Automakers were ready to kill the gas car. Buyers had other ideas.



Remember when the gasoline engine was living on borrowed time?

Automakers were announcing ambitious electric-vehicle plans, governments were setting targets and deadlines, and consumers were repeatedly told that the future of the automobile had already been decided. The only real question seemed to be how quickly we would get there.

Gasoline vehicles weren't merely going to lose market share. At some brands, they were supposed to disappear.

Cadillac was among the most aggressive. The company said it planned to become an all-electric brand by the end of this decade. Its own website still declares that every new Cadillac model introduced in the United States by the end of the decade will be electric.

Something interesting happened on the way to that all-electric future: People kept buying gasoline-powered cars.

So many, in fact, that Cadillac is preparing a whole new generation of them.

Revving up

GM CEO Mary Barra confirmed this summer that Cadillac's next generation of internal-combustion vehicles will begin arriving in 2027. The lineup is expected to include a new CT5 sedan and new versions of the XT5 and XT6 crossovers. The XT6 is particularly interesting because Cadillac discontinued it after the 2025 model year. Now it's coming back with a gasoline engine.

The XT5 got a reprieve too. Cadillac had been expected to kill the gasoline-powered crossover but instead extended production of the current model and approved a new generation for the U.S. market. Cadillac said it was making "necessary adjustments" to its portfolio to meet customer demand.

There's that word again: demand.

Because while automakers have been adjusting their product plans, American EV sales have been sending a message of their own.

Money talks

Look at August. Despite a record increase in hybrid sales, Kia sold just 712 EV6s, down 60% from August 2025. Hyundai sold 28 Ioniq 6 sedans — yes, 28 — a 97% decline. Its much more popular Ioniq 5 fell 51%.

Ford's numbers were even more dramatic. Mustang Mach-E sales fell 72.5% to 1,989 vehicles. Ford sold only 148 F-150 Lightnings, down 95% from the same month last year.

Honda sold 1,788 Prologues, down about 81% from August 2025. Honda has already confirmed that Prologue production will end after the 2026 model year.

Subaru's Solterra dropped almost 87%, although that one comes with a major caveat: Subaru's newer Trailseeker and Uncharted EVs helped push the company's total EV sales up for the month, and limited Solterra inventory may have contributed to its collapse.

That's why I wouldn't judge the EV market by one model or even one month's sales. Some of these vehicles are being discontinued. Others are being replaced. And August 2025 is an unusually difficult comparison because buyers were rushing to take advantage of the federal EV tax credit before it disappeared.

Market correction

But zoom out and the picture is still striking. According to the National Automobile Dealers Association, battery-electric vehicles accounted for 10.1% of new-vehicle sales in August 2025. One year later, their share had fallen to 6.2%. Overall new-vehicle sales weren't collapsing either. August sales were actually up 1.5% from the previous year on a seasonally adjusted annualized basis.

So Americans didn't suddenly stop buying cars. They became less interested in buying EVs.

That doesn't mean the electric car is dead. Far from it. Cadillac currently offers five EVs, and manufacturers continue to spend billions developing electric vehicles. Some individual EVs are selling well, and Subaru's August numbers show exactly why you have to be careful about declaring an entire technology a failure because one nameplate plunges.

But that's very different from what consumers were being told just a few years ago.

The industry's transition to EVs was often presented as inevitable and, more importantly, imminent. Gasoline vehicles weren't merely going to lose market share. At some brands, they were supposed to disappear.

RELATED: Is charging your EV really cheaper than buying gas?

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Sales force

Cadillac is a wonderful example. It didn't merely say it wanted to sell more EVs. It said it planned to be all-electric by the end of the decade. Now the company is developing another generation of gasoline-powered Cadillacs that will arrive with only a few years left on that clock.

Why? Because car companies eventually have to sell cars.

Consumers don't buy corporate transition plans. They buy vehicles that fit their lives, budgets, and driving habits. For some people, that's an EV. For others, it's a hybrid. And plenty still want an ordinary gasoline-powered car or truck. Manufacturers are finally acknowledging that reality.

I don't have a problem with electric vehicles. Build good ones. Make them affordable. Improve the charging network. Give consumers enough range and enough choices, and let them decide whether an EV works for them.

What I object to is deciding the answer first and expecting the customer to fall in line afterward. The auto industry spent years telling us where the market was going. Now the market is talking back. And judging by the gasoline-powered Cadillacs headed our way, somebody in Detroit is finally listening.

Welcome to the new traffic stop, where it's your word against AI's



Imagine being accused of a crime because a camera spotted your car near the scene. The camera wasn't wrong. Your car really was there. But you didn't commit the crime.

The police, however, are so confident in their technology that they seem to be treating your guilt as an open-and-shut case.

Isaacs said she was home asleep when troopers arrived at 4:45 in the morning and told her she had killed three people.

Chrisanna Elser doesn't have to imagine it.

Camera shy

Elser was accused of stealing a package after doorbell footage captured a woman taking it from a home. Police then searched Flock camera records for vehicles in the area around the time of the theft. They found Elser's Rivian and concluded that she was the woman in the doorbell video.

They had the wrong woman. Elser really had driven through the area that day, but she was there for a noon appointment with her tailor, more than a quarter-mile from the house where the package was stolen. Her Rivian's cameras showed her driving through without stopping.

She spent days assembling her own evidence — including location information and video from her vehicle — to show what she had actually been doing. The summons was eventually voided.

In Elser's case, the Flock camera hadn't failed. It had identified her vehicle in the area. The technology supplied one piece of the puzzle. The mistake was treating that piece, along with the doorbell video, as enough to identify the person who committed the crime.

That's an important limitation of license plate readers. They can tell police that a particular vehicle was photographed in a particular place. They can't tell them who was driving it, why it was there, or what the person inside was doing.

But what happens when the information going into the system is wrong?

False flagged

Automotive journalist Tim Esterdahl found out while driving a Range Rover Sport press vehicle in Nebraska. A Flock alert identified the vehicle as stolen, and police pulled him over. Esterdahl doesn't fault the officer, who was responding exactly as he should have to an alert for a potentially stolen vehicle.

It apparently started with a Jaguar Land Rover manufacturer license plate that had gone missing during a film production in California. Only one specific New Jersey fleet plate had been reported missing. But somewhere between that report and the Flock system, Esterdahl wrote, the information appears to have been broadened to include multiple manufacturer plates sharing the same beginning and ending characters.

Esterdahl's Range Rover had a different plate. It was flagged anyway.

Things got worse from there. Because the Range Rover was a manufacturer-owned press vehicle that had never been sold or titled through a state DMV, its VIN didn't appear in the law-enforcement database the officer was using. Esterdahl had insurance paperwork, ownership documents and authorization to drive the SUV, but sorting everything out still took about 90 minutes.

Esterdahl wasn't even the first automotive journalist stopped over the same Jaguar Land Rover fleet-plate issue.

Whether the data is accurate and someone draws the wrong conclusion from it, or bad information makes its way into the system in the first place, the result can be the same: An innocent person has to untangle the mistake.

TATTLETALE EXPRESS: School buses may soon become America's largest mobile surveillance network

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Behind bars

And it doesn't stop at inconvenience. Just ask Lindsey Isaacs.

In October 2025, a hit-and-run crash on I-4 in Florida killed three people. A Flock camera three miles away had recorded Isaacs' black Dodge Durango just two minutes before the crash.

But other evidence pointed elsewhere. Witnesses had given conflicting descriptions of the Durango, including a maroon one with a partial plate that didn't match Isaacs' plate. Investigators later found maroon paint transfer on one of the vehicles struck in the crash. Isaacs' Durango was black, only two months old, and showed none of the significant damage investigators said the vehicle involved in the crash should have sustained.

Isaacs said she was home asleep when troopers arrived at 4:45 in the morning and told her she had killed three people. Her Durango was impounded. Months later, she was arrested on eight felony charges and spent 13 days in jail.

Her attorney eventually showed prosecutors photographs of the undamaged SUV, and an inspection found it in essentially showroom condition. The charges were dropped in May. Authorities later arrested another woman driving a maroon Durango.

Think about the chain of events. A Flock camera accurately recorded Isaacs' vehicle three miles from the scene two minutes before the crash. Investigators took that data point and built a case around it despite evidence pointing to a different vehicle. Months later, Isaacs was in jail.

A license-plate reader doesn't know who committed a crime. It knows that a vehicle passed a camera. The danger comes when the certainty of the technology gets transferred to conclusions the technology itself can't support.

Fooled by tools

I'm not arguing that police shouldn't use license plate readers. They can be useful investigative tools. But there is an enormous difference between using a camera hit as a lead and treating it as proof that the registered owner committed a crime.

On August 26, Sen. Josh Hawley launched a Senate investigation into Flock Safety, seeking information about its data collection, retention, access, accuracy, and sharing practices. The investigation cited a network of more than 120,000 cameras across 49 states processing more than 20 billion vehicle scans every month.

That's a lot of information about where Americans' cars are going.

Most of the drivers of these cars aren't involved in crimes. They're going to work, taking kids to school, stopping at stores, and coming home. If government agencies are going to have access to a network this large, the public should know how the information is being used.

How long is it kept? Who can search it? Which agencies can see it? What safeguards are in place when a plate is misread, a database contains bad information, or investigators draw the wrong conclusion from an accurate camera hit?

And don't make this solely about Flock. Replace Flock with another vendor tomorrow, and the questions remain the same.

Follow the money

If taxpayers are told these systems make communities safer, show them the contracts. Show them the pricing, retention policies, access rules, and accountability provisions. If a private company provides technology that becomes part of government enforcement, there needs to be a clear answer about who is responsible when its information contributes to a false accusation.

I'm not against police using technology. I'm against treating technology as infallible.

A camera is a tool, not a judge. A database is a tool, not a verdict. And a license plate identifies a vehicle, not necessarily the person behind the wheel.

Sometimes bad information makes its way into the system. Sometimes the camera gets everything right but investigators draw the wrong conclusion from what it shows.

When that happens, the person on the receiving end can spend 90 minutes on the side of the road, days trying to clear her name or, in the worst case, nearly two weeks in jail.

Show me the evidence. Show me the accountability. And if the system gets it wrong, show me who pays.

Is charging your EV really cheaper than buying gas?



If you drive an EV, you have probably heard one argument over and over: Whatever you pay for the car, you'll save money charging it.

That can certainly be true if you charge at home, particularly if you have access to inexpensive off-peak electricity. But once you depend on public fast chargers, the math can look very different.

Put $40 or $50 worth of gasoline into an efficient RAV4, and you're buying hundreds of miles of driving range

On a recent episode of “The Drive,” my co-host Karl Brauer told me about charging a Hyundai Ioniq 5 N at a Level 3 charger. It cost him about $50.

Within 24 hours, Karl filled up his 2023 Dodge Demon 170 with E85. The bill was $47.

Yes, you read that correctly. It cost him more to charge the Hyundai than to fill a 1,025-horsepower Dodge Demon.

Power fail

That's just one experience, and charging prices vary enormously. But it illustrates something EV buyers need to understand: Electricity isn't free, and public fast charging can be surprisingly expensive.

One Chevrolet Bolt owner recently learned that lesson in spectacular fashion.

He plugged into a public charger at a Hyundai dealership and ended up with a bill for $414. The explanation, according to the report Karl and I discussed, was an extraordinary pricing structure for drivers outside the dealership's charging program: $5 per minute and $5 per kilowatt-hour.

After the driver complained, the charging company intervened and reduced the bill to about $14. So no, $414 isn't a normal price to charge a Chevrolet Bolt. But the episode demonstrates why drivers need to pay attention to what a charger costs before plugging in.

Buzzkill

Even at ordinary public fast-charging rates, the comparison with gasoline isn't always what EV advocates would have you believe.

Karl looked up public fast-charging prices before the show and found rates generally running around 40 to 55 cents per kilowatt-hour. Industry data bears out his informal survey. Paren, which tracks the U.S. fast-charging network, put the average price of public DC fast charging at 53.8 cents per kilowatt-hour in the second quarter of 2026.

Now compare that with an efficient gasoline vehicle. Karl used the Toyota RAV4 as an example. Put $40 or $50 worth of gasoline into an efficient RAV4 and you're buying hundreds of miles of driving range — while filling the tank takes minutes rather than waiting for a battery to charge.

A hybrid can make the comparison even more interesting.

Run the numbers by the mile. An EV getting around three miles per kilowatt-hour would cost roughly $18 to drive 100 miles at that average fast-charging rate. A 2026 RAV4 Hybrid rated at 43 mpg combined would cost about $7 to travel the same distance with gasoline at $3 a gallon — and about $9.30 even at $4 a gallon.

RELATED: Tesla buyers burned through California's new EV rebates in days

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Private plug

This doesn't mean an EV is always more expensive to operate. If you own a home, plug your vehicle in overnight, and have inexpensive electricity, the economics can be very favorable. Some utilities also offer substantially cheaper off-peak rates.

But that's not everybody's situation.

Plenty of people live in apartments or condos where they can't simply plug in overnight. Others take long trips and have to use public fast chargers along the way. For those drivers, the price displayed at the charging station matters every bit as much as the price displayed at a gas station.

And electricity prices aren't uniform. They vary by location, utility, time of day, charging network, and sometimes even the particular charger you're using.

That's why I don't buy the blanket claim that an EV is automatically cheaper to fuel than a gasoline car. You have to do the math for your car, your electricity rates, and your driving habits.

Before buying an EV, find out what you actually pay per kilowatt-hour at home. Then look at the public fast-charging networks you're likely to use and check their prices. Compare those costs with the fuel economy of the gasoline or hybrid vehicle you're considering.

You may discover that charging at home saves you plenty of money.

But if you're depending on public fast charging, don't assume you're getting a bargain just because there's no gasoline going into the car.

What happened to the $20,000 used car?



If you've been shopping for a used car lately and wondering why your money doesn't seem to go very far, you're not imagining it.

On a recent episode of “The Drive,” my co-host Karl Brauer and I looked at just how much the used-car market has changed since before the pandemic. Karl is executive analyst at iSeeCars, which tracks vehicle prices, and one number jumped out immediately.

A 3-year-old Hyundai Elantra that might have cost $12,000 or $13,000 in 2019 is now around $24,000.

The average price of a three-year-old used car has risen 38% since 2019. That's roughly $9,000 more for a car of the same age.

That's a lot. But another number may tell you even more about what has happened to ordinary car buyers.

Going older

In 2019, a $20,000 budget put nearly half — 49.5% — of all one- to five-year-old used cars within reach. Today, that same $20,000 gets you access to just 11.4%.

And if you can't increase your budget, there's really only one place to go: older.

In 2019, you only had to look at cars about four years old before a majority of the used market fell below $20,000. Today, you have to go back about seven years.

Edmunds is seeing the same thing. Its second-quarter 2026 data found that a $10,000 to $15,000 budget now buys a used vehicle averaging 8.7 years old and nearly 98,000 miles. In 2019, that same money bought a car averaging just 4.7 years old with about 58,000 miles. In other words, the same budget now gets you a vehicle roughly four years older with about 40,000 more miles.

RELATED: This used-car odometer scam is everywhere — and impossible to detect

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Not the same

There's nothing inherently wrong with buying a seven- or eight-year-old car. I've owned plenty of older vehicles, and a well-maintained car can have years of life left in it. But you're not buying the same thing. Mileage is probably higher, maintenance history matters more, and repairs that aren't much of a concern on a three-year-old car start becoming part of the equation.

Karl gave me a couple of examples that put the change in perspective. A three-year-old Hyundai Elantra that might have cost $12,000 or $13,000 in 2019 is now around $24,000. A comparable Toyota Camry went from roughly $14,000 or $15,000 to about $24,000.

I still tell people to consider used or certified pre-owned before automatically buying new. Used cars can offer tremendous value, particularly because somebody else has already absorbed that initial depreciation. But “buy used” isn't enough advice in today's market.

Know your worth

Know what the vehicle should be worth. Look at its history. Find out what maintenance has already been performed and what expensive service may be coming. If a seller can't provide satisfactory answers about the condition or maintenance of an older vehicle, be prepared to walk away.

And don't let today's prices convince you that spending $20,000 means you're buying the kind of car $20,000 bought a few years ago. That's the real problem with the current market.

The price may look familiar. The car attached to it isn't.

The diesel Chevy Suburban makes too much sense to be this hard to find



My daughter recently went shopping for something that shouldn't have been particularly exotic: a big American SUV with three rows, room for a growing family, and a diesel engine.

She had been driving a Ford Expedition but wasn't happy with the fuel economy or some of the problems she had experienced. Her husband drives a diesel Ram, so she already understood the advantages of diesel torque and range. With two children and hopes for more, she still wanted the space of a true full-size SUV.

Our dealer told us that used diesel Suburbans don't tend to sit around for long. A quick look at owner forums suggests our experience wasn't unique.

A diesel Chevrolet Suburban seemed like the obvious answer.

Then she tried to find one.

Our local dealer didn't have one. Other dealers didn't seem to have them either. Rather than settle for what she could find on a lot, she ordered exactly what she wanted: a Suburban RST with GM's 3.0-liter Duramax turbo-diesel.

After driving it, I understand why people who own these things don't seem eager to give them up.

Econo-size

The Duramax produces 305 horsepower and 495 lb-ft of torque. Chevrolet rates the diesel Suburban at up to 21 mpg city and 26 highway, with as much as 728 miles of EPA-estimated highway range on a tank. My daughter's real-world experience has been about 24 mpg combined.

Think about that for a moment. This is a Suburban.

It's a huge, three-row, body-on-frame SUV capable of hauling a large family and all their stuff, yet she is seeing fuel economy that wouldn't have seemed unusual in a much smaller crossover not long ago.

Her RST came in at about $83,000 after options, and three months later she loves it. So does her husband, who keeps finding reasons to drive it.

The experience got me wondering why there aren't more vehicles like it.

Look around the full-size SUV market in 2026, and you'll find plenty of powerful engines. Ford's Expedition offers a twin-turbocharged 3.5-liter gasoline V6 making as much as 440 horsepower and 510 lb-ft of torque. Jeep's Grand Wagoneer uses a 3.0-liter twin-turbo gasoline inline-six producing 420 horsepower and 468 lb-ft.

What you mostly won't find is diesel.

General Motors is the notable exception. Chevrolet offers the Duramax in the Tahoe and Suburban, while GMC offers the same basic diesel powertrain in the Yukon and Yukon XL. Ford doesn't offer a diesel Expedition. Jeep doesn't offer one in the Grand Wagoneer.

Missing in action

That's strange because diesel makes an enormous amount of sense in exactly this kind of vehicle.

You don't buy a Suburban because you're looking for sports-car acceleration. You buy it because you need space, range, towing capability and the ability to move a lot of people and equipment without stopping constantly for fuel. Diesel's low-end torque and efficiency are particularly well suited to that job.

The numbers bear that out. Ford rates most four-wheel-drive Expeditions at 15 mpg city and 22 highway. Chevrolet's diesel Suburban can reach 21/26, depending on configuration.

Yet try finding one.

Our dealer told us that used diesel Suburbans don't tend to sit around for long. A quick look at owner forums suggests our experience wasn't unique. Buyers describe searching across multiple states, waiting months for orders, or traveling hundreds of miles when the diesel configuration they wanted finally appeared.

New ones haven't always been easy to find, either. For 2026, GM placed significant production constraints on the 3.0-liter Duramax used in the Tahoe and Suburban. According to GM Authority, the diesel was temporarily unavailable on LT and High Country trims, while RST, Z71 and Premier production was limited to 20% of planned volume.

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Right for the job

What's striking is that the Duramax makes such a compelling case for itself in a vehicle this large. Diesel Suburbans have offered dramatically better fuel economy than their V8 counterparts since the current generation arrived, while delivering the low-end torque that suits a big, heavy SUV.

I understand why owners might be reluctant to give them up.

I have my own version of this problem. I own a low-mileage 2016 Porsche Cayenne diesel that I custom-ordered. People regularly ask me to sell it.

I'm not selling it.

There was a period when American buyers could choose diesel versions of all kinds of SUVs and luxury vehicles. Many disappeared as emissions regulations tightened, Volkswagen's Dieselgate scandal poisoned the technology's reputation, and manufacturers shifted their investment toward electric vehicles and hybrids.

Still good

But the Suburban is a reminder that diesel didn't suddenly stop being good at what diesel engines do.

In a large, heavy vehicle that may carry a family, tow a trailer, and travel hundreds of highway miles at a time, the basic proposition remains compelling: lots of torque, long range, and surprisingly good fuel economy.

This isn't an argument that everyone should buy a diesel. Plenty of buyers will prefer gasoline engines, hybrids, or EVs, and they should buy whatever works best for them.

But my daughter's experience raises a different question.

If a diesel powertrain works this well in a vehicle as big as a Suburban — and buyers are apparently willing to search for one when dealers don't have them — why have so many manufacturers abandoned the choice?

The auto industry spends an enormous amount of time predicting what consumers will want next.

Sometimes it might be worth paying attention to what they're already trying to buy.

Your keyless car is broadcasting the signal thieves need to steal it — here's how to protect yourself



On a recent episode of "The Drive," my co-host, Karl Brauer, mentioned taking his 2018 Dodge Demon to the dealership and having his car's key-programming system permanently locked down. The trade-off was significant: If Karl lost his keys, the dealer couldn't simply program him another one. The car's Radio Frequency Hub would have to be replaced before new keys could be programmed.

Why would anyone deliberately make his own car that inconvenient?

Fortunately, one of the easiest precautions against relay theft specifically is remarkably low-tech.

Because Karl was worried somebody else might make a key first.

Fob job

Challengers and Chargers, particularly high-performance models such as the Hellcat and Demon, had become notorious theft targets after criminals discovered they could exploit the same electronic system dealers used to program replacement keys. After getting into the vehicle, thieves could access the RF Hub and program their own fob. The car would then recognize the thief's new key as legitimate.

Karl's solution turned out to anticipate Dodge's own. The company later introduced Key Programming Lockdown, which permanently disabled new key programming through the RF Hub. Dodge acknowledged the inconvenience: If an owner lost all existing keys, the RF Hub itself would have to be replaced.

While Dodge addressed this particular vulnerability, that was only one way thieves were learning to defeat modern vehicle security. Other attacks don't require programming a new key at all.

Relay race

Take the proximity key. You keep the fob in your pocket, walk up to the vehicle, open the door, and press a button to start. It works because the key and vehicle communicate wirelessly — and thieves have learned how to exploit that communication too.

One increasingly common method is known as a relay attack. Using electronic equipment, thieves can capture or extend the signal from a legitimate key fob inside a house to a vehicle parked outside. The car thinks the key is nearby, allowing the thief to unlock it, start it, and drive away.

This isn't the old image of somebody smashing a window and hot-wiring an ignition. As vehicles have become more technologically sophisticated, so have the people stealing them.

Bluetooth blues

And new vulnerabilities continue to emerge. In July 2026, University of California San Diego researchers disclosed a Bluetooth flaw affecting dealer-installed KARR/SWDS anti-theft systems in at least 2.2 million vehicles. Researchers found that a nearby attacker could potentially exploit the system to unlock doors and interfere with the immobilizer.

These aren't all the same attack. The Dodge thieves programmed a new key. Relay thieves fool the car into believing the owner's existing key is nearby. The KARR vulnerability involved Bluetooth. But they all demonstrate the security challenge created as vehicles become increasingly dependent on wireless electronics.

Your car may recognize you automatically. Your phone can become a digital key. Doors unlock as you approach. Apps can start vehicles remotely. Each feature offers convenience, but each wireless connection also creates something manufacturers have to secure.

RELATED: Gone in 60 seconds: How high-tech thieves can steal your car

Jeff Greenberg/Getty Images

Low-tech fix

Fortunately, one of the easiest precautions against relay theft specifically is remarkably low-tech: Put your keys in a Faraday pouch when you're home, particularly if your vehicle sits outside. A properly functioning Faraday enclosure blocks the signal thieves are trying to relay.

Also think about where you leave your keys. Tossing them on a table beside the front door or garage can make the signal easier to reach.

I know how miserable vehicle theft can be because it happened to me.

Years ago, my modified 1985 Mustang GT was stolen. Police eventually found it stripped and burned. Then came the insurance fight, and the theft even affected my insurance afterward.

People sometimes joke that if an insured car gets stolen, it's the insurance company's problem. It isn't. You're the one filing police reports, dealing with adjusters, finding replacement transportation, and potentially watching your insurance costs rise. If the vehicle is dismantled for parts, shipped overseas, or otherwise disappears into the criminal supply chain, there's a good chance you'll never see it again.

Automakers have spent years making it unnecessary to take a key out of your pocket. Thieves have spent those same years learning how to attack the technology that replaced it.

Sometimes the smartest way to protect a $50,000 vehicle is a $20 pouch that stops your expensive technology from talking to anybody.

Washington is finally trying to shut the door on Chinese cars. Europe shows why.



For years, Western automakers looked at China and saw the world's greatest growth opportunity.

China looked back and saw something else: teachers.

Semiconductor manufacturing offers the obvious lesson. The United States is now spending enormous sums trying to re-create domestic capacity that took decades to move overseas.

American, German, and Japanese automakers wanted access to more than a billion potential customers. China frequently required foreign companies to work with local partners, manufacture inside the country, and share the knowledge that comes with doing so.

The arrangement made enormous amounts of money for Western car companies.

It also helped China learn, very quickly, how to compete with them.

Now Chinese automakers are producing increasingly sophisticated vehicles at prices Western manufacturers struggle to match, and Europe is discovering what happens when those cars arrive in large numbers.

Washington appears determined not to repeat the experiment.

Saving our spot

A bipartisan proposal called the Connected Vehicle Security Act of 2026 advanced unanimously through the Senate Commerce Committee last month. Sponsored in the Senate by Bernie Moreno of Ohio and Elissa Slotkin of Michigan, it would dramatically strengthen restrictions on Chinese vehicles and connected automotive technology entering the United States.

For once, Democrats and Republicans seem to have found something they agree on.

The obvious fear is economic. China can build some astonishingly inexpensive vehicles, particularly EVs, and Chinese manufacturers including BYD, Geely, and others are already putting tremendous pressure on established brands overseas.

But Congress isn't framing this purely as a trade dispute. Modern automobiles are packed with cameras, microphones, GPS equipment, cellular connections, driver-assistance systems, and software capable of receiving remote updates.

That means a connected car is also a data-collection device.

Fast and firewalled

The Commerce Department reached the same conclusion under the Biden administration. In January 2025, it finalized rules restricting connected-vehicle software and hardware with sufficient ties to China or Russia, citing the possibility of espionage, data collection, sabotage, and remote manipulation.

The new congressional proposal would go farther and put many of those protections into statute, making them much harder for a future administration simply to reverse.

The Senate version would restrict vehicles, software, and components associated with designated foreign adversaries. Supporters specifically argue that Chinese-connected vehicles could funnel sensitive information collected on American roads back to Beijing.

That's not a crazy concern.

A new car can know where you live, where you work, where your children go to school, which military installation you enter every morning, and exactly where the vehicle travels every day.

The debate over Chinese cars therefore isn't really just about whether Americans should be allowed to buy a cheap BYD.

It's about who controls the computers rolling around American streets.

Training our replacement?

There is an uncomfortable part of this story that Western manufacturers don't always like discussing.

China did not learn modern automobile production from scratch. Foreign automakers spent decades helping.

As auto industry commentator Michael Harley recently pointed out in a conversation with Karl Brauer and me, intellectual property is only part of what China acquired.

Manufacturing itself is knowledge.

How do you coordinate thousands of suppliers? How do parts arrive at exactly the right moment? How do you engineer a production line? How do you control tolerances, automate assembly, manage quality, and move from prototype to millions of vehicles?

American manufacturers accumulated that knowledge over more than a century.

Chinese companies were able to compress much of that learning curve into a few decades while working alongside some of the world's best automotive companies.

Western executives didn't do this because they were stupid. China was simply too attractive to ignore.

For a long time, the bargain worked.

GM sold enormous numbers of Buicks there. Volkswagen became deeply embedded in the Chinese market. Mercedes-Benz and BMW treated China as essential to future growth.

The problem is that China eventually became very good at building its own cars.

Learning the hard way

The result is now visible in Europe.

Chinese manufacturers have entered European markets aggressively, particularly with EVs. European governments have responded with tariffs and investigations, but domestic manufacturers are still confronting lower-cost competitors at the same time their Chinese sales are under pressure.

That combination is painful.

For decades, German manufacturers could use strong sales in China to support enormous operations back home.

Now they're fighting Chinese companies in China and increasingly fighting them in Europe too.

That's exactly the scenario American lawmakers want to prevent.

The United States already keeps most Chinese-made EVs out through tariffs and national-security restrictions. The new bill would make the wall substantially higher.

There are complications. Reuters reported that the legislation's ownership provisions could even affect Mercedes-Benz because Chinese investors hold nearly 20% of the German company, although lawmakers may revise the language before final passage.

That illustrates how deeply Chinese capital and technology are already woven into the global car business. Untangling it will not be simple.

RELATED: The Senate wants to lock the door on cheap Chinese cars — is 'security' the whole story?

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Expensive at any price

Consumers understandably care about price.

If somebody offers an attractive electric SUV for $25,000 while a comparable American vehicle costs $40,000, telling families to spend the extra $15,000 for geopolitical reasons is a difficult sales pitch.

That's precisely what makes China such a formidable competitor.

The Chinese auto industry has enormous manufacturing scale, substantial state support, a massive domestic supply chain, and leadership in battery production.

Americans would benefit in the short term from having access to inexpensive vehicles. The question is what happens afterward.

We've seen this pattern with electronics, consumer goods, pharmaceuticals, and industrial production. Once domestic capability disappears, rebuilding it is painfully slow and enormously expensive.

Semiconductor manufacturing offers the obvious lesson. The United States is now spending enormous sums trying to re-create domestic capacity that took decades to move overseas.

Automobile manufacturing is much harder to rebuild than it is to destroy.

Playing the same game

Free trade works best when everybody is playing something resembling the same game.

China never viewed its automobile industry purely as a collection of private companies competing for customers. It treated automotive manufacturing, batteries, raw materials, and increasingly vehicle software as strategic industries.

America is finally beginning to think strategically too.

There are legitimate questions about exactly how broad the Connected Vehicle Security Act should be, how it treats foreign companies with minority Chinese ownership, and whether some restrictions will increase prices for American consumers.

Congress should work through those problems carefully. But the larger principle is sound. The United States does not need to repeat Europe's mistake simply because a $20,000 Chinese EV looks irresistible today.

Sometimes the cheapest car is not the cheapest decision.

Keep your eyes on the road — your car is watching



Automotive safety technology was supposed to help you keep your eyes on the road. Increasingly, it is keeping its eyes on you.

More new vehicles are equipped with cameras pointed directly at the driver, tracking where you look, whether your eyes are open, and whether the computer thinks you're paying enough attention. Look down at the touch screen too long and you may hear a warning. Turn your head away from the windshield and the steering wheel may vibrate.

There is a major difference between a sensor detecting that you're drifting out of your lane and a camera continuously observing your face.

This technology is no longer simply an optional gadget dreamed up by automakers. In Europe, regulators now require new vehicles to include systems capable of detecting driver distraction.

On a recent episode of "The Drive," co-host Karl Brauer and I spoke with longtime automotive journalist Michael Harley of Forbes about where this technology is heading.

The stated purpose is safety, and there are good reasons for that. But once a camera is installed inside your car, watching you every second you're behind the wheel, another question becomes unavoidable: Who else eventually gets to watch?

Stay focused

Subaru provides a good example of how quickly driver monitoring has moved into ordinary cars.

Its DriverFocus system uses a near-infrared camera aimed at the driver's eyes and head. Subaru says the system can identify signs of distraction or drowsiness and warn the driver accordingly. Because the camera is infrared, it can continue monitoring the driver even when the cabin is dark.

The intention is easy to understand. Distracted driving kills people, and so does falling asleep behind the wheel.

There is also evidence that many drivers appreciate the technology. An Insurance Institute for Highway Safety study of nearly 3,500 Subaru owners found that 87% used DriverFocus most or every time they drove, while about 70% said they would want the system on their next vehicle.

But that same research identified the downside. Drivers reported false alarms, and some said the warnings came too frequently. Annoyance was one of the main reasons owners switched the system off.

Karl and I have each experienced this ourselves in new vehicles. Modern cars increasingly offer automatic emergency braking, adaptive cruise control, lane-centering systems, and other technology specifically designed to compensate when a driver makes a mistake. Yet some of those same cars are becoming more aggressive about policing exactly where the driver is looking.

RELATED: Lucid makes one of the best EVs in America. That may not be enough to save it.

Patrick T. Fallon/Getty Images

Nanny cam

This isn't only about automakers deciding what features customers might like.

Europe is turning driver monitoring into regulation.

Under the European Union's General Safety Regulation, all newly sold vehicles have been required since July 2024 to include technology warning drivers about drowsiness. Beginning in July 2026, additional rules require advanced systems designed to detect driver distraction as well.

The EU doesn't explicitly say every manufacturer must put an infrared camera in your face. The regulation is based on what the system must accomplish rather than specifying one particular piece of hardware.

In practice, however, camera-based systems are an obvious way to meet those requirements, and they're already becoming common.

Once these systems become mandatory in a market as enormous as Europe, automakers have another incentive to design them into vehicles everywhere rather than engineer completely different cars for different countries. That's why American drivers should pay attention.

Close quarters

Here is where I become uncomfortable.

There is a major difference between a sensor detecting that you're drifting out of your lane and a camera continuously observing your face.

Michael explained just how capable these systems already are:

“They’re [infrared] cameras ... watching every single thing in real time inside the car, and it's triggering verbal, audible and/or haptic alarms," he said.

“And you cannot defeat it. Some of them you can turn off, but the second you restart the car, it starts all over again. ... It's just a memory chip ... away from being able to record the telemetry."

Today's camera may simply analyze the information inside the vehicle and generate an alert. Technologically, however, there isn't an enormous distance between a camera that sees what you're doing and a system that stores or transmits what it sees.

Modern cars are already rolling computers connected to manufacturer servers through cellular networks. Automakers have collected driving data and shared information with third parties, while insurance companies increasingly offer policies based on telematics.

Cars can already record enormous amounts of information about speed, location, braking, acceleration, and crashes. Add an interior camera, and the vehicle potentially knows not only where you went and how you drove, but what you were doing while you drove there.

Were you looking at the road or at your phone? Were you yawning? Did you appear sleepy? Who else was inside the vehicle?

Manufacturers will tell us these systems have privacy safeguards, and many of them do. But privacy policies can change. So can software, regulations, and the circumstances under which information can be demanded by law enforcement or other third parties.

The hardware remains pointed at you.

Eyes have it

This is usually how intrusive technology arrives: not through some grand announcement that everybody will now be monitored, but through a series of individually reasonable steps.

It's there to detect drowsiness. It's there to make sure you're paying attention. It's there to prevent crashes.

Each argument has merit. I don't want a sleepy driver drifting across the center line any more than anyone else does. Consumers should nevertheless ask where the boundary lies.

A seatbelt protects me without needing to know where I'm looking. An airbag doesn't watch my face. Anti-lock brakes don't care who is sitting beside me.

Driver-monitoring cameras are different because they introduce something automobiles never historically required: a machine observing the occupants of the car in real time.

Governments are now beginning to require the systems capable of doing that.

New normal

There is one more irony.

Cars are becoming more capable of assisting the driver at precisely the moment manufacturers and regulators are becoming more insistent about monitoring the human being behind the wheel.

Your vehicle can steer, brake, maintain its distance from the car ahead, and in some cases even change lanes and navigate highway interchanges. But glance away for a little too long, and the same car starts scolding you.

Maybe these systems will save lives. I hope they do.

Before Americans normalize cameras watching drivers in every new automobile, however, we deserve clear answers about what those systems collect, whether any information leaves the vehicle, how long it can be retained, and who can obtain it.

Once the camera becomes standard equipment, the question is no longer whether the car can watch you. It's who gets access to what it sees.

Lucid makes one of the best EVs in America. That may not be enough to save it.



There are plenty of reasons for an electric car company to fail.

Maybe the car is badly engineered. Maybe the range disappoints. Maybe the software is a mess. Maybe buyers simply don't like the product.

There are only so many Americans willing and able to spend close to six figures on an electric vehicle.

Lucid has a more troubling problem: It makes an excellent car.

Driver's 'Dream'

I've driven Lucids, including the spectacular Air Dream Edition, and there is very little to complain about from behind the wheel. The Air is fast, beautifully finished, extraordinarily efficient, and capable of the kind of range that makes most other electric vehicles look dated.

Yet the company behind it is once again confronting the brutal economics of building cars.

Lucid announced this week that it is embarking on what management calls an "operational reset," with plans to cut costs by roughly $1.4 billion this year. The company is reducing spending and inventory while delaying the launch of its more affordable midsize vehicles until the second half of 2027.

That delay may be the most important part of the story.

Lucid desperately needs a vehicle ordinary luxury-car buyers can afford. Instead, it remains heavily dependent on expensive models at precisely the moment the upper end of the EV market is getting harder to crack.

Pulling a Tesla?

Lucid's problem isn't really its product. That's unusual among struggling EV start-ups.

Fisker had serious product and execution problems. Other newcomers have arrived with cars that felt unfinished, badly priced, or both.

The Lucid Air is different. It demonstrated from the beginning that a start-up could challenge Tesla on efficiency, range, performance, and luxury.

But engineering a great car and building a sustainable car company are very different skills.

Lucid entered the market primarily with expensive sedans, then followed with the Gravity SUV. That gives the company impressive halo vehicles, but it limits the pool of potential customers.

There are only so many Americans willing and able to spend close to six figures on an electric vehicle.

Tesla confronted this problem years ago by moving down-market after establishing itself with expensive cars. Lucid has been trying to do something similar, but the cheaper model it needs keeps getting pushed further into the future.

Lucid now says those midsize vehicles won't arrive until the latter half of 2027.

That's a long time when you're burning cash.

Changing market

Lucid isn't dealing only with its own growing pains.

The entire electric vehicle industry has gone through a reset.

Automakers that once talked about replacing nearly their entire gasoline-powered lineups with EVs have pulled back investments, delayed factories, canceled models, and rediscovered hybrids.

The problem isn't that Americans don't buy electric cars. Millions do.

The problem is that demand never followed the straight upward line many executives and government planners assumed it would.

The affluent early adopters were relatively easy to reach. The next group of buyers is much more price-sensitive and much less willing to change how they drive simply because an automaker wants to sell them something electric.

That matters enormously for Lucid because the company remains concentrated near the expensive end of the market. At some point, you saturate the group of buyers who can afford a six-figure vehicle.

That's precisely why a $40,000 or $50,000 Lucid could be transformative — if the company can survive long enough to build one.

RELATED: FIRST LOOK New York International Auto Show: Cool cars, but drivers still face sticker shock

VIEW Press/Getty Images

No second mover

Automotive executives love saying they want to "do what Tesla did."

That is much harder than it sounds.

Tesla had something no new EV company can recreate: years in which it essentially owned the premium electric car category.

The Model S arrived before almost anybody else had a credible answer. Tesla built an enormous base of customers, developed a charging network, became a cultural phenomenon, and had Elon Musk turning every product announcement into news.

Whether you love Tesla or hate it, that position cannot simply be duplicated by making another good EV.

Today's start-ups aren't entering an empty market. They're fighting Tesla, Hyundai, Kia, BMW, Mercedes-Benz, General Motors, Ford, Rivian, and an increasingly formidable group of Chinese companies around the world.

Lucid built a technically brilliant car. It didn't build it in a vacuum.

Deep pockets

Lucid does have one enormous advantage over many failed start-ups: financial backing from Saudi Arabia's Public Investment Fund.

That support has given the company a lifeline other manufacturers could only dream of.

But outside investment doesn't repeal economics.

A manufacturer eventually has to produce cars at a sustainable cost and sell enough of them at a sustainable price. Constant infusions of capital can buy time, but time has to lead somewhere.

Lucid's current plan involves cost reductions, the Gravity SUV, a future midsize platform, autonomous-vehicle partnerships, and increased manufacturing in Saudi Arabia. Reuters reported that the company still expects those initiatives to provide a path forward, despite continued losses and weaker-than-expected deliveries.

Holding the bag

Maybe they will.

I hope so, because the automotive industry is better when companies like Lucid force everybody else to improve.

But consumers should understand the risk when buying from a young automaker.

If the company disappears, the vehicle doesn't disappear with it. You still own the car. You still need replacement parts, software support, warranty work, body panels, service technicians, and somebody maintaining all those cloud-connected features.

Fisker owners already learned what happens when the company behind a highly computerized automobile suddenly isn't there anymore.

Grind behind the glamour

For years, Silicon Valley treated automobile manufacturing as though Detroit had simply failed to understand software.

Build a better battery. Hire good programmers. Raise enough venture capital. Disrupt the dinosaurs.

The reality has turned out to be far less glamorous.

Cars require factories, suppliers, repair networks, inventories, regulatory compliance, financing, parts distribution, warranty reserves, and enormous amounts of capital long before the manufacturer knows whether buyers will show up.

Lucid has already proved it can build a remarkable automobile.

Now it has to prove something harder: that it can build a viable company around it.

Think the EV mandate is over? One state has other plans.



You probably think the EV mandate is over. That's exactly what Washington wants you to believe.

Congress celebrated. The White House touted what it called one of the largest deregulatory efforts in modern history, highlighting the repeal of federal vehicle emissions rules as the centerpiece of more than $1 trillion in projected savings. Automakers began telling investors they were pivoting back toward the vehicles customers actually want. Dealers finally saw hope after years of trying to move electric vehicles that many buyers simply didn't want.

Gas-powered vehicles continued dominating large parts of the country because they remain practical, affordable, and easy to refuel.

'Not yet'

Then I started talking to people who follow automotive policy for a living.

I kept hearing the same answer: "Not yet."

The reason is California.

While Washington rolled back federal emissions rules, California's authority to set stricter vehicle emissions standards largely survived. Seventeen states and the District of Columbia now follow California's rules, representing roughly 40% of the nation's new-vehicle market. That means one state's policies can effectively shape what automakers build for the entire country.

The fight now centers on four California Clean Air Act waivers that allow the state to enforce stricter emissions standards, including requirements that automakers sell increasing numbers of electric vehicles and meet tougher tailpipe-emissions limits. The EPA sent those waivers to Congress for review under the Congressional Review Act. California immediately sued, arguing the waivers aren't subject to congressional repeal.

Congressional Republicans disagree.

California king

They're racing to overturn the waivers before the Congressional Review Act deadline expires. If they succeed, future administrations would face a much steeper legal hurdle before restoring California's authority. If they fail, the legal framework that has allowed California to shape the national auto market could remain in place for years.

To be fair, the Trump administration fundamentally changed federal auto policy. Repealing the EPA's greenhouse gas endangerment finding removed the legal foundation for nationwide greenhouse-gas regulations, marking one of the biggest deregulatory shifts in decades.

But Washington only dismantled part of the system.

Once enough states adopt California's standards, automakers face a simple business decision. They can engineer different vehicles for different parts of the country — or build to the toughest standard and sell it everywhere. Guess which option usually wins.

RELATED: California wants to decide what tires you can buy — what could possibly go wrong?

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Sunk costs

Now follow the money.

Over the last decade, automakers invested hundreds of billions of dollars preparing for an electric future regulators insisted was inevitable. Battery manufacturers expanded production. Charging companies attracted billions in public and private investment. Utilities planned for rising electricity demand. Entire business models were built around the assumption that government would continue pushing rapid electrification.

When that much money depends on one regulatory direction, nobody quietly accepts a change in course.

Businesses fight to protect their investments. Lobbyists fight to preserve the policies that created them. Investors fight to protect their returns. That's not a conspiracy. It's economics.

Consumers, however, had other ideas.

Real life over regulations

Electric vehicle sales in America never matched many of the industry's most ambitious forecasts. Hybrids surged because they offered better fuel economy without requiring people to change how they live. Gas-powered vehicles continued dominating large parts of the country because they remain practical, affordable, and easy to refuel. Dealers struggled with inventory that reflected regulatory priorities more than consumer demand, and manufacturers wrote off billions after investing ahead of the market.

None of this means electric vehicles are a bad option. Buy one if it fits your lifestyle. Buy a hybrid if that's the better option. Buy a gasoline-powered pickup if that's what your family or business needs.

That's what consumer choice looks like.

Looking back over the last decade, I don't see consumers driving this transition. I see regulations shaping investment, investment shaping production, and production shaping what buyers were offered in the showroom.

That's a very different sequence.

Washington may have dismantled the federal EV mandate. But unless Congress also closes California's regulatory back door, the pressure that reshaped the auto industry could return under a future administration.

The question isn't whether electric vehicles have a future. They do.

The question is whether consumers or regulators get to decide how quickly that future arrives.