The Navy has a choice: Get better or become less relevant



The Navy has been through a lot over the past several months.

Ships have stayed at sea longer than planned. Sailors have missed more time with their families. Aircraft have flown hard. Weapons have been fired in numbers we have not seen in decades. Maintenance has been pushed to the right because the mission came first.

We cannot keep shrinking the number of ships while expanding the number of missions and pretend the math will somehow work.

Now the bills are going to start coming due.

Ships will return needing repairs. Aircraft will need maintenance. Magazines will need to be refilled. Sailors will need time at home. Families that have carried an enormous burden will want some normalcy back. All of that is understandable. But what happens next will tell us a lot about the future of the United States Navy.

We can spend the next few years talking about how hard the Iran fight was, how tired the force is, and how much everything costs. We can lower expectations, reduce deployments, accept fewer ships at sea, and convince ourselves that this is simply the new reality.

Or we can decide to get better.

That may sound overly simple, but it isn’t. This is the choice facing this generation of Navy leaders, Pentagon officials, members of Congress, and the defense industrial base. Iran did not create the Navy’s problems. It exposed them.

Listen to sailors and learn the right lesson

The extended deployment of the USS Abraham Lincoln has become the most visible example of the strain on the force. Sailors and families have expressed frustration about deployment length, uncertainty, limited port calls, and conditions aboard the ship.

When we ask young Americans to spend month after month away from their spouses and children, they have earned the right to tell us when things are not working. Navy leaders should pay attention to quality of life, communications, food, sleep, medical care, and the information families receive back home.

But we should be careful about the conclusion we draw from their frustration. The lesson cannot simply be that deployments should never run long again. Wars don’t care about deployment schedules.

America’s national security commitments don’t disappear because a carrier strike group has been gone for eight or nine months.

Sometimes the mission requires more.

The real lesson is that America needs enough Navy that asking more of our sailors during a crisis does not become the only option available. That means more ships, more aircraft, more weapons, more logistics capacity, and more people.

It also means accepting something we sometimes became uncomfortable saying during the long years of peacetime operations: Serving in the military is supposed to be hard.

We should take care of sailors and their families. We should fix unnecessary problems and hold leaders accountable for poor decisions. But we also need a Navy that expects its people to be tough enough to fight and win a war.

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The maintenance bill is coming

The bigger problem may be what happens when these ships finally come home.

Engines accumulate hours. Aircraft fly more sorties. Radars and combat systems operate continuously. Parts wear out. Repairs that might normally happen during a deployment get delayed because the ship is needed on station.

Eventually all of that work has to be done. And the Navy was already struggling with maintenance before the war. Public shipyards are overloaded. Private repair yards are stretched. Submarine maintenance has been a problem for years. Surface ships routinely spend longer in maintenance than planned.

Now we are going to add ships returning from combat operations. We should not act surprised when the backlog grows. The question is whether we do something about it.

That means putting real money into ship repair capacity. It means expanding public and private yards. It means training more welders, electricians, pipe fitters, and other skilled workers. It means using predictive maintenance and better data, so we know what is going to fail before it fails.

And it means getting serious about spare parts.

None of this is glamorous. There are no ribbon cuttings for having the right pump sitting on a warehouse shelf. But wars are often won by the side that can keep equipment operating.

Refill the magazines

Iran also reminded us that modern warfare burns through weapons quickly.

Missiles that take years to develop and months or years to produce can disappear from a ship’s magazine in minutes.

That should scare us, not because the Navy performed poorly — it performed extremely well — but because Iran is not China.

Imagine the weapons requirements of a sustained fight across thousands of miles of the Pacific against an adversary with a large navy, advanced aircraft, submarines, ballistic missiles, cruise missiles, and enormous industrial capacity.

The math gets uncomfortable quickly.

We should treat every weapon fired during the Iran conflict as a data point.

How quickly can we replace it?

If the answer is measured in years, we have a problem.

This is where the Pentagon and Congress need to stop treating munitions like boutique acquisition programs. We need production lines that can surge. We need long-term contracts that give manufacturers confidence to invest. We need second sources for critical components.

And we need deeper magazines.

You cannot surge missile production after the shooting starts.

Don’t become the Royal Navy

There is a historical warning here.

The British Royal Navy did not wake up one morning and suddenly stop being the world’s dominant navy.

The decline happened slowly.

Britain still had excellent ships. It still had talented sailors. It still had proud traditions. What it gradually lost was mass. The commitments remained large while the fleet became smaller. That should sound familiar.

America expects its Navy to deter China, operate in Europe, protect shipping in the Middle East, defend the homeland, reassure allies, and respond whenever something goes wrong anywhere in the world.

We cannot keep shrinking the number of ships while expanding the number of missions and pretend the math will somehow work. Eventually something gives. Iran gave us a warning. We should take it.

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Get better

There will be a temptation after this conflict to focus almost entirely on recovery. The Navy absolutely needs to recover. But recovery cannot become retreat. This needs to be a period of brutal institutional learning.

What broke? What ran out? What took too long to repair? Which supply chains failed?

Capture those lessons and move out — don’t spend five years studying them.

Some fixes will require money. Others will require leadership. Many will require getting rid of processes and assumptions that made sense during peacetime but make no sense after experiencing sustained combat.

This should change how the Navy trains, buys weapons, maintains ships, designs the fleet, and supports families.

Most importantly, it should change the Navy’s mindset.

The service should come out of this tougher than it went in.

The choice

Every generation gets a few moments when the direction of an institution can change.

This is one of them.

Iran showed what sustained combat does to a Navy. A war with a peer competitor would ask far more. So we have a choice — slump our shoulders and talk about how difficult this is and how far behind we feel.

Or we can stop talking, learn from the last couple of years, and get better.

Fix the ships. Refill the magazines. Expand the yards.

Take care of Navy families. Demand better leadership. And expect toughness from the force.

The United States Navy is still the most capable navy in the world. The question is whether we intend to keep it that way.

Iran should not be remembered as the fight that wore down the U.S. Navy. It should be remembered as the fight that woke it up.

This article was originally published by RealClearDefense and made available via RealClearWire.

Keeping the West’s flame burning



At the outset of Marco Rubio’s tenure as secretary of state, his department introduced a new paradigm for U.S.-European relations: civilizational alliance.

Rubio and his aides have persistently sought to remind Europe that our relationship is based not merely on trade deals and defense agreements, but ultimately on a shared Western anthropology and history.

The real objection is not so much to any national interest but to the assertion of American national interest.

Rubio’s July 4 message declared:

[America’s] seeds were planted by the philosophers of Athens, the imperial majesty of Rome, the monks and kings of medieval Christendom — centuries of European exploration, science, faith, and restless ambition finally unleashed from every constraint on the boundless American frontier. America was the destiny of an entire civilization.

These overtures, though sometimes welcomed by European citizens bearing the brunt of civilizational decline, have been met in conventional diplomatic circles with reactions ranging from ambivalence to indignation.

European elites are loath to admit they have a civilization to maintain, and if they do, they speak of it with contempt.

Rather than face the matter head-on, the most typical response has been to accuse the U.S. of brashness and insincerity. Critics scoff that we are hypocrites for touting civilizational alliances while unabashedly pursuing America First policies. This apparent contradiction rests on three errors.

First is ignorance of the very Western tradition Americans wish to revitalize, in which duty to one’s country is second only to God. This wisdom was passed down from Cicero to Augustine to Aquinas, who taught that “just as it belongs to religion to give worship to God, so does it belong to piety, in the second place, to give worship (cultum) to one’s parents and one’s country.” The duty of patriotism stems from the gift of life we received from particular people in a particular nation.

Naturally, those who see no significance in national origin can see no duty stemming from it.

But in truth, even nations that share a common civilization are perfectly free — and indeed obliged — to be patriotic and to pursue their own interests for the sake of their citizenry.

Working to preserve a shared civilization is exactly what helps them clarify the just pursuit of interest or “interest well understood,” as Tocqueville calls it. For example, a businessman who is outmaneuvered in the market never objects to competitors seeking their own prosperity. He objects only if they cheat to get it. So too with nations. This is doubly true for the civilization that produced Aquinas and Tocqueville, Parliament and Congress.

Second, these dynamics of Western civilization are lost on contemporary Europeans because they have abdicated both individual and national sovereignty. They fear individual action apart from collective consensus. Of course, this is to misunderstand both consensus and individuals, since authentic consensus arises only from the free assent of individuals. But contribution to a consensus is far from the only sovereign power individuals hold.

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There are a host of matters that individuals may decide for themselves without needing permission from anyone else. The sum of these choices makes up moral character and, indeed, sovereignty itself. To circumscribe them is to destroy the possibility of the moral greatness and virtue that the West champions. As is true for individuals, so also for nations.

The nations of Europe have to a large extent surrendered their sovereignty to the EU, which acts like a nation but does not take responsibility for its actions. Those in Brussels claim merely to be following the consensus of European nations, whose leaders themselves take no responsibility and dutifully follow the decisions of the EU.

To those within a system built on a shared abdication of responsibility, the sight of Americans letting their yes be yes and their no be no is an unconscionable disturbance of global order — and, if European member states catch on, to their job security.

Third, abdication of sovereignty is not applied equally. The real objection is not so much to any national interest but to the assertion of American national interest. If Ghana or Paraguay stood up at the U.N. and cited their national interest, everyone would murmur appreciatively. Only strong nations are not supposed to seek their interests, and since the U.S. is the strongest, we are expected to support the interests of others over our own.

This moral hierarchy is one of the glaring symptoms of how much globalist institutions have been captured and perverted by radical “Third Worldist” policies.

But this critique rests on another false premise: that American national interest is inherently at odds with the welfare of others. In practice, the opposite is often true.

America might be prosperous, but we also have millions of poor people living here, so many that we spend around 25% of our considerable budget for their ostensible welfare. The U.S. is also deeply concerned with global welfare. We dismantled boondoggle institutions like USAID precisely to redirect funds from woke nonsense to real needs. Just recently, Secretary Rubio spearheaded $100 million in direct aid to the Cuban people.

Finally, another 15% of U.S. spending goes toward preserving the longest large-scale peace since the fall of Rome, enabling billions of otherwise vulnerable people to live in relative security.

So separating U.S. interest from the interests of the poor and marginalized is dodgy at best.

On a deeper level, the contention that strong nations have no legitimate self-interest is a dangerous absurdity. Yet it is embedded deep in the minds of Western elites who distrust not the self-governing individual in principle, but only those who govern themselves well. The weaker, the meaner, and the baser, the more license they grant, particularly over those who are naturally stronger.

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This is the logic that has afforded migrant rape gangs the protection of law in Britain and outlawed objection to them. It is the logic that grants or withholds jobs and benefits based on race and victim status. It is the logic that demands the United States submit to tyrannical institutions like the International Criminal Court that could not even exist without the Pax Americana.

It is difficult to pinpoint the source of these inversions. Many have suggested they spring from a perversion of Christian charity. That may be, although I hesitate to blame even the perversion of a theological virtue. Rather, one of the seven deadly sins seems a more likely culprit: despair.

Many on the left believe that the West never offered humanity anything besides oppression and that it now offers a vast storehouse of ill-gotten gains, good only for distribution and dissolution. On a fundamental level, Western nations have no right to pursue their own interests because they have no right to exist.

America disagrees. Humanity’s best hope does not live in the grave of the West. It lives here, where the flame of Western civilization has been burning for 250 years. We intend to keep it burning, both for our own sake and for the world’s.

Editor’s note: This article was originally published at the American Mind.

Big Tech gets the network. You get the bill.



The Federal Communications Commission’s latest broadband report makes two things clear: America has made real progress, but the rural job is far from finished.

The number of Americans lacking access to fixed terrestrial broadband with download speeds of 100 Mbps and upload speeds of 20 Mbps fell roughly 23% in one year, while rural gaps shrank more than 44% over two years. Prices for the mid-tier plans most households buy have also fallen in real terms.

The path is simple: Make the biggest users and beneficiaries of Universal Service Fund-supported networks help pay, without raising prices for consumers.

Yet the FCC still says deployment is not “reasonable and timely” for all Americans, especially in rural areas and tribal lands. For many families, broadband is now one of the rare essential services that is both faster and more affordable than it was a few years ago.

That’s why the Universal Service Fund remains indispensable. It connects an estimated 130 million Americans each year, supporting low-income and rural households, schools, libraries, students, and health care providers. At roughly $8.5 billion annually, USF underwrites a crucial piece of America’s digital infrastructure. It also supports the infrastructure beneath an internet economy measured in the trillions of dollars.

The problem is how we pay for it. Consumers bear a monthly surcharge on legacy voice services, while the largest internet platforms, which depend on broadband to generate enormous revenues, contribute nothing.

Congress knows the system needs reform. In 2023, Senators John Thune (R-S.D.) and Ben Ray Luján (D-N.M.) launched a bipartisan Universal Service Fund Working Group. Deb Fischer (R-Neb.) now shares leadership with Luján, joined by Reps. Richard Hudson (R-N.C.) and Doris Matsui (D-Calif.), and the working group has heard from hundreds of stakeholders. Its assignment is straightforward: preserve a program that works while replacing a financing mechanism that does not.

Alphabet, Amazon, Apple, Meta, Microsoft, Netflix, and TikTok all depend on broadband networks to reach Americans. Each USF-connected household generates an estimated $3,000 annually in revenue for these companies, which collectively consume roughly two-thirds of U.S. broadband capacity. Data-center expansion will only increase that traffic. As more data centers come online to support AI, cloud computing, streaming, and other digital services, the demands placed on those networks will only grow.

Broadband providers, meanwhile, must keep investing in the networks that carry it. Without USF support, many networks would not be built, and broadband could become unaffordable for millions.

Don’t put the bill on consumers

Congress should not solve the problem by adding another fee to household broadband. Affordability remains politically and economically sensitive, and even modest price increases can push consumers out of the market. Broadband has remained relatively stable in price even as Americans have absorbed years of inflation elsewhere in the household budget.

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Economists Hal Singer and Ted Tatos found that a 5% increase in broadband prices could cause roughly 10 million households to cancel service. Their review found a different dynamic for large digital advertising platforms, where end users generally do not pay subscription fees and companies are better positioned to absorb assessments.

Former FCC Chairman Brendan Carr suggested assessing digital advertising revenue from the largest platforms. Congress could also consider certain transmission services — cloud interconnection, backhaul, content delivery networks, satellite transport, and wide-area networking — that depend heavily on the broadband ecosystem.

The precise mechanism matters less than the principle: Broaden the contribution base so consumers carry less of the burden. Bipartisan legislation already points in that direction. The Lowering Broadband Costs for Consumers Act would extend contributions to large internet service providers, with thresholds aimed at companies of significant scale.

The rural job is not done

Some argue that low-earth-orbit satellite services have largely solved rural broadband and made subsidies unnecessary. They have not. Satellite is valuable where terrestrial networks are uneconomical, but it remains capacity-constrained and is not a full substitute for high-capacity terrestrial broadband in every household or community.

A rural family with several people working from home, taking virtual classes, or using telehealth can need sustained high-speed service and reliability that satellite cannot always guarantee as cell density grows. Prices have also risen, weakening the case for satellite as a cheap universal backstop. Satellite belongs in the mix, but it cannot carry the entire rural-connectivity burden by itself.

Big Tech should pitch in

Big Tech benefits from some $200 billion annually in USF-supported broadband investment, yet the companies oppose contributing to the fund by calling such payments a “tax.” That evades the basic question: Why should the largest users and beneficiaries of broadband infrastructure be the only major participants paying nothing toward its cost?

Google, Amazon, Microsoft, and Meta spend billions building their own data centers, cloud networks, and related infrastructure because infrastructure has economic value. They would never give unlimited use of those facilities away for free. Yet they expect private broadband networks to reach their customers without contributing to the universal service system that expands access to those networks.

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The contradiction is especially striking because 13 bipartisan governors recently joined major technology companies at the White House, where the firms pledged to cover the cost of infrastructure upgrades needed for their data centers while protecting consumers from higher electricity bills. The Ratepayer Protection Act would codify those pledges. Congress should apply the same logic to broadband.

How Congress can act

Universal service already enjoys bipartisan support. In Consumers’ Research v. Federal Communications Commission, 29 lawmakers and working-group members filed an amicus brief defending USF before the Supreme Court. They warned that dismantling the fund would harm millions of Americans, particularly low-income and rural households. Congress established universal service in 1996 and has repeatedly recognized the need to adapt it as communications technology changes.

The Supreme Court upheld the program’s constitutionality. Congress defended USF in court; now it should make the funding system fair and sustainable in statute.

The path is straightforward: Broaden the contribution base to include the largest users and beneficiaries of the networks USF supports, while protecting consumers from rising costs. The companies that profit most from ubiquitous broadband should help ensure that ubiquitous broadband continues to exist.

ICE gets watched. Who’s watching the immigration lawyers?



As a deportation officer, I managed cases from beginning to end. I took the file when it opened and stayed with it through custody determinations, immigration court, appeals, travel-document requests, and, when it came to that, the flight home.

We worked those cases on the merits and nothing else. Not race. Not nationality. Not religion. Not politics. What did the file say, and what did the law allow?

A rule that exists only on paper is not much of a safeguard.

Anyone who worked differently answered for it, because immigration enforcement is watched constantly: by the Department of Homeland Security Office of Inspector General, Immigration and Customs Enforcement's Office of Professional Responsibility, the Office for Civil Rights and Civil Liberties, detention inspections, congressional oversight, federal litigation, and a press corps often eager to publish before a case is even closed.

I never objected to that scrutiny. Enforcement power is serious power, and it should be examined hard. I have said so under oath.

What I do not understand is why the examination so often seems to stop at the government's side of the table.

On the other side sits a disciplinary regime that is hardly weak on paper. Federal regulation subjects immigration practitioners to discipline for grossly excessive fees, solicitation through runners for financial gain, frivolous filings, false statements, and other misconduct. A lawyer's signature on a filing certifies that he has read it, made a reasonable inquiry, and has a basis in fact and law for putting it before the court.

In other words, the rules already recognize the problem.

And the misconduct is not hypothetical.

In Illinois, immigration attorney Robert DeKelaita was convicted by a federal jury of conspiracy to commit asylum fraud, making false statements in asylum applications, and procuring perjury during asylum interviews. Federal prosecutors said applications filed through his firm contained fabricated accounts of rape, murder, torture, kidnapping, and bombing. Some clients obtained asylum, lawful permanent residence, and eventually citizenship on the strength of those lies.

In New York, a Queens immigration attorney received five years in federal prison after submitting more than 100 asylum applications containing false persecution narratives, criminal histories, and travel histories. Prosecutors said she invented stories, forged clients’ signatures, and falsely notarized affidavits.

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In Georgia, an attorney went to federal prison after filing false documents in employment-based immigration matters, surrendering her law license, and forfeiting $100,000 in fees.

Those are the spectacular cases. The quieter misconduct may be more common and, for individual families, just as destructive.

Illinois disciplinary records describe an attorney who allowed nonlawyer office managers to practice law out of his firm, failed to diligently represent immigration clients, withdrew from others without adequately protecting them, and failed to return tens of thousands of dollars in unearned fees.

That does not make national news. But to the client who handed over his savings, it can be devastating.

An enforcement officer has two reasons to care.

First, every fabricated claim consumes real resources: an adjudicator, a docket slot, government-attorney preparation time, and often years of delay. Fraud also poisons the well for the applicant behind it who is telling the truth. When adjudicators repeatedly encounter manufactured versions of the same persecution story, the genuine claimant has a harder road.

Second, I have watched families pay lawyers for cases that were dead on arrival, then get billed again at every continuance while the years ran out. Immigration law is complicated enough without desperate clients being sold false hope.

The point is not that immigration lawyers are uniquely corrupt. Most are not. Nor is it that government officers deserve less oversight. They do not.

The point is symmetry.

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If ICE officers are properly subjected to inspectors general, professional-responsibility offices, civil-rights review, congressional oversight, litigation, and press scrutiny, then the lawyers whose conduct can determine whether a family loses its savings, whether a false asylum claim enters the system, or whether a genuine claimant waits even longer should face meaningful accountability too.

There is a straightforward way to begin measuring whether that accountability exists.

How many practitioner complaints does the Executive Office for Immigration Review receive each year? How many are substantiated? How many end in discipline, suspension, or disbarment from practice before the immigration courts? How long does the process take?

Those are not classified questions. They are basic oversight questions.

If the numbers show a functioning disciplinary system, publish them and let the public see it. If they show a large gap between complaints and consequences, Congress should ask why.

A rule that exists only on paper is not much of a safeguard.

Immigration enforcement deserves scrutiny because government power can ruin lives when abused. Immigration representation deserves scrutiny for the same reason.

Who’s afraid of the Amish data?



Nothing scares the vaccine establishment more than a meaningful control group. Some vaccine trials do use inert placebos, but most compare a new product with an existing vaccine or another formulation. What we almost never get is long-term randomized evidence comparing children who receive the full schedule with children who receive none of it.

Thanks to ubiquitous mandates, cultural taboos, and pressure from pediatricians, truly unvaccinated children are also increasingly difficult to find in large numbers. That is why the Amish data are so revealing — and why they should be studied rather than waved away.

Why treat a naturally occurring unvaccinated cohort as an inconvenience rather than an opportunity?

Last year, the Supreme Court vacated a shocking Second Circuit decision siding with the state of New York against Amish parents who declined to vaccinate their children. In Miller v. McDonald, the parents argued that forcing the Amish to violate their religious beliefs in their own private schools violates the First Amendment. Yet after the Supreme Court sent the case back for reconsideration in light of its recent religious-liberty precedent, the Second Circuit last month again ruled for New York.

The legal fight continues and so does the coercion.

Putting aside the legal and moral issues at stake, the facts presented during discovery about the health of the unvaccinated Amish should be newsworthy across the world, especially as we debate both the new mRNA flu shot and the discovery that Anthony Fauci was aware of COVID vaccine injuries from the beginning.

Siri & Glimstad LLP, which represents the Amish families, provided the federal district court in New York with sworn expert medical evidence about the health status of 168 students in the three Amish schools targeted by the state for financial penalties.

The doctor’s declaration states: “I am advised that there are 26 families across the three Amish schools at issue, which have a total of 168 unvaccinated children (meaning they have received no vaccines) and that none of them have any health issue that arose after birth.”

The declaration then compares those 168 children with national background rates for allergies, autism, asthma, and ADHD. Using those rates, a random sample of 168 U.S. children would be expected to include several cases of each condition. According to the declaration, however, there were no documented cases of autism, ADHD, asthma, or food allergies among the 168 Amish children.

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No, that does not magically turn 168 Amish children into a randomized clinical trial. The Amish differ from the broader population in diet, lifestyle, environment, genetics, health care use, and countless other ways. But it does make them a rare, naturally occurring cohort of completely unvaccinated children — exactly the kind of population serious researchers should want to examine.

And the court filing does not rely only on the Amish. It also presents records from 99 unvaccinated children who had religious exemptions in four contiguous school districts in Ulster County, New York. Those records were drawn from state school health examination forms completed by physicians. Here is the comparison presented in the filing:

The numbers are striking. The filing reports zero cases of autism and diabetes in the Ulster County group, lower rates of ADHD and allergies, and a much lower asthma rate than the cited background figures.

Those differences do not prove vaccination caused the higher general population rates. They do raise an obvious question: Why not study the difference rigorously?

The court-filed evidence also notes that the expansion of the childhood vaccine schedule has occurred during the same decades in which autoimmune, developmental, and neurological diagnoses have risen sharply. Correlation is not causation, and anyone pretending otherwise is doing bad science. But correlation can be a reason to investigate — especially when government is mandating the products in question.

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These retrospective comparisons do not prove that vaccines cause autism, asthma, allergies, ADHD, or any other condition. They cannot control for all the differences between vaccinated and unvaccinated populations. But when government mandates a growing schedule of products for healthy children, shouldn't the burden be on public health authorities to pursue the strongest possible long-term safety evidence?

Why treat a naturally occurring unvaccinated cohort as an inconvenience rather than an opportunity?

That problem remains with the latest mRNA flu vaccine, which is being compared against another flu vaccine rather than an unvaccinated cohort. If officials want to mandate these products, why not demand the strongest possible evidence about their long-term effects? And why did the New York Department of Health decline to engage the data the Amish families placed before the court rather than explain why the comparisons are misleading?

What is self-evident is that vaccine mandates make these questions harder to answer by shrinking the pool of children who remain completely unvaccinated. New York is willing to coerce Amish families in the name of public health? Then public health officials should be willing to confront the data those families have put before them and show their work.

Religious liberty demands no less. Neither does science.

California regulates everything — except the trial lawyers exploiting it



California has perfected the art of regulating productive industries into oblivion while giving bad actors with the right political connections a free pass.

With more than 395,000 regulatory restrictions, the nation’s eighth-highest corporate tax rate, and an overzealous bureaucracy, Sacramento has driven hundreds of major employers — including Tesla, Oracle, and Hewlett Packard Enterprise — to business-friendly states like Texas.

California was once the crown jewel of American opportunity, but Sacramento’s progressive priorities have turned it into a cautionary tale.

Yet, while Gov. Gavin Newsom (D) micromanages everything from Hollywood film permits to brush-clearing fees, Sacramento looks the other way as an unchecked plaintiffs’ bar undermines local communities and distorts the justice system.

The latest investigative reporting out of Los Angeles County shows how far this racket has gone. Predatory personal-injury law firms have turned an environmental remediation challenge at the Chiquita Canyon Landfill into an unregulated gold rush, illustrating why the Trump administration and federal authorities must step in before those in Sacramento make the situation worse.

For years, the foothill community of Val Verde has dealt with noxious odors caused by an inactive portion of the Chiquita Canyon Landfill. The landfill operator tried to act as a responsible partner: complying with environmental guidelines, coordinating with multi-agency response teams, and providing nearly $25 million directly to affected local residents through a community relief fund.

Rather than encouraging a constructive resolution, a chaotic web of overlapping state regulators — including South Coast Air Quality Management District, L.A. County Public Works, and the Regional Water Quality Control Board — paralyzed the site with conflicting mandates, ultimately forcing the critical facility to halt waste intake.

Rather than protecting residents, progressive governance turned Val Verde into what locals described as the "Val Verde Hunger Games.” Text messages uncovered in court filings revealed Downtown L.A. Group boasting "PackemRackemStackem" and demanding recruiters "Get em for me ... all of them," leading to thousands of dubious claims that the landfill’s attorneys have flagged as infected with misconduct.

This dynamic is emblematic of California’s broader livability and business environment crisis. Sacramento imposes the nation’s highest income tax and an annual $800 LLC fee on entrepreneurs, yet allows predatory litigation mills to exploit vulnerable, non-English-speaking residents for 40% to 45% contingency fees.

Overregulation does not stop trash from being generated; it merely shifts waste to distant facilities, spikes consumer hauling costs, and enriches opportunistic trial lawyers.

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When state and local bureaucracy paralyzed debris removal following Southern California’s wildfires, the Trump administration took decisive action. Under Executive Order 14181, federal authorities expedited cleanup operations and completed in just 28 days what state bureaucrats estimated would take over a year.

The Trump administration and the Environmental Protection Agency under Administrator Lee Zeldin must apply that same standard of execution to Chiquita Canyon. The EPA must supersede Sacramento’s overlapping alphabet-soup agencies, streamline the process under unified federal oversight, and ensure actual technical remediation takes precedence over regulatory extortion and predatory lawsuits.

California was once the crown jewel of American opportunity, but Sacramento’s progressive priorities have turned it into a cautionary tale where critical infrastructure is strangled and legal grift thrives.

If Sacramento refuses to rein in its rogue plaintiffs’ bar and fix its broken regulatory state, the federal government must remind Californians to restore that which Newsom destroyed: common sense.

You didn’t build that, Mr. Obama



Barack Obama once delivered the line Republicans never let him forget: “You didn’t build that.”

Today, the Democratic Party could say something similar to him. Barack Obama didn’t build Barack Obama alone.

The transformation Obama promised in 2008 is still under way, and he is content to let others finish it.

The talent, intelligence, and ambition were his. But the stage belonged to the Democratic Party. Its donors supplied the money, its convention supplied the audience, and its voters supplied the office that transformed a little-known Illinois politician into a global figure.

Now the institution that helped build Obama is struggling to decide what it believes.

Obama turned 65 this month. He is four years younger than Donald Trump was when Trump descended the escalator and began remaking the Republican Party.

Whatever one thinks of Trump, the Republican Party did not build him. He arrived with his own fortune, celebrity, audience, and brand, then captured the party despite the resistance of much of its establishment.

Obama’s path was nearly the reverse. In 2000, he couldn’t even obtain a floor credential at the Democratic National Convention. Four years later, Democrats put him behind the convention lectern. Four years after that, he was their nominee for president.

The Democratic Party didn’t merely nominate Barack Obama. It introduced him to America.

For more than a decade, opposition to Trump supplied Democrats with something resembling a governing philosophy. Rage generated money, turnout, and unity.

But rage is fuel, not a destination. And Democrats are discovering that when Trump is removed from the sentence, they have difficulty completing it.

The party’s ascendant left has now captured Michigan’s Democratic Senate nomination through Abdul El-Sayed, backed by Bernie Sanders, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, and Hasan Piker. After El-Sayed’s victory, Obama called him for what the candidate described as a “really warm” conversation.

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That call raises a question Obama has so far avoided: Does the party’s left represent an unruly faction, or is it becoming the party’s center of gravity?

Democrats talk endlessly about the virtues of a big tent. But a big tent without a center pole is just a tarp.

Obama remains the one Democrat with enough stature to supply that center.

He has not disappeared. He endorses candidates, gives speeches, and meets privately with lawmakers. Those appearances may help individual candidates. They do not provide direction for a party that increasingly seems unsure where it wants to go.

Obama once possessed the power to name a destination. “Hope and change” invited millions of Americans to imagine a country beyond the politics they knew.

Where is he asking his party to go now?

He could tell Democrats what liberalism must preserve, what progressivism must not replace, and what conduct the party will not tolerate.

Unless, of course, the ascendant left is the destination.

What are Democrats for when they are not against Donald Trump?

Endorsing candidates spends celebrity. Leadership spends political capital.

Democrats describe Trump as an existential threat who may destroy American democracy. Yet Obama confines himself largely to endorsements, private conversations, and measured speeches.

Either the danger is as grave as Democrats insist, in which case Obama’s restraint is difficult to defend, or the rhetoric is exaggerated, in which case his restraint helps expose it.

And if the party’s left threatens traditional liberalism, why won’t he confront it? If it represents the party’s future, why won’t he say so?

His warm reception of El-Sayed suggests a third possibility: The transformation Obama promised in 2008 is still under way, and he is content to let others finish it.

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Perhaps Obama believes his duty is done. Perhaps the party has moved somewhere he does not wish to follow. Perhaps he wants influence without ownership of the consequences.

Or perhaps the Democratic Party was always more useful to Barack Obama than Barack Obama intended to remain useful to the Democratic Party.

He once reminded successful Americans that they had benefited from institutions they did not create.

He was right about at least one American.

The Democratic Party helped build Barack Obama. Now the Democratic Party needs rebuilding.

Kennedy pointed to the moon. Reagan pointed to a certain wall he wanted torn down. Trump descended an escalator pointing toward a wall he wanted built.

Where is Barack Obama pointing the Democratic Party?

Equal treatment makes a comeback



There is something almost touching about the astonishment with which American universities are discovering that racial discrimination is illegal.

The Justice Department announced Monday that it is investigating the College of William & Mary over scholarships and student benefits that allegedly discriminate according to race. The Civil Rights Division says it is examining whether those programs violate Title VI of the Civil Rights Act of 1964, which prohibits racial discrimination by recipients of federal funding.

Universities spent years teaching America that racial discrimination could cure racial discrimination. They may now receive an expensive lesson in return.

One might have supposed that this was not a particularly difficult statute for universities to understand. These are, after all, institutions populated by people who pride themselves on detecting racism in places where ordinary mortals see friendship and community.

And yet when discrimination appears in their own programs, their racial acuity suddenly fails them. Universities have spent years building programs around concepts such as “whiteness,” “decolonizing,” privilege, and equity. The problem is not that administrators forgot the Civil Rights Act. It is that many convinced themselves they had discovered a morally superior exception to its basic rule.

The old civil-rights principle was admirably simple: Do not discriminate on the basis of race.

The newer DEI principle often works differently: Unequal treatment may be justified if it is meant to correct an earlier inequality.

The distinction is the whole game.

Under the older understanding, the injustice consisted in treating an individual differently because of his race. If a university told an applicant, “You cannot have this opportunity because you are black,” we knew what to call it. If it told another applicant, “You cannot have this opportunity because you are white,” we also knew what to call it.

The genius of DEI was to make the second sentence sound morally different from the first.

This required an impressive amount of academic labor. Entire vocabularies were constructed to explain why unequal treatment could become virtuous when practiced by the right institutions, against the right groups, for the right reasons. We learned about privilege, power, positionality, systemic racism, dominant identities, marginalized identities, intersectionality, and the rest of the lexicon.

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The result was an ethical system of remarkable convenience. It condemned racial discrimination while supplying a vocabulary for practicing it.

The trick was accomplished by shifting the unit of moral judgment from the individual to the group.

Once people are sorted into historical categories of oppressor and oppressed, equal treatment begins to look suspicious. If Group A has enjoyed advantages and Group B has suffered disadvantages, treating individual members of A and B according to the same rules can be recast as perpetuating injustice. “Equity” then becomes a justification for unequal treatment today in the name of unequal treatment yesterday.

There is only one troublesome detail: The person standing before you today is an individual human being, not an installment payment on a historical debt.

A white 18-year-old applying for a scholarship did not write the Jim Crow laws. An Asian student applying to medical school did not build the transcontinental railroad with exploited labor. A black student is not the personal embodiment of several centuries of American suffering.

The civil rights tradition understood this. That is why the law speaks in the language of persons rather than assigning inherited moral credits and debits to racial castes.

The DEI worldview has spent years trying to reverse that achievement.

And now comes the awkward part.

The law is still there.

The Civil Rights Act does not contain an asterisk reading, “Discrimination permitted when performed in the service of social justice.” Title VI does not say recipients of federal money may discriminate according to race provided that a diversity consultant has explained why it is virtuous.

Last year, the Justice Department expressly warned recipients of federal funding that antidiscrimination laws apply regardless of whether discriminatory practices are packaged under the label of DEI. Now William & Mary is discovering what that warning means.

Nor is William & Mary alone. The Justice Department has been examining race-conscious practices across higher education. My own university, Arizona State, is under investigation. The Supreme Court’s 2023 decision in Students for Fair Admissions should already have alerted universities that the legal ground beneath racial preferences had shifted dramatically.

But something deeper than law is involved here. Universities are supposed to teach students how to reason. So let us try an elementary syllogism.

Racial discrimination is wrong. Denying someone a benefit because of his race is racial discrimination. Therefore, denying someone a benefit because of his race is wrong.

You don’t need a doctorate in critical theory to follow the argument. Indeed, a doctorate in critical theory may be an impediment.

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The great moral achievement of the civil rights movement was not to rearrange the racial hierarchy so different people could enjoy their turn at discrimination. It was to attack the hierarchy itself. The principle was equality before the law — not equality before the law except when our preferred theory of historical oppression recommends otherwise.

There is a useful lesson here for universities accustomed to believing that noble intentions confer immunity from ordinary moral rules.

They do not.

You may call discrimination “equity.” You may put it in a strategic plan. You may hire a vice president to administer it. You may surround it with the soothing language of “belonging” and “inclusion.” You may even persuade yourself that treating students differently according to ancestry is the latest advance in American civil rights.

But eventually somebody will ask the embarrassingly primitive question: Did you treat this person differently because of his race?

If the answer is yes, all the fashionable vocabulary in the world cannot make the question go away.

Universities spent years teaching America that racial discrimination could cure racial discrimination. They may now receive an expensive lesson in return.

The Civil Rights Act never learned DEI.

And the next shoe may be even more expensive: lawsuits from students who say they were denied scholarships, admissions advantages, or other benefits because of race. Once universities concede that race determined access to an opportunity, the legal question becomes much harder to explain away with the language of equity.

The truth did not kill Jason Arday



I wanted a reckoning. I did not want Jason Arday dead.

Three days before he was found dead at his London home last week, I published a column entertaining what I admitted was a mischievous theory: Maybe the disgraced Cambridge professor was not merely a fraud but a world-class trickster who understood liberal institutions well enough to play their racial and ideological anxieties for all they were worth.

Maybe the cruelty was not that somebody finally checked. Maybe the cruelty was that almost nobody checked sooner.

I hoped someday he would confess. I even had the title of the book I wanted him to write: “I Thought You’d Believe Me.”

I wanted that book. I did not want an obituary.

Graeme Wood, writing this week in the Atlantic, makes a persuasive case that my trickster theory was a tad too generous. Arday apparently did not respond to exposure with the wink of a con man finally caught. He insisted he was not a liar. Wood reaches for Henrik Ibsen’s “The Wild Duck” and its livsløgn — the “life-lie,” a sustaining self-delusion that eventually becomes impossible to let go.

Maybe that’s closer to what happened. We’ll likely never know.

What we do know is that Arday lied. A lot. His public biography accumulated claims about academic appointments, fundraising, extraordinary athletic feats, and racist attacks that proved false, dubious, or impossible to verify. His scholarship contained extensive passages alleged to have been lifted from the work of less prominent academics. Cambridge ultimately opened investigations into his academic work and qualifications and, after his resignation, agreed to an independent inquiry into his appointment.

Enough of these lies!

That includes the lie now being told about the people who exposed them.

The fraud Ibram X. Kendi titled his response “The Media Lynched Jason Arday.” He says journalists have blood on their hands and treats Cambridge’s decision to investigate Arday as an abandonment of a prominent black scholar under racial attack. Wrong.

A lynching is not a metaphor for journalism you dislike. Reporting true and newsworthy facts does not become murder because the subject later dies.

What, exactly, should reporters have refused to investigate? The dissertation? The nonexistent appointments? The millions supposedly raised for charity? The 30 marathons in 35 days? The stories of racist attacks? The memoir?

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Precisely which question was forbidden?

Thousands gathered in Trafalgar Square on Monday to mourn Arday. The grief was real. So was the anger at the press and at Nathan Cofnas, the academic whose investigation of Arday’s work helped start the avalanche. Cofnas has controversial views about race. So what? If he found copied work, the relevant question is whether the work was copied. His politics cannot restore originality to somebody else’s prose.

This is how the evasion works: Stop talking about the evidence and start talking about the man who found it.

Now comes the possibility of “Arday’s Law.” A petition circulating in Britain actually proposes legislation limiting how many articles may be published about one individual within a given period, on the theory that excessive coverage causes mental anguish. It had garnered more than 3,500 verified signatures as of Wednesday.

The answer to too much journalism, apparently, is a government quota on journalism.

I sometimes fear Britain is lost. Thank God for the First Amendment!

This idea did not appear from nowhere. We have spent years teaching people that speech itself can constitute harm and that institutions therefore have a duty to build ever-safer spaces around anyone who might be harmed by it.

But no space is ever safe enough.

Once speech becomes violence, censorship becomes “care.” Eventually, as we’ve seen, the safe-space logic escapes the campus. A reporter asks too many questions. Too many newspapers publish the answers. Somebody suffers. Therefore, the state must decide when everybody has said enough. No thanks.

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That is not “liberalism.” Liberalism properly understood demands something harder: accepting that free speech can be intrusive, offensive, unfair, and occasionally cruel while recognizing that giving government power to decide when enough has been said is much worse.

If we want to talk about who failed Jason Arday, look first at the institutions that elevated him.

Graeme Wood’s harshest argument is also his most compelling. Arday was placed in a position for which the evidence increasingly suggests he was nowhere near prepared, while colleagues and institutions such as Cambridge, the BBC, and Simon and Schuster amplified an extraordinary biography instead of bothering to check it. Eventually somebody was going to notice.

Maybe the cruelty was not that somebody finally checked. Maybe the cruelty was that almost nobody checked sooner.

After I learned that Arday had been found dead, I wrote one of my writers: Hubris met Nemesis. And the outcome was invariably the same.

That does not mean Arday got what he deserved. Quite the opposite. Nemesis in tragedy is not proportional justice. It is catastrophe. Recognition comes too late, the machinery is already moving, and the ending is worse than anyone wanted.

Arday’s family and friends deserve compassion. His kids especially. They lost someone they loved.

But compassion does not require one more lie.

Death does not authenticate a false claim. It does not make plagiarism original. And if Arday took his own life, suicide does not retroactively turn reporters into murderers.

The tragedy is terrible enough. Don’t lie about that, too.

He wanted infamy. The judge gave him life.



Two years ago, high school freshman Colt Gray shot up Apalachee High School in Georgia, killing two teachers and two students and wounding nine others. School resource officers quickly ended the rampage, and Gray was taken into custody before the death toll climbed higher. His father, Colin Gray, who bought him the gun, was later convicted of manslaughter and second-degree murder.

Colin Gray's prosecution drew much of the attention because it was a rare case of a parent being held criminally responsible for a child's violence. But Colt Gray's own punishment deserves attention too: life imprisonment without parole.

Healing is harder when justice is denied.

Gray’s age, troubled home life, and prior experience of being bullied could have been invoked as reasons for leniency. Instead, the judge concluded that his crime and his motives justified the harshest sentence available for a juvenile offender.

That’s significant because justice is not merely a tool for rehabilitation or deterrence. It also concerns what is owed to victims and to the community after an irreparable wrong.

Gray murdered four innocent people without anything resembling a justification. I would have no moral objection to the death penalty in a case like this. Because he committed the murders as a minor, however, life without parole is the most severe punishment available.

Even that cannot restore what was taken. As the older brother of one victim put it: “The defendant's family will still get to see their son, talk to him, and know he is breathing. ... My mother (and) my father don't get that privilege. The only way to visit Christian now is by standing over his grave.”

Aristotle defined justice in terms of giving each person what he is properly owed. Whatever one makes of that formulation, it captures something modern criminal-justice debates often neglect: Punishment is not only about what might improve the offender. It is also about recognizing the gravity of the offense.

A sentence cannot bring the dead back. But a legal system that treats grave crimes with proportionate seriousness tells victims, families, and the broader community that what happened to them was not trivial and will not be waved away.

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Justice should also force us to confront the nature of the crime. As I wrote at the time, Gray displayed warning signs before he ever brought a gun to school. The lesson is not that every troubled teenager should be treated as a future murderer. It is that threats, fixation on mass killers, access to weapons, and other concrete warning signs should be taken seriously before tragedy makes hindsight easy.

The strongest objection to a sentence like this is that even terrible offenders, especially young ones, may be capable of change. That is a serious argument. But mercy and rehabilitation do not erase agency, nor do they undo the harm already done.

In Gray’s case, the record described an obsession with school shooters and a desire for notoriety. He was obsessed with school shooters. His home life may have been chaotic and his parents may have failed him badly. None of that means he lacked the capacity to understand that murdering classmates and teachers was wrong.

Judge Nicholas Primm made the point directly, saying the shooting “wasn’t done out of fear or anger” but “for the infamy of it.” As such, he doesn’t deserve another chance at living a “normal life.”

Gray may someday understand the evil of what he did. He may repent. He may even become, within prison, a radically different person. But none of those possibilities can make four murdered people less dead or obligate society to restore to him the freedom he deliberately took from others. Explanations are not the same as excuses.

This is where some accounts of restorative justice become inadequate. Restoration may have a place in criminal justice, especially where offenders can make meaningful amends. Murder imposes a limit on that logic because the central harm cannot be repaired.

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The same caution applies beyond this case. It is a mistake to assume that every young violent offender is beyond redemption. It is equally mistaken to assume that redemption, if it occurs, necessarily entitles an offender to release. Recidivism among released prisoners is a real problem, though rates vary substantially by offense, age, and time horizon. The point is not that mercy is impossible. It is that mercy must be ordered to justice, not substituted for it.

By holding offenders accountable, courts can give victims and their families something no therapy program can supply on its own: a public judgment that the crime was real, grave, and deserving of punishment.

Assuming Gray’s punishment sticks, the Apalachee High School community will still have a long road ahead. Students and faculty can honor those they lost, support one another, and take warning signs more seriously in the future. None of that requires pretending punishment itself is healing. But healing is harder when justice is denied.

In this case, justice prevailed.