Ship of Fools Lost in the Fog of War

Inside Trump's Search for a Way Out of the Iran War

Donald Trump was in the Oval Office during the third week of the Iran war when a group of his most trusted advisers came to deliver some unwelcome news.

His longtime pollster, Tony Fabrizio, had conducted surveys that indicated the war Trump launched was growing increasingly unpopular. Gas prices had surged past $4 per gallon, stock markets had tumbled to multi-year lows, and millions of Americans were preparing to take to the streets in protest. Thirteen American service members had been confirmed killed. Some of Trump’s key public supporters were criticizing a conflict with no clear end in sight. It fell on White House chief of staff Susie Wiles and a small group of aides to tell the President that the longer the war dragged on, the more it would threaten his public support and Republicans’ prospects in November’s midterm elections.

 

For Trump, the stark warning was unsettling. The President has begun many recent mornings watching video clips compiled by military officials of battlefield successes, according to a senior Administration official. He has told advisers that being the commander in chief to eliminate the nuclear threat posed by Iran could be one of his signature achievements. But Wiles, according to two White House sources, was concerned aides were giving the President a rose-colored view of how the war was being perceived domestically, telling Trump what he wanted to hear instead of what he needed to hear. She had urged colleagues, the officials say, to be “more forthright with the boss” about the political and economic risks.

The meeting reflected a reality the White House can no longer ignore: time is running out before the President, his party, and the American public pay an even steeper price. Trump had promised to revive the economy and keep the U.S. out of foreign conflicts. Now he has started a war he had not gotten a mandate to wage, and the economic pain may only be beginning. A month into the largest oil shock in modern history, global growth forecasts are being slashed, shortages are emerging across Europe and Asia, and energy traders warn the world has yet to feel the full severity of the disruption. A prolonged closure of the Strait of Hormuz, the narrow waterway that is the primary exit route for oil and gas from the Persian Gulf, could tip the global economy into recession.

The President was left frustrated by the predicament, at odds with some of his own officials, and fuming at the negative impressions of the war. The mounting political and economic toll has left him looking for an off-ramp, according to two advisers and two members of Congress who have spoken to him during the last week. Trump told them he wants to wind down the campaign, wary of a protracted conflict that could hobble Republicans heading into the midterms. At the same time, he wants the operation to be a decisive success. Allies say he is searching for a way to declare victory, halt the fighting, and hope that economic conditions stabilize before the political damage hardens. “There’s a narrow window,” says a senior Administration official, who like others interviewed for this account of Trump at war was granted anonymity to provide candid observations about the President’s thinking. [...]

The Pentagon disputes the account. "The U.S. military is the most advanced, comprehensive, and battle-tested planning organization in the world. Long before Operation Epic Fury launched, we had already anticipated, war-gamed, and fully prepared for every possible Iranian response, from the weakest possible reaction to the most extreme escalation,” Hegseth’s chief spokesman Sean Parnell tells TIME. “Nothing Iran does surprises us. We are ready, we are dominant, and we are winning."

By the Pentagon’s accounting, Operation Epic Fury has been an unambiguous military success, leaving 90% of Iran’s missile capacity degraded or destroyed, roughly 70% of its launchers neutralized, more than 150 naval vessels disabled or destroyed, and Iranian Supreme Ali Khamanei killed, along with many of his top lieutenants. Yet it seems increasingly unlikely Trump will achieve the broader objectives he trumpeted—permanently blocking Tehran’s path to a nuclear weapon, dismantling its ballistic missile program, and replacing the Islamic Republican’s theocratic hardliners with a friendlier regime—on the compressed timeline the White House has embraced. [...]

As preparations for the war began, the Administration believed it had a winning formula. The U.S. would deliver an opening strike so overwhelming Tehran’s only viable response would be limited retaliation—enough to satisfy domestic audiences without inviting more attacks. It was a theory rooted in precedent. When Trump ordered the killing of Iranian general Qasem Soleimani during his first term, Iran’s response was a missile strike on a U.S. base that caused no casualties and was telegraphed in advance. After Operation Midnight Hammer, the June 2025 air campaign against Iran’s nuclear facilities, the retaliation was similarly tempered.

Trump has long favored what aides call “one-and-done” operations. He has launched them in Yemen, Syria, and Somalia. In January, he pulled off the audacious capture of Venezuelan leader Nicolás Maduro, spiriting the autocrat out of the country to face trial in the U.S., and creating room for the ascension of a more compliant partner, acting president Delcy Rodriguez. He then moved to facilitate U.S. access to Venezuela’s oil reserves, among the largest in the world. Aides say Trump saw Venezuela as a demonstration that a swift, surgical intervention could topple a hostile regime, install a cooperative replacement, and secure American interests without drawing the nation into an open-ended confrontation.

Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, a champion of military aggression against Iran, had a different idea of how things might go. Over the last six months, Netanyahu repeatedly told Trump that the past successes against Iran should serve as a prelude for a more sustained, final campaign, an Israeli official tells TIME. On Feb. 11, Netanyahu came to Washington for a private meeting with the President that stretched for hours. “We’ve come this far, Donald,” Netanyahu told Trump, according to a source present. “We have to finish what we started.” Iran was playing for time, Netanyahu told Trump, and would race toward a bomb in secret. “After they got hit the last time, they thought they had nothing to lose,” says another Israeli official, arguing that Tehran would see the development of nuclear weapons as the only way to prevent such an onslaught from happening again.

The plan of attack was set in motion nearly a month before it was executed, according to two senior U.S. officials. It took weeks of meticulous coordination, much of it conducted in close consultation with Israeli counterparts. When the New York Times published details of the planning of the operation on Feb. 17, Trump exploded at aides, unleashing a string of profanities, according to a senior Administration official. The President then told reporters he would decide on strikes within “10, 15 days,” although he knew the U.S. was planning to attack much sooner. “He was intentionally engaged in public misdirection to protect the mission,” a White House official says.

Trump became wary enough of leaks that some of his own aides were the target of subterfuge. On Feb. 27, he traveled to Mar-a-Lago. Aides assembled in a makeshift Situation Room. Trump bristled at the number of people present. “He thought the group was too big,” one official recalls; it included people Trump didn’t recognize or didn’t feel he knew well enough. At one point, the President snapped that the operation was off. He said he would keep deliberating. This was another head fake: Trump had already made up his mind to attack that very night. Once the room cleared, he called back a smaller, trusted circle—those he wanted beside him as the first bombs fell.

That evening, Trump had dinner on the patio of Mar-a-Lago with a group that included deputy chief of staff Stephen Miller, Secretary of State Marco Rubio, Witkoff, and White House counsel David Warrington. Not present was Vice President J.D. Vance, who was in the Situation Room back in Washington. A Trump official says that was a reflection of standard continuity-of-government protocol, which calls for the President and Vice President to be kept apart during sensitive national security operations when both are not at the White House. Of the President’s inner circle, Vance had pushed hardest against the operation, according to two sources familiar with the deliberations. “J.D. really doesn’t like this,” Trump told the group gathered under the Palm Beach stars. “But when the decision is made, it’s a decision, right?”

A White House source says that Vance, in the lead-up to the offensive, laid out what he saw as both the benefits and the risks, adding that “once the President makes the decision, the Vice President stands by him 110%.” (A Vance aide declined to comment.)

Operation Epic Fury began with a sweeping round of strikes that killed Iran’s supreme leader. Tehran’s response was expansive: volleys of missiles and drones targeting U.S. bases in Iraq and Syria, barrages against Israeli cities, harassment of commercial shipping in the Persian Gulf, and coordinated attacks by proxy militias across the region. Hegseth was among those taken aback, says the person familiar with his thinking: “He was expecting the Iranians to fight back in some form. When they started attacking virtually the entire region, it sort of hit him like, ‘Whoa, we’re really in this now.’”

by Eric Cortellessa, Time | Read more:
Image: Missiles launched by Iran over Beersheba in southern Israel, on March 29. Mostafa Alkharouf—Anadolu/Getty Images

[ed. See also: Trump Needs Smarter Sycophants (NYT):]

***

Kristi Noem is gone. Pam Bondi is out. If there’s going to be a fall guy for our ill-starred regime-change operation in Iran, it’s likely to be Pete Hegseth, whose prewar overconfidence is being highlighted in hostile leaks from inside the administration, emphasizing how he was “caught off guard” (never a good look!) by the scale and boldness of the Iranian response.

The former secretary of homeland security, the jettisoned attorney general and the embattled secretary of defense have often seemed like President Trump’s ideal cabinet officials: selected for televisual looks and energy, lacking any political constituency apart from Trump himself, serving without qualm as pure conduits of his will. So their struggles offer a lesson for Republicans contemplating service in this administration’s 33 (but who’s counting?) remaining months: What Trump appears to want and what he actually wants are not exactly the same thing.

The seeming desire of the president is for loyalty, sycophancy and TV-ready swagger. He wants to turn on Fox News and see his top officials performing like reality-show characters in the drama of his administration. He wants to sit in a cabinet meeting and listen to a litany of his accomplishments. He wants the decisions made in the West Wing or at Mar-a-Lago to be simply rubber-stamped in his departmental fiefs.

He wants all that, but at the same time he also wants victory rather than defeat, and he definitely doesn’t want embarrassment. His metrics for success are unusual by normal presidential standards: He has a high tolerance for unpopularity, to put it mildly, and a remarkable shamelessness around corruption. But there is a point at which, even inside his cocoon, Trump senses that things aren’t going well for him. And then sycophancy doesn’t work, and it doesn’t matter if you were acting on his orders; you will be punished for that unsuccessful service just as surely as if you’d tried to thwart his aims...  when Hegseth reportedly told the president “let’s do it” in the run-up to the war, he was merely being an enthusiastic yes man for a bellicose boss. But there’s no reward for being a loyalist if Trump’s grand plans don’t actually work out: In that case, you own the failure, not him.

Airports Are Too Safe: The Case Against Checkpoint Screening

If you take a plane in New York City, you must first perform a series of rituals. You set aside any liquids you possess, then you remove your shoes. You place your laptop and sometimes your phone into a plastic bin. You take off your belt and sometimes your shoes and place them into a plastic bin as well. You enter a machine that sees through your clothes. Only then may you board your plane.

If you take the subway in New York City, you swipe a card at a faregate and walk onto the train.

Put another way, airports have ‘checkpoint screening’: systematic inspection of every passenger and their belongings before boarding. Subways and rail stations do not.

Once we start thinking about this asymmetry, the stranger it seems. LaGuardia Airport hosted 32.8 million passengers in 2025, which averages roughly to 90,000 per day. Meanwhile, Penn Station processes more than 600,000 riders per day. Despite the fact that Penn Station has more than six times the number of passengers, no one verifies their identity, checks their bags, asks what liquids they are carrying, nor inspects their belts and footwear.

It’s not as if terrorist attacks on railways are unheard of. Madrid’s commuter trains were bombed in 2004, the London Underground in 2005, and Mumbai’s suburban railway in 2006, causing hundreds of deaths. And yet none of these now feature checkpoint screening. Indeed, the absence of checkpoints is regarded as a merit of rail and a demerit of air; there is no debate over just how many hours before one’s trip one should arrive at a rail station. Meanwhile, the USA’s Transportation Security Administration (TSA) employs over 56,000 people and spends more than $11 billion per year ensuring that no one boards an airplane with an unexamined shampoo bottle.

The asymmetry is so familiar that it barely registers as a choice. It feels like a law of nature: air travellers are screened but rail travellers are not. But it is a choice we’ve made, and the fact of that choice permits only two conclusions: either rail security is unconscionably negligent, or aviation security is irrationally excessive.

Our behaviour reveals which we actually believe.

A History of Violence

In the early days of commercial aviation there was no security at all. For a taste, watch Bullitt (1968) or Airport (1970), where it’s taken for granted that one can carry guns and bombs through terminals, onto the tarmac, or into aircraft without any mechanism for authorities to stop it, or even notice.

Those portrayals fall squarely within the so-called Golden Age of Hijacking, which began in 1961 when Antulio Ortiz, a passenger on a flight from Miami to Key West, threatened the pilot with a gun and demanded to be flown to Cuba. His was the first of 159 hijackings over the next ten years. After a 1972 incident where hijackers threatened to crash a plane into a nuclear reactor, in January 1973 the Federal Aviation Administration finally mandated that every passenger and their carry-on bag be inspected for weapons. Metal detectors appeared at airports that year.

The 1973 system had a clear purpose: prevent hijackers from bringing weapons aboard. Metal detectors caught guns and knives and, in principle, explosives carried by passengers, while X-ray machines did the same for carry-on luggage. This physical system to deal with hijacking complemented the social system, which was to cooperate. Acting on the theory that hijackers wanted hostages, not corpses, the doctrine for crew and passengers alike was to comply rather than resist. Going along with demands bought time for negotiation, which generally ended with surrender, or with the hijackers escaping the plane and being apprehended elsewhere without loss of life to those aboard the airplane.

This system, of metal detectors, X-ray machines, and cooperative passengers, persisted largely unchanged for nearly three decades. It was imperfect, but it addressed a real problem, and it worked reasonably well.

This was the model that the 9/11 attackers exploited. They carried box cutters on board the plane, which were seen as tools rather than weapons and as such were permitted. Once aboard, they relied on passengers and crew behaving passively. Lack of resistance meant they were able to carry out their attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. Notably, Flight 93 did not carry out such an attack, because the passengers did resist. Having learned, via Airphone, that other captured flights were being deliberately crashed, the passengers on that plane understood their only chance of survival was to fight back. They attempted to overpower their captors, who destroyed the plane rather than lose control of it.

That shift on Flight 93, from compliance to resistance, has turned out to be a permanent psychological change. Richard Reid, the ‘shoe’ bomber, was subdued by passengers and crew in 2001. Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab, the ‘underwear’ bomber, was subdued by passengers and crew in 2009. In both cases, everyone else on the plane understood that the right move was to restrain the hijacker rather than submit to his demands. This means that one of the two vulnerabilities the 9/11 attackers used is now closed.

The other is closed as well. By April 2003, all commercial aircraft were required to feature hardened cockpit doors. The flight deck is now mechanically isolated from the main cabin, and will remain that way irrespective of what might happen there. To commandeer the aircraft, as the 9/11 terrorists did, now requires breaching that barrier. At a cost of $12,000 to $17,000 per door, plus annual extra fuel costs of $3,000, these doors make it more-or-less impossible for the cockpit to be captured, meaning that, in the future, any attacker’s bad acts will be confined to the cabin.

This means that the specific attack vector that made 9/11 catastrophic, using aircraft as guided missiles against ground targets, is now defended against by layers that don’t depend on checkpoint performance. Cockpit doors provide physical protection. Passengers provide active resistance. The weaponization-of-aircraft scenario requires defeating both. [ed. along with the presence of air marshals].

Despite these changes, checkpoint screening has become ever more elaborate in the post-9/11 era. After Reid’s failed shoe bombing in 2001, passengers were required to remove their shoes for X-ray inspection. After a foiled liquid-explosives plot in 2006, liquids were restricted to containers of 100 millilitres or less. After Abdulmutallab’s failed underwear bombing in 2009, full-body scanners were deployed. Each measure was a reaction to a specific plot. Each remains in place decades later, despite none of these measures having ever demonstrably prevented a subsequent attack.

Indeed the evidence that checkpoint screening catches any threat is weak. In 2015, the Department of Homeland Security red-teamed its own screening and found that screeners failed to detect threat items in 67 of 70 tests: a failure rate of 95%. We’re told things are better now, but I’m not aware of any subsequent published test, so there’s no public evidence to support the claim.

So if the 9/11-style vulnerability has been addressed by hardened cockpit doors and changed passenger psychology, what is the marginal security value of the vast post-9/11 checkpoint expansion? The 1973 system screened for guns and knives; perhaps that still serves a purpose. But the layers added since—shoe scanning, liquid restrictions, body scanners—what are they for? [...]

We maintain a regime whose costs are staggering (over $11 billion annually in direct federal spending in the USA, plus equivalent per-capita amounts in other nations, plus hundreds of millions of passenger-hours in queues globally) and whose marginal benefits are undemonstrated.

Let me pause to acknowledge a counter-argument: perhaps aviation checkpoint screening deters terrorists, who shift their attacks to softer targets like rail. The Madrid, London, and Mumbai bombings might be evidence of successful deterrence, with subsequent displacement. But if checkpoint screening merely displaces attacks from aviation to rail, the net security benefit is zero; we’ve spent billions and wasted millions of hours to move the threat from one set of passengers to another… implicitly, a set of passengers we think less deserving of our protection.

And the fundamental point remains: whether those rail attacks were sui generis or displaced from harder targets, they killed hundreds, yet we didn’t impose checkpoints. We revealed our preference.

The Security Ratchet

If that revealed preference is for the rail model of security, why doesn’t aviation security move in that direction?

The reason for the air vs. rail distinction is a separate asymmetry among political incentives. An official who maintains excessive security incurs no blame for doing things the way they have always been done. Passengers may grumble, but passengers always grumble. Conversely, an official who loosens security would incur heavy blame in the event of an attack, regardless of whether the loosened measures would have prevented it.

Put another way, any official who changes the system must first incur costs of time, attention, and effort. If things go well, they receive no benefit in return, because no one notices; but if things go poorly, the disbenefit they receive would be massive.

This incentive structure produces a ratchet. Security measures accumulate, but almost never recede. After the shoe-bomb plot, we started removing shoes. After the liquid explosives plot, we restricted liquids. After the underwear-bomb plot, we deployed full-body scanners. Each measure responds to a specific plot, but none is ever removed, at least not without a technological excuse. The only significant rollback in two decades came in July 2025, when the TSA eliminated the shoe-removal requirement… but only because new scanning technology could inspect footwear while still on people’s feet, not because anyone concluded the requirement was unnecessary.

There’s a strong tell that the system understands that checkpoint screening is theatre, namely TSA PreCheck.

by Andrew Miller, Changing Lanes |  Read more:

Image: Alist, Denver Airport Security Lines, 2008, Flickr, licensed under CC BY-NC 2.0
[ed. Finally, a voice of reason, no doubt shared by millions. I'd also add another reason for the asymmetry we see between air and rail travel: just the psychological aversion to falling (in a damaged aircraft) vs. smashing into something or being blown up. Nobody every said humans are totally rational.]

They’re Rich but Not Famous—and They’re Suddenly Everywhere

They’re not billionaires, but they’re still very, very rich.

 
The number of Americans worth tens of millions and hundreds of millions of dollars has boomed in the past few decades, thanks to a rising stock market, lucrative private investments and swelling valuations for small and midsize businesses. This growing class is now a huge force in the economy, driving the demand for everything from lavish hotel rooms to private jet travel.

“The ultrawealthy have grown really substantially,” said Owen Zidar, a Princeton economics professor who studies wealth. While some of these people made their money in technology or finance and live on the coasts, many others live outside of the highest-cost areas and own small businesses like car dealerships, he said.

 
Here is data on the rise of this group. Wealth measures a household’s assets, like stocks, bank accounts and home equity, minus liabilities like mortgages, car loans and credit-card debt.

More ultrawealthy people

There are about 430,000 U.S. households worth $30 million or more, according to an analysis of Federal Reserve data by Zidar. Within that, there are about 74,000 worth $100 million or more. Over the past few decades, the growth in the number of very rich households has surpassed general population growth.

The Fed’s data runs through 2022 and shows a small dip in some categories of the ultrawealthy in 2019. Many well-off households have further benefited from the big stock market gains of the past few years.

Get rich quick(er)

There are more very rich people in large part because their wealth has grown much faster than everyone else’s. Even adjusted for inflation, the wealth of the top 0.1% of households has grown more than 13-fold over the past 50 years, according to Realtime Inequality, a tracker developed by economists Emmanuel Saez, a professor at the University of California, Berkeley, and Gabriel Zucman, a professor at the Paris School of Economics. In this analysis, American families with a net worth of $43 million and higher in 2024 are in the top 0.1%.

The bottom 50% have long struggled to build any wealth at all, but they have made some progress.

Average inflation-adjusted wealth turned negative for this group starting in the mid-1990s and then sank further during the 2008-09 financial crisis and housing collapse. It was only after the start of the Covid-19 pandemic, which brought stimulus checks and rising home values, that average wealth turned positive for the bottom 50% of households again.

Stocks and businesses

The typical American family leans heavily on homeownership to build their net worth, and homeowners of all wealth levels have benefited from the recent rise in home prices. 

Over time, though, the very wealthy have amassed more wealth, in part because they own the kinds of assets that have risen particularly dramatically. They have a lot of stocks, in some cases because they are top employees of publicly traded companies paid partially in shares. Many also own stakes in private businesses.

 
For the top 0.1%, nearly 72% of their wealth is made up of corporate equities, mutual fund shares and private businesses, according to the Fed. The S&P 500 has more than tripled in the past decade. And many private businesses have seen valuations rise, too.

Boomer wealth boom

Baby boomers collectively have far more wealth than any other living generation. That is largely because they bought homes and stocks decades ago and are benefiting from the long run-up in the values of those assets.

 
About two-thirds of households worth $30 million and up are headed by boomers, according to an analysis of Fed data by Zidar.

Spending it

Because there are so many more multimillionaires, products and services that cater to this group are also booming. Hermès, Brunello Cucinelli and Ferrari all recently reported strong sales from the richest customers, while some companies that target the merely well-off are facing flagging demand. 

by Rachel Louise Ensign, Wall Street Journal |  Read more:

Image: uncredited

Seeing Like a Sedan

Waymos and Cybercabs see the world through very different sensors. Which technology wins out will determine the future of self-driving vehicles.

Picture a fall afternoon in Austin, Texas. The city is experiencing a sudden rainstorm, common there in October. Along a wet and darkened city street drive two robotaxis. Each has passengers. Neither has a driver.

Both cars drive themselves, but they perceive the world very differently.

 

One robotaxi is a Waymo. From its roof, a mounted lidar rig spins continuously, sending out laser pulses that bounce back from the road, the storefronts, and other vehicles, while radar signals emanate from its bumpers and side panels. The Waymo uses these sensors to generate a detailed 3D model of its surroundings, detecting pedestrians and cars that human drivers might struggle to see.

In the next lane is a Tesla Cybercab, operating in unsupervised full self-driving mode. It has no lidar and no radar, just eight cameras housed in pockets of glass. The car processes these video feeds through a neural network, identifying objects, estimating their dimensions, and planning its path accordingly.

This scenario is only partially imaginary. Waymo already operates, in limited fashion, in Austin, San Francisco, Los Angeles, Atlanta, and Phoenix, with announced plans to operate in many more cities. Tesla Motors launched an Austin pilot of its robotaxi business in June 2025, albeit using Model Y vehicles with safety monitors rather than the still-in-development Cybercab. The outcome of their competition will tell us much about the future of urban transportation.

The engineers who built the earliest automated driving systems would find the Waymo unsurprising. For nearly two decades after the first automated vehicles emerged, a consensus prevailed: To operate safely, an AV required redundant sensing modalities. Cameras, lidar, and radar each had weaknesses, but they could compensate for each other. That consensus is why those engineers would find the Cybercab so remarkable. In 2016, Tesla broke with orthodoxy by embracing the idea that autonomy could ultimately be solved with vision and compute and without lidar — a philosophical stance it later embodied in its full vision-only system. What humans can do with their eyeballs and a brain, the firm reasoned, a car must also be able to do with sufficient cameras and compute. If a human can drive without lidar, so, too, can an AV… or so Tesla asserts.

This philosophical disagreement will shortly play out before our eyes in the form of a massive contest between AVs that rely on multiple sensing modalities — lidar, radar, cameras — and AVs that rely on cameras and compute alone.

The stakes of this contest are enormous. The global taxi and ride-hailing market was valued at approximately $243 billion in 2023 and is projected to reach $640 billion by 2032. In the United States alone, people take over 3.6 billion ride-hailing trips annually. Converting even a fraction of this market to AVs represents a multibillion-dollar opportunity. Serving just the American market, at maturity, will require millions of vehicles.

Given the scale involved, the cost of each vehicle matters. The figures are commercially sensitive, but it is certainly true that cameras are cheaper than lidar. If Tesla’s bet pays off, building a Cybercab will cost a fraction of what it will take to build a Waymo. Which vision wins out has profound implications for how quickly each company will be able to put vehicles into service, as well as for how quickly robotaxi service can scale to bring its benefits to ordinary consumers across the United States and beyond.

by Andrew Miller, Asterisk |  Read more:

Image: Jared Nangle

[ed. via DWAtV:]

***

A relevant thing about Elon Musk is that, while he has a lot of technical expertise and can accomplish a lot of seemingly impossible tasks, he also just says things.

For example, here’s another thing he just said this week, in a trick he’s pulled several times without delivering, where the prediction market is at 12% but that seems rather high to me:

NewsWire: Elon Musk offers to pay TSA workers' salaries amid government shutdown.

Just saying things, and announcing with confidence he will do things he probably cannot do, is central to his strategy of then yelling at people to sleep on floors until they manage to do it, which occasionally works to at least some extent. Elon Musk may plausibly start such a project, but the chances he achieves the goals he is stating are very low.

Announce periodically you are going to the moon and stars, and if one time you end up with SpaceX, it’s still a win. It’s worked for him quite well, so far.

Dick Griffith: Alaskan Adventurer Dies At 98

Roman Dial’s first encounter with Dick Griffith at the Alaska Mountain Wilderness Classic pretty much encapsulated the spirit of the man Dial called the “grandfather of modern Alaskan adventure.”

Griffith invited the 21-year-old Dial, who was traveling without a tent, to bunk with him while rain fell in Hope at the onset of the inaugural race. And then the white-haired Griffith proceeded to beat virtually the entire field of racers — most of whom were 30 years his junior — to the finish line in Homer.

Griffith, who died earlier this month at age 98, was a prodigious adventurer with a sharp wit who fostered a growing community of fellow explorers who shared his yearning for the Alaska outdoors.

Dial was one of the many acolytes who took Griffith’s outdoors ethos and applied it to his own adventures across the state.

“Someone once told me once that the outdoor adventure scene is like this big tapestry that we all add on to,” Dial said. “And where somebody else is sort of woven in something, we pick up and kind of riff on that. And he added a really big band to that tapestry, and then the rest of us are just sort of picking up where he left off.”

On that first meeting at the race in 1982, Dial and the other Alaska Mountain Wilderness Classic competitors got a sense of Griffith’s humor as well. In a story that is now Alaska outdoors lore, Griffith pulled a surprise move at the race’s first river crossing, grabbing an inflatable vinyl raft out of his pack and leaving the field in his rear view.

“You young guys may be fast, but you eat too much and don’t know nothin’,” Dial recalls Griffith quipping as he pushed off.

“Old age and treachery beats youth and skill every time.”

In those years, Griffith may have been known for his old age as much as anything. But it didn’t take long for the 50-something racing against a much younger crowd to make a mark.

Kathy Sarns was a teenager when she first met Griffith in the early 1980s, and the topic of the Alaska Mountain Wilderness Classic came up.

“He says, ‘You want to do that race? I think a girl could do that race,’ ” Sarns recalls. “And I’m thinking, ‘Who is this old guy?’ And then he says, ‘If you want to do the race, give me a call. I’ll take you.’ ”

Sarns took up Griffith on the offer and in 1984, she and her friend Diane Catsam became the first women to complete the race.

Sarns said the adventures “fed his soul,” and were infectious for those who watched Griffith and joined him along the way.

“He motivated and inspired so many people by what he was doing,” Sarns said. “It’s like, well if he can do that, then I guess I could do this.”

By the time Dial and Sarns had met Griffith, he had already established a resume for exploring that was likely unmatched in the state.

In the late 1950s, Griffith walked 500 miles from Kaktovik to Anaktuvuk Pass, passing through the Brooks Range. Later he went from Kaktovik to Kotzebue in what is believed to be the first documented traverse of the range.

In total, Griffith logged over 10,000 miles in the Alaska and Canadian Arctic. He raced the 210-mile Iditaski multiple times.

Starting in his 60s, Griffith made annual trips north to tackle a 4,000-mile route from Unalakleet to Hudson Bay in northeastern Canada. At age 73, he completed the journey.

“The reason he did a lot of trips by himself is because nobody could keep up,” Dial said. [...]

John Lapkass was introduced to Griffith through Barney, a friend with whom Lapkass shared outdoor adventures.

Like many, Lapkass connected with Griffith’s wry sense of humor. Griffith would write “Stolen from Dick Griffith” on all of his gear, often accompanied by his address.

In Alaska, Griffith basically pioneered rafting as a form of getting deep into the Alaska backcountry.

Anchorage’s Luc Mehl has himself explored large swaths of the state in a packraft. An outdoors educator and author, Mehl met Griffith over the years at the barbecues he hosted leading up to the Alaska Wilderness Classic.

Although he didn’t embark on any adventures with Griffith, Mehl was amazed at how much accomplished well into his 80s.

“There are people in these sports that show the rest of us what’s possible,” Mehl said. “It would be dangerous if everybody just tried what Dick did. But there is huge value in inspiration. Just to know it’s a possibility is pretty damn special.” [...]

Many of those adventures were done mostly anonymously as a course of habit with friends, some only finding out after the fact what Griffith had accomplished.

“He had the heart of an explorer,” Clark said. “Dick’s exploring 40 years ago would have been with the pure motivation of finding out if he could get from here to there.”

by Chris Bieri, Anchorage Daily News | Read more:
Images: Bob Hallinen/Kathy Sarns
[ed. I didn't realize Dick had died, he was the kind of guy you'd never imagine succumbing to mortality. Walked alone across most of Alaska. Father of pack rafting. Never carried a gun or bear spray (it wasn't invented back then). A type of Alaskan I call TOBs (tough old bastards). I've known a few. My father-in-law was one (doctor, polar bear hunter, bush pilot - flew from Anchorage to Little Diomede Island in the Bering Straits each spring to visit friends); my former supervisor and eventual rehire during the Exxon Valdez oil spill, Lee Glenn (world class bear researcher, had four wisdom teeth chiseled out and removed without novocaine because he didn't like drugs); and others, like Dick Proenneke, and our former governor Jay Hammond. TOBs. They were what made Alaska - Alaska. I can just imagine what they'd think of todays influencers, hype artists, podcasters, and fake reality stars who need to document every mental fart for attention. Or folks like these: Oregon tourist couple files lawsuit over dogsled crash in Fairbanks (AK Beacon).]

Bow and Arrow Diffusion Across Cultures

Study pinpoints when bow and arrow came to North America (Ars Technica)

Image:A petroglyph from Newspaper Rock, a site along Indian Creek in southeastern Utah. Credit: David Hiser/Environmental Protection Agency/Public domain
[ed. I haven't finished half my morning coffee and already know about atlatls (and why dogs love them), risk-buffering, and frozen feces knives. Is science great, or what?]

***

1. Introduction

In his book, Shadows in the Sun, Davis (1998: 20) recounts what is now arguably one of the most popular ethnographic accounts of all time:

“There is a well known account of an old Inuit man who refused to move into a settlement. Over the objections of his family, he made plans to stay on the ice. To stop him, they took away all of his tools. So in the midst of a winter gale, he stepped out of their igloo, defecated, and honed the feces into a frozen blade, which he sharpened with a spray of saliva. With the knife he killed a dog. Using its rib cage as a sled and its hide to harness another dog, he disappeared into the darkness.”

Since publication, this story has been told and re-told in documentaries, books, and across internet websites and message boards (Davis, 2007, Davis, 2010; Gregg et al., 2000; Kokoris, 2012; Taete, 2015). Davis states that the original source of the tale was Olayuk Narqitarvik (Davis, 2003, Davis, 2009). It was allegedly Olayuk's grandfather in the 1950s who refused to go to the settlements and thus fashioned a knife from his own feces to facilitate his escape by skinning and disarticulating a dog. Davis has admitted that the story could be “apocryphal”, and that initially he thought the Inuit who told him this story was “pulling his leg” (Davis, 2009, Davis, 2014). Yet, as support for the credibility of the story, Davis cites the auto-biographical account of Peter Freuchen, the Danish arctic explorer (Hodge and Davis, 2012). Freuchen (1953) describes how he dug himself a pit to sleep in and woke up trapped by snow. Every effort to get out that he tried failed. Finally, he recalled seeing dog's excrement frozen solid as a rock. So, Freuchen defecated in his hand, shaped it into a chisel, and waited for it to freeze solid. He then used the implement to free himself from the snow: “I moved my bowels and from the excrement I managed to fashion a chisel-like instrument which I left to freeze… At last I decided to try my chisel and it worked” (Freuchen, 1953: 179).

2. Materials and methods
In order to procure the necessary raw materials for knife production, one of us (M.I.E.) went on a diet with high protein and fatty acids, which is consistent with an arctic diet, for eight days (Binford, 2012; Fumagalli et al., 2015) (Table S1). The Inuit do not only eat meat from maritime and terrestrial animals (Arendt, 2010; Zutter, 2009), and there were three instances during the eight-day diet that M.I.E. ate fruit, vegetables, or carbohydrates (Table S1).

Raw material collection did not begin until day four, and then proceeded regularly for the next five days (Table S1). Fecal samples were formed into knives using ceramic molds, “knife molds” (Figs. S1–S2), or molded by hand, “hand-shaped knives” (Fig. S3). All fecal samples were stored at −20 °C until the experiments began.

Alice Coltrane’s Transcendent Score

What does Alice Coltrane sound like, for those who only know the name? Heavenly harp, like a thousand silver coins on a spiral staircase. Groovy bass lines, shuffley snares and sax – from Pharoah Sanders – that seems to push upward and outward, in search of something. This, at least, is the 1971 album Journey in Satchidananda, named after the Hindu word for “absolute state of being”. It was a rare moment of critical acclaim in Coltrane’s lifetime from the male jazz critics of Downbeat magazine.

It would be easy to assume that Coltrane, like Lee Krasner (Mrs Jackson Pollock) or Dorothea Tanning (Mrs Max Ernst), was a great artist who spent her life as the wife of a great artist. But she knew the free jazz pioneer John Coltrane for only four years. They met in 1963, married two years later, and by the time he died from liver cancer in 1967 they somehow had three children (they were also raising her daughter from a previous marriage). Following her husband’s death, she suffered a breakdown so extreme that her weight fell to just under 7 stone and she underwent a series of visions – mostly of John – that she interpreted as an ascetic experience. It was only after this that she began to play the harp, the instrument for which she is best known, became a band leader, and released more than 15 solo albums. She was also, for the last 25 years of her life, a cult leader of sorts, in an ashram on the West Coast of the United States. She died in 2007 and a decade later the Sai Anantam Ashram was destroyed by fire.

When thinking about the Coltranes, it is important to know that it wasn’t just music, and it certainly wasn’t just jazz. Eastern spirituality swept many rockstars and jazzers away at the end of the 1960s; even the Beach Boys’ gigs were given over to meditation sessions after their dalliance with the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. For certain kinds of artists – generally, the brainy ones – combining music and spirituality was the peak of existence. It is a mysterious idea for anyone who can’t play, and doesn’t pray, but it’s essentially the opposite of chasing fame and good reviews.

You can’t have someone write about Alice and John and not buy in to the spiritual side of things. In Cosmic Music, a new biography of Alice Coltrane, Andy Beta has a lyrical sense of the ideological mountains the couple were trying to scale with their work. Beta explores the heady Christian brew that the then-named Alice McLeod was raised on, in her local Detroit church: spirituals from slavery days, 18th-century Calvinist hymns and songs from the Protestant revival – or Second Great Awakening – that swept the United States in the 1850s. She had requested piano lessons by the age of seven. In the story of any woman who made her name in the world of jazz instrumentalists – Carol Kaye, bass player of the Wrecking Crew, is another who comes to mind – there were exceptional beginnings: parents who, for whatever reason, allowed their teenage daughters to play jazz clubs. Alice McLeod moved to Paris in 1959 with her first husband, the jazz vocalist Kenny “Pancho” Hagood, and studied with her favourite bebop pianist, Bud Powell.

Hagood was a heroin addict, though, and McLeod returned to Detroit as a single mother, moving back in with her parents. In 1961, she heard John Coltrane’s Africa/Brass and it crystallised something. While the record confounded critics with its unorthodox big band arrangements, minimal key changes and shrieking sax sound, it was the start of Coltrane’s move into free jazz, which released him from the genre’s established modes, meters and harmonies. It is funny to think that jazz – which seems such a wild kind of music – felt so restrictive to some players in the early 1960s, but it was full of rules. By 1965 John Coltrane was playing atonal, loud and formless: his star pianist, McCoy Tyner, quit his band, later saying, “All I could hear was a lot of noise.” Alice replaced him on piano, and for this – in a parallel world to the Beatles, on the other side of the Pond – she was known as the “Yoko Ono of jazz”.

John Coltrane, like Alice’s first husband, had been a heroin addict, but unlike him, he’d had a spiritual conversion. Alongside the rise of the Nation of Islam, and a renewed interest in Egyptology, he studied the Koran, the Kabbalah, Plato, Buddhism, you name it. Beta sees John’s wife as the catalyst for his growing spirituality: “Without Alice’s own roots in the ecstatic spirit of the Church of God in Christ services and a shared interest in a less dogmatic and more universal understanding of God – to say nothing of their love and devotion to each other – would Coltrane’s own spiritual transformation have occurred?” It is impossible to say, just as it is hard to know what influence she had on his creative output, note by note, but soon after he met her, he made A Love Supreme, his most famous record and the high point of his big, short life. Just as Coltrane wanted to find a universal religion, he wanted a “universal music”: he called it the “New Thing”. When his widow made her solo debut, in Carnegie Hall in April 1968, she billed the show as “Cosmic Music”: there were no reviews of the concert in the New York press, and no recordings remain.

The Carnegie debut was made on the harp, rather than the piano – a tantalising part of the Alice Coltrane story, because no one really knows quite how she learned it. Beta gives the full account of this “Lyle and Healy-style, double-action, hand-gilded, concert-grand, crowned-pedal” instrument and how it came into her possession. Coltrane had ordered it for her as a gift; it took over a year to be made, and it turned up on the doorstep one morning, shortly after his funeral.

For his widow, it was his heavenly presence in her home: why wouldn’t it be? John Coltrane believed he could reveal God through his instrument, and this is the one he wanted his wife to learn. She mastered the vertical hand patterns in their basement studio, after she had put the kids to bed: “I usually practise at night because during the day I’m with the children and I can’t really concentrate,” she said. She did not want to work in clubs, or travel with a band because of the children, she later said; she just wanted to present Coltrane’s music “in the right way”. Beta adds, “This can read like the free jazz equivalent of Ginger Rogers doing everything Fred Astaire did, but backwards and in high heels.”

John Coltrane’s liver cancer was likely the result of his years as an addict. Yet he would not visit the doctor, and he played on through crippling pain. It is a familiar story. His wife did not want to bug him with questions, or get in his way – besides, she was busy with the children. Even when he was diagnosed, he told people that he was going to be fine. Her hallucinations began when he was still alive. She slipped into what, in medical terms, was severe depression and psychosis; the children were looked after by a neighbour. She once burned the flesh off her right hand, as a personal test of endurance. [...]

While reading this book, it struck me that Alice Coltrane sought a God as much as a husband. Sometimes we’re drawn to people in whom we see a creative spirit we already possess on our own. Only with her husband’s death could she lead a solo career: not because he would have stopped her, but because as long as he was alive, she was in his service, by her own choice. With him gone in bodily form, he became an energy – her “true directive energy”, as she called it. It was an energy that had always been inside her.

by Kate Mossman, The New Statesman |  Read more:

Image: Chuck Stewart /@Alicecoltraneofficial
[ed. I was listening to Alice the other night and thinking I needed to post some of her music here. I'm sure I will soon.]

The China Vibe Shift

A year ago came what, for lack of a better term, we dubbed the DeepSeek moment. That was followed fairly quickly by the curious migration of “TikTok refugees” to Xiaohongshu, and not long after that by the first conversations Jeremy Goldkorn and I had about what felt like a changing American — or even Western — mood toward China.

Today, freshly back from Switzerland after covering the World Economic Forum (where the chatter was, not surprisingly, fixated on Trump’s covetous pronouncements on Greenland and Mark Carney’s “rupture” speech), with Keir Starmer now in Beijing to continue talks about restoring some version of the UK–China “Golden Age,” it feels like a decent moment to look back and ask what, if anything, all of that amounted to.

Jeremy and I recorded a podcast episode in which we tried to describe something we were both sensing in the early months of 2025 but couldn’t quite pin down. It wasn’t a policy shift, or even a clear change in opinion. It was more atmospheric than that — a change in tone, in default assumptions, in the emotional register through which China was being discussed in Western discourse. We eventually settled, somewhat sheepishly, on calling it a “vibe shift.” (Less sheepishly, we reconvened in November to gloat about how we’d gotten that right!)

The phrase was imprecise and was intended to convey imprecision. But it did seem to capture something real. Multiple polls have since borne it out, and the feeling has only grown stronger. What’s become clearer to me, looking back, is how that shift relates to a larger argument I’ve been making for some time now — what I called the “Great Reckoning” in a piece I published in The Ideas Letter.

The two are not the same thing. The vibe shift is not the reckoning I’m looking for. But it may be making one more possible.

The change I’m describing is not a sudden outbreak of admiration for China, nor a reversal of long-standing concerns about human rights, political repression, or democracy (though admittedly I’ve seen some of that in some quarters). Those issues remain very much part of the picture. What’s changing is something more basic: the set of assumptions that have long structured how China is interpreted in Western public life.

For years, a relatively stable narrative did a lot of work. China’s successes were provisional; its failures were fundamental. Growth would eventually give way to crisis. Political liberalization was assumed to be inevitable, even if perpetually deferred. Moral condemnation often stood in for empirical assessment. China could be criticized without being fully understood, because history, it was assumed, would take care of the rest.

That narrative hasn’t exactly been replaced. One only has to look at how eagerly some commentators declared Party rule “brittle” following the purges of Zhang Youxia and Liu Zhenli, or how quickly far-fetched rumors were embraced, to see that the old habits die hard.

But the narrative has lost much of its force, mainly because the U.S. — Gaza to Greenland — no longer commands the moral authority it once assumed. Increasingly, when I hear it, it sounds less like analysis and more like reassurance. I know I’m not alone in this.

You can see this erosion in small but telling ways: in the growing reluctance to predict imminent collapse; in the uneasy acknowledgment that China is capable of building complex systems at scale; in the fact that younger audiences, and people closer to technology, manufacturing, or logistics, are less willing to treat China as a purely derivative or temporary phenomenon.

None of this amounts to endorsement. But it does suggest a loosening of reflexes.

A year of small shocks

The past year offered no shortage of moments that helped crystallize this shift.

The emergence of DeepSeek was only one of them. The reaction it provoked wasn’t really about a single large language model. It was about the dawning realization that China was not merely following at the technological frontier, but participating in shaping it. That realization sat awkwardly with long-standing assumptions about where innovation could — and could not — come from.

Then there was the strange but revealing episode of Western “TikTok refugees” making their way onto Xiaohongshu. Tens of thousands of users encountered a Chinese social media environment directly, without mediation by think tanks, policy papers, or cable news. The result wasn’t mass admiration so much as something more disarming: familiarity. China appeared less opaque, less exotic, and therefore harder to keep at a safe analytical distance. (In a strange coda to that episode a year on — not something I’ve looked into too closely, but from what I’m hearing — people are once again abandoning TikTok for Chinese apps, TikTok being under new and apparently very censorship-happy American management).

Around the same time, a steady trickle of firsthand accounts — from executives, engineers, investors, and travelers — described a China that didn’t fit neatly into prevailing narratives. Infrastructure that worked. Manufacturing ecosystems that functioned smoothly. A sense of momentum that was hard to reconcile with predictions of stagnation or decay.

Some of this material was shallow. A fair amount of the so-called “China-pilled” content circulating online is overwrought, unserious, or plainly wrong. I don’t endorse it. But even that excess is revealing. It suggests that people are groping, sometimes awkwardly, for ways to make sense of realities that just don’t fit the narrative they’ve been sold.

One of the stranger — and more amusing — expressions of this moment was described in a recent Wired piece by Zeyi Yang, who is always worth reading. Yang wrote about the sudden popularity of memes in which Americans announce that they are in “a very Chinese time” of their lives: drinking hot water (which I do endorse), wearing slippers in the house, posting videos of themselves eating dim sum, sporting vaguely Chinese-coded streetwear, or joking about “Chinamaxxing.”

The joke, as Yang notes, is not really about China, and certainly not about Chinese people. It’s a projection — a way of gesturing at something Americans feel they’ve lost.

The meme works precisely because it’s unserious. No one is actually becoming Chinese. But the impulse behind it is telling. China, in this memified version, functions less as a real place than as a symbolic contrast: a stand-in for competence, momentum, coherence, or simply “things getting done,” set against a backdrop of crumbling infrastructure, normalized dysfunction, and institutional paralysis at home.

That selectivity is the point. The meme is disposable, ironic, and easily reversed. It allows people to flirt with an alternative without committing to understanding it. In that sense, it’s less a sign of admiration than of dissatisfaction — a sideways commentary on American malaise, filtered through a half-ironic orientalist lens.

I wouldn’t read too much into it. But I wouldn’t dismiss it either. Cultural detritus often reflects shifts in mood before more formal discourse catches up.

The reckoning beneath the surface

This is where the connection to the “Great Reckoning” comes in — and where it’s easy to sound more portentous than necessary.

The reckoning I have in mind isn’t really about China. It’s about us. More specifically, it’s about a long-standing Western habit of assuming that modern outcomes — wealth, tech sophistication, state capacity — are inseparable from Western political forms. When things don’t line up that way, the tendency has been to assume something must be temporary, distorted, or unsustainable.

China’s rise has been awkward for that story. Not because it offers the West some appealing alternative model — I don’t think it does — but because it keeps producing results that are hard to dismiss without contortions. Over time, this has encouraged a set of coping strategies: predictions of imminent collapse, confident talk of inevitable convergence, and a habit of substituting moral judgment for careful description.

For a while, that worked. Or at least it postponed the need for a harder conversation...

That’s what I mean by the vibe shift. Not that people have settled on a new story, but that the old one is starting to creak loudly enough to be noticed.

In that sense, the shift is preparatory. It doesn’t tell us what to think next. It just makes it harder to keep thinking the same way.

by Kaiser Y. Kuo, Sinica | Read more:

Image: via

[ed. I've got nothing against China, it's just doing what any superpower would do, looking out for its interests, expanding its sphere of influence for economic and security reasons, and attempting to preserve its history, culture and political system. See also: The Civilization Trap (Sinica). And, in case you missed it, Why Everyone Is Suddenly in a ‘Very Chinese Time’ in Their Lives (Wired). Oh, and this: China's power grid investments to surge to record $574 billion in 2026-2030. Maybe people are just envious that China is investing in its future, while the US self-destructs and spends $ trillions on military weapons and war mongering.]

The Irsay Collection/Auction

Kurt Cobain’s famed Fender is part of $1 billion collection going to auction

In the summer of 1991, Nirvana filmed the music video for “Smells Like Teen Spirit” on a Culver City sound stage. Kurt Cobain strummed the grunge anthem’s iconic four-chord opening riff on a 1969 Fender Mustang, Lake Placid Blue with a signature racing stripe.

Nearly 35 years later, the six-string relic hung on a gallery wall at Christie’s in Beverly Hills as part of a display of late billionaire businessman Jim Irsay’s world-renowned guitar collection, which heads to auction at Christie’s, New York, beginning Tuesday. Each piece in the Beverly Hills gallery, illuminated by an arched spotlight and flanked by a label chronicling its history, carried the aura of a Renaissance painting.

Irsay’s billion-dollar guitar arsenal, crowned “The Greatest Guitar Collection on Earth” by Guitar World magazine, is the focal point of the Christie’s auction, which has split approximately 400 objects — about half of which are guitars — into four segments: the “Hall of Fame” group of anchor items, the “Icons of Pop Culture” class of miscellaneous memorabilia, the “Icons of Music” mixed batch of electric and acoustic guitars and an online segment that compiles the remainder of Irsay’s collection. The online sale, featuring various autographed items, smaller instruments and historical documents, features the items at the lowest price points.

A portion of auction proceeds will be donated to charities that Irsay supported during his lifetime.

Cobain’s Fender was only one of the music history treasures nestled in Christie’s gallery. A few paces away, Jerry Garcia’s “Budman” amplifier, once part of the Grateful Dead’s three-story high “Wall of Sound,” perched atop a podium. Just past it lay the Beatles logo drum head (estimated between $1 million and $2 million) used for the band’s debut appearance on “The Ed Sullivan Show,” which garnered a historic 73 million viewers and catalyzed the British Invasion. Pencil lines were still visible beneath the logo’s signature “drop T.” [ed. Also includes Eric Clapton's Martin acoustic guitar used on 'Unplugged'].

It is exceptionally rare for even one such artifact to go to market, let alone a billion-dollar group of them at once, Walker said. But a public sale enabling many to participate and demonstrate the “true market value” of these objects is what Irsay would have wanted, she added.

Dropping tens of millions of dollars on pop culture memorabilia may seem an odd hobby for an NFL general manager, yet Irsay viewed collecting much like he viewed leading the Indianapolis Colts.

Irsay, the youngest NFL general manager in history, said in a 2014 Colts Media interview that watching and emulating the legendary NFL owners who came before him “really taught me to be a steward.”

“Ownership is a great responsibility. You can’t buy respect,” he said. “Respect only comes from you being a steward.”

The first major acquisition in Irsay’s collection came in 2001, with his $2.4-million purchase of the original 120-foot scroll for Jack Kerouac’s 1957 novel, “On the Road.” He loved the book and wanted to preserve it, Walker said. But he also frequently lent it out, just like he regularly toured his guitar collection beginning 20 years later.

“He said publicly, ‘I’m not the owner of these things. I’m just that current custodian looking after them for future generations,’ ” Walker said. “And I think that’s what true collectors always say.”

At its L.A. highlight exhibition, Irsay’s collection held an air of synchronicity. Paul McCartney’s handwritten lyrics for “Hey Jude” hung just a few steps from a promotional poster — the only one in existence — for the 1959 concert Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and J.P. “The Big Bopper” Richardson were en route to perform when their plane crashed. The tragedy spurred Don McLean to write “American Pie,” about “the day the music died.”

Holly was McCartney’s “great inspiration,” Christie’s specialist Zita Gibson said. “So everything connects.”

Later, the Beatles’ 1966 song “Paperback Writer” played over the speakers near-parallel to the guitars the song was written on. [...]

Another fan-favorite is the “Wilson” volleyball from 2000’s “Cast Away,” starring Tom Hanks, estimated between $60,000 and $80,000, Gibson said.

Historically, such objects were often preserved by accident. But as the memorabilia market has ballooned over the last decade or so, Gibson said, “a lot of artists are much more careful about making sure that things don’t get into the wrong hands. After rehearsals, they tidy up after themselves.”

by Malia Mendez, Los Angeles Times/Seattle Times |  Read more:

Image:Cover Images/ZUMA Press/TNS
[ed. Mentioned this in a previous post but still can't believe what's here.]

Jimi Hendrix Was a Systems Engineer

Jimi Hendrix Was a Systems Engineer. He precisely controlled modulation and feedback loops (IEEE Spectrum).

Image: James Provost

[ed. Everything was new and primitive back then. Jimi pushed these new tools to their limits.]

Chicago Gets a Lift

Walking down the magnificent streets of downtown Chicago, towering skyscrapers on all sides of you, you probably couldn’t guess the incredible scheme the city carried out in the area some 160 years before.

They lifted the whole city up in the air.

Between four and fourteen feet. Buildings, streets and all. Straight up, using hydraulic jacks and jackscrews.

It was a titanic feat of engineering, imagination and sheer moxie. And it might just say a lot about that early Chicago character.

... buildings were lifted up using jackscrews and the occasional hydraulic lift. And we’re not just talking houses. Entire masonry buildings were raised in the air. Eventually, they even figured out how to raise an entire block at once. They placed 6000 jackscrews under the one-acre block between Lake, Clark and LaSalle streets, estimated at 35,000 tons in weight, and raised the whole thing over four days—buildings, sidewalks and all. The process was gradual enough that business continued in the buildings throughout.

Not every building went through the process. Not because it was too difficult, but because some of the buildings no longer fit with where the city was going. But waste not, want not. They put these old wooden buildings on rollers and drew them by horse to the edges of town. Of course, the enterprising owners of businesses operating in these buildings didn’t want to miss out on business, so many continued to serve customers even as the buildings were rolling down the street.

by Illinois Office of Tourism |  Read more:

Image: uncredited

[ed. Man, they really got things done back then. See also: American water is too clean (WIP).]

Embryo Selection Company Herasight Goes All In On Eugenics

Multiple commercial companies are now offering polygenic embryo selection on a wide range of traits, including genetic predictors of behavior and IQ. I’ve previously written about the methodological unknowns around this technology but I haven’t commented on the ethics. I think having a child is a very personal decision and it’s not my place to tell people how to do it. But the new embryo selection company, Herasight, has started advocating for eugenic societal norms that I find disturbing and worth raising alarm over. Because this is a fraught topic, I’ll start with some basic definitions.

What is eugenics?

Eugenics is an ideology that advocates for conditioning reproductive rights on the perceived genetic quality of the parents. Francis Galton, the father of eugenics, declared that eugenics’ “first object is to check the birth-rate of the Unfit, instead of allowing them to come into being”. This goal was to be achieved through social stigma and, if necessary, by force. The Eugenics Education Society, for instance, advocated for education, segregation, and — “perhaps” — compulsory sterilization to prevent the “unfit and degenerate” from reproducing:

A core component of defining “the unfit” was heredity. Eugenicists are not just interested in improving people’s phenotypes — a goal that is widely shared by modern society — but the future genotypic distribution. The genetic stock. This is why eugenic policies historically focus on sterilization, including the sterilization of unaffected relatives who harbor genotype but not phenotype. If someone commits a crime, they face time in prison for their actions, but under eugenic reasoning their law-abiding sibling or child is also suspect and should be stigmatized (or forcefully prevented) from passing on deficient genetic material.

A simple two-part test for eugenics is then: (1) Is it concerned with the future genetic stock? (2) Is it advocating for restricted reproduction, either through stigma or force, for those deemed genetically inferior?

Is embryo selection eugenics?

I have publicly resisted applying the “eugenics” label to embryo selection writ large and I continue to do so. Embryo selection is a tool and its use is morally complex. A couple can choose to have embryo screening for a variety of reasons ranging from frivolous (“we want to have a blue eyed baby”) to widely supported (“we carry a recessive mutation that would be fatal in our baby”), none of which have eugenic intent. Embryo selection can even be an anti-eugenic tool, as in the case of high-risk couples who have already decided against having children. If embryo selection technology allows them to lower the risk to a comfortable level and have a child they would otherwise have avoided, then the outcome is literally the opposite of eugenic selection: “unfit” individuals (at least as they see themselves) now have an incentive to produce more offspring than they would have. In practice, IVF remains a physically and emotionally demanding procedure, and my guess is that individual eugenic intentions — the desire to select out unfit embryos with the specific motivation of improving the “genetic stock” of the population — are exceedingly rare.

Is Herasight advocating for eugenics?

While I do not think embryo selection is eugenic in itself, like any reproductive technology, it can be wielded for eugenic purposes. The new embryo selection company Herasight, in my opinion, is advocating for exactly that. To understand why, it is useful to first understand the theories put forth by Herasight’s director of scientific research and communication Jonathan Anomaly (in case you’re wondering, that is a chosen last name). Anomaly is a self-proclaimed eugenicist [Update: Anomaly has clarified that this description was not provided by him and he requested that it be removed]:

Prior to joining Herasight, Anomaly wrote extensively on the ethics of embryo selection, notably in a 2018 article titled “Defending eugenics”. How does Anomaly defend eugenics? First, he reiterates the classic position that eugenics is a resistance to the uncontrolled reproduction of the “unfit” (emphasis mine, throughout):

Darwin argued that social welfare programs for the poor and sick are a natural expression of our sympathy, but also a danger to future populations if they encourage people with serious congenital diseases and heritable traits like low levels of impulse control, intelligence, or empathy to reproduce at higher rates than other people in the population. Darwin feared that in developed nations “the reckless, degraded, and often vicious members of society, tend to increase at a quicker rate than the provident and generally virtuous members”

Anomaly goes on to sympathize with Darwin’s position and that of the classic eugenicists, arguing that “While Darwin’s language is shocking to contemporary readers, we should take him seriously”, later that “there is increasingly good evidence that Darwin was right to worry about demographic trends in developed countries”, and that we should “stop allowing [the Holocaust] to silence any discussion of the merits of eugenic thinking”.

Anomaly then proposes several potential eugenic interventions, one of which is a “parental licensing” scheme that prevents unfit parents from having children:

The typical response is for the state to step in and pay for all of these things, and in extreme cases to remove children from their parents and put them in foster care. But it would be more cost-effective to prevent unwanted pregnancies than treating their consequences, especially if we could achieve this goal by subsidizing the voluntary use of contraception. It may also be more desirable from the standpoint of future people.

The phrase “future people” figures repeatedly in Anomaly’s writing as a euphemism for the more conventional eugenic concept of genetic stock. This connection is made explicit when he explains the most compelling reason for supporting parental licensing:

The most compelling reason (though certainly not a decisive reason) for supporting parental licensing is that traits like impulse control, health, intelligence, and empathy have significant genetic components. What matters is not just that some parents are unwilling or unable to take care of their children; but that in many cases they are passing along an undesirable genetic endowment.

What are we really talking about here? Anomaly has proposed a technocratic rebranding of eugenic sterilization: instead of taking away your reproductive rights clinically, the state will take away your reproductive license and, if you still have children, impose “fines or other costs” (though Anomaly does not make the “other costs” explicit, eugenic sterilization is mentioned as an example in the very next sentence). How would the state decide who should lose their license? Anomaly explains:

For a parental licensing scheme to be fair, we would need to devise criteria that are effective at screening out only parents who impose significant risks of harm on their children or (through their children) on other people.

A fundamental normative principle of our society is that all members are created equal and endowed with unalienable rights. What Anomaly envisions instead is a society where the state can seize one of the most intimate of human freedoms — the right to become a parent — based on innate factors. How does the state determine whether a future child imposes significant risk on future people? By inspecting the biological makeup of the parents and identifying “undesirable genetic endowments” that will harm others “through their children”. This is a policy built explicitly on genetic desirability and undesirability, where those deemed genetically unfit are stripped of their rights to have children and/or fined for doing so — aka bog-standard coercive eugenics.

Today, Anomaly is the spokesperson for a company that screens parents for “undesirable genetic endowments” and, for a price, promises to boost their genetic desirability and their value to future people. It is easy to see how Herasight fits directly into the eugenic parental licensing scheme Anomaly proposed. Having an open eugenicist as the spokesperson for an embryo selection company seems, to me, akin to hiring Hannibal Lecter to do PR for a hospital, but perhaps Anomaly has radically changed his views since billing himself as a eugenicist in 2023?

Herasight (with Anomaly as first author) recently published a perspective white-paper on the ethics polygenic selection, from which we can glean their corporate position. The perspective outlines the potential benefits and harms of embryo selection. The very first positive benefit listed? The “benefits to future people”. While this section starts with a focus the welfare of individual children, it ends with the same societal motivations as classical eugenics: the social costs of the unfit on communities and the benefits of the fit to scientific innovation and the public good: [...]

When eugenics goes mainstream

Let’s review: eugenics has as a goal of limiting the birthrate of the “unfit” or “undesirable” for the benefit of the group. Anomaly describes himself as a eugenicist and explicitly echoes this goal through, among other policies, a parental licensing proposal. Anomaly now runs a genetic screening company. The company recently published a perspective paper advocating for the stigmatization of “unfit” parents who do not screen. Anomaly, as spokesperson, reiterates that their goal is indeed eugenics — “Yes, and it’s great!”. With any other person one could argue that they were clueless or trolling; but if anyone knows what eugenics means, it is a person who has spent the past decade defending it.

I have to say I am floored by how strange this all is. My personal take on embryo selection has been decidedly neutral. I think the expected gains are limited by the genetic architecture of the traits being scored and the companies are mostly fudging the numbers to look good. As noted above, I also think a common use of this technology will be to calm the nerves of parents who otherwise would have gone childless. So I have no actual concerns about changes to the genetic make-up of the population or genetic inequality or any of the other utopian/dystopian predictions. But I am concerned that the marketing around the technology revives and normalizes classic eugenic arguments: that society is divided into the genetically fit and the genetically unfit, and the latter need to be stigmatized away from parenthood for the benefit of the former. I am particularly disturbed by the giddiness with which Anomaly and Herasight have repeatedly courted eugenics-related controversy as part of their launch campaign.

Even stranger has been the response, or rather non-response, from the genetics community. Social science geneticists and organizations spent the past decade writing FAQs warning against the use of their methods and data for individual prediction and against genetic essentialism. Many conference presentations and seminars start with a section on the sordid history of eugenics and the sterilization programs in the US and Nazi Germany, vowing not to repeat the mistakes of the past. Now, a company is openly advocating for eugenics (in fact, a company with direct connections to these social science organizations) and these organizations are silent. It is hard not to conclude that the FAQs and warnings were just lip service. And if the experts aren’t raising alarms, why would the public be alarmed?

by Sasha Gusev, The Infinitesimal |  Read more:

Image: Anselm Kiefer, Die Ungeborenen (The Unborn), 2002

[ed. With neophyte Nazis seemingly everywhere these days, CRISPR advances, and technocrats who want to live forever, it's perhaps not surprising that eugenics would be making a comeback. Update: Jonathan Anomaly, director of scientific research and communication for Herasight and whose articles I criticize here, responds in a detailed comment. I recommend reading his response together with this post. Anomaly’s role in the company has also been clarified. See also: Have we leapt into commercial genetic testing without understanding it? (Ars Technica).]