

Although our world feels increasingly fragmented, if you pause for just a moment, you will start recognizing parallels: political movements echo each other’s rhetoric and tactics; institutions mirror each other’s failures; revolutions erupt in disparate regions of the globe; old patterns of power, oppression, and inequality reemerge. In this special feature, we explore how today’s political, economic, and technological battles are not isolated phenomena.
The parallels between President Donald Trump and Argentina’s Javier Milei are plentiful, but one that is especially baffling is their treatment of national parks. In “Public Lands, Private Profits,” Annabel Williams draws connections between the two presidents’ attacks on public lands—attacks that are not only unpopular with the general public but also with their conservative bases. While conservatism has long been associated with anti-environmentalism, Williams highlights that national parks have historically been defended by presidents on both sides of the aisle. Trump and Milei’s blatant attacks on national parks demonstrate their unyielding prioritization of profit over the public good, even in causes previously defended by conservatives.
Once envisioned as a borderless frontier, the internet is now being carved into fenced-off regions as states increasingly emphasize sovereignty in cyberspace. In “A Domain of One’s Own,” Elliot Smith traces the parallels between today’s digital sovereignty movement and the 17th-century Treaty of Westphalia, which helped cement territorial borders as a key component of the international state system. While recognizing the need for cybersecurity, Smith argues that the territorialization of cyberspace is a mistake and risks undermining innovation and free expression. As authoritarian and democratic governments alike retreat behind digital walls, this article chal lenges readers to defend an open, global internet.
America’s second Gilded Age is here, and according to Kenneth Kalu in “Do Not Pass Go, Do Not Collect $200,” this time the oligarchs are no longer trying to hide their wealth or influence. Tracing the rise of corporate power from the Powell Memorandum to Elon Musk’s involvement in the Trump administration, Kalu contends that billionaires have hollowed out democratic
institutions, crushed organized labor, and seized control of the economy. But his assessment is not all negative—by looking back at the first Gilded Age, he provocatively argues that revitalizing workplace organizing and nationalizing corpora tions can strengthen the working class.
Language reclamation is one way that Indigenous peoples across the globe can resist the erasure of their cultures. In our increasingly digitized world, such language reclamation efforts have only become easier. In his article “Tongues Against Empire,” Davíd Felipe-Rodríguez draws parallels between the different ways Indigenous groups are using technology to preserve their native tongues. From making language learning more accessible to connecting people to their communities, digital tools have fueled the resurgence of language reclamation efforts worldwide.
After the Fugitive Slave Act of 1850, northern states defied federal law to protect escaped enslaved people. In “A Blueprint for Defiance,” Justin Meszler argues that these “personal liberty laws” should serve as a blueprint for resisting federal overreach. As Trump attempts to crack down on illegal immigration, Meszler contends that states should adopt similar legislation to protect undocumented residents. Tracing the parallel between the nineteenth century abolitionist movement and today’s sanctuary movement, Meszler makes the case for a more robust effort by state and local governments to protect civil liberties and resist federal overreach.
We hope that, like us, you begin to see the parallels that constitute our world. While problems that are isolated may feel impossible to tackle, by critically examining the parallels between them, the articles in this issue provide a roadmap for seeing new connections—and solutions.
- Amina & Elliot
EDITORS IN CHIEF
Amina Fayaz
Elliot Smith
CHIEFS OF STAFF
Jordan Lac
Grace Leclerc
CHIEF OPERATING OFFICERS
John Lee
Manav Musunuru
MANAGING EDITORS
Ashton Higgins
Mitsuki Jiang
Sofie Zeruto
CHIEF COPY EDITORS
Tiffany Eddy
Renee Kuo
INTERVIEWS DIRECTORS
Ariella Reynolds
Benjamin Stern
DATA DIRECTORS
Nikhil Das
Amy Qiao
CREATIVE DIRECTORS
Thomas Dimayuga
Grace Liu
DESIGN DIRECTORS
Natalie Ho
Hannah Jeong
Hyunmin Kim
MULTIMEDIA DIRECTOR
Solomon (Solly)
Goloboff-Schragger
WEB DIRECTOR
Armaan Patankar
Akshay Mehta
DIVERSITY OFFICER
Michael Shui
Zander Blitzer
Alexandros Diplas
Allison Meakem
Gabriel Merkel
Tiffany Pai
Hannah Severyns
Mathilda Silbiger
INTERVIEWS DIRECTORS
Ariella Reynolds
Benjamin Stern
DEPUTY INTERVIEWS
DIRECTORS
Eiffel Sunga
INTERVIEWS ASSOCIATES
Chloe Christy
Amish Jindal
Matthew Kotcher
Michael Lau
Ciara Leonard
Christina Li
Gabriella Miranda
Maria Mooraj
Oscar Noxon
Neve O’Neil
Charlotte Peterson
Raghav Ramgopal
Arjun Ray
Samdol Lhamo Sichoe
Riyana Srihari
Joshua Stearns
Avital Strauss
Ellia Sweeney
Michele Togbe
Simon Wordofa
Charles Wortman
DATA DIRECTORS
Amy Qiao
Nikhil Das
DATA ASSOCIATES
Sarya Baran Kılıç
Caleb Ellenberg
Chai Harsha
Wesley Horn
Chloe Jazzy Lau
Gloria Kuzmenko-Latimer
Na Nguyen
Cerulean Ozarow
Tiziano Pardo
Arjun Ray
Emily Schreiber
Romilly Thomson
Breanna Villarreal
Shane Walsh
Jiayi Wu
William Yu
Amber Zhao
DATA DESIGNERS
Carys Lam
Angel Rivas
WEB DIRECTORS
Akshay Mehta
Armaan Patankar
WEB DEVELOPERS
Brianna Cheng
Matthew DaSilva
Joanne Ding
Shafiul Haque
Jaideep Naik
Ariel Shifrin
Nitin Sudarsanam
Hao Wen
Jerry Zhou
WEB DESIGNERS
Casey Gao
Hyelim Lee
Zairan Liu
CHIEF COPY
EDITORS
Tiffany Eddy
Renee Kuo
MANAGING COPY
EDITORS
Vivian Chute
Nicholas Clampitt
COPY EDITORS
Lillian Castrillon
Leah Freedman
Jason Hwang
Shant Ispendjian
Davis Kelly
Christina Li
Rachel Loeb
Matthew MacKay
Tanvi Mittal
Charlotte Peterson
Shiela Phoha
Francisco Ramirez
Daniel Shin
Vanessa Tao
MULTIMEDIA DIRECTOR
Solomon (Solly)
Goloboff-Schragger
MANAGING VIDEO PRODUCERS
Ayana Ahuja
Lynn Nguyen
Devendra Peyrat
Leonardo Quispe
VIDEO PRODUCERS
Phoebe Grace Azcuna Aseoche
Sarya Baran Kılıç
Abraham Carrillo-Galindo
Clara Baisinger-Rosen
Chris Donnelly
Francis Gonzalez
Ange Yeung
PODCAST DIRECTOR
Amber Zhao
PODCAST PRODUCERS
Romi Bhatia
Caroline Cordts
Chompoonek (Chicha)
Nimitpornsuko
Erin Ozyurek
Gui Sequeira
Becky Montes
Romilly Thomson
PHOTOJOURNALISM DIRECTORS
Danielle Deculus
Ena Hsieh
PHOTOJOURNALISTS
Ari Birnbaum
Pavani Durbhakula
Thomas Faries
Josué Morales
Allan Wang
Leyad Zavriyev
DIVERSITY OFFICER
Michael Shui
DIVERSITY ASSOCIATE
Jiayi Wu
MANAGING EDITORS
Ashton Higgins
Mitsuki Jiang
Sofie Zeruto
SENIOR EDITORS
Hayden Deffarges
Keyes Sumner
Evan Tao
Aman Vora
EDITORS
Tianran (Alice) Cheng
Fabiana Conway
Emily Feil
Kenneth Kalu
Julia Kostin
Faith Li
Brynn Manke
Julianna Muzyczynyn
Tess Naquet-Radiguet
Nicolaas Schmid
Meruka Vyas
Zoe Yu
HIGH SCHOOL PROGRAM LEAD
Evan Tao
STAFF WRITERS
Sara Amir
Phil Avilov
Sarya Baran Kilic
Ophir Berrin
Meredith Chang
Madeleine Connery
Jacqueline Dean
Neve Diaz-Carr
Chris Donnelly
Yael Ranel Filus
Andrea Fuentes
Wesley Horn
Chiupong Huang
Cecilia Hult
Shant Ispendjian
Napintakorn (Pin) Kasemsri
Noah Kim
Lev Kotler-Berkowitz
Lauren Kozmor
Adora Limani
Matthew MacKay
Mia Madden
Satoki Minami
Mateo Navarro
Asher Patel
Emma Phan
Ava Rahman
Sonya Rashkovan
Emily Schreiber
Gui Sequeira
Samdol Lhamo Sichoe
Riya Singh
Nainika Sompallie
Siyuan (Michael) Shui
Joshua Stearns
Will Thomas
Allan Wang
Annabel Williams
Isabella Xu
BUSINESS DIRECTORS
John Lee
Manav Musunuru
BUSINESS ASSOCIATES
Aditi Bhattacharjya
Elina Coutlakis-Hixson
Lizzie Duong
Brynn Manke
Becky Montes
Neve O’Neil
CREATIVE DIRECTORS
Thomas Dimayuga
Grace Liu
DESIGN DIRECTORS
Natalie Ho
Hannah Jeong
Hyunmin Kim
GRAPHIC DESIGNERS
Punch Kulphisanrat
Ashley Lee
Jay Moon
Ryan Scott
Marie You
Renee Zhu
SOCIAL MEDIA DIRECTOR
Fah Prayottavekit
SOCIAL MEDIA DESIGNERS
Nina Jeffries-El
Shiyan Zhu
ART DIRECTORS
Anna Fischler
Haimeng Ge
Bath Hernández
Margaryta Winkler
Jiabao Wu
Angela Xu
COVER ARTIST
Bath Hernández
ILLUSTRATORS
Oli Bartsch
Ruobing Chang
Lily Engblom-Stryker
Isabela Guillen
Manuela Guzmán
Kexin Huang
Amelia Jeoung
Larisa Kachko
Sadie Levine
LuJia Liao
Jiwon Lim
Paul Li
Carmina Lopez
Ranran Ma
Haley Maka
Anum Naseer
Ruby Nemeroff
Shay Salmon
Sofia Schreiber
Haley Sheridan
Angelina So
Yanning Sun
Sam Takeda
Yimiao Wang
Maggie Weng
Rokia Whitehouse
Catherine Witherwax
Zimo Yang
Naomi Zaro
Issue 02, Spring 2025
by isabella xu by sofie zeruto by ava rahman by maria mooraj by tess naquet-radiguet by annabel williams by meruka vyas by mia madden by kenneth kalu by julianna Muzyczyszyn by brianna villarreal by elliot smith by charlotte peterson by ariella reynolds by justin meszler by joshua stearns by davÍd felipe-roDríguez by keyes sumner by ashton higgins
by Isabella Xu ’28, an International and Public Affairs and East Asian Studies concentrator and Staff Writer for BPR
Slack pings and jargon like ‘scaling up’ and ‘A/B testing’ hummed through my childhood. Growing up, I would head to my dad’s office in downtown Palo Alto, where product managers became my babysitters and software engineers cooed over how much taller I had gotten. These people—who I later learned held some of the tech industry’s most coveted jobs—were never intimidating. We arrived at the office in the same clothes: leggings and a hoodie. We slid down from the fourth to the third floor on the same oversized metal slide. We ate company-catered meals at the same tables. We were, as the Human Resources team liked to put it, a family.
Casual, team-oriented offices define Silicon Valley startup culture. In the 2010 biographical drama “The Social Network,” Mark Zuckerberg arrives at investor dinners in a hoodie, sweatpants, and Adidas flip-flops. His attire has been adopted by the whole of the Bay: Elon Musk attends White House cabinet meetings in graphic tees, and Sam Bankman-Fried’s closet seems to host an infinite supply of rumpled grey FTX T-shirts (or maybe just one). Even Tim Cook, the CEO of Apple, rarely presents in anything more formal than a polo shirt.
The casual fashion of Silicon Valley’s “tech bros” is an intentional choice. A student of psychology and computer science at Harvard, Zuckerberg is well-versed in the literature of
social dynamics and the human desire for exclusivity—an awareness that ultimately propelled Facebook to success. His sartorial choices reflect this understanding.
Zuckerberg understands better than anyone that to signal in-group status, one needs iconography. In 2004, the mere possession of a Facebook account was a status symbol. Zuckerberg initially limited Facebook to students with Harvard University emails. When it came time to—in tech jargon—scale-up, invitations were only extended to students at Stanford, Columbia, and Yale. To be a Facebook member was to be part of a cooler, more educated whole. The disheveled college outfits became a way to signal membership in a new elite.
The relaxed dress code of Silicon Valley also reflects a philosophical desire for restricting material and bodily desire, known as asceticism. Associated with Abrahamic and Dharmic religions, ascetic practices include fasting for Ramadan, sacrificing an enjoyable activity for Lent, or abstaining from meat and aphrodisiacs in Buddhism. By practicing asceticism, one redeems oneself in the eyes of their god. For Muslims, Ramadan draws one closer to Allah; for Catholics, Lent encourages one to remember Christ’s sacrifice; for Buddhists, vegetarian diets abide by the ahimsa tenet of non-violence, garnering karma for rebirth. In each of
these religions, asceticism is a distinct choice, practiced to attain spiritual enlightenment or moral discipline.
The tech dress code leverages our positive associations with asceticism. By forgoing pressed suits and ties, tech entrepreneurs aim to garner the goodwill of their most important backers—not only consumers and colleagues but also capitalists. Tech startups are heavily dependent on venture capital investments, and firms like Sequoia, Greylock, and Andreessen Horowitz Capital Management (a16z) receive thousands of pitch decks a year. At a16z—which backed Facebook, Coinbase, and OpenAI—the odds of being funded are a slim 0.7 percent. Entrepreneurs must portray themselves as cutting-edge, hard-working, and financially savvy: the type of person who would flaunt a $20 32 Degrees T-shirt from Costco, REI slacks, and a backpack given out as swag at an industry summit.
A scene like this plays out in “The Social Network,” when the fictionalized Zuckerberg arrives at Sequoia Capital sporting pajamas and bedhead. Napster co-founder and then-president of Facebook Sean Parker, played by Justin Timberlake, advises Zuckerberg to walk into the meeting 20 minutes late and claim that he overslept. “They’re gonna pitch you,” Parker insists. “Sequoia Capital is gonna pitch you… They’re gonna beg you to take their money.”
It’s easy to dismiss this scene as fictional hyperbole, but Zuckerberg and his co-founder Andrew McCollum really did pitch Sequoia like this. In a Quora thread, McCollum himself reveals the performative nature of their tardiness. “It is true that we were late to the pitch,” McCollum writes, “as we were to every meeting we had with Sequoia, but this, in itself, was not that remarkable—we were late to pretty much everything. This was mostly because we valued working on the products (both Facebook and Wirehog) over just about everything else.” Zuckerberg and McCollum’s tardiness—just like their sloppy dress—was a way to perform their emphasis on creating the product. While Catholics practice asceticism for the judgment of God, tech entrepreneurs practice asceticism for the judgment of venture capitalists.
The aesthetics of asceticism extend beyond just dress. At a Brown University panel on careers in tech and entrepreneurship, one panelist characterized the startup experience as “creaky floors,” “crowded offices,” and “those early scrappy days.” There is an unspoken expectation to work overtime; in fact, 71 percent of remote employees in the UK work past paid hours. Those in the office are encouraged to stay past 5:00 PM for company dinners. And, most disturbingly, the “biohacking” phenomenon involves intermittent fasting, replacing meals
with Soylent, and microdosing on drugs that allegedly improve cognitive function.
As class distinctions based on clothing have diminished, those within the tech industry have begun searching for other identifiers of status. Palo Alto is bloated with parking lots full of the newest Tesla model. While hard work is a key quantifier of a profitable venture, its importance is topped only by success. Projecting success necessitates the signalling of class; it is an endlessly shifting paradigm, preventing the playing field from truly being leveled. Assets like cars and nice houses are acceptable ways to convey wealth as they do not detract from the archetype of the product-obsessed innovator. No critical time is wasted stepping into a Tesla Model X instead of a Toyota Corolla.
When, to the untrained eye, the rich look like the poor, it slashes the hope of gaining class consciousness. Without visual class stratification, laborers are fooled into thinking their managers may somehow relate to them or have similar lifestyles. It has become harder than ever to identify those of similar class status. Who is shopping at Costco out of necessity rather than desire? Who really cannot afford a tailored suit? Bosses’ orders are reframed as a friend’s advice. Unpaid overtime becomes company bonding.
Such class complacency is dangerous when that hoodie-and-sweats-wearing boss returns home each night to a mortgage-free mansion in Atherton. But at least you all eat dinner together, right?
“The relaxed dress code of Silicon Valley also reflects a philosophical desire for restricting material and bodily desire, known as asceticism.”
by Ava Rahman ’27, a Political Science and English Concentrator, Staff Writer, and Copy Editor for BPR
What do Barack Obama and a five-time bank robber have in common? They both passed the Character and Fitness test to become lawyers. To verify their moral character for bar admission, law school graduates must complete a 36-page questionnaire about past criminal offenses, academic misconduct, mental health diagnoses, traffic violations, substance abuse, and debt. If the state’s Committee of
Character and Fitness flags their application, they must stand before a hearing. In 2014, the Washington Supreme Court approved Shon Hopwood—the bank robber in question. Four years later, the same court denied admission to Tarra Simmons, who had overcome bankruptcy, criminal conviction, and substance abuse to pass law school with flying colors. Within the gray area of rehabilitation and rejection, what standards determine whether an aspiring lawyer is worthy of the profession?
The answer to this question varies from state to state, year to year, and person to person. As the Supreme Court of California acknowledged, “[t]he term ‘good moral character’ [...] can be defined in an almost unlimited number of ways for any definition will necessarily reflect the
attitudes, experiences, and prejudices of the definer.” This ambiguity opens the door to discrimination, undermining the very purpose of the Character and Fitness test—to guarantee the moral standing of the legal profession. In pursuit of just standards and practical reform, the legal profession should consider alternatives to the state bar’s Character and Fitness test.
In the late nineteenth century, the legal profession was steadily growing, with a new cohort of immigrant and working-class lawyers receiving certification. State bars, run by an elite establishment of attorneys, sought to combat the “overcrowding” of the profession by raising the barriers of entry. They founded the American Bar Association (ABA) in 1878 to unify law schools and state boards behind
a more rigorous and standardized screening process. By 1928, nearly all states had adopted the ABA’s Character and Fitness requirements. More often than not, minorities bore the brunt of these inconsistent standards. Historically, women, immigrants, and “communists” have been more likely to fail the Character and Fitness test. People of color uniquely have a higher burden to prove rehabilitation due to disparate punishment under the criminal justice system. Applicants with a flagged history of mental illness undergo questioning where they must explain painful and vulnerable moments of their life before a scrutinizing committee of examiners; many aspiring lawyers avoid seeking necessary psychiatric treatment to prevent such issues from ending up on their official records. Even more troubling is that many of these questions violate the Americans with Disabilities Act, which is meant to protect individuals from discrimination due to mental and physical disabilities. While a 2014 investigation into the Louisiana Supreme Court by the Department of Justice for such violations has prompted several states to follow the ABA’s call and remove mental health disclosures from their applications, 37 states and Washington DC have yet to institute changes.
“More often than not, minorities bore the brunt of these inconsistent standards. Historically, women, immigrants, and ‘communists’ have been more likely to fail the Character and Fitness test.”
To put a number to the test’s success, one study found a 5 percent probability that applicants with flagged character investigations would commit future misconduct later in their careers—hardly grounds for rejection. As a whole, most states only turn away 0.5 percent or less of their candidates on Character and Fitness grounds. But certainly, more than 0.5 percent of lawyers act immorally. Across three of New York’s jurisdictions, at least 3.6 percent of licensed attorneys received disciplinary complaints. The New York Times continues to release headlines such as “ChatGPT lawyers,” “Trump Lawyers,” and “New York Nightlife’s Lawyer King,” all stories of licensed attorneys who commit fabrication, breaches of confidentiality, and fraud. This draws on a deeper underlying question: Can we predict human behavior at all? Psychological research suggests that unethical behavior is driven by situational forces rather than inherent character flaws. Attorneys are more likely to commit misdemeanors later in life when faced with the onslaught of financial, familial, and work-related pressures after they have already been accredited by the bar. Meanwhile, facing new circumstances, law graduates with criminal convictions can turn their life around, proving to be upstanding lawyers.
The maze of private corporations underpinning the legal profession inhibits reform. Character and Fitness tests are part of a larger effort to enforce ethical standards, as encapsulated by the ABA’s Model Rules of Professional Conduct. However, the ABA only has informal control over the enforcement of their standards.
The National Committee of Bar Examiners (NCBE), a separate organization created by the ABA in 1931, is in charge of implementing the principles of the profession through the creation and administration of the Bar Exam. In addition, they supply Character and Fitness services to around half of the legal jurisdictions in the country. The NCBE has little interest in reforming character tests. Their clients are not prospective lawyers or the public, but state bar examiners spurred by profit incentives: In 2021, character investigations generated more than $5 million of profit for the NCBE. Reforms would only generate costs. State bars unaffiliated with the NCBE operate under similar incentives, acting primarily out of the public eye, undermining accountability to change.
Research suggests many avenues of making Character and Fitness tests more equitable: increasing transparency, publishing testing records, and diversifying Character and Fitness Committees. However, considering the covert incentives of state bars and the NCBE against the expense of reform, the best solution is the simplest: Get rid of the tests.
An alternative to Character and Fitness tests could require individual law firms rather than separate committees to attest to the character of new employees, folding the screening of moral character into the routine background checks required by prospective employers. Firms are likely to do a much more thorough job than Character and Fitness Committees, given that their reputation is on the line. Because the legal profession is self-regulated, state bars could drive this change in alliance with the ABA. If they are worried about losing the Character assessment’s liability mechanism, they can similarly require applicants to self-disclose critical information to law firms, enforcing pledges of honesty and accountability against future misconduct. Character certification can follow the now-attorney to subsequent workplaces unless they commit ethical violations, prompting their current employer to revoke it. Employers learn about applicants at various stages of the employment process— through their application, interview, and then, upon hiring, their interactions with cases and clients in the workplace—giving them empirical evidence of the applicant’s moral character. Therefore, they have a unique perspective to contextualize applicants they are interested in working with.
State bars can then devote their energies to a broader disciplinary regimen. It is important to ensure lawyers act morally, but it does not make sense to penalize law graduates at the beginning of their careers when seasoned lawyers continually get away with misbehavior. Besides streamlining the disciplinary process, state bars could consider periodical relicensing, as is done in Australia. In doing so, they ensure Character and Fitness requirements are not just a one-off test, but a professional ethos.
Throughout these reforms, the burden falls on the legal profession to continue to find more accurate and equitable definitions and determinations of character, treading the line between equity and discipline. This is what it takes to truly raise the bar.
by Tess Naquet-Radiguet ’27
, a
Behavioral
Decision
Sciences and
Political
concentrator and Staff
Writer
Science
for BPR illustrations by Yanning Sun ’25, an Illustration major at RISD and Illustrator for BPR
Picture a field peppered with wildflowers and tall grass swaying in the wind. A picnic blanket cradles plates of fresh fruit while friends frolic nearby. They collapse on the ground, exhausted but elated, savoring the joy of existing alongside one another. This reverie epitomizes friendships free of transactionality and unfettered by life’s responsibilities. But it is nothing more than a fantasy.
The reality of our interpersonal relationships is far more complex. A few decades ago, staying connected with one another required consistent live interactions, which constrained our social circles. Since then, technological developments have allowed us to communicate in real time with friends and strangers across the globe, fostering relationships that would not have been possible otherwise. We have grown dependent on these virtual platforms for our day-to-day socialization, but the ubiquity of social media has also promoted superficial online interactions that
fulfill neither our social nor emotional needs. Concerned researchers have dissected this dichotomy, publishing studies denouncing our pervasive use of social media and its role in exacerbating a “loneliness epidemic.” While a widespread societal increase in loneliness is possible, studies expressing concern about an “epidemic” often conflate loneliness (an emotion) with solitude and isolation (physical states of being). Time spent alone has surged in the past few years as virtual interactions become our norm, but during the same time period, the proportion of Americans who experienced loneliness on a daily basis declined by one-third. Researchers applying physical separation as a proxy for loneliness have therefore largely overlooked the psychological nature of the experience, drawing erroneous causal inferences between distinct phenomena.
Loneliness itself is ambiguously defined. Harvard’s Making Caring Common project found that people conceptualize loneliness in different
“Digital platforms are primed to propagate echo chambers that reaffirm our existing beliefs while ignoring or disparaging dissenting views.”
ways. Some describe feeling surrounded by others “who only are present in [their] life because [they] are useful to them,” while others verbalized a sense of “existential loneliness.” Still others lamented being “unable to share their true selves with others.” In the absence of a precise descriptor, this stew of feelings has been attributed to loneliness, but a dearth of studies actually distinguish it from “a wide range of troubling feelings.” Until more research measures loneliness isolated from these other emotions, it is unwise to pathologize an endemic experience. It is similarly misguided to lament social media for causing the “loneliness epidemic” when structural factors—such as the prevalence of remote jobs and the decline of third places—that cause widespread isolation concurrently drive our reliance on virtual platforms to maintain interpersonal relationships. Rather, our pervasive use of social media is a result, not a cause, of our societal preference for solitude.
Perhaps our growing dependence on technology has changed the nature of social connections in such a way that modern friendships carry fewer obligations, reducing the need to invest in relationships to the same extent that we did decades ago. Or perhaps in-person interactions require greater time, commitment, and understanding to flourish, and we simply find this effort arduous, especially considering the ease of communicating online. As a result, we have developed a penchant for seclusion and virtual interactions that studies conflate with loneliness. But solitude can be beneficial, even invigorating. The problem only arises when we refuse to break our cycle of seclusion.
Still, these rising trends in isolation do not substantiate hyperbolized claims of a “loneliness epidemic.” We should instead accept the endemic nature of the emotion and incentivize
research into why we seem to have forsaken offline relationships. Perhaps American society, which “speak[s] a ‘first language’ of personal ambitions and only a ‘second language’ of commitments to others and the collective,” promotes an individualistic way of life that stifles our social inclinations. Robert Putnam, a former dean of the Harvard Kennedy School of Government, supports this theory, explaining that since the 1970s, the United States has experienced a “precipitous decline” in social infrastructure compounded by a societal “embrace of unbridled individualism.” Moral values and government policies shifting away from community-building in the last half-century have exacerbated our reluctance to invest in interpersonal relationships, characterizing a societal framework based on self-reliance that persists today. The rise of social media has further perpetuated this social structure, allowing us to maintain a semblance of connection through our virtual interactions and eliminating the need to invest time and energy into in-person socialization. What incentive do we have to eschew virtual interactions in favor of offline connections? Our strongest relationships are bolstered by the continuous communication social media allows. Friendships founded on shared affinities benefit from algorithms that breed homogeneity. Digital platforms are primed to propagate echo chambers that reaffirm our existing beliefs while ignoring or disparaging dissenting views. And if we do come across content we dislike, we can ignore it with a click. This convenience and congeniality inherent to social media has eliminated our engagement with alternate perspectives, leaving us complacent in our online conformity. When the virtual spaces we inhabit consistently affirm our interests, why would we want to embrace the social friction that inevitably arises
“We can reclaim agency over the quality of our interpersonal connections, beginning with accepting individual responsibility in caring both for and about others.”
“Perhaps our growing dependence on technology has changed the nature of social connections in such a way that modern friendships carry fewer obligations, reducing the need to invest in relationships to the same extent that we did decades ago.”
in offline friendships? Social media may provide a far more comfortable alternative to potentially awkward live interactions, but it cannot emulate the psychobiological fulfillment we derive from in-person social connections. Pretending that it does only corrodes our expansion of diverse and tolerant social networks.
Mark Dunkelman, a research fellow at Brown University, has suggested this modern structure is most detrimental to relationships that are “familiar but not intimate.” These acquaintances traditionally provided us with a broader diversity of perspectives and narratives, moderating our views and increasing our capacity for compromise. Developing this tolerance made us more socially flexible, allowing us to evaluate friendships beyond superficial agreements—or disagreements. Acquaintance relationships are vital to preventing “social fragmentation and polarization,” and have consistently been shown to improve “not just [...] our moods but our health.” Their abnegation removes an important source of cognitive engagement and interpersonal connection from our daily lives, resulting in widespread emotional withdrawal. While 60 percent of our online communication still involves the 15 people we are closest to— which could imply the persistence of robust social networks—our remaining conversations are perfunctory and leave us feeling unfulfilled and misunderstood. This dissatisfaction discourages us from further socializing and is a contributing factor to the “amorphous stew of feelings” researchers equate with loneliness. If people are feeling disconnected from one another, that is a legitimate issue which should be addressed. But proliferating a buzzword for a nebulously defined emotion does not address the bottom line of the “epidemic.” Rather, the sensationalized framing implies a necessary
attempt to eradicate loneliness, a feeling that is both natural and healthy.
Virtual interactions have changed the way we socialize and societal conventions have cemented a culture of individualism, but these norms are not immutable. We can make conscious efforts to rebuild our communities by seeking out and embracing opportunities to expand our social networks. At the same time, we should leverage social media for the scope of interpersonal connections it facilitates, but not as the be-all and end-all. Nicholas Epley, a behavioral science professor at the University of Chicago, concluded that talking to strangers during their commute made people happier, even when they had previously expressed a preference for quiet. Reconnecting with a spiritual community or joining a volunteer organization have similarly proven to bolster feelings of belonging and improve social connections. Regardless, repeatedly initiating these small social interactions—even when we feel uncomfortable—provides a practical foundation on which to begin reinvesting in offline relationships.
Loneliness may not be an “epidemic,” but constant solitude and isolation are not benefitting us either. We can reclaim agency over the quality of our interpersonal connections, beginning with accepting individual responsibility in caring both for and about others. Societal norms and values will follow, naturally evolving as individual efforts toward more meaningful socialization compound into collective habits. For now, all we can do is care a little bit more, a little more often.
by Mia Madden ’27, an Applied Math-Economics concentrator and Staff Writer for BPR
illustration by Lily Engblom-Stryker ’26, an Illustration major at RISD and Illustrator for BPR
As wildfires raze entire neighborhoods, currents pull coastal villages into the Atlantic, and hurricanes displace more and more people each year, homeowners face a grim reality: The costs of climate change are spiraling out of control. Homeownership lies at the heart of the American dream and the US economy. Just over 65 percent of American adults own homes, and the nation’s residential real estate is valued at almost $50 trillion. For the average American family, their home is their largest asset. In short, the risk of losing American homes puts a lot at stake.
Earlier this year, fires in California sparked debate on the role of insurers in protecting families from disasters—and how that relationship
should be revised in light of climate change. Over 15,000 structures were damaged or destroyed by the fires, which devastated mansions owned by the super-wealthy as well as the homes of thousands of middle- and low-income Californians. The total economic impact of the wildfires is expected to surpass $250 billion. To make matters worse, many of the homes lost in the fires were uninsured. An unusually high 10.5 percent of Californian homes are uninsured, compared to the 7.4 percent national average.
Insurers, tasked with managing risk, are caught in a difficult balancing act. They must price premiums to accurately reflect the risks of a property while balancing political pressures to keep costs down. This often leads to artificially suppressed premiums for high-risk properties, temporarily making homeownership more affordable in disaster-prone areas. However, these artificially low premiums distort the market by eliminating financial barriers to development in risky areas and unfairly raising premiums elsewhere, particularly for lower-risk communities. In 1988, California voters passed Proposition 103, which reduced home insurance premiums by 20 percent and subjected future increases to public oversight. Since then, suppressed rates have concealed the true risks of living in many disaster-prone Californian communities. Many insurers have pulled out of the state altogether, forcing a large portion of the state to rely on a public insurance option, the California Fair Access to Insurance Requirements (FAIR) Plan. Policies like Proposition 103, which were meant to
protect Californians from exorbitant insurance premiums, may have cost them more than they could have ever imagined.
California is not the only government to become the people’s insurer—federal programs like the National Flood Insurance Program (NFIP) offer subsidized premiums to home owners in flood-prone areas. While these sub sidies make insurance more affordable in the short term, they also incentivize rebuilding in high-risk zones after disasters strike. One study estimates that the NFIP caused up to a 14 per cent increase in Hurricane Harvey damages by incentivizing the rebuilding of homes in highrisk flood zones, highlighting the need for policy reform to promote climate adaptation.
Distortions created by subsidized insurance do not affect all communities equally. Wealthier homeowners who can afford waterfront prop erties or scenic hillside homes—high-risk areas that also have higher property values—are often the primary beneficiaries of these sub sidies, rather than lower-in come homeowners. A study by the Natural Resources Defense Council found that fed erally subsidized flood insurance disproportionately benefits high-in come households. This misalloca tion of resources exacerbates existing inequalities. Lower-income residents in safer inland areas pay taxes that subsidize rebuilding homes in wealthy beachfront com munities. The insurance payouts these wealthier
“Insurers, tasked with managing risk, are caught in a difficult balancing act. They must price premiums to accurately reflect the risks of a property while balancing political pressures to keep costs down.”
homeowners receive from subsidized insurance are also greater than those given to lower-income residents—reflecting their higher property values but failing to consider their stronger ability to pay. These households are better financially equipped to absorb climate risks, and they receive more generous benefits relative to their need. Funding by looking only at property value, rather than income or vulnerability, compounds existing inequalities and diverts support away from those who need it most.
While politicians and their constituents point fingers, we must look toward the future. Natural disasters are not going anywhere— instead, their risks are being magnified by climate change. It is critical that insurance policies reflect the risk of living in disaster-prone areas. Risk-based insurance pricing offers a potential solution. By aligning premiums with homeownership risk levels, insurance markets can provide more accurate signals to homeowners and policymakers. Insurers can also play a unique role in supporting climate adaptation. With their extensive actuarial datasets, insurers can develop public risk analysis tools that provide homeowners with clear, actionable insights into their property’s risks. Homeowners who understand their specific vulnerabilities will be empowered to take informed action to reduce those risks. Insurers can guide them by promoting and incentivizing strategies such as flood protection, sustainable landscaping, or fire-resistant technologies. In the aftermath of these inevitable disasters, insurers can also play a vital role in supporting more resilient reconstruction.
Risk-based pricing is the most efficient insurance pricing method. Accurately priced insurance plans minimize losses and distribute risk costs most equitably. Risk-based pricing also promotes climate adaptation. By making high-risk living a higher cost, it encourages homeowners to invest in resilience measures—such as elevating homes and retrofitting for fire safety—or even relocating to safer areas. This shift will not be easy for many families, but being priced out is far preferable to being forced out by disaster—or worse, losing your life. Insurance should serve as a warning system, not a false sense of security. Governments can support this transition by providing targeted subsidies for adaptation projects rather than for insurance premiums. For example, grants for flood-proofing homes or for managed retreat programs, such as New York’s post-Hurricane Sandy buyout program, could help communities transition away from dangerous areas.
Only by aligning policy with reality can we build a housing market that is both just and sustainable.
by Breanna Villarreal ’27, a Political Science and Mathematics concentrator and Data Associate for BPR
illustrations by
Angel Rivas ’28, an Anthropology concentrator and Data Designer for BPR
illustrations by
Shane Walsh ’28, an Applied Math and Economics concentrator and Data Designer for BPR
Rates of homelessness in America have been increasing since 2016, reaching record highs in 2024. Despite declining unemployment rates post-pandemic, it has become increasingly difficult for Americans to find and maintain stable, affordable housing. From 2023 to 2024, “the number of people experiencing homelessness increased by 18 percent,” with a 39 percent increase in families with children experiencing homelessness. Combined with extreme temperatures and more frequent climate change-induced natural disasters, this increase in homelessness continues to place vulnerable populations at risk and must be addressed nationwide.
The main drivers of the current homelessness crisis in the United States are the high cost of living and the shortage of affordable housing in many cities. In 2023, over 49 percent of renters in the United States were considered rent-burdened, meaning they spent 30 percent or more of their household income on housing. For many low-income individuals, especially those living in high cost-of-living areas, this number can be higher than 30 percent, reaching unsustainable levels and leaving them without affordable housing. In New York, one of the most expensive states to live in, 74 percent of low-income renters are severely rent-burdened, or spend 50 percent or more of their household income on rent. Additionally, for every 100 extremely low-income renter households, there are only 36 affordable housing units available. Similar trends are seen across the United States, with only 24 available rental units per 100 extremely low-income households in California, 34 in Illinois, and 32 in Washington DC.
This shortage of affordable housing does not necessarily indicate a widespread lack of housing or a need for increased construction. While the lack of affordable housing contributes to the issue, the shortage is exacerbated by housing
vacancies across the United States, especially in cities. Houses can be left vacant for months or years at a time, and in 2024, there were over 20 times as many vacant homes and apartments as unhoused people. Despite these vacancies, there is a severe lack of affordable housing, with only 35 “affordable and available” rentals existing for every 100 low-income households.
Cities facing homelessness crises often display not only a lack of units but also a mismanagement of affordable units. This problem is particularly acute in New York City, the most highly populated city and the city with the largest unhoused population in the country. In 2021, over 60,000 rent-stabilized homes
in New York City were reported as vacant, yet the official vacancy rate reported by the US Census Bureau was much lower. In many cases, these homes have been kept off of the market by landlords to manufacture scarcity and raise rents, a practice known as “warehousing.” City officials have attempted to remedy this by passing Introduction 195, a bill that would make it much easier for city officials to gather accurate vacancy counts and hold landlords accountable. According to council officials, however, the New York City Department of Housing Preservation and Development still has not taken steps to implement the program, leaving landlords free to continue this practice. This issue is not unique
to New York City: In 2023, the Chicago Housing Authority, an agency intended to provide affordable housing for those in need, kept 500 affordable housing units vacant and seemingly made no real attempt to fill them.
Countries that have effectively reduced homelessness have employed a “Housing First” approach, making housing available and affordable for unhoused individuals. As of 2023, only about 0.06 percent of Finland’s population was considered homeless, even including those temporarily living “with others in conventional housing.” This is a 35 percent decrease from 2008, when the Housing First approach was first adopted. In addition to building new housing units and allocating specific affordable units for currently unhoused individuals, Finnish officials at both the municipal and federal levels emphasized finding permanent housing for the unhoused as soon as possible.
While various local governments in the United States have attempted the Housing First approach, it has been unsuccessfully executed. For example, in New York City, former mayor Bill de Blasio introduced a plan to remedy the housing crisis by building 200,000 new units. Although he accomplished this goal, the housing crisis continued. Current New York City Mayor Eric Adams has also proposed a plan to tackle the housing crisis by removing barriers for new construction, but this plan will take time to be implemented and it has not yet created real change. Unlike in Finland, these housing initiatives largely stop at construction or zoning, leaving the burden on the unhoused to find and fund housing—all while spending time in shelters. Additionally, while Finland provides additional support for the unhoused—such as mental health and employment services—New York City and many other cities in the United
States primarily focus on housing units and leave the provision of services to NGOs. For American cities to solve the homelessness crisis, it is important to address the issue from multiple avenues. While construction incentives and increased housing are necessary, there is a significant supply of vacant housing that can be readily put to use to help unhoused people.
A concerted and coordinated effort must be made to make better use of the available, yet vacant, housing that already exists. Government programs must not only create units but also focus on getting unhoused individuals and families into these existing units as soon as possible. To reduce the possibility of people becoming unhoused again, city officials should also prioritize permanent housing over temporary shelters and programs.
Jacqueline Nesi, an Assistant Professor of Psychiatry and Human Behavior, has garnered extensive media attention for her work studying the impacts of social media on adolescent mental health. She has testified before congressional subcommittees, appeared on news outlets, and has spent the past three years delivering research-backed guidance to over 36,000 subscribers through the newsletter “Techno Sapiens.”
Ariella Reynolds: Just how bad is social media for adolescents?
Jacqueline Nesi: We know that there are real risks when it comes to social media, and some benefits to social media use centered around social connection. The effects of social media depend on how it’s being used and on the individual adolescent. Not every kid is responding to social media the same way.
AR: Now that so much content on social media is artificially generated by algorithms, how might that change social media’s ability to connect us?
JN: With the rise of generative AI, we’re definitely at a turning point in terms of technology. We know that social media is at its best in terms of its impact on well-being when it’s supporting humans, and young people in particular, in connecting with each other. To the extent that social media continues to move away from that goal and more toward the passive consumption of content, particularly if that content is not human-generated, I think there
can be benefits and good things to that—we just don’t know about them yet. However, we need to maintain that social connection piece.
AR: Were older platforms better at cultivating authentic social relationships than our current platforms? If so, do you think our online authenticity will continue to trend downward and impact our ability to connect with others?
JN: There’s always a tendency to glamorize what existed before. There were a lot of problems with those platforms, which we forget about. But my guess is that we’ll see people developing platforms and using these technologies in ways that promote social connection, both online and offline, but we’ll also see movement toward AI-generated content and passive, nonsocial consumption. Still, many young people want to be their authentic selves online and are connecting with one another in authentic ways.
AR: How can we guide adolescents to more prosocial and meaningful uses of social media?
JN: I think it starts with media literacy, with teaching adolescents and adults about these technologies, particularly as they continue to change and as we see the rise of new technologies. One of the major principles here is teaching adolescents to be mindful about their technology use: Many technologies are built to be used mindlessly, without a lot of decision-making. We’re being fed information by an algorithm, and we don’t have much of a choice within that algorithm. Of course, we’d also want to be teaching teens how to change their technology use when they want to do so.
AR: What motivated you to start writing the “Techno Sapiens” newsletter, and how has it evolved?
JN: I started it about three years ago, writing about the research on psychology, technology, and parenting, because I didn’t feel like our research was reaching the parents who needed it. As the audience has grown, I’ve also expanded it beyond just managing kids’ technology use into other areas of the field.
AR: How difficult is it to bring psychology research into parenting?
JN: I would say that it’s both easy and hard. It’s hard in that we don’t have data to guide us in most parenting decisions. We have to empower parents to consider their own situation, and then integrate what we know from the research into that. I think it’s easy in that we do know a lot of general principles: There are always insights that we can apply from the empirical data. They just might not always get us to the exact answer.
AR: As you continue to evaluate teens’ relationships with technology and social media, where are the warning signs? It sounds like that relationship can be a double-edged sword.
JN: I think there are two basic categories of risk with adolescents and social media. One is the amount of time spent online. If it starts to interfere with other aspects of an adolescent’s life, that’s something we need to watch. The second category is more content-related: What are they consuming? There’s a lot of harmful content out there. As we see the technology changing and with more generative AI coming down the pipeline, there’s probably some awareness that’s needed around how adolescents are engaging with generative AI. I think that chatbots serving different purposes are going to become more prominent, and they already are being used by some adolescents. We need to be aware of when it’s benefiting them and when it’s not.
“…things can go viral quickly, widely, and permanently.”
AR: Is children’s online safety a bipartisan issue? Do you see more effort from one side or another?
JN: Legislative proposals around kids’ online safety are generally bipartisan. Both parties’ concerns differ, but I think we generally want kids to be safe online, and what that looks like in practice is harder to pin down. Still, some of the rhetoric around kids’ online safety within the political sphere is very fear-based and a bit alarmist compared to what we actually know from the data and the research.
AR: What are you working on now?
JN: I’m really interested in studying the kinds of messages that young people get from others about social media and the impact of social media on mental health. A lot of what we hear is very negative, and so I’m curious about how an adolescent’s beliefs affect the ways they use social media and then, ultimately, the impact it has on them. By understanding that a little better, we can figure out what the right messaging is for young people, what social media means for their mental health, and how to use it in healthier ways.
“It’s a double-edged sword for most teens, but especially for teens who are vulnerable in various ways.”
AR: We’re seeing a lot of research emerging on social media’s role in the radicalization of far-right extremists. Do you believe that social media is a force multiplier of radicalization or just a mediator of it?
JN: Social media can be an amplifier, and there are a lot of features of social media that make it likely to be one. For example, it’s more public than our general conversations in person—things can go viral quickly, widely, and permanently. That amplifier can be positive or negative. For example, with a social cause that’s important, there can be benefits: The word can get out quickly and communities that need help can access it on a wider scale. However, misinformation can also spread more quickly: More extreme views can get more airtime than they normally would.
AR: Is there any way to determine who’s going to be impacted?
JN: What the data so far would suggest is that teens who are vulnerable in their offline lives—teens who might have pre-existing mental health concerns or are struggling socially, teens who might be marginalized in some way—report having more challenges online, but are also getting more of the benefits and opportunities to connect. It’s a double-edged sword for most teens, but especially for teens who are vulnerable in various ways.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
Florida’s citrus industry is just the first victim of DeSantis’ climate denial
by Josh Stearns ’28, a Political Science concentrator and Staff Writer for BPR
illustrations by Ruobin Chang ’25, an Illustration major at
RISD and Illustrator for BPR
Imagine the world-famous American breakfast: a stack of pancakes dripping in maple syrup, bacon, eggs, and, of course, a glass of Florida orange juice. But this iconic assemblage is in danger—citrus production in Florida has plummeted 92 percent over the past 20 years. Oranges are among Florida’s most ubiquitous industries, reminiscent of the state’s everlasting sunshine. The state grew up alongside the development of the citrus industry, beginning 500 years ago when citrus was introduced by Spanish colonizers. The citrus industry is responsible for over 33,000 jobs and has an annual economic impact of $6.8 billion in Florida alone, representing about 0.4 percent of the state’s GDP. However, this marks a decrease from 2000, when the industry’s $9.13 billion output accounted for roughly 2 percent of Florida’s GDP.
A major driver of citrus decline in Florida is citrus greening, a lethal disease that kills trees within years of infection. After citrus greening first infected Florida citrus groves in the mid2000s, 100 percent Florida orange juice became a rarity—brands like Florida’s Natural have largely turned to a mix of juices from Mexico and Brazil. In response, Governor Ron DeSantis has directed tens of millions of dollars to citrus greening research in an attempt to save the industry. However, DeSantis’ focus on citrus greening research represents a broader, statewide refusal to confront the larger issue plaguing both the citrus industry and Florida as a whole: climate change.
Many orange trees spared by citrus greening fall victim to the intense winds of hurricanes
or the biting temperatures of frosts. Climate change is not making hurricanes more frequent, but it is making them more intense. In 2024, Florida faced two major storms, Hurricanes Helene and Milton, within a week of each other. Subsequently, forecasts of citrus production in the state fell drastically. Meanwhile, DeSantis has turned a blind eye to this problem, signing a 2024 law that removes references to climate change from state law while directing funding to citrus greening research.
The effects of climate change are magnified by the state’s booming population. Throughout Florida, countless cookie-cutter single-family homes are springing up to meet residential demands, pressing against the land occupied by citrus groves. Polk County, southwest of Orlando, is the epicenter of the Florida citrus industry and has also witnessed the largest population
“Growers in Polk County and elsewhere are faced with a tough decision: sell their groves to make way for residential development, or fight an uphill battle with natural disasters, armed only with a hope and a prayer.”
growth of any county in the country in recent years. Growers in Polk County and elsewhere are faced with a tough decision: sell their groves to make way for residential development, or fight an uphill battle with natural disasters, armed only with a hope and a prayer.
In January, one of the largest citrus growers in the state abandoned the industry, citing a 73 percent decline in the company’s citrus production over the past decade. Some of the land on which the company grew citrus is slated for residential and commercial development in the coming years. The compounded effect of incessant hurricanes and disease has led to the conclusion that Florida is no longer a viable location for citrus growing. Despite the government’s investment in citrus greening research, these efforts are too little, too late. Many experts believe that this eleventh-hour investment in fighting citrus greening will not be realized soon enough to save the plants and does nothing to address the larger issue looming over Florida citrus— climate change. As DeSantis continues to deny climate change, he seals the fate of Florida’s citrus industry.
The citrus industry is doomed, but it is not Florida’s only problem exacerbated by the failure to address climate change. As orange producers leave the state, Florida has seen a similar exodus of private home insurance companies over the past years. As storms intensify, insurers, like citrus producers, see less opportunity to turn a profit in the state. Massive population
growth in Polk and other counties has also increased property values, prompting a sell-off of farmland and causing many to be kicked off of their insurance plans. To fill the void, the state legislature created the Citizens Property Insurance Corporation (Citizens) in 2002, a state-run nonprofit that serves as Florida’s insurer of last resort, insuring over one million Floridians with the highest risk properties who traditional insurers have refused to cover. In the event that insurance claims exceed Citizens’ ability to pay, state law allows Citizens to recoup its losses from customers of private insurance plans. This means that the premiums of Floridians on private insurance plans—or 83 percent of insured Floridians —could increase to prevent Citizens’ insolvency.
Last year, Hurricane Milton pushed total insurance claims in Florida to over $100 billion for the fifth year in a row. As storms have increased in power in recent years, each one presents the ominous question: Will this be the one to push Citizens over the edge? This has not happened yet, and as of 2023, Citizens had reserves of $17.8 billion. However, in 2024, Senator Sheldon Whitehouse (D-RI) expressed concern that if Citizens became insolvent, it could seek a federal bailout, thus passing on the burden to Americans at large. Furthermore, as insurers leave the state, millions are left increasingly vulnerable to storm damage. Florida has the highest percentage of coastal properties at risk of hurricane damage, valued at $2.9 trillion
or 79 percent of the state’s total insured property by value. This danger has increased precipitously since Elon Musk’s Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) froze funding for the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA), the federal agency that helps communities survive and rebuild from disasters. Failure to plan for risks associated with climate change-driven storm damage only increases the likelihood of Citizens’ insolvency. Citizens currently covers about 1.2 million Floridians, far more than it is designed to take on, and is trying to shed policies. As millions move to the state and purchase at-risk properties, Citizens faces taking on even more policies. Citizens’ safety net effectively makes Florida a house of cards whose rapid population growth should be seen as a major threat to the economic security of Americans everywhere.
“The OJ on Americans’ breakfast tables is only the first casualty of the Florida government’s refusal to acknowledge that times have changed.”
Battered by one disaster after another, the state continues to grow. This combination of devastation and growth has already decimated Florida’s most cherished and long-standing industry. Now, as the state hangs on the precipice of insurance collapse, one must ask: What will it take to snap people out of the enchantment of the “sunshine state?” What happens in Florida impacts all Americans. Climate change is a problem, and it is not just Florida’s to deal with.
The OJ on Americans’ breakfast tables is only the first casualty of the Florida government’s refusal to acknowledge that times have changed. Soon, it will be the homes of many Floridians, our pocketbooks, and then many more lives.
24 Public Lands, Private Profits by
Annabel Williams
A Domain of One’s Own by
Elliot Smith
Do Not Pass Go, Do Not Collect $200 by
Kenneth Kalu
A Blueprint for Defiance
by Justin Meszler
Tongues Against Empire
by Davíd Felipe-Rodríguez
Trump and Milei’s assault on national parks ignores their conservative base
by
Environmental conservation initiatives have become synonymous with the left, but it has not always been this way. In the 20th century, American presidents from both sides of the aisle favored expanding recreational parks. While environmentalism as a broader movement has become more politically polarized, national parks remain a rare point of unity. Even though there have been threats to US national parks due to mining, logging, and fracking, there has also been a surge of bipartisan support: Polling from 2025 indicates that Americans across the political spectrum want to protect public lands.
Such popularity should come as no surprise. Nature-based tourism has been important for economic growth around the globe, promoting biodiversity, climate mitigation, and lower unemployment in countries that have become ecotourism hotspots. The financial return on public parks, especially in the United States, is undeniable: In 2023, national parks added $55.6 billion to the nation’s economy and supported 415,400 jobs.
President Donald Trump’s federal spending cuts and mass-layoff attempts have hit the nation’s parks hard. Similarly, through attempts to slash government spending in Argentina, President Javier Milei has been mounting attacks on the country’s protected lands and glaciers despite public dissent. Some have even suggested that Trump’s recent attempt at slashing programs and federal jobs is inspired by Milei. These two recent cases exemplify how Trump and Milei’s comparable spending-reduction agendas affect national park services. Protected parks are not only collateral of funding cuts—they have also been excessively and explicitly targeted in favor of private logging and mining despite their popular benefits.
Milei assumed office in 2023, slashing national park jobs and environmental programs as part of his economic “shock” campaign to reduce national debt and inflation. As a result, many public preserves are severely understaffed, unsafe, and potentially on the road to closure. In 2023, Milei proposed legislation that would have repealed protections for rural land and mining regulations. He then set his sights on glacier laws, seeking
to limit locally-designated protected regions and dismantle the National Parks Administration and the environment ministry.
This February, Trump cut 1,000 National Park Service jobs while also impounding the funding necessary to operate park visitor centers and museums across the country. Attorney Sam Evans of the Southern Environmental Law Center forecasted that these “irresponsible mass firings will result in closed campgrounds, trails and roads… hurt local economies… [and] increase threats from wildfires.” Meanwhile, an executive order called for expanding timber cutting across 280 million acres of public lands. A wildfire scientist commented: “This Trump executive order is the most blatant attempt in American history by a president to hand over federal public lands to the logging industry.” The order could face legal challenges, though, as it infringes upon the Endangered Species Act. Additionally, a judge has already ruled that the federal workforce cuts lacked legal grounding and should be reversed. In his previous term, President Trump tried shrinking 10 national monuments—such as Utah’s Bears Ears National Monument—by up to 85 percent, though this was eventually reversed by
former President Joe Biden. Trump claimed this effort would “free up” the land for other uses—uncoincidentally, it would have given mining companies access to a wealth of uranium deposits.
Weakening the agencies that manage our national parks has been a tactic used by Republicans in the past; however, Trump and Milei’s current actions represent a shift from a subtle attunement to industry interests to an explicit alignment with them. Despite large swathes of the public being opposed to Trump and Milei’s anti-conservation agendas—and given the successful efforts to prevent implementation—the two leaders remain determined to appease extractive industries through renewed attempts to defund and shrink national parks.
However, giving unprecedented primacy to private sector interests seriously risks public support in a way unparalleled by previous leaders: “The Trump administration’s attack on federal natural resource agencies is not conservative; it’s un-American,” ecologist Timothy O’Connell wrote in a letter published by The Washington Post, and Trump is losing support of MAGA voters because of it. Meanwhile, Argentinians acknowledge that Milei
is “opposite to all previous rulers,” a quality that originally helped him get elected. Since entering office, however, his popularity has plummeted, and as one journalist puts it, “Milei doesn’t have a lot of support in Congress, especially for his unpopular policies.”
While aggressively gutting environmental efforts, both Trump and Milei are also spreading right-wing rhetoric on environmental issues through instituting government-wide doctrines censoring language around climate change. Milei instructed Argentina’s National Institute of Agricultural Technology not to discuss “climate change” and “sustainability.” President Trump has likewise been working to remove mentions of the climate crisis on government websites.
Not only are Trump and Milei’s efforts to demolish national treasures emblematic of a greater anti-environment movement, but their persistence also illustrates a larger trend: Their administrations will continue to prioritize the interests of private companies, even if the resulting actions conflict with the leaders’ respective political parties, the law, national economic benefits, and public interest.
“Trump claimed this effort would ‘free up’ the land for other uses—uncoincidentally, it would have given mining companies access to a wealth of uranium deposits.”
States should resist drawing borders in cyberspace
by Elliot Smith ’26, an International and Public Affairs and Computer Science concentrator and Editor in Chief of BPR
“Governments of the Industrial World, you weary giants of flesh and steel, I come from Cyberspace, the new home of Mind. On behalf of the future, I ask you of the past to leave us alone. You are not welcome among us. You have no sovereignty where we gather.” With these provocative words, John Perry Barlow made his 1996 “Declaration of the Independence of Cyberspace.” He presented a utopian vision of the internet—one defined by openness, freedom from government control, and a rejection of traditional sovereignty.
Yet, as political scientist Malcolm Anderson observes, “images of frontiers and the conceptions of territorial organization have been part of all major political projects” and form part of “what it is to be human.” Barlow hoped that the internet would escape the tendency to construct borders— cyberspace, he told governments, “does not lie within your borders.” Today, his cyber-utopian vision appears increasingly improbable as states erect cyber borders in the name of “digital sovereignty.” China has created the Great Firewall (防火长城), controlling all digital information within its borders. Russia’s RuNet, created in 2019, emphasizes “cyber sovereignty” by creating a domestic Domain Name System and removing Western software and hardware. In 2021, former German Chancellor Angela Merkel and other European leaders asserted that “now is the time for Europe to be digitally sovereign” by increasing EU internet regulations. Even the United States has considered erecting new barriers in cyberspace, including the recent effort to ban TikTok.
This digital sovereignty movement parallels the hardening of territorial borders during the 17th century. In 1648, the Treaties of Münster and Osnabrück, known collectively as the Peace of Westphalia, ended the Thirty Years’ War, establishing nation-states as the primary form of social
organization and “creating conditions supporting the gradual hardening of borders between and among states.” Today, the world faces a similar moment in cyberspace. Chris Demcheck and Peter Dombrowski, professors at the Naval War College, have declared the rise of a new “cybered Westphalian age.” As they argue, “No frontier lasts forever, and no freely occupied global commons extends endlessly where human societies are involved. Sooner or later, good fences are erected to make good neighbors, and so it must be with cyberspace.” Similar to the period after the Thirty Years’ War, states today are erecting fences in cyberspace to control and defend it, territorializing the internet.
The desire to create borders in cyberspace is understandable—cyberattacks, cybercrime, and disinformation operations pose a real national security threat. If left unchecked, they risk harming citizens and causing monetary damage. But leaders should be wary of embracing the Westphalian concept of cyber sovereignty. Democratic societies must consider whether abandoning a free, decentralized, and global internet serves their interests. A global internet provides unparalleled opportunities for innovation, economic growth, and free expression. Caving to a limited, territorial, and military version would jeopardize these noble objectives. Despite its utopian aspirations, the internet has been intertwined with military objectives since its invention. The first version of the internet was ARPANET, a network designed by what is now the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA) in the United States. The project emerged amid Cold War tensions in the 1960s, with military leaders expressing a need to maintain reliable communications during a potential conflict. In 1983, military applications were transferred to MILNET, and in 1989,
ARPANET became the Internet. However, military connotations have persisted in discussions of the internet. The emergence of cybernetics, the study of control in mechanical and biological systems, included what Harvard historian Peter Galison terms an “ontology of the enemy” that spoke to a new “age of information and control.” “War,” Galison argues, “gave the new cybernetic technologies a role to play in the Manichean drama of the world.” From its founding, the internet has always contained the capacity for destruction.
Despite its military origin, the Internet most notably enabled civilian forms of communication. With the first email message sent in 1972, ARPANET began to shift to the “World Wide Web,” a process that saw the “enormous growth of all kinds of ‘people-to-people’ traffic.” This network was highly decentralized. In contrast to ARPANET, the internet “was not simply bigger but also more flexible and decentralized.” The Transmission Control Protocol/Internet Protocol (TCP/IP), for example, specified that “there would be no global control at the operations level.” Instead, networked routers and devices could communicate with each other freely, facilitating economic and social interactions. In her book Inventing the Internet, Janet Abbate notes that decentralization was practical because it “minimized the need for ARPA to exercise central control over [the internet’s] expansion.” With the exception of basic network protocols like TCP, the internet became a largely open frontier where people could easily connect themselves to what became a global network of devices.
The globalized, borderless internet, however, faced the fundamental reality that the system was not secure. Countries at the center of the network—like the United States—that control key intercontinental fiber optic
“Similar to the period after the Thirty Years’ War, states today are erecting fences in cyberspace to control and defend it, territorializing the internet.”
“A global internet provides unparalleled opportunities for innovation, economic growth, and free expression. Caving to a limited, territorial, and military version would jeopardize these noble objectives.”
cables, data centers, and internet exchange points can exert what Henry Farrell terms “panopticon and chokepoint effects” to spy, restrict access, or attack users outside of the United States. Even as liberals argued that digital ties, like economic ones, would create shared interests and decrease conflict, it quickly became clear that actors at key nodes could leverage “weaponized interdependence” to harm adversaries. The Snowden leaks about National Security Agency surveillance and the Obama administration’s decision to deploy the Stuxnet computer virus to delay the Iranian nuclear program demonstrated these fears. Centralization provided the United States with opportunities but irked other countries. For these countries, remaining connected through the US-centered global internet became a risk.
A borderless internet also posed risks for countries at the center of the global network, particularly the United States. In May 2021, a ransomware attack disrupted the Colonial Pipeline which provides fuel to the US East Coast. More recently, the US government revealed that a Chinese state-sponsored cyber group was targeting US critical infrastructure in an operation termed “Volt Typhoon.” China has also compromised US telecommunications systems in an attack known as “Salt Typhoon.” From election interference threats by Iran to North Korean crypto hacking and individual ransomware attacks on everyday citizens and hospitals, cyberattacks have become increasingly prevalent. In the name of (cyber)security, even the country at the center of the open internet now sees cyberspace as something to be defended rather than shared for mutual benefit.
Finally, internet regulations have become increasingly ideological, incentivizing states to fence off their sovereign slice of cyberspace to enforce
their value systems. An EU working paper, for example, calls for increasing Europe’s “strategic autonomy” to promote “European values and principles in areas such as data protection, cybersecurity and ethically designed artificial intelligence.” Despite close economic and security cooperation with the United States, Europe sees its values as distinct, requiring new forms of sovereignty in cyberspace to ensure data privacy and human rights. In other cases, the EU and the United States have collaborated to criticize China’s “social credit” system, reinforcing the brewing conflicts between countries over how to govern cyberspace.
The rise of Westphalian sovereignty in the digital realm is largely inevitable; however, leaders should resist the tendency to erect barriers beyond basic protections for securing elections, preventing critical infrastructure attacks, and combating transnational repression of dissidents. While states may fear that the internet can serve as a conduit for spying or cyberattacks, a global, open internet is also a tremendous opportunity, particularly for democratic societies. Enabling global free expression and the exchange of ideas ought to be seen as a valuable public good that can both weaken autocrats and bolster international collaboration.
In 2000, President Bill Clinton suggested that controlling the internet was impossible. He noted, “In the new century, liberty will spread by cell phone and cable modem. In the past year, the number of internet addresses in China has more than quadrupled, from 2 million to 9 million. This year the number is expected to grow to over 20 million.” While he acknowledged that China was trying to “crack down on the internet,” he was skeptical that they would succeed, saying, “Good luck! That’s sort of like trying to nail jello to the wall.” Two decades later, authoritarian regimes around the world have built digital walls around their countries to prevent unwanted ideas from spreading. Perhaps most concerningly, the United States has seemingly moved in a similar direction, deepening the “digital divide” by attempting to ban TikTok. While swaying the Chinese Communist Party is impractical, the United States and Western democracies should continue to advocate for a free and open internet.
From an economic standpoint, a global internet allows companies throughout the world to profit and bring innovative ideas to market. When the EU harshly regulates US companies—in some cases virtually pushing them out of the market or imposing significant compliance costs—this economic potential is decreased, and citizens are forced to live with less
innovative products. In response to fines on Meta and Apple, the Trump administration released a statement making clear that “extraterritorial regulations that specifically target and undermine American companies, stifle innovation, and enable censorship will be recognized as barriers to trade and a direct threat to free civil society.” While every country has the ability to set their own laws, by advancing an expansive definition of sovereignty in cyberspace, the EU is just one example of how excessive internet regulation can stifle innovation and lead to more fragmented tech ecosystems.
While some element of security must be present in cyberspace, creating security measures does not mean rewriting the entire internet into a geographically divided and adversarial space modeled on the post-Westphalian
state system. Perhaps one of the biggest ironies is that even as states push toward this bordered vision, they continue to advocate for extraterritoriality. The UK, for example, attempted to mandate that Apple hand over users’ encrypted cloud data stored at global data centers. Rather than comply, Apple removed the feature from the country. The proposed policy, while made in the name of security, represents both a clear affront to liberty and a bizarre concept of sovereignty, whereby Britain can force an American company to hand over private user data stored in data centers outside the UK’s borders. Thus, even as states erect borders in cyberspace, they continue to advocate for the right to infringe on other states’ supposed slice of the sovereign internet. A decentralized, open, and norm-based internet architecture would better solve this dilemma.
Barlow warned that in “China, Germany, France, Russia, Singapore, Italy and the United States, [governments] are trying to ward off the virus of liberty by erecting guard posts at the frontier of Cyberspace.” The chaos and danger of the past decades have shown that some guard posts are necessary to ensure election security, guard critical infrastructure, and protect citizens’ bank accounts and identities. But the march toward security has created a shift toward territoriality whereby cyberspace has become less free, less open, less interconnected, and more commodified as a political tool for ideological signaling. The drawing of borders and the militarization of cyberspace is becoming a threat to liberty. Democratic countries must think twice about which vision they hope to champion.
Today’s oligarches have created a new Gilded Age
by Kenneth Kalu ’27, a Public Health concentrator and Editor for BPR
America’s ruling class of millionaires and billionaires has never been more visible or devastatingly powerful. Under President Donald Trump, the wholly unaccountable figures that comprise the American oligarchy are robbing our social services, growing wealthier from unearned government contracts, collaborating with federal agencies to eliminate environmental regulations, and orchestrating the deportation of people who hold opposing viewpoints on the war in Gaza. The oligarchs have also targeted agencies that shield Americans from concentrated wealth. For example, one of Trump’s first acts in office was to paralyze the National Labor Relations Board by firing so many board members that the board no longer had enough people to issue decisions and prevent labor rights violations.
It is tempting to consider the oligarchy’s wrath as an anomaly resulting from the personality quirks and emotional instabilities of specific oligarchs like Elon Musk. Even though men like Musk and Jeff Bezos are especially visible oligarchs, they are not the architects of oligarchy—they are merely its most visible beneficiaries. For decades, capitalists of all stripes have fought to reduce the federal government’s capacity to restrain their accumulation of wealth. Not only have billionaires repeatedly beat the government in these contests of strength, they have run up the score so far that America has entered a second Gilded Age. Our modern reprise of Vanderbilt and Carnegie’s song has all the same lyrics as the original. The verses? Stagnant wages and nonexistent regulation.
Since 1979, per-worker productivity has increased by 86.5 percent while the average hourly wage for production and nonmanagerial employees has increased by just 31.7 percent. The Great Society of the 1960s has given way to a great siphon, conveying a rapidly escalating percentage of the fruits of
our collective labor into the laps of a select elite. An average member of the bottom 90 percent of workers in 2025 makes about 28 percent more than his 1980 counterpart, adjusted for inflation. In contrast, today’s average member of the top 0.1 percent has a paycheck 465 percent bigger than a top 0.1-percenter from 1980. Years of burgeoning income inequality have caused the share of wealth held by the top 0.1 percent (people worth at least $46.2 million) to nearly double since 1989.
Federal laxity in response to perverse capital accumulation has created similar crises for the average American. Speculators are grabbing unprecedented amounts of arable land for investment purposes while leaving it fallow or buying up cities’ worth of single-family housing and converting it into unaffordable rental properties. Corporations laugh at the antitrust protections that left Standard Oil in pieces: Nearly 75 percent of American industries have become more concentrated between 1997 and 2012, meaning that the market is shared by fewer and larger corporations. This concentration creates circumstances where crucial sectors of the economy—like cellular service, domestic flights, and even grocery stores—are dominated by oligopolies, where three companies hold as much as 99 percent of the market share.
Even when legislation is passed to officially constrain corporations from enacting injustice, the unrestrained torrent of corporate influence ensures that, over decades, state capacity declines and the mechanisms by which regulations constrain corporate activity are weakened. The strongest rules end up as paper tigers. Oligarchs have thereby altered the market incentives that drive economic planning under capitalism, warping the economy toward coddling narrow corporate priorities and away from the public interest.
The symbiotic relationship between business and government can be traced to the emergence of new organizations representing corporations. In 1971, former Associate Supreme Court Justice Lewis F. Powell issued a document now known as the Powell Memorandum. To defend business from the growing popularity of leftist anticapitalist movements, Powell advocated for business leaders to unify under large umbrella organizations—such as the Chamber of Commerce—to begin aggressively pursuing legislative contacts, exploiting the judicial system through coordinated pro business legal efforts and vociferously criticizing anti business figures through corporate media channels.
The weaponization of Powell’s methods allowed corporations to buy America. Business leaders began to mobilize, currying favor with legislators, assembling cadres of sympathetic lawyers to litigate opposing entities and legislation, and coordinating a media blitz that pinned the ever-escalating inflation on labor unions and government overreach in the 1970s. Within five years, lobbying from a corporate umbrella organization known as the March Group (later renamed the Business Roundtable) defeated expansions to union picketing and helped end Richard Nixon’s profit-constraining price controls. Within 10 years, Business Roundtable members became Ronald Reagan’s cabinet advisors, sculpting the largest corporate tax cut in American history and paralyzing regulatory bodies like the Occupational Safety and Health Administration.
Crucially, organized corporate lobbying dethroned organized labor as the most powerful collective entity in American politics. Private-sector unionization collapsed—and with it, the dues that built union political war chests. Weakened unions meant that less and less of the fruit of American labor ended up as wages for American workers, allowing increasingly wealthy corporations to redouble their investment in warping institutions to their exclusive benefit, which handicaps the federal government’s power to do anything about it.
The pervasive government influence corporations have accumulated after decades of federal negligence are the building blocks of oligarchy. The power that billionaires like Musk now wield out in the open has been thrown around by corporations and their proprietors behind closed doors for over 50 years—and both Democratic and Republican administrations have failed to protect us from it.
The oligarchs have corrupted and hijacked our institutions to create a new Gilded Age. Reclaiming control of our society means returning power over governmental authority back to the representatives of the governed— this playbook ended the first Gilded Age. Legislation like the Sherman and Clayton Antitrust Acts broke up industrial monopolies that made a few oligarchs fantastically wealthy, the 17th Amendment affected forced wealth redistribution through income taxes, and the Federal Reserve centralized monetary policy as a government responsibility.
But the responses that ended the first Gilded Age are insufficient to end the second. The trusts of yore could never pervade the press and rarely overcame unions and the court system. Crushing the modern oligarchy requires two durable protections that cannot be eroded by corporate influence: an expanded right to workplace organizing and an expanded role for the federal government in economic planning through corporate nationalization.
These two decisions act as natural counterweights to the power of oligarchy while benefiting Americans in their dual capacities as workers and consumers. Expanding the right to workplace organizing reduces corporate power by directly extracting concessions from employers. Because much of the oligarchy’s political power stems from the degree to which its wealth and influence embed it in the political system, cultivating groups of countervailing organizations animated by millions of workers will dramatically reduce the political range of motion the oligarchy is afforded. Additionally,
expanding the right to strike to include political and solidarity strikes guarantees that if the oligarchy is still able to wield power over the government, employees can withdraw their labor and bring society to a halt.
Moreover, the nationalization of corporations that threaten the public good constitutes the simplest remedy to oligarchy. The government, through existing eminent domain rights, can seize the corporate possessions of billionaires, depose them from corporate boards, and reconstitute the leadership of their corporations. Nationalized business functions according to the priorities of the nation. Skill and innovation are not extinguished, but instead, its fruits are prevented from funding initiatives that wear down the ability of government to represent the priorities of society at large. A Sword of Damocles will hang over the head of every proprietor: Play ball—stop stealing from your workers and breaking the law—or lose control.
The political predicament that we inhabit is not a spontaneous crisis—it is an orgy of concentrated wealth that has been developing for decades. The choice is simple: Either return the rights and wages decades of corporate action have stolen and act decisively against the oligarchs that are skimming fat they did not rend, or sign the final surrender agreement ceding authority over America to a group of billionaires with more broken familial relationships than your average season of “Maury.” We cannot afford to choose the wrong path.
“This concentration creates circumstances where crucial sectors of the economy–like cellular service, domestic flights, and even grocery stores–are dominated by oligopolies, where three companies hold as much as 99 percent of the market share.”
“Oligarchs have thereby altered the market incentives that drive economic planning under capitalism, warping the economy toward coddling narrow corporate priorities and away from the public interest.”
by Justin Meszler ’26, an Economics and International and Public Affairs concentrator
illustrations by Jiwon Lim ’26, an Illustration major and Illustrator for BPR
Internment camps; raids in schools, hospitals, and churches; and a “small army” of private citizens—efforts are underway to fulfill President Donald Trump’s campaign promise of mass deportations of undocumented residents with the goal of removing one million people per year from the United States. Against these efforts, many Democrat-led cities and states have announced that they will not comply and are instituting measures to protect their residents from immigration enforcement by the federal government.
Although this militaristic wave of deportation efforts is unprecedented in American politics, the legal questions concerning the balance of state and federal authority are familiar. In 1850, following Congress’s passage of the Fugitive Slave Act, a similar legal battle unfolded between Northern states and the federal government. The North’s protection of escaped enslaved people offers a constitutional roadmap for how modern-day
authorities may protect the liberties of their residents against the Trump administration’s actions.
Passed as part of the Compromise of 1850, the Fugitive Slave Act sparked national outrage and debate over state sovereignty and slavery. The new law compelled federal marshals to aid in recapturing formerly enslaved people who fled to the North. It also criminalized the aiding of these fugitives and sharply restricted due process by denying fugitives the right to testify or have a trial by jury.
Northern cities responded with protests, riots, civil disobedience, and community vigilance measures. In Newport, Rhode Island, abolitionists formed a self-defense association to protect fugitives and monitor potential kidnappers. The concern extended beyond escaped enslaved people: The law’s lack of due process put free Black residents at increased risk of being abducted and sent to the South. State legislatures also resisted by passing “personal liberty laws” to make the federal law unenforceable. The Wisconsin Supreme Court even attempted to nullify the federal law. Eventually, the United States Supreme Court unanimously struck down the Wisconsin effort in Ableman v. Booth in 1859, citing the supremacy of federal law over the states.
These state-level responses to the Fugitive Slave Act and their degree of efficacy can guide strategies for contemporary resistance against the Trump administration’s mass deportation plans. A direct nullification effort akin to that of the Wisconsin Supreme Court in 1859 would be impractical and unconstitutional. Even if Trump does not pursue Congress’s help, the US Supreme Court has firmly upheld immigration and foreign affairs as a federal rather than state power.
States’ “personal liberty laws” to protect free Black residents demonstrate another path forward. For instance, in 1850, Vermont passed the Habeas Corpus Law. This law set up processes to protect accused fugitives by authorizing and compelling state officials to exercise habeas corpus procedures, such as a trial by jury and the appeals process. The law also empowered authorities to “use all lawful means to protect, defend, and procure to be discharged” anyone arrested under the pretense of the Fugitive Slave Act. Massachusetts similarly passed the Personal Liberty Law in 1855 to assert state control and due process and punish anyone attempting to abduct suspected fugitives. Pennsylvania classified the removal of any “negro or mulatto” from the state as a felony. By guaranteeing extensive legal proceedings and mandating state law enforcement intervention, these states made the Fugitive Slave Act unenforceable in their jurisdictions.
“The North’s protection of escaped enslaved people offers a constitutional roadmap for how modernday authorities may protect the liberties of their residents against the Trump administration’s actions.”
By empowering state officials to directly interfere with federal authorities, state-level actions were effective in protecting people from enslavement. In South Carolina’s 1860 Declaration of Secession from the Union, the state’s legislators held the potency of these personal liberty laws as a grievance against the United States.
How were these laws legally distinct from Wisconsin’s nullification measure? Despite then-President Millard Fillmore decrying Vermont’s actions as a constitutional crisis, these states did not explicitly nullify the federal law and reject the Constitution. Rather, legislators and advocates argued for states’ constitutional ability to uphold due process rights to safeguard the civil liberties of their inhabitants. In an 1851 editorial in the Vermont Watchman, E.P. Walton Jr., future US Representative from Vermont, outlined the constitutional case for the state’s continued resistance to the federal law: He saw the unlawful kidnapping of free Black residents as a violation of the Fifth Amendment’s Due Process Clause that states could actively oppose. Citing the constitutional amenders’ intentions with the Bill of Rights, he contended the amendments are “restrictions upon Congress—not upon the States.”
The Fifth Amendment’s Due Process Clause limiting federal action is consistent with other amendments and historical interpretations of the Bill of Rights. In addition to protecting individual rights, the Bill of Rights intended to restrict a self-interested government from violating the people’s freedoms. To do so, the amendments weakened the federal government and structurally empowered states, which were seen as more directly representative of the people. As a check on an overzealous federal authority violating citizens’ liberties, the founders may have intended for states to take action to facilitate due process.
Walton also identified how the language of the Fifth Amendment refers to “person” rather than “citizen” or “resident.” The Constitution’s language holds separate meanings between “person” and “citizen,” and the framers’ use of “person” suggests a broad jurisdiction of due process rights. Suspected fugitive enslaved people, not yet proven to have escaped, would qualify for Fifth Amendment protections. Similarly, alleged undocumented immigrants, not yet proven to be in violation of civil law, are also under the jurisdiction of the Fifth Amendment.
Even so, the Trump administration has openly violated due process and justified its efforts by citing victims’ lack of citizenship. On April 1, White House Deputy Chief of Staff Stephen Miller posted on X, “If you illegally invaded our country the only ‘process’ you are entitled to is deportation.” This approach to due process operates counter to the Constitution.
Similar to “personal liberty laws” in the 1850s, states should feel legally protected to actively resist a federal government violating due process rights. Presently, many Democratic-led state and city governments are implementing part of this strategy, with officials instructing their local law enforcement to not enforce federal immigration law. The Constitution also allows states to decline to lend local resources to federal programs, rebutting conservatives’ claims that sanctuary states and cities are unconstitutional due to the Supremacy Clause. Yet, states should play a more active role in reasserting their inhabitants’ constitutional liberties and restricting unlawful detentions. While such actions would be legally contentious, they may be more effective in stopping deportation efforts.
While a “states’ rights” argument may be uncomfortable to Democrats— because of its contemporary application by conservatives and history as a counterargument to federal civil rights—the actions of Northern states in the 1850s demonstrate its precedent as a tool to protect people’s liberties. As the Trump administration continues to stretch the legal limits of the executive branch, state and local authorities should be confident in exercising a more active role in protecting their inhabitants’ rights against the federal government.
by Davíd Felipe-Rodríguez ’26, an International and Public Affairs and Ethnic Studies concentrator illustration by Maggie Weng ’26, an Illustration major at RISD and Illustrator for BPR
“The degradation of Indigenous languages led to a forced reformation of linguistic identity for Native children, depriving them of an aspect of their Indigeneity.”
Despite multiple colonial erasure efforts, there are over 4,000 different Indigenous languages spoken worldwide. Indigenous peoples have tirelessly fought to maintain their languages as a core part of their identity, preserving connections to histories and traditions that have been oppressed during centuries of colonization. Today, we are witnessing a global resurgence in language reclamation initiatives by Indigenous communities driven by community advocacy, digital tools, and policy efforts.
When discussing Indigenous languages, it is vital to understand the long history of linguistic suppression these communities have faced. Colonial powers have utilized similar erasure strategies worldwide, including a host of brutal tactics to fuel imperialist regimes and sustain control. In the United States and Canada, English-only Indian boarding schools backed by governments and religious institutions were created to forcibly assimilate Native American children. Starting in the late 19th century, thousands of Native children were involuntarily sent to these Indian boarding schools to be stripped of their cultural practices and knowledge. Schools in both the United States and Canada operated under a mission of linguicide. John Brown Jr., a Navajo Code Talker, recounts, “They tell us not to speak in the Navajo language because you’re going to school. You’re supposed to only speak English. And that was true. They did practice that and we got punished if you was caught speaking Navajo.” Similarly, Anita Yellowhair—a Navajo boarding school survivor—recalled being made to clean toilets whenever she or her peers were caught speaking languages other than English. The degradation of Indigenous languages led to a forced reformation of linguistic identity for Native children, depriving them of an aspect of their Indigeneity.
In 20th-century Mexico, similar sentiments spread in light of education reforms. Many politicians of the early Republic held deep prejudices against the use of Indigenous languages and pushed a wave of nationalism under
the mestizaje (the process of racial mixing, particularly with the blending of Latin American Indigenous groups and European groups) project to create a unified Mexican identity without racial distinctions. Children in schools were predominantly taught in Spanish, and Indigenous languages were looked down upon. Anti-Indigenous projects like mestizaje are the reason why Mexico, a country with a relatively large percentage of Indigenous inhabitants, has also become a site of mass assimilation of Indigenous peoples.
Nepal’s Indigenous population has similarly endured prejudicial treatment and an accompanied lack of social linguistic respect. Political parties continue to adopt a policy of “one language, one culture, one religion” that first appeared in a unification campaign under its former king, Prithvi Narayan Shah. The law suppresses Indigenous languages, such as Newar or Magar, and instead standardizes Nepali as the sole official medium for government relations, documentation, media, and education.
If colonial powers have used language suppression as a tool of control, then to reclaim an Indigenous language is an act of defiance and resistance. The Māori in New Zealand have led successful initiatives for current generations to learn the native tongue—Te Reo Māori—including the Māori Language Petition in 1972. With government support, Te Reo Māori became an official language, classes were introduced in primary and secondary schools, and a teaching course for fluent speakers was launched. New Zealand has also had great success at integrating Te Reo Māori in programming and media.
In Ghana, monolingual English media poses many of the same challenges. Indigenous African languages like Twi and Hanis Coos are used in community settings for the purpose of storytelling and keeping culture alive. While some individuals who are fluent in these languages have sought out formal journalism and media training to promote these underrepresented tongues, many lack the training to effectively advocate for their language. Across Sub-Saharan Africa, a global linguistic dilemma persists as public affairs are primarily conducted in colonial languages like French, Portuguese, and English. In a setting dominated by colonial language norms, some who speak Indigenous languages in Africa fight for their languages to be preserved and represented in the digital space.
Similarly, in Hawai’i, a resurgence in Ōlelo Hawai’i language immersion schools has ensured native language retention. The University of Hawai’i now offers education in Ōlelo. For Indigenous youth, the ability to communicate in heritage languages has allowed for a deeper understanding of their lineage and connection to their culture. These efforts give hope to older generations that saw erasure and are now happily witnessing revival.
On Indigenous Peoples’ Day in 2018, Duolingo made headlines when it announced that the Navajo language (Diné bizaad) and Hawaiian (Ōlelo Hawai’i) would be available to learn on its app. Though some native speakers have critiqued the accuracy of such courses, Duolingo has still made efforts to collaborate with community members to create a product intended to aid in language preservation. The Diné bizaad course was developed by teachers and students alike in the San Juan School District in Utah, a predominantly Native district. Similarly, the Ōlelo Hawai’i course was created in collaboration with the Kanaeokana and the Kamehameha Schools. Digital tools in general have aided in the distribution and visibility of Indigenous linguistic opportunities. Among digital sustainability experts, it is widely believed that “Digital tools democratize [access to] language learning” and can be utilized as a form of empowerment. Thus, humanity has a responsibility to
employ the technological tools at our disposal to aid language revitalization and intergenerational language transmission.
The intersection of technology and tradition is visible among Californian Zapotec youth. The Zapotec people consist of various Indigenous groups in Oaxaca, Mexico, and some neighboring states, each with unique cultures and distinct languages. My family has ties to the Yalálag, Villa Hidalgo region, where Yalálag Zapoteco is spoken. I have been learning Yalálag Zapoteco from an elder in the Los Angeles community, Don Nacho, who instructs me on WhatsApp a couple of times throughout each semester. I am also fortunate enough to have native speakers in my family—my tía Chepa, my cousin Mau, and my abu Federico—all of whom still live in Oaxaca. Through these lessons and talks with family, I have been able to teach my younger sister and practice whenever I am back in the fatherland. I am thankful to have the opportunity to develop conversational skills that allow me to connect further with my pueblo.
Accepting a place at Brown University moved me across the country, even farther from most of my family, but virtual connections help me maintain ties to my Indigenous identity despite residing in Providence for the majority of the year. Online resources like WhatsApp, iPhone FaceTime calls, and audio recordings of conversations in Zapoteco connect me back to my community when I am physically distant.
Language reclamation is not only a fight for self-determination and linguistic autonomy—it is also a fundamental pillar of identity for our communities. From community-led immersion schools to digital tools and ancestral input, language revitalization efforts are blending tradition and human advancements to ensure these languages thrive for future generations. I hope society will continue to humanize and view Indigenous languages as living, evolving forces that are critical to our heritages.
“For Indigenous youth, the ability to communicate in heritage languages has allowed for a deeper understanding of their lineage and connection to their culture.”
Bolivia’s coca deregulation movement subverts neocolonial drug policy
by Sofie Zeruto
’26, a Political Science concentrator and Managing Web Editor for BPR
illustrations by Manuela Guzmán ’26, an Illustration master’s student at RISD and Illustrator for BPR
When Americans are presented with the word “coca,” their mind likely jumps to cocaine. In fact, the two are often conflated as one and the same: a dangerous drug banned by law and whose production and sale are subject to intense criminal regulation globally. While the leafy plant is indigenous to the Andean region of South America and is an essential ingredient in cocaine, coca alone is not dangerous. When chewed or brewed into tea, its leaves have a mild stimulating effect akin to caffeine. More often, it is used medicinally as a numbing agent in toothpaste or as a natural treatment for nausea, altitude sickness, and asthma.
In 1961, however, the UN listed coca, separate from cocaine, as a Schedule 1 drug in its Single Convention on Narcotic Drugs. This policy subjected all uses of coca to intense international bans and scrutiny. As the world’s third-largest producer of coca, Bolivia was particularly impacted by these restrictions. Bolivia has a deep-rooted history with the plant, and in its major coca-growing regions of Yungas and Chapare, these restrictive policies have spurred a call to action for the nation’s largely Indigenous coca farmers, known as cocaleros. Their movement, backed by the major Bolivian political party Movimiento al Socialismo (MAS), seeks to divorce regulation of the coca crop from imperialistic US control, boost agricultural production, and restore coca’s reputation as a safe medicinal plant. Success for the cocaleros may initiate a new era of fully autonomous, community-based drug regulation in South America.
Coca has been cultivated and consumed throughout the Andes for over 8,000 years. For at least the past 1,500 years, a portion of that coca has been grown in the Aymaran Yungas region of Bolivia, which remains predominantly Indigenous today. During the reign of the Incas, coca was considered sacred by both peasants and the aristocracy, who chewed dried coca leaves for
their mild stimulating effects and ability to stave off hunger and thirst. However, upon the arrival of Spanish colonizers in the early 16th century, the leaf was demonized for its importance in local rituals, which were viewed as blasphemous under Christian doctrine.
Coca cultivation was nearly impossible to ban and an incredibly profitable way to exploit Indigenous labor. While the Spaniards did not consume coca, they began exporting it around the world, placing high taxes on the product and dividing the Yungas region into several Spanishowned haciendas , or large landed estates. Ironically, for many years, the coca leaf was considered “a historic instrument of colonial oppression” before transforming into a symbol of the Indigenous working class, particularly due to its importance in sustaining soldiers in the Chaco War with Paraguay in the 1930s. After the Bolivian National Revolution in 1952, however, the Revolutionary Nationalist Movement sought to minimize coca usage and cultivation, viewing the practice of chewing coca as an impediment to Bolivian progress and modernization.
Throughout the 1980s and 1990s, as part of their ongoing ‘War on Drugs,’ the United States became involved in instituting a series of interventionist, anti-coca policies in Bolivia meant to target the cocaine trade. In 1988, Bolivia passed the Law of Coca and Controlled Substances, which designated coca zones as either “traditional” (small plantations in regions where coca has been traditionally harvested) or “nontraditional” (anywhere outside those areas). Known as Law 1008, this piece of legislation sought to eradicate all coca crops from ‘nontraditional’ zones. The policy was ineffective. It placed many Bolivians in prison with drug charges, and critics of the act note its lack of focus on trafficking organizations. Eradication only increased the price of coca and made it more appealing to cultivate in an illicit market—especially among an already financially
“During the reign of the Incas, coca was considered sacred by both peasants and the aristocracy, who chewed dried coca leaves for their mild stimulating effects and ability to stave off hunger and thirst.”
“In this revolutionary act, cocaleros would police each other’s farms, ensuring no farm was growing more than the designated amount. Cocaleros were held accountable by a vigilante honor system.”
vulnerable farming population. The policy was enforced by government forces that frequently violated Bolivian law, bringing brutality, social unrest, and economic hardship to the nation. In the early 2000s, desperate and starving Chapare cocaleros would stage roadblocks against incoming eradication efforts only to be met with violence and further oppression.
US-backed policy on coca cultivation in Bolivia did not shift until 2008 with the election of former President Evo Morales of the MAS party. As the nation’s first Indigenous president and a former cocalero activist himself, Morales stood staunchly against US intervention in coca production and shone as a beacon of hope for many cocaleros. Notably, Morales instituted a “Coca Yes, Cocaine No” (CYCN) policy that legalized certain levels of coca cultivation on designated “nontraditional” farms, which were to be monitored by an established network of cocalero unions. In this revolutionary act, cocaleros would police each other’s farms, ensuring no farm was growing more than the designated amount. Cocaleros were held accountable by a vigilante honor system.
Unsurprisingly, CYCN was a victory for coca farmers, as their quality of life improved in terms of economic security and legal persecution. The initiative also highlighted the importance of
strong community organizations—such as labor unions—as effective agents for policy enforcement. CYCN proved that cocaleros could successfully regulate themselves and that law enforcement was not necessary to control illicit crop production. For perhaps the first time in decades, Morales affirmed that the regulation of Bolivia’s coca industry was not open to international involvement.
Backed by the leaf’s historical significance to Bolivia’s Indigenous populations and heritage, deregulating coca has come to represent an impassioned movement for anti-imperialist influence in the state and economic autonomy. To quote one cocalero, right-wing, imperialist political parties have “always demonized our coca leaf. They have always said that coca is cocaine, but for us, coca is […] a culture.” Still, while the coca leaf has emerged in some respects as a symbol of pride for Bolivia’s Indigenous communities that have long cultivated the plant—as evidenced by the January 11 national celebration of the “Day of Coca Leaf Tradition”—the broader movement cannot lose sight of the fact that, for cocaleros, the coca leaf, when stripped of its symbolic value, is a means of making ends meet. As a significant cash crop, coca has served as a backbone for the Bolivian economy, especially within the nation’s most rural enclaves. Coca is
“Bolivians in favor of deregulation must continue the momentum for the sake of coca as a symbol of a broader movement against imperial interests and as the lifeblood of resilient, rural, Indigenous communities. “
both literally and figuratively crucial to Bolivia’s existence as a population and as a nation itself. Recognizing this tie, CYCN and other coca legalization reforms in Bolivia have promoted coca consumption as a symbol of Bolivian pride while simultaneously hoping to boost its economic value amid high poverty rates.
Today, the future of CYCN remains uncertain. Former President Morales’s attempted coup d’etat and tumultuous removal from presidency in 2019 led Interim President Jeanine Añez of the opposition party to repeal Morales’s CYCN policy, ignoring widespread condemnation from cocalero unions and human rights activists. Although current President Luis Arce, a member of the MAS party, has reinstated many of Morales’s reforms, cocaleros must recoup their losses from this setback before renewed progress can be made. Bolivians in favor of deregulation must continue the momentum for the sake of coca as a symbol of a broader movement against imperial interests and as the lifeblood of resilient, rural, Indigenous communities. With time, CYCN’s continued success may demonstrate to the rest of the continent that the road less traveled of drug regulation—one led and policed by community organizations and without US intervention—is not only possible but also the key to both cultural and economic prosperity.
Anisha Rajapakse is a global professional working at the intersection of international development, human rights, and business, with experience spanning Africa, Asia, the Middle East, the Caribbean, and the Pacific regions. Anisha led the Human Development Programme at the Commonwealth for several years, with previous roles including acting as Director of Stakeholder Engagement at the Fair Labour Alliance, Senior Programme Consultant for Sustainability & Human Rights for Control Risks, and Development Communications Expert for Deutsche Gesellschaft Für Internationale Zusammenarbeit (GIZ) in Afghanistan.
Maria Mooraj: Would you like to speak about your background and provide some insight on your current role?
Anisha Rajapakse: I’m a British national of Sri Lankan origin. I studied in the UK and thereafter have been working globally in different parts of the world. I work at the intersection of international development, business, and human rights. I am currently working on a pro bono basis on an initiative focused on ending gender-based violence (GBV) and sexual harassment in rural Rajasthan in India together with a leading female politician and a prominent cricket personality. This is a strategy to draw male attention to the issue of GBV. I believe the active engagement of men and boys to end GBV is critical because when it is only women speaking to women, it does little to move the dial in a positive way. Male allies and champions can amplify the issue and efforts to end GBV.
MM: Was there a particular motivation to pursue a career in international development?
AR: Being from Sri Lanka and having a global outlook, I could see the issue of poverty in developing countries to be a major deterrent to positive development all around me. From an early age, I wanted to use my skills to help marginalized and vulnerable communities. My parents always kept us grounded, so even though I was technically coming from a privileged background, I was never in a bubble. When you see beggars in the street and the real gulf between the rich and the poor, it moves you. I questioned what could be done to help narrow this gap, and I consciously chose to pursue a degree that would take me toward the field of international development.
MM: Could you elaborate on a project or two that you worked on that had a significant impact on a vulnerable group?
AR: In Bangladesh, I supported a leading apparel manufacturing company in developing a strategy to empower female workers in their supply chain at the factory floor level to be trained and promoted to managerial and supervisory roles. Previously, women were generally only confined to the machines on the factory floor level, and having male supervisors created a disconnect. I worked with this company to develop a business case for empowering women in the workplace. The initiative proved to be very successful, leading to reduced absenteeism and staff turnover. The profit margins also increased. Developing ways for companies to look at production through a human rights lens rather than just a “business as usual” lens
is really important. From being strictly in philanthropy, I moved to working with businesses because they have resources and less bureaucracy, so you can support and guide them toward doing the right thing.
MM: Do you have any advice for a business that’s looking to integrate sustainable practices and human rights into their core strategies?
AR: Governance is important because there has to be buy-in from the top—otherwise, you can’t move the dial throughout the company. You have to respect people’s rights in the workplace and in the hiring process. Businesses need to understand that the global landscape is changing hugely. Respecting the rights of your workers is critically important; you are accountable, especially if you are exporting to international markets with their human rights due diligence directives. I would say that businesses need to map their supply chains from beginning to end, and then you can identify the salient human rights risks. The first part of any supply chain is easy to identify as it is generally the direct suppliers, but where many human rights violations happen is further down the supply chains, in the second and third tiers. For businesses, feigning ignorance about human rights violations in their supply chains is no longer an excuse. All businesses need to make respect for human rights part of their corporate strategy.
MM: Is there a specific legacy that you hope to leave through your work in sustainability and human rights?
AR: I would like to have more women economically empowered and in charge of their lives to make effective decisions that impact their families and give their children a better education and future. In the same way, I hope I am able to positively influence businesses to be serious about doing the right thing—not just to tick a box or because someone’s holding a gun to your head or at the threat of being slammed with fines, but because it’s the right thing to do. I’ve been lucky with the companies I’ve worked with, as they have been genuine in their intent and efforts. I strongly believe in amplifying the voices of people on the ground, and have been trying to do that at each chance I get. Their voices need to be heard in offices, board rooms, national and international conferences, and so on. For many years, there’s been an overflow of people from rich countries speaking on what’s good for people from low- and middle-income countries. That has to change. I have also challenged and avoided invitations to participate in panel discussions that are 99 percent men. On principle, I do not accept invites to join a “manel,” which is what we call a panel that has only men, or one token woman, to discuss issues that impact women and development challenges in general—however prestigious the event. We are still not out of the woods, but I am hopeful. If I weren’t hopeful, I wouldn’t be in this line of work.
For businesses, feigning ignorance about human rights violations in their supply chains is no longer an excuse. All businesses need to make respect for human rights part of their corporate strategy.
MM: Could you speak on the implications of the US Agency for International Development (USAID) funding changes on global supply chains?
AR: I think the biggest problem is that valuable work on the ground will be forced to stop. As a member of the Rainforest Alliance Board of Directors, I’ve seen firsthand how our USAID-supported programs provide an invaluable lifeline for countless farming and forest communities around the world. We would be turning the clock back in a very bad way. The recent funding freeze on nearly all US foreign aid has sent shockwaves through our critical work. The impact is enormous: The Rainforest Alliance alone lost $20 million in vital program funding overnight. It’s pressing an eject button without any prior warning. I don’t know where this will go, but there are still international bodies and philanthropic foundations that I hope will be more active than ever. Obviously, it’s the American people’s money at the end of the day.
MM: Do you have any advice for students looking to work in philanthropic or sustainable initiatives?
AR: In discussions I have had with students over the years, many think that working for big international bodies is what a career in international development looks like, with the ultimate goal of working for the UN. But honestly, it doesn’t work that way. You need to get your feet dirty. The more countries, the more on-the-ground experience you have, the faster you will rise in this field. Academic qualifications don’t cut it. Learn a few new languages if possible. There has been a good movement in recent years where paid internships are becoming the norm. When I started off, there wasn’t anything like that. If you were an intern then, you basically got no remuneration. Young people have better opportunities today, which is really great. Another way is to find somebody that you can connect with to mentor you, so you can have guidance and expertise to help you navigate your way forward.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
by Meruka Vyas ’28
, an Economics, Mathematics, and Political Science concentrator and Editor for BPR
illustrations by Anum Naseer ’25, an Illustration master’s student at RISD and Illustrator for BPR
“At least 250 million people worldwide still face appalling and dehumanizing discrimination based on caste and similar systems of inherited status.” Caste is a system of inherited social hierarchy that rigidly defines people’s status, occupation, and dignity from birth. Caste discrimination is the systemic exclusion, stigma, and violence directed at those deemed “lower” in this hierarchy—manifested through restrictions on labor, marriage, education, and public life and upheld by social norms and religious authority. To be born “untouchable,” or at the lowest rung of these caste systems, is to inherit a life already written for you. Across the world, in places as different as India, Japan, Korea, Tibet, Yemen, and Nigeria, entire communities inherit exclusion through blood. These systems may differ in name and origin, but they operate with strikingly similar logic—a ritualized, intergenerational rejection rooted in ideas of purity, labor, and lineage. Whereas the state often resists class systems, caste systems have historically been protected, politicized, or quietly ignored by those in power.
Caste-like hierarchies share patterns of assigning marginalized groups the most stigmatized labor in society—often involving death, waste, or blood—and justifying this position through religious or moral frameworks. In India, Dalits, the “untouchables,” have long been confined to manual scavenging, leatherwork, and street cleaning tasks. These are not just seen as
degrading jobs but also as spiritually contaminating ones. In Japan, the Buraku (“pollution abundant” or “unclean”) were historically relegated to leatherworking, butchery, and execution—professions considered ritually defiling. Though legally abolished in 1871, the Buraku continue to face discrimination in the form of verbal abuse, violence, and even segregation in Japan’s rural areas. South Korea’s Baekjeong community experiences similar treatment: Identified by their involvement in butchery and animal slaughter, they remain stigmatized even today, particularly in conservative rural areas where marriage proposals can still fall apart over family lineage. The same story rings true for the Ragyabpa group of Tibet, restricted to “impure” professions such as executions, butchering, and skinning, as well as the Muhamasheen of Yemen—literally “the marginalized ones”—who have historically been restricted to garbage collection and sanitation work and are still denied access to political decision-making and basic civil protections. Within Nigeria, the marginalization of the Osu (“owned” by deities) remains unchecked. Mostly landless, the Osu can traditionally only marry within their caste and are still buried in separate cemeteries.
What links these examples together is not only historical exclusion but also the way these exclusions survive legal reform. Although many of these states have abolished formal caste structures—India formally abolished untouchability
“Across the world, in places as different as India, Japan, Korea, Tibet, Yemen, and Nigeria, entire communities inherit exclusion through blood.”
in 1950 and Japan in 1871, Nigeria’s Osu system was outlawed in 1956 and 1963, and Yemen stipulated “fair national policies and procedures to ensure marginalized persons’ access to decent housing, basic public services, free health care, and job opportunities” after the 2011 uprising— caste continues to evolve. In India, Dalit students still face informal segregation in schools. A nineyear-old Dalit boy died after a teacher assaulted him in his school in Rajasthan for allegedly touching a pot of drinking water reserved for the “higher castes.” The Buraku of Japan suffer from low levels of higher education and have above-average drop-out rates. Even in extenuating circumstances like civil conflict, caste seems to trump humanity. Since 2015, in the absence of access to tribal or informal networks of patronage and amidst the humanitarian crisis, the Muhamasheen in Yemen have struggled to access basic services and support mechanisms, where community members faced discrimination and, in some cases, were denied access to aid.
This persistence is not incidental. Marginalized communities are often denied full social or economic inclusion but are courted politically. They become vote banks: vital during elections and forgotten afterward. In India, for example, parties often campaign on Dalit welfare, yet caste-based violence continues at alarming rates, with over 51,000 cases filed under offenses of atrocities against members of scheduled caste communities in 2022. This example of selective inclusion reveals a broader political strategy of representation without redistribution and presence without power. Token appointments of marginalized leaders do little to challenge the deeper machinery of exclusion, which remains invisible but operative and, at times, convenient for those in power. In fact, Dalits who contest for political office in seats “reserved” for them find themselves physically assaulted or threatened in an attempt to get them to withdraw from the campaign.
Yet resistance continues. Ambedkarite movements and groups like the Bhim Army organize on-the-ground protests and advocacy in India. The Buraku Liberation Movement continues to pressure the government and industry to address discrimination in Japan. In Korea, younger citizens are increasingly vocal about ancestral prejudice. Local organizers and activists have also leveraged global platforms in Yemen to raise awareness of Muhamasheen exclusion. However, cultural resistance alone cannot end caste, nor can legal reform if it is superficial or poorly enforced. What is needed is a dual transformation of social consciousness and institutional design.
There are imperfect yet helpful models attempting to dismantle caste-based exclusion through legal and institutional reform. In India,
“Caste discrimination is not an ancient relic; it is a modern system that adapts, mutates, and survives by embedding itself into the cracks of both law and culture.”
the SC/ST (Prevention of Atrocities) Act criminalizes violence and discrimination against Dalits and Adivasis, while affirmative action policies, known as ‘reservations,’ allocate seats in universities, government jobs, and legislatures to Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes. While these policies have enabled the rise of a Dalit middle class and increased political representation, they remain deeply contested and unevenly enforced. Access does not always translate into dignity, and beneficiaries often face social backlash, stigma, or tokenism. Still, these policies represent one of the most extensive state-led efforts to redress historical injustices based on caste. In Japan, the government has implemented Dōwa policy initiatives since the 1960s to improve living standards in Burakumin communities, investing in education, housing, and employment opportunities. However, critics argue that these efforts have not fully dismantled the informal networks of exclusion that persist in private-sector hiring and marriage practices.
Caste discrimination is not an ancient relic; it is a modern system that adapts, mutates, and survives by embedding itself into the cracks of both law and culture. Even when constitutions have outlawed it and institutions have reformed around it, caste’s more profound social logic remains intact. Across the world, we have seen governments implement affirmative action, pass anti-discrimination laws, and dismantle caste-based legal categories. However, these efforts—while critical—cannot succeed alone. Caste persists not only because institutions fail to eliminate it, but also because too many societies still quietly believe in it.
To truly dismantle caste, we need more than policy. We need a collective refusal to accept inherited hierarchy as natural or justified. We need institutional reform, yes, but also a social reckoning: a will to unlearn prejudice, to rewrite the stories we tell about purity and labor, and to build cultures that do not fear equity.
by Julianna Muzyczyszyn ’27, an International and Public Affairs and English concentrator and Editor for BPR
illustrations by Ranran Ma ’25, an Illustration master’s student at
RISD and Illustrator for BPR
On the afternoon of May 15, 2024, Slovak Prime Minister Robert Fico stepped out of a community center in Handlová, greeting a small crowd of supporters gathered behind a barricade. He moved toward them, extending his hand—then, gunshots rang out. Within moments, Fico collapsed, bleeding from multiple wounds as security officers tackled the shooter: 71-yearold poet Juraj Cintula. Cintula, who left Fico in critical condition, was previously associated with pro-Russian paramilitary groups but had become angered by Fico’s pro-Russia policies. In a pre-trial detention order, Cintula said he “regards the current government as a Judas toward the European Union” and identified restoring military assistance to Ukraine as his main demand.
Cintula is far from the only one enraged by Fico and his Smer – Slovenská Sociálna Demokracia (“Direction – Social Democracy”) party’s pro-Russia stance. Since December 2024, anti-government protests, triggered after Fico’s visit to Moscow, have raged throughout Slovakia, drawing more than 60,000 people (out
of a population of five million) into the streets to demand the Prime Minister’s resignation and chant, “Slovakia is not Russia, Slovakia is Europe.” Fico has openly questioned Ukraine’s sovereignty and has labelled the war a “proxy war” between Russia and the United States. His government has also sought to obstruct EU sanctions on Russia, a stance that has drawn praise from Moscow and deepened Slovakia’s alignment with Prime Minister Viktor Orbán’s Hungary.
The new European right’s alignment with Russia is well-documented and widely discussed: Far-right French politician Marine Le Pen called for a “strategic rapprochement” with Russia in 2017; right-wing English politician Nigel Farage once said he admired Putin as a political operator; and senior figures of the far-right populist party Alternative for Germany (AfD) have repeatedly criticized Western support for Ukraine. But this trend is also present on the left. Spain’s left-wing Podemos party has opposed continued military aid; Germany’s Die Linke (“The Left”)—currently in the midst of an electoral
“Many on the European left retain a deeply ingrained pacifist tradition rooted in anti-imperialism and Cold War-era nonalignment, which often casts NATO, not Moscow, as the primary global aggressor.”
resurgence—has maintained a critical stance toward NATO and Western military intervention, advocating for closer ties with Russia. The 2022 invasion of Ukraine split Die Linke, and some prominent figures left the party in 2023 because of their staunch opposition to sanctions against Russia (which the party tacitly supported).
Many on the European left retain a deeply ingrained pacifist tradition rooted in anti-imperialism and Cold War-era nonalignment, which often casts NATO, not Moscow, as the primary global aggressor. Yet this worldview struggles to account for a revanchist Russia whose actions in Ukraine pose a direct threat to European sovereignty. For parties in countries like Slovakia— geographically close to Ukraine and historically familiar with Russian domination—such a posture may reflect a form of appeasement: the belief that diplomatic accommodation, rather than deterrence, is the surest way to preserve peace at home. However, this stance is geopolitical wishful thinking. The Western defense of Ukraine is not merely an altruistic defense of another state—it is also a defense of Europe’s
borders and political autonomy. As military and economic support for Ukraine becomes more politically costly, the European left must reconcile its principles with the harsh reality that peace sometimes requires forceful resistance.
Many left-leaning parties understandably struggle to balance defense budgets with social welfare commitments. In fact, even left-wing parties that exhibit strong ideological support for Ukrainian independence may find themselves constrained by economic considerations when asked to provide billions in aid to Ukraine and bear the financial burden of continued sanctions against Russia. In France, political parties are divided over President Emmanuel Macron’s calls for increased military spending without a tax increase, fueling fears that social programs may face future cuts to accommodate the defense budget. In the UK, Westminster announced that international aid spending would be reduced from 0.5 percent to 0.3 percent of gross national income by 2027 to fund its defense budget hike, sparking concerns about imperiling global development initiatives and
“The Western defense of Ukraine is not merely an altruistic defense of another state—it is also a defense of Europe’s borders and political autonomy.”
“What may appear to be indifference from some leftist parties elsewhere becomes, in Slovakia’s case, a more deliberate repositioning.”
the UK’s soft power in the Global South. Two weeks later, the government announced a plan to save five billion pounds (£) on welfare spending by reducing the number of eligible disability benefit claimants and encouraging current claimants to enter the workforce—a proposal that has faced intense opposition from the left. Veteran Member of Parliament Diane Abbott, a vocal opponent of the welfare cuts, remarked that the working-class voters that Labour traditionally represents would look back on the policies “and think: is this my Labour party?”
While many left-leaning leaders elsewhere couch their reluctance in pacifist or economic terms, Fico’s Smer party has moved into explicitly pro-Russian territory. His government has questioned Ukraine’s sovereignty, blocked EU sanctions against Moscow, and echoed Kremlin talking points framing the war as a proxy conflict between Russia and the West. Unlike the UK Labour Party’s dilemma—how to preserve a moral commitment to Ukraine amid domestic austerity—Smer appears to be calculating that economic and geopolitical neutrality, if not outright alignment with Russia, serves Slovakia’s interests more directly. What may appear to be indifference from some leftist parties elsewhere becomes, in Slovakia’s case, a more deliberate repositioning.
But the public reaction to Fico’s policies suggests that Slovakia is far from fully committed to this path. The mass protests that erupted after his visit to Moscow signal that a significant portion of the Slovak electorate rejects his pro-Russian turn. Nevertheless, the persistence of Smer’s influence (the party’s approval rating
as of April 2025 has not changed significantly since November 2024, before the visit) and the broader rise of left-wing parties expressing skepticism toward military aid for Ukraine raises the question of whether Slovakia is an outlier or the vanguard of a larger shift.
If parties like Smer continue to gain traction, they could accelerate the drift within the European left that erodes popular support for Ukraine. To maintain a unified front, EU parties must combat rising anti-Ukrainian sentiment on the left with the same vigor that they have for the right—or risk both sides of the political spectrum capitulating to Russia. To leftist skeptics, the argument must be reframed. Supporting Ukraine is not an endorsement of endless militarism—it is a stand against imperialism and the principle that borders can be redrawn by force. For Europe’s left, this is not an abandonment of domestic principle but a fulfillment of it. Whether Slovakia proves to be an outlier or a bellwether depends on how effectively pro-Ukraine parties can bridge this divide by acknowledging economic realities, countering misinformation, and insisting that solidarity with Ukraine is compatible with justice at home.
Daniel Jordan Smith is a Professor of Anthropology and International Studies at Brown University, as well as the Director of the Africa Initiative. He received a bachelor’s degree in Sociology from Harvard University in 1983, a master’s degree in Public Health from Johns Hopkins University in 1989, and a PhD in Anthropology from Emory University in 1999. A former Peace Corps volunteer in Sierra Leone, he focuses on Nigeria, exploring political culture, gender, health, and social change. Smith received a Guggenheim Fellowship for his scholarly contributions and has co-convened seven Brown International Advanced Research Institutes (BIARIs) on Development and Inequality, Population and Development, and Health and Social Change in Africa.
Charlotte Peterson: In your book, A Culture of Corruption, you explore different aspects of corruption in Nigeria, from scam real estate sales to the highest level of fraud and nepotism within the government. From an anthropological perspective, what social or cultural factors can contribute to the normalization of corruption in society?
Daniel Smith: ’s a very good question. I want to start with answering the inverse. In most places where corruption is a problem and people in the society are unhappy about corruption, it’s important to recognize that it’s as much a culture against corruption as it is a culture of corruption—like in Nigeria, where I do my anthropological research and about which I wrote the book about corruption. People within the society also see the state as rife with corruption, with cultural and social factors that contribute to the prevalence of corruption.
I think it’s important to acknowledge that even though there are social and cultural—as well as political and economic—factors that lead to and contribute to corruption, it’s not a monolithic cultural trait. The labeling of something as corruption is, in fact, an indicator that the thing that they’re labeling is potentially morally, socially, and politically problematic. That said, I do think there are social and cultural factors that contribute to the social reproduction of corruption in society. In many post-colonial societies, such as Nigeria—which has only been independent for 50 years—much of it is related to the intersection of a modern bureaucratic state and an older system of political authority that depended more on personalistic relationships. When you get a transformation from a system of political authority that depends more on personalistic social relations to a more bureaucratic kind of state, which colonial powers superimposed on their colonies before they left, you get an environment where people are navigating these two registers at the same time—the official formal bureaucratic state and getting things done through who you know. You get corruption. The continuing prevalence of a personalistic way of doing things politically, intersecting with a bureaucratic official state that doesn’t perform adequately from people’s point of view, leads to corruption, typically the use of public office for private gain. Here, we have a strict idea that the public and the private are supposed to be separate. But in places like Nigeria, it’s more normal to imagine that if you want the formal state to be effective, you actually have to use the personalistic way of doing business to get the formal state to do what it’s supposed to do, opening up lots of opportunities for corruption.
CP: Given your research on corruption in Nigeria, what parallels do you see between it and the systems of corruption cultivated in American history? DS: I’m an anthropologist, and for a long time, anthropologists weren’t comfortable writing about corruption in the non-Western societies that we studied, in part because corruption is often used as a stigmatizing label to brand the other as somehow deficient and in a way that would have us believe that their corruption is somehow their cultural problem, whereas in our society, we feel we’ve somehow moved beyond corruption. That’s just absolutely not true. I think there are a couple of things to say about the parallels and the differences between corruption here, meaning in the Global North and the United States, and there, meaning in Nigeria and in the Global South. One is that we still have plenty of corruption. Look at the revolving door between government and industry. You can pick up the newspaper on any day and find a story about corruption in the United States. The idea that we’ve moved past corruption is ludicrous; we have plenty of corruption. And indeed, the scale of our economy is so large that, arguably, we probably have more corruption than there is in Nigeria in real US dollars.
The other thing that I think is important to think about when comparing levels of corruption in Nigeria and the United States is why we care about corruption in the first place. It seems to me that the only reason we care about corruption is that it can be bad for society. It can promote and increase inequality. It can promote an increase in injustice. It can promote increased suffering. It affects people’s well-being. If corruption just greased the wheels and everyone did well, we wouldn’t have a problem, but we would probably call corruption something else. In our country and much of the Global North, why do we care about corruption? We care about corruption for human welfare. We care about it because it contributes to inequality. In Nigeria, if someone gets disproportionately rich, everyone says, “Oh, they must be corrupt.” Indeed, many of the ways people get disproportionately rich and powerful are through corruption, even in our own society. We have people who are dramatically richer than other people by orders of magnitude greater than one sees in a place like Nigeria. Here, though, we have a sanitized version of it—a national narrative that says our multi-millionaires and billionaires got that money because they earned it. They pulled themselves up by their bootstraps. They were entrepreneurial, risk-taking capitalists. The dynamics of how they got their money may be different
than a Nigerian politician who steals money from the budget. Ultimately, the stealing of money is problematic in the ministry in Nigeria because someone who is getting richer doesn’t deserve to get rich. In our country, we have stories that tell us that those getting paid millions a year deserve that money. We’ve sanitized the creation and reproduction of inequality such that we don’t even notice the morally problematic nature. At least in places like Nigeria, when someone has lots of money, others think, “Oh, that person must be corrupt,” even if it’s not true. How else could they have such ridiculous amounts of wealth compared to other people in society?
CP: Certainly, the United States is seeing a more explicit transition to an oligarchical state, considering Elon Musk’s direct involvement and overt political corruption.
DS: One of the things that has characterized the new administration is the number of billionaires who appear in various settings. I remember seeing a picture in the newspaper of the inauguration. There were quite a number of billionaires in a very small group of people. The Trump administration seems to have a disproportionately large number of billionaires who are cabinet secretaries. Of course, Elon Musk is the ultimate symbol of wealth—exorbitant and extreme wealth. He’s the richest man in the world. I can’t help but see it as a tremendous irony that the richest man in the world is going after “waste” in the US government and finding it in programs designed to help people who are poor, whether that’s internationally or in this country. It just strikes me as not only ironic but deeply disconcerting, in part because it doesn’t make any sense for any other reason than for mean-spiritedness.
Cutting USAID, for example, is not going to save very much money— if you wanted to cut big money, you’d have to go after the Defense Department. You’d have to go after much bigger pieces of the pie.
This interview was edited for length and clarity.
“...the richest man in the world is going after ‘waste’ in the US government and finding it in programs designed to help people who are poor.”
by Keyes Sumner ’27, an International and Public Affairs and Economics concentrator and Senior Editor for BPR
illustration by Oli Bartsch ’26, an Illustration major at RISD and Illustrator for BPR
On March 15, 2025, over 100,000 demonstrators gathered around Republic Square in Belgrade, Serbia, to protest government corruption facilitated by President Aleksandar Vučić. The protest was just one of many nationwide that erupted after the collapse of a newly built train station canopy in the city of Novi Sad in November 2024, which killed 15 people. Since then, hundreds of thousands of Serbians have mobilized across the country to demand more effective and transparent governance. While the protesters are justified in their quest for accountability in an increasingly undemocratic and corrupt state, the movement relies far too heavily on vague nationalist and anti-corruption appeals. This ideological vacuity threatens the movement’s ability to achieve meaningful systemic change, keeping Serbia on its current path of populist authoritarianism and alignment with Russia.
Vučić, a strongman populist, has controlled Serbia since 2014 and consolidated his grip on power by maintaining strict control over the press while benefiting from a surging economy. However, it is because of this economic growth, not in spite of it, that mass protests have emerged against him. Serbia’s economic success under Vučić has been made possible due to significant foreign direct investment (FDI), largely from China; Serbia receives loans that fund infrastructure projects, such as the train station renovation, while China expands its influence in Europe. The contracts signed with Chinese firms are opaque, and loans that come from Chinese state banks often include preconditions that require Chinese construction firms to be involved in infrastructure projects. Many Serbians blame the structural failure of the Novi Sad station on a combination of administrative negligence and government-sanctioned, nonmeritocratic contracting practices.
After the train station collapsed, mourning quickly turned into outrage, inciting the largest protest movement Serbia has seen in decades. Beginning in Novi Sad, students at local universities took to the streets, advocating for increased
transparency in infrastructure and accountability for those responsible for the accident. The fledgling student movement was joined by tens of thousands of Serbians across the country. Opposition politicians set off smoke grenades in parliament, and the historically state-subservient public broadcasting network began reporting on the protests without smearing the participants. The goals of the protestors boast an 80 percent approval rate across Serbia, signifying that the movement is a true national struggle.
Amid such a popular anti-government campaign, one may be inclined to believe that Serbia is on the precipice of major systemic change. But beyond the initial, more specific demands of the student protesters, it is unclear what exactly systemic change would entail. The movement’s academic originators tend to be more liberal, and the initial protests emphasized fair democracy and increased investment in higher education. However, as the protests have developed, they have taken on a much more nationalist identity: EU flags are stripped from protesters’ hands, and ultranationalist (or sometimes Russian) flags fly in their place. Banners asserting Serbia’s right to Kosovo are an increasingly common sight, a far cry from the movement’s initial democratic objectives.
The movement has garnered widespread support through its appeal to nationalism. As a result, it is evolving into the same nationalist populism it seeks to displace. Without any discernible ideological opposition, a political figure as savvy as Vučić is likely to weather the storm. Even if he were to be replaced, his successor would likely be another nationalist with broad populist appeal, lacking a vision of a significantly improved Serbia.
Policy taking a backseat to cultural ideology is not an exclusively Serbian political dilemma. While populists have used appeals to nationalism to gain support in many parts of the globe, they are especially successful in Eastern Europe. Countries keen on reaping the economic benefits of EU membership are forced to adapt
their institutions according to EU Commission standards, leading to ideological convergence among established political parties. When policy decisions feel imposed or inevitable, blanket nationalist and anti-corruption appeals offer a dependable political strategy, especially in countries where effective sovereignty has been rare under the shadow of Soviet or Yugoslav influence. Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orbán has exploited post-socialist anti-establishmentarianism to keep Hungarian politics in a chokehold, retaining the office of prime minister since 2010. In Poland, centrist parties have proven politically vulnerable to nationalist-traditionalist appeals in the form of the Law and Justice party. In Serbia, public opinion has shifted sharply against EU accession in the last two decades, and entry negotiations are deadlocked. For at least the past decade, far-right appeals to the nation have proven to be the most effective rallying cry across the region, including for Vučić himself.
The central goals of accountability and transparency that molded the Serbian student protest movement are rational and justified, but as the movement grows and government officials resign, it has unquestionably become something more—something revolutionary. As the protesters would tell you, drastic change is needed in Serbia: Free speech is suppressed, opposition politicians are marginalized, and the bureaucracy is rife with cronyism. But until the anti-government movement finds an identity that champions pragmatic political alternatives rather than vague demands for institutional reform, Serbia will remain trapped in a cycle of populist authoritarianism. The movement’s overwhelming verdict that corruption is bad and the nation is good may be an effective universal appeal, but it gives a fuzzy picture of Serbia’s future.
by Ashton Higgins ’26, an Anthropology concentrator and Managing Magazine Editor for BPR
illustration by Isabela Guillen ’27, an Illustration major at RISD and Illustrator for BPR
Greenland is an island mired in inconsistencies and ironies. It is named after a color, yet its tundra is a bleak white. It is the largest island in the world, a landmass three times the size of Texas, yet only 60,000 people call it home. While gigantic ice sheets and a sparse population may create an illusion of emptiness and unimportance, the self-governing territory of Denmark harbors vast reserves of oil and other natural resources while occupying a strategic position in the Arctic. As a result, President Donald Trump has threatened that the United States might annex the island. Trump’s statements have revived the push to fully decolonize Greenland, yet these efforts risk falling into another neocolonial paradigm. Now more than ever, Greenland needs to chart a path to true independence, something that can best be achieved by working with the EU.
Danish colonization of Greenland began 300 years ago, when missionary Hans Egede landed on the island in 1721, looking to convert lost Viking communities to Protestantism. Instead of Vikings, he found the Inuit. Under the racist assumption that the Indigenous Kalaallit people were incapable of ruling themselves, Denmark began a centuries-long project of establishing colonial settlements, exploiting natural
resources, and suppressing Indigenous traditions and their language, Kalaallisut. Families were separated, and Kalaallit children were sent to boarding schools in Denmark, similar to the fates of thousands of Indigenous children in the United States and Canada. Denmark has been accused of committing genocide after a 1960s and 70s campaign of forced intrauterine contraceptive procedures on an estimated 4,500 women, some as young as 14; the United States is guilty of the same crime, performing surgeries on thousands of Indigenous women. Many did not consent to the operation nor even knew that it was happening, making them victims of an effort to control Greenland’s birth rate at the behest of the Danish government.
Despite the colonial project, Greenland remains predominantly Indigenous, with 88 percent of the population identifying as Inuit (predominantly local Kalaallit). Additionally, Greenland is slowly shedding Denmark’s colonial authority: The island established its own parliament following the Home Rule Act of 1979 and attained full self-governance with the right to secede (following a successful referendum) in the Greenland Self-Government Act of 2009. Eighty-four percent of Greenlanders currently
“For Trump, the island offers an unparalleled real estate opportunity with huge reserves of critical minerals for green technologies, including copper and cobalt.”
support independence—the biggest question for years has not been a matter of if but rather when the island will finally throw off its Danish yoke.
Even though Greenland was officially granted the opportunity to secede by the Danish government, the island has chosen not to exercise this right largely because of economic factors. Denmark provides a $600 million annual grant to the island, which supports over half of its public budget, including universal education and healthcare. Without a major change in Greenland’s economy, the island will not be able to single-handedly support these programs. The Trump administration is reportedly considering offering to replace or increase this funding should Greenland agree to American demands, but funding could get cut under American control, effectively swapping out one colonial power for another. Even if the island developed a more robust economy to avoid overreliance on foreign powers, Indigenous leaders worry about the environmental consequences of exploiting the island’s mineral reserves.
For Trump, the island offers an unparalleled real estate opportunity with huge reserves of critical minerals for green technologies, including copper and cobalt. These materials are vital to Trump’s “America First” plan to dominate energy production and counter China, which currently dominates the global market for these minerals. Greenland is also an “absolute necessity” to Trump due to its location in the Arctic, which is between North America and Europe and not far from Russia; the United States already operates at least one known military base on the island, though Trump has made statements referring to multiple US bases being housed in Greenland. As ice sheets melt, Greenland may also finally offer a viable Northwest Passage for trade across the Arctic waters of North America.
Though Trump has called for American ownership of Greenland since 2019, these statements are ramping up considerably in his second term. In some instances, he has suggested that Greenland could become independent so long as they lease out more land for military bases in lieu of Danish grants. In others, he has alluded to seizing the island by force out of fear that an independent Greenland might be too open to trade with other powers rather than exclusively serving US corporations.
Many Greenlanders are excited to have international attention on their fraught relationship with Denmark, reigniting the ambition to finally prepare for independence. However, they are not happy with the implication that successfully leaving Denmark could result in joining the United States. A recent poll found that 85 percent of Greenlanders explicitly do not want to join the United States, compared to only 6 percent in support. Parliamentary elections held on March 11, 2025, resulted in a complete overhaul of the Greenland government. The party in support of gradual independence took the most seats, and a party in support of rapid independence took the second-most. While the speed at which Greenland will head toward independence remains uncertain as coalition talks are underway, all five seat-winning parties released a joint statement denouncing Trump’s plans to annex their home.
Rather than acquiescing to American business interests, Greenland may want to follow Japan’s lead and consider entering a comprehensive strategic partnership deal with the European Union to promote development, defense, democracy, and human rights as it prepares for independence. Despite being a part of Denmark, Greenland officially left the
European Economic Community in 1985 due to disagreements over fishing regulations imposed by the EU. Despite this past dispute, Russian, Chinese, and American encroachment is currently an existential threat to both the island and the continent; Trump’s expansionary and selfish approach to geopolitics may be a new common ground between Greenland and the EU. Denmark has already laid out a clear path to independence for Greenland and should be happy if the island chooses European partnerships over the United States in preparation for taking that final step.
The EU is already planning to divest its weapons procurement from the United States and reinvest within European borders. Part of their renewed focus on home-growing European security should involve bulwarking Greenland without obligations to an aggressive world power like the United States in advance of its independence. Greenland already hopes to renovate its airports to improve tourism and develop a stronger hydropower industry rather than mining its precious critical minerals. Because they do not have the domestic capital to embark on these projects alone, European support would be far more preferable to American.
In February, a US Congressman introduced a bill to the House of Representatives advocating for the American acquisition of Greenland and subsequent renaming of the island to “Red, White, and Blueland.” Despite its physical size, the incredibly lucrative island with only a few thousand inhabitants stands no chance against
an American president hellbent on reviving Manifest Destiny. Rather than being renamed, re-exploited, and having its Indigenous community re-traumatized by a colonial overlord, Greenland’s new government should leverage Trump’s attention to secure lucrative deals with other global powers, particularly the European Union, and gradually build a solid foundation for independence.
Amid Greenland’s vast and icy tundra, a nation of people is pushing to be respected by the international community as an equal. This island has been neglected and demeaned for far too long—it is high time Greenlanders trek their own path through the snow and paint a new narrative of their home as an island of abundance and prosperity. Partnering with the EU to resist Trump’s unilateral demands can be an important first step.
“Now more than ever, Greenland needs to chart a path to true independence, something that can best be achieved by working with the EU.”
by Matthew DaSilva ’26
1. “The Magic Mountain” author
5. Metered vehicles
9. Stockpile
14. Fruit bowl base
15. Rio contents, say 16. Sprinted toward
17. Food fight site
19. It runs down the spine?
20. * McDonald’s are golden
21. * California region whose name translates to “they are killers”
23. Tier of a cake
24. Head of Jordan?
25. Sass
26. Wise follower?
27. Taboo, informally
31. In the past
33. Rant
35. Nailed
36. Completes the hardest part of a driver’s test, or a hint to * 20-Across, * 21-Across, * 54-Across, and * 57-Across
40. Nursing home staff?
41. Glue brand
42. World Heritage Site grp.
45. Laundry unit
46. Short cut
49. Pink Panther actor Herbert
50. Actress Grande, to fans
52. Evade
54. * Possibility
57. * Diane of “Inglourious Basterds”
58. Totaled, as a bill
59. Reader of a university satire paper, say
61. “That is to say…”
62. Flat-topped hill
63. Strong wind
64. Sabrina Carpenter or Tyga hit
65. Spotted
66. GPS guesses
1. Yousafzai who won a Nobel Prize at 17 2. High-end Hondas
Pelosi and Reagan, e.g. 4. Specialty
5. 5-Across, e.g.
6. In the past
7. Keep afloat
8. Apia is its capital
9. Aorta, e.g.
10. Permanently wound
11. Braking system feature that prevents skidding 12. Square snack items
13. Soaked, like a tea bag
18. Weightlifter’s injury
22. Short family member?
28. Disney World loc.
29. Strong wind
30. Wide receiver _____ Beckham Jr.
32. Needlefish
33. Very, in Vichy
34. Ticklish Muppet
36. Wide view
37. Clownfishes’ friends
38. Royal sleep disturbance
39. Jacinda ______, former New Zealand Prime Minister
40. Perpetrator
43. 1987 role for De Niro
44. Mine find
46. Overreacts, slangily
47. Black Sea port
48. French caps
51. Cold War weapons, for short
53. Sudden movement
55. Ballpark fig.
56. Apple or cherry, for two
57. Skater Michelle
60. Verb ending?