Since January 2026, many Cubans have lived a life of near-constant darkness. The Trump administration’s oil blockades have led the country into a worsening energy crisis, collapsing what was already an eroding national power grid. 

Daily blackouts have plunged the Cuban nationalized, universal health system, once the pride of the country, into a humanitarian crisis. For months, hospitals have been without necessary power and ambulances strapped for fuel. Piles of trash line the streets, increasing the risk of disease. Cold storage issues threaten life-saving vaccines, and a combination of the frail economy and US sanctions has left pharmacy shelves almost empty. 

The public health crisis exposes an often overlooked aspect of the way we tend to think about the promise of universal healthcare. Having accessible and free medical services is only one part of the solution. While Cuba’s once-vaunted health system is bound up in its own history and national context, it still demonstrates that public health of all kinds can only be as resilient as the electricity, water, transportation, refrigeration, supply chains, and institutions that enable it. 

An old prototype for universal healthcare 

Not long ago, Cuba’s health system was seen as a promising model for successful free universal healthcare. In the years following Fidel Castro’s rise to power, health authorities focused on the integration of healthcare delivery models into a single public system. The Castro government aimed to expand services once concentrated in Havana into rural areas, such that the entire population would have access to basic care services. In 1974, the government launched community-based polyclinics that placed primary care specialists in almost every Cuban community. 

Over the decades that followed, that widened access to health care led to significant, measurable returns. Infant mortality in the country has dropped from 37 per 1,000 live births right after the revolution to 7 per 1,000 live births in 2024. Infectious and parasitic disease mortality also improved, dropping from a rate of 45.4 per 100,000 inhabitants in 1970 to 9.8 per 100,000 inhabitants in 2019, according to data reported by the Cuban Public Health Ministry. 

It’s not entirely surprising that the successful Cuban national health model has been the site of curiosity and enthusiastic scrutiny in American health equity circles, despite vast differences in state ideologies. The US has never ensured that every citizen has affordable access to healthcare, and large disparities persist in low-income and rural populations. The chokehold of private insurance has ensured that, unlike nearly every other country in the world, the US has largely rejected the prospect of universal care. Even historic gains in insurance coverage have faced rollback threats under the One Big Beautiful Bill. 

On certain key metrics, the US also falls far behind Cuba, which boasted 9.5 physicians to 1,000 people in 2021. That same year, the US reported just 3.7 physicians to every 1,000 people. The 2019 measles epidemic demonstrated a gap in childhood vaccination rates as well: 92 percent of children ages 13 to 17 in the US received two doses or more of the measles, mumps, and rubella vaccine. In Cuba, the childhood completion rates were well over 99 percent, and the country has not seen a measles outbreak since 1993. 

From its early years, the Cuban health system has functioned against a background of economic decline particular to the country, one attributable to a complex combination of external pressures, among them US blockades, a complicated economic reliance on Venezuela, a struggling state-run economy, and a flailing industry heavily impacted by the Covid-19 pandemic. 

While other sectors faced attrition, Cuba’s health system, at least, appeared capable of weathering these crises. During the pandemic, the country proved to be a model in global health, having developed a homegrown Covid-19 vaccine rapidly and reaching a 95 percent vaccination rate. Its robust supply of trained health professionals made headlines when Cuban healthcare workers provided essential pandemic aid to a small town in Italy.

 So why has this system proved to be so fragile now? 

New blockades deal the final blow after Hurricane Melissa 

Torrents of rain and flooding from the Category 3 Hurricane Melissa hit Cuba in October of last year, affecting much of the island’s eastern provinces. More than 735,000 people were evacuated, and the environmental disaster has put the country’s basic health infrastructure in a precarious state. 

In the storm’s wake, a combination of flooding and damaged water systems increased the spread of viral infections of arboviral diseases such as dengue and oropouche. A report by the Pan American Health Organization (PAHO) published in March this year placed water, food, and vector-borne diseases in the “very high” health risk categories. Apart from damaged water and sanitation infrastructure, the report describes how disruptions to health service access, routine surveillance of disease vectors, and environmental conditions that breed mosquito-borne disease outbreaks have dramatically increased the risk of infectious disease spread. 

Hurricane Melissa arrived during a recovery period from earlier storms, such as Hurricane Rafael in late 2024, as well as sporadic earthquakes in recent years. These natural disasters also heavily damaged health facilities, leading to collapsed roofing, damaged roads and cables, and the loss of supplies and equipment. 

For years, Cuba’s economy was propped up in large part by its relationship with Venezuela. In exchange for support from Cuba’s highly-trained professionals — especially healthcare workers — Venezuela long provided a critical supply of crude oil, which helped the country keep the lights on even in the face of US sanctions. 

That partnership ended in January after the nighttime capture of former Venezuelan President Nicholas Maduro, and the sweeping Trump oil blockade soon after has dealt a challenge too difficult for the energy infrastructure to withstand. 

Already struggling to recover from other disasters, Cuba plunged further into its present crisis. Cruz Peñate noted that while the public health situation has been evolving for a while, he has seen more acute upheavals as sanctions persist, causing mass blackouts that have made it impossible to sustain vital health services and emergency care.

Disease control continues to struggle post-Melissa, with aid organizations worrying about communicable food- and water-borne diseases, such as hepatitis A and diarrhea, that can be caused by unrefrigerated food. On the administrative level, limited transportation resources and electricity have led to a dearth of vaccine supplies, which typically require cold rooms for transfer and storage. 

Continuity of care, in particular, has been affected for the worse. More than 100,000 elective and reconstructive surgeries have been postponed, for example, because of a lack of supplies and a backlog of emergency surgeries. At a briefing in May, representatives of the UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs and the World Health Organization reported that over 32,000 pregnant women faced limited access to diagnostics and limited amounts of the stable electricity needed to sustain neonatal units. Prenatal care faces delays because of the lack of everything from testing supplies to available facilities. And now, even once successful improvements in health indicators have fallen: a report from the Center for Economic and Policy Research measured an increase in infant mortality rates from 4.0 to 9.9 per 1,000 births between 2018 and 2025. 

For humanitarian aid organizations, alleviating this health crisis also poses a stark challenge. Cruz Peñate ascribes this to availability, timing, and opportunity to distribute aid supplies, all of which have been made inconsistent by the ongoing blockade. 

“The response to the situation in Cuba has to increase; we have to scale up the response. All the support we can manage to receive will be important,” Cruz Peñate said. “Here in Cuba there is really a situation that needs attention.”

Is Cuba now an outdated prototype for universal healthcare? 

While Cuba’s healthcare system was never bound to map precisely onto the US, some of its most notable successes — the high physician-to-patient ratio, the almost entirely vaccinated population, the ample health screenings — still remain desirable. And yet those very accomplishments have crumbled under the threat of extreme weather events and the country’s inability to restore its broken power grid.  

Trump targeted even more petroleum suppliers in his latest round of sanctions on July 23, leaving Cuba scrambling still further to revitalize its energy sector. Those same sanctions also took aim at the Cuban healthcare export economy, alleging that it involves forced labor. 

Earlier this month, Cuba’s government loosened constraints on a handful of private operations, including pharmaceuticals and elder-care facilities, in response to the shortage of medicine in the country.  With state-stocked shelves running empty, the new decree allows private pharmacies with Cuban health registration to fill in the medicine gap. Similarly, privatized elder facilities are also allowed to operate at a capped rate of 60 people per home, with mandatory visits from state physicians. 

The government still prohibits private sector medical and dental care, and Cuban officials remain adamant that the “socialist state enterprise keeps its central role,” so it’s difficult to claim that the country’s medical model is being pressured towards privatization. But the erosion of some of its elements still speaks to a state-run health system under strain. 

We often think of healthcare itself as an equation of medical services along with healthcare personnel and the authorities — government, industry, or both — that control it. But the crisis facing Cuba gets at the dependence of all of these factors on the broader energy ecosystem. Even a once-promising healthcare model can quickly collapse when a crucial component is missing: fuel.

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

Be moved the old-fashioned way.

The driverless future is here—but, to borrow from William Gibson, it’s not evenly distributed. Waymo’s self-driving robotaxis are available in cities in California, Arizona, Florida, Georgia, Tennessee, and Texas. Aside from California, where the technology originated, those are all red or purple states. In every other blue state, meanwhile, driverless taxis are still not allowed to operate. If you live in Miami or Dallas, you can summon a Waymo to get where you’re going. If you live in Boston or New York, you can’t.

This is not an accident. In Democratic jurisdictions, a coalition of labor unions, anti-tech activists, and politicians have kept driverless vehicles off the streets. (Colorado, which passed a bill authorizing driverless vehicles in 2017, before the current backlash, is on track to become the exception later this year.) They argue that the new technology would make the roads more dangerous and throw millions of human drivers out of work, all to enrich a handful of tech oligarchs.

A version of this fight is now playing out in Washington, D.C., where Kamala Harris won more than 90 percent of the vote in 2024 and where local officials recently introduced a bill that would provide a pathway for robotaxis to begin operating. Some residents have welcomed that prospect. But others are digging in their heels. Bill Davis, the president of the local Teamsters union, declared in a statement that the legislation “doesn’t benefit anyone outside of Silicon Valley billionaires” and “comes at the expense of middle-class professional drivers and anyone else who wants safer streets in our city.”

Driverless cars will indeed cost some workers their jobs. But unlike so many other recent Silicon Valley innovations, they have already demonstrated the potential to bring immense societal benefits. About 40,000 Americans die in car accidents every year. The number of crash-related injuries is much larger. As many as 10,000 crash victims enter emergency rooms around the country every day. Waymos are so much safer than human drivers that deploying them widely could avert countless injuries and deaths every year.

[Saahil Desai: Move fast and break nothing]

They will also make transportation more affordable: A taxi without a driver is much cheaper. Waymo is currently more expensive than Uber and Lyft, but that’s largely because supply is artificially constrained and demand is high. The price differential is dropping fast and will go away soon. Waymos also show promise in reducing carbon emissions and air pollution (the cars are electric), and providing reliable access to people who live in poor neighborhoods (who are routinely turned down by rideshare drivers). Saying no to Waymo is saying no to a technology that will change the world for the better.

There is a name for a political movement that taps into people’s resistance to change and defense of the status quo. William F. Buckley famously described a conservative as “someone who stands athwart history, yelling Stop.” Progressivism was founded on the opposite ethic: that scientific and technological progress can bring about a better, more equitable future, provided that it’s steered in the right direction. In this sense, self-driving cars are a test for American progressives—a test of whether they have become so captured by interest groups, so hostile to corporations, and so fearful of technological change that they’ve transformed into enemies of progress itself.

In much of the country, the popular conception of self-driving cars is something between a bumbling idiot and a mechanical death trap. Videos of Waymo vehicles making ridiculous errors go viral online. Earlier this year, a Waymo hit a child who ran into the road near an elementary school in Santa Monica, California, causing minor injuries. When a jurisdiction considers whether to allow Waymos, stories like these come up again and again. “I’m also deeply concerned about the safety issues autonomous vehicles have already had in other cities,” Helen Raynor-Hughes, a longtime D.C.-area resident, testified during a public hearing in July, citing “reports of crashes, traffic disruptions, and situations where these vehicles failed to respond properly to pedestrians, cyclists, and other drivers.”

But anecdotes can mislead. The question is how robotaxis’ error rate stacks up against that of human drivers. In a recent study, researchers at the Insurance Institute for Highway Safety compared the crash and accident data on a per-mile basis for Waymo vehicles with those of human drivers in the cities where Waymos operated from 2021 to 2024. They found that Waymos were involved in 68 percent fewer crashes serious enough to be reported to police and 81 percent fewer crashes that caused an injury. These findings are “likely conservative” because human drivers regularly fail to report accidents, Eric Teoh, the report’s lead author, told me.

Several other studies have produced even more favorable results. These studies are co-authored by Waymo researchers but have been peer-reviewed by independent academics. Every expert I spoke with for this story, including Waymo skeptics, told me that they consider the research to be high-quality. “Reductions this big are basically unheard of when it comes to traffic safety,” Noah Goodall, a senior research scientist at the Virginia Transportation Research Council, told me. “Not even seat belts or airbags achieved the kinds of numbers we’re seeing here.” (Waymo, which is owned by Alphabet, is the only company that has demonstrated such a strong safety record. The others, including Tesla, have not disclosed the data needed to make safety claims.)

Even these figures probably underestimate how safe Waymos are. The journalists Timothy B. Lee and Kai Williams recently reviewed the details of the 78 accidents that Waymo vehicles had been involved in over a seven-month period and that were serious enough to cause an injury or trigger an airbag deployment. They found just one example where Waymo “could plausibly bear some responsibility” for a taxi crashing into another vehicle or a pedestrian—the Santa Monica–school incident—and another three where culpability was “mixed or unclear.” “We went into this looking for any evidence that Waymo could even remotely be at fault for a given crash,” Lee told me. “But those cases were just really hard to find.”

The big caveat to Waymo’s safety record is its difficulty with so-called edge cases—unpredictable situations for which its algorithm is unprepared and in which human judgment really comes in handy. When a power outage knocked out a third of San Francisco’s traffic lights last December, at least 60 Waymos abruptly idled mid-road, causing severe gridlock and delays. Something similar happened to a few dozen Waymos this year when the driverless vehicles encountered unexpected road closures during San Francisco’s Fourth of July celebrations. Waymos have obstructed emergency vehicles in several cities, typically because of their tendency to freeze when they encounter alarms, sirens, or temporary road closures. The company has not done nearly enough to fix the problem. “Competent driving is about a lot more than crash statistics,” Philip Koopman, an emeritus professor of engineering at Carnegie Mellon, told me. “If Waymo isn’t able to address some of these problematic patterns, it is going to be very hard to convince the public they are safe.”

Even so, the fact that Waymos are considerably safer than human drivers is undeniable. A robot driver can’t drink and drive, fall asleep at the wheel, or check its phone. It won’t flout the rules of the road when it’s running late or trying to impress its friends. And it is equipped with more than a dozen different cameras, plus radar and laser sensors, meaning it doesn’t have blind spots. Bryant Walker Smith, an associate law professor at the University of South Carolina, has advised governments on how to regulate self-driving cars. “What I always tell policy makers is that we absolutely should be concerned about automated driving,” he told me. “But we should be terrified of human driving.”

Safety might be the average American’s top concern about driverless cars, but the average American isn’t spearheading the political resistance to Waymo. Labor unions are. The campaign against driverless vehicles has been led by a coalition of unions representing taxi, rideshare, and truck drivers who argue that self-driving cars will destroy millions of working-class jobs. (Although experts believe that self-driving trucks and delivery vehicles are at least several years away from being a regular presence on roads, labor unions see robotaxi legalization as a stepping stone to a fully automated driving future.) Indeed, Helen Raynor-Hughes, the area resident who testified about Waymo’s safety record, began by identifying herself as a Service Employees International Union member who drives for Uber and Lyft.

In 2026 alone, this Labor United Against Waymo coalition has helped defeat or delay legislation to authorize driverless vehicles in Illinois, Minnesota, Maryland, Virginia, Oregon, and Washington State. In January, New York Governor Kathy Hochul declared that she would pursue a bill to allow robotaxis to operate in the state, only to backtrack a few weeks later following an outcry from labor leaders.

When I arrived at D.C.’s city hall in July for a public hearing on the proposed bill to authorize Waymo, I passed dozens of protesters from various labor groups chanting and holding signs with slogans such as WAYMO? HELL NO and AI DOESN’T VOTE. We Do. Inside, about a dozen labor leaders and rideshare drivers demanded that city officials vote against the bill. Crystal Middleton, a D.C. resident who drives Uber and Lyft part-time to support her family, testified that if Waymo were adopted in the city, “many D.C. families, including mine, will struggle to make ends meet.”

I’m sympathetic to that argument. When I was growing up, my dad spent years driving Uber and Lyft on the weekends to help pay the bills. Like many drivers, he resented the meager pay and lack of benefits. (There’s an irony that unions and Democratic lawmakers are rallying to defend the type of precarious gig work that they have spent more than a decade criticizing.) But it’s hard to imagine what our family would have done without the extra income. The impulse to protect workers like him—not to mention the delivery and truck drivers who fear that they’ll be next—from being displaced by a new technology is understandable.  

That approach, however, ignores the larger number of people who would benefit from a change to the status quo. At the public hearing, local nonprofit leaders and politicians, including Shane Simenstad, the director of public policy for Safe Kids Worldwide, pointed out that rideshare drivers often refuse to enter less desirable parts of the city, leaving residents of poor neighborhoods without a reliable way to get to work or school. Claire Stanley, the director of advocacy and governmental affairs for the American Council of the Blind, spoke about being denied Uber and Lyft rides because of her service dog. Multiple women testified about their fear of being harassed or assaulted by rideshare drivers. (According to a 2025 New York Times investigation, Uber received a report of sexual assault or misconduct nearly every eight minutes on average in the U.S. from 2017 to 2022.)  

Some of the most moving testimonies came from the victims of car crashes and their loved ones. Rameez Tase, a local resident and avid cyclist, told the story of a friend who had been nearly killed after being hit by a car. “Anyone who knows me well knows that my biggest fear of death is being struck and killed by a distracted driver—and leaving my three young children without a father for the rest of their lives,” he said. Cesar Toledo, a member of the D.C. Commission on Poverty, recounted a childhood “marked by the terrifying reality of riding in vehicles driven by family members under the influence.”

Car accidents kill roughly as many Americans each year as breast cancer does, and twice the number of people who die from homicides. It is a leading cause of death among children and young adults. “The number of traffic deaths in America is the equivalent of a Boeing 737 crashing every single day,” Jonathan Slotkin, a neurosurgeon who regularly treats crash victims, told me. “That’s what we’ve chosen to tolerate as the price of mobility.”

Waymos, to be clear, wouldn’t solve this problem right away. Although rideshare and taxi drivers get into accidents at higher rates than the average driver, they make up a small fraction of cars on the road. But operating robotaxis is a key step for Waymo and other companies to perfect their self-driving technology, which could then be sold to vehicle manufacturers like Toyota to include as an optional feature in every car. “If we had a drug that showed these kinds of results, we’d be doing everything we could to get it out to as many people as fast as possible,” Slotkin said.

[Read: The huge problem Waymo didn’t see coming]

Widespread adoption of driverless vehicles would further a litany of goals that anyone should celebrate, especially those who claim to be progressive: slashing traffic injuries and deaths; helping the poor and disabled secure stable employment; making cities safer places to bike and walk; reducing the prevelance of sexual assault and misconduct; putting more electric vehicles on the roads. And yet progressives are the ones standing in the way. “Honestly, it’s just embarrassing,” Colin Mortimer, the director of the Center for New Liberalism, a center-left advocacy group, told me. “Liberals are always talking about how we’re the party that believes in science, that believes in data, that believes in helping the vulnerable. But on this issue we’re doing the exact opposite.”

Some Washington, D.C., legislators believe that the nation’s capital can pioneer a different approach to Waymo. In May, the D.C. Council member Charles Allen introduced a bill that would authorize driverless vehicles to begin operating in the district, but only if their makers meet certain key conditions designed in part to address the edge-case problem and reduce the impact on the city’s labor force. These include completing stringent testing and safety requirements and submitting a plan for interacting with first responders. Even then, the total number of driverless vehicles would be capped at a few hundred during the initial rollout. Each vehicle would also be subject to a per-mile tax used to fund public transit, as well as workforce training and compensation for displaced rideshare and taxi drivers. “We have to be honest with ourselves: This technology is already here and is only going to become a bigger part of our lives going forward,” Allen told me a few weeks after the hearing. “And so we can either bury our heads in the sand and have this change happen to us. Or we can put guardrails in place to make sure the technology works for us and our communities.”

In Allen’s view, too many restrictions would risk throttling a technology that could otherwise bring huge benefits; too few would invite a high-profile incident that draws a public backlash. Getting the balance right will be difficult. My own view is that the bill should have more restrictive testing requirements around edge cases—for instance, simulating power outages or major emergencies—before driverless vehicles can be deployed. But it should also create a less bureaucratic process for increasing the number of vehicles once those requirements have been met. The bill also faces several political obstacles, including an incoming mayor who expressed skepticism about Waymo expansion on the campaign trail. But Allen is trying to do something that no city has done before: chart a middle course between letting the new technology rip and blocking it altogether.

One-hundred and fifty years ago, the United States was experiencing the advent of a brand-new transportation technology. Railroads reduced cross-country travel from months to days, turned the U.S. into an industrial powerhouse, and enabled the modern consumer economy. But they also displaced workers, such as canal operators and stagecoach drivers; led to skyrocketing inequality; and produced corrupt monopolies presided over by ruthless oligarchs. A new political movement formed in response. Its adherents passed legislation that protected workers, created novel regulatory agencies, broke up powerful monopolies, and developed safety standards. Neither techno-utopians nor luddites, they believed that technology could be a force for progress—but only if it was actively shaped and regulated by the public. They thus called themselves progressives. Their political descendants would do well to remember their example.

© Illustration by The Atlantic. Source: Getty.

Was there ever a time when people were not panicking about population? In 1798, the English economist Thomas Malthus wrote that “the power of population is so superior to the power in the earth to produce subsistence for man, that premature death must in some shape or other visit the human race.” Humanity, then just 1 billion strong, did not fall into the Malthusian trap. Thanks to the Industrial Revolution, it instead underwent a huge expansion in both size and living standards.

More than a century later, when the world population stood at more than 2 billion, the new concern was impending shrinkage. In 1938, Joseph Spengler, an American economist, confidently predicted that “within the next quarter-century true depopulation—a persistent long-run excess of deaths over births—will manifest itself in nearly all the countries of Europe.” By the time Spengler’s deadline had passed, the postwar Baby Boom was in full swing and population concerns had reverted to Malthusianism. In 1968, Paul Ehrlich, a population biologist at Stanford, argued in The Population Bomb that “the battle to feed all of humanity is over” and, regrettably, humanity had lost. In the next two decades, he warned, “hundreds of millions of people will starve to death in spite of any crash programs embarked upon now.” Instead, the world population went from 3.5 billion to more than 5 billion, living standards increased, and child mortality fell.

Today, as humanity numbers just over 8 billion, the concerns have reversed polarity once more. Right around the time of Ehrlich’s doomsday prediction, global fertility rates began a decline that has not stopped. In the United States, Europe, and even India, births are now below the replacement rate of 2.1 per woman. In 2024, South Korea reached a “total fertility rate”—a measure of how many children the average woman will have over her life—of just 0.75, which if held constant would mean that 100 Koreans should expect to have 14 grandchildren and only five great-grandchildren. (The country’s total fertility rate appears to have ticked up slightly since then.) Very few countries outside Africa are above replacement levels. On current trends, the global population may peak in the 2050s at 9 billion, at which point it would start shrinking—for the first time since the bubonic plague of the 14th century.

[Marc Novicoff: Are men to blame for the birth-rate collapse?]

Now the French worry about dénatalité; Hungarians talk about nemzethalál, national death; the Serbs call the baby bust bela kuga, “the white plague.” For prominent figures in the global New Right, depopulation is seen as a threat to civilization. Giorgia Meloni, Italy’s prime minister, has warned that without bold action, her country could be “destined to disappear.” Elon Musk regularly calls low birth rates the greatest threat to civilization. But this population panic may age just as poorly as the prior ones. Even if the fertility decline doesn’t reverse itself anytime soon, the consequences are unlikely to be apocalyptic.

All of these dire projections have relied on a simple mathematical construct: the exponential curve. When you extrapolate an exponential curve with a positive growth rate far out to the future, it ascends toward infinity. One with a negative growth rate descends toward zero. Ehrlich, for example, wrote that if the growth rates of the 1960s continued “for about 900 years, there would be some 60,000,000,000,000,000 people on the face of the earth.” (That’s 60 quadrillion.) Today, long-run predictions look equally dire in the other direction: Newspapers in South Korea warn about “extinction” by 2750; Japan has a running clock, a bit like America’s national-debt counter, ticking down the seconds until the country has only one child left—expected around August 2644.

The problem with these terrifying models is not the mathematics—a population that halves in size every generation will indeed eventually go extinct, just as one that doubles will eventually overrun the planet—but the assumptions. For such projections to be accurate, people would have to resolutely continue to have a certain number of children for centuries, up to the point of planetary exhaustion or human disappearance. They would have to stay the course even as this demographic decline transformed family structures, housing prices, labor markets, and the workings of the welfare state. Yet the experience of the past century, with its baby booms and busts, demonstrates just how dubious that assumption is.

Family sizes seem to change as the world does, in ways that are hard to predict. For the past half a century, in almost every country on Earth, people have been choosing to have fewer children, despite experiencing the best average living standards that our species has enjoyed so far. This synchronized decline confounds many of the baby bust’s potted explanations in American discourse, from both the left and the right. Liberals argue that people are having fewer children because, among other inequities, child care is insufficiently subsidized, parental leave is insufficiently generous, and men do too little housework. But that can’t explain the serious decline in fertility in progressive utopias such as Finland, Norway, and Sweden. Social conservatives blame decaying norms around marriage and family values. Yet even in countries with strong taboos against out-of-wedlock birth and with strong heterosexual-marriage norms, such as India and Turkey, birth rates have also shrunk to below replacement levels.

One of the best predictors of a country’s fertility rate is its human-development index—a composite measure of life expectancy, education, and average income. As societies get richer and better educated, their citizens desire fewer children. And the past century of globalized capitalism has drastically improved living standards everywhere. In 1950, a bare majority of the world’s population lived in extreme poverty, long defined as having an income of less than $1.90 a day. Today, the share who live in extreme poverty is 10 percent, despite the new threshold of $3 a day. Sociologists trying to make sense of demographic trends have theorized that people assured about their material needs start to value their own individuality and self-actualization more than they do having kids. If this is the cause of the fertility collapse, it defies easy correction. It also would explain why all of the policy attempts that advanced countries have made at encouraging more births have generally proved unsuccessful.

Two claims may be true at once: Humanity is not doomed to wither away, but a sharp uptick in fertility does not look imminent. This latter reality raises the question of whether a sustained bout of population shrinkage—even one that eventually reverses—is itself harmful.

Plenty of economists would argue that it is. The essence of “endogenous growth theory,” which earned Paul Romer a Nobel Prize in 2018, is that economies ultimately grow because of ideas, each generated by individuals but then usable by others. In the case of a stagnating population, fewer people are around to have ideas. This is a scenario that the Stanford economist Charles I. Jones has described as the Empty Planet result: Rather than rising exponentially, economic growth stalls out as innovation plateaus. Note that this model predicts not collapsing living standards but rather stagnating living standards sometime in the distant future. Last year, the economists Dean Spears and Michael Geruso, both at the University of Texas, published a book called After the Spike, making an emphatic case for stabilizing the population even if living standards do not decrease, on the grounds that “more good is better.” “I think that life in 2150 is going to be a lot better than life today,” Spears told me recently. But, he argues, it would be better with more people around, because everyone would benefit from the accumulated work in medicine, technology, and even entertainment.

Even so, there will be ways to soften the blow. Economies facing a dearth of new ideas could compensate by devoting greater shares of workers toward such tasks. “If you told me the population would flatline or even fall in half, you could still have as many engineers and people coming up with new ideas as you had before just by drawing more people into that work,” Dietrich Vollrath, an economist at the University of Houston, told me. AI also seems set to increase the pace of discovery, including at the highest echelons of research and development—witness the recent string of pathbreaking mathematical proofs in just the past few months. A recent working paper by economists at MIT and the London Business School argues that “lower birth rates are associated with higher growth in GDP per working-age adult across countries … with no negative impact on aggregate GDP or earnings.” (Emphasis mine.) The paper’s methodology is being actively debated, but perhaps more important than the observed correlation is the authors’ proposed explanation: that when prime-age workers become scarce, companies adapt by developing productivity-boosting technology.

[Read: Americans are in denial about elder care]

This is not to say that the birth-rate decline will be painless. In a paper published this year, David Weil, an economist at Brown University, modeled what life would look like in two possible futures: one in which the U.S. has roughly replacement-level fertility, and another in which fertility is half that. Living standards in the extremely low-birth world, measured by consumption per capita, would be 8.7 percent lower, he calculated. As Detroit and other Rust Belt cities have shown, the problems of shrinkage—the unused school buildings and the underutilized infrastructure—are harder to manage than the problems of growth. When a population has fewer people, businesses have fewer customers available to them and may not even form in the first place—in the same way that the natural audience limit on Hungarian-language podcasts is much smaller than that of English-language ones.

Societies will be dominated more and more by the elderly and remade as a result. Government projections from South Korea anticipate that senior citizens will make up a majority of the country’s population starting in 2045. There are several reasons to think that this graying would be an economic drag. Most successful start-ups are led by people in their 40s, not people in their 60s. There will be intense demand for care, for both physical and cognitive ailments, which is labor-intensive and difficult to do well at scale. Because people are having fewer babies all around the world, the strategy of importing care workers from abroad will become untenable. Governments already spend considerably more on the elderly than on the young, because unwinding entitlement promises is so politically unpalatable. When gerontocracy becomes genuinely majoritarian, this problem will worsen too. Already, there is no available demographic escape route from a crack-up over entitlements. Within the next decade, America’s Social Security trust fund is expected to run out, which would trigger an immediate 22 percent cut in benefits. Even an immediate baby boom the size of Musk’s dreams would do little to alleviate the financial strain, because children generally take time to turn into taxpayers.

Vollrath, the University of Houston economist, views the ongoing baby bust as analogous to such past changes as urbanization and the decline of agriculture. “This is a clear change in preferences,” he said. “It has unintended consequences that are going to drag out for a couple of decades. That may change the growth rate. But ultimately—it’s always interesting to say this as a growth economist—who gives a shit about the growth rate? It’s not actually the thing you’re trying to optimize. You’re trying to optimize welfare and living standards.” From that perspective, he argues, declining fertility is unlikely to be catastrophic. As theories of the future go, this one lacks the apocalyptic oomph of more dire population projections. But it has a more important virtue as a prediction: It may be what actually happens.

© Illustration by Alisa Gao / The Atlantic. Source: Getty.

The driverless future is here—but, to borrow from William Gibson, it’s not evenly distributed. Waymo’s self-driving robotaxis are available in cities in California, Arizona, Florida, Georgia, Tennessee, and Texas. Aside from California, where the technology originated, those are all red or purple states. In every other blue state, meanwhile, driverless taxis are still not allowed to operate. If you live in Miami or Dallas, you can summon a Waymo to get where you’re going. If you live in Boston or New York, you can’t.

This is not an accident. In Democratic jurisdictions, a coalition of labor unions, anti-tech activists, and politicians have kept driverless vehicles off the streets. (Colorado, which passed a bill authorizing driverless vehicles in 2017, before the current backlash, is on track to become the exception later this year.) They argue that the new technology would make the roads more dangerous and throw millions of human drivers out of work, all to enrich a handful of tech oligarchs.

A version of this fight is now playing out in Washington, D.C., where Kamala Harris won more than 90 percent of the vote in 2024 and where local officials recently introduced a bill that would provide a pathway for robotaxis to begin operating. Some residents have welcomed that prospect. But others are digging in their heels. Bill Davis, the president of the local Teamsters union, declared in a statement that the legislation “doesn’t benefit anyone outside of Silicon Valley billionaires” and “comes at the expense of middle-class professional drivers and anyone else who wants safer streets in our city.”

Driverless cars will indeed cost some workers their jobs. But unlike so many other recent Silicon Valley innovations, they have already demonstrated the potential to bring immense societal benefits. About 40,000 Americans die in car accidents every year. The number of crash-related injuries is much larger. As many as 10,000 crash victims enter emergency rooms around the country every day. Waymos are so much safer than human drivers that deploying them widely could avert countless injuries and deaths every year.

[Saahil Desai: Move fast and break nothing]

They will also make transportation more affordable: A taxi without a driver is much cheaper. Waymo is currently more expensive than Uber and Lyft, but that’s largely because supply is artificially constrained and demand is high. The price differential is dropping fast and will go away soon. Waymos also show promise in reducing carbon emissions and air pollution (the cars are electric), and providing reliable access to people who live in poor neighborhoods (who are routinely turned down by rideshare drivers). Saying no to Waymo is saying no to a technology that will change the world for the better.

There is a name for a political movement that taps into people’s resistance to change and defense of the status quo. William F. Buckley famously described a conservative as “someone who stands athwart history, yelling Stop.” Progressivism was founded on the opposite ethic: that scientific and technological progress can bring about a better, more equitable future, provided that it’s steered in the right direction. In this sense, self-driving cars are a test for American progressives—a test of whether they have become so captured by interest groups, so hostile to corporations, and so fearful of technological change that they’ve transformed into enemies of progress itself.

In much of the country, the popular conception of self-driving cars is something between a bumbling idiot and a mechanical death trap. Videos of Waymo vehicles making ridiculous errors go viral online. Earlier this year, a Waymo hit a child who ran into the road near an elementary school in Santa Monica, California, causing minor injuries. When a jurisdiction considers whether to allow Waymos, stories like these come up again and again. “I’m also deeply concerned about the safety issues autonomous vehicles have already had in other cities,” Helen Raynor-Hughes, a longtime D.C.-area resident, testified during a public hearing in July, citing “reports of crashes, traffic disruptions, and situations where these vehicles failed to respond properly to pedestrians, cyclists, and other drivers.”

But anecdotes can mislead. The question is how robotaxis’ error rate stacks up against that of human drivers. In a recent study, researchers at the Insurance Institute for Highway Safety compared the crash and accident data on a per-mile basis for Waymo vehicles with those of human drivers in the cities where Waymos operated from 2021 to 2024. They found that Waymos were involved in 68 percent fewer crashes serious enough to be reported to police and 81 percent fewer crashes that caused an injury. These findings are “likely conservative” because human drivers regularly fail to report accidents, Eric Teoh, the report’s lead author, told me.

Several other studies have produced even more favorable results. These studies are co-authored by Waymo researchers but have been peer-reviewed by independent academics. Every expert I spoke with for this story, including Waymo skeptics, told me that they consider the research to be high-quality. “Reductions this big are basically unheard of when it comes to traffic safety,” Noah Goodall, a senior research scientist at the Virginia Transportation Research Council, told me. “Not even seat belts or airbags achieved the kinds of numbers we’re seeing here.” (Waymo, which is owned by Alphabet, is the only company that has demonstrated such a strong safety record. The others, including Tesla, have not disclosed the data needed to make safety claims.)

Even these figures probably underestimate how safe Waymos are. The journalists Timothy B. Lee and Kai Williams recently reviewed the details of the 78 accidents that Waymo vehicles had been involved in over a seven-month period and that were serious enough to cause an injury or trigger an airbag deployment. They found just one example where Waymo “could plausibly bear some responsibility” for a taxi crashing into another vehicle or a pedestrian—the Santa Monica–school incident—and another three where culpability was “mixed or unclear.” “We went into this looking for any evidence that Waymo could even remotely be at fault for a given crash,” Lee told me. “But those cases were just really hard to find.”

The big caveat to Waymo’s safety record is its difficulty with so-called edge cases—unpredictable situations for which its algorithm is unprepared and in which human judgment really comes in handy. When a power outage knocked out a third of San Francisco’s traffic lights last December, at least 60 Waymos abruptly idled mid-road, causing severe gridlock and delays. Something similar happened to a few dozen Waymos this year when the driverless vehicles encountered unexpected road closures during San Francisco’s Fourth of July celebrations. Waymos have obstructed emergency vehicles in several cities, typically because of their tendency to freeze when they encounter alarms, sirens, or temporary road closures. The company has not done nearly enough to fix the problem. “Competent driving is about a lot more than crash statistics,” Philip Koopman, an emeritus professor of engineering at Carnegie Mellon, told me. “If Waymo isn’t able to address some of these problematic patterns, it is going to be very hard to convince the public they are safe.”

Even so, the fact that Waymos are considerably safer than human drivers is undeniable. A robot driver can’t drink and drive, fall asleep at the wheel, or check its phone. It won’t flout the rules of the road when it’s running late or trying to impress its friends. And it is equipped with more than a dozen different cameras, plus radar and laser sensors, meaning it doesn’t have blind spots. Bryant Walker Smith, an associate law professor at the University of South Carolina, has advised governments on how to regulate self-driving cars. “What I always tell policy makers is that we absolutely should be concerned about automated driving,” he told me. “But we should be terrified of human driving.”

Safety might be the average American’s top concern about driverless cars, but the average American isn’t spearheading the political resistance to Waymo. Labor unions are. The campaign against driverless vehicles has been led by a coalition of unions representing taxi, rideshare, and truck drivers who argue that self-driving cars will destroy millions of working-class jobs. (Although experts believe that self-driving trucks and delivery vehicles are at least several years away from being a regular presence on roads, labor unions see robotaxi legalization as a stepping stone to a fully automated driving future.) Indeed, Helen Raynor-Hughes, the area resident who testified about Waymo’s safety record, began by identifying herself as a Service Employees International Union member who drives for Uber and Lyft.

In 2026 alone, this Labor United Against Waymo coalition has helped defeat or delay legislation to authorize driverless vehicles in Illinois, Minnesota, Maryland, Virginia, Oregon, and Washington State. In January, New York Governor Kathy Hochul declared that she would pursue a bill to allow robotaxis to operate in the state, only to backtrack a few weeks later following an outcry from labor leaders.

When I arrived at D.C.’s city hall in July for a public hearing on the proposed bill to authorize Waymo, I passed dozens of protesters from various labor groups chanting and holding signs with slogans such as WAYMO? HELL NO and AI DOESN’T VOTE. We Do. Inside, about a dozen labor leaders and rideshare drivers demanded that city officials vote against the bill. Crystal Middleton, a D.C. resident who drives Uber and Lyft part-time to support her family, testified that if Waymo were adopted in the city, “many D.C. families, including mine, will struggle to make ends meet.”

I’m sympathetic to that argument. When I was growing up, my dad spent years driving Uber and Lyft on the weekends to help pay the bills. Like many drivers, he resented the meager pay and lack of benefits. (There’s an irony that unions and Democratic lawmakers are rallying to defend the type of precarious gig work that they have spent more than a decade criticizing.) But it’s hard to imagine what our family would have done without the extra income. The impulse to protect workers like him—not to mention the delivery and truck drivers who fear that they’ll be next—from being displaced by a new technology is understandable.  

That approach, however, ignores the larger number of people who would benefit from a change to the status quo. At the public hearing, local nonprofit leaders and politicians, including Shane Simenstad, the director of public policy for Safe Kids Worldwide, pointed out that rideshare drivers often refuse to enter less desirable parts of the city, leaving residents of poor neighborhoods without a reliable way to get to work or school. Claire Stanley, the director of advocacy and governmental affairs for the American Council of the Blind, spoke about being denied Uber and Lyft rides because of her service dog. Multiple women testified about their fear of being harassed or assaulted by rideshare drivers. (According to a 2025 New York Times investigation, Uber received a report of sexual assault or misconduct nearly every eight minutes on average in the U.S. from 2017 to 2022.)  

Some of the most moving testimonies came from the victims of car crashes and their loved ones. Rameez Tase, a local resident and avid cyclist, told the story of a friend who had been nearly killed after being hit by a car. “Anyone who knows me well knows that my biggest fear of death is being struck and killed by a distracted driver—and leaving my three young children without a father for the rest of their lives,” he said. Cesar Toledo, a member of the D.C. Commission on Poverty, recounted a childhood “marked by the terrifying reality of riding in vehicles driven by family members under the influence.”

Car accidents kill roughly as many Americans each year as breast cancer does, and twice the number of people who die from homicides. It is a leading cause of death among children and young adults. “The number of traffic deaths in America is the equivalent of a Boeing 737 crashing every single day,” Jonathan Slotkin, a neurosurgeon who regularly treats crash victims, told me. “That’s what we’ve chosen to tolerate as the price of mobility.”

Waymos, to be clear, wouldn’t solve this problem right away. Although rideshare and taxi drivers get into accidents at higher rates than the average driver, they make up a small fraction of cars on the road. But operating robotaxis is a key step for Waymo and other companies to perfect their self-driving technology, which could then be sold to vehicle manufacturers like Toyota to include as an optional feature in every car. “If we had a drug that showed these kinds of results, we’d be doing everything we could to get it out to as many people as fast as possible,” Slotkin said.

[Read: The huge problem Waymo didn’t see coming]

Widespread adoption of driverless vehicles would further a litany of goals that anyone should celebrate, especially those who claim to be progressive: slashing traffic injuries and deaths; helping the poor and disabled secure stable employment; making cities safer places to bike and walk; reducing the prevelance of sexual assault and misconduct; putting more electric vehicles on the roads. And yet progressives are the ones standing in the way. “Honestly, it’s just embarrassing,” Colin Mortimer, the director of the Center for New Liberalism, a center-left advocacy group, told me. “Liberals are always talking about how we’re the party that believes in science, that believes in data, that believes in helping the vulnerable. But on this issue we’re doing the exact opposite.”

Some Washington, D.C., legislators believe that the nation’s capital can pioneer a different approach to Waymo. In May, the D.C. Council member Charles Allen introduced a bill that would authorize driverless vehicles to begin operating in the district, but only if their makers meet certain key conditions designed in part to address the edge-case problem and reduce the impact on the city’s labor force. These include completing stringent testing and safety requirements and submitting a plan for interacting with first responders. Even then, the total number of driverless vehicles would be capped at a few hundred during the initial rollout. Each vehicle would also be subject to a per-mile tax used to fund public transit, as well as workforce training and compensation for displaced rideshare and taxi drivers. “We have to be honest with ourselves: This technology is already here and is only going to become a bigger part of our lives going forward,” Allen told me a few weeks after the hearing. “And so we can either bury our heads in the sand and have this change happen to us. Or we can put guardrails in place to make sure the technology works for us and our communities.”

In Allen’s view, too many restrictions would risk throttling a technology that could otherwise bring huge benefits; too few would invite a high-profile incident that draws a public backlash. Getting the balance right will be difficult. My own view is that the bill should have more restrictive testing requirements around edge cases—for instance, simulating power outages or major emergencies—before driverless vehicles can be deployed. But it should also create a less bureaucratic process for increasing the number of vehicles once those requirements have been met. The bill also faces several political obstacles, including an incoming mayor who expressed skepticism about Waymo expansion on the campaign trail. But Allen is trying to do something that no city has done before: chart a middle course between letting the new technology rip and blocking it altogether.

One-hundred and fifty years ago, the United States was experiencing the advent of a brand-new transportation technology. Railroads reduced cross-country travel from months to days, turned the U.S. into an industrial powerhouse, and enabled the modern consumer economy. But they also displaced workers, such as canal operators and stagecoach drivers; led to skyrocketing inequality; and produced corrupt monopolies presided over by ruthless oligarchs. A new political movement formed in response. Its adherents passed legislation that protected workers, created novel regulatory agencies, broke up powerful monopolies, and developed safety standards. Neither techno-utopians nor luddites, they believed that technology could be a force for progress—but only if it was actively shaped and regulated by the public. They thus called themselves progressives. Their political descendants would do well to remember their example.

© Illustration by The Atlantic. Source: Getty.

Was there ever a time when people were not panicking about population? In 1798, the English economist Thomas Malthus wrote that “the power of population is so superior to the power in the earth to produce subsistence for man, that premature death must in some shape or other visit the human race.” Humanity, then just 1 billion strong, did not fall into the Malthusian trap. Thanks to the Industrial Revolution, it instead underwent a huge expansion in both size and living standards.

More than a century later, when the world population stood at more than 2 billion, the new concern was impending shrinkage. In 1938, Joseph Spengler, an American economist, confidently predicted that “within the next quarter-century true depopulation—a persistent long-run excess of deaths over births—will manifest itself in nearly all the countries of Europe.” By the time Spengler’s deadline had passed, the postwar Baby Boom was in full swing and population concerns had reverted to Malthusianism. In 1968, Paul Ehrlich, a population biologist at Stanford, argued in The Population Bomb that “the battle to feed all of humanity is over” and, regrettably, humanity had lost. In the next two decades, he warned, “hundreds of millions of people will starve to death in spite of any crash programs embarked upon now.” Instead, the world population went from 3.5 billion to more than 5 billion, living standards increased, and child mortality fell.

Today, as humanity numbers just over 8 billion, the concerns have reversed polarity once more. Right around the time of Ehrlich’s doomsday prediction, global fertility rates began a decline that has not stopped. In the United States, Europe, and even India, births are now below the replacement rate of 2.1 per woman. In 2024, South Korea reached a “total fertility rate”—a measure of how many children the average woman will have over her life—of just 0.75, which if held constant would mean that 100 Koreans should expect to have 14 grandchildren and only five great-grandchildren. (The country’s total fertility rate appears to have ticked up slightly since then.) Very few countries outside Africa are above replacement levels. On current trends, the global population may peak in the 2050s at 9 billion, at which point it would start shrinking—for the first time since the bubonic plague of the 14th century.

[Marc Novicoff: Are men to blame for the birth-rate collapse?]

Now the French worry about dénatalité; Hungarians talk about nemzethalál, national death; the Serbs call the baby bust bela kuga, “the white plague.” For prominent figures in the global New Right, depopulation is seen as a threat to civilization. Giorgia Meloni, Italy’s prime minister, has warned that without bold action, her country could be “destined to disappear.” Elon Musk regularly calls low birth rates the greatest threat to civilization. But this population panic may age just as poorly as the prior ones. Even if the fertility decline doesn’t reverse itself anytime soon, the consequences are unlikely to be apocalyptic.

All of these dire projections have relied on a simple mathematical construct: the exponential curve. When you extrapolate an exponential curve with a positive growth rate far out to the future, it ascends toward infinity. One with a negative growth rate descends toward zero. Ehrlich, for example, wrote that if the growth rates of the 1960s continued “for about 900 years, there would be some 60,000,000,000,000,000 people on the face of the earth.” (That’s 60 quadrillion.) Today, long-run predictions look equally dire in the other direction: Newspapers in South Korea warn about “extinction” by 2750; Japan has a running clock, a bit like America’s national-debt counter, ticking down the seconds until the country has only one child left—expected around August 2644.

The problem with these terrifying models is not the mathematics—a population that halves in size every generation will indeed eventually go extinct, just as one that doubles will eventually overrun the planet—but the assumptions. For such projections to be accurate, people would have to resolutely continue to have a certain number of children for centuries, up to the point of planetary exhaustion or human disappearance. They would have to stay the course even as this demographic decline transformed family structures, housing prices, labor markets, and the workings of the welfare state. Yet the experience of the past century, with its baby booms and busts, demonstrates just how dubious that assumption is.

Family sizes seem to change as the world does, in ways that are hard to predict. For the past half a century, in almost every country on Earth, people have been choosing to have fewer children, despite experiencing the best average living standards that our species has enjoyed so far. This synchronized decline confounds many of the baby bust’s potted explanations in American discourse, from both the left and the right. Liberals argue that people are having fewer children because, among other inequities, child care is insufficiently subsidized, parental leave is insufficiently generous, and men do too little housework. But that can’t explain the serious decline in fertility in progressive utopias such as Finland, Norway, and Sweden. Social conservatives blame decaying norms around marriage and family values. Yet even in countries with strong taboos against out-of-wedlock birth and with strong heterosexual-marriage norms, such as India and Turkey, birth rates have also shrunk to below replacement levels.

One of the best predictors of a country’s fertility rate is its human-development index—a composite measure of life expectancy, education, and average income. As societies get richer and better educated, their citizens desire fewer children. And the past century of globalized capitalism has drastically improved living standards everywhere. In 1950, a bare majority of the world’s population lived in extreme poverty, long defined as having an income of less than $1.90 a day. Today, the share who live in extreme poverty is 10 percent, despite the new threshold of $3 a day. Sociologists trying to make sense of demographic trends have theorized that people assured about their material needs start to value their own individuality and self-actualization more than they do having kids. If this is the cause of the fertility collapse, it defies easy correction. It also would explain why all of the policy attempts that advanced countries have made at encouraging more births have generally proved unsuccessful.

Two claims may be true at once: Humanity is not doomed to wither away, but a sharp uptick in fertility does not look imminent. This latter reality raises the question of whether a sustained bout of population shrinkage—even one that eventually reverses—is itself harmful.

Plenty of economists would argue that it is. The essence of “endogenous growth theory,” which earned Paul Romer a Nobel Prize in 2018, is that economies ultimately grow because of ideas, each generated by individuals but then usable by others. In the case of a stagnating population, fewer people are around to have ideas. This is a scenario that the Stanford economist Charles I. Jones has described as the Empty Planet result: Rather than rising exponentially, economic growth stalls out as innovation plateaus. Note that this model predicts not collapsing living standards but rather stagnating living standards sometime in the distant future. Last year, the economists Dean Spears and Michael Geruso, both at the University of Texas, published a book called After the Spike, making an emphatic case for stabilizing the population even if living standards do not decrease, on the grounds that “more good is better.” “I think that life in 2150 is going to be a lot better than life today,” Spears told me recently. But, he argues, it would be better with more people around, because everyone would benefit from the accumulated work in medicine, technology, and even entertainment.

Even so, there will be ways to soften the blow. Economies facing a dearth of new ideas could compensate by devoting greater shares of workers toward such tasks. “If you told me the population would flatline or even fall in half, you could still have as many engineers and people coming up with new ideas as you had before just by drawing more people into that work,” Dietrich Vollrath, an economist at the University of Houston, told me. AI also seems set to increase the pace of discovery, including at the highest echelons of research and development—witness the recent string of pathbreaking mathematical proofs in just the past few months. A recent working paper by economists at MIT and the London Business School argues that “lower birth rates are associated with higher growth in GDP per working-age adult across countries … with no negative impact on aggregate GDP or earnings.” (Emphasis mine.) The paper’s methodology is being actively debated, but perhaps more important than the observed correlation is the authors’ proposed explanation: that when prime-age workers become scarce, companies adapt by developing productivity-boosting technology.

[Read: Americans are in denial about elder care]

This is not to say that the birth-rate decline will be painless. In a paper published this year, David Weil, an economist at Brown University, modeled what life would look like in two possible futures: one in which the U.S. has roughly replacement-level fertility, and another in which fertility is half that. Living standards in the extremely low-birth world, measured by consumption per capita, would be 8.7 percent lower, he calculated. As Detroit and other Rust Belt cities have shown, the problems of shrinkage—the unused school buildings and the underutilized infrastructure—are harder to manage than the problems of growth. When a population has fewer people, businesses have fewer customers available to them and may not even form in the first place—in the same way that the natural audience limit on Hungarian-language podcasts is much smaller than that of English-language ones.

Societies will be dominated more and more by the elderly and remade as a result. Government projections from South Korea anticipate that senior citizens will make up a majority of the country’s population starting in 2045. There are several reasons to think that this graying would be an economic drag. Most successful start-ups are led by people in their 40s, not people in their 60s. There will be intense demand for care, for both physical and cognitive ailments, which is labor-intensive and difficult to do well at scale. Because people are having fewer babies all around the world, the strategy of importing care workers from abroad will become untenable. Governments already spend considerably more on the elderly than on the young, because unwinding entitlement promises is so politically unpalatable. When gerontocracy becomes genuinely majoritarian, this problem will worsen too. Already, there is no available demographic escape route from a crack-up over entitlements. Within the next decade, America’s Social Security trust fund is expected to run out, which would trigger an immediate 22 percent cut in benefits. Even an immediate baby boom the size of Musk’s dreams would do little to alleviate the financial strain, because children generally take time to turn into taxpayers.

Vollrath, the University of Houston economist, views the ongoing baby bust as analogous to such past changes as urbanization and the decline of agriculture. “This is a clear change in preferences,” he said. “It has unintended consequences that are going to drag out for a couple of decades. That may change the growth rate. But ultimately—it’s always interesting to say this as a growth economist—who gives a shit about the growth rate? It’s not actually the thing you’re trying to optimize. You’re trying to optimize welfare and living standards.” From that perspective, he argues, declining fertility is unlikely to be catastrophic. As theories of the future go, this one lacks the apocalyptic oomph of more dire population projections. But it has a more important virtue as a prediction: It may be what actually happens.

© Illustration by Alisa Gao / The Atlantic. Source: Getty.

Yes, I am odd, but I am still multifaceted.

Struggles for personal and creative freedom fuel Shatara Michelle Ford’s second feature, about three women’s search for a friend gone missing.

Few forces have proved as powerful at tempering A.I. use as public shaming has. Now Anthropic is making it even easier to determine if text was generated by Claude.

Something happens to kids when they’re about 9 years old. Before then, they’re voracious little bookworms, with most of them saying they read for fun at least five days a week. After their ninth birthday, only 35 percent still do. 

Experts call this phenomenon “the decline by 9,” and they spend a lot of time trying to figure out how to stop it. They talk up and cherish the books that break through: the Harry Potters and the Percy Jacksons, which got so many kids to keep reading through those danger years and which sold so well through millennial and Gen Z childhoods. Publishers keep looking for new books compelling enough to keep kids away from their screens and glued to the page. 

But for the past 10 years, books for kids ages 8 to 12 (known as middle grade) have been selling less and less. 

“It had been happening for maybe a decade, very very slowly,” said Joanne O’Sullivan, a children’s book author and reporter for Publishers Weekly. What had been a gradual slope got dramatically worse in 2020. And in the years since the pandemic, publishers have shut down multiple middle-grade imprints, culminating in it happening twice this year. 

No one in publishing is entirely sure why kids books stopped selling, but there are two major theories. One says that children are no longer reading as much as they used to, because they are worse readers than previous generations were. The age group that used to happily devour Harry Potter is now distracted by iPads and YouTube shorts, so they never developed the ability to sit down and focus on a printed page. Their reading scores, which started falling in 2014, tell the tale.

The other theory says that the kids aren’t the ones who changed — publishers are. Starting in the 2000s, middle-grade books began getting long, with the average going from 174.5 pages in 2006 to 290 in 2016. According to this narrative, publishers flooded the market with books too difficult for their target audience. Kids responded by tuning out. 

Whichever theory is true, the fact remains that all those ravenous 8-year-old bookworms depend on middle-grade publishers to keep on reading after they turn 9. The publishers who sell these books have built massive businesses on their ability to supply kids with exciting, addictive stories. If they’re failing, what will kids turn to for entertainment instead?

Why did tweens lose interest in books?

Reading decline happens during the big transition all middle-grade readers go through: moving from short illustrated chapter books to fully fledged novels. It’s a pain point. 

“They’ve been doing short chapter books; they’ve been doing those leveled readers in the classroom; and, then, all of a sudden, what’s available to them is a lot chunkier, more challenging,” O’Sullivan said. She described the transition as “abrupt,” adding, “that’s not necessarily just for kids who are struggling with reading. That’s also for kids who like reading and are capable.” 

“If you have a kid who’s not a very confident reader, a long book is very intimidating,” Kelly Dickinson, a middle school librarian in Bethesda, Maryland, told Vox. “They just stall out before they can even pick one, because they look at it and they think, ‘I can’t read that.’” 

The shadow of Harry Potter, with its doorstopper volumes approaching a thousand pages, looms large here. Before Harry, a standard middle-grade novel might look like The Baby-Sitters Club volume The Truth About Stacey, which clocks in around 35,000 words. In a Substack post in April, Vicky Weber, an author, literary agent, and author coach for middle-grade books, pointed out that Sorcerer’s Stone was 76,944 words long, already pushing the limits of a middle-grade reader’s attention. After the books became phenomenons, they got much longer; Order of the Phoenix was 257,045 words, which is heftier than most adult novels. As publishers raced to catch up, their books began to expand, as well.  

“When something becomes really popular, other publishers try to replicate that success,” Weber told Vox. “I think one of the things we didn’t take into account is how many Harry Potter readers were adults.” 

While middle-grade books really did get longer, everyone I spoke to also acknowledges that kids’ reading scores really did drop, too. Kids have lost a lot of their unstructured play time to the grind of organized sports and music lessons, which means the empty childhood hours that are such perfect reading opportunities have vanished. “That time to just sit down and read is so truncated for a lot of kids, probably a lot of the kids who would have chosen to read a 400-page book if they had the time,” O’Sullivan said. 

Then, there was the trauma of Covid, which smashed right into kids’ reading habits. “There were factors like schools and libraries closing, not much time with peers, and plenty of screen time during the pandemic,” said Kristen McLean, who runs the thought leadership collective Circana Entertainment Knowledge Group. All these bad effects, McLean said, that essentially “broke the discovery chain” for middle-grade fiction, in what she describes as “a perfect storm for lower literacy.”

The graphic novel pivot

The good news is that kids didn’t stop reading entirely during the pandemic. A few categories spiked: illustrated books, graphic novels, and manga. Jackie De Leo, now the chief merchant and publisher at Scholastic, was a vice president at Barnes & Noble during the pandemic, and she describes seeing kids with an unquenchable thirst for manga all through 2020. 

“If you sat in a store and watched the manga section, you’d see little kids at lunch; you’d see them through the day; and, then, it would move into being adults,” De Leo said. “The only real constraint was actual inventory.” 

Now, O’Sullivan says she keeps hearing middle-grade publishers say, “Let’s meet them where they are.” In practice, that appears to mean they’re focusing on books like the wildly popular Dog Man, a graphic novel series featuring a hero with the head of a dog and the body of a police officer. 

“Dog Man is full color — so immersive,” De Leo said. “There’s these fun parts about the physical book, too, where you actually have to flap the pages and it makes an animation reel.” More importantly, she said, the books are funny. “Kids like things that are funny, and we were giving them some pretty serious things for a while — books for adults packaged as middle-grade books.”

The new ideal middle-grade book is short, punchy, and comedic and comes with a hefty dose of graphics. “Maybe it’s comics, maybe it’s illustrated novels,” O’Sullivan said. “Maybe, instead of just running text, they’ll have a panel with some text messages in it or something, just to break up the text to make the entire experience of reading less intimidating.” 

This focus on breaking up the text means that publishing isn’t going back to what middle-grade books looked like before Harry Potter: short, simple chapter books à la The Baby-Sitters Club and Encyclopedia Brown. Those series weren’t hefty or overly serious, but they were massive bestsellers on the strength of their words, not their images. (It’s also worth noting that Scholastic adapted a few of the BSC books into graphic novels in 2006 and, then, perhaps seeing the writing on the wall, picked up the project again in 2021.)

I asked De Leo if she thought the industry’s shift to including more illustrations suggests that kids have lost an ability to handle pure text, even when it is short and sweet.

But De Leo said that reading graphic novels represents a “different type of literacy” from that required to read Encyclopedia Brown mysteries, not a lesser one. She said that when she reads a graphic novel, she has trouble forcing herself to look at the images, not just the words. When she sees kids focusing on the pictures with ease, she takes it as evidence of “a real visual literacy that they have that I am jealous of.”

Dickinson, the librarian, said she wishes that publishers would put out comedic fiction in more formats. “A lot of kids want funny books, and a lot of the funny books are the illustrated hybrid stuff,” she said. “There’s not enough other funny books, in my opinion.” 

Reenvisioning middle grade books

Experts are hopeful that publishers’ new direction will be enough to get kids reading again — and to get their parents to buy books. “This is probably the first year where I’ve heard people being optimistic and feeling excited about the new ideas that are coming,” O’Sullivan said. “People are beginning to be able to re-envision middle grade.” 

The publishing shutdowns reflect the industry’s new direction. One of the three people to survive the March closure of Dial Books for Young Readers was an editor specializing in picture books and graphic novels. Macmillan is replacing the now-defunct Roaring Brook Press imprint, which also closed in March, with a new imprint specializing in nonfiction and illustrated books for kids, although it’s not yet clear what age group the new imprint will cater to.

In the meantime, kids’ reading test scores have started to rebound. In 2025, 9-year-olds’ average reading scores went up four points from 2022 — back to where they were before the pandemic. 

With kids becoming stronger readers and books getting shorter, the hope is that they’ll meet in the middle. 

“Kids in the middle-grade age are extremely self-centered and view everything through how it impacts them. Developmentally, that’s very normal,” Dickinson said. “But also, they’re incredibly empathetic at this age.” Reading fiction, which allows us to imagine how other people’s minds work, can be deeply impactful for this malleable age if kids can hold onto their love of reading long enough to reap the benefits. 

“This is a time when reading habits and interest in reading can really die,” Dickinson said. “The hope is to help kids discover what kinds of books or what formats they like — and to show that there are ways in.”

The general election for Wisconsin governor is now a week old. But the past seven days of debate between the race’s Republican and Democratic candidates can be paraphrased in just two lines:

“My opponent is a shill for Big Tech who wants to build data centers over Wisconinites’ farms, parks, preserves, graves — and, possibly, Lambeau Field.”

“I know you are, but what am I?”

The Republican nominee, Congressman Tom Tiffany, has been the aggressor in this argument. Tiffany has branded his Democratic rival David Crowley as “Data Center David,” spotlighting the Milwaukee County Executive’s past support for turning Wisconsin into a “data hub” for “the entire globe.” In the Republican’s telling, Crowley is a corporate stooge eager to let Wisconsin’s “lakes run dry” and its “family farms” get “paved over,” just to generate higher profits for his Silicon Valley paymasters.

Crowley has returned fire. The Democrat has insisted that every Wisconsin community should have veto power over any data center project within its territory — and that new computing campuses anywhere in the state must comply with strict regulations. Meanwhile, Crowley has argued that Tiffany is the race’s true corporate shill, noting that the member of Congress voted for tax cuts that benefit Big Tech (paid for with cuts to Medicaid and food stamps), permitting reforms that made data centers easier to build, and a ban on state and local AI regulations. “Congressman Tiffany loves data centers,” Crowley warned in a recent statement.

Meanwhile, it’s not clear how much they actually disagree on what they would do about the issue as governor. 

The Wisconsin governor’s race has quickly become the most prominent flashpoint in the national war over data centers. And it’s not hard to tell which side is winning. On Tuesday, Josh Shapiro, the moderate Democratic governor of Pennsylvania, announced a suite of measures to slow and block “predatory” data center developments, after having previously led efforts to attract them. 

If the public’s views on data centers are increasingly clear, the substantive issues remain unsettled. And the politics are more complicated than polling alone would indicate: Key constituencies in both the Democratic and Republican parties remain invested (literally and figuratively) in hyperscale development. Even as Tiffany and Crowley spar over who would do more to curb the data center menace, their actual policies quietly reflect these tensions.

How data centers became a flashpoint in Wisconsin 

On first glance, Crowley and Tiffany’s back-and-forth on data centers looks odd in multiple respects. For one thing, Republicans do not typically accuse Democrats of trying too hard to spur corporate investment — nor of doing too little to protect the environment. For another, Crowley and Tiffany seem to appear to largely agree about data center policy, which makes their emphasis on the issue sound a bit strange.

Upon closer inspection, however, Tiffany’s emphasis on the subject isn’t hard to understand.

Crowley just barely defeated socialist Assembly member Francesca Hong in the Democratic gubernatorial primary. And data center policy was among the key divides in that contest, according to Crowley himself: Hong championed a statewide moratorium on data centers, while Crowley merely favored imposing tight guardrails on their development. 

What’s more, Crowley really did tout the potential benefits of data center development in the past. And he is closely allied with sitting Democratic Governor Tony Evers, who enacted large tax subsidies for new computing campuses in the state. Thanks in part to that largesse, Wisconsin witnessed a sudden wave of hyperscale (in other words, AI) data center development over the past two years.

Thus, by staking out a more (ostensibly) hardline, anti-data center position, Tiffany hopes to fracture the Democratic coalition — and isolate Crowley from the 76 percent of Wisconsin voters who say that the server farms’ costs outweigh their benefits. 

In reality, however, the distinctions between Crowley and Tiffany’s positions on data center construction are much narrower than the latter’s attacks suggest. And to the extent that Crowley is more sympathetic to hyperscale development, this has less to do with his alleged fealty to Big Tech than his support for organized labor.

Crowley and Tiffany mostly agree about data centers

Crowley and Tiffany’s positions on data centers heavily overlap.

Neither candidate supports a statewide moratorium. Both say that local communities should have the power to veto new computing campuses; that data centers must pay the full price of their energy needs (including the costs of any new power and transmission infrastructure that their consumption necessitates); and that companies should not be allowed to enter into nondisclosure agreements with local governments that temporarily conceal negotiations over new data center developments from the public.

Likewise, as their respective attacks suggest, Crowley and Tiffany were both friendlier to the AI industry in the past, before the backlash to artificial intelligence — and the infrastructure it requires — took off. Crowley really did express a desire for Wisconsin to become a global leader in artificial intelligence. Tiffany, meanwhile, has indeed voted to cut taxes on AI companies and shield them from state and local regulations. And the Republican is aligned with an even more unabashed champion of data centers than Evers, President Donald Trump.

Further, many of the distinctions between Crowley and Tiffany’s data center platforms reflect perennial left-right divides on other issues, rather than any difference in each candidate’s degree of chumminess with Big Tech. 

For example, Crowley wants to require data center projects to finance new renewable energy installations — both so that they can meet their own power needs in a sustainable way and so that Wisconsin’s broader electric grid becomes less dependent on coal. 

Tiffany also recognizes that data center development could be leveraged to fund new renewable energy. But he sees this as a bug, not a feature: After all, new solar and wind farms could eat up Wisconsin’s precious farmland, which Tiffany has sworn to protect. The Republican instead prefers for new data centers to run on coal, thereby propping up that embattled industry.

Crowley is more pro-data center in one way

All this said, Tiffany’s platform is genuinely less pro-data center than Crowley’s in one respect: The Republican has promised to end all taxpayer subsidies for data centers in Wisconsin. 

Crowley’s position is comparatively nuanced. In an interview with the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel in July, the Democrat said, “I do not believe Wisconsin should automatically roll back all data center tax incentives, but I do believe we need a more rigorous review of whether taxpayers are receiving sufficient value for the incentives being provided.”

In response to Tiffany’s recent attacks, Crowley has embraced far more adversarial rhetoric towards the tech industry in general and the AI sector in particular. And he has called for imposing a set of requirements on new data center development so numerous and profound, it is unclear whether many companies would be interested in pursuing new projects under his leadership, subsidies or no subsidies. 

Nevertheless, as of this writing, Crowley has yet to abandon his July position on tax incentives. Instead, he has countered Tiffany’s charges on that front by noting that, in supporting Donald Trump’s tax bill, his Republican opponent effectively “signed over $70 billion in tax handouts to the same companies now steamrolling over our local communities with data centers.” 

This is a fair hit. But it’s also a little evasive. How high the corporate tax rate should be federally — and whether Wisconsin should offer tax breaks to data center developments — are two different questions. 

And Wisconsin’s subsidies to hyperscalers are not small. Under Evers, the state exempted large data center projects from sales taxes. This means that a data center developer need not pay taxes — to either the state or localities — on construction materials, IT equipment, on-site power infrastructure, cooling systems, or electricity. 

Critically, these exemptions do not sunset: Tech companies don’t just avoid sales taxes when initially building their data centers. Rather, they pay no taxes on their facilities’ electricity consumption forever, while also avoiding any levies when updating their servers or other equipment.

All this adds up. According to a report from Wisconsin’s Legislative Fiscal Bureau, the state is poised to forgo $1.5 billion in sales tax revenue during the construction of certified data center projects, and then another $369 million annually after the facilities are fully operating. This is an especially sensitive issue in Wisconsin, where voters are still upset over an effort to lure tech manufacturer Foxconn to the state in Trump’s first term, a costly gambit that failed to deliver on its promised benefits.

To be clear, the Fiscal Bureau’s projections do not mean that data centers are likely to subtract billions of dollars from Wisconsin’s state and local budgets. Even if the hyperscale facilities are exempt from sales levies they must still pay property taxes. And their owners could owe corporate taxes while their construction workers and permanent employees will pay income taxes. 

Their spending also generates business — and thus, income tax obligations — for other Wisconsin enterprises, such as utilities. On net, the projects will almost certainly increase the amount of revenue available to Wisconsin state and local governments. The debate is over whether the projects could have generated even more revenue, in the absence of subsidies — or whether these developments would have gone to a different state, had Wisconsin not made their funders such a sweetheart deal.

The evidence on that question is mixed. On the one hand, tax subsidies of some kind were plausibly necessary to spur hyperscale data center investment in Wisconsin. At present, 38 states provide tax incentives to data center developers. 

On the other hand, Wisconsin’s subsidies are unusually generous. States commonly spare servers and capital equipment from sales taxes, but many do not extend that exemption to electricity. And the indefinite nature of Wisconsin’s subsidies is also far from standard. In nearby Illinois, data center projects enjoy a sales tax exemption for only 20 years. 

Meanwhile, Wisconsin has some structural assets that might make it appealing to tech companies, even if it offered far lower subsidies. Due to its proximity to the Great Lakes, Wisconsin boasts abundant water. And it also has relatively cool temperatures, which limit hyperscalers’ cooling costs. 

Crowley has not ruled out dramatically scaling back the state’s subsidies. But unlike Tiffany, he has thus far declined to endorse abolishing those subsidies in their entirety.

In Wisconsin, banning data centers is not the pro-union position

At this point, you might be asking why Crowley doesn’t simply go “full populist” on data centers. Why give Tiffany any room to get to the Democratic Party’s left on this issue? Why not shore up your left flank by simply calling for a statewide moratorium — or at a minimum, for ending all data center tax breaks? After all, roughly three-quarters of Wisconsinites think the facilities are net harmful to the state. 

In Tiffany’s telling, the answer to these questions is simple: Crowley is a bought-off puppet of the AI industry. But this is almost certainly wrong. 

In truth, Crowley’s refusal to fully disavow data center construction likely reflects his ties to labor, not capital. 

In his attack ad, Tiffany alleges that Crowley’s campaign is funded by “the people building” data centers and then flashes this image:

Tiffany’s claim is true — but in a misleadingly literal sense: The figure cited appears to be a reference to Crowley’s support from Wisconsin’s building trades unions. As of August 13, unions representing Wisconsin electricians, pipefitters, carpenters, construction workers, and other laborers had collectively contributed $412,000 to Crowley’s campaign. The Democrat has received no comparable support from corporate PACs of any kind, much less AI industry-affiliated ones. 

The building trades are strongly supportive of data center construction — and for good reason. A data center serving OpenAI and Oracle in Port Washington, Wisconsin is being built through an explicit partnership with the Wisconsin Building Trades Council. 

Separately, the Democrat has evinced concern for municipalities that do desire data center development, saying that Wisconsin can protect its ratepayers and environment “while also not preempting communities that have done their due diligence to allow for different types of economic development investments.”

For some Wisconsin communities, the fiscal benefits of data center development can be profound. 

Consider Port Washington: In recent decades, the city’s manufacturing base shrank — and its business tax revenues declined with it. As a result, homeowners shouldered more and more of the burden of financing local government. But its new hyperscale data center promises to dramatically change its finances. According to the city’s Mayor Ted Neitzke, the project is expected to add between $1.3 and $1.8 billion in property value to a municipality whose entire existing valuation is scarcely over $1 billion. 

By doubling the tax base, the data center could finance property tax cuts or public service expansions for Port Washington residents. Many of Wisconsin’s other post-industrial towns face similar challenges — and thus, could reap similar benefits from data center development. This may be why neither Crowley nor Tiffany have felt comfortable endorsing a moratorium, despite their increasingly populist rhetoric about data centers and AI.

For most voters, data centers aren’t central

Add it up, and you have two candidates who are balancing the interests of the data center boom’s material beneficiaries against its growing political toxicity — and giving more and more weight to the latter. 

It is unclear whether data centers will remain at the forefront of governors’ race as the campaign enters its homestretch. Although hyperscale facilities are increasingly unpopular in Wisconsin, they also are not a top-tier concern for the vast majority of the state’s voters. In a July poll from Marquette Law School, only 5 percent of Wisconsin voters named “data centers” as the state’s most important issue, putting it behind inflation, “illegal immigration,” health insurance, property taxes, “jobs and the economy,” and housing affordability.

Nevertheless, the fact that Crowley and Tiffany are sparring over who dislikes data centers the most — months after both expressed positive sentiments about the facilities — shows which way the wind is blowing. 

PARIS — Center-left MEP Raphaël Glucksmann will announce that he’s running in next year’s presidential election in France in the next few days, most likely with a prime-time TV interview on Sunday, according to three people close to him.

The trio, granted anonymity to speak candidly about Glucksmann’s plans, said he plans to take part in a closed primary being organized by the Socialist Party that currently includes Ségolène Royal, the Socialist presidential candidate in 2007 who lost to Nicolas Sarkozy, and MP Philippe Brun. Socialist Party leader Olivier Faure has also said he is considering running.

While a win would guarantee Glucksmann the support of the Socialists, the main center-left force in France, the party has been struggling to make inroads with voters and is beset by infighting.

Several high-profile Socialists, including former President François Hollande and former Prime Minister Bernard Cazeneuve, have publicly hinted at plans to sit out their party’s primary and launch independent presidential bids.

However, polls show that Glucksmann, the leader of his own small political party, Place Publique, is the best-placed presidential hopeful on the center left after leading the Socialists and their allies to a strong third-place finish in the 2024 European elections.

Yet he and the rest of the field still lag significantly behind far-right front-runner Marine Le Pen, according to most surveys. France’s presidential election goes to a runoff if no candidate scores more than 50 percent of the vote, and if the polls hold, Le Pen is all but guaranteed to nab one of the final two spots.

To advance to the second round, Glucksmann will have to see off centrist and center-right rivals like Edouard Philippe and the firebrand anticapitalist Jean-Luc Mélenchon.

Mélenchon, who announced his plans to run in May, is currently polling slightly ahead of Glucksmann, but both are within striking distance of making the runoff.

The two are bitter rivals whose divisions are reminiscent of those across left-leaning parties in the Western world, including the U.S. Democratic Party.

Glucksmann hopes his centrist brand of politics can win over former Socialist voters who backed President Emmanuel Macron. Mélenchon’s hardline messaging is more targeted at low-propensity voters, including younger voters and those from working-class, multicultural communities in major French cities.

Glucksmann and Mélenchon disagree on issues ranging from France’s participation in NATO, — which Mélenchon opposes and Glucksmann supports — to pension reform.

Mélenchon has pledged to lower the minimum retirement age to 60 if elected president, while Glucksmann believes some workers should be required to work longer and that France should move toward a system where retirement age would be based on life expectancy and individual working conditions.

LONDON — Prime Minister Andy Burnham’s government said the U.K. is willing to discuss American concerns over its digital services tax amid renewed pressure from the White House.

President Donald Trump in June threatened to impose 100 percent tariffs on European countries with DSTs which target U.S. tech firms, and in an interview with The Times newspaper published on Monday, Trump’s top trade official Jamieson Greer said the threat was “not a bluff” and the president’s demands that foreign governments abandon such taxes were “quite serious.”

“We remain open to discussing U.S. concerns and working with partners internationally,” a U.K. government spokesperson said when asked about Greer’s comments.

“This tax is about making sure that businesses pay their fair share of U.K. tax based on the value they derive from U.K. activities,” the spokesperson said, adding that the U.K. is committed to removing it “once a global solution is in place.”

The DST raised over £1 billion last year, predominantly from American tech firms, and has repeatedly drawn Trump’s ire.

The U.K. government has so far resisted calls to abandon the tax, including during trade negotiations last year. A U.K.-U.S. Economic Prosperity Deal signed by Trump and Burnham’s predecessor, Keir Starmer, did not mention the DST but said both sides would continue discussions to increase digital trade and address non-tariff barriers.

Greer added in his interview with The Times that the U.S. administration would not “set artificial timelines” and that relations with his British counterparts, including Trade Secretary Jonathan Reynolds and the prime minister’s business adviser Varun Chandra, are positive.

Framework has refreshed its 12-inch convertible laptop, introducing Intel's latest Core Series 3 processors, expanded hardware customizations, and a pre-built Linux option. The cheapest pre-built base configuration for the Framework Laptop 12 now starts at $699 - $100 less than the previous version when it launched last year. Preorders are open now, with the first wave of deliveries expected to ship in October.

That pre-built base configuration is only available in green, and includes an Intel Core 3 304 CPU, 8GB of RAM, and 512GB of storage. It also comes preloaded with Linux Fedora 44 KDE Plasma, a decision brought on by Framework finding …

Read the full story at The Verge.

In dieser Episode sprechen Pauline von Pezold und Frederik Schindler dem Spitzenkandidaten der AfD für Mecklenburg-Vorpommern, Leif-Erik Holm. Im Vorfeld der Landtagswahlen am 20. September geht es mit Holm um seine Ambitionen auf das Amt des Ministerpräsidenten und sein Vorhaben, notfalls durch eine Kooperation mit der CDU oder Tolerierungsmodelle an die Macht zu kommen. Obwohl er sich gleichzeitig die „Altparteien“ auf den „Müllhaufen der Geschichte“ wünscht.

Zudem konfrontieren die beiden Holm mit seiner energiepolitischen Kernforderung nach einer Rückkehr zu russischem Gas. Sie haken nach, wie sich diese Strategie mit den Importverboten der EU und dem Angriffskrieg Russlands gegen die Ukraine vereinbaren lässt und ob die AfD damit nicht sehenden Auges neue energie- und sicherheitspolitische Abhängigkeiten für Deutschland in Kauf nimmt.

Ein weiterer kritischer Fokus des Interviews liegt auf dem Personal des Landesverbandes.
Schindler und von Pezold befragen Holm zum neuen Generalsekretär seiner Partei sowie Vorstandsmitgliedern der Parteijugend Generation Deutschland, die teils eine Vergangenheit in der rechtsextremen NPD haben.

„Inside AfD“ ist der POLITICO-Podcast über die umstrittenste Partei des Landes. Trotz Radikalisierung und Beobachtung durch den Verfassungsschutz wächst die AfD weiter. Wie ist das möglich? Was treibt ihre Anhänger, Strategen und Gegner an? Wie funktioniert das Innenleben der Partei? Und was bedeutet ihr Aufstieg für das politische System Deutschlands?

Antworten liefern immer mittwochs Pauline von Pezold von POLITICO und Frederik Schindler von WELT — unaufgeregt, aber kritisch.

Fragen und Feedback gern an insideafd@politico.eu.

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A full three decades ago, as Bill Clinton turned 50 in the midst of his successful 1996 reelection campaign, he was sounding even then in an autumnal mood.

“I have more yesterdays than tomorrows” he used to say often that year, a wistfulness that caused those of us who covered him to puzzle. What’s with this misty nostalgia? It was literally true, unless he expected to live 100, that he probably had more yesterdays than tomorrows. But fifty is typically the point when people realize they are no longer exactly young. It is hardly an age that merits a self-conception as old. Clinton’s perspective, however, doubtless left him with an appreciation of the fragility of life. He never met his biological father — a traveling salesman who married five times and died at age 28 in a car accident, three months before the future president was born.

Yet Clinton himself has proved reasonably durable, especially for a man who had serious heart surgery at age 58. The 42nd president turns 80 today — at last at an age that amply justifies a more searching look back on life.

Rest assured that no one in 1996 was contemplating the possibility that the president 30 years later would be a man who is actually two months older than Clinton — much less that this man would be President Donald Trump, who at that time had already been famous as a real estate magnate and professional self-promoter for 15 years or so.

Above all, I think few people then were imagining that the country in 2026 would itself be feeling so old — or, at a minimum, so surly and so bereft of a unifying vision of the future. The very essence of the most powerful and divisive political movement since former President Ronald Reagan’s is expressly backward-looking — Make America Great Again.

Many of the habits that today infuse American politics — the ones that make it so remorseless and infused with indignation and disdain — were present in nascent form in Clinton’s presidency. At the time, those developments seemed exotic — there was scant notion that they represented a shabby new norm.

In the early days, this brand of contempt-driven politics often revolved around arguments about Bill Clinton’s public and private character. This was a theme of his 1992 election against George H.W. Bush, his 1996 election against Bob Dole, and it even shadowed the 2004 dedication of his presidential library in Little Rock, Ark.

I am hardly a Clinton intimate. I haven’t been in his company in a decade. At one time, however, I probably knew as much about his presidency — its animating ideas, its decisive moments, its distinctive personalities — as anyone who had not actually served in it. This came from six years covering his White House for the Washington Post, and another two working on a book that aimed to synthesize his years in office and take a preliminary cut at assessing their historical weight. In both journalistic and historical terms, much of this time was devoted to thinking about competing appraisals of Clinton’s character.

It is an argument without end in part because the positive and negative elements of Clinton’s character, the light and the shadows, seemingly flow from the same source: an intense need to win, to matter, to seduce, to prove himself in the world. Imagine if people around Bill Clinton in 1974, the year he ran unsuccessfully for Congress — Hillary Rodham, then a girlfriend but not yet a spouse, showed up in Arkansas to help — had been given a crystal ball to peer into the future. These people would not be surprised to learn that a future president was in their midst; His talent, ambition, and idealism were that obvious. Nor would they be surprised to learn how his campaigns and presidency would at various turns be nearly derailed. As early biographer David Maraniss documented, even then Clinton had a reputation for sexual vagrancy, and the patterns of heedlessness, deception, and hypocrisy such a lifestyle inevitably requires.

He’s been out of political office for more than a quarter-century — as long as he was ever in it, beginning with his first victory as Arkansas attorney general in 1976. By my lights, the years since he yielded the Oval Office to George W. Bush (who turned 80 last month) in January 2001 have abundantly ratified the proposition that the country could do worse — at key junctures plainly has done worse–than Clinton’s character or his record, the strengths and infirmities alike.

As he turns 80, and the country contemplates a post-Trump future two years from now, it seems to me there are at least four ways in which Clinton has prevailed in the great character argument woven throughout his life.

Responsibility

This is a place where my views have not changed much from what I thought at the time and what I think now. A paradox of Clinton’s presidency is that, however reckless he was in his personal life — culminating in the Monica S. Lewinsky scandal and Republicans’ unsuccessful attempt to evict him from office through impeachment — he was supremely responsible in his use of power and his willingness to take sober risks for what he thought was right. Yes, he would over-agonize on hard choices — on issues from trade to welfare to war in the Balkans. But at the end of the day — sometimes it could be a very long day — on big subjects there was rarely much variance between what Clinton genuinely thought was the right decision and what he did.

A good many of his policies are out of favor now within his own party. But the political and policy landscape he was navigating was much different than today. Clinton was a thoroughly political creature, but he was not an unduly cynical one — he was willing frequently to risk his political self-interest on behalf of what he conceived of as the public interest.

Persuasion

One reason Bill Clinton and his brand of centrist politics can seem antiquated is that the past generation has been defined by a whole different emphasis: the politics of mobilization. Under this later school of politics, elections are won principally by sharpening divisions and elevating the moral stakes. The aim is not to win over skeptics through the power of reasoned argument. It is to convince your own side that the other side is so repugnant in its character and aims that they should rally behind you and turn out in the biggest possible numbers.

Clinton would in most of his campaigns give a nod to trying to explain what the other side believed, and why he believed his approach is better. “I think one of the ways you win elections is by talking straight with people and giving them permission to vote against you,” Clinton said a few years ago on a podcast. What he meant was that effective arguments don’t hector audiences or assert moral superiority, or the other side’s moral iniquity. They invite or even inspire people to think about an issue differently.

In short, the politics of mobilization harnesses the power of contempt; the politics of persuasion employs the language of respect. Mobilization politics tends to deal in ideological and cultural abstractions like free markets versus socialism, or “traditional values” versus sexual freedom — the kind of debates that are especially potent at pushing people to decide “which side are you on?” Persuasion politics is more likely to center on the concrete human dimensions of policy choices — here’s what an expansion of childcare tax credits might mean for you.

You could argue which brand of politics is more effective, and for the most part advocates of mobilization politics in recent years on left and right have been prevailing. But it’s hard to see how the politics of persuasion is not a more inspiring expression of American character, and also more likely to resolve serious long-term debates.

The fight for power

When Clinton opened his presidential library in Little Rock in 2004, the late Peter Jennings of ABC News in an interview baited Clinton about a recent survey of historians that rated his presidency reasonably well overall, but second to last (ahead only of Richard Nixon) in “moral authority.” Clinton said curtly that the historians were wrong, adding, “I don’t really care what they think.” Jennings replied: “Excuse me, Mr. President. I can feel it across the room. You care very deeply.”

Clinton then snapped: “You don’t want to go here, Peter. You don’t want to go here. Not after what you people did. And the way you — your network — what you did with [Whitewater prosecutor] Kenneth Starr. The way your people repeated every little sleazy thing he leaked. No one has any idea of what that’s like.”

The new library had an alcove about Clinton’s 1998 impeachment and subsequent acquittal called, “The Fight for Power.” The scandal, the exhibit argued, was simply the Republicans’ effort to overturn an election they lost.

At the time, I believed this was mostly Clinton’s tortured rationalization for his own mistakes. Events since then, however, have swung the historical argument irrefutably in his favor. In the 1990s we spent months and even years covering such inane issues as whether the newly elected Clinton acted properly to fire long-term employees of the office that booked White House charter flights and hotels for the media. Now, Trump asserts the right to eliminate cabinet departments and agencies without congressional approval — and the stories often get lost in the rush of other news. There is not a credible argument that says Bill and Hillary Clinton’s Whitewater land investments in the 1970s were a worthy subject for ethics inquiries and criminal probes but the Trump family’s crypto investments and overseas deals while the company founder is in the Oval Office are no big deal.

Clinton was right that the attacks on his character were often simply not on the level—but a proxy for other agendas.

Perseverance

In 2000, as Bill Clinton’s presidency was winding down and Hillary Clinton was waging a successful campaign for New York Senate, there was a political skull session at the White House involving a trusted roster of aides and strategists. As one of them described it to me later, Bill Clinton brought up the elephant in the room. Female voters in particular, he noted, wanted to understand why Hillary had stayed with Bill during the sex scandal. The mood was briefly awkward until Hillary Clinton said good-naturedly that she wanted to know the answer too.

“Because you’re a sticker!” the president replied, jabbing the air for emphasis.

Actually, it seems to me, both Clintons are. Across many decades, they have stayed married, and stayed in the fight over the issues they care about—amid plenty of victories and setbacks alike. That is a kind of character, too.

These days, Bill Clinton’s public appearances are fewer. At times he looks frail. His skeptics include many people in his own party. Yet, on his 80th birthday, the main question seems to be less about his character than the country’s: Is there a pathway to a destination in which more people believed with him that politics can illuminate the best and most generous and inspiring parts of national identity? Clinton may be getting old, but that idea should be made young again.

South Korean Foreign Minister Cho Hyun said Wednesday that Seoul received no warning of Donald Trump’s plan to slash joint military exercises, a move the U.S. president announced publicly and linked to South Korea’s refusal to help with his war in Iran.

“Neither our government nor U.S. officials knew what President Trump wrote on his Truth Social,” Cho told the National Assembly’s foreign affairs committee. “We were not notified in advance.”

Trump ordered Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth on Sunday to “substantially reduce” the annual exercises, calling them costly and “totally inappropriate and hostile” toward North Korea. He tied the move to Seoul’s refusal to assist his effort to strip Iran of its nuclear capabilities and highlighted his “very good relationship” with Pyongyang’s ruler Kim Jong Un.

Cho said Trump’s announcement caught Seoul by surprise, but added the eventual changes to the drills were being worked out jointly. Defense Minister Ahn Gyu-back was in “close consultations” with Washington, he said. “Since our defense minister was involved in the discussions, I do not think it amounts to a unilateral notification.”

He also warned that the smaller drills should not delay the transfer of wartime operational control, or OPCON, to Seoul — a longtime plan that would put a South Korean general in command of the combined U.S.-South Korean forces during a conflict.

The drills have anchored the U.S.-South Korean alliance for more than 70 years, born from the aftermath of the Korean War, which ended in 1953 with an armistice agreement but no peace treaty. North Korea, which routinely condemns the drills as rehearsals for an invasion, launched another round of ballistic missile tests last week after this year’s exercises were announced.

The rollback is already taking effect. South Korea said Wednesday that this year’s exercise will end on Aug. 21 rather than Aug. 27 after a U.S. request, cutting six days from the schedule.

France will expel two Iranian diplomats after Tehran’s security services detained and interrogated two French Embassy staffers last month, Foreign Minister Jean-Noël Barrot announced Tuesday evening.

The row dates back to July 19, when two French Embassy employees in Tehran — one of them the cultural attaché — were questioned for several hours and “beaten,” according to Barrot. Paris accused Iranian security services of carrying out a “premeditated and deliberate” act of intimidation in “flagrant violation” of diplomatic protections, summoning Iran’s chargé d’affaires two days later.

“It is precisely because France stands alongside the Iranian people” that the July 19 incident was especially outrageous, Barrot wrote on X Tuesday. The two French diplomats were “scandalously and deliberately assaulted,” he said, calling their treatment “intolerable.”

Tehran disputes that account. Iran’s foreign ministry says the French diplomats violated the Vienna Convention through activities it considers interference in Iranian affairs and has since declared both persona non grata, barring them from returning to Iran after they left the country.

French foreign ministry spokesperson Pascal Confavreux hit back Tuesday, accusing Tehran of making “completely false accusations” against the French diplomats and of “fabricating an interference case” to justify its actions.

Relativity Networks deals in hollow-core fiber, a rarely deployed technology that allows data to be transmitted 30% faster than conventional fiber.

The people-search tool ClarityCheck says its reverse image search service is “private and secure”—but it left a database containing more than 9 million image files exposed.