As President Donald Trump’s tariff policies continue to shake up trade with key U.S. partners, food and beverage prices could soon be more expensive for both consumers and restaurant operators.

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This afternoon, FBI personnel braced for a retaliatory purge of the nation’s premiere law-enforcement agency, as President Donald Trump appeared ready to fire potentially hundreds of agents and officials who’d participated in investigations that led to criminal charges against him.

A team that investigated Trump’s mishandling of classified documents was expected to be fired, four people familiar with the matter said. Trump has long fumed about that investigation, which involved a raid on his Mar-a-Lago estate that turned up hundreds of classified documents he had taken after he left the White House four years ago.

David Sundberg, the head of the FBI’s Washington Field Office, is also being fired, these people added. Sundberg is a career FBI agent with more than two decades of experience, and he oversees some of the bureau’s most sensitive cases related to national security and counterintelligence. Current and former officials told me they are worried that those investigations could stall, at least temporarily, if a large number of agents are suddenly removed. A spokesperson at the Washington Field Office declined to comment.

Trump’s retribution is not limited to those who investigated him personally. Administration officials are reviewing records to identify FBI personnel who participated in investigations of the January 6 assault on the Capitol by his supporters, people familiar with the matter told me. That could potentially involve hundreds if not thousands of agents, including those who interviewed and investigated rioters who were later prosecuted. Shortly after taking office, Trump pardoned about 1,500 of the rioters and commuted others’ sentences.

There is no precedent for the mass termination of FBI personnel in this fashion. Current and former officials I spoke with had expected Trump to exact retribution for what he sees as unjust and even illegal efforts by the FBI and the Justice Department to investigate his conduct. But they were stunned by the scale of Trump’s anticipated purge, which is taking aim at senior leaders as well as working-level agents who do not set policy but follow the orders of their superiors.

[Read: Trump’s ‘deep state’ revenge]

This afternoon, some FBI personnel frantically traded messages and rumors about others believed to be on Trump’s list, including special agents who run field offices across the country and were also involved in investigations of the former president.

Trump’s efforts to root out his supposed enemies might not withstand a legal challenge. FBI agents do not choose the cases assigned to them, and they are protected by civil-service rules. The FBI Agents Association, a nonprofit organization that is not part of the U.S. government, said in a statement that the reports of Trump’s planned purge are “outrageous” and “fundamentally at odds with the law enforcement objectives outlined by President Trump and his support for FBI Agents.”

The mass firings could imperil the nomination of Kash Patel, whom Trump wants to run the FBI in his administration. Just yesterday, Patel had assured senators during his confirmation hearing that the very kinds of politically motivated firings that appear to be in motion would not happen.

“All FBI employees will be protected against political retribution,” Patel told lawmakers. “Every FBI employee will be held to the absolute same standard, and no one will be terminated for case assignments.”

Pam Bondi, Trump’s nominee to run the Justice Department, had likewise assured senators during her own hearing that government personnel would not be subject to political retaliation for doing their job.

Since taking office two weeks ago, Trump has issued executive orders aimed at his perceived enemies, including former intelligence officials. And he has pledged to end what he calls the “weaponization” of federal law enforcement. How exactly he plans to do that, and the degree to which his own self-interest informs his definition of weaponization, is now becoming clearer.

Ashley Parker and Michael Scherer contributed reporting to this article.

This is an edition of The Atlantic Daily, a newsletter that guides you through the biggest stories of the day, helps you discover new ideas, and recommends the best in culture. Sign up for it here.

Wednesday night’s deadly airplane crash was tragic—and, to many experts, not altogether surprising. The collision between a commercial airplane and a military helicopter in Washington, D.C., has led many people to take a closer look at the complex systems that commercial flying relies on, and the strain that some of those systems are under. I spoke with my colleague Ian Bogost, who writes often about the airline industry, about the factors that shape our perceptions of flying.

Lora Kelley: This incident is not an aberration, but rather something experts seem to have seen coming. What were some of the warning signs?

Ian Bogost: Aviation experts had been fearing that something like this would happen not just at Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport, but all across the country. Near misses have been on the rise, as have “runway incursions”—planes accidentally sharing the same space with other planes. I won’t pretend to understand all of the reasons for that—and that’s part of the problem. The issues here aren’t as simple as something like screws falling off. Rather, near misses and accidents have to do with the whole system of aviation management: pilot experience; air-traffic-control staffing; the number of planes in the air; the complex airspace around Washington, D.C., in this case. More Americans are flying too, and growing demand puts new pressure on all of these systems in invisible ways.

Lora: How should people think about flying at this moment?

Ian: Commercial airlines want you to feel comfortable flying, because their business depends on it. The evolution of commercial air travel, especially in America, has made it so you don’t even have to look at or smell or hear the equipment to the same extent that passengers once did. You’re protected from many things that remind you that you’re in a machine hurtling through the air at 500 miles per hour.

Commercial air travel really is quite safe. When I say commercial air travel, I mean when you fly a major carrier on a scheduled flight that’s regulated. Safety in the cabin has also improved. Flight attendants worked very hard over many decades to establish themselves as safety professionals and not just service staff. The flight crew is trained to act in case of an emergency, and they’re highly prepared to do so. But because travel is so safe, you never get to see them perform that expertise—God forbid you see them perform that expertise.

Lora: Airlines are quite consolidated, and the system of flight relies on a range of factors beyond just individual companies. How does consolidation factor into safety?

Ian: We have fewer choices in flight than we used to—fewer airlines, fewer routes, fewer airport hubs. That does have an impact on safety. One way this plays out is, if you have fewer options for direct flights, you might have to opt for a layover. Takeoffs and landings are the most dangerous part of air travel. So if you can reduce takeoffs and landings—for example, by taking one flight instead of two—you’re safer, at least statistically. This is all still safer than driving somewhere in a car.

It’s really difficult for consumers to make rational decisions about safety today. Especially because we don’t really know what happened yet with this incident, we don’t know how great the risk is of it happening again. I’ve heard people start to consider making changes to their habits, although I don’t think we’re going to see many folks change their plans in the long run. After a door plug blew off during an Alaska Airlines flight last year, I started to see people saying they would try to avoid the aircraft in question, a Boeing 737-9 MAX. Are those people actually safer? Who knows.

Lora: Why do people often pin their safety fears on airplanes themselves, rather than focusing on the people or systems that operate them?

Ian: In the case of flying, people tend to target their concern toward the concrete, visceral problems they can see and touch: Is there a screw loose? Is my seat broken? We mostly don’t consider the more systemic, intangible ones, such as staffing issues and maintenance routines and airspace-traffic patterns.

When an accident like this week’s happens, however, we get a brief insight into just how complex modern life is. For all of us, it’s certainly much easier not to have to think about that complexity.

Related:

Fear of flying is different now. The near misses at airports have been telling us something.

Here are four new stories from The Atlantic:

FBI agents are stunned by the scale of the expected Trump purge. CDC data are disappearing. Trump has created health-care chaos. Legal weed didn’t deliver on its promises.

Today’s News

The Trump administration will impose a 25 percent tariff on goods from Canada and Mexico and a 10 percent tariff on goods from China tomorrow, according to the White House. Some hospitals across the country have suspended gender-affirming care for people under 19 years old while they assess how to comply with Donald Trump’s recent executive order. North Korean soldiers fighting for Russia have been pulled off the front lines in the Ukrainian war, according to Ukrainian and U.S. officials.

Dispatches

Work in Progress: DeepSeek has already hit the chipmaker giant Nvidia’s share price, but its true potential could upend the whole AI business model, James Surowiecki writes. The Books Briefing: In Catherine Airey’s new novel, a young person’s curiosity about a life lived without social media or streaming is deployed to superb effect, Emma Sarappo writes.

Explore all of our newsletters here.

More From The Atlantic

The “right way” to immigrate just went wrong. To rebuild Los Angeles, fix zoning. This is no way to talk about children.

Evening Read

Illustration by Jan Buchczik

The Benefit of Doing Things You’re Bad At

By Arthur C. Brooks

Between my university lectures and outside speeches about the science of happiness, I do a lot of public speaking, and am always looking for ways to do so with more clarity and fluency. To that end, I regularly give talks in two languages that are not my own—not random languages, of course, but rather those I learned as an adult: Spanish and Catalan …

This is a specific example of what turns out to be a broader truth: Doing something you’re bad at can make you better at what you’re good at, as well as potentially making you good at something new.

Read the full article.

Culture Break

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Watch. A Real Pain (streaming on Hulu) manages to tell a story about the Holocaust “that doesn’t ask all those dead millions to become its supporting cast,” Gal Beckerman writes.

Read. Sarah Chihaya’s unconventional memoir charts her troubled relationship with books.

Play our daily crossword.

Stephanie Bai contributed to this newsletter.

When you buy a book using a link in this newsletter, we receive a commission. Thank you for supporting The Atlantic.

After Donald Trump visited the Los Angeles area late last month to observe the damage from recent fires, he made a nakedly political demand: As a condition of releasing federal aid to stricken areas, he wants California to make voters show ID at the polls. Trump is reportedly convinced that he would have won the state if it had such a law, but that has nothing to do with fire safety.

If Trump wants California to mend its ways before receiving federal disaster relief, he could make some reasonable requests: The state should stop encouraging suburban sprawl in fire-prone areas, for example, and start pushing property owners to take more precautions. To the exasperation of emergency-management experts and budget hawks alike, California fires are like many other disasters all around the country. They lead to massive insurance settlements and outflows of government aid, which in many cases pay for rebuilding the same physical environment that left people and their homes vulnerable in the first place.

[M. Nolan Gray: How well-intentioned policies fueled L.A.’s fires]

State governments typically manage the aftermath of natural disasters; when they are overwhelmed, they appeal to Washington for additional money. For years, people in my field have been urging Congress to put strings on that relief. Unfortunately, Trump’s voter-ID demand—along with his insistence that the state should also change its water policies, which he did not appear to fully understand—triggered a righteous response among prominent California Democrats. “Conditioning aid for American citizens is wrong,” Governor Gavin Newsom declared in a statement. No, it isn’t, but Trump is setting back the cause of reform.

The present federal disaster-relief system, built over decades, involves multiple pots of money from a variety of agencies: the Federal Emergency Management Agency, the Small Business Administration, the Department of Housing and Urban Development. The 1988 Stafford Act, which governs the distribution of many of these funds, is built on the presumptions that major disasters are random, rare acts of God, and that communities hit by them need to be made whole again. But as climate change repeatedly exposes certain regions to the same disasters—fires in California, hurricanes along the Gulf Coast, tornadoes in the Great Plains—rebuilding the status quo looks less and less defensible. “Okay, that was a 40-year-old building; let’s rebuild a 40-year-old building,” one recovery official in Louisiana memorably said in a 2009 PBS report, capturing widespread frustration with federal rules governing New Orleans’s long recovery after Hurricane Katrina.

Some local jurisdictions have responded to disasters by taking steps to avoid a repeat. In 2018, the Camp Fire destroyed most of the buildings in Paradise, California, and killed 85 people. To build there now, homeowners must abide by local regulations, known as defensible-space requirements, that require them to remove vegetation that would otherwise help a fire move more quickly. In 2013, a tornado in Moore, Oklahoma, killed 24 people, including seven children in an elementary school. The community responded in part by imposing stringent new residential building codes.

When I visited Moore last year, after a devastating tornado season in Oklahoma, a builder named Marvin Haworth walked me through a home that requires sheathing, nail shanks, and hurricane straps under the new regulations. He was originally concerned about the changes, but the added cost to home purchasers is minimal, and the matter is settled now. “It is not a part of the discussion anymore,” he told me. “It’s the code. This is the way we are building and are going to build.”

[Nancy Walecki: The place where I grew up is gone]

Moore and Paradise both had the foresight to acknowledge the risks they face and take it upon themselves to change. States generally do not require such steps. Sweeping policy changes are difficult to enact immediately after a disaster. People are hurt and in need; political considerations demand that immediate distribution of money. That’s why FEMA administrators under presidents of both parties have proposed some version of conditional relief funding. Project 2025, the blueprint for Trump’s policies, calls on states to pay a “disaster deductible” before securing federal aid—a requirement that might motivate governors and legislators to demand better preparation for disasters. As The New York Times reported, that idea originally came from Craig Fugate, President Barack Obama’s FEMA chief, who insisted that Washington needed a mechanism to force states to do better advance planning. But states want money unconditionally, and substantive reform proposals such as Fugate’s have not survived political pushback.

Nevertheless, a lot of little changes—stronger nails, cleared yards—can add up to a more resilient society. Trump’s focus on political payback is unfortunate, because the current system needs an overhaul. Disasters are no longer random or rare. When disaster strikes, we should rebuild accordingly.

Updated on February 1 at 10:06 ET

The Democrats are angry. Well, at least some of them.

For months, party activists have felt bitter about Kamala Harris’s election loss, and incensed at the leaders who first went along with Joe Biden’s decision to run again. They feel fresh outrage each time a new detail is revealed about the then-81-year-old’s enfeeblement and its concealment by the advisers in charge. But right now, what’s making these Democrats angriest is that many of their elected leaders don’t seem angry at all.

“I assumed that we would be prepared to meet the moment, and I was wrong,” Shannon Watts, the founder of the gun-control group Moms Demand Action, told me. “It’s like they’ve shown up to a knife fight with a cheese stick.”

For all the people in Watts’s camp, the party’s response to Donald Trump’s first 12 days in office has been maddening at best and demoralizing at worst. After Trump issued pardons or commutations for the January 6 rioters last week, including the ones who attacked police officers, no immediate chorus of anger came from what is supposed to be the next generation of Democratic talent, including Maryland Governor Wes Moore, California Governor Gavin Newsom, and former Transportation Secretary Pete Buttigieg. Michigan Governor Gretchen Whitmer, another 2028 hopeful, who is on tour selling a young-adult version of her autobiography, has told interviewers, “I am not out looking for fights. I am always looking to collaborate.”

After Trump threatened Colombia with tariffs, House Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries attempted to reassure the confused and fearful rank and file with the reminder that “God is still on the throne,” which seemed a little like saying, “Jesus, take the wheel.” And people were baffled after the Democratic National Committee responded on X to Trump’s first week in office by channeling a quainter time in American politics and dusting off an Obama-era slogan to accuse him of being “focused on Wall Street—not Main Street.” “Get new material!” one person suggested in the replies, a succinct summary of the other 1,700 comments.

[Will Freeman: Strong-arming Latin America will work until it doesn’t]

The limp messaging continued this week, after Trump’s administration on Monday issued a federal-funding freeze, including for cancer research and programs such as Meals on Wheels. The next day, Jeffries called for an emergency caucus meeting to hammer out a forceful “three-pronged counter-offensive.” But that emergency meeting would not actually take place until the following afternoon. (By the time lawmakers were dialing in, the White House had already rescinded the order.) Jeffries’s Senate counterpart, Minority Leader Chuck Schumer, scowling over his glasses, offered his own sleepy—and slightly unsettling—assessment of the moment: “I haven’t seen people so aroused in a very, very long time.”

Some Democrats say they are hopeful that a new chair of the DNC, who will be elected today, will give the now-rudderless party a bit of direction—a way to harness all that arousal. The committee leads the party’s fundraising apparatus and coordinates with its sister organizations on Senate and House campaigns. But a chair can’t do much if the party’s own lawmakers aren’t willing to swap out the mozzarella for something a little sharper.

Part of the hurdle for Democrats is that they are afraid of sounding shrill. Few are eager for a return of the frantic and indiscriminate alarm-sounding that characterized the response to Trump 1.0, when Democrats clamored for the release of the supposed pee tapes and wore pink pussy hats in protest. There’s something cringey, these days, about reviving the capital-R Resistance—especially because Trump’s second win can’t be chalked up to some fluke; he won the popular vote, fair and square. Most Democrats acknowledge that, this time around, they should choose their targets carefully. “We’re not going to swing at every pitch,” Jeffries told reporters yesterday morning.

But Democrats can’t just stand idly by the plate, several frustrated progressive activists and movement leaders told me. They should be communicating to voters that Trump “is shutting down the government, and stripping it for parts to sell to billionaires,” April Glick Pulito, a progressive communications strategist, said. But Democrats aren’t getting it across, a reality that is disheartening, she told me, but also symbolic. “It’s part of why we fuckin’ lost,” she said. “It’s why people stayed home.” She and others I spoke with are demanding that Democrats be louder and more forceful—using resolutions and press conferences, sure, but also creative social-media campaigns and stunts for the cameras. “Speak like normal people, on platforms that normal people access,” Watts said. “I am not reading your press release. Get on every platform I’m on—talk to me on an Instagram reel, or a Substack live. Tweet things that explain what’s happening and how I can help or what you’re going to do to fix it.”

Some Democratic lawmakers have been doing this. People I talked with pointed to Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, who has regularly gone live on Instagram to spell out the consequences of Trump’s actions. They also pointed to Illinois Governor J. B. Pritzker’s vow to thwart unlawful deportation efforts and his new directive blocking any pardoned January 6 rioters from serving in the state government.

But Democrats across the ideological spectrum say they want more from their leaders. Dullness in political messaging is death, they say, and bland consultant-speak is plaguing the party, which right now seems totally incapable of grabbing any voter’s attention. A clear example of this was when Democratic leaders chose 74-year-old Gerry Connolly, who is not exactly a fiery communicator, to head up the House Oversight Committee over Ocasio-Cortez, Ezra Levin, a co-founder of the grassroots group Indivisible, told me. That choice indicates “a failure to recognize the political and media moment that we’re in.”

A party that is in the minority in both chambers of Congress usually doesn’t have a prayer of blocking legislation, but it can gum up the works. Dozens of Democratic senators have so far voted in support of Trump’s Cabinet nominees when they should be opposing them at every turn, these frustrated activists argue, along with rejecting unanimous consent agreements, voting against cloture, and requesting quorum calls. “They should be slowing everything to a halt,” Amanda Litman, a co-founder of the organization Run for Something, told me.

Glick Pulito compared the Democrats’ situation to a sketch from the Netflix comedy show I Think You Should Leave, in which a man wearing a hot-dog suit crashes a hot-dog-shaped car into a store and proceeds to look around wildly for the culprit. “I don’t want to see Chuck Schumer saying Congress should act,” Glick Pulito said. “Bro, you are Congress!”

Some signs have emerged that Democrats are developing a wartime footing. A group of 23 attorneys general from across the country sued the Trump administration this week over its funding freeze. The former vice-presidential candidate Tim Walz came out of election-loss-induced retirement to go on a cable-news rampage about it. (“They defrosted him!” Glick Pulito said.) And when the White House rescinded its funding block, Democrats claimed a grassroots victory. “FAFO,” Ocasio-Cortez wrote on X. “I am more optimistic now than I was 48 hours ago,” Levin told me. “I am seeing some green shoots. I would like those to bloom into full-fledged flowers.”

[Elaine Godfrey: The resistance almost missed impeachment]

A new DNC chair, activists and progressives leaders hope, could at least be the Miracle-Gro for that process. Since Harris lost and Biden left, Democrats have been leaderless and agenda-free. Any conversations about the party’s brand troubles or its plan for handling the next four years have been haphazard and localized. Ken Martin and Ben Wikler, the two top candidates for the DNC chair job, both have the confidence of the activists I spoke with, not least because both have led political operations from outside the D.C. Beltway. Both men say they understand that people are frustrated. “If we don’t stand up now,” Martin, head of the Minnesota Democrats, told me, “then how in the hell are people going to believe that we’re going to fight for them and their families when we’re back in power?” This is a period of transition, Wikler, the chair of the Wisconsin state party, told me: “Very soon, the battle will be well and truly joined.”

But the cavalry’s arrival may not mean much. The DNC has always occupied an amorphous role in the Democratic Party; it holds little sway with congressional leadership, and won't exactly shape the party's ideological future. That reality was on display this week during a chaotic DNC candidate forum characterized by a fixation on diversity issues, constant interruptions from climate-change activists, and frustrated outbursts from the audience.

The scene was indicative of a party not only struggling to fill a leadership vacuum but also stumbling beneath the weight of a tarnished brand, an unhappy base, and a growing reputation for fecklessness.

This article originally misstated the DNC's role in the Democratic Party.

Editor’s Note: Washington Week With The Atlantic is a partnership between NewsHour Productions, WETA, and The Atlantic airing every Friday on PBS stations nationwide. Check your local listings, watch full episodes here, or listen to the weekly podcast here.

The worst aviation disaster in almost a quarter century is one of the first tests of Donald Trump’s second administration. Panelists on Washington Week With The Atlantic joined to discuss how the president responded to the crisis.

Following the aviation crash over the Potomac this week, Trump moved to blame diversity in the Federal Aviation Administration’s hiring process for the crash. These comments are a continuation of Trump’s behavior throughout his first term and both of his campaigns—but how his response will affect him politically remains to be seen, Mark Leibovich said last night.

Trump is working in “a consequence-free environment,” Leibovich continued. “Ultimately, Donald Trump will do what he can get away with, and whether a few points on his approval ratings are going to move the needle on this are unclear.”

Joining the editor in chief of The Atlantic, Jeffrey Goldberg, to discuss this and more: Peter Baker, the chief White House correspondent for The New York Times; Mark Leibovich, a staff writer at The Atlantic; Ali Vitali, the host of Way Too Early on MSNBC; Nancy Youssef, a national-security correspondent for The Wall Street Journal.

Watch the full episode here.

To understand the harm Donald Trump has done with his tariffs on Canada and Mexico, here are four things you need to know:

First, every tax on imports is also a tax on exports.

The most popular beer in America is Modelo Especial, brewed in Mexico. Impose a 25 percent tariff on Modelo and sales will slide. So, too, will exports of the American barley that goes into Mexican beer. Mexico buys three-quarters of U.S. barley exports, almost all for brewing.

Trump surrogates may promise you that by driving Mexican beer off of grocery shelves, Trump’s tariffs will increase sales of U.S. barley to U.S. brewers. That promise may even be substantially true. But that offer has fine print that barley growers will notice.

Barley growers don’t care only about how much barley they sell. They care about the price at which they sell it.

A tariff raises the price of both every imported good and every good that competes with imports. If the price of Modelo is pushed up, the price of American-brewed beer will rise as well. American beermakers are not operating a charity. The tariff on Modelo allows them to both increase their market share at Modelo’s expense and raise their prices enough to increase their margins at the consumers’ expense.

But American consumers do not have infinite amounts of money. If they are paying more for beer, they have to make savings elsewhere. The result—and economists will prove this to you all day with facts and figures—is that prices in exporting sectors such as barley, and agriculture generally, will decline in proportion as prices in the importing sectors rise.

This is why developing countries that tried, after 1945, to bulldoze their way to industrialization using high tariffs—Argentina under Juan Perón; India under Jawaharlal Nehru—ended up instead isolating themselves from world markets. The tariffs did allow them to make their own radio sets and cars, but at the price of lowering national incomes and so shrinking the domestic market for those radios and cars. And, of course, the protected radios and cars could not compete on global markets against the superior products of the countries that accepted world prices, such as Germany and Japan.

Trump tariffs will be paid in the form of higher prices for imports and their substitutes, and lower profits and wages for everyone who works in export industries.

[Juliette Kayyem: Trump is threatening California in the wrong way]

Second, every product is also an input.

When journalists write about tariffs, they look for everyday examples familiar to everyone, the way I just did with Modelo beer. Others will cite tomatoes or avocados, food items for which the cost of the tariff will be reflected in the price at the supermarket checkout. But the greatest harm done by tariffs is concealed in a way that prevents most of us from seeing the harm directly.

The largest glassmaker in North America is a Mexican company, Vitro. It operates plants in the U.S. and Canada, but the center of its operations is Monterrey, Mexico.

Very few of us buy big sheets of industrial glass. We do not see or care about the price. But we do care about the price of a new apartment. That apartment price depends on the cost of construction. Which depends on the price of the window systems that clad the apartment building. Which depends on the price of glass. Which Trump just raised by up to 25 percent.

You may buy a little aluminum in the form of cans and other household products. But the main way you pay for aluminum is in the price of airline tickets. Put a tariff on aluminum, and aircraft prices rise. Inflate aircraft prices, and airline-ticket prices also rise. The traveler will not know why, and will be tempted to blame airline greed—and will find politicians ready to feed that grievance. Who will connect the surprise extra fee they have to pay to sit beside their child with a president’s decree against the cheaper Canadian aluminum that owes its price advantage to superabundant Quebec hydroelectric power?

Big, sophisticated global companies can shift their input-sourcing from tariffed countries such as China and Mexico to favored countries such as Vietnam and the Philippines. But the shift is never easy. For smaller companies, it may prove altogether unfeasible. The largest maker of outboard motors in the United States employs only about 5,000 people. It is furloughing and laying off more than a quarter of its workforce. This type of firm cannot easily fly into Hanoi to source a reliable replacement for its trusted components supplier in Shenzhen, China. The challenge is only greater when the U.S. manufacturer has no idea how long the Trump tariffs will last. It will probably continue to use its familiar suppliers, pay the tariff, raise its prices, and suffer the stagnation and shrinkage of its business.

[Read: Democrats wonder where their leaders are]

Third, “illegal” is irrelevant; don’t expect relief from tariffs through lawsuits.

You might wonder how can Trump do this. After all, Trump himself renegotiated NAFTA and praised his new U.S.-Mexico-Canada trade deal as “based on the principle of fairness and reciprocity.” Surely, it can’t possibly be consistent with U.S. treaty obligations to impose new tariffs on a whim.

All true. Trump’s actions are almost certainly illegal under treaty rules. But the U.S. stopped obeying treaty rules some time back.

In 2018, the Trump administration imposed tariffs on steel and aluminum imports. The affected countries took their case to the World Trade Organization. More than four years later, in December 2022, the WTO issued its judgment. The United States lost on every point. Result? The Biden administration declared it would ignore the ruling. The United States “will not cede decision-making over its essential security to WTO panels,” said a spokesperson for then–U.S. Trade Representative Katherine Tai.

Those defiant words were backed by obstructionist practices. In 2017, the Trump administration had blocked new appointments to the WTO’s appellate court, in effect the supreme court of world trade. The Biden administration continued the embargo. Today, all seven seats on the panel are empty.

The United States has likewise sabotaged the dispute-settlement mechanisms under the North American trade agreements. In 1998, the U.S. escaped defeat on a Mexican complaint by the ingenious method of refusing to appoint anyone to the commission that was supposed to adjudicate the matter. That more or less killed NAFTA from the start as a way to police actions by the American government. Trump’s U.S.-Mexico-Canada trade agreement is even more riddled with exceptions that allow his government to do as it pleases.

On trade, the U.S. itself has led the way back to the law of the jungle. Remember that fact when the other big cats strike back.

[Read: Trump has created health-care chaos]

Fourth, Americans may not remember their past actions, but others do.

You may have already forgotten all about last weekend’s Trump outburst against Colombia, backed by threats of high tariffs on Colombian products. You may not ever have known that Colombia opened up to U.S. wheat, soybean, beef, cotton, and peanut exports in order to secure a free-trade agreement with the United States. But Colombians remember.

Colombia’s politics are intensely polarized, the legacy of bitter years of insurgency and civil war. Through most of the 21st century, Colombia’s politics had been dominated by U.S.-friendly politicians of the right. In 2022, for the first time in its modern history, Colombia elected a president of the left, Gustavo Petro. Petro is a former Marxist guerrilla, but he pledged to continue dialogue with the United States.

How does that dialogue look now to Colombians? And to others in South America and the world?

Trump is single-handedly reneging on 80 years of American work to persuade others to trust and rely on the United States. He is remodeling the international image of the U.S. after himself: impulsive, self-seeking, short-sighted, and untrustworthy. First-term Trump might have been dismissed as an aberration, brought to office by a fluke of America’s archaic Electoral College. A returned Trump, this time empowered by a genuine popular-vote victory, cannot be so readily dismissed. He obviously represents something deep in American politics, something likely enduring, something that other countries must take into account.

Mexico and Canada must ultimately suffer whatever the U.S. imposes on them. They cannot relocate; they have few credible options. Mexico has learned from especially bitter experience that any attempt to strike its own international deals will be vetoed by the U.S., using force if necessary.

Canadians have had an easier time, summed up by the cynical local joke: “The Americans are our best friends whether we like it or not.” But other countries have more options.

[From the March 2025 issue: Europe’s Elon Musk problem]

Over the past five centuries, the Euro-Atlantic world has seen the rise of one great power after another: Habsburg Spain, Bourbon and Napoleonic France, Victorian Britain, Imperial and then Nazi Germany, the Soviet Union. Each of those powers was ultimately brought down because it frightened other powers into uniting against it.

The United States since 1945 tried a different way. It reconciled the world to its dominance in great part by using that dominance for the benefit of willing partners. The United States provided security, it opened markets, it welcomed the improving prosperity of fellow democracies and like-minded allies. Who would hazard the costs and dangers of uniting to topple such a benign hegemon—at least, so long as the hegemon remained benign?

In the 21st century, the United States faces a new kind of adversary. Past rivals might have matched the U.S. in wealth, technology, or military strength, but not in all three. China today is the nearest peer power the U.S. has faced since Americans battled the British Empire in the War of 1812. To balance China while keeping the peace, the U.S. will need more and better friends than ever before. Trump is doing his utmost instead to alienate and offend those friends.

“America First” means “America Alone.” This week’s trade wars are steps on the way to future difficulties—and, unless a great infusion of better judgment or better luck suddenly occurs, future disasters.

The geopolitical verdict on the first Trump presidency could be written with a breath of relief: “Bad as it was, it could have been worse.” On the present trajectory, the verdict on the second may not come with any relief at all.

Over the decades, the American right has deployed violent imagery to describe its highest ideological goal: drown government in a bathtub, starve the beast, slash and burn. In less than two weeks of organized chaos, the Trump administration has realized these fantasies, but by deploying tactics both more subtle and more sinister than the movement’s old guard ever imagined.

Rather than eliminating departments wholesale or depleting the budgets of agencies, it has relied on menacing gestures. By arbitrarily placing civil servants on probation, reclassifying bureaucratic positions as political appointments, freezing grant spending, floating a “deferred resignation” offer by mass email, and firing high-profile federal prosecutors and inspectors general, the administration has created the impression that it is making preparations for a mass purge of the government.

Some of these moves are transparent provocations—trolling by executive order—that press the limits of the law and will be slapped away by the courts. But it may not matter. This psychological gamesmanship might obviate the need for an actual purge because its tactics have been conceived to prod a huge chunk of the civil service to exit on its own accord.

[Read: Trump targets his own government]

In Washington, this is an intensely local story. At the stations of everyday existence—the coffee shop, the gym, the bookstore—I keep encountering longtime civil servants who are either scrambling to leave their jobs or considering that possibility. They vent about how they can’t live in a state of terminal anxiety. They resent being treated as if they were somehow derelict, despite decades of demonstrable competence. Even lower-level bureaucrats describe a dread of being fired for once having said the wrong thing at a conference. Some of them vow to stay, but their faces betray fear. I worry that they won’t resist the bullying.

Military service is justifiably venerated because it involves potential physical sacrifice on society’s behalf. The civil service engenders pretty much the opposite reaction. Bureaucracy is synonymous in Western culture with pettiness, excessive fastidiousness, and the arbitrary wielding of unaccountable power. Anyone who has dealt with the federal government knows of its imperfections.

Whatever those flaws, the civil service is also worthy of respect that the culture fails to accord it. I’m constantly amazed by how many smart professionals idealistically commit to careers in government with the knowledge that they will earn far less than they would at, say, a law firm or in management consulting. With long careers, they acquire expertise in archaic but essential fields—poultry exports, vaccine policy, the administration of economic sanctions. Their wisdom makes fair-minded governance possible. They work in organizations that are sometimes maddening, on behalf of political leaders whom they don’t always support. For the most part, they endure the annoyances of their jobs, because they believe in the underlying mission of their departments and agencies—missions they have good reason to suspect are now being snuffed out by Donald Trump’s draconian new personnel policies.

[Read: It’s not amateur hour anymore]

One of the abject failures of Joe Biden’s presidency was that he did not proselytize for his own faith in institutions, which he considered the essential bulwarks against autocracy. Institutionalism is a counterintuitive proposition.

Bureaucrats are trained to be responsive to political leaders, but not beholden to them. When bureaucrats publish economic data, their allegiance is to empirical reality, not the presidents who might benefit from rosy reports. When they apply regulation, they typically avoid the impulse to enrich cronies. Sometimes the process is creaky, but it’s that process that expresses the high ideal that the state’s power must be neutrally applied. And this high ideal is part of the reason that so much of the world trusts the United States with its investments and capital.

Over the course of a career, individuals become vessels of the culture of the institutions they inhabit, and they transmit that culture to newcomers. That’s something that the new administration clearly understands. By chasing out personnel, Trump and his allies are destroying the habits of government; they are crushing the civil service’s sense of purpose, the commitment that inspires dedication to studious neutrality.

Nobody would invent government institutions as they currently exist, but that’s their strength. Their culture emerges from the long histories of organizations, developed organically over time, prodded by moments of legislative reform, largely resistant to the fads of the moment. This is not something that returns with an orientation session or even the next change of administration.

The wrecking ball should inspire humility. In an afternoon, timeless fixtures of a landscape can be reduced to scrap and dust. What’s destroyed in a flash of ideological fervor, at the behest of a president who abhors dissent, can’t be so easily replaced, if at all.

Donald Trump threatening to annex Canada? It was an absurd situation. I briefly considered recycling an old joke of mine about merging all of the High Plains states into a single province of South Saskatchewan. But as I toyed with it, the joke soured. The president of the United States was bellowing aggression against fellow democracies. The situation was simultaneously too stupid for serious journalism and too shameful for wisecracks.

In this second Trump presidency, many of us are baffled by how to respond. The former Trump strategist Steve Bannon memorably described Trump’s method as “flood the zone with shit.” Try to screen all the flow, and you will rapidly exhaust yourself and desensitize your audience. Ignore the flood, and soon you’re immersed in the stuff neck-deep.

The first Trump term was very different.

[Read: It’s not amateur hour anymore]

More than a million people demonstrated against him on January 21, 2017, many more than had attended his inauguration the day before. On January 27, Trump issued an executive order purporting to ban Muslims from entering the United States. Thousands of people thronged airports across the nation to protest. About a hundred were arrested. In less formal ways, civic-minded Americans also rallied against the new administration. They read and viewed more news, and paid for it at record levels, too. Trump reviled one news organization more than any other: the “failing New York Times.” In 2017 alone, the company’s revenues from digital subscriptions climbed 46 percent, pushing total company revenues above $1 billion.

Meanwhile, the administration bumbled from fiasco to fiasco. Within the first week, Trump’s choice of national security adviser lied to the FBI about his contacts with the Russian government, setting in motion his early resignation and then criminal indictment. Trump that same week summoned then–FBI Director James Comey to dinner to pressure him to end the bureau’s investigation of Trump-Russia connections. The demand would lead to Comey’s firing, the appointment of a special counsel, and the prosecution and conviction of important Trump allies such as Paul Manafort.

First-term Trump knew what he wanted: unlimited personal power. But he did not know how to achieve it, and an insufficient number of those around him was willing and able to help him. The senior administration officials who supported Trump’s autocratic ambitions lacked bureaucratic competence; the officials who possessed the bureaucratic competence did not support his ambitions. That’s one reason it took Trump more than a year—until March 2018—to impose the first major round of the tariffs that he wanted but his top economic adviser opposed.

First-term Trump also lacked reliable partners in Congress. Then–Speaker of the House Paul Ryan and then–Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell struck devil’s bargains with Trump to achieve their own agendas: tax cuts, judicial appointments, the attempted repeal of Obamacare. But they were not his men. They overlooked his corruption, but also imposed limits on what he could do. In 2019, Trump tried to name two personal loyalists to the Federal Reserve Board. McConnell’s Senate rejected them.

[Read: Donald Trump’s first year as president: a recap]

Second-term Trump is very different. He has moved rapidly to consolidate power. Even before he took office, the Department of Justice preemptively stopped all legal actions against him for his attempted seizure of power on January 6, 2021. As soon as he was inaugurated, Trump pardoned or commuted the sentences of all of those convicted for the violent attack on Congress. He then announced investigations of the lawyers who had acted to enforce the law against him.

Trump has moved rapidly to oust independent civil servants, beginning with 17 nonpartisan inspectors general. He moved fast to install loyalists atop the two most important federal management agencies, the Office of Management and Budget and the Office of Personnel Management. His administration is united in claiming power to refuse to spend funds already appropriated by Congress and to ignore laws that constrain the absolute power of the executive branch. The whole Trump team, not only the president personally, is testing another important tool of power: stopping congressionally approved grants to states, to ensure that he is funding supporters and punishing opponents. The Trump administration retreated from the test after two days of uproar—but how permanently, who can say?

Trump’s administration has launched large-scale immigration raids in Democratic cities and commenced legal action against local officials who stand in the way. The administration has stopped all international humanitarian aid, cutting off Ukraine. Trump is backed, not undercut, by senior national-security officials in his threats of territorial aggression against Greenland, Panama, and Canada. The Republican platform and congressional budget-writers approve Trump’s musings about replacing tax revenues with hoped-for windfalls from tariffs. Even his seemingly juvenile move to rename the Gulf of Mexico was immediately endorsed by his Department of the Interior. The absurd act carries an underlying serious message: The Trump administration stands behind its president’s high-handed rewriting of rules, even the most established and uncontroversial.

Looming ahead are even more crucial acts of consolidation, including the appointment of an FBI director who has proclaimed his willingness to use the federal police force as a tool of presidential personal power.

Trump’s opponents seem dazed, disoriented, and defeated. Despite the GOP’s slender majorities in both chambers of Congress, and despite Trump’s own low approval rating, the new White House for the moment carries all before it. There have been no mass protests. The demand for news and information—so voracious in 2017—has diminished, if not vanished. Audiences have dwindled; once-mighty news organizations are dismissing hundreds of journalists and staff.

[Read: It’s already different]

Compared with eight years ago, Trump is winning more and his opponents are resisting less.

What’s changed?

Four major things.

First, this time Trump is not arriving in power alone. He and the Republican mainstream have merged, a convergence symbolized by the highly detailed Project 2025 plan written for Trump by the Heritage Foundation. Trump disavowed the plan during the campaign. He was lying when he did so. Now its authors are his most effective henchmen, and unlike the situation he faced in 2017, Trump can now combine expertise and loyalty in the same body of staffers.

Second, this time Trump’s opponents feel beaten in a way that they did not after 2016. That year, Hillary Clinton received nearly 3 million more votes than Trump. Clinton’s popular-vote advantage had no legal meaning. The office of the president is won or lost according to the arcane rules of the Electoral College, not by direct vote-counting. Politically, though, the popular vote matters a lot—that’s why Trump confected all those silly lies about his supposedly historic victory in 2016 and his allegedly enormous crowd size at the 2017 Inauguration. Back then, Democrats felt outmaneuvered but not out-voted. By contrast, Kamala Harris’s unqualified loss in 2024 has crushed morale. Democrats are divided, criticizing one another for their loss, not yet uniting to sound the alarm about how Trump is using his victory.

Third, Trump owes many of his early successes to previous Democratic mistakes. On issue after issue—immigration enforcement, crime and public order, race and gender—Democratic governments over the past eight years have drifted away from the mainstream of American public opinion. The drift is best symbolized by that notorious answer Harris gave to a 2019 questionnaire asking whether she favored taxpayer-funded gender-transition operations for undocumented immigrants and federal prisoners. Her related response in an interview with a progressive group was like some kind of smart-aleck word puzzle: How many unpopular hot-button issues can be crammed into a single sentence? Harris believed that punching every one of those buttons was necessary to be a viable progressive in the 2019–20 cycle. She, and America, paid the price in 2024.

A real quandary arises here. The best-organized Democratic interest groups want to fight Trump on the worst possible issues; the Democrats who want to fight on smarter issues tend to be less organized to fight. Until that conundrum is solved, Democrats are disabled and Trump is empowered.

[Read: Why Democrats are losing the culture war]

Diversity, equity, and inclusion programs in the workforce? Not popular.

Hundreds of thousands of asylum seekers entering the United States with little way to expel them if they are ultimately refused (as almost all of them will be)? Even less popular.

Create a rift between the United States and Israel? Very unpopular.

Trans athletes competing in girls’ and women’s sports? Wildly unpopular.

These are bad fights for Democrats to have. For that very reason, they are the fights that Trump Republicans want to start. Dangerously and unfortunately, they are also the fights that some of the most active of Democratic factions seek to have.

The fourth difference between 2017 and 2025 is the difference in the information space in which American politics is conducted. In 2017, politically minded Americans used platforms like Facebook and Twitter to share links to news sources. Some of those sources were deceptive or outright fake, but even fake news at least replicated the form and style of actual news.

Since then, new platforms have risen to dominance, especially among younger Americans and those less connected to politics. These new platforms are far more effective at detecting and manipulating user bias, fear, and anger. They are personality-powered, offering affirmation and bonding as their proofs of truth.

For pro-Trump Republicans, this new information space is marvelously congenial. They love and hate based on personal recommendations, and will flit from issue to issue as their preferred “influencers” command. Such a movement centered on celebrity and charismatic leadership has no problem with the fact that its favorite media spread disinformation and distrust. In fact, it’s useful. Trump has in effect adapted a slogan from Mussolini: “Trump is always right.” Its corollary is: “Only Trump is right.” Nothing important is lost from a Trump point of view if right-wing media encourage their users to despise science, law, and other forms of expertise.

[Read: Trump is speaking like Hitler, Stalin, and Mussolini]

The anti-Trump coalition, however, is all about institutions. It depends on media that promote understanding of, and respect for, the work that institutions do. The new-media age is inherently inhospitable to institutionalists, and deeply demoralizing for them. Before they can organize to resist Trump, they must build new ways of communicating that adapt to contemporary technology but do not succumb to that technology’s politically destructive tendencies.

All of the above takes time. But it all can be done and must be done.

The second Trump administration has opened purposeful and strong. Its opponents have opened confused and weak. But today’s brutal reality can be tomorrow’s fading memory.

The second-term Trump synthesis does not even pretend to have an economic agenda for middle-class people. The predictable next round of tax cuts will disfavor them. The ensuing deficits will keep mortgage rates high. The tariffs and immigration crackdowns will raise consumer prices. Trump is offering nothing to help with the cost of health care and college.

Trump using James Brown’s “It’s a Man’s Man’s Man’s World” as his walk-on song, staffing his administration with accused abuser of women upon accused abuser of women, and relying heavily on reactionary anti-woman gender politics as his political message and messengers: All of that will exact a political price in weeks and months ahead.

Trump himself will lead and epitomize an administration of rake-offs and graft. He may succeed in sabotaging laws designed to prevent and punish corruption in high offices. He won’t be able to suppress awareness of his corruption.

The second-term Trump world will bubble with threats to U.S. security. Trump is determined to make each of them worse by fracturing our alliances in both the Euro-Atlantic and the Indo-Pacific regions. The worst threat of all is that Trump will be drawn into military action inside Mexico, without the cooperation of the Mexican authorities. Trump’s project to brand drug cartels as international terrorist organizations has legal implications that Trump supporters refuse to consider. Right now, the cartels have powerful incentives not to commit violence against U.S. citizens or on U.S. territory. Yet Trump is poised on the verge of actions that could change the cartels’ calculus and import Mexico’s criminal violence north of the border on a huge scale.

[Read: What’s guiding Trump’s early moves]

Trump won the election of 2024, but still failed to break 50 percent of the vote. His hold on Congress could slip at any time. His plans to foster voter-ID laws and gerrymandering to disenfranchise Democrats will collide with the new reality of American politics that these measures will harm his prospects more than his opponents’: Trump does best among the most disaffiliated Americans, whereas Democrats are widening their lead among those Americans who follow politics closely and vote most often.

The most immediate task for the anti-Trump coalition in these early months of 2025 is to avoid more mistakes. President Joe Biden ended his presidency by listening to advice to grant clemency to thousands of drug offenders, including heinous murderers. Who offered that advice? Don’t listen to them anymore! Fight Trump where he’s most vulnerable, not where progressive interest groups are most isolated and most dogmatic. Build unity from the center, rather than indulge the factionalism of the ultra-left.

A great many Americans despise Trump for the basic reason that he’s a very nasty person who speaks in demeaning ways and does cruel things. The movement to stop him should look and sound and act nice. If you get reprimanded for “respectability politics,” or caricatured as “cringe,” or scolded for appealing to suburban “wine moms,” that’s when you’ll know you’re doing it right.

The MAGA elite feels and fears the weight of American democracy. It knows that democratic accountability and action will grind down its authoritarian aspirations and corrupt schemes. The MAGA elite’s best plan for success is to persuade the American majority to abandon hope and surrender the fight. Its most useful allies are the extremists who have too often misled the great American center into doomed leftward detours.

November 2024 was bad. January and February 2025 are worse. The story is not over yet—unless you agree to lay down in despair the pen that can write the remainder of the story.

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When colleges began announcing the makeup of their incoming freshman classes last year—the first admissions cycle since the Supreme Court outlawed affirmative action—there seemed to have been some kind of mistake. The Court’s ruling in Students for Fair Admissions v. Harvard had been almost universally expected to produce big changes. Elite universities warned of a return to diversity levels not seen since the early 1960s, when their college classes had only a handful of Black students.

And yet, when the numbers came in, several of the most selective colleges in the country reported the opposite results. Yale, Dartmouth, Northwestern, the University of Virginia, Wesleyan, Williams, and Bowdoin all ended up enrolling more Black or Latino students, or both. Princeton and Duke appear to have kept their demographics basically stable.

These surprising results raise two competing possibilities. One is that top universities can preserve racial diversity without taking race directly into account in admissions. The other, favored by the coalition that successfully challenged affirmative action in court, is that at least some of the schools are simply ignoring the Supreme Court’s ruling—that they are, in other words, cheating. Finding out the truth will likely require litigation that could drag on for years. Although affirmative action was outlawed in 2023, the war over the use of race in college admissions is far from over.

History strongly suggested that the end of affirmative action would be disastrous for diversity in elite higher education. (Most American colleges accept most applicants and therefore didn’t use affirmative action in the first place.) In the states that had already banned the practice for public universities, the share of Black and Latino students enrolled at the most selective flagship campuses immediately plummeted. At UC Berkeley, for example, underrepresented minorities made up 22 percent of the freshman class in 1997. In 1998, after California passed its affirmative-action ban, that number fell to 11 percent. Many of these schools eventually saw a partial rebound, but not enough to restore their previous demographic balance.

Something similar happened at many selective schools in the aftermath of the Supreme Court’s 2023 ruling. At Harvard and MIT, for example, Black enrollment fell by more than 28 and 60 percent, respectively, compared with the average of the two years prior to the Court’s decision. But quite a few institutions defied expectations. At Yale, Black and Latino enrollment increased, while Asian American enrollment fell by 16 percent compared with recent years. Northwestern similarly saw its Black and Latino populations increase by more than 10 percent, while Asian and white enrollment declined. (In Students for Fair Admissions, the Court had found that Harvard’s race-conscious admissions policies discriminated against Asian applicants.)

[Rose Horowitch: The perverse consequences of tuition-free medical school]

Figuring out how this happened is not easy. Universities have always been cagey about how they choose to admit students; the secrecy ostensibly prevents students from trying to game the process. (It also prevents embarrassment: When details have come out, usually through litigation, they have typically not been flattering.) Now, with elite-college admissions under more scrutiny than usual, they’re even more wary of saying too much. When I asked universities for further details about their response to the ruling, Dartmouth, Bowdoin, and Williams declined to comment, Yale and Northwestern pointed me toward their vague public statements, and a Princeton spokesperson said that “now race plays no role in admissions decisions.” Duke did not reply to requests for comment.

The information gap has led outside observers to piece together theories with the data they do have. One possibility is that universities such as Yale and Princeton are taking advantage of some wiggle room in the Supreme Court’s ruling. “Nothing in this opinion should be construed as prohibiting universities from considering an applicant’s discussion of how race affected his or her life, be it through discrimination, inspiration, or otherwise,” Chief Justice John Roberts wrote in his majority opinion. This seemed to provide an indirect way to preserve race-consciousness in admissions. “It’s still legal to pursue diversity,” Sonja Starr, a law professor at the University of Chicago, told me. Her research shows that 43 of the 65 top-ranked universities have essay prompts that ask applicants about their identity or adversity; eight made the addition after the Court’s decision.

Another theory is that universities have figured out how to indirectly preserve racial diversity by focusing on socioeconomic status rather than race itself. In 2024, Yale’s admissions department began factoring in data from the Opportunity Atlas, a project run by researchers at Harvard and the U.S. Census Bureau that measures the upward mobility of children who grew up in a given neighborhood. It also increased recruitment and outreach in low-income areas. Similarly, Princeton announced that it would aim to increase its share of students who are eligible for financial aid. “In the changed legal environment, the University’s greatest opportunity to attract diverse talent pertains to socioeconomic diversity,” a committee designed to review race-neutral admissions policies at the college wrote.

Some evidence supports the “socioeconomics, not race” theory. Dartmouth announced that it had increased its share of low-income students eligible for federal Pell grants by five percentage points. Yale has said that last year’s incoming freshman class would have the greatest share of first-generation and low-income students in the university’s history. Richard Kahlenberg, a longtime proponent of class-based affirmative action who testified on behalf of the plaintiffs challenging Harvard’s admissions policies, told me that, by increasing economic diversity as a proxy for race, elite colleges have brought in the low-income students of color whom purely race-based affirmative action had long allowed them to overlook. (In recent years, almost three-quarters of the Black and Hispanic students at Harvard came from the wealthiest 20 percent of those populations nationally.) “While universities had been claiming that racial preferences were the only way they could create racial diversity, in fact, if we assume good faith on the part of the universities, they have found ways to achieve racial diversity without racial preferences,” Kahlenberg said.

[Richard Kahlenberg: The affirmative action that colleges really need]

If we assume good faith—that’s a big caveat. Not everyone is prepared to give universities the benefit of the doubt. Edward Blum, the president of Students for Fair Admissions, the plaintiff in the case that ended affirmative action, has already accused Yale, Princeton, and Duke of cheating. And Richard Sander, a law professor at UCLA and a critic of affirmative action, said that if a university’s Black enrollment numbers are still above 10 percent, “then I don’t think there’s any question that they’re engaged in illegal use of preferences.”

The skeptics’ best evidence is the fact that the universities accused of breaking the rules haven’t fully explained how they got their results. Yale, for example, has touted its use of the Opportunity Atlas, but hasn’t shared how it factors information from the tool into admissions decisions. Before the Court’s ruling, a Black student was four times more likely to get into Harvard than a white student with comparable scores, and a Latino applicant about twice as likely.

To keep numbers stable, race-neutral alternatives would have to provide a comparable boost. According to simulations presented to the Supreme Court, universities would have to eliminate legacy and donor preferences and slightly lower their average SAT scores to keep demographics constant without considering race. (In oral arguments, one lawyer compared the change in test scores to moving “from Harvard to Dartmouth.”) With minor exceptions, selective universities have given no indication that they’ve made either of those changes.

Even the data that exist are not totally straightforward to interpret. Some universities have reported an uptick in the percentage of students who chose not to report their race in their application. If that group skews white and Asian, as research suggests it does, then the reported share of Black and Latino students could be artificially inflated. And then there’s the question of how many students choose to accept a university’s offer of admission, which schools have little control over. Wesleyan, for example, accepted fewer Black applicants than it had in prior years, Michael Roth, the university’s president, told me. But a larger share chose to matriculate—possibly, Roth said, because even-more-selective schools had rejected them. The University of Virginia similarly had an unusually high yield among Black students, according to Greg Roberts, its dean of admissions. He couldn’t tell whether this was thanks to the school’s outreach efforts or just a coincidence. “I think what we’re doing is important, but to the extent it will consistently impact what the class looks like, I have no idea,” he told me. (Both Roth and Roberts, the only university administrators who agreed to be interviewed for this article, assured me that their institutions had obeyed the Court’s ruling.)

None of those alternative explanations is likely to sway the people who are convinced the schools cheated. With Donald Trump back in office, colleges that don’t see a meaningful uptick in Asian enrollees will likely face civil-rights investigations, says Josh Dunn, a law professor at the University of Tennessee at Knoxville. “If everything ends up looking exactly like it did prior to SFFA,” he told me, then the courts will “probably think that the schools were not trying to comply in good faith.”

Blum, the head of Students for Fair Admissions, has already threatened to sue Yale, Princeton, and Duke if they don’t release numbers proving to his satisfaction that they have complied with the law. (Blum declined to be interviewed for this article.) A new lawsuit could force universities to turn over their admissions data, which should reveal what’s really going on. It could also invite the Court to weigh in on new questions, including the legality of race-neutral alternatives to affirmative action that are adopted with racial diversity in mind. A resolution to any of these issues would take years to arrive.

In many ways, the endless fight over affirmative action is a proxy for the battle over what uber-selective universities are for. Institutions such as Harvard and Yale have long been torn between conflicting aims: on the one hand, creating the next generation of leaders out of the most accomplished applicants; on the other, serving as engines of social mobility for promising students with few opportunities. It will take much more than the legal demise of affirmative action to put that debate to rest.