Trump picks to lead gov't agencies like FCC, FTC may censor speech and make the internet less free.

Influenza cases have been surging. RSV activity is “very high.” Signs of COVID have been mounting in sewer water, and norovirus, too, is spawning outbreaks like we haven’t seen for at least a dozen years. You might even say that America is in the midst of a “quad-demic,” although I really hope you don’t, because “quad-demic” is not a word that anyone should say.

With that in mind, here are The Atlantic’s tips and tricks for steering clear of any illness during this year’s terrible quad-demic. What are The Atlantic’s tips and tricks? They are soap.

Consider the norovirus, a real terror of a pathogen, just a couple dozen nanometers in length, with its invasive acids tucked inside a protein coat. Exposure to fewer than 100 particles of norovirus can leave you with several days’ worth of vomiting and diarrhea. Those particles are very, very hard to kill.

Douse them in a squirt of alcohol, and, chances are, they’ll come through just fine. One study looked at a spate of norovirus outbreaks at nursing homes in New England during the winter of 2006–07, and found that locations where staff made regular use of hand sanitizers were at much greater risk of experiencing an outbreak than others in the study. Why? Because those other nursing homes were equipped with something better.

They had soap.

Research finds that soap is good at cleaning things. At least 4,000 years of history suggest the same. Soap works because its structure mixes well with water on one end and with oils on the other. The latter, hydrophobic side can hook into, and then destroy, the membranes that surround some microbes (though norovirus isn’t one of them). Molecules of soap also cluster up in little balls that can surround and trap some germy grime before it’s flushed away beneath the tap. And soap, being sudsy, makes washing hands more fun.

Not everyone endorses washing hands. Pete Hegseth, whose good judgment will be judged today in his confirmation hearing for secretary of defense, once said that he hadn’t washed his hands in 10 years. He later said this was a joke. After that, he started hawking bars of soap shaped like grenades. The man who picked him is, of course, more than avid in his washing-up; Donald Trump is known to use his Irish Spring down to the sliver.

For all his love of soap, Trump also seems attached to hand sanitizer: His first administration kept Purell supplied just outside the Oval Office, per Politico. This would have helped keep him free of certain pathogens, but not all of them. When scientists compare different means of removing norovirus from fingertips, they find that none is all that good, and some are extra bad. Commercial hand sanitizers hardly work. The same is true for quaternary ammonium cations, also known as QACs or “quats,” which are found in many standard disinfecting products for the home. My local gym dispenses antiseptic wipes for cleaning the equipment; these are tissues soaked in benzalkonium chloride, a QAC. Quats may work for killing off the germs that lead to COVID or the flu, but studies hint they might be flat-out useless against norovirus.

[Read: Can’t we at least give prisoners soap?]

The science of disinfecting stuff is subtle. And a lot of what we thought we knew about killing off norovirus has turned out to be misguided. It’s very hard to grow a norovirus in the lab, so for a while, scientists used another virus from the same family—feline calicivirus, which can give a cat a cold—as a stand-in for their experiments. This was not a good idea. “Feline calicivirus is a wimp compared to human norovirus,” Lee-Ann Jaykus, an expert on food virology at North Carolina State University, told me. Her work has shown, for example, that bleach works pretty well at disinfecting feline virus in the lab, and that the same is true for a mouse norovirus that is often used in these experiments. But when she and colleagues tested human-norovirus samples drawn from patients’ fecal specimens, the particles seemed far more resistant.

You know what works better than hand sanitizers or QACs at getting rid of actual human norovirus? I’ll bet you do! It’s soap.

Or maybe one should say, it’s washing up with soap. A letter published in The Journal of Hospital Infection in 2015 by a team of German hygienists followed up on earlier work comparing hand sanitizers with soap and water, and argued that the benefits of the latter were mechanical in nature, by which the hygienists meant that simply rubbing one’s hands together under running water could produce an analogous effect. (They also argued that some kinds of hand sanitizer can inactivate a norovirus in a way that soap and water can’t.) Jaykus’s team has also found that the hand-rubbing part of hand-washing contributes the lion’s share of disinfecting. “It’s not an inactivation step; it’s a removal step,” she told me. As for soap, its role may be secondary to that of all the rubbing and the water: “We use the soap to make your hands slippery,” Jaykus said. “It makes it easier to wash your hands, and it also loosens up any debris.”

[Read: Wash your hands and pray you don’t get sick]

This is faint praise for soap, but it’s hardly damning. If washing at the sink disinfects your hands, and soap facilitates that process, then great. And soap may even work in cases where the soap itself is grimy—a bathroom situation known (to me) as “the dirty-bar conundrum.” Some research finds that washing up with soap and contaminated water is beneficial too. Soap: It really works!

But only to a point. I asked Jaykus how she might proceed if she had a case of norovirus in her household. Would she wash her hands and wipe down surfaces with soap, or would she opt for something stronger?

She said that if her household were affected, she’d be sure to wash her hands, and she might try to do some cleaning with chlorine. But even so, she’d expect the worst to happen. Norovirus is so contagious, its chance of marching through a given house—especially one with kids—is very high. “I would pretty much call my boss and say I’m going to be out for four days,” Jaykus told me. “I’m sorry to say that I would give up.”

Maybe we should add that to our list of tips and tricks for getting by in January: soap, for sure, but also, when your time has come, cheerful acquiescence.

Special Counsel Jack Smith’s report into his investigation of Donald Trump’s 2020 election subversion is an atlas of roads not taken—one to a land where Trump never tried to overturn the election, another where the Justice Department moved more quickly to charge him, and another where the Supreme Court didn’t delay the case into obsolescence.

One of the most beguiling untrod paths is the one where Smith charged Trump with insurrection against the United States. The nation watched Trump try to overturn the election, first through spurious lawsuits and then by instigating a violent riot on January 6, 2021, in a vain attempt to prevent the certification of President Joe Biden’s victory. A conviction for insurrection would have prevented Trump from returning to office, but when Smith indicted Trump in August 2023, he didn’t charge him with insurrection.

Smith’s report, which was released early this morning, finally explains why. In doing so, it shows how the United States legal system is and was unprepared for a figure like Trump. The framers of the law simply didn’t contemplate a sitting president trying to use the vast powers of the federal government to reverse the outcome of an election.

[Read: The cases against Trump—a guide]

Most of the report, which runs to about 150 pages, focuses on the crimes that Smith did charge, the evidence behind them, and why he believes he would have convicted Trump if he’d had a chance to try them. Instead, Smith moved to dismiss the charges in November after Trump won reelection, citing Justice Department rules that bar the prosecution of a sitting president. Even if he had not done so, Trump had vowed to fire Smith and close the case immediately upon taking office. (Smith also dropped charges in another case related to Trump’s hoarding of classified documents at Mar-a-Lago. His report on that case was not released, because charges are still pending against Trump’s erstwhile co-defendants.)

Though the material included is damning, it’s also mostly known. News reports, the House January 6 committee, and Smith’s initial and superseding indictments had already laid out how Trump tried to steal an election that he knew he had lost—first by filing bogus lawsuits and pressuring state officials; then by attempting to corrupt the Justice Department; next by trying to convince Vice President Mike Pence to reject electoral votes; and finally by instigating his followers to attack the Capitol. The evidence is no less conclusive or horrifying for its familiarity.

The insurrection-charges discussion, however, is new. It shows that Smith did seriously consider whether the law applied but concluded he would struggle to convict Trump under it—not because what happened was not an insurrection, but because the laws were written too narrowly, such that although Trump appears to have violated the spirit of the law, he may not have broken its letter. (Smith writes that no one has been charged with violating the law in question for more than a century.)

[Quinta Jurecic: Trump secures his get-out-of-jail-free card]

A conviction of insurrection would have been far more consequential than convictions on the charges of conspiracy to defraud the United States, obstruction and conspiracy to obstruct, and conspiracy against rights, which Smith did bring. Felons are entitled to hold federal office—as Trump will prove on January 20—but the law stipulates that anyone convicted of insurrection or rebellion “shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.”

But Smith saw several challenges to bringing charges under the law. First, he would have had to prove that what happened on January 6 was an insurrection. As he notes, multiple courts have described the events as an “insurrection.” Smith “recognized why courts described the attack on the Capitol as an ‘insurrection,’” but was still worried about establishing this fact under such an obscure and little-used law. He considered past cases, but they didn’t offer any guidance on what the legal standard for an insurrection is, or how it is different from a riot.

He also found that case law tended to treat insurrection as an attack against a sitting government, rather than an attempt to remain in power—an autogolpe, in political-science terms.

[Read: The paperwork coup]

“The Office [of Special Counsel] did not find any case in which a criminal defendant was charged with insurrection for acting within the government to maintain power, as opposed to overthrowing it or thwarting it from the outside,” Smith writes. “Applying Section 2383 in this way would have been a first, which further weighed against charging it, given the other available charges, even if there were reasonable arguments that it might apply.”

Smith faced yet another complication. Trump cleverly instigated his followers to attack the Capitol, and suggested that he was coming with them, but he instead returned to the White House and watched the chaos unfold on TV, rather than take part. (As The Atlantic’s editor in chief, Jeffrey Goldberg, has written, Trump often uses this mafia-boss tactic of encouraging his minions to act without ever explicitly implicating himself.)

What about inciting an insurrection? Smith saw reasonable arguments that Trump’s actions met even the high legal bar the Supreme Court has set for incitement—“the evidence established that the violence was foreseeable to Mr. Trump, that he caused it, that it was beneficial to his plan to interfere with the certification, and that when it occurred, he made a conscious choice not to stop it and instead to leverage it for more delay”—but Smith didn’t have any direct evidence of Trump saying the full scope of violence was his goal, so he worried that bringing charges against Trump for inciting an insurrection would be risky.

[David A. Graham: Trump gets away with it]

Besides, Smith couldn’t find any examples of prosecutions where a defendant was charged who didn’t actively participate in the act. “There does not appear to have ever been a prosecution under the statute for inciting, assisting, or giving aid or comfort to rebellion or insurrection,” he wrote. “Thus, however strong the proof that he incited or gave aid and comfort to those who attacked the Capitol, application of those theories of liability would also have been a first.”

This led Smith to conclude that, given the other charges, “pursuing an incitement to insurrection charge was unnecessary.”

But necessity is in the eye of the beholder, and lawyers can only see so much. Smith’s decision is understandable but shows why criminal law was always an unreliable method for holding Trump to account. Smith’s remit was to hold Trump accountable to the law, a relatively narrow task. And although the Justice Department ought to have moved faster—Smith was appointed to take on the case only in November 2022 and then acted with speed—the more consequential error was the Senate’s failure to convict Trump at his impeachment trial in February 2021.

[Jeffrey Goldberg: Donald Trump’s Mafia mind-set]

As Smith writes in a different context in his report, impeachment has a different aim than prosecution. “When Congress decides whether a President should be impeached and convicted, that process does not depend on rigorously adjudicating facts and applying law, or on finding a criminal violation. Instead, the impeachment process is, by design, an inherently political remedy for the dangers to governance posed by an office holder who has committed ‘Treason, Bribery, or other high Crimes and Misdemeanors.’”

But some Republican senators, led by Minority Leader Mitch McConnell, believed that voters were so irate about the January 6 attacks that Trump was a spent force. As a result, these senators didn’t need to risk the ire of his supporters by voting to convict Trump. The Senate voted 57–43 to convict, short of the two-thirds majority required to convict Trump and then bar him from future office.

Two years later, some legal scholars tried to make the case that Trump had committed an insurrection and broken his oath of office under the Fourteenth Amendment. But courts ruled that only Congress could make such a determination, which was politically never going to happen. Only political processes—voters’ choices and impeachment—could have definitively prevented a second Trump presidency.

Early this morning, the Department of Justice released the report of Special Counsel Jack Smith on his investigation of Donald Trump’s attempt to overturn the result of the 2020 presidential election—closing the saga of the U.S. criminal-justice system’s effort to hold the coup instigator accountable. No prosecution will now take place. Compared with the present outcome, it would have been better if President Joe Biden had pardoned Trump for the January 6 coup attempt.

A pardon would at least have upheld the theory that violent election overthrows are wrong and illegal. A pardon would have said: The U.S. government can hold violent actors to account. It just chooses not to do so in this case.

Instead, the special counsel’s report delivers a confession of the helplessness of the U.S. government. Smith asserts that the evidence was sufficient to convict Trump of serious crimes—and then declares the constitutional system powerless to act: The criminal is now the president-elect, therefore his crime cannot be punished.

The report suggests that if the law had moved faster, then Trump today would be a convict, not a president. But the law did not move fast. Why not? Whose fault was that? Fingers will point, but the finger-pointing does not matter. What matters is the outcome and the message.

Trump swore to uphold the Constitution in January 2017. He violated that oath in January 2021. Now, in January 2025, he will swear it again. The ritual survives. Its meaning has been lost.

In 2022, a prominent conservative intellectual proclaimed that the United States had entered a “post-constitutional moment”:

Our constitutional institutions, understandings, and practices have all been transformed, over decades, away from the words on the paper into a new arrangement—a new regime if you will—that pays only lip service to the old Constitution.

That conservative was Russell Vought, one of the co-authors of the Heritage Foundation’s Project 2025 policy plan, and now President-Elect Trump’s choice to be director of the Office of Management and Budget, which controls and coordinates all actions by the executive branch. The post-constitutional moment that Trump supporters once condemned has now become their opportunity. They have transgressed the most fundamental taboo of a constitutional regime, the prohibition against political violence, and instead of suffering consequences, they have survived, profited, and returned to power.

If anything, the transgression has made them more powerful than they otherwise would have been. Bob Woodward gives an account in his 2018 book, Fear, that Gary Cohn, Trump’s chief White House economic adviser, thwarted his intent to withdraw from NAFTA and the U.S.–South Korea trade agreement by snatching the notification letters off the president’s desk. The story suggests something important about the difficulty Trump had imposing his will during his first term. But for his upcoming second term, Trump has made defending his actions in 2021 a test of loyalty. In December, The New York Times interviewed people involved in recruiting for senior roles in the Trump Defense Department or intelligence agencies; several of them had been quizzed about whether Joe Biden won the 2020 election and whether Trump did anything wrong in his challenge to the election on January 6. The clear implication was that to answer anything but No and No would have been disqualifying. There will be no more Gary Cohns, only J. D. Vances who will deny the last election and defend Trump’s actions to overturn it.

That is what a post-constitutional moment looks like.

Before Trump, American law was quite hazy on the legal immunity of the president. In 1982, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that a president could not be sued for his official acts. In 1997, the Court ruled that a president could be sued for personal acts unrelated to his office. Both of these rulings applied only to civil cases, not to criminal ones.

For nearly 250 years after the adoption of the U.S. Constitution, the question of the president’s rights under criminal law did not arise. Trump’s proclivity for wrongdoing forced the question on the country: Was a president of the United States subject to criminal law or not? Last year, the Supreme Court delivered a complex mess of an answer, whose main holding seemed to be: Here’s a complex, multipart, and highly subjective set of questions to answer first. Please relitigate each and every one of them, while we wait to see whether Trump wins or loses the 2024 election.

Now comes the Smith report with its simpler answer: If a president wins reelection, he has immunity for even the worst possible crimes committed during his first term in office.

The incentives contained in this outcome are clear, if perverse. And they are deeply sinister to the future of democracy in the United States.

World number one Judd Trump beats Barry Hawkins 6-1 at Alexandra Palace to reach the Masters quarter-finals.

The Iranian presidency seems to be a cursed position. Of the eight men who have held it before the current president, five eventually found themselves politically marginalized after their term finished. Two others fell to violent deaths in office (a bomb attack in 1981, a helicopter crash in 2024). The only exception is Ali Khamenei, who went on to become the supreme leader.

Hassan Rouhani, Iran’s centrist president from 2013 to 2021, could be poised to break the spell and stage a political comeback.

The prospect seemed far-fetched until recently. Pressed on one side by hard-liners and on the other by opponents of the Islamic Republic, the regime’s centrists and reformists had become political nonentities. In the last years of his rule, Rouhani was among the most hated men in Iran. His landmark achievement, the 2015 nuclear deal with the Obama administration and five other powerful countries, was destroyed when President Donald Trump withdrew from the deal in 2018. Iran’s security forces, which are not controlled by the president, killed hundreds of protesters in 2017 and 2019 while he looked on. He was followed as president by the hard-line Ebrahim Raisi, picked in 2021 in an uncompetitive election. With Khamenei’s backing, the hard-liners went on to capture most of the available instruments of power in Tehran. Last January, Rouhani was even denied a run for the seat he had held since 2000 in the Assembly of Experts, a body tasked with appointing the supreme leader.

But the events of 2024 shifted the balance of power in the Middle East—and inside Iran. Israel’s battering of Hamas and Hezbollah greatly weakened Iran’s so-called Axis of Resistance. The fall of the Assad regime in Syria last month was the final nail in the axis’s coffin. Khamenei’s foreign policy now lies in ruins. Last year, for the first time in their history, Iran and Israel exchanged missile and drone attacks on each other’s territory. Following Raisi’s death in a helicopter crash in May, Khamenei allowed a reformist, Masoud Pezeshkian, to run for and win the presidency—a significant concession, as reformists have been effectively sidelined, if not barred, from national politics for nearly two decades. Now Rouhani’s star foreign minister, Javad Zarif, is back as Pezeshkian’s vice president for strategic affairs. Both Rouhani and Zarif campaigned for Pezeshkian and have found themselves on the winning team.

[Read: RIP, the Axis of Resistance]

Having brought international isolation, domestic repression, and economic ruin to the country, hard-liners find themselves red-faced. Although the almost 86-year-old Khamenei is still fully in charge, he has lost much respect, not only among the people but also among the elites, and the battle to succeed him is already under way. Recently, Khamenei has signaled his possible openness to abiding by the anti-money-laundering conditions set by the Paris-based Financial Action Task Force. If Iran is to have any hope of solving its economic problems, it has no other choice: The country is currently one of only three (the other two are North Korea and Myanmar) on the FATF’s blacklist. But the issue has long been a touchy one for hard-liners, who see cooperating with the FATF as capitulation to the West and fear that it will force Iran to curtail its support for terror groups.

An emboldened Rouhani is back in the spotlight, giving speeches and defending his time in office. In the past few months, he has repeatedly complained that his administration could have engaged Trump directly but was stopped from doing so. (This is an implied dig at Khamenei who, in 2019, publicly rejected a message that then–Japanese Prime Minister Shinzo Abe brought to Tehran from Trump.) Rouhani has called for “constructive interaction with the world,” which is regime-speak for negotiations with the United States in the interest of sanctions relief. None of Iran’s problems can be solved without addressing sanctions, he recently said. He has also called for “listening to the will of the majority of people” and freer elections. These statements have made him the target of renewed attacks by hard-liners, such as Saeed Jalili, who lost the election to Pezeshkian last year.

What may look like factional bickering is significant in this case. Rouhani speaks for part of the Iranian establishment that rejects Khamenei’s saber-rattling against the U.S. and Israel on pragmatic grounds. He is in many ways the political heir to Ayatollah Akbar Hashemi Rafsanjani, a once-powerful former president who eventually ran afoul of Khamenei and died in 2017. Rafsanjani and Rouhani are often compared to the late Chinese leader Deng Xiaoping. They sought to transform Iran from an ideologically anti-Western state to a technocratic one, with a pragmatic, even West-facing, foreign policy. During his presidency, Rouhani made state visits to France and Italy and was accused of neglecting Iran’s ties with China and Venezuela. His cabinet included many American-educated technocrats, and his administration tried to purchase American-made Boeing planes.

[Read: The collapse of the Khamenei doctrine]

Iran’s centrists are less interested than the reformists in democratization, and more focused on fostering economic development and good governance. This emphasis allows them to extend a broad umbrella. Rouhani’s agenda of pragmatic developmentalism is shared to varying degrees not just by reformists, but by many powerful conservatives, including the Larijani brothers (a wealthy clerical clan that includes several former top officials), former Speaker of Parliament Ali Akbar Nateq Nuri, former Interior Minister Mostafa Pourmohammadi, and even the current speaker of parliament, Mohammad-Bagher Qalibaf (who was for years a top commander in the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps).

Iran’s current weakness and desperation offer Rouhani and his allies an opportunity to wrest back power. Doing so could put them in a favorable spot for that inevitable moment when Khamenei dies, and the next supreme leader must be chosen. Rouhani has some qualities that will serve him well in this internal power struggle. Unlike the soft-spoken reformist clerics, such as former President Mohammad Khatami, he is a wily player who spent decades in top security positions before becoming president. (Khatami had been Iran’s chief librarian and culture minister; Rouhani was the national security adviser.) During his two-term presidency, Rouhani confronted rival power centers, such as the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps, without fear. His experience negotiating with the West goes back well before the Obama era. In early 2000s, he led Iran’s first nuclear negotiating team, earning the moniker “the diplomatic sheikh.” In the mid-1980s, Rouhani led the negotiation team that met with President Ronald Reagan’s national security adviser, Robert McFarlane, in the arms-for-hostages deal known in the U.S. as Iran-Contra. In 1986, Rouhani even met with a top Israeli security official, Amiram Nir (who was posing as an American), to ask for help in countering Iranian hard-liners.

But does Rouhani have any reasonable chance of returning to power? As always, Tehran is full of discordant voices. According to one conservative former official who spoke with me on the phone from Tehran, Rouhani is a major candidate for succeeding Khamenei as supreme leader. The official asked to be anonymous, given that “we have been ordered not to discuss the succession.” A high-ranking cleric and a former reformist MP cited the same gag order, but observed that Rouhani’s fortunes were rising; they declined to predict whether he could become supreme leader.  

Mohammad Taqi Fazel Meybodi, a reformist cleric, is not so hopeful. “I don’t believe folks like Rouhani can do much,” he told me by phone from his house in Qom. “They don’t hold power, and hard-liners oppose them. These hard-liners continue to oppose the U.S. and have an ideological worldview. They control the parliament and many other bodies.”

Fatemeh Haghighatjoo, a former reformist MP who is now an activist based in Boston, believes that the regime will seek a deal with the U.S. regardless of who is in power. “There have long been two views in the regime,” she told me: “a developmentalist one and one that wants to export the Islamic Revolution. But the project of the latter now remains defeated. Iran has no way but to go back to development.” Even in what many consider a worst-case scenario—if Mojtaba Khamenei, the leader’s son known for his ties to the security establishment, succeeds his father—he, too, will be forced to adopt the developmentalist line, Haghighatjooo says.

[Read: Iranian dissidents don’t want war with Israel—but they can’t stop it]

Haghighatjoo is even hopeful that the new Trump administration, with its willingness to break with past norms, will provide an opportunity for normalization between Iran and the U.S. Such an approach would “give strength to the developmentalists, especially now that the Axis is weakened,” she said.

Khamenei continues to resist such notions. In a defiant speech on January 8, he lambasted the U.S. as an imperialist power and pledged that Iran would continue to “back the resistance in Gaza, the West Bank, Lebanon, and Yemen.” He criticized “those who want us to negotiate with the U.S. … and have their embassy in Iran.”

But Iran is in dire straits, and the supreme leader can ignore the facts for only so long. In many ways, he resembles his predecessor, Ayatollah Khomeini, the revolutionary leader who, in 1988, likened his acceptance of a cease-fire with Iraq to “drinking a chalice of poison.” Having promised for years that Iran would continue to fight until it overthrew Saddam Hussein, Khomeini’s volte-face came out of desperation—and at the urging of Rafsanjani and Rouhani (a young Zarif, then a diplomat at Iran’s UN mission, helped write Iran’s letter to the UN Security Council, officially accepting the cease-fire).

Many analysts now loudly wonder whether Khamenei, too, will drink his chalice of poison. He might have no other choice. The old ayatollah’s project has evidently run aground—and Iran’s pragmatists have fresh wind in their sails.  

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Donald Trump would have been convicted in 6 January case, Justice Department report says