Americans hold all sorts of views on tariffs. Some are opposed on free-market grounds. Others are in favor for reasons of national security or to bring back American manufacturing. Those debates are part of a normal democratic process. But President Donald Trump’s first weeks in office have shown that a principled discussion over tariff policy is simply not on the agenda, because the administration’s tariff policy is nonsense.

What we have is chaos. One U.S. uncertainty index of economic policy, which goes back to 1985, has been higher at only one point in the past 40 years: when the coronavirus pandemic began. That, of course, was a global phenomenon that the United States could do little to avoid. What’s going on now, by contrast, is entirely self-inflicted.

[Read: Trump’s most inexplicable decision yet]

Chaos is Trump’s calling card, but few could have expected how quickly the president would ricochet all over the place on the size, nature, and timing of—not to mention the justifications for—one of his signature policies. Before markets can adjust to one pronouncement, the world’s smartphones buzz in unison announcing that the wealthiest nation in the world, whose dollars hold up the global financial system, is hurtling in another direction once again.

Just consider this abridged timeline of the most significant twists and turns thus far:

November 25, 2024: Trump posted on Truth Social that on the first day of his new term, he would “sign all necessary documents to charge Mexico and Canada a 25 percent Tariff on ALL products coming into the United States, and its ridiculous Open Borders.”

January 20, 2025: The first day of Trump’s term. No tariffs announced. Instead, Trump signed a memo directing the Commerce secretary to “investigate the causes of our country’s large and persistent annual trade deficits.”

January 26: After the Colombian president rejected U.S. military flights carrying deportees, Trump threatened 25 percent tariffs on all Colombian goods. Colombia threatened to respond but deescalated before the new taxes were put in place.

February 1: Tariffs against China, Mexico, and Canada are on.

February 3: Tariffs (for Mexico and Canada) are off.

February 4: Chinese tariffs go into effect, and the Chinese government announces retaliatory tariffs as well as export controls on key minerals.

February 11: Trump imposes a 25 percent tariff on steel and aluminum from all countries.

February 13: Trump threatens reciprocity to any country enacting tariff policies against the United States.

February 25: Trump raises the possibility of tariffs on copper.

February 27: Canada and Mexico tariffs maybe coming back on?

March 1: In the middle of a housing crisis, Trump raises the possibility of tariffs on lumber and timber.

March 4: Okay, yes, the Canada and Mexico tariffs are back on.

March 6: Just kidding, only for some stuff.

March 9: Tariffs “could go up,” Trump says on Fox News.

March 11: Ontario threatens 25 percent tariffs on electricity, causing Trump to promise a 50—yes, 50—percent tariff on Canadian aluminum and steel. By the end of the day, both countries backed off these threats.

March 12: A big day for tariffs. The 25 percent tax on all imports of steel and aluminum go into effect, and in retaliation, the European Union enacted duties on $28 billion worth of American goods, while Canada announced $21 billion in tariffs on American goods.

March 13: Not to be outdone, Trump threatened 200 percent tariffs on wine and other alcoholic beverages from Europe.

To recap, the United States is now in a trade war with its largest trading partner (Canada), its second-largest trading partner (the European Union), its third-largest trading partner (Mexico), and its fourth-largest trading partner (China).

It’s obvious to the point of cliché that businesses rely on regulatory—and fiscal—policy predictability in order to plan hiring, capital investments, and pricing strategies. And that means these past few weeks have been very rough. How can you begin a capital-intensive project if you have no idea what anything will cost? The chaos of the current trade policy is a strange parallel to the chaos that the Trump administration has unleashed on the federal government. One difference is evident, however: Although markets expected the new president to go on a deregulatory spree, they failed to take his affinity for tariffs seriously—or at least thought things would be executed a little more deliberately.  

An adviser to prominent energy companies told me that because “infrastructure projects require five to 10 years for permitting and construction,” some of her clients are pausing normal business decisions. “The current environment is so chaotic that it’s difficult to understand effects [on] permitting pathways, community approvals, and supply-chain costs.” She requested anonymity to speak freely about her clients’ struggles in the early days of the new Trump administration.

The big companies are in a better spot than small businesses. As we’ve already seen when the Big Three automakers were able to get direct relief from the tariffs, large companies that can provide Trump with good PR are able to get carve-outs from tariffs. But small businesses are less suited to absorbing shocks and are less likely to stay abreast of the day-to-day shifts of tariff policy. Many will be unable to game the system.

Uncertainty may also be paralyzing the labor markets. As my colleague Rogé Karma reported last month, job switching is at its lowest level in nearly a decade, even though the unemployment rate remains low. Part of what’s going on is that lack of confidence in the future breeds risk aversion: Employers are too rattled to make a bet on a new hire, and employees are too worried to leave a safe position.

[Read: A great way to get Americans to eat worse]

Some people—such as those who are worried that a backlash may invigorate American support for free markets—would like the public to believe that the country is in the throes of an “economic masterplan” and that the chaos of this moment will cohere into a reasonable strategy. Color me skeptical. For one, the president and his team have yet to articulate a consistent set of arguments for supporting his vision. Instead, the justifications for the tariff policies change as fast as the policies themselves.

If the tariffs are about rebalancing America’s trade and restoring its manufacturing greatness, then why are they being removed? If they’re about improving America’s negotiating position vis-à-vis bordering nations on issues such as fentanyl and immigration, then why are we putting them on Canada?

Is Trump doing this to make Americans richer? Is he doing this to balance the budget? To hit back at other countries for their unfair policies? For national-security reasons? To solve the child-care-cost crisis?

As the Yale Law professor Jerry Mashaw wrote for Fordham Law Review, “The authority of all law relies on a set of complex reasons for believing that it should be authoritative. Unjustifiable law demands reform, unjustifiable legal systems demand revolution.” That our elected officials are required to explain themselves, to give reasons for the actions they take, is a cornerstone of democratic accountability. Without clear reasons, it’s not just businesses that are at stake. It’s democratic governance.

But if sifting through Trump’s roiling sea of rationalizations is important for democratic purposes, it’s also personally significant. Every business, worker, and consumer in the country has a stake in figuring out the why and what of tariffs.

[Read: Don’t invite a recession in]

Ideologues across the political spectrum resent the American voter’s materialism. Environmentalists moan that the public refuses to bear higher energy costs in order to help mitigate the effects of climate change; animal-rights advocates worry that people won’t pay to ensure better treatment of livestock; farm advocates who already benefit from distortionary subsidies have even advocated for price floors. Now it’s the economic populists insisting that the public should be willing to pay higher prices on the path to restoring American greatness. On Truth Social, Trump posted an article with the headline “Shut Up About Egg Prices,” and Republicans are insisting that it’s worth it to “pay a little bit more” to support the president. But “America First” has always been a better slogan than organizing principle. When people have the option to pay for domestic goods at higher prices, they opt out, time and again.

The speed with which Republicans have gone from hammering Democrats about high grocery prices to justifying the inflationary effects of tariffs is remarkable. Yet Republicans are likely to learn the lesson that Democrats did last November: Before they are Republicans, Democrats, or even Americans, my countrymen are consumers first.

A group of citizens found shoes, clothes and bones at a ranch in the west Mexican state of Jalisco. The site is thought to have been used by the Jalisco New Generation cartel.

Having recently found widespread recognition in the United States, one of Latin America’s greatest living authors has decided to challenge her newfound readers with a brilliant and bewildering novel about murder, castration, and the illegibility of poetry. Death Takes Me, by Cristina Rivera Garza, underscores the Mexican novelist’s intellectual depth as well as her formal playfulness, and confronts the way an environment rife with violence can shock citizens into numbness.

Rivera Garza teaches creative writing at the University of Houston and has lived for decades in the United States, but until recently, only a handful of her more than 20 books had appeared in English. That began to change in 2023, when she published her own translation of the work that would earn her a Pulitzer Prize, Liliana’s Invincible Summer, a fiercely political memoir about the life and death of her younger sister, who was murdered at age 20 by an on-and-off boyfriend.

The critical consensus in the Spanish-speaking world is that Death Takes Me, which was originally published in 2008, is among Rivera Garza’s best books—a sophisticated answer to Roberto Bolaño’s 2666 that elaborates on the Chilean novelist’s blend of gruesome violence and literary puzzles from a feminist perspective. Whereas Liliana’s Invincible Summer is emotional, sincere, and relatively easy to follow, Death Takes Me is cerebral, fragmentary, and disorienting. Translated by Robin Myers and Sarah Booker, the novel is ostensibly about a series of murders of young men in an unnamed Mexican city, but it often seems more concerned with the study of poetry and psychoanalytic theory than with detective work. At one point, Rivera Garza interrupts the narrative to reproduce a scholarly article that she may or may not have submitted to a real academic journal; at another, she inserts a number of experimental poems that she published under a pseudonym a year before releasing Death Takes Me. The book’s unabashed intellectualism is the product of Mexican literary culture, which tends to abide by the Cuban writer José Lezama Lima’s famous motto, “Difficulty is the only stimulant.”  

But readers willing to play by Rivera Garza’s rules can expect a reward commensurate with their efforts, the sort of anti-noir novel that a ghostwriting team comprising Jorge Luis Borges, Jacques Lacan, and Clarice Lispector might deliver in response to a publisher’s request for a true-crime number. Like the murders it recounts, Death Takes Me resists interpretation, inducing in the reader a disconcerting mixture of numbness and anxiety. Those familiar with Rivera Garza’s more recent work will soon realize that the book has another, more political dimension. Although it approaches the issue obliquely by reversing the gender of the victims, Death Takes Me is the author’s first sustained meditation on femicide—and perhaps a preliminary study for the memoir she would publish more than a decade later.

[Read: A novel that probes the line between justice and revenge]

In the novel’s opening scene, a literature professor by the name of Cristina Rivera Garza goes out for a jog and stumbles upon the castrated body of a young man. Yet in the weeks that follow, as she sits down for tense interviews with the female detective in charge of the case and dodges the obsessive pursuit of a suspicious woman who claims to be a tabloid journalist, the aspect of the crime scene that most preoccupies her isn’t the dead man but what she noticed on the wall of the alley where she found him. Using nail polish as ink, someone had scribbled a few lines by Alejandra Pizarnik, an Argentine writer who wrote cryptic poems and anxious diaries about language, sex, and death before dying by suicide in 1972 at the age of 36—and who is also the subject of the academic paper published within the novel. (The fictional Rivera Garza, we later learn, is affiliated with the same university where the author taught while she was writing the novel.)

The reader soon notices uncanny parallels between the professor’s work and the detective’s. It’s not a coincidence that the adjective nonsensical can apply to a gruesome murder just as well as to a work of avant-garde literature. Cops and critics are, in some ways, in the same business: that of interpretation. They pay close attention, notice details, find clues; they gather evidence and formulate theories; they make a case for their hypotheses. Their work is a search for meaning—an attempt to make sense of mysterious signs.

As the terrified residents of the city continue to stumble upon castrated bodies, there’s no question that the perpetrator of these murders is a serial killer: Poems by Pizarnik are found at each crime scene. That detail alone, the detective insinuates to the professor, is enough to mark her as the prime suspect.

The theory is soon put to rest, though, when Rivera Garza starts receiving strange messages from the killer, signed with the names of different female artists. The letters are full of clues that produce nothing: no leads, no real suspects—and no hope. The truth is that, in this city, catching the murderer won’t change much. “It’s been a long time since a man died,” the detective’s assistant observes about halfway through the novel. “So what?” the detective responds, in a tone that the narrator describes as listless and bitter. “Women and children die, too. Women and children and men are still dying, too.”       

Although the novel keeps the details of its setting ambiguous, it seems to take place in Toluca, an hour away from Mexico City—and the capital of one of the most violent states in the country. Hence, I think, the detective’s hopelessness: In a nation where the murder rate is five times higher than the United States’, her work is condemned to fail. The trope of numb despair as a response to unending horror is one of the hallmarks of 21st-century Mexican literature. Recent entries in this canon include Fernanda Melchor’s Hurricane Season and Clyo Mendoza's Fury, but the seminal example—if we understand that a writer’s nationality does not dictate what literary tradition they belong to—is undoubtedly 2666. That novel’s long list of forensic descriptions of murdered women in Mexico, which stretches for dozens of pages, seems meant to induce in the reader a feeling not unlike the listless bitterness of Rivera Garza’s detective.

The discussions of literary theory that fill the pages of Death Takes Me—besides Rivera Garza’s academic paper on Pizarnik, the novel features lengthy sections about the work of French psychoanalysts—serve a similar function to Bolaño’s appropriation of coroners’ dehumanizing language: They evoke detachment in the face of violence. But if this tactic is aesthetically effective and politically powerful, it’s because of the anxiety that courses beneath, in this city where even the detective knows that her work is pointless.

[Read: A novel that boldly rethinks the border]

The real Rivera Garza, however, seems unsatisfied with the hopelessness that haunts the pages of her own novel. Death Takes Me appears to have been a stepping stone to a more explicitly political confrontation with violence—one that refuses resignation and demands justice. Shortly after the Spanish edition of Liliana’s Invincible Summer was published in 2021, Rivera Garza declared in an interview with El País that “all of [her] previous books” had been preparations to finally “be able to write this one about [her] sister’s femicide.” That last word is important. Since 2012, Mexican law has considered that murders of women who are killed “for reasons related to their gender” constitute a different crime from other homicides. This much-belated change in language was meant to reflect the reality that, according to the United Nations, an average of 10 women are killed each day in Mexico.

The legal recognition of the specificity of gender violence was a hard-won victory for the Mexican feminist movement—a struggle that Rivera Garza documents in her memoir. But the subject was already on her mind in Death Takes Me. The difference here, of course, is that it’s men who must learn to live in a country where they can never feel safe:

It was no longer a personal fear by then, but paranoia. A cloud of dragonflies. A pod of lobsters. Frenetic destruction. Young men would seek, and eventually find, new ways to protect their genitals … Old men would speak of other, always better times, now gone. Before all of this was happening. Before, when a man was safe … The world, in the aftermath of Four Castrated Men, would be different as a result of being so very much, or exaggeratedly, the same world where the Detective would fail once again.

The passage makes a political point, of course, but the implausibility of its gender reversal is also very funny; readers recognize just how common the inverse scenario is. Here lies the greatest success of Death Takes Me: For all the numbness and the horror and the cerebral discussions of poetics, it’s also full of humor. It may well be that the novel’s most important contribution to our moment is that it consciously rejects the language of witnessing, elegy, and moral certainty on display in many contemporary stories about trauma. Death Takes Me, instead, suggests that personal grief and political anger can find expression, too, through ambiguity and irony—and even laughter.

One cartel member tells the BBC's Quentin Sommerville the impact of the illegal drug is "not my problem".

On Mo, the Netflix dramedy about a family of Palestinian refugees living in Houston, national labels are of deep importance. Throughout the series, Mohammed Najjar (played by Mohammed “Mo” Amer) struggles to hold on to employment—and any sense of security—because he’s not yet a U.S. citizen or permanent resident. His situation is made even more complicated by the fact that the American government, and many people he encounters, doesn’t recognize his family’s homeland as a legitimate state.

Early in the show’s second and final season, which premiered at the end of January, this sense of placelessness manifests in a frustrating conversation with a powerful diplomat. Mo, who is undocumented, has inadvertently traveled to Mexico and can’t legally return to Texas; he gains an unlikely audience with an American ambassador who offers to help him. But when the politician tries toasting to “your safe return and a peaceful end to the conflict,” gesturing toward unrest in Palestine, Mo can’t stop himself from challenging the nebulous characterization. His indignation gets him thrown out of the ambassador’s house, all but guaranteeing that Mo won’t get home in time for the Najjars’ long-awaited asylum hearing. After two decades spent in legal limbo, Mo once again has to come to terms with his indefinite future as a stateless person. Despite how naturally he seems to inhabit and move between multiple identities—Palestinian, American, racially ambiguous Texan—he can’t lay claim to any of them under the law.

This toggling sense of identity is crucial to how the characters of Mo see themselves—and in a recent conversation, Amer (who co-created the semi-autobiographical series with Ramy Youssef) told me the tense exchange with the ambassador is one of his favorites. The disagreement confirms Mo’s character: He’s steadfast in his Palestinian identity, but he’s also brash and prideful in ways that routinely get him in trouble. As Amer put it to me, “He’s willing to ruin his own life to make sure that he’s staying true to it, trying to stay true to himself.” The moment is just one example of how Mo tells an honest, complicated, and, most important, funny story about a Palestinian American family—and the territorial limbo that shapes their lives, even as they live thousands of miles away.

[Read: On Mo, it’s either God or therapy]

Shows about undocumented people are still rare, and Mo was the first American series to fully focus on a family of Palestinian protagonists. But the newest episodes were made in a particularly fraught climate. Mo’s writers started working on the second season a month before the dual Hollywood strikes began in May 2023. They reconvened that October, just days before Hamas’s attack on Israel and Israel’s ensuing bombardment of Gaza. The mounting death toll in Palestine put the show’s writers in a difficult position. Some viewers may have felt that Mo had a responsibility to address the escalating violence; others could be reflexively uncomfortable with hearing the words settler or occupation, language that pops up periodically in the show’s dialogue, sometimes in heated debates that Mo then defuses with humor.  

Instead of taking on the news directly, the season follows a main arc that Mo’s writers began developing back in April 2023, Amer told me. It continues a storyline from Season 1, when Mo’s widowed mother, Yusra (Farah Bsieso), started a small olive-oil business called 1947—after the last year before the Nakba, an Arabic word meaning “catastrophe” that refers to the mass displacement of Palestinians after the state of Israel was created. Yusra was born in Palestine, but spent much of her life away from it. After settlers took over her parents’ land in Haifa, her family fled to the West Bank, where many of her relatives still live. Yusra later left for Kuwait with her husband; when the Gulf War broke out, the couple moved once more, to Texas. Whenever Yusra talks about the olive oil she bottles in Texas, her longing for home is obvious—but so is her commitment to creating something from the pain of the protracted separation from her relatives, whom she hasn’t seen in decades.  

When we spoke, Amer recalled an aunt in Palestine shipping him some homemade olive oil and apologizing for not sending more; settlement blockades had prevented the family from accessing some of their olive groves. Still, he said, it was important to her to send what she could. That same sentiment is palpable when the Najjars finally make it to their family’s groves in Burin in Season 2, where they sing, eat, and commune with their loved ones under the shade of the olive trees. Despite the ever-present threat of violence from settlers and military authorities surrounding the groves, they rejoice because they’re together on the land. It’s one of the show’s most affecting scenes, and an uncommon representation of life in this region. Warm snapshots of life in Palestine are a rare sight in American media and pop culture, where images of Palestinians most often circulate alongside chronicles of conflict and devastation.  

[Read: A Saturday Night Live monologue that felt more like a prayer]

To the extent that Mo’s depiction of violence in the West Bank or the pains of refugee life feels especially timely, it’s largely a reflection of how much American awareness has shifted since October 7. But Amer has also said the creative team’s personal griefs are sublimated in this season, in a way that enhances the show’s resonance. This season, Yusra and her daughter, Nadia, lovingly disagree over the former’s constant attention to harrowing news back home—a dynamic that is incredibly familiar to Cherien Dabis, the Palestinian American actor who plays Nadia. In October 2023, Dabis, who is also a filmmaker, was in Palestine working on a historical drama about a family displaced from Jaffa in 1948. She was forced to evacuate, and to put the feature on hold, all while overwhelmed with fear about what would happen—so the news was always on. As she explained at a recent Mo screening in New York City, “The show was like a container for so many of us to come together and talk about what we were feeling during that incredibly intense, horrific time that is not over and didn’t just begin.”

The show’s portrait of the Najjars conveys the existential stakes of their statelessness, but it also highlights the beauty of the relationships they’ve been able to forge. Because the people who love him take Mo—and the Najjars’ struggles—seriously, they aren’t afraid to point out that Mo doesn’t always wind up in hot water because he’s valiantly defending his heritage or standing up for justice in the world. Sometimes, Mo really does seem to be crumbling under the pressures of life in a country where neither his heritage nor his local bona fides are respected. But he’s often just being an impatient, inconsiderate jerk. One of the delights of watching Mo is how clearly the series engages with all of its characters’ complexities—Palestinians, the show’s blundering protagonist included, don’t have to be perfect to hold our attention.

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This morning, President Donald Trump used the standard diplomatic channel—his Truth Social account—to announce retaliation against Canada for Ontario’s new electricity tariffs, which were themselves retaliatory.

“I have instructed my Secretary of Commerce to add an ADDITIONAL 25% Tariff, to 50%, on all STEEL and ALUMINUM COMING INTO THE UNITED STATES FROM CANADA, ONE OF THE HIGHEST TARIFFING NATIONS ANYWHERE IN THE WORLD. This will go into effect TOMORROW MORNING, March 12th,” Trump wrote. The rest of the message is much stranger, again promising the annexation of Canada: “The artificial line of separation drawn many years ago will finally disappear, and we will have the safest and most beautiful Nation anywhere in the World.”

Earlier this evening, Ontario’s premier, Doug Ford, pulled back the electricity tariffs after securing a meeting with U.S. Commerce Secretary Howard Lutnick, and the White House dropped its threat. Ford likely recognized that no matter how belligerent a stance Trump takes, he can be easily induced to change his mind.

Consider what’s happened with tariffs over the past 45 days. On February 1, Trump announced 25 percent tariffs on both Canada and Mexico, to take effect on February 4. On February 3, he announced a one-month pause in implementation. On February 26, he said he might not actually impose the tariffs until April 2; the next day, he said they’d start on March 4. On March 2, Lutnick suggested that the tariff situation was “fluid.” On March 4, the tariffs went into effect after all.

Confused yet? We’re just getting started. That afternoon, with stock markets reacting poorly, Lutnick suggested that the tariffs might be rolled back the next day. Indeed, on March 5, Trump announced that he was suspending parts of the tariffs related to auto manufacturing until April. And then, on March 6, he suspended all of the tariffs until April. Trump once told us that trade wars are “easy to win.” Now he seems unsure about how to fight one, or whether he even wants to.

If the defining feeling of the start of the first Trump administration was chaos, its equivalent in this term is whiplash. The president and his aides have been changing their minds and positions at nauseating speed.

Many of the reversals seem to come down to Trump’s caprices. On February 19, he called Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky “a dictator.” About a week later, he disavowed that. “Did I say that? I can't believe I said that,” he told reporters. “I think the president and I actually have had a very good relationship.” The next day, Trump berated Zelensky in the Oval Office, sent him packing, and began cutting off military help to Ukraine. This afternoon, the U.S. restarted military and financial aid once again.

Another leading cause of whiplash is Bureaucrat in Chief Elon Musk’s U.S. DOGE Service. Last week, the General Services Administration put up a list of more than 400 buildings that the cost-cutting crew had deemed inessential for government operations. The inventory included some eye-raising entries, including the Robert F. Kennedy building—headquarters of the Justice Department—and the main offices of the Labor Department and the FBI, but also some peculiar ones, such as steam tunnels underneath Washington, D.C. (One imagines that the wrong buyer could cause a great deal of mayhem with those.) Within hours, more than 100 entries had been removed from the list; by the next day, it was gone entirely, replaced by a “coming soon” message—though not before revealing a semi-secret CIA facility.

DOGE and other efforts to slash the federal workforce keep overstepping and requiring reversals. In some cases, officials seem to be discovering that the things Trump wants are either impracticable or too politically toxic to effect. Musk posted on X that if federal workers didn’t respond to an email, it would be tantamount to their resignation. Then the threat was removed. Then Musk sent another email. Thousands of federal workers have been laid off, only to be called back to work. Some workers who accepted a buyout offer were then fired; others had the offer rescinded. Musk tittered over canceling and then uncanceling Ebola-prevention programs, though some officials dispute that they were actually uncanceled. The administration planned to shut down the coronavirus-test-distribution program, then ultimately suspended but did not end it; it killed but then resuscitated a health program for 9/11 survivors.

Trump isn’t just going back on specifics. Some of his core campaign propositions are also looking shaky. Despite campaigning on the deleterious effects of inflation, he now says that it’s not a top priority. He promised booming wealth for Americans; now he can’t rule out a recession and is warning that people will need to endure some pain (for what higher purpose, he hasn’t made clear). And even though Trump has long said that he won’t cut Medicare or Social Security, Musk is now targeting them and calling Social Security a Ponzi scheme.

This kind of vacillation creates an obvious credibility problem for the president and his administration. As I wrote during Trump’s first presidency, foreign leaders quickly concluded that he was a pushover, easily convinced by flattering words. Trump practically always folded in a negotiation. This history, combined with his mercurial moods, mean that counterparts don’t assume they can take him at his word. In the case of Canada, Trump seems to have come out with the worst possible outcome: Canadian leaders believe he’s deadly serious about annexing the country, a quixotic goal, but they have no reason to take his bluster about tariffs, which he can actually impose, all that seriously.

The situation might be even more dangerous if observers took Trump at his word. His dithering has given markets the jitters, but the economic impacts might be more dire if traders acted as though they expected him to follow through on all of his tariff threats. (After he said this past weekend that a recession is possible, markets plunged. Did investors believe he had some secret plan up his sleeve until then?)

Uncertainty is bad for markets, but the problem is larger than that. One of the most fundamental roles of the state is to create a sense of consistency and stability for society. That provides the conditions for flourishing of all kinds: economic, artistic, cultural, scientific. Trump is both seeking to seize more power for himself and refusing to exercise it in a way that allows the nation to flourish.

Today, my colleague Adam Serwer wrote about the detention of Mahmoud Khalil, a leader of pro-Palestinian protests at Columbia University who has not been charged, much less convicted, of any crime. This, too, calls into question the stability of the rule of law—specifically, the long-standing fact that the First Amendment and due process apply to legal permanent residents. (Last month, I wrote that Trump’s actions were showing that his commitment to free speech was bogus. He seems determined to prove me right.) The first months of the Trump presidency have been whiplash-inducing, but in the long term, the failure to set and follow consistent rules threatens national pain much worse than a sore neck.

Related:

Mahmoud Khali’s detention is a trial run. The free-speech phonies

Here are three new stories from The Atlantic:

His daughter was America’s first measles death in a decade. ICE isn’t delivering the mass deportation Trump wants. The only question Trump asks himself

Today’s News

Ukraine has agreed to an immediate 30-day cease-fire if Russia accepts the plan proposed by the United States. Ontario suspended its 25 percent electricity surcharge for some U.S. states after Donald Trump threatened a 50 percent tariff on steel and aluminum for Canada. The former Philippine President Rodrigo Duterte, who started a widespread crackdown on drugs, was arrested on an International Criminal Court warrant for crimes against humanity.

Dispatches

Work in Progress: “The chaos emanating from Washington comes at a time when the economy is already slowing,” Annie Lowrey writes. Maybe don’t invite a recession in.

Explore all of our newsletters here.

Evening Read

Illustration by The Atlantic. Sources: Kent Nishimura / Bloomberg / Getty; Andrew Caballero-Reynolds / AFP / Getty.

Anti-Semitism Is Just a Pretext

By Jonathan Chait

The [Trump] administration is threatening more arrests of foreign-born campus activists, and more funding cuts, all supposedly to contain anti-Semitism, at the same time that it is elevating anti-Semites to newfound prominence and legitimacy. Donald Trump opposes left-wing anti-Semitism because it is left-wing, not because it is anti-Semitic. And his campaign to supposedly stamp it out on campus is a pretext for an authoritarian power grab.

Read the full article.

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Play our daily crossword.

P.S.

On my evening to-do list once I finish this newsletter: Pick up my copy of my colleague Olga Khazan’s Me, but Better at my local bookstore. In 2022, she wrote one of my favorite Atlantic stories ever about her three-month attempt to change her own personality. In the book, which is out today, she goes deeper. Olga is a very funny writer and great at sorting through and explaining complicated science, but for me, what makes her such an outstanding journalist is her ability to see and question a lot of the things that most people take for granted. I feel safe guessing that her research didn’t change that part of her personality.

— David

Stephanie Bai contributed to this newsletter.

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On the campaign trail last fall, President Donald Trump promised a “new era of soaring income, skyrocketing wealth, millions and millions of new jobs, and a booming middle class. We are going to boom like we’ve never boomed before.” On Fox News this weekend, he promised a “period of transition.” He added: “It takes a little time. But I think it should be great for us. I mean, I think it should be great.” When the host asked, “Are you expecting a recession this year?” he didn’t say no.

The White House has traded a message of prosperity now for a message of prosperity soon, forecasting that the budget cuts and tariffs the Trump administration is implementing will redound to the country’s welfare in the near future: Businesses will bring their overseas operations back to America; a leaner government will leave more income for American firms and households. But economists doubt that the Trump administration’s policy changes will promote growth. And Trump’s message isn’t inspiring confidence among businesses and consumers. That alone might be enough to pitch the country into a downturn.

Already, Trump’s policies are slowing down the economy. The administration has kicked off a global trade war. It announced tariffs on Canada and Mexico, spurring the Canadian government to retaliate with its own tariffs, which then spurred Washington to retaliate for the retaliation; abruptly reversed some of the levies; increased tariffs on China, causing China to impose tit-for-tat measures; added tariffs to aluminum and steel products; proposed “reciprocal” tariffs on countries with taxes on American goods; and floated the idea of putting export tariffs on American agricultural products.

The tariffs are slowing trade and increasing costs for American consumers. Companies including Best Buy, Target, and Walmart have warned that they will have to bump up prices as import costs rise. Moreover, the unpredictability around the implementation of the tariffs has led to chaos in the markets. An index of policy-related uncertainty hit its highest-recorded level, aside from the early months of the coronavirus pandemic. Businesses are less sure of the country’s prospects now than they were after 9/11 or during the housing-market collapse in 2007. Manufacturing firms are pulling back on investment; companies are slowing down mergers and acquisitions; firms are downgrading their earnings estimates. The stock market has lost $4 trillion in value, as traders dump equities for safer investments.

Asked to clarify the White House’s trade policies this weekend, Trump responded: “We may go up with some tariffs. It depends. We may go up. I don’t think we’ll go down, or we may go up.” Businesses should stop whining about needing policy certainty, he said: “They always say that we want clarity,” but they “have plenty of clarity.” The real issue, he argued, was that “our country has been ripped off for many decades, for many, many decades, and we’re not going to be ripped off anymore.”

Beyond new taxes on businesses and consumers, the Trump administration is rescinding federal contracts and firing tens of thousands of federal workers, in many cases illegally. These cuts have not yet shown up in the jobs report, but economists expect them to, starting next month. Challenger, Gray & Christmas, an outplacement firm, estimates that the government has let more than 60,000 workers go—enough to wipe out nearly half of the employment gains the economy notched last month—and notes that private businesses are amping up layoffs as well.

The Trump administration argues that the country has to go through a “detox period,” as Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent put it. Yet the administration is not just cutting waste and eliminating fraud. The cuts at the IRS, for instance, are likely to reduce federal revenue by denying the government the resources it needs to audit high-income taxpayers. The Social Security cuts could interfere with seniors’ ability to access their retirement benefits.

The chaos emanating from Washington comes at a time when the economy is already slowing. Consumers are still being battered by high prices, particularly for housing; credit-card debt and default rates are climbing; the labor market is seizing up, with workers afraid to quit their jobs and hiring rates falling. As a result, indexes of consumer sentiment and small-business optimism are plunging. Last month, households became more pessimistic about current labor conditions, future business conditions, future income, and future employment prospects, the Conference Board reported.

Voters’ fear of a “detox period” or a “period of transition” could itself force the country into a literal vibecession, as households, feeling dour, pull back. Consumer spending makes up roughly two-thirds of the economy, and consumers make spending decisions not only on the basis of their own finances but also on their sense of where the country is headed. Reading the headlines on tariffs and hearing about DOGE-related job cuts, some families might put off the purchase of a new car. Others might cut short a summer vacation, decide to wait on a home-improvement project, or quit ordering pizza on Fridays. At the same time, firms might decide to wait on building a new plant or expanding into a new region, reducing employment gains and sapping revenue from other firms.

A downturn could result—or, even worse, given the tariffs’ impact on prices, a period of stagflation. Congress and the Federal Reserve would be faced with the choice of increasing spending and lowering interest rates to help create jobs, or lowering spending and increasing interest rates to hold down prices, incapable of doing both at the same time. The Trump White House might compound the pain by, as Elon Musk suggested, slashing Medicaid and Social Security benefits to finance tax cuts for rich households.

“It takes a little time,” Trump said of his promised boom. “But I think it should be great.” Instead, we might have a recession. We might have it soon. It definitely won’t feel great.

The opening salvo of President Donald Trump’s mass-deportation campaign has made immigrants across the United States fear that simply going to work, school, or the supermarket might result in a life-altering arrest.

Sightings of U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement officers, real and imagined, are everywhere on social media. Teachers say students are panicked that ICE will take their parents while they’re in class. One Maryland doctor who treats patients with cancer and chronic pain from worksite injuries told me that many are skipping appointments. “They’re terrified,” he said.

That much, according to Trump officials, is going to plan, backed by a $200 million messaging campaign called “Stay Out and Leave Now.”

The results of the actual deportation push appear to be more modest, though not for lack of effort. ICE officers, some working six or seven days a week, made about 18,000 arrests last month, according to internal data I obtained. (ICE stopped publishing daily-arrest totals in early February as its numbers sagged.) By comparison, the agency tallied roughly 10,000 arrests in February 2024. The latest government data show that deportations were actually higher toward the end of Joe Biden’s presidency, when ICE was removing a larger number of migrants picked up along the Mexico-U.S. border.

[Rogé Karma: The truth about immigration and the American worker]

At its current pace, ICE is nowhere near delivering what Trump promised. The president made mass deportations a centerpiece of his campaign and said during his inauguration speech that ICE would deport “millions and millions of criminal aliens.” Vice President J. D. Vance said that the administration would “start with 1 million.” But ICE doesn’t have the resources or staffing to do what Trump wants. The agency has fewer than 6,000 enforcement officers nationwide. Much of their work is essentially immigration case management—ensuring compliance with court appointments and monitoring requirements—not kicking down doors in tactical gear or staging mass roundups in the streets.

ICE has never deported 1 million people in a year, let alone half that many. Tom Homan, the White House “border czar,” who has been working out of an office at ICE headquarters in Washington, told me on Friday that the mass-deportation campaign remains on track and just needs Congress to cough up the money to allow it to kick into a higher gear.

Trump is happy with the results so far, Homan insisted. “The president has never told me he’s not happy,” Homan said. “I’m not happy.”

Administration officials are considering ways to help ICE boost its numbers, including legal tools to potentially give officers new authorities to enter homes. But in the meantime, the gap between Trump’s expectations and reality has senior officials in immigration enforcement on edge. The administration is churning through ICE leaders, blaming them for failing to deliver results. ICE staff members were stunned last month when Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem announced the demotion of the agency’s acting director, Caleb Vitello, barely a month into the job.

Vitello, a career ICE official who is also a certified mindfulness coach, had been viewed by his colleagues as a solid pick to steer the agency through a stressful time of intense scrutiny. He had worked in the White House with Stephen Miller during Trump’s first term. ICE officials figured he’d be as capable as anyone of managing the agency’s many masters—Miller, Noem, and Homan.

ICE started off the new administration with a conspicuous show of force, but the enforcement blitz soon began to fade. Vitello tried to issue daily quotas for the number of immigrants officers should arrest, but ICE teams were coming up short. They had burned through the lists of names and addresses they’d compiled prior to the inauguration, and they were too busy trying to make their quotas to research new targets. More and more people were refusing to answer the door when ICE knocked, leaving agents waiting outside.

The administration targeted several “sanctuary” cities that limit cooperation with ICE, but their big operations brought underwhelming results.

Noem blamed internal leaks and “crooked deep state agents” at the FBI for the relatively modest figures. It was a baffling claim. She and Homan had been conducting ICE raids on live television, even bringing along Dr. Phil to publicize the effort. Everyone knew they were coming.

On February 11, Noem ousted Vitello’s key deputies at ICE. Ten days later, she tried to demote Vitello. Noem wanted to bring in a trusted former aide and GOP political operative, Madison Sheahan, the head of the Louisiana Department of Wildlife and Fisheries, who’d gotten that job in 2023 at age 26.

Noem wasn’t aware that ICE leadership roles typically require years of law enforcement or litigation experience, according to one senior DHS official who spoke with me on condition of anonymity. Although Sheahan had restored black-bear hunting to Louisiana and scored federal dollars for oyster farms, she wasn’t a lawyer or a cop. Vitello remained in the acting-director role, leaving ICE staff puzzled about who was in charge. DHS did not respond to a request for comment.

[Gisela Salim-Peyer: The ‘right way’ to immigrate just went wrong]

On Sunday, two weeks after Vitello’s demotion was announced, ICE named a new acting director, Todd Lyons, a veteran official Noem had promoted less than a month earlier to oversee enforcement operations. Sheahan was named to the deputy-director role. Noem called the pair “work horses” who would deliver “results” and “achieve the American people’s mandate.”

The leadership stumbles point to the core problem with Trump’s grandiose deportation plan, which has the potential to become the “Build the Wall!” equivalent of his second term. Trump wants ICE to erase the immigration wave of the past decade and spearhead a MAGA social and cultural transformation. He has ordered federal law-enforcement agencies from across the government—the U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration, the U.S. Marshals, even the FBI—to drop what they’re doing and help ICE catch more immigrants.

Homan’s mission is twofold: stopping illegal migration and ramping up deportations. One of those things is already undermining the other.

Illegal border crossings hit record levels under Biden but declined sharply last year as his administration shut off asylum access and worked with Mexico to crack down on unlawful crossings. Trump’s return to office—which has been accompanied by the deployment of thousands of U.S. soldiers and the threat of a one-way ticket to Guantánamo—has sent the border numbers plunging in recent weeks to levels not seen since the 1960s.

Fewer border crossings leaves ICE with a smaller number of easy deportees. That puts more of an onus on ICE to find deportees in U.S. cities and other communities nationwide, a much more resource-intensive task.

Not every ICE arrest leads to a deportation, and so far, Trump’s removal numbers are lagging behind last year’s, when Biden deported more than 271,000 people during the 2024 fiscal year, the highest total in a decade. Most of those deportees were migrants taken into custody along the Mexico-U.S. border, not immigrants arrested by ICE well inside the United States.

Homan was at ICE in 2012, when the agency set its high-water mark with 409,000 removals and Barack Obama was derided as the “deporter in chief” by immigrant advocates. Homan speaks of that era with nostalgia, a time before the sanctuary movement pushed Democratic mayors to eschew cooperation with ICE. During the past decade, the agency has lost much of its ability to work with police and jails in the big U.S. cities that ICE considers its most “target-rich” environments.

Now one of the challenges for Homan, Miller, and others is to get the president to turn his attention to enforcement metrics besides deportations, such as higher numbers of ICE arrests and fewer crossings at the Mexico-U.S. border.

“People have focused on deportations, but they got to remember we’ve secured the border,” Homan said. Under Biden, millions of migrants who crossed the Mexico-U.S. border were released into the United States with pending asylum claims and temporary residency, he noted. Biden curbed access last year, but Trump has ordered that the doors be slammed shut.

Yesterday, DHS said that it will roll out a new mobile-application tool called “CBP Home” for migrants to tell the government when they voluntarily leave the United States. Its name is a play on the CBP One app that Trump pilloried on the campaign trail: Biden officials used CBP One as a queue-management tool for asylum seekers and migrants from Mexico trying to schedule appointments to arrive at border crossings.

Trump has made CBP Home one more way to scare people into leaving. “Self-deportation is the safest option,” the department said when announcing the new app.

The administration is trying a variety of strategies to raise its deportation figures closer to what Trump wants. Other approaches for getting more aggressive are under review but haven’t been attempted yet.

Homan says that ICE’s “aperture”—the demographics of the immigrants it wants to arrest—will widen once the agency finishes tracking down “the worst of the worst.” ICE told Congress last summer that there were about 650,000 immigrants with criminal records on its docket—a pool of potential deportees large enough to keep officers busy, Homan said. ICE data show that the top-three criminal categories in that group are traffic offenses, which include drunk driving; immigration violations, such as illegally reentering the United States; and assault.

[Adam Serwer: The deportation show]

ICE officers have been ordered to drop Biden-era rules that took a hands-off approach to immigrants who lacked legal status but hadn’t committed crimes. An internal memo sent to ICE officers last month that I obtained has instructed the agency to arrest more of the immigrants who report at ICE offices for mandatory “check-ins” as part of the terms of their provisional status in the United States.

That includes immigrants who entered the U.S. legally under one of the Biden administration’s “lawful pathways” programs, if they haven’t already applied for asylum protections. And it directs officers to take a new look at immigrants who aren’t eligible for U.S. residency but whose deportations have been deferred because they are at risk of torture or persecution in their home country.

The ICE memo urges officers to assess whether those immigrants can be sent to third countries, as Trump officials secure deals with El Salvador, Guatemala, and others to take immigrants that the United States can’t easily deport.

The well-worn ICE tactic known as “knock and talk” that attempts to convince immigrants to open their door for officers has had diminishing returns as the publicity around the deportation campaign has left more potential deportees on guard. Officers can’t force their way into a residence without a criminal warrant signed by a judge—a message that advocacy groups and social-media users have disseminated widely. (Homan has called for the Justice Department to consider whether Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez and others who share “know your rights” bulletins can be charged with impeding federal officers.)

Trump officials have been looking for a work-around to solve the problem of closed doors. Last month, DHS created a registration requirement for immigrants residing in the United States without legal status. Homan and two other DHS officials said that registry violations could allow ICE to bring criminal charges that would potentially give the agency a new way to enter a private residence without consent.

The administration is also working to get ICE more money, the lack of which has been perhaps the agency’s biggest impediment. Trump has backed a continuing resolution to fund the government through September that includes approximately $500 million in new money for ICE, equal to about 5 percent of the agency’s annual budget. The additional funds would allow ICE to continue adding detention capacity and removal flights incrementally, but they wouldn’t buy the largest deportation campaign in U.S. history.

[Rogé Karma: Why Democrats got the politics of immigration so wrong for so long]

That’s the goal of the budget-reconciliation package that GOP lawmakers in the House and the Senate are negotiating with each other and intend to pass without Democratic votes.

The sums they’re discussing are staggering. The bill advanced by Senator Lindsey Graham, the budget-committee chairman, would provide $175 billion for border security and immigration enforcement, roughly 20 times ICE’s entire annual budget.

One Democratic Senate staffer tracking the bill told me that it’s likely months away from a vote but could be approved this summer. “It’s effectively a blank check,” said the staffer, who was not authorized to speak to reporters on the record.

The money could finance the expansion of ICE capacity from its current level of about 45,000 detainees a day to Homan’s goal of more than 100,000. Most important, it would allow ICE to channel federal dollars to pro-Trump states and counties, where the agency can train more sheriff’s deputies and other local cops to make immigration arrests. That’s when Trump’s mass-deportation campaign could get a mass-deportation force to carry it out.

The wonder of the American supermarket is the way it exists outside of seasons. Stroll into any major grocery store on a dreary winter day, and you’ll find a bounty of fresh summer fruits and vegetables waiting for you: avocados, tomatoes, berries, bell peppers, cucumbers, squash, and green beans. The American supermarket does not, however, exist outside of economics. These fruits and vegetables are largely grown in Mexico, meaning they are roped up in President Donald Trump’s trade war. Last week, he enacted 25 percent tariffs on imports from Canada and Mexico; two days later, he backtracked, suspending most of the tariffs until April 2. (His 20 percent tariff on products from China remains in effect.) Presuming that the president follows through, expect lots of goods to get more expensive: tequila, lumber, that $11 handheld vacuum you bought from Temu on a whim. But perhaps the most direct way that Americans feel the tariffs will be at the grocery store.

Nearly 60 percent of the fresh fruit in the United States is imported, as is more than one-third of the country’s fresh vegetables. Most of that travels in from Mexico, but Canada also plays a part in America’s food supply. Twenty percent of the country’s vegetables, by value, come from our neighbor to the north. For all the debate around what people should eat, one thing pretty much everyone agrees on is that fruits and veggies are good for you. Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr., on a campaign to “Make America healthy again,” has promoted numerous dangerous ideas about the American diet—but he’s right that Americans aren’t eating enough greens. The tariffs will worsen the problem. “People are going to immediately eat less fruits and vegetables, and will more likely rely on processed foods,” Mariana Chilton, a public-health professor at Drexel University and the author of The Painful Truth About Hunger in America, told me. A direct consequence of Trump’s tariffs could be pushing Americans to eat worse than they already do.

Ideally, tariffs could be offset by growing more produce in the U.S. That is precisely what Trump calls for as part of his “America First” agenda. But as The Atlantic’s Yasmin Tayag wrote last month, doing so would require an overhaul of the food system: “More land would have to be dedicated to growing fruits, vegetables, and nuts, and less of it to grains and sweeteners. It would also mean addressing labor shortages, increasing the number of farmers, finding suitable land, and building new infrastructure to process and ship each new crop.”

So how much more expensive will produce get? The tariffs apply to the value of a product at the border, not the retail price, so it’s not as simple as just slapping on a 25 percent surcharge on avocados. Over the course of the next year or so, if the tariffs take effect, the Budget Lab at Yale projects a 2.9 percent increase on fruits and vegetables. “These sound like small numbers,” Ernie Tedeschi, the lab’s economic director, told me. “These are not small numbers.” It’s the equivalent of “two years’ worth of fresh-food inflation in one fell swoop.” And that 2.9 percent increase is an average, meaning it encompasses all produce prices—including fruits and vegetables grown in the U.S. If you’re a big tomato eater and you like a side of green beans, the tariffs are going to especially hurt.

The Budget Lab expects a 1.7 percent bump on food prices overall. But this, too, wouldn’t be evenly distributed. On the opposite end of the cost spectrum, packaged foods would be among those least affected. They are made with imported fruits and vegetables, some of which may be coming from Mexico and Canada, but the overall amount tends to be negligible. (There just isn’t that much tomato on a frozen pizza.) “There might be other things that those food companies may be importing,” David Ortega, a food economist at Michigan State, told me, such as packaging. But “the pressure there is going to be a lot lower than in the actual fresh produce.”

In other words, Twinkies may get a little more expensive, while tomatoes may get a lot more expensive.   That’s going to make it harder for people to eat healthy, Sarah Bowen, a sociologist at North Carolina State University, told me. In her research interviewing moms about their food choices, “one of the things that came up again and again was that people wanted to buy healthier food, and especially fresh fruit, but they couldn’t afford it,” she told me. “We asked moms, ‘If you had more money to spend on food, what would you buy?’ And by far the most common answer was fresh fruit, specifically strawberries, grapes, things that kids like.” Even if you can swing it, there is a point where the discerning—or even vaguely price-conscious—consumer hits a limit and thinks, You know what, no. “It’s clear that people are already very worried about food prices,” Bowen said.

Of course, these changes will happen only at the margins. Lots of people might still buy an avocado that costs an extra 50 cents. And tariffs could have a perverse and uncomfortable upside, Caitlin Daniel, a researcher at Harvard, told me. Among the first purchases to go when budgets get tight is food that “people want to cut anyway,” she said—salty snacks, cookies, soda. That would be a limited victory. “In general, you’re probably going to see a decline in consumption of fresh produce, and that’s not good,” she said. The millions of Americans who already don’t eat enough vegetables will have even more of a reason not to do so. Even before the tariffs, fresh fruits and vegetables made up only “roughly a tenth” of the average middle-class grocery budget, Tedeschi said, drawing on the Bureau of Labor Statistics’ Consumer Expenditure Survey data.

The solace is that Americans still have plenty of ways to cut their broccoli costs. “There’s some latitude for substitution,” Daniel said. Instead of buying fresh, people might buy canned or frozen options “with really no change in diet quality,” she said. America grows tons of other fruits and vegetables; most of the country’s spinach, for example, is already grown domestically.

Price alone cannot explain why Americans eat the way they do. But the tariffs could underscore just how fundamental it is for understanding the country’s diet. Daniel has found in her research that people go to great lengths to continue eating fresh produce even when cash-strapped. “Whether people cinch up at the level of trying to buy from cheaper retailers,” she said, “going in on more couponing, shopping at multiple stores in search of deals—all of these things are going to contribute to what the ultimate impact on health is.” Tariffs or no tariffs, telling people what to eat is less effective than ensuring that they’re actually able to buy it. For an administration that wants to “Make America healthy again,” raising the prices of fruits and vegetables might not be the place to start.

Photographs by Jake Dockins

Peter greeted me in the mostly empty gravel parking lot of a Mennonite church on the outskirts of Seminole, a small city in West Texas surrounded by cotton and peanut fields. The brick building was tucked in a cobbled-together neighborhood of scrapyards, metal barns, and modest homes with long dirt driveways. No sign out front advertised its name; no message board displayed a Bible verse. No cross, no steeple—nothing, in fact, that would let a passerby know they had stumbled on a place of worship. When my car pulled up, Peter emerged to find out who I was.

He hadn’t been expecting a stranger with a notepad, but he listened as I explained that I had come to town to write about the measles outbreak, which had by that point sent 20 people from the area to the hospital and caused the death of an unnamed child, the disease’s first victim in the United States in a decade.

Of course Peter knew why Seminole was in the news. He had heard that President Trump was asked about the outbreak here during a Cabinet meeting, and he told me that he didn’t like the attention. The Mennonites were being unjustly singled out. It wasn’t like they were the only ones who came down with measles. The coverage, he insisted, was “100 percent unfair.” He didn’t think it was just the Seminole area that had problems; he said that he had family in Canada and Mexico who had also gotten measles recently. I told him I’d heard that the child who’d passed away might have come from his congregation. He said that was true.

Peter dug the toe of his boot into the gravel. I asked him if he knew the family. His voice broke slightly as he answered. “That’s our kid,” he said.

Photograph by Jake Dockins

The first case in the West Texas outbreak was announced on January 29. The official tally in the region grew to six over the next week. By Valentine’s Day, it was up to 48. On February 26, news went out that a child had died; by that point, 124 cases had been confirmed across nine counties, making the outbreak the largest that the state had seen in 30 years. The official count now stands at just about 200, and another person who was diagnosed with measles just died across the border in New Mexico.

An outbreak—even one this big—should not have come as a surprise. Vaccination rates have dipped in many states, including Texas, since the start of the coronavirus pandemic. In Gaines County, where Seminole is located, the measles-vaccination rate among kindergartners is just 82 percent, well short of the estimated 95 percent threshold for maintaining herd immunity. Even that alarming figure would appear to undersell the local problem. Many children from the county’s Mennonite community, which numbers in the thousands, are unvaccinated, but they won’t get picked up in state tallies, because they are either homeschooled or enrolled in nonaccredited private schools, which are not required to collect such data.

Photograph by Jake Dockins

Even in the midst of a measles crisis, persuading parents in rural West Texas to vaccinate their children, or just to get tested for the virus, is an uphill battle. Zach Holbrooks, the executive director of the South Plains Public Health District, told me that he’s spent the past month trying to get the word out, particularly to the Low German–speaking Mennonite community. He asked three local churches if he could set up a mobile testing site on their property. They all refused. “I think there’s some sentiment that they’re being targeted,” he said, “and I don’t like the fact that they feel that way.” His team did create a drive-up testing site at a county events building next to the city park, and not far from the Masonic lodge. But he said that it gets very few visitors—about two or three a day. As a result, no one really knows the outbreak’s total size.

[Read: America is botching measles]

Help from the federal government has been slow to arrive. Weeks into the outbreak, the Department of Health and Human Services directed 2,000 doses of vaccine to be sent to Texas. But Robert F. Kennedy Jr., the newly confirmed HHS secretary, initially reacted to the outbreak by claiming that it was “not unusual.” Since then, he has repeatedly reminded the public that the decision to be immunized is a personal one, even while acknowledging that vaccines “not only protect individual children from measles, but also contribute to community immunity.” He has also claimed that good nutrition might be sufficient to protect people from the worst effects of measles. “If you are healthy, it’s almost impossible for you to be killed by an infectious disease in modern times,” Kennedy falsely told Fox News’s Marc Siegel in an interview last week. He’d had “a very, very emotional and long conversation” with the family of the child who had died, he said; and later added that “malnutrition may have been an issue in her death.” Local health officials told The New York Times that the child who died had “no known underlying conditions.” A spokesman for HHS declined to comment.

There are a half dozen Mennonite congregations in Seminole, according to Google Maps. Peter’s church isn’t listed among them. Aside from a nonprofit filing, it does not appear to have any online presence. I knew of its existence only because I’d met a Mennonite man from another congregation at a coffee shop that morning and asked whether he knew the family of the child that had died. He said he’d heard they were from this church. When I asked him where it was, he responded with a word in Low German. That turned out to be a nickname for a neighborhood a little ways outside of town. After circling county roads for a while, passing a mix of homes, horses, and farm equipment, I stopped and asked for help from a group of boys playing in a field with rocks and sticks. They pointed in unison. The church was just half a mile up the road.

That’s where I encountered Peter, a wiry 28-year-old man with an angular face who wore a dark-colored, Western-style shirt and jeans. His English was uncertain, and he spoke with a light German accent. Sometimes he responded to my questions with silence.

He declined to reveal his daughter’s name or the family’s last name. Peter was perplexed by the national news coverage, and he did not seem eager to draw more attention to his family and community. He gave only his daughter’s age: She was 6 years old. When I asked him to describe her in more detail, he waved his hand, said she liked what other kids liked. But as we stood in the parking lot, he told me the story of what happened.

Peter’s daughter had been sick for three weeks. The family knew it was measles. He said they took her to the hospital at one point, and she was given cough medicine. “That’s it,” he recalled. “They just say, ‘Go home.’ They don’t want to help us. They say, ‘It’s just normal; go home.’” (A spokeswoman for the Seminole Hospital District declined to comment, citing privacy laws.)

Photograph by Jake Dockins

It wasn’t normal, though. Her condition continued to deteriorate, so they brought her back to the doctors. “She just kept getting sicker and sicker,” he told me. “Her lungs plugged up.” Her heart rate and blood pressure dropped, and the doctors put her on a ventilator. “We were there Saturday ’til Monday, three days … and then it was worse, very bad.” Peter shook his head and stared at the ground. He said his daughter died on Tuesday night from pneumonia, which is a common infection in severe measles cases.

Peter’s daughter was not vaccinated. Mennonite doctrine does not prohibit inoculations or modern medicine in general, though I encountered plenty of suspicion among Mennonites I spoke with in Seminole. I met a father who said that he wanted to vaccinate his two daughters but that their mother didn’t think it was a good idea. A grandmother told me she knew of several children who had been given the measles vaccine and were “never the same after that.” A man who'd spent his career installing irrigation equipment said he was suspicious of vaccines in part because he believed that the government had lied about the origins of COVID.

Peter said that he has doubts about vaccines too. He told me that he considers getting measles a normal part of life, noting that his parents and grandparents had it. “Everybody has it,” he told me. “It’s not so new for us.” He’d also heard that getting measles might strengthen your immune system against other diseases, a view Kennedy has promoted in the past. But perhaps most of all, Peter worried about what the vaccine might do to his children. “The vaccination has stuff we don’t trust,” he said. “We don’t like the vaccinations, what they have these days. We heard too much, and we saw too much.”

During our conversation, several families arrived and went inside the building behind him. Mennonites are known for coming to the aid of fellow community members. Earlier in my visit, I’d heard a story about how Mennonites had paid off the mortgage of a young mother in the area whose husband had died in an accident. I asked Peter if he was getting enough support. He nodded: “Food, money—whatever we need.” Peter does construction for a living. He and his wife have four other small children. A couple of them appeared as we talked, grabbing at his sleeve, trying to get his attention. He leaned down to reassure them.

The death of his daughter, Peter told me, was God’s will. God created measles. God allowed the disease to take his daughter’s life. “Everybody has to die,” he said. Peter’s eyes closed, and he struggled to continue talking. “It’s very hard, very hard,” he said at last. “It’s a big hole.” His voice quavered and trailed off. “Our child is here,” he said, gesturing toward the building behind him. “That’s why we’re here.”

Peter invited me to come inside the church building. He walked over to the door and held it open. I entered a small, dark, airless room with about a dozen chairs. Peter’s daughter was lying in the middle in a handmade coffin covered with fabric. Her face, framed by blond, braided pigtails, showed no sign of illness. Everything was white: her skin, her dress, the lining of her coffin, the thin ribbons that formed little bows on the cuffs of her sleeves. Her hands were clasped just below her chest. Members of her family were seated all around. No one looked up when I walked into the room. The only sounds were the trill of someone’s cellphone alert and the dry, hacking cough coming from one of her sisters in the corner.

It’s easy to dismiss statistics, to forget what they represent. Before the measles shot was introduced in 1963, the number of deaths caused by the disease in the United States each year was somewhere from 400 to 500. The CDC puts the mortality rate for childhood measles at one to three in 1,000, with one in five cases requiring hospitalization. Thanks to vaccines, the memory of that suffering has largely faded from public consciousness, at least in the developed world.

What happened in Seminole, though, was a grim reminder. The day after meeting Peter, I visited the vaccination clinic across the street from the hospital where he had first taken his daughter. I had planned to interview people who were there to get their shots, but no one showed. It occurred to me that I was now at some modest risk myself. Families from Peter’s church had cycled through the visitation service the day before, sharing air inside that stuffy room amid their grief. Like a lot of people born before 1989, I’d gotten only one measles shot as a kid, so out of an abundance of caution, I rolled up my sleeve and got a booster. Later that day, I met up with Zach Holbrooks for lunch and asked him how many other people had gotten shots that morning. It turned out to be just one, and that one was him. He, too, had received just a single dose of the vaccine in childhood, so it seemed wise to get another.

Photograph by Jake Dockins

After lunch, I made the six-hour drive back to Austin, where I live, past the pumpjacks slowly bobbing for oil and the towering wind farms. There’s nothing I heard in Seminole that I haven’t also heard from crunchy liberal friends at home who choose not to vaccinate their kids because they believe that vaccines contain toxins that cause autism or that childhood diseases bolster the immune system. (For the record, the 1998 paper that purported to show a link between vaccines and autism has been retracted, and research indicates that contracting measles can degrade your body’s ability to fight other infections.) Nor are Peter’s views that unusual in conservative corners of the country. A recent poll found that nearly one-third of all Republican and Republican-leaning voters, for instance, think that routine inoculations are “more dangerous than the diseases they are designed to prevent.” That’s the gist of what I heard from multiple Mennonites I interviewed. They are far from alone.

At one point in the parking lot, Peter had asked me why his daughter matters to the rest of the country. I’d struggled in the moment to come up with an answer. For Peter and his family, the loss of their daughter is a private tragedy, one that would be excruciating no matter how she died. The fact that she died of measles, though, is a sign that something has gone wrong with the country’s approach to public health. Twenty-five years ago, measles was declared “eliminated” in the United States. Now a deadly crisis is unfolding in West Texas.

Before I left the church that day, Peter and I talked for a few more minutes. “You probably know how it goes when somebody passes away,” he said. “It’s hard to believe.” Peter told me he didn’t have anything more to say. Really, what more could be said? Something unbelievable had happened: A young father was grieving the death of his 6-year-old from measles.