Gender-Baiting Is Dehumanizing—And It Hurts Families Across the Political Spectrum, by Angela Valenzuela, Ph.D.

Gender-Baiting Is Dehumanizing—And It Hurts Families Across the Political Spectrum

by 

Angela Valenzuela, Ph.D.

June 13, 2026

Elaine Godfrey’s Atlantic piece on the Paxton-Talarico Senate race is a sobering reminder that we are likely to see an ugly campaign season in Texas. Already, the attacks on James Talarico have moved beyond policy disagreement into gender-baiting, mockery, and false claims about his identity. These tactics are not only dishonest; they are dehumanizing.

Whatever one thinks of Talarico’s politics, no candidate should be reduced to insults about masculinity, gender identity, or sexuality. This kind of rhetoric does not merely target one public figure. It sends a message to every LGBTQIA perso—and to every young person who is questioning, searching, or simply different—that their dignity is conditional and that their humanity can be turned into a punchline.

That cruelty is especially painful because Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer/Questioning, Intersex, and Asexual (LGBTQIA) people are not abstractions. They are our children, siblings, cousins, parents, students, neighbors, colleagues, and friends. They live in Democratic families, Republican families, religious families, secular families, rural families, urban families, and every kind of Texas family. 

Geez, human variation does not sort itself neatly by party, denomination, ZIP code, or ideology. 

That is not “higher education gobbledygook.” It is lived reality.

So when political leaders mock gender identity or use anti-LGBTQIA insinuations to score points, they are almost certainly wounding people in their own communities—and quite possibly in their own families. 

They may imagine they are attacking an opponent, but the damage radiates outward. It reaches the child listening from the back seat, the teenager in the pew, the college student afraid to come home, the parent who loves their child but now feels politically cornered into silence.

Most positively, this moment also reminds us that LGBTQIA people have never been merely the objects of ridicule or fear. They are agents of courage, culture, family, faith, scholarship, public service, and democratic possibility. Every year on June 28, communities around the world observe International LGBT Pride Day, honoring the anniversary of the 1969 Stonewall uprising in New York City—a watershed moment that helped catalyze the modern gay liberation movement. 

Pride is not only a celebration. It is a public affirmation that people who have been shamed, criminalized, silenced, and excluded are fully human and fully worthy of dignity, safety, joy, and belonging.

Happy Pride Month, by the way!

This is why gender-baiting is so morally bankrupt. It asks us to move backward, toward shame and stigma, precisely when history calls us forward—toward recognition, repair, and love.

This is not strength. It is not faith. It is not leadership. It is the politics of humiliation.

Texas deserves better than campaigns built on ridicule. We can debate taxes, schools, health care, immigration, war, democracy, and the future of the state without stripping people of their dignity. In fact, we must. A democracy worthy of the name depends not only on votes and institutions, but on the moral discipline to recognize one another as fully human.

The truth is simple: LGBTQIA Texans belong to all of us. They are part of every community, including those that pretend otherwise. To attack them for political gain is to attack the sacred fabric of family, faith, and human dignity itself.

Reference

Stonewall riots. (2026, June 12). In Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stonewall_riots

‘We Have Not Seen Ugly Yet’

Paxton versus Talarico is already awful.  

By Elaine Godfrey | May 27, 2026

Mark Felix / Bloomberg / Getty
May 27, 2026

TWO THINGS are as certain as bluebonnets in spring now that Ken Paxton is the Republican nominee for the Senate in Texas: Democrats have a better-than-usual chance of winning statewide. And the next 23 weeks are going to be hideous.

Paxton’s big win comes days after President Trump stuck his finger into the wind, determined that the incumbent, John Cornyn, was toast, and gave the attorney general his last-minute support. Even though the nearly 28-point margin was surprising, it was probably always going to be Paxton. A runoff tends to attract the hardest of the hard-core—the kind of determined voter who is willing not only to show up to vote in March, but to show up and vote in March, sit through 12 weeks of brutal attack ads, then head back out to the polls in May. The kind of Republican who might argue, as one woman did in Dallas when I spoke with her last week, that Paxton and Trump are bringing masculinity back to the party like Bambi’s father “coming out of the forest with those huge antlers.”

Now that these dutiful Republicans have secured the animated stag of their dreams, they will turn their attention to his general-election opponent: James Talarico, the 37-year-old Democratic state lawmaker and aspiring Presbyterian minister. In some ways, the two men have become avatars for their respective parties, which will spend the next five months ruthlessly attacking each other.

Paxton, a MAGA folk hero, seems even more committed to the movement than Trump himself is. As attorney general, he filed dozens upon dozens of lawsuits against Presidents Obama and Biden, and sued to overturn the 2020 election results. Paxton and Trump happen to share a strikingly similar ethical and legal rap sheet: Both men have been indicted (Paxton’s charges involved securities fraud and were dismissed after he agreed to do community service and take an ethics class); both have been impeached (Paxton was suspended by the Texas House but later acquitted by the Senate); and both have been accused of—and deny—infidelity. (Angela Paxton is now divorcing Ken on “biblical grounds.”)

Read: Ken Paxton is actually doing this

Although Talarico doesn’t yet have Paxton’s name recognition, he does have strong youth-pastor energy and, at least for now, the moral high ground. As a faith-forward economic populist, Talarico has a core campaign message of love triumphing over hate, and little guys taking on the billionaires. Republicans know that they’ve got a tough race ahead of them, which is why they’ve already settled on a strategy: make Talarico seem like a weird dude.

Unfortunately for Democrats, Talarico has been more than a little helpful in this effort. In 2021, the state lawmaker said that “God is nonbinary,” a statement that is off-putting to some Christians, not because they believe that God is literally a man but because they can’t fathom why someone would drag God into the earthly debate over gender identity. Talarico has also said that there are six biological sexes and that he supports access to abortion, in part, because God asked for consent when he blessed Mary with the baby Jesus. As a candidate in 2022, he pledged to run a “non-meat campaign,” which was never going to play well in cattle country.

Lately, Talarico has been doing some backtracking. “I know there are two sexes, men and women. I also know there’s a very small percentage of people who have these chromosomal abnormalities, and I believe they deserve to be treated with dignity and respect,” he told CBS this week, adding that there are “some statements that I’ve made that I certainly regret.” Whenever Talarico is accused of being insufficiently pro-meat, his campaign circulates a photo of the candidate gnawing on a turkey leg at the state fair.

Still, both sides have heaps of material to work with. Which is why the next few months promise a total inundation of negative advertising online, and on the airwaves in Texas. Democrats will hammer into voters Paxton’s scandals—and the failures of Republican leadership. “Will Republicans get away with running a superficial attack campaign when Texans are really hurting?” Matt Angle, a state Democratic strategist, told me. “They’ve been in control for 30 years. If something’s broke, they broke it.” Meanwhile, Republicans are already parroting Paxton’s proposed “Tala-freako” and “Low-T Talarico” nicknames. This morning, the Trump adviser Stephen Miller wrote on X that Democrats have nominated their “first transgender senate candidate.” (Talarico is not transgender.) “We have not seen ugly yet,” Vinny Minchillo, a Texas Republican strategist, told me. They’re going to make Talarico “the woke DEI candidate of all woke DEI candidates. And pound him, pound him, pound him.”

The task ahead will be tough for Talarico, who will have to decide when to counter these attacks directly—Define thyself lest ye be defined, as the political maxim goes—and when to remain firmly astride his moral high horse. He will also have to fend off the unprecedented amounts of money that Republicans are pumping into the race in order to protect their fragile Senate majority. Already, Paxton has secured the backing of the National Republican Senatorial Committee, which initially endorsed Cornyn and which, last night, dutifully scrubbed its website of all anti-Paxton press releases and ads.

Yet for Talarico, hope remains. No Texan needs reminding that inflation is high, or that the war in Iran has the whole world on edge and gas prices rising. Trump’s polling is bad, and among Texans, Talarico has higher favorability numbers than both Paxton and the president. In what might end up being a particularly good year for Democrats, victory is not only possible but achievable.

Still, if Democrats have done one thing well in Texas over the past 30 years, it’s dash hopes. The last time a Democrat came close to winning statewide in Texas was in 2018. Back then, Senator Ted Cruz beat Beto O’Rourke by roughly 215,000 votes. This time, the figure that Republicans have their eye on is 778,139, or the number of Texans who voted in the March GOP primary but who were not excited enough about either Republican candidate to vote in the runoff. A drop in turnout was expected. But a 36 percent decline “mirrors a lack of Republican enthusiasm we’ve seen in other states,” Minchillo said. For Texas Republicans, that number is “distressing.”

Last night on Truth Social, Trump congratulated Paxton and promised to hold a few rallies to help gin up some excitement. “Texas, this will be FUN!” the president teased. We’ll see.

The Men Who Don't Want Women to Vote or Work, or Have Opinions, by Helen Lewis, The Atlantic

Friends:

What once sounded “too extreme” to take seriously is increasingly entering mainstream political and cultural discourse. The growing masculinist movement documented in this recent piece is not just internet provocation or fringe performance. It reflects a broader backlash against feminism, gender equality, public education, diversity efforts, and democratic pluralism itself.

Readers should resist the temptation to dismiss these developments simply because they sound outlandish or “too far-fetched.” History teaches us that democratic erosion often begins with ideas first framed as jokes, provocations, or hypothetical thought experiments before becoming normalized through repetition, media amplification, and political power. When influential public figures openly discuss repealing women’s voting rights, restricting women’s participation in public life, or dismantling anti-discrimination protections, we should pay attention—not panic, but pay attention.

I do need to say something about Christian debater Andrew Wilson's allegation and twisted logic that women "‘covertly undermine or ostracize their enemies,’ and therefore that ‘all cancellations are feminine.’” 

This is not at all true. Some of the most devastating forms of censorship, silencing, and social ostracism in U.S. history were not carried out by women exercising “soft power,” but by institutions dominated by men: legislatures banning books, universities purging dissidents, states criminalizing Ethnic Studies, overwhelmingly patriarchal churches enforcing orthodoxy, employers blacklisting organizers, and governments surveilling activists. To describe ostracism as “feminine” erases histories of colonial violence, McCarthyism, segregation, patriarchy, and authoritarian governance.

Inasmuch as women are behind this, it would be status quo, patriarchal women behind this within a larger system of patriarchal power.

The question is not whether every extreme proposal will become law. The question is what happens to a democracy when such ideas increasingly shape the moral and political imagination of an increasingly less-fringe movement about which we should all be concerned. 

-Angela Valenzuela, Ph.D.

The Men Who Don't Want Women to Vote or Work, or Have Opinions, by Helen Lewis, The Atlantic

The influential pastor Douglas Wilson has advo­cated for the repeal of the Nineteenth Amendment. (Photo-illustration by The Atlantic. Source: Lindsey Wasson / AP.)

Douglas Wilson has a modest proposal to improve American life: He wants to repeal the Nineteenth Amendment, which gave women the vote. In his ideal system, “we would do it in our politics the same way we do it in our church structure,” he told me recently. “And that is, we vote by household.”

Wilson is a co-founder of the Communion of Reformed Evangelical Churches, based in Moscow, Idaho. Over the past five decades, he has built a small empire there, dedicated to disseminating his theocratic vision for the United States: a publishing house, a school, a liberal-arts college, and a video-streaming service. His denomination, which has about 170 affiliated churches, counts Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth as a member, and Wilson was invited to lead a prayer service at the Pentagon in February. So when the pastor casually suggests disenfranchising half of America, people listen.

When I asked him about this position, Wilson said it wasn’t his top priority—“We have bigger fish to fry”—but something he sees happening in perhaps 200 years’ time. I found this intellectual footsie maddening. “If I said to you, ‘I think all white men should be put in cages—but not now; it’s not my aspiration for now,’ ” I suggested, “then you wouldn’t be interested in a single other thing that I had to say at that point.”

Wilson chuckled. “Oh, I know you’d probably have all my attention.”

This is twinkly, avuncular Douglas Wilson, the guy who joined a hippie congregation fresh out of the Navy because he liked to play guitar, and ended up leading services once the regular pastor moved on. The same guy who once went on a multicity debating tour with the New Atheist Christopher Hitchens, and bonded with him over their shared love of P. G. Wodehouse. But the 72-year-old shows a different side on his website, Blog & Mablog. For more than two decades, Wilson has been airing piquant opinions on unruly women—or, as he calls them, “small-breasted biddies,” “harridans,” “lumberjack dykes,” and “Jezebels.” He once referred to Gloria Steinem and another feminist as “a couple of cunts.” And this is the polite version. Every year he celebrates “No Quarter November,” when he promises to tell readers what he really thinks.

Wilson believes that women should “not ordinarily” hold political office, and should never serve in combat roles in the military. Husbands should have dominion over misbehaving wives’ weight, spending habits, and choice of television programs. His uncompromising vision for America was once considered marginal, the conservative writer Karen Swallow Prior told me. Since his elevation by Hegseth, however, “no one can credibly say that Doug Wilson is fringe anymore.”

Wilson is a prominent voice in what is sometimes called “masculinism”: a movement to fight back against the advances of feminism and reassert the primacy of men. His version is religious, influenced by the notion of male “headship” of the family and Saint Paul’s belief that godly women should “be quiet.” There are also plenty of secular masculinists, as well as nominally Muslim ones, such as the streamer Sneako, the self-proclaimed pimp Andrew Tate, and the podcaster Myron Gaines. Woman-bashing plays well on social media and sells lots of ads for crypto, sports betting, and supplements. You can make good money telling men that they’re the truly oppressed sex.

But this isn’t just a movement of grifters exploiting a quirk of the algorithm. In the past decade, one of the New Right’s major challenges has been to retrofit a consistent ideology onto the electoral power of Donald Trump. Masculinism has been a great gift, because factions with different views on, say, protectionism or Israel or Big Tech can all agree on the overreach of feminism and the need for a return to traditional gender roles. Far from being a fringe belief system, masculinism has become the single most important force uniting the American right, bringing together an unlikely constellation of pastors, posters, senators, preachers, influencers, podcasters, and fanboys.

The MAGA movement is often framed as a reaction to the first Black president, and to a growing Latino population. But the multiracial appeal of the manosphere and Trump’s 2024 inroads with young minority men point in a different direction. “People ask me what the New Right is furious about,” the author Laura Field, whose book, Furious Minds, describes the intellectual underpinnings of Trumpism, told me. “And I think a good shorthand for that is they’re furious about their own loss of status in society over the last few years and the elites who made that happen, and I think that the pithiest short version of that is that it’s the women. It’s the women who took their status.”

Wilson’s approach to public life clearly has an element of what professional wrestlers call kayfabe—the winking, performative trollishness that now characterizes the online right. He wants feminists like me to get angry with his most outlandish proposals, making ourselves look like scolds or Chicken Littles in the process. But Wilson and a growing number of powerful allies are sincere in these beliefs, and would want to enact them if given the chance.

One of masculinism’s central claims is that no one is talking about men. So true! Men’s issues are not being discussed in Senator Josh Hawley’s 2023 book, Manhood: The Masculine Virtues America Needs. They aren’t being discussed in Tucker Carlson’s documentary The End of Men. They aren’t being discussed in the panoply of Christian books available on Amazon with titles such as Man for the Job, Masculine Christianity, and It’s Good to Be a Man, or in their secular counterparts, such as Why Women Deserve Less. They aren’t being talked about on social-media feeds (which can be highly segregated by sex) or on some of America’s most popular independent podcasts, such as Modern Wisdom, Huberman Lab, and The Diary of a CEO.

For decades, each feminist advance in American public life has prompted an equally strong backlash. The first wave of women’s-rights activists won suffrage for women, against ferocious and sometimes violent opposition. After the second wave secured Title IX and other legal victories against sex discrimination, Phyllis Schlafly successfully fought back against the full ratification of the Equal Rights Amendment. By the identity-obsessed 2010s, the full weight of corporate America had swung behind glib slogans such as “The future is female.” This commercial blitzkrieg inevitably convinced some people that women’s advancement had come at men’s expense. A refrain I kept hearing over the past few years was that boys were being made to feel ashamed of themselves, as if they were stained by some kind of original sin. These years have seen a counterreaction, with the total abandonment of the #MeToo movement, conservative gloating over the fall of Roe v. Wade, and the return of straightforwardly sexist put-downs—“Quiet, piggy”—to public life.

Like most popular movements, masculinism has many entry points, and both defensible and alarming forms. At one end of the spectrum are legitimate concerns about male loneliness, the declining share of men in higher education, stagnant wages for non-college-educated men, and the deadening effects of day-trading, gaming, and porn. At the other end of masculinism are a misogynist vocabulary about AWFULs and the longhouse (terms that we’ll come back to) and a political agenda close to that in The Handmaid’s Tale, whereby women are denied the right to work, vote, and control their own bodies.

On the internet, masculinism is presented as a rebellion—a transgressive middle finger to the liberal establishment, expressed in all the words a corporate HR department would order you not to say. In the past few years, leaked group chats have shown Young Republicans and college conservatives using sexism, infused with racism, as a bonding mechanism. “If your pilot is a she and she looks ten shades darker than someone from Sicily, just end it there. Scream the no no word,” read a message in a Telegram thread used by the leaders of Young Republican chapters in New York, Kansas, Arizona, and Vermont. (Several members of the chat were women.) Richard Hanania, who describes himself as a former white nationalist, calls this kind of in-group signaling “the Based Ritual,” a way for younger MAGA enthusiasts to prove their bona fides to one another.

Nick Fuentes has suggested that women be sent to “breeding gulags.” (Photo-illustration by The Atlantic. Source: Jacquelyn Martin / AP.)

Among Gen Zers, Douglas Wilson’s intellectual heir is Nick Fuentes, who leads a loose collection of trolls known as Groypers. A self-professed Christian nationalist, anti-Semite, and virgin, Fuentes has built a fan base in part by deploying vividly misogynistic language. “Our No. 1 political enemy is women, because women constrain everything, every conversation, every man—everything,” Fuentes said on a livestream earlier this year. He added: “Just like Hitler imprisoned Gypsies, Jews, Communists—all of his political rivals—we have to do the same thing with women.” He suggested that they be sent to “breeding gulags. The good ones will be liberated. The bad ones will toil in the mines forever.”

When Billionaires Stop Living in the Same Reality as Everyone Else by Angela Valenzuela, Ph.D. May 17, 2026

When Billionaires Stop Living in the Same Reality as 

Everyone Else

by

Angela Valenzuela, Ph.D.

May 17, 2026

Noah Hawley’s essay in The Atlantic, “What I Learned About Billionaires at Jeff Bezos’s Private Retreat,” begins as a story about an invitation most people would never receive: a weekend at Jeff Bezos’s Campfire retreat in Santa Barbara. In 2018, Hawley joined more than 80 celebrities, writers, intellectuals, artists, and powerful people at a private resort where the setting itself became part of the lesson. Private jets carried guests in. 

Bezos, now one of the world's  "centibillionaires"—a word I just learned—had bought out the Biltmore resort and the beach club across the street. There were elite lectures, curated conversations, luxury gifts, security, and the strange intimacy of being temporarily absorbed into the orbit of immense wealth (Hawley, 2026).

But Hawley’s essay is not really about luxury. It is about what extreme wealth does to a person’s relationship to consequence. At a certain level of wealth, money no longer simply buys comfort; it buys insulation. It removes friction. It softens every edge of ordinary life. Hawley’s insight is that billionaires do not merely own more than everyone else. They may come to inhabit a world in which failure, criticism, inconvenience, and even other people’s pain no longer press against them in the same way they do for most of the planet's inhabitants (Hawley, 2026).

The emotional center of the essay comes after Hawley’s wife breaks her wrist during the retreat. The staff responds quickly and efficiently, getting her medical care. Later, Hawley mentions the accident to Bezos, not as a complaint but as a human moment between host and guest. According to Hawley, Bezos does not respond with sympathy or concern. Instead, he appears uncomfortable and is quickly pulled away. For Hawley, that brief exchange becomes a symbol of something larger: when wealth is vast enough, even empathy can begin to feel optional.

Hawley’s argument is unsettling because it moves beyond one billionaire or one awkward encounter. He suggests that extreme wealth can create a “consequence-free” reality, a world where the richest people are surrounded by admirers, employees, lawyers, consultants, security teams, public-relations experts, and political allies whose job is to make difficulty disappear. 

In that environment, the ordinary moral education most people receive from limits, mistakes, embarrassment, dependency, and accountability begins to break down. As Hawley puts it, the danger is not simply that the wealthy become greedy; it is that extreme wealth can build a world so insulated from ordinary consequence that other people’s lives begin to feel abstract—if not invisible altogether.

That is why Diane Ravitch’s recent post, “Trump Sued IRS for $10 Billion. How Much Will He Pay Himself?,” belongs in the same conversation. Ravitch is not writing about a private retreat or a billionaire’s social awkwardness. She is writing about power, public money, and a permission structure that allows the government itself to morph into an instrument of personal enrichment. Her question—how much will he pay himself?—is not just a jab. It is a moral diagnosis (Ravitch, 2026).

We are living in a country where the billionaire class plays by one set of rules while everyone else is told to tighten their belts, pay their taxes, obey the law, and accept austerity as inevitable. At the end of 2025, 935 U.S. billionaires held a combined $8.1 trillion in wealth, up from $6.7 trillion just one year earlier (Collins & Ocampo, 2026). Meanwhile, Federal Reserve data show that the top 1% held 31.7% of total U.S. net worth in the third quarter of 2025, compared with only 2.5% held by the bottom half of households (Cunningham, 2026; also see Board of Governors of the Federal Reserve System, 2026a and 2026b).

Against this backdrop, Ravitch’s post captures the grotesque moral divide of our time: Donald Trump, already one of the most powerful people in the country, is pursuing a $10 billion lawsuit against the IRS and Treasury over the leak of his tax records, even as he now oversees the very federal agencies involved in the dispute (Ravitch, 2026). The Associated Press reports that Trump’s lawyers have been in talks with the IRS to resolve the case, raising serious legal and ethical questions about a president suing the government he controls (Hussein, 2026).

The Tax Law Center has similarly warned that any settlement enriching Trump—or shielding him, his family, or his businesses from audits—would raise deeply troubling concerns about political interference in tax administration (DeBot & Hubbert, 2026). The Center notes that discussions about dropping audits of Trump, his family members, or his businesses would implicate legal safeguards designed to prevent political interference with the IRS.

This is not just another Trump scandal. It is a window into a political and economic order in which billionaires and the ultra-rich increasingly treat the state as their private instrument, while public schools, working families, immigrants, students, and everyday people are asked to live with less. Hawley shows us the private psychology of extreme wealth: a world where inconvenience disappears and empathy can be evaded. Ravitch shows us the public danger of that same condition: a politics where the most powerful person in government may seek a massive personal benefit from the government he controls.

The connection matters. Billionaire impunity is not just a lifestyle problem. It is not just about yachts, private jets, elite retreats, or grotesque displays of consumption. It becomes a democratic problem when the richest people are able to bend institutions around themselves. It becomes a civic emergency when accountability is treated as something for ordinary people only.

Most Americans live in a world of consequences. Miss a rent payment, and there are consequences. Fall behind on taxes, and there are consequences. Lose a job, get sick, or make one mistake in a bureaucratic system, and the consequences can be immediate and life-altering. But for the ultra-rich, consequences increasingly appear negotiable. They can be delayed, litigated, spun, purchased, settled, or shifted onto someone else.

That is the country Hawley and Ravitch, in very different ways, are asking us to see. One essay begins at a billionaire’s private retreat. The other begins with a president suing the IRS. Both point to the same question: What happens to democracy when the most powerful people no longer believe the rules apply to them?

Ravitch’s question—how much will he pay himself?—is really a question about the country we have become. And Hawley’s warning helps us understand why the answer matters. When extreme wealth becomes freedom from consequence, democracy itself becomes the thing left holding the bill.

References

Board of Governors of the Federal Reserve System. (2026a). Share of net worth held by the top 1% (99th to 100th wealth percentiles) [WFRBST01134]. FRED, Federal Reserve Bank of St. Louis. https://fred.stlouisfed.org/series/WFRBST01134

Board of Governors of the Federal Reserve System. (2026b). Share of net worth held by the bottom 50% (1st to 50th wealth percentiles) [WFRBSB50215]. FRED, Federal Reserve Bank of St. Louis. https://fred.stlouisfed.org/series/WFRBSB50215

Collins, C., & Ocampo, O. (2026, January 2). Richest 15 centi-billionaires see wealth surge 33 percent over 2025, double S&P 500 rate. Institute for Policy Studies. https://ips-dc.org/release-richest-15-centi-billionaires-see-wealth-surge-33-percent-over-2025-double-sp-500-rate/

Cunningham, M. (2026, January 21). Wealth inequality in America just hit its widest gap in more than 3 decades. CBS News. https://www.cbsnews.com/news/us-wealth-gap-widest-in-three-decades-federal-reserve/

DeBot, B., & Hubbert, D. (2026, May 13). Statement on Trump lawsuit and potential settlement. The Tax Law Center. https://taxlawcenter.org/blog/statement-on-trump-lawsuit-and-potential-settlement

Hawley, N. (2026, April 20). What I learned about billionaires at Jeff Bezos’s private retreat. The Atlantic. https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/2026/05/billionaire-consequence-free-reality/686588/

Hussein, F. (2026, April 17). Trump’s lawyers are in talks with the IRS to resolve president’s $10B lawsuit. AP News. https://apnews.com/article/trump-treasury-irs-lawsuit-tax-whistleblower-c710244db618b066f3070a65e75820a5

Ravitch, D. (2026, May 13). Trump sued IRS for $10 billion. How much will he pay himself? Diane Ravitch’s blog. https://dianeravitch.net/2026/05/13/trump-sued-irs-for-10-billion-how-much-will-he-pay-himself/

America Isn’t Ready for What AI Will Do to Jobs—Should We Be Worried?

The short answer as to whether we should be worried about AI is—yes! And this is not because mass AI-driven unemployment is already a settled fact, but because the speed of change, the incentives driving corporate adoption, and the absence of serious public planning together create a dangerous vacuum. 

As Josh Tyrangiel writing for The Atlantic makes clear, the real threat is not simply that AI may displace workers, but that it could do so faster than our institutions can respond, leaving millions vulnerable while political leaders, CEOs, and policymakers look the other way. 

Even economists who disagree on timing acknowledge the stakes: if AI compresses years of labor-market disruption into months, the damage will extend far beyond jobs to democracy itself, deepening inequality, anxiety, and political instability. What should concern us most is not only the technology, but the nation’s striking lack of preparation for a transition that may already be underway.

-Angela Valenzuela

America Isn’t Ready for What AI Will Do to Jobs

Does anyone have a plan for what happens next?

By Josh Tyrangiel

Illustrations by Stephan Dybus March, 2026 | The Atlantic

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In 1869, a group of Massachusetts reformers persuaded the state to try a simple idea: counting. The Second Industrial Revolution was belching its way through New England, teaching mill and factory owners a lesson most M.B.A. students now learn in their first semester: that efficiency gains tend to come from somewhere, and that somewhere is usually somebody else. The new machines weren’t just spinning cotton or shaping steel. They were operating at speeds that the human body—an elegant piece of engineering designed over millions of years for entirely different purposes—simply wasn’t built to match. The owners knew this, just as they knew that there’s a limit to how much misery people are willing to tolerate before they start setting fire to things.

Still, the machines pressed on.

So Massachusetts created the nation’s first Bureau of Statistics of Labor, hoping that data might accomplish what conscience could not. By measuring work hours, conditions, wages, and what economists now call “negative externalities” but were then called “children’s arms torn off,” policy makers figured they might be able to produce reasonably fair outcomes for everyone. Or, if you’re a bit more cynical, a sustainable level of exploitation. A few years later, with federal troops shooting at striking railroad workers and wealthy citizens funding private armories—leading indicators that things in your society aren’t going great—Congress decided that this idea might be worth trying at scale and created the Bureau of Labor Statistics.

Measurement doesn’t abolish injustice; it rarely even settles arguments. But the act of counting—of trying to see clearly, of committing the government to a shared set of facts—signals an intention to be fair, or at least to be caught trying. Over time, that intention matters. It’s one way a republic earns the right to be believed in.

The BLS remains a small miracle of civilization. It sends out detailed surveys to about 60,000 households and 120,000 businesses and government agencies every month, supplemented by qualitative research it uses to check and occasionally correct its findings. It deserves at least some credit for the scoreboard. America: 250 years without violent class warfare. And you have to appreciate the entertainment value of its minutiae. The BLS is how we know that, in 2024, 44,119 people worked in mobile food services (a.k.a. food trucks), up 907 percent since 2000; that nonveterinary pet care (grooming, training) employed 190,984 people, up 513 percent; and that the United States had almost 100,000 massage therapists, with five times the national concentration in Napa, California.

These and thousands of other BLS statistics describe a society that has grown more prosperous, and a workforce endlessly adaptive to change. But like all statistical bodies, the BLS has its limits. It’s excellent at revealing what has happened and only moderately useful at telling us what’s about to. The data can’t foresee recessions or pandemics—or the arrival of a technology that might do to the workforce what an asteroid did to the dinosaurs.

I am referring, of course, to artificial intelligence. After a rollout that could have been orchestrated by H. P. Lovecraft—“We are summoning the demon,” Elon Musk warned in a typical early pronouncement—the AI industry has pivoted from the language of nightmares to the stuff of comas. Driving innovation. Accelerating transformation. Reimagining workflows. It’s the first time in history that humans have invented something genuinely miraculous and then rushed to dress it in a fleece vest.

There are gobs of money to be made selling enterprise software, but dulling the impact of AI is also a useful feint. This is a technology that can digest a hundred reports before you’ve finished your coffee, draft and analyze documents faster than teams of paralegals, compose music indistinguishable from the genius of a pop star or a Juilliard grad, code—really code, not just copy-paste from Stack Overflow—with the precision of a top engineer. Tasks that once required skill, judgment, and years of training are now being executed, relentlessly and indifferently, by software that learns as it goes.

AI is already so ubiquitous that any resourceful knowledge worker can delegate some of their job’s drudgery to machines. Many companies—Microsoft and PricewaterhouseCoopers among them—have instructed their employees to increase productivity by doing just that. But anyone subcontracting tasks to AI is clever enough to imagine what might come next—a day when augmentation crosses into automation, and cognitive obsolescence compels them to seek work at a food truck, pet spa, or massage table. At least until the humanoid robots arrive.

Many economists insist that this will all be fine. Capitalism is resilient. The arrival of the ATM famously led to the employment of more bank tellers, just as the introduction of Excel swelled the ranks of accountants and Photoshop spiked demand for graphic designers. In each case, new tech automated old tasks, increased productivity, and created jobs with higher wages than anyone could have conceived of before. The BLS projects that employment will grow 3.1 percent over the next 10 years. That’s down from 13 percent in the previous decade, but 5 million new jobs in a country with a stable population is hardly catastrophic.

And yet: There are things that economists struggle to measure. Americans tend to derive meaning and identity from what they do. Most don’t want to do something else, even if they had any confidence—which they don’t—that they could find something else to do. Seventy-one percent of respondents to an August Reuters/Ipsos poll said they’re worried that artificial intelligence will “put too many people out of work permanently.”

This data point might be easier to dismiss if the modern mill and factory owners hadn’t already declared that AI will put people out of work permanently.

In May 2025, Dario Amodei, the CEO of the AI company Anthropic, said that AI could drive unemployment up 10 to 20 percent in the next one to five years and “wipe out half of all entry-level white-collar jobs.” Jim Farley, the CEO of Ford, estimated that it would eliminate “literally half of all white-collar workers” in a decade. Sam Altman, the CEO of OpenAI, revealed that “my little group chat with my tech-CEO friends” has a bet about the inevitable date when a billion-dollar company is staffed by just one person. (The business side of this magazine, like some other publishers, has a corporate partnership with OpenAI.) Other companies, including Meta, Amazon, UnitedHealth, Walmart, JPMorgan Chase, and UPS, which have recently announced layoffs, have framed them more euphemistically in sunny reports to investors about the rise of “automation” and “head count trending down.” Taken together, these statements are extraordinary: the owners of capital warning workers that the ice beneath them is about to crack—while continuing to stomp on it.

It’s as if we’re watching two versions of the same scene. In one, the ice holds, because it always has. In the other, a lot of people go under. The difference becomes clear only when the surface finally gives way—at which point the range of available options will have considerably narrowed.

AI is already transforming work, one delegated task at a time. If the transformation unfolds slowly enough and the economy adjusts quickly enough, the economists may be right: We’ll be fine. Or better. But if AI instead triggers a rapid reorganization of work—compressing years of change into months, affecting roughly 40 percent of jobs worldwide, as the International Monetary Fund projects—the consequences will not stop at the economy. They will test political institutions that have already shown how brittle they can be.

The question, then, is whether we’re approaching the kind of disruption that can be managed with statistics—or the kind that creates statistics no one can bear to count.

AUSTAN Goolsbee is the president of the Federal Reserve Bank of Chicago, the Robert P. Gwinn Professor of Economics at the University of Chicago’s Booth School of Business, and a former chair of the Council of Economic Advisers under Barack Obama. He’s also one of the few economists you would not immediately regret bringing to a party. When I asked Goolsbee if any conclusive data indicated that AI had begun to eat into the labor market, he delivered an answer that was both obvious and unhelpful, smiling as he did it. The nonanswer was the point.

I’ve known Goolsbee long enough to enjoy these moments, when he makes fun of our shared uselessness. Economists are rarely equipped to give straight answers about the present. Journalists hate when the future won’t reveal itself on deadline.

We spoke in September, shortly after the release of what’s come to be known as “The Canaries Paper,” written by three academics from the Stanford Digital Economy Lab. By crunching data from millions of monthly payroll records for workers in jobs with exposure to generative AI, the authors concluded that workers ages 22 to 25—the canaries—have seen about a 13 percent decline in employment since late 2022.

For several days, the paper was all anyone in the field wanted to talk about, and by talk about I mostly mean punch holes in. The report overemphasized the effect of ChatGPT. Youth employment is cyclical. The same period saw a sharp interest-rate spike—a far more likely source of turbulence. “Canaries” also contradicted a study released a few weeks earlier by the Economic Innovation Group, which argued that AI is unlikely to cause mass unemployment in the near term, even as it reshapes jobs and wages. That paper was knowingly titled “AI and Jobs: The Final Word (Until the Next One).”

This was the point Goolsbee wanted to emphasize: Economists are constrained by numbers. And numerically speaking, nothing indicates that AI has had an impact on people’s jobs. “It’s just too early,” he said.

A lack of certainty should not be mistaken for a lack of concern. The Fed’s mandate is to promote maximum employment, so the corporate pronouncements about imminent job loss have Goolsbee’s attention. But the numbers don’t add up. It’s possible that the labor market is softer than it looks, but that the softness is being absorbed within firms rather than showing up in the unemployment rate. If companies are sitting on more workers than they need, however—a phenomenon known as labor hoarding—you’d expect that to reveal itself as weak productivity growth. It’s as predictable as a hangover: too many workers, not enough work, sagging productivity. “But it’s been totally the opposite,” Goolsbee said. “Productivity growth has been really high. So I don’t know how to reconcile that.”

Productivity is the cheat code for a more prosperous society. If each worker can produce more in the same hour—more goods, better services, faster results—then the total economic pie grows, even if the number of workers doesn’t. It’s the rare efficiency gain that expands the pie rather than merely redistributing slices.

America has been on a productivity tear for the past few years. It might be temporary, the result of a onetime boost, such as the COVID-era boom in new small businesses. But with the special joy of someone paid to complicate everything, Goolsbee pointed out that general-purpose technologies such as electricity and computing can create lasting productivity gains, the kind that make whole societies wealthier.

Whether AI is one of those technologies will only become clear over time. How long before we’ll know? “Years,” Goolsbee said.

In the meantime, there’s another complication. The immediate risk to employment may not be AI itself, but the way companies, seduced by its promise, overinvest before they understand what it can actually do. Goolsbee reached back to the internet bubble, when companies spent wildly on laying fiber cables and building capacity. “In 2001, when we found out that the growth rate of the internet is not going to be 25 percent a year, but merely 10 percent—which is still a pretty great growth rate—it meant we had way too much fiber, and there was a collapse of business investment,” Goolsbee said. “And a bunch of people were thrown out of work the old-fashioned way.”

A similar crash in AI investment, if it comes, would likely look familiar: painful, destabilizing, and accompanied by surges of CNBC rants and recriminations. But it would amount to a financial reset, not a technological reversal—the kind of outcome economists are especially good at recognizing, because it resembles a thing that’s happened before.

This is the paradox of economics. To understand how fast the present is hurtling us into the future, you need a fixed point, and the fixed points are all in the past. It’s like driving while looking only at the rearview mirror—plenty dangerous if the road stays straight, catastrophic if it doesn’t.

David Autor and Daron Acemoglu are among the most accomplished rearview drivers. Both are at MIT, and both excel at understanding previous economic disruptions. Acemoglu, who won the Nobel Prize in Economics in 2024, studies inequality; Autor focuses on labor. But both insist that the story of AI and its consequences will depend mostly on speed—not because they assume lost jobs will automatically be replaced, but because a slower rate of change leaves societies time to adapt, even if some of those jobs never come back.

Labor markets have a natural rate of adjustment. If, over the course of 30 years, 3 percent of employees in a profession retire or have their jobs eliminated annually, you’d barely notice. Yet a decade later, a third of the jobs in those professions would be gone. Elevator operators and tollbooth attendants went through this slow fade to obsolescence with no damage to the economy. “When it happens more rapidly,” Autor told me, “things become problematic.”

Autor is most famous for his work on the China shock. In 2001, China joined the World Trade Organization; six years later, 13 percent of U.S. manufacturing jobs—about 2 million—had disappeared. The China shock took a disproportionate toll on small-scale manufacturing—textiles, toys, furniture—concentrated primarily in the South. “Many of the workers in those places still haven’t recovered,” Autor said, “and we’re obviously living with the political consequences.”

But AI isn’t a trade policy. It’s software. Even if it hits some professions and places first—a lawyer in a large urban firm, say, may feel the impact years before a worker in a less digitized industry—the technology won’t be constrained by geography. Eventually, everyone will be affected.

All of this sounds foreboding, until you remember the most important thing about software: People hate it, almost as much as they hate change.

This is what gives many economists confidence that the AI asteroid is still at least a decade away. “These tech CEOs want us to believe that the market for automation is preordained, and that it will all happen smoothly and profitably,” Acemoglu said. He then made a disdainful noise from his Nobel Prize–winning bullshit detector. “History tells us it’s actually going to happen much slower.”

The argument goes like this: Before AI can transform a company, it has to access the company’s data and be woven into existing systems—which sounds easy, provided you’re not a chief technology officer. A trade secret of most Fortune 500 companies is that they still run many critical functions on lumbering, industrial-strength mainframe computers that almost never break down and therefore can never be replaced. Mainframes are like Christopher Walken: They’ve been going nonstop since the 1960s, they’re fantastic at performing peculiar roles (processing payments, safeguarding data), and nobody alive really understands how they work.

Integrating legacy tech with modern AI means navigating hardware, vendors, contracts, ancient coding languages, and humans—every one of whom has a strong opinion about the “right” way to make changes. Months pass, then years; another company holiday party comes and goes; and the CEO still can’t understand why the miracle of AI isn’t solving all of their problems.

Every new general-purpose technology is, for a time, held hostage by the mess of what already exists. The first electric-power stations opened in the 1880s, and no one debated whether they were superior to steam engines. But factories had been built with steam engines in their basements, powering overhead shafts that ran the length of the buildings, with belts and pulleys carrying power to individual machines. To adopt electricity, factory owners didn’t just need to buy motors—they needed to demolish and rebuild their entire operations. Some did. Most just waited for their infrastructure to wear out, which explains why the major economic gains from electrification didn’t show up for 40 years.

NONE of this is reassuring enough for the economist Anton Korinek. He’s “super worried,” he told me. He thinks that America will see major job losses—“a very noticeable labor-market effect”—as soon as this year.

“And then those economists you’ve been talking to, they’re going to say, ‘I see that in the data!’ ” Korinek paused. “Let’s not joke about it, because it’s too serious.”

Korinek is a professor and the faculty director of the Economics of Transformative AI Initiative at the University of Virginia. Last year, Time magazine put him on its list of the most influential people in AI. But he did not set out to become an economist. He grew up in an Austrian mountain village, writing machine code in 0s and 1s—the least glamorous form of programming, and the most unforgiving. It teaches you where instructions bottleneck, where systems jam, and what breaks first when pushed too hard.

He’d kept a close watch on developments in AI since the deep-learning breakthroughs of the early 2010s, even as his doctoral work focused on the prevention of financial crises. When he got his first demo of a large language model, in September 2022, it took “about five seconds” before he considered its consequences for the future of work, starting with his own.

We met for breakfast in Charlottesville in the fall. Korinek is youthful and slender, with delicate wire-frame glasses and a faintly red beard. My overall impression was of someone who’d rather be customizing Excel tabs than prophesizing doom. Still, here he was, saying the five words economists disdain the most: This time may be different.