Last week, House Democrats voted on an amendment that would have cut $3.3 billion in annual US military aid to Israel from a State Department funding bill. The amendment was brought to the floor by Rep. Thomas Massie, an outgoing Republican from Kentucky. It failed 314-104, but 103 Democrats — nearly half of the House Democratic caucus — supported it, signaling a significant shift in the party’s longstanding support for aid to Israel.

In 2024, a similar vote came up in the House to cut military aid to Israel. Then, just 37 House Democrats voted for the measure. Now, two years later, 103 House Democrats voted to cut funding. That shift in support was accelerated after the October 7 Hamas attacks and Israel’s subsequent military campaign in Gaza, which has killed large numbers of Palestinian civilians. The debate is also playing out in Democratic primaries across the country. In New York and Colorado, Democratic socialist candidates who have sharply criticized Israel and opposed continued US military aid recently won House primaries.

Historically, Jewish Americans have overwhelmingly identified with and voted for the Democratic Party, while Democratic lawmakers have generally supported Israel and US military assistance to the country. In 2016, the Obama administration signed a 10-year memorandum of understanding (MOU) with Israel, committing the US to seek $38 billion in military assistance for fiscal years 2019 through 2028. Congress must vote to approve this funding, so the shift in Democratic support of Israel could have real consequences.

There is still a very strong support for Israel among many House Democrats, but the shifting views are notable. House Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries opposed the Massie amendment, arguing that it was overly broad and could jeopardize humanitarian assistance. But in a letter addressed to his House colleagues he also called for a “major reset” in US policy toward what he described as Israel’s “far-right Netanyahu government.”

Today, Explained host Sean Rameswaram spoke with Democratic Rep. Brad Schneider, who represents Illinois’s 10th Congressional District, and remains a strong supporter of Israel.

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. 

Can you walk us through last week’s vote? You voted against the measure to cut aid to Israel, and a lot of your colleagues obviously did not. How did that play out for you?

Growing up in the ’60s, ’70s, and for the last 65 years, I fundamentally believe that the US-Israel relationship is important. I also believe that the aspiration for peace in the Middle East, not just between Israelis and Palestinians, but broadly throughout the region, is something that is in the United States’s interest and the interest of the people in the region. So this is not a new issue to me, and it’s something I thought long and hard about. 

Tom Massie doesn’t believe any of that. His intentions with this amendment were anything but pure. It was hastily crafted and poorly written. And one of the biggest issues with it is not only does it [not] address this 10-year memorandum of understanding, something negotiated by President Obama eight years ago, but there are also two years left on the MOU. 

It was a messaging bill and nothing more, and it was a negative message. I voted no because I think if we’re going to move toward peace, we need to do so in a constructive way. A lot of my colleagues were saying we need to send a message to the Netanyahu government.

“I have to hold onto that optimism for the prospects of peace because the alternative is too dark.”

I’ve been extremely critical of this government, their failure to address the settler violence in the West Bank, the failure to plan for a day-after in Gaza following what was a horrific war. If we’re going to move towards peace, if we’re going to find a path where Israelis and Palestinians can live side by side and the region can have the peace they deserve. Because we’re not just talking about Israelis and Palestinians; there’s progress being made between Lebanon and Israel in giving Lebanon, the people of Lebanon, the liberty and freedom they all deserve. 

Can I ask you if you still take money from AIPAC? And if so, how much?

I appreciate the support I get from people who care about the issues that I advocate for. So people who are pro-Israel, pro-US-Israel relationship are likely to support me because I’m pro-US-Israel, pro-US-Israel relationship. I’m also pro-addressing gun safety and reducing gun violence in this country. So I get the support of those groups. The support I get doesn’t determine my positions. I think my positions determine who supports me. 

Has your position on Israel shifted at all since October 7th, or at any point in your political career? And if so, can you tell us how?

So my position hasn’t changed because I’ve always been committed to promoting peace between Israelis and Palestinians and finding a path where both can live together, which I believe ultimately is two states: a Jewish democratic state of Israel, and a Palestinian state living side by side. My frustration with the current Israeli government has grown and continues to grow. Every conversation I have with them, whether it’s the US ambassador to Israel, whom I’ve had the privilege of working with many times, or my meetings with Prime Minister Netanyahu. I’ve had an engagement with the prime minister going back now for almost 30 years. But in the last several years, every single conversation I have with them talks about the need to address settler violence, the need to get humanitarian aid.

One of the things that I am proud of and will say loudly and proudly is that immediately after October 7th, as the war began, my team and I worked hard to push for humanitarian aid into Gaza to do everything we could to make sure that the civilians who were always caught in the middle of any war wouldn’t suffer more than they did. And the suffering was horrific. And I did challenge Israel when they made what I’ll call ill-conceived, ill-advised, in some cases illegal decisions to deprive humanitarian relief from entering Gaza. We pushed hard, and we worked with the Egyptians to get the Rafah crossing open. We pushed the Israelis to open the Karam Shalom crossing. And to not just get aid to those crossings, but get aid into and across the territories within Gaza.

Why are you so optimistic about the situation? 

I am always going to be optimistic. I have to hold onto that optimism for the prospects of peace because the alternative is too dark. And let’s separate the issue for folks living in the region and the folks living here. And for the Israelis and Palestinians, these are two peoples who are totally traumatized — traumatized not just over the last couple of years, but for decades. So I recognize the trauma that Israelis have and are experiencing, and I recognize the trauma that the Palestinians have and are experiencing. And that’s part of what I feel is my obligation: to hold onto that optimism and speak to a better future and work to try to find ways to bring the parties on both sides of the issue together to make the hard choices and take the risk to get to a path to peace.

So the reason I’m holding onto optimism — and it’s not 24/7; I have my moments when I am down and where I feel like the hill we’re climbing is just too steep — is you take a deep breath and you dig deep, and you say, I can’t give up on hoping and working towards peace because otherwise peace is never going to happen. And I want to find people who are like-minded.

And that is not just on the Israeli side of the equation. We have to find people on the Palestinian side, and for those on the Palestinian side, we have to find Israelis. And I meet, and I spend time with them on a regular basis. They come to my office. When I’m in the region, I talk to them. We have to strengthen and empower those voices who believe that peace will only come when the Israelis see the Palestinians as a people worthy of engagement and a shared future, and the Palestinians see the Israeli as a people worthy of engagement and a shared future, and recognize that until they get there, there’s no future for either side. We’ve got to have a path where both are pointing in the same direction.

There was an unintentionally revealing moment in acting Attorney General Todd Blanche’s confirmation hearing last week. After Sen. John Kennedy (R-LA) asked Blanche whether he and President Donald Trump are friends, the leader of the United States Department of Justice replied, “I’m his lawyer,” before correcting himself and saying he “was his lawyer.”

Blanche previously defended Trump in three criminal cases brought while the president was out of office, but he is emphatically not supposed to be Trump’s lawyer right now. As acting attorney general — Blanche currently leads the DOJ because the attorney general’s job is vacant and Blanche is the Senate-confirmed deputy attorney general (DAG) — Blanche’s client is the United States, not the person who happens to occupy the White House. 

But it’s easy to see why he misspoke: Blanche has largely acted as Trump’s hammer since he was confirmed as the DOJ’s No. 2 official, overseeing numerous prosecutions of Trump’s perceived enemies. Now Trump wants to promote him to the DOJ’s top job — a sign of Trump’s confidence in his former criminal defense lawyer turned personal enforcer.

It’s unusual for a president to put his own defense lawyer in such a powerful position — indeed, it’s unusual for a president to have a criminal defense lawyer at all. But Trump has a long string of attorneys who’ve defended him and his companies against an equally long string of criminal allegations ranging from tax fraud, to falsifying business records, to illegally taking classified documents, to charges arising from his failed attempt to steal the 2020 presidential election. 

And he’s put at least five of those criminal defense lawyers in top federal jobs. 

Trump’s decision to turn much of his criminal legal team into powerful government officials matters for two big reasons. The first is that two members of that team, Blanche and Solicitor General John Sauer, are leaders within the Justice Department. Next to the military, there is no more fearsome government institution than the DOJ, which has the power to arrest people and try them for federal crimes. 

The DOJ is supposed to exercise this authority with restraint — and often with restraints imposed by the Constitution itself — but Blanche has used the Justice Department’s power against Trump’s political enemies who appear to have committed no crime and removed constraints on Trump and his Justice Department, all while Sauer has worked consistently to convince the Supreme Court to remove other constraints on Trump.

Meanwhile, three of Trump’s former criminal lawyers, Emil Bove, Justin Smith, and Matthew Schwartz, now have lifetime appointments as US Court of Appeals judges, placing them one rung on the judicial ladder down from the Supreme Court. The judiciary, of course, is the branch of government that is supposed to prevent the president from breaking the law, so every Trump loyalist appointed to this branch weakens the remaining legal constraints on Trump and his administration.

Trump, of course, isn’t the only president to place close confidants in the Justice Department or the federal bench. President John F. Kennedy famously named his brother attorney general. President Lyndon B. Johnson appointed Abe Fortas, who represented him in a 1948 election dispute, to the Supreme Court in 1965.

But Trump’s decision to place someone willing to pursue his personal vendettas in charge of the Justice Department is, at the very least, a break with post-Watergate norms established to prevent the DOJ from becoming a political weapon. And Fortas, who resigned in disgrace after fewer than four years on the bench, is more of a cautionary tale than a model of good governance.

Although the current Supreme Court is dominated by conservative Republicans, some of these justices do break with Trump on questions that divide the Republican Party — such as whether Trump should unilaterally impose high tariffs on many nations. But if Trump gets to turn his personal cronies into justices, that could change quickly. A judiciary controlled by MAGA loyalists means that all remaining checks on Trump’s authority could end. Many of his former-lawyers-turned-appointees are already working to make an unchecked Trump administration a reality.

How are Trump’s former personal lawyers already reshaping American legal norms?

Smith, who worked on the Trump v. United States immunity case, was confirmed last month. And Schwartz, who worked on the false documents case that led to Trump’s conviction, joined the bench last week. So there’s not much to say about these two men’s record in federal office — yet.

But Blanche, Bove, and Sauer have all displayed ruthless cunning in their efforts to advance Trump and his causes.

Blanche has been DAG since March 2025, a role that oversees the federal government’s criminal prosecutions and its 93 regional US attorneys’ offices. He’s led the entire Justice Department since April, after former Attorney General Pam Bondi — another of Trump’s former personal lawyers — left office.

So Blanche oversaw several dubious federal prosecutions targeting people Trump perceives as enemies, including criminal proceedings targeting former FBI Director James Comey and current New York Attorney General Letitia James. There’s also evidence that Blanche has played an unusually direct role in the Justice Department’s decision to bring meritless charges against prominent Democrats.

In May 2025, for example, Newark Mayor Ras Baraka, a Democrat, showed up at an ICE detention facility in his New Jersey city and asked to tour it. He was briefly let inside the gate, where he was confronted by about a dozen law enforcement officers and asked to leave, which he did.

But then one of these officers received a phone call. A video, later submitted to a federal court, shows the officer turning to his colleagues after the call and announcing, “We are arresting the mayor right now, per the deputy attorney general of the United States.” That deputy attorney general, of course, was Blanche. (In a September court filing, DOJ confirmed that officers arrested Baraka “after consulting with the Deputy Attorney General.”)

Yet, despite Blanche’s apparent decision to personally order Baraka’s arrest, the DAG forgot to check whether Baraka had actually done something that could support criminal charges. The mayor was only charged with misdemeanor trespassing, and those charges were dismissed two weeks later. At the court hearing formally dropping these charges, a federal magistrate judge admonished prosecutors for “using the immense power of the government to pursue weak cases or to make examples without sufficient cause.”

Blanche also unsuccessfully attempted to establish Trump’s $1.776 billion “anti-weaponization fund,” which would have been used to distribute money to Trump’s allies — including, potentially, Trump supporters who participated in the January 6 attack on the US Capitol. Although the fund appears dead after it received bipartisan pushback in Congress, a DOJ press release announcing the fund said it was “established” by the attorney general, a role performed by Blanche, and that the fund would be administered by five people chosen by Blanche.

Before Trump took office, Bove was Blanche’s law partner. Shortly before Bove joined the bench, he briefly served as principal associate deputy attorney general — essentially the DAG’s top deputy, which meant that Bove was Blanche’s right-hand man. In that role, he was often described as Trump’s “enforcer.” 

Bove spent only about half a year as Blanche’s lieutenant, but he managed to spark a mini-revolt in one of the Justice Department’s most prestigious offices during his short tenure. After Bove ordered the DOJ to dismiss corruption charges against then-New York City Mayor Eric Adams “without prejudice,” a maneuver that would allow the charges to be reinstated if Adams did not cooperate with the Trump administration’s immigration crackdown, seven federal prosecutors resigned rather than comply with Bove’s order. 

One was Danielle Sassoon, a former law clerk to Justice Antonin Scalia, a conservative icon. Another, Hagan Scotten, wrote in his resignation letter to Bove that “I expect you will eventually find someone who is enough of a fool, or enough of a coward, to file your motion. But it was never going to be me.” Scotten clerked for Republican Chief Justice John Roberts and for future Republican Justice Brett Kavanaugh.

Meanwhile, a whistleblower complaint by another former DOJ lawyer claims that Bove said, in a meeting about a court decision halting some deportations, “that D.O.J. would need to consider telling the courts ‘fuck you’ and ignore any such order.”

Trump appointed Bove to the US Court of Appeals for the Third Circuit last September. Federal appeals courts typically spend months deciding cases, so his tenure on the Third Circuit has thus far been less eventful than his time at the DOJ. But there are early signs that he remains loyal to Trump even after moving into an independent branch of government. Bove attended a Trump rally in December, a highly unusual move for judges who are supposed to remain nonpartisan. And the background image on his iPhone is reportedly an image of a defiant Trump raising a fist, or at least it was months after he joined the bench.

That leaves Sauer, who, as solicitor general, is tasked with defending federal government programs in the Supreme Court. That includes the Trump tariffs that the Supreme Court struck down last winter, and Trump’s unconstitutional attempt to strip many newborn Americans of their citizenship.

Despite these losses, Sauer has an impressive winning record before the Supreme Court, largely because the Court is controlled by six Republicans who are highly sympathetic to Trump and his agenda. This is, after all, the same Court that said that Trump may use the powers of the presidency to commit crimes, after Sauer argued as much. 

Sauer has been particularly effective in persuading the Republican justices to block lower court rulings against Trump on the Court’s “shadow docket,” a once rarely used mix of emergency motions and other matters that became a routine part of Supreme Court litigation during Trump’s first term.

So Trump has taken several of his personal lawyers and transformed them into some of the most well-credentialed — and in some cases, the most powerful — figures in the legal profession. Thus far, the evidence suggests that these individuals remain loyal to Trump, even when they move into jobs that are supposed to be nonpartisan. Three of them already have lifetime appointments. 

Any nation governed by the rule of law must have government officials who will obey whatever constraints the law imposes — whether they be federal agency leaders who follow the law out of a sense of duty, or judges who rein in executive branch leaders who refuse to do so. Institutions like the Department of Justice also depend on informal norms, many of which are a response to similar abuses of power during the Nixon administration, that have long constrained federal prosecutors.

But Trump’s DOJ is often actively hostile to these norms, and the growing legal power of Trump’s personal lawyers is just the latest example. Their steady reshaping of the judiciary clears the way for a federal government that is not constrained by anything.

In 2019, the AI researcher Rich Sutton published a short essay called “The Bitter Lesson.” Seventy years of AI research, he argued, kept demonstrating the same thing: The most effective ways to train AI rely on raw, brute-force computing power — simply scaling up — rather than clever approaches built on human insight. It didn’t matter how elegant the researchers’ work was. More compute would win every time. It’s a bitter lesson because, well, no one wants to accept that even the best efforts can go unrewarded.

This summer, climate change has been teaching its own kind of bitter lesson. Last week smoke from out-of-control Canadian wildfires reached more than 120 million Americans, sending out air quality alerts across 18-plus states from Minnesota to Virginia. Those wildfires, which were made more likely by the effects of climate change, followed record-breaking heat waves in Europe that contributed to the deaths of thousands of people.

Disasters like these inevitably renew calls for climate action, but no current US emissions policy, no amount of carbon cutting now, could clear the air, just as nothing Europe has done on climate — and it has done more than any other region, at no small cost — could protect it from those killer temperatures. Not this summer, not this decade, not the one after. The steps countries take now to reduce carbon emissions, to mitigate climate change, will not protect them from the present-day effects of climate change.

That’s the bitter lesson of climate change, and 2026 is the summer it has become unignorable. The dangerous effects we’ve been warned about are here, locked in on every timescale that matters to the people living through them. We can’t prevent the worst from happening right now, so we need to figure out how we’re going to adapt to it. 

The smoke we can’t stop

Canadian wildfire smoke is as close to an unstoppable disaster as exists today. The fires are Canada’s, the ignition is mostly lightning, the fuel is a subcontinent of boreal forest no fire agency can manage, and the whole system sits outside US jurisdiction. While strategies like prescribed burning and forest thinning can help reduce the wildfires that crop up in the western US, the sheer scale of Canadian forests makes such management far more difficult, maybe impossible. There is no timescale on which American mitigation clears American air of Canadian wildfire smoke. 

What this means is that for this wildfire smoke, at this moment, adaptation may be all there is.

American law has already conceded the point. Under the Clean Air Act’s Exceptional Events Rule, a state can petition the Environmental Protection Agency to strike wildfire-smoke days from the record used to judge whether its air is legally clean. In other words, the official response to one of the country’s fastest-growing air-quality threats is to delete it from the ledger. 

It’s true that climate attribution science ties heat waves to warming with the highest confidence of any extreme, while wildfire is messier — a compound event filtered through ignition, fuel, and fire weather. But fire seasons are lengthening, fuels are drying, and the most extreme wildfire events on Earth more than doubled between 2003 and 2023. The pattern is intensifying fire in particular regions — the boreal north among them — and the smoke goes where the wind says.

And that smoke is worse than it looks. Wildfire PM2.5 — the microscopic particles that are particularly dangerous —  is roughly three to four times more toxic to the lungs, per unit of mass, than ordinary urban particulate matter. During major smoke events, pediatric asthma visits can spike by more than 30 percent, and Harvard researchers have found the cardiorespiratory damage persists for months after the sky turns blue again. That’s especially dangerous for vulnerable populations like babies and pregnant women.

We can’t affect the winds, we struggle to stop the fires, and any current attempt to reduce warming enough to make those infernos less likely won’t be felt for years. But that doesn’t mean we’re helpless to protect ourselves from wildfire smoke, any more than we are from extreme heat.

We can purify indoor air, and it costs less than you probably think. Strap four furnace filters to a box fan — creating a Corsi-Rosenthal box — and indoor PM2.5 drops by roughly half; in testing during actual wildfire smoke, a DIY unit cut fine particles by about 56 percent in a large room and close to 99 percent in a small sealed one.

For heat, the toolkit is even better known — and one of the best proofs it works is in, of all places, France. The historic 2003 heat wave killed some 15,000 people there, most of them elderly and alone. The national heat plan built in its aftermath — tiered alerts, registries of vulnerable residents, check-in calls, cool rooms — cut the death toll of comparable heat waves by roughly 90 percent: When France hit its all-time record of 114.8°F in 2019, fewer than 1,500 died, per the Christian Science Monitor. A recent European analysis estimates a rerun of 2003 would now kill 77 percent fewer people in France than in a world that never adapted.

So technologies exist to protect ourselves. What’s too often missing are the standards, money, and the drive to deploy protection before the disaster arrives instead of after.

Catching up to today

When it comes to wildfire smoke, some governments are ahead of the game — and some aren’t. Washington state, Oregon, and California now regulate outdoor workers’ smoke exposure by air-quality index, under rules like Cal/OSHA’s wildfire-smoke standard; California funds “clean air centers” with upgraded filtration where people can shelter on bad-air days; Colorado’s Clean Air for Schools program ships free HEPA units to K-12 classrooms. A purifier humming in a classroom is essentially doing for smoke what a cooling center does for heat.

When it comes to heat, some parts of Europe are catching up. Barcelona now runs a network of nearly 400 “climate shelters” — libraries, museums, retrofitted schoolyards — with the goal of putting one within a 10-minute walk of every resident. For the first time, the city is keeping libraries open through August to do it, which, as anyone who has visited Europe in the late summer knows, is no small thing.

So adaptation exists, and it is saving lives. But this summer has also shown what happens when cities, states, and countries aren’t ready. 

In the US, the Midwestern and Northeastern states that spent last week under smoke alerts have almost none of the protections against wildfire smoke that have become more common in Western states, and no one is required to build them, because the country has no enforceable national indoor air-quality standard at all. In Europe, national heat plans are still reluctant to reach for the most powerful tool on the shelf. About one European household in five has air conditioning, compared to nearly nine in ten in the US, in large part because much of the continent still treats the machine as a moral defect. 

In both cases, rich regions that have largely taken climate mitigation more seriously than some of their neighbors aren’t pursuing adaptations they need. Which really means not taking climate change as seriously as they should. 

Accepting the bitter lesson

For a generation, adaptation was the word climate advocates were often reluctant to say out loud. In his 1992 book Earth in the Balance, Al Gore called adaptation “a kind of laziness, an arrogant faith in our ability to react in time to save our skins.” (He later changed his mind.) And in fairness, “we’ll just adapt” has often been a delaying tactic, an easy out for polluters. 

But the ground has shifted under that caution, because the projections did exactly what projections are supposed to do: they came true. 

Longer fire seasons, deadlier heat waves, smoke reaching places that never used to see it — this summer is the confirmation. And that changes what seriousness requires. If you’ve spent decades warning people that the effects of climate change are coming, you can’t treat readying for those effects as a distraction from the real work. None of this argues for easing up on emissions — each ton that isn’t emitted is adaptation nobody has to build. But preparing for what you predicted is what believing your own prediction looks like.

For AI researchers, Rich Sutton’s lesson was bitter for a specific reason. Those who resisted its conclusion weren’t foolish; they resisted it because it seemed to undercut all their hard work. They resisted it because it didn’t seem fair, just as it’s not fair that countries and states that have in many ways done much to mitigate climate change find themselves just as vulnerable, if not more so, than peers that have done comparatively little. 

But here’s the other half of Sutton’s lesson: The researchers who accepted it won. They stopped defending their cleverness and built what worked. That option is open to climate politics too. The atmosphere isn’t fair, but it is consistent, and it will deliver next summer’s version of this one on schedule. We can be ready. The bitter lesson is only bitter until you have the will to act on it. 

A version of this story originally appeared in the Future Perfect newsletter. Sign up here!

In January 2025, Linda-Gail Bekker stood inside a vaccine manufacturing plant and allowed herself to believe that the first HIV vaccine candidate conceived through African science and led by Africans might finally become a reality.

The vaccine would be built on mRNA technology, the same platform that had helped tame the Covid-19 pandemic. Bekker hoped it might finally crack the puzzle that had frustrated HIV researchers for more than four decades.

No virus has proved more evasive. Hundreds of HIV vaccines have entered testing; none has succeeded at providing durable protection against infection. And the need remains vast: In 2025, roughly 1.2 million new HIV infections were reported; anti-retroviral treatments have turned it into more of a survivable disease, but more than half a million people died from AIDS-related causes the same year. There is still no known cure.

So researchers like Bekker, an infectious disease specialist at the University of Cape Town, have more hope now, in part because there is finally a clearer idea of what an effective vaccine needs to do. It must coax the immune system into producing a particular type of protective antibody, a rare class of defender, capable of recognizing and disabling HIV despite the virus’s extraordinary diversity and rapid ability to mutate.

No one yet knows how to reliably do that. But mRNA is uniquely suited to the task of finding out, vaccinologists say. Thanks to the platform’s speed and flexibility, researchers can iterate rapidly through the otherwise laborious process of designing, testing, and refining the series of vaccine components needed to guide the body toward making those essential antibodies.

At the start of last year, Bekker and her colleagues were ready to put that strategy to the test. The clinical trial for their new mRNA-based HIV vaccine was just on the verge of enrolling its first participants. But the project depended on the same backing that had sustained HIV vaccine research for decades: US government funding. Washington had long supplied roughly 90 percent of the world’s investment in the field. Then President Donald Trump returned to office.

Within hours of his inauguration, Trump signed an executive order freezing foreign aid. The $45 million contract from the US Agency for International Development (USAID) that was supposed to fund clinical trials like Bekker’s disappeared, as did a web of other funds, many routed through the National Institutes of Health (NIH), that had helped fuel the field’s progress for years.

The timing could hardly be more cruel. After 40-odd years of chasing a shape-shifting foe, scientists believe they now know what kind of immune response an HIV vaccine must generate — and have in mRNA a powerful new tool for pursuing it. But just as many researchers have finally glimpsed a path to victory, the United States and much of the funding has pulled away from the fight. 

Pushing the envelope

From the outset, the target for preventing HIV was clear. Within a year of identifying the virus as the cause of AIDS in 1983, researchers had zeroed in on its envelope protein as the most promising point of attack for a vaccine.

Protruding from the virus’s surface in knobby clusters, the envelope protein acts like a molecular grappling hook, latching onto immune cells before pulling the virus itself inside. Without this feature, HIV cannot infect a cell.

Much as the coronavirus spike protein would later become the basis for Covid vaccines, this protein on the surface of HIV seemed an obvious bullseye. But identifying the target didn’t mean researchers could hit it. Most of what the immune system sees of the envelope protein is actually just a decoy. The parts that stick out and draw the strongest immune response are also its most changeable, differing from one strain to the next and mutating freely whenever antibodies close in, leaving the body to waste its firepower on a target that keeps slipping away.

Candidate vaccines kept making the same mistake. They would elicit plenty of antibodies, but not the kind that could keep up with the virus. Time and again, promising candidate vaccines generated excitement in the laboratory, only to come up empty when it mattered most in large-scale clinical testing.

The field’s fortunes started to change in the late 2000s when researchers began studying the small fraction of people living with HIV who developed antibodies capable of recognizing the virus’s concealed, conserved features. Though these hard-won antibodies came too late to protect their makers, they gave scientists a molecular blueprint for the defenses a vaccine would need to build.

As the field came to learn, these “broadly neutralizing antibodies” do not appear overnight but rather after years of battle with the virus. 

The challenge, then, was to design a vaccine that would not just trigger an immune response but guide a person’s immune system through the same evolutionary journey. This would require a succession of vaccine components to prompt a carefully choreographed process within the body, rather than the single, fixed target that suffices for shots against measles or hepatitis B.

It was a strategy rooted in rational design but dependent on trial and error. Progress would come through a steady stream of small proof-of-concept studies, each informing the next generation of vaccine candidates. Ordinarily, it would take at least a year — often longer — to manufacture and prepare each vaccine iteration before it could be tested in people. 

But then the Covid pandemic rocketed mRNA into the spotlight.

The mRNA advantage

mRNA technology upends the old recipe of vaccine development. Conventional shots work by showing the immune system a mugshot of the enemy: a killed or weakened germ, or one of its proteins, grown batch by batch in vats of cells or eggs. An mRNA vaccine takes a different route. Rather than supplying the mugshot, it supplies the instructions to draw one: a short, lab-printed strip of messenger RNA, the molecule cells normally use to ferry genetic directions from DNA to their protein-making machinery.

Inject the right sequence, and it will program the body’s own cells to become tiny factories, producing the target protein and presenting it to the immune system as if it were the real intruder. Because it is all just code, refining a design means editing text, not rebuilding a factory — the work of days, not months.

“We’ve been able to design vaccines in real time,” said University of Pennsylvania Perelman School of Medicine assistant professor Ted Kreider, who is a specialist in infectious diseases.

To HIV researchers, the appeal was obvious. HIV’s greatest weapon was its ability to shift and adapt. Now, at last, a vaccine could, too. 

The timing was ideal. Just as researchers were beginning to map the path to an effective vaccine, mRNA offered a way to move down that path at speed. With vaccine designs no longer bottlenecked by design and manufacturing, what once might have taken decades of stepwise vaccine development could, thanks to mRNA, be compressed into years.

Across a growing number of clinical trials, researchers are now testing different vaccine components, different sequences, and different delivery platforms, searching for the combination that most effectively nudges the immune system toward a truly HIV-thwarting response.

A paper published last month in Nature offered one such path forward, showing in monkeys that a painstaking sequence of eight shots could coax the immune system into producing potent antibodies capable of neutralizing a broad range of HIV strains. But even the study’s authors see a catch. “It’s still too many [shots] to be practical in humans,” said Dennis Burton, a professor of immunology and microbiology at Scripps Research who worked on the project.

Whether mRNA ultimately becomes the vaccine itself — or simply the tool that helps researchers discover it — remains an open question.

The fundamental challenge for now, after all, is vaccine design, notes Mark Feinberg, president and CEO of IAVI, a nonprofit research organization focused on developing vaccines against HIV. And for that task, he says, “the most obvious advantage of mRNA is simply the speed of getting an idea from the laboratory to the clinic.”

But if the technology reaches the finish line, researchers say it could offer other advantages as well. Because the protein is made inside the body’s own cells rather than in a lab, it folds and displays itself much as it would on the real virus, giving the immune system a more faithful target to train against. That way, when the real virus arrives, the body already knows its true face.

It also gives vaccine designers an unusual number of knobs to turn, notes Kristie Bloom, an mRNA vaccine researcher and molecular biologist at the University of Witwatersrand in South Africa. By altering the vaccine’s formulation, dose, or genetic design, researchers can shape not just the magnitude of the immune response but also its balance: favoring antibody-producing B cells, virus-killing T cells, or some mix of the two.

With mRNA, “there’s quite a bit of flexibility,” she said.

Not so fast

For all the putative upsides, however, mRNA does carry some baggage. There are concerns about public acceptance given the intense backlash and misinformation campaigns that followed the rollout of Covid-19 vaccines. And though those shots ultimately proved remarkably safe, with very low rates of serious side effects, a peculiar skin problem has emerged in early-stage trials of mRNA vaccine candidates for HIV specifically. 

In two separate trials reported last year, around one in 12 participants who received mRNA-based HIV vaccines manufactured by Moderna developed chronic urticaria, a form of persistent hives that in some cases endured for years. The vaccines encoded different portions of HIV’s envelope protein, yet both produced the same unexpected side effect.

The fact that the reactions appeared across distinct vaccine designs — but never before in Moderna’s other mRNA vaccine programs — has fueled suspicion that something about HIV’s envelope protein itself may be involved. Even so, no clear explanation has emerged. 

“We’ve ruled a bunch of things out,” said William Schief, a professor at Scripps Research’s department of immunology and microbiology who doubles as vice president for protein design at Moderna, “but there’s no smoking gun.”

Schief is continuing to investigate the source of the immune reactions. But not wanting an unresolved safety signal to bring the program to a halt, he and his collaborators have pressed ahead with lower-dose versions of the vaccine, betting that the hives will fade while the desired immune response remains intact. 

That strategy is now being evaluated in an IAVI-backed trial led by Bekker in South Africa. Known as IAVI G004, it has yielded encouraging early results. (Unlike the African-developed vaccine whose launch was derailed by the USAID funding freeze, this study is testing a different mRNA vaccine candidate, manufactured by Moderna.)

At the lowest dose tested, just one-tenth of the amount used in the original studies, the hives that had troubled earlier trials never materialized, Bekker said. Her team has since moved on to a somewhat higher dose, seeking the sweet spot between safety and immune potency. 

All of these discoveries and challenges along the way have helped map a path forward. “We know what we need to do,” said Barton Haynes, director of the Human Vaccine Institute at the Duke University School of Medicine. The task for them now is to move through the necessary iterations as quickly as the science — and the funding and political landscape — allow.

“A black hole”

When Bekker and her team learned about the sudden funding cut that would halt their African-designed, USAID-funded vaccine study in January 2025, they were already in Tanzania to prepare its launch. They immediately had to stop work on the project, which had been years in the making. “It was like falling into a black hole of depression,” she said. 

And the setbacks kept coming. With prominent vaccine critic Robert F. Kennedy Jr. overseeing US health policy, the federal government moved to undermine both vaccine science broadly and mRNA technology in particular.

The NIH, in addition to terminating dozens of smaller HIV-related grants, began winding down its flagship Consortia for HIV/AIDS Vaccine Development (CHAVD) program, which has long served as a cornerstone of global HIV vaccine research, while other federal agencies curtailed support for mRNA vaccine projects across multiple disease areas.

At the same time, South Africa, the continent’s leading center for biomedical research, found itself in the Trump administration’s crosshairs over allegations of anti-white discrimination. New federal research grants were no longer permitted to support collaborations with South African scientists, severing ties that had underpinned years of international HIV research.

“That’s a perfect storm to prevent us from building on the most exciting science HIV vaccines have had in 45 years,” said Mitchell Warren, executive director of AVAC, a nonprofit dedicated to HIV prevention access and policy. 

Yet for all the financial and political disruption, the scientific momentum hasn’t stopped. Philanthropic organizations and governments elsewhere have stepped up to help fill the funding gap, allowing key trials to move forward, although in scaled-down forms with more modest ambitions. 

The Africa-led effort that Bekker had dreamed of was salvaged, with emergency backing from the South African Medical Research Council, albeit in diminished form and built, in the end, on the same protein-based technology that mRNA was meant to leapfrog.

The only mRNA-based HIV vaccine study that is actually underway in Africa is IAVI G004: a program designed by US scientists, not by locals, and funded largely by the Gates Foundation.

A longtime backer of HIV research, that foundation is estimated to invest around $70 million annually — with $64 million being invested in 2022, and $70 million in 2026 — across a global portfolio of HIV vaccine programs. That’s a substantial sum, though only a fraction of the hundreds of millions of dollars once provided by the NIH, USAID, and other federal agencies. 

For now, some of that funding continues to flow. But even what remains is far from assured. The Trump administration’s proposed 2026 budget would slash the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases — the NIH institute that has long anchored HIV vaccine science — along with the Office of AIDS Research that coordinates HIV research across the entire NIH, leaving the field’s longer-term future in doubt.

“We’re not going to be able to fill the gap that’s been left by the US government,” said Nina Russell, director of TB & HIV research and development at the Gates Foundation. Still, she says, the foundation remains determined to keep the most promising vaccine programs moving forward: “We are super committed to it.”

All of these changes have left the research field daunted, but not hopeless. “It’s been a very disruptive time,” said Burton, who leads one of the CHAVD research hubs. But he remains convinced the field is on the right track. “The pieces of the puzzle are in place,” he said. “It’s obviously been a long, long journey, but you can begin to see the end.”

A higher bar

The funding crisis and political challenges are not the only forces reshaping HIV vaccine development.

For much of the HIV epidemic, which has killed over 40 million people worldwide, even a partially effective vaccine might have been enough to transform the course of HIV. Today, however, vaccine researchers are also competing against long-acting preventive drugs that can protect people for months at a time with just two injections. 

These drugs are an enormous step forward for HIV protection, but they also raise the standard the vaccine field must meet, Warren said. “The bar for a licensed vaccine that is going to have a public health impact has gotten much higher,” he said.

But these prophylactic drugs, which began as daily pills and have evolved into long-acting injectables, are only as good as the systems that deliver them. Cost, stigma, and the need for regular clinic visits have limited access in many countries with the highest HIV burdens. A vaccine, by contrast, that provided years of protection after a handful of doses could overcome many of those barriers.

That is precisely why many scientists view the current retreat of the US government with such alarm. After decades of disappointments and billions of dollars in investment, the field finally believes it has a coherent strategy for building an effective HIV vaccine. The fear is that momentum could stall just as researchers have begun to see a path across the finish line. As a result, what once seemed like a scientific problem increasingly looks like a political one.

For Bekker, the current moment feels all too familiar. In the early 2000s, South Africa’s government embraced AIDS denialism, delaying the rollout of lifesaving treatments and forcing researchers and clinicians to battle both the virus and the state. A quarter-century later, she says, the political opponent has merely changed address to Washington, DC, threatening once again to undermine the fight against HIV and cost countless lives.

“When politics interferes in science,” Bekker said, “that is the death of scientific progress.”

Bekker still does not know whether the vaccine she watched being manufactured last year will ever reach the people it was designed to protect. She and her colleagues still hope to carry out the made-in-Africa mRNA vaccine trial they spent years designing — if they can find a way to pay for it. But Bekker remains convinced that the scientific strategy behind it is the right one, and that mRNA may yet do for HIV what it did for Covid-19, rapidly transforming decades of scientific groundwork into an effective shot.

She only hopes politics does not succeed where HIV itself has failed in slowing the field’s progress. “We should only be fighting the virus,” Bekker said. “But we’re fighting the administration and its policies, and that is a waste of our energy.”

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 seemed visibly irked when asked about his plans for Iran on Tuesday. “You don’t know anything,” he snapped at a reporter who said Iran showed no signs of deescalating. 

You have to forgive the man his vexation — he is in something of a bind. The war in Iran, never popular to begin with, has only become more of a lemon since a tenuous ceasefire collapsed earlier this month. In the two weeks since, Iran has bombarded targets across the Middle East with missiles and drone strikes. The onslaught badly damaged US bases and, just last week, killed three American soldiers’ lives.

Now Iran and its allies, metaphorically drunk on their recent successes (…alcohol is technically illegal in Iran!), appear to be revving for a new round of attacks. Iran launched strikes on Kuwait, Jordan, and Bahrain this week, reportedly targeting both US bases and civilian infrastructure. And on Monday, Yemen’s Iran-backed Houthi militia also threatened to shut down a second key waterway that could further strain global oil markets. 

The world is running out of soldiers

The latest US casualties are a grim reminder that — for all the talk of drones and precision missiles — wars are still fought by actual, human people. 

But major military powers are running short on soldiers: The US, the United Kingdom, Germany, and Japan have all recently struggled to recruit troops. And the forces driving that shortage aren’t easily reversed. 

For starters, falling birth rates and aging populations have left many countries with fewer military-age adults. Being the right age is also only half of the equation. In the US, factors including weight, drug use and physical or mental health conditions would disqualify an estimated three-quarters of young Americans from military service.

Then there’s the military’s image problem: Polls show that young people around the world are becoming less willing to fight for their respective countries. And young Americans, in particular, have more negative views of both the military and the war in Iran than do their parents or grandparents.

There is another way to fill the ranks, of course…but it isn’t popular. The US ended its draft in 1973, and most Western militaries have similarly transitioned to all-volunteer forces. If the US did ever need to restart its draft, both the politics and the logistics could prove formidable. 

One link for later

➨ Treat yourself to a froyo. The go-to dessert of my misspent 20s is apparently very much back in vogue. But this time, it’s less about the zany flavors and maximalist toppings and more about wellness buzzwords like…protein and probiotics. Hmmmm. 

Before you go…

• Did you know…that carrots don’t actually improve your vision? The myth originated as part of a World War II propaganda campaign to conceal Britain’s development of radar technology.
• Today’s trivia: How many countries are in North America? Don’t look it up — just guess! (Our daily trivia generally comes from Vox’s daily crossword, but today’s tidbit comes from my colleague Sean Rameswaram.) 
• Yesterday’s trivia: Yesterday I asked you to name the Mesoamerican civilization that spoke Nahuatl. That would be the Aztecs — though 1.5 million people in central Mexico still speak the language now.

Welcome to The Logoff: President Donald Trump announced giant new tariffs on Canada, which are scheduled to start in 30 days. Now negotiators from both countries are scrambling to see if they can be avoided.

What happened? Late on Monday, the White House announced 50 percent tariffs on a slew of Canadian goods — including whiskey, cheese, down jackets, and (naturally) hockey sticks. Because the Supreme Court sharply limited his tariff powers earlier this year, Trump is invoking a largely forgotten and possibly defunct authority under Section 338 of the Tariff Act of 1930.

Previously, these goods had been covered under the USMCA, the trade deal Trump negotiated with Canada and Mexico in his first term to replace NAFTA. But on July 1, the agreement expired and the US declined to renew it. 

Why is Trump doing this? The White House claimed three key grievances: Canadian duties and restrictions on American alcohol, dairy products, and automobiles. Liquor appears to be a special irritant: All but two Canadian provinces have pulled US-made booze from government liquor stores, and even some Democrats have complained.

However, the alcohol boycott began as retaliation for the trade war Trump launched in early 2025, when he was talking regularly about Canada becoming America’s 51st state. Much like his effort to reopen the Strait of Hormuz, Trump is trying to fix a problem he caused in the first place.

Interestingly, the tariffs will not go into effect for 30 days. This suggests that they may be less a serious policy initiative than a negotiating tactic. 

What’s the takeaway: Trump’s lifelong fascination with economic warfare has survived the Supreme Court’s rebuke, and he continues to fixate on Canada as a special target of his ire. It is unclear why; both countries have suffered from the breakdown in bilateral relations. 

But whatever the motivation, the ultimate outcome is clear: Icy relations to the north are a permanent fixture of the Trump presidency.

And with that, it’s time to log off…

The Odyssey officially had the biggest opening of any live-action movie of the year, as the new Avengers: Doomsday trailer is greeted with yawns. Here’s to the new MCU: the Mycenaean Cinematic Universe.

If the US wanted to be the world’s police officer, then why not try to be its doctor too? 

Just two months before the invasion of Iraq in 2003, George W. Bush announced an ambitious plan to pump $15 billion into the global fight against HIV, stunning his allies in Congress, health advocates, and heads of state of the program’s intended beneficiaries. 

The President’s Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief, or PEPFAR, was the largest commitment by any nation in history dedicated to addressing a single disease, a disease that killed about 3 million people in 2003, most of them living in sub-Saharan Africa, and infected 5 million more. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Bush proclaimed in his State of the Union address that year, “seldom has history offered a greater opportunity to do so much for so many.”

On that, he was right. In the two decades to follow, PEPFAR would save an astounding 25 million people’s lives through lifesaving HIV therapies, and prevent millions of babies from being born with HIV in the first place, all at a cost of about 0.08 percent of the federal budget. 

And yet, in the wake of the Trump administration’s foreign aid cuts, one of the greatest achievements in American history is now at risk. PEPFAR, mercifully, still exists, saved from the sledgehammer by an outpouring of bipartisan support last February. But experts say the program has been transformed beyond recognition by countless small cuts, and the abrupt gutting of global health architecture, reshaped not by decades of accumulated wisdom around HIV prevention, but by at times absurdly petty ideology.

Over the past year, more than 77 percent of PEPFAR grantees have lost funding or had their payments delayed, according to a survey released Tuesday by the HIV research group amfAR. 

Nearly two-thirds of grantees — especially those supporting vulnerable populations such as LGBTQ people, young women, and sex workers — said the cuts had disrupted their ability to offer HIV treatments and other services. The Trump administration released limited data showing a deep reduction in HIV prevention services, but a relative consistency in access to treatment earlier this year. However, this new survey paints one of the first pictures available of how PEPFAR cuts are actually being felt on the ground, and how the administration’s priorities are reshaping who and what gets funded.

According to the survey’s authors, at least 1,700 HIV-related sites or clinics have shut down as a result of cuts. Well over 16,000 health workers — including those going door to door to make sure pregnant parents get tested for HIV or children get on treatment — have lost their jobs. 

Many organizations surveyed reported receiving emails when their PEPFAR grants were terminated, noting that their work violated President Donald Trump’s executive order against “unlawful diversity, equity, and inclusion.” It appears, they say, that many of these groups were flagged not because they embraced the distinctly American concept of DEI in their work, but because their name or mission description included a phrase like “gender” or “LGBTQ.”  

A health clinic serving survivors of domestic violence in Mozambique, for example, might now be flagged just for using the phrase “gender-based violence” in their name. This may be part of the reason why even pregnant women — who even the Trump administration has emphasized as a critical demographic in its HIV goals — have lost access to services. 

Back in 2003, Bush defied conservative critics in his own party who attempted to redirect PEPFAR funding to abstinence-only programs. For decades, American presidents have been able to see past their ideology in service of saving lives. They largely understood that contraceptives like condoms and special interventions for those most at risk, including LGBTQ people, were necessary for stopping the spread of HIV. Under the Trump administration, this norm is unraveling. 

“This administration has zero interest in addressing clinical outcomes for vulnerable people with HIV,” said Asia Russell, executive director of the advocacy group Health GAP, who noted that “to be effective, HIV prevention and treatment services actually have to go where the disease is, and that risk is not evenly distributed,” surging in certain geographies like South Africa or within key populations like trans people or young women. Getting support to these groups is “morally right,” she said, but it is also “the only way to do effective HIV work, regardless of your stance on the morals or the merits.”

The fight against HIV is running on fumes

When HIV aid does get doled out these days, it is distributed with far less transparency than in the past, and in ways that often appear to be ideologically or politically driven, both in terms of the populations they serve and the countries they operate in, rather than guided by best practices. 

In theory, lifesaving HIV care was exempted from sweeping aid cuts last year. But in reality, access to even the most basic HIV services and treatments has also atrophied across the board, while falling disproportionately on at-risk populations. 

That’s come both in the form of direct cuts and as a byproduct of broader disruptions to the kind of outreach services, testing, and socioeconomic programs that get patients in the door to begin with. 

“You can’t cut pieces of the architecture of how PEPFAR functions and expect to maintain a really robust treatment program in the long term,” said Jennifer Sherwood, director of research and public policy at amfAR. “If you cut the testing program, the prevention programs, the kind of services that allow people to stay in care and return to care, you’re going to see that you can’t maintain a treatment program.”

The number of people getting on treatment for the first time has sharply declined over the past year, even according to the administration’s own limited data drop, while access to testing, contraceptives, and other preventative services — all critical to keeping infections down in the long run — face cuts that threaten their ability to function at all. 

To make matters worse, amfAR’s survey shows that services designed for the populations most at risk of HIV — such as sex workers, LGBTQ people, young women, and teenage girls — have been disproportionately affected by PEPFAR cuts. Among those who lost funding, a staggering 90 percent of organizations that serve gay and bisexual men were forced to slash access to PrEP — which strongly protects against HIV infection — and many stopped offering it entirely. The same was true for over half of organizations serving pregnant women, whose children now face a higher risk of contracting HIV in the womb.  

The majority of new HIV infections are concentrated in these “key populations,” as they’re known in public health parlance, many of whom face stigma or other obstacles to obtaining care. “One really powerful aspect” of how PEPFAR used to work, said Thomas McHale, public health director at Physicians for Human Rights, was that it consistently “followed the science and followed the epidemiology” to serve “groups that are at the margins of society.” That approach appears to have been thrown out under the new administration, and in at least some cases, actively discouraged.

McHale has been documenting the impact of PEPFAR cuts in South Africa in recent months, and “what we saw was a system under severe stress and strain,” he said. It is one in which a bisexual man stopped taking his HIV medications for weeks because the LGBTQ clinic he used to go to closed. “He just couldn’t bear the stigma of accessing services in a place that’s not meant for him,” according to McHale. Similarly, a young woman was forced to wait in line for 10 hours just to refill her PrEP prescription. 

“If we’re not focusing on preventing disease,” McHale said, “it’s just a more expensive and more devastating challenge to address in the future.”

Some countries may soon stop receiving PEPFAR funding altogether

As I’ve written previously, the Trump administration has attempted to remake foreign aid into a dealmaking enterprise, one in which money flows directly through national governments rather than through large, western-led non-governmental organizations or NGOs. 

In theory, there are benefits to this approach, because it prioritizes the expertise of local health groups and policymakers who are often best equipped to evaluate and address the needs of those in their care. In practice, however, amfAR’s survey shows that so far, under the Trump administration, local organizations have actually lost more funding and been forced to close more sites than international groups have. “These cuts fell heavily on locally-based organizations” while NGOs have fared somewhat better, said Sherwood, “and that really runs counter to all of our global health goals.”  

“I’m concerned because public health is no longer how we’re measuring success” when it comes to reaching PEPFAR’s goals, said Jirair Ratevosian, a senior fellow at the Duke Global Health Institute who served as chief of staff of PEPFAR under the Biden administration. He is especially alarmed by the decision last month to end PEPFAR support for South Africa, which has the largest HIV epidemic in the world. The administration appears to have done so in part because of Trump’s insistence that the nation is waging a nonexistent “genocide” against white Afrikaners. 

“If we’re not focused on preventing disease, it’s just a more expensive and more devastating challenge to address in the future.”

Thomas McHale, Physicians for Human Rights

“HIV control is not their chief concern,” said Ratevosian, who recently ran the numbers on a separate fissure with Zimbabwe, finding that cutting PEPFAR would lead to 75,000 new HIV infections in just one year. In South Africa, similar cuts could lead to over 2 million more infections over the next two decades, a toll that would invariably cross borders, and could threaten the world’s immense, hard-won progress against HIV. “You can’t have a global HIV strategy,” said Ratevosian, “if you’re not engaging these countries.”

Priorities shift under any new administration, and it’s not abnormal for an organization to tweak its language or services to adapt. But PEPFAR, the bipartisan program which began under Republican leadership, and thrived and expanded under three successive presidencies, including during Trump’s first term, has never faced such turmoil. 

“Even among organizations who didn’t lose US funding, we’re still picking up changes to the way they work, the populations they serve, the words they use,” said Sherwood of amfAR. Her group’s survey showed that nearly 80 percent of organizations that did not lose funding still altered the way their organization worked to comply with new policies. “This network of changes from the US,” she said, “are prompting a lot of changes on the ground.”

Gut health is everywhere right now. The hashtag #GutTok has over 6 billion views on TikTok, the global digestive health product market is worth over $60 billion, and viral trends that promise to “hack your gut” through miracle products, cleanses, and restrictive diets are all the rage. But what does gut health really mean, and what can science tell us about how to make sure our gut is in good shape?

The gut microbiome, a complex network of trillions of microorganisms living inside our digestive system, may hold the key to the mysteries of gut health. We have a symbiotic relationship with all of those little guys; we keep them well-fed and they produce substances that can benefit our body and brain. These microbes help regulate bodily functions, protect against disease, and recover from illnesses like cyclosporiasis, which is spreading right now across the US.

But with so many voices chiming in on gut health, pushing everything from probiotic foods and supplements to wellness shots and coffee enemas, it can be hard to tell what information is based on real research and what might just be a marketing gimmick or social media clickbait. Vox spoke to doctors and visited Cedars-Sinai in Los Angeles to bust some gut health myths for science-backed advice. 

Read more about gut health and gut microbiome research:

• Vox editor Katherine Courage’s book, Cultured: How Ancient Foods Can Feed Our Microbiome.
• Cedars-Sinai’s Human Microbiome Research Institute.
• The MAST program at Cedars-Sinai.
• Trisha Pasricha’s book, You’ve Been Pooping All Wrong. 
• Vox’s explainer video on probiotics in yogurt.
• Pew Research Center’s findings on why people look to influencers for health and wellness information.
• The Myths and Scientific Realities About Gut Microbiota.

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

If you’re looking to wean yourself off social media and replace it with a more productive habit — and who among us isn’t — a lot of the common advice can sound like it’s coming from a drill instructor: Go outside and touch grass. Routine is key. Get your butt in the chair and don’t get up until you’ve done the work. They might as well be telling you to do a hundred pushups while they’re at it.

As valuable as that advice may be when you need a kick in the pants, these imperatives create an uneasy tension between leisure and labor. It’s all well and good to try to turn away from the siren song of your phone, but how likely are you to stick with the alternatives — reading books, drawing, meditating — if they feel like homework? 

It’s a lot more fun, and a lot less arduous, to try to beat social media at its own game instead, and harness your curiosity. 

Social media apps work in part by playing off our natural curiosity. Every time we refresh the endless scroll, they promise to give us new information, capturing the parts of our brains that always wonder what’s about to happen next. But they rarely actually satisfy that curiosity. They just repeat it endlessly: What’s going to happen when I scroll this far? Or this far? Or this far? The answer is almost always: the same thing as last time.

Away from social media, however, the world works differently. If you get curious about a question off the algorithm, it can lead you somewhere new and interesting. 

Even when we begin with a utilitarian goal, curiosity can take us in surprising directions. A few years ago, I got interested in running. At first I would just lace up my shoes, do a few perfunctory stretches, and jog straight out of my front door. But I gradually became curious about the mechanics of what I was trying to do. I began investigating running form, which led me to theories about how you should be doing different kinds of running every week. From there I learned about how strength training was important to support running, and then weight lifting led me to nutrition. I’m still not a particularly fast runner, but I am a data bank on all the ways there are for a person to make themselves just a little bit faster, and I know there’s more for me to keep looking into.

The goal here should be to get away from simple goals (running more, as in my example) to a more open and adventurous experience of what interests and engages us (understanding how I can support my body when I’m running). The experience is simple: Find something that fascinates you, learn a little more about that — whether from your friends, a documentary, or even an old-school internet search — then try to figure out what new questions that opens up and keep asking them. It’s a process that allows us to become our guides, whether we know where we’re headed or not.

In a recent essay, the writer John Paul Brammer explains that that’s exactly how he got himself to read more. 

“Curiosity is a child,” Brammer writes. “When it wants something, when it truly wants something, it’s nearly impossible to keep its hands away.” Brammer found his way to reading by getting curious about David Foster Wallace, which in turn led him to Wallace’s influences: from Donald Barthelme to Thomas Pynchon to Clarice Lispector.

“I read out of strict obedience to curiosity, the desire to know what these words in this sequence might hold,” Brammer writes. “I had to make it fun at first. This was messy. I sipped from this book, then that one. It wasn’t formal or rigorous. I read whenever I felt like it.”

Where habits are mindless and rote, curiosity is something to be indulged: It’s fun, even hedonistic. Embracing curiosity means finding ways to play with art and ideas, as if they’re clay, instead of chipping away at them, as if they’re solid stone.

“The relevant science isn’t something I’m qualified to parse,” Brammer writes in his essay. But when I looked into that very science, I found that his experience aligned with it quite well.  

“If you link curiosity to the accumulation of knowledge, you can actually self-boost your curiosity over time, with the end result of more continued interest.”

Kou Murayama, University of Tübingen

“People have likened the state of being curious about something to an aversive state,” says Celeste Kidd, an associate professor of psychology at UC Berkeley. “It’s unpleasant, akin to something like an itch. When you have that aversive state, when you really want some piece of information, it feels very satisfying to scratch it. There’s all sorts of positive feelings that come with satisfying specific curiosity.” 

The endless scroll of our phone apps can function like a hydrocortisone cream, offering a balm for the irritation without really dealing with the cause. It’s not actually scratching the itch. To do that, you have to get curious about a question that can guide you through an idiosyncratic and looping itinerary that is never fully determined in advance. 

Writer and tech designer Celine Nguyen has written about letting her curiosity guide her down rabbit holes in her essay on “research as leisure activity,” a phrase she borrowed from librarian Karly Wildenhaus. Speaking to me, Nguyen describes getting interested in the way the rise of vibe coding is affecting app design. 

“This idea around shifting design processes made me think of this art historian Claire Bishop,” Nguyen says. Bishop’s most recent book deals with the way technology changes our response to contemporary art, and Nguyen says that “after reading that, I was like, ‘I really like reading about contemporary art and performance. What else can I read in this vein?’” 

Nguyen followed her new interest in dance to a fixation on choreographer Pina Bausch, and soon found herself scouring the internet for still images from Bausch dances. 

“It’s sort of like this pleasantly fizzy, almost like ADHD brain thing,” Nguyen says. “It sort of feels like I’m wandering around this massive information landscape and I’m just coming off all these images or all these reference points or quotes that speak to me, and maybe at the end of this process I can sum up what it is I’m interested in.”

The point at which you satisfy your curiosity can be dangerous. Once the itch is gone, the desire to learn can disappear completely — even if you don’t know as much as you think. 

Kidd describes a study in which she tried to motivate people to learn a new fact about something they thought they already completely understood, but were actually wrong about.

“When we paid them to look up the right answer, they weren’t motivated to seek out more information,” she says. “They did it, but it was like they were out to lunch. They were thinking about something else. That information did not go in.” 

According to Kou Murayama, a professor of psychology at the University of Tübingen in Germany, the best way to maintain your momentum is to marshal your ephemeral curiosity into long-term interest by letting the answer to one question prompt a new one, as if you were figuring out where to eat each meal in a new city by asking your waiters where they like to eat. 

“If you link curiosity to the accumulation of knowledge, you can actually self-boost your curiosity over time, with the end result of more continued interest,” Murayama says. “Curiosity is basically short-lived, but if it’s linked to accumulating knowledge, or if you can link it to your self identity or importance, then you can self-booster interest.”

The trick is to, like Brammer and Nguyen, guide your curiosity toward a topic that can keep surprising you over time. What that usually means is to look for a topic that you already know a little bit about that can keep surprising you.

“We’ve done studies with 7-month-old babies, and they’re seeking out particular kinds of things in the world that violate their expectations, just a little bit but not too much,” Kidd says. “It tends to be the case that people want to elaborate on knowledge they already have as opposed to going into other domains. If there’s some way to relate a desired new set of expertise to something that you already have some background in, that’s a thing that you could absolutely do intentionally.”

So if you want to find some creative outlet for your time — or even if you just want to read more — there are straightforward steps to take: Look for something that excites your curiosity. Look for something that you are uncertain about, something so maddeningly unclear that you can’t help but itch at it. 

This mystery doesn’t have to be about science or philosophy. It could be about what happens to a character in a particular thriller, or how to capture a likeness in charcoal, or what a certain part of your city looks like. The point is that it should be the kind of question that you can’t let go of.

Then indulge in finding the answer — and let that question prompt another one. Then another. Then another. 

Even as the US conflict with Iran threatens to escalate once again, diplomatic talks break down, and US and Israel officials again flirt with the idea of pushing for regime change, President Donald Trump remains reportedly very reluctant to send US ground forces into Iran. That would risk causing large numbers of American casualties and pushing a war that many Americans have largely tuned out, even if they oppose it, back to the center of public debate. 

But that, tragically, does not mean that American troops involved in the conflict are necessarily safe. The past few days have been the deadliest for US forces since an initial ceasefire went into effect in April. On Friday, two US servicemembers were killed in a missile strike on a base in Jordan, marking the second time in two days that Iranian missiles had managed a direct hit on the base. On Saturday, a third US servicemember was killed in Iraq during the attempted controlled detonation of a downed Iranian attack drone. Altogether at least 17 US servicemembers have now been killed since the beginning of Operation Epic Fury in February. 

The US escalated its own attacks on Iran in retaliation, including a strike against the missile base in Tabriz, Iran where the attack on Jordan is thought to have originated. Iran has also fired missiles and drones at targets in Bahrain, Kuwait, and Qatar in recent days, most of them intercepted, as well as at several commercial ships in the Strait of Hormuz, where traffic has again ground to a near halt.

If Iran’s ability to shut down the strait has been the biggest surprise of this war, it’s ability to hold targets on land throughout the region at risk, including energy infrastructure and US military bases, with missiles and drones, may be the second. 

This suggests the risks to the US military as well as US allies from Iranian retaliation may only grow, the longer this conflict drags on, even if Trump never commits to “boots on the ground.” The president has sought to portray this as a war where the risk of death and destruction is borne only by one side, and certainly Iran has sustained far more damage. But there have already been a number of surprises in this war and the risks to the American military may be higher than most anticipated a few months ago.

The growing risk to US troops in the Middle East 

In the early days of the war, the military began shifting troops and equipment from bases in Persian Gulf countries like Bahrain, the United Arab Emirates, and Qatar farther west to Jordan and Israel, where they are subject to fewer local restrictions and where they sit farther from Iranian missile launchers. Satellite imagery and subsequent reporting has revealed that Iranian strikes did far more damage to these bases during the first phase of this war than was revealed at the time. 

More distant US bases may be harder to hit, but they are clearly still within the range of Iran’s missiles and Shahed drones. Some analysts also say the shift may have created new vulnerabilities by concentrating US personnel and equipment in fewer locations. 

The missile strike that killed Lt. Tyler James Feehan and Pvt. Isabella Gonzales on Friday was one of four Iranian attacks against bases in Jordan in just five days. The Iranians in fact appear to be striking Jordan more than Israel in recent days, which could be because these targets are less well-defended than Israeli bases or because they carry less escalation risk: Israeli leaders, unlike Trump, are eager to rejoin the war. 

 US officials suggested to the Wall Street Journal that Iran is adapting to US air defenses by “firing missiles that travel at extremely high speeds and can maneuver as they streak toward the earth,” making them harder to intercept. The officials also suggested the Iranians may be receiving targeting assistance from China or Russia. 

Or it may simply be that if Iranians can keep firing missiles and drones, no system will be able to provide perfect protection. 

“What it actually shows is that Iran is in a lot better shape than was assumed,” said Nicole Grajewski, an expert on Iran’s missile program and professor at Sciences Po in Paris. “Contrary to a lot of the US statements from early parts of the war, Iran still retains quite a significant amount of missile and drone capabilities, and because they’re not operating now under constant aerial bombardment, they may have been able to reconstruct part of it.” 

According to assessments reported in June, Iran still has access to most of its missile sites and around 70 percent of its prewar stockpile. 

And while Iran still possesses the ability to punch, there are growing questions about whether the US air defense capabilities are depleting. At the time of the April ceasefire, the Center for Strategic and International Studies estimated, the US had likely burned through more than 1,000 of its roughly 2,300 stockpile of Patriot interceptors, and between 50-80 percent of the highly advanced THAAD interceptors, designed for use against high-altitude, long-range ballistic missiles. 

The Pentagon has been pushing defense manufacturers to accelerate the production and bring down the costs of advanced interceptors, but that will take months if not longer, depending on the system. In the short term, missile defense scarcity is going to continue to be a source of stress if this conflict escalates. 

“We do not have enough [munitions] to safely sustain operations, and I don’t think the White House is aware of that,” one US official told the Washington Post this week. 

The US no longer dominates the skies the way it once did

US troops in the Middle East have long been vulnerable to missile attacks. One particularly infamous Iraqi Scud missile strike killed 27 American soldiers during the first Gulf War in 1991. 

But the proliferation of one-way attack drones like Iran’s Shaheds have shifted the balance, giving weaker adversaries the ability to target US bases at low cost. The attack that killed the two servicemembers on Friday was, like many of Iran’s attacks in this war, a combined missile and drone barrage intended to overwhelm the facility’s defenses. The best-case scenario from these strikes, from a US perspective, is that they are intercepted, albeit at the cost of draining valuable air defense resources. In the worst case, US soldiers are killed. 

A strike on another base in Jordan in early 2024 by the Iran-backed militia group the Islamic Resistance in Iraq, during the war in Gaza, that killed three US servicemembers was in some ways a warning of the risks US troops would face in a scenario where Iran itself targeted them with its full capabilities. Since at least the Korean War, the US military has gotten used to fighting with more or less full control of the skies. As far back as 2022, Gen. Frank McKenzie, commander of US forces in the Middle East, warned that “air superiority is something that we no longer have all the time” due to the proliferation of low-cost drones, which he compared to the improvised explosive devices, many planted by Iranian proxies, that killed hundreds of US troops during the war in Iraq. 

Thankfully, US casualties in this war are still nowhere close to those of either Iraq war. Trump told reporters on Sunday that “We feel very badly” about the deaths but that “those great patriots were out there fighting so that Iran does not have a nuclear weapon.” In recent weeks, the main focus of the war has been control of the Strait of Hormuz, rather than Iran’s nuclear program. 

The hard logic is that just as high fuel prices and declining poll numbers have not yet been enough to deter Trump from continuing to fight Iran, a few American casualties are not enough to be a deterrent to military action. In fact, as this weekend’s retaliatory strikes against Tabriz showed, they may only pull the US deeper into the war. 

As long as Trump avoids a ground invasion, Iran’s ability to target and kill US troops will remain limited. But as this past weekend’s events showed, that ability exists, and there is only so much the US can do to prevent it. The risk of an even larger catastrophe for American troops in the Middle East will only grow the longer this war goes on.  

A decade’s worth of grudges and feuds between the Democratic establishment and the insurgent left is coming to a head in one election this year: Michigan’s Senate primary.

The contest between Rep. Haley Stevens and Abdul El-Sayed has somehow unearthed every fault line that’s divided the two factions over the years — from gender and racial politics, to Israel and Gaza, to questions of electability and fair play, to money in politics, and much more.

On one side there’s Stevens, a four-term House member who is the preferred candidate of the Democratic establishment — and of AIPAC, which has spent nearly $30 million to support her campaign. 

On the other is El-Sayed, a former public health official who’s been backed by Sen. Bernie Sanders, Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, and their network of supporters and fans. 

But the race has quickly gone beyond just them and become about something bigger — the national struggle for influence in the Democratic Party. 

“This is the quintessential contest between the establishment wing of the Democratic Party and the economically populist wing,” said Joseph Geevarghese, executive director of the left group Our Revolution.

In contrast, Jonathan Cowan, president of the center-left group Third Way, argued that nominating El-Sayed — a “super extreme candidate who will alienate lots of voters in the middle” — is a dangerous risk.

In this one race, the Democratic factions are relitigating the 2016 presidential primary, the 2020 presidential primary, and several major controversies of the past few years, all at once. And whoever wins will have to find a way to somehow unite the party and win a competitive general election against presumptive Republican nominee Mike Rogers. 

On gender and racial politics, we’re doing 2016 again

When Sanders challenged Hillary Clinton for the 2016 presidential nomination, her supporters frequently implied he had blind spots related to gender and race. They argued, for instance, that certain criticisms of Clinton (and remarks by Sanders) were sexist, and that Sanders’s poor performance with Black voters demonstrated the limits of his appeal. 

The discourse also sometimes focused on so-called “Bernie Bros” — online Sanders supporters who, critics argued, directed toxic abuse and vitriol toward people not in his camp. Sanders’s backers argued that the accusations of sexism were themselves a dishonest and inaccurate smear to distract from Clinton’s own shortcomings. 

All of this is happening again now in Michigan.

On gender, a comment from El-Sayed a few weeks back — he said Stevens was unable to “string together two coherent sentences” — was criticized by the Stevens camp as sexist. 

Then, last week, a video of an enthusiastic speech by Stevens on the campaign trail went viral as online El-Sayed supporters mocked her diction and delivery, viewing her way of speaking as self-evidently ridiculous. 

Seeking to tamp down this behavior, El-Sayed posted Friday that the way “people online” were making fun of Stevens “for things that have nothing to do with her policies” was “unkind and unhelpful.” He also told Vox’s America, Actually podcast that the accusations of him being disrespectful to women have gotten back to his daughter, and been hurtful.

Meanwhile, on race, a poll last week shows Black Democrats splitting 67 percent for Stevens, and 21 percent for El-Sayed. Days later, the Congressional Black Caucus PAC endorsed Stevens. Just like Clinton in 2016, Stevens is hoping support among Black voters who are longtime stalwarts of the Democratic base will be enough to carry her to victory. And just like Sanders in 2016 and 2020, El-Sayed is facing questions about whether the party’s left vanguard can expand its support beyond white, college-educated voters. 

“The progressive brand really, really underperforms with Black voters all around the country,” said Adrian Hemond of the Democratic advocacy firm Grassroots Midwest. “I think it’s worth Democrats, media, and people in the nonprofit blob asking themselves why that is.”

The establishment vs. insurgent tension, and the Obama of it all

In both of Sanders’s presidential runs, his team griped about the behavior of the Democratic establishment, arguing that they weren’t truly playing fair. For instance, they pointed to how the DNC initially scheduled very few debates for the 2016 presidential contenders, arguing the supposedly neutral committee was in fact trying to help the frontrunner, Clinton, by limiting attention on her opponents.

To Sanders’s supporters, the bitterest pill was the perceived late intervention of former President Barack Obama into the 2020 campaign just as Sanders appeared well-positioned to win the nomination. (Days before the crucial Super Tuesday primaries, two other candidates, Pete Buttigieg and Amy Klobuchar, dropped out and endorsed Joe Biden. Obama was publicly neutral, but privately called Biden and Buttigieg during this key period, raising speculation about his role.)

In Michigan, again, the Democratic Senatorial Campaign Committee is officially neutral, but Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer has long been understood to favor Stevens, and reportedly has privately asked donors to back her.

Obama, too, has become a flashpoint. An AIPAC-linked group has spent millions on an ad showing Obama praising Stevens — even though he has not endorsed her in this race. The praise is from comments Obama made during Stevens’s first House campaign, in 2018. (Stevens had worked on his presidential task force to rescue the auto industry during the Great Recession.)

El-Sayed’s supporters have argued that this is an attempt to mislead Michigan voters into thinking Stevens has Obama’s backing. “It is disgusting that AIPAC — which spent tens of millions attacking Obama — is now spending like crazy to lie and suggest he endorsed Haley Stevens,” Ben Rhodes, a former Obama White House official who supports El-Sayed, posted on X.

Others suspect that Obama does in fact tacitly support Stevens, and that’s why he’s letting the ad stand without clarifying things. (El-Sayed thought Obama was too “centrist” and “middle of the road,” he told Vox in 2017.) And yet again, people are fighting over 2016: Some Stevens supporters point out that Sanders used footage of Obama praising him in a 2020 primary ad despite the senator’s own criticism of the former president. 

Israel/Gaza, AIPAC, antisemitism, money in politics, Hasan Piker, etc…

Of course, the issue that has come up repeatedly in tense Democratic primaries this cycle — Israel — is present in this race in a major way. 

Many on the left argue that the war in Gaza contributed to former Vice President Kamala Harris’s defeat by disillusioning some of her potential supporters and dissuading them from turning out. The evidence that this phenomenon occurred in significant numbers due to Gaza specifically is thin. But it arguably may have been a factor in Michigan, where 2 percent of the population is Muslim and Trump worked hard to court disaffected voters with vague promises to end the war.

Here, Stevens is an unapologetically pro-Israel candidate who wants to continue US military aid to the country and does not believe Israel committed genocide in Gaza. (She said during a Hanukkah event once that “Israel comes to me in my dreams.”) El-Sayed, in contrast, has been sharply critical of Israel throughout this race.

The center-left group Third Way has spent months attacking El-Sayed for campaigning with left-wing streamer Hasan Piker, arguing that comments of Piker’s — that “America deserved 9/11,” and that a certain sect of Israeli Orthodox Jews was “inbred” — are un-American and antisemitic. (Piker has said he calls lots of different groups he dislikes inbred.)

Meanwhile, Stevens has been the beneficiary of that nearly $30 million in AIPAC-linked spending — a topic she generally tries to avoid discussing. The ads in question don’t talk about Israel at all and instead praise Stevens on other issues. “It is just a clear indication of where the base of the party is right now that AIPAC has to continually do this spending through their allied outside groups,” Dani Negrete of Indivisible, a progressive group backing El-Sayed, told me.

Electability and the question of: who can’t win?

After a decade of factional squabbling, the left and the mainstream factions have each honed their talking points for why, when a Democrat loses the general election, it’s the other faction’s fault.

To the establishment, left candidates are risky bets: They’ve taken positions that may alienate swing voters and are less dependable than candidates with longer electoral pedigrees. 

In endorsing Stevens this month, Sen. Gary Peters (D-MI) warned they needed someone who was “fully vetted.” El-Sayed’s supporters viewed these and other remarks from Stevens supporters as baselessly linking their candidate to Graham Platner, who dropped out of his race in Maine over sexual assault allegations that he denies. However, unlike Platner, who was plucked from obscurity, El-Sayed has been a political figure for nearly a decade and faced significant media scrutiny already. 

Another version of the critique is more about whether El-Sayed’s policy positions — for instance, his past support for defunding the police, and his backing of Medicare-for-all — are too far left for this swing state in the general election.

Meanwhile, the left’s argument for why establishment candidates flop is that they fail to excite the base and stimulate turnout. Therefore, they claim, El-Sayed is the safer choice.

Lately, this argument has focused on Israel and Gaza. Left commentators argue that the Biden administration’s support of Israel and failure to stop what they call a genocide in Gaza was a major — perhaps the major — reason Harris lost in 2024, because part of the Democratic base was disillusioned and didn’t turn out. So, some on the left have suggested, if Stevens is the nominee, Democrats are risking the seat by disillusioning the same voters.

The mirror of this argument, from the establishment, blames the left for causing this disillusionment. By criticizing rival Democrats in harsh terms and casting them as pawns of special interests, they prime their voters to sit out the general election after their own candidates fail to win the nomination. “Bernie Sanders is the reason that Donald Trump is president,” famed Democratic consultant James Carville said last week, arguing this was because Sanders convinced his own supporters the Democratic Party was corrupt. 

This fight has played out in miniature in Michigan. Stevens has accused El-Sayed of undermining Democrats in 2024 by backing the “Uncommitted” movement, which sought to protest Biden’s Israel policy in the primaries. El-Sayed, conscious of this criticism, has gone out of his way to emphasize his early support for Harris in 2024, in contrast to others who sat out the race. But he’s also warned that the wrong Senate candidate could recreate the conditions that led to her loss.  

Last week, a post from one El-Sayed supporter that he would not vote for Stevens in the general election went viral. “The Democratic Party needs to be anti-AIPAC, not pro-AIPAC, and it only happens if candidates like Haley Stevens don’t win in general elections,” Adeeb Hafeez posted on X.

The next day — after critics argued this could lead to an even bigger conservative Supreme Court majority — Hafeez walked it back a bit. He posted that he “may hold my nose and end up voting for” Stevens after all in the general if she advances — but that he’d “be very uncomfortable in doing so.”

The exchange underscored the challenge for Democrats in coming together after the primary. No matter who wins, they’ll carry the scars of not only this race, but election after election pitting left-wing candidates against moderates, each of which have left behind bruised feelings and mutual suspicion. 

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

The first thing you need to know about the UK’s new prime minister is that he’s previously moonlighted as a DJ. 

Okay: probably not the first thing you needed to know. And sure: That DJ gig was for charity. 

But it still tells you a little something about Andy Burnham, who today became the UK’s seventh prime minister in 10 years. He’s widely seen as a pragmatic, affable, down-to-earth kind of guy — more Zohran Mamdani than Keir Starmer. 

As the long-time former mayor of Manchester, the UK’s second-largest city, Burnham won adoration for his focus on improving public transit and affordable housing. His vocal advocacy for England’s post-industrial cities even earned him the nickname “The King of the North.”

Burnham’s first speech as prime minister, delivered (without notes!) on Monday morning, doubled down on some of those populist themes — including the need to bring down Britain’s cost of living and address homelessness.

Political observers don’t expect Burnham’s policies to actually differ all that much from those of Starmer, his predecessor. (They’re both members of Britain’s center-left Labour Party.) And the fundamental relationship between the UK and US is also expected to stay much the same. 

Asked how he’d relate to President Donald Trump, Burnham said: “I like to think I’ve got some personality myself.” You can be the judge of that! There’s video of his 2022 DJ set.

Will Britain’s new PM reverse Brexit?

Here’s one place where Burnham does break from his predecessor: He wants Britain to rejoin the European Union in his lifetime. (Though he’s also promised not to relitigate Brexit.)

Call it a breturn or a brejoinder — it’s a tantalizing prospect for the majority of Britons, who now either have soured on their country’s 2016 vote to depart from the EU or never supported Brexit to begin with.

But undoing Britain’s break with Europe would be a monumental undertaking. First, the government would likely need a clear political mandate from British voters, either through a second referendum or a general election where a breturn figured heavily. 

Then the UK would have to negotiate its way back into the bloc…and convince all 27 member states to give it another go. Some could approve accession with parliamentary votes. But others, including France, could require national referendums of their own. 

“Countries have very different views of Britain,” one European observer told Vox last month. “There are those that still think that the EU is better off without Britain.”

One link for later

➨ Slow down time — or at least your subjective experience of it. Neuroscience research shows that both novelty and strong emotions seem to stretch time out a bit. 

Before you go…

• Did you know…that despite all the evidence to the contrary — license plates, hip-hop lyrics, etc. — a minority of American peaches are actually grown in the great state of Georgia? 
• Today’s trivia: Nahuatl is still spoken by millions of people today. But it was also the primary language of which former Mesoamerican civilization? (You can find this and other brain puzzles in Vox’s daily crossword. Look for the answer in tomorrow’s edition.)
• Friday’s trivia: On Friday, my colleague Dylan Scott asked you for a Russian name that means “holy.” That would be Oleg, as in Oleg Cassini — the Russian count turned designer who dressed Jackie Kennedy. 

Fermented food is the hottest new trend in the halls of the White House. Members of President Donald Trump’s Cabinet are reportedly walking about with jars of sauerkraut in the hopes that it will give them glowing skin and tiny waists. 

Wall Street Journal’s Liz Essley Whyte told Today, Explained co-host Sean Rameswaram that “Health Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. Commerce Secretary Howard Lutnik, Transportation Secretary Sean Duffy, and Vice President JD Vance are all on this eat-a-lot-of-steak-and-sauerkraut diet.”

So, should we all be eating jars of sauerkraut? Or are ferments just the new Florsheims?

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 your podcasts, including Apple Podcasts, Pandora, and Spotify.

Is there a name for this diet?

Kennedy calls it the carnivore diet. I think people mean different things when they say that, but for him, it includes a lot of yogurt, a lot of kimchi or sauerkraut, a lot of steak, a lot of eggs. Kennedy now travels with sauerkraut. His wife has said that he has asked her to carry it in her purse for him, and she has said, “I actually cannot,” which is an amazing phrase. It seems they all think their skin is glowing, and people online have commented that JD Vance is looking good.

Are we sure it’s not Wegovy?

We don’t have any public knowledge of that, but we do know that he is eating eggs, sauerkraut, pickles, blackberries, and raspberries for lunch pretty often — and beef and lamb with sauerkraut for dinner. Then, when he’s on Air Force Two, he snacks on beef jerky and maybe eats a hamburger with cheese, no bun, and a side of fermented vegetables.

Now that you’re mentioning the full spectrum of JD Vance’s diet, it’s kind of reminding me of their new food pyramid. Is this part of that?

Earlier this year, Kennedy and the other health officials like to say they flipped the food pyramid. They recommended a lot more fruits and vegetables, red meat — which was controversial — and whole grains, and whole milk, that kind of thing. They also, and for the first time in the nation’s dietary guidelines, recommended fermented foods, which was something that was actually agreed upon by a lot of people, and they thought that was a good part of this, even if they had qualms about the red meat recommendations, because those can introduce more cardiac risk and risk of bad cholesterol.

How widespread is this in the White House? Does it go up all the way to the top, to the president?

Given what we have seen of his recent public dieting, I don’t think so. At the Knicks game, he was eating pizza and french fries, and, you know, he still has his Diet Coke button on his desk where he just pushes it and a Diet Coke comes. Kennedy said, once said on a podcast about him, “I don’t know how he’s alive.” 

Does the science back this up, or is this some kind of quackery that ferments can make your skin healthier and help you lose weight?

I don’t think there are a lot of good studies that show exactly that sauerkraut can help you lose weight, but there have been a number of studies that have shown health benefits. Researchers have generally agreed that sauerkraut and other fermented foods can help with digestion and inflammation. There was a 2025 study from UC Davis that suggested fermented cabbage could protect your gut and protect against illness. Basically, they found that the intestinal cells do better with sauerkraut. They help maintain the integrity of those intestinal cells. And, in general, that has a lot of other good health effects. Mainstream scientists, dieticians, are pro-fermented veggies. This is not something that is hotly debated.

Most people in the scientific community are realizing there’s a lot of good fresh science out there about how important your gut really is in your overall health. The part of the diet that is a little more controversial is the focus on red meat. Obviously, that comes with some cardiac risk and some cholesterol risk. That is why when the new dietary guidelines came out and recommended more of that for Americans, that part, in particular, made some dietitians a little upset.

Do you think fermented foods could help people with this parasite that gives you explosive diarrhea?

I personally have not seen any studies on whether fermented foods help with explosive diarrhea, but let me know if you find one.

AI was supposed to make our lives better. Instead, it’s made many of us scared and angry. Communities are protesting against the building of new data centers — the warehouses of IT equipment powering the AI buildout — across the country, and increasingly they’re winning. And polling shows most Americans think AI is moving too fast.

So how did public opinion on AI curdle so quickly? Jasmine Sun, who reports on the industry from San Francisco, argues that the backlash treats AI less as a technology and more as a political project. “The debate was not about like, is ChatGPT useful to me?” Sun told me during a taping of Vox’s The Gray Area. “The debate was actually something more like, there are these big corporations and unaccountable billionaires…coming into my city, coming into my life and changing it without having any sort of democratic input?”

Filling in for Sean Illing, I talked to Sun about the rise of “AI populism,” the parallels with the Industrial Revolution, and how the backlash could crash into the 2028 presidential election. 

As always, there’s much more in the full podcast, which drops every Monday, so listen to and follow us on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Pandora, or wherever you find podcasts.

You’ve been writing about a phenomenon you call AI populism. How would you define that? What is AI populism?

I define AI populism as a worldview where AI is not seen as an ordinary technology, but specifically as an elite political project to be resisted. I came to the term while thinking about the AI backlash and the reasons people are increasingly anti-AI — whether that’s LLM slop, whether that’s Waymos in their city, whether that’s a new data center project. One thing that occurred to me was that a lot of times the debate wasn’t about whether ChatGPT is useful to me, or whether Waymos are safer than a human driver. The debate was actually something more like: There are these big corporations and unaccountable billionaires who are coming into my city, coming into my life, and changing it without any democratic input.

When I talk to people who are opposing AI in various ways, they seem more concerned with this concentration-of-power, anti-elite dimension — which is where I take the word “populism” — rather than classic AI safety concerns, which are more about the technical characteristics that might introduce risk.

You wrote a piece that touched on some of this but went to a darker place — “AI populism’s warning shots” — and you wrote about actual shots. Sam Altman, the CEO of OpenAI, was targeted by a Molotov cocktail and a shooting within the span of a couple of days. There was an Indiana councilman who voted for a data center and woke up to gunshots at his home and a note reading “no data centers.” Why do you think of those incidents of violence as warning shots of something to come?

It was pretty scary. I’m no Sam Altman fanboy, but it’s terrifying that assassination attempts are showing up in response to people’s worries about AI. One factor is that we’ve been seeing a rising wave of political violence and support for political violence in the US, especially among young people, over the past few years — the UnitedHealthcare CEO shooting, the Charlie Kirk shooting. Increasingly, a lot of disaffected, maybe nihilistic young people are turning toward political violence as a way to express political beliefs they don’t feel they have other channels for. Or maybe that person is just unwell. But I do expect to see more of it, because my theory of political discontent is that if people feel they have institutional channels to bargain for their rights — if they feel the democratic process is working, or they’re part of a union and believe their union leader will go bargain about how automation shows up in the workplace — they’ll most likely go through those channels.

When it feels like the official channels aren’t working, opposition becomes much more diffuse and volatile. That’s part of why, in creative communities, you’ll see people witch-hunting each other over AI use. I think we’ll see more political violence against people seen as AI leaders, or as supporting AI leaders.

That’s really scary.

Yeah, I’m quite worried about it. But again, my sense is that it comes from a feeling of — what else is there to be done, when you have this level of concentration of wealth and power, and there’s no democratic input right now into how AI is regulated or built?

It’s like a jump straight from complaining at your community meeting about the data center to an act of violence.

I was talking to some friends about this. During the 20th century in the US, there was a wave of factory mechanization and automation, but unions were really strong — often when a company said, “We’re going to bring in these machines,” they’d sit down with the factory union leader and say, “Okay, you can bring in the machines, but we’re going to couple that with a wage increase,” or a 35-hour workweek, or earlier retirement. There was a channel to make a deal about how automation would show up in your workplace. That meant people were more likely to accept it as something lifting all boats. I don’t think that’s happening now — most of the industries affected by AI aren’t organized in labor unions, and the democratic channels are questionable at best.

It’s like when people have agency to be part of the transition, the process goes a lot smoother. Is there a historical analogy for a technological change that didn’t allow for input from the people involved? I’m thinking of the Luddites.

The Luddites are a good example. When the automated looms were introduced, there was a lot of violence against the looms. The book I’d really recommend here is Carl Benedikt Frey’s The Technology Trap. He’s an Oxford economist who studied a ton of historical examples — in Europe, in China, all over the world — including the Luddites and 20th-century automation. His central question was: In what contexts do workers successfully stop automation, and in what contexts do they allow it to be introduced? How does the political environment, or the balance of power between people and their leaders, change the outcome? He found that when automation was introduced alongside social welfare policies — a higher minimum wage, some form of redistribution — people were much more willing to accept it, which is fairly rational.

I want to talk about Silicon Valley’s understanding of this backlash more generally. You’re painting a pretty dark picture, and you’re right in the belly of the beast in San Francisco — I’m sure you talk to people involved with AI every day. Is there a moment when it clicked for them that this backlash is real and something they have to take seriously? Or has that happened yet?

I’ve definitely noticed a huge difference, over the past six months, in how seriously people in Silicon Valley take the AI backlash.

Like what?

People just talk about it more. I’d bring up AI populism to people last year, and they’d normally say, “It doesn’t matter — technology always introduces some discontent, people get annoyed but they get used to it, like the internet.” That was the standard reaction last year. Not anymore. I think part of the reason OpenAI and Anthropic have felt pressure to introduce economic policy proposals around job automation is that they’re seeing how worried people are. The data center moratoriums and the broader data center backlash have been surprising and meaningful in getting AI leaders to recognize they have both a messaging problem and an actual problem with the product and the technology they’re introducing.

A lot of the increasing opposition to AI in Washington has caused people to see this too. At first, Trump — as you mentioned — was very pro-AI. He and David Sacks were accelerationists; they wanted AI to go faster and to block attempts at regulation.

He was the AI czar.

“The moratoriums, the regulation fights, even the booing at graduations, the literal assassination attempts — people in Silicon Valley have become much more worried.”

He was the AI czar — he’s no longer the AI czar. But it turned out a lot of other constituencies, both on the left and the right, were pretty opposed. For example, Trump and David Sacks tried to introduce a big federal bill that would preempt all state-level AI regulation — no state could regulate AI for 10 years. They tried to sneak it into a big omnibus bill so no one would notice. But members of Congress realized it was happening, and — whether for kid-safety reasons or frontier-safety reasons — people said, Wait a second, the idea of preventing any state from regulating AI for ten years is crazy. A lot of people organized in Washington to successfully stop that preemption. I think that showed the scale and bipartisanship of a coalition that was very keen to make sure it stayed possible to regulate AI was underestimated. As a result of all this — the moratoriums, the regulation fights, even the booing at graduations, the literal assassination attempts — people in Silicon Valley have become much more worried.

China is our big competitor in the AI race, and it certainly has all the conditions for a populist pushback to AI — youth unemployment is really high, and AI technology is in some ways more advanced at taking over real-world jobs. I was watching a video about fully automated factories and a robot pharmacist. You’re one of the rare American tech reporters who gets to spend time in China, and you wrote a piece that surprised me — you found there wasn’t really a populist backlash to AI there. Why not?

I was really interested in this question, and I was finishing my New York Times piece while in China for a few weeks, talking to both AI people and non-AI people. The main reason there’s not a big populist backlash in China is that there isn’t a lot of social unrest or populist backlash against anything — the entire MO of the Chinese government, the No. 1 priority, is domestic social stability. Any whisper of protest gets shut down; that’s why they have such strong speech controls. So one factor is that China doesn’t have much of a culture of resistance in general, whether in workplaces or politically. I’m not saying no one dissents — but it has a cultural effect too, because people don’t see it as useful or as an option. When I ask family members of mine in China about AI, sometimes they’re annoyed about specific things, but fundamentally, the idea of opposing AI is seen as almost unimaginable.

The other thing about China is that if you’re middle-aged there, you’ve lived through so many political, economic, and technological revolutions in your lifetime. When I was a little kid visiting Shanghai in the mid-2000s, there were no high-speed trains — now China has some of the best high-speed rail systems in the world. Technology has always gone hand in hand with dramatic economic advancement, with being lifted out of poverty. The modernization process has been aggressive and disruptive, but it’s not something the party has offered opportunities to resist, and it’s something most Chinese people still see as an inevitability that was mostly good for most people — because incomes did increase by dramatic amounts alongside the technological change. So I think people have a similar attitude toward AI: It’s much less about “Can I stop the AI wave?” and more “How can I take advantage of the AI wave to get ahead economically?”

We were just talking about this deep pessimism about what technology can bring us here in the US. I think a lot of people look around and think: We don’t have a cure for cancer yet, but we’ve sure seen our lives get worse in a lot of ways because of technology, social media, whatever. That pessimism probably fuels the backlash to AI, the skepticism about whether it can ever deliver on its promises. And that experience just isn’t the same in China, or probably much of the rest of the world, where technological progress has been faster and more concrete in people’s lives.

My 90-year-old grandfather said he’d love an elder-care robot to help him do tasks around the house so he doesn’t have to rely on his kids — he wants more freedom and mobility. It’s seen more as a tool to help individual goals. Even with the robot factories or pharmacies — one thing that struck me visiting a robot pharmacy was that the PR people happily said, “Yep, we’re doing these robots because human workers take too many smoke breaks and bathroom breaks and take too long.”

You’d never say that in the US, but they’re probably thinking the same thing — they just don’t say it. The other thing they mentioned is that this lets the pharmacy operate 24/7, because a lot of people need medications in the middle of the night and want to order via the DoorDash equivalent. There was actually a labor shortage before — Chinese workers weren’t willing to work night shifts — so these pharmacies are offering real consumer surplus. A significant percentage of orders come in overnight, when no other pharmacy is open. And with the factories, part of the issue is that Chinese workers, especially young people, don’t want to do factory work anymore.

“I think the 2028 presidential primary and election is really where I expect AI to become a centerpiece of the conversation.”

That anecdote gets at the promise and peril of AI, and the role of the backlash movement — which I’m still wrestling with how I feel about. On the one hand, I want to live in a world where cancer gets cured, where we live in an era of abundance, where things are cheap and easy to make because factories can run all the time with machine workers who don’t require anything — I want the future we were promised, of flying cars and everything working well.

But I also don’t want to lose my job, or see humanity wiped out by an angry machine god. Because we don’t really know what’s going to happen yet, it’s hard to work out my own feelings about the pushback here in the States — what’s appropriate, and what’s holding us back from real advances in our lives.

Totally, I agree. I like Waymos — I think they’re safer, and I’d prefer a safer robot car driv[ing] me around instead of me driving. I’m not a good driver; no one should let me drive. So I wrestle with some of the same things.

To close out the conversation — let’s come back to the United States. AI populism is brewing as a political force. We’ve seen it show up in a couple of races so far, but it’s early. We’ve got the midterms, then the presidential election. How do you think it’s going to affect American politics this November, and in 2028?

My sense is that this November, it’s going to be more about state and local races where AI really shows up. I’m going to spend some time in Michigan and Wisconsin this summer touring some of the data center sites facing the most opposition — those states also have contested governor and Senate races where AI and data centers have become a core issue, so I’m interested to learn more there. I think the 2028 presidential primary and election is really where I expect AI to become a centerpiece of the conversation — especially if we start to see some of the employment impacts people are expecting. As soon as we see something like a 2 percent rise in unemployment, if that happens, I think people will be very upset, and we should expect a ton of focus on the issue.

The other thing I’ll note is political opportunism — you’re already seeing a bit of this, where politicians are likely to raise the salience of AI above where people might ordinarily care about it, because it’s become a convenient boogeyman. It polls so poorly, people are so anti-AI and anti-data-center, AI billionaires are so unsympathetic, that no matter what your policy program is, AI is a great reason to push it. I think a lot of politicians who are being clever about this are going to move AI to the center of the conversation, raising its salience to manufacture urgency for proposals they’re already excited about. That’s definitely something I’m watching for 2028.

Last week presented a stark contrast in the trajectories of the Trump administration’s two riskiest foreign policy ventures. On July 13, the President Donald Trump formally declared a return to military action in Iran, making clear that a war that he had anticipated would last just four or five weeks will stretch past the five month mark and probably longer. Trump appears increasingly frustrated by Iran’s failure to concede to his demand to fully reopen the Strait of Hormuz, comparing the country to a “great boxer”: “You think you have them beat, and then all of a sudden he comes back and he gives you a shot.”

On the far side of the globe, however, the other country Trump attacked this term has proven much more manageable. Venezuela’s government — now led by former Vice President Delcy Rodríguez, who took power when Nicolás Maduro was captured in a US raid in January — agreed to talks with an opposition leader handpicked by the US that aimed at “strengthening democracy.” 

The New York Times reported earlier this week that US Secretary of State Marco Rubio is effectively the “viceroy” of Venezuela, ruling the country in absentia from Washington, DC. (“Viceroy” is traditionally an official who governs a country or colony as a direct representative of a monarch.) The US has direct control over the revenues Venezuela receives from selling its oil abroad, giving Rubio effective power over the country’s budget. The grip is so tight, the Times reports, that Rodriguez asks for White House approval before appearing on Fox News, much to Trump’s delight. 

Two different countries in two different parts of the world with two different responses to Trumpian military pressure. But when future historians tell the story of how this administration ended up enmeshed in exactly the sort of Middle East quagmire that he had run for office pledging to avoid, they’re likely to devote at least a few paragraphs to Venezuela. The easy success of one operation set the stage for the still unfolding disaster of the other. 

Exporting the Venezuela model

In a daring predawn raid on January 3, US Special Forces managed to capture Maduro in a matter of hours, with no US troops killed. Contrary to the warnings of critics that such regime change would result in chaos — and to the hopes of the Venezuelan opposition that it would lead to democracy — Trump and Rubio successfully replaced Maduro with his much more pliant vice president, who has proven more than happy to let Washington call the shots. Trump now regularly muses about making Venezuela the 51st state. 

The operation was, the Times reported, “evidence to the president of the unmatched prowess of U.S. forces” and, along with the relative success of the first round of airstrikes against Iran’s nuclear program last June, emboldened him to take further military action. 

“What we did in Venezuela, I think, is the perfect scenario,” Trump said in early March, referring to prospects for regime change in Iran. And in one sense it worked; the US was able to remove the head of state within hours of launching military action, with Iranian Ayatollah Ali Khamenei killed in a joint US-Israeli airstrike. 

 “I have to be involved in the appointment, like with Delcy in Venezuela,” Trump said, when Iran’s regime was considering Khamenei’s successor. 

Trump was not involved. Iran’s Assembly of experts chose the former supreme leader’s son, Mojtaba Khamenei, whom Trump dismissed as “unacceptable” and a “lightweight”.

Despite this, Trump continued to insist that regime change had effectively happened in Iran and that its new leaders were “much more reasonable.” While Iran’s new political system is still very much a work in progress, its insistence on maintaining control of the state and ongoing attacks against shipping and US allies in the region have made it fairly clear that it will not be taking orders from Marco Rubio or anyone else in DC. 

Why Iran is not Venezuela

On the surface, there are some striking similarities between Iran and Venezuela: They were once close allies of each other, as well as of Russia and China. Both are oil dependent authoritarian states espousing a revolutionary ideology defined in large part by opposition to the United States. Both are known for sponsoring foreign militant groups. Both have a history of disputed elections and crushing opposition protests. Both have large and vocal exile communities in the US. Both have struggling economies and have spent years under US sanctions. 

That’s where the similarities end, however. Start with the military: Iran’s combined forces are roughly three times the size of Venezuela’s and far better equipped, possessing missile and drone capabilities that have spread chaos across the region for months. Iran’s senior leaders came of age during the brutal Iran-Iraq war of the 1980s and have spent decades engaged in proxy battles with the US and Israel, whereas Venezuela has not fought an interstate war in modern times. It’s telling that Maduro was relying on Cuban personnel for his own security. 

Then, there’s geography. Thanks to its fortuitous location on the western side of the Strait of Hormuz, Iran has means to retaliate against the US by blocking shipping through the world’s most important energy chokepoint, driving up oil prices. Venezuela may have the world’s largest oil reserves, but it doesn’t have anywhere near the ability to disrupt global energy flows. 

Iran was able to attack US allies throughout the Gulf with both its own missiles and via the military groups it supports throughout the region. Despite Trump’s misleading claims that Maduro’s government was in direct control of gangs in the US or weaponizing migration, Venezuela simply didn’t have the same kind of leverage with which to fight back. 

There’s history, too. Even at the nadir of relations with the US, when Venezuela was under heavy American sanctions and formal diplomatic contacts were cut off, there were still periodic talks over energy issues and prisoner releases. The US oil company Chevron continued to operate inside the country. Rodriguez herself was a familiar figure to US officials, having participated in talks with both the Biden and Trump administrations. 

And finally, there’s ideology. Venezuela’s rulers may still be publicly committed to the “Bolivarian” socialist vision of former leader Hugo Chávez, but, in reality, the regime operates as “an extreme form of crony capitalism with some pretenses of redistribution of oil windfalls to the poor,” said Chris Sabatini, director of the Latin America program at the think tank Chatham House. Senior civilian and military officials were heavily involved in a range of enterprises of varying degrees of legality from the oil industry, from gold mining to drug trafficking. When push came to shove, they were more interested in preserving their fiefdoms than standing up for a long-dead revolution. 

According to some reporting, denied by the Venezuelan government, Rodríguez had been in direct contact with US officials prior to Maduro’s capture, assuring them of her cooperation, which would make this less a regime change invasion than a US-enabled coup. Even Interior Minister Diasdello Cabello, considered the hardest of the hardline Chavistas with a US price on his head, has been more than happy to play ball with the country’s new American overlords. 

Iran has widespread corruption, as well, but the regime is far more organized, disciplined, and committed to the radical Islamist ideology of the 1979 revolution. Iran’s leaders had long been planning for invasion and had detailed succession plans in place for when top leaders were eliminated.  The fact that the US’s Israeli partners were reportedly cultivating Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, the former president best remembered for calling for Israel to be wiped off the map and promoting a long-shot plan to arm Kurdish rebels to mount a ground invasion, is an indication that there were simply no plausible candidates for an “Iranian Delcy.” 

It should have been obvious from the start that a quick and easy operation that would replace Iran’s top leaders with more cooperative ones without requiring a dangerous and costly ground invasion by US troops was never a realistic prospect. It’s notable that the administration sidelined many of its own Iran experts ahead of the war, but, in fairness, Trump’s own CIA director dismissed Israel’s optimistic regime change scenarios as “farcical.” 

“President Trump has not really taken the time to study the history of Iran-US relations going back to 1979, or even earlier,” said the Middle East Institute’s Alex Vatanka. “If he had studied that relationship, I think he would have taken a different approach.” But Trump may have been thinking less about what happened in Tehran in 1979 than what had happened in Caracas just a few weeks earlier. 

The end of hubris?

Many scoffed in January when Trump suggested that the US would be “running” Venezuela for the foreseeable future, but that appears to be more or less what’s happening now. It’s not clear how long this arrangement can last. Discontent with both Rodríguez and Trump is growing in Venezuela, and many in the opposition accuse the government of using the recent devastating earthquake as a pretext to delay called-for democratic reforms. Venezuelans may come to hold the United States responsible for the failures of the government it is remotely controlling. 

But the initial success of the Venezuela operation was a vindication for a president who often sees himself as running the world in addition to the United States.

Has Trump faith in his ability to bend other countries to his will been shaken at all by the Iran experience? He has frequently described Cuba as “next” on the list of countries he’d like to “take” after Venezuela and Cuba.

In terms of culture and geography, Cuba may look more like Venezuela. But in terms of its political system, it’s “more like Iran,” said Sabatini. “It’s completely state-centric, vertical, disciplined.” Dealing with a system still fiercely devoted to its founding revolutionary ideology that has been largely isolated from the US for decades, the administration may have no better luck finding a “Cuban Delcy” than it did finding an Iranian one. 

Trump still hasn’t ruled out taking over Cuba in some fashion, and Pentagon planners are reportedly examining a range of options for action against the island, though he claimed Rubio wants to “get [Iran] finished first.” If that’s true, it may be a long wait until Iran is “finished.” 

On the other hand, Trump is once again talking about taking over Greenland and posting memes referencing his desire to annex Canada. Iran may have proven that Venezuela was the exception, not the rule, when it comes to regime change, but Trump’s ambitions for world domination do not seem to have disappeared. 

The greatest threat to animals in the US and globally is the destruction of their habitat — replacing grasslands with farms, cutting forests for timber, building suburbs atop wetlands. It’s the main reason why hundreds of species have been listed under the Endangered Species Act, which gives federal protection to species that are currently at risk of extinction or are about to be. 

That’s what makes a recent move by the Trump administration both confusing and — according to many environmental advocates — incredibly alarming. 

In a rule published earlier this month, the administration determined that, in many cases, destroying the habitat of federally threatened and endangered species is no longer explicitly illegal, even if doing so could ultimately drive them extinct. The rule upends half a century of regulatory precedent that survived many Republican administrations. Environmental advocates also say it runs counter to the very intent of the Endangered Species Act, which Congress passed in 1973 with near-unanimous bipartisan support (and which Richard Nixon signed into law).

While the Trump administration has made several recent decisions that weaken protections for endangered species — amid what many scientists call an extinction crisis — this one may have the most far-ranging consequences. Here’s why. 

A rule that could blow up the ESA

The Endangered Species Act is a complicated law, but on a simple level it makes it illegal for anyone to “take” endangered species without authorization from the government. “Take” is defined in the law by 10 different terms: harass, harm, pursue, hunt, shoot, wound, kill, trap, capture, or collect.

It’s the meaning of one of those words — harm — that matters most here. Up until the recent rule, the government’s definition for harm included destroying an animal’s habitat if it impairs essential behaviors, such as breeding. That might include, say, building a hotel on top of a beach that endangered sea turtles use for nesting. Such a definition was important because destroying the habitat of an already imperiled species could push it over the edge, wildlife advocates say. What’s more is that, according to the language of the law itself, the purpose of the ESA includes conserving “ecosystems upon which endangered species and threatened species depend.”

The Trump administration, however, just threw out that definition of harm and the unambiguous protection it has long afforded habitat. And while it didn’t offer a new definition, the administration said that it agrees with a much narrower interpretation of the term — articulated three decades ago in a dissent by the late conservative Justice Antonin Scalia — that only includes actions that directly and intentionally harm individual animals, such as capturing a sea turtle to eat or keep as a pet.

“For years, federal agencies abused the ESA to obstruct lawful land use and burden American families and businesses,” Doug Burgum, Secretary of the Interior Department, which oversees endangered species protections, said in a statement. “That approach turned routine activity into a regulatory trap, drove up costs that impacted people’s lives, and expanded federal authority beyond what Congress intended. This action restores common sense, respects private property, provides much-needed certainty for landowners and follows the statute Congress actually passed.” (The Interior Department declined to provide a comment on our reporting, pointing us instead to its press release and the notice in the Federal Register.) 

Under the new rule, set to take effect in September, “harm” no longer explicitly includes actions that may accidentally or indirectly doom a wildlife population to extinction. A company building luxury villas on a private beach that endangered sea turtles need for survival would not unambiguously be considered take — and thus be illegal — unless the company knew it’d crush turtle eggs or the turtles themselves in the process. Neither would logging old-growth forests that endangered birds inhabit, building wind turbines that are known to kill endangered bats, or constructing a road that would likely get endangered snakes run over. 

The administration’s interpretation of take “really completely blows up the Endangered Species Act,” said J.B. Ruhl, a lawyer at Vanderbilt University and a leading expert on the ESA.

To be clear, these sorts of actions were never forbidden outright — and this is key. An important feature of the ESA is that, with some exceptions, it allows companies, counties and states, and federal agencies to kill or harm endangered species, as long as they take steps to limit their impact. Indeed, nonfederal organizations of all kinds have, for decades, received federal permits that allow them to “take” endangered species, in exchange for coming up with a plan to minimize the harm they may cause. In Hawaii, for example, an electric utility that operates power lines that can injure endangered birds takes steps to prevent collisions and funds an avian rehab facility that helps offset some of its impacts. 

The problem now is that these conservation plans — which wildlife advocates say are critical for species recovery — are rooted in the defunct definition of harm, according to Daniel Rohlf, a law professor at Lewis & Clark Law School. 

The whole purpose of these so-called Habitat Conservation Plans is to lessen the incidental, or accidental, impacts on endangered species, while at the same time allowing companies to still build and operate legally. But in rescinding the former definition of harm, the Trump administration has essentially just said that all that incidental killing is no longer illegal anyway. That may undermine future Habitat Conservation Plans and those that have yet to be finalized. This “pulls the rug out from under literally decades of work,” Rohlf said of the recent rule. 

Next up: The Supreme Court?

Even under the new rule, the ESA still has some important protections for habitat. When the government lists a species as threatened or endangered, for example, it usually designates what’s called “critical habitat” — areas that it deems essential to the survival of the species. Under the ESA, all federal agencies have to ensure that their actions, such as permitting new mines or wind farms, do not destroy critical habitat or jeopardize the existence of a species. Those responsibilities are still intact. 

It’s also not certain that the new rule will stick. Several environmental groups have already sued the administration to try to reinstate the former definition, alleging, among other claims, that rescinding the definition of harm violates the language and the intent of the ESA. This challenge is likely to reach the Supreme Court, Ruhl says. 

To understand what could happen next requires some important context.

Until two years ago, courts typically deferred to federal agencies to determine how to interpret ambiguous language in laws like the ESA. This legal principle was known as the Chevron doctrine. It was the Fish and Wildlife Service, for example, that published a rule decades ago clarifying that the ambiguous word harm includes destroying an endangered animal’s habitat. That interpretation survived a famous 1995 Supreme Court case, Babbitt v. Sweet Home Chapter of Communities for a Great Oregon, in which Oregon landowners and the timber industry argued that the government defined “harm” too broadly. The court decided that an “ordinary understanding” of that term “naturally encompasses habitat modification” that injures or kills endangered species.

In the summer of 2024, however, the Chevron doctrine was overturned. That means the power to interpret unclear language in laws now rests with the courts. 

The Trump administration has seized on this fact, Rohlf said. Instead of redefining what harm means, the administration simply axed the existing definition that included impacts to habitat that injure wildlife. It will now be up to the courts to decide what is considered harm in future cases brought under the ESA — such as if, say, an environmental group sues a developer, claiming that it destroyed essential habitat for an endangered species in violation of the Act. The administration did not stop short of making clear what it thinks: In the preamble to the rule, it said harm should only include actions made directly and intentionally against endangered organisms.

Wildlife advocates point out that the Supreme Court already determined that a definition of harm including habitat destruction is reasonable. That’s what Babbitt v. Sweet Home was about. But because that case rested, in part, on the now-overturned Chevron doctrine, the courts — and perhaps eventually the Supreme Court — may relitigate the meaning of harm. (The Supreme Court did make it clear that it won’t call into question decisions that relied on the Chevron doctrine before it was overturned.) 

Ultimately, it’s hard to argue that harming an endangered species, in a plain reading of the word, does not include destroying vital habitat that it needs to survive or other actions that kill or injure them indirectly, legal scholars told me. It’s also clear that Congress saw it this way when it wrote the law. There’s a whole section of the ESA about granting permits for “incidental take,” which could include damaging an animal’s habitat, according to Holly Doremus, a law professor at the University of California, Berkeley. That section only makes sense, she says, if you’re interpreting harm to include actions that accidentally and indirectly kill or injure species — which is far broader than the definition that the Trump administration would like to use.   

For the Trump administration to really get what it wants, Doremus said, it would need to remove the word “harm” from the ESA altogether. Short of that, she said, Trump officials “want to make ‘harm’ as ineffective a statutory term as possible.”

Should the administration succeed — should the courts determine that “harm” does not apply to destroying the habitat of endangered species — environmental advocates warn that the ESA will lose much of its extinction-preventing power.

“If this decision is allowed to stand, it eviscerates the statute on which imperiled species conservation has rested in this country since 1973,” said Jane Davenport, a senior attorney at Defenders of Wildlife, an advocacy group. “This is truly a stake through the heart of the ESA.”

The Democratic Socialists of America say they are fighting for “a government by, for, and of the working class.” 

Yet the organization’s membership and candidates consist largely of educated professionals. As of 2021, 80 percent of DSA members over 25 were college-educated, while 28 percent earned more than $100,000 a year (putting them in roughly the top 15 percent of America’s income distribution), according to a DSA internal survey. Among the group’s most prominent politicians, meanwhile, is an Ivy League graduate student, a lawyer, and the well-educated son of a Hollywood director and famous academic. 

In recent weeks, as the DSA has racked up victories in Democratic primary elections, the apparent tension between the group’s self-conception and demographics has attracted critical scrutiny.

In the New York Times, Thomas Edsall argues that most of the DSA’s members and supporters in the electorate are “in no way working class.” The libertarian commentator Robby Soave, right-wing pundit Batya Ungar-Sargon, and liberal economics writer Noah Smith have all voiced similar sentiments. 

There are many cogent ways for socialists to respond to such criticism. One would be to note that an organization doesn’t need to have a uniformly working-class membership in order to fight for working-class interests. Another would be to observe that not all college graduates are well-heeled professionals, even as pundits often use educational attainment as a stand-in for class in political analysis. 

But some socialists prefer a simpler retort: The DSA’s critics are simply mistaken; in reality, the group’s membership is more or less entirely “working class” — because that term describes everyone who must sell their labor in order to meet their needs. 

This conception of the “working class” has deep roots on the left. As Jacobin’s Ben Burgis explains, orthodox socialists subscribe to a “two-class map of capitalist society,” in which “Some people are capitalists who own their own ‘means of production’ (like factories, farms, offices, or grocery stores) and other people work for the capitalists.”

Many contemporary socialists (including Burgis) find this dichotomy reductive, and endorse more nuanced portraits of America’s class structure. But the orthodox, “two-class” model informs a great deal of the modern left’s rhetoric, among both socialists and progressives. And the notion that lawyers and day laborers both belong to the “working class” is widely held among anti-capitalists. 

There’s something to be said for this idea. Educated professionals and manual workers surely do have some shared interests, due to their common status as laborers. For example, both benefit from the existence of a well-funded unemployment insurance system, in a way that the Elon Musks of the world do not. 

For the most part though, orthodox socialism’s “map” is badly out of date. And its expansive conception of “the working class” does less to illuminate modern America’s economic divisions than to obscure them.  

The long afterlife of Marx’s failed prophesies

Karl Marx and Frederich Engels laid the foundations for the modern left’s conception of class in The Communist Manifesto of 1848. 

In that book, the claim that there were just two important classes under capitalism — capitalists and workers — rested on a set of grim predictions about where industrialization was headed. 

According to Marx’s analysis, technological progress was in the process of obliterating “all distinctions” between different strata of working people, as automation was driving virtually everyone’s wages down to “the same low level.” The middle class of small manufacturers and shopkeepers, meanwhile, was poised to “decay and finally disappear,” as more productive, large-scale enterprises left them in the dust.

Society was therefore splitting into “two great hostile camps” — the capitalist and working classes, whose interests were impossible to reconcile. 

Under these conditions, a binary conception of class makes perfect sense. If all workers will soon be condemned to low wages, then there’s little point in dwelling on the (temporary) distinctions between them. Likewise, if shopkeepers and small-time capitalists have gone the way of the triceratops, one can more comfortably cast all business owners as members of the ruling elite.

You can’t navigate modern capitalism with a 19th-century map

But we don’t live in the future that Marx foresaw. 

Rather than melting all workers into a uniform proletariat, capitalism cultivated a kaleidoscopically diverse laborforce — one segmented by countless fine-grained distinctions of pay and prestige. And instead of immiserating ordinary people, industrial development brought unprecedented mass prosperity (albeit, with the aid of many socialistic reforms). 

As a result, old-school socialists’ “two-class map” makes for a poor guide to modern capitalism’s terrain. And anyone trying to impose Marx’s cartography onto the landscape will encounter several problems.

For one, in a world where some workers earn as much in a year as others do in a lifetime, the idea that there is only one fundamental class division — that between laborers and capitalists — becomes unconvincing. 

In the United States, some convenience store owners make $70,000 a year, while many surgeons earn upward of $600,000. It would be odd to say that the former are members of society’s dominant class (since they live off business income), while the latter belong to its subordinate one (since they live off salaries). After all, the minimart owner and Musk do not have especially similar material interests. Nor, for that matter, do the impoverished farmworker and high-earning neurosurgeon (much less, the superstar athlete with a $40 million salary). Yet this is what orthodox socialism’s binary would suggest. 

Ultimately, in a modern capitalist society, it makes a lot more sense to see class as a multidimensional continuum than as a binary.

A second, related difficulty is that the border between labor and capital has grown fuzzier since Marx’s time. Today, American workers often own both a home and some share of their nation’s financial assets, like a 401(k) filled with stock from major corporations. Many billionaires, meanwhile, choose to work. 

Socialists are well aware of this reality, which is why they define a person’s class status by their dependence on labor: The typical white-collar worker may own a little stock, but not enough to quit her job and live off dividends. Unlike a billionaire CEO, such a professional must work in order to meet her needs. 

This is a sound distinction. But it does not actually resolve the challenge of distinguishing the working class from the ruling one. This is because, in an advanced economy, whether someone “needs” to work is partly subjective. Millions of Americans survive on less than $25,000 a year in market income. If upper-middle-class families were willing to accept a similarly austere living standard, many would be able to live entirely off their investments.

Of course, Americans shouldn’t be content to live in poverty. But it is harder to say precisely what standard of living qualifies as “enough.” In Marx’s time, a relatively good life for a wage worker might have meant reliable access to food and shelter for one’s family and a little time and money left for simple leisure. Today, the list includes high-quality education for one’s children, access to advanced medical treatments, modern home appliances for cooking and cleaning, Internet-connected devices for entertainment, and often personal transportation, like a car — all of which are typically (and justifiably) treated as basic necessities.

This raises the question: At what level of wealth does a person stop needing to work — even if they must keep clocking in to achieve their desired lifestyle? The socialist writer Matt Bruenig has proposed drawing the line at about $1.4 million (or roughly 20 times America’s average wage): Once you’ve accrued that much in housing and financial assets, your decision to sell your labor becomes voluntary and you cease to be working-class. 

This is a reasonable cut-off. But it’s still fairly arbitrary. Ask an American with a net worth of $1.4 million whether they need to work, and they’re liable to say yes. And typically, they will be correct — at least, in the sense that they could not sustain their way of life without earning a paycheck. You could say that their present lifestyle is too lavish — and that $1.4 million in assets is all that’s required to generate the amount of income one truly needs. But it’s not obvious why this threshold doesn’t actually lie at $1.6 million, or $800,000, or $500,000.

As a result, the only way to draw the upper boundary on who “needs” to work — without making arbitrary judgments about what standard of living is necessary — is to place it extremely far up the class hierarchy: The superrich generally don’t need to choose between sustaining their lifestyles and abstaining from work. But once your definition of “working class” becomes capacious enough to include low-end multimillionaires, it loses all plausibility. 

Ultimately, in a modern capitalist society, it makes a lot more sense to see class as a multidimensional continuum than as a binary. An individual’s degree of economic freedom and power is determined by a host of factors — above all, their household incomes and net worths, but also the market value of their skills (which shapes their future earning prospects) and familial wealth and connections. Even one’s eligibility for social welfare benefits can matter; after all, the largest group of Americans who don’t need to work to meet their needs are Social Security recipients.

Precisely how we should weigh these different sources of advantage is a tricky question. And implicit disagreements over it shapes our discourse about “the working class.” 

Take Graham Platner, the former Democratic Senate candidate in Maine. To his champions, Platner was a working-class candidate, due to his lack of a college diploma, years of service in the military, and low-income, physically demanding job farming oysters (along with his gravelly voice and tattoos). To his detractors, meanwhile, Platner was a pseudo-proletarian due to his upper-middle-class childhood, prep school education, and receipt of steady financial help from his father and mother, a lawyer and entrepreneur. Meanwhile, Platner probably would not qualify as “working class” under the orthodox socialist definition for multiple reasons: For one, he does not need to work in order to get by, thanks to his disability benefits and family support. For another, he is the owner of his oyster business, rather than a salaried worker who answers to a boss. 

In any event, whichever factors one emphasizes, it’s clear that a person’s class privilege increases continuously as their income, net worth, familial wealth, and “human capital” rises. There is no single point on any of these scales past which a person’s class position is abruptly transformed. The gap between “the 99 percent” and the billionaire class matters — but so does that between the top 15 percent and the working poor.

Of course, in ordinary political discourse, we inevitably need to boil down reality’s intricacies into rough categories. No politician will ever promise to fight for the “bottom six deciles in combined SES score, nor will any labor activists ever chant, “The 30th to 60th percentiles in household income, united, will never be defeated.” 

But a taxonomy of classes with several subcategories (such as “the poor,” “the working class,” “the middle class,” “the upper-middle class,” “the rich,” and “the superrich”) will capture a bit more of reality than a taxonomy with only two. 

“Working-class” rhetoric can camouflage professional-class interests

All this said, even if orthodox socialism’s “two-class map” is analytically flawed, it could still be politically beneficial. Perhaps, when affluent professionals decide that they belong to the same class as the working poor, they become more inclined to fight for the latter’s interests. 

Some of the DSA’s own activities lend credence to this theory: Despite its largely white-collar membership, the organization advocates for many policies that would principally benefit America’s most disadvantaged. More broadly, in the wake of Occupy Wall Street, many college-educated millennials came to identify with “the 99 percent.” And as this cohort has grown more influential in Blue America, the Democratic Party has embraced more ambitious anti-poverty policies, such as a guaranteed monthly income for working-class families. 

The main fiscal barrier to American social democracy is that our middle class in general — and upper middle-class in particular — pays much lower taxes than their peers in Western Europe.

And yet, socialists’ expansive conception of “the working class” can be put to more dubious uses. Specifically, it can help relatively well-off professionals disguise their class’s particular interests as those of all working people.  

The left’s push to cancel all graduate student debt is arguably a case in point. During Joe Biden’s presidency, the DSA criticized the White House for attempting to forgive only $10,000 of most borrowers’ student loans (a plan that was ultimately blocked by the Supreme Court). Instead, the socialists called on Biden to cancel all student debt, including the balances accrued by the graduates of elite medical schools and MBA programs. 

On its face, the idea that the US government should transfer tens of thousands of dollars to young doctors and Harvard MBAs would seem wildly regressive. The median US physician can expect to earn more than $6.5 million over the course of their lifetime, while the median graduate of a top-five business school can expect to earn more than $8 million. Virtually all Americans have worse prospects than this. And in the inflationary conditions of the Biden era, increasing young professionals’ disposable income was liable to push up prices for everyone else. In other words, blanket student debt forgiveness would have likely transferred purchasing power from low-income workers to early-career physicians and management consultants.

Many socialists would struggle to defend such a policy, were it presented in these terms. But by eliding the class distinctions between low- and high-income borrowers,  the DSA was able to convince itself (if not the public) that across-the-board forgiveness was in the interest of “the working class.”

The socialist framework is similarly unhelpful in the realm of tax policy. 

In recent years, as socialist and progressive politicians have grown more dependent on professional class support, they’ve become more averse to endorsing broad-based tax increases.

From Zohran Mamdani to Chris Van Hollen, the Democratic left tends to reserve its tax hike proposals for the superrich. And yet, the reason that America lacks a comprehensive welfare state is not that our billionaires pay unusually little in taxes; to the contrary, our top rates are comparable to those of some Scandinavian countries. The main fiscal barrier to American social democracy is that our middle class in general — and upper middle-class in particular — pays much lower taxes than their peers in Western Europe. Simply maintaining our existing programs, like Social Security, will likely require a major tax increase on higher-end salaried workers. 

In this context, binary conceptions of America’s class structure — which pit an undifferentiated “working class” against the capitalist elite, or the 99 percent against the 1 percent — can help educated professionals evade responsibility for bankrolling a more egalitarian economic system.

Check your class privilege

Ultimately, the DSA’s ability to serve working-class interests hinges less on its own demographics than its policies and politics. When an organization mistakes the preferences of its most privileged members for those of all working people, however, its campaigning and policymaking is liable to suffer. 

Perhaps, before this century’s end, AI will bring about the calamity that Marx prophesied — and Ivy League lawyers and delivery drivers will find their skills equally devalued by an all-powerful ownership class. Until the robot apocalypse, however, educated professionals and low-wage workers will live in very different circumstances — and harbor distinct economic interests. To safeguard the wellbeing of the disadvantaged, well-off egalitarians need to mind these gaps, not paper over them with obsolete class categories. 

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 conundrum is common, I guess. I feel time accelerating as I grow older. I am expecting my second child, and as the days tick down until I meet her, I feel time catching up with me (I’m in my 40s). I want to savor every day, but they go by so fast. I know that novelty is a partial solution to this, so I do lots of new things. I take up hobbies, go to new places, etc. But I still feel an encroaching contraction of experience and memory, and I’m afraid my remaining decades will go by in a blur. I want to prepare to be as present as I possibly can to the new human I’ll work to raise. 

Do you have advice on slowing down time, or wisdom on how to dilate and cherish the moment I’m in? I’ve tried “mindfulness” and various meditation practices. These haven’t caught hold yet, though I’ll keep trying. Daily journaling and getting away from social media seem to help, but the days still fly by.

Dear Time Traveler,

Do you remember how long time felt when you were a child? I certainly do. I remember summer break stretching out endlessly; a whole eternity captured in one hot July afternoon. It’s no wonder that we respond with panic as we get older and weeks snap by so fast no matter what we’re doing — vacation, working, or as you are, growing a family.

There are two ways to think about time: the way it feels when you’re living it, which is called “prospective time.” And then how you remember time, known as “retrospective time.” It sounds like you’re struggling with both. You want moments to feel longer as they’re happening, and to look back and feel like time didn’t just slip through your fingers.

What’s interesting about our perception of time is that there’s no specific organ dedicated to sensing time. Our eyes see, and our noses smell, but feeling time is a vaguer sense, cobbled together by the combination of various inputs. It is also more easily manipulated. 

I took a close look at the work of David Eagleman, who is a neuroscientist at Stanford University and has studied what makes time feel slower or faster. On a basic level, you’re right, novelty does make time expand. When researchers show people a series of the same images over and over, a new picture thrown into the mix feels as though that new image is presented for longer — even if it’s not. He’s argued that this is one of the reasons why childhood feels so long. So much of what you experience is new when you’re younger. Then we create habits and routines, and time starts to accelerate. If you have the same commute each day, it’s easy for it to feel so familiar that parts of it may not even register in your memory on any given day.

Extreme emotions can elongate time too. In one of Eagleman’s more daring experiments, he asked people to free fall from 15 stories above the ground (they fell into a net). When the people were asked later to try to recreate how long the fall was by estimating it on a stopwatch, they overestimated the duration by about a third. He also had them wear a device on their wrists that rapidly flashed images and numbers while they fell. If their other senses had also slowed during their fall, like Neo in The Matrix, they should have been able to see some of the images flashing before them. They didn’t. The sensation that time slowed down didn’t mean much practically, it was simply a feeling.

When time appears to slow, it is perhaps more helpfully explained by how our memory works. Doing something scary or dangerous activates the amygdala, which tells the rest of the brain to pay attention to what’s going on, to remember more of the details later, which makes time seem to stretch out. Swiss geologist Albert Heim once interviewed people who fell while mountain-climbing. He found that while people were plummeting to what they thought was a certain death, time also expanded. When a race-car driver was launched 30 feet into the air after a crash, he told researchers at the University of Iowa that “It seemed like the whole thing took forever. Everything was in slow motion.” 

Some access this feature of our minds when they take up bungee jumping or skydiving. Or, like you, tamer new experiences that the brain takes its time registering more details of. Other people have turned to drugs like hashish or LSD, which can make minutes or hours feel like whole days. 

But the real issue comes down to a question of how you want to be spending that very time you feel passing you by. Is it obsessing over optimizing for activities that promise maximum time stretchage? I think that might degrade your experience of the life you have in front of you. 

As you note yourself, adding novelty for the sake of novelty doesn’t seem to be helping your life feel more time-rich. In fact, it sounds like you’re ending up with “time urgency,” or trying to achieve as much as possible in as short of a period of time as possible. Being anxious, burnt out, and multi-tasking can, in some cases, make time feel more sped up. This is because you don’t have the bandwidth to pay attention and build detailed memories around what you’re doing. 

Plus, constructing days where time always feels slow means never getting caught up with friends or children, or being engrossed in a well-loved hobby, where you look up at the clock and discover hours have passed in what felt like no time at all. There’s something bittersweet about that, but something to relish too. In fact, there is useful wisdom in acknowledging the difficult fact that as we get older, our time is running out. 

Many ancient philosophies advise to remind yourself of death in order to focus on the importance of life. In Stoicism, this is called memento mori, or remembering that you will die. I slightly prefer Buddhism’s Five Remembrances, which are mantras about accepting that change is inevitable and it’s our destiny to grow older. There’s nothing like having children to make you confront that reality. “I am of the nature to grow old, I cannot escape old age,” is the first remembrance. We might add onto it: “And I cannot escape the passage of time.” 

If you give up trying to slow down time to a halt, it doesn’t mean you can’t find some more spacious ways to live in the time you do have left. Meditation is often pulled off the shelf as a trick for paying more attention, but rather than sitting with your eyes closed and listening to your breathing, I suspect a more quotidian mindfulness would help you. 

Thích Nhất Hạnh, the Vietnamese Thiền Buddhist monk, wrote about taking back the time spent on everyday life through being mindful when doing the stuff that we tend to rush through. 

Nhất Hạnh reminds us that these things are also our life. When we wash dishes, for example, we might find ourselves thinking only about our list of what we’re going to do next. Then, “we are not alive during the time we are washing the dishes,” he wrote. Instead, “we are sucked away into the future — and we are incapable of actually living one minute of life.” Rather than adding another new class or going on another trip, try making parts of your routine life new again. When doing the dishes, Nhất Hạnh suggested putting the future out of mind, and focusing on the sensations of washing, of each cup and each plate. He also recommended reserving one day per week to do as little as possible, called a lazy day.  

These days are actually hard work because it can be difficult to do nothing, but within them something else opens up and expands time: boredom. (Remember those endless summer days as a kid? For me, at least, boredom certainly was a common tune in making that time — for better or worse — feel so long.) 

Several years ago I heard about a productivity expert named Chris Bailey who created a “month of boredom,” where he spent an hour each day doing the most boring thing he could think of: staring at the ceiling or watching his turtle swim back and forth in her tank. He found that creating gaps in the day with dull activities sometimes led to creative mind-wandering and the feeling that time was indeed ticking by more slowly than if his day was filled to the brim. 

I’m not always capable of carving out time to actually watch grass grow as Bailey did or of achieving the serene state while doing the dishes that Nhất Hạnh described. But I do try to force myself to be bored in micro-moments throughout my day and pay closer attention when I’m doing routine things, like walking to the train, or doing chores. This practice makes me more aware of how I’m spending my time, and occasionally even makes that time feel a little more expansive. 

Bonus: What I’m reading

Last week I read A Month In the Country, a lovely summer novel, which I realized is all about being in one place and letting time do what it will. 

What if we didn’t have a way to calculate the passage of time at all? I highly recommend reading the first section of the historian Daniel Boorstin’s masterful classic book, The Discoverers. It’s all about how time was measured from early human civilizations to now. “The first grand discovery was time, the landscape of experience,” Boorstin writes. 

Since I’ve become interested in the Luddites, as well as craving more time for tasks that require working with my hands (woodworking, gardening, lock picking, you name it), I have worried that I’m idealizing manual labor — hard activities that used to consume all of people’s time. This essay by the philosopher Joshua Habgood-Coote in Aeon explores this idea, which he calls “skill nostalgia.” We shouldn’t take the romanticizing too far, but Habgood-Coote writes that there’s reason to yearn for skills that we were never taught.

Have you noticed there are a lot of professional basketball players named Jalen? Well, it’s not just the NBA: There are a plethora of Jalens in the NFL, and even the NHL has one. How did this name get so popular? Did all their parents watch basketball in the 1990s and fall for Jalen Rose?

There are many ways names come about, and according to Cleveland Kent Evans, there is something unique about naming traditions in the United States. Evans is the former president of the American Names American Name Society, and he writes a column for the Omaha World Herald nabout what names are popular, and why.

“In American culture, individualism is so strong. What I hear most often from parents is we want to find a name which is different, but not too different,” he told Explain It to Me, Vox’s weekly call-in podcast.  “A lot of people are picking names which are unusual to them because they don’t know anybody their own age or their parents’ age with the name.” 

So what makes some names go mainstream, and what outside factors play a role in what parents choose? We discuss that and more on the latest episode of Explain It to Me.

Below is an excerpt of my conversation with Evans, 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.

So we have this very American individualized outlook when it comes to names. I would love to get into how other social factors shape how we name people. How does race shape our names?

The African American community has had a very different experience with naming since the 1960s. If you go back before the 1960s, unfortunately prejudiced racist people, one of the things they used to see about Black people was that they have funny names.

Statistically, before 1960, that wasn’t really true. It was like Black people had names that were like 1 or 2 percent more unusual than white people. It was very small. What happened in the ’60s as part of [the] Black Power [Movement], they turned what had been a negative into a positive. Many Black people said, “We are the people who give our children unique names to show how much we love them, to show how valued they are.” And that’s when you got the tradition of creating new names. Instead of the individual names necessarily being what went through fashions, it was the syllables they were made out of. In the ’60s and ’70s for girls, the most common prefix was law. And so you had Lakeisha, Latasha, Latoya. Then in the ’90s, the most popular prefix was Sha. And so you had Shanisha, Shaquita.

“Just like there is no such thing as the perfect parent or the perfect child, there’s no such thing as the perfect name.”

How does class show up in the way we pick names?

People who are highly educated want new names for their kids, but for them, they have to find something that has a history in the culture. They’re the ones that go back and revive the old names, while blue-collar people are more interested in stuff which is new — things which are newly invented or things which have not been girls or children’s names until recently. 

How do names become popular?

Things do not go from zero to top 10 overnight. But what happens is you often have what I call the Hollywood feedback loop. Screenwriters in Hollywood tend to be college educated. They often are going to give their characters names which are too young for them because they name their characters like they would name a kid. The screenwriters name characters and that presents the name to the whole population. Then all of a sudden it shoots up. An example of something changing social class that way was Tristan. Tristan sort of first came up among more educated people. There was a character in the original All Creatures Great and Small. Then you have the movie Legends of the Fall, which comes out with Brad Pitt playing the character Tristan. All of a sudden the name shoots up. It was not just the educated people who were naming their son Tristan anymore very suddenly at that point. 

Are there any other examples?

One of the hugest increases just because of television was a few years ago. About 2008 there was a program on one of the cable TV networks called 16 and Pregnant. One of the first babies born on that show was a boy named Bentley. The name Bentley for baby boys was one of the fastest growing boys’ names ever. It went from almost nothing to within about three years being the 75th most common name for boys in the US.

Do people ever see naming their children as a way to break from their past or from their culture? 

If you look at the immigrant groups that came from Europe in the 19th and the early 20th century, it was very common for the immigrants to want to give their kids quote “American” names. They would tend to pick things which they heard in the neighborhood. Then as the ethnic groups become assimilated, one of the ironies of that is that the grandchildren or great grandchildren of the immigrants go back and they say, “Well we want to revive our ethnic names.”

The first group that did that was the Irish. A lot of Irish people came over and they quit naming their kids things like Bridget. Then a lot of them wanted to bring back Irish names like Kevin. And then because they were doing it, those names started spreading to the whole whole country. So today Kevin is not an especially Irish American name. There are many, many Americans who have no Irish ancestry who are named Kevin. 

What advice do you have for people out there who are like, “Oh my gosh, I’ve got to name this kid. What am I going to do?” How should people be approaching it? How should they be thinking about it?

Well, I think first of all, they shouldn’t worry about it too much. I got a communication from a woman who had an uncle who she really loved and really admired, whose name was Floyd. She said, “Can I really name my son Floyd? Won’t he be teased too much?” I told her, “Look, you really love this uncle. What you do is you name your son Floyd, but then from the very beginning, you tell him why you named him that and why his great Uncle Floyd was a marvelous person and why you loved him so much and make him proud of it to protect him from the teasing.”

Just like there is no such thing as the perfect parent or the perfect child, there’s no such thing as the perfect name. There are lots of different names that would work equally well for your child and you shouldn’t think that you have ruined their life by giving them the wrong name. 

Just a few weeks ago, Americans were able to eat salad without the fear of liquid feces and breathe in air that didn’t taste like campfire ash.

And — we were just really excited to watch some soccer. 

One major concern at the outset was whether America’s foreign and strict immigration policies would impact the levity of the games, and, at worst, deny entry to people, and perhaps even athletes and officials, from countries at odds with the current administration (it did). 

But in the early days of the World Cup, Americans and fans across the globe were surprised by how much of the world embraced coming here — and vice versa. Visiting international fans shared their astonishment at the sublime oddities this massive country has to offer, posting about: ranch dressing (in bowls if you ask nicely), unlimited refills in towering glasses, dairy products, air conditioning, Tex-Mex, ammunition displays, chicken tenders, cowboy hats, and, among other things, the Cheesecake Factory. Oh, how we all rejoiced in seeing the rest of the world experience the Byzantine beauty of our chain restaurants for the first time, and how craggy we enjoy our fried chicken strips!

@bob.travel6

First meal back in Dallas and it did not disappoint! Every single dish was amazing!! #dallas #texas #usa

♬ オリジナル楽曲 – Bob(SEA→LA→MIA→NY) with $0🇺🇸 – Bob(SEA→LA→MIA→NY) with $0🇺🇸

Adding to the cultural exchange on the sidelines, fans were also pleasantly surprised by how well the United States — historically a country that’s been bad at soccer — showed up. 

We were high off the US team’s 2-0 win over Bosnia-Herzegovina. We looked like a team with guts! Malik Tillman scored a goal down a man after star striker Folarin Balogun was sent off with a (questionable — experts said) red card. Many players on the US team have immigrant parents, are army brats, or are American by birthright citizenship (a constitutional privilege that the Trump administration has sought to dissolve). Though Belgium, in the next round, was going to be a difficult matchup, you couldn’t count out toughness. 

Even though many Americans root for the underdog, and many see themselves as underdogs, it’s rare that America is ever actually the underdog. 

But in the context of the World Cup, one of the rare things that American men will never win because soccer is one of those rare sports that no American man has ever been the best at, the stars aligned for Americans to have the scrappy longshot team of our dreams. 

But it didn’t take long for the illusion to shatter.

As the Fourth of July weekend finished, FIFA announced that it had reversed Balogun’s red card and that he would, in an exception to the rules, be allowed to play against the Belgians. The move was unprecedented and fishy. 

That red-card reversal also ripped open a portal into a nightmare realm. 

Acting like a person who can’t keep a surprise party a surprise, President Donald Trump began insinuating that he might have had something to do with the decision. Then, on the morning of the match against Belgium, Trump said that he had placed a call to FIFA president Gianni Infantino about the red card and implicitly took credit for its reversal. Infantino not only confirmed the call but said that he takes calls from important and rich people all the time — a cartoonishly suspicious response from an organization that’s historically famous for corruption. 

Trump on Balogun: "I saw the play, and I'm a person that loves sports … that wasn't a foul. That wasn't even an infraction … this referee, who is a little bit suspect if you check his past. He made a call that nobody could believe … he's our best player, or one of our best… pic.twitter.com/YfIqb1JA4u

— Aaron Rupar (@atrupar) July 6, 2026

Some fans, upon learning that the laws had been bent for the host country, reacted with astonishment, if not fury. Ethically, FIFA’s bar is on the floor, and this blatant move to help the United States somehow seemed to confirm onlookers’ worst fears.

In that moment, it was clear the US was no longer an underdog. Underdogs aren’t supposed to be able to put their thumb on the scale. They surely aren’t supposed to have their papa call favors. Perhaps all that talk of guts and toughness and how the team was a band of overlooked outsiders was just a mirage — and all that ranch dressing merely a charm offensive.

Whether you’re a soccer fan or someone who is ambivalent about soccer but loved the vibes, the shift was palpable. We’re all experiencing a collective whiplash and perhaps a sports-affected melancholy. 

And now that the Cup is ending, Americans are now living in a country where vegetables, famously healthy, and good for you, carry the risk of “explosive” diarrhea. Diarrhea itself is something many would not consider a calm experience, so the idea that this is not just diarrhea but somehow a special, even worse diarrhea, one akin to detonation, feels especially terrifying. 

This week also saw swaths of the US living under a plume of wildfire smoke — the dirtiest air in the world. Breathing outside is, according to scientists, the equivalent of smoking 10 cigarettes. Breathing in smoke-laced air and worrying about the looming spectre of diarrhea with every meal puts the shared cultural joy we had in perspective. But even without these extreme plagues, it’s worth mourning how fleeting those moments can be.