The cost of luxury real estate increased in 2024 – with Asian and Middle Eastern countries dominating the market – even as interest rates continue to deter people from purchasing new properties, this year’s Wealth Report from Douglas Elliman (DOUG) and Knight Frank revealed.

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Ukraine has no “cards” according to President Donald Trump, while Russia has many. Vice President J. D. Vance has asserted that superior Russian firepower and manpower mean that the war can end only in a Russian victory. Other supposedly realistic commentators agree, arguing that Russia’s advantages are insurmountable.

As military historians, we think this a misreading not only of what is happening on the ground, but of how wars unfold—and, in particular, of the difference between attritional campaigns and those built on maneuver. The Luftwaffe and the German submarine force during World War II, to take just two examples, were defeated not by a single blow, but by a technologically advanced, tactically and operationally sophisticated approach that rendered those organizations, large as they were, unable to function effectively. In the same vein, the advances of the German army in the spring of 1918 concealed the underlying weakness in that military produced by attrition, which ultimately doomed the Kaiser’s army and the regime for which it fought.

We have been here before. Prior to the war, the intelligence community, political leaders, and many students of the Russian military concluded that Russia would easily overrun Ukraine militarily—that Kyiv would fall in a few days and that Ukraine itself could be conquered in weeks. We should consider that failure as we assess the certainty of Vance and those who think like him.

[Graeme Wood: Russia is not winning]

Wars are rarely won so decisively, because attrition is not only a condition of war, but a strategic choice. Smaller powers can, through the intelligent application of attrition, succeed in advancing their own goals. This is particularly true if, like Ukraine, they can exploit technological change and get the most from outside support and allies. Vietnam was outgunned by the United States, as the American colonies were once outgunned by the British empire. Iranian forces outnumbered those of Iraq during a long and brutal war in the 1980s, and lost nonetheless.

The pessimistic analysis has not paid nearly enough attention to the weak underpinnings of Russian military power. Russia’s economy, as often noted, is struggling with interest rates that have topped 20 percent amid soaring inflation, and with manpower shortages made critical by the war. Its condition is dire, as one study noted, partly because the military budget amounts to 40 percent of all public spending, and partly because oil revenue is taking a hit from lower prices, Ukrainian attacks, and tightening sanctions.

Russian weakness is particularly visible in the army. One report by the International Institute for Strategic Studies estimated that in 2024 alone, the Russians lost 1,400 main battle tanks, and more than 3,700 infantry fighting vehicles and armored personnel carriers. At the same time, Russian production of such vehicles, including refurbished units, totaled just 4,300, not enough to make up for its losses. In desperation, Russia has turned to restoring its oldest and least effective combat vehicles, many of Soviet vintage. One recent study by Chatham House asserts that the Russian military-industrial complex is “ill adapted to deal with the effects of a prolonged war against Ukraine or to achieve a sustainable future in terms of production, innovation and development.”

The same holds true for Russian manpower. The number of soldiers that the Russians were able to maintain at the front seemed to peak in the spring and summer of 2024, above 650,000. By the end of the year, it had fallen closer to 600,000, despite the extraordinary bonuses that the Russian government offers new recruits, amounting to about two and a half times the average annual Russian salary in 2023.

Russian casualties have mounted steadily. According to the British Ministry of Defence, in December 2022, they stood at roughly 500 a day; in December 2023, at just under 1,000; and in December 2024, at more than 1,500. In 2024 alone, Russia suffered nearly 430,000 killed and wounded, compared with just over 250,000 in 2023.

North Korean reinforcements have attracted attention in the press, but these troops, numbering in the tens of thousands at most, cannot make up for the fundamental deficiencies in Russian manpower. Moreover, the high rates of attrition that the Russians have suffered—roughly the same as the number of personnel mobilized each year—mean that the Russian military has not been able to reconstitute. It is more and more a primitive force, poorly trained and led, driven forward by fear alone.

The pause in American aid last year hurt Ukraine. Now, however, the stockpiles seem to be in better shape for most types of weaponry. Ukraine’s own production has reached impressive levels in certain vital categories, particularly but not exclusively unmanned aerial vehicles. In 2024, the Ukrainian military received over 1.2 million different Ukrainian-produced UAVs—two orders of magnitude more than Ukraine possessed, let alone produced, at the beginning of the war. Ukrainian production rates are still rising; it aims to produce 4 million drones this year alone.

UAVs are crucial because they have replaced artillery as the most effective system on the field of battle. By one estimate, UAVs now cause 70 percent of Russian losses. Ukraine’s robust defense industry is innovating more quickly and effectively than that of Russia and its allies.

Attritional wars take place on many fronts. For example, it is true that Russia has increased its attacks on Ukrainian industry and civilian targets, as well as energy infrastructure. Ukrainian air defenses, however, have been remarkably successful in neutralizing the large majority of those attacks, which is why Ukrainian civilian casualties have been decreasing. Ukraine has, moreover, been on the offensive as well. It has produced some 6,000 longer-range heavy UAVs, which it has used to attack deep into Russia, decreasing Russian oil production. Remarkably, Ukraine appears to be matching the rate at which Russia is producing its own similar drone, the Shahed, which is being built on license from Iran.

Despite American reluctance to provide further aid, Ukraine’s European friends can make a significant difference even though they cannot simply replace what the U.S. has been providing. They do not, for instance, make the advanced Patriot anti-missile system, although they have other capable air-defense weapons. However, Europe can help Ukraine press ahead with more UAV production; Europeans have the capacity to manufacture engines for long-range UAVs, for example, at a far higher rate.

And some European systems not yet provided—such as the German Taurus cruise missile—could increase Ukraine’s advantages. Germany has so far denied Ukraine the Taurus, a far more effective system with greater range and a heavier payload than the Franco-British Storm Shadow/Scalp missiles. The new German chancellor, Friedrich Merz, has already said he would send Taurus missiles to Ukraine if the Russians did not relent. With these systems, Ukraine could add to the considerable damage it has already done within Russia.

[Read: The simple explanation for why Trump turned against Ukraine]

Attritional campaigns depend on an industrial base. The European Union alone has a GDP about 10 times that of Russia, and if you add the U.K. and Norway to that calculation, the imbalance in favor of Ukraine grows even larger. As it is, Europe and the United States have provided Ukraine with roughly equal amounts of its military resources (30 percent each), while Ukraine has produced 40 percent on its own.

The U.S. has provided more than just military material—it has also furnished intelligence and access to Starlink internet services. None of this can quickly be made up, although again, one should not underestimate the depth of technological and intelligence resources available from Europe and sympathetic Asian countries, should they mobilize. The United States has stinted its aid until now, but Ukraine itself and its European allies are filling the gaps.

Ukraine is not on the verge of collapse, and it is Russia, not Ukraine, that is losing the attritional war, which makes the Trump administration’s decisions particularly shortsighted and tragic. Ukraine has plenty of cards, even if Trump and Vance cannot see them. If America’s leaders could only bring themselves to put pressure on Russia comparable to what they put on Ukraine, they could help Ukraine achieve something much more like a win.

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Progressive ideas around race, gender, and immigration are under scrutiny by both the Republican-controlled federal government and Democrats chastened by the loss of the 2024 election. In this modern context, it’s easy to forget how persuasive these ideas once were. In 1995, just 25 percent of Democrats identified as liberal, while 46 called themselves moderate. Twenty years later, a sea change in public opinion had happened: In 2015, 45 percent of Democrats called themselves liberals.

Two political scientists and a researcher found that from 2011 to 2020 the attitudes of Democrats and independents became notably more liberal on racial inequality and immigration. But even looking after the period of anti-“woke” backlash that has characterized much of the past few years, attitudes among all Americans (including Republicans) are noticeably more liberal than they were in 2011, according to their research.

That’s not to say that every part of what has been called “wokeness” was popular or even persuasive to the most liberal of poll respondents. But I think in the next few months and years, we’ll come to see the anti-woke glee that has permeated through the first month of the Trump administration to be out of step with public opinion.

Today’s episode is a conversation I had last August with The New York Times’ Michelle Goldberg about a column she wrote, “Wokeness Is Dying. We Might Miss It.” The words she wrote then ring truer even now:

“There are aspects of the New Progressivism—its clunky neologisms and disdain for free speech—that I’ll be glad to see go. But however overwrought the politics of 2020 were, they also represented a rare moment when there was suddenly enormous societal energy to tackle long-festering inequalities.”

The following is a transcript of the episode:

Jerusalem Demsas: A few weeks ago, Darren Beattie was appointed to a senior role at the State Department—acting Under Secretary for Public Diplomacy.

Beattie is a known quantity. He was fired by the last Trump administration after it came out that he’d attended and spoken at a conference with white nationalists.

But this experience doesn’t seem to have rattled him, in the following years he made many controversial remarks on twitter including that “Competent white men must be in charge if you want things to work.”

Just watching the first few weeks of the new President’s term indicates that curbing wokeness and cultural liberalism is top of mind for the administration. It’s remarkable to look back on polling that shows that the economy, not the war on wokeness, was the top issue for Trump voters.

But from directing removal of trans Americans in the military to rolling back DEI initiatives throughout the government, the Trump administration has made anti-wokeness a core focus.

[Music]

My name’s Jerusalem Demsas, I’m a staff writer at the Atlantic and this is Good on Paper, a policy show that questions what we really know about popular narratives. These past few weeks have had me thinking back to a conversation I had with New York Times columnist Michelle Goldberg last year about whether Americans would miss wokeness when it was gone.

No one, including myself, will defend every part of a movement’s form. There were many ridiculous DEI trainings, offensive instances of language policing, and stupid and counterproductive overreactions. But, as Goldberg wrote last year: “however overwrought the politics of 2020 were, they also represented a rare moment when there was suddenly enormous societal energy to tackle long-festering inequalities.”

I’m excited to revisit this episode with you all today.

Michelle, welcome to the show.

Michelle Goldberg: Thanks for having me.

Demsas: I read an article you wrote a few months ago, and it was called, “Wokeness is Dying. We Might Miss It.” And it’s been something I’ve been reflecting on myself because I think that there’s a conventional wisdom that’s been built up in traditional media—and then just a lot of our public discourse—that the backlash of the progressive tilt of the 2010s is a good thing, and that we’re seeing a good correction of a time period that went too far. And I thought that your article was a really interesting take on that idea.

But before we get into all that, I wanted to ground us in what we’re even talking about. When we talk about wokeness, what are we talking about when you use that term?

Goldberg: Well, it’s a hard term to define. I actually rarely use it except in quote marks because it’s one of those terms that was—obviously started out in Black vernacular and then was appropriated by people who are really hostile to it.

Basically, any time someone uses woke, you assume that they’re using it as an insult. Very few people actually identify their own politics that way. But how I often describe it, even if it’s a little clunky, is like a style of social-justice politics that is extremely focused on changing the world by changing the way we talk about the world.

Demsas: It’s funny because as I was preparing for this episode, I was just looking back at before the 2010s, and it feels like we had a version of this before then. People would complain about political correctness all the time. And I wonder how you distinguish the two eras. Is this just a piece that has always been in our politics—it just changes forms and maybe the specific issues it cares about?

Or is it actually something completely separate and different?

Goldberg: No. I think it’s basically a replay of the political correctness and the political-correctness backlash of the 1990s, which also came about at a time when you were seeing a lot more ethnic-studies, women’s-studies, area-studies programs in universities; some academic language starting to filter out into everyday life, a lot of people feeling really annoyed and alienated by that; and then a right-wing backlash, which was out of proportion and was so much more damaging to progressive politics than any gains that they might have made through the evolution and language that people were pushing at the time.

Demsas: So when you chart the beginning of this—I think it’s hard because it’s fuzzy. I was looking back to see when people really started talking about this. Matt Yglesias has this piece in 2019 in Vox where he coined the term the Great Awokening, and he charts it then as beginning with the 2014 protests in Ferguson after Michael Brown was shot by a police officer. He looks at the increase that you see in polls in concern for racial inequality and discrimination and the simultaneous divergence of the Democratic Party, where you see racially conservative Democrats leave the party.

And his story is very focused on race and immigration there. I think there are other people who would go even earlier, and then others who think it really takes off with Hillary Clinton. What time period are you really thinking about?

Goldberg: It’s interesting that Matt Yglesias says that. I felt that was also maybe the year that this style of politics became really dominant in certain circles, if not in the culture at large. And I wouldn’t just limit it to the debate about race and policing, because I think some of it comes out of Tumblr culture and just the perverse incentives of social media, the perverse incentives of left-wing politics.

I wrote a piece in 2014 for The Nation, where I was a writer at the time, called, “Feminism’s Toxic Twitter Wars.” And it wasn’t about quote, unquote, “wokeness.” I don’t remember if people were actually using that word at the time. But it was about this really destructive style of competitive self-righteousness. And one of the texts that helped me make sense of what was going on was an essay by a feminist writer named Jo Freeman from the ’70s called, “The Tyranny of Structurelessness,” that was about how—when you have ostensibly horizontal, leaderless organizations—people do, in fact, fight for power and leaders emerge, but they do it through passive-aggressive and emotionally manipulative means. And so, this has always been an issue on the left; it’s just that social media supercharged it.

Demsas: Yeah. I’ve been thinking about how much of this is a story about technology, right? Social media, as you say—to unpack a bit, there’s obviously an incentive to move to the extremes. People often only think about this in terms of talking about politics, in terms of, Oh, people are saying radical things.

But if you scroll through TikTok or anything—and I’m sure you’ve seen this stuff, too—you see pretty shocking content in general: people doing weird things with food, really bizarre things with different toys and things in order to just get the viewer confused and really fixated. (Laughs.)

Goldberg: (Laughs.) Right. Social media does two things: On the one hand, it just incentivizes extremism because you need to catch people’s attention. And extremism can also serve as a form of novelty. But it also—and I’ve written about this, as well—there used to be this idea that the problem with social media was that it kept people siloed in quote, unquote, “filter bubbles,” and I don’t think that’s the problem. I think the problem is that it exposes you to some of the most obnoxious examples on the other side, so it ends up furthering this negative polarization.

Demsas: Let’s turn to the piece that you wrote. You titled it, “Wokeness Is Dying. We Might Miss It.” Why is wokeness dying, and why do you miss it?

Goldberg: Obviously, I don’t miss all of it. As I write in the piece, there was tons of it that I have always found—I’m kind of a cranky Gen-X person. I didn’t like these clunky neologisms. I find some of the language, like the people-first language—I’m trying to think of even—

Demsas: Like saying person without housing, or saying unhoused instead of homeless?

Goldberg: Right. I do understand some of it. And that’s the problem, that all of this you can understand in certain instincts. I do understand that there’s certain language that can be really stigmatizing, and that there’s reason for language to evolve. I’m watching—my kids are super into 30 Rock right now, and they’re constantly saying things on 30 Rock that my kids are like, Oh, my God. You can’t say that!

Demsas: (Laughs.)

Goldberg: And that show—I don’t remember at the time feeling particularly provocative. And so the natural evolution of language is often a good thing. The forced evolution of language in a way that feels like it comes down from some really sanctimonious, prissy commissar is not a good thing. Although I just said that, we have to remember that there actually was no commissar.

People, I think—in reaction to stuff that really annoyed them, the kind of people who made their identity around opposition to wokeness—they almost had to inflate its danger to match the scale of their annoyance. Rather than something that, like, really bugged them or really seemed obnoxious, it had to be totalitarian. It had to be something that was remaking all of the systems of our society, which I just don’t think was ever really true.

But anyway, there was this very laudable attempt to correct systemic injustices in our society, systemic injustices that were really thrown into high relief for a lot of people by the election of Donald Trump. And one of the reasons I don’t like this approach to politics is that changing the way you talk about things is one of the easiest things to do, as opposed to making concrete, material change.

But nevertheless, it’s a step. It was a good thing that people felt less comfortable using certain kind of slurs. Let me put it this way: It was a good thing that when J. D. Vance was writing to one of his left-wing classmates, who I believe he had described as a lesbian, but they were trans, and wrote (these emails have now leaked) this sensitive email that, you know, I love you. I’m sorry if I misgendered you. I hope you know it was coming from a place of respect—I think it was good that conservative men, or all sorts of people, felt the need to be a little bit more thoughtful and sensitive.

Obviously, there was plenty of places where it veered into self-parody, and those places were exaggerated and amplified by a social-media panic, which has now led to a really ugly right-wing backlash.

Demsas: The definition you gave for wokeness, too—it really speaks to the idea that it’s about language and discourse policing in a way. And I wonder—because it seems almost like a definition that has been won by the opponents of it, right? Because I would imagine the people in the 2010s who are really parts of these movements—whether they’re part of #MeToo movement or they’re part of racial-justice movements—there were very specific policy ideas and things that they were upset about.

And many of them were very popular. Police brutality becomes—even amongst independents and, in some polls, even with Republicans, you see support for measures that would rein back police. Of course, the prosecution of people like Harvey Weinstein was very popular. And then, of course, something like abortion, which is seen as now the best issue for Democrats, is something that’s obviously an issue about women’s rights and feminism.

But there’s a way in which we’ve bifurcated these two things that I’m not really sure how to think about. Because, at one point, I totally agree with you: There is clearly an increased focus on what types of things people are saying, but that seems it was at least intended by some people to be a way to get people on board with a policy agenda.

But those two things seem difficult to also separate. If you’re looking for who your allies are and you’re like, Who’s misgendering trans people? That tells you who’s part of your political movement. And I wonder how you think about how we’ve bifurcated the policy goals of these movements from the discourse policing, and were those two things really necessary to be together?

Goldberg: It’s a complicated question. But I would agree with you that the intention of a lot of people was to make real-world change, not just to change the way people talk about things. Do you remember, at a certain point on the internet, there was this taboo against quote, unquote, “tone policing?”

Demsas: Yeah.

Goldberg: Which meant, in turn, that it was almost impossible for the left to either make or listen to any kind of critique of its rhetoric or the way it approached people who might be partially on board but not fully on board. And it ended up really alienating a lot of people outright and then creating this rumbling, subterranean resentment that was then able to be harnessed by really sinister forces. And I think it’s easy to say, Well, if you were attracted to fascism because you don’t like being told what to say or because you’re angry about some new terminology, then that’s on you. And that shows that you always had these inclinations.

But people have lots of different inclinations. And it’s the job of a social movement to, I think, meet people where they are and draw out the parts of them that you want to encourage.

Demsas: Well, it seems in your piece that you’re skeptical about the framing that wokeness has won in any way. And I wonder why you think that, because, from my perspective, I mean, it’s obviously hard. People can point to different areas in which different movements have been successful or not.

But when you look at attitudes amongst the general public on many progressive issues, they’ve shifted dramatically to the left. And, of course, a lot of that is being driven from people moving really far left within the Democratic Party. But even independents on these issues—they’ve moved people left on these things.

And I think there’s also material gains that have happened. People don’t talk about these a lot, but in the year after the murder of George Floyd, for instance, half of U.S. states passed legislation in at least one of the following categories: use of force; duty for officers to intervene, report, or render medical aid in instances of police misconduct; or policies relating to law-enforcement misconduct reporting.

Goldberg: Well, can I just say—I don’t think we should tar all. Again, I feel like this category of wokeness is so unstable and amorphous. But I definitely would not want to put criminal-justice reform under that auspice, right? When I’m saying that I think this style of politics is dead, I certainly don’t mean all left-wing politics, and I don’t mean all criminal-justice reform.

What’s dead is—not only is the Democratic Party trying to memory-hole calls to defund the police, but there was a social pressure to get on board with that language that is completely gone. And so I’m talking about something a little bit more hard to pin down, but something that a lot of people felt and responded to.

The reason I say it’s dead—and I wrote this piece in response to a book by Nellie Bowles called the Morning After the Revolution. It was sort of satirical, but it was also so exaggerated that it was kind of ridiculous. Like at one point she says, I heard people saying that roads were racist. And that didn’t come from some asshole teenager; that came from Robert Caro writing about Robert Moses. But I think that, in part, just to either justify her project or to inflate its importance, she said, This movement hasn’t calmed down because it lost; it’s calmed down because it won.

And I think that for some people that means they have to go to various HR workshops or whatever. But let’s just look at the evidence: You see company after company dismantling their DEI initiatives, states banning DEI in colleges. One of the examples I gave in that column was a school named after a Confederate general that had changed its name and then decided to change it back.

Target, for example, responding to these right-wing backlashes, taking Pride merchandise out of a lot of its stores—there was a sense, at one point, that corporate America wanted to ride the social-justice train. And it might have been hypocritical, but it also suggested that they saw these views as ascendant and something that they wanted to latch onto for their own purposes. I don’t think they see things like that anymore.

[Music]

Demsas: All right. We’re going to take a quick break. More with Michelle when we get back.

[Break]

Demsas: I just want to run my theory for you why there was such a focus on discourse policing and on language versus these policies. I think that often—and I found that it felt a little disingenuous sometimes—you’d ask people, Hey, it seems like your organization’s really focused on these language things. Why are you policing whether someone says they’re Latino or Latinx, or something like that. And they would say, Well, we’re actually focused on all of these issues that impact people on the material level. And it’s like, Yeah, but what are you tweeting about? What is it that you’re actually talking about in public constantly? What is your driving ethos?

And so, when I see this, I don’t think of it as disingenuous. I think a lot of people have read this as sort of a disingenuous thing, that people don’t actually care about changing the material reality of people that they’re working for. But I think it’s actually just that the structures of movement organizations have changed so dramatically, such that movement building is now both really easy and really hard.

Any individual person can put up a flyer or an Instagram graphic and say, Hey, we’re gonna do a protest here. And that doesn’t require an organizational capacity to really get someone out and be a part of a group. And that means that people are just showing up for something—or not showing up for something—and it’s completely unrelated to whether they’re being drawn into a broader group.

In the past, you had an NAACP that could speak credibly and say, We actually have organized the groups and the individuals who care a lot about racial justice in this country. And if you don’t vote X or Y way on a bill, that means that we’re going to turn up and we’re going to protest you. But now they can’t credibly say, No one will protest you if you do X or Y, because anyone can do it. And in many ways, that’s great.

Goldberg: Did you read this book—a great book by my colleague Zeynep Tufekci—called, Twitter and Tear Gas?

Demsas: I have not, but I’ve heard it’s a great book.

Goldberg: That’s what the book is about.

Demsas: Can you tell us about it?

Goldberg: So the book—I mean, she could obviously speak to it better than I could, but the book is basically about how before social media, your ability to muster a large protest was an outward sign of your organizational capacity, right?

It meant that you had members. It meant that you had people working on all the stuff that it takes to get people out, and that you were building relationships. And you also had to build an internal structure just in order to get this stuff done, and that structure would be there after the march was over.

Now you have these protests that come together very quickly and virally. But there’s nothing to buttress them. And then the issues that I mentioned earlier, with “The Tyranny of Structurelessness,” come up. Because, especially in left-wing spaces, there’s often an aversion to hierarchy, which makes sense to a point, but you need some lines of organization in order to keep something going. When you don’t have that, you do still have people emerge as leaders, but the way that they emerge as leaders is either about cultivating celebrity or shivving other people for not being radical or committed enough.

Demsas: Yeah. I think the horizontal nature of a lot of social movements now, it leads to the point where it becomes actually quite difficult to be a credible partner to or credible bargaining-table member with politicians. Because if they say, We’ll do what you’re asking us, but that means you have to mobilize your people in support of it, and if you can’t credibly do that, then it becomes politically disadvantageous for any politician to work with you.

And that doesn’t mean I agree with that. I think they should just do what they think is right. But at the same time, what ends up happening then is the places where you can see a lot of pressure is just around virality and around these issues where you don’t actually need to work through the formal systems of political power or electoral power. You can work discursively.

Goldberg: I also should say: Somebody who’s deep into progressive organizing once told me that they saw this also as just a form of work avoidance. And maybe people don’t mean this, but it’s just the path of least resistance. The easiest thing to do is to complain about the word somebody is using.

Demsas: But the most cynical argument that I think has been advanced by, especially, a lot of people who are on the right or in the center is that a lot of the movement on liberalization on these views has come from white Democrats, a lot of whom are materially advantaged already. So you have, for instance, people who are maybe homeowners in, or live in, really high cost-of-living cities, and they make a lot of money. And maybe they don’t want to see material changes happen, because that would actually affect their lives.

For instance, I do a lot of reporting on the housing crisis. And it’s clear that a lot of people who consider themselves progressives, who fight for a lot of these causes and seem very genuine and caring about that sort of thing, often will revolt if you say, I think that you should allow for affordable housing to exist in your community.

And I think that there’s some people who take that dynamic and attribute it largely and say, Yeah, the reason they’re focusing on whether you’re saying the right words is because they don’t want to focus on the sorts of material changes that would require something actually being taken from them.

Goldberg: I don’t think it’s that intentional. I find it very hard to imagine that somebody is saying, I don’t want zoning reform in my suburban neighborhood, so I’m going to distract people with a fight over whether it’s ableist to say that we’re standing up for ourselves. I just don’t think that’s how people work.

I do think that people who both went to elite colleges, where these concepts are really prevalent, and are highly verbal and work in fields where communication is a central part of the work they do—it’s not that surprising that they default to questions of communication when they’re involved in politics. And so I think that people have blind spots.

But, again, I think the right-wing version of this is often that it’s a conspiracy to deflect from real challenges to the material privilege of rich, white liberals. And I don’t think it’s a conspiracy.

Demsas: Yeah. I think your previous frame is more likely correct—that it is more a path-of-least-resistance argument. But that also, I think, still implicates people in this, Why is it the path of least resistance for you not to want to allow people who make less money than you to live in your neighborhood? Why is that so difficult to mobilize people around? And maybe it’s not intentional, but that is just a harder thing to do.

And so you see organizers at the local level—they’re often like, Well, we can get people to sign onto an agreement to get the city to raise a Pride flag, but we can’t get people to change the school-boundary lines near them to make it more inclusive to lower-income kids where they go to school. So there is a reason why I think progressive activists get pushed in a direction. And I do think that there’s probably some truth to the idea that the material changes would be much less politically popular.

But I want to turn a little bit because a lot of your writing is about feminism that I’ve followed for years now. And you wrote an article called, “The Future Isn’t Female Anymore,” and that’s very much in line with what we’re talking about today, so I’m hoping you talk a little bit about that piece. In it, you cite a poll from the Southern Poverty Law Center that asks respondents whether they agree that “feminism has done more harm than good.” And you write that while only four percent of Democratic men over 50 thought feminism was harmful, 46 percent of Democratic men under 50 did. And nearly a quarter of Democratic women under 50 agreed that feminism has done more harm than good.

And so you see this split here, where you have older Democrats still towing the familiar line that feminism is, of course, on net, beneficial, and then younger folks increasingly feel that their feminism has done more harm than good.

And that’s among Democrats. What’s happening there, and why is this space really polarizing people?

Goldberg: I don’t think it’s younger folks. I mean, yeah, there is a section of women, but, in general, I think it’s younger men. I remember when I quoted that poll, a lot of people were suspicious of it, and you can always have one poll that’s an outlier, but there’s been a few polls since then that show that young men, specifically, are moving to the right. And there’s a growing political chasm between young women and young men that was really showing up a lot in the polling around the upcoming election. And I also just think there was a broader backlash.

It’ll be interesting because we’re at a different inflection point now. When I wrote that, there was a backlash to the idea of the girl boss. It had suddenly become really embarrassing to a lot of people, which, on the one hand—a backlash against unfettered ambition and burnout-inducing devotion to your career—I get that. But it came along with the rise of tradwives and stay-at-home girlfriends and these old forms of female subservience in hip, new clothing.

And you see this again and again in the history of feminism, right? Because it’s hard to work. It’s hard to work and be a parent and fulfill all the expectations of ideal womanhood. People will look at being a kept woman of various guises and think that that’s an out. You saw this with Susan Faludi’s Backlash, and then you saw it with a whole bunch of articles about women stepping back from the workplace.

Demsas: And who is Susan Faludi?

Goldberg: Susan Faludi wrote one of the classics of modern feminism in a book called Backlash, which came out in the early 1990s and was about basically a decade of backlash propaganda telling women that feminism had made them miserable and that women wanted to return to cocooning and wanted to return to domesticity.

And what you see when you actually look at the people who are pushing this message is either that they’re not doing it themselves—you know, Martha Stewart was certainly never a homemaker, but neither was Phyllis Schlafly, right? These are professional women with high-powered careers. Or else you see women who do do that and then find themselves in really precarious situations if it falls apart. And so, again, there was this moment where, We don’t need girl-boss feminism. We want a soft life. You know, don’t we all? (Laughs.)

Demsas: (Laughs.)

Goldberg: But there was a refusal to see the traps that generations of feminists have identified in that life. Now we’re at a different moment because you’re starting to see women get really, really excited about the prospect of a female president again and getting really, really angry about patriarchy. Obviously, the Dobbs decision that ended Roe v. Wade was a big turning point for that. The Kamala Harris campaign is a big turning point.

It was interesting because when Hillary Clinton ran for president, there was always a dearth of organic enthusiasm compared to, say, Barack Obama. But there were people who were really, really excited about Hillary Clinton and were really, really excited about having a woman president. But a lot of them felt really embarrassed and afraid to admit that publicly.

I remember going to some of the places after Donald Trump was elected, going to some of the suburban communities where these women who hadn’t been very political before had suddenly gotten really political because they were so outraged and disgusted. And often they were like, I didn’t even realize there were other Democrats on my street. And so there was this sheepishness. And now that sheepishness is totally gone. It’s pretty new, but this is the first female campaign for president that is being really carried aloft on a tide of very vocal popular excitement.

Demsas: Yeah. Well, when I think about the wokeness message, the presidential candidate that tried to do this the most was Ron DeSantis, and it didn’t really work out for him. He obviously is not the presidential nominee for the Republican Party, but he also flamed out in a way that I think people were not expecting.

There was a ton of enthusiasm after he won his race by around 20 electoral points in Florida, when he ran for re-election for governor. And he was very clear on the national, at the local, at the state level that he was fighting a war on woke. But then you saw this message falter. You saw it falter in the Republican Party. People were much less interested in polls for voting for someone who’s fighting wokeness than they were for people who were following traditional economic messaging. And obviously he himself did not do well there.

Goldberg: Although, let’s remember—let’s look at who the Republicans chose as their vice president. J. D. Vance—he gave a speech at the National Conservatism Conference in 2021 that was called, “The Universities Are the Enemy,” and it was all about—I don’t know how much he used the word wokeness, but that’s basically what it was about. And he is obsessed with this stuff. It’s part of what makes him weird.

Demsas: I agree with you. I think it’s interesting because it seemed like, at the end, Trump was between the North Dakota governor, Doug Burgum, who’s a much more traditional Republican, and he ends up picking J. D. Vance, who I think is part of this wing of the party that’s defined themselves by wokeness.

During the Olympics, Imane Khelif, who is an Algerian boxer, beat an Italian boxer Angela Carini at the Paris Olympics, and it sparks this conservative outcry. Khelif is a cis woman; she was assigned female at birth and continues to identify as such. But people have really turned on her as being a man. J. D. Vance literally tweeted that Khelif was “a grown man pummeling a woman.” He called it “disgusting” and blamed Kamala Harris’s ideas about gender.

This is obviously a very small vignette in a bunch of different areas in which you’ve seen the right radicalize in this space. But, to me, while of course Trump did pick Vance, it doesn’t seem like this is actually a message that’s a winning message for voters. I think a lot of people feel that this is actually going in the same way that maybe wokeness harmed the Democratic Party in some ways—that this version is actually not palatable to even Republican voters, but definitely not to independents or swing voters.

There’s polling—this is when Biden was the presumptive nominee, from May—by Data for Progress that asked 1,200 voters whether they think Joe Biden’s woke. And 21 percent said they didn’t know what that meant. Twenty-seven percent said they didn’t care. And 22 percent were the only people that said he was woke and that was a bad thing. So how much of this is just a fight that’s really happening but is not actually electorally relevant or even electorally desirable?

Goldberg: Well, I don’t think it’s super electorally relevant in that, yes, vanishingly few people, if you ask them, What are the issues that are important to you? are going to say any version of wokeness. Where I think it’s relevant is around the edges.

I think that people really underestimate just how much of politics is about emotion and how much of it is about how candidates make you feel. And so whether the language that candidates use resonates with you or is alienating to you really matters. Again, this is where I say that a lot of these linguistic changes, I feel like, are irritating and alienating, but that’s very different from saying that they’re part of some totalitarian conspiracy, which is often how the anti-woke side comes off. And so I think it’s why even voters, again, to the extent that they’re even aware of these arguments over linguistic conventions—and I think they are in a vague way.

Demsas: Especially at the office, if you have DEI training or something like that.

Goldberg: Right, or even just when I would go to Trump rallies, the thing I would hear over and over again—I remember in 2016, I would try to draw them out. You know, Did a factory close around here? Are you having trouble getting a job? But mostly it was like, No. But you just can’t say anything anymore. There was just so much anger. And then sometimes you would ask them what they wanted to say, and you’d be like, Oh yeah. You definitely can’t say that. (Laughs.) And you shouldn’t be able to say that. But I do think that it grates on people. But there’s a difference between it grating on people and it being an all-consuming fixation.

Demsas: Yeah. Well, how do we then understand the nascent Kamala Harris campaign? Because you’ve been doing some reporting about her campaign. And her candidacy, as you said, it’s a historic candidacy. She’s the first Black woman and South Asian woman presumptive nominee for a major party ticket. She will be only the second woman to achieve that, after Clinton.

One thing I think that’s interesting is Clinton really leaned into her identity as a woman. And there’s some reporting that indicates she was trying to follow the mold of Obama, who clearly made that a part of his historic rise and tapped into that “first” energy to build momentum.

Harris seems to be tackling that quite differently. I know you said that you’re seeing this energy finally out in the open, of women getting to be excited publicly for the first female potential president. But, at the same time, it seems like there’s not as much attempt on the part of her and her team—at least so far—to really lean into that. Are you seeing that?

Goldberg: Right. And she doesn’t need to. Well, no, she doesn’t need to. And I don’t see any reason why she should. The people who are excited about it are getting excited about it.

Demsas: But why not? Why not lean into it?

Goldberg: First of all, because most people I think who are really, really excited to vote for the first woman candidate for president, the first Black woman candidate for president, the first Asian American woman candidate for president—those people are mostly voting for Harris. She doesn’t really need to remind them of the historic nature of her candidacy.

And she does in some ways, right? She speaks to the AKAs, the other members of her Black sorority. But I just think that, for the people that she needs to win over, she needs to convince them that she’s going to make their lives better in some tangible, material way, rather than achieving a symbolic victory for certain identity groups.

Look, obviously the identity component is there. You see people self-organizing these huge Zoom calls. But I guess the difference is that it would have been a big mistake for the Harris campaign to take the lead on doing that kind of stuff. People want to do it themselves. You can see that that’s really powerful.

Demsas: I also think that because she avoided a primary, it was much less important to base mobilization that that rhetoric would sometimes be used. You’d encourage it in that case, right? I think Warren and Harris both leaned into this during the 2020 presidential primaries—their historic nature of their candidacy. There were lots of references to Shirley Chisholm in Harris’s 2020 primary.

Goldberg: Oh, yeah. And I saw people wearing Shirley Chisholm shirts at the Harris rally in Atlanta. People are obviously really aware of it. I think you’re right about the primary. She didn’t need to distinguish herself in that way in a primary.

And the fact that there was (a) no primary and (b) that so many Democrats feel like they were saved from near-certain doom means that the fissures that are usually left over after a really bruising primary just aren’t there.

Demsas: Well, thank you so much, Michelle. I’ve been reading your work for years, and I’m so glad to have you come on the show.

Goldberg: Oh, thanks for having me.

Demsas: I want to ask you our last question, which is: What’s an idea that seemed good at the time but ended up being only good on paper?

Goldberg: I’m going to say communism.

Demsas: Oh, okay. Tell me more.

Goldberg: I mean, I’m honestly surprised that anybody answers anything else. (Laughs.) It just seems so obvious—it just seems obvious to me that, at a time when industrial capitalism was so brutal and exploitative, along comes this utopian theory promising human equality, gender equality, the brotherhood of man, the end of poverty, right? I don’t know if you have kids, but my kids—and I think a lot of people have this experience—when they first learn about communism, they’re like, Yeah, that sounds great. It does sound great. It just has not worked.

Demsas: Yeah. Well, that is the most one-word-only-needed “good on paper” we’ve heard so far. (Laughs.)

Goldberg: (Laughs.)

Demsas: Usually it does require a lot more explanation. Communism—good on paper. Thank you again for coming on the show. We’re so excited to have you on and continue following your work as you write about this issue on the campaign trail.

[Music]

Goldberg: Thank you so much.

Demsas: This episode of Good on Paper was produced by Jinae West and Rosie Hughes. It was edited by Dave Shaw and fact-checked by Ena Alvarado. Erica Huang and Rob Smierciak engineered this episode. Rob Smerciak also composed our theme music. Claudine Ebeid is the executive producer of Atlantic audio. Andrea Valdez is our managing editor.

And hey, if you like what you’re hearing, please leave us a rating and review on Apple Podcasts.

I’m Jerusalem Demsas, and we’ll see you next week.

In 1935, a young actor named Merle Oberon landed the role of a lifetime. The Hollywood mogul Samuel Goldwyn was planning to remake the 1925 silent film The Dark Angel as a talkie. Oberon, with her coaly hair and olive complexion, did not quite fit into anyone’s idea of the heroine, who in the silent film had been a fair-skinned maiden of the English countryside. Goldwyn’s colleagues thought her too “exotic” and “Oriental” for the part; when the casting was announced, readers wrote into fan magazines taking umbrage with the selection of an “Asiatic adventuress,” as one letter noted.

But Goldwyn was convinced of her promise. His instincts proved correct when reviews praised Oberon as a revelation. “Miss Oberon, abandoning the Javanese slant of the eyes for the occasion, plays with skill and feeling,” The New York Times stated. Such critical rapture would bring her to the Eighth Academy Awards as a nominee for Best Actress alongside Bette Davis and Katharine Hepburn. At the time, however, the public was not aware of a crucial part of Oberon’s life: She was Asian, technically making her the first performer of color to be nominated in any acting category at the Oscars. Oberon, who was born into poverty in Mumbai to a Sri Lankan mother and white father, had followed her publicists’ demands to “pass” as a white woman from Tasmania—a deception that would continue until her death, in 1979, and that was revealed only in the following decade.

I first learned about Oberon as an Oscar-obsessed high schooler in the late aughts. I was drawn to her story because of our shared South Asian heritage and our connection to Kolkata, the city where she—like my Bengali father—was raised. Her work as the tragic heroine Cathy Earnshaw in William Wyler’s Wuthering Heights, arguably her most famous film, transfixed me. At the time, there were few South Asian faces in Hollywood, and the fact that Oberon had managed to break through more than 50 years earlier beggared belief in my young mind.

In writing a biography of Oberon, I came to see her as an early screen pioneer despite her elision from narratives of racial progress in Hollywood. Oberon’s race did not overly restrict the roles she was offered; in fact, her entire career refused such tidy outcomes. Through her work, she was an early—if accidental—proponent of so-called color-blind casting, in which a performer’s race does not limit the parts available to them, long before such a concern became standard in the industry. She deserves compassion, not judgment, for the constraints she was working under to make this possible.

Two years ago, Oberon’s name briefly reentered the news cycle when Michelle Yeoh became the second Asian actor to receive an Oscar nomination for Best Actress, 87 years after Oberon’s recognition in that category. The complexities that Oberon’s story presented had outlets scrambling—some relegated her to a “technicality,” while others engaged in semantic contortions and called Yeoh the Academy’s first “Asian-identifying” Best Actress nominee. “Some recordkeepers consider Merle Oberon (1936, The Dark Angel) to be the first Asian best actress nominee, but she hid her ancestry (her mother was reportedly of partial Sri Lankan descent) and passed for white,” wrote The Hollywood Reporter’s Rebecca Sun in an article whose headline declared Yeoh to be the “First Asian Best Actress Nominee,” thus discounting Oberon.

But Oberon was no self-hating, assimilationist stooge of whiteness; instead, the social and political conditions of her era forced her to pass. Oberon’s mixed-race, lower-class roots alienated her, as a young girl in India, from surrounding society. After immigrating to London in the late ’20s by pretending to be the wife of an English jockey, she began her screen career as a contract player with London Films, a company whose studio publicists stipulated that she conceal her heritage and birthplace to increase her appeal. Compliance with this mandate would, in theory, grant Oberon access to the same parts as white performers. The role that made her a star was that of Anne Boleyn in The Private Life of Henry VIII—playing a woman who was, to be clear, white. But in Oberon’s early days, most other roles she played were foreign women—French, Spanish, even Japanese—due to her “exotic” looks, to borrow from that era’s dated parlance.

Despite this, she made an impression on critics—and, in 1934, Hollywood beckoned. At the time, the United States had outlawed immigration from India and barred Indians from obtaining American citizenship, conditions that would not change until 1946’s Luce-Celler Act. Raising the stakes were the injunctions of the Hays Code, whose puritanical rules demanded that studio filmmakers in Hollywood shy away from depictions of interracial romance. South Asian characters were almost always played by white actors in “brownface,” a cosmetic embellishment that involved the use of dark makeup.

These circumstances thus demanded that Oberon continue keeping her heritage a secret—even if it meant enduring procedures as torturous as skin bleaching at the behest of studios. But in Oberon’s mental calculus, such sacrifice would allow her to establish herself as a serious performer, as opposed to ornamental eye candy. Upon clinching the role in The Dark Angel, Oberon would express relief that she was at last allowed to abandon the artifice of her former screen persona, which—with the exception of Anne Boleyn—was usually premised on her perceived “exotic” attributes. She effectively equated playing the parts of foreigners, heavy on makeup, to donning a costume—a child’s conception of acting. “I assumed a personality as unlike myself as possible,” she would tell a journalist about her past roles. Now, she reasoned, she could achieve something closer to artistic truth.

As she evaded persistent press rumors about her South Asian heritage, Oberon went on to climb Hollywood’s ranks. She would star opposite Gary Cooper, romance Clark Gable, and butt heads with Marlene Dietrich, who called her “that Singapore streetwalker,” a quip that conveys the disdain with which many in Hollywood’s Golden Age regarded Oberon. Despite such coded references to her racial roots—which were “not by any means a well-kept secret” in Hollywood, her former nephew by marriage Michael Korda wrote in his 1999 book, Another Life—Oberon came to excel in playing genteel, salt of the earth, and, crucially, white characters.

In this regard, Wuthering Heights was perhaps her most demonstrative showcase. As Cathy, she toggled among moods—stubbornness, determination, heartbreak—with fluency. Today, one might read irony into the fact that Oberon played a character whom Emily Brontë had conceived as canonically white, while Oberon’s white co-star, Laurence Olivier, played Heathcliff, a man of indeterminate racial origin. (References to his potential South Asian heritage abound in Brontë’s text and the 1939 film, which explains some of the resistance to director Emerald Fennell’s announcement last year that she would adapt the novel with Jacob Elordi, who is white, as Heathcliff.) But the honesty Oberon brought to that character’s torment proves that she was the right actor for the part, irrespective of color.

Oberon achieved her dreams in a society that asked her to deny who she was. Her struggle had its bittersweet upsides, making it easier for performers in subsequent generations to follow what she put into practice. In 1986—seven years after Oberon’s death—the Actors’ Equity Association established the Nontraditional Casting Project, an endeavor meant to widen roles for actors of color as well as those with disabilities. These efforts would eventually facilitate an ecosystem more hospitable to South Asian performers. Oberon’s strides foretold the ability of Dev Patel, of Gujarati descent, to assume the title role in The Personal History of David Copperfield, based on the Charles Dickens novel. She laid the foundation for Riz Ahmed, of Pakistani origin, to play Ruben in Sound of Metal, whose racial heritage is of subordinate concern in the narrative.

Color-blind casting is not without its fierce critics. (Some prefer the term color-conscious, implying sensitivity and awareness rather than studied obliviousness.) The casting of the Black actor Halle Bailey and the half-Colombian Rachel Zegler as two beloved Disney princesses—Ariel and Snow White, respectively—in live-action remakes has made both women targets of conservative ire. More progressive critics may see such choices as a vestige of a distortedly optimistic era that encouraged Americans not to “see” race, thereby papering over the racial inequities endemic to American society rather than acknowledging them with clear eyes.

[Read: Hamilton: casting after colorblindness]

Skeptics might also question making Oberon an early emblem of such efforts, because she possessed a privilege—being able to pass—that other performers of color did not. But the more uncomfortable truth is that Oberon was in the lifelong position of a fugitive, constantly forced to dodge hearsay about her heritage that could have ended her career. Rumors about her really being a “Hindu”—a racial rather than religious classification in early-20th-century America—trailed her from her beginning days in Hollywood, when emigration from India was illegal, until the end of her life. By that point, she had gained the public’s trust and established her reputation as one of Old Hollywood’s grande dames, yet she kept her secret. She built her life, as one of her relatives told me, on thin ice.

Oberon’s life, with its deep psychological costs, may seem to be a cautionary tale. What, I have often wondered, would Oberon’s career have looked like had an actor of her talent worked in a less hostile time? The intolerances that once straitjacketed Hollywood have faded substantially since Oberon’s era. The industry’s performers of color can now fight for the same respect granted to their white peers, and do so more freely, on their own terms—without having to hide.

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On President Donald Trump’s first day back in the White House, he issued an executive order ending diversity, equity, and inclusion in the federal government. Its sweeping language forbids DEI “mandates, policies, programs, preferences, and activities,” and orders the termination of all DEI positions—hundreds if not thousands of roles. Trump and his allies are also trying to curtail DEI in corporations that contract with the state, colleges that get federal funds, and more.

The ambition of these anti-DEI efforts mirrors the earlier, heavy-handed push, including by the Biden administration, to embed DEI practices into almost all of America’s most important institutions. It also underscores just how widely and variably the term DEI is now used across society.

Americans have developed a bad habit of deploying DEI as if it has a clear meaning. The left’s elites praise DEI. The right’s elites attack DEI. Citizens debate DEI on social media. But often, they are talking about different things. Almost as often, they don’t notice that they are talking about different things. These failures to communicate flow from the fact that DEI has no universal or broadly shared definition.

[Josh Barro: Democrats need to clean house]

To a debilitating degree, the DEI debate is defined by Americans talking past one another, when instead they could use more particular language to describe their positions. Specificity would make it harder for any faction to impose its most radical ideas.

The problem with DEI begins with its most basic definition: “diversity, equity, and inclusion.” Each of those terms can be defined in conflicting ways. For example, the Los Angeles public school system, which admits and teaches any child who enrolls, and Yale University, which deliberately rejects the overwhelming majority of its applicants, both claim “inclusion” as a core value. The trio of terms can be in tension with one another, too; Harvard pursued diversity in admissions, for example, by systematically treating Asian applicants inequitably. Yet after the summer of 2020, many institutions embraced DEI as a bundle—as if it were a single ethos. Among the entities that began touting that ethos were Amnesty International and the CIA, Philip Morris and the American Lung Association, the Catholic Church and NARAL Pro-Choice America, NASDAQ and the Bernie Sanders campaign.

In my reporting, I’ve encountered efforts dubbed “DEI” that have attracted little resistance, such as orchestras holding auditions behind a screen to avoid bias, or analyses of payrolls meant to ensure that men and women doing the same jobs were getting equal pay. I’ve also encountered efforts, particularly in higher education and nonprofits, that both liberals and conservatives spoke out against as coercive, retrograde, or nonsensical.

In the past, when DEI had more positive connotations, its vagueness gave the left cover to implement ideas that would have risked rejection if evaluated on their own specific terms. The DEI label failed to distinguish policies that aroused little opposition, such as Pride Month anti-bullying campaigns, from policies that were unpopular, such as allowing trans women to play on women’s sports teams; policies that yielded a clear benefit, such as accommodating a disability, from policies long judged by scholars to be ineffective, such as workplace training sessions on race; and policies that were lawful from legally dubious policies, such as ideological litmus tests for professors at public colleges.

Over time, DEI grew into a multibillion-dollar industry. It purported to help marginalized people, yet directed most of its revenue and other benefits to members of the professional class. And even unpopular DEI initiatives persisted in institutions and spread to new ones because skeptics were scared: To critique anything called “DEI” was to risk being seen as antagonistic to progressives’ sacred values or being called out as a problematic bigot or even being fired.

[George Packer: The moral case against equity language]

A backlash was inevitable. And the failure of many DEI advocates to distinguish between the most and least sensible things done in its name laid the groundwork for the Trump coalition to go to the opposite extreme: Today’s undifferentiated attacks on “DEI” are as vague and ill-defined as statements of undifferentiated support for it.

That vagueness is allowing the right to conflate reining in “woke” excesses with nixing programs that most people support, such as outlays to train more special-education teachers, and programs that reflect values that most people share, such as National Guard participation in a Frederick Douglass parade. Some worry that Trump will even gut civil-rights enforcement under cover of an attack on DEI. At the very least, the label conflates distinct policies—say, racial quotas in hiring, on the one hand, and recruitment at historically Black colleges, on the other—that ought to be judged separately, given their different moral, practical, and legal implications.

If the MAGA right proves as unwilling to draw sensible distinctions as the woke left was, it, too, will provoke a backlash. Even the anti-woke conservative pundit Tomi Lahren recently wrote that “conservatives would do better not to immediately label anything and everything a product of DEI. It cheapens the argument to throw it around as a catch all.”

Trump and Vice President J. D. Vance recently participated in a culture-war fight that illustrates how the term DEI muddies more than it clarifies in civic discourse. After an airliner and a military helicopter collided over the Potomac River in January, both men speculated that DEI played a role in the crash, inspiring countless social-media arguments. Trump and Vance, in fact, were making completely different claims from each other. Vance, unlike Trump, made a legitimate point about problems with the FAA’s hiring practices. But if he wanted to convince the American public, including people on the left, that those specific practices were flawed, his blanket disparagement of them as “DEI” didn’t help his cause.

In a press conference the morning after the crash, Trump asserted that “diversity-and-inclusion hiring” was a factor in the accident. Many people thought Trump was assigning fault to someone supposedly hired because of their race or gender. But the text of that Trump appearance suggests that he was thinking of disability: The Federal Aviation Administration was “actively recruiting workers who suffer severe intellectual disabilities, psychiatric problems, and other mental and physical conditions,” Trump said. (In 2019, the FAA announced “a pilot program to help prepare people with disabilities for careers in air traffic operations.” Trump was the president at the time. No evidence suggests that disability played a role in the Potomac crash.)

A few days later, a Fox News interviewer asked Vance, “Do you have any evidence that any of those hires that were there at the controls Wednesday night were DEI hires?” Vance replied, “This is not saying that the person who was at the controls is a DEI hire. We should investigate everything, but let’s just say the person at the controls didn’t have enough staffing around him or her because we were turning people away because of DEI reasons.” Vance added, “DEI policies have led our air-traffic controllers to be short-staffed.” That staffing crisis is acute. And although the Potomac River crash has not been conclusively linked to it, the Associated Press obtained an FAA report stating that, at the time of the crash, “one air-traffic controller was working two positions.” According to The New York Times, the control tower at Reagan National Airport was “nearly a third below targeted staff levels.”

[Read: Is there anything Trump won’t blame on DEI?]

From Vance’s broad label of “DEI,” no one would guess the details of the FAA’s hiring practices for air-traffic controllers. He seems to have been referring to a controversy that arose in the Obama era. Until 2013, a civilian who wanted to become an air-traffic controller would complete a classroom program and take an aptitude test measuring ability with numbers, problem-solving, tolerance for high-intensity moments, and more. In response to a push from the Obama administration to diversify federal agencies, the FAA added a new requirement in 2014: a “biographical” assessment. Any applicant who failed to score enough points on it would be ineligible to be hired.

The strangeness of the questionnaire, which was later made public in court documents, is captured by this question from it:

The high school subject in which I received my lowest grade was:

Science Math English History/Social Sciences Physical education

The way the question was scored was not intuitive. Applicants received 15 points if they chose “A) Science.” All other answers received zero points. When scoring a questionnaire put in place to help advance diversity, the FAA apparently decided to reward poor performance in science. Another question asked about the number of college credit hours the applicant had taken in art, music, dance, or drama, and the scoring was even less intuitive. “Did not attend college” got zero points. “Zero credit hours” got five points. One to six credit hours also got zero points. Seven to 12 credit hours got four points. If you chose 13 or more credit hours, you got one point.

Almost 90 percent of applicants failed to pass the assessment. At least 1,000 qualified applicants were denied the chance to enter the profession due to the new hurdle, according to a lawsuit filed against the FAA. (The FAA has contested the suit, which is ongoing.) And once aspiring air-traffic controllers realized that they could be disqualified by a bizarre test, many ceased investing time and money in air-traffic-controller classes, and enrollment declined. In 2016, Congress passed a law banning the use of the biographical assessment.

Jack Despain Zhou, a former Air Force analyst who has done extensive reporting on the matter, has written that the episode was “one of the clearest and most pressing causes” for the air-traffic-controller shortage, because “as a direct result of it, the air-traffic control hiring pipeline was shattered.” Vance seems to have reached a similar conclusion. He is on solid ground in claiming that changes to hiring once made in the name of diversity cost the FAA qualified air-traffic controllers. But his use of “DEI” as shorthand for what went wrong was a vague, needlessly polarizing way to make his point, and failed to give his audience enough information about what happened to judge for themselves. I described the bizarre test and the context for it to several progressive friends who think of themselves as DEI supporters. All thought the test sounded nonsensical, not like something they’d defend.

[Adam Serwer: The great resegregation]

In this and other culture-war debates about DEI, rival camps would find more common ground if everyone avoided framing everything at the highest levels of abstraction. The question “Should we have DEI at the FAA?” is maximally polarizing. A less polarizing question might be: “What are fair test questions for aspiring air-traffic controllers?” Even a question that divides Americans, such as “Does racial diversity at the FAA matter?,” is at least specific enough to permit a debate on the merits, in which everyone understands what’s actually up for discussion.

In the board game Taboo, a player tries to get a partner to guess a given word, such as margarita, without saying tequila, lime, salt, skinny, or frozen. She might hint: “Mexican restaurants discount this drink on Mondays,” or “Jimmy Buffett got rich singing about this citrusy cocktail”––avoiding the “taboo” words. The AI researcher and writer Eliezer Yudkowsky urges “tabooing” words to help clarify their meaning. “When you find yourself in philosophical difficulties, the first line of defense is not to define your problematic terms, but to see whether you can think without using those terms at all,” he has written. Simply “blank out the forbidden words and all their obvious synonyms,” he advised, and summon “the actual details” until you can replace the symbols with the substance.

To achieve the rigor of specificity, more Americans—from elected officials to university administrators to citizens debating on social media—should “taboo” DEI, as well as diversity and equity and inclusion. Doing so would force us to better understand our own claims and to make them more legible. It would help us better understand what others think, and to achieve sensible policies rather than careening between totalizing extremes.