“If democracy is to survive this century and beyond, it must evolve.”
GONE WITH
THE SNOW
HOW THE WINTER SPORTS INDUSTRY IS CONFRONTING A WARMING PLANET.
by ethan bauer
THE PAST, PRESENT
EXPLORING THE NEW GOLDEN AGE OF FAMILY HISTORY RESEARCH. by natalia galicza
“Downtowns are never going to go
But I don’t think it will ever be like it
The former chairman and CEO of Google, Schmidt is an accomplished technologist, entrepreneur and philanthropist. He is founder of the nonprofits Special Competitive Studies Project and Schmidt Sciences. His essay on how artificial intelligence can enhance government and democracy is on page 34.
Quarles is chairman and founder of The Cynosure Group, a private investment firm. He was vice chairman of the Federal Reserve System from October 2017 to October 2021 and a past chairman of the international Financial Stability Board. An adviser to Republican Treasury secretaries, his commentary on cutting government debt is on page 15.
Kaplan is a technology lawyer and the lead product counsel for generative AI at Snap, and a board member at the AI League for Good. She is a published author in the Yale Journal of Law & Technology, GALA/IAA’s Privacy Law book and Focus on the Data. Her essay on the relationship between AI, privacy and democracy is on page 40.
A writer and Ph.D. student in English literature, Kim’s essays and short fiction have previously appeared in Belt Magazine, Lunch Ticket, The Citron Review, MoonPark Review and other publications. Her essay about how fairy tales offer a wealth of wisdom about understanding the world we live in is on page 70.
A senior fellow at the Brookings Institution and a journalist, Rauch is a contributing writer for The Atlantic and recipient of the 2005 National Magazine Award. He is the author of eight books and an excerpt from his latest book, “Cross Purposes: Christianity’s Broken Bargain with Democracy,” is on page 64.
Michelson is a freelance journalist from a small town in northern California. Her work has been published in Outside, The New York Times and the San Francisco Chronicle. The youngest of three siblings, Michelson writes about her enduring relationship with her brother and sister on page 20.
MEGAN MICHELSON
JONATHAN RAUCH
LYRIC KAPLAN
NAOMI KIM
RANDAL K. QUARLES
ERIC SCHMIDT
TEAM OF RIVALS
On the day of his political rival’s inauguration, John Adams ducked out of town via stagecoach at four o’clock in the morning. After a bruising political contest, Thomas Jefferson prevailed. But Jefferson’s victory presented one of modern democracy’s first major tests: Could presidential power in the United States pass between rivals without incident?
In his first inaugural address, Jefferson chose to emphasize unity and civic charity. He declared memorably “we are all Republicans, we are all Federalists.”
This month, the United States will once again witness an inauguration following a particularly bitter campaign season. Charity and unity are once again the messages Americans need to hear. We are all Republicans, we are all Democrats, we are all Americans.
In his book, “Bonds of Affection: Civic Charity and the Making of America,” Elder Matthew S. Holland, a General Authority Seventy of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and a scholar of American history, traces the evolution of Jefferson’s youthful secularism to a more seasoned appreciation for what he called “benign” religion’s role in fostering civic happiness. Jefferson writes in his first inaugural, “benign religion, professed, indeed, and practiced in various forms, yet all of them inculcating honesty, truth, temperance, gratitude, and the love of man; acknowledging and adoring an overruling Providence, which by all its dispensations proves that it delights in the happiness of man here and his greater happiness hereafter — with all these blessings, what more is necessary to make us a happy and a prosperous people?” America’s third president came to understand the way religious impulses, at their best, could foster unity, virtue, and national felicity.
In an essay drawn from the forthcoming book “Cross Purposes,”
Brookings Institution fellow Jonathan Rauch explores the ways in which religion can still serve as an agent for greater civic charity. He quotes President Dallin H. Oaks, a member of the church’s First Presidency and a former jurist: “I love this country, which I believe was established with the blessings of God. I love its Constitution, whose principles I believe were divinely inspired. I am, therefore, distressed at the way we are handling the national issues that divide us.”
Emerging technologies present a different challenge to democracy. Eric Schmidt, the former CEO of Google, and Lyric Kaplan, a lead counsel for generative AI at Snap, both provide thoughtful examinations of artificial intelligence’s potential impact on democracy. Mariya Manzhos explores what’s next for conservatism’s most influential media empire. And Randal Quarles, a former vice chairman of the Federal Reserve, makes the case for an economic growth approach to combating ballooning deficits. “The annals of history are littered with the husks of empires … that lost control of their finances, and thus of their fate,” Quarles writes. “We do not need to be among them, provided we learn the lesson of history.”
It took some 12 years for Adams and Jefferson to reconcile after Jefferson’s first inauguration. It finally happened when Jefferson’s neighbor visited Adams, who said of Jefferson, “I always loved (him), and still love him.” For Jefferson, it was “enough for me. I only needed this … to revive towards (Adams) all the affections of the most cordial moments of our lives.” One of those cordial moments must have included working together on the drafting committee for the Declaration of Independence. Fifty years after signing it, reconciled at last, the two men died on the same day: the Fourth of July.
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OUR READERS RESPOND
Our NOVEMBER issue had a consistent theme of bridging divisions with those we disagree with in the wake of the 2024 election. Scholars, writers and others who contributed to the issue held up the U.S. Constitution as a gold standard in how to accomplish common goals and objectives amid differences in political opinion. In an excerpt from his book “Age of Grievance,” New York Times columnist Frank Bruni offered remedies for institutions and people on the political left and right who feel persecuted and fear those who differ in viewpoints and values (“Persecution Complex”). But readers blamed political and media structures that thrive on division and offer no incentive to get along. Jebediah H. Atkinson described a “grievance class” as those looking for someone to blame for their failures and problems and seeking a handout for help. Politicians can exploit this grievance mentality, he wrote, to win their votes. “But this is where it becomes a death-spiral of failure: The aggrieved class then gets benefits and are made to appear virtuous in their grievance.” This grievance class spans the political divide, as reader Roger Terry noted: “Frank Bruni has always been one of my favorite columnists. … Unfortunately, the reality-based institutions he mentions — science, academia, reputable media, the legal system and our intelligence community — are all under attack right now by you-know-who. They are the glue that holds our society together. If that glue is dissolved, we are in for a load of trouble.” Ethan Bauer’s profile of Penn State wrestling coach Cael Sanderson revealed the surprising secret to Sanderson’s unsurpassed record as an athlete and coach: Don’t focus on winning (“Beyond Victory”). Dr. Steven Bigler noted the story didn’t mention another key to Sanderson’s success: “I was his mom’s OB - GYN doc years ago. Debbie is a great woman — tough and wiry herself! I suspect she may have had every bit as much to do with the family’s wrestling success as her husband!”
“They are the
glue
that holds our
society
together.
If that glue is dissolved, we are in for a load of trouble.”
ROBBERS ROOST
SLOT CANYON, NEAR HANKSVILLE, UTAH
PHOTOGRAPHY BY JOHN HAYMORE
A TAXING ALTERNATIVE
HOW GOVERNMENT CAN GROW ITSELF OUT OF DEBT
BY RANDAL K. QUARLES
Almost 600 years ago, the Forbidden City of the Ming Dynasty rose from the earth in a vast expanse of vermillion and gold, its 9,999 rooms a testament to the Ming’s limitless wealth. The empire’s treasury overflowed with silver from its trade with Spain and Japan, funding projects of pharaonic scale. When the Yongle Emperor moved the capital north to Beijing, he built an entire new city, re-dredging the Jing-Hang Canal across half a continent to feed it, as if rearranging geography itself were a mere accounting detail.
But wealth, as the Ming would discover, is less a mountain than a river — powerful in flow but in constant motion. By the 17th century, the dynasty’s spending had become a torrent: endless expenditure on imperial luxury, measureless armies marching against innumerable threats. The bureaucrats in charge of the imperial finances responded by raising taxes and printing paper money, until the population rebelled and inflation rendered the notes nearly worthless. When Li Zicheng’s rebel armies approached Beijing in 1644, there wasn’t enough money left to pay for a defense. The last Ming emperor hanged himself on Coal Hill — a final act of desperation in a city of empty coffers and worthless paper.
The United States is not the Ming Dynasty — yet. We remain the world’s most dynamic economy, most innovative business culture and most efficient financial system. This is reflected in the growing wealth of our people: 15 years ago, the gross domestic products of Europe and of the U.S. were roughly equal, at around $14 trillion. Today, Europe’s GDP is just over $15 trillion, while that of the U.S. is nearing $30 trillion.
But like the Ming, we have for too long been mistaking vast wealth for limitless wealth. Rich as we are, we are spending much more than we make. Since 2009, our income has nearly doubled, but our debt has increased by almost six times, and our debt-to-GDP ratio is nearly 100 percent. The respected Penn Wharton Budget Model projects that our debt-to-GDP ratio will exceed 175 percent within 20 years.
Fortunately, it’s not too late to make a course correction. We have been here before — at the end of World War II — and managed through it. It’s important to understand how we did it, however — because the most common current prescriptions likely won’t work.
Most politicians want us to address our debt burden by either cutting spending or raising taxes. Fiscal responsibility is important, of course, and efforts to control our spending will matter. But that’s not a complete solution, because the size of the needed spending cuts or tax increases are just too high to be politically practicable — they could be as much as $3.4 trillion per year.
So why am I so hopeful that something can be done? Because when we did it before, we recognized there are two ways to make a ratio smaller: You can shrink the numerator (by cutting spending or raising taxes) — or you can grow the denominator.
After World War II, the Eisenhower administration spent eight years trying to pay the debt down with punishing tax rates (as high as 92 percent) and restrained spending, yet the debt actually grew. The debt-to-GDP ratio did fall moderately, but because the economy grew, not because of high taxes. So the Kennedy administration focused on what was working, implementing a significant tax cut to grow the economy even faster. As a result, GDP growth doubled in the mid-1960s, and within 10 years the debt-to-GDP ratio had fallen to 31 percent. Growing the denominator was more effective in addressing our debt position, and it did so by making Americans richer, not taxing them harder or imposing unneeded austerity.
Our tax rates today are much lower than they were 60 years ago, but instead we hobble our economy with a regulatory burden that would have been unimaginable in 1960. When President John F. Kennedy took office, the Code of Federal Regulations contained about 22,000 pages. Today, that total is around 190,000 pages, and this doesn’t include the innumerable volumes of guidance, interpretation, precedent and practice that restrict economic growth. Relieving this burden can improve the productive power of the American economy, just as relieving the tax burden of the 1950s accelerated growth in the 1960s. Growing the denominator is a politically practicable and historically proven approach to handling our debt burden.
The annals of history are littered with the husks of empires — like the Ming — that lost control of their finances, and thus of their fate. We do not need to be among them, provided we learn the lessons of history.
RANDAL K. QUARLES IS CHAIRMAN AND CO-FOUNDER OF THE CYNOSURE GROUP AND A FORMER VICE CHAIRMAN OF THE FEDERAL RESERVE SYSTEM.
TECH VS. CANCER
THE RACE TO MAKE THE DISEASE OBSOLETE
CANCER IS A terrifying diagnosis. The second-leading cause of death in the United States drains $25 trillion a year from the global economy and causes pain beyond measure to patients and their loved ones. But as science and technology advance into realms once reserved for speculative fiction, researchers are finding new pathways for treating this age-old disease. Certain types are on the verge of elimination while others approach 100-percent survival rates, and 14 types of tumors could face new treatments this year. For the rest, hope stems from our ability to translate space-age ideas, nanoscale interventions and intricate molecular tools into practical tools for early detection and stealth treatments. Here’s the breakdown:
—ARIANA DONALDS
AI DIAGNOSTICS
Early detection is still key, and artificial intelligence is making it happen faster than ever. One AI system based at Cambridge University used DNA data from The Cancer Genome Atlas to teach itself to identify early structures and pathways built by 13 types of cancer, which it can now identify with 98 percent accuracy. Another can screen breast cancer with 20 percent more accuracy than traditional methods. Machine learning could eventually detect hundreds of cancers.
LIQUID BIOPSY
What if we could catch cancer with a standard blood panel? The Galleri test, available by prescription, measures loose DNA matter sloughed off from dead cancer cells and circulating in the bloodstream. Another method would screen plasma for low concentrations of 10 different proteins; still in trials, it has shown promise for identifying cancers that are still in Stage 1.
JUICED IMMUNITY
Doctors today can extract a patient’s T cells — white blood cells that fight infections directly — apply some scientific mumbo jumbo in a lab and reinject them like microscopic super soldiers that can overpower leukemia or lymphoma. In some cases, they use lab animals like mice as tiny factories to generate millions of monoclonal antibodies — targeting proteins specific to the cancer in question. Once injected into the patient, they flag tumors for destruction like flares in a war zone.
THE JIG IS UP
Like other cells in the body, cancer cells have their own defenses against potential threats like the human immune system. Some cancers, like melanoma or Hodgkin’s lymphoma, impersonate healthy cells, sending false signals that convince T cells to ignore them. A new class of drugs called checkpoint inhibitors blocks those false signals so T cells can see through the ruse and attack.
MINI IS MIGHTY
One way to get past cellular defenses is to use tiny nanoparticles, each one roughly one ten-millionth of an inch across, smaller than a wave of visible light. If a nanoparticle was a football, a red blood cell would be the size of a field. These little guys are so tough to spot, they’re a perfect method for delivering sneak attacks on lung cancer or melanoma, each unit carrying a dose of radiation, chemo or immunotherapy.
“RATHER THAN A SINGLE BREAKTHROUGH THERAPY OR DISCOVERY, A VARIETY OF SCIENTIFIC ADVANCES ARE EXERTING DOWNWARD PRESSURE ON CANCER MORTALITY IN NEW WAYS AND AT THE SAME TIME. AS A RESULT, THE LANDSCAPE FOR MANY CANCER PATIENTS HAS CHANGED TREMENDOUSLY IN JUST THE PAST FIVE YEARS.”
KATE PICKERT FOR THE NEW YORK TIMES
DNA ORIGAMI
Just as it sounds, this process involves folding chromosomes two or three times to create a chamber of a certain shape, designed to masquerade as viral DNA. This disguise allows it to slip past a cancer cell’s security. Once inside, the chamber cracks open, dropping medication, self-assembling nanostructures, or instructions for neighboring cells that identify the cancer as a threat they should resist. First conceived in the 1980s, this treatment is now finally in testing.
A CANCER JAB?
Thirty years of cancer research into mRNA and genetic editing allowed scientists to quickly spin up the vaccines that targeted Covid-19. That process takes a cue from bacteria, which develop DNA sequences to conquer specific viruses. In the same way, mRNA molecules can be encoded with gene sequences that hypercharge the body’s immune response against specific tumor cells or even instruct the cancer cells to off themselves. One trial stopped tumor growth on the spot for eight of 16 patients.
TRIED, TESTED AND TRICKY
IS IT TIME TO SHELVE COLLEGE ADMISSIONS EXAMS?
MANY HIGH SCHOOL juniors are gearing up for spring testing season, when weeks and months of prep and practice culminate in an hours-long exam that will shape their academic futures. The Scholastic Aptitude Test was first administered in 1926, adapted from the Army’s officer candidate assessments to help identify the best potential students among millions of applicants. Education was becoming a path to social and economic advancement, and universities across the country were booming. That largely holds true a century later, but many now question whether standardized exams should determine who gets into the best schools. Are they an objective tool to measure merit and academic potential? Or do they simply bolster an unfair status quo? —KEVIN
LIND
THESE TESTS AREN’T FAIR LIFE’S NOT FAIR
STUDENTS DESERVE AN honest assessment of their qualifications, but exams like the SAT and ACT are not truly objective measures. Many believe they should cut through social strata to find the best prospective students, even the proverbial diamond-in-the-rough. But in practice, they tend to reinforce the privileges and disadvantages that exist in society. “The SAT correlates not only very high with freshman grades,” says Nicholas Lemann, author of “Higher Admissions: The Rise, Decline, and Return of Standardized Testing,” “but even higher with things like race, parental income and parental education.”
Wealth is the single largest predictor of high scores. In 2023, Opportunity Insights, a Harvard-based research team, found that students from the top 1 percent of income brackets were 13 times more likely to get a top score than those from the poorest. Some 40 percent of students from families making $11 million a year scored above the admissions threshold for Ivy League schools, as opposed to just 5 percent of middle-class students. Only a fifth of the poorest students even took the tests; a meager 0.5 percent of them scored 1,300 or better on the SAT. Merit is less a factor than a student’s ZIP code.
The odds are especially stacked against Black and Hispanic students, who each score significantly lower on the math section than their white and Asian counterparts, according to the Brookings Institute. No wonder, perhaps, given the SAT’s history with race. Its creator, Princeton psychology professor Carl Brigham, was a noted eugenicist who advocated for white superiority. More recently, Jay Rosner, an executive director of The Princeton Review Foundation, discovered evidence that the SAT’s process for developing new questions statistically benefits white students. To be fair, no such exam can account for the quality of education in Hispanic and Black neighborhoods.
The idealistic notion that standardized tests level the playing field of academic opportunity is misguided. Some exceptional students will rise up and outperform their circumstances, but of the 3.3 million who take these tests each year, Lemann says no more than about a thousand will fit that “Cinderella scenario” — or about .0003 percent. As Opportunity Insights director Raj Chetty told The New York Times, “we don’t need to put a thumb on the scale in favor of the poor. We just need to take off the thumb that we — perhaps inadvertently — have on the scale in favor of the rich.”
THESE EXAMS PLAY a key role in a college admissions process that should be based on merit and aptitude. “Standardized test scores are a much better predictor of academic success than high school grades,” wrote Christina Paxson, president of Brown University, which recently reinstated the school’s SAT/ACT requirement. Even the University of California system, which does not consider standardized test scores in admissions decisions, reached the same conclusion after an internal review of its statewide practices.
That’s even more true today, when other substantial metrics have become devalued to the point that they aren’t clarifying at all. High school transcripts are no longer reliable because of grade inflation. According to a 2016 College Board study, 47 percent of high school students graduated with A’s. Over the previous 18 years, GPAs went up while SAT scores went down, suggesting that grading was inconsistent with less subjective metrics. When every applicant came to Brown with exceptional grades, Paxson wrote, the tests helped to reveal which students would struggle once admitted.
Standardized tests may be imperfect, but there’s no reason to suppress information that can help admissions professionals to identify the best prospects. Besides, Americans don’t want race or gender to be a factor. A 2022 Pew Research poll found that nearly three-quarters of respondents across the spectrum didn’t think race or gender should factor into admissions decisions at all. This doesn’t have to be a catastrophe for racial equity. “If selective colleges made admissions decisions based solely on test scores, racial and economic diversity would indeed plummet,” writes David Leonhardt in The New York Times. But even intense STEM programs like Caltech rely on a variety of factors.
Besides, it’s not the job of standardized tests to make up for longstanding social inequity, even if they could. Removing these exams can’t fix the disadvantages that students face due to race or financial resources. “Educational inequality impacts all aspects of a prospective student’s preparation and application, not just test-taking,” MIT dean of admissions Stuart Schmill told MIT News. All schools can do is use what information they have to admit the students best prepared to succeed. “There’s just this dream that people have that there’s a completely fair way to do the admissions to these very oversubscribed schools,” Lemann says. “I don’t think there is.”
IN IT FOR THE LONG HAUL
HOW OUR SIBLINGS SHAPE US
BY MEGAN MICHELSON
My brother Miles laid in an intensive care unit inside a trauma hospital in Reno. He had hit a tree while chasing me on skis down Mammoth Mountain, California, and now, his brain was swelling dangerously inside his skull. Meanwhile, my sister, Erin, was pregnant with her first son, 7,200 miles away on the South Island of New Zealand. She couldn’t fly with the baby on the way, so I sat by my brother’s bedside alone and waited for him to live or die.
I was 24 years old at the time, and I remember thinking: My sister is about to usher in a new life and my brother is inviting death to dance, and they’re on opposite ends of the globe. I am stuck in the middle — and there’s not a thing I can do to help either of them. I love my brother and sister on a deeply cellular level, but I hated being in that position.
Turns out, our siblings are the easiest people in our lives to love and despise all
at once. They are simultaneously irritating, tiresome and impossible to be around, while also being the people on the planet who most closely resemble us. They
THOSE WHO REPORTED POSITIVE RELATIONSHIPS WITH THEIR SIBLINGS AND LOW LEVELS OF SIBLING CONFLICT WERE LESS LIKELY TO STRUGGLE WITH LONELINESS, DEPRESSION AND ANXIETY.
know us better than we know ourselves and always manage to say or do the one thing that gets under our skin the most. Still, we have no choice but to love them
unconditionally, maybe because we know they can’t bail on us like everyone else. Siblings, as we know, are the ones we’re stuck with the longest. Parents, spouses, friends, cousins, children: They see but a fraction of our lives. But your sister? Your brother? If we’re lucky, they’re here for the long haul. From cradle to grave, that’s the person who’s seen you at your worst and still pulls up a chair next to you at the dinner table.
My brother lived. Not long after, I got on a flight to New Zealand and stood at my sister’s bedside in a birthing center, where I watched, in awe with tears streaming down my cheeks, as she brought her son into the world.
SIBLINGS ARE UBIQUITOUS — 80 percent of Americans have one. Yet research on siblings tends to be a bit overlooked. Only 3 percent of studies on close personal relationships focus on siblings. What research
BOTTOM LINE: GET ALONG WELL WITH YOUR SIBLING AND YOU’LL BE HAPPIER LATER IN LIFE.
does exist on sibling relations shows us one important thing: Siblings matter more than we realize. Our dynamic with them shapes who we are, how we perceive ourselves, and our outlook on the world.
Most of the research conducted has focused on how siblings shape us when we’re adolescents, when we begin to learn good and bad habits from those close to us. For example, younger siblings are more likely to engage in substance abuse behaviors if their older siblings drink or do drugs. But some of these influences can last well into adulthood. A 2019 study of people in their 60s found that those who reported positive relationships with their siblings and low levels of sibling conflict were less likely to struggle with loneliness, depression and anxiety. Bottom line: Get along well with your sibling and you’ll be happier later in life.
Miles is six years older than me. When I was a kid, I called him Mino. He and my sister would roll me up in a rug, strap it closed with a belt and leave me, like an imprisoned burrito on the floor. I didn’t mind; I liked the attention. Erin, my sister, is four years older than me. When she’d have birthday parties in middle school, I was so desperate to be invited that I would dress up like a fancy waiter in a black and white outfit and serve her and her friends drinks and finger foods on a tray. I am the runt in the family and all I longed for was to be included. To be a part of something greater than myself.
Before me, there was Macey, the sister I never knew. Macey died a couple of months after she was born, of SIDS, which is what they called it in the ’80s when babies stopped breathing in their cribs. Rainbow babies are what they called it when you had another baby to attempt to replace the one who died. You can ask my mother, but having another kid never fills the hollow left in your heart when you lose a child. That hole is still there, four decades later.
But still, they had me, the second-third child. Like an asterisk on the family tree. But I was loved fiercely. My mom treated
me like I was the lucky lottery card. The first few years, my siblings and I were a team, us against the elements. My parents would take us into the mountains, skiing, hiking and on overnight river trips, where we’d roll our sleeping bags onto the sand — me sandwiched between my older siblings — and sleep to the sound of a gushing river. While skiing, I’d chase my brother and sister in a flying snowplow down our favorite run, Hot Wheels Gully. Miles launched off jumps, and then there was me, his constant shadow. It was an idyllic, wild childhood. But then, one day, when I was four years old, the team I’d tried so hard to be a part of got divided.
My parents got a divorce. At first, the three of us kids went to live with my mom, three hours away from the house my parents had built together, where my dad still lives all these years later. But Miles didn’t get along with my mom’s new boyfriend, who entered the picture and became our stepdad. So not long after, Miles moved back in with my dad.
The fracture between the three of us siblings grew as the chasm between my parents did, too. At home at my mom’s house, I craved my sister’s attention and a sense of belonging: I would sneakily read her diary and steal her clothes, anything to get her to notice me. At my dad’s house, I dug a peephole in the wall between my brother’s room and my own so I could spy on what he was doing. I felt like I barely knew my brother anymore. We’d get together for weekends and holidays, but he was essentially a middle school-aged stranger, living under a faraway roof.
My mom’s method for getting the three of us kids back together was to throw us in a raft. So, we did a two-week Grand Canyon river trip when I was 12. When a scorpion crawled into my sleeping bag at night, it was Miles who fished it out for me. When I was scared to poop into the groover, it was Erin who told me it would be OK. And when things got really scary, like when our stepdad flew into his abusive rages, it was both of them who I ran to for safety. All
of which is to say, even when our siblings feel like aliens, they are the people who have your back.
I CALLED UP an expert in sibling dynamics because I was curious about what we know, as a society, about the way siblings work. How does our behavior with our closest relatives define us? Should I work harder to keep my siblings close? Shawn Whiteman is an associate professor at Utah State University’s Department of Human Development and Family Studies, where the main focus of his academic research is on siblings.
The closest sibling relationships, Whiteman tells me, are sister-sister dynamics. Girls are traditionally taught to be more emotionally expressive, apparently. Brother-brother duos tend to be more expressive through shared hobbies and physical activities. Those are just stereotypes, of course. In my family, my sister and I were — and still are — closer than my brother and I are, but that’s mostly due to proximity. She and I grew up under the same roof and we live an hour away from each other now. When I was nine months pregnant with my son, she was the one I called to say, “Is this what happens when your water breaks?” She and I both appreciate long walks in the woods and a night spent under the stars. When I lost friends in an avalanche, she would send me handmade cards in the mail with notes that said: Thinking of you.
My brother, on the other hand, lives in a different part of the state and, of course, he grew up in a different house. It’s like we speak different languages. I go for long runs to deal with stress; he stays up all night on the computer. I love to travel; he only recently got a passport. I shop at the farmers market with canvas totes; he buys 12 cups of Starbucks coffee a day, each time using a throwaway cup. (My attempts to gift him reusable mugs have proven useless.) Our values are intrinsically different. But I’ve come to realize that’s OK. We don’t have to have the same values
in order to have a close relationship. Our siblings can remind us who we are, and who we’re not.
“Siblings provide us with a constant source of comparison for us to evaluate our accomplishments, our attributes, our qualities against,” Whiteman says. “At times, your sibling can show you things you want to aspire to be, or ways you want to be different. Siblings can both inspire us to move in different directions and also show us ways that we want to be different from them.”
When Miles graduated from high school and went off to college, he became the ultimate recluse. Months would pass without any word from him. Throughout his 20s, he skipped holidays and family functions altogether. Once, my mom sent me on a
couldn’t speak, but he would write simple messages to me on a whiteboard, like “hi” or “ TV.” When he was out of it, I would rub his feet as he lay in bed, as the nurses said that could help relax him. Many months later, he wrote me a note that said, “Thank you for the foot massages.” I honestly didn’t know if he even knew I was doing that.
After the accident, he stayed closer to all of us. Uncle Mino, as my kids call him now, shows up for Halloween in the goofiest costume and he’s always first in line for roller coasters and ice cream. He’s the fun uncle. My sister and her family moved back home from New Zealand and I got to watch from the sidelines as my two nephews grew up, exploring the mountains just like we did. Our family, once divided by death and divorce and distance, is a unit again. We don’t always get along, of course, but we get each other.
EVEN WHEN OUR SIBLINGS FEEL LIKE ALIENS, THEY ARE THE PEOPLE WHO HAVE YOUR BACK.
mission to drive hours to his apartment just to knock on his door and make sure he was still in there. (He was, enmeshed in a computer programming job and surrounded by piles of takeout boxes.) It would take that skiing accident and his resulting traumatic brain injury when he was 30 years old for him to reintegrate into the family. I had spent years wanting my big brother back — and suddenly, there he was, and he needed me to help him use the bedpan.
As he rehabilitated from his brain injury, my mom and I cared for him for many months. It wasn’t pretty, but it felt nice to be a part of his life again. During his early recovery, he had a tracheotomy and
Whiteman says it’s never too late to reestablish a stronger relationship with your sibling, even if conflict has gotten in the way in the past. “Sibling relationships are important throughout our lives. They can be sources of support and also sources of conflict,” he says. “But there are always opportunities to renegotiate challenges. It often takes some change in the family system for those challenges to be brought up. Something has to happen for you to go back and look at the conflict and make it better.”
No relationship with a sibling is free of strife. I watch my own kids — now eight and 10 — as they brawl it out with each other on a daily basis. Someday, they’ll appreciate each other, I hope. I know I do. Just knowing there’s a person out there who I can call who’s seen the entire trajectory of my life from day one is a special sort of comfort. It’s an ally you don’t always know you need. But one who, hopefully, shows up when you need them. Miles and Erin, if you’re reading this, I wouldn’t be who I am without you two. I am forever grateful to be your little sister. But never roll me up in a rug again.
GHOST TOWNS CITIES
AFTER A COMMERCIAL REAL ESTATE FALL, CAN DOWNTOWNS GET BACK UP?
BY KEVIN LIND
When you look at Downtown Denver, you’re looking at a skyline with more than 30 skyscrapers. In less than three square miles, the downtown area has nearly 32 million square feet of commercial real estate. That’s nearly 12 Empire State Buildings’ worth of office space. Kaiser Permanente and Wells Fargo have a presence. There are four professional sports teams, hundreds of restaurants (four of which have Michelin stars), and nearly three-quarters of a million people. It should be, and has been, a vibrant place. But right now, more than a third of Denver’s downtown is sitting vacant. While that number is not as stark as downtown San Francisco, where the percentage of vacancy is closer to 35, it’s still higher than Manhattan’s 16 percent. Despite its attractions and efforts, Denver is a textbook example of the struggle cities across the country are experiencing. Nationwide, there’s currently over $94 billion worth of commercial property classified as “distressed,” and 20 percent of all office space in the country is empty.
With landlords facing $1.5 trillion in debt coming due at the end of this year, commercial real estate markets are facing a reckoning. Brokers are bullish, citing the demand for high-end space, but that obscures the very real issues that owners and cities face when it comes to attracting people and businesses back to what was, for generations, their bustling hub.
“DOWNTOWNS ARE NEVER GOING TO GO AWAY. BUT I DON’T THINK IT WILL EVER BE LIKE IT USED TO BE.”
A recent survey of over 700 companies from Resume Builder found that 9 in 10 working Americans are returning to the office this year, and yet more than a fifth of office space in Western metro hubs like Denver, Salt Lake City and Phoenix isn’t
getting leased like it used to — and likely never will. That’s because a large percentage of office space — or “stock,” as those in the business refer to it — in downtowns across the country is not leasable in its current state due to its deteriorating condition and a lack of demand. The pandemic, and the way it changed America’s work-life balance, left real estate owners with no capital and no need to maintain or update buildings. Now, nearly five years later, a swath of the commercial real estate market needs to be renovated, converted for another use or demolished to build something new. Pile on months of high interest rates and dwindling access to loans, and cities are leaving behind (and losing money on) a lot of wasted space in city centers made to be filled to the brim.
While the question of how to revive downtown hubs is in the air, businesses and workers are moving to “exurbs,” or the areas outside urban and suburban centers but within major metropolitan boundaries. According to the latest census, exurbs are
MICHAEL GLENWOOD
among the fastest-growing neighborhoods in America, with secondary, smaller downtown regions around cities like Phoenix and Salt Lake City attracting residents. These new “exurb” downtowns are growing, and actual city centers are struggling to attract post-pandemic tenants. In 2023, more than half a million people moved out of major cities. This marked the first time in decades that counties with populations of 250,000 or less attracted the most new residents moving inside the country. Since this is where the bulk of metro populations live now and development is cheaper, it’s in these neighborhoods where lenders see less risk in funding new builds. In other words, the business follows the people — it’s what real estate experts call a “flight to quality.”
It’s hard to blame businesses as they leave city centers and follow residents to the exurbs, but the long-term consequences don’t take too long to show up. According to Stijn Van Nieuwerburgh, a Columbia Business School real estate professor, real estate value drops and subsequent loan defaults affect banks that might have otherwise invested in redevelopment. With fewer office workers doing shopping nearby, local businesses lose a primary source of income. This translates to fewer transactions for the city, which then loses the tax revenue necessary for the government to operate. New York City’s comptroller published a report that forecast that in 2025 alone the city could lose over $300 million in tax revenue from commercial real estate’s depreciation. Van Nieuwerburgh described the situation as a “train wreck in slow motion.”
Urban centers have long been America’s primary economic drivers. According to the U.S. Conference of Mayors, metros account for over 90 percent of the U.S. economy. And city centers are traditionally the economic drivers of cities. But that’s changing now. “Downtowns are never going to go away,” says David Caputo, a data scientist at Moody’s, who focuses on commercial real estate in the West. “But I don’t think it will ever be the 100 percent center focus like it used to be.”
As cities across the country grapple with what to do to revive their shrinking city centers and make them valuable again — culturally and economically — intermountain metros are already taking action, and experiencing major growth. Could they be the blueprint for saving America’s downtowns?
AS THE UNITED States expanded westward, settlements sprung up at natural crossroads, near waterways and mineral deposits. These towns eventually transformed into cities. Some, like Denver, exploded seemingly overnight due to gold, while others experienced more deliberate planning and steady growth. Those first downtowns were simple, concentrated streets where you could get everything you needed: a loan, sundries, food and drink,
WITH LANDLORDS FACING $1.5 TRILLION IN DEBT COMING DUE AT THE END OF THIS YEAR, COMMERCIAL REAL ESTATE MARKETS ARE FACING A RECKONING.
entertainment, places to worship, a marriage certificate, a dentist, a new horse, you name it. Centralized commerce was the most efficient means for the community’s various needs to be met. As populations grew, main streets branched out to several blocks, storefronts built second stories, and downtowns were born. Fast-forward to the decades that brought skyscrapers, office jobs and the internet, and downtowns bustled into a new millennium. All that growth, however, came to a screeching halt in 2020. Not a broker, lender, owner or anyone, really, was ready for the pandemic, leaving American downtowns as an approximation of the tumbleweed ghost towns of old pulp Westerns. But instead of just waiting to see how the story ends, some cities
have used downturns as a chance to rebuild their downtowns into economic and cultural hubs for future generations.
Phoenix is one of these metro, well, phoenixes. Just a generation ago, the city’s downtown was what Phoenix’s own community alliance council described as full of “urban squalor and decay,” marked by “people fleeing to the suburbs,” with “no residential density or established art and culture presence,” no sports complexes “to support dining and nightlife,” and “no rail system.” Since 2005, $8.3 billion in public and private money has been invested in downtown, creating a viable place for the 1,900 business establishments, more than 63,000 people who work there and the six million visitors who annually pass through its 1.7 square miles. That initial investment seems to have paid off. The city is now listed as one of the top 10 fastest-growing in the country, and has an above-average city safety score, according to the Conventions Cities Index, and downtown Phoenix generates more than $21 billion each year. That’s an 11 percent increase in revenue from 2018. When those billions are broken down, $10.1 billion can be directly attributed to visitors, events, construction, business, work and residential activity in the downtown Phoenix area. Now, over 3,000 residential units are under construction — with 2,000 more planned to be built this year.
Other Western cities, like Las Vegas and Salt Lake City, have similarly taken their future into their own hands instead of relying on the market. Since 2020, Las Vegas has invested an estimated $400 million in downtown revitalization projects. Karen Chapple, an urban studies researcher at the University of Toronto, found that Las Vegas had recovered quicker post-pandemic than most other cities in the country by measuring the resiliency of downtowns using cellphone location data. In fact, the city’s downtown recovered to 103 percent of its pre-pandemic activity by November 2023. At the time, Chapple told the Las Vegas Review-Journal that growth could continue with “investment in transit and improving
walkability, hosting events or short-term businesses in empty office space and increasing affordable housing stock.”
The research showed that multiple cities in the region — not just Las Vegas — had stronger returns to the downtown core than elsewhere in the country. According to Chapple, the versatility of the people, the space and the jobs in the West are the very things that set these downtowns apart from coastal hubs. Other regions don’t have the same professional diversity. “(They have) a lot of lawyers, accountants, management consulting firms and so forth,” she said. “Those are the folks who are working at home more than any others and that’s why the cities that overspecialized in professional jobs — San Francisco, Seattle, New York, Boston — they’re still suffering from that.”
Salt Lake City’s continued investing in its downtown includes raising its sales tax from 7.75 to 8.25 percent, which will raise an estimated $1.2 billion to fund its ongoing downtown revitalization project. The action Salt Lake City is taking to invest in diversifying its downtown is positioning the metro area to become one of “America’s next boomtowns,” according to reporting from Axios. Already, this latest injection of capital seems to be having the trickle-down effect the government and investors are hoping for. Government officials expect the city center’s population to more than double this year, according to the University of Utah’s Kem C. Gardner Policy Institute. Roman Belgado, a senior associate at commercial real estate and investment firm CBRE, is seeing most of his office’s leasing activity — 68.6 percent — in the downtown Salt Lake region. He’s bullish on companies and their returning to downtown. “A lot of that vitalization or resurgence has been downtown,” he says. “A lot of our clients are downtown. We’re downtown.”
LAST AUGUST, THE mayors of Boise, Idaho, and Syracuse, New York, signed a proclamation declaring the two “sister cities” — even though they don’t share much resemblance right now. Syracuse currently has one of
the tightest rental markets in the country. There are massive retail buildings on the cusp of closure, and over 13.8 percent of its office stock is vacant, and that percentage is expected to rise. Boise, however, had little trouble through the pandemic, nor the current commercial downturn, and is one of the fastest-growing cities in the country.
“We spend a lot of our day not debunking, but explaining the difference (between) Boise and what the other larger metro markets nationwide are experiencing,” says John Stevens, a partner at TOK Commercial in Boise. Only 8.7 percent of Boise’s current downtown office stock is sitting vacant. Stevens chalks it up to a few factors — including Idaho’s lax Covid-19 restrictions and different tax structures — but mostly that
INSTEAD OF WAITING TO SEE HOW THE STORY ENDS, SOME CITIES HAVE USED THE DOWNTURN AS A CHANCE TO REBUILD THEIR DOWNTOWNS INTO ECONOMIC AND CULTURAL HUBS FOR FUTURE GENERATIONS.
it’s a livable city. “If you go up and down the green belt on your bike or walking, you’re gonna see people fishing in the river,” Stevens says, pointing to the middle of downtown. There’s a ski resort 18 miles away, nearly 4,000 new apartment units under construction and it doesn’t hurt that there is approximately $20 billion in development happening at a moment when developers in other cities are struggling to get a loan at all, let alone an affordable one.
All that to say, its downtown is also a “vibrant” place in the eyes of people who want to invest. That is, in part, because the entire city is geographically small, taking only 30 minutes to drive from one end to the other. People can live, recreate and work in a somewhat urban environment
— there are skyscrapers, hospitals, stadiums, a university and the Capitol — with immediate access to a variety of green spaces and recreation. It helps that Boise has seen the second highest percent increase in tech jobs of any city since the pandemic, and the average rent for a one-bedroom is $2,000 less than it is in San Francisco. The city offers a number of tax incentives for new businesses, too, like a 25 percent sales tax rebate and possible full exemptions. All this makes Boise attractive to both workers and businesses. Its tangibles and intangibles line up more with the many exurban mini-downtowns of the West than with the more traditional, urban downtowns. This kind of city center fits the current needs of the commercial real estate market with room for development and enough people and businesses moving there to warrant investment.
As the commercial real estate market continues to get back up after the pandemic and workers return to the office, our city centers are at an inflection point. Will banks and owners sell at a loss? Should cities rezone spaces to mixed-use? Will we need to demolish deteriorating buildings and start over? Should we do nothing? As the need and purpose of commercial real estate shifts, the subsequent effects of these decisions will show up in the storefronts of downtowns, the availability of housing and the financial bottom line. But perhaps most importantly, it will determine which cities people want to move to, and which cities people want to leave. As cities like Salt Lake City, Phoenix and Boise stand out as fast-growing and profitable examples for cities across the country experiencing commercial real estate fallout, a new era of rethinking our economic, cultural and urban hubs is taking place. That’s what gives many hope that the “flight to quality” can be redirected back to city centers. According to Anthony Albanese, a senior vice president at CBRE’s Denver office, even exurbs “can only be so big.” Somewhere has “to make up that gap,” he says. “And the closest thing that could make up that gap is downtown.”
CONTROL THE NARRATIVE
WHAT’S NEXT FOR RUPERT MURDOCH’S MEDIA EMPIRE?
BY MARIYA MANZHOS
On an overcast September morning, Rupert Murdoch emerged from a white SUV and made his way toward the copper dome and looming pillars of the Washoe County Courthouse in downtown Reno. The 93-year-old media giant clutched the hand of Elena Zhukova, a former Russian scientist and his fifth wife, as they climbed the stairs together and disappeared underneath the cavernous doorway. Soon after, his eldest son Lachlan arrived with his wife, a subtle smile on his face as he followed his father into the courthouse. Inside, three of Rupert’s other children — James, Elisabeth and Prudence — waited.
Ahead of the family was a week of high-stakes hearings kept behind closed doors. The legal showdown could determine the fate of Rupert’s sprawling multibillion-dollar empire, consisting of both News Corp and Fox Corporation, which own dozens of outlets, including Fox News, The Wall Street Journal and the New York Post. The family, split into two factions, turned up in Nevada — a state that offers high confidentiality in legal matters of family trust disputes — to answer a very
big question: Who will control the family media empire after Rupert’s death?
That question was supposed to be settled after Rupert announced his retirement in 2023 and Lachlan was named CEO of the Fox/News Corp powerhouse. The company's voting shares controlled by the Murdoch family, roughly 40 percent, were to be distributed equally between the four eldest children after Rupert's passing. Everything seemed future-proofed.
AGREEMENTS ONCE INTENDED TO PRESERVE THE FAMILY BUSINESS HAVE SPLINTERED THE ALREADY FRACTURED FAMILY FURTHER APART.
Until last summer, when The New York Times obtained a court document exposing a new twist in the Murdoch succession saga: Rupert wanted to amend the terms of his irrevocable family trust to grant his full voting share, all 40 percent, solely to Lachlan.
In early December, one year since Rupert first filed his petition, a Nevada probate court commissioner ruled against Rupert’s wishes. The sharp and scathing 96-page opinion, as reported by The New York Times, called Murdoch’s plan “a carefully crafted charade” to secure Lachlan’s leadership "regardless of the impacts” on the family companies or trust beneficiaries, and deemed that Rupert and Lachlan acted in “bad faith” toward the other siblings.
Although the ruling is not a final decision — Lachlan and Rupert reportedly intend to appeal — it presents a significant setback for the media mogul. The trust, once designed to foster peace among the children and preserve the family business, now threatens to drive the already-fractured family further apart.
The ripple effects of the Murdochs’ legal in-fighting are certain to reach beyond the family dynasty. It could reshape Fox News — the most-watched TV station in the nation — altering political discourse, public opinion and even the future of American democracy.
RUPERT’S VAST EMPIRE began with one modest paper in Adelaide, Australia
— simply named The News — which he inherited from his father. Rupert expanded the business through a series of strategic acquisitions. In 1969, he bought British tabloids News of the World and The Sun, revamping them and driving their sales to record highs. He ventured into the U.S. market when he bought the New York Post in 1976 and solidified his influence on U.S. media with the launch of Fox News in 1996 and the purchase of The Wall Street Journal in 2007. By slashing costs and wielding his political connections, Rupert built a media conglomerate capable of shaping public opinion in Australia, England, the United States and beyond.
Since the question of succession was first raised decades ago, Rupert viewed his three children from his second (and longest) marriage to journalist Anna dePeyester — Elisabeth, Lachlan and James — as the lead contenders. All three showed interest in the family business. But he wanted them to prove themselves first.
Elisabeth was regarded by some as most fit to be her father’s successor, combining both charm and corporate aptitude. She served as managing director of the family’s British Sky Broadcasting, later rebranded as Sky, but left the family business in 2000 to launch a new television production company, Shine. After striking out on her own, she went on the record to say that she has “no ambition for the top job.” That left Lachlan and James. The brothers are two years apart in age and have long vied for their father’s favor and the prospect of becoming the next Murdoch mogul. In the early aughts, Lachlan appeared to be the favorite — Rupert called him “the first among equals”— until he abruptly moved to Australia with his family after a calamitous fallout with his father. In a series of business decisions at Fox, Rupert had sided with his executive team — who believed Lachlan to be too inexperienced — on a measure to prune Lachlan’s powers at News Corp. Lachlan quit, and father and son were left on each side of the rift.
James swiftly emerged as heir apparent.
But he squandered his chances when he got caught up in a phone-hacking scandal in 2011, when journalists at the News of the World illegally hacked into the voicemails of public figures — including celebrities, politicians and members of the British royal family. Leading News Corp’s operations in Europe and Asia at the time, James claimed to be unaware of the practices, but he stepped down amid the controversy. Following James’ resignation, Rupert turned his attention back to Lachlan. After all, Rupert still needed a successor. Lured back by his father, Lachlan arrived back in the United States in 2014.
The back-and-forth of Lachlan and James’ front-runner race sharpened the edge of a family dynamic already laced with corpo-
“MURDOCH HAS SOUGHT TO FIGURE OUT WHO WOULD LEAD HIS MEDIA EMPIRE IN A MANNER THAT EMBODIES HIS OWN DRIVE.”
rate viciousness. “Murdoch has sought to figure out who would lead his media empire in a manner that embodies his own drive and his own model in a sense,” says David Folkenflik, NPR news media correspondent and author of “Murdoch’s World: The Last of the Old Media Empires.” “And in doing that he essentially pitted his two sons against each other.”
The rift between the brothers deepened, fueled by their diverging political ideologies. James began distancing himself from conservative politics and became increasingly critical of News Corp’s coverage of climate change and the January 6 insurrection. Meanwhile, some say Lachlan has become even more conservative than Rupert himself. In 2020, James resigned from the News Corp board, citing “disagreements over certain editorial content.” With James’ departure, Lachlan, who did not respond to
our request for comment, rose as the undeniable successor.
In his eldest son, Rupert sees a way forward for his political vision. Reece Peck, associate professor of media culture at the College of Staten Island at CUNY and author of “Fox Populism,” likens Rupert to the early 20th-century media tycoons like Randolph Hearst and Joseph Pulitzer, who used their newspapers to wage their political crusades. “To see them as only businessmen, we’re missing half of the picture,” he says. “There is a deeper kind of cultural, ideological mission at the heart of News Corp’s and Murdoch’s media empire. And who is the most aligned with that ideological mission? It’s Lachlan.”
But the current legal battle around the family trust has cast Lachlan’s succession — and any family harmony the trust had intended to protect — into the mire. Established in 1999 after Murdoch and Anna dePeyester’s divorce, the trust was created to forestall a costly settlement and preserve control over the assets in the family. “The structure reflects Anna’s desire to protect her children’s succession,” says Alice Enders, media analyst of Enders Analysis in London, who’s followed the Murdoch family for years. Under the current terms of the trust, each one of dePeyester’s three children — Elisabeth, Lachlan and James, as well as Prudence from Murdoch’s first marriage — has one vote over the company assets. Murdoch has four votes, which, as of now, will be distributed equally between the four children when he dies. Murdoch’s two youngest daughters, from his third marriage to Wendi Deng, are beneficiaries of the trust but don’t hold any voting rights, despite court records showing that Lachlan and Rupert offered them votes while petitioning to amend the trust. A contest that was once brother versus brother is now Lachlan versus his three eldest siblings. The odds are not in Lachlan’s favor. Although James, Elisabeth and Prudence have assured that they were not seeking to challenge Lachlan’s authority before, they certainly could now. The door is open. With equal control, yet different visions for the
company, James and his sisters could, in theory, vote against Lachlan on the board and temper Fox’s approach to the news. They could find a way to sell it altogether. Ultimately, those “coulds” are what’s going to prolong this family’s battle, says Folkenflik. “It’s the fight for Fox News, which is the chief economic engine for the Murdoch fortunes right now.”
IN VOTING TO reject the proposal, Edmund J. Gorman Jr., Nevada’s 2nd Judicial District Court probate commissioner, wrote Rupert and Lachlan’s efforts were “an attempt to stack the deck in Lachlan Murdoch’s favor after Rupert Murdoch’s passing so that his succession would be immutable. The play might have worked; but an evidentiary hearing, like a showdown in a game of poker, is where gamesmanship collides with the facts and at its conclusion, all the bluffs are called and the cards lie face up. The court, after considering the facts of this case in the light of the law, sees the cards for what they are and concludes this raw deal will not, over the signature of this probate commissioner, prevail.”
Rupert and Lachlan accused James of orchestrating a coup with Prudence and Elisabeth to oust their eldest brother after Rupert’s death and change the political ideology of the Fox Corporation to be more moderate. Lachlan argued that under his leadership, the family’s media holdings would remain conservative, and therefore profitable, which was to the benefit of all trustees. Prudence, Elisabeth and James objected and, according to the court records obtained by The New York Times, disavowed “any plan to oust their brother” after their father’s death.
While Gorman’s decision is influential, it’s not the last word. Rupert plans to appeal. This litigation could extend for years, experts say, and that could mean that the dispute continues beyond Rupert’s death. What seemed to be the empire’s way forward is now being pulled back, and that’s not what investors want to hear when there are billions of dollars on the line.
“Is Fox News fair and balanced?” Henry Blodget, founder of Business Insider, asked Lachlan in an on-stage interview in 2017. A hushed chuckle spread across the room. Lachlan didn’t flinch. “Look, I think you gotta look at Fox News. … Is The New York Times fair and balanced?” He went on to underscore the distinction between Fox’s news and opinion sides, emphasizing the channel’s focus on its core conservative audience when it comes to opinion. “There is a gap on the center-right of the market,” he explained. The mainstream media serves the left or center-left audience. “Fox News has found a market to the right, and that’s the strategy.”
That strategy has been undeniably successful, turning Fox News into a powerhouse that has been shaping American
“THIS IS THE FIGHT FOR FOX NEWS, THE CHIEF ECONOMIC ENGINE FOR THE MURDOCH FORTUNES.”
political life for 30 years. Initially skeptical of Donald Trump as a presidential candidate in 2016, Rupert came to embrace him, along with the soaring ratings and profits that support for Trump brought to the network. “Rupert decided Trump was the way to go because his audience decided that Trump was the way to go,” says Folkenflik.
Rupert’s — and Lachlan’s — insatiable drive to retain the audience and assert the political influence they’ve grown has dulled any fear of the courtroom. In 2023, Rupert shelled out an eye-watering $787 million to Dominion Voting Systems to settle a defamation lawsuit over Fox News’ 2020 election coverage. The company also has weathered other disgraces and upheavals, namely the high-profile sexual harassment scandals involving founder Roger Ailes and commentator Bill O’Reilly, as well as the departures of prominent figures like Tucker
Carlson and Megyn Kelly. Yet, despite these issues, the Fox audience has remained steadfast. “Fox News is a kind of survivor,” says Jeffrey McCall, media analyst and professor of communications at DePauw University in Indiana. “For the people who watch Fox and rely on them for news, they don’t have too many other places to go.”
WHAT HAPPENS TO Fox News if it continues to fall out of Rupert or Lachlan’s grasp is a matter of speculation, experts believe. “If they want to continue to have a financial juggernaut which Fox News Channel is and The Wall Street Journal is, they should probably stay the course with regards to how they want to run those news outlets editorially,” says McCall. “If they want to redirect (Fox News) to a different kind of news vision or news agenda — they would be taking a big risk.” He believes Rupert’s conservative enterprise offers a needed counterbalance to the “traditional left-of-center” news industry in the country. “It provides perspectives that would not be found on ABC or The New York Times. It broadens the news agenda.”
Despite the current legal irrevocability of the trust and the diffusion of power between the Murdoch heirs, Enders thinks a transformation of Fox, the “cash cow” of the entire media conglomerate, is unlikely. “This is less about differences in ideology among the four siblings than about the very substantial financial interests of each,” she says. “And who has eventual control of them.”
After the ruling, legacy media institutions published a flurry of stories. Prudence, Elisabeth and James released a statement welcoming the decision and an opportunity to strengthen and rebuild relationships “among all family members.” The drama continues. But despite this recent fuel added to the feud, millions of homes across America will have TV screens alit with Fox News tonight. The network that has defined and energized American conservatism for decades, and the Murdoch dynasty itself, remains. This time, that may be all Rupert Murdoch wants.
S THE NAZI armies descended on Europe, H.G. Wells wrote a book called “The New World Order,” outlining a path to world peace. Wells was not only the best-known science fiction writer of his time, but also a utopian socialist. And in fact, according to Wells, the two went hand in hand, with scientific and human progress moving in lockstep. Even before the creation of the internet, Wells held a deep belief in the transformative power of technology to expand human knowledge, advance world peace and connect societies across geographies.
In an almost complete inversion of today’s battle lines, the West in the 1940s saw a lively debate between socialist techno-optimists and capitalist individualists. Those on the left imagined a central decision-maker that would ultimately be able to make optimal allocations based on a rational cost-benefit analysis. One Austrian philosopher of science, Otto Neurath, advocated socialist planning where the economy would be treated “as if it were one factory.” Libertarians like Austrian economist Friedrich von Hayek disagreed.
The potential of a true “singularity” today gives rise to a similar hope. Twenty-first century techno-optimists, now often coming from among the world’s most successful capitalists, imagine a superintelligent artificial general intelligence that can outperform all human intelligence and be leveraged to solve the world’s greatest challenges. The more utopian of the techno-optimists envisage a world in which artificial general intelligence agents replace human policymakers altogether.
Like many revolutionary thinkers, today’s techno-optimists take things too far. They misunderstand what is required for a government to be perceived as legitimate by citizens who have become accustomed
to democratic processes; worse, they overlook how democracies exist not merely to fulfill particular administrative goals but to engender a sense of equality and empowerment across society.
While we should not wholesale replace democracy with “algocracy” — rule by algorithms — the techno-optimists have indeed identified something essential: AI will radically transform the way governments make every decision, from the local to the global. For perhaps the first time since democracy’s modern inception in the late 18th century, the age of AI will force a reckoning with that very system. Citizens will need to reaffirm why democracy remains important in their lives. Leaders will need to reevaluate what is working and what is not and innovate accordingly. If democracy is to survive this century and beyond, it must evolve.
This new reality, however, should not evoke fear or regret. It is cause for excitement and hope. The opportunities afforded by AI to make governance better are unprecedented in human history.
So far, the military domain has led the way on the public adoption of AI. This has played out most clearly on the battlefields of Ukraine, where the Ukrainian military has tried keeping pace with the much larger Russian military through technological innovations. From open-source intelligence collection to AI-powered drones, the technology has already begun to rewrite how wars are fought. Soon, however, other sectors — from health care to education — will follow. As AI systems continuously improve, governments will have to make tough calls — balancing equity, speed and cost — about which decisions to delegate to these new technologies and which to reserve for human oversight.
AI has enormous potential to improve
the way the local and national governments operate across a range of responsibilities — executive, judicial and legislative. With the help of new predictive models and novel data collection tools, it will allow executive branch leaders to make more informed and data-driven decisions, especially with time constraints in moments of crisis. Judges, too, will be able to make better, fairer and faster decisions when assisted by AI models built on past cases and adjusted for human and data-based biases. And on a legislative level, policymakers will summon expert research at any moment and access tools that can help draft and amend laws in seconds. Beyond improving decision-making processes and government efficiency, AI can also help build support for and faith in democratic governance itself. Through new crowdsourcing mechanisms enabled by AI, governments can more easily aggregate citizen preferences and encourage direct citizen participation, facilitating more people to engage in their own governance and scaling the practice of democracy. By expanding the possibilities for new forms of collective decision-making, AI could fundamentally change what it means to be a politician, a citizen and everything in between.
At the same time, deep-rooted norms of procedural justice and human leadership should give pause to those who foresee a full-scale victory of an AI social planner. After all, 20th century socialist planners similarly proved only too fallible. The coming of artificial general intelligence may herald less of a new world order and more of an improved version of our current liberal order: Democracy 2.0.
outcomes and public discontent. Among others, we know that political decisions are swayed by availability and recency biases — politicians spent billions on counterterrorism operations after 9/11 but paid little heed to the risk of a global pandemic prior to Covid-19. Experiments consistently show that highly educated and partisan individuals — in other words, the politicians in charge — are least likely of all to update their political opinions with new information. This does not bode well for an already polarized political class, especially in the United States.
As if that were not enough, human decision-making is also negatively influenced by physical constraints: Military operators perform worse when tired; judges are less lenient right before lunchtime. With the help of AI, governments will be able to deliver more services better, cheaper and faster. In short, AI can help those in charge make better decisions.
For instance, AI will prove an important weapon in the fight against corruption and fraud. In 2022, the U.S. IRS was able to respond to less than a third of calls made during tax season. In the future, large language models and AI agents should alleviate the burden by managing taxpayer inquiries, and algorithms will augment human analysts’ ability to detect fraud and tax evasion.
developing an AI to make autonomous decisions is actually quite distinct from developing an AI to complement human decision-making — and the latter will likely prove to be more impactful in the public sphere. The integration of AI in governance will thus more often be a response to human fallibility than an assertion of algorithmic prowess.
WHETHER TO USE AI in governance is an active choice. Why, then, should we involve new technologies in areas so sensitive to the functioning of our democratic process? The simple answer is that our current methods just aren’t good enough.
Our current tools of governance are riddled with human bias, leading to suboptimal
Artificial intelligence is by no means without flaws: Algorithms, too, are made by humans and thus vulnerable to many of the same biases. COMPAS, perhaps the most widely used AI tool in the U.S. judicial system, has faced criticism for its perceived racial bias in determining recidivism risk. But for AI, biases can be less static. The models are trained on particular sets of data and can be retrained on better, more inclusive data if the algorithms display inadequacies over time. Even imperfect algorithms can still be useful in pointing out human biases as they appear.
Adoption of AI will take different shapes across the various branches of government, at times replacing human decisions, though more often enhancing and informing them. Indeed, the process of
AT A TIME when the world is facing a convergence of geopolitical crises, it is especially promising that AI has the potential to substantially improve executive decision-making. Its role here follows from its unique ability to process massive amounts of data at warp speed.
Imagine the commander in chief being faced with the decision of whether to order a retaliatory missile strike on a position in a hostile country. Currently, the president would likely call on advisers, who at most would have quickly solicited memos from their departments with differing degrees of knowledge about the issue at stake. With the help of AI, however, the White House could summarize all incoming intelligence reports from various agencies and historical diplomatic cables, analyze a treasure trove of open-source information and then arrive at an informed recommendation.
AI can also vastly improve the predictive capabilities of our executive apparatus. It could simulate different scenarios in a matter of minutes, helping those in charge better prepare for various contingencies. By relying on local sentiment analysis, sensor data and historical datasets, AI has already helped augment human abilities to predict political trends and crises and will surely grow ever better with time.
Decision-makers could also rely on large language models to “red team” U.S. foreign policy, dynamically simulating how other actors would react to U.S. moves. Beyond running a war game once or twice, one could simulate a war game thousands of times and ask the model to summarize its
AI WILL RADICALLY TRANSFORM THE WAY GOVERNMENTS MAKE EVERY DECISION, FROM THE LOCAL TO THE GLOBAL. FOR PERHAPS THE FIRST TIME SINCE DEMOCRACY’S MODERN INCEPTION IN THE LATE 18TH CENTURY, THE AGE OF AI WILL FORCE A RECKONING WITH THAT VERY SYSTEM.
findings. One could also imagine a “Putin chatbot” trained on public and classified information based on the Russian president’s actions, beliefs and pronouncements. In these ways, AI can improve contextual understanding and recommend courses of action to the humans in charge.
THE PREEMINENT CASE of AI compensating for lapses in human judgment is in the courtroom. While courts have historically enjoyed higher levels of public confidence compared to political branches, in recent years they have become mired in perceptions of bias and partisanship, often with good reason. AI could significantly increase the speed and fairness of judicial decisions.
In the courtroom, AI will largely augment rather than replace human decision-making. AI would be able to detect patterns of bias that judges themselves cannot see and assess risks based on predictive capabilities. Leveraging its ability to analyze large numbers of existing precedents, AI systems could compile decisions handed down by courts in similar cases and help judges make more informed, more consistent and more equitable choices. Judges can even help tailor the model’s input system to their particular needs, deciding which precedents to base their decisions on, and use large language models to summarize relevant rulings.
In some instances, AI models may be able to substitute for low-level and routine judicial decisions about traffic violations or other misdemeanors. But judges and juries
should always have the final say. What is more, the models they rely on should be auditable and transparent, with the information encoded in it both archived and accessible. Such a requirement may be hard to accept and deliver for AI companies but will be critical to ensure public trust in judicial sentencing. Encryption methods and evaluative algorithms can protect companies’ trade secrets while forcing models to reveal the rationales behind their recommendations. To protect technology providers, third-party auditors could be designated to legitimate algorithmic standards.
attempted carbon tax in France in 2018, which ended up generating immense public uproar through the Yellow Vests movement. With enhanced foresight, AI could help policymakers preempt and redesign legislation before a backlash ensues.
PERHAPS MOST UTOPIAN is the idea that AI could help the U.S. Congress and similar bodies emerge from perpetual legislative gridlock. In time, though, AI can equip lawmakers with powerful tools to make better informed decisions, predict outcomes, streamline administrative tasks and potentially reach agreement.
By processing large datasets from a variety of sources including public opinion surveys, social media, economic indicators and historical voting patterns, AI algorithms can identify trends that will help legislators understand the potential impact of their proposed laws and predict public reactions to them. For example, AI can analyze the economic effects of proposed taxes by simulating scenarios and providing legislators with a range of possible outcomes. Such a tool would have been immensely helpful ahead of President Emmanuel Macron’s
AI can also improve the efficiency and accuracy of legislative processes. The Congressional Research Service, which provides comprehensive research and analysis to members of Congress, could leverage AI to significantly augment its capabilities. Natural language processing algorithms can assist in drafting, amending and analyzing legislative texts by quickly identifying inconsistencies or redundancies with existing laws. This can significantly reduce the time and effort required for legal research to ensure that proposed bills are coherent and legally sound.
For something as simple as constituent services, AI could analyze communication from the public, categorize issues and prioritize responses based on urgency and relevance. AI-driven platforms could similarly facilitate more effective public consultations, allowing citizens to provide input on legislative proposals through user-friendly interfaces. Overall, AI could make governments more open and responsive to the needs of the public, strengthening the link between the state and the people.
WITH SUCH EXTENSIVE applications of AI across government, were the techno-optimists right after all? Should algorithms simply take
over for flawed human decision-makers? Not quite. The challenge of AI in governance is more than just a technical one. In a deeper sense, governance by AI risks a crisis of legitimacy. Already, trust in traditional institutions is at a record low.
Opaque decisions at the behest of unaccountable AI systems may only further erode trust: One can easily imagine the populist vitriol against an administrative state beholden to Big Tech. So far, the paradox of AI is that people do not trust AI — but are eager to use it. Surveys find that AI is seen as both more effective but also less trustworthy than human systems.
Governance by AI falls into the same trap as governance by experts. It presumes that all political decisions are simply technical decisions that can be clearly and cleanly solved with the right information. Indeed, it is true that certain policy decisions objectively promote human flourishing more effectively than others. It is also true that there are many administrative functions which can be easily sorted, and which would produce profound inefficiencies if the government were to consult the public on each one.
But many political decisions are reached through some compromise of competing values and priorities. As Aristotle put it in the Nicomachean Ethics, “No one deliberates about things that are invariable, nor about things that it is impossible for him
to do.” Even if AI can perfectly simulate citizen preferences, public legitimacy rests as much on an inclusive and transparent process as it does on the end result.
Delegating important decisions to a superintelligent black box seems to take technocracy to its logical extreme. Government by AI threatens to further concentrate power in the hands of unaccountable bureaucrats, technocrats and, in some cases, autocrats. Rather than converting citizens’ preferences into policies by means of a transparent political process, AI takes an inconceivably large number of inputs and with the help of often opaque algorithms arrives at a seemingly unexplainable output. Even if its output suggestions significantly outperform humans on some metrics, the process of arriving at these does not inspire public trust. In fact, delegating power to AI may offer a convenient way for elected politicians to deflect criticism and provide an excuse for incompetence at best and authoritarianism at worst.
a more democratic civic culture on a systematic level, with increased participation, deliberation and social cohesion dispersed throughout society.
Historically, democratic legitimacy has rested on two pillars: deliberation and mass participation. Different institutional configurations prioritize these ideals to varying degrees, and they are at times in tension with each other.
At the dawn of democracy in ancient Athens, a balance was sought by pairing a popular assembly — a form of direct democracy, where all citizens could choose to participate — with smaller deliberative bodies that were composed of citizens selected at random. The tension between deliberation and mass participation grew as large nation-states replaced homogenous city-states and elections emerged as the locus of modern democracy in the 18th century. Voting and occasional plebiscites were thought to satisfy the need for mass participation, with deliberative principles shaping parliamentary debates upstream, though seldom reaching the average citizen.
RATHER THAN OUTSOURCING decisionmaking power to AI, we can use AI to improve the democratic process itself, yielding new forms of lawmaking and legislative engagement. In this way, AI will not only enable better decisions among individuals in government; it could even help foster
Today, as populist waves proliferate across the world and citizens demand a more central role in public deliberations, advocates of deliberative democracy hope that sortition-based citizens’ assemblies can empower citizens and revitalize our political discourse. But so far, experiments in deliberative democracy are limited in size
LEADERS
WILL NEED TO REEVALUATE WHAT IS WORKING AND WHAT IS NOT AND INNOVATE ACCORDINGLY. IF DEMOCRACY IS TO SURVIVE THIS CENTURY AND BEYOND, IT MUST EVOLVE.
to a few hundred individuals at most. It is logistically infeasible to have humans moderate and participate in much larger fora. This is where AI comes in. AI has the ability to scale deliberative democracy and thus help resolve the fundamental tension between deliberation and mass participation. A virtual town hall — or hundreds of simultaneous town halls — could be run across an entire country through an AI platform that crowdsources inputs. An online forum could elicit comments from citizens and then aggregate common ground perspectives with the input of experts. Each citizen could have an AI chatbot in their pocket that serves as a deliberative partner, forcing them to contend with opposing views and sharpen their justifications. Variations of these ideas may suit different governments, and policymakers should experiment with pluralistic approaches.
An early example is Pol.is, an AI platform that has managed to engage as much as half of Taiwan’s population, aggregating and analyzing citizen feedback in real time. Taiwan has used this platform to help achieve public alignment on the question of AI regulation, bolstering the legitimacy of its government. In a way, the solution to too much AI may be more AI. Taiwan and other countries are not shifting power to unaccountable algorithms but instead using AI as a tool to devolve power to their own citizens.
First, humans must remain the final arbiter when it comes to the core functions of the state. Consequently, humans must also be the ones accountable. People acting on the basis of algorithmic recommendations, be they a low-level judge or a president, must still be held to account when their decisions go awry. Affected citizens should be able to appeal government decisions that were made with the help of AI
Second and relatedly, bureaucratic decisions in critical areas must remain explainable — which will be no easy feat when involving large language models, but which will hopefully get more precise with time. Politicians and bureaucrats need the technical expertise to be able to understand the output of the algorithms that inform their decisions. Those in charge have to be able to justify decisions to impose a trade embargo or commute a criminal sentence even, and especially, if they are made with the help of AI.
Third, AI systems used in the public sector must be subject to stringent controls related to nondiscrimination as well as privacy. China’s social credit score system conjures fears of a dystopian panopticon where every step is tracked and any click can be used against us. While in office, President Donald Trump instructed Congress to use social media to detect disability fraud. Sadly, the United States is not immune to the allure of mass surveillance, either.
transparent about the risks and challenges ahead.
But leaders should not be so afraid of AI that they foreclose its applications altogether. AI systems do not act on their own; ultimately, it is a human choice whether to use AI in government. We maintain agency over how we design it, and in doing so can set the parameters for how it engages in the world. As discussed, governments can accrue tremendous benefits through the use of AI, leading to faster and fairer decisions across executive, judicial and legislative domains. Even more important than any singular use case, the very process of interacting with and shaping government can be improved by AI, with new deliberative and participatory mechanisms that make the democratic ideal of self-rule accessible to all.
To prepare for a future where we embrace the promise of AI for good governance, we first have to ensure that the public sector does not fall behind. The U.S. government needs to invest in resources — data, software — that enable the rapid innovation, adoption and scaling of explainable, transparent and reliable AI. Building on the AI Executive Order 12, the White House should continue to encourage federal agencies to adopt these new technologies.
THE CRISIS OF legitimacy is real when it comes to AI, and if new technologies are to be used in government, they will require a careful balance of the promise and risks. AI works best when it is human-centered, constantly improving its algorithms based on human feedback and communication. Only if guided by clear values will AI be able to restore trust in political decision-makers. To promote public trust and legitimacy, AI -assisted decision-making should be governed by principles of accountability and explainability.
THESE CHALLENGES ARE daunting to say the least. As technically advanced as new AI models may be, they will not be able to overcome crises of trust and legitimacy unless they are understandable to the general public. A successful transition to a new era of governance means that not only AI models will have to become better at communicating their insights — political leaders will too. The humans in charge will need to proceed with caution in introducing these new models of decision-making, always remaining
Above all, good leadership starts with the right people. The U.S. government should undertake an all-out effort to recruit the country’s top talent. Organizations like Horizon, Partnership for Public Service, and the Nobel Reach Foundation have been leading the charge to recruit top technical talent for public service. Our best and brightest should help build and implement AI tools that can augment and assist human decision-making. If we get this right, this new age of AI should make our politics more data-driven and more democratic, less arbitrary and less polarized.
RTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE IS rapidly becoming the most transformative technology of the 21st century. From smart assistants and self-driving cars to medical diagnostics, AI is making its presence felt in almost every aspect of our lives. But with great potential comes significant risk, and one of the areas most affected by this new technological revolution is our democratic institutions. Recent reports have shown declining public trust in government institutions, and AI’s power to influence and shape information may be a major contributing factor. The events surrounding Cambridge Analytica’s psychographic profiling serve as stark reminders of AI’s potential impact.
The Democracy Index, published annually by The Economist, reported that half of the world’s countries saw their scores fall in recent years, including the United States, which was demoted from “full democracy” to “flawed democracy.” This decline was largely due to an erosion of confidence in public institutions.
AI is increasingly being used to influence information dissemination, voter behavior and public discourse — actions that are reshaping the democratic landscape. These impacts highlight the need for careful scrutiny and regulation of AI’s role in society.
Beyond elections, a new generation of
AI-driven technology stacks being deployed to industries like surveillance are compromising individual privacy, a key pillar of democratic society.
The relationship between AI, privacy and democracy is complex. It will be up to tech companies and government to strike a balance between innovation and, when it comes to preserving democracy, safeguarding our core constitutional values.
AI TECHNOLOGY IS often portrayed as a force for good — an innovation that enhances productivity, reduces inefficiencies and makes life more convenient. AI-powered devices can recommend personalized products, predict our preferences and assist us with everything from writing emails to navigating busy roads. AI has also been transformative in fields like health care, where machine learning models are being used to detect diseases earlier and with greater accuracy, and in education, where personalized learning tools can adapt to each student’s unique needs.
But as with any powerful tool, AI can also be used to harm. The vast amounts of personal data required for AI to function pose significant risks to privacy and individual
autonomy. The technology that powers your smart assistant and provides personalized recommendations can also be used to track your behavior, build detailed profiles of you and influence your decisions without your awareness.
AI is at the core of “big data” analytics and the Internet of Things, both of which contribute to the vast surveillance ecosystem we find ourselves in today and have made it possible to gather information on an unprecedented scale. These “things” include everything from wearable fitness trackers to smart thermostats. They are all collecting data on our activities, preferences and habits. When combined with AI, these devices create a powerful surveillance network capable of building detailed profiles of our behaviors.
This surveillance ecosystem isn’t limited to just the private sector. Governments are also using AI-driven technologies to monitor citizens. The third-party doctrine, which allows the government to collect information from third-party providers (such as telecom companies or social media platforms) without a warrant, raises significant privacy concerns. This concept highlights the challenges in balancing government
access with individual privacy rights in the digital age. In such a setting, our ability to control who has access to our personal information is severely compromised.
The proliferation of surveillance cameras, facial recognition technology and other AI-powered monitoring tools has further expanded the reach of the surveillance ecosystem. In many cities around the world, cameras equipped with facial recognition software are used to track individuals in real time, often without their consent. This level of surveillance raises significant ethical questions about the balance between public safety and individual privacy. While proponents argue that these technologies can help prevent crime and enhance security, critics warn that they can also be used to stifle dissent and target marginalized communities.
ways that are difficult for us to detect. By using data about our preferences, habits and even emotional states, AI can create highly personalized ads that subtly nudge us toward particular decisions.
AI’S IMPACT EXTENDS beyond surveillance; it can also directly shape our decisions. Online behavioral advertising, for instance, uses AI to target advertisements based on our online activities. These ads are not just trying to sell us products — they are influencing our choices, often in
WHILE PROPONENTS ARGUE THAT THESE TECHNOLOGIES CAN HELP PREVENT CRIME AND ENHANCE SECURITY, CRITICS WARN THAT THEY CAN ALSO BE USED TO STIFLE DISSENT AND TARGET MARGINALIZED COMMUNITIES.
We are entering a new era in recommender systems technology. Previously, it was about optimizing for matching relevant ad assets to users out of a finite pool. Now, we are moving into a chapter of hyper-personalization where new ad assets will be generated in real time, uniquely tailored to each specific individual. These assets will be crafted by foundation models based on a person’s values, goals, fears, hopes and dreams. This new paradigm goes beyond mere demographics, creating ads that are unique in how they look and feel for each user, and have a greater propensity to influence behavior. While targeted advertising can help us find relevant products and services, it also blurs the line between persuasion and manipulation. When AI knows more about our behaviors and desires than we do, it becomes easy for companies to exploit our vulnerabilities. This manipulation erodes our ability to make autonomous decisions and undermines the democratic value of free will. As these types of manipulations become more complex and harder to identify, the potential for undue influence increases, challenging our capacity to make decisions freely.
Moreover, AI’s ability to influence decisions extends to political contexts. Political campaigns are increasingly using AI to micro-target voters with tailored messages designed to appeal to their specific fears, desires or biases. This kind of targeted political advertising can deepen societal divisions and create echo chambers where individuals are only exposed to information that reinforces their existing beliefs. The result is a fragmented society where meaningful dialogue becomes difficult, and the ability to reach consensus is weakened. This has the potential to threaten the foundations of democracy itself. Elections, the bedrock of democratic governance, are increasingly vulnerable to manipulation
through AI-driven technologies. Psychographic profiling, as used by Cambridge Analytica, shows how AI can be utilized to influence voter behavior. This example demonstrates the power of AI to target individuals based on their data, shaping political messaging in a way that can significantly impact electoral outcomes. By analyzing data from social media and other sources, AI can craft targeted messages designed to sway voters, often by exploiting their fears and biases.
In addition to direct electoral manipulation, AI has contributed to the proliferation of “fake news” and misinformation. When users see content that aligns with their beliefs, they’re more likely to trust and share it — regardless of its accuracy. This plays into personal biases and reinforces existing belief systems, making people less likely to question the validity of what they’re reading. By creating echo chambers and promoting sensational content, AI algorithms can distort the information landscape, making it difficult for citizens to make informed decisions.
The opacity of AI also poses a significant problem. Many AI systems operate as “black boxes,” making decisions without offering any explanation for how those decisions were reached. This lack of transparency is the antithesis of democratic accountability. When decisions that affect our lives are made by algorithms that we cannot scrutinize or understand, it becomes impossible to hold those in power accountable.
A recent study by Pew Research Center found that over half of U.S. adults now rely on social media for at least some of their news consumption. The role of social media platforms in spreading misinformation is also a major concern. AI algorithms prioritize content that generates engagement, which often means promoting sensational or divisive material. This has led to the rapid spread of misinformation, conspiracy theories and polarizing content, all of which contribute to a decline in public trust in democratic institutions. To address these issues, there is a need for greater transparency and for
stronger measures to curb the spread of harmful content.
THE CHALLENGES POSED by AI are not insurmountable, but they do require thoughtful regulation. Europe’s approach to privacy and AI regulation has been able to harmonize laws regionally rather than at the country level, which has streamlined implementation of the law across its member states. In 2018, the General Data Protection Regulation came into effect, applying a unified privacy standard across all countries in the European Economic Area. Similarly, the EU Artificial Intelligence Act, which went into force in August 2024, establishes consistent AI regulations across Europe, fostering a balanced approach to innovation and ethical standards.
In contrast, the United States lacks a federal AI law, instead relying on state-level legislation that addresses specific AI harms like deepfakes in elections, transparency of data used to train AI systems and disclosures of health care communications made with generative AI. This case-specific patchwork approach has created a complex matrix of AI laws that tech companies need to navigate. For example, in California alone, around 47 AI-related bills were introduced in 2024, with the governor signing some 17 into law.
In the United States, there have been recent attempts to introduce comprehensive data privacy legislation at the federal level. The American Data Privacy Protection Act was a proposed piece of legislation introduced in 2022, aiming to provide a federal baseline for privacy protections across the United States, focusing on data minimization, transparency and user control. Despite initial bipartisan support, the bill faced challenges in gaining full legislative approval, and the lack of a unified federal framework continues to leave gaps in data protection. These regulations highlight a growing recognition of the need to protect individuals’ privacy rights in an increasingly data-driven world.
WHEN AI KNOWS MORE ABOUT OUR BEHAVIORS AND DESIRES THAN WE DO, IT BECOMES EASY TO EXPLOIT OUR VULNERABILITIES.
MANY AI SYSTEMS OPERATE AS “BLACK BOXES,” MAKING DECISIONS WITHOUT OFFERING ANY EXPLANATION FOR HOW THOSE DECISIONS WERE REACHED. THIS LACK OF TRANSPARENCY IS THE ANTITHESIS OF DEMOCRATIC ACCOUNTABILITY.
States like California have taken the lead in enacting stronger privacy laws. The California Consumer Privacy Act and its successor, the California Privacy Rights Act , provide some of the most robust privacy protections in the country. These laws give consumers the right to know what personal data is being collected, the ability to opt out of the sale of their data and the right to request the deletion of their data. The establishment of the California Privacy Protection Agency also provides an independent body to enforce these regulations and ensure compliance.
Moving forward, the U.S. could benefit from adopting similar regulations at the federal level to create a consistent and comprehensive approach to data privacy. AI-specific regulation that addresses the unique challenges posed by this technology is crucial. This includes requirements for transparency in AI decision-making processes, such as mandating explainability in algorithmic decisions that significantly impact individuals. Ensuring that high risk AI systems are subject to regular audits and assessments can also help mitigate risks related to bias and discrimination.
International cooperation is also essential in addressing the global challenges posed by AI. Given the borderless nature of the internet and the global reach of tech
companies, no single country can effectively regulate AI on its own. Collaborative efforts, including international agreements on data privacy and ethical AI standards, are crucial to create a cohesive framework that ensures individual rights are protected while also encouraging technological innovation.
Additionally, there is a need for greater public awareness and education about AI Most people are unaware of how their data is being collected and used, or of the ways in which AI influences their decisions. Public education campaigns can help individuals understand the risks and take steps to protect their privacy. Furthermore, fostering a culture of ethical AI development within the tech industry is crucial. Companies should be encouraged to adopt best practices for transparency, fairness and accountability, and to prioritize the well-being of users over profits.
prioritize the rights of users over short-term profits. And we, as individuals, must be vigilant in understanding how our data is being used and advocate for our rights to privacy and autonomy.
The tech industry also has a responsibility to develop AI in a way that aligns with democratic values. This means designing AI systems that are transparent, accountable and fair. Companies should invest in research to reduce algorithmic bias, increase explainability and ensure that AI systems are inclusive and equitable. Moreover, independent oversight bodies should be established to monitor the impact of AI technologies and ensure that they are used responsibly.
THE CHALLENGE BEFORE us is to harness AI’s potential while putting in place safeguards to protect our privacy, autonomy and democratic institutions.
To do this, we need a collective effort. Governments must establish regulations that hold tech companies accountable. Tech companies must adopt ethical practices and
The future of AI is still being written. By addressing the risks it poses to privacy and democracy today, we can ensure that it becomes a tool for progress rather than a mechanism for control. We must strive to create an environment where technological innovation goes hand in hand with the protection of human rights and democratic values. Only by doing so can we build a future where AI serves humanity, rather than subjugates it.
THIS ARTICLE IS ADAPTED FROM “ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE: RISKS TO PRIVACY AND DEMOCRACY” PUBLISHED IN THE YALE JOURNAL OF LAW & TECHNOLOGY. LYRIC KAPLAN IS AI PRODUCT AND PRIVACY COUNSEL AND A BOARD MEMBER AT AI LEAGUE FOR GOOD. THE OPINIONS EXPRESSED IN THIS ARTICLE DO NOT EXPRESS THE VIEWS OR OPINIONS OF HER EMPLOYER.
ILLUSTRATION BY KAROLIS
STRAUTNIEKAS
AT ONE OF THE NATION’S OLDEST SKI AREAS, A CHANGE IN OWNERSHIP MEANS HOPE FOR THE FUTURE. IF ONLY THE WEATHER WOULD COOPERATE
BY ETHAN BAUER
When Elizabeth Burakowski
FIRST VISITED BLACK Mountain in 2019, she found something familiar. The New Hampshire ski area, founded in the 1930s, evoked emotions she’d felt as a kid, and later as an adult, on the many mountainsides she’d shredded across the state. It stirred memories of going night skiing as a teenager, that first taste of running loose and wild in the world. Of building makeshift ramps. Falling. Rising. Falling again. Of hopping off a moving ski lift before it reached its terminus and falling in a splash of white powder. Lately, those memories have started to feel further away. It’s her burden to bear as an avid skier who is also a leading local climate scientist. Her research, based out of the University of New Hampshire, explores how carbon emissions are changing
winter. She can’t help noticing those changes when she tries to escape to the slopes. When she looks down from a lift and finds brown leaves. Dead grass where white snow once was. Rocks jutting up like bones. Leaping off the lift mid-ride like she used to. “Now,” Burakowski says, “you’d be breaking your leg.” Scheduled to return to Black Mountain in 2021, two years after that charmed, nostalgia-gilded visit, she couldn’t. The oldest ski area in the state — one of the oldest in the country — had run out of snow.
Then, in October 2023, the owner of Black Mountain announced the storied resort would close for good. His press release listed several factors, but the first two were “soaring energy costs” and “unpredictable
weather.” Burakowski came across the announcement on Instagram and wasn’t surprised. She knows those challenges are afflicting ski areas all over the world — especially independent outfits like Black, as locals call it, that don’t have the same mitigation tools as competitors. Lagging snowfall, especially for several years in a row, can be a death blow.
It’s a trend that has begun swallowing resorts in Europe. In France, multiple longtime ski areas have called it quits. In Switzerland, one outfit had to order a snow delivery via helicopter. In Germany, spectators watched biathlon skiers zip by on a human-made ribbon of white while the rest of the hillside was green and brown. Resorts across the Alps couldn’t open during
Christmas because rain fell instead of snow.
In North America, the Environmental Protection Agency reports that between 1972 and 2013, yearly snow cover declined by an average of two weeks per year. Between 1972 and 2020, the portion of the continent covered by snow decreased by about 1,870 miles annually — an area roughly the size of Delaware. From 1982 through 2021, per the EPA, average snowpack decreased at about 80 percent of the measured areas. A team of Colorado-based researchers found in 2017 that “virtually all locations are projected to see reductions in winter recreation season lengths, exceeding 50 percent by 2050 and 80 percent in 2090 for some downhill skiing locations.” And a 2024 study found that by 2100, 1 in 8 current
ski areas could have no snow. “Climate change is an existential threat,” says Tonya Riley, a spokesperson for the National Ski Areas Association. “Our industry is proud to be a leader in advocacy, mitigation and resiliency, but we need buy-in from other industries and everyone who loves the outdoors.”
Back at Black Mountain, the closure didn’t come to fruition. Or, rather, it hasn’t. Not yet. A ski entrepreneur stepped in and offered to keep the lights on last season, with a promise to find a new buyer ahead of 2024-25. That proved difficult. Changing weather patterns aren’t the only threat facing Black Mountain. Labor shortages, corporate consolidation, stiff competition — all could spell doom. But the weather looms as an accelerant; as a force that could make any one of those more immediate problems worse, thus burning the whole thing down. For now, Black could show other ski areas, from the East Coast to the West, what’s possible. Or what’s not.
mean — we are seeing it,” she says. “It’s documented.”
That’s thanks, in part, to Burakowski, the climate scientist whose research has quantified the impact of greenhouse gases on New Hampshire winters, and who has lived and skied in the state since the 1980s. “I’ve witnessed these changes,” she says.
“And the very same mountains that grew my love for winter and outdoor sports are also the same ones that are seeing the symptoms of climate change.”
Her research shows that since 1970, winter has become, on average, five degrees warmer. That means a much higher likelihood of winter rains and temperatures above freezing. It means a much less stable snowpack; in fact, her research suggests central
LAGGING SNOWFALL, ESPECIALLY FOR SEVERAL YEARS IN A ROW, CAN BE A DEATH BLOW. “THAT ADDS UP. AND THEN THAT TURNS INTO A CLIMATE CHALLENGE.”
JUST ABOUT EVERYONE I spoke with in New Hampshire talks about climate change as a matter of fact. That wasn’t always the case. “When I started here 10 years ago,” says Jessyca Keeler, president of Ski NH, “climate change was a little bit of a dirty word.” But now, the consequences are simply undeniable. “You have shorter winters. I
“(THIS) IS A GLOBAL PROBLEM FOR SKIING. IT IS ALREADY AFFECTING SKI RESORTS WORLDWIDE. EVERY SKI AREA IN THE WORLD IS GOING TO EVENTUALLY BE AFFECTED.”
New Hampshire’s average snowpack has decreased by 60 percent over the same time span. “This broad symptom of winter warming is manifesting in our snow, in our ice, and in these midwinter warm spells,” she says.
The manufacture of artificial snow, a stop-gap solution for many resorts, including Black Mountain, poses its own environmental and economic problems. Snowmaking can be energy-intensive, leaving behind a large carbon footprint. But without it, many resorts can’t reliably stay open, which is why many resorts have invested in more efficient, less energy-draining systems. “I think ski resorts are doing their best to be part of that solution,” Burakowski says, “by reducing their own carbon emissions through renewable energy, through
energy efficiency.” Doing so saves money on energy bills while also granting some control over day-to-day operations when the weather doesn’t cooperate.
On this point, Black Mountain’s new owner, Erik Mogensen, has been clear: Black Mountain needs to make a lot more snow to be viable. It’s especially important since Black is a south-facing slope, meaning it gets direct sunlight for most of the day. That’s why he enlisted Doug Fichera, son of former Black Mountain owner John Fichera, to be the mountain’s director of operations. Doug has spent his whole life making snow. “Snowmaking is my art form; it’s how I release my energy. It is my one true passion in life, and I enjoy it more than anything,” he told Ski Area Management magazine some 10 years ago. “However, it isn’t
just the operation of it. It’s the process, the engineering and the constant pursuit of higher efficiency due to sky-high energy costs.” That will be key if current warming trends continue.
To understand what Black Mountain might look like in 40 or 50 years, Mogensen points to ski areas in Maryland or Pennsylvania, where the elevation is lower. “They essentially no longer depend on natural snowfall,” he says. “There’s just no operating those places without a substantial snowmaking system.” But investing in those systems is complicated for an independent ski area like Black Mountain, where they can end up costing more than the land is worth. “Resorts have gotten really good at snowmaking,” Burakowski says. It’s impressive, and it’s hopeful. But she still worries that eventually, it won’t be enough for many of them.
She sometimes thinks about a paper she worked on that analyzed historical trends in New Hampshire winters. She found that since 2008 only once, in 2015, did northern New Hampshire experience a winter colder than the 20th-century average. She often wonders whether that will be the last time it happens. “That keeps me up at night,” she admits. And she isn’t alone.
ski areas in the Alps — whether French, Swiss or German — that have shuttered for the same reason in recent years.
In the Western United States, meanwhile, the situation isn’t as dire. Many Western resorts have nevertheless used their borrowed time to prepare for what’s coming.
Deer Valley, in Park City, has invested in low-energy snowmaking guns, along with a solar farm that will power it and its neighbor resort, Park City Mountain. “We are focused on reducing our net emissions,” Park City Mountain spokesperson Emily McDonald told me, “investing in renewable energy, … reducing waste to landfills and reducing our net operating footprint on the natural environment.” Alta, just outside Salt Lake City, conducts year-round environmental initiatives, including purchasing renewable energy credits to offset its carbon footprint and implementing a long-term plan that calls for water-conscious upgrades to its snowmaking system.
Those efforts can’t stop warming, but they can help ski resorts remain ethically consistent. And better snowmaking efficiency and offseason diversification can help offset lost snow for now.
climate change,” Steenburgh says. “We are already seeing, for example, a greater fraction of precipitation falling as rain instead of snow. We are also seeing snowpack declines.” These trends are most visible at lower elevations, but if warming trends continue, they will spread over time. “Climate change is a global problem for skiing. It is already affecting ski resorts worldwide. Every ski area in the world is going to eventually be affected.”
ARTIFICIAL SNOW MACHINES (ABOVE AND OPPOSITE) ARE DOING DOUBLE — SOMETIMES TRIPLE — DUTY, ESPECIALLY AT RESORTS THAT SIT AT LOWER ELEVATIONS.
THIS PAST OCTOBER, in southern France, the Alpe du Grand Serre ski resort — at 7,165 feet, more than twice the height of Black Mountain — announced permanent closure due to warming temperatures. The resort joined a growing list of
The ski areas most vulnerable to climate change, explains University of Utah professor of atmospheric sciences Jim Steenburgh, are those at lower elevations. Places like Black Mountain. The West might have more natural insulation, but it’s not immune. “The West is experiencing the effects of
Adaptation can take many forms. At Black Mountain, it’s making more snow. In Colorado, it’s new, high-altitude glades and trails that capitalize on colder temperatures and terrain that can hold more snow for longer. In Europe, it’s closure. Or, in the case of one traditional Swiss ski town, the addition of goats as an alternative attraction when the slopes run brown. And in New Mexico, home of Taos Ski Valley, it can look like tackling the root of climate change more directly, like in Park City and at Alta — whether the impact will be felt or not. “We’re proud to have begun to electrify our fleet of vehicles, including deploying North America’s first all-electric snowcat for grooming,” Dawn Boulware, Taos Ski Valley’s vice president of social and environmental responsibility, told me. “Across the industry resorts and mountain towns are taking collective actions to ensure a viable future for skiing.”
Few places, if any, embody this “collective action” more than Black Mountain could in the years ahead.
LAST OCTOBER, A crowd gathered in a wooden lodge at Black Mountain. Beneath a line of whirring ceiling fans running down the spine of the room, the crowd sipped wine and chatted in clusters until Mogensen — thick brown hair, sleek black-and-silver glasses, blue flannel rolled up at the sleeves — strode to the front, microphone in hand. He stood before a screen displaying a purposely vague title: “Community meeting: The future of Black Mountain.” “Let’s get crackin’ here,” he said, and the chatter stopped right away.
He implored the crowd to move closer. “This lodge is standing-room-only right now,” he told them. “The parking lot is maxed out. So I think we can call this a powder day.” The crowd cheered. He introduced himself as the founder of the Colorado-based ski software company Entabeni Systems. He was flanked by three other men: Andy Shepard, an industry veteran known for rescuing struggling ski areas in the northeast; Doug Fichera, the young snowmaker with a scraggly beard; and, seated beside Mogensen, Doug’s father, John, the longtime owner of Black Mountain. They’d gathered for an announcement a year in the making.
The men highlighted industrywide issues beginning with corporate consolidation. In the early 2000s, the introduction of Icon and Epik passes revolutionized skiing, offering access to multiple ski areas with one pass. Initially seen as a great value, this has led to
overcrowding and higher recreational skiing costs, as operators began acquiring mountains themselves, leading to a decline in family-owned ski areas. In Utah, for instance, Vail Resorts Inc., the largest ski area operator in the world, owns Park City, while its biggest competitor, Alterra Mountain Company, owns Solitude and Deer Valley, where adult one-day lift tickets in December cost an average $128 to $259, respectively.
The independent/community ski areas that do remain have therefore become the backbone of affordable skiing. “The industry needs to understand the role that these community ski areas play, and should be supporting these ski areas,” Shepard later told me. “But they haven’t been.” And that’s exactly what Mogensen is hoping to change. “What makes this place different, what makes this place unique, is what we’re gonna save and preserve,” he told the crowd. “That’s 100 percent what we’re after.” And to make that happen, he offered a road map.
To combat warming, he planned to double snowmaking capacity with Doug’s help. He also announced the acquisition of two brand-new snow groomers to help the snow they have on the ground last longer. “This is going to give us time to make more snow,” Mogensen added, “and do things better and shorten our labor.”
But the most important announcement Mogensen made truly stunned the crowd. He doesn’t plan to own Black Mountain for long. He’ll own it this year, turn around the lagging operations, then sell it again — to
a very specific group. “We’re gonna get it to a really successful place. We’re gonna make it the soul of skiing,” he said. “And then, it is my intention to form a co-op and invite everyone in this room to own a piece of Black Mountain.” The crowd erupted. They’d all have a chance to own part of a treasured local institution. A chance to determine its future against the headwinds of consolidation and competition and labor shortages. Even climate change.
A FEW WEEKS later, when I chatted with Mogensen over the phone, he still sounded excited — but also nervous. “There’s a lot to unravel,” he admitted. The questions that demand immediate attention are less existential than climate change. They’re practical. “When it comes to the future of a single ski resort,” says Steenburgh, climate change and unpredictable weather patterns are “a threat multiplier.” An accelerant. “Vail and Alterra and large operators have access to capital,” Mogensen says, meaning they can weather those expenses while they develop new solutions to the problems. Black Mountain doesn’t have such luxury. “You have a couple bad seasons in there,” he adds, “you basically never get ahead enough.” That means eventual closure. And that’s why, despite promises of preservation, Mogensen knows Black Mountain needs to change.
When I visited in late October, weeks before the first patrons arrived, the slopes were still orange and red with fall foliage.
THE COMPETITIVE SKIING WORLD HAS BEEN FAR FROM IMMUNE, INCLUDING AT THE BIATHLON WORLD CUP LAST WINTER IN SOLDIER HOLLOW, NEAR HEBER CITY, UTAH.
IN ONE TRADITIONAL SWISS SKI TOWN, LOCALS HAVE INCORPORATED GOATS AS AN ALTERNATIVE TOURIST ATTRACTION WHEN THE SLOPES RUN BROWN.
They still lacked snow. But the mountain wasn’t perfectly still, either. Painters applied a new coat to the old lodge. Drill bits howled from lifts undergoing maintenance. And a pair of black Entabeni trailers rested in the parking lot, unused for now. When Shepard, Mogensen’s partner in turning around Black Mountain, looks at this landscape, he sees nothing less than something revolutionary: “A path to sustainability,” he told me, “for independent ski areas across North America.” Mogensen, meanwhile, sees a path that will require balancing ideas old and new. “Preservation doesn’t mean keeping it the same,” he explained. “If you don’t change, then the word preservation just goes away because there’s nothing there.”
One thing stands out for Burakowski, the climate scientist, from her visit in 2019: Enthusiasm. She could see it in so many of the regular visitors. She could feel it herself. “It’s this place to gather, a place for community,” she says. “I think that’s worth saving.” Mogensen is betting big that the surrounding community will think that, too. And in that sense, what’s happening at Black is about more than the future of this mountain, or even the ski industry. It’s about trying to preserve something that can’t be appraised by dollars alone. The real question at Black Mountain isn’t, will things change? That answer is, and always will be, yes. It’s whether some things — the most important things — can stay the same.
PRESENT THE PAST,
FAMILY HISTORY
EXPLAIN A NEW
NATALIA GALICZA
HOW TWO FOR FOR BY PHOTOGRAPHY BY GOLDEN AGE SEPARATE HUNTS GENEALOGY
ZACK WITTMAN & MARY F. CALVERT
OUT OF ALL THE EMAILS YVETTE LAGONTERIE
RECEIVED IN 1998 —
FROM COLLEAGUES and bosses at the U.S. Immigration and Naturalization Service, where she worked as an overseas office director and regional attaché south of the border in Mexico City — only one was impossible to forget. It came from an unknown sender. And the subject line contained a single word, posed as a question.
“Cousins?”
The sender said her name was Cathy and that she lived in Arizona. She was looking for descendants of distant relatives, including, she said, descendants of a man named Ralph, a cousin of her great-uncle. She’d hit a roadblock in her quest to uncover more of her lineage and was asking for help. Yvette hadn’t delved much into her own family history, but the same Ralph happened to be her paternal grandfather. Which would make the two women third cousins.
Yvette, in her early 40s at the time, knew of few relatives on her father’s side. In fact, she understood the surname LaGonterie to be particularly rare, belonging to only about a dozen people in the United States. She’d always wanted to learn more about that familial line, to feel a part of something larger than herself. Yet she doubted her own ability to lead that charge; she also had every reason to feel skeptical of this stranger. But curiosity got the better of her. She wrote back.
That decision would take her on a journey halfway around the planet with the most unlikely of travel companions. It would open up to her a whole world, of not just her own lineage, but the ever-growing technological advancements in family history research, from digitized public records to DNA testing sites to video archives — what now, nearly 30 years after that first email,
amounts to what experts consider a golden age for genealogy. And for no other demographic is family history research more needed or showing more promise than it is for Black Americans like Yvette.
The earliest census records to list African Americans as citizens date back only to 1870, five years after the country officially abolished slavery. This obstacle is known as the “brick wall” among genealogists, a barrier to drawing ancestral knowledge before the start of the Gilded Age. Most of the available records dated before the 1870s are slave trade documents with few humanizing descriptors and little information to offer descendants, which leaves modern archives across museums and educational institutions nationwide largely lacking in Black primary resources.
The trickle-down effect of that scarcity manifests most in younger generations.
Pew Research Center surveyed four age groups of Black Americans in 2022 to gauge their understanding of Black history. The share of those who felt well informed was low among every age group, but fell more among younger respondents. Fewer than 40 percent of Black adults under 30 consider themselves particularly informed of Black history. It takes citizen archivists and family historians to break through that brick wall, to preserve and pass down the artifacts that make histories beyond those of enslavement and struggle possible.
In the months that followed Cathy’s email, Yvette became entranced by this search to trace her family across centuries and continents. And though she didn’t know the extent of what she would uncover, she knew enough to understand it mattered, and that any answers she sought would not come easy.
NINE YEARS AFTER
Yvette received the mysterious email, another woman, Pia Jordan, came across an artifact that sent her on her own family history journey. She didn’t recognize the scrapbook. It was blue, embellished with three silver airplanes, two tassels and an unfamiliar insignia. Pia, then in her early 50s, had found it stowed away in a trunk at her mother’s apartment in Maryland — not quite kept secret, yet still hidden out of view. The mixed medium of metal and ribbon gave the book heft; it felt important. Valuable. When she opened it, she could see why.
It held medals, stamps, invitations to dances. Newspaper clippings, handwritten love letters, aged photographs. Party invitations, matchbooks, punch cards. Memorabilia from her mom’s time as a nurse in the military. But when she looked closer
YVETTE LAGONTERIE’S GLOBE-TROTTING FAMILY HISTORY JOURNEY BEGAN WITH A MYSTERIOUS EMAIL SHE RECEIVED THREE DECADES AGO.
at its contents, at the text and the faces within the scrapbook’s adorned pages, she realized her mother, Louise Virginia Lomax Winters, hadn’t just served in the armed forces. She’d served in Alabama during World War II alongside the Tuskegee Airmen, the first African American flying unit in the United States military. Moreover, Pia found, Louise was one of the first Black nurses, in 1943, to ever serve in the Army Nurse Corps, just a couple years after the corps became the first branch of the military to formally allow Black nurses. She was a first lieutenant.
This all came as a shock to Pia. By the time she’d made this discovery, in 2007, she was packing up her mom’s apartment to place in storage. Louise had suffered a series of strokes, seizures, hallucinations and early dementia and was moving into a nursing home. Her voice had changed almost beyond recognition as a result of a tracheotomy and she struggled to speak for long stretches at a time. So Pia had to
swallow, for now, the curiosity that scrapbook stirred.
When her son had a high school project in 2002 that required an interview with his grandmother, Pia decided to conduct and record it. Over the course of 33 minutes, mother and daughter discussed what life was like for Louise in Virginia during the 1920s, at the height of segregation and Jim Crow. Louise’s voice rasped as she spoke, slowly and with frequent pauses. She held a display case Pia made for her that showcased a portrait of Louise in uniform, framed by two of her medals. The two discussed aspects of Louise’s military career, as well as her many years spent nursing off the airfield. How, after her more than three years as a military nurse, she worked at the St. Elizabeths Hospital for forensic patients in Washington, D.C., the first federally funded mental hospital nationwide, formerly known as the “Government Hospital for the Insane.” The work was both emotionally and physically demanding. Pia
PIA JORDAN’S RESEARCH HAS HELPED HER UNCOVER MAJOR FAMILY CONNECTIONS TO AFRICAN AMERICAN, CIVIL RIGHTS AND MILITARY HISTORY.
remembered her mother coming home on at least one occasion with a blood-drenched uniform after a patient punched her in the nose. But she never wavered. Pia admired this. Like her mother, Pia too had experienced segregation. In the 1960s, she’d even been part of the inaugural group of students to integrate her local white primary school in third grade, and had always looked up to her mother as a force to be reckoned with, even without knowing her whole story. After finding the scrapbook and realizing the extent of history her mother made, Pia felt grateful she had at least one interview logged with Louise. Especially since her ailing health made it difficult to record more. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had to, somehow, dig deeper.
Another decade went by before the guilt began to bear down on Pia. She was her mother’s only child. The only person to shoulder the responsibility of passing on her story. Louise had contributed to one of the most pivotal moments for the advancement of civil rights in the United States. Not spreading that knowledge felt like a betrayal to herself, her family and her country. She had to share that truth before it vanished. So she set out to do just that.
ON THE RIDE from Paris to the province of Dordogne, Yvette LaGonterie looked out the train car windows as castles, limestone churches and ancient farmland blurred by, the locomotive carving its way through rural France. Catching glimpses of this landscape’s history — present but fading — Yvette wondered how she figured into it. Were any of her ancestors here? Would they have lived in the manors? Would they have been tasked with maintaining them? She’d traveled thousands of miles to answer those questions and others. So did her newfound family members.
After about a year of email exchanges, phone calls, remote public records requests and online searches, Yvette planned to meet Cathy and Cathy’s aunt Marie — Yvette’s newly discovered second cousin
— in person for the first time. The team of amateur historians had hoped to answer how the surname LaGonterie made its way to the Caribbean. They knew the history of enslavement differs wildly outside the United States, and figured the lives of their ancestors of color might be less difficult to trace as a result. They’d been able to confirm Yvette’s grandfather was born in Saint Lucia, and in 1913, when he was 16 years old, his mother brought him to Manhattan to live with his sister. But still, anything beyond those details eluded them. The internet was still in its infancy, and they’d hit a wall with what information they could glean from it. When the digital tools at their disposal failed to take them further, Yvette asked a French teacher how best to trace her origins. That’s how she learned of a tiny village in France called La Gonterie-Boulouneix. She shared this finding with her cousins. And in 1999, they decided to travel to the nearly eponymous hamlet together, to root around for records in archives and seek regional experts.
It didn’t feel like a first meeting. Yvette had by then heard her cousins’ voices during their many phone calls, had learned about their lives and shared details of her own. If anything, it felt more like a reunion than an initial encounter. Joyous and hopeful, but with the purpose of dogged pursuit. The group went to the departmental archives in Périgueux, where they found only one record which contained Yvette’s surname — and it didn’t even belong to their ancestors. They traveled to the village of La Gonterie-Boulouneix, where the mayor confirmed none of the current locals carried the same name. The same proved true in Saint-Priest-les-Fougeres, which they’d read about in the archives. Several LaGonteries lived there throughout the 17th and 18th centuries. None did by the time of their visit. It became clear just how easy it is to lose access to history. If they had traveled years earlier, would they have encountered any remaining descendants? Would they have gotten more leads? They’d only budgeted a week together for their trip to France before they had
to part, and by the final fruitless search in Saint-Priest-les-Fougeres, that time had run out. The cousins ended their trip with little more information than when they started.
WHAT HAPPENS WHEN
the written word fails to convey unseen truths? When paper trails, past a certain point, follow only certain demographics? When the writers of history have a tendency to skew? These are questions the Smithsonian Institution’s National Museum of African American History and Culture aimed to answer when it opened its doors in Washington, D.C., in 2016. And rather than simply lean on retellings and recreations of history to do so — artifacts and documents subject to interpretation — the museum chose to prioritize, with equal weight, an oft-overlooked medium. Home videos.
Even outside the confines of race, home videos and other primary sources offer a bottom-up approach to analyzing history. They’re divorced from preconceived notions and interfering bias; they even record details not usually found in written texts like body language and fashion. Perhaps even more than film, television or other forms of media, home videos are vital to understanding and appreciating a person’s place in the timeline of all things. “The coming together of family and the capturing of genealogy and family history — you need it to tell your whole story,” says
Doretha Williams, director of the Center for the Smithsonian’s Digitization and Curation of African American History. “Everyone doesn’t get that. A lot of people, their elders pass when they’re young children, and it’s not until after they’re gone that they think, ‘I should have asked this person this question.’” That kind of curiosity and connection is essential to gathering and preserving authentic experiences; to tamping holes in knowledge that, when left alone, pose dire societal consequences.
An ongoing analysis by Johns Hopkins University found that more K-12 schools across the country teach Black history than ever. At least 12 states require it, an effort that started with some 10 states in 2017. Yet most of those programs stop short of discussing any positive developments or contributions people of color have had on society. They also account for less than 10 percent of instruction in history classrooms, a share that threatens to shrink with at least 18 states creating bans or restrictions on teaching topics related to race within the last few years. Educational attempts fail when they aren’t founded on stories that are holistic and well-rounded. When they fail, students miss out on the opportunity to build empathy and critical thinking skills; to boost mental health, heal intergenerational traumas or find a sense of purpose; to learn how to coexist and grow as informed citizens.
That’s part of the reason why the museum
created a Family History Center to teach visitors the basics of tracing African American genealogy, as well as digitizing and archiving their own primary documents. Visitors who make an appointment can digitize their home movies at the museum for free. These captures aim to make up for a void of historical representation or misrepresentations of Black people on screen. When people of color were still largely excluded from media in the United States, it was up to families to put their own lives in front of the lens by recording home videos. “I never saw home movie footage of Black families. Every time, it had to do with civil rights or protesting,” says Jasmyn R. Castro, creator of the African American Home Movie Archive, an online aggregate of African American home movie collections. “I really think it’s important for people to hold onto their own family history and have control over that. Home movies save the visual memory of America.”
Home videos are like etchings on a cave wall, cuneiform on clay or oil on canvas — a way for humans to fulfill the innate urge to leave record of their existence. To inform, warn, delight, entertain. To help shape the world as it turns forward. Even, perhaps especially, when it’s hard. “The stories that we tell currently are also grounded in history,” says LaCharles Ward, a curator for the National Museum of African American History and Culture. “The goal is to preserve history so that in the future it can continue
to be told. And that’s really important because, if not, those objects, those artifacts, are lost to the world.”
PIA JORDAN SET out to tell the definitive story of her mother, as well as of the Tuskegee Army nurses. That meant talking to family members, friends, archivists, experts and veterans. It also meant taking her mother’s scrapbook and VHS tapes to the National Museum of African American History and Culture to get digitized, including the tape where she interviewed Louise. It became one of the many resources she’d gathered in order to write and publish a book, “Memories of a Tuskegee Airmen Nurse and Her Military Sisters,” in June 2023.
The book honors her mother and the nurses who served with her. Despite how they overcame the same social obstacles in order to serve, despite how they held rank even while the pilots did not, their roles had gone essentially undiscussed at the national level. So had the ancillary roles of the more than 10,000 Black men and women who supported the Tuskegee pilots as flight instructors, medics, cooks and mechanics. They are what made the crew’s “double victory” possible — a win against the fascist forces during World War II, as well as racial discrimination stateside. That reality wouldn’t be public knowledge if not for Pia and Louise.
At least five movies about the Tuskegee Airmen have been made. None place any focus on the nurses. There’s damage in that beyond just the frustration of a missed opportunity.
The entire process of tracking that history taught Pia more about her mother than she’d ever known. Yet it also made clear that physical documentation — a scrapbook, an aged photograph, a home video — can change the trajectory of a life, of history. Pia’s account became the first holistic account of the Tuskegee nurses. “There are a lot of stories out there that are not being told,” she says. “I feel more thankful and grateful that I got them than anything else.” Even now that the book is done and she
successfully shared her mother’s story, Pia still occasionally returns to watch the home video where she interviewed Louise all those years ago. Each time she does, she smiles. Her son especially appreciates it; he was close with his grandmother and insists the family hold on to all photos and videos of her as possible. Along with other family memories. They may just become all the more valuable one day.
AFTER YVETTE returned from France, she continued to consult books, military records and Napoleonic War researcher groups. Seven years later, she traveled solo to the National Archives of the United Kingdom near London and Saint Lucia’s archives in Castries to sort through any records she could access: marriage, death, baptism. That’s how she discovered Charles LaGonterie, who served as a lieutenant for the British Army in Saint Lucia sometime around 1794 to 1801. He also later fathered a son by the same name, born to a free woman of color who owned her own property in Vieux, where colonial forces sought brute control over the Caribbean.
The whole process took about a decade, but Yvette discovered her lineage to be a product of strain and success, freedom and force. It was a piece of knowledge that brought her closer to family she never knew she had, and would never be able to reach or learn from any other way. “I find by uncovering their stories, I have a greater understanding of not only their lives, but about the era and the locations where they lived,” she says. “That’s the only way we’ll ever know the full story of life at any time.”
When her mother died in 2018, Yvette had already been researching her family history for two decades. She’d been tasked with going through the belongings her mom had left behind, deciding what to keep and what to discard. As she pored through that clutter, she happened upon rolls of abandoned film in a box on the floor of a closet. The label read, “Marcella and Donald’s wedding, 1949.” Yvette had never seen these films
STILLS FROM THE FILM FOOTAGE OF YVETTE LAGONTERIE’S PARENTS’ WEDDING IN BROOKLYN, NEW YORK, 1949.
before, nor did she own a projector to view them with. So she converted the old film onto a CD format, and watched.
She saw her mother in black and white, her silhouette peeking through a delicate white veil as she stood beside her father, maid of honor and ring bearer. Wedding guests walked in and out of frame intermittently, their feathers stuck in caps and tailored evening dresses spilling 1949 all throughout the steps and pews of St. Augustine’s Protestant Episcopal Church in Brooklyn, New York. Five generations of her family attended that church, founded a decade after the United States abolished slavery as a place of worship for Black congregants. It burned down in 1969, incinerating all of its known records — evidence of baptisms, of services. Of weddings.
Had Yvette not found these films and chosen to digitize them, she might have lost both one of the last remaining pieces of evidence to prove this place existed, as well as one of her final chances to experience a new memory with her mother. “Finding the film of my parents’ wedding was like finding a treasure,” she says. One she wanted
PIA JORDAN STILL HAS THE UNIFORM BUTTONS AND OTHER ARTIFACTS FROM HER MOTHER’S TIME IN THE ARMY NURSE CORPS, ATTENDING TO THE TUSKEGEE AIRMEN DURING WORLD WAR II.
to share with others by donating the film to the Smithsonian Institution’s National Museum of African American History and Culture in Washington, D.C.
Most interested in learning about their families might not have the means to cross several different countries in search of stories. Yvette knows this. Every record she’s found, every family photo she’s inherited, she safeguards for future use. She keeps a filing cabinet filled with documents in her home despite the dawn of the digital age; she’s a member of organizations like the Afro-American Historical and Genealogical Society and National Genealogy Society; she’s written about her findings, which includes personal ties to her great-great-grandmother’s uncle Jacob Clement White, the first secretary of the Underground Railroad. “Why didn’t someone ever tell me that? We’re related to this incredible man who has been largely forgotten by history,” she says. “His own obituary said that to tell the story of his life and all of the accomplishments and the things that he was involved in would take volumes, but I have found not one book about him.”
Won’t you be my neighbor?
FRIEND SHIP
Mister Rogers
AMERICA
A CIVIC THEOLOGY
IS DIVIDED. CAN RELIGION PROVIDE A BETTER WAY?
BY JONATHAN RAUCH
In November 2021, an elderly man, thin and with a dignified demeanor leavened by an impish smile, traveled from Salt Lake City to the University of Virginia with an urgent message. Wasting little time on pleasantries, he launched straight into his theme. “I love this country, which I believe was established with the blessings of God. I love its Constitution, whose principles I believe were divinely inspired. I am, therefore, distressed at the way we are handling the national issues that divide us.”
In expressing his distress, he was not speaking merely for himself. This was Dallin Oaks, first counselor in the First Presidency of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Then almost 90, he had been a successful lawyer, a justice of the Utah Supreme Court and president of Brigham Young University. Called to the First Presidency in 2018, he is next in line to succeed Russell M. Nelson, the church’s president and prophet; and he has become the public voice of the church’s civic theology.
A civic theology posits that God expects his people to act in certain ways, and to
follow his commandments, not only in our personal lives but in our civic lives. In that respect, it operates in the same space as Christian nationalism — though what Oaks proposed was antithetical to Christian nationalism and far more profound and promising. When I first read the text of his
A CIVIC THEOLOGY POSITS THAT GOD EXPECTS HIS PEOPLE TO ACT IN CERTAIN WAYS, AND TO FOLLOW HIS COMMANDMENTS, NOT ONLY IN OUR PERSONAL LIVES BUT IN OUR CIVIC LIVES.
speech, I felt a frisson. Here was something I had been looking for in my own advocacy of religious liberty and liberal pluralism because it elegantly linked the two.
Oaks’ brief began where James Madison and the U.S. Constitution also begin: with the inescapable reality of disagreement and faction. “We have always had to work
through serious political conflicts,” Oaks said, “but today too many approach that task as if their preferred outcome must entirely prevail over all others, even in our pluralistic society. We need to work for a better way — a way to resolve differences without compromising core values.”
Liberalism is a permanent state of public negotiation. Oaks argued that religious communities cannot exempt themselves from democratic deliberation; they must participate in it and abide by the results according to “the principle of honoring both divine and mortal laws.” In other words, religious liberty is essential, but people of faith cannot simply enjoy it and walk away. It comes with obligations. “Rendering to Caesar in good faith,” said Oaks, “requires religious persons and associations to acknowledge what their government does for them and to be faithful in fulfilling the reciprocal responsibilities they owe to the government and their fellow citizens.”
But what are those responsibilities, and how are they to be carried out on occasions when God’s law and man’s law
might conflict? Oaks’ example was a clash between antidiscrimination laws requiring merchants and adoption agencies to serve same-sex weddings and couples, on the one hand, and, on the other hand, religious businesses and nonprofits whose faith commitments forbid participation in what they see as sin.
Some Christians and their legal allies are quick to strike a confrontational posture when a conflict arises — or even when a conflict does not arise, as when, not long ago, a website designer sued successfully to refuse service to same-sex weddings despite not having been asked to serve one. Oaks took a different tack. “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints suggests that a
way can be found to reconcile divine and human law — through patience, negotiation and mutual accommodation, without judicial fiat or other official coercion.”
In other words, the first order of the day is not to claim supremacy for either religious or secular law, or to declare an existential clash, but to look — together — for ways to mitigate conflict. “The right relationship between religious freedom and nondiscrimination,” he said, “is best achieved by respecting each other enough to negotiate in good faith and by caring for each other enough that the freedom and protection we seek is not for ourselves alone.” Like Madison, he placed good-faith negotiation at the very center of the Constitution’s meaning,
quoting another church official who said, “When we use our religious freedom to bring people together in unity and love, we are defending and preserving religious liberty and the Constitution in a most profound way.”
Significantly, Oaks argued that seeking unity through patience, negotiation and mutual accommodation is not merely a stratagem for getting along with others; it is a charge from God. In remarks to the faithful earlier that year at the church’s general conference (a semiannual global gathering), he said, “Being subject to presidents or rulers of course poses no obstacle to our opposing individual laws or policies. It does require that we exercise our influence
“WE HAVE ALWAYS HAD TO WORK THROUGH SERIOUS POLITICAL CONFLICTS, BUT TODAY TOO MANY APPROACH THAT TASK AS IF THEIR PREFERRED OUTCOME MUST ENTIRELY PREVAIL OVER ALL OTHERS, EVEN IN OUR PLURALISTIC SOCIETY.”
civilly and peacefully within the framework of our constitutions and applicable laws. On contested issues, we should seek to moderate and unify.”
Latter-day Saint scripture states that God “established the Constitution” of the United States; and in church doctrine, the Constitution’s underlying principles were decreed by God not only for Americans but for all God’s children. “I see divine inspiration in the vital purpose of the entire Constitution,” Oaks told the general conference. “We are to be governed by law and not by individuals, and our loyalty is to the Constitution and its principles and processes, not to any office holder. In this way, all persons are to be equal before the law.”
This doctrine places the church under certain obligations. In a speech in Rome in 2022, Oaks said, “Speaking from a religious perspective, I maintain that followers of Jesus Christ have a duty to seek harmony and peace.” This duty pertains not just to seeking harmony and peace in one’s own church and family and local community; it is a civic commandment, a requirement to approach politics and public debate in a particular way. As Oaks wrote in an article in the scholarly journal Judicature in 2023, “We should not expect or seek total dominance for our own positions.”
Here the italics are mine, because this is more than a tactical injunction to obey the law in order to stay out of jail, and more than “render unto Caesar” boilerplate. Oaks argues for an alignment between God’s moral constitution and Madison’s political one. Speaking for the church, he sees patience, negotiation and compromise not as means to some end, to be jettisoned if the results are unsatisfying, but as social and spiritual ends unto themselves. At the risk of exaggerating or oversimplifying (but only a little), one could put what he is saying this way: Never dominate, always negotiate — because that is God’s plan.
MY AWARENESS OF something interesting afoot in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints came in March 2015, with
the announcement of what seemed like a miracle in Utah. Seemingly out of nowhere, at a press conference in Salt Lake City, conservative state legislators, leaders of the state’s LGBT rights community, and senior representatives of the church announced agreement on legislation extending nondiscrimination protections to LGBT Utahns while also providing targeted exemptions for religious organizations. The bill, SB296, passed the conservative Legislature with overwhelming support.
Madison put compromise at the heart of the Constitution because he correctly understood compromise to be more than a mechanical, difference-splitting approach to managing conflict. While it can sometimes be mere difference-splitting, compromise is more often a creative, generative, pro-social endeavor in its own right. If the parties in a disagreement deadlock, they gather more information, bring in new factions and voices, imagine innovations and workarounds. The result is often better than what anyone started with. And the legislative outcome is not the only product; just as important are the relationships built during negotiations, the habits of collaboration formed, and the feelings of goodwill and fellowship which arise among previously antagonistic groups. Simply by having to interact and do business, the parties to a negotiation develop the civic habits of peaceful coexistence and unlearn the habits of domination and distrust.
That happened in Utah. “To me the process here may be even more important than the legislation,” Troy Williams, the executive director of Equality Utah, the state’s main LGBT group, told me. “When I sit down with folks, I’ll never see them as an enemy or opponent. I’ll see them as a future ally, even if we’re not there yet.” When I asked him to name the downsides of SB296 from the point of view of Utah’s LGBT community, he couldn’t think of a single one. “The culture has changed here in Utah,” he said. “In every possible way, Utah is now a safer and more welcoming state for the LGBTQ community.”
I asked if the same change would have happened without SB296; he replied with a firm no. “It changed the dynamic forever in the Legislature. I’ve watched so many legislators open up their hearts in this process.” Capitalizing on the channels of communication and trust they had built, conservative legislators and Equality Utah were able to collaborate on subsequent hot-button issues such as gay conversion therapy.
The compromise of 2015 did not come out of nowhere. In 2008, the church had gone all-in to back California’s Proposition 8, which added a ban on same-sex marriage to the state’s constitution (ending a brief period in which same-sex marriage had been legalized by the state’s Supreme Court). The church called upon its members in California to contribute and canvass in support of the initiative; it even had local leaders read a statement over the pulpit in California, asking members to “do all you can to support the proposed constitutional amendment by donating of your means and time to assure that marriage in California is legally defined as being between a man and a woman.”
In the years after Proposition 8 won at the ballot box, the church opened lines of communication with the LGBT community in Utah. Eyebrows went up in 2009 when the church threw its support behind Salt Lake City’s ban on anti-gay discrimination in housing and employment. That led to several years of quiet, intense conversations between the church and the LGBT community, initially aimed at listening and learning, then turning more substantive. SB296 was only the visible tip of a larger, mostly submerged negotiation.
I was (and still am) a devoted advocate of both LGBT equality, especially marriage, and religious liberty. I believed there was room and need to negotiate pathways around conflicts. For me, SB296 was inspirational. And indeed, it inspired similar efforts in other states, as well as negotiations between a center-right LGBT group called the American Unity Fund and a coalition of religious groups (including The Church of
Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints) leading to a proposed federal compromise called the Fairness for All Act. None of those efforts bore fruit — until, unexpectedly, they did.
In 2022, concurring with the Supreme Court’s Dobbs decision overturning the Roe v. Wade abortion ruling, Justice Clarence Thomas included language suggesting that same-sex marriage, legalized by the court in 2015, might be next on the chopping block.
In Congress, House Democrats responded with the Respect for Marriage Act, a bill establishing same-sex marriage in federal law. Seeing an opportunity, the Fairness for All coalition in the Senate added some significant religious liberty protections. By strongly stating that the federal government will not treat opposition to same-sex marriage as the equivalent of racism, and that
RELIGIOUS LIBERTY IS ESSENTIAL, BUT PEOPLE OF FAITH CANNOT SIMPLY ENJOY IT AND WALK AWAY. IT COMES WITH OBLIGATIONS.
the government will not use federal instruments like contracts and tax breaks to coerce acceptance of same-sex marriage, the bill squarely addressed the religious community’s two biggest fears. It passed with bipartisan support — and with the support of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, which did not endorse the same-sex marriage provisions but worked to get the bill enacted and praised its religious liberty provisions as “historic and commendable.”
ONE NEEDS TO step back and appreciate why all this matters. Socially, the teachings of the church are conservative. Marriage is between one man and one woman; homosexuality is a sin, and a person who practices it unrepentantly cannot be a church member. For the most part, conservative
Protestants and Catholics who share this view have assumed that America’s laws should reflect God’s laws. Reflect does not mean copy or embody. But because, for example, the Bible (purportedly) says that homosexuality is an abomination, conservative Christians have supported laws criminalizing consensual homosexual intimacy (“sodomy”).
To such conservatives, it makes no sense to oppose same-sex marriage as sinful and unbiblical while supporting a law enshrining that very thing.
One Latter-day Saint officer recalled to me a conversation he had with a Roman Catholic archbishop who was perplexed by the church’s willingness to compromise on LGBT issues. In its 2019 guide Forming Consciences for Faithful Citizenship, the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops calls participation in political life “a moral obligation” and emphasizes a long list of policy positions Catholics should support. Compromise is mentioned only three times in its 53 pages, and always in a negative context (as in, “We cannot compromise basic principles or moral teaching”). “We should work with others to advance our moral principles,” the bishops say, but that injunction is instrumental, a means to an end, not an end in itself. One Catholic commentator told me, “I think that Catholic teaching recognizes that compromise is legitimate on the application of principles to legislation, but the bishops are simply not interested in compromising on these (moral) issues.”
It was no surprise, then, that the bishops stridently opposed the Respect for Marriage Act, saying that the church “will always uphold the unique meaning of marriage as a lifelong, exclusive union of one man and one woman.” Similarly, Andrew Walker of the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary voiced the prevalent view among evangelicals when he wrote on X, then Twitter: “Even if the Respect for Marriage Act had incredible religious liberty protections (it doesn’t), it still violates a basic principle of moral construction related to public policy: Law should always reflect truth. It is thus
wrong to tell a lie about what marriage is.” In other words, the only morally acceptable compromise involving same-sex marriage is noncompromise.
So why was The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints defending my legal right to marry a man and, beyond that, endorsing compromise as a good in and of itself?
When I asked Dallin Oaks, he acknowledged tactical considerations. “We’re doctrinally against it,” he told me, meaning same-sex marriage, “but we believe in living under the Constitution and laws of the United States. So we don’t think we give up very much by having Congress enact something that’s already the law under the Supreme Court, and what we gain in the Respect for Marriage Act as amended is important enough. What we lose by codifying something that already exists is insignificant.”
OK , fair enough. But there had to be more to it than shrewd maneuvering. The church could have sat on the sidelines, saying and doing nothing to help the bill pass, or it could have joined with many other conservative religious groups in demanding protections for religious liberty without protection for marriage equality — a purist posture which would have been cost-free. Yet here was the church actively supporting a compromise contravening a core doctrine, when doing so was not cost-free.
Oaks, when we spoke about it, was well aware that the church’s conciliatory approach is conspicuously countercultural in the conservative religious world. The search for a way in the middle “means we’ve left some evangelicals behind and we don’t have the Catholic support that we usually have, and our position does not track well with conservative Republicans. So there are quite a few points of strain on that.” He professed not to care about other churches’ reactions (“I’m only concerned about what I said being right”), and he seemed quite cheerful about coloring outside the lines. He told me:
“I have a professional lifetime interest in the Constitution of the United States, and
how it could never have been adopted without compromise among groups that feel differently on powerful issues but found a way to realize that if they would give up on things that were less important they could achieve a common goal that’s most important of all. I think that’s an approach that has become less and less feasible during my lifetime. A different approach seems to be dominant in government and much public thinking, including among many religious people of different denominations. As I’ve prayerfully pondered and tried to see what God would have us do and what is good for our nation, I came to the position that I expressed in the lecture in Virginia.”
SO WHAT IS the broader lesson in all this? Is it applicable beyond The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints?
“THE CULTURE HAS CHANGED HERE IN UTAH. IN EVERY POSSIBLE WAY, UTAH IS NOW A SAFER AND MORE WELCOMING STATE FOR THE LGBTQ COMMUNITY.”
Fortunately, one need not replicate the church’s theology in order to learn from it. The Latter-day Saints’ example allows us to make some hopeful observations, however, none of which requires agreement with their theology.
First, it shows that a pluralistic civic theology is possible in America today. The post-liberals are wrong to claim that liberalism is inherently antithetical to conservative and communitarian varieties of Christianity. Christian nationalism is wrong to insist on a divisive, oppositional attitude toward politics.
You need not surrender your religious faith or identity in order to embrace
Madison’s constitutional pluralism. You need not regard compromise as defeat and opponents as enemies. Better still, tearing down the wall of separation between personal and public Christian values strengthens both. Seeking to “moderate and unify” in civic life is both pious and public-spirited.
Second, the church’s example also demonstrates that Christian civic pluralism is practical. You can apply it to public policy, get actual deals done and come out ahead. You can obtain more of what you need through patience, negotiation and mutual accommodation than by rioting in the Capitol or hollering about Flight 93 elections. While it is true that the fruits of the spirit should not be judged on the basis of whether they “work,” they often do work. And not just for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Others who participated in the negotiations leading to the Fairness for All proposal and the Respect for Marriage Act included the Seventh-day Adventist World Church, the National Association of Evangelicals, the Council for Christian Colleges & Universities, and the (Jewish) Orthodox Union. None of those faith groups supports same-sex marriage as a religious matter or is theologically progressive; but all saw their mission in pluralism, not purism.
Third, while other Christian traditions differ from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on theological particulars (and, it should be noted, some evangelicals do not regard Latter-day Saints as Christians), a church which makes an effort to notice and foreground the liberal elements of Christian teaching has plenty to work with. The church’s theology drives its approach to politics, not the other way around. The church is not compromising or deforming its doctrines to conform with contemporary exigencies; rather, it is teaching and modeling core doctrines which serve God and help us live together.
FAIRY TALES CAN TEACH US TO LOVE THE TIMES WE LIVE IN, WARTS AND ALL
BY NAOMI KIM
Once upon a time, there was a student who was prone to despair. She could feel it moving silently as a shadow along the wall, dimming the room with its presence. It seeped out of her notebooks as she studied terrible things. Things like violence, injustice, war. Things she knew were important to know. And yet, sometimes, as she sank down in her chair and put her head down on her books, the world felt like too much to bear. She studied history; the past. Its lessons could be twisted sometimes, making it seem like nothing could ever change. Every time those thoughts crossed the student’s mind, the despair grew a little until it loomed over her.
Spoiler alert: I’m the student, and the despair doesn’t win.
It’s true, however, that what I’ve studied could leave nearly anyone despairing about just how bad things can be. I research the entanglements of race, religion and Asian American literature. My work touches on topics like the Korean War, the Los Angeles
race riots in the ’90s, and the ways systemic issues perpetuate inequities. The knowledge I’ve gained is necessary for a better understanding of the world — but unchecked despair, I’ve found, is dangerous. It breeds cynicism and inaction. To remedy that, I’ve found a rather unconventional cure: reading fairy tales.
“WHEN I BECAME A MAN I PUT AWAY CHILDISH THINGS, INCLUDING THE FEAR OF CHILDISHNESS.”
Most recently, it’s been the German writer Michael Ende’s 1979 fantasy novel, “The Neverending Story,” which follows the magical adventures of a boy named Bastian Balthazar Bux. I reached for “The Neverending Story” recently, on a cold, gray day when I could feel that old sinking feeling
that the world was unraveling. That feeling, plus the practical realities of the day-to-day that don’t stop, was too much. My mind was too flighty to even muster a concrete to-do list. But “The Neverending Story” had been able to keep me afloat once before.
In middle school, I was a misfit. I’d read on the school bus and in the cafeteria to get through each day. “The Neverending Story” had been one of the books that had kept me company, giving me a brief reprieve from middle school life. I still had the same secondhand copy from all those years ago, and I settled in now to read it once again. The illustration on the jacket cover featured a familiar scene: magical creatures, a boy perched atop a giant lion, a distant city. I opened up the book.
We often see children’s literature and fairy tales as relevant only for children themselves — their entertainment, their development, their learning. It’s something we’re supposed to age out of as we grow up and become adults with adult concerns and
WHEN READING FAIRY TALES, I FIND MYSELF BELIEVING IN THINGS AGAIN — NOT SO MUCH IN ELVES OR DRAGONS, BUT IN COURAGE, HOPE AND LOVE.
adult books to read. Reading children’s fiction, fairy tales and fables becomes foolishness. A waste of time when there are bills to be paid at best and a futile escape from the “real world” at worst.
But I’ve found that some of the wisest people are those who cultivate an openness to reading children’s fiction again in adulthood — even though we’re “grown up” now. Arguably, the fear of being too childish in our curiosities, solutions and ideas is childishness itself. “When I became a man I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up,” scholar and author C.S. Lewis once said.
Lewis — often a dominant figure in discussions of children’s literature — certainly wasn’t reading fairy tales and children’s stories in his 50s out of a hope to escape, but a desire to understand. Having fought in the trenches of World War I and lived through World War II, he was well acquainted with serious matters of the world. Over half a century later, his principle still applies. If we can put away our fear of childishness, these stories offer a wealth of wisdom and wonder to help us live better.
IN “THE NEVERENDING STORY,” Bastian Balthazar Bux is everything you wouldn’t want to be in middle school: He is overweight, friendless, bullied. On top of that, Bastian’s mother has recently died, and his grieving father has withdrawn from him. When Bastian runs into a bookstore to evade his bullies, he comes across a mysterious book entitled “The Neverending Story.” A voracious reader, Bastian can’t resist the temptation: He steals the book. As fate would have it (of course), it’s not an ordinary book. As Bastian reads it, something magical happens: He finds himself literally transported to the novel’s magical realm, Fantastica. But Fantastica is in grave danger, and Bastian takes up the quest to save this enchanted land.
Professor Birgit Dankert, a scholar and biographer of Ende, tells me that in crafting “The Neverending Story,” “Ende
skillfully assembled selected motifs and sequences from European myths and narrative traditions.” This wealth of mythological influences is what makes reading the novel so much fun. Fantastica is full of creatures drawn from those stories: will-o’the-wisps, dragons, centaurs, night-hobs. The novel’s narrative arc shares much in common with myths and folktales: quests, trials, prescient dreams. Bastian fights evil, becomes a hero, confronts his own inner demons, and goes home transformed. In that sense, “The Neverending Story” is the fairy tale of fairy tales.
Which is, arguably, its strength. Journalist Adam Gopnik once wrote, “Fairy stories are not rich because they are true, and they lose none of their light because someone lit the candle. It is here that the atheist and the believer meet. … Atheists need ghosts and kings and magical uncles and strange coincidences, living fairies and thriving Lilliputians, just as much as the believers do, to register their understanding that a narrow material world, unlit by imagination, is inadequate to our experience, much less to our hopes.”
The key is to ensure that these stories — or, namely, their lessons — aren’t earmarked just for the kid’s-table crowd. “Fairy stories in the modern lettered world have been relegated to the ‘nursery,’ as shabby or old-fashioned furniture is relegated to the play-room, primarily because the adults do not want it, and do not mind if it is misused,” J.R.R. Tolkien bemoaned in a 1947 essay. Historically, fairy tales weren’t stuck in the nursery. They were stories for everyone, told around fires and hearths, in taverns and tents. They offered adults insight for navigating life and understanding themselves — and they still can. “Fairytales,” psychologist Marie-Louise Von Franz wrote in an influential 1970 study, “are the purest and simplest expression of collective unconscious psychic processes.” In a more academic way, she writes a complement to Gopnik’s take: Children’s stories and fairy tales provide a window into how the human psyche works, and illuminate the human
experiences that connect us across cultures, eras, religions and languages. By reworking our common experiences in fantastical form, fairy tales have given people, and can continue to give us, a way to make sense of who we are and how we live.
In America, stories of fantasy and fiction have often been categorized as purely entertainment, or as forms of escape from life’s stressors. In fact, Ende himself actually faced accusations of fostering escapism in his writing. “Realism was the literary program of the hour,” Dankert says of Ende’s sociopolitical context in what was, at the time, the Federal Republic of Germany (West Germany). Critics thought that literature — especially literature for children and young adults — “should prepare people for a self-determined, democratic life.” Because Ende wrote fantasies based on fairy tales and myths, many critics felt that his work failed to adequately prepare readers to face their real futures in the real world.
But the idea that fairy tales can positively impact our real lives is a fundamental part of “The Neverending Story” itself. In the story, Bastian doesn’t just momentarily flee his troubles by entering a magic realm through a magic book. It’s not some clever escape. Bastian returns to his own “real world” transformed — a once-bullied boy now braver and wiser, more confident in himself. His adventures tested and tried him. The lessons of Fantastica helped him understand his values, and himself, with more clarity. And it makes the real world a better place. As he recounts his fantastical stories, another extraordinary thing happens: His grief-stricken father comes back to himself. In Bastian’s storytelling, the relationship between father and son knits itself back together again.
THE REAL-WORLD INSPIRATION of notable adult readers of children’s tales is abundant. Jane Goodall credits “Dr. Dolittle,” “The Wind in the Willows” and “Tarzan” for sparking her interest in animals and deepening her commitment to conservation. Dr. Doolittle knows the secret language of
animals; Tarzan lives with apes; and “The Wind in the Willows” is full of the misadventures of talking critters — Mole, Ratty, Badger and Mr. Toad. These books are all tinged with the impossible, and yet they made Goodall’s work possible. In a 2014 interview, she also noted “The Lord of the Rings” is a story she returns to often. “The book is like an allegory of the challenges we face in today’s dark times.” In the face of these challenges — like environmental degradation and more — Goodall argues that “Lord of the Rings” brings us the hope to carry on and to take on seemingly impossible tasks.
Country star and philanthropist Dolly Parton credits fairy tales for teaching her to dream of a life beyond Appalachia and giving her the courage to venture forth in
THE KEY IS TO ENSURE THAT THESE STORIES — OR, NAMELY, THEIR LESSONS — AREN’T EARMARKED JUST FOR THE KID’STABLE CROWD.
pursuit of her dreams — even becoming a literacy advocate herself. “A Wrinkle in Time” led to astronaut Janice Voss’ fascination with outer space and showed her that girls could excel in math and science. In 1997, on her fourth flight into space, Voss even took a copy of “A Wrinkle in Time” along with her, reading the novel in orbit. Children’s literature can propel and sustain our engagement in the serious things that occupy our adult lives and thoughts.
I emerged from “The Neverending Story” — and from other fairy tale-adjacent tales — feeling more capable, not less, of facing the real world. Whenever I’ve spent a few hours lost in fantastical realms like Ende’s, the trace of magic that follows reminds me that there’s wonder everywhere, even when I don’t quite feel it. There’s new
possibilities, including the possibility for good, for change. I find myself believing in things again — not so much in elves or dragons, but in courage, hope and love. To me, these are the things that make a difficult world, wracked with its painful histories, still worth living in. They make the world worth loving.
“Fairytales are excellent narratives with which to think through a range of human experiences: joy, disbelief, disappointment, fear, envy, disaster, greed, devastation, lust, and grief (just to name a few),” writes historian Marguerite Johnson. They “helped our ancestors make sense of the unpredictability or randomness of life … and sometimes showed us how courage, determination and ingenuity could be employed even by the most disempowered to change the course of events.”
One recent study identifies how traditional folktales and fairy tales can often provide fodder for discussing concepts like resilience, meaning-making, and self-realization. Introducing fairy tales into group therapy sessions led by a folklorist and a clinical psychologist, researchers examined how discussions of these stories and prompts that allowed participants to narrate their own lives led to an array of positive results. Participants in the study reported “increased personal growth, self-acceptance, and an enhanced sense of appreciation of life and personal strengths, together with decreased levels of anxiety.” Maybe, just maybe, spending our time in fairy tales can make “happily ever after” — or at least “happier for now” — possible in the real world, warts and all.
Like Bastian, I’ve found that leaving a book — finishing a story, closing the covers — doesn’t mean leaving its magic or its lessons behind. All the wisdom and wonder that might be tucked between once upon a time and happily ever after is for us, and for our times. Dankert says: “The overarching message of (Ende’s) poetry is the joy of beauty, humanity, and play, as well as the clear rejection of malice, indifference, and violence.” What better message, for anyone at any age?
TURNING THE PAGE
A FRUSTRATED READER VISITS AMERICA’S OLDEST BOOKSHOP
BY ETHAN BAUER
Bethlehem appears as something of a surprise among the hills of eastern Pennsylvania, part of the Appalachian range. The old steel town straddling the Lehigh River seems larger than its population of 76,000, part of the Allentown metro area, 50 miles north of Philadelphia. But Main Street is a tree-lined time capsule, flanked by brick buildings with arched windows and ornamental borders, and streetlamps that look like they could hold a candle. The only building past four stories high is the 100-year-old Hotel Bethlehem, where bellhops bustle past analog elevator dials while someone plays a grand piano. Across the street, through a series of two-story windows, the destination of my pilgrimage stands in unassuming contrast: America’s oldest bookstore.
“Moravian Book Shop, Est. 1745,” the sign reads. Like the city, it was founded by members of the Moravian Church, a small Christian denomination based in what is now the Czech Republic, as an outpost for its missionary efforts in North America. Today, nearby storefronts feature a bustling array of Spanish, Dominican and Mexican
restaurants, specialty stores with intricate Christmas-themed window displays and scattered plaques memorializing pilgrims and proselytizers. The shop occupies two connected brick buildings painted in blue, gray and white. The newer building serves as campus bookstore for Moravian University — also one of the country’s oldest — but that’s not what I’m here for.
SEE, THERE ARE BOOK PEOPLE, AND THERE’S EVERYONE ELSE — AND I, TO MY MOTHER’S LASTING DISAPPOINTMENT, AM NOT A BOOK PERSON.
I came to find out what’s wrong with me. I’m not the sort to seek out bookstores when I travel, but this is the kind of place my mom would visit. She is a book person. When I was a kid, she’d visit the library every weekend to drop off a stack of seven or eight titles and pick up a new stack she’d reserved in advance. You can still find her
cradling her Kindle with her eyes buried in a mystery novel. See, there are book people, and there’s everyone else — and I, to her lasting disappointment, am not a book person. But books seemed important to the people who settled this town when there was nothing around it, so maybe it can help me to figure out why I have failed in this regard. And why so many folks my age seem to be failing, too.
I’D LIKE TO be a book person. And Mama tried. When I was little, she and my father would read to me at night, stories like “Goodnight Moon” by Margaret Wise Brown, “Where the Wild Things Are” by Maurice Sendak, or a kid-friendly Bible story like David and Goliath. I grew up thinking book people were the norm, for all they hassled me. But like so many things we teach our kids, that turned out to be more aspiration than reality.
When I muddled my way through “Death of a Salesman,” “Brave New World” and “Othello” in high school — half-heartedly, I’ll admit — I didn’t know I was already reading more seriously than many
American adults. I still do, though I’m more likely to read a magazine article than a whole book. So why can’t I bring myself to sit down and read a book?
I read constantly, if you count social media, sports columns and magazine stories, but that doesn’t make me a reader. As a writer, I’m plagued by guilt for not reading enough books. I’m happy when I’ve read one — but only after the fact. Reading itself has always been a chore, not something fun. Not with a working television right there. I had a hard time reading even half of what was assigned in English class. Other things seemed more important, like finishing my homework early so I could watch cartoons. My reading habits have evolved, but that basic impulse remains, and even when I enjoy a book, reading still feels like soldiering through. I don’t understand why, but I’m not alone.
Like me, most Americans ingest a steady stream of “content,” the kind of short-form texts delivered on phones and tablets that have overwhelmed our minds, slashed our attention spans and reshaped our lifestyles. But a recent YouGov poll found that nearly half of us have not read a single book in the past year. The American Academy of Arts and Sciences found significant declines in minutes spent reading between 2003 and 2018. That fall was especially pronounced among older Americans, although those over 55 were still more likely to read. According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics’ annual Time Use Survey, Americans spend 16 minutes reading for pleasure each day — down from 23 minutes in 2004. Across the Atlantic, a survey by a London-based charity found that only 35 percent of British children between 8 and 18 enjoy reading as leisure — down from roughly 2 in 3 as recently as 2016.
Even more alarming is the crisis of literacy itself. More than 90 percent of Americans have been able to read and write since the 1950s, but that number has now dropped to 79 percent of adults, as reported by the National Literacy Institute. More than half read below a sixth grade level, which makes
it hard to parse the label on a bottle of ibuprofen. Illiteracy correlates with poverty, unemployment and prison stays, and costs the U.S. economy about $2.2 trillion per year. On a more human scale, the report points out, 130 million adults can’t read their kids a bedtime story.
I can’t fathom how this is happening under our collective radar, but I can’t say I’m entirely disconnected from it, either.
INSIDE THE SHOP’S main entrance, white light glares across racks and stacks of Moravian University merch. Blue-and-gray sweaters, polos, hoodies, tank tops and T-shirts — go Greyhounds! Behind them, I find some dusty shelves waiting for the next semester’s textbooks. It’s disappointing. I didn’t expect a living history museum or
AS IT TURNS OUT, LOTS OF PEOPLE HAD STRONG OPINIONS ABOUT THE END OF AN ERA FOR THE NATION’S OLDEST BOOKSTORE WHILE THEY LOOKED ON FROM HOME VIA THE SCREENS OF THEIR SMARTPHONES.
a venerable old establishment like Shakespeare and Company in Paris. But it feels like any campus bookstore that is now managed by Barnes & Noble — which happens to be the case.
Bookstores are changing everywhere. All that remains of “Book Row” in Manhattan, once home to over three dozen bookstores, is The Strand — although there’s a Barnes & Noble across Union Square. Sam Weller’s Zion Bookstore was a downtown landmark in Salt Lake City for most of the 20th century before moving into a mall and rebranding itself as something modern. Nearby, Ken Sanders Rare Books has moved from its iconic warehouse into the gift shop at a local museum. Many still travel to Powell’s
in Portland, a storied bookseller that has become a local chain, with three branches and an airport location.
The original settlement of Bethlehem was like a commune, base camp for a Protestant movement that predated Martin Luther. Here, they built a water works, a tannery and the Moravian Book Shop. It sold religious texts and secular books, and doubled as a general store, offering stationery, cloth and other supplies needed on the frontier. By 1924, it started selling Moravian stars; the many-pointed glass Christmas ornaments are now a symbol of a town that calls itself “Christmas City USA.” Eventually, it evolved into a corporation that subsidized Moravian ministerial pensions. Business was steady until the Great Recession in 2008, but the store “never operated at a profit of any consequence,” says Rick Santee, former president of the board of directors. Around that time, big-box retailers like Barnes & Noble moved into the local economy, even as Amazon presented a growing threat online. The store itself was in need of renovations, but Moravian was struggling just to keep up with the competition. “We tried. People would come in, take pictures of the merchandise and then try to find it online. It was very difficult.” When the university offered to buy the store in 2017, the board decided to “keep it in the family.”
It’s hard to fight economics. I duck into a small hallway, hoping it will lead me somewhere more illuminating. The passage to the next building is stacked with an impressive assortment of ornaments, including a towering display of those stained-glass Moravian stars. They’re beautiful and unique. But I still haven’t seen any books.
DOWN THREE WOODEN steps, I find myself in a room for children. Racks are stocked with colorful baby onesies, board games and stuffed animals. And yes, books. I scan the shelves, comforted to find “Goodnight Moon” and “The Very Hungry Caterpillar” by Eric Carle, another childhood memory. I worry about my own infant son growing
up in a world where books like these feel like rare treasures hidden in a corporate archive, while digital devices clamor for his attention. I know reading is important. It’s just not so easy to focus anymore.
Unless something reaches out and grabs you.
When the store’s sale was announced in 2018, blowback was immediate and intense. Most notably, former employee Leo Atkinson launched a Change.org petition that garnered more than 90,000 signatures opposing the transaction. Now 35, the former English major has switched careers, pursuing computer science instead. But he’s still a book person, and like Santee, he loved the old Moravian Book Shop, where his mother also worked. “It was my favorite job I’ve ever had,” he says. “I love books, love bookstores, love reading.” What he didn’t love was the abruptness of the sale. Many, it turned out, felt the same way. The petition was “overwhelming,” he says. “There was a narrative there that people connected to.”
In the next room, I find what I’ve been looking for. A broad space lined with stacks under purple signs advertising sections: Fiction, Religion, Cookbooks. This part of the store feels older, like something out of Harry Potter’s Diagon Alley, where one could just as easily buy a magic wand or flying broomstick. Under Classics, I find a copy of the same printing of “The Catcher in the Rye” that I pretended to read in high school, J.D. Salinger’s coming-of-age novel about a teenage boy so artistically sensitive, socially ostracized and self-absorbed that everything he sees seems “phony.” So I’m told. It’s next to George Orwell’s “1984” — a work of dystopian fiction about a government that manipulates language, history and storytelling to control its populace by deciding what is true.
It’s not the kind of uniquely curated selection that would entice a book person to drive 90 miles to visit, but it’s not bad, either. Still, it’s not exactly packed. I can’t help noticing the irony behind that petition, and neither can Santee. As it turns out, lots of people had strong opinions about the end
of an era for the nation’s oldest bookstore while they looked on from home via the screens of their smartphones. “Everyone talks about how good it used to be,” he says, “but they weren’t coming.” He jokes that locals here just miss the old days, but it doesn’t feel unique to me. My life is full of people who like the idea of something timeless, like reading, much more than they like doing it.
A CLEARANCE SHELF hawks titles for 50 percent off. I flip through “America Fantastica,” a minor novel by Tim O’Brien, author of “The Things They Carried,” a definitive short story collection inspired by his military service in Vietnam. In that book, he recounts the death of one man through the lives of each member of his platoon, trac-
I’VE BEEN LOOKING FOR THEORIES TO EXPLAIN WHY WE DON’T READ LIKE WE USED TO. WHAT IF IT RUNS DEEPER THAN OUR HABITS?
ing the objects they hauled in their rucks. There’s a rare magic in finding a new way to tell a story, so I decide to take the novel home. It’s the story of a reporter turned online troll who resorts to robbing a bank. We all have our baggage.
I’ve been looking for theories to explain why we don’t read like we used to.
Some say we’re just too busy and mentally exhausted.
Some say we’re spoiled by passive entertainment, which didn’t exist before radio and television, video games and smartphone apps. Modern media don’t ask us to exercise our imaginations, but their worlds are potent substitutes for the real one, as well as our mind’s eye. All they ask is that we keep clicking. And if we step away for too long, they let us know.
Or maybe we read more than ever, we just waste our daily allotment of words on Instagram captions, memes and an endless scroll of horrifying headlines. Snacking adds up, and our brains lose something when we don’t give them enough of the right kind of work.
What if it runs deeper than our habits? For thousands of years, books have been an anchor and a guide for all humanity, from papyrus scrolls to the Gutenberg Bible. But life has never moved so fast. Even the internet struggles to keep up. What if it’s all too much for books to handle? That would be unthinkable, even for a person who doesn’t like to read.
I hoped the Moravian Book Shop would give me an answer, a miracle cure to remake myself in my mother’s image. But even novels tell us there are no easy solutions. My little pilgrimage didn’t reveal why I’m not a book person. But it did deepen my resolve to become one.
Reading a good book feels cleansing compared to social media, which has never felt more toxic and isolating. A lengthy narrative tickles my brain in ways that no dopamine rush can touch. It’s a pleasant feeling. Reading makes me a more thoughtful, deliberate and compassionate person. I know it’s worth it. It’s just not optimized for my convenience, or even my addiction. Maybe the only way for me to become a book person is to commit.
Back home, I open the O’Brien book on the patio and start reading. Sipping from a mug of hot tea, I soldier through 30 pages that feel like less of a forced march with each flick of my thumb. When it gets too cold, I head inside, sit at the kitchen table and keep reading. I wish I could stop my story there, triumphant. But the truth is, weeks go by before I pick up the novel again.
Still, there’s hope. I also brought home a couple of books to read to my son. I don’t know how much he understands, but I’ve read them to him many times already. And that feels right. It feels important. And at this rate, he might be a book person yet.
TRUE, ON PAPER
AN ODE TO THE NOTEBOOK
BY CHAD NIELSEN
The trees outside are bare, the street empty and quiet. There is little appetite to leave one’s home on the first morning of the new year. Instead, I pour a steaming cup and settle into my reading chair. I realize now how dated that sounds, like the father from a black-and-white sitcom unfolding his newspaper in the den after a hard day at the office. It gets worse, as I pull out a pair of spiral notebooks: one old and scuffed, the other fresh and new.
I still write on paper. Each notebook is about the size of a small hardback book, a couple inches taller than it is wide. The covers are thick cardboard, the color of a manila folder and dense enough to hold shape if you need to write without a desk. The paper is thin but not so much so that it feels cheap, pale green ruled with dark green lines. In short, an ordinary notebook from a time when notebooks were ordinary.
Call it a character flaw. Friends poke fun. People stare if I so much as write a list in public. And whoever stocks the supply room at work doesn’t much believe in paper at all. Our species has moved on to smart devices that do the thinking for you, watch the time and cry out if you get off track. It’s not the rise of the machines I fear; it’s the abdication of humanity. Besides, paper works better. Pixels come and go, and our brains act accordingly.
But we remember what we read on paper, and even more so that which we write by hand.
Flipping through the old notebook is like watching a recap before the next episode. Its pages are scrawled with black ink. All caps, neat and clear, when I was planning a trip or setting workout objectives. But if I was racing to get down my thoughts or feelings, the letters get sloppy, the case inconsistent, the words leaning forward like a halfback fighting through an arm tackle. The most important notes, I’m convinced, are the ones that even I can’t read.
I flip open the new notebook and write “2025” in block letters. Though I type this in November, I know how it plays out. Maybe I label the year with a theme, or maybe I dive right into stacks of goals and schedules, lists of projects I want to take on and aspects of my life I hope to set right. I don’t believe in resolutions so much as choices, and while our Gregorian calendar is rather arbitrary, we need rituals like this to give us a fresh start now and then.
How many more of these have I got left? The pile of notebooks I accumulated before the university bookstore slashed their paper inventory is running low. But for today, I can close the book on last year and write out my intentions for the next. And they feel real, at least on paper.
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SOMETIMES IT ISN’T THE SAME OLD STORY
BY ROB CARNEY
You could understand him misunderstanding, digging such careful holes with his shovel, sifting in spoonfuls of birdseed — an honest mistake.
And you could half-understand how he stubbornly finished, how he aimed his back at everyone laughing and patted the dirt down gently with his hands.
But to greet each day with his watering can, to go on as if he were a gardener, as if he believed ...
someone finally stomped all the green in his yard, and that should’ve been the end of that.
Certainty feels like a flag when you fly it. It snaps in the wind and makes the sound of your own good name,
of your own high opinion. It’s the opposite of birds. And it was birds that he was growing, after all: cardinals, robins, chickadees, starlings. His seedlings stood up again,
unfurled their branches, all of them loaded not with blossoms but with song.
That was the season people re-learned amazement, followed by the autumn when they re-learned amazement again:
One morning he went ’round his yard on a ladder. He paid no attention to everyone clapping, just picked each bird and released it into the sky.
ROB CARNEY IS THE AUTHOR OF NINE BOOKS OF POEMS, MOST RECENTLY “THE BOOK OF DROUGHT” (TEXAS REVIEW PRESS, 2024), WHICH WON THE X.J. KENNEDY PRIZE IN POETRY.
UTAH LAKE AND MOUNT TIMPANOGOS, UTAH | PHOTOGRAPHY BY JOHN HAYMORE
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