A single man had near-unending influence over the infrastructure of the largest North American cities.

Robert Moses, born in 1888 in New Haven, Connecticut, helped pioneer large-scale urban infrastructure built around cars and commerce. His top-down planning approach later influenced other controlled, master-planned environments, including those created by Walt Disney.

'An extraordinary man who, denied power within the normal framework of the democratic process, stepped outside that framework.'

Moses held many titles during his time in politics and city/park planning, including secretary of state of New York (1927-1929), the first chairman of New York State Council of Parks (1924-1963), and the first commissioner of the New York City Department of Parks and Recreation (1934-1960).

Mr. Moses' neighborhood

Moses' influence can be seen all over New York City, and he is predominantly responsible for turning a collection of neighborhoods into the common metropolis that most cities appear as today.

It was Moses' idea to run expressways right through the middle of cities to maximize access to commercial zones. He was responsible for infrastructure projects like the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, the Staten Island Expressway, and the Cross Bronx Expressway. Many bridges that lead into New York City and Manhattan were his doing as well.

FDR Drive, where the United Nations headquarters is located, is also a creation of Moses.

All's fair

Aside from numerous bridges and expressways, Moses also built nearly 30,000 apartment units by 1939, which is discussed in his biography, "The Power Broker," by Robert Caro.

The book describes Moses as "an extraordinary man who, denied power within the normal framework of the democratic process, stepped outside that framework to grasp power sufficient to shape a great city and to hold sway over the very texture of millions of lives."

It was that influence and power in New York that led him to becoming the president of the World's Fair in 1964. Which, according to a documentary by Defunctland, led to Moses implementing mass evictions in low-income neighborhoods to make way for road systems.

Photo by Bettmann Archive/Getty Images

Moses planned to make at least half of the fairgrounds permanent and openly said that much of the infrastructure was meant to stay as part of his vision of a futuristic park. This plan mirrored Moses' suggestions for many of the city projects he worked on.

Shopping block

At the same time, the fair was more heavily commercialized than any before it. Moses abandoned the visual and thematic consistency of earlier fairs to maximize profit, allowing companies to design their own exhibits in exchange for high rental and repair fees — services that were allegedly monopolized by a small number of favored contractors.

Moses' success in commercialization was noted by Disney, who wished to replicate his overall design thesis when plotting out Disney World in Florida. The two had worked together on the 1939 World's Fair, for which Disney created a special promo cartoon and even licensed a Donald Duck Day.

The first animatronics were created for the 1964 iteration of the fair as well.

Moses' influence goes far beyond Disney, though. He either directly consulted on, or influenced, the planning of at least a dozen North American cities. He is responsible for the infrastructural theory that cities should be focused on commercial centers, not residential housing.

Room for vroom

The idea that cars should move swiftly through cities on expressways took hold in places like Portland, where Moses was hired to help design the freeway network.

In Pittsburgh, Moses put his skills in planning both parkways and parks into practice when he was hired by the Pittsburgh Regional Planning Association to solve congestion issues. He ended up building the Penn-Lincoln Parkway, the Crosstown Boulevard, and the Point State Park.

Photo by Paul Hiffmeyer/D23 EXPO via Getty Images

Moses acted as a consultant for a "high-speed freeway" in New Orleans in the 1940s and "stressed the benefits of removing vehicle traffic from the crowded streets," according to an article by urban planning expert Jeff Brown.

While most of his suggestions were not taken in New Orleans, they were in Hartford, Connecticut, where he planned another freeway. The city declined his suggestion to build a parking garage in tandem with the expressway, though.

Interestingly, Moses' road was reportedly placed through a slum in order to capitalize on "urban renewal funds" to help pay for the project.

Goin' south

Other cities like Boston, San Francisco, Baltimore, Memphis, Phoenix, and Toronto, Canada, have seen indirect influence from Moses. In the 1940s and 1950s, Moses eventually faced resistance, and many of his highway projects were scaled back or canceled, according to the New World Encyclopedia.

As the desire for Moses' planning skills eventually soured, he and others looked to opportunities in Latin America.

The article "Transforming the modern Latin American city: Robert Moses and the International Basic Economic Corporation" discusses how in 1950, the mayor of Sao Paulo, Brazil, hired a commercial corporation headed by Nelson Rockefeller to design the public works for the city.

Moses was appointed director of studies to work in the "Program of Public Improvements" for Sao Paulo and allegedly caused great controversy in Brazil due to his intentions to import American companies to operate in the country.

Moses' influence is still visible in major cities where congestion is chronic and housing is scarce. Disney World succeeded for a simpler reason: It was designed entirely around consumerism, without the complications of cars, housing, or civic life.

In that sense, Disney World represents a kind of Robert Moses ideal — an urban space devoted purely to consumption, perfectly controlled, and freed from the democratic friction and human needs that constrained Moses in the real world.

Celebrate Christ's birth with the world’s best Christmas carol — and it's not the version you think

As the years pass by, it can feel like Christmas has become less about the birth of Christ and his salvific mission and more about secularism and winter.

Look no farther than some of the most popular “Christmas” carols of the past 100 years: "White Christmas," "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer," "Deck the Halls," "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer," and on and on.

This Christmas, as you gather with your family, return to the meaning of the holiday — the birth of Christ — by reflecting on the original French version of “O Holy Night.”

The closing lyrics proclaim, without equivocation, that it is Christ who has saved us and we celebrate his coming. In other words, Christ is King!

For those in the French-speaking world, and especially the Acadian and Quebecois diaspora in New England, “Minuit Chretien” was a staple entrance hymn of midnight Mass.

While the English version “O Holy Night” is a beautiful song, the lyrics were adapted by Unitarian minister John Sullivan Dwight, reducing the theological weight of the original French.

Here are those English lyrics.

O holy night, the stars are brightly shining;
it is the night of the dear Savior’s birth.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining,
till He appeared and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices,
for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn!
Fall on your knees! O hear the angel voices!
O night divine! O night when Christ was born!
O night divine! O night, O night divine!

According to Chicago Catholic, the newspaper of the Archdiocese of Chicago, the song quickly became popular in Northern U.S. abolitionist circles due mainly to its third verse, which deals with breaking the chains of slavery.

Truly He taught us to love one another.
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains shall He break, for the slave is our brother,
and in His name all oppression shall cease.
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we.
Let all within us praise His holy name.
Christ is the Lord! O praise His name forever!
His power and glory evermore proclaim!
His power and glory evermore proclaim!

Again, this is beautiful, but it downplays the truly salvific mission of Jesus Christ, God incarnate.

Before examining the French lyrics and their literal English translation, listen to the definitive version of the song, sung by Luciano Pavarotti at Notre Dame Basilica in Montreal, Quebec, in 1978. The concert in which he sang this rendition was a long-standing PBS Christmas special.

French lyrics

Here are the French lyrics, as compiled by the Oxford International Song Festival.

Minuit, Chrétiens, c’est l’heure solennelle,
Où l’homme Dieu descendit jusqu’à nous
Pour effacer la tache originelle
Et de son Père arrêter le courroux.
Le monde entier tressaille d’espérance
À cette nuit qui lui donne un sauveur.
Peuple, à genoux, attends ta délivrance.
Noël, Noël, voici le Rédempteur.

The tone is set right at the start. The verse boldly announces that this song is for believers. “Midnight, Christians, it is the holy hour.”

There is no mistaking this for secularism or a postmodern, easy Christianity. It calls the listener to remember that he is Christian and that Christmas is about the coming of the Savior, as the second line says, “When God as man descended unto us.”

The next part boldly proclaims the reason Christ became man: to save mankind from the stain of original sin. “To erase the original stain, and to end the wrath of His Father.”

The next two lines are very close to the English translation: “The whole world thrills with hope on this night that gives it a Savior.”

The end of the first verse brings it home: “Kneel, people, await your deliverance: Christmas, Christmas, the Redeemer is here!”

A bold declaration of what the night is about: the coming of deliverance that Christ the Redeemer brings!

The second and third verses are as reverent and hopeful as the first. The closing lyrics proclaim, without equivocation, that it is Christ who has saved us and we celebrate his coming. In other words: Christ is King!

Christmas is worth celebrating, even if your family is fractured

This article is for those of you with fractured families. Maybe the holidays have always been stressful and unpleasant because your family argues. Maybe it’s worse in the 2020s because your family is at political odds, and your liberal family actually thinks you’re a Nazi and says so. Maybe you’ve been estranged from your family for years.

My guess is that many people who fit the description above have abandoned Christmas or any holiday celebrations. I know I did for years. My sister and I grew up in a family headed by an abusive, mentally and morally deranged mother. Our childhood was full of screaming, wooden spoons broken across our backsides, and bizarre punishments for crimes we didn’t commit.

My mother wasn’t actually there in the room with us in 1985. She didn’t see us. She was a little girl in her cold childhood home in 1960 screaming at her parents.

Maybe you’ve abandoned some of your family’s traditions too. Maybe, like me, you’ve spent years alone at Christmas. You don’t put up a tree. You don’t make that special dish.

But you don’t have to let the sorrowful ghosts of Christmases past turn every Christmas future into lonely melancholy. If you have just one single friend, or one single family member whose company you enjoy, I encourage you to haul out the holly, make that special dish, and bring the peace and comfort of Christmas back into your life.

If you grew up like I did, you need this, and you deserve it.

Going home, wherever that may be

This year, my sister and I are going to have a merry Christmas with her family. We are estranged from our mother but not from each other. Now my sister, my brother-in-law, and my nephew are my family. When I visit them at Christmas, I’m going home.

We’re going to have a loving holiday like we wanted to have, but could not, when we were children. We’re going to cook for each other, sing along to the Carpenters’ Christmas album (on a record player, of course), and string popcorn with a needle and thread to make the old-fashioned poor-people garlands we loved to put on the tree when we were young.

That’s not the only family tradition we’re going to relive, and that’s key. While we had a nightmare childhood, there were parts of it that are worth cherishing. There are traditions in our family that we do not have to “let go.” We don’t have to allow the traditions to be emotionally contaminated by our mother’s histrionic meltdowns at the holidays.

That was a lesson my sister and I learned only over time. In my younger years, I stayed by myself doing nothing and celebrating nothing. “Christmas” seemed like a sick and painful joke. What was there to celebrate (I recognize the religious celebration of Jesus’ birth, but I’m focused on something different here) about a time of year that brought shouting, accusations, and thrown dishes?

Our mother had borderline personality disorder. Such people have wild, extreme mood swings within minutes or hours. Under stress, they often lose their ability to control their emotions at all. For example, our mother could swing from raucous laughter to ugly crying while making plausibly deniable suicide threats: “I don’t feel I have anything to live for, and none of you would miss me anyway.”

She tried

But you know, she tried. We were poor, and our condition reminded my mother of her own childhood poverty. She had it worse than we did. For years, my mother lived in what I call “Appalachia of the North.” They had no hot running water, no indoor bathroom, and electricity was only a sometimes-service. Obviously gifts were few at Christmas time.

She wanted us to have a better Christmas than she had as a girl. We always put up a tree, we played the Christmas music, and my mother would usually make lasagna (I’m going to tell you how to make Christmas lasagna below). She couldn’t afford a huge pile of presents for us, but Aunt Vivian and Uncle Marty always sent a huge package of wrapped, brand-name presents to us kids. To us, it was magic. We did feel lucky.

But it couldn’t last. By about 4 p.m., mother would be in hysterics. It was nothing we children provoked. We were happy opening our presents, we thanked mom for everything she did, and we looked forward to Christmas dinner.

Out of the blue, she’d start yelling. We didn’t pick the wrapping paper up quickly enough. We didn’t save the pre-strung bows for next year (“Those are expensive, and you act like I’m made of money!”). It could be anything. She’d scream-cry about how “nothing I ever do is good enough for you kids!” or “I work so hard to make a nice holiday, and I wonder why the f**k I do because NONE OF YOU APPRECIATE IT!”

The lasagna would be slammed down on the table while we looked down at our hands trying not to cry (crying provoked punishment).

My mother wasn’t actually there in the room with us in 1985. She didn’t see us. She was a little girl in her cold childhood home in 1960 screaming at her parents. That didn’t make it right for her to inflict it on us, but I’m old enough now that I understand what was going on in her mind.

And now all of that is gone. It’s over. It’s no part of our lives. And it never will be again.

RELATED: A caregiver’s Christmas

Evrymmnt via iStock/Getty Images

An extraordinary blessing

As adults in our 40s, my sister and I got to know each other as real, whole people for the first time. Instead of being children alternately banding together to protect each other from mother, or as adversaries triangulated against each other to serve my mother’s whims, we met as brother and sister. And as adult friends.

We learned that not only did we love each other, but we liked each other too. It’s an extraordinary blessing.

I want this for you too. Whoever you are. I know some of you don’t have any family left, and I’m sorry. Do you have a friend similarly situated? Maybe he can come to your table this year.

If you have anyone to gather with at Christmas, revive an old family tradition of yours that you’ve neglected for years because it’s associated with hard memories. Maybe it’s a particular carol. Maybe it’s a special dish (our family is English by heritage, so we make Christmas pudding, for example). Whatever it is, why not “repurpose” it? Imbue it with peace and happiness from your life today. Give it new life. Give it love.

Christmas lasagna

This year, I’m going to make Christmas lasagna. For some reason, that dish became our family’s classic Christmas dinner, and I think it’s great. Here’s how to do it. Take your favorite lasagna recipe, but use these methods to alter it:

This is a meat-and-spinach lasagna (red and green for Christmas, see?).
Mix the ricotta with two cloves of chopped garlic, a beaten egg, and a dash of basil and oregano. Don’t forget salt and pepper.
Mix the spinach with mozzarella, and make that your one green layer.
For the meat, use half ground beef and half Italian sausage.

If you make this and don’t like it, I’ll eat my hat.

Remember the Velveteen Rabbit. He was old and worn, and the world thought he wasn’t worth anything anymore and was best left to the past.

"Real isn't how you are made. It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, then you become real."

Christmas wasn’t made real for us in the right way long ago. But we’ve made it real again today, in our late middle age, because we love each other.

God bless you, and merry Christmas.

Is the laundromat the last bastion of public life?

The world is vast and varied — different foods, cars, buildings, beliefs, and political systems wherever you go.

Yet somehow, laundromats are always exactly the same.

In an era of technologically dehumanizing isolation, I find myself seeing beauty in the most mundane moments of human connection or human commonality.

Universal, they stretch from the northern Atlantic to the southern Pacific. Where there are people and where there is civilization, there is laundry and there are laundromats.

Watching the washers

I remember waiting in a laundromat in northern France. It was right across the street from the Super-U. It was long and thin with tall windows that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. It was late November, the low sun was warm on the seats next to the windows, our clothes turning back and forth behind the tightly sealed window facing us. The silence of the warm carpet, our winter coats unbuttoned though still on, as we waited for our clothes to finish before walking back to the apartment.

In Chicago, my laundromat had long rows of metal machines. They loaded from the top and took six quarters per cycle. You slipped the quarters in the little slots and only once all six were filled could you push the metal slider forward. A few seconds later, the machine would start.

There were boxes of overpriced dry laundry soap next to the front door and a few benches next to the bathrooms that were always occupied by people staring down at their phones. I would wait in the corner, leaning against a rumbling dryer, looking up from my phone only when someone got up to move their wet clothes from washer to dryer. I would see wrinkly shirts, knotted sweaters, socks, pants, and skirts as they shuffled their clothes to another metal machine.

When I lived in Jerusalem, I washed my clothes at a laundromat close to Kikar Tzion. It was usually quiet, though never entirely empty. There was always someone else there talking quietly on the phone, listening more than speaking. Sometimes in Hebrew, sometimes in Russian, sometimes in French. The walls were covered with posters and printouts with little tags with phone numbers that could be torn off and slipped into your pocket if you were interested in whatever they were selling.

Metal machine music

Last week, our washer broke. On Saturday night, I took three loads plus two kids out in a snowstorm to the laundromat to get the laundry done.

It was empty, with the exception of the guy at the front desk who greeted us kindly as we stumbled in knocking the snow off our boots on the long black carpet. There was a TV in the corner, a couple tables with chairs, long lines of big, silver machines, and a few teal seats that looked like they were made in 1982. The kids and I loaded up the machines, poured in the detergent we had brought from home, and began listening to the low hum as the clothes began to spin.

The sound is always the same in every laundromat. There’s never loud music on a stereo; if there's a TV, it’s always muted or very quiet. Even the people waiting for their socks and underwear behave as if they're in a library, talking in low voices by the rumbling machines and spinning heat.

Jim Steinfeldt/Getty Images

On the scent

The smell too; it’s always the same. All laundry soap all over the world has that same detergent-y scent. Soft, flowery, and lightly chemical. Detergent in Italy and detergent in Israel may have different names from detergent in America or detergent in Iceland, but they all are basically the same. The world is big and there are so many people, but all their clothes smell the same.

At the laundromat, people wash their most intimate garments in public, together. They carry their laundry baskets in and wash the things they only show their significant others right next to the things that someone else only shows theirs.

We never acknowledge any of this, and this is why we all hurry to put our clothes in, or change our clothes over, when we are at the laundromat. We all have a secret to protect, and we are all stuck together, in public, with the spinning machines, the low hum of the heat, and the smell of chemical flowers.

Together alone

This is part of why we are all fairly quiet as well. It’s like we don’t actually want to acknowledge that anyone else is really there washing their clothes right alongside ours. We may make small talk, but we don’t say much.

Laundromats are almost something like holdovers from a more necessarily communal time. Waiting and watching the people sitting and their clothes spinning, I have thought about how all the women must have washed clothes down by the river, or wherever it was they did laundry, in the ancient days.

In an era of technologically dehumanizing isolation, I find myself seeing beauty in the most mundane moments of human connection or human commonality. The things we share even if we don’t dwell on them. The things we do together even if we are alone. The spinning machines, the private garments we want to keep to ourselves, the smell of the detergent, the quiet as we wait.

Trump TORCHES Biden-Buttigieg EPA rules

Washington rarely admits when policy has failed. But earlier this month, the White House stepped back from more than a decade of regulations that drove car prices to record highs, limited consumer choice, and tried to force an industry to move faster than technology, infrastructure, or American families could manage.

With the unveiling of the Freedom Means Affordable Cars proposal, President Donald Trump and Transportation Secretary Sean Duffy signaled a dramatic shift in national auto policy — one aimed at making car ownership attainable again for millions priced out of the market.

The Biden-Buttigieg standards were projected to generate $14 billion in compliance fines between 2027 and 2032, costs manufacturers said would be passed directly to buyers.

The timing is critical. New vehicle prices topped $50,000 this fall, while average monthly payments approached $750. Families are keeping cars longer than ever, pushing the average age of the U.S. fleet to record levels. As Washington pushed electric vehicles, consumers pushed back: EV demand stalled, rejection rates soared, and buyers continued to favor affordable gas and hybrid vehicles. That tension has been building for years, and the December 3 announcement marked the most direct challenge yet to the regulatory regime behind it.

Trump’s proposal resets National Highway Traffic Safety Administration fuel-economy rules, reversing Biden-era targets that aimed to push the fleet toward roughly 50 mpg.

Closing the 'back door'

Under the new plan, Corporate Average Fuel Economy standards return to 34.5 mpg — levels last seen in the late 2000s — with future increases scaled back to what Congress originally envisioned. The administration projects up to $109 billion in savings over five years and roughly $1,000 off the average new car. Whether those figures hold, the philosophical shift is clear: ending what the White House calls a backdoor EV mandate.

For years, automakers warned privately that the prior rules forced them to build vehicles customers didn’t want simply to avoid massive penalties. The Biden-Buttigieg standards were projected to generate $14 billion in compliance fines between 2027 and 2032, costs manufacturers said would be passed directly to buyers. Aligning federal rules with California’s stricter standards further nudged companies toward EVs even as demand weakened. CAFE was never meant to reshape the marketplace — but that is how it was being used.

The consequences were stark. Billions were poured into EV-charging initiatives with little to show for it; $5 trillion was allocated, yet only 11 stations were built nationwide. California faced rolling blackouts with EVs still just 2.3% of vehicles on the road. Experts warned that even 10% EV adoption would strain the grid under current infrastructure. Meanwhile buyers who didn’t want EVs — still the majority — faced fewer choices and higher prices.

Attracting investment

The Trump reset aims to reverse course. Automakers quickly announced new domestic investments. Stellantis committed $13 billion to expand U.S. manufacturing, including Jeep, Dodge, Ram, and Chrysler. Ford pledged $5 billion for American facilities, noting that 80% of its vehicles are already made domestically. General Motors announced $4 billion to bring production back from Mexico while retooling plants for broader consumer demand. Even the United Auto Workers offered support, citing increased U.S. jobs and domestic production.

The plan also includes a tax change backed by the National Auto Dealers Association, allowing buyers to deduct interest on American-built vehicles. At a time when many families are locked out of the new-car market, the measure offers practical relief while encouraging domestic manufacturing.

Less noticed — but equally important — was the Congressional Review Act action that eliminated California’s special emissions waivers. Signed in June 2025, those resolutions dismantled the structure that allowed California to dictate national vehicle policy, ending the EV mandate embedded in federal regulations and clearing the way for this shift.

Secretary of Transportation Sean Duffy. Photographer: Eric Lee/Bloomberg via Getty Images

Not far enough?

Some analysts argue the rollback doesn’t go far enough. As long as CAFE exists — at any target — it remains vulnerable to political swings. They contend emissions should be regulated directly through the EPA, leaving the market to determine the mix of gas, hybrid, and electric vehicles. This view is gaining traction among critics who say CAFE no longer reflects consumer demand or technological reality.

Even Republican Sen. Bernie Moreno of Ohio weighed in, calling the forced EV pivot “irrational policy” that benefits China. China controls roughly 80% of EV battery minerals and most related mining, while the U.S. holds the world’s largest proven oil reserves. Moreno’s argument is blunt: America weakened its own manufacturing base by adopting policies that played to China’s strengths.

Sales data reinforces the point. EVs made up about 6% of new vehicle sales in November 2025, with rejection rates near 70% due to cost, charging gaps, range limits, insurance, and cold-weather performance. EVs still account for just 2.3% of vehicles on U.S. roads. The demand Washington expected never materialized.

The new policy reflects those realities. It restores balance to an industry pushed into transformation without consumer support or infrastructure readiness. Automakers will still build EVs and hybrids and pursue new technologies — but consumers will decide the pace, not regulators.

For the first time in years, drivers may again see affordability, variety, and genuine choice. Fuel-economy rules will remain contested, but the Freedom Means Affordable Cars plan marks the most significant shift in auto policy in over a decade.

For millions of Americans priced out of the market, that change alone is long overdue.

Trump’s autopen reversal could mean more choice, lower prices for car buyers

A quiet, technical ruling about presidential signatures has suddenly become one of the most consequential automotive turning points in decades.

What looked like an obscure constitutional question has reshaped the nation’s energy strategy, reversed federal transportation policy, and put the electric-vehicle transition on a very different path.

Whether seen as restoring constitutional accountability or disrupting environmental planning, the result is unmistakable: America’s automotive trajectory has been rewritten.

The issue is straightforward: If a president did not personally sign an executive action, can it legally stand? President Donald Trump has answered no — and the effects will be felt in dealerships, factories, and garages nationwide.

Sign-off

In late November 2025, President Trump declared that any executive order, regulation, or directive signed with an autopen after mid-2022 is invalid. Oversight reviews suggest this affects up to 92% of actions taken in the final two and a half years of the Biden administration. Trump argues that executive authority cannot be delegated to a machine; the Constitution vests power in the president himself, not staff operating an autopen while the president is traveling or unavailable.

This interpretation has upended large portions of recent federal policymaking.

Nowhere is the impact more dramatic than in automotive and energy policy. The Biden administration’s EV strategy relied heavily on Executive Order 14037, issued in 2021, which set aggressive emissions and fuel-economy goals. While signed early in Biden’s term, nearly all enforcement actions after 2022 — including the rules that gave the order teeth — bear autopen signatures. Those signatures now sit at the center of a sweeping rollback.

Executive Order 14037 formed the backbone of Biden’s push toward zero-emission vehicles. It directed agencies to impose strict emissions rules, raise fuel-efficiency standards, steer manufacturers toward electric powertrains, and work toward a goal of 50% zero-emission vehicle sales by 2030. Automakers spent tens of billions preparing — building battery plants, restructuring supply chains, and cutting production of profitable internal-combustion models.

According to forensic reviews cited by the Trump administration, many of the directives enforcing those standards after mid-2022 were never personally signed by President Biden. Trump maintains this breaks the constitutional chain of authority.

High energy

On the first day of his second term, Trump issued Executive Order 14154, Unleashing American Energy. It revoked Biden’s EV mandates, halted remaining EV-related funds under the Inflation Reduction Act and infrastructure law, and ordered agencies to withdraw aggressive tailpipe regulations. Fuel-economy targets revert to earlier levels. Federal fleet electrification requirements are gone. The 2030 zero-emission sales target no longer exists. The $7,500 EV tax credit will be phased out by the end of 2026.

The industry impact is immediate. Automakers that bet heavily on federal EV mandates are reassessing long-term strategies. Companies focused on trucks, SUVs, and hybrids are now better positioned. EV-only startups face mounting financial strain. Market uncertainty has hit stock prices, delayed launches, and raised doubts about the future of several pure-electric brands.

Image composite: Tasos Katopodis/Getty Images, Omaha Police Department

Sweeping consequences

Consumers will notice the shift on showroom floors. Vehicles slated for retirement will remain in production. EVs — still pricier than gas or hybrid counterparts — will face new price pressure as incentives disappear. Charging access and range remain barriers, especially outside urban centers. Without mandates driving adoption, consumer preference — not regulation — will dictate the pace of change.

Legal fights are already underway. Agencies must follow formal rule-making procedures, and environmental groups and states like California are challenging the reversals. California plans to retain its own strict standards, setting up years of litigation over federal pre-emption and Clean Air Act waivers.

Even so, the federal direction is clear. The United States is no longer pursuing a national strategy centered on rapid vehicle electrification. The emphasis has shifted to diversification, consumer choice, and competition among internal-combustion, hybrid, and electric technologies.

The autopen dispute may sound bureaucratic, but its consequences are sweeping. A major climate and transportation agenda is being reconsidered because of how it was signed. Whether seen as restoring constitutional accountability or disrupting environmental planning, the result is unmistakable: America’s automotive trajectory has been rewritten.

The internal-combustion engine, long declared on borrowed time, has a renewed future. Hybrids are likely to gain ground. Electric vehicles will remain — but their growth will depend on price, practicality, and performance, not mandates. The timeline for full electrification has shifted, and the debate over how America powers mobility has entered a new phase.

There’s more to come, and I’ll keep you posted.

Growing up in the Hebrew Roots movement — and why I eventually had to leave

Several years before my husband and I met, one of his friends told him, “Modern youth are hungry for truth, and they are looking to the oldest forms of traditional orthodoxy to find it. This leaves them with two main choices: Catholicism or Hebrew Roots.”

My husband hadn’t heard of Messianics before this, or he had heard just enough to scoff at the idea of marrying someone who “pretended to be a Jew.” Nevertheless, his friend’s statement stuck with him. Who were these Protestants LARPing as Jews that they could draw intelligent youth in search of truth away from Catholicism?

We were all encouraged to study our Bibles for ourselves and to test one another. When the family home-churched together, it was always lively.

Relishing the chaos

Some would call us Judaizers.

We are certainly not ordinary Protestants. In fact, my family and most Messianics I grew up with believed that the Catholic Church is the whore of Babylon and the Protestant churches are her daughters. Most Christians were “too Catholic” in our opinion because they went to church on Sunday and celebrated Christmas, two practices instituted by Catholicism.

Despite how odd Messianics might be, they are too disorganized to be classified as a cult. There are somewhere around 200,000-300,000 Hebrew Roots people with no central figure, and there are countless groups within the movement. Some of them are self-identifying Torah followers who may lead isolated lives or fellowship at home with a few like-minded people. Others are members of organized Messianic denominations.

The movement has very few real Jews in it, and for the most part Messianic believers reject modern-day Jewish practices. Instead we endeavor to interpret the Old Testament as literally as possible. This, of course, is nearly an impossible feat and the main cause for disunity in the Hebrew Roots movement.

Perhaps what makes this expression of group interesting is the fact that it is a movement that can’t really be defined as a whole, and yet all the members of it believe that the truth they have is absolute, even though all their like-minded compatriots disagree with them on how to execute this truth. To those raised in the movement, the disorder and chaos are natural and even relished. To those watching from the outside, I can only imagine how bizarre we appear.

Family tradition

My mom chose my name because it was old-fashioned. Most of the rest of the family didn’t like it and tried to give me various nicknames. But my parents named me perfectly.

Keturah — meaning a sacrificial aroma/incense — may be strange-sounding, but it also uniquely fits in all the worlds I’m most interested in. It is both a Jewish and an Amish name and, oddly, has a deep Catholic meaning. It has served me well in the secular world, too, with its unique sound. My name has made it possible for me to blend in among both Christian hippies and woke misfits.

I never considered how odd it was that my great-grandfather basically invented the religion I grew up with (with heavy modifications made by my grandfather). What should have been a red flag — why did nobody figure this out before my great-grandfather? — was instead championed as proof of our righteousness.

My great-grandfather had been a Pentecostal pastor. But he started reading his Bible one day. This led him to preaching on things that his congregation was not ready for, because “the ways of the world were too comfortable.” He left his church, took another wife (his first wife left him with their three children because his beliefs were getting strange), and began a road ministry that my grandfather eventually took over.

I was often told the story of the Rechabites, a family who were saved from being utterly wiped out because they obeyed the words of their great-grandfather. My great-grandfather, too, had left us an inheritance, and if we cherished it, we would be saved from the horrors of the world. I believed this.

Photo by Heritage Images/Getty Images

Lively debate

I was neither brainwashed nor raised in a cult. There is nothing more American than leaving the beaten path to make your own way, especially when it comes to religion.

The women in my family are too mouthy and bratty, myself included, for the family to ever have fallen into true patriarchal suppression. We were all encouraged to study our Bibles for ourselves and to test one another. When the family home-churched together, it was always lively.

Even I, at the ages of 10 through 14, would get pulled into the heated dialogue with religious opinions of my own, carefully researched and passionately presented. I was obsessed with writing theological essays during those years.

We were not cosplaying as Jews any more than Amish are LARPing as peasants. We were more interested in what the Bible had to say than the traditions of modern-day Jews. In fact, anything that was “traditional” must be too much like Catholicism. We didn’t want to follow customs, but the law of Yahweh.

Although my great-grandfather and grandfather invented our faith, there was room for fluidity. It has changed much over the years. My great-grandfather kept the Saturday Sabbath and refused welfare for his family although they were poor and had 13 children. They did not eat pork, but ate according to Leviticus 11. We call this eating kosher, but it’s more accurately referred to as eating “clean.”

My grandfather started using the “Sacred Names” to refer to God when my father was young and warned against “calling upon the name of Jesus” because Jesus, he argued, was another form of Zeus. We argued over whether to spell the Messiah’s name Yahshua or Yeshua. We never referred to God as “God” or “the Lord” because those, too, were pagan names. It was always “Father” or “Yahweh.”

Which Sabbath?

When I was 9 years old, my grandfather realized that Saturday was not the true Sabbath. He had discovered an idea called the Lunar Sabbath.

The Sabbath is determined by the phases of the moon. At the end of the month when the moon goes dark, the Sabbath is two or three days long until the new moon appears and resets the Sabbath. And so Sabbath might be on a Tuesday one month and then Wednesday or Thursday the next month. If it were cloudy, it might be difficult to see the moon, and sometimes we would be keeping Sabbath wrong for a week or so until we were able to clearly see what the sky said. It was also difficult for making plans and having social relationships.

When I was 14, I sat down and did a long study on the Sabbath using encyclopedias, various Bibles, and concordances. After three months I presented my research to my family. I explained the pros and cons for the Lunar Sabbath, Saturday Sabbath, and Sunday Sabbath. I had become convinced that Sunday was still not the true Sabbath and that we should stop doing the Lunar Sabbath and revert to Saturday. My parents and siblings could not argue with my evidence. We voted. After five years of living by the moon, we unanimously agreed to revert back to Saturday Sabbath.

This situation taught me several things: We were not a cult, but most of my family was intellectually incapable of interpreting scripture for themselves. It was cool that my family changed after my research. But also why hadn’t they studied this properly at the start? I was 14 years old, and yet I had convinced my parents to make a major theological change. This both inflated my ego and left me feeling insecure and unstable because I was truly alone and could not go to my parents for answers about God.

This is part one of a two-part essay. Part 2 will appear next week. It was adapted and edited for length from an essay that first appeared on the Substack Polite Company.

How unionizing hurt VW (it has nothing to do with wages)

Because today’s auto industry feels thoroughly international — Americans can buy nearly any car made anywhere, and American vehicles are common sights overseas — it’s easy to forget how deeply regional car markets still are.

That’s the topic of the latest episode of “The Drive,” a podcast I host with executive analyst at iSeeCars.com and Forbes Autos contributor Karl Brauer. This week, our guest is longtime Detroit News auto columnist and syndicated cartoonist Henry Payne.

Japan’s streets — especially in dense cities like Tokyo — are filled with vehicles most Americans rarely see: kei cars, a government-defined class of tiny, boxy, ultra-efficient runabouts.

In a conversation that jumps from Japan’s Mobility Show to the battle over unionization at Volkswagen’s U.S. plant in Chattanooga, we keep returning to the same theme: Cars are global, but markets are local—and policy is increasingly the hidden hand behind what gets built, where, and for how much.

The power of US demand

Payne joins us fresh from the 2025 Japan Mobility Show, an experience he says he found “surreal.”

“My grandfather fought on Okinawa in WWII, and here I am two generations later, and I am going to Japan as a guest of Honda,” he says.

Despite all that’s changed since then, Payne says the show was a reminder of how regional cars still are.

Japan’s streets — especially in dense cities like Tokyo — are filled with vehicles most Americans rarely see: kei cars, a government-defined class of tiny, boxy, ultra-efficient runabouts. They’re built around small displacement engines, tight dimensions, and the reality that Japan imports most of its energy. They make sense there.

In the U.S. they generally wouldn’t — despite recent rumblings from Trump to the contrary.

That contrast matters because it underlines a second point: The United States is not just a big market — it’s a market that props up entire global product plans. Payne notes that Honda sells far more of its output in the United States than it does in Japan, and other Japanese brands lean even harder on American buyers. The U.S. consumer is simply a different customer: higher buying power, more space, more appetite for variety, and more willingness (or necessity) to buy larger vehicles.

In other words, when automakers build out multiple trims and performance variants off the same platform — base model, sport model, track model, special edition — that’s usually because of U.S. demand.

Auto industry math still comes down to very specific local realities: what people can afford, where they live, what infrastructure exists, and what regulators demand.

Flex or flounder

If Japan shows how regional car markets still are, Chattanooga shows what happens when the most powerful market of all — the United States — starts limiting its own flexibility.

Payne’s argument is that transplant automakers (foreign brands building cars in the U.S.) have long enjoyed a competitive advantage: non-union shops.

It’s important to note that the advantage is not in labor prices — “You’ll find that the pay scales of the non-union automakers in these right-to-work states are pretty competitive with UAW,” Payne says — but in the ability to adapt to changing markets.

Unions add a layer of management that makes it more difficult to shift production, change processes, and retool lines.

Nonetheless, Volkswagen’s Chattanooga plant last year became the first foreign-owned factory to unionize. This was the UAW’s third attempt to unionize the plant — and the first time that VW didn’t put up a fight. Why not?

In a word, Payne says, the EV mandate. Because it so much harder to make a profit on EVs, VW relies on various subsidies and tax breaks — incentives turned out to be politically sensitive.

Volkswagen wasn’t legally required to accept unionization — but the politics had shifted. With the UAW closely aligned with Democrats and billions in EV incentives flowing from Washington, Payne notes that VW received a letter from 33 Democratic senators urging it to stay neutral, citing “a lot of money on the line.” The leverage wasn’t statutory; it was political.

Thanks to President Trump, the EV tax credits ended in September, removing much of VW’s incentive to unionize. Of course, by then it was too late.

SEMA CEO Mike Spagnola. Bill Clark/Getty Images

‘The Henry Ford of his time’

The conversation ends with a more personal detour: Payne’s long-running fascination with Tesla — which he sees less as an “EV brand” and more as a rare disruptor in a mature, brutally difficult industry.

In fact, Payne calls Elon Musk “the Henry Ford of his time” and the Tesla Model 3 (he’s on his third) “the most fascinating car I’ve ever owned.”

“It’s good to have a disruptor,” Payne continues, likening Musk to Donald Trump and the latter’s effect on Washington, D.C. “It’s good to have Elon Musk come into the automotive industry ... and say, ‘Why are we selling cars through dealers instead of through stores like Apple sells iPhones? Why aren’t we updating cars constantly like phones and making them better on the road?’”

And if you’re wondering why your next car costs what it costs — or why automakers seem to change direction every six months — this episode offers a blunt answer: The industry is being pulled by forces that don’t always align, and the tug-of-war is happening everywhere at once.

Listen to the full episode of “The Drive with Lauren and Karl” (featuring Henry Payne) below.

Taking the fentanyl challenge: Whacked-out American junkies now big in Japan

The United States' fentanyl crisis is being mocked on the other side of the planet.

Videos with millions of views show Japanese content creators mimicking a bizarre and all-too-common sight in cities like San Francisco and New York: half-conscious drug addicts bent over sharply at the waist but somehow still standing.

'Japanese social media influencers are going viral for mocking America’s fentanyl addicts.'

Typically from the effects of heroin or fentanyl, this telltale folded posture has become known as the "fenty fold."

"Japanese social media influencers are going viral for mocking America’s fentanyl addicts who are often seen hunched over and flailing on the streets," one user wrote on X. An attached video that showed a young woman in Okinawa, Japan, hunched over has received more than 2.5 million views.

RELATED: How to win the opioid fight

Know when to fold 'em

On TikTok, similar videos have captions like "Bringing American culture to Japan" and show participants folding over in locations typical of American drug addicts, like a subway station. One such video has garnered over 1.2 million views.

Other videos take place in parking garages, city centers, and public parking lots. Most of the viral content uses a Japanese song labeled "Anime Girl," although the song is actually a combination of the songs titled "Don't Forget Me" by Schinya and "Sparkle" by Radwimps.

Cleaning up

Drug seizures have increased under the Trump administration, resulting in a slight increase from FY2024 versus FY2025.

However, if FY2026 continues on trend, there will be a significant jump in the amount of annual drugs seized (measured in pounds), according to CBP statistics.

Photo by Tayfun Coskun/Anadolu via Getty Images

For example, in October 2025, approximately 51,500 pounds of drugs were seized by the federal government. In October 2024, that number was 40,700 and just 37,400 in October 2023 under President Biden.

Overdoses down

Fentanyl, however, represents one of the least confiscated drug types in terms of weight, likely due to its potency. Marijuana, methamphetamines, and cocaine are the most seized by weight, in that order.

At the same time, overdose deaths have significantly dropped in the United States between April 2024 and April 2025. There was a 24.5% decrease during that time period, the CDC reported. The number of overdoses peaked around August 2023 but have since been declining.

Some of the biggest decreases in overdoses have come in states like Louisiana, New Hampshire, New York, West Virginia, and Wyoming.

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Like most gay men, I wasn't 'born this way' — and I refuse to lie about it

“Why are you gay?” intoned Tucker Carlson in an African accent. Then the internet exploded. The voices of countless homosexuals and their supportive family members rose in unison to a pitch so shrill it could crack silicon data chips.

They trotted out all the predictable labels. Homophobe. Bigot. Christian nationalist. Carlson was promptly denounced across social media as a homophobe, a bigot, and a purveyor of hateful Christian nationalism — simply for asking the question we are not allowed to ask.

'I’m not crying because you’re gay,' she said. 'I’m crying because I know that life is going to be harder for you.'

It happened on Carlson’s December 4 podcast, which featured an extensive conversation with “Dangerous Faggot” Milo Yiannopoulos. For those who don’t know, Yiannopolous is a right-wing cultural commentator and provocateur with a pronounced histrionic gay affect. Today, he says he has abandoned homosexuality.

Trauma response

Before I go farther, it’s necessary to clear some underbrush. I am interested in the content of what Yiannopolous said, not in what anyone thinks of him as a person. Whether one thinks he’s honest, dishonest, annoying, or charming is irrelevant. What he says is what I’m interested in.

So what did he say?

"In almost every case, and certainly in every male case, [homosexuality] is a trauma response. It is not a sexuality."

Milo Yiannopolous speaks for me. I endorse what he said and believe it to be true. I believe I became a homosexual because I grew up under a mother with narcissistic personality disorder, a father who left before I could ever meet him, and an attempted murderer and pedophile for a stepfather.

Let me clear away some more underbrush, though it will probably be fruitless.

1. Yes, I believe the large majority of male homosexuals are homosexuals because of childhood circumstances and trauma.

2. Yes, I believe that most of those who claim that they had no childhood trauma are not being candid — including, in some cases, not being candid with themselves. Personal and professional experience leads me to this conclusion.

3. No, I’m not claiming that every single male homosexual had abusive parents. Yes, I recognize that some male homosexuals come from stable, loving families. I have male homosexual friends who fit this description.

What we used to know

We have lived for so long with the culturally enforced mandate to believe in “born this way” that we have to remind society of what it used to know just yesterday. Those of you in middle age will remember that until the past 25 years or so, homosexuality was understood to be the outcome of an abusive or neglectful childhood.

Not only psychiatric researchers, but everyday Americans noticed that most male homosexuals had troubled or nonexistent relationships with their fathers. They noticed that male homosexuals were unusually close to and emotionally enmeshed with their mothers. They noticed that those mothers often had overbearing, domineering, or melodramatic personalities.

If you’re younger than 40 and reading this with shock, I’m telling you the truth. This view was normal, but it was deliberately re-cast as “homophobia” and “ abuse against gays” in the past 25 years by the same activists who brought you “trans kids,” breast removal of healthy teen girls, and cross-sex hormones for teen boys who “are actually girls.”

That’s the set that brought you “born this way.”

'Science' fiction

As I write this piece, I’m struggling with how to give readers some citations. The trouble is that on the topic of homosexuality, just like with all things “COVID,” most people think there’s something called “the Science.” Even based right-wingers who rejected the authoritarian commands that tried to compel us to take mRNA “vaccines” and wear masks jump right to “show me THE SCIENCE” when the subject is the origin of homosexuality.

When the topic is this emotional, people stop thinking and start emoting. They start pretending that humans can’t know anything about the world, can’t recognize any patterns, and can’t come to any conclusions unless a Scientist published a Paper in a a Peer-Reviewed Journal.

Nevertheless, I’ll try. Surprising though it may be, the psychiatric and psychological literature, starting with Freud in the early 20th century, has long noted the pattern I described above. And most, though not all, male homosexuals were sexually abused as children or as minors. (I am a homosexual, but I was not molested as a child.)

Commentator and “ex-gay” Joseph Sciambra has published several bibliographies that round up much of this literature.

Normally, people don’t demand “the Science” on other subjects. No one demands “the Science” before noticing that most teenage drivers are more erratic and dangerous and therefore it pays to drive defensively around them. Everyone knows this, not because they read “the Science.” They know it because they have eyes, ears, and a brain that detects patterns.

Gay Old Party

Today, even conservatives are invested in the “born this way” gay narrative. While I’m pleased that the right wing came around on unfair laws that penalized homosexuals simply for being homosexuals (not laws that properly punished lewd public behavior), I’m not pleased that the average Republican now treats “born this way” as the end of the conversation.

The gay activist set has conquered the right wing. Those conservatives who find the position taken in this piece hard to bear have been manipulated emotionally by gay activists.

If you’re a conservative who finds this uncomfortable or “mean,” I think I know another reason why. You have homosexuals in your family whom you love (so do I, friends). Some of them are your children. And if they’re your children, you’re hearing an implicit accusation: “He’s saying I’m a terrible mother who made my son gay.”

No. I’m not (necessarily) saying that, even if you “feel” that I’m saying that. I don’t know you, and I don’t know how you raised your children. As a peer support coach, I’ve spoken to many moms and dads with gay children. These are loving moms and dads, but sometimes they made mistakes, or divorce or other trauma came to pass in the family.

Even the most loving parents will make mistakes, and the culture outside the parental home is ravening at your children and pushing them to adopt deviant and hedonistic lifestyles. Even the best parents can’t keep all of that out.

Phillip Faraone/Getty Images

'Coming out' to my mother

Let me tell you the story of a night in 1986 when I “came out” to my mother at age 12. Align readers know from my past columns that my mother was an abusive, deranged woman who veered into psychopathy at times. But there were moments when a real woman with real feelings came through.

I sat on the avocado-green pleather daybed we used as a couch. My mother was in her armchair, the square glass ashtray and a pack of Merit Ultra Light 100s at her side. It was 8 p.m., and my mother had sent the other children to bed because I had something important to tell her. I think she knew what was coming.

I told my mother that I was gay and that I felt duty-bound to tell her the truth about it. Looking back at myself at 12, I shudder that I was already forming myself into a “gay identity” that would trap me in promiscuity, addiction, and emotional disturbance for decades to come. But I didn’t know any better then.

My mother started crying. It wasn’t her usual self-pitying kind of crying, and it wasn’t her angry crying that would escalate to slaps across the face and screamed insults.

“I worried for so long that I would do this to you, that I would make you gay,” she said while she looked down at her hands. “I never gave you a father, and the father figure I brought into your life turned out to be a monster.”

This was one of the few times in our life together that I can remember when my mother seemed genuine and honest and seemed to care about my well-being. I think her sense of responsibility and guilt was real (my mother wasn’t much for feeling normal parental responsibility).

“I’m not crying because you’re gay,” she said. “I’m crying because I know that life is going to be harder for you. I’m terrified that you’ll get a disease and die early. Please be careful.”

Because my mother had already parentified me, turning me into her “surrogate husband” and emotional caretaker (almost universal with personality-disordered mothers and their children), I started comforting her.

“You didn’t do anything to me, Mom. I was born this way,” I said.

And I believed it.

The limits of tolerance

It is true that my mother never sat down one day and said, “How can I derange my son and turn him into a homosexual?”

But what my mother feared did happen. The abuse, the depravation, the disordered emotions in my childhood home did make me a homosexual. How I choose to behave is my responsibility, but I did not “choose” to be sexually disordered this way. I was just a child.

If you’re reading this and you’re a homosexual or the parent of one or a loved one, and you don’t believe this applies to you, then go in peace. But please let those of us for whom this is important — let us have this conversation. Too many emotionally triggered people do everything they can to shut it down.

They accuse homosexuals like me of being “abusive” and of “hurting” them. No such thing is occurring. All the sympathy "allies" claim to have for homosexuals when we are “born this way gays” evaporates the moment we change our minds. They insult us and call us insane, with more vitriol than actual anti-gay bullies who beat us up in high school.

Silence equals death

We are going to have this conversation. We’re not going to be silenced or manipulated into being good, quiet little gay boys to fit someone else’s fantasy of having a “fabulous” best friend or son.

I lived the “fabulous” life, and it nearly killed me through alcoholism and self-destructive promiscuity. The way I lived brought despair. And I am typical. I am not “just an unusual gay.” My life story looks like the life stories of the majority of gay men. Yeah, I know. They tell you that isn’t true.

They’re lying because they’re terrified that something they’ve relied on too heavily to define themselves as human men may have been a lie all along. I know, because I lied this way too.

Yes, I’m still attracted to men and not attracted to women. I don’t believe I have the ability to change those subjective feelings, but I may find otherwise in time. For seven years I’ve been single and celibate, and I plan to remain so.

Others must choose their own path in their own time. Nothing I’ve written here can honestly be construed as an attack, or an assault, on other homosexuals or those who love them. The truth is not an act of hate or abuse.

What’s real and true matters, and it’s well past time to tell the truth about the lie we call “born this way.”