to make friends (with the option to pay in installments via Klarna). They can buy a $250 pendant that listens to their every word and can communicate back via voice or text. They can join a coworking space meant to quell loneliness with a nearly $300 a month price tag. They can enroll in a bootcamp for how to be less shy, hop in a group travel excursion with other solo venturers, download an app where AI pairs you with other strangers for activities. Loneliness is no longer a societal issue with mental and physical costs and structural solutions but one businesses hope consumers can buy their way out of.

But is it possible to disrupt the slow burn that is making a friend? To outsource the intimacies of friendship to AI? To put a price tag on human connection? 

“I would caution developers to really critically evaluate their business model and the barriers to who they’re actually reaching,” Holt-Lunstad told Vox. “Think about ways that [connection] can occur organically without monetizing it.”

The cottage industry of loneliness services is just another example of capitalism wrapping its tentacles around human desire. But in most cases, the cost of the app, or product, or experience is going to be much higher than the possibility of eliminating loneliness.

One person’s loneliness is another’s business opportunity

Since the early 2000s when Harvard political scientist Robert Putnam warned of the decline of civic and social spaces in his seminal work Bowling Alone, we have witnessed the “privatization of community,” according to Sam Pressler, a fellow at the Harvard Human Flourishing Program who studies community, connection, and class. Gathering spaces shifted away from places of worship and union halls to boutique fitness centers and private, members-only clubs. “There was already this dynamic in place where you could, at a premium level, sell people on community,” Pressler said.

The pandemic pushed the loneliness economy into overdrive. Widespread social isolation enabled researchers to study perceived levels of loneliness during lockdowns. Media coverage of loneliness outlined its harms. Although Vivek Murthy, the US surgeon general during the Obama and Biden administrations, first referred to loneliness as a “health epidemic” in 2017, his 2023 report opened the door for other iterations: the male loneliness epidemic, the Gen Z well-being slump, a worsening midlife crisis. Over the past five years, search interest in the loneliness epidemic grew over 600 percent.

Naturally, the startup world began to see a business opportunity, Pressler said. WeWork founder Adam Neumann launched a new residential real estate company with a goal of “solving loneliness” and $350 million in funding from Andreessen Horowitz. The app 222, which uses AI to pair strangers for group activities based on personality-based questions, raised $10 million in funding. “You then get this anchor within startup land that really has an approach of solve customers’ problems and pain points, in that loneliness is a customer problem or pain point to be solved, through productized market solutions,” Pressler said.

Brian Choi had heard of the male loneliness epidemic, but luckily didn’t feel like he fell into that category. He grew up in the Los Angeles area, where he still lives, and has plenty of friends, but he signed up for 222 several years ago as a way to supplement his social life and meet people who might be interested in activities his existing friends aren’t.

“Dance, for me, means a lot,” the 34-year-old video game character artist, told Vox. “For my best friends, hard to sell them on that. So 222 is a good angle on sharing that experience with other people who are presumably also open to dance.”

But most of the platform’s events, Choi found, were centered around dinner and drinks, which didn’t appeal to him. If there was a meetup with an interactive element, like brunch and a pottery class, he was more likely to engage. But despite attending about a dozen 222 events over the years, Choi hasn’t fostered any serious friendships. “It’s dependent on individuals to be proactive about inviting folks into their lives after the 222 event,” Choi said. “And that can be scary for a lot of people.” 

Once a market emerged for loneliness-adjacent services and products, influencers started promoting them. Over the last few years, the content creator Zaid Khan observed his peers hosting “community” events that seemed well-meaning enough until a few common themes emerged: The events seemed to be furthering the creators’ brands, they often came with a ticket price, and they were attended mostly by young, white people. This widespread commodification of community is what Hertz refers to as “WeWashing” — like greenwashing — because an occasional knitting club with a $50 fee does not a community make. 

Charging any sort of premium for a social event or service runs the risk of exacerbating inequities. According to Holt-Lunstad’s research, people with only a high school education or less or those who made less than $75,000 a year were less socially connected than those with higher education and incomes. People who stand to benefit the most from interventions to build relationships often can’t afford a $200 a month gym, or lack the time to swipe for friends. These spaces can then become, like Khan observed, homogenized by race, class, and ability. “I’m sorry, but young, attractive, white, straight, 20-somethings living in New York will have no issue. … You can walk into any West Village bar and meet those people,” Khan said. “It’s excluding the people who, I think, genuinely could need it.”

“Masking” a symptom

There is a contradiction at the heart of the loneliness economy: the need for human connection in the modern world is difficult to solve, let alone value and commodify. In order to make money, companies either have to charge top dollar for their social club or camp, or, they need their product to be used by as many people as possible, as often as possible, which inherently flies in the face of how relationships are fostered. 

Relationships are projects of patience. They unfold after repeated interactions in a physical space, after slow revelations and disclosures and laughs. The loneliness economy isn’t built on unhurried bonding. Instead of consistently showing up to a community event and slowly building connections, some apps are effective at connecting users with strangers for one-time events, but are less focused on encouraging users to exchange numbers and hang out again. “We know from the research that relationships take time to develop, and that there needs to be consistency also over time. When you get to know someone, it takes time,” Holt-Lunstad said. “If you’re only doing it sporadically or once, that’s going to be less likely. If it’s all virtual, that’s going to be less likely.”

Just like hunger and thirst cue you to eat and drink, loneliness is a sign to interact. Swiping for friends may feel productive and occupy time, but without actually hanging out, it may just be a distraction, Holt-Lunstad said. “What I worry is that [apps] may be effective in masking that symptom without actually fulfilling any social needs,” she said. “It would be like no longer feeling thirsty, but we’re not actually drinking any water.”

The loneliness economy also fails to take into account the barriers preventing people from making friends in the first place. In recent surveys, the results of which have not been published, Holt-Lunstad has found both internal and external obstacles to connection, including anxiety, a fear of rejection, physical and mental health limitations, the economic cost of participation, and the time investment required with joining a club. “It might be, that’s a great program, but it’s too far away, or that’s a great program, but it costs too much,” Holt-Lunstad said. “And then, of course, there’s the internal barriers where there’s so much shame and stigma associated with this that many people don’t want to feel like I have to have an app or a program to make friends.”

These potentially lonely consumers may be more vulnerable to companies’ marketing efforts, even though the products are unlikely to solve the underlying issue. According to research, when people feel like they are lacking close, intimate relationships, they are more likely to buy themselves things. “One of the things, for instance, could be spending money to go on group activities rather than individual activities,” Aulona Ulqinaku, an associate professor of marketing at Università Carlo Cattaneo LIUC in Italy, told Vox. People could spend money to join a club you aren’t particularly interested in just to feel a part of something. 

Shopping can also serve as a social experience in itself, Cindy Rippé, a senior lecturer in the Department of Marketing at the Terry College of Business at the University of Georgia, told Vox in an email. Employees and other patrons can become familiar and friendly faces, effectively turning a retail space into a third place. A paid social experience, such as a club, could theoretically achieve the same fulfilling effects as shopping, Rippé said. But spending money isn’t what makes people feel better; it’s repeated social interaction, familiarity, belonging.

Because companies can track your activity online, users who search for local clubs or interact with these groups on social media may be repeatedly served ads for other community-centric businesses and thus spend more money on services that may not be effective.

“I hope that we are looking at a world where marketing can be looked at as an instrument for helping people rather than exploiting people,” Ulqinaku said. “The aim should not be, ‘I make money [off] of you.’ The aim should be, ‘I want to make you feel better. I don’t want to exploit you.’”

Putting a price tag on relationships

The pairing of lonely consumers who might be willing to spend money and businesses that definitely want to make it may be good for the bottom line in the short-term, but perhaps not for social health or for revenue in the long-term. (After all, if these products don’t work, people will stop paying for them, and if they do work as promised, people will also stop paying for them.) Friendship isn’t a product you can advertise or put a dollar amount to, Pressler said, and we shouldn’t apply market solutions to non-market goods.

“You can approach it with a consumptive mindset where it’s like, ‘Well, I just need to consume more relationships, and if I consume more relationships, ergo, I will not be lonely or disconnected,’” he said — but that’s not how real-world interactions work. The power imbalance between the companies earning money and the consumer spending it to fulfill a core human need may veer on exploitative, too, Rippé said: “The ethical problem begins when a company intentionally exploits a consumer’s loneliness, insecure attachment, or fear of missing out to pressure that person into purchasing.”

Which isn’t to say communal gatherings with a price tag are inherently exploitative. Live music and events, like concerts, successfully bring people together for shared experiences, according to Hertz, the professor and author. (Of course, tickets have become so expensive that seeing your favorite act perform is becoming a luxury.) Groups centered around an activity have the potential to connect people, too. But buying your own yarn and needles to bring to a weekly craft night at your local knitting shop is different from paying $50 to join a one-off “knitting club” organized by a VC-backed friendship app.

Because social health touches so many aspects of life — the physical spaces we inhabit, the technology that both facilitates and inhibits socialization, the costs of interacting — the path toward connection is more complex than marketable products or individual purchases. It involves government investment in public spaces and low- or no-cost community events; policies that allow everyone to lead a dignified life, which includes the space for leisure activities; and a societal shift that prioritizes slow, intentional relationship building instead of instant connection. 

“The need is real,” Hertz said. “The purported solutions are many. Some of them I think can be part of the solution. Some of them may well end up making us lonelier as a society.”

Quite a few music artists are in their flop era right now. Think about it: Drake hasn’t been the same since Kendrick Lamar knocked him out in their 2024 beef. Katy Perry once dominated the charts, but her recent releases haven’t been fireworks. And there was once a point where it felt impossible to step foot in a workout class without hearing Lizzo, but her latest album fizzled out. 

Some examples, in other words, are obvious. But what does it really mean for a song to flop? According to Tom Breihan, executive editor at StereoGum and author of the book The Number Ones Twenty Chart-Topping Hits That Reveal the History of Pop Music, it’s all relative. 

“There’s a million songs on Spotify that nobody will ever hear,” he told Vox. “Those songs are not necessarily flops because they did not necessarily come with expectations. When a major artist does not reach whatever benchmark they or their fans or their label expect for them, it can be embarrassing. People love to seize upon that embarrassment and take off running with it.”

Why do some songs flail while others succeed? And how does an artist bounce back from those unmet expectations? We find out that and more on this week’s episode of Explain It to Me, Vox’s weekly call-in podcast.

Below is an excerpt of my conversation with Breihan, edited for length and clarity. You can listen to the full episode on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you get your podcasts. If you’d like to submit a question, send an email to askvox@vox.com or call 1-800-618-8545.

Are the songs that flop bad? Is that why they’re flopping? 

In some cases, yeah. You can definitely pick out a few and be like, “That wasn’t the one.”

A lot of it is just timing and luck. Sometimes an artist comes along at the exact right moment and builds up goodwill and puts out the right song for themselves. Sometimes they misread the room in sort of howlingly, clangingly obvious ways, and they end up not doing well. 

It’s happened to plenty of great people. Plenty of stars have bounced back from having flops, but it does happen. 

What are some really good songs that have flopped? 

As an online indie music critic, my prototypical example is Emotion by Carly Rae Jepsen. She had had this gigantic global breakout smash with the song “Call Me Maybe.” The album that she put out after this is this brilliant, layered, excellent pop record that became, I would say, influential upon the idea that you could be a pop star who was a cult artist, like an indie rock band or an underground rapper. But it didn’t sell. It didn’t do numbers. So in its moment, it was a critically beloved flop. 

How much of becoming a hit is about the music itself and how much of it is about virality and marketing? 

Those things are so bound up with each other. A lot of the time, artists are making songs that are engineered to go viral, or they’re making songs that comment on their own public perceptions. 

When someone like Lizzo comes along and puts out a record that doesn’t do well, it becomes a bigger story than just, “Oh, people weren’t feeling this song.” It becomes, “Oh, people don’t like this person,” or “This person has run out of goodwill.”

Like a Lizzo song: You hear her persona jumping through the speaker, whether the song does well or not. So the song and the artist become inextricable from each other. The song and the marketing become inextricable. 

There is another example of an artist who has gone from really high highs to very low flops that I would love to get into, and that’s Katy Perry. I feel like we’ve come a long way from Left Shark at the Super Bowl. What happened there? 

Katy Perry has had the career that pop stars used to have, where they have a crazy dominant stretch where they’re knocking out hit after hit after hit, and they’re unstoppable. Then everything kind of tails off over time. One album has five No. 1 hits. The next album has two No. 1 hits. The next album has no significant hits at all, but a couple top 10s. 

She put out an album right at the beginning of the pandemic. You can say, “Well, that one didn’t do well, and that’s not her fault.” Then she spent a long time on American Idol as a judge; she spent a long time playing Las Vegas residencies. And then she was like, “That’s it. I’m quitting American Idol. I’m coming back. I’m being the pop star that you all want me to be.“

She made a bad album. She also reunited with Dr. Luke, who was the co-writer and producer of lots of her big hits but who, in the time since she stopped working with him, accusations were made. Kesha, who was friends with Katy Perry when she came up, was the person making those accusations. So there’s a lot for the internet to glom onto there.

That’s how a song goes from being a bad song to a notorious flop — when not only does the song not perform, it actually burns up a lot of the goodwill that this person has had. 

What songs did everyone maybe expect to be huge, but then bombed? 

It is possible for a song to be a No. 1 hit and still a flop. Especially now, a song can debut at No. 1 based on streams and conversation, and then it can disappear from the charts. 

In 1996, Michael Jackson released “You Are Not Alone.” The song debuted at No. 1. It fell pretty quickly. The album didn’t do that well. The song ultimately is not remembered that well, and has really entered the notorious shadow zone over the years. 

Are there examples of songs that critics hated initially, and then over time became classics?

So many. The songs that were hits and were universally regarded as irritating in their time have a great hit rate. People were annoyed by “MMMBop,” by Hansen, or “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls. 

There were certainly critics who understood ABBA when they were popping off, but they were, I would say, widely regarded as a punchline. Now that is just an impeccable, beautiful, influential pop catalog. 

A song like the Quad City DJ’s “”C’mon N’ Ride It (The Train)” was not a song the critics were really lining up to praise in the 1990s, but as a person who was a child then, I can tell you that song goes so hard and never stopped going hard. 

What’s the biggest misconception people have about pop music success? 

I think the biggest misconception is the idea that a label or a corporation can engineer a giant hit. They can observe trends. They can put their money into promotion. But you never know what people are going to actually grab onto and what they’re not. 

There are things that they can do to create the impression that something is connecting, but you need to have real sustained success to have everybody be like, “Okay, no, this actually is huge.”

How do artists tend to respond if they’ve entered a flop era?

There’s a grand, beautiful history of artists who instead of trying the same thing over and over again, they become behind-the-scenes figures. They write songs for other people, or they produce, or they become managers. 

Max Martin, who is now ahead of John Lennon, but behind Paul McCartney in terms of songwriters with No. 1 hits, he was the lead singer for a Swedish band in the ’80s that was trying to be Bon Jovi, and they never caught on. His band was called It’s Alive. You can look their songs up online. They’re not that great, but he wound up making all these incredible records with all these different people. 

There’s a lot of that. That has happened many, many times throughout pop history. It’s certainly one way to deal with the flop problem.

Until recently, Natalie Harp was an omnipresent but low-profile aide to President Donald Trump: always there, but rarely part of the story herself. That changed abruptly earlier this month, when Sen. Jon Ossoff (D-GA), who is currently running for reelection, name-dropped her in a speech. 

Trump “doesn’t want to do the job. He wants to build his ballroom and travel with Natalie on their apparently defenseless flying palace gifted by the Emir of Qatar,” Ossoff told supporters at a rally.

The line was a reference to reporting on Trump’s catering-cart maneuver as he was flying back from Turkey in July; Harp and other Trump aides joined the president on an alternate plane by way of a catering cart, while Secretary of State Marco Rubio was left behind on Air Force One. 

The “Natalie” jab from Ossoff quickly took on a life of its own, spurred by a furious response from the Trump White House and right-wing media. Somewhat lost in the flurry of attention on Harp was Ossoff himself — but Greg Bluestein, chief political reporter for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution and co-host of the Politically Georgia podcast, told Today, Explained that the remark was “by design.”

Bluestein spoke with Today, Explained co-host Sean Rameswaram about Ossoff’s disciplined, savvy messaging strategy, his political rise, and why his rhetorical jabs at Trump are fueling speculation about an Ossoff 2028 presidential run.

Below is an excerpt of their conversation, edited for length and clarity. There’s much more in the full podcast, so listen to Today, Explained wherever you get podcasts, including Apple Podcasts, Pandora, and Spotify.

It’s time on this show, Greg, that we remind people who Jon Ossoff is. I’m told that is a job with which you can help.

I go way back with Sen. Ossoff. The first time I met him, or at least I talked to him, was way back in early 2017 where I got a call out of the blue from a name, a number I didn’t recognize, and the voice on the line said, “Hi, I’m Jon Ossoff and I’m running for US House, this special election.” And I said, “Well, welcome to the show. There’s about 17 other candidates already in the race.” 

And he goes, “Well, I’ve got something they don’t. I have John Lewis’s endorsement, and I have about $250,000 in cash commitments.” So I was like, “Okay.” 

It still was an uphill battle because we’re talking about a deep red Republican seat in the northern suburbs of Atlanta at a time when all those suburban seats were still Republican. So I said, “Okay, good luck, sir.”

But lo and behold, he became a national figure in that loss. 

So you’ve been covering Sen. Ossoff just about as long as anybody. At any point over the course of that almost-decade, did you expect “Natalie” from him? 

No. I mean, look, you expect him to be really, really careful and calculated about what he says. Even back then, he rarely uttered an imprecise statement. There have been times where folks have caught him off-message, but it’s been very, very rare even at the beginning of his political career, certainly now. 

When he uttered the “Natalie” line that sparked a thousand thought pieces and national takes and all that, that was done by design. 

Tell us a bit about his backstory for people who have forgotten who Jon Ossoff is.

When I first got that call in early 2017, I had no idea who he was. Little did I know he’d become a national figure that we’d be talking about in the context of a presidential campaign not even a decade later. 

He’s a former documentarian, a former intern of the legendary Georgia Congressman John Lewis, whose parents, especially his mom, were involved in Democratic politics in Georgia, but definitely not household names — definitely not a known quantity when he called me all those years ago to say “I’m running.” 

Ossoff came within a whisker of an outright win, which would’ve been a huge, monumental upset. But in the process, he showed that Democrats have a path with suburban voters that long voted Republican in the Trump era. He started with the sort of campaign slogan of “Make Trump Furious.”

He was leaning into the Democratic activism, but then within weeks shifted his message toward a more friendly, more mainstream argument about bringing jobs to the district, bringing more tech-savvy investment to the district. 

When he announced for US Senate against David Perdue, very few people gave him a shot when he got in the race. But that race ended with this epic double-header runoff because Rev. Raphael Warnock was also in the race against [Sen.] Kelly Loeffler. Democrats hadn’t won in Georgia in decades. So it was an epic election and a real nail-biter to the end. 

Ossoff becomes the first Jewish US senator in Georgia history, Warnock becomes the first Black US senator in Georgia history, and together they flip control of the Senate and allow Joe Biden to to actually implement some of his broad-ranging agenda those first two years that they were in office.

It makes a lot of noise when Ossoff helps flip the US Senate along with Warnock. And he’s making a lot of noise now with “Natalie.” But I can’t say that I feel like he’s made a lot of noise in the intervening six years. What’s he been like as a senator?

That’s by design. It’s only been really recently where he’s been very willing to go on the national cable shows, to talk to national reporters more, to do a lot of the things that you see other nationally prominent Democratic figures do much more regularly. 

We both know there are folks in Washington who love going to the White House Correspondents’ Dinner and they love going to this or that luncheon or this or that dinner. Sen. Ossoff is much more likely to quietly go home and spend time with his two kids. 

I’m not just saying that because that’s the senator I know. He is much more reserved and guarded about his private life and will bend over backwards to figure out ways to get back to Georgia — even when there are important votes, [he’ll] find ways after those votes to get back for events with his kids and that kind of thing.

It feels a little contrary to think about this guy who keeps a low profile, who wants to go back home to Georgia to be with his family, who doesn’t want the limelight, because as you’ve already mentioned, he isn’t just running for reelection in the Senate right now. Everyone seems to believe that he’s running for president.

I’m going to go out on a limb saying that I believe him when he said publicly — and privately too — to folks all over the spectrum, media folks and activists and supporters and you name it, that he is focused on this election and he’s not running for president.

If someone like Sen. Ossoff wins by a huge margin over Mike Collins in an important battleground state that is tilted both ways the last decade, the chatter will not stop. It’ll only get louder. 

[He is] someone who is adept at making the arguments that so many core Democratic voters want to hear about President Trump, but at the same time can win over swing voters like he has in 2021. And he’s already seeming like he’s certainly making that outreach to them in 2026.

Do you think that if he does end up there, we’ll look back at Nataliegate as a big moment for him where it was just clear that this guy had the stuff? Or does this feel like, a week and a half out or whatever it is now, that it’s already fading into the background?

The biggest takeaway from that to me was how — and I think Jonathan Martin from Politico was the first to say it — Ossoff was essentially the nation’s assignment editor because it spurred countless stories for the next week and a half about who Natalie Harp is. 

It was Ossoff who showed that he has this extraordinary staying power in the media. These rallies — he doesn’t hold them every day or every week. These are like once every month or so rallies.

The stagecraft is impressive. He’s got these multi-camera shots that are immediately farmed out to all these social media accounts who amplify them. It’s very, very impressive how he pulls this off. And they’ve become these sort of national spectacles that have inevitably given rise to more ruminations about whether he’ll run for president or not, but also of course boost his campaign itself. 

That to me was one of the takeaways — that he has this impressive grip on not only what the media’s covering, but triggering them to cover even more of it.

Well, that was quick.

On Thursday evening, federal district Judge Indira Talwani issued a new order that temporarily blocks an effort by the Trump administration that appears designed to sabotage voting by mail in the upcoming midterm election. Talwani previously blocked an executive order that President Donald Trump issued in March, which ordered the US Postal Service (USPS) to impose a byzantine array of new regulations on voting by mail, but the Supreme Court reinstated the order on Monday.

Talwani’s new order sets up a new legal fight that is almost certain to return to the justices, and it is unclear whether this Court, with its 6-3 Republican majority, will allow Trump to make sweeping and unilateral changes to how the United States conducts its elections so close to an actual Election Day.

That said, while Talwani’s new order in League of Women Voters v. Trump is brief, it is well-crafted to persuade at least some members of the Court’s Republican majority to break with the leader of their political party. 

Talwani relies on a fairly new legal concept known as the “major questions doctrine,” that the Court’s Republican majority invented in the later part of the Obama administration, and that the Court has only actually used against one president: Joe Biden. Briefly, the doctrine claims that the executive branch may not make policy changes that are too sweeping or too aggressive, often even if a federal statute appears to give it the power to do so. 

As the Court summarized this idea in Utility Air Regulatory Group v. EPA (2014), the first Supreme Court decision to articulate the major questions doctrine, “we expect Congress to speak clearly if it wishes to assign to an agency decisions of vast ‘economic and political significance.’”

This doctrine, as Talwani indicated in her recent order, cuts sharply against Trump’s rules governing voting by mail. The Trump administration’s new rules impose so many layers of bureaucracy on mail ballots that it likely would be impossible for many states to comply with these regulations. Trump’s new rules, in other words, would effectively shut down voting by mail in much of the United States. And there are several states who conduct their elections almost entirely by mail, which means that Trump’s rules could effectively cancel the 2026 midterms in those states. 

If that’s not a decision of “vast economic and political significance,” nothing is.

The uncertain question, however, is whether the Court will actually apply its major questions doctrine to Trump — something that several justices have thus far been reluctant to do. In Learning Resources v. Trump (2026), the tariffs case, three Republican members of the Court (Chief Justice John Roberts and Justices Neil Gorsuch and Amy Coney Barrett) did say that this doctrine prohibits many of Trump’s tariffs. But the other three Republican justices (Clarence Thomas, Samuel Alito, and Brett Kavanaugh) refused to apply this doctrine to a member of their own party. 

If Roberts, Gorsuch, and Barrett hold to the view they expressed in Learning Resources — the view that the major questions doctrine applies to both Trump and Biden — then it is likely that these three justices plus the Court’s three Democrats will form a majority that will strike down Trump’s latest attempt to sabotage voting by mail.

A brief history of the major questions doctrine

Many federal laws lay out a broad policy goal, and then empower a federal agency to write rules that will achieve that goal. Federal law, for example, requires the EPA to determine when power plants must install cutting-edge technology to reduce their emissions. It tasks a body within the Department of Health and Human Services with determining which vaccines must be covered by health insurers. And it gives the Federal Communications Commission some control over the cost of cable television.

Often, the federal statutes granting these powers are written quite broadly. During the later part of the Obama administration, however, many voices within the conservative legal movement grew concerned that Democratic presidents could use these broadly worded statutes to make major policy changes. Indeed, in the late Obama administration, the Federalist Society’s annual lawyers’ convention, probably the most important annual gathering of influential Republican attorneys, became a showcase of proposals to restrict federal agencies and prevent them from using their congressionally granted authority too aggressively.

Ultimately, the Supreme Court’s Republican majority settled on the major questions doctrine as their solution to this clamor within the Federalist Society and other conservative legal groups. The doctrine effectively gives the justices a veto power over any policy proposal advanced by the executive branch if the justices deem that policy to be too ambitious.

One common critique of this doctrine is that it appears nowhere in the Constitution or in any federal law. The Court first announced the doctrine in its 2014 opinion in Utility Air, which merely invoked it to criticize a hypothetical EPA regulation that never actually existed. The Court has also never handed down a majority opinion explaining where the justices’ new power to veto federal regulations comes from. Moreover, while some individual justices have attempted to do so, their explanations conflict with each other, and are often ridiculous. Barrett has argued, for example, that the major questions doctrine derives from a parable about a babysitter.

Another criticism of the doctrine is that the Court has never applied it to a Republican administration — indeed, the Court has thus far only applied it to Biden. The doctrine, after its first appearance in 2014, laid dormant for the entire first Trump administration — only to spring back to life in order to block several of Biden’s attempts to respond to the Covid-19 pandemic.

Yet, while the major questions doctrine is hard to defend as a good faith effort to interpret the Constitution or any statute, the pragmatic case for allowing someone to rein in a too aggressive president has undoubtedly gotten stronger in the last two years. Trump is a walking advertisement for the idea that there should be limits on executive power. If the Court decided to apply its major questions doctrine to Trump, it’s unlikely that many Democrats would object to such a decision.

Thus far, however, the Court’s three Democrats have kept this recently fabricated doctrine at arms length — in Learning Resources v. Trump (2026), for example, they concluded that it was unnecessary to invoke the major questions doctrine to strike down Trump’s tariffs that were at issue in that case because federal law was clear that those tariffs could not exist.

The Court’s Republicans, meanwhile, have split on whether the doctrine should be applied to Trump. While Roberts, Gorsuch, and Barrett all concluded that Trump’s attempt to impose trillions of dollars worth of new taxes on imports was a decision of “vast ‘economic and political significance,’” the other three Republicans joined an opinion by Justice Brett Kavanaugh, which said that the doctrine does not apply “in the foreign affairs context, including foreign trade.”

Kavanaugh, in other words, would have invented a new exception to a brand new legal doctrine, which just happened to be perfectly tailored to exempt a Republican president’s signature economic policy.

Still, there are three Republican justices who have previously concluded that the major questions doctrine may be used against a Republican president. If these justices hold to that view in League of Women Voters, that’s enough to form a majority against Trump’s restrictions on voting by mail because the Court’s three Democrats have already signaled that they oppose those restrictions.

League of Women Voters gives the Roberts Court a second chance to legitimize one of its most consequential changes to US law

Because the Court has neither offered a plausible explanation of where the major questions doctrine comes from, nor applied this doctrine in a nonpartisan way, both the Democratic justices and a wide array of legal scholars have treated the doctrine as illegitimate. So have I. Kavanaugh’s dissenting opinion calling for a Trump-sized exemption to the major questions doctrine certainly didn’t help the case for it.

But if any case justifies a court decision that overrides a presidential power grab, League of Women Voters is that case.

Trump has carried out a vendetta against voting by mail since the 2020 election. During the Covid pandemic, disease-shy Democrats were much more likely to vote-by-mail than Republicans, because voting by mail allowed Democrats to avoid a trip to the polls where they might catch Covid. And these voting patterns continued even after the pandemic receded. According to the Pew Research Center, 44 percent of Democrats, and only 26 percent of Republicans, voted by mail in the 2024 election.

The new restrictions on voting by mail, in other words, are almost certainly motivated by Trump’s desire to shut down a method of voting that is preferred by Democrats, and thus skew the 2026 election towards Republicans.

Among other things, the new rules require states to mail ballots in a special envelope which must include certain design elements mandated by the federal government. These envelopes must be preapproved by the Postal Service, and individually scanned in a process that the Trump administration claims will take “less than a minute per mailpiece.”

But, as several states point out in a legal filing challenging Trump’s rules, California alone needs to mail 23 million ballots to individual voters. So that potentially adds up to “23 million minutes … or more than 43 years” that state officials would need to spend just to comply with one small part of the new regulations.

Trump’s lawyers point to two vaguely worded statutes to justify the new restrictions. One permits USPS to adopt rules “as may be necessary in the execution of its functions.” The other permits it to “provide for the collection, handling, transportation, delivery, forwarding, returning, and holding of mail.”

If the major questions doctrine applies to Republican administrations, however, there is no need to parse whether these two laws should be read to allow the Trump administration to effectively shut down voting by mail. The question of whether to quash a method of voting that tens of millions of US voters have used in the past is undoubtedly a question of “vast … political significance.” And thus, under Utility Air’s holding that Congress must “speak clearly” before it can give a federal agency the power to resolve this question, the two vague statutes that Trump’s lawyers cite to justify the new rules are not enough.

League of Women Voters, in other words, should be a very easy case — even for the Court’s Republicans. All they need to do to strike down Trump’s attack on voting by mail is apply the same rules to Trump that they previously applied to Biden.

If you haven’t yet heard about how a certain fella is choosin’ a woman from Texas over Ella Langley, it’s only a matter of time. 

Langley’s massive hit, “Choosin’ Texas,” began dominating the Billboard Hot 100 charts a few months ago — and never looked back. It’s still sitting at No. 1 after 19 weeks, tied for the longest time spent atop the charts among non-holiday songs. In a few more weeks, Langley could shatter the all-time record and dethrone Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You.”

It’s a runaway success for Langley, who is relatively new to country music but has quickly vaulted to a new tier of stardom. To break down how it happened, Today, Explained turned to Marissa Moss, a senior writer at Rolling Stone and the author of Her Country: How the Women of Country Music Became the Success They Were Never Supposed to Be.

Moss talked with Today, Explained co-host Noel King about where Langley’s success came from, what it means for women in country music, and why many fans don’t know what to make of Langley, who has maintained a low profile for a star artist. 

Below is an excerpt of the conversation, edited for length and clarity. There’s much more in the full podcast, so listen to Today, Explained wherever you get podcasts, including Apple Podcasts, Pandora, and Spotify.

Tell me about “Choosin’ Texas.” 

“Choosin’ Texas” is a song about a woman who is essentially losing her man in real time. She goes to a bar or a honky-tonk in Texas. She’s from Tennessee. She suddenly realizes that he sees his ex who’s from Texas and drifts away from her to this woman. It’s that feeling of knowing when you see it in someone’s face that they’re going to be leaving you and figuring out whether it’s worth it to hold on or to let go.

How big is this song, exactly?

It is huge. It is up there right now in competition with Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You,” which owns the record for the most weeks at No. 1 on the Billboard Hot 100 with 22 weeks. Her only [other] competition is from Shaboozey and Lil Nas X, which are country-adjacent songs. 

She really could blow by Mariah Carey. Of course you get a boost every time Christmas comes around, but we’re a little ways off from Mariah Carey declaring once and for all that it’s Christmas season. So I think Ella has plenty of time to catch up. And it could be the biggest song of all time, which is crazy.

You’re a music writer and you’re based in Nashville. How big a deal is Ella Langley in a place like Nashville and in the country industry?

She’s a big deal. And it’s exciting because she’s a relatively newish artist in terms of how long she’s been putting out music. She only released her debut album in 2024, called Hungover. 

It’s really exciting because as a lot of people know, it can be really hard for a woman to make it in Nashville. Usually under 10 percent of songs on country radio are by women, so having someone like her out there and having so much country radio airplay and presence on the Hot 100 and breaking all these records, you really hope that it’s going to help influence people in Nashville to sign more women, platform more women, do all of those things to try to sort of flip this longstanding sexism that has existed in Nashville. 

Not to put all of our hopes and dreams on one woman, because it’s not up to her to do this. It’s up to the industry to respond. But you sure have to hope so.

Was it a surprise that “Choosin’ Texas” became such a big hit?

I would’ve never predicted this. I loved the song when I heard it, but I don’t think I ever thought that something this country could be this popular. 

And yes, country music is becoming so much more popular nationwide, worldwide. But it is also country music in a lot of ways that is a little bit more pop-leaning. Morgan Wallen is extremely popular, but he’s not putting out super-twangy tears-in-your-beer kind of country music songs. 

“Choosin’ Texas” is kind of sad, but more than sad, I think it’s relatable. It taps into this feeling that a lot of people have, especially in the summer. If you’re thinking about a summer romance, of losing something that you once had, of letting go, of nostalgia, I think that’s something that we really want to feel right now. 

And despite the lyrical content, which may be a little bit of a bummer, the song does just feel so good. And it’s like a little bit of a brain weed gummy. The second it comes on and you hear that little guitar lick it relaxes you. It gives you that summer feel of airy and fresh and a lot of people want to feel that way right now. 

You’ve said she’s not a person who shares a ton about herself. Probably smart in this day and age. But country music often does get politicized. And I’ve seen that happening a bit around her and around this song. Tell me about the way she is being slotted into certain perspectives in the US, whether she wants to be or not.

One thing I’ve seen is a lot of people from the far right wanting to use her as an example of a return to sort of this anti-girlboss era. They like to take the fact that she speaks about her faith on stage and warp that into that being sort of her overriding agenda and that she wants this return to traditional values.

And then on the left, I’ve seen some people sort of play with the same. I personally think you could just as easily make a case that she’s a feminist who had Miranda Lambert produce her album and writes with women and takes all these women on tour.

So many people want this moment to serve their own narrative and want Ella Langley to stand for something on every side. And if you don’t give people a little, they’re going to go wild. But maybe that’s better than putting your personal views out there and having them ripped apart. I can’t say I really blame her, to be honest. 

On Tuesday, New York Mayor Zohran Mamdani was asked about an upcoming appearance by Mohan Bhagwat, a leader of a Hindu nationalist organization, at Madison Square Garden on Saturday. 

“I don’t support the rally, but I don’t know if the city has any jurisdiction on canceling a private event,” he said at a press conference. “It has been incredibly troubling to see the rise of a movement that is predicated on an exclusionary vision of any country, frankly, and so it is one that I find myself in deep opposition to.”

His statement has led to a flurry of controversy and allegations that Mamdani is “Hinduphobic,” biased toward Muslims, and picking a fight with another religious and ethnic group. The mayor has continued to make headlines this year for his vocal criticism of Israel and its Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, leading to tensions with Jewish leaders and communities in New York.

But Mamdani was far from the only critic of the event; other Hindu, Muslim, interfaith, and human rights activists protested the event and demanded it be canceled this week. 

What’s actually going on here? 

Bhagwat is the leader of the Indian organization Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (or RSS for short), a Hindu nationalist group affiliated with India’s ruling party, the Bharatiya Janata Party. 

Bhagwat is not a politician or an officeholder in India, but is frequently described as being one of the most influential men in that country, primarily because of his role in leading RSS, which describes itself as a “Hindu-centric civilisational, cultural movement.”

Yet plenty of activists, academics, experts, and critics contest that description of RSS, instead casting it as a right-wing Hindu nationalist paramilitary organization, accused of fueling intolerance, endorsing discrimination, or inciting violence against minorities in the subcontinent, particularly Muslims — essentially promoting an ideology that “amounts to ‘an Indian version of fascism,’” as one India scholar told my colleague Zack Beauchamp in 2023.

And one of the most vocal recent critics is Mamdani, who is himself Muslim and of Hindu descent on his mother’s side. 

To better understand the RSS, Bhagwat, and the reasons for Mamdani’s criticism, I turned to Nishant Upadhyay, an associate professor in Asian American studies at the University of Colorado Boulder. Upadhyay has done extensive research on the intersection of race and caste, as well as Hindu nationalism in both India and diaspora communities.

Our conversation has been edited for length and clarity.

Could you explain to me what these groups behind Saturday’s event are?

Mohan Bhagwat is the president of this Hindu nationalist organization, RSS, which loosely translates to National Volunteer Corps. The group that’s organizing this event in the US is called American Hindus for Engagement and Dialogue. In choosing someone like Bhagwat, who has been the president of this organization since 2009, which is perhaps the largest paramilitary religious nationalist organization in the world, it’s very concerning and shocking.

American Hindus for Engagement and Dialogue say they’re all about fostering understanding, building bridges, strengthening communities, but the Hindu nationalist project in India is anything but that. In the diaspora, for them to say that we believe in diversity, we believe in building bridges, we believe in a vision of multiculturalism, it shows the contradiction between what Hindu nationalists are doing in India versus what they pretend to do in the diaspora.

Does RSS have a long history in India?

It was founded in 1925, when India was under British colonial rule, with the idea that India should only be for Hindus. And who is “Hindu” changes, but mostly the violence we see has been put on Muslim and Christian communities. And over the last hundred years, that violence just keeps escalating. Muslims are the primary target, but across the country, Christian communities have also become a big target. 

The whole idea is that India should be for Hindus and religions that have originated in South Asia. So Jainism, Buddhism, Sikhism — they can be part of the Hindu nation as long as they identify themselves as Hindu, because these religions have some similarities with Hinduism. But all of them actually came as anti-caste critiques of Hinduism. Practitioners of these religions assert a very separate identity than Hindu because of what their scriptures have been grounded in: a very anti-casteist and anti-patriarchal critique of what we understand as Hinduism now.

How does India’s current government fit into this?

RSS is the biggest umbrella organization of all Hindu nationalist organizations in India and the diaspora. And BJP, the ruling party in India, is seen as the political wing. So RSS does not necessarily participate in elections and government, but provides the spiritual, religious, and intellectual foundation for a political party like BJP that does come to power.

They have this really massive network of RSS followers across the country who are then mobilized for elections, who are mobilized to support BJP, who are mobilized to then commit violence against Muslims. Some people come from the RSS and become leaders in the BJP, though BJP also has other people who might not be directly affiliated with RSS, but it’s the main political organization.

For the last 12-ish years, Narendra Modi, who’s the prime minister of India, has been in power with the BJP, which has drastically changed the social, political, and economic landscape of the country. The Hindu nationalist agenda has become more and more frontline and mainstreamed and normalized. Religious minorities like Muslims and Christians face constant violence, everyday surveillance, everyday policing, from the minutiae to extreme violence on a regular basis across the country. If Hindu nationalists had their way, they would either take away citizenship rights from Muslim communities or render them nationless and kick them out of the country.

It’s also caste-oppressed communities, Indigenous communities, ethnic communities like Kashmiri and Manipuri communities. We have just seen drastic escalation and violence against everyone who’s not a Hindu and everyone who’s not a dominant caste, or caste-privileged Hindus across the country.

So this group’s leader is coming to the US — how do Indians in the American diaspora feel about all this? When Modi came to the US in 2019, he had massive crowds, and Donald Trump joined him. Do folks here feel the same way about someone like Bhagwat?

It’s complicated, and there isn’t just one view. For context: Modi was banned from coming into the US until about 2014, because he was accused of encouraging genocide against Muslims in the state of Gujarat in 2002, where over a thousand people were killed.

But since being elected prime minister, he’s visited the US multiple times and has often had huge gatherings in cities like New York and Houston. He won a third election two years ago, and his closeness with Trump…he’s projected often as a world leader. But there is, in the diaspora, along with human rights organizations in the US, active work against RSS and BJP for the last 20, 25 years. They are doing the consciousness-raising work of saying how this is a fascist ideology, anti-Muslim ideology and that we should not be in cahoots with them.

But what we’ve also seen is, especially in the last 15 years since Modi has come into power, that the Hindu right-wing diaspora has also become very active and mobilized. And so there used to be a more secular diaspora, which in some ways was the mainstream, that has been taken over by [the] Hindu right-wing diaspora now because of how they’re in alignment with both the Democrat and the Republican Party. They’re also working with Indian millionaires and billionaires in the US economy, and so they’ve started gaining this economic and political power in the US where they’re becoming more dominant.

And they’re able to do these things at a much larger scale now and counter the critiques of nationalism in the diaspora. There is power in the Hindu diaspora, and now, in some ways, the right-wing diaspora. That ideology works very well with Trump’s ideology and actually also works with Democrats in many ways because Modi has also allowed more and more American corporate interests to come into the Indian economy.

But that’s not to say that the majority of the Indian diaspora is Hindu and the dominant caste; there are many who are non-dominant-caste and many who are not Hindus, and many who are Hindus and dominant-caste and critical of Hindu nationalism because we see the violence that is happening under the name of our religion in many ways. 

And that’s where the conversation heats up, because Zohran Mamdani’s family also comes from a much more secular, pluralist, anti-Hindutva [the RSS/BJP ideology that defines Indian identity through Hindu identity] ideology. And a place like New York has many amazing diasporic groups who are working every day to fight against fascism in India and the US.

Every time this erupts in the mainstream, we see this conflict between the much more conservative Hindu right-wing voices versus the much more liberal, secular, pluralist Indian diaspora.

So let’s talk about Mamdani’s critique. What’s the context we need to know that explains why he would speak up? 

He is such a curious figure to have someone in the public realm like that. So he is Muslim, but his mother is Hindu, and his mother is from India. His mother has been a very renowned progressive filmmaker who’s made films about different forms of structural violence in India for a long time. So he is Muslim, but also someone from a progressive Hindu background. He can see the violence in the Indian state in ways that are not accessible to many others.

I would not say it’s just because he’s Muslim. I think because he’s Muslim and has a progressive anti-violence kind of approach that for him then these are very important issues. That kind of outlook is not targeting Hindus, he’s specifically talking about the violences of Hindu nationalism. It’s not a blanket statement against all Hindus, that they are like that. And he’s also Hindu, comes from a Hindu-heritage family as well.

How does this compare to his comments and criticisms of Netanyahu? Some on the American right have cast him as having it out against Jewish people, or Israel, and now he’s moving on to Hindus.

It’s very similar, in the sense that criticizing an ideology or a nation’s policies is not the same thing as saying all people are responsible. The conversation that criticizing Netanyahu or Israel is not antisemitic is a similar conversation: it’s actually not a critique of Hinduism or Judaism, it’s a critique of hyper-nationalist politics that can come out of Zionism and Hindu nationalism and what the Indian state and the Israeli state does.

His critique and my critique and many of us in the US, our critiques are saying, no, actually let’s look at what Hindu nationalism and Zionism does. And that’s where I think Mamdani comes from. 

Anything Mamdani says and does or his wife says and does becomes news anyway, but these are much more grounded in politics that his and his family have been grounded in for a long time, to fight against violence and fascism and stand up for minoritized communities here and globally.

He does have a track record of speaking up about Hindu nationalism. I believe he has called Modi a “war criminal.”

Yes, he’s been doing this even before he became mayor or before he came into US politics. If you see his track record when he was a younger organizer, he has always been consistent on standing up for Palestinians, standing up for Muslims, standing up against all forms of fascism here and globally. 

He’s very openly spoken about what is happening to Muslims in India in the last 10-plus years. Quite recently, he has spoken up about an Indian Muslim PhD scholar, Umar Khalid, who was critical of BJP and was arrested and has been detained in Delhi for six years. So Mamdani has shown solidarity to many Muslim folks in India who get unjustly incarcerated or face violence.

So it’s not surprising that Mamdani would weigh in now. But is it significant?

I’m wondering now with your question, if Mamdani hadn’t said anything, would this have been an issue? Or if Mohan Bhagwat had gone somewhere else in the US, if the mayor would have not said anything, or if it would have sparked any interest. 

I want to emphasize that this is beyond players like Zohran Mamdani and Mohan Bhagwat, and more about the mainstreaming of Hindu nationalist ideology in the US. It is really scary and we need to be very attentive to it even when they use the language of pluralism and dialogue and building bridges.

Even Indian Americans who are Muslims and Kashmiris and Dalit and Manipuri and others get attacked on a very regular basis. So many academics in the US academy and grassroots-level organizers, who are mostly women and who are mostly Muslim or mostly Dalit, are publicly hounded. They get threats, threats against their children in their inboxes, in their phone calls, on their social media feeds. And this has been going on for the last 10 years and more. And so it is when we give power to people like Mohan Bhagwat that these violences escalate more.

This story appeared in Today, Explained, a daily newsletter that helps you understand the most compelling news and stories of the day. Subscribe here.

After ending legal protections for 350,000 Haitians living in the United States, the Trump administration is ramping up its efforts to deport them back to a country engulfed in violence — and bragging about it.  

“Those with terminated TPS are in our nation Illegally,” the Department of Homeland Security X account posted on Thursday evening, alongside a video of chained Haitian immigrants set to cheery music. “They have two options: LEAVE IMMEDIATELY or be DEPORTED.”

Temporary protected status (TPS) is extended to immigrants for whom conflict, natural disaster, or another catastrophe means returning home would be unsafe, and Haiti certainly qualifies: The island nation has been in crisis since its president was assassinated in 2021, with armed gangs controlling most of the capital city; earlier this week, dozens were killed and kidnapped near the capital.

Despite all that, the administration first attempted to end TPS protections for Haitians living in the US last year, and succeeded after the Supreme Court gave its blessing in June.

Now, it’s sending them back to a country where the State Department warns Americans not to travel “for any reason” because of “crime, terrorism, kidnapping, unrest, and limited health care.” On Thursday, that effort included a deportation flight carrying families with young children born in the US.

Trump’s indiscriminate, record-breaking immigration crackdown

Haitian immigrants in the US aren’t the only people whom Immigrations and Customs Enforcement is targeting more aggressively. According to immigration data released this week by the Deportation Data Project at UC Berkeley and UCLA, ICE arrested a record number of people in two consecutive months this summer: first 43,000 in June, then nearly 50,000 last month.

As arrests surge, who’s being targeted is changing, too. More and more ICE arrestees don’t have a criminal record; in July, immigrants with only civil immigration violations made up a majority of arrests. Often, they also have active immigration cases pursuing asylum, a green card, or some other legal status, as the Seattle Times reported this week.

Overall, ICE detentions are also rising again, though they’re still lower than they were at the start of the year. 

The pace of arrests reflects ICE’s growing size — 29,000 employees in June, according to the New York Times, compared to 21,000 in January 2025 — as well as its glut of cash after Trump’s reconciliation bill forked over $75 billion to the agency last year.

Nonetheless, the agency still wants more: As the New York Times reported in July, its internal target for arrests is 2,000 per day. That would mean a record of at least 60,000 people per month, the majority likely guilty of no crime at all.

One link for later

➨ Shop local. With food getting recalled left and right for all kinds of dire reasons (both related to Health Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. and not), farmers markets are getting more attention as an option for leafy greens that won’t leave you in crisis. But how do small farms pull it off, and how much of a difference does it make? The Vox video team headed to Camarillo, California, to investigate.

Before you go…

• Did you know…that three words might be all that’s standing between us and autonomous killer robots? As my colleague Kylie Jones explains, it’s the semantic difference between “meaningful human control” and “appropriate human judgment,” which is the Pentagon’s current standard.
• Today’s trivia: In which athletic conference does Georgia Tech compete? (You can find this and other brain puzzles in Vox’s daily crossword. Look for the answer in Monday’s edition.)
• Yesterday’s trivia: Yesterday, we asked you which city serves as the headquarters of the National Collegiate Athletic Association. That would be Indianapolis.

On Wednesday, Harry Styles begins his 30-night residency at Madison Square Garden, making him the latest in a wave of celebrities who are turning away from conventional touring and changing the experience of live music as a result.

In recent years, Adele, Bad Bunny, and Billy Joel have all had sold-out residencies in Munich, Puerto Rico, and New York, respectively. This means that fans can’t just wait for a visit to their hometown — they have to buy a ticket and book a trip, sometimes a very expensive one.

Residencies have become a high-profile example of how the economics of entertainment are changing how we experience culture, and who can even afford to have that experience. 

There are a number of reasons for the trend: residencies are more cost-effective for musicians and crew, and they’re a lot easier in other ways. Burnout, exhaustion, and substance abuse have long been features of touring musicians’ stories from the road, and residencies alleviate some of that physical and mental toll — at least for the superstars who can book them.

The fans, however, especially the ones coming in from out of town, have to pick up that tab now. Today, Explained host Astead Herndon interviewed Billboard writer Robert Levine about this topic back in February. They discussed why this has happened — and how, for many fans, these costs can actually be worth it. Residencies create increased pressure to create a “sense of event,” and ensure every show offers something special — really delivering for the handful of people who can make the trip, and creating FOMO for those who can’t make it, which is kind of the goal of all of it.

There’s much more in the full podcast, so listen to Today, Explained wherever you get podcasts, including Apple Podcasts, Pandora, and Spotify.

I’m based in New York, so Harry Styles’s tour really perked my interest. He’ll be here for a 30-night residency and he has no other US shows on his tour. Can you explain to me the business of Harry staying put like this? Why has this become a thing for artists? What do we think this tour represents?

What’s interesting is all the writing and all the talk about the concert business focuses on the money that’s going in. Hardly anyone thinks about the money going out. As always, they have crew, they have musicians, they have expenses. The most expensive part is getting it all around. So imagine if you could minimize that expense and make the same amount of money.

So is that why we’re seeing someone like Harry Styles sit for 30 nights at MSG? It’s to lower travel costs?

Well, look, I mean haven’t talked to Harry Styles, so I’m just making an educated guess, but yes, I think so. And there’s the sort of capital-R residency that he’s doing. He’s declaring this a residency, and he’s making an event of it. But if you look at the concert business in general, you are seeing a trend — and sometimes people don’t notice it — toward playing more shows at fewer venues. The same kinds of economic forces are changing the nature of what we might call regular tours. Now you’re seeing more two-night stands, more three-night stands, more four-night stands. 

And there’s also…this isn’t economics, but there’s also lifestyle considerations. All those classic rock songs about the romance of being on the road; “Turn the Page” by Bob Seger where he was talking about how burnt out he is. … There used to be a romance to being miserable and now there’s not. 

Rock stars on tour, the crazy bus, all of that stuff.

We’re coming to your town, we’ll help you party down. Now you have to come to them and help them party down. And I think people realize a lot of the performers are getting older. They might not want to move around so much. But also remember when Elvis was in Vegas? This is not Elvis the teen sensation who wouldn’t be filmed below the waist. This is Elvis the middle-class performer, and in Vegas, he could stay in a really nice hotel rather than be in a van. 

I’m going to ask about the New York piece. When we think about Harry Styles specifically, I think back to the fame, and I don’t have to go all the way back to Elvis for famous residencies in Vegas. Think about Celine Dion, or more recently, folks like Adele or even Usher.

Vegas had an advantage in that a lot of people were there with expense accounts always. That’s probably less the case today, but it’s still a convention in a conference town. If you’re charging people that amount of money, it doesn’t just need to be a great show. It needs to be part of a great weekend. It has to be a city with a lot to do. It has to have great air connections and a lot of hotel rooms. New York scores on all of those. 

It seems as if from what you’re saying, it makes sense for the artist in terms of reducing travel costs. It makes sense because maybe resale markets have made it clear to the entertainment industry that the demand for higher prices is there. But it does, as you mentioned, also raise expectations of what fans expect to experience at the concert. I wonder: in your opinion, are fans getting more for their money at these shows since they’re more expensive now? 

I think that’s so much in the eye of the beholder, right? For Adele in Munich, where she had a residency two summers ago, they built the biggest video screen in the world. Bigger than a football field. It was gigantic. I’m not that interested in a big screen. I don’t care if it’s the biggest screen. I’m not counting. She performed with fantastic musicians, and the staging was really creative. I thought it was an incredible show. I took the train four or five hours to go from Berlin. I thought it was fantastic and well worth it. Was I excited about the Ferris wheel? Honestly, not really.

What limits artists outside of the Adeles or Harry Styleses from adopting this residency model?

I think it’s less about the size of the artist and more about the implied specialness of it. It’s about FOMO. These are the biggest concerts, but there’s a lot of great concerts. How do you sell this as a special thing? Well, you play your marquee album, you promise two shows, two nights, no repeats. Metallica did that.  

You really have to create a sense of event. You have to have a claim on people’s souls. In the modern concert business…it’s not so much, why do you want to see them? but, why now and not next year or the year after?

How do you see these residencies having an influence on the way the live event industry operates as a whole? Part of what we’ve been looking at are the changes that have occurred in the industry post-pandemic. Where do you see this piece fitting in?

I have to admit that a lot of people in the business and who write about the business have been very cautious about the boom in the industry. Look at the price spike post-Covid. But what happens when that ends? When will that bubble burst? Look at how high prices get, will people still have the money to go to other concerts? 

And the truth is…the demand to see shows has proven all of this wrong. There’s always this idea that it’s a winner-take-all business: you’re going to travel to see Harry Styles, you’re not going to see other shows…logically, that money ought to be not spent on other concerts. But you don’t see that. And this is at a time when the economy is very, very good for some people and pretty lousy for most people. So that might be another reason why people are so interested in playing New York and LA because you get more people with disposable income. Other people can fly there, but at some point, I don’t know what the limit is. We don’t seem to get there.

People who might buy a cheaper pair of jeans or a cheaper television don’t seem to look at…concerts are not a competitive good. Who’s your second if you can’t go see Harry Styles? Who’s the artist most like Harry Styles, who’s also playing a concert? Who’s most like Beyonce, who’s not Beyonce? The answer is nobody.

Yeah. If Kelly Rowland was doing concerts, I would be moving in the same way. Right? It’s specific to that artist. And I can kind of see your point…that is what has made this shift be more permanent than folks expect now.

By the way, I bet some of those artists that you would say don’t compare to Beyonce, put on great shows.

For sure.

A natural disaster can do in one day what decades of public zoning fights cannot: Erase entire neighborhoods and force thousands of decisions, all at once, about what will replace them. 

That’s the question now — still — hanging over Altadena, the Pacific Palisades, and other Los Angeles-area communities that burned in the catastrophic January 2025 wildfires. More than a year and a half later, rebuilding remains painfully slow. All this is unfolding in a region already desperately short of homes, with one of the most expensive housing markets in America. 

Now, California’s legislature is set to vote on a law bowing to local anti-density pressure that could make that all the worse, and set an ominous precedent for housing affordability. This is, on one level, a regional story about a fire-traumatized community trying to get back on its feet and shape its future, but it reflects something much larger, too. It highlights the kind of zero-sum politics increasingly pervasive nationwide, that casts ordinary homebuilding as something sinister, and that elevates local control above all else. These instincts help explain why it’s become so hard for the US to build the things we need, and why the fight for affordable, abundant housing remains so fraught, in California and nationwide.

The roots of this dispute go back well before the fires. For the better part of a decade, California has been trying to solve one of the central contradictions driving our national housing shortage: Almost everyone agrees that the country needs more homes, yet almost everyone has a reason they should go somewhere else. The state has passed laws weakening exclusionary zoning, legalizing denser “missing middle” housing, and taking some housing decisions out of the hands of local governments that refuse to permit enough homes. 

That push included, in 2021, a now-famous statewide law, Senate Bill 9, which overrode local zoning to enable homeowners statewide to build up to four housing units on their lots. Another pair of laws, SB 684 and a subsequent expansion, SB 1123, made it possible to subdivide vacant lots zoned for single-family houses and build up to 10 smaller homes on them.  

The 2025 fires are now testing California’s pro-housing progress. In Altadena, an unincorporated suburb about 14 miles north of downtown LA, the Eaton Fire destroyed a huge share of homes. Many survivors are now rebuilding the single-family homes they lost in the disaster. Others, facing meager insurance payouts and massive construction costs, have sought to rebuild at higher densities to make doing so financially feasible, or sold their lots to developers and moved elsewhere. 

Only a small share of rebuilding applications so far have relied on SB 9 or SB 1123, but a revolt has nevertheless ensued among opponents of denser developments. Lawmakers in Sacramento now want to stop the use of one of California’s pro-housing laws in the community. By August 31, the state legislature could pass yet a new law: SB 1090, which would suspend SB 1123 in Altadena until 2030, blocking the additional housing it would have allowed.   

Altadena is by all accounts idyllic, lined with storybook bungalows bordering the San Gabriel Mountains. The impulse to want it to be built back as it was before is only human and understandable. Neil Tyler, a fire survivor who supports SB 1090 and is currently rebuilding his home, told me that many in the community are deeply anxious and angry that a developer could buy burned lots and transform them into clusters of 10 homes that would feel alien to the Altadena they’re trying to recover. It “exploded into the community’s fear and opposition and pretty much outrage over someone trying to profit off the backs of all of our pain and suffering,” he said. 

I’ve written extensively on the national housing shortage and the local zoning laws that help cause it. Altadena offers an unusually sympathetic case for the desire to maintain hyper-local control — it’s terribly unfair for your community to burn down overnight. And it challenged me to think more deeply about what is owed to a community suffering such incredible loss. 

Ultimately, the fight over SB 1090 clarified to me more strongly why the local level is the wrong one to make decisions about housing supply, and why it’s important for California’s hard-won housing laws, along with similar state laws elsewhere in the US, to withstand the very local resistance they were enacted to overcome. The metro LA area, including Altadena, is extraordinarily expensive in large part because local control has already caused it to underbuild housing for decades. SB 1090 would convert some fire survivors’ desire to preserve Altadena’s low-density form into restrictions on other people’s rights and choices, while blocking homes the region desperately needs. 

The case for rebuilding…more

Debates over arcane laws with names like SB 9, SB 1123, and SB 1090 might sound abstract, impenetrable, and boring. But the principles are fairly straightforward, and they explain a lot about what feels so wrong with American life right now. 

The economics of housing is not so different from that of any other good: When lots of people want a thing but we don’t make enough of it, it will become ever more expensive. This has happened in LA and many other parts of the US over the last century. Starting in the 1960s, LA used local zoning laws to sharply decrease allowed densities for new housing in the city. By 1990, the city’s theoretical population capacity had fallen from roughly 10 million to about 4 million, even as its economy and demand to live there grew. Sure enough, LA’s population today is just south of 4 million, and housing costs are predictably out of control. 

Those numbers are just LA proper — but housing markets are regional, and LA’s suburbs have been just as responsible for the area’s chronic housing scarcity. One of the most pervasive drivers is single-family zoning, a form of “exclusionary zoning” that makes it illegal to build anything other than a single-family house on most residential land in the US. 

Altadena, where the median home is valued at around $1.12 million, is zoned overwhelmingly for single-family dwellings — a policy California has sought to chip away at with state laws like SB 9 and 1123. The idea is that allowing more homes on a single lot will expand supply, which helps lower housing prices; in tandem, it allows physically smaller homes to be built instead of just large single-family houses, which also lowers housing prices.  

Reforming exclusionary zoning in this manner also does something that can help fire survivors trying to rebuild their lives. It tends to raise land values, because a parcel that can support several homes is worth more than one where only one can legally be built. 

Consider a hypothetical: An empty lot might sell to a builder for $500,000 if it’s only zoned to support a single-family house. The builder might then spend $1 million on construction and other development costs and sell the house for $1.8 million, making $300,000 in profit. If the plot could instead support six smaller homes under SB 1123, the builder could pay $800,000 for the land, spend $3 million on construction, and sell each home for $750,000, making $700,000 in profit. This is a simplified example, and real-world comparisons are much more complicated, but the underlying principle is basic land economics: Increasing a parcel’s development capacity increases what a developer can justify paying for it. Allowing greater densities can be positive-sum — the original homeowner can get a higher price for their sale, the new home buyers can get much less expensive houses, and the builder can make a greater profit.  

“These small-scale density tools could in fact be a financial lifeline that allows some Altadena homeowners to fill what is often a six-figure gap in their financing in order to rebuild their home and provide some housing for some other folks,” said Azeen Khanmalek, executive director of Abundant Housing LA, one of several California pro-housing groups opposing SB 1090. 

Caroline Paules, an Altadena resident who also opposes SB 1090, noted that rebuilding to modern fire-resistant standards is expensive; building densely can help mitigate that cost. Paules is a mechanical engineer and co-founder of a startup that builds small prefabricated cottages, and had hoped to use SB 1123 to build in Altadena, with seven cottages each on lots previously reserved for single-family homes. If SB 1090 passes, she said, she may not be able to. “I completely resonate with the desire for Altadena to be what it was, because it was beautiful and perfect,” she said. But “no matter how traumatizing and painful it is, I think we have to release trying to shove Altadena into what it was before the fire.”

How California’s pro-housing push swerved

Last year, after the fire destroyed between one-third and one-half of Altadena’s homes, the Los Angeles County planning department promoted SB 9 and 1123 as rebuilding options in a brochure for fire survivors. But earlier this year, as neighbors became increasingly concerned about rebuilding plans, LA County abruptly changed course and voided applications filed to build under SB 1123. The county now took the position that the Altadena lots didn’t qualify under SB 1123 because so many surrounding homes had burned that the parcels couldn’t be considered infill projects.

The reversal echoed what happened last summer, when Gov. Gavin Newsom and LA Mayor Karen Bass suspended SB 9 in the Palisades after residents had already begun submitting applications — a midstream rule change that made an already grueling rebuild harder. Most of Altadena wasn’t included in that order because much of it isn’t designated as a very-high-fire-hazard zone, so residents who oppose the higher-density developments have sought other routes to block it. 

Much of the recent backlash has centered on plans to build under SB 1123 by Stone West Homes, a Southern California-based developer. Between summer 2025 and early 2026, the developer was involved in buying seven Altadena lots where homes had burned, planning to redevelop them into about 10 small houses each — 70 homes total. These were large lots, most of them between two to four times the size of a typical new single-family lot. The developer has said the lots were purchased for more than single-family development could have justified, but opponents have disputed that. (That is a complicated question to adjudicate, and not one I’ll pursue here.)

In March, LA County told the developer its application was being canceled. “They basically flipped a switch,” Chris Manasserian, a lawyer for the developer, told me; they then sued LA County for what they allege was an illegal reversal.  

The fight soon moved to the state’s capital. By June, California state Sen. Sasha Renée Pérez, whose district includes Altadena, rewrote an existing bill, SB 1090, to include a moratorium on SB 9 and SB 1123 in the community, setting this whole episode into motion. 

The LA County planning department did not respond to a request for comment. Pérez did not make herself available for an interview. LA County Supervisor Kathryn Barger, who represents Altadena and has vigorously promoted SB 1090, also didn’t respond to multiple requests for an interview. 

The SB 9 suspension was eventually dropped from the bill, leaving only the moratorium on SB 1123, which would take effect only for applications submitted after October 1 of this year. To some residents, 1123 is much more threatening: It allows greater densities, and it’s more likely to be used by outside developers than pre-existing Altadena homeowners. Suspicion of developers has been central to the campaign for SB 1090. A website run by SB 1090 supporters portrays Stone West’s planned developments as “disaster capitalism” by “out-of-town speculators.” 

I find this hard to compute. It feels of a piece with a broader, slopulist zero-sum turn in American politics that treats any transaction in which someone profits as evidence of an injustice. Developers, for all the suspicion attached to the word, are people who build things, including homes — if we want homes, we need them. “It seems like we’ve just been demonized for something that makes perfect sense to do,” Manasserian said. Developers can just as well buy Altadena lots to build large single-family homes, but I haven’t seen the same anti-developer sentiment leveled against that possibility. 

I asked Neil Tyler what exactly makes the prospect of living near an SB 1123 development similar to what’s proposed by Stone West, with 10 houses on it instead of one, so threatening. He mentioned one cul-de-sac street where, he said, most homeowners had previously planned to rebuild, but many were now considering selling rather than living near an SB 1123 development. Summarizing their thinking, Tyler said: “I can’t pour my time and money and resources that are so stretched to now build my home back at this property, where all of a sudden right next to me could be a townhome that blocks my kind of way of life that I just want to recapture.” (The street that he’s referring to is lined with single-family homes on very large, low-density lots.) 

As a result, he said, SB 1123 in Altadena “is very directly further displacing people that intended to come back.” He believes it’s wrong for an outside developer to take advantage of the law to abruptly alter neighborhoods while residents are still trying to make decisions about returning. But he emphasized that he and others who share his views don’t oppose all density increases or deny that there’s a housing shortage. He supports accessory dwelling units (ADUs), for example, which California has legalized statewide and which he and other fire survivors are now building on their properties. He also raised concerns about local infrastructure capacity and fire spread and evacuation, part of which I examine below, but worth noting here is that SB 1123 does not waive ordinary utility requirements. Infrastructure, particularly in a place like America’s second-largest metro area, can grow to accommodate more people; it’s not a fixed limit on density. 

Local control clashes with regional needs

So far, only a very small share of the nearly 7,000 homes that burned in Altadena have been put up for 1123 redevelopment. Although the level of density they represent is higher than what’s typical on an Altadena residential street, they’re hardly high-density by metropolitan standards, especially in such a high-demand area. “We’re not talking about allowing six- or eight- or 10-story apartment buildings,” Khanmalek said. 

As with other housing fights across the country, the development opponents are highly vocal, but it’s far from clear that their views are unanimous. “I have yet to see someone draw a connection between what developers are intending to do and it actively harming an Altadenan,” said Paules. 

It may be true that some neighbors would not like to live near denser developments, and it understandably feels unfair for a wildfire to be the occasion that accelerates that change. But it’s also unfair to deprive fire survivors of property rights, and it’s unfair that communities in metro LA have long banned (and continue to ban) denser housing and fueled a housing shortage in the first place. Many residents want to protect the ability to occupy a very desirable part of the city at low density — the emotional impact of losing that can be very real, but it’s not something residents are owed in perpetuity.

Neighbors disliking the presence of new development is the universally cited reason for opposing building, and opponents can always find a reason that a particular time and place is the wrong one in which to build. The perceived costs of new housing are concentrated among nearby residents, while the costs of blocking it are borne by society as a whole. That asymmetry is why the right to build housing cannot depend on securing neighbors’ discretionary approval.

Nolan Gray, senior director of legislation and research for California YIMBY, told me that his organization suspects SB 1090’s supporters want the three-year moratorium to eventually be made permanent. Though the bill’s supporters maintain that their circumstances are extraordinary, Gray and Khanmalek both fear it would create a precedent for more communities to seek exemptions from SB 1123. 

No growing, economically successful city can refuse to densify forever without ruinous implications for housing affordability that will eventually undermine its economy. California’s Gov. Newsom has generally stood firm against local governments seeking to defy state housing laws, but last year’s wildfires have tested that resolve. His office declined to comment on SB 1090, citing its general practice of not commenting on pending legislation. Should the bill reach his desk — which could happen as soon as next week if it passes the state legislature as many expect — the question will be whether he’s willing to supply the leadership that local officials have not. 

Southern California is already one of America’s most beautiful, sought-after places to live, and freed from its chronic housing scarcity, it could be better still: less punishingly expensive, and more capable of welcoming all those drawn to it. The fires have already taken enough from the region; they ought not be allowed to scorch the housing reforms that had begun to open up a more abundant future.

Health insurance enrollment through the Affordable Care Act is plummeting.

Nearly 3 million fewer Americans now have insurance through the program, popularly known as Obamacare, compared to last year, according to federal data released in June. After congressional Republicans allowed enhanced subsidies for the program to expire in January, many Americans saw their health insurance premiums spike by an average of about 30 percent. 

As a result, many Americans have been forced to drop their coverage entirely.

With affordability among the top concerns on voters’ minds heading into the midterms, healthcare costs have become a central issue for candidates.

“A lot of policy experts say, look, when you raise the price of something, demand goes down. And that’s what’s happening here,” KFF Health News senior correspondent Julie Appleby told Today, Explained. “It’s the prices — people are dropping out.”

Appleby has been reporting on healthcare policy for decades, and she joined Today, Explained co-host Noel King to break down the latest changes to the Affordable Care Act, why enrollment is plummeting, and how the ACA crisis is teeing up healthcare as a central issue in the upcoming midterms. 

Below is an excerpt of their conversation, edited for length and clarity. There’s much more in the full podcast, so listen to Today, Explained wherever you get podcasts, including Apple Podcasts, Pandora, and Spotify.

Sixteen years ago, President Obama signed the Affordable Care Act into law. Julie, what was the situation at the time that made it feel so necessary? What did the Affordable Care Act aim to do? 

There was a lot going on. We had a lot of people who were uninsured. We had premiums going up. Many times in the past there had been some effort to do some kind of health reform, but nothing ever really passed. We had Medicare and Medicaid in the ’60s, but no major legislation since then.

People had employer coverage, like they do now, but there were a lot of people who were on their own and buying in what’s called the individual market.

The individual market was really tough. They could tell people, “Hey, you’ve got a health condition, we’re not taking you.” They could you could sign up for an individual plan and later, if you did get some kind of health condition, they could go back through your medical records and see, “Hey, did they tell us about every single thing that had happened to them in the past five or ten years?” And if not, they could retroactively cancel your plan.

What did the Affordable Care Act do exactly?

It allowed young people to stay on their parents’ insurance plan up to age 26, and that was a really big deal and also a very popular provision in the Affordable Care Act.

It created these subsidies to help people purchase coverage on the individual market. It pays for part of your premium. After you pay a certain percentage of your household income, the subsidies kick in and it picks up the rest, up to a certain up to a certain income level. 

It did some other things, like they can’t tell you, “You have a preexisting condition, so we’re not going to take you.” They’ve got to take you.

It created a benefit package that covers all these essential things like hospitalization and drug costs and maternity care, which might not have been in plans before. They used to be able to charge women more than men. They can’t do that anymore.

What was the conversation around passing the Affordable Care Act? Remind us how and why it got so toxic and pitched.

It was super polarized, kind of like what we have now. There was a lot of discussion around whether this is going to be too much government or if it was just the right amount. A lot of people thought, “No, this is terrible, it’s gonna destroy things.”

And I think polls reflected that for the first four or five years or more of the Affordable Care Act. It was pretty evenly divided, when you looked at opinion polls, between people who thought it was a good thing and people who didn’t think it was a good thing.

In more recent years, that has changed and the favorability ratings have gone up for the Affordable Care Act and now majorities do favor the Affordable Care Act.

If you had told me that 16 years ago, I would not have believed you. Here we are. And how is the Affordable Care Act doing?

To use medical terminology, is it on life support? No, it’s actually doing fairly well. But there are some symptoms that there are problems. 

Remember at the end of last year, there was all the discussion about these things called enhanced premium tax credits and whether they were going to be extended or not. The government shut down over this. Those were not extended. As a result, it costs more this year for most people in the plan, and what we’ve seen is during open enrollment last year we had about a million people fewer sign up and that was about a five percent drop. 

That was 5 percent just in signups at the end of last year. Since then, the first few months of the year, we’ve seen about 3 million people drop off. Some people are finding that they can’t afford it and they are not paying their bills and they are getting dropped. A 3-million-person drop-off is pretty substantial.

There’s also a group of folks, particularly conservatives and Republicans, who say, “You know what, the numbers were inflated.” There was all this improper enrollment. People were getting these zero-premium plans and so there was fraud, there was improper enrollment, the subsidies were too generous or there were other factors that led to some fraudulent activity. And so these drop-offs just represent people who were fraudulently enrolled dropping out for one reason or another. 

There’s this real split right now between what are the reasons for the drop off. But most policy folks, most people who study the situation here say the main reason is people just aren’t able to afford it.

Why is it so expensive? Why are healthcare costs so high? 

That’s the $64,000 question, right? 

And if you get it right, you win. You’re in charge.

That’s been the question since I’ve been covering this debate. Look, it’s not just Affordable Care Act costs going up. Employer plans are going up. Everything’s going up. 

Generally, healthcare costs go up faster than inflation and that’s driven by a lot of things. It’s driven by drug costs, it’s driven by hospital costs, it’s driven by labor costs. So all of those things go into the mix with the Affordable Care Act. But also this year, there’s this additional factor of the subsidies that went away. 

Insurers were looking at that saying, “You know what, the subsidies are going down. We expect to have lower enrollments next year. The people most likely to stay enrolled are the ones who have health problems because they don’t want to take the risk of being uninsured.” So insurers were calculating that in when they set their premium rates for this year: We might have sicker people in our pool that we’re gonna have to cover. 

That’s part of what we’ve seen with costs in the Affordable Care Act. But everybody is seeing health inflation go up right now and that’s affecting premiums.

Here we are 16 years after the passage of the Affordable Care Act. Has it accomplished what it set out to do?

You have to look at that in a number of ways. It aimed to expand coverage and reduce the uninsured. I think the answer there is yes, the number of uninsured has gone from 13 or 14 percent to as low as just under 8 percent a couple of years ago. It’s ticked up a little bit since then.

Did it control costs? That’s a harder one to answer. And it’s back to that $64,000 question. How do you do that? Costs have continued to go up. Premiums are definitely higher than they were pre-ACA. To be fair, the plans are very different. They cover more, they’re more generous, they’re better coverage, but they are more expensive.

The big question is: What is going to be put forward as an alternative and how palatable will that be to consumers, lawmakers, the healthcare industry? It’s going to be challenging, but I think we’re going to hear a lot more discussion this year. Whether or not we see actual proposals that could pass, I think that’s a little more questionable.

Imagine this: Two countries are at war. Country X sends a drone into a major industrial city in Country Y, aiming to take out two propane tanks. A routine sequence. But this time, the drone never reaches its targets. Instead, Country X’s drone accidentally strikes a wall nearby, explodes, and kills three young civilians. 

When Country Y eventually retrieves the drone’s remnants for intel, it finds an AI supercomputer inside that reveals something unsettling. Instead of a human deciding what to strike — the AI did.

The truth is, you don’t have to imagine this scene — it just happened. For the first time in the Russia-Ukraine war, as reported recently in the New York Times, three Ukrainian civilians were killed by a Russian drone, developed, designed and released by humans, that, in the end, selected its target autonomously. And this new reality is shaping up to be the future of warfare. 

That’s because a number of countries, including those with the world’s most consequential militaries, are rejecting the idea that human beings need always be in control of weapons in war.

Instead, as new autonomous weapons technologies become more capable and existing international legal frameworks struggle to keep up, some countries are embracing a more expansive view of human responsibility: that people can exercise enough control not by approving each strike, but by designing, testing, and setting the rules under which a given weapon operates.

This shift has produced one of the most consequential policy debates of today. And ultimately, human dominion over “killer robots” — as autonomous weapons are colloquially called — could come down to a battle between two three-word phrases: “meaningful human control” versus “appropriate human judgment.”  

A high-stakes semantic battle

In the early 2010s, “meaningful human control” emerged as an initial framework in the first international discussions on regulating an acceptable level of human involvement (or lack thereof) in deploying autonomous weapons. While the term quickly became an initial organizing principle among many states within these debates, it also drew immediate opposition from several others, such as the US and Russia.

“The problem is what does [meaningful human control] mean?” said Lena Trabucco, an expert on AI and human control and a non-residential fellow at the Stockton Center for International Law at the Naval War College. “And what makes something meaningful versus not meaningful human control?” There was both a lack of consensus about what “meaningful” meant and what “control” meant, she said. But the problems went beyond simple semantic ambiguity. “Getting a whole bunch of countries to agree on a standard for what ‘meaningful control’ is,” Trabucco said, became “a near impossible task.”

Ultimately, while an exact definition of meaningful human control never totally solidified, the term became intelligible enough to facilitate continued international dialogue on how to police autonomous weapons. As Trabucco explained, “We all kind of understood what we were trying to grasp with the idea of meaningful human control, even if we didn’t agree on a kind of standard for what is ‘meaningful’ or what ‘control’ exactly means.”

Brad Boyd, retired colonel and senior military fellow at Stanford’s Center for International Security and Cooperation, said that in this international context, “meaningful control” came to be understood as human involvement at the exact moment a given weapon is fired. However, from the US perspective, that consensus definition still left a number of problems unresolved. 

One of the most important holes in the definition was the issue of timing. “The release of a weapon could theoretically be minutes, hours, days, weeks ahead of when the weapon actually strikes the target,” Boyd explained. For example, a drone can be released to sweep a designated area and remain airborne for hours, searching for anything that matches its given target criteria. Seconds, minutes, or hours might pass between the moment a person launches the drone and when the machine finds and fires upon a target. 

“This expansion of the timeline became very difficult for the construct of ‘meaningful human control’ to actually seem like it was doing what people wanted it to,” Boyd said. The tension between certain technical or engineering problems and the policy language preferred by international forums created, from the US perspective, insurmountable obstacles to making meaningful human control a truly practicable framework.

So, the US adopted its own alternative: “appropriate human judgment.”

“Autonomous and semi-autonomous weapon systems will be designed to allow commanders and operators to exercise appropriate levels of human judgment over the use of force,” a key Department of Defense directive reads. The new language effectively moved the required point of human intervention away from the moment that a weapon is fired toward oversight of a given system’s entire life cycle — from its design, to its development, to its deployment.

There are some contexts where a government might not need as much human control over a weapon to comply with international law, Trabucco said. That’s where the subtle preference of “appropriate” over “meaningful” matters. “If we’re on the high seas, maybe it’s not as necessary to meet a super high threshold of human control because there’s not much risk to civilians or civilian property in those contexts,” she said.

“Now, in a city, an urban environment,” where the risk of civilian harm and other collateral damage is much greater, Trabucco explained, “then that’s where that high threshold would become important.” The US sought flexibility to determine how much human involvement it deemed necessary, based on the battlefield context in question, as opposed to having a fixed, universal standard of “meaningfulness.”

And why the move from “control” to “judgment?” Well, Boyd explained that “anytime we automate anything, whether it’s automating a car or automating machinery, we are trying to make it go faster, more precise, et cetera.” So, instead of insisting that humans be involved in any given part of the process, which could slow combat operations down, the US simply aimed to ensure autonomous systems behaved according to legal and ethical standards, no matter what situation they were deployed in. 

“It’s not necessarily the control that we want. What we really want is the machine to reflect our values, our laws, and our regulations,” Boyd said. “When humans employ our values, laws, and regulations, we call that judgment.” 

Though designed to avoid setting a universal standard of human involvement as demanded by meaningful human control, appropriate human judgment is not a totally empty phrase. According to the DoD directive, the framework requires testing systems, defining operational limits, assessing likely civilian harm, training operators, setting rules of engagement, and ensuring that a system remains within its authorized mission. And, in some contexts, those requirements may institute more thorough protections built into weapons than a simplistic condition that a human be the one to pull the trigger in the end. 

But the framework is not without a core puzzle of its own — who decides how much human judgment is appropriate? And what happens when the private sector, as in the ones developing such technologies, adopts this language before we have an answer?

And now — the private sector is forced to pick a side

In July, the same month of Russia’s autonomous drone strike, OpenAI did something important not many noticed: it revised its relationship to military uses of its technology once more. Just three years ago, OpenAI maintained a total ban on “military and warfare” uses of its technology. Now, after a few quiet revisions since 2023, a new five-page policy document outlined the company’s provisions for just that. (Disclosure: Vox Media is one of several publishers that have signed partnership agreements with OpenAI. Our reporting remains editorially independent.)

Most significantly, in explaining its basic condition for employing its technology in military contexts, particularly those involving decisions over the use of lethal force, OpenAI borrows a familiar phrase: appropriate human judgment.

The timing was not subtle. The document arrived just months after the public showdown between OpenAI’s competitor Anthropic and the Pentagon over the former’s reservations about military applications of its technology. That fight ended with President Donald Trump demanding the immediate cessation of all Anthropic use within the government. Mere hours after Anthropic was booted, OpenAI CEO Sam Altman announced his company had struck its own deal with the government. (Disclosure: Future Perfect is funded in part by the BEMC Foundation, whose major funder was also an early investor in Anthropic; they don’t have any editorial input into our content.)

But OpenAI didn’t just earn a contract in the wake of the Anthropic-Pentagon showdown, it also took a lesson — aligning your policy with the government’s wins you favor. Or, worse, that opposing the government bears a steep price. 

“Appropriate human judgment,” the policy document reads, “does not require a human decision on every discrete system action.” The framework, instead, requires that “humans make informed decisions about the conditions for deployment.” 

As both Trabucco and Boyd noted, the “appropriate” level of human involvement can vary, depending on the operating environment, the type of target, a particular system’s technical prowess, the anticipated risk to civilians, and a number of other political, economic, and strategic considerations important to a military operation. That flexibility is operationally appealing to the military, of course. But it also has a cost — safeguards against handing over total control of lethal force to machines become hard to identify, harder to measure, and hardest to enforce. 

When will we know when the human-machine balance of power in war becomes “inappropriate”? The truth is — there’s no clear answer. 

By cosigning the Pentagon’s flexible framework, OpenAI accepts that this standard has no settled meaning, that its application will be decided case-by-case behind the walls of military bureaucracy, and that the government may need room to change its mind. It’s a choice that suggests the company is less interested in establishing clear red lines and is more receptive to the military’s own versatility about how AI and autonomy might be used in lethal operations.

“Human judgment over critical decisions must be meaningful in practice, not merely formal,” the company’s principles document reads. But, instead of drawing its own clear boundary around what its technology will and won’t do, OpenAI has accepted ambiguity as the price of partnership. 

That undoubtedly makes the company a more useful ally to the Pentagon — while making it harder for the public to know where human judgment ends and machine-controlled violence begins.

As the development and deployment of autonomous weapons rapidly accelerates, without many guardrails in place at all, one question is worth asking right now: before other AI labs and tech companies adopt the framework in an effort to align themselves with the US, what does appropriate human judgment truly mean? Ironically, what the phrase doesn’t mean may be what’s most consequential. 

For the sake of humanity, the semantics of policing autonomous weapons is worth clarifying — or we risk totally losing control.

My mom was excited and confused when she opened her Apple Watch at Christmas a few years ago. “What a nice gift!” A pause. “What am I supposed to do with this?” We told her the truth: A smartwatch can do all kinds of useful things.

Fitness tracking became the thing my mom latched onto. She loved counting her steps and seeing how many miles she walked in a day. It motivated her to become more active, too. We didn’t tell her until much later that the Apple Watch’s fall detection feature was the real reason we got her the watch. The feature worked, too.

On the coldest day of the year, this past winter, my mom tripped on an uneven sidewalk and broke her wrist. The Apple Watch called 911 almost as soon as she hit the ground, and we took an ambulance to the hospital, where my sister, who was nearly a thousand miles away, texted and asked what was wrong. She’d been watching my mom’s location on Apple’s Find My app, a fact that we revealed to my mom for the first time when she was in the emergency room. We also had to confess that the Nest security cam we’d set up in her living room was indeed useful in spotting intruders but also let us check in on her from time to time. 

My mom wasn’t thrilled about any of this. She realized that these handy gadgets doubled as surveillance devices, and we’d essentially be spying on her.

But at the same time, she recognized why we wanted to keep an eye on her. If she’d fallen alone at home alone, for instance, an easy way to call for help could’ve been a lifesaver. 

Perhaps grappling with how to spy on your aging parents — ethically! — is something you’re grappling with, too. A growing number of people are weighing the privacy trade-off as boomers get older and their millennial children get more involved. Roughly 59 million Americans now help take care of an adult over 50, up from 34 million a decade ago. A third of those are sandwich-generation caregivers, meaning they’re looking after their parents and their own children at the same time. It can be an overwhelming task. So enlisting a home security system, like Nest, or a wearable, like an Apple Watch, to keep an eye on their parents seems like a time-saving way to gain some peace of mind. It certainly helped my sister and I feel better about our mom aging in place.

It turns out, a growing community of researchers and tech developers has thought a lot about this problem that many of us are now facing. There are labs focused on how technology can make growing older more humane, as well as federally funded research efforts and startup accelerators from groups like AARP working on solutions. All of the experts I spoke to for this story told me the same thing: Good communication is essential.

And there’s a whole cottage industry of tech for older adults, known as age-tech, that includes everything from healthcare gadgets, like the Hero Smart Pill Dispenser, and more futuristic devices, like the social robot ElliQ, that promise to help seniors combat loneliness. Many of these products and services are designed to help keep older adults safe and to help them age in place. Some, like the Haelo smart ring, are designed to do it all, everything from fall detection to health tracking to emergency alerts if something suddenly looks wrong. Others, like Life360, use software designed to track kids to keep an eye on their grandparents.

The big challenge with all of this, however, is finding a way to implement it in a way that respects the aging loved one’s privacy and independence. Boomers and Gen Xers didn’t grow up with as much tech in their lives as younger generations — much less gadgets that could double as monitoring devices — so introducing these tools stands to alienate them. And beyond that, it’s an ongoing challenge to ensure that technology reduces a caregiver’s mental load rather than add to it. After all, too much tech can create new problems rather than solve existing ones. If the overwhelm becomes too much to bear, everyone involved might just abandon the effort. 

“Start with: What do they need support for and what is the best solution for that?” Wendy Rogers, director of the Human Factors and Aging Lab at the University of Illinois, told me. “Sometimes it’s technology, sometimes it’s not.” 

You might be surprised by what technology can do, when it’s purposefully designed and properly introduced into an aging person’s life.

If you’re a caregiver — Rogers prefers the term “care partners” — you should think of this problem-solving project as a collaboration. Start the conversation with your parents or loved ones early and maintain an open dialogue about how it’s working out. Perhaps most importantly, keep updating the plan as time goes on and lives change. And this might go without saying, but try to avoid any big surprises.

Don’t wait until an emergency

It’s difficult to know when to offer an older adult help, even if that help is as simple as a smartwatch. On one hand, you don’t want to offend or infantilize them. On the other, if you wait too long, you might find yourself trying to set up a monitoring system when it’s no longer optional, like after a fall or other health scare. In these instances, you risk rushing to a solution before you identify the specific problem. 

Waiting until an emergency to start thinking about this also necessarily means there’s less time to plan. That sets the younger person up for a situation in which they’re inundated with more information than they can manage. If you set up a smart camera, like a Nest, to notify you every time your parent wakes up and goes into the kitchen, you’re bound to face a huge stack of notifications every time you open your phone and no real strategy for separating the signal from the noise. Good planning helps you to avoid looking at all that raw data and instead look for deviations from the norm. Once I involved my mom in this process, we had the chance to clarify not only the details of her routine but also our goal in keeping tabs on her. In the end, she had no doubt this all came from a place of love.

“In those cases, the technology serves as a safety net, not to check every day what’s going on but to be notified when something doesn’t seem to be happening the way it was supposed to,” said George Demiris, a professor of informatics at the University of Pennsylvania’s medical school. 

You can imagine the broader implications of this safety net concept. If your goal is to make sure your parent is going about their daily routine, you don’t actually need cameras at all. Motion sensors can do the job just as well, all while maintaining privacy. There are even camera-free systems, like Nomo Smart Care and Silvie, designed to spot worrisome deviations from an older person’s routine. Even still, the benefits of planning — at the very least, identifying a specific problem in need of a solution — will make it more likely that you’ll maximize the technology’s benefit.

Make privacy and empathy central to your approach

The first step in planning to use tech to monitor your parents is simply talking. You should have a conversation with them to find out what worries they have and consider those alongside your own. Ask what level of monitoring they’d be comfortable with. When the time comes, teach them how to use the tech you’re introducing into their life. Give them the agency to make changes and even turn off the tech when they want.

One way to go about this is to try reversing the roles. Consider how you’d feel if someone wanted to install a bunch of surveillance cameras in your home and track your every move. If you’re asking an older loved one to wear a health tracker, think about why a device like that might be useful to you. Heck, you could even buy matching Apple Watches and start sharing your step count in order to show that you’re trying to stay active and healthy together.

“Saying, ‘Okay, let me stop for a second. Let me imagine I’m their age and my kid wants to do this thing — what would that be like?’” said Amanda Lazar, an associate professor at the University of Maryland’s College of Information. “I think that can help you approach it more sensitively and in a more understanding way.”

The privacy question deserves extra attention. While motion sensor-based monitoring systems can offer extra privacy, there might be situations where you do want a camera. You should talk to your parent or loved one about where they’re comfortable with having a camera and what level of control they’d like to have over it. If you’re thinking about tracking someone with an AirTag or through an app, tell them you’re doing it and explain how it works. They won’t enjoy being surprised if you pull a Big Brother and start asking about specific whereabouts.

All that said, if the person you’re helping care for has dementia or other cognitive issues, these conversations are more complicated. You should talk to their doctor about their individual needs, potential tech solutions, and the possibility of involving professional caregivers.

Start simple and with tech people actually want to use

There’s a reason my sister and I bought my mom an Apple Watch and not a Life Alert pendant. We knew she’d like it, if not for the fitness tracking, then at least as a fashion accessory. And, as a direct result of liking it, she’d wear it. Indeed, we were nervous about her falling, so the fall detection feature was a selling point. But as someone who’s spent a lot of time thinking and writing about gadgets like these, I knew that some of the health tracking features could help be active and have fun doing so. Now, every other time I call, she tells me how many miles she walked that day.

If you’re considering a monitoring device for your parents or an older loved one, think about what they might actually want to use. For many people, smart speakers are a great way to introduce potentially lifesaving tech into the home. Your dad might like asking Alexa for recipe advice, and you might find comfort in the fact that he can also ask Alexa to call 911 if he falls. “Engaging people with technology tools early on and making it part of their everyday repertoire can be very helpful,” said Rogers, “and then as their needs change you can increase the support.” 

Down the line, it’s relatively seamless to connect cameras, motion sensors, smart locks, or smoke alarms to systems like these. And because the older adult has been in the loop from the start, you can teach them how to use these devices, and they can remain aware of what you can see on your end. Again, the empathy-focused approach is more likely to win someone over.

Change your plan when life changes

Like anything related to tech, you’ll need to do some software updates along the way. And I don’t mean making sure your Nest camera firmware is up to date. You’ll want to revisit your conversation about monitoring with your parents or loved ones at least once a year. You might try doing it over the holidays when you’re all together or when there’s a need for some tech support. Regardless, it’s essential to communicate about what’s working and what’s not.

These conversations can also be opportunities to talk about other ways you might help. Beyond monitoring their physical space, some aging parents could benefit from some help in the digital world, especially as they’re being targeted by a growing number of AI-powered scams. Do they need help managing their finances or keeping track of login credentials? Do your parents know what a passcode is? They might not ask you for help with these things, and again, it’s better to get out in front of issues before an emergency happens.

“Everyone’s in denial,” said Amelia Hay, a vice president at AARP Innovation Labs. “Everyone’s thinking their parents are fine, whatever, and then something happens where you’re in a state of emergency.”

So don’t wait. And don’t be in denial. Aging, as much as some tech billionaires would like to deny it, is one of those things in life that’s inevitable. If everything seems fine now, that means it’s a great time to start planning for when things go sideways.

This story appeared in The Logoff, a daily newsletter that helps you stay informed about the Trump administration without letting political news take over your life. Subscribe here.

Welcome to The Logoff: Donald Trump says he’s renaming Lake Ontario. Let’s talk about it. 

Can he really do that? Probably, though it doesn’t mean anyone will listen. 

Strictly speaking, Trump’s executive order, signed Thursday in the Oval Office, directs the Interior Department to update the lake’s name to “Lake America” in the US’s Geographic Names Information System. It remains to be seen whether products like Apple and Google maps will follow suit, but New York Gov. Kathy Hochul, whose state contains the US portion of the lake, says she won’t. 

Why is he doing that? The immediate answer is that Trump launched a trade war with Canada over the weekend, and he’s mad that Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney won’t give him what he wants; this is a petty way to lash out. 

That doesn’t explain the trade war itself, though. Unfortunately, when my colleague, noted Canadian resident Zack Beauchamp, went looking earlier this week, he couldn’t find an explanation either. As he writes, there’s absolutely no constituency for this fight — other than Trump’s own imperial desires as he keeps joking-but-maybe-not-joking about making Canada the 51st state. 

Isn’t this just a stupid stunt? It’s a stupid stunt — but not just that. As my colleague Caitlin Dewey wrote earlier this week and Zack can attest, Canadians are royally pissed at the US. The trade war might feel like one more Trump fit of pique to Americans, but for Canadians, it’s a serious threat. 

Thursday’s executive order further ratchets up those tensions, and it specifically plays into the (very credible) school of thought that Trump isn’t really in this to redress US-Canada trade imbalances; as with many things Trump, it’s about dominance and the desire to claim a “win” at any cost.

Lastly, it’s worth dwelling for a second on the stunt itself. One, Lake Ontario isn’t Canada’s name for it; it predates either country. And two, ad hoc renaming of bodies of water — this isn’t even the first time this Trump term — puts Trump in some fairly uncomfortable company.

And with that, it’s time to log off…

My colleague Sara Herschander just debuted her new newsletter, Nice Things, which feels like a great fit for this section. It’s all about dreaming big to build a better America, one with widespread high-speed rail, affordable housing, and infrastructure that works. You can subscribe here and read a story from the first edition here.

Thanks for reading, have a great evening, and we’ll see you back here tomorrow!

This story appeared in Today, Explained, a daily newsletter that helps you understand the most compelling news and stories of the day. Subscribe here.

I passed five Flock cameras on my drive to work today, entirely without realizing it. The AI-powered license plate readers have metastasized on light poles and roadside posts across the country over the past few years, building a vast national database of vehicle movements that law enforcement agencies can access with few restrictions. 

What are they doing with all that data? Who has access, and for how long? We don’t have clear answers to these questions — and lawmakers on both the right and the left increasingly want them.

Yesterday, Senate Republicans opened an inquiry into Flock’s data “collection, retention, and dissemination” practices — a first step that could eventually lead to federal regulation. State officials have also called for restrictions: The technology is “out of control,” Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis said during a Wednesday press conference. 

It is one of maybe three times, I would hazard, that DeSantis and Vermont Sen. Bernie Sanders have agreed on anything. Earlier this month, the independent senator also warned that Flock knows when you’re going to the doctor or dropping your kid off at school, among other things. 

For many Americans, his warning was no exaggeration: There are now 120,000 Flock cameras on US roads. You can use the crowdsourced map DeFlock to check your area.

Go a little deeper

As the existence of a crowdsourced anti-Flock map might attest…people really do not like these cameras. In Tennessee this month, one conservative county commissioner went so far as to call for the hanging of Flock’s CEO. Even data centers rarely attract that level of vitriol.

But as with data centers, both sides can find something to hate here, the longtime tech reporter Jason Koebler recently told Vox. On the right, critics typically attack the cameras as government overreach: “‘This is invasive government. This is Big Brother. Don’t surveil me,’” Koebler paraphrased. 

On the left, critics frequently link the cameras to corporate surveillance, racist policing, the erosion of abortion rights, and immigration enforcement: “This protest is about more than license plate readers,” one progressive activist recently put it. “It’s about…mass surveillance as a tool for fascism and political persecution.”

The issue has surfaced in midterm races in states including Florida, Ohio, and Michigan, where some candidates have sought to link their opponents — fairly or unfairly — to Flock. In Michigan, for instance, Democratic Senate candidate Abdul El-Sayed released a campaign video last week that suggested voters could “thank” his opponent for the proliferation of the cameras. That video includes footage from a hearing Rogers chaired in 2013, before Flock was even founded; Rogers has not publicly responded.

Political responsibility for the cameras is complicated, of course: Flock typically inks its contracts with cities, counties, and local police departments, which state and national lawmakers don’t approve. 

But they could certainly limit the use of automated plate readers in other ways, like requiring warrants for accessing data, limiting how long information is saved, and banning the cameras near schools, churches, abortion clinics, and other sensitive places. 

One link for later

➨ Put your phone away. Clubs, bars, music venues, and other social spaces are increasingly hosting “phone-free” gatherings — an attempt to break free from the distraction and surveillance of our screens. These things are popping up everywhere, so chances are you can find one somewhere near you. But if not, it’s pretty easy to throw your own phone-free game night or book club, too. 

Before you go…

• Did you know…that women experiencing cardiac arrest are 14 percent less likely than men to receive CPR? Bystanders are apparently less comfortable performing the procedure on people with breasts, which has prompted calls for better-endowed CPR training manikins.
• Today’s trivia: What city serves as the headquarters of the National Collegiate Athletic Association? (You can find this and other brain puzzles in Vox’s daily crossword. Look for the answer in tomorrow’s edition.)
• Yesterday’s trivia: Yesterday we asked you for the stage name of the singer Paul David Hewson. That would be Bono, which is short for “Bono Vox” — a childhood nickname inspired by a Dublin hearing-aid shop. 

Summer is supposed to be the best time for fresh produce. Corn on the cob at the cookout. Berries plucked right from the vine. Salads on the cafe patio while you take an extra long lunch break because the weather and the food is that good. 

But this year, summer’s harvest brought something much different than the flavorful dishes we’ve come to expect. Since May, the United States has seen more than 17,000 lab-confirmed cyclosporiasis cases. Before this summer’s massive outbreak, the country had never recorded more than a few hundred infections in a single year from this parasite, which can cause watery and at times explosive diarrhea.

And that isn’t the only bug invading Americans’ digestive tracts.

One person died from a listeria infection traced to ricotta cheese. Close to 100 people came down with salmonella from recalled eggs, while more than 400 people have gotten sick in a separate salmonella outbreak involving jalapeños. Last week, the Food and Drug Administration issued its highest urgency warning for frozen blueberries believed to be contaminated with E coli. 

And now several dozen people across 15 states have become ill after eating alfalfa sprouts in a new outbreak that involves salmonella and E coli. Four of them have been hospitalized.

It’s gotten so bad that one Washington Post columnist argued we should stop eating lettuce altogether. Experts have told me they were worried people might actually completely stop consuming vegetables — vital to any healthy diet — for fear of contracting cyclosporiasis and enduring a month of watery diarrhea. I personally avoided the bagged salad kits that provided me with many easy lunches on a workday.

While this spate of foodborne illness is especially bad, the worst may be yet to come. 

It’s only natural to look for somebody to blame. Culpability has understandably fallen on the Trump administration and Robert F. Kennedy Jr., who helms the US Department of Health and Human Services — especially after his deep staffing cuts at the FDA and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, the two federal agencies most responsible for investigating and responding to disease outbreaks. Those cuts have slowed the response, and officials have struggled to communicate with the public clearly in a fast-moving crisis.

While our government officials are partly to blame, the problem is bigger than Trump and Kennedy, or even this one summer. While seasonal changes will always play a role — the warmer months, when people eat more fresh produce and consume more food that’s been sitting out at unsafe temperatures, typically have more foodborne illnesses — the underlying factors contributing to these outbreaks are becoming more potent. The food supply is more and more globalized. And the planet continues to warm, allowing these pathogens to spread to more and more farms all over the world, including in the US.

As the weather finally begins to cool down, I’ve been asking myself an uncomfortable question: What if diarrhea summer never really ends?

Climate change is spreading dangerous germs

Our globalized food supply chain has a lot to do with our food safety — and that isn’t going to change any time soon. Americans expect access to any produce they want year-round, even produce that isn’t in-season locally, or that may not grow anywhere in the US at all. We source food from all over the world: Most cyclospora outbreaks originated with foods grown in other countries. This year’s crisis was eventually linked to iceberg lettuce from Mexico.

And as the New York Times recently documented, the sometimes international trip from the farm to the store for a bagged salad kit offers multiple moments for potential contamination, including tainted irrigation water, local wildlife excrement, and poor storage practices, making it possible for dangerous pathogens to take hold before a person even buys their groceries.

Warming temperatures around the world are also helping those bugs spread. Humidity is essential for salmonella and warmer summers will mean more humid-favorable conditions for the bacteria to grow. E coli likewise will thrive as temperatures rise. Cyclospora has historically been found in subtropical climates, so for a long time, infections from food grown inside the United States were unheard of. Not anymore. 

“Climate change has allowed pathogens like cyclospora…to expand from the tropic, subtropic lines into areas more north and south of that tropic line,” said Joseph Eisenberg, a professor of epidemiology and global public health at the University of Michigan School of Public Health. 

“With respect to the US, we’re starting to see new infectious diseases in southern Louisiana, Texas; that also increases the presence of cyclospora in food systems in other countries,” he said. “It suggests that, through climate change, we might potentially start seeing it be endemic in the United States at some point.”

And indeed, cyclospora was found in farms in Florida in 2020. This is a problem that is going to become worse, not better, given the expected trends in global warming in the decades to come.

“It wasn’t until about within the last 10 years we started to see cases from domestic origin,” Francisco Diez-Gonzalez, director of the Center for Food Safety at the University of Georgia, told me. “Before, there were predominantly cases due to international travel or importation of products because it used to be endemic in some tropical or warmer climates.” 

“It’s clear that now,” he said, “it’s become established in the domestic environment.”

The US is less prepared than ever to stop food contamination

To make matters worse, at the same time conditions for foodborne illness are ripening, the US government has been sharply cutting its ability to monitor for and respond to these outbreaks.

At the beginning of the second Trump administration, as part of the widespread government staffing cuts, the FDA laid off 3,500 workers. Between the FDA and the US Department of Agriculture, which also oversees food safety, and several related agencies, more than 11,000 workers have been lost, a 22 percent cut, according to the Partnership for Public Service. And the CDC, which helps respond to outbreaks once they start, has lost about a quarter of its workforce from January 2025 to October 2025, according to Reuters; by this summer, CBS reported, the number of scientists tracking food parasites at the agency dropped from 11 to three. Meanwhile, the administration has been rushing to hire 2,200 people in the middle of the crisis.

“There have been a lot of federal cuts. There have been cuts around CDC surveillance, around state and local public health. You’ve lost people,” Dr. Anurag Malani, vice chief of staff at Trinity Health’s Ann Arbor, Michigan, campus, told me. “The ability to do what you need to do to keep citizens safe and to keep the public safe, we don’t have as many people doing that as we used to.

The federal government also shut down several national monitoring programs for foodborne illness in 2025 — including for the cyclospora parasite specifically. The state and local agencies that surveil for and respond to food outbreaks have also faced staff cuts because they depend on the federal government for their funding.

“It’s hard when there is one larger entity kind of controlling all of that,” Dr. Kathleen Linder, the hospital epidemiologist at the Veterans Affairs hospital in Ann Arbor, told me in July. “Local health departments are having to do more on their own than they would have had to do in the past just because of decentralization at that level. It has been very hard to get updated information. The information has been lagging a little bit behind.”

Food safety is hard enough to tackle on its own. Part of the reason we experience regular outbreaks of cyclospora is that it can successfully infect people even when only very little of it is present, and because we can’t grow it in a lab to study it.

But the US has made things harder by cutting these important programs. Rebuilding the staff and capacity to do this work is not likely to happen under the Trump administration, and former FDA officials have described a “brain drain” for the food safety programs that won’t be easy to reverse in the next administration. 

But something will have to be done if we’re ever to escape the food recall cycle. Despite the name, food has historically been neglected by the “Food and Drug” Administration, and better food safety could require serious restructuring and investment in these capabilities. And foodborne illnesses aren’t the only kind of infection that climate change will make more likely: The United States is also seeing the spread of mosquito-borne diseases like dengue. Responding to those new threats is going to require a rebuilt and potentially reimagined federal public health apparatus.

If there is any good news in the short term, it’s that there are a lot of great recipes for grilling your vegetables to eliminate any pathogens hiding in our side dishes at next summer’s cookouts. It sure seems like we’re going to need them.

Affordability is the top political problem of the moment, and lawmakers in both parties have increasingly blamed large investors for buying up housing, hospitals, and other staples families can’t do without, while jacking up prices and degrading quality. 

Earlier this year, Sen. Jeff Merkley (D-OR), who has backed bills on both fronts, turned his attention to childcare. The ranking member of the Senate Budget Committee sent sweeping document requests to KinderCare Learning Companies and Learning Care Group, the two largest private-equity-owned childcare companies in the country, seeking information like board minutes, subsidy totals, staffing ratios, dividend records, and the investment memos the firms wrote when they bought in. Private equity, Merkley said in announcing the requests, has increasingly prioritized “investor profits over the well-being of the families and communities that depend on these services.”

The federal inquiry follows several years of national childcare advocacy groups warning that private equity, an industry known for acquiring businesses for quick-turnaround sales, should be kept far away from kids.

In 2022, Elliot Haspel, a progressive childcare expert, wrote in the New Republic that private-equity owned childcare chains “ultimately answer to investors or shareholders first, parents second.” Citing their record in nursing homes, where acquisitions have been associated with declines in quality, Haspel wrote that there’s “little reason to think that early care and education would be magically exempt from these sideways influences.” In 2024 the Open Markets Institute, the National Women’s Law Center, and Community Change put out a report contending that private equity-owned centers would not only seek to soak up public funding, but stall reforms limiting their reach long enough to capture local market share, until they could argue they’d become too embedded to remove without harming families. 

Since then, lawmakers in at least five states — Colorado, Connecticut, Massachusetts, New York, and Pennsylvania — have introduced or passed bills that write ownership structure into childcare policy, cap what large for-profit chains can draw from state grants, or attach strings to public dollars that apply to those providers alone. The coalition of national groups published model state legislation of its own this past February, built partly on those state experiments. 

But a forthcoming paper reviewed by Vox from two leading national researchers focused on the economics of childcare — Jessica Brown at the University of South Carolina and Chris Herbst of Arizona State University — complicates the case that has been building against the private-equity owned centers. In the country’s first systematic, descriptive look at how far private equity has actually spread through American childcare, the scholars found no smoking guns. 

Private equity is not sweeping the childcare sector, the researchers report. Its share of the childcare workforce stopped growing around 2010 and has hovered near 10 percent ever since. It isn’t everywhere, either — three-quarters of private-equity childcare centers sit in just 5 percent of US counties, clustered around Phoenix, Las Vegas, Denver, Atlanta, and northern Virginia. Nor do the centers look uniformly distressed. They have been operating for 18 years on average, longer than other chains — and between 2021 and 2024, while non-private-equity providers cut staff, these programs added workers. 

“Given what we see,” Brown told me, “private equity is not the reason that childcare is unaffordable.” 

Herbst agreed: “You know, we jokingly at one point said we’re gonna call our paper, ‘Much Ado About Nothing.’” 

This is not to say the researchers have no further questions. Their work explores the recent past, but their findings are not causal, so they couldn’t say specifically what happened when private equity took the centers over. And their data also couldn’t confirm what the chains pay their teachers, or what benefits they offer. Critics have guessed both ways — that they squeeze wages for profit, or that their size allows them to pay more than a small provider could offer and muscle out competitors. 

An important question is what actually separates private equity-owned chains from other large childcare companies. Herbst and Brown found that on price, private-equity chains operate not so differently from large competitors that aren’t investor-owned. They are less likely to take public subsidies (70 percent do) than other large chains (78 percent), but are more likely to hold their state’s top quality rating. Large chains, private-equity-owned or not, tend to locate in wealthier areas with more college-educated families. Private-equity providers, though, seem distinctly drawn to states with looser staffing rules and to counties with the tightest childcare markets in the country.

If anything in the findings gives Herbst pause, it’s the geography. “It may not be that they are rendering low-quality care,” he said. “They may be rendering very high-quality care, but inaccessible to a large number of families because of where they are doing business.”

How this study came to be

Despite the amount of national attention, very little research has existed on private equity and childcare up to this point. 

“People were sort of copying and pasting evidence from these other domains like nursing homes and hospitals, extrapolating results from these other sectors to childcare, and we were skeptical about this,” Herbst said.

While they were gathering information, new international evidence did come out — a working paper on Dutch childcare, which found that private-equity centers charged more and had fewer regulatory violations overall, but more staffing-related violations. The Netherlands sets its childcare rules nationally, though, which makes the findings harder to apply in the US, where staffing ratios and teacher qualifications are set state by state.

Nobody had done a deep US analysis before, largely because it’s expensive. With funding from the Alfred P. Sloan Foundation and the Washington Center for Equitable Growth, Brown and Herbst had to stitch together at least seven sources, including two proprietary databases costly enough to be out of reach for most researchers even with a grant — one tracking every business in the country year by year since 1997, the other tracking private equity deals. Then they merged all of it against state licensing records, accreditation files, and an original survey they fielded themselves in three states.

“It took an extraordinary amount of resources — both monetary and labor — to put our datasets together,” Herbst said. The lack of quality national data on childcare providers broadly has been a major barrier for researchers, and leaves the terms of the debate often set by interest groups. No federal survey tracks what providers charge, and most states don’t collect it either. Brown and Herbst could compare prices in only two states, the ones that require providers to report them as a condition of licensing. 

Why is private equity interested in childcare?

One of the main questions looming over the conversation is that, broadly speaking, childcare is a low-margin business — so why is private equity involved at all?

“My answer right now is they’re not interested in childcare writ large,” said Herbst. “They’re interested in childcare in very select communities.” 

The classic private-equity playbook is to buy a company, raise its value through expansion, consolidation, or cost-cutting, and sell within three to seven years. This is the model that ran through Toys ‘R’ Us, Payless, and a long line of local newspapers, and helped earn the industry a reputation for loading businesses with unmanageable debt they couldn’t carry. 

But not every private-equity strategy is a short-term flip. Over the past decade Blackstone, KKR, and Carlyle have all raised long-hold funds designed to keep companies for 15 years or more. It’s a small slice of the industry, but both childcare companies now under Senate scrutiny fit that longer pattern, with Partners Group having held KinderCare since 2015 and still controlling roughly 69 percent of it after an IPO, and American Securities having owned Learning Care Group since 2014.

A representative from KinderCare did not return a request for comment, but in an interview, Brian Gutman, the senior vice president of public policy at Learning Care Group, told me that yes, their investors want to see a profit and “be a sustainable company.” Something like childcare, he said, is “a long-term play, not a short-term play” because the costs that matter most can’t be recovered inside a short window. Refurnishing a single school might run $100,000 to $300,000, and a firm looking to exit in three years would have to push that into tuition, which wouldn’t be feasible. He put the company’s reinvestment at more than $1 billion dollars.

Merkley’s letter tells a different side of that story. In 2018 Learning Care Group borrowed to pay its owners at least $636 million, and now carries roughly $5.50 in debt for every dollar it earns. In other words, the money went out the door to the owners, but the loan stayed on the company’s books, and the interest is serviced out of the same tuition that pays teachers.

Asked how that squared with the long-term picture he described, Gutman did not address the 2018 payout or the debt load. He said that under American Securities’ ownership Learning Care has spent more than $1 billion on capital expenditures and maintenance — building upgrades, safety systems, classroom technology, not counting acquisitions — and that the company’s average wage growth has outpaced its own tuition increases, inflation, and national wage growth in each of the past three fiscal years.

What private capital buys, he says, is scale. The clearest example is cameras: Before the pandemic, Learning Care put livestreaming cameras in classrooms near military bases so deployed parents could watch their kids during the day. When Covid hit and parents couldn’t come inside, the company put one in every classroom across the chain, meaning tens of thousands of cameras. It’s the kind of investment he said families appreciate and an operator with two or three buildings can’t afford. Access to capital, he argued, is what made it possible.

The right target?

I reached out to Merkley’s office to learn more about their federal investigation and a staffer told me that it had been prompted by the number of concerning stories his team had been seeing in the media. KinderCare is also headquartered in Merkley’s home state of Oregon, though they said their inquiry wasn’t driven by complaints from his local constituents specifically.

The staffer said they hope to get their report out by the end of the year, but acknowledged that “a lot of the [companies]’ responses have been lackluster” so far. “Legislation is definitely something my boss is thinking about,” they added, but said they are waiting to hash out details until their probe is finalized. 

Gutman said Learning Care responded to Merkley’s request, but sees the focus on private equity as a bit of a scapegoat, or red herring. The company isn’t opposed to new regulation, he said, including more transparency about investors, decision-making, and wages. His objection is to rules that sort providers by who owns them. “Where there’s a need for enhanced regulation,” he said, “that’s a need for the sector, not a need for a couple of actors within the sector.”

He said that plenty of large childcare operators, like family-owned regional chains and big nonprofits, aren’t private-equity backed, and that ownership structure doesn’t reliably predict behavior. He cited a venture-capital-backed Montessori chain in Colorado that closed its five locations abruptly. Because the bills moving through statehouses key on private equity ownership specifically, a company like that one wouldn’t trigger regulation.

Haspel said he’s fine with legislation that targets large for-profit chains more broadly, but emphasized that the focus on institutional investors will only become more important as the conversation around universal childcare picks up momentum in the United States. “I don’t think the focus is a red herring…[private equity] presents some real threats potentially if you have bad actors that are attracted by the increased public funding,” he said. He pointed to England, where the competition regulator just launched an investigation last month to examine whether private-equity ownership is serving families or driving up childcare costs. Provisional findings are due early next year. 

Gutman said Learning Care Group will fight being cut out of public programs. Some of the state proposals would restrict which providers can access grants or participate in state pre-K, and Gutman argued that in much of the country there isn’t a backup. About 85 percent of the company’s families live within a 10-minute drive of their center, he said. “If we’re the only game in town, and we can’t access a grant program that helps us pay teachers better, I’m not sure who that serves,” Gutman said.

Brown and Herbst’s own immediate recommendation is more public information. More states could collect prices at licensing, they argue, and make wage and staff turnover data easier for researchers to find which in turn would help generate more targeted policy fixes. “I think in some ways people are trying to look for an easy solution,” Brown said, “but the thing is there is no easy solution in childcare.”

This work was supported by a grant from the Bainum Family Foundation. Vox Media had full discretion over the content of this reporting.

Update, August 27, 11 am ET: This article was originally published on August 27 and has been updated to include more details about the study funders.

The Great American Conflict, a 75-minute documentary produced by a Texas-based organization dedicated to converting Iran to Christianity, declares its goal right at the beginning: “to reveal the true Islam to all people, especially in the West,” Iran Alive Ministries’s founder Hormoz Shariat says. “This film is also meant to be a warning to America. There is a serious threat of Islam in our nation.”

Released at the start of summer and having premiered at a gathering of the Dallas County Republican Party, it’s an obscure film — you’ve probably never heard of it — but it has so far had a surprising political influence. It’s been shown at gatherings of local Republicans and conservative activists in Texas, where Islamophobic rhetoric and policy proposals have played a key role in activating the Republican base, candidates, and party leaders over the course of this year’s elections. The documentary is both a symptom and a cause of a larger trend unfolding in American politics in 2026 that is picking up steam now: the rise of a new iteration of blatant Islamophobia paired with Christian nationalist sentiment on the American right. 

Iran Alive Ministries did not respond to requests for comment.

It’s no surprise who some of the backers and voices of this documentary are: Some members of this collection of right-wing, conservative, and evangelical activists are a throwback to early-2000s and 2010s Islamophobia, when some of the same figures spoke out against “radical Islamism” and “radical Islamic terror.” One of them, for instance, is the activist Brigitte Gabriel, the controversial founder of ACT for America, an early-2000s anti-Islamic extremism group. As the film makes clear, this latest version of Islamophobia in America has its roots in this post-9/11 era and borrows heavily from it, while making some modern-day tweaks.

What’s different now is how mainstream this stance is becoming in politics and how it appears to be getting only more mainstream.

“Islamophobia has passed the dinner table test. You can say things about Muslims with basic impunity today,” Nathan Lean, a researcher, assistant teaching professor at North Carolina State University and author of the book The Islamophobia Industry, told me. “And it’s institutionalized in the way that prejudice that targets other marginalized communities is not.” He pointed to the Sharia-Free America Caucus in Congress, which is composed of 68 elected members of Congress representing 25 states. He also pointed to efforts in Texas to make eliminating “sharia” law an official stance of the Texas GOP, and then the subsequent vote to recommend Gov. Greg Abbott “ban” it on the Texas 2026 primary ballot. 

Now, politicians, content creators, and politically connected advocacy groups are using films like The Great American Conflict, selectively edited clips spread on social media, and investigative-style pseudo-documentaries to spread this sentiment further and wider, power more wins of right-wing candidates, and take aim in particular at Muslim candidates and politicians.

This is all playing out as antisemitism and Islamophobia are peaking during the 2026 midterm cycle, accelerated by demographic change across America, increased Muslim visibility and engagement in politics, including elections of Zohran Mamdani in New York City and the Senate campaign of Abdul El-Sayed in Michigan, and more Republican politicians feeling comfortable using Islam as a scapegoat and cudgel, particularly in Texas. It all paints a worrying picture of what’s to come. 

What The Great American Conflict argues is coming

As a cinematic project, The Great American Conflict isn’t much of an accomplishment; it can broadly be described as a collection of testimonials from evangelical Christians and former Muslims who’ve converted to Christianity who each make a case against Islam. Though poorly organized, it starts with some rough accounting of the rise of Islam in world history, lays out the case through interviews that Islam is an ideology and not a religion, then zooms in on specific Texan communities and examples of how Muslim politicians and activists are using democratic processes to achieve “domination.”  

There are broadly three core themes that these speakers come back to:

1. Islam is inherently violent and imperialistic: The documentary’s interview subjects argue that true believers seek to expand the faith and establish a cross-national Islamic state. They rely on some sketchy history of the prophet Muhammed and the contemporary history of Lebanon and Iran as examples of this “violence.”

1. Islam is incompatible with the American Constitution and Western liberalism: Speakers also argue that, as opposed to other religions, Islam does not tolerate diversity of thought and seeks to enforce its rules and guidelines on nonbelievers. They claim that Islam rejects the separation between church and state, and that mosques can function as political or military centers.

1. There is an ongoing effort by Muslims to infiltrate American politics and replace “Judeo-Christian” America: The rise of Muslim American politicians in Congress, in New York City, and at the state and local government level are all part of an effort to whittle away religious liberty and replace American values with “Islamic” values. Liberal and progressive allies are enabling this takeover. And they interpret public calls to prayer, halal food, school prayer rooms, Ramadan accommodations, mosque construction, and Muslim residential developments as evidence that American institutions are yielding to Islamic demands.

Interspersed throughout these testimonials are fearmongering compilations of social media clips of Muslim prayers and veiled women, and short selections of purportedly Muslim speakers making inflammatory comments about 9/11, about Jews and Christians, and about Islamic domination in the West, and violent clips of terrorist actions abroad.

And though the film’s main backer, Hormoz Shariat, says at the beginning of the film that his goal is not to inspire fear or hate, that’s precisely what the speakers seem to do for an hour.

For example, the Christian pastor Shahram Hadian, the founder of Truth in Love Ministry in Tennessee, repeatedly argues that America is at a turning point. “Western societies are right now at a critical decision point. Either they’re going to maintain, preserve, [and] fight for their Judeo-Christian values, or they’re succumbing,” he says. 

And he takes a natalist turn, arguing that Muslims in the US are happy to continue to raise families as Western birth rates drop. “We continue to see the demise of Christianity, of our Judeo-Christian values, family values, family ethics, marriage — one man, one woman,” he says. “They’re just waiting us out. They’ll just wait us out. They’ll aid us in our own demise and destruction.”

To drill down on this, various speakers point to demographic change in Michigan and Texas as early signs of what they see as the capitulation of the United Kingdom and continental Europe to Islam. They point to self-segregating Muslim communities in Europe being mirrored in the US, particularly focusing on a housing development project in East Plano, Texas, centered around a mosque and Islamic center, that has been a focal point for Republican politicians.

Other speakers argue against accepting Islam as a religion at all, instead casting it as a political ideology that is seeking to take over American institutions. Some, like Gabriel, allege a coordinated strategy to “infiltrate” and “dominate the West and establish an Islamic government,” tracing this back to the Muslim Brotherhood, and a supposed decades-long plan to infiltrate political parties, schools, media, and churches to use democratic institutions to establish Islamic law. She points to Mamdani as an example of this, and ropes in Reps. Ilhan Omar of Minnesota and Rashida Tlaib of Michigan as being loyal to a foreign Islamic identity rather than to the United States.

And they contrast this all with an idealized “Judeo-Christian” America defined by constitutional government, traditional marriage, Christianity, and cultural assimilation. The final call to arms is to preserve and promote this Christian vision of America, on top of defending the Constitution, religious liberty, and “American” culture against what is a coming ideological and demographic conflict.

The danger of rising Islamophobia

Iran Alive Ministries itself doesn’t seem primarily dedicated to anti-Muslim American advocacy and activism. Most of its YouTube and internet presence is focused on digital Christian evangelism, particularly in Iran. It’s not entirely hard to see how a group focused on conversions would drift into Islamophobic preaching, but it does seem like a peculiar move, Lean told me.

“There is a group of people who form a faction of this sort of anti-Muslim movement in the United States who are, by their own description, evangelical Christians,” Lean said. “And it’s no surprise that a group like Iran Alive Ministries, that is formed on the basis of, as they say, transforming Iran into a Christian nation, one soul at a time, would go there.”

Emphasizing that Christian proselytism and evangelism are not inherently Islamophobic, Lean told me that there has been a more overt merging of religious convictions with Republican politics in recent years.

“The…driving mission of the group leads to a marriage of, we want a Christian world on the one hand, versus there are active agents in the world that are potentially preventing that. And who represents that biggest threat to that right now? Well, in the eyes of these people, Muslims do,” Lean said. 

Lean told me that he expects to see this momentum build as midterms approach. At the local level, it’s most visible in Texas, where the New York Times recently reported on the stunning rise in Islamophobia and fearmongering across the state, and in Michigan, where cities like Dearborn and Hamtramck have seen white nationalist and anti-Islam demonstrations.

Lean said many of these lines of Islamophobic thinking sound like familiar tropes, smears, and lies of the last couple of waves of fearmongering around Muslims. Still, as opposed to the post-9/11 era, he noted a worrying difference: the scale of Islamophobia, given its increasing presence on both social and traditional media.

Much of the growth of these sentiments is happening online, too. Since Mamdani’s election as New York City mayor, and especially since El-Sayed’s victory in the Democratic Senate primary in Michigan, these kinds of views have surged online and in conservative media, while conservative activists and influencers have been pushing similar narratives of infiltration and under-the-radar Muslim “encroachment.” 

A recent survey of internet discourse and activity by the research group Magnitude Media found something similar, centered on Dearborn: “Since the beginning of the month, there have been 690 posts mentioning Dearborn, generating 5.1 million engagements. Right-leaning accounts drove 88% of that engagement, compared to just 7% from left-leaning accounts,” the authors write. “The broader anti-Muslim conversation online has been substantial for months. Over the past six months, 68% of posts that either mentioned Islamophobia or contained common Islamophobic language came from right-leaning accounts. Dearborn appears less like the cause of a new Islamophobia conversation than the right’s newest focal point.” 

So the documentary certainly isn’t the only cause for concern — but the fact that Texas Republicans have used it in official events, on top of strategists saying they are pivoting to “sharia” and fearmongering, suggests just how politically useful the party thinks these messages can be.  

Which all suggests more ugliness to come. And as Lean told me, talking about a coming conflict and a threat to survival indicates an existential threat that should be fought by any means. 

“Where does the logic of all of this take us? What’s the solution?” he said. “You can’t help but wonder when they’re issuing statements about fertility rates and these overtures are being kind of taken over, that this could very easily go to a dark place.”

Update, August 28, 11:45 am ET: This piece was updated to reflect Nathan Lean’s full job title.

“If this is democratic socialism,” wrote one New Yorker under a mayoral Facebook post, “maybe it is the change we need.” She was referring neither to Mayor Zohran Mamdani’s heavily scrutinized plan for city-run grocery stores, nor to his pied-à-terre tax on the rich, nor even to his trademark — though thus far, unrealized — vision for fast, free buses and universal childcare. 

No, she was talking about candy-colored scaffolding. The mayor recently made good on his plan to give a facelift to the city’s ubiquitous scaffolding, that odiously ugly green eyesore that envelops hundreds of miles of New York City sidewalks. Another New Yorker posted on TikTok complaining about a smattering of potholes on his street. By the time he got home from work, they had all been filled, setting off a maelstrom of viral requests, including one from a dateless Brooklynite looking for love: “Zohran, what are you gonna do to fix this?” (The mayor cheekily obliged with a list of local meet-cute spots.) 

Symbolic urbanism is having a moment, especially this summer in New York City, where the air is far too humid, but the potholes increasingly get filled, sometimes personally by the internet’s favorite millennial mayor himself. 

Mamdani’s embrace of what he calls “pothole politics” — a shrewd modern-day twist on the “sewer socialism” that once propelled some 20th-century leftists into office — has delighted and exhilarated New Yorkers who’ve long yearned for a City Hall that heeded their most mundane municipal calls over a scorching-hot subway station or a sidewalk full of cracks. 

With a smile plastered on his face, Mamdani has, in fact, filled potholes at a faster rate than any New York City mayor in years. In cities where everything seems to take forever to build, literally covering over these sites of everyday urban friction has become a powerfully visible form of political currency. 

“There’s just this thirst for competence right now,” Don Moynihan, a professor of public policy at the University of Michigan, told me, and Mamdani in particular has “brought a sense of joy and fun to the nuts and bolts of public administration.” It may even be enough to help restore some of the public trust needed for the more arduous, less palatable work involved in making our cities more liveable in the long run.

Sixty-nine percent of New Yorkers currently have a favorable view of Mamdani, according to a Siena Research Institute poll conducted earlier this month, meaning that he has already won over at least some of the one-third of residents who told the New York Times last September that they would never vote for him. He has higher ratings at this point in office than any NYC mayor in decades.

He is even more popular now than he was a few months ago, when the Knicks clinched their first NBA championship in decades, the sort of sports victory that can quantifiably boost an incumbent’s electoral prospects. So, no, it’s not the Knicks that have made Mamdani even more popular than he was during his mayoral honeymoon.

It is, quite possibly, the potholes. 

“There are easy issues for voters to understand about their local government, and then there are much more difficult issues,” said Justin de Benedictis-Kessner, a public policy professor at Harvard and author of the forthcoming book The Fog of Accountability. “When you make campaign promises about more difficult issues, you might pair them with some clear issues like potholes,” which are decidedly easy for voters to understand. 

But the bigger question is whether Mamdani or others like him can borrow from the public trust they earn from filling them to help move the needle on the hard stuff, “especially when those next things aren’t going to be what your constituents like as much,” like large-scale zoning reforms or tax hikes, he said. “They might be tougher policies to swallow.” 

Pothole populism, explained

“If government can’t do the small things,” Mamdani declared at a rally to mark his first 100 days in office, “how could you ever trust it to do the big ones? How can we promise to transform our city if we can’t pave your street?”

There’s plenty of data to back him up on this, not just in New York City but across the nation. For every extra week it takes their city to fix a nearby pothole, Chicagoans report being measurably less satisfied with their lives, according to one study. A separate survey found that Bostonites became 14 percent more trusting of their government after they were able to see it respond to complaints like potholes or broken street lamps. Much as doing the dishes or taking out the trash can be more romantic than the occasional pricey date night, these everyday municipal acts of service resonate with beleaguered urbanites.

Mamdani is not the first politician to build political capital on the strength of small, some even symbolic or aesthetic, infrastructural upgrades. Milwaukee, for example, elected a slew of leftists roughly a century ago who earned the pejorative moniker “sewer socialists” for their focus on small-scale engineering projects. These mayors understood that “it was not manifestos or ideological pamphlets that would win hearts and minds. It was about proving to people that the government could do things that had a sort of broadly shared benefit,” said Philip Rocco, a professor of political science at Marquette University. “They were picking really low-hanging fruit as a way of building a coalition.”

Milwaukee’s 20th-century socialist mayors went on to double the city’s size through annexation and new housing, built a pioneering sewage treatment plant, and set up the nation’s first Bureau of Economy and Efficiency. Along the way, they installed new street lights, drinking fountains, park benches, and countless other low-cost urban fixes that made everyday life safer, healthier, and more joyful. By 1936, Time was running a cover story about how six-term Mayor Daniel Hoan, “one of the nation’s ablest public servants,” had transformed Milwaukee into “perhaps the best-governed city in the US.” Hoan won election after election not because of his party affiliation (to be clear, literally Socialist with a capital S), but in spite of it, wrote Time, his competence and charisma charming even most conservative Milwaukeeans. 

Mamdani, who often invokes Milwaukee’s sewer socialists, clearly craves a similar legacy. He is actively attempting to disprove the idea that progressives today “are disconnected from reality, and that they have a lot of pie-in-the-sky ideas,” Moynihan said, “but that they can’t actually govern” when it comes to the often unglamorous, nitty-gritty demands of public service.

According to Moynihan, Mamdani may also be inheriting elements of another lineage; “broken windows” theory, though he may be less apt to say so. While it’s best known now for justifying controversial policing policies like stop-and-frisk, he said the approach also took seriously the idea that your “quality of life depends upon fixing the small things in your neighborhood.”

Now what? 

If imitation is the greatest form of flattery, then take note of the other local electeds beginning to engage in botched attempts to recreate Mamdani’s pothole politik. Los Angeles Mayor Karen Bass earned scorn a few weeks ago for voluntarily posting a video in which she fails to fix a pothole because of a car parked atop it. The road ahead will not, in fact, be paved with good intentions alone. 

But while Mamdani has clearly earned the trust of much of his city, what he will do with it is just starting to take shape. As Mayor Hoan showed a century ago, it’s one thing to fill a pothole with a scoop of asphalt, but it’s another to make your city’s housing more affordable or make the buses run faster. 

And yet, it is possible that the political symbolism he is curating today might indeed make the path ahead easier. Just this week, Mamdani announced his biggest infrastructure project to date, a mammoth 10-year, $4 billion rebuild of a crumbling section of the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, which two past mayoral administrations have tried and failed to fix. Whether or not he can be the one to pull it off will hinge on the public trust he cultivates today. 

“If Mamdani wants to get things done quickly, he’s going to have to implement a lot of policies that are a mix of really popular but perhaps minimally effective,” said de Benedictis-Kessner, “and ones that are much more effective but definitely not as popular.” 

Take rent control, which is very popular with voters, but, as my colleague Marina Bolotnikova has pointed out, does little to fix the roots of our dysfunctional housing market. By embracing it anyway, Mamdani is signaling that “he’s doing something that listens to his constituents,” said de Benedictis-Kessner, and the trust he earns from doing so could ultimately make “less popular policies that are actually much bigger in scale” more politically viable, like zoning reforms or density bonuses for developers. 

What I really want, my own personal North Star for good municipal governance in New York, is the Interborough Express, a long-awaited light rail line connecting Brooklyn and Queens that probably won’t be finished until at least 2031. Those are the kind of large-scale urban renovations that I’ll be writing about — and sometimes advocating for — in my new Vox newsletter, Nice Things. (Seriously, sign up!) But in the interim, I will settle for somewhere I can lock up my bike without lugging it up the stairs, or a subway station that isn’t quite so sweltering in the summertime. The little fixes that make our days just a little smoother, while also maybe laying the foundations for big changes.

No barrage of pothole-fixing blitzes will make the trains run on time or protect a city’s shore from flooding. But at a time when nobody thinks the government can do much of anything anymore, it’s a start. “To be able to argue, ‘Look, if you give me money, I will make things work,’” said Moynihan, “is a much more compelling argument if you can show that you are actually making things work.”

Dolly Parton was on her way to the studio to polish off “Blue Smoke” when the SUV she was riding in collided with a sedan in a Nashville intersection in 2013. At the hospital, she struck an unlikely friendship with her physician, Naji Abumrad, who, like Parton, was raised in a misty mountain village, hers in East Tennessee and his in Lebanon.

“It’s just like how you meet people in your life. You just click, you just feel like you know them,” Parton once told his son, Jad Abumrad, a public radio host who interviewed Parton for a nine-part series on her life. “There are just some things that, you know, you just can’t explain it. You just be it, you just live it, you just know it, and you just feel it.”

The whole world, it seems, felt it — that inexplicably swift, sweet connection — with Dolly Parton herself, a light-filled, lifelong philanthropist in the truest, most etymological sense of the word: a lover of humankind. 

Some seven years after their friendship began, Abumrad told Parton that his fellow researchers at Vanderbilt University Medical Center were looking into a possible vaccine for Covid-19, which had just begun to rage across the country. Without missing a beat, Parton wrote a check for $1 million, an early contribution toward what would eventually become the Moderna vaccine against Covid-19. 

Her donation “made the research towards the vaccine go 10 times faster than it would be without it,” Abumrad later told the Washington Post, calling his friend “the kindest and most philanthropic human being” he’d ever known. 

Parton, who died at the age of 80 yesterday, was raised with her 11 siblings amid poverty in the Smoky Mountains of Eastern Tennessee. She often credited her upbringing as a muse for both her music and her generosity. Just as integral to her persona as her kitschy high-femme glamour, her poofy hair and rhinestones, was Parton’s capacity for helping others. 

With an infectious sense of joy and optimism, she proved that helping others is not only easy to do, but can be a lot of fun.

Parton’s most famous foray into philanthropy by far was her Imagination Library, which she founded in 1995 in honor of her father, who never learned to read or write. Since then, the initiative has doled out a jaw-dropping over 300 million free children’s books to young kids around the country and the world.

“I just give from my heart,” she remarked while accepting the Carnegie Medal of Philanthropy, a kind of Nobel Prize for giving, in 2022. “I never know what I’m going to do or why I’m gonna do it. I just see a need, and if I can fill it, then I will.”

After wildfires tore through her native Tennessee in 2016, she raised millions of dollars that she used to give thousands of dollars in direct cash payments to hundreds of families who’d lost their homes. In recent years, she’s given millions of dollars to families affected by Hurricane Helene, to pediatric infectious-disease research, and to children’s charities across Tennessee. Back in 1990, Parton helped open a sanctuary for injured eagles in partnership with conservationists at Dollywood, the Eagle Mountain Sanctuary, which was forced to close after a brutal storm earlier this year. (You can donate to the American Eagle Foundation, which is rehoming Dollywood’s eagles here.) 

Parton, who had a net worth of about $450 million according to Forbes, may have given away many other donations privately. In 2006, when asked about the full scope of her donations, she told my former colleagues at The Chronicle of Philanthropy with her characteristic sass that “it’s none of your business. I have often said that I count my blessings a whole lot more than I count my money,” she said, “the same is true for the contributions I make.”

The world may have gotten a peek into her private giving a few years ago, when some savvy social media users helped break the news that Parton had been casually paying for band uniforms at high schools across Tennessee, and had been quietly doing so for decades. She also received $100 million as a recipient of Jeff Bezos’s Courage and Civility Award to give away as she saw fit. It’s unclear where she chose to spend that money, but it could certainly buy a lot of school band uniforms, children’s books, or pediatric hospital wings.

There was always something otherworldly about Parton’s kindness. It was as if the nicest person you’ve ever met found herself in possession of hundreds of millions of dollars in cash. But as serious as her contributions were — to the music industry, and to millions of children around the country — she never took herself too seriously, and maybe that’s what made it feel so enthralling to watch. 

“I’m kind of addicted to the feeling of giving,” she told People in 2021, “knowing that I’m doing something good for someone else.”

And that’s a lesson that all of us, legendary multimillionaire country superstar or not, can use to help carry her legacy forward.

This story appeared in Today, Explained, a daily newsletter that helps you understand the most compelling news and stories of the day. Subscribe here.

You’ve probably read a lot about Dolly Parton over the last 24 hours: her songwriting genius, her generosity, her incredible hair. The country icon and philanthropist died Tuesday at age 80 after having cancer. Her hits have been playing in my head ever since.

Parton’s influence extended far beyond her music, though. She was also a singular, centripetal force in American culture — a rare, unifying icon beloved on both the right and the left. 

Her ability to project radical kindness without sounding naïve, and to address moral questions without looking partisan, inspired near-universal adoration at a time when Americans can agree on virtually nothing and no one else. And her strategic ambiguity around both her personal life and her political views allowed everyone from Christian conservatives to New York City gays to claim her as their personal representative. 

Parton was, as Constance Grady wrote for Vox in 2021, “a secular American saint.” Now it’s hard to think of any living American who might be said to merit that praise. José Andrés? LeVar Burton? Tom Hanks, perhaps…? But they lack the glitter, the candor, the theme park — and the six decades of iconic music.

Go a little deeper

Core to Parton’s cultural canonization was her incredible generosity, which — on the wide spectrum of celebrity philanthropic giving — was both unusually down-to-earth and apparently, charmingly spontaneous. 

“I just give from my heart,” Parton said in her 2022 acceptance speech for the Carnegie Medal of Philanthropy. “I never know what I’m going to do or why I’m gonna do it. I just see a need and if I can fill it, then I will.”

The needs she saw were many and varied: children’s books. High school band uniforms. Bald eagle conservation. Research into the novel coronavirus, which eventually yielded Moderna’s Covid-19 vaccine — a vaccine that Parton then vocally and memorably promoted.  

I asked my colleague Sara Herschander, who has written a lot about philanthropy — including Parton’s! — to characterize how the later icon’s philosophy of giving jibes with norms in the space. As in so much of her life, Parton stands out.

“I think when many celebrities engage in giving, it can feel like a publicity stunt, or like someone swooping in,” Herschander said. “But the way Parton let her childhood and personal connections guide her giving gave hers a unique character and a sense of authenticity and optimism — even as it was also, in many cases, quite effective and ambitious.”

One link for later

➨ Play your heart out. Playful adults are less stressed out and more satisfied with their lives than their dour, self-serious neighbors. And yet, society tends to encourage playfulness almost exclusively among children. To tap into that state of levity and curiosity as an adult, experts suggest reflecting on the last time when you laughed so hard you cried, or when you truly lost yourself having fun. Then try dipping into that activity again, without any standards or expectations. 

Before you go…

• Did you know…that almost half of US adults don’t drink alcohol? The current US drinking rate — just 54 percent — is the lowest it’s been since pollsters started tracking it after Prohibition. 
• Today’s trivia: Singer Paul David Hewson is better known as what? (You can find this and other brain puzzles in Vox’s daily crossword. Look for the answer in tomorrow’s edition.)
• Yesterday’s trivia: Yesterday we asked you for Minnesota’s state bird. That would be the loon, recently immortalized as a symbol of the state’s anti-ICE resistance. 

What we eat and where it comes from is a critical part of human health. According to a 2025 survey, 59 percent of Americans think it’s important to know where their food comes from, and 54 percent prioritize food that is consistently available locally. And one of the best places to get that locally sourced food? Farmers markets. 

The US has more than 8,700 farmers markets, where roughly 40,000 farmers sell their products. Recently, the markets have been getting a bit more attention thanks to a series of high-profile food recalls. Americans’ confidence in the safety of their food is being tested, and buying direct from your local farm could be the answer. 

Some produce travels hundreds or thousands of miles from where it’s grown to where it’s sold, passing through processing, storage, and distribution facilities. One advantage of a small local farm is the direct journey the produce takes from the field to the customer. But how does a small family farm business compete with major grocery stores for customers, and what’s behind their sales pitch for safer and fresher food? We drove out to Camarillo, California, to a small family farm to find out. 

Read more about food sources and food safety:

• McGrath Family Farm’s history and growing practices 
• The FDA’s recall tracker 
• IFIC’s 2025 food and health survey
• Time magazine on farmers markets and food safety 
• Farm Action’s report on Taylor Farms 
• The CDC’s page on how foodborne outbreaks happen

This video is presented by Verizon Business. Verizon Business doesn’t have a say in our editorial decisions, but they help make videos like this one possible.

Every once in a while, I feel the urge to shout “women are not small men!” at inanimate objects. Today, that object is the flat-chested plastic torso typically used for CPR training. 

Breasts, it turns out, are really the bane of every woman’s existence — the back pain, the boob jail, the running. But here’s a new one: In a public cardiac arrest, they may be the reason nobody helps you.

Two years ago, an analysis of over 300,000 cardiac arrests showed that women are 14 percent less likely than men to receive CPR from a stranger if they have a cardiac arrest in public. Bystanders tend to be more hesitant and feel less comfortable providing CPR or using external defibrillator paddles, called AEDs, on people with breasts. Experts have time and again pointed, in part, to the fact that nearly everyone learns to perform CPR using the traditional, flat-chested dummies called “manikins,” which overwhelmingly represent the male anatomy. If the first time a stranger has to perform CPR on someone with breasts is in the middle of a high-stakes emergency — what else would you expect? 

For the last 20 years, not only has the survival rate for out-of-hospital cardiac arrests been around 10 percent, but also the chances of the victim surviving decrease by 10 percent every minute that interventions like CPR are not performed. It makes it all the more harrowing that women are not receiving the care they need when they experience cardiac arrests — especially in places where they are surrounded by people. 

Whether it is manikins used for CPR training, crash tests or medical care in combat, the default stand-in for what is “human” has long been male. 

But recently, researchers, advocates and governing bodies like the American Heart Association and European Resuscitation Council are pushing for better representation in CPR training and education. Increases in simulation-based research on the use of representative manikins, like ones that accurately represent female anatomy, are changing how people train to respond to cardiac arrest — and simultaneously exposing bigger gender gaps in design that systematically exclude women from experiencing the same level of safety and care as men. 

One size doesn’t fit all

The first CPR manikin was developed in 1960 by the Norwegian toy manufacturer Laerdal. The manikin, called Resusci Anne, which had the anatomy of a prepubescent teen, was ironically modeled off an unnamed girl who was thought to have drowned in the river Seine in Paris. Laerdal famously wanted a female face on the manikin since he thought men might hesitate to practice mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on a male manikin. It’s not surprising that women trainees didn’t factor into the equation at all back in the 1960s — they weren’t even included in clinical trials yet — but the norm of designing with the comfort of men at the forefront continues to this day. 

Since then, Resusci Anne has been reengineered many times over, and today’s manikins are surprisingly high-tech and interactive. However, as of 2022, about 95 percent of manikins on the market from mainstream manufacturers were still flat-chested and androgynous. 

So why does this matter?

In the past, research has hinted at three main reasons why bystanders don’t immediately rush to the aid of a woman in cardiac arrest. One, they are hesitant to expose or touch her in any way that could be misconstrued as inappropriate and are worried about sexual assault allegations after the fact. Two, they don’t want to accidentally hurt them, perceiving them as generally more fragile than the average man. And three — perhaps saddest of all: bystanders often don’t recognize that a woman is in cardiac arrest if, say, she collapses in public, misattributing it as overreacting, simply fainting or faking it. 

CPR training with female manikins would go a long way in teaching people to be comfortable with the female form.  

In one study, people at MassCPR — the free CPR certification program offered by Massachusetts Institute of Technology for the MIT community — were trained using standard manikins,  as well as a few which were retrofitted with a mold resembling breasts. At the end of the certification, participants who practiced on the manikin with breasts reported greater comfort performing CPR on women. 

If there was widespread adoption of manikins that looked and felt different, this could ultimately become the norm. 

It’s really only in the past five years or so that research on this disparity has sped up, offering some evidence for the need for more representative manikins. Even then, widespread adoption of female manikins is hindered by commercial availability of anatomically correct models and the cost of switching existing CPR training programs over to using them.   

Closing the design (gender) gap

There are two main ways to go about increasing the availability of female manikins: Either you retrofit existing standard manikins with breasts or you design completely new ones. 

When Christoph Veigl and colleagues at the Medical University of Vienna surveyed 133 training organizations across 43 countries from six continents, they found that of more than 5,000 manikins in use, only a fifth of organizations owned a female one. While that number is still low, adoption is triple what it was four years ago. The researchers acknowledge that just the availability of female manikins is not necessarily an indication of how much they are used in training — about a quarter of the organizations were also employing makeshift adaptations, like placing a bra on standard manikins, to simulate training on women. 

Dr. Pooja Nawathe, a resuscitation science researcher and pediatric critical care clinician at Cedars-Sinai Hospital, chose to focus her research on gender disparity in resuscitation for a specific reason. 

“Skin color is about implicit biases, but female breast tissue, which is a normal physical characteristic, is about the actual science of this,” she said, speaking about variations in care during cardiac arrests. “Are we teaching how to place the pads on the breast tissue?”  

She also stresses the importance of gathering good, granular data on how CPR performance changes when people are exposed to diverse populations.     

CPR manikins are just one example of the gender gap in design: Across fields like crash testing, the “human” body has long been modeled on men. But that’s starting to change, too. Last year, the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (NHTSA) released the design details for THOR-05F, the first detailed female crash-test dummy.

Before this, the standard female crash-test dummy was a model called the Hybrid III 5th percentile female dummy — literally just a scaled-down version of the Hybrid III 50th percentile male dummy that represents the average male body dimensions. But the THOR-05F — every woman’s dream name, I’m sure — is a much more anatomically accurate female dummy, and includes a female pelvis, breasts, and a flexible spine. 

THOR-05F has arrived just as new research by the NHTSA affirmed the need for better crash-testing on women. Although the gap in vehicular accident fatality rates between the sexes has narrowed significantly in newer car models, women continue to experience a higher injury rate compared to men in multiple different types of vehicular accidents. The hope is that testing with the THOR-05F will provide a better understanding of this trend and help engineer safer vehicles and regulations for women.

Women are not small men!

Women are often referred to as the “invisible sex,” and the lack of female manikins really brings that to the forefront. It’s not like the manufacturers or policymakers intentionally excluded women from this area — they simply ignored them, accepting an androgynous body as the standard with an unchallenged assumption that what applies to it will undoubtedly apply to women too. 

In 2019, Joan Creative, the New York-based ad agency, launched the Womanikin, a universal attachment for CPR manikins, in partnership with United State of Women, a now-shuttered organization focused on gender equity. Launched during National CPR Week, the Womanikin is a neoprene vest with silicone breasts that can be zipped onto any standard manikin. Built as an awareness campaign, they open-sourced the design for the breasted vest and helped spark a broader conversation about the CPR gender gap. But we don’t have any detailed information about its success or adoption. 

More recently, other manufacturers like Prestan have come out with newly designed female manikins that can be purchased as is. They also sell “replacement female skin” that retrofits any existing Prestan adult manikins. Notably, these are now available on the American Red Cross store, increasing visibility for female manikins.

The fact that women account for 50 percent of the world’s population and yet have to mold themselves to standards not designed for them in the first place is atrocious. Not only is it frustrating to live in a world not built for you, but in cases like CPR training, the gender gap can quite literally be fatal. This is true whether it is for motor vehicle crash-test dummies or those used to train battlefield medics — another field where women injured in battle have a higher fatality rate than their counterparts.

The basic idea is that repeated exposure to female bodily characteristics during training or testing can significantly alleviate discomfort that causes dangerous hesitation. If people had more practice administering CPR to models that looked more feminine, they wouldn’t be thrown off by breasts, would understand how to cut away clothing like bras if needed, and learn how to efficiently place the pads of the external defibrillator on a female body. 

CPR techniques remain largely the same irrespective of sex. Chest compressions are performed on the sternum, which is the flat bone running down the center of your chest. For women, it lies between the breasts, so there are some additional considerations. That is what representation in training manikins is meant to address — not new skills, but familiarity. 

Ultimately, it really comes down to not feeling awkward about putting your hand in between two breasts, if it means you save a life.

Richie Bell stood at the door of an East Village bar, nervous for a singular reason: he had to hand over his phone to a bouncer to get in. At 23 years old, Bell had hardly ever been without a device — he got his first iPhone in elementary school — but when he saw a video on TikTok advertising a queer, phone-free, funk dance party called Who’s Dancing?, he decided to test his limits. He immediately purchased a ticket and planned to attend alone. 

Bell was pleasantly surprised to discover he wouldn’t have to relinquish his phone at all, but simply allow security to place tape on both the back and front-facing cameras. “You can’t scroll Reels because, think about it, on iPhones anyway, if they’re taping the front camera, that’s also the speaker area,” Bell told Vox. Without the temptation of content on his phone, Bell mingled with other attendees, who were similarly unoccupied and also flying solo. Even though event staff kept their eyes peeled for any errant phone usage, no one seemed to reach for them anyway. 

Compared to other bars and parties he’s been to, Bell found this one more conducive to unbridled socializing and dancing. It’s easier to approach a stranger when they’re not hunched over their phone. No one is worried about looking like a fool, immortalized in video, because everyone is a little foolish, moving their bodies without fear of judgment. 

Across the country, clubs, bars, music venues, and other social spaces are encouraging attendees to lock their phones away — or, at least keep them out of sight — for screen-free gatherings. According to event hosting platform Eventbrite, phone-free experiences have increased more than 500 percent globally between 2024 and 2025. Musicians Phoebe Bridgers and Harry Styles banned phones at their concerts; comedians John Mulaney and Bill Burr have followed suit. Clubs from Los Angeles to Miami are creating camera-free dance floors. Bars and restaurants in cities like San Francisco and Philadelphia that have long prohibited phone and camera use have been joined by newer establishments in Charlotte, North Carolina and Fort Worth, Texas. 

The rise of phone-free socializing speaks to a growing exhaustion with an always-connected world. More than half of US adults say they use their smartphone too much, according to a 2022 Gallup survey. Excessive smartphone use has been linked to poor sleep quality and depression, and even the mere presence of a phone lessens cognitive capacity. The ubiquity of devices — and the cameras on them — has instilled a low-grade panic that you might end up going viral for eating a sandwich in the background of an influencer’s video. Even Gen Z, who has always lived under the spectre of technology, is nostalgic for times before everyone was “plugged in” and widely accessible.

Screen-free events are the natural evolution of the cultural desire to break up with tech. By transforming physical spaces, ridding them of distracting devices, event organizers and bar owners aim to foster connection, reclaim attention, and maintain a sense of privacy. Even a short detox from smartphones has the ability to dramatically shape the tenor of a get-together for the better. 

“Exploited for content”

Before X&ND (pronounced “zand”), the funk and soul artist who organized the phone-free party Bell attended, first conceived of Who’s Dancing?, they noticed very few people actually cutting loose at clubs. Instead, they were on their phones. “The second that anybody starts dancing in a club where there’s meant to be dancing, people pull out their phone,” X&ND told Vox. “They’re getting surveilled, they’re getting essentially exploited for content and being put in a position where they’re on display for people that they didn’t necessarily want to be on display for.” X&ND wanted to create a space for women, queer, and trans people to dance and express themselves without the fear of ending up on the internet. 

Since last summer, X&ND has hosted eight sold-out dance parties (and Bell estimates he’s attended seven). Phone-free events, X&ND said, are a reclamation of culture, of attention, of self-expression. “Influencers aren’t able to post anything. Different companies aren’t posting anything about our parties because we don’t give them the material to,” they said. “I think it’s the culture taking the culture back.”

The bar and nightclub scene has struggled in recent years, with many venues closing due to high rent and fewer patrons spending money on alcohol. But perhaps a less obvious culprit is the pervasive anxiety of being captured on video during a moment of vulnerability. Some might be turned off from entering these spaces altogether due to the high risk of embarrassment if they’re captured and mocked online.

In Washington, DC, 28-year-old Jo Vee had similar concerns about privacy and craved an environment where they could be anonymous. Like Bell, Vee has had access to a camera phone since they were a child and can’t remember a time when they weren’t thinking about what to post on Instagram. But when a friend organized a phone-free dance party, Vee jumped at the opportunity to enjoy themselves, free from the pressures of the algorithm — and the potential of accidentally becoming a meme. “There’s nothing more terrifying than thinking that you’re going to a party just to have fun, and then you wake up the next morning and there’s a video of you that has 10 million views that you had no idea about, and now you’re like a GIF reaction on the internet.” (Vee clarified that they do not speak from personal experience, but said that a version of this has happened to a couple of friends.)

Distraction-free connection

Although many people inherently recognize the downsides of excessive phone use, they also realize they’re fighting an uphill battle. Demanding jobs can tether workers to their emails and algorithms are designed to keep us engaged and scrolling. Our attention is constantly being pulled from the real world to the digital one. But even a brief respite from screens can be beneficial. 

In his research, Georgetown associate professor Kostadin Kushlev found that phone usage during a social interaction undermines how much people enjoy spending time with others. “It’s not so much [that] the phone is making us feel unhappy,” Kushlev told Vox, “it’s more like I could be happier if I was not using a phone.” Put another way, people enjoy social gatherings more when they keep their phone out of sight because they can give their full attention to their conversation partner.

Kushlev’s other research has shown that as people curbed their phone usage over a two-week period, their ability to pay attention improved. Even a shorter detox period, like a two-hour phone-free gathering, could minimize overstimulation and encourage greater focus, Kushlev said.

Inside the Charlotte, North Carolina, bar Antagonist, couples on dates engage in heart-to-hearts and neighboring tables of strangers strike up conversations. That’s because the bar has banned phones. Upon entering, visitors are asked to secure their phone in a pouch which they keep with them for the duration of their stay. If they need to use their phone, they can do so outside.

Since Antagonist opened in March, owner Michael Salzarulo has observed patrons clamoring for a Friday night detox after a long week of screen-mediated work. “Normally Saturday is your biggest day,” Salzarulo said, “but Friday nights are our busiest nights of the week.” While anyone can lock their phone in another room for a few hours, Antagonist provides an element of accountability, Salzarulo said: a dedicated space for distraction-free connection.

Alex Becker was yearning for a break from her phone and her “email, Microsoft Excel job” when she co-founded PA Unplugged, a nonprofit championing policies that advocate for more mindful uses of technology, last year. One of the nonprofit’s initiatives, Screen Free Philly, maintains a calendar of screen-free events and organizes its own gatherings at breweries, parks, and other civic institutions, urging attendees to set aside their phones for discussions, art projects, and board games. At the most recent get-together, dozens of attendees handed their phones to Becker while they completed a series of puzzles throughout the city.

Although these gatherings are still fairly niche, Becker sensed a hunger among participants to seek out further opportunities for tech-free connection. While ditching a smartphone completely may be unrealistic, setting it aside for date night or an afternoon of gaming might be a salve for our tech-addled brains. We can implement these best practices at our own gatherings, too, by encouraging friends to leave their phones in a basket by the door or offering disposable cameras at parties.

“People are just done and ready to take their attention back, take their time back, and encourage more real-world connection,” Becker said.

LONDON, Ontario — President Donald Trump seems dead set on escalating his trade war with Canada. And no one is really sure why.

On Monday, Trump threatened another round of 50 percent tariffs on top of the ones he just implemented — this one targeting Canada’s auto industry, which is so deeply integrated with its American counterpart that large duties would do major damage on both sides of the border. By Tuesday morning, he had begun musing about renaming Lake Ontario “Lake America” to spite Canadians. And throughout all of this, he and Vice President JD Vance had renewed their “jokes” about absorbing Canada as the 51st state.

But who is this even for? While the White House’s behavior infuriates Canadians — it is palpable on the ground here in Canada — it’s unusual by Trump standards in that nobody seems to want this conflict but him. 

Even the most fringe, or unpopular, foreign policy ideas he’s pursued typically have think tanks devoted to pushing them, or a loyal ally to please, or a voting bloc to rile up before the midterms. But unlike, say, Trump’s conflicts with Iran, or Cuba, or China, it’s hard to find a highly visible corner of conservatism that’s the driving force behind a nationalist campaign against Canada. 

When I reached out to trade experts, political scientists, and in-the-know Republicans of the pro- and anti- Trump persuasion to try to trace the origins of Trump’s trade war, they had trouble pointing to anything solid. As one veteran GOP lobbyist put it, there doesn’t seem to be any ideological, business, or congressional coalition devoted to egging on the trade fight. 

Even people sympathetic to Trump’s economic nationalism seem confused: Michael Lind, a populist pundit who last year penned a piece titled “Why tariffs are good,” has just written a follow-up titled “The madness of Trump’s Canada trade war.” And while there are some affected industries — autos, steel — they don’t seem to be main characters: United Auto Workers, which backed some prior tariffs, came out strongly against the proposed auto tariffs.

The politics don’t make much sense either. American voters have long disapproved of Trump’s tariffs on Canadian-made goods, and the current escalation threatens to be the largest and most economically damaging yet. Republicans sound anxious about its impact on the midterms; several key Senate races are in states right on the Canadian border, and any tariff-related price spike there could supercharge Democrats’ core midterm message about affordability. 

“If I were [Senate Majority Leader] John Thune, I’d be very pissed at Trump right now,” says Adam Carlson, a Democratic pollster at Zenith Research.

So why are we at (economic) war?

The best answer is deceptively simple: because Trump, and Trump alone, wants to be. 

There is no good strategic rationale for the way Trump has gone about badgering America’s northern neighbor, even if you share his broadly nationalist view about trade. Rather, Trump has become fixated on dominating or even possessing Canada. And his top deputies are backfilling his fixation, including by offering terms of surrender the Canadians simply couldn’t accept. 

“This has never been a particularly well-thought strategy,” says Kim Clausing, a trade economist at UCLA. “I think that the biggest, most coherent explanation is that this is about power.”

It’s the latest example of the risks of governance by one man’s whims — one that could both damage America’s economy and burn its relationship with its staunchest ally before it resolves.

Trump’s northern power trip

Typically, when you try to explain the policy of any government, you look at two main factors: interests and ideology. In this case, neither is close to sufficient to explain the intensity of Trump’s war on Canada.

It is true that, for decades, the United States has had meaningful trade disputes with Canada over issues like lumber and dairy. But these issues never boiled over into a massive trade war, for the simple reason that they simply aren’t that large as a percentage of GDP. There’s a reason that every administration prior to this one — including Trump’s first — handled these issues through normal negotiating processes rather than loud bullying.

On the ideology front, it is true that Trump’s 2016 victory has revived conservative interest in economic nationalism — leading to the creation of groups like American Compass, a think tank dedicated to putting policy meat on the bones of the right’s nationalist spirit. But these nationalists largely converged on China as their principal economic enemy. While Trump trade adviser Peter Navarro is helping run Canada policy now, there was no sign in his essay in Project 2025 — or from other allies — that anyone was contemplating a full-on trade war with Canada beforehand. And American Compass does not appear to be involved in the current fight, offering no official comment on its press page or founder Oren Cass’s X feed.

“I really do think it is Trump’s idiosyncrasies that caused him to settle on Canada,” says Phil Magness, an economic historian who closely tracks intra-right economic disputes. “Others in the admin are going along with it.”

The timeline backs up Magness’s assessment.

In November 2024, shortly after winning the election, Trump began feuding with then-Prime Minister Justin Trudeau — calling him “governor” and beginning his talk of Canada as the 51st state. Less than two months after taking office, Trump targeted Canada with (at that point) historically high 25 percent across-the-board tariffs.

When the Washington Post investigated the rationale behind these tariffs at the time, they found a void. There was no policy paper behind the Canadian tariffs, nor any clear intellectual godfather or industry backer. People inside the administration put all the credit (or blame?) solely at the president’s feet. Within MAGA media, the closest to radical anti-Canada sentiment might have been Tucker Carlson’s trollish musing about “regime change” in 2023.

After Mark Carney replaced Trudeau as prime minister, and won the general election primarily on an anti-Trump platform, tensions cooled to a somewhat surprising degree, at least when it came to trade talks. Prior to this week, the 51st state rhetoric had declined dramatically; negotiations on trade looked like they had a real chance of success. Indeed, just this Tuesday, Trump himself declared they had reached a deal and postponed tariff implementation as a result. The Friday breakdown thus felt like a bit of a shock.

But reading detailed accounts of the negotiation collapse, including a brand-new ticktock from the New York Times, it’s clear that overweening American conditions were a major part of the failure. Most strikingly, and relevant, were US demands that it have control over Canada’s tariff rates with other countries and that it be able to reimpose American tariffs on Canada at will.

The key point here is that the Trump administration was not, and never has been, interested in a reciprocal trade deal between allies based on clear and cogent principles. Instead, they want to vassalize Canada — to bully it into surrendering elements of its sovereignty, or even its sovereign existence altogether. It is clear that this is the direct result of the president’s personal fixation.

Why exactly Trump has become so obsessed with controlling Canada is harder to say. Per the Post, there are theories ranging from bitterness around a legal battle over Trump Tower Toronto to his friendship with Kevin O’Leary, Canadian entrepreneur and host of the reality show Shark Tank. Certainly, his more recent rivalry with Carney hasn’t helped: “Canada lives because of the United States,” Trump declared, menacingly, after the prime minister delivered a critical foreign policy speech in January.

My own personal theory is that it’s of a piece with Trump’s desire to acquire Greenland, another cause that’s largely unique to him. He is looking toward his presidential legacy, and nothing makes a real estate developer think “legacy” more than literally enlarging the size of the United States on the map.

But in practical terms, the reason may be immaterial. Whatever the roots of Trump’s Canada fixation, we know that it is real and a major driver in US foreign policy — one so important, in fact, that he is willing to jeopardize his party’s all-important Senate majority in order to pursue it.

This story appeared in The Logoff, a daily newsletter that helps you stay informed about the Trump administration without letting political news take over your life. Subscribe here.

Welcome to The Logoff: President Donald Trump is threatening that if he can’t have the Kennedy Center, no one can. 

What’s going on? Trump has been trying to get his name back on the John F. Kennedy Center for Performing Arts since June, when it was removed in response to a court order. On Monday night, the Justice Department revealed its latest ploy to make that happen. 

In a court filing, the DOJ argued that if its renovation plans for the Kennedy Center aren’t allowed to go forward, “the center will deteriorate further into an unsafe, decrepit structure that will be required to be taken down” and replaced by another structure, “such as a large outdoor amphitheater.”

Tied up in the proposed $250 million renovation are three new tributes to Trump, which the Kennedy Center board (stacked with Trump appointees) voted to add earlier this month: the text “renovated and restored by President Donald J. Trump” and “endowed by The Trump Kennedy Center Fund” on the building’s facade, and the renaming of the Kennedy Center grounds as “President Donald J. Trump Plaza.”

Those changes are currently being challenged in court by Rep. Joyce Beatty (D-OH), who successfully sued to undo Trump’s first renaming of the center. But the Trump administration claims her suit endangers the entire project.

What does Trump’s name have to do with the renovations? According to the DOJ filing, “an order blocking the Board from appropriately recognizing President Trump will cause donors to flee, financial contributions to dry up, and structural rehabilitation to stop.” 

“There will simply not be the expertise or funding necessary to rebuild and renovate this decimated structure,” it adds. 

Is that true? No. Congress already approved $257 million for the renovation last year, which the Kennedy Center board touted in a press release crediting Trump. 

And far from being a draw, the Washington Post reported Tuesday, Trump’s previous renaming of the Kennedy Center caused ticket sales and donations to plummet, creating a $23 million deficit even after deep spending cuts. 

And with that, it’s time to log off…

Universally beloved country music star Dolly Parton died on Tuesday at age 80. Here’s one song to remember her, and a story about what she described as “one of the greatest things that I’ve ever done in my life”: a literacy program that, as of this year, has gifted more than 332 million books to children.

Plus, from my editor: This Radiolab podcast series, Dolly Parton’s America.

Have a great evening, and we’ll see you back here tomorrow!

This story appeared in Today, Explained, a daily newsletter that helps you understand the most compelling news and stories of the day. Subscribe here.

Football season kicks off soon, and there’s an elephant on the field. Not the University of Alabama’s pachydermal mascot, alas — but a new study on the incidence of brain injury in football players.

The startling paper, published this morning in the journal BMJ, examined the brains of 235 of the 878 former NFL players who died between 2016 and 2021. It found that at least one in four of those players — and, in all likelihood, many more than that — had chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE) at their time of death.

CTE is an ugly disease. It’s a progressive, degenerative brain disorder caused by repeated blows to the head. It can be debilitating in its advanced stages, with symptoms including memory loss, confusion, depression, erratic behavior, and personality changes.

Researchers have long linked CTE to the recurrent head trauma common in football and other contact sports. But this study offers one of the clearest estimates yet of just how widespreadthe disease is. It’s not a freak occurrence confined to an unlucky few — it’s a significant occupational hazard, akin to black lung disease in coal miners. 

Go a little deeper

Federal regulators have intervened to protect coal miners and other people in hazardous jobs, of course — but they’ve stayed on the sidelines when it comes to sports. Football is an American institution, after all. And regulators have few obvious ways to make the game safer.

Last year, the Trump administration also advanced a claim that, in my mind, gets straight to the heart of the moral dilemma of being a football fan. The Occupational Safety and Health Administration proposed formally excluding from standards enforcement hazards that are “inherent and inseparable from the core nature of a professional activity.” (That proposal has not been finalized yet.)

Is danger inherent to the “core nature” of football? And, if it is, how do fans reconcile their love of the sport with the substantial harm that it inflicts? 

“Part of what makes football interesting is that it refuses to resolve itself morally,” the cultural critic Chuck Klosterman told Vox earlier this year. “It doesn’t let you land comfortably on one side or the other.”

Klosterman, who recently published a book about football, is one of these people who believes that danger is inherent to the sport: Remove it, he said, and the stakes diminish — the whole game gets less meaningful. 

At the same time, football arguably does a lot of good, too: It creates shared rituals and civic pride; it gives millions of people a sense of belonging in an otherwise atomized world. 

So where does that leave fans? Somewhere uncomfortable, I suppose. But we can draw a couple practical conclusions: Kids should not play tackle football. And both the NFL and college football programs should keep working to improve helmets and cut down on contact, especially in practices. 

One link for later

➨ Treat yourself to a PSL. Yep: It’s (somehow, already) that time again. Since Starbucks debuted the divisive seasonal beverage in 2003, it’s become “a straw man for discussions about capitalism, seasonal creep, and the meaning of ‘basic.’”

Before you go…

• Did you know…that humans’ closest invertebrate relative is the lowly sea squirt? As one biologist put it to Vox: “They just decided to take a different route on evolution.”
• Today’s trivia: What is the state bird of Minnesota, recently embraced by anti-ICE protesters as a popular symbol of their movement? (You can find this and other brain puzzles in Vox’s daily crossword. Look for the answer in tomorrow’s edition.)
• Yesterday’s trivia: Yesterday we asked you for the traditional, three-letter nickname for students and graduates of Yale. That would be “Eli,” as in “Elihu Yale” — the wealthy 18th-century merchant whose donations helped found the school. 

When the NFL season kicks off next month, millions of Americans will gather around their televisions to watch athletes of comic book proportions crash into each other at breathtaking speeds. Inevitably, those players’ heads will smash into each other, leaving them dazed on the field. And according to a major new study, these repeated head-on collisions may eventually lead to a degenerative brain disease for many — if not most — of the players long after they’ve left the field.

For years now, America has been reckoning with the tension between its love for football and the growing evidence of its dangers. Those concerns can be boiled down to three letters: CTE, or chronic traumatic encephalopathy, which is the progressive brain disease that can lead to dementia, depression, suicide, and other serious mental health problems.

One major question over the past 20 years has been: Exactly how often does playing football lead to CTE? What are the risks for peewee players versus pros? How quickly does the brain deteriorate once the disease takes hold? And new research, published this week in BMJ, has provided us with some staggering answers. After analyzing the death records for hundreds of former NFL players, the co-authors concluded that at least 25 percent of the former players who died between 2016 and 2021 had CTE at the time of their death. 

And the actual prevalence could be much higher, but more players’ brains would have to be given over to scientists for a CTE assessment for us to know for sure. Because among the 338 players whose brains were donated and studied, the CTE rate was an astonishing 93 percent. The question is, according to the researchers: Is that percentage skewed because the players exhibiting CTE symptoms were more likely to offer up their brain for research? Or, as the authors suggest is possible, is the real CTE rate closer to 90 percent? Only further research will be able to tell us, but even the latest estimate — one in four — is cause for concern.

It’s a stark reminder of football’s risks, delivered right on the cusp of a new season for pro, college, and high school teams around the country. And according to the Aspen Institute’s annual State of Play report, there are signs that the game’s future may actually be at risk. 

More and more American parents are steering their kids away from tackle football. How long can an elite league like the NFL last when the pool of players is getting smaller and smaller — at the same time the scientific evidence of its dangers is becoming clearer and clearer?

The youth football pipeline is drying up

Despite the latest research, the NFL is going to be fine in the short term. Professional football is the biggest TV show in the country: Last year, 83 of the top 100 rated TV shows were NFL games, up from 72 in 2024. The next Super Bowl will almost certainly attract more than 100 million viewers and end up the single most-watched TV program in the US for the whole year. Football is one thing that transcends politics in an increasingly polarized America.

But with each new piece of evidence about the physical and mental costs of playing football, football’s long-term dominance looks less and less certain. Already, if you dig into the trend lines for youth participation, they reveal a real threat to the sport’s future.

Let’s start with the good news for football enthusiasts: Flag football has become more and more popular among kids, supported by investments and promotion by the NFL itself and expert consensus that it’s much safer than tackle, especially when it comes to head injuries. According to the Aspen Institute’s State of Play survey, flag football participation among kids ages 6 to 12 grew by 13.6 percent from 2019 to 2024, while tackle football play dropped 7 percent among the same age group over that time.

But it’s participation among the next age group that may be most revealing. According to the Aspen Institute, tackle football participation rates among Americans ages 13 to 17 — the prime age for middle school and high school teams — decreased 9 percent from 2019 to 2024. It has even fallen behind tennis among the teenage cohort. Many of the tweens who play flag football may never strap on a helmet to play tackle.

Even if fewer kids play tackle football year over year, the sport may still subsist on its promises of upward mobility for people who come from poorer backgrounds. With the recent introduction of compensation for college players, elite athletes can make millions of dollars in income before they even reach the NFL. It may be no surprise, then, that the young people still playing tackle football are more likely to be lower-income and live in conservative states. 

Another study found that Black and Hispanic parents, who on average earn less money than their white counterparts, are more likely to see football as a path to college scholarship or even a professional career; the Washington Post reported in 2023 that the proportion of white players at the college level is falling while the percentage of Black players is rising. Football players are often thought of as modern gladiators: participants disproportionately from lower classes aspiring to riches and glory in a violent game for the viewing pleasure of the general public. That’s becoming more and more true as we learn more about its dangers. 

As the annual hoopla around the NFL kickoff makes clear, football’s cultural dominance remains unrivaled among professional sports. But this new study has left even me, a lifelong football fan, wondering how much longer it can, and should, last.

Editor’s note, August 25, 10:15 am ET: This article was originally published in 2018 and has been updated for the start of the new PSL season.

August 25 is not a day that is particularly known for feeling especially crisp or autumnal in most parts of North America. And yet it’s the day this year — the earliest release date ever — that Starbucks, contending with a slowdown in sales, will unleash its annual run of pumpkin spice lattes upon its customers.

You’d be forgiven for mistaking this tone for one of disdain. Since its inception in 2003, the pumpkin spice latte has become something of a straw man for discussions about capitalism, seasonal creep, and the meaning of “basic,” resulting in widespread hatred for an otherwise innocuous beverage.

For example, back in 2014, at the height of pumpkin spice mania, this very website described the PSL as “an unctuous, pungent, saccharine brown liquid, equal parts dairy and diabetes, served in paper cups and guzzled down by the liter” — even though clearly the pumpkin spice latte is a highly delicious treat that pairs well with wearing vests and making dorky comments about how crisp the air feels today. Yes, it contains 380 calories; yes, it will make your coffee a rather unappetizing orange color; no, you should not “guzzle it down by the liter.”

But contempt for the PSL and other items of the seasonal pumpkin spice variety is often not really about the flavor itself. After all, there are plenty of other flavors we should all be way more furious about. (There is a shop in Scotland that serves mayonnaise ice cream, people!) Too frequently, it’s about sexism, class anxiety, and our collective skepticism of savvy marketing. After all, the PSL is doing something right: It’s Starbucks’ most popular seasonal beverage, with about 424 million sold worldwide. In 2019, the chain leaned in further with the introduction of the Pumpkin Cream Cold Brew, finally admitting to the world that late August is still iced coffee weather.

The history of the PSL

The pumpkin spice latte almost didn’t exist. As former Starbucks veteran Tim Kern told Quartz, “A number of us thought it was a beverage so dominated by a flavor other than coffee that it didn’t put Starbucks’ coffee in the best light.”

Fortunately for Starbucks, the Tim Kerns of the company were ultimately overruled, because within a decade of its launch in 2003, the PSL became its top-selling drink, with more than 200 million of them sold. In 2015, Forbes estimated the PSL brought in around $100 million in revenue over a single season.

2015 was also the year that Starbucks changed its decade-old formula to include actual pumpkin for the first time, rather than simply caramel coloring and pumpkin pie spices (like cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, allspice, and cloves). By all accounts, it tasted pretty much the same, just, according to its inventor, “cleaner.”

At that point, the PSL wasn’t just a cash cow — it was a cultural phenomenon. In part, that’s thanks to its marketing: There is nothing inherently seasonal about the spices that go in pumpkin pie, but Starbucks is able to convince us that the drink should only be consumed during the fall months, thereby increasing demand.

But there’s another reason the PSL exploded so much over the past decade. Culinary food trend analyst Suzy Badaracco told Vox in 2014, “Pumpkin became recognized as part of the comfort food trend during the recession in 2008,” due to its association with Thanksgiving and the holidays. In tough times, we’re more likely to crave foods that bring back happy memories.

Surely, though, the reason we all began talking about PSLs to begin with was their prevalence on social media. It’s not that they’re inherently photogenic — a Starbucks cup is a Starbucks cup regardless of what’s inside it, and the PSL doesn’t get its own specially designed cup the way the holiday drinks do.

It’s because when you add a PSL to a photo of, say, your new fall boots standing atop crunchy-looking leaves or a selfie featuring a festive dark lip color, it adds to the autumnal aesthetic. It’s not a coincidence that Instagram — the epicenter of cutesy fall tableaus — happened to blow up in the early 2010s, which is the same time it became cool to claim you despised pumpkin spice.

But maybe that’s not the whole story.

The backlash is about our anxieties around capitalism

The fact that the pumpkin spice latte — which, to many, conjures the scents and imagery of Thanksgiving — is released in increasingly hot weather year after year is often touted as an ominous harbinger of the evil forces of seasonal creep. “It’s agricultural revisionism!” argue some, citing the fact that pumpkins aren’t actually in season until autumn proper.

A viral John Oliver clip from 2014 declares as much, noting that “that bottle of pumpkin-flavored science goo sits behind the counter of Starbucks, never aging, like Ryan Seacrest”:

Perhaps in response to such criticism, in 2019 Starbucks released its second pumpkin spice beverage since the PSL’s introduction, but this time, it’s cold. The Pumpkin Cream Cold Brew is a vanilla cold brew with pumpkin cold foam and topped with pumpkin spice, which CNBC describes as “less sweet and has a stronger coffee taste than a pumpkin spice latte.”

The success of the PSL is also largely responsible for the barrage of pumpkin spice-flavored everything else, including cream cheese, dog treats, Kahlua, and an especially wacky seasonal crossover, Peeps. There have also been air fresheners, deodorant, even Four Loko (okay, that one ended up being a joke), resulting in the expected amount of hand-wringing about a food trend “gone too far.” (Indeed, back in 2010, the spice brand McCormick forecast that pumpkin spice would be a popular flavor for the holiday season, which in turn likely exacerbated the rush.)

When a food trend is as in-your-face as pumpkin spice is — ever been to a Trader Joe’s in October? — it forces us to think about how the free market is essentially designed to create this kind of phenomenon. If a product like the pumpkin spice latte sells, it’s natural under capitalism for other companies to attempt to replicate that success. But it’s uncomfortable when we see it happening on such an exaggerated scale.

Actually, the backlash is about our contempt for women

Well, maybe, but maybe what pumpkin spice backlash is really about is our dismissal of trends that are coded as feminine. As Jaya Saxena wrote in Taste in 2017, in a piece titled “Women Aren’t Ruining Food,” “When men enjoy something, they elevate it. But when women enjoy something, they ruin it.”

She continues, on the topic of “girly” food crazes like açai bowls, rosé, and pumpkin spice versus “manly” ones like barbecue, Flamin’ Hot Cheetos, and IPAs:

When those foods blow up, we judge women for falling for the marketing or trying to jump on the bandwagon, and we assume that because they like something other women like, they don’t have minds of their own. And on top of that, women are asked to reckon with, consciously or unconsciously, the perceived psycho-sexual symbolism attached to seemingly innocuous foods.

Plus, “masculine” foods are almost never chastised for being “basic,” the ever-nebulous term used to describe someone with average, predictable taste that’s usually reserved for women.

In the most stereotypical (and by now probably outdated) terms, a “basic bitch” wears North Face, leggings, and Uggs, and absolutely adores hashtag-PSLs, marking her as a woman with “a girlish interest in seasonal changes and an unsophisticated penchant for sweet,” as The Cut noted back in 2014.

There are often classist implications, too. In a 2014 BuzzFeed piece about “basic” and class anxiety, Anne Helen Peterson wrote:

Unique taste — and the capacity to avoid the basic — is a privilege. A privilege of location (usually urban), of education (exposure to other cultures and locales), and of parentage (who would introduce and exalt other tastes). To summarize the groundbreaking work of theorist Pierre Bourdieu: We don’t choose our tastes so much as the micro-specifics of our class determine them. To consume and perform online in a basic way is thus to reflect a highly American, capitalist upbringing. Basic girls love the things they do because nearly every part of American commercial media has told them that they should.

Essentially, hating pumpkin spice lattes is our way of othering those who drink them, and in the process, marking ourselves as decidedly un-basic.

Of course, this notion of what “basic” means is not the same way black people have been using it for decades, which, as Kara Brown explained in 2014 in Jezebel, pretty much just translates to “I think that the stuff you like is lame and I don’t really like you.”

“Rihanna could become the official spokesperson for Starbucks pumpkin spice lattes and nobody would think of her as basic,” she wrote. “You know why? Because Rihanna does what she wants and what she thinks is cool and doesn’t give a damn about anybody else.”

Or maybe nobody cares anymore

Even if Rihanna suddenly became the official spokesperson of PSLs, however, there is also the possibility that, quite frankly, nobody really cares that much anymore. We seemed to have hit peak “pumpkin spice hot take” in the year 2014, with searches for “pumpkin spice latte” peaking in 2015.

Maybe that’s because we’ve all been stricken with a case of seasonal beverage fatigue in general. Starbucks is constantly coming out with random gimmicky drinks, from the Unicorn Frappuccino to the so-called secret menu.

We also aren’t seeing the same kind of anger directed at what is arguably replacing pumpkin spice as autumn’s de facto flavor. In 2017, both Starbucks and Dunkin’ Donuts released maple pecan lattes. And according to restaurant menu data from that year, “mentions of maple as a flavor in nonalcoholic beverages on menus are up 86 percent this year over last. … Pumpkin mentions, on the other hand, are down 20 percent.” Yet nobody’s complaining about how stupid maple syrup is.

And these days, tweets about PSLs are way more in the vein of “Screw you and let me enjoy my shitty drink in peace, because everything is terrible.”

People have also expressed exhaustion about the “actually-ing” over what pumpkin spice even is, as if anyone really wants to talk about it.

There are even ironic tweets poking fun at the automation of feminist responses to the anti-pumpkin spice brigade:

Anyway, this is all to say that maybe by now pumpkin spice has finally returned to signifying the autumnal blend of cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, and cloves, and nothing more: not basic, not everything wrong with capitalism, and not gross. Because it’s not! It’s delicious.

Update, August 26, 2026, 10 am ET: This story was originally published in 2018 and has been updated multiple times, most recently with the 2026 PSL return date.

Welcome to The Midterms, Actually. Every week I’ll be writing about two things: one big idea or trend I see forming across the 2026 primaries, and one thing I’m hearing from a voice on the ground. You can sign up here to get it in your inbox every week. Let’s get into it.

One big idea: The data center backlash is a democracy story

This week, OpenAI CEO Sam Altman acknowledged a small hurdle in his quest to integrate artificial intelligence into all parts of human life and the economy: the rest of us. 

In an episode of the Founders podcast with David Senra, Altman confronted the growing public backlash against tech leaders and their AI tools, conceding that he’d overrated the speed at which they’d be adopted across the economy and that the industry hasn’t made its case to the public.

“We have not, as a field, done a very good job of explaining to people what the benefits are and how the downsides can be mitigated,” Altman said. He added that “it’s probably a good feature of human society that we have some built-in inertia, some skepticism of rapid change.”

You think?

Survey after survey shows how deep — and how bipartisan — the backlash against AI, and specifically data centers, already runs. The pressure has been building all year: A Gallup poll in March) found that 71 percent of Americans said they oppose building AI data centers in their area — 48 percent of them strongly. That opposition runs across the aisle: 75 percent of Democrats, 74 percent of independents, and 63 percent of Republicans. For perspective, Americans are more opposed to a data center going up near them than a nuclear power plant (53 percent). This is not some fringe opposition. It is a consensus. 

The shift is already scrambling candidates’ positions ahead of the midterms, where data centers, artificial intelligence, and the future of work will be front and center. Michigan Democrat Abdul El-Sayed’s refusal to back a data center moratorium (which he reiterated on America, Actually) has given Republicans an opportunity. His opponent in Michigan, GOP Senate candidate Mike Rogers, recently came out for a one-year moratorium — an attempt to get to the left of El-Sayed (!). The shift reflects our new political reality. At this point, being pro-data center isn’t just a minority position overrepresented among C-suite executives — it’s become a moral and cultural signal. An us-vs.-them litmus test in an age of elite distrust.

The political world did not see this coming. A year ago — before Zohran Mamdani’s win in New York, before DSA congressional wins in New York and Colorado, before El-Sayed in Michigan and Angie Nixon in Florida — the Democratic establishment was all about Abundance, the 2025 Ezra Klein–Derek Thompson book that had become something like an electoral manual for Washington Democrats and the press that covers them. But Abundance was (and is) powered by advanced technology and its mass adoption — the book says so on its first pages — and, like Altman, its proponents may have underestimated how unwilling neighbors would be to hand still more of their lives over to our Silicon Valley overlords. In a recent piece, my colleague Andrew Prokop wrote that Abundance flopped among voters because leftists adopted their best ideas, and issues like Israel became more of a motivating force among primary voters. But I’d also add that it replicated the same mistake tech leaders made: reveling in the benefits of a transformed economy before building consensus among the people who must live with it. 

We’ve been covering this issue throughout the year, including attending an early-summer town hall in New Jersey over a proposed data-center expansion in the state’s poorest county. But even I have been surprised at how much we hear about AI and data centers from voters on America, Actually — and how tied those fears are to a larger anxiety about the future of work and a growing resentment of tech CEOs like Altman and Elon Musk. If the 2020 election was defined by both parties’ silence on AI, the years since have been defined by elites telling the underclass that they have no agency in the disruption to come.

Based on our reporting this year, here are four things that I think explain the shift in sentiment — and forecast where this goes in the midterms and the presidential race to come.

1. It’s about agency, not “the environment” 

The thing that comes through loudest on the ground isn’t a technical objection to server farms, or even a concern with their potential impact on the environment. It’s the feeling that this change was done to communities — not in consultation with them. At the New Jersey town hall, one resident put it this way: “Folks feel unheard. And we don’t feel that way — we are unheard.” Another related it to a broader anxiety about artificial intelligence, which she said felt imposed on society from the upper class: “Everything relates from the top down, and what we’re getting from the top has spread all the way to the local level. And it isn’t good.” 

Sen. Ruben Gallego — no AI opponent himself — suggested the resentment often came from how the industry picks its targets. “They’re gonna put a data center all because it’s cheap land, and also because they think it’s a Black and brown area, so they’re gonna have less pushback,” he said. And that feeling of powerlessness is not only amplified in the absence of federal regulation, but by the knowledge that most elected officials don’t even understand the technology themselves. 

In New Jersey, residents suspected the game was rigged against the people with the least power to say no, and it often is. One word in particular, from a data center developer, had enraged them. The developer had called the project an “experiment.” That means  “we’re the guinea pigs,” the resident said. 

2. These are not all Luddites

Recently, I’ve seen the data center backlash dismissed as a “psyop” — a foreign plot to undermine the US economy — or a symptom of technophobia. Simpletons who can’t understand what’s to come. 

But that’s a convenient and self-serving misread. In New Jersey, one of the most striking voices at the town hall was a man who runs a civic-tech project: “I use AI all the time — for project management. If you use it responsibly, you can leverage it to get real-world tasks done.” He was still, firmly, against the data center. And he’s not alone: Gallup also finds concerns about the local impact of data centers are much bigger drivers of opposition than more general anti-tech ideas, as does Fox News’ polling. People weren’t rejecting the tools altogether — there were plenty of ChatGPT users in that room. They were rejecting the pace, and the secrecy, of a project reshaping their community. 

3. The costs are visible. The benefits are a pitch.

A resident in New Jersey pointed out something important: “A couple hundred jobs for two and a half million square feet? How can that possibly be supported with today’s grid? There’s no plan for the future. … Who benefits with that building? It’s not the people of this town.” 

I think this speaks to one of the challenges the pro-data center crowd has faced. Once the construction jobs leave, the noise, the water draw, the rising electricity bills, the fear about home values, and the sheer brutalist ugliness of the structure all stay. One homeowner told us: “I can’t sell my house — it’s been for sale since February. A woman came back twice, had cash, then realized it was near the data center. Her kids said, ‘Mom—’ and she said, ‘I just can’t do this.’”

And even if local concerns are the dominant issue, AI isn’t offering much of a bigger-picture national argument to overcome them. As Gallego put it to me, “there is no massive-scale benefit to society when it comes to AI” that voters see in their lives so far, and they have competing concerns about tech’s impact on children, privacy, and job losses. 

Rep. Greg Casar, the Congressional Progressive Caucus chair, told me this is the reason the left has found success tying anxiety about artificial intelligence to their broader message of affordability. 

A lot of the establishment traditional Democratic politics…are telling candidates, ‘Don’t even say the words AI.’ And if you do, say there needs to be safety but innovation — and then shut up…because maybe AI lobbyists are gonna spend tons of money against you.

Being progressive means uniting all the people getting their costs jacked up and having them vote for a politician even if the AI industry spends against them.

4. The left has their answer. What’s the center’s? 

As I wrote previously, I think a defining characteristic of this ongoing ideological battle in the Democratic Party is the collapse of the center — even more than the rise of the left. And on artificial intelligence and data centers, I think you see that crumble clearly. 

Progressives like Bernie Sanders and Ro Khanna have made clear cases for the need for a data center moratorium to prioritize the potential impact of AI on workers. And candidates like El-Sayed have laid out a proposed regulatory framework even if they don’t support a moratorium. 

But the most shocking answers on the topic that I’ve heard have both been from elected officials more representative of the liberal center. Gallego called data centers a “necessary evil” — quite possibly the least inspiring words in American politics. Rep. Jim Clyburn’s answer on artificial intelligence was even worse. He told me he hadn’t heard about ChatGPT until recently and that he’s never used an LLM or visited a data center. 

“I have a great staff,” he told me. “I know how to legislate, I know how to build relationships, and I hire people to bring knowledge into the game.” It’s a fine answer for most of governing. It is a terrifying one for a technology moving this fast.

In examining the public backlash against data centers, it’s important to remember statements like these. People don’t want to feel like they’re guinea pigs in an experiment, and it’s not just Sam Altman who has contributed to that feeling. It’s also the politicians who have treated technological change as something they retroactively legislate after a crisis arrives, whether it’s in the economy, or the environment, or society. You can’t govern a revolution you refuse to understand. 

What I’m hearing

This week, I called Adrian Walker, longtime political columnist at the Boston Globe and one of the moderators of the recent debate between Sen. Ed Markey (D-MA) and Rep. Seth Moulton (D-MA), the 47-year-old member of Congress who’s challenging him in a September 1 primary election. The debate also featured a viral moment from Markey on artificial intelligence, where the 80-year-old incumbent did not seem to fully grasp the technology. You can watch that exchange here. 

So is this all about age? What have been the lines of division beyond that? 

You know, it’s surprising that when you poll people, and you ask them about age, they have concerns about Markey being 80 (and 86 potentially at the end of this next term). But it’s not what’s really driving votes. It’s really kind of become more of a race about who’s more progressive, and Markey has successfully, I think, pitched himself as the more progressive candidate.

What are the ways in which they are both seeking to prove their progressive credentials?

Markey constantly touts the Green New Deal, and he talks a lot about his endorsements from AOC and Ayanna Pressley and people like that. It’s basically the same playbook he ran six years ago when he beat Joe Kennedy, when he also did better than anybody expected among young voters.

So he’s still riding that Green New Deal/AOC connection.

He’s running the exact same campaign. And Moulton came in with a lot of skepticism. People are still mad about him going against Pelosi (in 2018). And he had this very high-profile attack about trans kids in youth sports — and people have been skeptical about him as a progressive. So he’s sort of trying to reinvent himself while Markey, you know, kind of rides the same thing that got him a little success. 

So is there a reason we should be watching this beyond just the question of age? 

I think the AI question really speaks to something very fundamental in this debate. I think people really have concerns about the fact that the whole Senate seems to be in their 70s and 80s, and I think it was reflected in that question. You have Markey up there saying, you know, it doesn’t matter whether you call it Siri or Claude or whatever. And people walk away thinking this is not the dude who should be regulating AI; they think “Yeah, you know, the 47-year-old actually understands this, and the 80-year-old pretty clearly does not.”

And it kind of speaks to, I think, the sort of hunger I think a lot of people are feeling for generational change in the Senate: You watch Senate hearings, you watch congressional hearings about things like AI, but they’re really not that impressive. It really does look like a bunch of people who don’t really understand this at a very deep level. And that’s driving this frustration. 

Less than two months after the Supreme Court ruled against President Donald Trump’s attempt to fire a member of the Federal Reserve Board of Governors — a move that would have allowed him to seize control over the nation’s central bank if it had succeeded — Trump is once again trying to fire the very same member.

Earlier this month, Trump sent a letter to Lisa Cook, a Joe Biden appointee to the Federal Reserve, demanding that she respond to exceedingly flimsy allegations that she committed mortgage fraud. This is the first step in a process that is likely to end in Trump attempting to remove her from the Federal Reserve’s board a second time — which means that the courts will inevitably have to get involved once again.

Cook has until Wednesday to respond to Trump’s allegations.

It’s tempting to blame this bout of déjà vu on Trump, but the Supreme Court is at least as responsible for his actions as the president itself. If the Court didn’t want Trump to thumb its nose at their decision in Trump v. Cook (2026), they should have written that decision clearly enough that lawyers could actually figure out what the president is and is not allowed to do.

This is a perennial issue with the Court’s current majority, which is unusually bad at explaining themselves. They invent bold new doctrines that give them a near-complete veto power over the executive branch, then only apply this doctrine to Democratic presidents. They once handed down an anti-abortion decision that, if taken seriously, would allow any state to nullify literally any constitutional right. Every single one of their Second Amendment decisions are so incoherent that it is impossible for lower court judges to figure out how to apply them.

The Cook decision, which involved Trump’s first attempt to fire Cook, is similarly incomprehensible. It was handed down the same morning as Trump v. Slaughter (2026), which seems to hold that Trump can fire anyone who leads a federal agency. But Cook does not even cite the Slaughter decision, much less explain why the two cases are different.

Slaughter was grounded in the “unitary executive,” a theory shared by all six of the Court’s Republicans which claims that the president must have full control over federal agencies, including the power to fire their leaders — and thus agencies that have some ability to act independently of the president, such as the Federal Reserve, are unconstitutional. Cook suggests that there’s a Federal Reserve exception to this theory, although the opinion does not offer a clear explanation of why this exception exists.

There are very good policy reasons why Trump should not be able to fire Cook, or any other member of the Federal Reserve’s board. The Fed has the power to inject cocaine into the US economy, temporarily giving it a boost at the price of much greater turmoil and higher inflation down the road. If presidents are allowed to fire the Fed’s leaders, they can remove anyone who refuses to give the economy a bump during an election year — boosting the president or his party’s reelection chances, and triggering consequences that won’t be felt until after the election is over.

But the fact that preserving the Fed’s independence from the president is a good idea does not mean that the Constitution permits it. And, in Slaughter and several related cases, the Court’s Republican majority endorsed an interpretation of the Constitution that is completely incompatible with the idea of an independent Federal Reserve.

That means that, until the Court resolves this tension between Slaughter and Cook, there’s likely to be a great deal of confusion about who really controls the Fed — Trump or its current board — and whether Trump may effectively order the Fed to take actions that benefit him, but that could cause lasting harm to the US economy.

The unitary executive, briefly explained

The issue at the heart of Cook was whether the president is able to fire a member of the Federal Reserve.

Federal law provides that the Federal Reserve’s governors may only be fired “for cause,” and not simply because the president does not like them or disagrees with their policy views. The Republican justices have also long argued that Congress is forbidden from limiting the president’s power to fire federal agency leaders, because this would give the president less than full control over the federal government’s executive branch.

These justices point to a line in the Constitution that states that “the executive power shall be vested in a President of the United States of America.” According to the Court’s Republican majority, this means that the president must have full control over any federal agency that wields power that is “executive” in nature, including the power to fire that agency’s leaders for any reason whatsoever. As Justice Antonin Scalia wrote in an influential 1988 dissenting opinion, this constitutional provision “does not mean some of the executive power, but all of the executive power” is held by the president.

There are numerous problems with this unitary executive theory. The biggest one is that, while the Constitution does say that there is something called the “executive power” that belongs to the president, it does not define what this power is, and the Court’s decisions embracing the idea of a unitary executive often rely on dubious historical claims.

But, regardless of whether the unitary executive rests on a sound reading of the Constitution, it is now the law. And Slaughter suggests that this Court’s definition of the term “executive power” is quite expansive. In that case, the Court indicated that any agency leader who “enforces and administers” a federal statute wields “executive” power, and thus must be fireable at will by the president. 

But then, almost immediately after the Court handed down Slaughter, it ruled in Cook that Trump could not fire one of the Fed’s leaders — or, at least, that he could not do so right away. 

The Cook decision is word salad

Under the Republican justices’ definition of which officials wield executive power, and thus must be fireable at will by the president, Cook clearly should qualify. But five justices, the three Democrats plus Chief Justice John Roberts and Justice Brett Kavanaugh, joined a majority opinion by Roberts that, at least, temporarily delayed Trump’s ability to fire Cook. Three other justices took the coward’s way out, arguing in dissent that Trump should win on narrow procedural grounds that would have allowed him to fire Cook, but that also might permit a court to reinstate her at some point in the future.

Only Justice Clarence Thomas seemed to fully embrace the unitary executive theory, in Cook, and with it the idea that firing Cook is well within Trump’s power. 

As Thomas wrote in his dissent, the Federal Reserve enforces or administers numerous federal statutes. It can “change the fees on consumer debit-card transactions,” or “impose monetary penalties, levy assessments, and examine private books and records.” Its power to set interest rates flows from federal statutes requiring it to “promote effectively the goals of maximum employment, stable prices, and moderate long-term interest rates.” 

Thus, if Slaughter is correct that an agency leader who “enforces and administers” a federal statute must be fireable at will by the president, Trump should have the power to fire Cook.

Roberts’s majority opinion doesn’t really make a legal argument. But it does make a couple of  historical and policy claims that point in the direction of allowing an independent Federal Reserve to exist. Roberts begins his opinion with a history of nationally chartered banks, noting that the first such bank “predates even our Constitution “And he alludes to a “‘long tradition’ of ‘monetary policy … exercised independent of … executive influence.’” 

But it’s hard to tell why this tradition matters, at least in a world where every other federal agency is subject to the unitary executive. The Republican justices have previously claimed, for example, that the president must have full control over all federal prosecutions. But historical evidence suggests that, at the founding, prosecutions were often led by private attorneys or by judicial appointees — that is, not by the president or his appointees. So why doesn’t this historical evidence exempt the Justice Department from the unitary executive?

And, if the legal reasoning in Cook is thin, the decision’s actual holding is largely toothless. After laying out his half-baked argument for why the Federal Reserve is unlike any other federal agency, Roberts doesn’t actually write that Trump may not fire Cook. He simply says that “Cook was entitled to notice and some opportunity to respond prior to her termination” — although Roberts also writes that, once Cook has a chance to respond to the allegations against her, “only then can the courts assess the validity and sufficiency of such charges.”

So, by sending a letter to Cook informing her of the allegations against her and giving her a little bit of time to respond, Trump has complied with the Supreme Court’s decision. He will likely then attempt to fire her no matter what she says in response, and then there will be another round of litigation where some poor trial judge will have to “assess the validity and sufficiency” of the allegations against Cook without any guidance from the Supreme Court regarding how strong those allegations must be.

That said, it is likely that when Cook does respond to Trump’s allegations, those allegations will prove quite flimsy indeed. Trump alleges that Cook committed mortgage fraud by claiming two separate properties as her principal residence in bank documents. But Reuters examined those bank documents and discovered that she disclosed to the lender that one of those properties would be used as a vacation home. So it appears that no fraud actually occurred.

Will that be enough for Cook to keep her job? The short answer is “probably” — why would the Supreme Court have handed down such an incoherent opinion in Cook if it intended to apply the unitary executive to her anyway? But the Cook opinion itself offers little guidance to the judges who will need to sort through this mess.

In March, President Donald Trump issued a blatantly illegal executive order claiming that he had the power to unilaterally rewrite US election law. The order threatens prosecutions against state officials who allow certain people to vote, and it also requires states to include several federally mandated design elements in the envelopes that they use to mail ballots to voters. 

On Monday, the Supreme Court’s Republican majority allowed that order to go into effect. All three of the Court’s Democrats dissented.

Yet while the Court’s new decision in Trump v. California is troubling, it’s not necessarily a sign that the justices will permit Trump’s illegal order to take full effect. The Court’s actual holding in California is that two lower federal courts moved too quickly when they blocked the executive order. But California does not opine on whether the order is actually legal.

The Supreme Court’s decision reinstates Trump’s order for now, but there are several active cases challenging this order in the lower courts. So it is likely that a judge will issue a new decision blocking the executive order again very soon.

Still, the Court’s decision to reinstate this order, even temporarily, is likely to confuse state election officials who are racing to prepare for an upcoming election. And the provision threatening prosecutions might deter these officials from doing their jobs until that provision is blocked by another court.

The Court is divided on whether Trump’s threat targeting state elections officials is actually a threat

The case concerns two sections of Trump’s March order, one of which threatens state election officials with prosecution if they allow the wrong people to vote, and the other which appears to be an attempt to sabotage voting by mail during the 2026 midterms.

The first one of these, Section 2, itself contains two provisions, one of which orders the Department of Homeland Security to “compile and transmit to the chief election official of each State a list of individuals confirmed to be United States citizens who will be above the age of 18 at the time of an upcoming Federal election and who maintain a residence in the subject State.”

This simple command to compile a list would be unproblematic, except that the second provision of Section 2 orders the attorney general to prioritize prosecutions against “State and local officials or any others involved in the administration of Federal elections who issue Federal ballots to individuals not eligible to vote in a Federal election.” Thus, when both provisions of Section 2 are read together, they threaten prosecutions against any state official who issues a ballot to a voter whose name does not appear on Trump’s list of approved voters.

Such a threat is unconstitutional, as the Constitution gives states, and not the federal government, the power to decide who may vote in congressional and presidential elections. The justices, however, primarily split on whether to give Trump’s order a hyperliteral reading.

In dissent, Justice Sonia Sotomayor argues the two clauses are clearly connected and she cites a previous Supreme Court decision warning that “[p]eople do not lightly disregard public officers’ thinly veiled threats to institute criminal proceedings against them if they do not come around.” 

But the majority ignores Section 2’s purpose, and instead notes that Trump’s executive order does not explicitly require states to use Trump’s list of approved voters. They also note that the executive order’s call for the Justice Department to prosecute state officials does not include any reference to Trump’s list.

In any event, even the Republican justices do not hold that the Constitution permits Trump to create a list of approved voters and prosecute state officials who depart from that list. Instead, the Republicans hold that it is too soon to block Section 2. DHS must first compile its list of approved voters, or DOJ must actually prosecute someone, before a challenge to Trump’s new policy can proceed.

The effect of the Republican justices’ decision, in other words, is to leave Trump’s threat in place, but also water it down considerably: The Court does state that Trump’s executive order does not actually require states to use Trump’s approved voter list. So that may be a sign that, if Trump actually did try to prosecute someone for allowing someone not on DHS’s list to vote, the justices would reject that prosecution — but for now, there’s little standing in the way of him doing it. 

The rest of the Court’s decision was obsolete the minute it was handed down

The remainder of the Court’s decision deals with Section 3 of Trump’s executive order, which orders the United States Postal Service (USPS) to design an envelope which states must use when they mail ballots to voters. It also forbids USPS from delivering ballots that do not comply with this new design.

The Republican justices conclude that the lower court decisions blocking Section 3 were also premature because, at the time when those courts handed down their decisions, USPS had not yet formally issued a rule that announces the new mandatory envelope design. But USPS issued that rule on Friday. So the Supreme Court’s decision was out of date days before the justices decided it, but that does nothing to change the immediate effect of the decision.

Among other things, the Trump administration’s new rule requires states to mail ballots in envelopes that include several federally mandated design elements, including a mandatory logo and a unique identifier for each voter. If the new rule takes effect, USPS will refuse to deliver any ballots that do not comply with these new, Trump-approved design requirements.

Democrats are significantly more likely to vote by mail than Republicans. So the Trump administration’s new rule is likely to skew the 2026 election towards his political party if it is allowed to take effect.

If Section 3 is eventually allowed to take effect, that will be a catastrophe for US democracy, and may even make it impossible for many states to hold midterm elections. That’s because the states couldn’t possibly have known what specific design requirements the Trump administration would impose on them until USPS issued its rule. Many states have already purchased envelopes that do not comply with the new federal mandate. And it’s not like new envelopes can simply be printed on the fly.

In some states, millions or even tens of millions of voters will vote by mail, which means that, in order to comply with the Trump administration’s new order, these states will somehow need to obtain truckloads of envelopes in time for this November’s election, comply with the considerable procedural requirements laid out in Trump’s order, and distribute these ballots to voters fast enough for them to actually return them by the deadline.

Several US states, moreover, conduct their elections almost entirely by mail. While these states often set up voting centers where voters can also vote in person, these in-person voting centers are merely a backup. And these states are unlikely to have the infrastructure, voting machines, or network of election workers that are required to run an entirely in-person election if mail-in voting fails.

So Trump wants to impose impossible deadlines on many states. But Monday’s decision does not actually hold that it is legal for him to do so. Indeed, the federal judge who initially blocked Trump’s executive order has already signaled that she is likely to block the USPS’s new rule. We will find out if the Supreme Court will allow Trump to sabotage voting by mail after that new decision makes its way back to the justices.

The Trump administration’s legal argument for the new USPS rule is quite thin

Trump’s lawyers only barely make a legal argument in favor of the new rule. After the USPS issued its new rule, Trump’s Justice Department did file a supplemental brief in the Supreme Court arguing that the new rule is lawful. But that brief is only three pages long, and its legal analysis is exceedingly thin. 

As Indira Talwani, one of the judges who blocked Trump’s executive order, noted in her opinion, there is no federal law that explicitly “delegates authority to control mail-in voting to USPS.” So the Trump administration must rely instead on broadly worded statutes that simply state that the Postal Service may deliver mail and take related steps that are necessary to deliver the mail.

One permits USPS to adopt rules “as may be necessary in the execution of its functions.” The other permits it to “provide for the collection, handling, transportation, delivery, forwarding, returning, and holding of mail, and for the disposition of undeliverable mail.”

And, even if these vague statutes could authorize the Trump administration to impose granular restrictions on voting by mail, the fact remains that it is impossible for many states to comply with these restrictions in 2026. Some states, such as North Carolina, are supposed to start mailing ballots at the end of next week.

It would be one thing if Trump tried to impose new envelope design requirements that will take effect in future elections. But there’s simply no time for states to design compliant envelopes, get those designs approved by USPS order dozens of pallets worth of these envelopes, and distribute them to voters in time for the 2026 midterm elections.

So the stakes in this dispute remain quite high. Trump has literally issued an executive order that, if implemented, might prevent many states from holding the midterm elections in the first place. But it is still unclear if this Supreme Court will allow that to happen.

This story appeared in The Logoff, a daily newsletter that helps you stay informed about the Trump administration without letting political news take over your life. Subscribe here.

Welcome to The Logoff: Donald Trump’s trade war with Canada is back in full force. 

What’s happening? Remember last week, when Trump said that the US and Canada had a trade deal in place? It turns out they do not. After negotiations fell through on Friday, Trump responded with a 50 percent tariff on some $20 billion in Canadian goods, plus threats of higher tariffs on cars, car parts, and steel to come in 2027. 

Trump, Vice President JD Vance, and other administration officials are also leaning into ever more inflammatory rhetoric, with Vance taunting Canada on Monday as “a state” that “quite literally would get invaded by a foreign country were it not for the umbrella of protection provided by the United States of America.” 

How is Canada responding? With outrage, as my colleague Caitlin Dewey explains, and with tariffs of their own: On Saturday, Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney said that his country would match US tariffs “dollar for dollar,” starting early next month. 

“We cannot accept what the U.S. has offered,” he wrote, “and we will not give what they have asked.”

In addition to trade terms, the US allegedly made requests to weaken Canada’s French-language protections, which Carney said would have infringed on Canadian “sovereignty.”

Why does this matter? Immediately speaking, tariffs make things more expensive at a time when voters are already incensed over prices and the Iran war is making inflation worse; their impact could be especially felt in border states like Maine and Michigan, which also happen to have high-stakes, closely contested Senate races coming up in 72 days. 

On a longer timeline, the Trump administration is doing damage to the US-Canada relationship that goes far deeper than specific tariffs and will be far harder to reverse. Already, in January, Carney delivered a speech charting a plan to move past relying on the US as a global partner; Trump’s latest trade war will only accelerate that rupture.

And with that, it’s time to log off…

Violent crime rates in the US are falling across the board, according to new 2025 statistics released by the FBI, including the murder rate, which just hit a 70-year low — tied for the lowest ever recorded. That’s good news in any context, but if you want to learn more, my colleague Bryan Walsh took a crack at explaining how it happened. You can read his article here with a gift link. 

Thanks for reading, have a great evening, and we’ll see you back here tomorrow!

This story appeared in Today, Explained, a daily newsletter that helps you understand the most compelling news and stories of the day. Subscribe here.

President Donald Trump is putting the “war” in “trade war.” Or so his senior officials really want you to believe. 

“At dawn begins an economic D-Day,” Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent wrote Sunday night, previewing the latest round of sanctions against Iran. 

“It’s a country that doesn’t have a military,” Transportation Secretary Sean Duffy said, incorrectly, of Canada over the weekend. “To think that they’re going to go to war with Donald Trump and actually win that war…is foolish.”

The war with Iran is literal, of course. The war with Canada, slightly less so. But in both cases, the Trump administration is trying to weaponize America’s economic might to get its way in otherwise stalled negotiations. 

Iran and the US have been locked in on-again, off-again talks for almost the entire six months since the US-Israeli strikes began. And last week, trade negotiations between the US and Canada collapsed amid disputes over tariffs on key Canadian industries, as well as US demands that Canada weaken protections for its culture and the French language. Now, both countries are promising steep retaliatory tariffs on goods ranging from cars and steel to anoraks. 

Trump is betting that economic pain will produce the concessions diplomacy hasn’t. But Americans also suffer the fallout from these kinds of tactics. 

Go a little deeper

I am one such American. Hello! Bonjour! I am planning to visit Montreal over Labor Day weekend…and have begun to fear that my New York plates might provoke some patriotic ne’er-do-well to key my car. 

As someone who grew up on the Canadian border, with Canadian friends and Canadian radio stations and Canadian flags on most every pole, the notion that I might be newly unwelcome — or, quelle horreur, despised — in Canada is a new and unpleasant one.

Not to fear, said my colleague Zack Beauchamp. (Zack lives 90 minutes northwest of me in Ontario, and is Vox’s go-to expert on Canadian concerns.) Most Canadians “are actually quite chill toward individual Americans,” he said, and he therefore rates it “unlikely” that anyone will vandalize my vehicle. 

At the same time, Zack said, most Americans fail to realize how dramatically, and perhaps permanently, Canadians have turned on the US as a country. To many of us, the trade war is a tedious or incomprehensible policy dispute. To Canadians, it’s seen as a real threat to their sovereignty. 

Zack shared this example from his own family, which — existential stakes notwithstanding — kind of cracked me up. His wife, who is Canadian, is participating in a popular boycott movement and has “shifted literally everything she purchases” to avoid American products.

That includes buying terrible Canadian-made dishwasher pods whose wrapping doesn’t dissolve in the machine. Or purchasing him a deodorant from the puzzlingly named brand Green Beaver, which is “somewhat worse at repelling smell,” Zack said. 

“Whenever I ask her about why she does these things, she points to those World War II posters about reducing gas use — carpooling so you aren’t riding with Hitler,” Zack said. “Because that is literally how Canadians think about these things: as a war for their survival.”

The rupture is existential for Americans, too, I think — albeit in a different and less urgent way. It has to do with what American identity represents in the world today. 

That’s more abstract than something like the cost of a car (which, by the way, will likely rise dramatically if Trump implements the tariffs he threatened this morning on Truth Social). But the way the world sees America also matters.

One link for later

➨ Hold the eggs. A new study found that raising cage-free hens generates more greenhouse gas emissions than conventional egg farming. If you don’t want to choose between animal welfare and climate change…may we suggest switching your eggs out for tofu or beans? (Sorry, sorry! But not every tip in this newsletter can be uplifting.)

Before you go…

• Did you know…that researchers believe young children’s brains don’t record permanent memories because they’re busy prioritizing other patterns and skills? It’s a phenomenon called “infantile amnesia,” and we’re still a long way from fully understanding it. 
• Today’s trivia: What’s the traditional, three-letter nickname for students and graduates of Yale? (You can find this and other brain puzzles in Vox’s daily crossword. Look for the answer in tomorrow’s edition.)
• Yesterday’s trivia: Last week we asked you for the insect stage after the larva. That would be the pupa or pupal stage — basically, insect adolescence. 

In an episode from the fifth season of Grey’s Anatomy, Miranda Bailey, played by Chandra Wilson, orchestrates an ambitious 12-person paired kidney transplant surgery. Six living donors each give one of their kidneys to a stranger and six recipients receive one in return. While the show, which is still on the air almost 18 years later, often blurs the line between fact and fiction, this particular form of kidney transplant, called a paired kidney exchange chain, has become increasingly common in the United States. 

Rewatching the show (sue me), I wondered if such donation chains are viable for other organs (or tissues) that can be donated by living donors. The liver, the only organ that can regenerate itself over a span of six to eight weeks, struck me as a particularly notable candidate. As with any surgical procedure, donating part of one carries some risk, but in most cases a person can safely continue to lead a healthy life afterward. And the need for them far exceeds what deceased donors can provide. Right now, there are more than 100,000 people on the waitlist for organs.

Over the past decade, using organs from living donors to meet organ demand has emerged as a particularly effective strategy. 

In 2025, around 24 percent of kidney transplants used living donors, according to preliminary data from the Organ Procurement and Transplantation Network (OPTN), the public-private partnership responsible for maintaining equitable organ allocation policies. Infrastructural advances, such as the establishment of the National Kidney Registry (NKR) in 2007, have helped reduce wait time for kidneys, provided financial support for donors, and facilitated close to 11,000 paired exchange kidney transplants. In a paired exchange, two patients who each have a willing but incompatible organ donor simply swap donors — my donor gives to you, yours gives to me. Ultimately, both of us receive a kidney that our bodies are more likely to accept.

By contrast, only about 6 percent of the roughly 12,000 liver transplants performed in the US last year used living donors. 

This is not the case around the world. Countries that face a shortage of deceased liver donors rely almost entirely on livers from living donors. In 2022, India placed third, behind the US and China, in terms of the overall number of liver transplants but performed the most living donor liver transplants in the world — 81 percent of all liver transplants there were from living donors. 

While the number of living donor liver transplants has trended generally upwards over the last decade, the success of living kidney donation suggests that a similar path might be possible for the liver here, too. The US already has what it takes — a potentially lifesaving supply of living donor livers — but it lacks the infrastructure to turn willing liver donors into transplants at scale. That may actually be starting to change, as surgeons around the country are working to build out the interconnected systems and standards that they need to do their work. 

Why parting with part of your liver makes all the difference

Organ access is a multifaceted problem in the US. While the country has largely drawn on organs from deceased donors to meet organ demand, living donors grow more important by the day. A patient’s position on the liver waitlist is determined by their Model for End-Stage Liver Disease (MELD) score. It is a number between 6 and 40 that helps doctors decide how soon the patient needs a new liver. Sometimes, if a patient gets too sick, surgery is unsafe, or if they have problems with substance abuse, they are no longer transplant eligible. 

Living liver donors are especially important because transplantation is the only treatment for end-stage liver failure — there are no alternative options. For patients in end-stage kidney failure, a dialysis machine can artificially take over the function of a kidney, and temporarily help manage their condition as they wait for an organ match. But a person experiencing liver failure has no such interventions available to them. They continue to get sicker and sicker the longer they hold on. Around one in five liver transplant candidates die waiting for a new liver. 

Living liver donors go through extensive health screens to ensure that their liver quality is good for transplant. Research indicates that the resulting donated organs lead to equal or better overall survival, compared to deceased donors. A transplant surgery with a living donor can also be scheduled, unlike those that rely on deceased donors, which are based on when an organ becomes available. This means that living donor livers usually don’t have to be transported long distances (since the donor can travel to the recipient before the surgery) and the amount of time the liver is without blood and has to be artificially preserved is very short — an important metric in donor organ viability.  

Earlier this year, doctors at the University Health Transplant Institute in San Antonio performed a seven-pair living donor liver exchange, the largest such chain in the country. Over a period of six weeks, the liver transplant surgeons matched seven people willing to donate a portion of their livers to seven other recipients who needed the life-saving transplant. Like most of these paired exchange chains, the logistically complicated process was set into motion by a non-directed living liver donor — someone who was willing to donate a liver to a stranger.. Other donors in the chain, by contrast, had a specific person they hoped to donate to with whom they weren’t immediately compatible.

Blood type and liver size are two main considerations when doctors match donor livers to recipients. Individuals with Type O blood usually have the longest wait times for donor livers because they can only receive them from others with the same blood type. In other cases, the size or anatomy of the donor liver can be incompatible with the recipient. 

An estimated 2 percent to 17 percent of living liver donors are rejected from donating to their intended recipient because of blood type, size, or anatomical incompatibility of the system of bile ducts. A major benefit of living donation is that if someone wants to donate their liver to a specific person, but they are not a match, both the donor and the recipient can participate in liver paired exchange programs — two or more incompatible donor-recipient pairs can swap donors. 

“For each living donor transplant that you do, you are actually doing two transplants,” said Dr. Jonathan Cullen, a liver transplant surgeon who participated in the liver paired exchange at University Health Transplant Institute. 

By that, he means that any time a living donor provides a liver, they also free up an organ on the deceased donor list for someone who might need it more. If we had more living donors, we could save even more lives — especially of those lower on the waitlist — but we need to overcome a few barriers first.  

Growing the donor pool isn’t enough

If living donor liver transplants have so much potential, why are they still so underutilised? The answer depends on whom you ask. 

When medical researchers from Weill Cornell Medicine and the University of Colorado Denver surveyed 99 liver transplant programs in the country, surgical and medical directors identified different barriers to living donor liver transplants based on whether their program already performed such procedures. Out of the 83 that responded to the survey, around 60 percent of the centers performed living donor liver transplants. Notably, 34 percent of the responses from centers that don’t perform living donor liver transplants cited institutional issues such as lack of financial support or a lack of surgeons trained in living donor procedures, which are meaningfully more complex than kidney transplants. 

“Center expertise is very important when it comes to living donations. You want to obviously have your operation done at a center that’s done a lot of these,” said Alyson Kaplan, a transplant hepatologist at Tufts Medical Center and lead author of the study. “Not every transplant center has a living donor program — and so, as you can imagine, not every transplant fellow is going to get exposed to living donation.”

The surgeries are also resource intensive, especially when they are paired exchanges. In the seven-paired liver exchange at the University Health Transplant Institute in San Antonio, two attending faculty surgeons were required for every donor operation and two to four of the same for the recipient surgeries, according to Cullen. 

Plus, many of the steps in the liver transplant process are not standardised. There doesn’t yet exist a central organ matching organization for living donor livers along the lines of the National Kidney Registry, and there are no formalized protocols for how living livers are chosen and allocated, or how potential donors are screened. These procedures can differ from center to center, which can complicate attempts to collaborate or share resources. 

With living kidney donation, by contrast, the NKR partners with transplant centers and helps them standardize their processes, said Kaplan. The majority of certified kidney transplant centers in the US perform living donor transplants. That combination of shared standards and widely available surgeons makes it easier for one team to procure the organ from the donor and another to perform the recipient transplant, even if the donor-recipient pair is geographically separated.

Donor kidneys can be matched efficiently to recipients thanks in part to the work of American economist Alvin Roth, who won the Nobel prize in 2012 for the theory of stable allocations and practice of market design. His work increased the efficiency and speed of several matching processes, including paired donor-recipient kidney allocations and residency matching for medical students.

“The kind of algorithmic help that people like me can give is very, very similar,” said Roth on whether his work can be applied to liver transplants too. “Almost the same software works. What changes is the compatibility matrix.” 

For now, individual institutions that perform paired exchange living donor liver transplants usually do the matching in-house, manually comparing donor-recipient profiles and screening for risks. Kaplan’s study found that 92 percent of living donor liver transplant programs that had never performed this surgery would consider conducting it. 

But without enough funding, Kaplan said, a big infrastructural boost like this one is hard to execute on a national scale.  

Who protects the donors?

Both infrastructure and funding are necessary to scale living donor liver transplants nationwide. However, without a large pool of willing donors, these resources alone are insufficient. 

But building a bigger pool of donors is difficult, partly because becoming a living donor is difficult. 

Living liver donors often have to travel to their recipients, pay for associated lodging, and take weeks off work for both the operation and the recovery. The cost of donor screenings and transplant surgeries is usually taken on by the recipient’s insurance, but many programs recommend that the donor plan for any additional expenses, including follow-up appointments, continued medications, and caregiver expenses. 

Nonprofits like the National Living Donor Assistance Center (NLDAC) can help living liver donors subsidize costs, but only if the recipient’s household income is 350 percent below the federal poverty guidelines. For a household of two in the 48 contiguous states, that is an annual income of $75,740. Some states also provide income protection for living donors who have to take time off work, but others don’t. In the absence of more universal protections and other forms of support, building the donor pool may be a bottleneck for also building out broader living liver donation infrastructure. 

“Donors should never have a penalty to be a donor. They are definitely the national heroes, and they should have all the protections that they deserve. Nobody should have to go into debt to be a donor, for goodness sakes,” said Dr. Julie Heimbach, director of the Transplant Center at Mayo Clinic. The center performed its first paired living liver transplant in 2024. 

Moving the needle — and the organs

One major roadblock in establishing national collaborative programs for living liver transplants comes down to what’s called the organ’s cold ischemia time. This is the time between organ procurement and transplantation, during which the organ is kept cool, and no blood flows through it. 

Kidneys can hold on for longer than livers, which means that they can be transported across significant distances without the quality of the organ deteriorating. With livers, it becomes all the more important to quickly procure and transplant them because they can’t stay on ice too long. 

This limits how far a liver can be transported. A liver from a living donor across the country might not be viable by the time it reaches the recipient and is transplanted — and even if it could be, a transplant surgeon may not be willing to take a risk on it. 

In 2023, when United Network for Organ Sharing (UNOS) Labs, the innovation arm of the private non-profit that manages the organ transplant system in the US, attempted to pilot a nationwide liver paired donation program, this proved to be one of the biggest stumbling blocks. The program was anonymously funded by a private benefactor and involved 15 transplant centers across the US. However, the program shut down less than a year later. Even though one recipient-donor pair was enrolled for a liver paired exchange, the transplant surgeries were ultimately not executed. Many of those I spoke to for this story — transplant surgeons from centers that participated in the pilot — said that the funding dried up before the challenges of a collaborative liver paired exchange surgery could be resolved. 

“One of our key learnings was that moving donors, rather than organs, created major barriers. Donors are connected to their care teams and support systems, and asking someone to relocate for surgery and recovery is difficult,” Dr. Benjamin Samstein, the lead on this pilot and chief of liver transplantation at NewYork-Presbyterian and Weill Cornell Medicine, said in an email. 

He believes that there is still potential to revisit the concept, this time with a focus on moving organs instead of donors and exploring regional hub models. 

As Vox reported earlier this year, some transplant surgeons now rely on a new method of organ preservation where an external pump is used to circulate oxygenated blood or other fluids through an organ after it is procured from the donor. This keeps the donated organ viable for much longer and has been shown to outperform standard “icebox” preservation where the organs are cooled on ice. That could, transplant surgeons say, spare living donors the obligation of traveling to their recipients. 

While this technology, which is also revolutionizing the use of organs from deceased donors, may eventually reduce the pressure to recruit living donors, Dr. Jason Hawksworth, Director of the Robotic Liver Surgery Program at New York-Presbyterian/Columbia University Irving Medical Center, doesn’t think that it will diminish their importance. 

The MELD score used to prioritize patients on the liver transplant waiting list does not capture all clinical symptoms. Patients with low MELD scores can also face life-threatening complications of liver failure such as abnormal buildup of fluid in the abdomen. Such patients benefit most from living liver donations because they don’t have access to machine-perfusable organs usually reserved for those higher on the waitlist, said Hawksworth. 

To meet at least some of the need, the American Liver Foundation launched the first-ever non-directed living liver donation network to connect those who would like to donate to a stranger to transplant centers who can access this network free of charge. While the network has already saved two lives as of June this year, it remains to be seen if the program will run into the same issues as its more ambitious UNOS counterpart. 

Ultimately, optimizing the field of organ procurement and transplant is both a medical problem and an infrastructural one. OPTN data shows that 95 percent of those on the organ waitlist are in need of a kidney or a liver — the two organs a living person could give. Kidney donation has already been transformed by a combination of smarter algorithms, better standards, and trained surgeons. While living liver donation presents more challenges, there’s a real possibility to revolutionize the process and save lives.

“If these particular barriers were not an issue,” Kaplan said. “I think everyone would be interested in it.”

The internet kind of sucks right now. And it’s been getting harder and harder to use over the past several years.

Imagine you’re training for a marathon, or just trying to get in better shape, and you want to buy a new pair of shoes. Well, good luck! You’re going to have to wade through sponsored links, affiliate marketing, AI summaries, and websites seemingly engineered for search engines instead of human shoppers.

Maybe you just want to connect with friends on Instagram or discover recipes on TikTok. But even there, everyone is selling something. “Get Ready With Me” videos are sponsored by CeraVe, movie reviews are actually ads for the movies being reviewed, and the guy who posts your favorite mobility routines really wants you to try his protein powder.

So people have developed a workaround: Simply add “Reddit” to the search.

Looking for a shoe with high energy return? Reddit. Want to know if an Airbnb you’ve been eyeing has a sketchy listing? Reddit. Trying to figure out the fastest way to the international terminal in Atlanta’s humongous airport? Chances are someone on Reddit has shared very specific thoughts and instructions.

It’s a strange situation. Reddit is filled with pseudonymous strangers, and yet these people can somehow feel more trustworthy recommending a skincare product than an influencer hawking cleansers to millions of followers. Why? Because the random person on Reddit doesn’t seem to have anything to sell you.

That’s why, for many people, Reddit feels like one of the last “real” places on the internet. The site has become so integral to navigating the internet that Google took notice; in recent years, it’s begun surfacing Reddit threads more prominently in search results.

Then came artificial intelligence. Chatbots need massive amounts of human language to learn how we communicate. AI-powered search also needs somewhere to turn when we ask the kinds of hyper-specific questions that newspapers, Wikipedia, and government websites haven’t answered. Reddit has plenty of both.

Unfortunately, whenever something online becomes valuable, people and companies figure out how to exploit it.

The stakes go far beyond a brand tricking someone into buying a lousy face cream. Reddit works because people trust that there’s a real person on the other side of the screen. It doesn’t have to become totally overrun by bots or marketers for that trust to disappear. We just have to start questioning who — or what — we’re talking to.

To break down how Reddit is changing, what the platform and its moderators are doing to push back, and what it could mean for the increasingly blurry line between human conversation, marketing, search, and AI, Today, Explained co-host Noel King spoke with the Verge’s Mia Sato, who recently wrote about the new wave of AI spam beleaguering the platform.

Below is an excerpt of their conversation, edited for length and clarity. There’s much more in the full podcast, so listen to Today, Explained wherever you get podcasts, including Apple Podcasts, Pandora, and Spotify. 

Are you a big Reddit user?

Yeah, I think so.

What do you mainly use it for?

I think it’s become a big part of finding information on the internet. I usually use Google as the sort of doorway into Reddit, but if I search something on Google, really, it’s a high likelihood that I will end up on Reddit in the end.

That’s a trend that you write about in your piece, which I thought was very interesting because it was something that has also been happening to me and it happened without me realizing how often it was happening. 

You start this piece in the Verge with an example from a post on a skincare-focused subreddit, a place you write that you visit often. Can you take us through what happened?

The skincare subreddits that I mentioned in my story are actually subreddits that I often read because I want unfiltered or true opinions about products before I buy them. And I go to Reddit for skincare recommendations quite a bit. 

I suspected that if you are a skincare brand and you want people to be talking about your product, you will go to these subreddits because some of these subreddits get like one and a half million viewers a week. They’re doing crazy numbers and they have a very committed and active community. So I was like, if I were a brand and I wanted to market myself, I would probably post on Reddit. 

I was curious how the moderators of these skincare subreddits were handling that, because also marketing firms had told me, “Yeah, all our clients, they really want to know how to crack Reddit. It’s really hard. They want to figure out Reddit.”

And so I talked to a subreddit moderator who does one of the skincare subreddits, and she gave me a ton of detail about the amount of spam that they were getting. She sent me one example, which was a thread of someone asking about a certain spray that people use for acne treatment. 

The person who posted it asked, like: “Magic Molecule Hypochlorous Acid Spray – is it really that good? Recently I have seen a lot of good reviews about this product. Any of you tried? Do you recommend? What is your take on this?”

And, you know, it got like dozens of answers. Some people said, “Yeah, it’s great.” Others said, “They all work the same.” But one of the answers was from just a random account that said, “I’m sorry, I don’t have any experience with that product, but I have tried this other one that I was skeptical of, but I really like it actually.”

If you’re reading that comment, you probably would think nothing of it. But what you don’t see unless you click over to the profile and do some digging is that this random account had actually — over the course of several days, maybe even months, and across different skincare subreddits — been recommending the same product over and over and over, and using very specific terminology, saying, “It has all these recommendations from certified dermatologists, which made me feel a bit more confident trying it on sensitive skin.”

It was very controlled messaging. Of course, the moderators were like, “What normal person is going to go across different subreddits and keep pushing this product? For no reason?”

So that is one of the ways that this new type of spam on Reddit takes shape, which is brands pretending to be normal users on Reddit.

For Reddit moderators, I’m thinking they can’t individually suss it out immediately or it wouldn’t be happening. Are they doing the search themselves to try to figure out, like, is everything on here real? How are they dealing with this? 

They have a bunch of tools. Some of them are auto-moderator tools, where basically a bot will look at every submission that comes through and move some things to a filtered folder where moderators can look at [it]. 

One of the funniest things that several moderators actually told me was they keep shit lists of companies that they think have spammed them in the past. The skincare subreddit told me about this. A weight-loss subreddit moderator whom I interviewed also said this. They have a running list in the background where if they think you’ve spammed or astroturfed their community in the past, they keep all those brands’ names. And now if you mention that brand name, your post will automatically get filtered out.

Wow. Okay. 

The moderators are trying to send a message: “If you spam us, all of the posts that are not even your spam will get filtered out and we will take a closer look at them.” They’re pretty strict with it. Some moderators that I spoke to said that they’ve really seen an increase over the last six to eight months, maybe. 

I can give you a couple of the numbers that Reddit has released publicly because Reddit has said also that they know that this is a growing problem. The company said that it removes 25,000 spammy posts and comments a day. They block something like 23 million spam views. And they also tackle spam upvotes — a way on Reddit to sort of signal agreement. 

But Reddit knows that it is kind of a new era of spam, and they’ve said that they’re using LLMs and other AI-powered moderation tools to try to catch this stuff better.

Let me ask you something. Maybe it comes down to what Reddit is and always has been, but I will go on Instagram, I will go on TikTok, and my sense is like half of it is just crap that’s trying to sell me something. It might not be real. It just all feels pretty garbagey to me. 

I feel like when you wrote this piece, you were saying there are stakes here to Reddit being the thing that must kind of stay pure, must stay away from this. What is it about Reddit that makes it important? 

One part is that the concept of influencers doesn’t really exist on Reddit in the same way that it exists elsewhere. 

And if you are an influencer, there are very few places that you can post without getting in trouble. Many, many subreddits have explicit rules saying, “You may not self-promote here, and we will ban you if you do.” That is a totally different environment than Instagram, where sort of the expectation is that someone is selling you something.

The other part that makes Reddit unique, I think, is that for better or for worse, and deserve it or not, Reddit, in the minds of people using the internet, has come to sort of be associated with real opinions or real people. Which is funny because the platform is anonymous, you know? Most people are using just a random username, not their full name. So it’s kind of stumbled into this reputation of being filled with real, helpful opinions and perspectives. 

Reddit has deals with certain AI companies where they allow LLMs to be trained on troves of Reddit data, of real people having conversations. And so I think over the last few years as Google search feels like it’s gotten worse and people have gone to places like Reddit to answer their questions, Reddit’s stock literally has skyrocketed as a place where you can find information where people aren’t trying to sell you something all the time. Or are they? That’s kind of the part that I wanted to untangle. 

Does Reddit actually have to become overrun with marketing, fake posts, people saying, “Oh, you should definitely buy this skincare,” because they’re getting paid to say that for this to be a big problem? Or does it just have to get to the point where I am suspicious that I’m not talking to an actual person on Reddit and I start doubting a platform itself? 

For me personally, in the course of reporting this story, I was like, “Hmm, maybe I shouldn’t buy things based on a recommendation from Reddit.”

It’s a new type of problem and a new way of looking at a platform. As it relates to AI search, if these chatbots love to cite Reddit so much for their answers, can the AI systems detect when something is spam? Can they detect when a comment is coming from a brand or when the person who left that comment, if you go to their account, they’re always promoting that product? 

I am not convinced that Google’s Gemini or ChatGPT can suss out when something is promotional and when it isn’t. Because I’ve written about this before and I know that they can’t.

Hmm!

It’s a strange thing where I think the deception on one platform ends up trickling through other places as well, as the Reddit thread gets cited by search features and LLMs. 

Have you changed your buying habits based on what you’re seeing now on Reddit?

I feel like I’m just way slower to buy things. I’m just like, let me keep this in my head. Let me put it on my wishlist and do some research to see what other people, what real people think, and also make sure that they have a good return policy.

Popular conceptions of farming tend to associate good animal welfare with environmental virtue — an intuition so strong that researchers have described a “humane halo” effect, where consumers who are told that a farm uses better environmental practices also assume that it treats its animals well. So it might come as a surprise to hear that one way of making eggs better for the planet might be to make life a whole lot worse for the chickens who lay them. 

This, anyway, was the apparent upshot of a controversial and widely discussed new paper on the environmental impacts of different egg farming systems. Cage-free, free-range, and organic eggs, it found, are higher in greenhouse gas emissions, land use, and other environmental harms than confining hens in tiny cages. 

Consider the implications of that result: At any given moment, more than 8 billion egg-laying hens inhabit farms across the planet. The vast majority of them live in wire cages that severely restrict basic movements like spreading their wings and turning around. They barely have room to move around at all, which can induce depression-like states. “Hens represent the largest population of terrestrial animals housed in cages throughout their lives,” as the new study puts it. 

In animal agriculture, there is an unfortunate and well-known trade-off between environmental impact and animal welfare because, all else equal, animals who are allotted a bit more room to roam and express natural behaviors take up more resources. (Of course, that trade-off disappears if we simply replace animal products with plants.) That is why almost all animal products these days are produced on factory farms in the first place — factory farming doesn’t exist merely to be evil, but rather because it’s efficient, and the cost of efficiency is borne by the animals. 

Although the new paper may overstate the magnitude of this tension for eggs (more on that in a moment), it’s directionally right: Hens who are able to walk, flap their wings, fly, and perch will eat more calories than those trapped in cages, so their environmental footprint is generally going to be greater. 

But here is the thing: That doesn’t really matter. 

Eggs aren’t generally singled out by climate experts as a major decarbonization priority. Although animal agriculture is a significant contributor to climate change, making up about 12 to 20 percent of global greenhouse gas emissions, eggs are responsible for a very small share of that — about 3 percent of all livestock emissions. As a back-of-the-envelope estimate, that is, on the high end, roughly 0.6 percent of all emissions. I think we can spend a tiny bit of our carbon budget to spare billions of animals a life of near-total immobilization. 

But it’s weird to think about this as an environmental question at all. Chickens aren’t merely resource burdens — they’re inhabitants of our planet who deserve to share in the benefits of a more sustainable future, too. And the most salient feature of caging hens is not that it’s marginally more environmentally optimized, but simply that it’s wrong.

Caging humans would reduce our emissions, too, as Lewis Bollard, managing director for farm animal welfare at the philanthropy Coefficient Giving, grimly remarked about the paper. No one would ever suggest doing that, because a lower carbon footprint cannot turn a morally indefensible practice into a good idea. 

Is there really a climate case for cages?

Over the last few decades, animal welfare advocates have sought to bring hens some relief from extreme confinement, passing laws that ban cages and persuading grocery stores, restaurant chains, and other food purveyors to source cage-free eggs. (When I was in college, I worked on one of these campaigns, helping convince my school to serve exclusively cage-free eggs in its dining halls.) Nearly half of egg-laying hens in the US and two-thirds of those in the European Union are now raised cage-free, and four-fifths of eggs in the UK come from cage-free hens. But cages still prevail in some high-income countries, including Canada, Japan, South Korea, and Israel.

This advocacy work has spread to low- and middle-income countries, too, where most of the world’s hens live and overwhelmingly remain caged. Cage-free eggs are still far from cruelty-free, but they likely represent a meaningful welfare improvement. 

The new paper, published in Royal Society Open Science late last month, used data from the UK to compare the impacts of five different egg farm types: battery cages, slightly larger “enriched” cages, cage-free indoor barns, free range, and organic free range. Fully indoor cage-free systems are by far the most widespread form of cage-free farming in the US and elsewhere in the world, and they’re generally the default large-scale system used in transitions away from cages, so they are our primary focus here. 

The researchers compared egg farming systems on four environmental metrics: greenhouse gas emissions, nutrient pollution in waterways, soil acidification, and land use. The lowest impacts across all four categories were found in farms that used enriched cages, which are one-third to two-thirds larger than the standard battery cages that dominate the global egg industry  — the latter had the second-lowest impacts. (From an animal welfare perspective, enriched cages are akin to slightly loosening a straitjacket — only a grotesque starting point could make them look generous. They afford each hen a living space not much larger than a sheet of printer paper, well below the area typically needed to perform basic behaviors like flapping her wings and grooming herself.) 

To produce the same number of eggs, the study found, cage-free barns emit about 56.1 percent more greenhouse gases than enriched cages and 33.8 percent more than battery cages. 

The authors have said that the paper isn’t meant to advocate keeping hens in cages, but rather to inform decision-making about cage-free transitions with accurate estimates of the environmental trade-offs involved. The findings have been presented as relevant to food sustainability discussions globally, more broadly than just in the UK. And, Bollard pointed out to me, the paper has come out as the EU and UK weigh fully banning caged egg production, raising the possibility that its findings could influence those policy fights. 

“We recognise that the transition toward cage-free production is important for improving animal welfare,” lead author Oliver Martinić, who recently earned a PhD in animal and food science from the University of Padova, told me in an email. “The long-term goal should be to develop cage-free systems that combine high standards of animal welfare with improved production efficiency and lower environmental impacts. If we can achieve that, the environmental gap between cage-free and caged systems could be substantially reduced.” 

It’s certainly important to have an accurate accounting of the environmental impacts of all types of farming. Whether or not the paper achieves that has been a subject of some debate. To make their calculations, the authors drew from data published more than a decade ago, but cage-free egg production has since become more environmentally efficient. 

“The paper is methodologically flawed,” Ilias Kyriazakis, a professor at Queen’s University Belfast and senior author of the earlier research whose data the new paper relies on, wrote in a critique of the study. “It relies on our data from 2010 to construct scenarios intended to represent national conditions in 2023, without adequately accounting for the substantial changes that have occurred over that period.” As a result, he added, “the authors are likely to have overestimated some of the impacts” of the non-cage production systems.

The authors have said that they used that dataset because it’s the most comprehensive one available, and Martinić told me that “production systems have continued to evolve, so newer data would be valuable for assessing the extent to which the gap [between caged and cage-free eggs] has changed.” Other peer-reviewed research, meanwhile, has found a smaller gap in climate impacts between caged and cage-free eggs. Even the makeup of hens’ feed may matter more for the climate impact of eggs than whether they’re kept in caged or cage-free housing: One US study found that cage-free farms were lower in emissions and other impacts because they used more environmentally efficient feed.

In the end, these differences may not be that big of a deal because the climate impact of eggs is small in the grand scheme of animal agriculture. Using the new study’s own emissions estimates for eggs, a single beef burger emits as much as about five dozen cage-free eggs.

“There’s no doubt that eggs are the least environmentally impacting animal product per unit,” Kyriazakis told me. So when considering whether caged or cage-free eggs are better for the world, their environmental impact is not very high on the list of things to agonize over. 

Martinić and his co-authors don’t ignore animal welfare entirely — they attempt to account for it, but they have an oddly narrow way of doing it. The paper’s welfare metrics leave out what it is actually like for a hen to live inside a cage. Instead, its chosen measures score cage systems more favorably, because the model assumes that they have lower mortality rates, and they require fewer total birds to produce the same number of eggs. The result is that cage farming ends up looking comparatively better on welfare, though the authors themselves acknowledge that their analysis leaves out many indicators of welfare and “should be interpreted with caution.” (Critics of the study have noted that its mortality numbers are more than a decade out of date, and that recently, as egg producers have learned to better manage cage-free farms, the gap in mortality rates has declined.)

Beyond the carbon ledger

There is a term for what happens when we reduce our biggest social problems to environmental or climate ones, and lose sight of everything else at stake: climate reductionism. 

The new paper and discourse surrounding it display how that trap can shape the way we understand and treat nonhuman animals. It also reflects a long-established tendency in animal agriculture research to view animal welfare through the lens of efficiency and productivity, rather than through the desires of the animals themselves. 

To contend more deeply with the ethics of mass-producing animals like egg-laying hens for food, we have to momentarily cast aside questions about efficiency and ask, what is life like for a hen from her own perspective? I happen to know a lot of chickens — in the right circumstances, they’re convivial, spirited, energetic animals. The widespread myth that they’re stupid has more to do with our own repressed guilt than with the animals’ capacities. Their experiences call on us to face not just the cruelty of cages, but also to look beyond cages to problems common to all forms of egg farming. 

To name just a few: Egg-laying hens have been bred to channel their bodily resources into laying extraordinary numbers of eggs, which takes a heavy toll on their bodies, depleting their skeletons of calcium, and making them prone to painful bone fractures and reproductive disorders. (The red junglefowl, the wild animal equivalent of the chicken, lays 10 to 15 eggs per year; farmed hens lay more than 300.) On cage-free farms, meanwhile, escaping the cage does not mean entering anything resembling a natural environment. Rather, the hens live in crowded, polluted, sometimes windowless sheds filled with thousands or tens of thousands of other chickens, where unnaturally large, dense social groups can intensify injurious pecking and other aggression. They are ultimately killed once their productivity wanes.

These conditions have even fueled a vigorous debate in the animal advocacy movement over whether pushing for cage-free eggs is a good idea at all, because they can give the public the false impression that the worst parts of egg factory farming have gone away. But cages are only one part of that system — modern animal agriculture is defined by a complex set of practices optimized to squeeze as much productivity out of animals as possible. Challenging more fundamental features of egg production, like the genetics of modern laying hens, would be harder than eliminating cages because it poses a deeper challenge to the value the industry elevates above all else: efficiency. We would have to demand less of their bodies, and that would very likely make each egg more expensive and more emissions-intensive. 

What, then, does that mean for you? On an aggregate, societal level, I think cage-free reforms have been a good thing, because they have made a terrible system that we can’t simply wave away with a magic wand less bad. But more profound change will require consumers to demand something more than cheap animal products. So if I’m addressing you, an individual, I’d say something different. The most obvious win-win is hiding in plain sight: Plant-based foods like tofu and beans are significantly lower in emissions than eggs, while avoiding the moral costs of egg production altogether. 

Americans want to soak the rich. But few have strong opinions about precisely how. 

Indeed, even among our nation’s most impassioned class warriors, contemplating the fine details of tax policy is an eccentric pastime. In an interview earlier this month, Democratic Socialists of America co-chair Megan Romer called for taxing “the hell out of” the wealthy. When asked exactly what that meant, Romer conceded that she had no “solid answer.”

On one level, this is understandable. Anyone can freeze up when put on the spot. And in any case, Romer believes in collective ownership of the means of production. When your preferred tax policy is 1,000 times more radical than anything Congress would entertain, sweating its particulars might not feel urgent.

Still, there’s more than one way to soak a fat cat. And some approaches work better than others. Thus, for non-revolutionaries, thinking through the details of a “tax the hell out of them” platform seems worthwhile.

Many of that platform’s potential components have already attracted widespread attention. Wealth taxes  — which expropriate a certain fraction of the super-rich’s assets each year — are on the ballot in California and the progressive agenda in Washington, DC. And Democrats perennially call for raising the top income tax rates.

Yet there is a less-discussed, populist tax policy that would raise a lot of revenue, pose relatively few logistical challenges or economic trade-offs, and make other levies on the wealthy more effective: taxing the investment earnings of the dead.

The rich are dying to avoid taxes

Shaking down the deceased might seem distasteful. But doing so would close a large loophole in America’s tax code — one that lets the wealthy cheat Uncle Sam out of hundreds of billions in revenue.

One way that the government currently soaks the super rich is by taxing their investment earnings (also known as “capital gains”). If President Donald Trump buys shares in a hot dog company for $10 million — and then sells them for $110 million — he will need to pay a 23.8 percent tax on his $100 million profit. 

If Trump holds onto his stock until death, however, his unrealized capital gain disappears. When the shares are passed down to his heirs, the tax code resets its initial value: If Eric Trump inherits the frankfurter fortune — and then immediately sells it for its market value of $110 million — he will owe $0 in capital gains taxes. 

Essentially, the tax code treats Donald’s heir as though he purchased the firm for $110 million, then sold it without turning a profit. This rule is known as “stepped-up basis.” And it costs the Treasury upward of $70 billion a year.

That forgone revenue doesn’t all go to the rich. Middle-class heirs also benefit from stepped-up basis. But the policy’s benefits flow overwhelmingly to the affluent and super-wealthy: As of 2022, the richest 10 percent of Americans held roughly three-quarters of the nation’s unrealized capital gains — while the richest 1 percent lay claim to 43 percent of them, according to the Survey of Consumer Finances.

Beyond directly sapping government revenue, stepped-up basis also creates problems for raising taxes on investment income. Democrats have long called for increasing the top capital gains rate to 39.6 percent — today’s top rate for labor income — so that investors aren’t taxed more lightly than workers. 

And yet, in a world with stepped-up basis, the higher you raise the tax rate on capital gains, the more incentive you give the rich to sit on their most lucrative assets until they die. For this reason, hiking the top capital gains rate can theoretically cost the government money. In a 2021 analysis of President Joe Biden’s proposal to lift the top rate on investments to 39.6 percent, economists at the University of Pennsylvania projected that the policy would reduce federal revenue by $33 billion over the next decade, as investors sold off fewer assets. 

Critically, when those same researchers modeled how the Biden proposal would impact revenue if stepped-up basis did not exist, they found that his capital gains tax hike would raise $113 billion. Once rich investors lost the death loophole, they became more willing to sell assets, despite the high capital gains rate.

This last point illustrates one final perversity of stepped-up basis: It promotes economic inefficiency. 

In an ideal investment market, capital is fluid. Investors shift their savings toward firms that seem capable of putting it to more productive use. If an established company loses its competitive advantages — or some upstart develops better technology or products — capital markets are supposed to redirect investment toward the more promising enterprise.

Stepped-up basis undermines that process. By rewarding wealthy investors for holding assets until death, it encourages them to lock their capital in place, even if they would otherwise reallocate it. In this way, the policy saps both the government’s revenues and the market’s dynamism.

The case for a death tax

There are multiple ways to address the stepped-up basis problem. The typical approach is to change how an heir’s tax liability is calculated, when they sell an inherited asset — a rule known as “carryover basis.” So, in our hypothetical, if Eric Trump inherits and then sells his dad’s $110 million cylindrical sausage stocks, he will pay $23.8 million in taxes on his family’s $100 million capital gain. 

But there is a better way of closing the mortality loophole: Treat dying as equivalent to selling one’s assets. 

Under this policy, the government doesn’t need to wait for Eric to sell his hot dog holdings before collecting on his father’s capital gain. Rather, the IRS essentially pretends that Donald Trump sold all of his assets at market value on the day that he died — and then adds the resulting capital gains liabilities to the trillionaire’s final tax return. By the time Eric gets his weenie windfall, Uncle Sam has already taken a cut of the proceeds.

This approach has some major advantages. While carryover basis ensures that Donald’s tax bills survive his death, the policy still allows his heirs to put off paying those bills indefinitely: If Eric clings to his tube-steak equity, he can delay paying taxes on his father’s gains for decades (while, perhaps, lobbying the government to restore stepped-up basis in the interim). By contrast, if the government simply collects on Donald’s earnings when he perishes, the waiting game ends.

For this reason, the latter policy generates far more revenue than carryover basis. According to a Congressional Budget Office estimate, establishing carryover basis would raise $197 billion over a decade, while taxing the dead’s accrued gains would raise $536 billion.

The most prominent argument against collecting at death is that it could force the sale of family businesses. Say your dad bought a glue factory for $1 million and now it’s worth $11 million. Even though the adhesive plant has become a lot more valuable on paper, your family might have no way of paying a multimillion-dollar capital gains tax without selling it. Which you don’t want to do, since glue is your passion. Many lobbyists think this scenario should break our hearts.

Personally, I’m not sure that preserving dynastic ownership of businesses should be a priority for tax policy. Firms run by heirs tend to perform worse than those helmed by executives unrelated to the founder. If we must avoid forced sales, however, the government can give closely held businesses the option of paying their dead founders’ tax bill in installments. 

Taxing dead billionaires should be the bare minimum

Taxing the deceased’s investment earnings is compatible with myriad other progressive fiscal proposals, such as a wealth tax, a higher capital gains rate, and, of course, a larger estate tax. 

This said, there is one prominent tax idea that directly competes with soaking the dead: annually taxing the wealthy’s unrealized capital gains. 

In broad outline, that policy is simple: If the value of Mark Zuckerberg’s stock portfolio rises by $1 billion in a year, then he must pay taxes on that appreciation, even if he has sold none of his assets. 

This rule makes taxing the Facebook founder’s unrealized earnings at death largely unnecessary: The government will have already collected taxes on most of those gains as they accrued.

A yearly tax on unrealized gains is popular with progressive economists, who persuaded the Biden administration to pursue a limited version of it. And the policy does have much to recommend it. Taxing a rich person’s unrealized capital gains each year would generate more revenue than taxing them at death. And doing so would also combat a fundamental source of unfairness in today’s tax code: If a worker gains $100,000 in 2026 through labor, she needs to pay taxes to the government on that income immediately. By contrast, if Zuckerberg gains $1 billion over the same period through asset appreciation — and holds onto his investments — then he can wait decades to pay the 23.8 percent tax on that gain. Given inflation, this means that the tech billionaire can effectively shrink his tax liability; $238 million will be worth much less in, say, 2052 than it is today.

Closing the death loophole would prevent the Zuckerberg family from avoiding their tax bill forever. Assuming normal life expectancy, however, it still lets them postpone their tax payments for ages, then pay Uncle Sam in depreciated currency.

So, why am I talking so much about closing the death loophole, when we can just tax unrealized capital gains every year? The main reason is that the Supreme Court’s conservative majority probably won’t let Congress do the latter.

In 2024, multiple Republican justices suggested that it is unconstitutional for the federal government to tax capital gains in the absence of a transaction. Fortunately, according to many legal analysts, taxing accrued gains at death would likely remain viable under the justices’ reasoning. This is because death triggers a transfer of assets from one person to another — and the Supreme Court has long held that Congress can tax such transfers. Thus, even if the Court ultimately bars Washington from taxing billionaires’ unrealized gains while they’re alive, the government will probably still be able to do so when they exit this mortal coil. 

Less importantly, closing the death loophole arguably presents fewer logistical challenges than annually taxing either unrealized gains (or, for that matter, total wealth). The latter requires the government to determine the value of often hard-to-price assets — such as closely held businesses that aren’t priced on the stock market — year after year. 

Taxing gains at death, by contrast, requires determining these valuations only once — and at a moment when estates must already catalog and price their assets for inheritance and tax purposes. 

Closing the death loophole isn’t frictionless. To calculate a deceased person’s unrealized capital gains, you need to know how much they paid for all their assets initially. That’s easy enough with public stock. But figuring out what someone paid for a painting or parcel of land in 1955 can be difficult. Nevertheless, the administrative burdens of taxing the dead’s investment earnings are almost certainly lower than those of taxing their unrealized gains annually. 

In my view, those latter two policies would be worth the trouble. But the relative simplicity of closing the death loophole may make it an easier sell. 

That said, prying capital gains from billionaires’ cold, dead hands won’t necessarily be easy. Biden tried to close the death loophole for the rich, only to see moderate Democrats veto his plans.

If the broad left wants to prevent a repeat of that history, then they’ll need to make opposing taxes on dead billionaires at least as politically radioactive as supporting data centers is today. 

Benjamin Franklin famously quipped that nothing is certain “except death and taxes.” For America’s richest investors, however, only the first looks like a sure thing. That can be fixed. 

Editor’s note, August 23, 8 am ET: We’re bringing you some of our best-loved Your Mileage May Vary columns while Sigal Samuel is on parental leave. The one below was originally published in February.

This unconventional advice column offers you a unique framework for thinking through moral dilemmas. It’s based on value pluralism: the idea that each of us has multiple values that are equally valid but that often conflict with each other. Submit your own question here.

I’m a woman in my 30s and I think I want to have a child, but I have a health condition that makes it harder (not impossible) to get pregnant than for most women. It would also make pregnancy more uncomfortable and physically disfiguring than it is for many pregnant people. It wouldn’t be permanently disabling, but the physical effects would be bad enough that I really don’t want to be pregnant.

I’m fortunate enough that I can probably afford to get a surrogate through a reputable agency. But surrogacy is frowned upon and often considered unethical. Long ago, I knew someone who said she loved the idea of being pregnant and providing gestation as a service to other people, so maybe in theory, it is possible for someone to freely choose to be a surrogate without being coerced by financial need? But even if it could be done ethically, there’s such a stigma around it and I fear being judged by friends and family. There seems to be a sense that there’s something wrong, unnatural, selfish, or unwomanly in wanting to have a biological child but not wanting your own body to be the vessel for it. 

Plus, it’s not like I’m the only person in the world for whom pregnancy would suck. I think my experience probably would be worse than average, but pregnancy is just an unpleasant thing overall so I don’t think I can claim it would be so uniquely bad for me that I’m justified in wanting to pay to use someone else’s body. I’d love your help with this.

Dear Really Don’t Want To Be Pregnant,

There are some ethical questions about surrogacy that it’s genuinely worth asking, and some that I don’t want you to devote another second to — so let’s start there.

As you said, there’s a cultural stigma around not wanting to turn your body into a vessel for childbearing — it’s deemed “wrong” or “unwomanly.” But that idea is pure garbage. The idea that there’s some “proper” way to be a woman is a patriarchal construct; anyone who tells you you’re “unwomanly” for not wanting to gestate is reflecting sexist expectations that women’s bodies should be available for reproductive labor.

So to the extent that your fear of being judged is about that, please don’t give it another thought. But of course, there are real moral questions that surrogacy brings up.

I’ll tell you right off the bat that I do think surrogacy can be ethically justifiable in some situations. First, it helps that surrogacy is not one monolithic thing. There’s a big distinction between commercial surrogacy (where you pay someone to carry a baby) and altruistic surrogacy (the unpaid version, where the surrogate carries the baby as a literal labor of love). It’s not easy to find an altruistic surrogate — after all, pregnancy is dangerous business — but I agree with your intuition that if you’re lucky enough to know someone willing to volunteer for the role, opting for that is a good way to avoid most concerns about commodification or exploitation. 

Within commercial surrogacy, a second distinction has to do with where the surrogate lives. There’s a moral difference between hiring a surrogate in a developing country and hiring one in, say, the US. In countries like Georgia, for example, surrogacy agencies have been known to recruit at domestic violence shelters — some women see surrogacy as the only way to win financial freedom from an abusive spouse. Ukraine, Cyprus, and several others are also known to have ethically problematic surrogacy industries.  

But American surrogates are typically not low-income; they’re usually middle-class white women with husbands and kids of their own, and they have other economic opportunities available to them. The better surrogacy agencies screen out poor women, who are at risk of coercion. That empirical context means there’s less (though not zero) potential for exploitation in the US, compared with international surrogacy.

Another reason I think surrogacy can be ethically justifiable is that for many, many people, the urge to have kids — including ones who are biologically related to them — feels like a need and not just a want. 

Many opponents of surrogacy argue that nobody has a “right” to a biological child, so if you can’t or don’t want to be pregnant, too bad. And those opponents are right that nobody has an absolute right to have a baby — otherwise, the state would be obligated to ensure surrogates, egg donors, and sperm donors were made available regardless of their own willingness to participate! But people may still have a qualified right — the kind of right that we generally honor but that can be restricted to protect the interests of others. 

When it comes to people who are physically unable to create a biological child — when they have what doctors call a “medical indication” — I think the qualified right to have a kid means that surrogacy can be ethical, provided it meets certain criteria like informed consent.

But your situation is trickier because it’s not impossible for you to get pregnant — it’s more that, for certain reasons, you don’t want to. Typically, your case would be referred to as “elective surrogacy.” Some professionals will refuse to arrange surrogacy if they deem it elective rather than medically indicated.

And yet, doctors are increasingly recognizing that the line between “medically indicated” and “elective” is not so tidy. 

While elective surrogacy is often associated with vanity — it brings to mind a celebrity who doesn’t want to be pregnant because she doesn’t want to “mess up” her figure — it’s not like everyone in the elective camp is there for cosmetic reasons.

What about someone who could get pregnant but is deathly afraid of giving birth because she had a traumatic experience — like, say, her best friend dying in childbirth? Or what about someone who’s trans and who physically could carry a pregnancy, but who knows it would cause such gender dysphoria that there’s a risk of serious psychological harm? Shouldn’t a mental health need be considered a type of medical need?

These are not hypothetical experiences — real people have testified to them — but they often haven’t been taken seriously as medical needs. I suspect that these people have endured what the contemporary philosopher Miranda Fricker calls “epistemic injustice.” 

Epistemic injustice refers to “a wrong done to someone specifically in their capacity as a knower.” When society denies someone the credibility to assess their own life experience, or discounts an important part of that experience because of a gap in our collective interpretive resources, that can be an example of epistemic injustice. I think people who fall in between medical categories are too often at risk of being wronged in this way, and I don’t want to see that happen to you.

So I want to acknowledge that I don’t know what health condition you’re referring to when you say you have a condition that would “make pregnancy more uncomfortable and physically disfiguring than it is for many pregnant people.” Since I don’t know the details, I’d encourage you to ask yourself: How much more uncomfortable? How much more disfiguring? And how heavy and lasting a toll would that discomfort or disfigurement take on your overall well-being?

Only you can really try to answer that last question, because the same effects can land differently for different people, depending on how well-resourced we are financially, socially, psychologically, and even spiritually. 

Once you’ve thought about how big and enduring the risk of harm is to you, try asking yourself this: Is the risk to you so much greater than the risk to a woman of average health that you feel comfortable transferring the risk of pregnancy and childbirth onto her?

Some people will tell you that question is irrelevant. They will say that the only value that matters here is autonomy — yours and the potential surrogate’s — and if you and she both consent to a surrogacy contract, and she is not coerced into it by financial desperation, then that’s that!

But there may be another important value at stake here: justice. 

As far as I can tell, your case is in a gray area — surrogacy is neither obviously “medically indicated” nor obviously “elective” based on the information you shared. If you ask yourself, “Do I think there’s a significant risk that carrying a child would significantly harm me?” and you answer “Yes!” — then some doctors would say surrogacy is medically indicated. But if the answer you feel bubbling up is, “Well…no, not really,” then you may be closer to the “elective” side of the spectrum. And then I think it becomes reasonable to inquire whether it feels fair to ask another woman to take on the considerable risks of pregnancy and childbirth.

You wrote of pregnancy, “I don’t think I can claim it would be so uniquely bad for me that I’m justified in wanting to pay to use someone else’s body.” That suggests that you currently see yourself as more in the elective camp. I urge you to give yourself the space to really interrogate that with an equal measure of honesty and self-compassion. If honesty compels you to say you don’t feel justified in putting someone else’s body in harm’s way in a situation where she otherwise wouldn’t be, then maybe you’ve got your answer. 

But if you’re discounting the risk of psychological harm to yourself because you don’t think that “counts” as real need, please know that mental health is just as medically legitimate as physical health. And if you talk to a medical professional about the option of surrogacy, please talk to more than one so you’re less at risk of getting boxed into a category that doesn’t capture you right. 

At the end of the day, perhaps none of us can be a perfect interpreter even of ourselves. But you get to be the interpreter-in-chief — with both the power and responsibility that implies.

Bonus: What I’m reading

• This horrifying New York Times Magazine story about the global fertility industry captures why I do think it’s unethical to work with a surrogacy agency in a country like Georgia. These surrogates are not in a position to give informed consent.  

• “Is Cognitive Dissonance Actually a Thing?” asked Shayla Love in the New Yorker recently. I now feel cognitive dissonance about all the times I thought I was feeling cognitive dissonance!

• Don’t miss “I’m Kenyan. I Don’t Write Like ChatGPT. ChatGPT Writes Like Me.” This essay by Marcus Olang’, explaining why his writing is often mistaken for AI slop, is both surprising and maddening. Turns out it’s really hard to not write in the Queen’s English when an entire colonial legacy has drilled that style into you from birth. 

This story was originally published in The Highlight, Vox’s member-exclusive magazine. To get access to member-exclusive stories every month, join the Vox Membership program today.

In March 2023, Jason Arday, a rising star in British academia, became a professor of sociology of education at the University of Cambridge. At 37, he was the youngest Black person ever appointed to a professorship in the university’s history.

Arday’s personal story also attracted widespread attention. He claimed that autism left him unable to speak until he was 11 and unable to read or write until he was 18. Nonetheless, Arday eventually received a PhD from Liverpool John Moores University and continued to rise through the ranks of British higher education.

Soon after starting his position at Cambridge, Arday was accused of plagiarizing portions of his 2015 doctoral thesis. And that was just the beginning. The British press began to comb through his personal story and discovered there were more questionable claims.

This all reached a fever pitch earlier this month, when Arday announced that he would be resigning his position, writing that the intense scrutiny and personal attacks had taken a profound toll on him and his family. Nine days later, Arday was found dead in his home.

To understand what to make of a story of alleged academic plagiarism turned media frenzy turned tragedy, Today, Explained co-host Sean Rameswaram spoke with Atlantic staff writer Tyler Austin Harper, whose recent essay, “The Truths That Failed Jason Arday,” examines what we can learn from Arday’s story.

Below is an excerpt of the conversation, edited for length and clarity. There’s much more in the full podcast, so listen to Today, Explained wherever you get podcasts, including Apple Podcasts, Pandora, and Spotify.

You wrote that everyone following this story would do well to engage in some reflection. I don’t think everyone following this story necessarily feels like they should be engaging in some reflection. So I wanted to ask you why you wanted to convey that thought.

I would say blame is not a finite resource and I think there’s plenty of it to go around in this case in particular. I think blame that belongs to conservatives and that belongs to Republicans and that belongs to various kinds of institutions. And that of course belongs to Jason Arday, the man.

I think this is a person who is clearly a serial fabulist, and I think one could fairly say a con artist, who was able to, through an increasingly implausible array of stories about his background — that he was mute until age 11, that he was illiterate till age 18, that he ran 600 miles in six days, a feat which is just 50 miles shy of a world record — flatter the vanities of people at Cambridge University who were very desperate to get a magical minority in the door. And they were so hell bent on their desire to engage in diversity politics that they overlooked what should have been very obvious flaws.

I think it’s also true simultaneously though, that you cannot just blame Arday or liberal institutions for this, and particularly for how this ended. This was, it’s worth noting, an academic scandal that — on the order of academic scandals — is not one that perhaps should be international news, but that’s very much what it became, in no small part because the British press turbocharged it.

If you look at any major British outlet, there were many, many, many, many articles written, each one chronicling every minute of this entire affair. And I think it’s worth noting that it’s hard to imagine that this degree of scrutiny would be applied to an academic scandal if Jason Arday had been white. It’s also hard to imagine that Jason Arday would’ve been hired if he was white. I think people would’ve asked more questions about his implausible claims if they weren’t so predisposed to just try to get him in the door.

What compelled Jason Arday to make up so much of his backstory?

It’s hard to know what’s inside his mind, but one imagines that he correctly understood that a certain kind of elite liberal would be very willing to overlook quite a lot and that [they] would be willing to swallow a whole lot of implausibilities to get him in the door. And I think he understood how the system works.

One of my frustrations with the way discourse of this story has unfolded, particularly after his tragic death, is he is being treated as somebody with no agency. And I think Arday, if you look at what he did, was clearly relatively savvy. He understood that there was a market, that he was being branded as the youngest Black professor in the 800-year history of Cambridge. And he fabricated a story that told people what they wanted to hear.

Not only was he Black coming from rough circumstances, but he was disabled, he was severely autistic, he had this miraculous recovery, also all sorts of medical ailments. He survived a brain tumor, testicular cancer, epilepsy, et cetera. He clearly knew how the game was played. He knew that he could leverage these various identity claims in service of advancement, which is what happened.

The story was not nearly as big in the United States as it was in the UK, understandably. But a lot of people want to place blame for Arday’s death on the British press. American Ibram X. Kendi said [Arday] was “lynched by the media.” Do you think that’s going too far?

I think that’s going way too far. First of all, there are few things I find more grotesque, at least in terms of everyday discourse, than treating lynching as a metaphor, which is something I think you see quite a lot. I think anyone who has seen a hanging tree knows that throwing the term around — “lynching” — for mere journalistic scrutiny is vile beyond measure.

Was the British press scrutiny far too intense? Yes. Do I think it was racist in the sense that I have a hard time imagining there would be this much scrutiny on a white academic who did the same thing? Yes, I think you can absolutely say that. To me, there is a question about, “Okay, what is the line between appropriate journalistic scrutiny and obsession?”

But I also think it’s worth noting, to be fair to the British press, that they’re responding to the way in which he was marketed to them nationally. He was marketed by Cambridge as the youngest Black professor in the 800-year history of this very venerable institution. To some extent, when you brand someone that way, when you film BBC specials with a closeup on his Black hands nestled in the white ones of the head of the Faculty of Education, I think some degree of scrutiny is warranted.

I think it was excessive. But at the same time, Jason Arday was a public figure. I think that is fair to say. His memoir is poised to make a splash. And he took this position that made him a minor academic celebrity. And again, I think it’s very fair to ask whether the degree of attention on what is ultimately an academic scandal in which no one was hurt was far too much. But the idea that we would place the blame on the media rather than on Simon and Schuster, who clearly overlooked obvious inconsistencies in his story, and on Cambridge — I find that absurd.

I think we need to blame the people who put him on the mountaintop rather than the people who ripped him down, even as I think some of those people putting attention on him were unscrupulous.

In your piece at the Atlantic, I thought you bravely related your own experience to that of Jason Arday. Did that come naturally to you or did you have to hold your breath?

Look, I am a Black guy who has been the beneficiary of various kinds of DEI and affirmative action initiatives. And I certainly have encountered a certain kind of white liberal who is very eager to metaphorically grasp my Black hands in their white ones and stare lovingly into my eyes like the Cambridge Faculty of Education person did. So I had some degree of sympathy with him.

I find those kinds of encounters revolting. But I also can understand from Arday’s point of view, coming from a relatively disadvantaged background, he’s the children of immigrants. Then you have all of these people paying attention to you, showering you in accolades — and I think fetishizing you, but it probably didn’t seem that way to him. And you tell a small lie, and maybe that small lie then becomes a bigger lie and then a bigger lie and a bigger lie and a bigger lie.

What he did was wrong, but I can imagine the kind of incentive structure he saw laid out before him. And it’s not hard to see that he made a decision that could in some sense be understood as yes, self-serving, but also giving people what they wanted.

Do you think we’ll learn anything from it?

No. I think people have retreated into their camps. I think progressives are blaming the media for doing what I’ve seen thrown around as a digital lynching. I think conservatives are blaming academic institutions or Jason Arday or just gleefully basking in the glow of having torn this guy down a peg. I haven’t seen a single lesson really learned.

I’ve seen a lot of blame being apportioned. I don’t think there’s much reflection about whether or not these policies are good or bad — the kind of policies or the kinds of extremist versions of affirmative action that go well beyond the spirit of what most people understand as affirmative action.

Whether those kinds of initiatives are good, whether the press scrutiny was fair. I don’t see a lot of self-reflection. I see a lot of blame. And even as I’m wanting to say that there’s lots of people to blame, I also think we should be a little more self-critical.

My first impulse on learning of the Jason Arday affair was to find it somewhat amusing, I will be honest. Here was this guy who managed to tell all of these obvious lies and these very, very smart people believed them hook, line, and sinker. It was objectively funny, but it became unfunny very quickly. And so I think, like I said in the piece, we could all stand to do some reflection about how we ended up in this situation, how Jason Arday ended up in this situation. But will that reflection happen? I highly doubt it.

A few things are certain in life: death, taxes, LeBron James playing professional basketball — and Americans’ belief that crime is getting worse. Since Gallup began asking about national crime in 1989, a majority of respondents said they thought crime in the US was higher than the year before in every survey year except 2000, 2001, and 2025. Even in that last year, 49 percent still said more crime was happening. It’s perhaps the archetypal example of negativity bias, the mental habit of giving more weight to bad news than good.

Last week, the FBI put some numbers on just how big that bias is. The American murder rate — which peaked in 1980 at 10.2 per 100,000 — fell to an estimated 4.1 per 100,000 people in 2025, matching the rates recorded in 1955 and 1956 for the lowest ever measured in the country. The violent crime rate (murder, rape, robbery and aggravated assault) fell 9.7 percent, the largest single drop since J. Edgar Hoover was running the bureau in 1936. 

That much is known. But what’s not known for sure about the crime drop is almost everything else. Adam Gelb, who runs the Council on Criminal Justice, says that there is no single or easy explanation for the historic lows, while Jeff Asher, the analyst who spotted this decline before nearly everyone else, agrees. For every leading candidate — federal pandemic spending, some normalization after the 2020 social collapse, better violence prevention, even the decline of drinking — there is a corresponding hole. 

But there is one American city where researchers can point to a specific program, measure what it did, and put real numbers on it. And it just happens to be the city that spent 50 years — and five award-winning seasons on HBO — as America’s shorthand for murder.   

What Baltimore did

Baltimore recorded more than 300 homicides a year for most of the last decade, and more than 200 for most of the past half-century. In one month, July 2015, 45 people were killed — an astounding figure for a city of just around 600,000 people at the time. 

But Baltimore finished 2025 with 133 homicides, the fewest since 1977 and about 60 percent fewer than in 2020. Through the first eight months of this year, the city has seen 60 murders, and the police commissioner’s target is to stay under 100. 

What caused this? Three things at once.

Baltimore Mayor Brandon Scott’s Group Violence Reduction Strategy identifies the few people most likely to shoot or be shot — two groups that heavily overlap — and sends people to their doors with two messages: you are on our radar, and here is housing and job training. Separately, the longer-running Safe Streets program puts outreach workers with real street credibility between disputes, aiming to interrupt them before they become shootings.

That’s the harm reduction element. There’s also a tough-on-crime component. The state’s attorney office says it has secured 2,129 convictions since 2023 across several gun-related violent-crime categories, with over 1,700 of those defendants incarcerated. 

Meanwhile, Baltimore’s homicide clearance rate reached 60 percent by mid-2026. Its nonfatal-shooting clearance rate was 54 percent, up more than 12 percentage points from a year earlier. Criminologists have long held that the certainty of being caught deters criminals more than the severity of the sentence, and more successful shooting investigations are a common thread where violence is falling around the country. 

How do you tell whether a program worked, or whether a city just got lucky? Drug trials get a control group; cities don’t. Baltimore got one almost by accident: the strategy launched in the city’s Western District in 2022 and nowhere else, which left the rest of the city as a comparison.

That’s what a team of economists and criminologists used. They measured the Western District against Baltimore neighborhoods that hadn’t started the program yet, and over 18 months the number of people shot there, fatally or not, ran about 30 percent below that stand-in. Killings alone fell by a similar share, but deaths are rare enough that chance couldn’t be ruled out. Police made no more arrests than before. Arrests for serious violent crime rose 81 percent.

A second, looser test set the whole city against a composite of other big American cities and put Baltimore’s murder rate about 25 percent below it. The authors are careful with that one: too much changed in Baltimore at once to say how much it the strategy was responsible for.

Murder is contagious

Baltimore’s success is built on two ideas, and they came from two very different places. 

The first came from a doctor named Gary Slutkin, who spent the 1980s and early 1990s fighting tuberculosis in San Francisco, cholera in Somali refugee camps, and AIDS across Africa. He came home to Chicago in 1995, a year the city recorded over 800 homicides. 

When Slutkin examined the city’s shooting maps, they looked familiar. Clustered in space, clustered in time, and spreading case to case — murder resembled the outbreaks he used to fight. Slutkin reasoned that the way to treat violence was to treat it like cholera: find the people most likely to transmit. Interrupt the transmission. Change the conditions that let it spread. Slutkin built the model into a program called CeaseFire, now Cure Violence Global, and its Baltimore descendant is Safe Streets.  

The second idea came from a criminologist. David Kennedy, working in Boston in the 1990s, found that 61 gangs with about 1,300 members — under 1 percent of the city’s young people — were tied to at least 60 percent of its youth homicides. Get those people in a room with police, prosecutors, and community elders, tell them plainly what comes next, and the shooting slows down.

That approach is called focused deterrence. Baltimore’s Group Violence Reduction Strategy is a version of it. To see how it works over a longer period of time, take a trip across the Atlantic to Glasgow in Scotland, which in the early 2000s was considered the murder capital of Europe.

In 2005, in the midst of that wave of violence, Glasgow’s Strathclyde Police established a Violence Reduction Unit that operated with a basic thesis: evidence shows that violence can be prevented. Among other interventions, the unit sent trauma surgeons into schools to describe what a blade does to a face and stationed outreach workers at hospital bedsides to reach victims in the vital hours after an attack, the moment when retaliation can still be stopped. 

In 2024-25, Scotland recorded 45 homicide victims, the fewest since comparable records began in 1976 and down from 96 two decades earlier. Every case was solved.

Pull the handle

So we have clues to why crime has dropped so much, but not clear conclusions. As successful as Baltimore’s group violence strategy has proved, a 2023 study of a similar street-outreach effort in Boston found no effect whatsoever. And the latest evaluation of Baltimore’s own Safe Streets — 11 sites, each measured against a stand-in version of the same neighborhood without the program — produced numbers that sound terrific but settle very little: youth homicides down 42 percent and youth shootings down 21 percent, but neither is strong enough to rule out chance. And while some sites saw youth homicide fall by as much as 100 percent, two sites saw it rise by 42 and 89 percent. 

Some experts, like the UC Irvine criminologist Emily Owens, argue the crime decline has been so widespread and similar — big cities and small, red and blue governments — that the true cause is some larger social change rather than what any one city is doing. Nor can we be sure the fall will continue. Billions in federal pandemic relief money has supported many of the programs that have worked well in places like Baltimore, and that money is already running out. But we can identify one reason why it happened, and learn from that success. 

As it happens, Gary Slutkin was not the first doctor to look at a map of the dead and see a pattern in it. In September 1854, a cholera outbreak was killing hundreds of people in London’s Soho district. A doctor named John Snow had mapped the outbreak and saw the dead were clustered disproportionately close to the district’s Broad Street water pump. Snow had a theory that water was connected to the disease and convinced a Soho parish board to remove the handle of the pump. 

Nobody in Soho at that moment could have told you what caused cholera. It would only be 29 years later that someone would definitely identify the responsible pathogen, and in doing so, explain why Snow’s intervention worked. But the explanation could wait. The dying stopped that month in Soho, just as it is stopping in Baltimore and around the US today. And that’s what counts.

A version of this story originally appeared in the Good News newsletter. Sign up here!

It’s the Democrats who have mostly had to answer questions about electability this midterm season, but why are there so few questions about the “E” word for the other side?

Gas prices are still skyrocketing. A number of Republican candidates, such as Ohio Rep. Max Miller and former Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton, who’s running for a Senate seat, are mired in scandal. The Iran war was unpopular from the start, but it is getting even less popular as it drags on. And Trump’s approval rating recently hit 33 percent, the lowest of his presidency yet.

On this week’s episode of America, Actually, host Astead Herndon speaks with one of Trump’s most vocal defenders, conservative influencer CJ Pearson, about whether we’re seeing Trump’s brand slip even among his supporters and the young people who helped him win in 2024, and how that could affect the midterm elections. 

Pearson, a conservative content creator and influencer, first went viral when he posted himself, then 12 years old, criticizing Barack Obama in a YouTube video. Now 24, Pearson is one of MAGA’s most prominent Black voices.

In this episode, Astead and Pearson discussed how Republicans should answer questions about whether voters’ lives are better than they were two years ago; whether Trump still has any cultural cachet left over from his last presidential campaign; and when Pearson started to see young Republicans turning away from the MAGA movement.

Below is an excerpt of Astead’s conversation with Pearson, edited for length and clarity. There’s much more in the full show, so listen to America, Actually wherever you get your podcasts or watch it on Vox’s YouTube channel.

That “E” word’s been thrown around a lot about Democrats, but we want to think about how Republicans are on their own. If you could rate Donald Trump’s second term one through 10, what would you give it?

I think the president’s doing incredibly well for the American people. Promises made, promises kept in many ways. 

I think if you look at this president who ran on securing our southern border, he’s done it. You look at this president who’s talked about bringing down costs, he’s brought down the cost of dairy, eggs. He’s achieved that. 

And I think also this president is only just getting started. He ran on “no tax on tips.” He did that. He ran on “no tax on overtime.” He did that. Oftentimes I tell people the challenge of this administration is keeping up the messaging at the same pace as the accomplishments of this president.

And so I think that there’s a lot more work to do. Thankfully, we have two more years to do it.

Can I get a number?

I think he’s doing well. I will say I grew up in a place where there’s always room for improvement, so I’ll give him an eight.

You’re giving him an eight. I wanted to just start there because Trump’s approval rating has fallen, as I’m sure you have seen. Why do you think the country isn’t maybe on the same page as you?

I think a lot of people are focused on their pocketbooks, right? They’re focused on domestic issues, and I think that we have been very internationally focused over the course of the past few months as we’ve navigated and dealt with the Iran conflict. 

But I think that as we get ready to get through this last wave of primaries, I think you’re going to see a change in his messaging and a reset at the midterm convention in Dallas next month in September. 

And I think you’re going to hear this president talking about how he’s made America more affordable, how he’s kept Americans safe, far safer than they were under President Joe Biden.

And I think that you’ll see those numbers start to change. And a reminder, the only poll that matters is on Election Day. There are many polls that had Kamala Harris beating President Trump, in 2024, and that didn’t happen.

Yeah, I don’t want to be overly poll-reliant, but we’ve heard some of this directly from Republicans even. 

We were at Donald Trump’s UFC event in DC talking to young men, and even there we heard people really come to be critical on three issues specifically: tariffs, the Iran war, and the handling of the Epstein files.

You mentioned the question of affordability. Donald Trump has said, quote, “I love the inflation.” And when asked by reporters about the public strain that has come from the conflicts with Iran, he said, “I don’t think about Americans’ financial situation. I don’t think about anybody.”

How can you say that Republicans are gonna run on affordability if the president’s saying he doesn’t care if Americans’ lives are unaffordable?

Well, I’ve often said that we can’t cede this entire affordability debate to the Democrats. The reason that I think a lot of young people are giving a little bit, even a flirtatious nod to the DSA and their socialist and communist candidates, is because they’re talking about an issue that’s top of mind for them.

In the same way that when President Trump won in 2024, he was talking about issues that were top of mind of the American voter, which was the cost of living. 

And so I think that we need to get back to that messaging. I think that this president has continued to deliver on that front. Costs are coming down.

The economy is resurging. We’re seeing economic and global investment in this country unlike anything we’ve seen before. In Oklahoma, we’re bringing back manufacturing with the aluminum smelting plant.

But the president’s not saying this. The president’s saying, “I love the inflation, and I don’t think about Americans’ financial situation.” Do those words help Republican midterm candidates?

Well, I think the president has a lot of time to say a lot more things because Election Day is pretty far away from now. I think we have two or three months left, and I think the president will make this case. 

But I think what will also make the case is that the candidates that the Democrats are running and nominating all across this country, who are now affiliating themselves with the socialist movement, are not actually fighting for things that will actually ever work.

Socialism has never worked anywhere it’s been tried, and I think that this is going to be an election between common sense versus crazy. Do you wanna run a candidate that hates Thanksgiving?

For the record, that candidate lost in the primary. She will not be on the ballot in November.

She did. She almost was there, though, and that’s the thing. I’m glad common sense won the day in Wisconsin, that the good people there love turkey.

I know that you say that the argument is based on how Democrats are out of touch, but we have talked about some ways in which Donald Trump has not lived up to folks’ expectations, particularly on things like prices and on things like the Iran war.

How does the GOP overcome that electability question? What is their message when folks ask, is their life better than two years ago?

I think we’ve got to lock in. I think we also need to prosecute the case that it’s going to be a lot worse under the Democrats if these crazy communists get into office. And so I think that when you’re looking at costs, we need to make that argument central. We need to make that what we lead with.

And I think that we have to pump the brakes on a lot of the international stuff. And I think that we need to talk about the things that are actually affecting people’s everyday lives at grocery stores, at gas stations, wherever it may be. And I think that is how we can kind of turn the ship around.

When we talk about the Democratic candidates, you’re saying the DSA candidates are far left, and we’ve certainly explored some electability questions for them and some ways that I think they might have stances that are misaligned with the American people. But so does Donald Trump, and he’s endorsed scandal-plagued candidates like Ken Paxton in Texas, like Max Miller in Ohio.

Why is that not just as much a sign of a conservative version of extremism, just as you are arguing that there’s a Democratic or leftist version of that?

Because I think you’re talking about folks who have dealt with issues in their personal lives, not necessarily their voting record.

Okay, maybe I should say Tom Tiffany, who didn’t vote to certify the 2020 election, but I imagine you agree with him.

Well, no, I think that was six years ago. I don’t think about 2020 anymore. I think about 2026 and I think about 2028. So when I look at that … it’s important that we really make the case for crazy communism versus common sense. And I think that the American people are not going to vote for that.

I guess I’m saying, does Donald Trump win the commonsense argument? Like, isn’t crazy versus commonsense an argument that Democrats can make and say Donald Trump is said crazy?

No, because I think Donald Trump definitely wins the common sense argument when we’re running against folks who belong to a party that is now, you know, waging a war against Thanksgiving, who believe that biological men should be playing women’s sports. Again, these are 80/20 issues, and so I actually really like our odds here.

It’s going to be hard, right? It’s always hard for the party that controls the White House to fare all too well in any midterm election. But I think that we’re going to overperform. I think we’re going to hold onto the Senate. The House will be a dogfight, but I like our chances.

This story appeared in The Logoff, a daily newsletter that helps you stay informed about the Trump administration without letting political news take over your life. Subscribe here.

Welcome to The Logoff: President Donald Trump’s ballroom is still happening. 

What’s the latest? On Friday, Supreme Court Chief Justice John Roberts stayed a lower court injunction threatening to halt construction on Trump’s East Wing ballroom, hours before it would have taken effect. 

The order came from Roberts alone, and it isn’t final. But the new stay will remain in place “pending further order” (likely, the Court’s full decision), allowing construction to continue for now. It’s the latest in a series of escapes for the project, despite adverse rulings in lower courts. 

What have other judges said? Earlier this month, the DC Circuit Court of Appeals upheld a previous district court ruling that Trump had exceeded his authority in unilaterally pursuing the ballroom project and would need to seek congressional approval to continue. (Trump, meanwhile, has attempted to justify the project on national security grounds, describing it as a “Military Complex” and its opponents as “TREASONISTS.”)

Both the appeals court decision and the previous district court decision had been paused, however, to allow the appeals process to play out. That pause would have expired on Friday, but for Roberts’s order. 

How far along is the project? Trump has been working fast. According to Trump’s solicitor general, the ballroom was already 65 percent complete last week, standing around 70 feet tall and five stories below ground. Crews have been working on the project nearly around the clock — 20 hours per day, seven days a week. 

What else should I know? When the full Supreme Court does weigh in, it could have implications far beyond just the ballroom. 

As my colleague Ian Millhiser explained earlier this week, the ability of the plaintiffs challenging the ballroom to bring their case in the first place hinges on the “aesthetic injury” theory of standing, which also underpins a great deal of US environmental law. If the Court clears the way for the ballroom, those laws could go with it.

And with that, it’s time to log off…

Hi readers, happy Friday! If you’re looking for something to do this weekend, you could take my colleague Adam Clark Estes’s suggestion and rescue some of your favorite photos from your phone’s camera roll by printing them out. He explains why it’s worth doing — and how to do it — here (it’s a gift link).

Have a great weekend, and we’ll see you back here on Monday!