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What makes the US president so pathetic is also what makes this moment in history so incredibly dangerous.
We are witnessing what happens to a person who is consumed with the need to dominate but cannot.
Iran is unlikely to give in. It can withstand the economic pressure of a blockade better than Trump can withstand the political pressure that comes with rising gas prices (now nearly $4.50 a gallon, on average), soon followed by rising food prices.
His looming failure in Iran is not just a serious geopolitical defeat for the United States; it’s a personal crisis for Trump.
Those rising prices coupled with an increasingly unpopular war have increased the likelihood that Democrats will take back control of the House and even possibly the Senate in the upcoming midterms.
Here again, not just a political defeat for the Republican Party but a personal crisis for Trump.
His ego cannot accept a humiliating loss, as we saw after the 2020 election. His need to bully, dominate, and gain submission is so hardwired inside his insecure head that the defeats he’s now facing — to Iran and to Democrats — are already setting off explosions.
He’s posting more wildly than ever — attacking, insulting, ridiculing, threatening.
On Sunday, Trump posted that Democrats had “RIGGED the 2020 Presidential Election. GET TOUGH REPUBLICANS—THEY’RE COMING, AND THEY’RE COMING FAST! They’re no good for our Country, they almost destroyed it, and we don’t want to let that happen again!” He demanded that Republicans “approve all of the necessary Safeguards we need for Elections to protect the American Public during the upcoming Midterms.”
More of his posts are bizarre AI-generated paeans to himself, his godlike powers, his wished-for physique, and his self-image of omnipotence. On Friday night, he posted an AI-image of himself, JD Vance, Marco Rubio, and Doug Burgum, all shirtless and with young physiques, standing in the reflecting pool in front of the Lincoln Memorial, along with an unidentifiable woman in a bikini. Minutes later he posted an image of House Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries holding a baseball bat, with a caption calling Jeffries “low IQ,” “a THUG,” and “a danger to our Country.” On Tuesday, he posted AI-images of Joe Biden on one knee with the caption “COWARDS KNEEL,” Barack Obama with the caption “TRAITORS BOW,” and himself with his fist raised and the caption “LEADERS LEAD.”
His mouth — never in control — is now in diarrheic mode. He’s even back to attacking the pope, accusing him of “endangering a lot of Catholics and a lot of people,” adding, “but I guess if it’s up to the pope, he thinks it’s just fine for Iran to have a nuclear weapon.”
His thin-skinned vindictiveness is beyond anything we’ve seen before, which is saying a lot. Last week, after German chancellor Friedrich Merz said the U.S. was “being humiliated by the Iranian leadership,” Trump repeatedly attacked and ridiculed Merz. The Defense Department then said it was pulling 5,000 troops out of Germany, and Trump said he was increasing tariffs on European cars and trucks to 25 percent (from 15 percent).
He’s becoming ever more obsessed with monuments to himself — his ballroom, his arch, his so-called “garden of heroes,” his Trump-embossed passports, his image on 24-karat gold commemorative coins, and his name plastered or etched all over Washington. His plans for self-monuments are becoming larger by the day, more grotesque, more grandiose, and more expensive. Senate Republicans just proposed $1 billion more for Trump’s ballroom, which, recall, was supposed to “cost taxpayers nothing.”
He has even directed the Treasury to announce that his own signature — yes, the same one that appears in a book of birthday greetings for Jeffrey Epstein — will replace the Treasurer’s on all new U.S. paper currency. This will be the first time in American history that a sitting president’s name will appear on circulating cash money.
His thirst for vengeance is exploding, too. Last week the Department of Justice launched another criminal case against former director of the FBI James Comey (whose earlier indictment was quashed by the courts) for posting a picture of seashells spelling out “86 47” on Instagram a year ago. Trump is also insisting that the Justice Department restart its criminal investigation of Jerome Powell and double-down against former Joint Chiefs of Staff Chair Mark Milley and others he considers “enemies.”
Facing the two monumental failures of Iran and control over Congress, Trump is fanatically seeking other ways to assert dominance. On Tuesday, his Education Department announced a civil rights investigation into Smith College over enrolling transgender students. Expect more of this.
Regardless of what happens in Iran, he’ll claim victory. That will be difficult to do convincingly when gas prices remain over $4 a gallon, but he’ll undoubtedly try.
What if Democrats win control of one or both chambers of Congress in the midterms and he claims they lost or cheated? The nation barely survived the last time Trump’s fragile ego faced a major loss.
We’ll also have to cope with Trump as a lame-duck president who can no longer dominate and gain submission as he did before. Will he try to remain president beyond his second term to avoid this?
The man is unwell. Seriously unwell. Lame-duck presidents fade away, but injured dictators can be dangerous.
Just because Donald Trump and Republicans in Congress have no grasp of economics doesn’t mean the rest of us shouldn’t.
Productivity growth is an old concept; we’ve been seeing it at a substantial pace for more than 200 years. Nonetheless, many elite intellectual types like to claim they know nothing about it when they talk about AI.
It’s far from clear how much of a productivity boom we will see with AI. For people who are lost with my reference to productivity growth, the story that AI will take all the jobs is a story of a massive productivity boom. If that happens, it will mean that the people who are still working will be hugely more productive, since we will be producing the same or more goods and services as we do at present, with many fewer people working.
FWIW, virtually no major forecaster or forecasting agency is projecting anything like this productivity boom. For example, the Congressional Budget Office (CBO) projects that productivity growth will average 1.5 percent over the next decade.
That’s a healthy rate of productivity growth, but nothing extraordinary. It’s a bit better than the 1.3 percent rate from 2005 to 2025, but less than the 2.0 percent rate we saw in the 1990s and much less than the 2.4 percent pace the country had from 1947 to 1973. There is no story of AI creating mass unemployment here.
CBO is not God, but they are pretty much in the center of professional forecasters by design. They try to make sure that their forecasts do not vary hugely from what other public and private sector forecasters are projecting.
It is also worth noting that if CBO is seriously wrong on the low side, then some other things logically follow. Most importantly, if productivity growth proves to be far more rapid than what they have projected, GDP growth will also be far more rapid than projected. This would mean, among other things, that the debt-to-GDP ratios will be much lower in the future than is currently projected.
In other words, the people yelling about unsustainable debts and deficits need to STFU. You can’t both be expecting a massive AI productivity boom and think the US has a huge debt problem. That is not a matter of opinion; it is a matter of logic.
But let’s assume for a moment that we do get a huge productivity boom from AI. We don’t need to run around like chickens with our heads cut off when we ask what to do about it. Because productivity growth is in fact a very very old phenomenon. We have long known how to deal with it; we shorten work hours.
Workers in Germany, France, and other wealthy countries work on average 20-25 percent fewer hours a year than Americans.
That is why we got the 40-hour work week with the Fair Labor Standards Act (FLSA) in 1937. The Act doesn’t actually prohibit employers from having longer work weeks; it simply requires them to pay a 50 percent premium for overtime hours. This was supposed to encourage them to hire more workers instead of working their existing workforce more hours. (Contrary to the way it is discussed in the media, the decision to put in overtime is almost always the employer’s, not the worker’s. Unless a union contract specifies otherwise, an employer has the option to fire a worker who refuses overtime.)
This is why it was truly incredible that Trump eliminated the income tax on the overtime premium. This is effectively encouraging employers to have longer workweeks, 180 degrees opposite of the intention of the FLSA.
But just because Donald Trump and Republicans in Congress have no grasp of economics doesn’t mean the rest of us shouldn’t. If we really are seeing an AI-driven productivity boom, the most obvious way to deal with it is to shorten the workweek and work year. The United States is an outlier here. While we were originally a leader in implementing a 40-hour workweek, we have done little to reduce work time in the 90 years since then.
As a result, workers in Germany, France, and other wealthy countries work on average 20-25 percent fewer hours a year than Americans. As a crude approximation, if workers put in 20 percent fewer hours on average, it will mean 20 percent more jobs. Things in the real world are never quite that simple, but the basic logic that shorter work years means more jobs does hold.
It’s also not rocket science to get to shorter work years. We can amend the FLSA so that the overtime wage premium kicks in at 34 or 36 hours. Also, instead of removing taxes on the premium (having taxpayers subsidize long workweeks), we can raise the premium from 50 percent to 75 percent, as the Congressional Progressive Caucus recently proposed. We can also mandate 2 weeks or more vacation, along with paid sick days and family leave, as many states have already done. All this is old-fashioned stuff that other wealthy countries have been doing for decades, and we have done in the United States nationally in the distant past and more recently at the state level.
The immediate prompt for this diatribe was a New York Times article that asked how we will deal with a collapse of employment from AI. In fairness, the piece does note that an AI-driven productivity boom is far from certain, but it then suggests that if it does happen, a universal basic income, or a universal high income might be ways to deal with it. The piece notes that Elon Musk is supposedly an advocate of the latter.
While any pro-worker legislation will face an enormous uphill battle in the current political environment, a variation of policies that people have seen for a century might have a better shot than something that seems completely new.
While these proposals are, in principle, fine, they ignore the reality of US politics. Just four years ago, when the Democrats had a trifecta, they could not get a modest increase in the child tax credit approved in the Senate. Get out your yard stick and try to measure the distance between a modest boost to the child tax credit and a universal basic income, much less a universal high-income.
It’s probably also worth mentioning that Elon Musk has done everything he can to keep his workers at Tesla from forming a union, where they would be better able to secure their share of the company’s profits. That may lead reasonable people to question his commitment to workers’ well-being in an era of AI-driven mass unemployment.
While any pro-worker legislation will face an enormous uphill battle in the current political environment, a variation of policies that people have seen for a century might have a better shot than something that seems completely new. It is also worth pointing out that the tools for dealing with a surge in productivity growth are well-known and tested. Whether or not a universal basic income is a better way to go, our toolbox is already far from empty when it comes to dealing with this situation. This is not a new story, and it is wrong to portray it as one.
Climate change and nuclear weapons reinforce one another in dangerous ways: Environmental stress increases the risk of conflict, while nuclear conflict would produce environmental consequences on a planetary scale.
At 8:15 AM on August 6, 1945, a 9,000-pound atomic bomb detonated 1,900 feet above Hiroshima, instantly killing 70,000 people. Three days later, a second bomb exploded over Nagasaki, killing another 40,000.
The sheer scale of destruction—that humans could annihilate each other by means as violent as a nuclear blast—ensured that Hiroshima and Nagasaki would become the defining images of nuclear weapons in the American imagination. According to a 2025 Pew Research survey, 83% of Americans reported knowing at least something about the use of nuclear weapons in Japan. However, increasingly large numbers of younger Americans don’t know enough about nuclear weapons today to give an opinion on their role in national security.
What is often remembered as the only detonation of nuclear weapons in history remains the sole use of nuclear weapons in warfare. While Americans looked overseas at the devastation in Japan, fewer recognized that nuclear weapons were also transforming the American environment at home.
For decades after World War II, nuclear weapons reshaped landscapes and communities across the United States. Between 1945 and 1992, the United States conducted 1,030 nuclear tests, while producing tens of thousands of warheads during the Cold War. At its height, the US nuclear stockpile comprised 31,255 warheads, with the last fully functional nuclear weapon being produced in 1989. The environmental and human consequences of this effort extended far beyond test sites and production facilities. Yet, the US government kept the public in the dark, leaving a generation born in the 21st century to bear the consequences of its obfuscated proliferation campaign.
Consider that the plutonium used in the first nuclear test in New Mexico and in the Nagasaki bomb was produced at the Hanford Site in Washington State. Between 1945 and 1970, Hanford’s reactors discharged roughly 444 billion gallons of radioactive wastewater into the Columbia River basin, a watershed that today supports over 8 million residents.
Other sites tell similar stories. In South Carolina and Georgia, rural communities were displaced to make way for the Savannah River Site nuclear weapons facility, where millions of gallons of radioactive waste were stored in underground tanks.
Make no mistake, the United States federal government was calculated in its targeting of marginalized communities to isolate radioactive material from the general population. These facilities were often located in rural or economically disadvantaged areas, where political resistance was limited and land was cheaper.
Nuclear weapons represent one of the most profound environmental risks humanity has ever created.
Currently the only permanent waste site for nuclear material in the United States, the Waste Isolation Pilot Plant (WIPP) in Carlsbad, New Mexico, collects plutonium-contaminated waste to be buried over 2,000 feet underground a salt flat formation. Framed as a barren wasteland far from major population centers, WIPP is in Eddy County, New Mexico—home to a population of over 61,000 people, of which 64% identify as people of color. Many communities face contaminated water supplies and elevated rates of respiratory illness, kidney disease, and cancer: a pattern sometimes described as “radioactive colonialism.”
Despite the government’s efforts to isolate nuclear activities and waste disposal, radioactive contamination did not respect geographic boundaries. Research released in 2023 found that nuclear tests conducted between 1945 and 1962 distributed radioactive fallout across 46 of the lower 48 contiguous states in the United States, as well as parts of Canada and Mexico. As a result of nuclear tests conducted by both the United States and other nuclear-armed powers, radioactive isotopes released into the atmosphere spread throughout the world in communities far from test sites. By the 1960s, “there was no place on Earth where the signature of atmospheric nuclear testing could not be found in soil, water, and even polar ice.” Radioactive isotopes entered the food chain through plants and animals, creating pathways of exposure far from any test site.
For most people living far from testing areas, these exposures were small. But they illustrate a fundamental reality of nuclear weapons: Even carefully controlled programs produce global environmental consequences. Even when the government attempted to isolate radioactivity and testing in supposedly remote communities, contamination from weapons production, testing, and disposal still spread far beyond those sites, affecting environments across the world.
While the United States has not conducted a full-scale nuclear test since 1992, nuclear competition is accelerating again.
China is rapidly expanding its nuclear arsenal, with estimates suggesting that its stockpile could exceed 1,000 warheads by the early 2030s. At the same time, arms control agreements that once constrained the world’s largest nuclear powers are eroding. The expiration of the New START treaty in February 2026 removed the last formal limits on US and Russian strategic nuclear forces.
Even if informal limits remain in place, the collapse of binding agreements signals a shift toward a less regulated nuclear environment. Some policymakers have suggested that renewed nuclear testing may be necessary in response to foreign advances, which would risk repeating many of the mistakes of the Cold War.
Consider that for the first time in history, the new nuclear proliferation environment includes a three-way standoff between three major armed powers: the United States, China, and Russia.
A global nuclear war alone would be enough to trigger catastrophic climatic effects. Even a limited nuclear exchange could inject vast quantities of smoke and soot into the upper atmosphere, blocking sunlight and lowering global temperatures. The use of a mere 2% of the world’s current arsenal could trigger severe cooling and agricultural disruption, leaving 2 billion people at risk of starvation in just the following two years. If nuclear winter renders any use of nuclear weapons as unsurvivable, then deterrence may be an inadequate strategy, since the consequences of a miscalculation or accidental launch would increase dramatically.
This erosion of international nonproliferation channels comes as climate change fuels geopolitical instability by intensifying resource competition, migration pressures, and regional conflicts, increasing the risk of confrontation among nuclear-armed states. Climate change and nuclear weapons therefore reinforce one another in dangerous ways: Environmental stress increases the risk of conflict, while nuclear conflict would produce environmental consequences on a planetary scale.
Despite these connections, environmental and social justice concerns remain peripheral in most nuclear policy debates. Discussions of deterrence and arms control typically focus on military balance and strategic stability, while the environmental legacy of nuclear weapons receives far less attention.
This gap may help explain why nuclear policy often struggles to engage younger generations.
Surveys consistently show that climate change is one of the defining concerns of younger voters. Roughly 70% of young people report deep anxiety about environmental degradation and say they are likely to support candidates who prioritize climate policy. Nuclear weapons policy rarely speaks to these concerns directly. Yet nuclear weapons represent one of the most profound environmental risks humanity has ever created.
Reframing nuclear policy to include environmental and social justice considerations would not only reflect historical reality, but also make nuclear policy more relevant to the challenges of the 21st century.
The rich pay more because they have more. But they don’t pay more at levels sufficient to counterbalance their outsized gains.
A recent analysis from the Tax Foundation argues that the US federal income tax system remains solidly progressive. Citing new Internal Revenue Service data for tax year 2023, the group is emphasizing that high-income taxpayers pay the highest average tax rates and account for a large share of total income taxes paid. On its face, that claim sounds reassuring—a sign that our tax code must surely be doing its job.
But this framing leaves out a critical part of the story. Yes, the wealthy pay more in taxes than everyone else. The real question: whether they’re paying enough, their fair share relative to their rapidly growing share of our nation’s income and wealth. By that measure, the answer must be a clear no. The US tax system, the underlying data show, remains far less progressive than it once was—and far less effective at counteracting inequality than it needs to be.
The Tax Foundation is claiming that the top 1%’s share of the nation’s adjusted gross income, AGI, “fluctuates with the business cycle” while the share of the taxes these rich pay has been “generally increasing.” But, in fact, these two indicators track each other rather closely over time. By placing income share and tax share on separate graphs, the Tax Foundation obscures how close this tracking has been.
Graphed together, the obvious correspondence of these two measures becomes unmistakably clear: As the top 1%’s share of income rises, so does the top 1%’s share of taxes. In other words, the increase in the tax dollars these rich are paying largely reflects the larger slice of total national income these rich are pocketing, not that the tax system has somehow become meaningfully more progressive. The top 1% tax share is rising because the top 1% income share is rising, not because our most affluent are facing a heavier tax burden on their gains.
A truly progressive system should meaningfully reduce inequality by redistributing income and wealth and curbing the concentration of economic power at the top. By that standard, the US tax system falls short.
By characterizing the top 1%’s income share as “fluctuating with the business cycle” while characterizing its tax share as “generally increasing”—and separating the graphic presentation of these two trends—the Tax Foundation is playing fast and loose with our core tax reality.
The time frame of the Tax Foundation’s analysis further muddies the waters. By starting in 2001, the Tax Foundation misses the longer arc of rising inequality in the United States. Looking back to the 1980s, the trend is unmistakable: The top 1%’s share of income has climbed substantially, from 11.3% in 1986 to 20.6% in 2023. The tax share of these rich has risen as well, from 25.8% in 1986 to 38.4% in 2023. Meanwhile their average effective tax rate has actually declined over the same period, from 33.1% to 26.3%, according to IRS data.
Even more importantly, focusing solely on income ignores the explosion of wealth at the top. Adjusted gross income (AGI) itself is a limited and often misleading measure—an arbitrary definition used for tax purposes that fails to capture total economic income, and completely misses the scale of wealth accumulation. Over the past several decades, our nation’s richest households have accumulated an outsized share of the nation’s wealth, with that wealth share far outpacing the top 1%'s growing share of national income. Yet the tax system does relatively little to address this imbalance.
Wealth remains lightly taxed compared to income, and many forms of capital income, to make matters worse, enjoy low preferential tax rates or taxes that can be deferred indefinitely. The end result: The overall tax burden on America’s richest is failing to keep pace with their expanding economic power.
The distortions become even clearer when we look beyond the top 1% to the tippy top of our wealth distribution, the top 0.01%. These ultra-wealthy households have seen extraordinary gains in both income and wealth over time. But their tax contributions have not kept up proportionally.
An Institute for Policy Studies analysis of data collected by economists Emmanuel Saez and Gabriel Zucman shows that our top 0.01% more than tripled their share of the nation’s wealth between 1962 and 2018. Yet their share of US taxes paid in 2018 hovered only slightly higher than their share of taxes paid in 1962.
All of this raises a fundamental question: What makes a tax system “progressive”? Just somewhat higher tax rates on higher earners? No. A truly progressive system should meaningfully reduce inequality by redistributing income and wealth and curbing the concentration of economic power at the top. By that standard, the US tax system falls short.
Our current tax system largely mirrors our nation’s underlying distribution of income rather than reshaping that distribution. The rich pay more because they have more. But they don’t pay more at levels sufficient to counterbalance their outsized gains. In 2023, the top 1% captured about 20.6% of pre-tax income and still held roughly 17.7% after federal income taxes, only a modest reduction. That after-tax share is still higher than their 17.4% share of pre-tax income in 2001, underscoring how little the tax system has done to curb the growing concentration of income at the top.
Reversing these trends will require more than modest tweaks to the tax code. It will take a more ambitious approach, one that directly addresses both income and wealth concentration at the very top. Until then, claims that the tax system is adequately progressive risk obscuring a deeper reality: Inequality continues to widen, and the tax code is doing too little to stop it.